Displaced

Chapter 70

A blaring cry echoed through all of Wroetin and the other cities of Otharia, its harrowing sound bringing forth agitation from the assembled masses. From inside the House of Manys, Blake watched the various crowds' reactions through the projections with satisfaction. He'd always loved the sound of those World War Two-era air raid sirens—they carried an alarming urgency that other klaxons just couldn't quite nail—and so he'd done his best to mimic the memorable timbre. With a thought, he cut the circuit and the wails cut off, bringing the attention of the crowd before him, and those watching via Many all across the country, back to him.

"The system is simple," he explained. "There will be warning sirens placed on city walls at each of the four cardinal directions. The sound will indicate what direction the threat is coming from. When you hear the siren, leave the city by running away from the sound. That's all there is to it. If all the sirens go off at once, that means that the threat is already inside the city. In that case, leave the city by the closest exit."

He paused for a moment to make sure everybody had heard and digested the instructions.

"It is likely that you will never hear this sound again in your lifetime. Still, the fact remains that this world is a dangerous place. It is prudent to be ready even for the least likely situations. If you hear the sirens, do not hesitate. Leave immediately for your own safety."

Once again he paused to let his message sink in. Looking out at the people of Otharia, he took note of the faces of the onlookers. In their eyes he saw the same fear he'd seen back at the beginning of his conquest, simply more muted and concealed than before. Yes, he'd beaten them into submission, but that was all. They did not follow him or cheer him for the great accomplishments he'd already achieved; the fact that he'd provided great improvements to their lives, such as creating the first winter without major food shortages since anybody could remember or drastically improving the sanitation in the major cities, still did not override that fear.

Well, Blake didn't really care. Soon enough, nobody would be able to deny the truth. He'd said it before: he would hold their head in the water until they had no choice but to drink. If this amount of advancements wasn't enough, then he'd just have to force more into their lives, starting with this one.

"Last, but certainly not least," he continued, "many of you have surely noticed the strange paths being built across the nation. These are train tracks, and they will change the way people move about Otharia forever. Once again, the system is simple: a train runs at regular intervals between all the cities in the nation. Simply wait at a station and when the train stops, get inside. Now you will be able to travel from city to city in just a few hours, instead of days!"

His ears caught a smattering of surprised murmurs and he smiled beneath his mask.

"For those in Wroetin, there will be a celebration two days from now to mark the first journey of this triumphant new mode of transportation. I look forward to seeing you there. That is all. You are dismissed."

With a wave, Blake signaled for the transmission to be cut off and walked out, his loud tromping through the halls now accompanied by the clacks of a skitter's feet as it dutifully followed behind him. This skitter looked much different than the standard one, more resembling a large cube with legs than it did its brethren. Blake didn't much care, though. Function was the primary goal with this unfortunate necessity.

Several minutes later, Blake's journey came to an end in a large, long chamber down in the bowels of his fortress. Filled with a large supply of cantacrenyx and tucrenyx, assorted half-finished skitters lining the walls, and what could only be described as a bootleg firing range taking up the far half of the room. It was here that Blake spent most of his time these days.