Julia
Chapter One (cont.)

Disclaimers, etc. in Headers



Alexandria, Louisiana
December 31, 2000
6:03 a.m.


"Good morning," he drawled through the exhale of
smoke.  "May I be the first to wish each and
every one of you a Happy New Year."

"That's tomorrow, asshole," she muttered.  Happy
fucking New Year to you, too.

Impressive.  The word popped into her head.  She
never thought he looked all that impressive
before, hiding in the shadows of board rooms and
offices.  Menacing, yes, with the constant swirl
of cigarette smoke blurring his motives.  Now,
he sat before the world as a king.  This man was
no puppet, far from it.

"It has been a very prosperous year, I'm pleased
to announce.  Disease has been eradicated,
poverty is nonexistent."

Rather difficult to be sick or poor these days. 
It was a death warrant.

"However, there are many who still refuse to
cooperate.  It is your duty, as patriots, to
help us filter out the bad elements.  The
colonists are here to help us, not harm us. 
Look around you - food is plentiful, there is
adequate housing for all."

Sure, food and housing were at a surplus.  Moldy
bread and unheated apartments.  For those who
survived, that is.  Drones, they were, working
to efficiently rid the world of the human pests.

"All we are asking for is acceptance.  Times
change - there is a natural evolution of any
species that cannot be denied.  Let us start the
new year with unity and peace."

He rose, stamping out the cigarette in the gold-
rimmed ashtray on his right.

"My Minister of Justice will explain more fully
the proper procedure we all need to follow to
ensure our future survival. Thank you and Happy
New Year."

Julia felt her knees give way and she collapsed
onto the hard plastic bench in the center of the
lobby, her eyes fixed upon the fuzzy screen. 
Though she'd absorbed every minute of his screen
time these past months with the detachment of an
investigator, it suddenly struck her that the
moment was at hand.

For a few seconds, the leather chair at the head
of the conference table was empty.  Then a tall,
dour man slowly sat in it, his charcoal Armani
severe but impeccable.  He opened the manila
folder in front of him and cleared his throat
before speaking.

"As declared by the Appointing Authority, it is
your duty as patriots to help us weed out the
unpatriotic," he began, his voice firm but
husky, sending shivers up Julia's spine.

He looked directly into the camera; it appeared
as if his grey-green eyes were piercing her very
soul.

"If you are among those that have been resisting
the promise of the future, I want to ask you
again, to turn yourself in to the closest
Processing Facility.  I know you're probably
cold, tired and hungry.  Let us take care of
you.  We will see to it that you are reunited
with your loved ones."

He *was* speaking to her, she could feel it in
her bones.  The words of an almost forgotten
prayer began to resonate in her mind.

Hail Mary, full of grace....  I need strength. 
Don't let me fail now.

"Please don't make this any more difficult than
it has to be.  We just want to help you.  If
you, or anyone you know, needs processing, there
are several sites around the country that are
large enough to accommodate thousands without
waiting."

Sure, conveyor belts straight to the mother
ship.

"Los Angeles, Denver, St. Louis, Houston, New
York, and of course, Washington, D. C.  If you
can't make it on your own, just stop the next
Guardsman that you see.  He will be happy to
start you on your way."

Julia took deep breaths to calm herself and eyed
the kid in the corner.  She wasn't close enough
yet.  Plenty of opportunity to trip over a
Guardsman in Houston.

"Good-looking fellow, isn't he?"

Amen.

Julia turned her attention from the screen to
the woman that had sidled over from across the
room.  She pulled the faded black cap low over
her hair and mumbled, "Yes, he is."

"Cigarette?"

A slim silver case appeared to her left and
Julia shook her head, saying nothing.

"Don't worry, I'm not asking for anything in
return," the woman purred.  She took out a
cigarette and lit up, exhaling with a sigh.

"No, thank you."  Julia was polite for the first
time in a long time, uneasy about her visitor.

"Suit yourself," came the shrugging reply.

Julia was silent, feigning interest in the
television.

"Pity about the scar," her visitor continued,
drowning out the minister's list of procedure
and protocol.  It was the same every time, these
public service announcements, weekly now instead
of daily, urging them all to betray one another. 
"He would be devastatingly attractive if not for
that."

If not for that?  He still had the power to turn
her bones to jelly with one look.

Julia knew she shouldn't ignore the well-dressed
woman.  It was plain that she was a patriot,
from the well-coiffed black hair to the tips of
her high heels.  Even if she had fallen into
disfavor;  her mode of travel waved that around
like a red flag.  Favored insiders didn't take
the bus.

But the unexpected rush of emotion had left her
rattled.  And in no mood for idle chit-chat.

"I saw him once, up close, several months ago." 
She rambled on as Julia tried hard not to tune
her out.  It was easy to do, especially with her
distaste of the woman's obvious bragging.  "...
parties, gourmet food, expensive champagne.  I
was still new, still working my way up, you see. 
Before they started muting the concubines."

Julia's ears perked up at the last word.  "You
were a concubine?"

"Heavens, no," the woman laughed.  "I can still
speak, can't I?"  She pulled a mirror from her
alligator handbag and did a protracted
inspection of her lipstick before continuing. 
"Actually, I'm in procurement, dear.  On my way
to Houston on a talent search, so to speak." 
She smiled into the mirror, satisfied at her
appearance.

Julia didn't want to sound too interested, but
this was a golden opportunity.  Everything
hinged on her getting noticed as soon as
possible.  With a total lack of modesty, she
knew she would be attractive enough - and close
enough to the original - to catch the eye of
someone in power.  Maybe she wouldn't have to
sleep her way to the top, if she played her
cards right.

"I'm on my way to Houston, too," she said,
extending her hand.  "Julia Longfellow."

The mirror disappeared back into the bag, then
one slim, red-tipped hand slid into hers. 
"Eliza Marcotte.  Pleased to meet you."  Her
eyes narrowed on Julia's face in more than
casual scrutiny.  "Implantation or removal?"

"Implantation."  If things were to progress like
she wanted, it was best to stick close to the
truth.  Actually, her nose job did include an
implant, just not the sort that was expected
these days.  And this woman was clearly not
horrified by the implied horrors of the tests;
she'd very likely been exposed to all sorts of
atrocities.  She probably became inured to it
months ago.  Seemed like nothing could displace
that glued-on mask of foundation and rouge.

Eliza became bold, removing the cap from Julia's
head and fingering the mass of fiery hair that
fell to just below her shoulders.  "Ever been a
concubine, Julia?"

"No."  She mentally crossed her fingers,
thanking her lucky stars that she'd run into
this particular woman at the beginning of the
end.

Though she'd never come close to giving sex for
food and shelter, like many women did these
days, she still felt a tinge of trepidation at
the realization that the way of life she was
aiming for would send her down that very path. 
It didn't matter if you whored yourself to bums
or kings.  Didn't matter if your ultimate goal
was a noble, self-sacrificing one.

A whore was still a whore.  But, with all too
human frailty, Julia always hoped that very few
men would stand between her and the one she
willingly threw away her life for.  Would she
have trouble fucking him?  No.  Fucking the
other rungs on the ladder to the top was what
worried her.

Maybe God had one more miracle for her before he
faded completely from her existence.  Please let
this work, she thought.  Please let me remain
detached.

"Ever wanted to be?"

"I don't know... I've never given it any
thought."  She looked away from Eliza and slowly
glanced at the man on the television screen,
putting what she hoped was just the right amount
of longing into her gaze.  It wasn't very hard
to do.

The prayer hadn't worked.  Or maybe it had.  He
was still everything to her.

"He likes redheads, you know," Eliza stated, the
government gossip falling from her lips in a
conspiratorial whisper.  "It was a redhead that
gave him that scar."

Julia focused on the thin white line that
stretched from the corner of his mouth to
disappear into the collar of his crisp, white
shirt.  It moved like a snake with every word he
spoke, appropriately punctuating every venomous
sentence.

Eliza continued with her secret, arrogance
exuding from her every pore.  She was an
insider, and the pride in that fact made her
oblivious to the fact that she really shouldn't
have been running her mouth this way.  "Rumor
has it, it's the reason all concubines are now
muted.  This particular redhead tried to kill
him.  Called him 'Judas' at a most inappropriate
moment, then tried to slash his throat.  Of
course, the Appointing Authority clamped down on
the selection process after that.  He also made
muting mandatory."

Could she live without her voice?  It was a
question she had pondered for weeks now, as the
deadline approached.  Despite the sweeping
eradication of the media, information still
trickled down to the masses.  People loved to
tell stories; until now, she hadn't believed in
the outlandish rumor of their ability to take
away someone's voice, though she knew it could
be done.  But not without complications.

A cold dread settled over her at the prospect of
never speaking again.  She dismissed it
instantly; it was no use being so selfish, she
had a job to do.  It was too late to back out
now.  Things were looking up.  She had no need
to speak.  Certainly not to say prayers anymore.

"Does it hurt?" Julia asked, pretending fear and
ignorance.

"No, it doesn't, from what I understand.  Some
procedure brought over with the colonists.  It's
not like they cut your tongue out.  Tongues have
many interesting uses."  She arched an eyebrow
at Julia's flush.  "It is, however,
irreversible, I think.  I really don't know. 
Concubines don't stick around that long, you
know what I mean?"  Eliza gasped at her
inadvertent implication and put a damp hand over
Julia's.  "I didn't mean for that to come out
that way, my dear.  It's just that the
administrators tend to get bored very easily,
you know.  You could find yourself attending a
different man every few weeks or so.  They don't
repatriate you.  All I ever see are the new ones
- doesn't mean the old ones aren't placeed
elsewhere."

'Repatriation' was just a nice way of saying
extermination.

Julia stood when she noticed the bus pulling
into the cavernous breeze way.  "Well, looks
like it's time to go...."  She gave the
television screen a last wistful glance.

The woman stood, smiling at her newfound friend. 
Dropping her cigarette onto the littered floor,
she grabbed her carry-on and gestured to the
Guardsman in the corner to load her other bags. 
He took one look at her elegant figure and
complied immediately.

"Julia, I know we've just met, but I'm a good
judge of people.  I think you have great
potential.  Like I said, I'm always on the
lookout for new talent."  She glanced at the
screen one last time before linking her arm with
Julia's.  "They say he's looking for one special
woman.  I have to send pictures of all the raw
recruits to the Headquarters once a week.  The
Appointing Authority himself reportedly looks at
each and every one."

Julia already knew this; everything hinged on
that one simple fact.  From the beginning, she
knew they'd been looking for one woman. One
insignificant woman among millions.  Why? 
Because the Appointing Authority, despite his
cold calculations of life and death, wanted to
keep his son happy.  The first time she'd heard
that piece of news, she'd laughed.  Seemed the
man in charge had a sliver of heart left.

And it seemed Julia did, too.  Though these many
months steadfast in purpose, she secretly swayed
from the plan, vacillating as to the real reason
why she'd gone to such extremes.  They were
monsters; *he* was a monster, from all
appearances.  But late at night, huddled on some
thin mattress in a dank bunker, she would let
the hope creep in.

He couldn't be doing what she'd seen, what she'd
heard.

Eliza paused and fished through her purse once
again.  "Now - where is it?"

Julia waited patiently, Fox Mulder's monotone
making her ears itch and her eyes water.  She
would not look at the screen again, she
wouldn't.  If she did, she would be lost.  Shove
the hope back down.  Bury it beneath the layers
of unseen scar tissue.

"Take a look at this, my dear," Eliza said,
shoving a faded photograph under Julia's nose. 
"You could be her, with a little touch-up here
and there."

God, had she really looked that innocent back
then?  Right out of the Academy, young and
determined to make a name for herself.  She had
succeeded, she thought wryly.  Julia.  A rose by
any other name would smell as sweet... and still
draw blood with the same thorns.

Julia stifled the urge to cry at the warped
reflection of herself.  "My face is too square,"
she whispered huskily, turning away.

"The right hairdo could take care of that." 
Eliza was embracing the idea with increasing
excitement.  "Sit with me on the bus, Julia. 
Let me tell you of the possibilities.  We can go
far together, I promise you."

Lost, she was lost the instant her eyes betrayed
her.  He was still beautiful, still beloved. 
And she still hoped.  It sprang up from her
belly in a trickle of warmth.

Eliza pounced, her gaze following Julia's to the
television.  "He can be yours, you know.  All
yours."  Her voice dropped into a whisper. 
"He'd give you the world."

Julia felt her face soften; he'd given her the
world already, many times.  Given her life,
given her hope and friendship beyond any other
before or after him.

"He would kill for you, Julia.  He would die for
you."

Kill for you.  Die for you.  The words snapped
her back into reality.  Sentimental musings were
discarded quickly, cut out like a malignant
tumor.  He would kill all right; that had been
proven.

And as for dying for her?  If that's what it
took....

"Tell me more, Eliza," Julia said, leading her
out the doors.



End Chapter One