Season 1, Episode 5 - The Boxtops XII - "The Assassin"
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Tied up in War Horse Taven, the assassin spat out each word at Chairman Stockham. “I’ll start with the fact that I hate you and everything you represent.”
Clayton let out a low chuckle; a dry look from Shokahu shut him up. Stockham didn't seem particularly distressed by the figurative venom flying his way.
“My name is Shannen,” the woman began. “My father died in a trench in the First American War, and my mother died during one of the bombings of Narragansett soon after. I had to drop out of school and ended up working in a textile factory here in the district, before our Pond became your Pond. Life was okay.”
Shannen gave Stockham the angriest look she could muster. “The Rddhi-industrial complex moved in over the years, but that was alright. The incoming wealth forced a lot of the poor out, but that was alright, we still had each other in the corners. But then, last spring, you destroyed my home to make room for the Dunn Electric Factory! Those squatters were the only family I ever had, but once you came in, we all went our separate ways!”
Shannen struggled with her bindings. “You and all the other Rddhis in your oli-garchy and plu-tocracy! Your ‘progress’ leaves so many behind!” The anger in her voice slowly declined as she realized the reality of the situation; she couldn’t escape. “We had a drunken swordmaster squatting with us. I used some of my factory wages to take lessons. Work all day in the factory, come home to a meager dinner, but I had him, I had the others, I had the way the moonlight reflected on the sword he gave me. He left about five years ago, but I never stopped practicing with the blade."
Shannen shook her head to knock away tears forming in her eyes. "But I guess I went the way of the sword, too. Swords have no purpose in industrial society. Once the mill and my tenement house got knocked down, I had no job, no friends, no purpose. My friends left to find work up north, but I love the Pond...how could I just leave it?"
The fire returned to her eyes. "How could I just let someone make me leave it? I moved to a shantytown, built my own shack by doing shady work. All those drugs and microwaves out of Hayman needed people to move them, right? I had my role in that. I kept surviving by the skin of my teeth so that one day, I could save the Pond from you people."
"'By her sword'?" Stockham mused, looking at the weapon now held by Iyeguda.
Shannen simmered. "Not a chance. That's the State Police and ultranationalist slogan. I don't want any part of that. I don't care about taking over other countries or the Spartan way. I just wanted to right what went wrong here in the Pond, and, assuming I survived this, I'd go for the rest of the bastards up top until every district is freed from the elites."
Stockham surmised the situation.
So...that rules out the State Police hiring her, then. Not only does she disagree with them, if the State Police truly wanted me dead, they would've done a much better job with it.
The look on the face of the Technical Serviceman in charge of taking notes seemed to agree with that conclusion.
Shokahu took down some notes of his own. “When did the first letter arrive?”
Shannen darted her eyes away. “I don’t remember.”
Stockham tapped his fingers on his chair. “Bamboo,” he reminded her.
Shannen swallowed. “The first letters came at the end of summer. They didn’t leave any identification on the letters, and when I asked around, nobody saw anybody leave them.” She looked at Stockham bitterly. “They told me to kill you. They told me they’d even paid me to kill you.”
She looked at the ground. “That’s all I know. I had nothing in my life besides killing you. The chance of doing that was worth it, with the money just an extra reward on top of it.”
Stockham thought on that. “Let’s reflect on this conversation for a moment. You claim to have squatted here, yet you’re a Rddhi user. Don’t deny it – I've worked all my life with Rddhi users. The laws of reality around you are changed ever-so slightly that only someone who researches the Rddhi could understand. Yet our metaphysical defenses never picked you up on our radar. That must mean you unlocked your powers over the summer, correct?”
Shannen slowly nodded. “It was a few days after I saw the wrecking ball go through my old tenement house.”
“Well, her story checks out on that end,” Stockham supposed. Those in the room currently in the know – Shokahu, Iyeguda, and Mogami – nodded in agreement. Clayton, Osip, and the Technical Servicemen didn’t understand, but didn’t ask questions, since Stockham hadn’t let them in on either the Firmanent project or the accident with it at the start of the summer that still kept the district’s metaphysical defenses knocked out.
“But another supposition,” Stockham continued. “You claim to have dropped out of school early, yet you use words such as oligarchy and plutocracy. And you sound as though you don't exactly know how to pronounce them. Do you even know they mean?”
Shannen nodded aggressively. “The letters explained it all to me. It’s not just this country – every country’s wealth is controlled by a small group of elites. In dictatorships such as New England and France, they’re just oligarchies, plain and simple. But in the countries of the Unified Pact, they’re even worse! They call themselves liberal, capitalist democracies to hide the fact that the oligarchies exist there too! That’s what plutocracy is. It depends on how much you hide it.”
“Hmm.” Stockham rubbed his chin in thought. “I can’t say for sure if a political science professor would agree with you, but I understand your claim. I suppose the letters told you this?”
Shannen nodded.
“And I suppose that before the letters told you this, you identified me as the problem, but were unable to come up with an explanation as to how I took over the Pond or gained my wealth until the letter described it to you in perfect detail?"
Shannen nodded once more.
Stockham heard furious scribbling from several Technical Servicemen as they wrote down notes on their conversation. “That’s how they get you. Did the letters describe a way to remedy this situation?”
Shannen’s eyes lit up. “Smashing the state. Tearing down the current government and society. Bombings. Assassinations.”
“How interesting.” Stockham leaned forward in is chair; now came the crucial question. “Did the letters describe what would came after you tore everything down?”
Shannen shifted in her seat. “I didn’t understand that part as much. I was much more concerned with the action than with the aftermath. They describe a new system. I don’t really get it, but...factory workers join with factory workers, and miners join with miners, and farmers with farmers. Everybody would just leave each other alone, and representatives from all the groups which join together to make sure no more tenement houses got destroyed. Maybe even make it so there’d be no more tenement houses at all. Just people, governed by other people. No elites. Just the common man and woman.”
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She struggled against her bindings once more. “And the only way to achieve that is through action! Throw a little chaos in the mix, let the elites know somebody’s coming for them!”
“Based on what we know, it sounds like the Second Restorationists,” Iyeguda supposed, looking over several of his Servicemen’s notes.
Stockham tapped his fingers again, deep in thought. “Based on what we know, I have to wonder about that...” Deciding to connect the dots on that later, he resumed his questioning of Shannen. “I’m assuming you received a letter with instructions for my assassination?”
Shannen averted her eyes, now facing the truth of the situation. “The letter was simple. It said that Chairman Stockham will potentially leave War Horse Bar on this date by himself. Based on what the letter’s writer heard and studied, he might not even even have a security detail. They wanted me to scope out the situation and if you were really alone...I was to kill you.” The fight in Shannen left her body. “They sent me half of the payment with that letter, just scoping it out. The letter promised the other half upon...”
“Completion of the task?” Stockham concluded for her.
Shannen looked down at her shoes. “With that much money, I would have enough to actually afford a real home. I...I wanted to open up an orphanage or something...I didn’t have all the details worked out yet, but I thought, with a real home, I could open it up to others who were going through what I went through...”
She let out a sob. “But I guess that’s the end of that. I was so close. How’d you do it?” Her voice was weak. “Was this whole thing a trap? Were you the one who actually sent that letter to set me up?”
Stockham grinned.
The plan was simple, originating based on the facts provided by the Alfie Coonan incident in September. Alfie’s story under interrogation faced many similarities with Shannen’s - being directed by outside forces who communicated through writings, not direct contact. Alfie seemed to be a relative newcomer to the operation, or at least ordered around by others. The spy's plan for Alfie involved him kidnapping Esther while there was still light out, then avoid running into anybody while carrying around a large human-shaped sack over his shoulder while he made it to the loading docks of the Tertiary Building. There, he would dump the body in a waiting van.
That plan was impulsive. The attack occurred during daylight, on school grounds, in a building that, while mostly emptied, still had students inside, as evidenced by the Eightfold Fist defeating him. Being caught with Esther by anybody would’ve likely blown his cover, and while not exposing the identity of the spy, it would’ve exposed the existence of the New York spy ring itself (as it did).
Impulsivity marked that plan. It seemed based less on long-term planning and more on “here’s a sudden opportunity, let’s just go for it”. In short, a plan that seemed very much like the sailor’s assassination of the Squanto Bank branch manager, very much like all the other random bombings and murders across the city in the past month. What long-term goals did they accomplish? The branch manager’s pattern of working late was the opportunity; someone impulsive ordered the hit.
But the presumed leader of the Second Restorationists, the Alchemist, did not seem like an impulsive man, based on the limited knowledge available to the Academy. And Stockham did know through his studies of centripetalism that the society Shannen’s letters called for was not the world they wanted to make. Far from it, actually.
There had to be another faction at work. A faction that followed the ideology described in Shannen’s letters. One far more ad hoc and less centralized than the centripetalist doctrine of the Second Restorationists. A faction that would call for anarchy. Based on recent history stretching back to the end of the First American War, Stockham had a few ideas.
But what was the connection between the New York spy and this other faction? They were both marked by the same impulsivity in their methods. Could the spy be part of this faction? Could New York be funding this faction? Was the spy even the one to order the hit on him, or someone else? Stockham believed the spy was responsible, since both the attempted kidnapping Esther and the attempt on his life both took place in Elizabeth Pond, but still. All questions to ponder.
The evidence was all circumstantial, and he knew he might just be grasping at straws. But it was better than nothing, and even if there wasn’t a connection, the spy’s impulsivity still might serve him. That’s why, a week ago earlier, he went to Shokahu’s classroom and publicly proclaimed his intentions to walk home alone that Friday night. Only someone impulsive would’ve actually believed Stockham’s set-up and sent an assassin. The same impulsivity that led them to kidnap Esther.
Stockham based his canary trap on the Support Department’s data that most friendships and monitored student interactions in the Academy were horizontal – remaining in the same grade, such as second-years with second-years – rather than vertical – between grades, such as first-years and second-years. Stockham told all second-year teachers in front of their classes that he intended to walk alone from War Horse Bar. When he spoke publicly with first-year teachers, it was Block House Tavern on Wednesday. With third-year, Chopping Block Restaurant on Sunday.
No ambush came from Block House Tavern. An attack did come after Stockham went to War Horse Bar. Only second-year students would have heard about War Horse Bar. Yes, it was entirely possible that first-years and second-years communicated with each other. Nothing was conclusive. But the ambush was based on information provided to second-year students, Alfie Coonan was a second-year student, and the second-year grade level had the largest number of students who transferred into the Academy at the start of their second year.
It could be nothing. But there was a non-zero chance it was something, and correctly acting on non-zero chances was why he became a high-ranking member of the Experimental Technologies Division during the First American War.
Stockham rose from his seat, Shannen watching him with defeated eyes. “I will admit to you that I didn’t write that letter. Some benefactor wanting to destroy the state gave you that letter. I'll also admit that I expected an assassin tonight and prepared accordingly. But you acted of your own free will. But you see...times change. Assyria declined, Greece declined, Rome declined, Europe declined, America declined. We must suffer the times we are born into. But I commend your willingness to take a stand against the times and fight for your home. Unfortunately, only the strongest can actually defeat fate."
Shannen wanted to say something, anything, but she just sighed. “Kill me, then.”
Stockham ignored her question and walked over to Iyeguda, who handed him Shannen’s sword. Stockham gazed at the weapon as he walked back to the assassin.
Shannen, despite her pleas to be killed, try to position herself away from the approaching Stockham, though the bindings kept her in place. Her lips trembled and her eyes watered.
Stockham rested the flat end of the sword on Shannen’s shoulder. “This drunken master of yours,” he began. “What sort of sword style did he teach you?”
Shannen felt sweat on her temple as Stockham lazily moved the sword back-and-forth, over heard, resting it on each shoulder, each time coming perilously close to her neck. “Ken...Kenjutsu Fire Style.”
“Hmm, would you look at that.” Stockham brought the sword back to his side. “I know a master of Kenjutsu Water Style. That old great taught one of our sword-wielding students here the same style. Water is a smooth, flowing sort of style, while Fire preaches aggression and overwhelming force.” He looked at the glint of the sword. “Fire Style would be perfect for an assassination, right?”
Shannen let out shallow breaths as Stockham looked back at her, the sword in his hands.
He returned it to Iyeguda, who sheathed it. Stockham clapped his hands, speaking in a jovial tone. “Well, wouldn’t you know it, but I happen to run an Academy that rehabilitates its enemies when the time calls for it. I have one New York spy working on my side now, and he tried to kidnap my own daughter. In contrast, all you’ve done was try to kill me.”
He nodded at Clayton, who brought the girl to her feet. He used a gust of wind to slash the rope bindings between her feet, though the ones tied around her arms remained.
“I’m giving you a choice,” Stockham offered. “Only the strongest can defeat fate, and I'm working on making my side the strongest. I appreciate the fire raging inside you. So, join us. We’ll have to imprison you for now, but we will give you opportunities to earn your freedom. Perhaps you’ll even grow to like us. Otherwise, you’ll still be coming with us to the Academy, but your stay will be short. Less than an hour, even. You’ll leave through a chimney as smoke from a cremated body. Choice is yours.”
Shannen swallowed and started crying.
“I hate you. All of you.” She let out a sob. “But I’ll take that chance and work for you.”
"Great," Stockham said, his voice still jovial. "Do you still have any of these letters?"
Shannen collected herself. "I still...I still have a few. Back in my shack."
"And where's this shack?"
"A small shantytown to the north of Manabi Station. To the east of the Dunn Electric Factory."
Stockham nodded at his subordinates. “Excellent. Let’s wrap this up, then. Iyeguda and Clayton, take the girl to the cells. Osip, you’re with me to make sure there aren’t any second assassins. Shokahu, you check out this shantytown and find those letters. And Ms. Mogami...I’m going to need those five dollars back.”
Mogami frowned.
“Aw, man...”