by Trish Mercer
Perrin put his hand under the table and made a rolling motion, hoping it would subliminally encourage the Administrator of Security to get to his point. In the corner sat a young officer madly trying to record every unnecessary word. Perrin regarded poor Lieutenant Nelt with sympathy.
“—and we’ll start with Colonel Shin, whose village, it seems, was one of the hardest hit. We have the details of the clean up efforts,” he waved Mahrree’s pages, “but what I’m wondering is, how is Edge planning to pay for all the rebuilding?”
Perrin exhaled. “Sir, that’s what I’m wondering too. For now, everyone is helping, but that’s because they’re numb. Once that numbness wears off, it will turn to pain. And no one seems to think that pain is part of the human condition; they seem to think they should be compensated for it.”
“Interesting observation, Colonel,” Dr. Brisack smiled warmly. “You’re absolutely right. The glow of generosity will fade, and then?”
“Well, the labor’s free, so to speak,” Perrin said. “It’s mostly the soldiers doing the work, culling lumber from the river banks and edges of the forest. I can compensate them for their double shifts later by giving them extra days off and relaxing on drills. But the sawmill will want to be paid. So will others who have been generous with livestock they’ve given to be butchered. I worry that the glow’s already died, Doctor. Now, there have been a few families completely wiped out by the tremor. We can auction off what remains of their possessions, then use that money to help compensate, but that likely won’t be enough . . .”
He trailed off, unsure of what else to say. It’d been pressing on him for days, how to help those who had lost everything. Some of the shop owners not only lost all their goods, but their gold and silver. Most had their metals hidden in their stores, and it melted in the heat of the blazes, slipping irretrievably into cracks of stone. The memory of Mr. and Mrs. Snobgrass, sobbing at the charred remains of their shoppe—even the extra p and e reduced to ash like their adornments—tore at him.
Perrin looked at his hands as if there might be a solution there he hadn’t noticed. “What are you doing in Idumea?”
“Well,” Giyak began proudly, “we have a surplus, as we have always had, in reserve for such a situation. Major?”
The major sitting next to Perrin produced several pieces of parchment. “Full listings of homes that were damaged or destroyed, along with the estimates to repair or replace them.”
The Administrator of Security took the pages and turned to the last one, looking at the final total. “Just as we expected. You see, Colonel Shin, the Administrators will pay for the repairs of all these homes.”
Perrin’s jaw dropped. “You . . . you will what?”
Dr. Brisack grinned. “Fantastic, isn’t it? That’s what this Administration has done for the world, Colonel Shin: we provide.”
Perrin shook his head in astonishment. “That’s . . . that’s really quite amazing. And what do you expect back?”
Giyak scoffed. “Nothing, Colonel! This is why we’re here: to take care of every little thing, as your wife so accurately accused us of yesterday. Could the kings ever have done something like this? Of course not! But we’re here for the people.”
“And you want nothing back? Well, except for what you already take in ever-increasing taxes and fees,” Perrin muttered to himself. He swallowed when he realized the Administrators were staring at him.
“All we want, dear Colonel,” Giyak said distinctly, “is devotion. Loyalty. Allegiance. Is that too much to ask?”
Oh, it could be, Perrin thought bitterly, depending on what the Administrators are loyal to.
He realized he hadn’t answered yet when the lieutenant colonel sitting on the other side of him coughed quietly.
“Loyalty,” Perrin began, desperately searching for a response that would please them yet allow him to remain true to himself, “is always a noble characteristic,” he finished vaguely.
Giyak nodded, seemingly satisfied by the answer. But Dr. Brisack watched Perrin with a faint smile.
Giyak dropped the pages in front of Perrin. “Take a look at what we can do for Idumea, Colonel. And perhaps we can do the same for Edge.”
Perrin missed the suggestion as he thumbed through the pages. He looked at the first, then at the fourth, then back to the first again. “Sir, I don’t understand . . . here’s the estimate for rebuilding a two bedroom home in the north near Pools, and another estimate for a similarly sized home in eastern Idumea. The home in the north is budgeted for nearly twice as much as the other house. Why?”
Giyak looked at the major for an explanation.
“Zebra Eztates vs. Dripping Stream.”
“Ah,” Giyak nodded. “Of course. Colonel, the quality of houses in Zebra Eztates is markedly different than Dripping Stream. Those that live in Zebra Eztates—”
“Wait a minute,” Perrin interrupted. “Don’t both families deserve the same quality of construction? Look at this—most of Dripping Stream was devastated. Why is that?”
“Poorer construction,” the major told him. “Older homes. The place has been rundown for quite some time. It’s convenient so much was destroyed. Been wanting to clear that area out for a while,” he sniffed.
“So the houses you’ll replace will be again of inferior construction?” Perrin asked, genuinely bewildered.
Dr. Brisack leaned forward on the table, and Perrin felt as if he were being analyzed.
“They don’t mind,” the major promised him. “They’re used to simpler things. But those in Zebra Eztates, they’re used to better, so they need better.”
“Everyone deserves a sturdy house, Major!” Perrin declared.
Brisack smiled indistinctly.
Giyak scoffed. “There’s simply not enough funds to build everyone a mansion, Colonel!”
“I don’t live in a mansion in Edge, Administrator,” Perrin said steadily. “I live a fifty-year-old home with three odd additions to it, two made solely by me. It’d probably qualify as a Dripping Stream home—”
“I see,” Giyak cut him off. “Colonel, if this is about building you a better home, that’s what your new colonel’s bonus is for—”
“It is NOT about me!” a frustrated Perrin bellowed, slamming his hand on the table and stunning every man there. “It’s about treating everyone fairly! Dripping Stream deserves the same as Zebra Eztates, and if you can’t afford that, then rebuild Zebra Eztates the same as Dripping Stream. And change the name while you’re at it. Ridiculous spelling of Eztates!”
Brisack burst out laughing, but stopped when he realized he was the only one. He winked at the colonel.
Perrin looked apprehensively back at him.
Giyak exhaled. “Colonel, I appreciate your sense of fairness. Very few men have that anymore. That’s what makes you an excellent commander, I’m sure. But politics is different. More delicate. Those that live in Zebra Eztates are, are . . . more achieved. More deserving of their station in life. They worked harder, are smarter . . . I don’t know. Perhaps the good doctor could explain to us the differences in achievement in one’s life.”
Brisack smiled. “Not really. Still working it out myself. I’m quite interested to hear your philosophies, Giyak. Please, continue.”
Perrin recognized the sarcasm and winked back at the doctor.
Brisack beamed.
Giyak sighed again. “You see, those who Nature have favored . . . Nature has favored. That’s all there is to it. We, as a political entity, must also recognize that Nature has chosen some for success rather than others. That so much of Dripping Stream collapsed, and so many residents there died, merely validates the fact that Nature did not choose those people.”
“Why, that’s very convenient, isn’t it?” said Perrin sardonically.
“Yes. Yes, it is,” Giyak agreed, only vaguely aware he was missing something.
“I don’t believe that’s exactly what the colonel was saying,” Brisack said with a knowing squint at Perrin. “I
think he’s disagreeing with you, Giyak.”
The Administrator of Security scoffed again. “So what you’re advocating, Colonel, is that we lower the standards on the Eztates to raise those at the Stream? That would not bode well for the politics of the area.”
“How so? And why should politics be a concern?” Perrin demanded.
Giyak sighed as if dealing with a most annoying teenager.
Brisack just continued to smile.
“Dripping Stream is used to their condition,” Giyak tried valiantly. “They’re thrilled we stepping in to help them reconstruct. Their houses will be the envy of people like them.”
“People like them?” Perrin asked, his skin itching at the phrase. “People like them. As if there are different kinds of people in the world—”
“There are!” Giyak insisted. “Ask the doctor.”
Brisack shrugged. “Please, Giyak, continue. This is quite fascinating. Much I’ll have to consider.”
When Giyak shot Brisack an angry glance, Perrin held up his hands. “Sirs, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Really, I’m not trying to be difficult. I just don’t understand. In my mind, everyone deserves a mansion. Except maybe for my son. He thinks the Grand Hallway is for punting his new kickball. My mother was most displeased by that.”
The officers chuckled and Giyak smiled obligingly. Brisack grinned.
“I just worry about a society that deems one person more worthy than another. I believe in the Creator, and I believe He created us all equal. To see us deferring to some and neglecting—I’m sorry, not ‘neglecting,’ but marginalizing others in order to favor another?”
“They pay more taxes, Colonel,” Giyak told him. “They deserve more assistance.”
Perrin rubbed his forehead. “They’ve already been ‘rewarded’ with more by their status. Is it truly fair or right that a builder of a school makes three times as much as an eggman? Don’t children need food as much as they need education? Or why should I as a colonel make more than my major? We work the same hours, at the same fort, doing each other’s job most of the time—I don’t deserve more than Brillen simply because I now have brass buttons on my uniform—”
A thought came so clearly to him that he was momentarily startled it had never occurred to him before.
“My major,” he started slowly, talking to the table, “needs more than I do. Or rather, he has a young woman with sickly parents who need more than we do. My pay will go up a level with the promotion, but I don’t need extra slips of silver—”
“What did he say?” Giyak asked Brisack. “Who in the world doesn’t need more slips of silver?”
“—why should I take the extra?” Perrin continued to muse out loud, forgetting anyone else was in the room. “I earn more than enough, we don’t even need Mahrree’s earnings, in a few years our children will be on their own, yet Brillen—if he has more silver—will be able to change the lives of three more people. If extra silver’s to be given, it should be given to him with the greater need—”
Brisack leaned forward, fascinated, as he watched the colonel thinking out loud.
“And my master sergeant—Shem makes even less, but he’s the one taking the recruits out on all night maneuvers, not me. He deserves extra pay for his extra headaches. But who gets the credit for the highest retention of soldiers in the world? Me. How’s that fair? Why are we perpetuating this? I don’t get it.”
Giyak turned to Dr. Brisack. “Do you understand what he’s talking about? Because I don’t. I really don’t.”
Brisack grinned fully. “I don’t either, but he’s marvelous to listen to. Don’t you agree?”
Giyak twisted to look at Perrin who was still lost in thought.
The Creator had declared in The Writings that each person was responsible for his brothers and sisters, Perrin considered. So really, whose responsibility was it to provide equity in the world?
Not the government’s.
It was his.
“I was warned about you, Colonel, and I didn’t believe it. But now?”
That brought Perrin out of his reverie. Besides, he’d already made the decision. Mahrree would agree completely.
Perrin looked up into the perplexed face of Giyak. “Uh, I’m sorry. I just was a little . . . May I ask who warned you?”
“Chairman Nicko Mal,” Giyak said steadily.
Brisack chuckled.
Perrin tried to smile. “I am sorry, sir. I thought I’d improved over the years, but I think my proximity to my old university has triggered my adolescent need to challenge everything anyone tells me. If my wife were here right now, she’d give me a well-deserved lecture. And you’ve met Mahrree—no one can lecture quite like her.”
Perrin kept the smile on his face hoping it would work. Not his scary smile, his real one, or at least a close proximity to it, because nothing in him at that moment felt jovial.
He was miles away in thinking from these men, and it was doing nothing good for the name of Shin. It would be his father that suffered from that, not him. And the last thing his father needed right now was more aggravation, caused by his son.
Giyak couldn’t remain flustered. A smile grew on his face, and Brisack chuckled louder. The two officers sitting next to Perrin smiled—as deferring officers were known to smile—not really understanding why they were, but doing so to avoid being ordered, or questioned.
In the corner, Lieutenant Nelt continued to scribble, and for a worrying moment Perrin wondered just how much of his ramblings the young man had recorded.
“I believe our Colonel Shin has a unique way of looking at the world,” Dr. Brisack decided. “And it would do well for the world to perhaps hear a bit more of those views. Tell me, Colonel: why is it that you’ve stayed all these years in the north?”
Perrin shrugged. “I guess I’ve just grown accustomed to the mountains. They tend to grow on you, you know? So much land, in such an odd formation . . . I could stare at them for hours just pondering things.”
Giyak shook his head slowly. “Truly, Colonel, you’re the most peculiar man I’ve ever met. No one in the world likes the mountains. They’re an aberration of Nature, a deformity it has yet to rid itself of. And yet you seem to enjoy them?”
Brisack’s hands were clasped, his fingers steepled in front of him, eagerly awaiting Perrin’s response.
“I suppose I do. One man’s deformity is another man’s delight?”
“Odd,” was all Giyak could say. “Getting back to the issue of paying for rebuilding in Edge—”
But Perrin wasn’t listening. He was too engrossed in remembering what his son had recently said when they saw the filthy man picking through the trash heaps. Why did the world assume the Administrators should solve all the problems? If we are all family, as The Writings proclaimed, then shouldn’t that family take care of their own?
“Paying for rebuilding Edge will be covered,” Perrin said suddenly, surprising even himself.
Giyak shook his head, realizing he had missed something. “You just said, you didn’t think it would be. There’s not enough land to auction off—”
“Those requiring compensation will be compensated, Administrator,” Perrin said confidently. “Idumea need not raid its coffers for the citizens of Edge.”
“It’s not raiding coffers,” Brisack assured him. “We want to do this for our citizens, for the families of the world. We want to demonstrate that we will take care of them.”
“To ensure loyalty?” Perrin queried. “Because Doctor, giving a little to those in need engenders a sense of gratitude and loyalty; giving too much, however, creates a sense of entitlement. And after that attitude has been placed, you have a spoiled child who throws a fit whenever he’s not given every last thing he wants. He’s no longer devoted to his benefactors, but he’ll quickly follow whoever promises to give him more.”
Brisack thought about that. “I don’t think so—”
“Oh, but I know so, Doctor. I saw it all the time with the thieving youths of E
dge. They came from the most wealthy families. Their parents gave them everything, and they repaid that by following the next person in line who would give them just a little bit more: the Guarders. They didn’t need it. They just wanted it.
“But there’s a way to avoid that, Doctor, Giyak,” Perrin continued. “Provide enough to keep the villagers going, and allow them to keep their pride. They need to be able to say, ‘We persevered on our own, with a little assistance.’ All we need, sirs, is a bit of food for the next few weeks to help with our remaining stores. Just until the early harvest comes in. We have resources for building, and I promise you the costs will be taken care of, but if you provide food—just enough to get us by, then Edgers will be everlastingly loyal to you, with their pride intact.”
Giyak sneered slightly. “Where do you expect us to get this food?”
“The garrison reserves,” Perrin said easily. “I know there’s enough. My mother’s dinner isn’t using it all.” He smiled at the men.
They didn’t return it yet.
He cleared his throat. “All we would need would be about 10 wagon loads—the extra long wagons the garrison uses for supply shipments—full of grain. We can survive on bread for a few weeks until the first peas and lettuces are ready, and new livestock is born. It would be only a small fraction of the reserves; no one would miss it. And, if you’re concerned that they would, Edge will pay you back. At the end of the season, we’ll send back the same amount of grain that we took. The best way to secure loyalty is to feel a sense of duty to your benefactors. We could never repay the gold you’re offering. Edge does quite a bit in bartering. But give us the grain, let us replace it again, and I promise you that Edge will be forever loyal.”
He knew it’d work. His chest burned with the energy of the idea, so much so that it took all his strength to not leap out of his seat in excitement. This wasn’t his idea; it was the Creator’s. He was sure of it.
“No,” Brisack said simply. “I don’t think it will work.”