Repatriate Protocol Box Set

by Kelli Kimble

  Behind me, the people in the pavilion were dispersing, and I headed home, too. Davenport’s anger hung thick in the air when I opened the door. I could see his form hunched in bed in the corner opposite the loom.

  I eased in and changed into my sleeping clothes, trying to be quiet. I knew he wasn’t asleep, it just seemed best not to make noise. When I was ready, I pulled back the covers and slid into my side of the bed.

  He grunted and rolled over to look at me. “Why do you want to help him?”

  “It isn’t about him. It’s about them.”

  “He’s going to betray you. Us. All of us. What he wants isn’t what he says he wants.”

  “Maybe. I don’t know. But I can’t be the one who turns away people in need.”

  “Try,” he said. He rolled back over and burrowed into his pillow.

  I settled down on my own pillow and waited for sleep that didn’t come.

  Chapter 2

  In the morning, I rolled out of bed to find that Davenport was already gone. In the dim morning light, I dressed and left our house for the community kitchen. My stomach growled after missing dinner the night before.

  The kitchen hall was buzzing with activity. I was greeted by maybe a dozen people before I even had a cup of tea in my hands. I collected a bowl of oats and sprinkled it with nuts and berries before taking a seat at the closest table.

  Charity was sitting at the table already. “Morning, Fiona,” she said.

  “Hello.” I dug into my oatmeal and tried not to give her an opening to speak.

  “You still going to see your mom today?”

  I nodded. The oats were too hot, and I swallowed my bite without chewing.

  “I was thinking maybe you should invite Leo to speak to the people,” she continued. “To answer questions.”

  “Mm. That’s an idea,” I said.

  “Look, Fiona. I can see that you want to help. You have to get the whole story. We can’t leave ourselves open to these people. They could be—”

  Davenport sat down at the table, dropping his plate in front of him so that some of his food jolted onto the table’s surface. “Charity,” he said.

  “Good morning, Davenport.”

  He dug his wooden scoop into his food.

  Oblivious to the tension, Charity resumed her plea. “I just think we ought to be careful. We can’t assume they’re telling us the truth.”

  Davenport took a sip of his coffee and looked from me to Charity and back, before setting it down. “I think that’s a very good point, Charity,” he said without looking away from me.

  “I never said we shouldn’t be careful,” I said.

  Charity gathered up her things. “I hope you find what you’re looking for at your mother’s,” she said. She nodded at us both and left.

  “You’re going to see your mother?” asked Davenport.

  “Yes. I want to ask her about the sickness. I think it’s happened before.”

  He shrugged. “What difference does it make if it’s happened before? All the more argument that they aren’t rational.”

  I looked at him. He resumed eating his scrambled eggs.

  “When we left my mother’s village,” I said, “we thought we could never go back. And we did that without hesitation. Why. Why did we do that?”

  “Because we were slaves.”

  “Right. And yet, we’ve managed to forge a bond with them. A symbiotic relationship.”

  He laughed. “Only because they needed us.”

  “Well, they don’t need us anymore. But, we’re still on friendly terms with them. We trade, visit. Intermarry. Even though at one time, we were nothing to them but the labor that kept them fed.”

  He stopped chewing and looked down at his plate.

  I put my hand over his. “Please, Port. Try to see it. These three groups—they’re all that’s left. We have to stick together.”

  He turned his hand over and held mine, then gave me a tired smile. “I just don’t see why it has to be you who keeps us all together.”

  “It could be you. You know you don’t want that.”

  He laughed. “No, I don’t want that.” He released my hand. “I’m sorry.”

  “Never mind. Just try not to derail this before we’ve heard them out. Okay? Please?”

  He nodded.

  “I’ll be home in time for meeting tonight.” I cleared my breakfast things and left the kitchen hall. Helen was just coming in. “I won’t be at work today, Helen. I want you to thread the loom with the new threads we got yesterday. You remember how?”

  “Yes, Master Fiona,” she said.

  “And I don’t want you letting Oliver do it all. You go over there right after breakfast and get started. Don’t wait for him.”

  Her eyebrows knitted together, but she agreed.

  “I’ll see you tomorrow. Take it one step at a time, all right? Don’t forget to thread through the reed,” I said.

  “Okay,” she said. She tucked a stray loop of hair behind her ear and smiled at the ground. It seemed like a secret smile. I watched her go into the kitchen hall, then went on my way.

  ◆◆◆

  I approached the pavilion. It was already packed, even though the meeting wasn’t set to start for another fifteen minutes. Before I could get under the protection of the roof, Charity was at my side.

  “Everyone’s asking questions,” she said. “Did you get any answers?”

  “Some. Probably not what they want to know.”

  Charity grabbed me by the arm and turned me away from the pavilion. “This isn’t going to go your way. Not today. Not without real answers.”

  I smiled, a wave of tiredness shaking my bones. “Charity, I can only do my best.”

  Charity blinked. “You seem okay with that.”

  “I’m only one woman. I can’t save humanity on my own.” I tipped my head towards the group. “If they can’t see the value in helping the people in the mountain, then life goes on. We’ll continue. Though we won’t be the same.”

  “You can’t save it with an attitude like that,” she said as she left me standing outside the pavilion.

  I sighed. Other members of the village had noticed me and were staring. Their gazes reeled me in like a fish on a line. I silently cursed Leo for putting me in this position. He should have come himself. He should have given me more details. He shouldn’t have been so stupid.

  I went in and smiled and nodded as I headed to my seat. Somehow, everyone kept their questions silent as I passed by them. I shuddered, realizing it was probably the last ounce of respect they would grant me during the meeting.

  I took my seat, and the people settled onto the benches. My eyes flicked to Charity. She shook her head just enough for me to see. It wasn’t time yet.

  Davenport came over and squatted next to me. “How did it go?” he asked.

  “She answered my questions. But, it won’t be enough.”

  He winced. “Sorry,” he said.

  “I doubt we’ll agree to help them now. Everyone will be set against it.”

  “With that attitude, they will,” he said.

  I knocked him in the arm. “That’s what Charity said.”

  “Great minds,” he said. He stood, his knees popping as he did. “I’ll give you my public support, of course,” he whispered. “I think we can’t agree to help them until we know more.”

  “Understood,” I said. I grabbed hold of his hand as he walked away and gave it a squeeze. “Thanks.”

  Charity called the meeting to order. “This is a public forum. We’re going to discuss whether we agree to help the mountain colony members or not. Every person will have the opportunity to ask a question or comment; however, in the interest of time, everyone will be limited to one. We’ll start in the back.” She pointed to the person sitting farthest in back, to the left.

  It was Franz, the newlywed. He rose and cleared his throat. “I was wondering about the illness. Is it fatal? Can we catch it?” He ducked his head and sat down.r />
  “The colony scientists believe the illness is caused by living in the mountain,” I said. "There is no evidence that it can exist here, or even that it can spread between people. A similar outbreak occurred about 150 years ago. We are descendants of the people who survived the illness by fleeing the mountain.”

  Meena took her turn. “And how can we know that they’re telling us the truth?”

  I shrugged. “We can’t. We don’t have the technology to dispute their claims. And someone would have to go into the mountain to do that. Are you volunteering?”

  The defiance on Meena’s face crumpled. “No, Ma’am,” she said. Her head bobbed back down into the crowd. The person sitting next to her stood.

  Dozens of questions about the illness followed. Eventually, I had to stop the flow. I held up a hand to interrupt the next person. “It seems like all your questions are centered around the illness. Is this your primary concern? Raise your hand if that’s true.”

  Nearly all the hands in the audience went up.

  “And none of you have concerns about the plans or agenda of the colonists? Does anyone have questions about that?”

  Only a few hands went up.

  “Okay. I’m going to see if we can get some of the colony scientists to come and talk about your concerns. I’m no doctor, and I can only repeat what I’ve been told. We’ll see if we can get some details that’ll ease your minds. Does everyone agree with this plan?”

  There was no movement, and I released a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding.

  “Good. I’ll see about getting some of the scientists here to speak. Are there any other outstanding issues, Charity?”

  Charity shook her head.

  “Okay, great. Thank you everyone so much for coming out tonight. The next meeting time will be communicated as soon as I have it.”

  Unlike the last meeting, nobody approached me afterwards—except for Davenport and Charity.

  “That went better than I expected,” Charity said.

  “Ye of little faith,” said Davenport.

  She laughed. “I have plenty of faith in Fiona,” she said. She jerked her thumb over her shoulder, indicating the people slowly leaving the pavilion. “It’s the rabble I’m not so sure about.”

  “It’s their right to disagree,” I said. “If it isn’t, then I’m in the wrong place.”

  “You aren’t hoping for disagreement,” said Davenport. “We don’t want to end up locked in an internal feud.”

  “I’m not hoping for disagreement. I just don’t want this to be forced. Everyone needs to decide how they feel and be heard.”

  “That’s the trouble with this system,” he countered. “Even the most unprepared among us have a voice.”

  I smiled. “I wouldn’t have it any other way,” I said.

  Chapter 3

  After breakfast, I waited for Oliver and Helen to show up for work. While I waited, I studied the previous day’s handiwork. As usual, their individual styles were easily visible—Helen’s threads were meticulously placed through the loom with the proper tension; Oliver’s threads hit all the right positions, but hung limply, demonstrating his inattention to detail.

  Oliver arrived first. “Good morning, Master Fiona,” he said. His gaze skittered to the loom. I was standing behind it, trying to draw up the tension of one of his loosey-goosey threads.

  “Oliver,” I said. “Yesterday, you and Helen threaded the loom, as I requested?”

  “Helen said you wanted me to wash the last completed fabric length. I didn’t have time to thread but a few. I already delivered the fabric to Sampson. It was meant for him, wasn’t it?”

  I nodded. “It was. Thank you. I appreciate you taking the initiative to deliver.”

  He smiled and relaxed. He thought I’d missed his poor workmanship.

  I pulled out my scissors and snipped the threads I knew to be his. “Now, when Helen arrives, she will oversee you while you rethread these. Pull them out while you wait.”

  His smile faded. “Yes, Master Fiona.” He moved forward and began the tedious process of removing the threads I’d cut.

  A spark of sympathy flitted through my gut. Oliver meant well, but he wasn’t a weaver at heart. I debated for the hundredth time releasing him from his apprenticeship. “Do you like weaving, Oliver?” I asked.

  He shrugged. “I guess it’s okay.”

  I pulled up a chair and indicated it. He sat, and I paced the room.

  “Oliver, do you really want to do this for the rest of your life? Do you want to be a weaver?”

  He frowned. “It’s what my mom thinks I ought to do.”

  “I didn’t ask about your mom. I asked about what you want. What do you want to do?”

  His shoulders drooped, and he looked at his hands clasped in his lap. He didn’t answer.

  “You aren’t in trouble, Oliver. What do you want to do?”

  He shrugged. “I dunno.”

  The door opened, and Helen came in. Even with his head lowered, Oliver’s face burned a deep red.

  “Good morning, Helen,” I greeted her. “Before we begin, can you run over to Sampson’s and ask if he is satisfied with his new fabric?”

  Helen nodded and left.

  “You needn’t feel ashamed if you want to be released, Oliver,” I said.

  “Okay,” he said. He shuffled his feet. “I guess I would rather be working with animals.”

  “You want to be released?”

  Oliver’s normally confident demeanor sagged even further.

  I put a hand on his shoulder. “Would you like me to speak to your mother?”

  He looked up. “You would do that?” I was surprised to see his eyes were shining with unshed tears.

  “Of course,” I said.

  He nodded and sniffled. “Yes, please. I know she wouldn’t understand if I tried to tell her.”

  “All right, then. I’ll talk with her. For now, though, I need you to finish the rethreading. When you’re done, I’m going to check it. Work carefully. Okay?”

  “Okay,” he said. He wiped his nose on his shirt and took up the spool that I was holding out to him. “I’ll do my best.”

  “Good. When that’s done, we have a big day ahead. Are you up for a trip away from the village?”

  “Really?” His head snapped up from the loom. “Where to?”

  Helen came back in. “Samson says he is happy with the fabric, Master Fiona.”

  “Good. Help me with something while Oliver rethreads.” I pulled two packs out from under the bed and indicated a basket of provisions at the foot of the bed. Together, we filled the packs. Then, I took the packs outside to the porch, motioning for Helen to follow. Oliver watched us cross the room from the corner of his eye and said nothing.

  Outside, I set the packs beside the front steps. I sat and pointed to the step beside me. Helen obeyed, though her nerves had her pulled taut.

  “You’ve probably heard people talking about the mountain colony, right?” I asked.

  She nodded.

  “Well I need to go there. Today. That isn’t what you’re here for, I know. I’d like for you to come with me. If you want to, that is.”

  She stared at my knees with wide eyes.

  “If you don’t want to go, that’s okay. It isn’t dangerous, but it isn’t necessarily a safe trip, either. Any number of things could befall us on a trip that wouldn’t happen in the village. If you want to say no, then that’s okay.”

  “What about my folks?” she said.

  “I’ll leave that up to you,” I said. “If you want to go and ask permission, you can. You’re my apprentice. They agreed that you’re my ward during the day for the time being.”

  She shook her head. “No. I’ll go. If you want me to.”

  “Okay. Then, once Oliver gets those threads tied off, we’ll go.”

  She paused on the step. “Oliver’s coming?”

  “Yes.”

  I watched as she struggled with her indecision. She didn�
�t say anything more. I pretended not to notice and went back into the house.

  ◆◆◆

  It was half a day’s ride to the mountain on horseback, and we made good time. Neither of my charges complained about the discomfort of sitting astride the animals for such a long period—though my own backside desperately wanted it to be over. I pointed out which mountain we were headed to amongst the other peaks.

  “It isn’t quite as big as I’d imagined,” said Oliver.

  Helen gaped at it. The mountains weren’t visible from the village, and I knew she’d never been far enough to see them.

  After another 20 minutes of riding, we came to the security fence.

  A guard came out to greet us. “What’s your business?” he asked.

  “We’re here to see the president,” I said.

  He raised an eyebrow. “You aren’t from the colony.”

  “No.”

  “Where are you from?”

  I hesitated. The villages didn’t have names to distinguish them. I knew the people in the mountain colony referred to them as “the slave’s village” and “the queen’s village”.

  “The slave’s village,” I said.

  Oliver’s head swiveled at me, but he stopped short of commenting.

  The guard nodded. “And what makes you think the president would see the likes of you?”

  “The president came to see me. At my home. Only two days ago,” I said. “He had a job for me. I’m responding to his queries. He’ll want to see me.”

  “Wait here.” He retreated behind the gate.

  After a few moments, a different guard came out. “I apologize for my colleague. Can I have your name, please?”

  “Fiona. And these are my apprentices, Helen and Oliver.”

  The guard’s eyes widened enough for me to catch it. He knew of my history in the mountain. He nodded and held up his hand. “May I assist you from your horse?”

  I took his hand and allowed him to assist me down. Oliver and Helen dismounted, too.

  “Follow me, please. Bring your horses.” The guard opened the gate and held it while we passed through the fence. He led us to a large outbuilding and opened the door. “Your horses can stay here.” A boy came forward. “Get these horses watered and comfortable,” he said. The boy nodded and accepted the leads from each of us.