by Gin Hollan
Arabeth was dumbstruck as her father introduced the room. Decision-makers from the highest levels of government each looked her over. A chill ran down her spine and she felt suddenly nervous. Sam put his hand on the small of her back, calming her.
"Tell them about your day," he said softly.
Focus on the facts, she told herself, and describe without emotion. She told them about the building, machines, and the truck she'd found. Just when she was starting to think she'd talked too long, the questions started. Probing, not critical. The men somehow drew out observations she hadn't realized were in her head.
The level of respect and attention she received was unnerving. Eldon watched her, looking amused.
"Gentlemen, let's take a short break to consider what we've just learnt," Eldon said.
As the room dispersed, he walked over and offered Arabeth a seat.
"I can see you're confused," he said. "Please speak your mind, fully."
"Why are they listening so intently? They believe me?"
He waited a full minute before responding, clearly needing to consider something before talking.
"I suppose you're in a position to learn this," he said. "The societal position of women has been engineered, orchestrated even."
"That is not a surprise."
"What may be a surprise is that about two centuries ago it was decided that women make the best spies. They're observant, clever, and would be easier to accept in … serving roles. That made them easy to insert in places where sensitive information could be accessed. It played directly on the ego of men in high positions. Propaganda campaigns were implemented to create a ripple through society that women weren't up to the rigours of hard work or critical thinking. They were soft, and to be coddled.
“With that start, there would be a large number of people that would go along with it, and it slowly became the accepted norm. Of course, it had some unintended side effects, like subjugation and violence, but those were and are rare. Now, women are our key information sources, being placed in secret installations and government offices as secretaries and cleaners, roles that would otherwise be dangerous."
"Spies? You created a gender gap that both feeds into the ego of both genders and enables a wide-spread spy network?"
"Not me, specifically, but yes. The concept of women as the weaker sex is a device, and it's worked quite well. You will find your words accepted and trusted more the higher up in rank a man or woman is."
Sam eased into a subtle smile again, drawing her attention. He probably meant it to be comforting, but this oddly alluring smile rattled her. He shouldn't do that if he wanted her thinking to stay clear.
"That's clever, but also sad that it puts women in a subjugated role among lower society," Sam said.
"Yes, but a status shift is coming soon. This information is becoming known and the effectiveness of our network is diminishing. Devices, like the ones you're working on, are proving to be more time- and cost-effective. It's time we shifted perception and returned women to their place as equals."
"You can do that?"
"It'll take time, but attitude has a way of trickling down through society."
"You want me back in the lab, after everything I told you?" She had a lot to think about.
"You've performed well-above standard, as always. You would be well served by returning to the lab. We all would."
She stopped, momentarily stunned. "You want me to go home."
"Leave this to us," Sam said.
Looking down, disappointment spread, followed rapidly by anger.
"You can't expect me to sit on the side and just watch."
"That is your role now, as indeed it always was," Eldon said.
"Isn't that a waste of my skills, all things considered?"
Sam put a hand on her arm.
"You undervalue your inventions, and your other contributions, Abby."
She pulled her arm free. This couldn't be right.
"Are you just being protective? Because I can do more. I want to do more. Let me help."
He shook his head. "You've done enough, quite unbidden, I might add. Risking your neck like that could hamper our efforts to beat this thing. Go home and build us something we can use to eavesdrop with."
"I’m going to free Graham then he can help you."
"If he in working with Vic Dane, he’s not the one we need."
She sighed. “He is the leading expert. That means he knows things I haven’t figured out yet. You need him if this is your goal.”
"Fine, we’ll use him, but take him to Vic Dane. Someone will go for him when it’s time. Don’t tell him what you know. Not yet."
"Graham Halister is a genius and it's not primping his ego to say that. He will have figured this all out on his own."
Eldon reached out and put a hand on her shoulder. "I dare say you're pretty bright yourself, my dear. I have no specific task for you, so follow your instincts. Be clever but be careful. The people coming against us are worth fighting, worth defeating. They want to rule through fear, and they have no intention to stop. We have to stop them here."
Arabeth shivered at the thought and nodded. Her father was not prone to exaggeration. Knowing what was at stake helped focus her. She could do that, and it made more sense than telling her to go home and knit. Her father knew she wouldn't do that, but prototype development on the sly ... that she enjoyed.
A few of the guests returned and one of them suggested they would need more food if they were to stay up discussing this new information. Arabeth bowed her head slightly to acknowledge the request, then left for the kitchen to pass the message along.
"Sam, wait a moment. We haven't heard your report yet. Arabeth, see who's awake in the stable and have them drive you home," Eldon said.
Arabeth was a little disappointed to be left out of the rest of the meeting, but this new perspective gave her a lot to do. She had a spring in her step again, even as tired as she was. Maybe she was delirious, but the fact that Hicks was working for her dad made his subterfuge acceptable. And the fact that he kept that secret made him trustworthy. Again. Probably.
Maralise met her at the door, taking a firm grip on its edge to hold it open.
"Don't get involved, Bethy. Mom and Dad were right to exclude you. Don't think I'm saying this to protect you, either. This is delicate people-work and you're not suited to it," Maralise said softly.
Arabeth stared at her a moment, wondering if Maralise was ever going to stop trying to outrank her.
"You can have your secret moves and counter-moves, but you have no idea what I'm capable of, little sister. I suggest you get back to the kitchen before your guests feel neglected."
Maralise slammed the door behind Arabeth, causing a little smile to lift the corners of her mouth as she walked away.
// Chapter 24 //
Arabeth immediately locked herself into her workshop. This task would require no small amount of concentration, and the wrong disturbance at the right time could lose her innumerable hours work.
She put extra food and water out for Marble, grateful the fox knew how to pace her eating. Her own sustenance sat in a large bowl on a side table—dried fruit and meats, beside a pitcher of water.
Pulling out every book her grandfather had ever written, as well as her own notes, she leafed through looking for information on the behaviour of radio waves. Maybe she'd have to trust Graham. He may even admit he owed her his life. Would that keep him honest?
She opened a copy of the most recent scientific journal on this topic, pacing to keep her blood flowing while she read. Curiously, someone had written an article proposing that radio waves be used as a method of distance checking, and that the technology already existed, with a few minor limitations. After an hour of concentrated searching, Arabeth stopped pacing and put the journal down.
"Marble, they need this soon. I'm going to have to break the project into parts and hire specialists without giving them the big picture," she said, flopping down on
to the only cushioned chair in the room. She wasn't sure. Maybe she was just tired, but there were other things pulling at her right now. "Would hiring out be all right?"
Marble looked at her but didn't respond. Normally she'd cock her head, or look away. Something. Marble's response was usually a reflection of her own instincts, but she was better at reading Arabeth than Arabeth herself. A lack of reaction meant Arabeth hadn't thought deeply enough, or she wasn't convinced one way or the other yet. That raised a question: what was she so conflicted over? Did she not trust Graham now? How could she give him the level of trust she needed to?
She closed her eyes, wishing the answer would miraculously appear when she reopened them. She felt exhausted already. Besides, this was the wrong way to do it. You work for luck. You pray for miracles. She didn't see it being an actual miracle just yet. She just needed a short break. A moment to clear her mind.
When she opened her eyes next, Marble had curled up in her corner bed. She'd fallen asleep, and felt good again. Rested. It was time to design a new toy. She stood and went to the desk. Sitting, she started sketching the bits and parts she thought the device would need in order to do the job.
Clear-minded now, she realized the device was already half-done. The other half was in her grandfather's seventh journal, needing only a hopefully minor modification. How she wished she'd inherited his genius, his ability to extrapolate product development and invention into the distant future with a reasonable rate of accuracy.
Flipping open the journal, she quickly found the page, but as she did a scrap of paper fluttered oddly. Going back a few pages she saw a loose paper tucked in. She'd been through these journals a hundred times. How had she missed this?
At the top of the faded sheet were the words, "For Arabeth." Looking below, there was a series of small diagrams, mostly a combination of clockwork, but even at the end she couldn't tell what it should do. Maybe it was related to the pages it was between. She'd heard of people being given a life quest by a grandparent or parent, and spending the rest of their life figuring it out. In fact, that was how she viewed her grandfather's secret room.
No time, she reminded herself. Tucking the paper back in, she moved to the page she wanted. This project was one small part of a much bigger picture. As soon as it was done, she might get a bigger task. Something more significant. Something to prove she could hold her own with the big players.
She walked over to her turntable and loaded a record tube. Music would help block out the side thoughts that would try to derail her. Sitting back at her desk, she picked up her pencil and a stack of paper. The hardest part would be figuring out the audio component, but that was where specialists came in. She'd sketch one in and not worry about how it actually looked.
Forty minutes and ten crumpled sheets later she looked up again, needing to stretch her legs. And she hadn't eaten lately. Something simple, since anything else would take too long. She pushed the button that unlocked the door to her workshop, letting herself out.
As the door swung wide, her attention was drawn to the kitchen table. A large basket of fruit and cheeses sat on the edge closest to her workshop. Who had dropped this off? Arabeth walked over and looked for a note explaining. She picked out a few of each and put them in a different bowl before moving it to the workshop.
Closing the workshop behind her, she did a quick walk-through to see if she had any unannounced guests. The house was empty. It was time to build.
A sudden banging on her door pulled Arabeth back as she was about to open the workshop again. Walking over, she pulled the edge of the door's curtain open and peeked out. Bernie stood outside, leaning heavily on the door frame. His face was torn up and blood randomly dripped from his nose. He wiped it on a sleeve. Opening the door, she pulled him in and locked it again.
"Bernie, what the heck? Why are you battered?" she asked.
He coughed, wrapping one arm around his midsection as he pulled his boots off.
"I found out who killed Constable Dawson, the hard way."
"That's fantastic, but you need a hospital."
"You figure it's safe? I'm sure I've hospitalized one of them." His complexion was lightening, just standing talking to her. How had he summoned the will to get here? “It was cops, Arabeth. Two constables; new ones. I won’t be safe anywhere.”
"Yes, absolutely. I will guard you myself." The project would have to wait, she thought, as she put her boots on and laced them up halfway. "You didn't catch a name, did you?"
He shook his head and pulled his boots back on.
"Rest there.” She pointed to a chesterfield in one of the sitting rooms. "Don't fall asleep. You don't want to choke on your own blood."
"I have no intention of dying. Not until those two face charges." He put both hands up against his ears. "I can't stop the ringing. It's so annoying." He stumbled his way to the sitting room as Arabeth went outside.
"Fools rush in," she muttered. Her first aid kit was always up to date. She hadn’t tried the carbolic acid mix yet, and hoped it lived up to it’s wound cleansing reputation when mixed into a small basin of water.
When Arabeth went back inside, he was unconscious on the floor a few feet from where he was when she’d left. Rushing to kneel at his side, she let her hand hover over his open mouth. There was breath, but it was slow, weak. A knot of panic threatened to engulf her. She needed help. Running back outside, she waved to catch the eye of a cabbie she spotted as he ate a sandwich taking an apparent break.
"Excuse me, sir, I don't mean to interrupt your lunch but a friend of mine is hurt. I need to get him to a hospital."
"Just finished." The tall blond man wiped his hands on his sleeves and jumped down.
“Where is he?”
“Inside. Can you help me carry him out?”
He nodded and followed her in.
They arrived at the hospital not long after and carried him in. Leaving him in the nurse's care and paying the driver double his usual fare, Arabeth asked if he could wait to give her a ride to the precinct afterwards.
That constables in the employ of any detachment would do this to someone had her blood boiling. If they couldn’t properly explain how this happened, she’d get the politicians involved. That made Harbertrope more nervous than an enquiry board.
If the police still refused to admit a mind-altering device was being used in the city, she'd catch the builders herself. If it wasn't detectives under the influence of the device, why target Bernie? He was one of their informants, too.
The listening device couldn't wait but somehow she had to ensure Bernie’s recovery was under way, and get the officers under arrest or at least confined until their mental state could be addressed. She could hire specialists to help with the device, but that meant hiring Graham Halister for at least a small part of it. Well, she'd coerce him if she had to. He owed her now, if only as a moral obligation for keeping his secret about the Maddening Device.
Bernie was sedated and resting under the care of a nurse she knew as Peggy Wentworth, a former elementary school classmate of hers. She was professional, sharing Arabeth's desire to be respected in her work. The prognosis she was given was grave, cautious and measured, but hopeful. Satisfied that Bernie had the best possible care, she left. This wouldn't take long, and she'd be back before he knew different.
When she stepped outside, the same curly-haired blond cab driver waited. Pleasantly surprised, Arabeth walked over.
He tipped his hat. "Where to now, ma'am? We still headed to the detachment? I presume we have someone that needs locking up."
Smiling but grave, she nodded. "Indeed." She could feel her teeth grind as she spoke and forced her jaw to relax. "However, our first stop is to see Graham Halister."
"He's not at his house, ma'am, but I'll take you to him."
"Not home?" Who was this cab driver and how did he know Graham’s whereabouts? "Where is he? And do you know who did that to Bernie?"
"A suspicion, miss. Nothing more."
; "Tell me, and I will find the truth of it," she demanded.
"There are a pair of upstarts in the detachment, pushing their weight around and trying to stop the informants network."
She felt her blood start to boil just thinking about it. Policemen did that? Were they the ones that killed Dawson, then? How could they turn on one of their own? They would pay, she vowed. There was no good excuse for bad behaviour, and this was the worst sort.
"Mr. Halister first," the cab driver said. He practically launched himself up onto the driving seat, barely waiting until she shut the door before he started going.
She'd have to get his name. He drove like a man with divine purpose. Focused, fast, and only a little crazy.
// Chapter 25 //
Three experts needed to be hired, including Graham. He, more than any of them, understood what was going on, what he was helping fight. He would do the miniature transmitter, with the biggest challenge being its size.
"It can't be bigger than a nickel, smaller if you can," she said, redrawing how she imagined it on a scrap of newsprint.
"That's going to be difficult given the time constraints," Graham replied.
"I have every faith in you, Graham. If anyone can do this, it's you. I'll be back tomorrow to see. Will you be here, still?" She looked around at the strange accommodations he'd chosen, not trusting his safety at home. A remote barn, actively used for its intended purpose, he'd cleared out the equipment room and restocked it to continue his work.
"If I don't burn the place down, it should be ready in two days."
"I need five of them, if you can." It seemed that everyone saw this war coming except her. That was irritating.
He nodded, his usual upbeat attitude dampened by circumstance. Just today, he seemed a little less crazy—a little less himself.
"We'll end this war threat. They may try to start in our city, but their calculations are off if they think we're easy targets, easy pawns," she said.