Corrupted: Book Three of the State Series

by M. J. Kaestli

  He looked directly at Freya. She looked at him and nodded, trying her best to look touched by his sentiments, which naturally, she was not moved or warmed in the least. How long will he continue to bring up my leave? Anger flared in her. He had sent her away to be a spy, and twenty years later, he still acted as if he had been devastated when she left.

  This was the most difficult part of the day for Freya: afternoon mealtime. It was the most time she had to spend with Victor. She occasionally had to debrief him on her progress in independent living, but as the State had turned a blind eye to them, there wasn’t much to report.

  In the beginning, she reported a lot of questionable activities. It didn’t take long for her to realize they cared very little about trivial laws not being upheld. The only information they wanted was about the rebellion, and of course, that was the only information she didn’t pass on. She continued to report every little thing she saw, knowing they didn’t care, but it was a matter of proving her own compliance. She pretended to have made no discoveries about the rebellion, but continued to report trivial matters and false suspicions. It wasn’t long before her debriefings were spaced out, further and further apart.

  Sitting there at the afternoon meal was difficult. She still had affections for Chastity, but things had changed between them. Freya often wondered whether she herself had changed on her mission, or whether the distance grew when Chastity mistakenly took her into the wrong room, forcing Freya to witness something which would haunt her for the rest of her life. It was impossible to say; they had never spoken about it since.

  Chastity seemed to have pulled back from Freya when she returned—she didn’t mother her anymore. Freya didn’t know whether it was because she had grown distant, or because she wasn’t in crisis anymore. Had Chastity ever really cared for me? Or had she simply done her duty as instructed? Freya often wondered about this, but never vocalized her thoughts or feelings to anyone. She couldn’t afford such a great risk for something as trivial as friendship. If she said the wrong thing, Chastity might report her. It was best to keep her head down—be polite to everyone, but trust and confide in no one.

  It was currently easier for her to be aloof as everyone was a little distant as they were all grieving the death of Amaia. She was there one day, and then she wasn’t. A temporary worker was sent in for a month. Everyone thought it was just a temporary worker, but Freya knew it was a member of the military. There was no way they would take the chance at having someone that close to Victor who had not come through the proper channels. They were all told that Amaia had fallen ill, and a few weeks later, her death was reported. Everyone was taken by surprise, and grief. Freya, however, was taken by suspicion.

  They were in an era of superior medical advancement. They lived in a clean environment—no one should get sick. Freya had looked around and noticed that Victor was the oldest person she had ever seen; he had to be at least in his sixties, if not seventies by now. Even in the military, people were not that old.

  It fueled a distrust in her—were people killed when they had outlived their usefulness? If they couldn’t work as hard, or as quickly, perhaps if they needed regular medications, they were nothing more than a burden to the State—an individual using resources who couldn’t contribute to the State’s requirements. Her parents had both died—'suddenly fallen ill’ was what the State had reported. Who was doing the killing? Who would do that job, knowing that eventually it would be their turn also?

  Perhaps Colin would never learn of her involvement in his parents’ deaths. If she had not turned them in, they would most likely be killed off anyway. Arthritis, repetitive movement injury, general lack of energy or agility. Unless you had a civil duty that was not of a physical nature, people didn’t seem to get very old.

  Psychologists, doctors, scientists: they all seemed to live longer than the laborers. Security officers seem to always be young; it was only James who was older. Perhaps if Colin had stayed on Earth, he would have already ‘suddenly fallen ill’ as well. When one was young, they think that all adults look old. Now that she was one of them, she wondered whether her time was also coming near an end.

  Many people questioned her time spent exercising, but she knew how important it was. If she was going to live long enough to make a difference, she had to stay healthy and fit. Her endurance could not falter; she was, after all, a laborer. There were times when her back had a dull ache after a day’s work, yet she never said a word. During her regular medical checkups, they would inquire if she experienced any pain while working; she always denied any type of discomfort.

  She was grateful for the time she had spent in the gym with Lewis as he had taught her valuable tips about cross-training. At the time, she had just wanted to be stronger. It was no longer for enjoyment, but instead a new means to her survival. She still ran, but never hard—a knee injury was not something she could afford. She may be a spy, and part of the Council, but she didn’t know whether that truly meant anything.

  Amaia had been a loyal worker in the State house since she was sixteen years old; that wasn’t enough to protect her. Freya was quite frankly surprised Chastity was still there. Her duty was more administrative than physical, but she still was worse for wear. Her movements had become slower; her endurance was not what it used to be. Freya often wondered whether she was still armed, or if they had passed her firearm onto someone younger.

  She obviously fulfilled some purpose or usefulness to the State. Freya often wondered whether Victor would be replaced soon. Perhaps they needed a younger type to lead the people into colonization. Of course, everyone would be told he was to retire, but she doubted that would really be the case. What use could he be to the State alive? How could anyone really ever retire from being the head of State? He often made jokes about his retirement; he himself had to know his time was drawing near its end.

  “Earth to Freya,” said Victor. Freya shook her head and looked around. Everyone at the table was staring at her. “Where did you go?”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t sleep well last night,” she replied. Part of her winced at her own remark. It was not wise to tip anyone off to her dreams. Yet it was the only excuse she could think of in a reflexive state. She would have to be more careful; she needed to pay attention to the conversations and play her part.

  “Oh, it was nothing,” Devina said, red-faced. “I just asked why you left the State house temporarily?”

  Devina was young; she had probably just finished off being educated, perhaps she was recently coupled. It was almost like looking in a mirror. Part of her felt sympathy for the girl. Freya had been intimidated by how much younger she was than everyone else when she joined the State house, and she was unusually mature for her age. Perhaps Devina was also; she supposed you would have to be, to come into that kind of a setting. It was not just the general age gap which caused some intimidation; there was more responsibility to work there than anywhere else. Employees were screened so carefully before they could come to work at the Sate house—it was a matter of national security.

  “I left when I was coupled,” Freya replied. “Then I came back when I was widowed.”

  Devina looked uncomfortable, as though she was sorry she had brought it up and didn’t know what to say. “I’m sorry,” she stammered after a moment’s pause. “I’m sorry to ask this, but how did you get a civil duty here if you weren’t coupled?” she pressed on. Everyone at the table became uncomfortable. This girl obviously wasn’t the brightest star in the sky.

  “I was coupled, to my first partner. I was with him for just under a year, and then he was chosen for the colonization project,” she answered. Devina’s face fell at hearing the tragedy of Freya’s past, her cheeks flushed. “Then I was coupled again for less than a year before he passed in an accident at his civil duty. I decided that I didn’t seem to have much luck with coupling.”

  There was an awkward silence at the table—no one really knew where to look. When Freya had arrived back at the State house,
everyone said they were glad to see her, but no one ever spoke of her coupling again; they acted as though it had never happened. Freya took another bite of her food, and everyone else continued to eat for a time in an awkward silence.

  “I’m sorry I asked. That’s just terrible luck,” Devina replied, which just made everyone more uncomfortable.

  “Yes, actually, it is. It seems as if I didn’t have bad luck, I wouldn’t have any luck at all, regarding coupling that is,” Freya replied.

  Devina didn’t seem to pick up on how uncomfortable she was making everyone. It was an unspoken code—or perhaps it had been said, just not known to Freya—that no one talked about her past. There was a morbid, twisted part of her that enjoyed everyone’s discomfort. Why not talk openly about what the State had done to me? Why not show everyone what they’re really capable of? She was a mathematical error, a freak—just like everyone else in independent living. Her existence proved this sense of utopia was nothing more than a fabrication created by the State.

  “When my first partner left, I lived here in the State house. I had a lovely view from my window in here, but never leaving the house gave me a bad case of claustrophobia.” She looked at both Chastity and Victor. “I really don’t know how you guys do it.” Victor shrugged comically, but let her finish speaking without disruption. “I wanted to start a new life with my new partner, and so I left. After he passed, I needed to be with my family.”

  One thing Victor had taught her was how to manipulate and play on people’s emotions. Two can play at that game. If he could lie about his feelings toward the household to suit his own purposes, so could she. She did her best impression of looking around the table affectionately at her reference to them being a family.

  “And so I asked to come back, but to live in independent housing. I will always be grateful to Victor for taking me back. I feel so lucky when I think about it.” She had become quite proficient at it. If I were to really be a spy for the State, I would be unstoppable, she surmised.

  “Nonsense. We were the lucky ones. You were greatly missed, Freya, and such an important part of our family. If I thought I could have stopped you from leaving in the first place, I would have.” Victor gave her that same look of affection.

  “What do you mean? Of course, you could have stopped her—you are the head of State,” Devina blurted out.

  It was confirmed: Devina was not all that bright. Victor simply smiled at her response and looked at Freya with a mischievous look.

  “I am sure the more you get to know Freya, the more you will understand how wrong you are, Devina.” He gave a little laugh. “There is no amount of power in the world that could stop Freya when she has her mind made up about something.”

  “What exactly are you saying, Victor?” Freya said in a pretend stern voice. It was important to keep up the banter. If she didn’t play along, no one would believe her affections toward him. If she didn’t convince everyone of her loyalties, they might start to suspect the real reason she returned to work at the State house.

  “Don’t mess with her,” he said softly while looking at Devina. “She can get real feisty when she’s in a mood.”

  “Uh, can you speak up and share that with the rest of us?” she said, still playing into the banter.

  “I said Freya is a lovely girl and you will greatly enjoy working with her.” He winked at Devina. She replied with a giggle, still looking unsure of how to respond.

  A sense of déjà vu came over Freya, as she was reminded of her first day at the State house. She was so nervous and afraid of Victor, and everyone else for that matter. Amaia made inappropriate comments, and Victor poked fun at her. The realization hit her then, and she was almost angry she never saw it before. It was easy enough to miss: new staff at the State house didn’t happen often. Victor would always come to the first meal with new staff, and he used poking fun at other workers to give the illusion of family.

  Victor was at meals just over half of the time, but he was there regularly when she had first started. She imagined he would miraculously manage to make it every day for a while and continue to make jokes. It was never really Victor who made conversations light; it was Amaia. Now that she was gone, he had to work harder to be a tease. Joking and teasing was the last thing a new employee expected from him, and so it was the easiest way to win them over. She wondered how long it would take before Devina would be invited onto the Council. What fake duty would she be given to convince her of her importance?

  Freya had become an expert at the act she put on while interacting with members of the household, but it exhausted her. It was one of the main reasons she could not accept another partner. Lewis was kind to her, and she did enjoy his company, but after witnessing him torture and kill Ursa she couldn’t stay with him. It was a good decision, too; she knew that now. As much as she was concerned at the time, she would never be able to keep up the pretense both during duty and at home.

  She only had to hold this character she played during afternoon meals. There was no one else in the gardens for her to interact with. Victor infrequently called her in to report on her mission, but she still felt the deceit draining her. She had never hated anyone before. There were people in her life that she was less fond of than others, but her feelings toward Victor were quite unique.

  If she was not careful, her face would change simply when he walked into the room. It was something she caught herself doing when she first returned. Her sub-conscious mind could betray her simply through her facial expressions—exposing her deep feelings of hatred toward him. Her face would fall, the corners of her mouth turn down, and her eyes squinted—people kept asking if she was okay. She would normally brush it off—say she wasn’t feeling her best.

  Luckily, everyone walked on eggshells around her. No one wanted to be the person to upset her. They all expected her to fall to pieces at any moment when she first returned. It wasn’t an unfair assumption; she had fallen to pieces when Colin left.

  Everyone finished their meal, and as per usual, Victor was the first to leave the table. Freya got up a little more quickly than everyone else did. She couldn’t wait to wipe the fake smile off her face and be alone.

  The feeling of déjà vu had left her a little sad. It wasn’t that she missed Colin anymore—it had been over twenty years since he left. There was no sense of familiarity, no sense of loss; it had been too long. Her guilty pleasure was to think about what it would be like if he had never left. She knew better; these thoughts were not helpful, but for some reason she liked to torture herself. She would imagine what he would look like, what he would be like, how their relationship would have grown or changed.

  There was a part of her that accepted the possibility that they could be unhappy. Perhaps it was a great love affair that worked because they were young, and it was short-lived. If he were still here, would there still be passion? Or would he be more like a friend to me? What if we grew to resent each other? She did not dwell on these thoughts—of course not. Her thoughts most frequently saw them as happy, in love. That they would be just as passionate as they were in the time before he left. Their bond would be deeper; they could be closer. But it wasn’t so, because he was gone.

  The man who was on the colony ship was not the same man who lived in her mind. She had altered part of her memory of him—that was what time did to memories.

  Chapter 3

  Freya sat at a table in the common room. It wasn’t just any table; it was the most central table in the room, the table where Security was the least likely to overhear a conversation. She sat alone, working on a puzzle. Even with all the time that had passed, she wasn’t good at making friends. It just wasn’t who she was. When she first moved there, people were interested in her. Every time she came down to the common room, someone walked right over to her table and sat down. It was mostly women, but there was the occasional male also. It usually followed the same pattern—they would talk for a while, an offer for her to accompany them to their apartment would be ma
de, and Freya would refuse.

  She was in the common room for one reason only, and it wasn’t to make friends or to find sexual partners; she was waiting for contact from the rebellion. It didn’t take long before the word had spread that she wasn’t open for companionship. People rarely approached her anymore. Either they only wanted that one thing from her, or she wasn’t a very good conversationalist. Either way, she was left alone more often than not. Months went by, yet she still returned every evening for her meal, and stayed long enough to finish a puzzle.

  Within the first four months of relocating, someone did make contact with her. When they did, she almost sent them off. It was a female named Lita who had already extended an invitation to her. Lita was a bit older than Freya, but looked far older than she was. Everything about her seemed square—her shoulders, jaw, and hands—they all held a masculine quality which was accentuated by her slightly deeper than average voice.

  The woman kept making small talk with her, but keeping her voice low. Freya truly thought this woman was trying to wear her down, until finally she identified herself. She explained that everything was staged: she was trying to appear to be hitting on Freya, and it would help if she played along a little more, or at least acted interested in their conversation. The experience had left her rather shaken, feeling completely inadequate. Of course this woman hit on her, and then continued to come over and talk about trivial things. She wanted everyone in the room who might be watching to lose interest in them, including Security, before she identified herself.