She had made a plan as to how often they would meet and talk. She pointed out that it may look suspicious that they sat together every night. She would join her in the common room, but make it look sporadic. It was just another opportunity for her to think she could never be a spy, let alone a double agent. Every time she was feeling down on herself, she had to remind herself why she was doing it.
Ursa couldn’t die in vain; it had to mean something. She may have bet on the wrong person, but Freya had to try to become the person she needed her to be. The first few years she was always on edge. Naturally, everyone at the house just thought it was grief, but she couldn’t let Victor see it. He would know she wasn’t really grieving, and if she was, he would know it was over Ursa, not Lewis.
They continued to meet a few times a month. There wasn’t news often, but Lita said it was important to keep up the pretense that they were friends, or at least friendly. It was difficult for Freya to keep up on the small talk end of things, but Lita always insisted that they be making conversation, and the occasional laugh wouldn’t hurt any either.
The show was more for the cameras than for anyone else in the room. There wasn’t much loyalty toward the State in independent living. It had become clear to Freya over the years why the State coupled people, and why they were coupled so young. It was best to be paired when they were young and impressionable, before they developed a sense of individuality or rational thought. It would be much more difficult to go against the grain when they had more than just themselves to think about.
If someone was not part of the rebellion, but in independent living, it was almost a guarantee no one would get reported for anything they said or did. People were not outwardly defiant; there was always the risk of spies. Anyone from the military could blend in quite well there, and everyone knew it, but no one who truly dwelt in those quarters held any loyalty to the State.
The State knew what always favoring the middle table meant, and so when Lita wanted to meet for social reasons, or appearances of social reasons, she would get there first and pick a different table. Lita had explained to her one day, quietly at a center table, that she was not there just to pass information to Freya. She had been chosen to be her guide. Lita had taught her to see patterns, what to look for around her, what type of activity was suspicious and such. Freya eventually accepted that she would never excel at it, but she was capable of playing her part with help. She was not part of the strategizing; her role was much closer to that of a puppet.
The concept did bother her, but not the way one would think it would. She didn’t feel used or taken advantage of by the rebellion. The reason it bothered her was she felt it was her only option in life: be a puppet for the rebellion or for the State. The difference with the rebellion was she felt as though she was acting for the common good, which had a bitter taste of irony.
Acting for the common good was what the State was meant to create; it was their blueprint for civilization. Yet in reality, it was about power they were trying to hold onto instead of the common good. The reason why she was a puppet for the rebellion was she simply wasn’t a good strategist. She was too caught up in her own head to be observant of the world around her.
“You’re distracted today.” Lita didn’t look up at Freya, just made mention of her observation and continued to work on the puzzle.
“Sorry, I know. What did you say?”
“I simply asked how duty was today,” Lita replied, still not looking up at her.
“Uh, fine, I guess,” said Freya.
“Anything interesting happen today?”
“Like watching plants grow?” Freya replied dryly.
Lita’s disengaged manners were starting to get on Freya’s nerves. It was as though she was not interested in what Freya had to say, but kept trying to get her to talk. Lita had looked up from the puzzle; her expression was neutral, but her eyes pierced right through Freya. This was another one of those moments where Lita expected her to put some puzzle piece together, to figure something out that she had missed. Freya was in no mood for it, she wished Lita would just come out with it already. They were at the center table, and no one was sitting too close. What difference would it make?
“Was that the most interesting thing?” Lita’s voice was even, but her eyes said it all. Freya was aggravating her.
“Yep,” Freya replied.
“Have they found a replacement for Amaia yet?” Lita lowered her gaze.
Freya’s body almost jolted at the realization of what Lita was really after. She wanted information about the State house. For a moment, she couldn’t even blame her for being irritated; she had left out a rather large detail. Then again, how would Lita know that? The realization then hit her. Lita already knew about Devina, so why is she asking me?
“Yes, she started today,” said Freya.
“And you thought watching plants grow is more interesting than that?” It wasn’t really a question, more an accusatory statement phrased as a question.
Freya didn’t feel the need to reply to the jab.
“What did you think of her?” Lita asked.
What did I think of her? What kind of question was that? Who cares?
“She’s okay, I guess.” Freya shrugged. Lita gave her a death glare again. “She is young. I didn’t talk much to her.”
“I don’t know her myself, but I am acquainted with her mother through my civil duty. I told her you would make her feel welcome.” Lita lowered her gaze, looking back at the puzzle.
Freya was completely irritated. I am not a welcoming committee! Why are we even having this conversation? As soon as she thought the question, the answer struck her. She had been walking around all day in a mental fog, and it suddenly lifted. Devina was a part of the rebellion, and Lita was handing her over as a contact.
Her face flushed, and part of her even felt a little sorry for Lita. Freya had been her assignment for almost twenty years, and she had never gotten any better at this.
“Well then, I will be sure to make her feel welcome,” Freya said. “You can assure her mother that everyone there is very accommodating. She has no need for concern, but I will also do my part.”
Lita had perfect control over her facial expressions; she always did. Except then, at that moment, Lita gave what was very close to an eye roll. She imagined that guiding her was much like babysitting a child.
“I will be sure to tell her; she will be so pleased,” Lita said with insincerity creeping into her tone displaying her irritation.
There was nothing that could be done to change the situation. She never wanted the rebellion to put all their eggs in her basket. She didn’t seek out that kind of a life. If Ursa had not been killed, she would have never pursued the task. It was her devotion to Ursa that kept her on her path.
She had to succeed, or die trying, and there was no other option she could live with. Of course she wanted to see the State fall, and she wanted change; she just didn’t want to be the person who had to take action. Her strengths laid in agriculture, nothing more. It was not only her strengths; it made her happy. Other people should be fighting this war, and I should be in a greenhouse.
Lita continued to make idle conversation once her temper calmed, yet Freya began to become more irritated. Most of what was spoken between them was idle words strictly for the benefit of the cameras. They needed to keep up appearances—just two friends enjoying each other’s company in the common room. In truth, there was no affection between them; there never had been, and there never would be.
Two people who saw each other regularly, especially for twenty years, should have a deep, genuine bond, yet they didn’t. They had a lot in common, they were of a similar age, but it simply was not possible as that part of Freya was broken. She could not feel anything for anyone anymore. Perhaps she could, but she just didn’t want to. It didn’t matter anyway, whichever it may be.
Freya couldn’t last much longer. Being in the common room, pretending to be friends with Lita, was reall
y getting under her skin. It was normally fine; she was always able to play her part. Perhaps it was her nightmares, or maybe she was just sick of her life.
She was not properly cast in her role in life. There was an unease, a type of dissatisfaction that came from it. It was not always something identifiable, just a general lack of vigor or motivation. Being set up to fail and knowing it didn’t help her situation either. Every time she failed, it still hurt just as much. There was an inherent desire in her soul, a desire to succeed. Even though she knew she was not working to her strengths, a small piece of her died every day until there was nothing left. Freya felt depleted from the depth of her soul. Her fire had been snuffed out, and it was unlikely to ever be reignited.
She told Lita she was tired and wanted to go to bed early. Weariness was not the reason she wanted to leave, but it was a good enough reason to give. They had both been there long enough to keep up the appearance of their meeting being a social visit. Lita had already passed on the information that she had intended to give her.
Lita left the puzzle for Freya to clean up, and after she was finished she went straight back to her apartment. A restless feeling had taken over her—she continued to move about the apartment, trying to find something to escape into.
Without being conscious of the decision, she pulled the blind up from the window. Looking out over the dome was stunning, not as stunning as the gardens, but it held its own kind of wonder. While she looked out the window, she knew exactly what was causing the restless feeling. The need to escape was how she always felt when it was blatantly obvious that she should not be a spy, and if she wasn’t a spy, then she wasn’t anything at all. If I don’t succeed at this mission, I may as well have never been born.
All she wanted to do was imagine her life with Colin on the colony world, or in their old apartment if he had not left. There were times when she felt this way, that she wondered whether she even truly remembered Colin or whether he was just a symbol. He could have become a token in her mind, the thoughts she drifted off to whenever she wanted out of her current situation.
It was so easy to imagine how life would have taken a totally different turn if they were still together. It was an addiction. Dreaming of a different life with Colin was her escape from reality, even if it was only temporary, and she always knew it wasn’t real. This life she had on paper, ironically, was what she had wanted when she was young. She worked with plants and lived independently—yet this life didn’t fit who she had become.
The bitter taste of irony stung. How can I be so unhappy living the only life I had ever wanted for myself? She didn’t really have to ask the question; she already knew the answer—she didn’t choose it. She had hoped for this life, but was given another. Once the alternative life was not convenient for the State any longer, she was forced down a different path.
It was this feeling of discontent that drove her. Life could be lived differently. It was too late for her to ever be happy, she knew that much, but it wasn’t too late for so many others. There always had to be people who got their hands bloody fighting a war so that the next generation might be free.
Freya thought back to her parents; she wished she had known them better. Would they be proud of me and what I have done? Or would they have reported me if they knew what I was up to? There was a time where she wondered why she was never close to her own parents. Colin and Ursa had been very close, and then the answer came to her. Her parents were more loyal to the State than they were to her or each other. This was what the State was trying to build.
Families were a function for reproduction, nothing more. The fact that children were taken away from their parents so young almost proved it. The State wanted everyone’s devotion, and wanted it to come before anyone, regardless of relation. The reason why Colin and Ursa were so close was simply because their loyalty was to each other.
There was no purpose in wishing she had known her parents better. She didn’t know them for good reason. There was always a chance that her parents, or at least one of them, were not happy with the status quo. Even if that was the case, they never would have risked telling her or each other. How could you learn to trust anyone?
There were times that she imagined her parents talking in the privacy of their bedroom, plotting a better life, wanting to be free. Maybe they saw what the State saw in her, and they were afraid she would report them if she knew about their treason. Deep down, she knew it couldn’t be true. This was just another escapism, another daydream she fell into when she felt too weak to make it through the day, or the night, or even the hour.
She went into the bathroom to prepare herself for bed. Once again, she found herself staring in the mirror. Would Colin look as old as I do if he had stayed? Would he still find me attractive? It was not just the lines that had started to form around her eyes and lips, or the gray streaks of hair around her face. She looked dead inside. There used to be a twinkle in her eyes, a radiance in her skin, but now, her appearance reflected the bitterness and hatred she clung so fiercely to. Her passion and vigor for life had burned out, and it was plain to see for anyone who could stand looking at her long enough to see the pain reflected.
Once finished in the bathroom, she slipped into her sleeping wear and took her medication out of the cupboard, a sleeping pill. Freya was aware of the risks of taking such medication. It could lead to further questioning—why did she need them? It was a perfect society—how could she possibly not be happy? Not even just a slight displeasure, but so extreme that there was a need for medication long-term. And sleeping pills? What could possibly be haunting her that she would not be able to rest? Was it a guilty conscience? Stress? What could she have in her life to cause stress? Everything was provided for her; she was treated well at her duty.
There was one more risk. If the demand for medication became too high, would it not make more sense to just remove her? She wasn’t even sick yet. Her joints were still limber enough, her body functioned as it should, but what about in a few more years? She wished she knew what the calculation was for whether someone lived or died. It had to be based on work productivity versus medication taken. If the medication was high and productivity was low, it would most definitely be the end.
She had to work hard on the State grounds, never once asking for pain medication or complaining about an aching body. Part of her knew if she went in for one more medication, it would put her on the list of people to consider for the States version of retirement—which was death. She hoped she had guessed correctly, that just the one medication—even though she kept taking it long term, in combination with her hard labor would keep her safe.
She often wondered how many medications Victor took. As much as she despised him, she was more concerned that the State would want to replace him. If they did, what would happen to her and Chastity? She worried more about Chastity than herself. Even though Freya was a laborer and Chastity was not, Chastity was still older. If Victor was gone, would they just replace his entire staff? A nice clean start—that would make the most sense.
She changed the sofa into a bed and climbed under the covers. The sleeping pill was starting to take effect, an artificial drowsiness was taking over. This was her favorite time of the day. It was a time where her mind was forced into silence. The only time when her mind was almost as numb as her emotions. It was the only time she felt free.
Chapter 4
Freya walked down the familiar hallway, and as per usual, she placed her hand on the scanner; an action she had done for so many years her mind almost couldn’t accept the possibility when the door didn’t open for her. She simply stood with her hand on the scanner and stared blankly at the door. It took some time before she even realized the scanner was not lighting up. Was it possible for these things to break down? An elite few had access to the State house. How could they not notice if this stopped working? She backed up a little and looked for one of those buttons to access Security. She had to back out a few doors until she could even find one.
After activating the system, she waited for Security to speak over the intercom, but there was nothing. She pushed the button again—still silence. This path had functioned for the twenty years she had walked it, and a sickening feeling came over her. She had been locked out. Her mind started to pour over her last few meetings with Lita. Had we been overheard? Did we say anything so boldly that if it was overheard, it could be incriminating? She didn’t know what to do, and so she started to walk back to her apartment.
The only thing keeping her calm was her repeating the logic over and over again: if I was intentionally locked out, there would be someone waiting to arrest me. It made the most sense to walk home and to send a message to Victor explaining her absence. The long walk made it impractical, but with Security not responding to her, she couldn’t think of any other option. Her walking pace was much brisker than her usual commute. Her mind couldn’t process what was happening, but she knew something was very wrong. It was a feeling deep in her core, but one that couldn’t be explained. Something had to have happened to keep her on the other side of the door.
Corrupted: Book Three of the State Series Page 3