Tree of Life

by Sarah Joy Green-Hart

  Jes preferred the more luxurious option of getting laid, which usually guaranteed a night in a house or apartment. With chocolate fondue eyes and a friendly smile, he didn’t have much trouble seducing a partner. Some old acquaintances used to tease that he got partners with a touch and a glance.

  Nah. It wasn’t that easy. But close.

  The evening wasted away to midnight and he hadn’t hooked anybody yet. Too lost in his own head, and not thinking on his toes. He searched the area for candidates and settled on a pretty brunette girl who made eye contact with him.

  There. She did it again.

  Yep. Going in for the kill. Time to dip that peach in fondue and heat her up.

  A few steps into his strut, a short, graying stranger intercepted him. He hadn’t even seen this guy walk in.

  "Hey, what’re you doing here?” the man asked, smiling.

  Jes sized him up. Small. Strong. Kind of boyishly cute. Not out of the question for a romp in return for a place to stay. The curves and softness of that brunette were more interesting tonight, though. He’d have to think about this one. "Working,” he replied.

  "Ah, I see. Where do you come from?”

  "I don’t see why it matters to you.” Jes folded his arms and looked over the little man’s head. The girl was losing interest. She was gonna get away.

  The man’s smile never faded. "Oh, I’d say it matters a great deal.”

  "Get outta my face.”

  "Your arm is interesting. I wouldn’t wear short-sleeved shirts if I were you. Those tats might get on some people’s nerves in a hoity-toity religious town like this.”

  Who did this guy think he was? "You got brass! Does it offend you, babe?” Jes asked.

  The man’s eyes ripped a hole in Jes and peered right in there.

  Jes sneered. "Nah, forget it. Just get away from me.”

  The man took a step closer—too close for Jes.

  "I said get out of my face, moron, or I’ll kick your creepy little carcass out the door so fast you’ll have to come back in for your skin.”

  The man sucker punched him. Jes stumbled back into the wall.

  Stinkin’ short people.

  Regaining his footing and his senses, Jes grabbed a fistful of collar and pulled his left arm back to aim for a nose-breaker. His tattoo glowed, hot coals in the smoky darkness. Conscious of his visible rage and the searing pain, Jes withdrew his fist and scanned the area for witnesses. Sometimes he could get angry without lighting up, but this really set him off.

  The strange little man’s speed and strength intercepted Jes’ retreat. Quite simply, he grabbed Jes in his distracted moment and flipped him over. Folks scattered as the little man dragged Jes outdoors where they took to a wrestling match on the pavement.

  "You always glow when you’re mad?” the man grunted. "Tell me, how does it feel?” He tangled his arm with Jes’ in a way Jes didn’t understand. He couldn’t break free without causing himself pain, so he submitted. He’d lost a fair fight without one good swing. Maybe this guy would be more interesting than the brunette after all.

  Jes gritted his teeth. "It burns.”

  "Where?”

  "Where do you think, midget?”

  The man managed a strained laugh, concentrating all his efforts on pinning Jes to the sidewalk. "Its word is a fire in the marrow of your bones. It’s up to you to accept that and not let anger control it. It’s going to find what it needs and will completely destroy you, but you won’t regret it.” The man let go of Jes and ran. He had already rounded the corner and gotten out of sight before Jes steadied himself on his feet.

  The champion had been defeated.

  The bartender flew down the stairs to the sidewalk. "Jes, what happened? I called the LEWs.”

  "I dunno, man. I dunno.” He rubbed his arm and shoulder, wincing. “But why’d you go and call the LEWs?”

  He’d have to hide somewhere until they left.

  * * *

  Jes spent a sleepless night in the alley beside the bar, thinking about his thumping and the weird little guy’s words. A fire in the marrow of his bones. He sure could use that tonight. It’s gonna destroy me, but I won’t regret it. He puffed a laugh and pulled a few garbage bags over himself for warmth, closing his eyes to stay awake.

  Twenty-Seven | Post-Conquest: 232

  Tired soldiers loaded luggage into the cargo hold as Hesper and Cole boarded the plane. An officer entered behind them and, without prelude, took Hesper’s arm and swiped it with an alcohol pad.

  "Why?” Hesper jerked away from the officer and looked to Cole.

  Cole put out his hand. "Wait, wait.” He shot a glance at her name under a measly few medals. "What are you doing, Officer Finch?”

  Officer Finch scowled. "The tracking chip, obviously.” She held up a syringe.

  "No one told us about a tracking device.”

  Officer Finch pulled a paper from her pocket and shoved it at Cole. The Kyrios ordered a tracking chip because of the potential length of the assignment. They couldn’t have him setting his Gentle free or letting her wander off into Gentle communities. Cole looked up at the officer. "Let me speak with Vincent.”

  Rather than peaceably agree, Officer Finch squinted and cocked her head. No good. Cole sat between her and Hesper while he dug the communicator out of his bag and called Vincent, who didn’t answer, of course.

  Hand on her hip, Officer Finch’s attitude remained firmly in place. “Well?”

  "We’re not going anywhere. This tracking device is an insult, and I won’t take it.”

  "What is it?” Hesper asked.

  "It’s a device inserted between the muscle and the skin. The purpose is to keep track of you. It tells them where you are located at all times.”

  Hesper frowned. "How?”

  "Computer World Access System. C.W.A.S. Too much to explain now.” Cole stood. "I’m sorry to have troubled you for nothing, Officer, but we’re returning to our home.”

  Hesper spoke just above a whisper. "I will take it.”

  Cole whipped around and shot her a sharp look. "What?”

  "I will take it. I understand why they would want to keep track of me. Can . . . can it be removed?”

  "I’m going to speak with my wife alone, please.”

  Officer Finch tromped away with her syringe in the air.

  Cole touched Hesper’s knee. "Hesper, you don’t have to do this. It’s insulting that they would suggest—”

  "You must maintain your relationship with the Kyrios to be happy here. We do not need to make them angry over an insult.”

  After all these years avoiding the Kyrios’ full control, his marriage to a Unified woman forced him into their hands. Hesper was right, though. Without being told, she must have recognized the necessity of taking the assignment.

  He grasped at his face and pulled his fingers along his eyelids to his nose. With a quick punch to the seat in front of him, he whispered, "Fine.” He shouted, "FINE!”

  Officer Finch returned with her vile syringe.

  "I’ll do it,” he said.

  As long as he didn’t contradict Vincent’s orders, his position as an honored senior officer required Finch’s obedience.

  He snatched the packet from her hand. "It’s not as if we don’t learn how to do this in school. I could’ve done this a long time ago if I’d known Vincent preferred it.” He sat and disemboweled the package. "But no, he chose to do it at the last minute, so I’d squirm. He’s challenging me.” Officer Finch still stood near him. Cole stopped his work to stare back at the officer. "Officer Finch, your conduct and treatment of me and my wife would not be acceptable even if I were a mere soldier. I strongly recommend you regard me with the respect due to an honored senior officer.” He raised an eyebrow.

  Officer Finch lowered her chin in return. "Yes, sir.”

  "I’ll take it from here.”

  "I’ll stay to watch, sir,” she said. "Unless you want to call the Glorious One about that, too?”

 
Still sassy! He would have done the same.

  He wiggled his fingers through the tight rubber gloves and pulled a small tray from between the seats. "I don’t know why you went for her arm. We never do them in the arm,” he muttered. "Please, put your hand there, Hesper.” He swiped the alcohol pad along the web between her thumb and forefinger and prepped the syringe, then loaded it with its tiny cargo.

  "I have never seen you so upset over something this small, my friend.” Hesper’s gentle hand touched his arm. "No bigger than a grain of rice.”

  His activity slowed to a halt. He smiled, took a deep breath to deny himself the relief of a kiss, and returned to his business. Pinching the skin, he proceeded to place the point of the syringe within the pinch and punctured it. The plunger slid down with ease, expelling the syringe’s contents. With gauze held over the spot, he withdrew the needle.

  "Are you okay?” she asked.

  "I just poked a hole in you, and you’re asking if I’m okay? This makes me sick. Hold this in place, please.”

  After bandaging the wound, he stuffed the used kit in its tiny bag. Officer Finch ran a scanner over Hesper’s hand. The contraption beeped, and the officer slipped a wallet out of her coat pocket for Cole. They saluted one another, and Officer Finch left the plane.

  * * *

  Everyone expected Trinity to pass away at a young age. Her health deteriorated steadily after giving birth to Thomas, but no one understood the reason. However, it surprised David to receive a call after Cole and Hesper left in the wee hours of the morning. It made him suspicious. Cole would have thought it suspicious, too. That made it even more . . . suspicious.

  Ariana removed the medallion from Trinity’s neck and put it around David’s.

  Was he supposed to feel something? Either about his position or the death of his only sister?

  Well, he didn’t.

  The newly acquired child weighed on David’s mind more heavily than anything else. Reverenced and a father in one day. He liked children, but what was he supposed to do with one?

  David and Tom stood to the side with Vincent while soldiers covered Trinity and carted her away.

  "You realize your sister was one of our most valuable people?” Vincent asked. "You have big shoes to fill, David. Do you feel up to the task?”

  "Perfectly. As long as we break the heels off the shoes first.”

  Vincent placed his hands on David’s shoulders and looked him in the eyes. "Are you sure?”

  What was Vince getting at? Trying to wear him down, get him to question himself and his abilities. Tearing up the soil to plant a new idea. As if he didn’t know the drill.

  "Why wouldn’t I be, Glorious One?”

  "Well, things have been hard for you lately.”

  "I’m fine.”

  "I hear you’re drinking quite a bit, that Evelyn has run off with someone else, and your favored wife hasn’t come out of her room since Jade’s trial.” Vincent ran his hand along the back of a chair. "So you’ve resorted to the fat one.”

  "Excuse me?” David blurted.

  "I don’t mean to insult you. She’s pleasant to look at. My point is to ask what do you need me to do?”

  "Nothing, Glorious One. Just tell me where I need to be and when I need to be there.”

  Vincent smiled. "Very well. Your induction is tomorrow at eleven A.M. We’ve taken the liberty of packing the boy’s things for you. There isn’t much.” He gestured to the barren room. "Your sister was a rather rigid minimalist. The burning’s tonight at seven.”

  "Thank you, Glorious One.”

  Vincent swaggered past David and out the door.

  Tom appeared to be doing uncommonly well for standing at the foot of his mother’s deathbed. David looked down at the fair little boy. "How do you feel?”

  "I don’t feel anything.”

  "Not even sad? Nothing?”

  He shrugged. “Is Hesper still living with you?

  David smiled. “Yes and no. She’s gone across the country with Uncle Cole for a while, but she’ll be back.”

  “I’ll be happy to see her again.”

  “Me, too, Tom. She’s a kind lady.”

  “Pretty to look at.”

  David laughed. “Are you ready to go, kiddo?”

  Tom shrugged and nodded.

  David took off the medallion and stuffed it into his pants’ pocket. Taking up the boy’s bags, they left Trinity’s house without looking back, not even once.

  * * *

  Hesper and Cole stepped into sunny, warm western Theocracia. Section Twenty-Six, Pomo Gate. Cole had been to the area several times, and Hesper had joined him during their summer travels, so they had grown familiar with the area and its pleasant climate. As a seaboard community, the air smelled of fish and seaweed until you went to their markets, which added sweetness and spice to the aroma.

  A short, burly man met them at the little airport. His thick, dark suit seemed too warm for the weather, and it showed on his sweaty bald head. Geniality radiated from every pore as he greeted them. "Mr. Cartwright, I’m Alan Bandello. Have we met before?”

  Cole shook his head. “No, sir.”

  Unless Mr. Bandello had met him at a lecture or seen the lone painting in some hallway or another in one of his almae matres on the other side of the country, it was unlikely that the old man would know his face.

  “Uh-huh, okay, well, I’m delighted that your grandfather called and informed me of your expertise and competence. You will be an excellent help to me. You’re overqualified for the tasks I may have for you, but I’m ecstatic about helping a young military couple get away for a breather. I know what it’s like, m’boy.” He called over his shoulder, "Fellas, get their things!”

  "Thank you, Mr. Bandello,” Cole replied. "I intend to be an asset to your business for the duration of our stay.”

  Alan led them toward his white pick-up truck while his men transferred Cole and Hesper’s luggage from plane to vehicle. "I have the most splendiferous house for you and your lovely wife—pleased to meet you, my dear.” He took her hand and kissed it. "A bandage. Have you had an injury?”

  Hesper smiled and hid her hands behind her back.

  "The weather here is very nice,” Cole said. "I enjoy the climate in the twenties sections.”

  "Oh, yes. We have magnificent weather here most of the time. Other times, it’s hotter than Pyriphlegethon of the Greeks! Still, Section Twenty-Six is the only section I’d dream of living in! Betwixt the fruit and nuts—never mind the ones growing on trees—and the ocean, there’s nothing like it, I tell you. Nothing! And Pomo Gate? Oh, goodness, don’t get me started!” He laughed a wholehearted laugh that shook his belly up and down with each syllable.

  Alan was like a chocolate muffin; Cole had only to look at him to know he was good.

  On his tip-toes, Alan peeked at the luggage in the bed of the truck. "I imagined you’d bring more than this.” He swiped the sweat from his forehead with his handkerchief. "If you need anything―anything at all—don’t hesitate to ask. I can give you a week before you start working, m’boy, to give you some time to, uh, settle in. Build your nest?”

  "Not even. A couple of days.”

  Alan clapped Cole on the back. "What a man, what a—solid man!” He squeezed his shoulder, then his bicep. “A soldier all through, I see. I think I’ll keep you with me if I need to walk anywhere at night—how do you feel about contract killing? There’s this lawyer across town . . . Never mind.” With a slap on the hood of the truck, he opened his door and climbed in. "Forward ho, young lovers! Homeward bound!”

  Inside the truck, there was no mistaking the scents of pastries and sweet tobacco. Crumpled balls of wax paper had been shoved in a cubbyhole of the dashboard. Alan continued his jovial jabbering for ten minutes straight while an ancient dashboard hula dancer wiggled around. Then, "Any children?” A question!

  Cole straightened up and flashed a surprised smile. "We’re newly married.”

  "Oh, right. Hoping?”


  Let it go, sir. Let it go. "If it were possible, yes, we would be hoping.”

  At a stop sign, blinker clicking, Alan stared at Cole for a few moments. He swiped at his nose a couple of times before addressing Hesper. "Did the Kyrios have you sterilized, young lady?”

  The guts this guy had! Cole jumped in. "No. She’s not sterilized. But we’d like to avoid the procedure.”

  "Hm. You’re in Section One? I suppose it’s more dangerous there.”

  Cole smiled. "Does Pomo Gate welcome mongrels?”

  Stepping on the gas, Alan said, "Mongrels? I call them children. It’s sadistic and cruel to allow them to marry but kill the offspring.” Finger pointed, he turned his whole upper body to face Cole. "Do you know why they don’t sterilize them right off the bat, m’boy?”

  Cole stammered, "Be—because the Kyrios determined . . . that . . .” Time to pull himself together. He straightened his posture and tried again. "The Kyrios determined that the risks of surgery outweigh the benefits. They’ve proven the operations relied on in the past are responsible for many of the maladies of our ancestors. So, we only use it if necessary, such as in cases where the women prove too fertile.”

  Alan laughed and laughed and laughed, then, mopping his forehead with the handkerchief, laughed some more. "Oh, son, that’s such a funny bit of fiction they’ve fed us. Nevertheless, apocryphal it remains. As if we should believe a Meros assessment of scientific matters! The real reason, son? The true impetus behind this twisted policy?”

  Hesper stared straight ahead, her hands in her lap. No expression except for the wild eyes she always had when taking in new information.

  "Affordable, discreet depopulation of the Gentles,” Alan announced as if singing an ascending musical scale. “No question!”

  Obviously. They wanted the Gentles gone. Everyone knew that. Cole opened his mouth, but Alan placed his vanilla-scented hand directly over it. "Close the maw and let me educate you, my friend. Just let it happen.”