“And second, I led the charge in capturing three control officers and holding them hostage. Their harm is on my head alone, and no other laborer will be punished for it.”
Reena could hear the groans of her people in her head. She knew that they would not accept these offenses as hers alone, and that the Leaders wouldn’t simply forgive and forget after she was gone. But she continued to read.
“I was presented with an option through Yidel, who is now in custody by control officers for his own safety,” she said, lying as best she could, “that I could give myself up for the good of my people. If I would be executed, the Midlet would be spared and would given a chance to return to normal life.”
Again, she felt her collective people groan. “Normal life” was not something they would wish to return to. She hoped that her nuances of voice would let them know that she intended for them to continue to pursue the surface.
“I ask for the sabotage of Facility machinery to cease, and for each of you to return to your assignment shifts. And for all of you to simply remember the dreams and visions that we share. They do not end with me.”
Quilen shrugged at Gisk, who stared at him with narrowed eyes. Quilen knew that he was taking a risk with actually allowing her to speak, and she was mostly reading the speech. He assumed the small changes she was making could only add authenticity to it. Nothing she said was in obvious defiance.
Reena took a deep breath.
“With all of that in mind, I readily accept this execution. I gladly go to see my husband and son. May the Maker hold me until we meet again, when we all see the sky.”
With that she closed her eyes and nodded, tensing her body and holding her breath. It was a miserable experience, anticipating death for over twenty-four hours. In truth, since she lost her husband and son, many of her days held a small expectancy of death. But never with this finality.
She had done her part. She played along with Quilen even with the improvisations.
“For the Midlet,” she whispered to herself.
Gisk nodded at Quilen, who then started counting down.
“Five…,” he said as the control officers trained their guns on her.
“Four…”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
“Did you hear me, Talitha?”
Doc Thorton stood with Talitha on the steps of the town chapel, smiling at the nervous girl. She wore a long, simple white knitted dress, without frills or lace, but with several flower patches sewn near the hem at the bottom. She had borrowed the dress, and Lillian insisted that Talitha add something to it to make it “hers,” and helped her do so late into the night. All of the stitching was done by Talitha, and she was already worried that people were going to stare at it.
She had spent most of the day with Helen, Lillian, and a few other girls around her age that she had only seen a handful of times. They danced and swirled around her, brushing her hair, dabbing her lips with trace amounts of lipstick, rubbing her hands and arms with lotions.
Even though she barely knew some of the girls, they all laughed and talked as if they were the best of friends. She realized that she needed to spend more time with them, and was happy to find out that all of them seemed to want the same. She had been afraid that she was seen as an alien, but some of the things they said made her feel rather like they saw her as a fascinating mystery.
She told herself that she would make a point to make more friends, after she and Jonah avoided civilization for a short time.
Now, she and the doctor stood alone. The doors had closed just before they took their place in front of them, and her heart was racing. She wondered if her heart beat could be heard over the rumbling conversations in the building, and simply tried to focus on breathing in and out.
She wore a bundled scarf to fight against the cold air, and soft snow flurries lingered around her as if they wanted to join in the celebration. However, her nervousness seemed to heat her up to the point of considering unwrapping the fabric from her neck.
“What?” Talitha asked, still somewhat in a dream state.
“I said you look beautiful,” Doc Thorton repeated. “Thank you very much for letting me share this moment with you. I know this day is for you and Jonah, but it’s very special to me as well.”
“Thanks,” Talitha said, her cheeks slightly redder than they were a moment earlier. “Thank you for everything you’ve done for me. You’re more than simply my doctor. And my innkeeper.”
Doc Thorton let out an unexpected belly laugh.
“And you’re more than a simple patient or tenant, young lady,” he said with a big smile across his face. “Even after you’re an old married woman, you are more than welcome to come to my home and faint anytime someone walks in with blood on their shirt.”
The two laughed together.
Talitha calmed, knowing that she already had a genuine history with Doc Thorton, and with several of the townsfolk that were waiting inside. Strangely, it was as if she had lived on the surface far longer than her days in the Facility. She wondered if she’d had more conversations with the townsfolk than she ever had with her family or the others in the Facility – outside of watching recorded words from a lecture. Instead of mourning the idea of a wasted childhood, she felt excited about what the rest of her life would hold.
She could hear a hush fall through the crowd gathered inside the chapel, followed by the faint muffled voice of Brother Philip. He told her what he would say the night before, but she still craned her neck towards the door to try to hear his exact words.
“Are you ready to become Mrs. Whitfield, Ms. Coomy?” Doc Thorton asked playfully, extending his left arm.
Talitha’s heart thudded against her chest as she said Yes and took the doctor’s arm in her hand.
“Good, because it’s freezing out here,” he joked.
The double doors swung open wide, letting some of the heat rush onto them from fires burning inside the chapel’s two wood stoves. She heard the strum of a stringed instrument at the far end, but she couldn’t compare it to any of the recordings she heard in the Facility. As they crossed the threshold of the building, the entire congregation stood, staring in their direction. At first she felt distracted, glancing from one blurry face to another, trying to bring anything into focus.
And then she looked forward and saw Jonah. Everything seemed to fade away except for the sight of him. He beamed from where he stood at the altar, wearing a button down shirt that was much nicer than he usually wore, and a brown wool vest. Even from the distance between them, she could see his eyes widen and his smile grow.
Each step felt like it took forever, as if time had slowed down, but she wished she could break out into a run. At the same time, she wondered if her legs were going to melt into the floor, leaving her swimming in a pool on the ground. She was quite relieved that she held the arm of Doc Thorton as they walked between the pews, and she leaned heavily into him.
The chapel wasn’t completely full, but it seemed that everyone she knew from the surface was there. Slowly, she looked around and saw faces coming into focus. Each was smiling, and whispering things like “You look beautiful” and “We’re so excited for you two.” She was surprised that when Schultz’s face came into view, tears were rolling down his cheeks.
She smiled at everyone looking at her, feeling like all of the love she had ever known was densely packed into the building.
As they approached the altar, she saw that Jonah’s eyes also were filled with tears, which caused hers to do the same. They stopped a mere footstep away from Jonah and the stringed instrument played a final chord, letting it hang in the air.
Brother Philip motioned to Doc Thorton to say his single prepared line.
“I bring my newly discovered daughter, Talitha Coomy,” the doctor said, his face turning flush, “to be united with Jonah Whitfield in marriage.”
“Thank you, Doctor Thorton,” Brother Philip said, nodding at him.
Doc Thorton hugged Talitha, whispering
in her ear, “you really are beautiful.”
Talitha squeezed him and smiled. He let go of her and walked over to join with the Whitfields on the front pew, dabbing at his eyes with a handkerchief.
Jonah held out his hand and Talitha lightly took it, and he led her the final step up to the altar. They both looked at the minister, who spoke about God, love, and of the experiences he had with both Jonah and Talitha. He was nearing the end of his monologue, just before he was to tie their hands together with a fabric, symbolizing their commitment, when a noise was heard outside.
At first it was a slight annoyance. The people that heard it assumed it was a spooked animal – but it continued, and grew louder with time. It was getting closer to the chapel.
They soon realized it was a man’s voice, but they couldn’t hear what he was saying. Brother Philip was distracted, and stopped speaking, staring at the windows with everyone else.
A murmur moved through the pews, whisperings of who in the world it could be and what could be so important that they would interrupt the wedding. Anyone from town who wasn’t there at least knew that the ceremony was happening, and it was beyond inconsiderate to interrupt them.
The first words to many lips were “Raymond Cowel,” assuming the town drunk would be the only one that could be so rude. Brick, who was sitting near the back of the room, stood and motioned towards the altar that he would check it out. His demeanor seemed to show that he would handle the situation. He glanced at the men and women around him as if it to say, “If I can’t handle it, you’re coming, right?”
There were several nods around him.
He opened the door and stepped outside with the entire crowd in the chapel watching him with bated breath. There was no way to be discreet, and both Jonah and Talitha looked at each other and laughed nervously. Talitha was relieved that she wasn’t the cause for so many appalled looks, and was only upset because it slowed the ceremony down.
Brick swung the door wide open when he returned. They could finally hear the voice, still growing louder as it came closer, and could make out the words that he was yelling.
Brick repeated what everyone else heard the man screaming.
“They’re coming.”
.- -.-. -
“Three…”
As Quilen counted down to the number, all of the tiles in the room flashed solid red and a loud tone reverberated throughout the room.
The set that was prepared for Reena’s execution no longer held the dingy laborer sleeping unit scene that Gisk had required. The change in light and in sound spooked one of the control officers, who swung around and fired multiple times, with the barrel of his gun rising up in front of him. The other officers, on edge, panicked at the sound of the gun shot and tensed their bodies as well. Each of them squeezed their trigger fingers in response, allowing several bullets to fly chaotically through the air.
“What’s going on here?” Gisk demanded, screaming over the tone. He gripped the arms of the chair, trying to get the momentum to burst forth.
Quilen looked around, noting that none of the bullets had struck Reena. She was still holding her breath, her muscles stiff. She obviously didn’t know what was going on, and most likely thought that this was all part of the theatrical execution. She was still prepared for the bullets to find her.
“I said what is going on here?” Gisk once again screamed at the top of his lungs, finally standing.
“I don’t know,” Quilen yelled back, furiously tapping the monitor in front of him. He couldn’t stop the tone or clear the monitors.
He moved his fingers to his wristile, hoping to gather more information. When he looked at it he realized that it, as well, was glowing red and generating a small tone. Nothing changed as he swiped the glass.
He was terrified of what it meant. The only thing racing through his head is that it was more vandalism by the laborers, but it signified something much more than simple damage to a solitary machine. If they were controlling all of the tiles in the unit – including wristiles – then they had at least accessed the sector’s Technology Maintenance Center. In that case, they were able to display whatever they’d like on any tile in the whole sector.
But the far greater worry was that they were in the Central Facility Computer. If that were the case, every black glass screen in the Facility would bend to their will. Every tile would be playing the tone and glowing red, and panic would be ensuing.
Surely not, Quilen reasoned to himself. It must be only this unit.
He ran around the room, touching various tiles with no response. Gisk was yelling at him, demanding he fix whatever what going on, but was not acting in any way on his own. Quilen thought about asking the control officers what they knew, but they looked even more confused than he was.
He ran past the video feed equipment, opening the door to the hallway. The entire hallway was painted red, and the tone echoed down the unsettling glowing corridor. He heard more gunshots behind him.
“What happened?” he screamed, rushing back inside.
For some reason, his first reaction was to make sure Reena was still alive. She was. He didn’t know why he was concerned for her safety, when only moments before he was counting down the seconds to her death.
“Sorry, sir,” the officer closest to Gisk said. “My weapon… I guess it just went off.”
Surveying the unit, Quilen realized that multiple tiles were shattered, though they still reflected red into the room.
“Officers, set your guns down for the moment,” Quilen ordered. “At least until we know what is going on.”
“This is your fault, Coomy,” Gisk hissed into the air. “If you don’t fix—”
Before Gisk could finish his threat, every visible tile flickered back and forth between the red screen and the image of a man – a laborer – sitting in a white room. The tone fought with static each time the image changed. Eventually, the man won, and silence filled the room.
The laborer’s contrast against the white background was stark, highlighting the dirt on his face and clothes. His eyes, though tired, seemed powerful, and though he wasn’t in the room, Quilen, the control officers, and even Gisk gasped. It was as if the man were about to count off their executions.
“Citizens of the Facility,” the man spoke, replacing the steady tone with a booming voice that inherently commanded their respect.
Reena finally opened her eyes, surprised. She looked at the tile that recently displayed her presumed last words, and ran forward to touch it.
“Hokmah,” she yelled. Her heart, which had been beating rapidly, awaiting death, now leapt with relief.
“Men and women of the Upper Levels,” he continued, “and friends dearly loved in the Midlet.”
He paused between each thought, as if he was stalling until he was completely sure the video was successfully streaming throughout the Facility.
“My name is Hokmah, and I am what many of you simply call a laborer from the depths of Sector 39. I have many things that I would like to explain to everyone listening, but I will begin by saying that your lives are about to change.
“Every one of you is aware of Jonah and the girl known only as T, who have been referred to as terrorists. Several months ago, the two of them caused quite a stir when they sent video messages to a number of citizens. Those messages circulated the Facility, including being shown on the few tiles available to us laborers.
“The messages aroused a great suspicion about the surface – if it might actually be safe for us to walk on, might be safe for us to breathe on.
“As you know, soon after those videos were released, more videos followed that disproved them, and discredited Jonah and T. They were incredibly thorough, and left no doubt that the original videos were fabricated. And the Leaders even executed an innocent young man, Azazel, saying that he had something to do with their actions, even though I can tell you without a doubt that he did not. Despite all of the information, we were not convinced.”
Quilen stood
silent, staring at the man who was talking about his daughter. Gisk would occasionally growl an order, but no one moved. Gisk barely even recognized that his words were being ignored. Every eye was glued to Hokmah.
“I know there are tremendous differences between the Upper Levels and the Midlet, but I’m not sure if all of you do. The obvious difference is in living condition – you live comfortably, never needing anything, while we die of starvation only a few levels below you. Your punishments are quite superficial – perhaps simply the changing of purpose assignments – while ours include violence and often death.
“The main difference, however, is that we know. We are quite aware of the lies coming from the Leaders. And we know that any word that comes across one of our public wall tiles is not to be trusted, even if it happens to be true.
“When the first video came, even though it was then overwhelmed by evidence that said it was false, we had hope for the first time in generations. Hope that we could escape this terrible prison, and make a life for ourselves away from the demands of an entire class of people that don’t even know we exist.
“For anyone who might be curious, I have wonderful news. We can live on the surface.”
Hokmah paused for a moment, allowing the words to sink into his viewers’ minds. A smile crept across his lips, knowing that those simple words alone would cause a bit of chaos. Definitely for any laborer in different sectors who had not yet heard of their discovery, but with others as well.
He smiled as he thought of all of the men and women in the Upper Levels who were approaching the legal age limit of sixty. He wondered what thoughts ran through their heads as they realized their Facility-imposed death sentence could be lifted. He considered anyone else that the Leaders might have made into an enemy, but had not yet killed or imprisoned. Surely, there were many more people in the Facility, besides the Midlet, who would jump at the chance to leave.
Even Quilen Coomy gasped when he heard the declaration. His daughter had tried to convince him of the same thing and he didn’t believe her. He resented her for it. She died because of it. He helped Gisk cover up the possibility. Hearing it from this man as well made him wonder if it could actually be true.
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