Awakening

by Margaret Ball

  “Don’t talk about her,” he snapped.

  “Well, somebody has to,” Julle said. “You’ve been drifting around like a ghost, as if your life ended when she died. OK, maybe it did. But the rest of us are still stuck in this life, with a Central Committee that lies to us and spies on us and rewrites history to suit itself. Or is that all right with you, now that Marina’s gone? Now that you’re not personally affected, you don’t mind about people dying while they wait to see a doctor, or getting sent for medical rehabilitation, or just feeling greyer and tireder and more hopeless every day?”

  Lars’ throat closed up. He stared at Julle’s tawny eyes, blazing with youth and hope, for what seemed an eternity. Finally he said, “I loathe and despise the Central Committee and their flunkies and everything they stand for, and if they were on fire I wouldn’t piss on them to put it out. If they hadn’t made my Marina wait so long for a diagnosis – But it’s done, Julle. I’m done. We tried to light that fire, and we failed. Maybe your generation will have another chance, later.”

  “It’s only over if you let it be,” Julle insisted. “Do you have any idea how many people walk casually past certain street corners, glancing to see if there’s a new message from the Leafletter? Or pick up piles of papers in the library here, hoping to find a new leaflet under them? The fire’s there, Professor Eklund. It’s started. Are you going to let it burn out for lack of encouragement?”

  “Julle –” His shoulders sagged; he held out his empty hands. “There’s no fire in me now. I can’t pick up where Marina left off.”

  “Then give me her books, and I’ll do it!”

  That was madness. Julle lived in a student dormitory, where she had no more private space than the length of her bed, and not much privacy even there. She had no place to keep the books, no place to write without being seen. “Don’t be stupid. You’d probably be reported immediately, before you could even compose one leaflet; if they left you free, it would only be to watch you and discover your contacts.”

  “Don’t worry, Professor. I’ll leave you out of it.”

  “No – that’s not what I meant. It doesn’t much matter what happens to me, not now. But I will not see you taken for medical rehab and sent back as an obedient idiot. They’d do that, you know. They’d burn out nine-tenths of your mind and assign you to sweeping floors here, where people who knew you would have you before them every day as an object lesson.”

  “Someone has to do it. Someone has to keep reminding people that there was a time when they lived in liberty and nobody rewrote their work into meaninglessness. Someone has to nurture the flame you and Marina lit. I won’t see it flicker and die because one man would rather cherish his grief than get on with life!”

  He sighed. “All right. I’ll start sailing again.”

  For the first time, Julle seemed nonplussed. “Good. I mean, that’ll be good for your health – fresh air and exercise…”

  And for the first time, Lars smiled. “Did you imagine we kept the source materials in my office? Caught, I might not be a great loss to the movement, but I must admit I should greatly prefer not to be… rehabilitated. Yes, if I’m to produce leaflets, I need to sail. A little critical thinking should tell you where Marina’s books are… but try not to think about it.”

  That sunny spring day was more clear to his vision than the current slashing rain, until an interruption jarred him rudely back to the present.

  Behind his back, the door to his office was pushed open so hard that it bounced off its wall slot and came halfway back. Lars gave a convulsive, involuntary leap before he turned to see the round pink head and idiotic smile of his least favorite colleague. “What the Discord’s wrong with you, Bagwitt? Never heard of chiming?”

  Then he saw what Bagwitt was holding. The slightly yellowed flimsy, the sketch of a gagged face –” Is that what I think it is?” and to Bagwitt’s grin and nod, “Well, get it the Dissonance out of here! Do you want both of us to lose our jobs, or worse?” Almost certainly worse. Much worse.

  “Oh, don’t be so jumpy, Eklund. Anybody would think you were expecting a visit from habbers. What scared you so when I came in?”

  “You startled me, that’s all. I was thinking about sailing.”

  “What, in this?”

  “Well, no. Actually,” Lars improvised, “I was thinking about joining a Seniors Exercise program, since I probably won’t get much sailing in for the next couple of months.”

  “That would be good,” Bagwitt agreed solemnly. “It is every citizen’s duty to maintain the highest level of fitness...” The words didn’t match his puffy face and overflowing chins, but that didn’t matter. Saying the correct words was all that mattered.

  “…The better to serve the people,” Lars completed the aphorism and they gave each other half-ashamed, furtive smiles at having successfully managed an interchange that could only be approved by whoever might hear it. “Now about this trash you’ve dragged into my office…”

  “Oh, don’t be so jumpy. We’re both highly respectable senior lecturers, who’d condemn us for a moment of curiosity? Don’t you ever wonder what the Leafl—”

  “I am interested only in maintaining my awareness of those events which the Central Committee declares to be a citizen’s legitimate concern.” Lars spoke loudly and quickly to override Bagwitt’s deplorable carelessness. Mentioning the Leafletter! Did the idiot want to be questioned by habbers? His hand shot out and twitched the damning leaflet from Bagwitt’s fingers. He crumpled it up and plunged the paper ball into his cold kahve, squeezing and kneading with his fingers until there was only an unreadable mess of pulp left.

  “Aren’t you ever even curious about what he has to say?”

  “Never,” Lars said with perfect truth.

  “Okay, okay, be the perfect citizen,” Bagwitt whined. “But don’t think that’ll help you after the latest budget decision. You and me and Shakros, we’ve all got a 33 percent chance, no, I tell a lie, a 66 percent… No, that can’t be right. Can it?”

  “If you can manage to tell me what you’re talking about,” Lars said, “perhaps I can perform the calculations.”

  “Budget cuts,” Bagwitt blurted. “I heard they’ve decided they don’t need three Science Education lecturers any more. Cut one of us and give the other two bigger classes. Or cut two and let the last one give mass online lectures.”

  “In the case of the first decision, each of us has a one-third chance of being cut. Or in the case of the second, a two-thirds chance.”

  Bagwitt nodded. “There, that’s what had me confused. It’s not the same, is it?”

  If the cuts were based on competence, you’d have a 100% chance of being fired in either case. “No,” Lars said, “It’s not the same.” He wondered if Bagwitt had thought he was out, had meant to conceal the leaflet somewhere in his office in order to publicly “discover” it later, to improve his own chances of keeping his position. Probably not. It’s too complicated for him. Still, he squeezed the leaflet maché dry and dropped the handful of paper into his jacket pocket, to be disposed of somewhere between here and the underground cafeteria. “Shocking news, Bagwitt – shocking. But now if you’ll excuse me, I have a meeting.”

  As he rode the elevators down, Lars wondered if Bagwitt had a second leaflet, to drop in Kert Shakros’ office. And if so, which of them would he choose to compromise next? The three offices shared a common foyer where students could wait; since the hall door to that foyer could be locked, the builders had decided that there was no need for locks on the individual offices. I’m safe from everybody except my closest colleagues.

  CHAPTER SIX

  By the afternoon of Landing Day, Scat had eaten the last of Devra’s cheese, inhaled two more bowls of water, and made the pile of torn scraps in the baking tray into a stinking mess that would repel the most avid gossiper or the most dedicated habber. Devra was proud of his cooperation even while wondering if she was going to pay for this favor by getting up every morning to a sme
lly box that had to be emptied immediately, before she could even enjoy her morning kahve. She hadn’t even started baking yet for fear that the pastries would somehow take up the odor from the cat box.

  The rain sleeting down all morning had probably ruined a lot of citizens’ plans for Landing Day celebrations, but Devra had enjoyed it. With the cat snuggled up beside her and trying to purr, her door closed and her CodeX set in local mode, the drumming of the rain on the balcony eaves made her feel completely isolated from the world.

  Ferit had not yet put in an appearance. Well, that was probably for the best. After all, she knew now what he’d foisted upon her, and she wasn’t in a mood to try and awaken his sense of loyalty – always a tricky task with New Citizens, no, I did not think that, I’m not a bigot! But it would do neither of them any good to be caught together outside of school, after that near-disaster yesterday.

  Now, though, she’d come to the improbably happy ending of her novel, with the couple swearing harmony between them and Harmony with the world; the rain had slowed to the soft, implacable, penetrating drizzle that would probably continue for the next two months; and the paper scraps in Scat’s box were soaked. There was really no excuse for not emptying the box. Besides, she would have to hustle this afternoon to bake all the pastries she’d planned for Stela’s party; payment for spending the first morning of the long rains with a cat on her lap and an old romantic novel on her CodeX.

  Lili Partrij’s door slid open before Devra had even got the baking tray outside. “I swear, that woman has my place bugged,” she muttered before calling cheerfully, “Good morning, Citizen!”

  “Afternoon, you mean,” Lili corrected her, “and where’s my pastry?” Her nose wrinkled as Devra carried the steaming cat box past her.

  “Late start!” Devra said. “I celebrated Landing Day by sleeping in, and now I’ve got to empty Scat’s box before I start baking.” She waved the tray a little closer to Lili’s nose, and the old woman stepped back.

  “And who might Scat be?”

  “That stray who’s been hanging around, begging from everybody? I’ve decided to adopt him. But I really have to dump his litter box before I start. You wouldn’t want your profiteroles to smell like this, would you?” She pushed the tray up to the edge of Lili’s door and was rewarded by seeing her wave it shut.

  “Don’t forget my pastries!” Lili called as the door slid closed. “Two of each!”

  Devra remembered promising the old woman one of each, but what matter? It was a grand day for baking, she was about to dispose of the seditious papers Ferit had slipped into her basket, it was no time to be cheap about small things. Besides, she’d promised herself that she’d spend some time with Lili today, and here she’d escaped into a romantic novel all morning and would be busy as a cat with two tails getting her baking done this afternoon. Doubling Lili’s pastries would make the old lady happy and assuage Devra’s conscience.

  Humming to herself, she rounded the corner of the walkway and headed for the centrally located community disposal tube. At least that wasn’t out of order and overflowing, though the sounds of heavy steps and heavy breathing on the stairs suggested that the elevators were still broken.

  “Citizen Fordise! Halt on the orders of Security!”

  Devra had been balancing Scat’s litter box on the edge of the disposal tube, trying to work out a way to get rid of the contents without losing the tray. That call from the stairwell door startled her; her hands jerked and the baking tray went down the tube with the litter.

  “Now look what you’ve made me do!” she snapped. It was the larger of the two habbers who’d called out. One big and broad, one short and twisty; the same pair who’d stopped her the day before. Well, a totally innocent person would not be pleased at losing a baking tray, even a flimsy one that was meant to be thrown out after one use. “You startled me, and now I’ve dropped the cat’s litter box down the chute!”

  “You don’t need to worry about that, Citizen,” said the wiry habber. “You’re to accompany us to Security at once.” The phrasing sounded, to Devra, as though he didn’t expect her to need another box for Scat.

  “I need to lock up my apartment – and get my CodeX –”

  “No, Citizen,” the habber said with a faintly pitying tone in his voice. “For a loyal citizen, Security overrides all other concerns. You just come along with me, now, and Aleks here will see to your possessions.”

  The short one slipped cold rings around her wrists, squeezed them down to a diameter just short of pinching her painfully, and brought them together where they automatically locked. After that Devra didn’t object to being led down the stairs; she was just grateful that they hadn’t gone back along the balcony. She would never live down being taken away by Security in handcuffs if Lili Partrij had got sight of her.

  Most people would be more worried about their chances of coming back from the Bureau than about what the neighbors think. But she had been a model citizen for all her twenty-five years; no disciplinary marks on her school and university records, excellent grades, no complaint about being assigned as a teacher, excellent reviews from the superintendent of Wilyam Serman Secondary. Surely one moment of weakness wouldn’t be a serious charge against a record like that?

  She felt less sure of that when she was actually standing in a grey-walled interrogation room, facing a hard-faced middle-aged man in a silver uniform sitting at a silver desk. “You lied to my men Pasko and Nikols yesterday. Why?”

  “Pasko and Nikols?”

  Her interrogator lifted his hand and a holoscreen came into view above his desk, tilted towards him; she couldn’t read it.

  “Surely you can’t have forgotten already. They asked about the young man who had been carrying your shopping basket. Remember? Your stepbrother. Who would be in trouble with your Mom and Dad.” The sneering way he pronounced the words made them like obscenities. “Let’s hear that again – without the lies. I already know that Mom and Dad have been dead for twenty years, and there’s no record of your having a stepbrother. You don’t even live in family housing; you have a one-room apartment in Glen Estates, assigned as part of your recompense from the school where you taught.” His open hand slammed down on the desk top, just missing the control pads under the holoscreen.

  “Who was that young man, and what was your business with him? And I strongly encourage you to tell the truth this time. You see that we have ways of checking your story.”

  Devra’s thoughts raced. If she named Ferit, he would be arrested too. If either of them so much as mentioned the Leafletter, they’d probably be sent for medical rehabilitation immediately. That, she now knew, was why he’d been so terrified when he encountered her in the bazaar: being caught in possession of seditious literature must be a direct path to medical rehab.

  “Thinking up another story? Don’t bother. Giving up the truth is your only chance of getting out of here.”

  Not if the truth involves the Leafletter. They’ll never let either of us go if they find out what Ferit was carrying – what I read. Lying to agents of the state was wrong. Dissonant. Unharmonious. But sending a fifteen-year-old boy to have his mind and personality stripped was even more of a Discord. Not to mention that I’d like to keep my own mind.

  “I’m sorry, sir,” she said, “but I really don’t know anything that can help you. The boy was a New Citizen; I’d never seen him before. I hardly ever even go into that quarter and I don’t have any New Citizen friends.”

  “Not,” her interrogator said, “a very convincing story. Why would you concoct a string of easily checked lies to protect a total stranger?”

  “Because I’m stupid!” Devra flared. “Whoever he was, he was only a kid, and he was terrified. I don’t like handing scared kids over to the people who frightened them. I also,” she said, “adopt stray cats and talk to lonely old ladies.”

  “In fact, you’re a model citizen and altruistic in the extreme – to the point where you put one boy’s happiness over the s
urvival of the state. Try another story.”

  “I don’t have another story. I admit to making an error of judgment; I forgot that the needs of the state are more important than the desires of the individual.” Easy words to rattle off; they were part of the pledge which every student recited at the beginning of every school day. “If I made a habit of lying,” she added, “don’t you think I’d have made up something that would be harder to disprove? I could have told you he was one of my students. There are several New Citizens enrolled at my school.”

  “And they’re hard to tell apart,” the man mused, “and their records are nearly as incomplete and disorderly as their houses…”

  A chime from the desk brought his attention back to the holoscreen. “What? Excellent work, Nikols! Yes, of course I want him here. I’ll send a Bureau flitter for you immediately. Guard!”

  The door slid open to admit an expressionless silver-suited man. “Watch the prisoner until I return.”

  “Will you be seated, miss?” the guard asked, gesturing towards the chair the interrogator had vacated.

  “Idiot!” his boss paused in the open slit. “The chair is for you, not for a prisoner under interrogation.” He stepped out onto the hall and the door slid shut.

  “That was stupid,” the guard said in a barely perceptible undertone. “I should have waited until he was gone. Now we can’t risk it. Sorry, miss – I mean, Citizen.”

  “That’s all right,” Devra assured him. “I’m a schoolteacher; we’re used to standing up most of the time.”

  But by the time the interrogation resumed her feet and legs were aching. Standing perfectly still, staring at the wall in front of her, for who knew how long, was quite different from walking up and down in a classroom, checking to make sure her students’ displays were showing the assigned material rather than games or porn, and knowing that in just so many minutes the class would be over and she would be able to relax in the staff room. It was the not knowing, Devra decided, that was the worst part. One couldn’t keep from wondering when it would be over – and what would happen next.