Awakening

by Margaret Ball

  “Why? What happened to your apartment, did the pipes burst or something? You know, I have a friend in Block G and the exact same thing happened to her. The whole level was flooded and they lost everything.”

  She probably ought to tell Viktorya the truth. She might not want to get involved once she learned that Devra had been questioned by Security.

  “So? Was it the pipes, or a fire, or what?”

  Two hours and many cups of kahve later, not only was Viktorya in possession of the full story, but she and Devra had pulled it to pieces, turned it upside down and shaken it, and rolled it out flat, all without shedding any new light on the problem.

  “You were a fool to shield Ferit by lying to the habbers, you know.” Vikki said finally. “All your troubles started with that.”

  “He was a scared kid! You’d have done the same thing,” Devra protested.

  Vikki looked down into her cup. “Would I? I don’t know. I hope…” She yawned. “I don’t know whether I hope I would be that brave, or hope I wouldn’t be that foolish! But look: they got Ferit anyway. So all you really accomplished was to get yourself caught up in his troubles.”

  “But it worked out all right. For me, anyway. I don’t know about Ferit. I guess we’ll find out at school tomorrow.”

  “I don’t call it ‘all right,’” Vikki said, “when first they wreck your apartment, then they evict you, and on top of that get you fired. Sounds like a massive amount of all wrong to me.”

  Vikki’s yawns were infectious; Devra had to swallow one before she could answer. “It’s a mistake; it has to be a mistake. They let me go, they didn’t charge me with anything.” She yawned again. It had been a very long day. “The administration must have been notified that I was questioned by Security, and not told that I was released without being charged with anything. I’m sure I can clear it up tomorrow.”

  “Maybe… But it’s strange that it all happened at once, don’t you think? You get picked up and interrogated and released, and already your job’s gone and your apartment has been reassigned… You know what, Devra? I think you’d better not come to the school tomorrow. Let me check it out first, just in case…”

  “In case of what?”

  “In case,” Vikki said, “it wasn’t a mistake.”

  “I don’t think I can stand waiting all day to find out.”

  “You won’t have to,” Vikki promised. “I’ll message you the minute I know what’s going on. Just don’t turn off the chime on your CodeX.”

  By noon the next day, Devra felt as jumpy as a cat in a room full of rocking chairs. Vikki had forgotten to enter her ID in the security system, so she couldn’t leave the apartment. Unable to concentrate, after putting up her sheets and folding the couch back she’d tidied up Vikki’s apartment and washed the dishes left from Stela’s Colony Day party. But there was a limit to how much time you could spend picking up what was really just one long room with a kitchen at one end and a bathroom at the other. When Devra found herself rearranging Vikki’s boxes of Kwik-Meals in alphabetical order, she made herself stop and sit down. She couldn’t concentrate enough to read, didn’t want to watch a holo for fear the dialogue would prevent her hearing the message chime, and couldn’t bake because Vikki had no supplies.

  The message, when it came, was not enlightening. “Still don’t know what’s happening, but they didn’t expect you today. DON’T come in yet.”

  “Ferit?” Devra tapped the CodeX to send her written query. Voice communications during school hours were not exactly forbidden, but certainly frowned on. For that matter, so were text coms, but it was easier to conceal those.

  “Also not here.”

  “Suspended?”

  “Maybe. Don’t have time to check on him; hard enough getting info on what happened to you. G2G.”

  And that was all until Vikki came home, two hours after the school closed, with her arms full of shopping bags. “We’re going to eat well tonight,” she announced cheerfully. “No Kwik-Meals. I stopped on the way home and loaded up on real food. Would you believe they actually had eggs in the Community Market? I got four. And an onion, and some cheese – well, sort of cheese, you know, that stuff that comes in little tubes and you squeeze it out? Funny texture, but that shouldn’t make any difference once it’s melted. We’re having cheese omelets tonight. And look, they even had wine!”

  “Viktorya.” Devra stood between Vikki and the burner. “Why are you going on and on about cheese? What are you trying not to tell me?”

  Vikki abandoned her bags on the counter and sank down on the sofa. “Open the wine first, okay? I think we could both use a glass.”

  Devra sat down beside her. “Is it that bad?”

  “Well.” Vikki stared judiciously at the air in front of her nose. “It’s not all bad news. You’re… not exactly fired. Officially you’re on unpaid leave. But unofficially… especially given that they’ve already reassigned your apartment… I suspect ‘unpaid leave,’ is the same thing as being fired. According to the admin reports, and let me tell you, you owe me one; to get a look at them I had to smarm up to the administrative secretary so much I needed a shower afterwards. Anyway, the official line is that your contract has been suspended for cause. Specifically, for distributing seditious writings and contributing to the delinquency of a minor. The official story is that you were a bad influence on Ferit and the admin had to make sure that no other innocent little children at Wilyam Serman were exposed to your criminally incorrect views.”

  “But – but – that’s all backwards!” Devra sputtered. “I didn’t distribute anything; I tore up the leaflets and put them in the cat box. And this morning I dumped the whole stinky mess down the community disposal tube.”

  Vikki sighed. “Now see, that’s why you shouldn’t be allowed to argue your case in person. ‘I let a cat pee on the leaflets and then threw them out,’ is not what you say. You say, “Leaflets? What leaflets? You’re making this up out of thin air. I know you didn’t find any seditious literature in my apartment, because I never had any to leave there.”

  “Okay, I’ll –”

  “And then,” Vikki continued, overriding her, “they say, ‘Of course you didn’t have any proscribed writings in your apartment, because you’d already given them to a schoolboy for distribution, and you should be ashamed of corrupting an innocent child and we’re not about to let you contaminate any more of our precious kiddies.”

  Devra shook her head. “It doesn’t make any sense. They’re saying that because Security couldn’t find any evidence, that proves I’m guilty?”

  Vikki stretched her arms out in front of her and gently rotated her shoulders. “Whew, long day. Welcome to the joys of the administrative state, my dear. You’re not on trial, so nobody has to prove anything. They just decide what to put in your permanent record and –” She snapped her fingers. “It’s all taken care of.”

  Devra’s head was whirling. There was something very, very wrong here, if she could just put her finger on it – oh! “All these details. I was questioned yesterday. It was a national holiday! How could Admin even have found out about that, let alone the details about the leaflets and Ferit? I’m pretty sure even the admin secretary doesn’t have the Bureau for Security bugged.”

  “I couldn’t find the connection,” Vikki admitted, “but they did find out, and Admin did put through the records of your termination – and revoke your apartment assignment – almost as soon as the habbers picked you up. My best guess is that somebody at Security told them what to do and what to say.”

  Devra nodded. “Yes,” she said finally.

  “Yes what?”

  “Yes, it’s time to open the wine.”

  Wine before dinner might have been a mistake; they never did get around to making those cheese omelets. But it did make it easier to think about things other than the wreck of Devra’s career. Over the first bottle they discussed such major subjects as the meaning of life, the cost of good smartclothes, and men. On this last t
opic, Viktorya was definitely pro; men were fun, sex was good for your complexion, and with luck and a little leading they would give you the smartclothes.

  “I don’t think it’s worth going through all that messy emotional involvement just for nice clothes,” Devra stated, a little more firmly than she would have before they started drinking.

  “Watch out, dear, you’re in danger of sounding like a prig. You know perfectly well it’s not just about getting presents. Men are fun, and when one gets boring it’s easy to find a new one. Didn’t your crêche-mother tell you it was selfish to keep yourself to yourself all the time?”

  “Ye-es,” Devra admitted. “But that wasn’t Gran’s view. She told me that good sex is like good baking: you have to start with the right ingredients and take the time to do it right.”

  “Oh, right. I keep forgetting. You were only in day-crêche until, when? Eleven?”

  “Thirteen. Gran died when I was thirteen and my married brother didn’t have room for me, so I went to live at my school crêche.” Devra’s throat tried to close up when she remembered that change, so she gulped some more wine.

  “Probably too late to socialize you properly. Everybody ought to have a crêche rearing, it promotes harmony. They told us so every morning. Is that why you’re such a cautious little thing, never putting a foot wrong?”

  “No.” The wine made Devra feel relaxed and woozy. Why not tell Vikki? This wasn’t kinder-crêche. Vikki was her friend, she wouldn’t laugh and taunt her over something she couldn’t help. “It’s because I’m an Unlicensed.”

  Vikki pursed her lips and let out a long, low whistle. “Your parents didn’t have a child license? What were they thinking?”

  “They didn’t have much of a chance to explain to me. Their flitter crashed when I was five. Gran told me later that they were trying to warn the doctor and midwife who helped them, and then they meant to go back for me. But that was years later. I didn’t even know I was Unlicensed until I started kinder-crêche. But you see,” Devra nodded her head solemnly, “I have to make up for that by being the best citizen I can be.”

  “Until now… This must be the first time you’ve ever stuck your neck out. You should have been taking more risks all along.”

  “Because that’s worked out so well for me?”

  “Because if you were used to taking little risks then you’d have recognized that lying to Security was a great, big, humongous risk that you couldn’t afford to take.”

  “I thought you said you hoped you’d be brave enough to do it.”

  “That,” said Vikki, “was before I found out just how much it cost you…. Oh, for harmony’s sake, don’t cry!”

  Devra blinked hard, sniffed once or twice and finished off her wine with a gulp.

  “Attagirl,” Vikki applauded. She was already opening the second bottle, and as soon as the spout unfolded she poured a great splash of wine into Devra’s empty glass. “Oh, go ahead,” she said. “Drink a little more than you ought to. You’re entitled. And it’s good practice.”

  “For what? Becoming an alcoholic?”

  “For taking little risks. You risk a headache in the morning for the chance to strategize brilliantly now. I always think better when I’m slightly tipsy.”

  And over the second bottle they decided that in the morning Devra would apply to Boyun Eğme Secondary. “They’re always desperate for teachers,” Vikki asserted. “Most New Citizens don’t go to university, so they don’t get qualified. And nobody else wants to teach there.” She frowned. “You’ll probably be assigned an apartment near the school. How do you feel about actually living in a New Citizen block?”

  “I’m sure it will be fine,” Devra said. “I had a couple of New Citizens in my class at Wilyam Serman and they behaved themselves… after they tested me.”

  “You’re tougher than I am,” Vikki said. “Funny how, from being such a quiet little thing, you didn’t just put a foot wrong, you high-kicked your little foot right through Security. And now you’re not even worried about being surrounded by New Citizens all the time. Oh well, it’ll be something to keep you going for a couple of years until people forget what you did.”

  Privately Devra wasn’t quite so confident about handling an entire class full of rowdy New Citizens. But as it turned out, that wouldn’t be a problem.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Lars had avoided the student cafeteria for months; it reminded him too poignantly of his younger days, when he and Marina had met here to talk and argue and debate everything except his secret love for her. The age barrier between them had come down with a crash when her father died, and after they married they didn’t need to spend long hours in the cafeteria.

  And here he was, back in the student cafeteria, waiting for another stubborn and passionate young woman… But at least she wouldn’t complicate his life. All he had to do was explain to her, kindly but firmly, the absolute impossibility of composing any more leaflets until winter dried up the Fall Rains.

  “Do you mind if I take this seat?”

  It was Julle, with her CodeX already flipped open, looking as if the only thing on her mind was getting a cup of kahve and some study time. As soon as she was seated, she turned, brought up the virtual display, and asked for a physics textbook on the floating screen. When she rotated the CodeX sideways so that its voice sensor faced the echoing cafeteria, the display obligingly rotated too. “I know, I know,” she murmured to Lars with one finger over the sensor, “I ought to be studying for my Education qualifiers, but that stuff can cause irreversible brain damage. If I’m going to pretend to be studying, I have to have something on the display that’s actually interesting.”

  Lars nodded and opened his own CodeX, requesting departmental memos for the last month. If Julle thought education textbooks were brain-damaging, she ought to look at the sludge she’d have to wade through on a daily basis once she finished her degree and got a position as a junior lecturer.

  If she got the job. Bagwitt’s bleating about budget cuts had focused solely on the risk to his own job, but chances were the university was cutting junior positions also. He’d have to warn her about that; she might be better off forgetting about her thesis and looking for a place in a secondary school.

  “Take it off,” Julle murmured, “and place it like mine.”

  He followed her instructions.

  “Good. The noise in here ought to confuse anybody who’s trying to listen to us.”

  “Is anybody trying to listen to us?”

  “Probably not, but it’s safest to assume they are. What did you want to tell me?”

  “We’re going to have to forget about the ongoing project for a while,” he murmured at his own screen.

  “Why? I thought you’d have… completed some paperwork by today.”

  “I haven’t, and I can’t until the rains stop. My… study materials are all up on the North Coast, and I can’t sail in this weather.”

  “It’s not that bad, is it?”

  “A desperate man could manage the trip. An elderly professor, out sailing for pleasure?” Lars shook his head. “Nobody would believe it. They’d think I must be hiding something. And, of course, I am. And by the time I got back, there’d be habbers waiting on the docks, and they’d take me to Security, and nobody keeps their secrets under chemical interrogation. We’d lose the whole library.” All the forbidden, dangerous, overly political antique paper books that Marina’s father Gabrel had smuggled into Harmony. Irreplaceable.

  “Okay,” Julle said thoughtfully. “I hadn’t thought ahead. You’re right about that much, losing the library is too much to risk...”

  Lars exhaled – a long sigh of relief. He’d thought it would be harder to convince her.

  “So we’ll just have to write the… paperwork… without benefit of references.”

  Oh, discord. He should have known it wouldn’t be this easy.

  “Julle, I can’t do that! I’m a scientist, not a writer; Marina was the writer. Since you bullied
me into taking over I’ve only just managed to cobble together the papers with quotations and drawings and maybe one paragraph to tie it all together. And it takes me forever to write that paragraph!”

  “The paperwork was coming out regularly during last year’s rainy season, so not having access to the reference materials can’t have been that big a problem, can it?”

  “Last Rains,” Lars said, “Marina was doing it all. Well, dictating it to me. She had whole pages of the reference materials in her head. Gabrel used them to teach her to read, and from the time she was nine years old they used to pick a section of the reference library and talk about it over dinner. Every night.” His throat was dry; he reached for his cup of kahve and drank down half the contents, then gasped as his mouth and throat registered searing heat.

  “That,” said Julle, “was my kahve, Professor. It hadn’t been sitting on the table long enough to cool down.”

  “-Buy you another- “Lars offered as his vocal cords began to recover.

  “Don’t bother. I only bought it as an excuse to sit down. Anyway, the look on your face was worth it.”

  “You,” said Lars, “are an impertinent, pushy child and completely lacking a wholesome sense of respect for your elders. And I’m not going to work on the papers without my reference materials.”

  He felt he’d made his position perfectly clear and stated it with the necessary firmness and resolution. On the way back to his office, he tried to figure out how Julle had turned his point-blank refusal into an agreement to keep producing leaflets when he couldn’t fill the pages with lengthy quotations. He was reminded of trying to argue with Marina. It was, he thought, some kind of conversational judo that only women knew how to use: the more strongly he stated his case, the easier it was for her to use that strength to flip him head-over-heels.

  Well, he wouldn’t have to write enough to fill both sides of a leaflet. One page would surely be enough to convince Julle that he wasn’t a writer and that all her enthusiasm couldn’t turn him into one.