Withûr We

by Matthew Bruce Alexander

  “Henry Miller?” she asked, her voice as severe as her visage.

  “Yes, ma’am,” he answered. Though it was not his custom, her severe expression and appearance induced him to so reply.

  “Follow me,” she commanded and walked away without looking to see if he followed.

  When they entered her office, she sat down at her desk and motioned for him to follow suit. In one corner of her desk stood the 3D image of a child but the room had no other adornments, just a few indeterminate stains on the wallpaper.

  “Thank you for your decision to help us at the Ministry of Information Collection and Synthesis,” she said in a perfunctory tone. “This is your first report?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he said, wincing at his second use of the word and resolving not to use it again. “I just signed up last week.”

  She slid a form and a pen across the desk. “Fill in this form as we go,” she ordered and sat back at her desk, hands folded in her lap. “What do you have to report?”

  “Well, not too much. I noticed my neighbor has been going outside late at night, presumably for a smoke but—”

  “Write his address down on the form. Anything else?”

  “I’ve noticed there has been some talk… some people are grumbling about the food situation. And I’ve heard a few people say the rebels have been providing more food than the government.”

  “Write their names down. What more do you have?”

  Henry scratched his head, considering the question. “I caught a couple people reading one of the pamphlets the rebels post everywhere.”

  “Write the names and addresses.”

  Henry put the pen to the paper but hesitated. “I’m not sure it’s worth it.”

  “We’ll decide that.”

  “I mean, they read it, but then they crumpled it up and threw it out.”

  “They can tell us themselves if they are arrested. Right now we need to gather information.”

  Reluctantly, Henry penned a pair of names, omitting a couple friends. The names he wrote were those of a couple men with whom he had quarreled recently. He felt vaguely guilty about it, but he needed the extra Credits paid to him should his information prove useful. He consoled himself with the thought that nothing would come of it anyway, especially if they were really innocent.

  “If that is all…?” the woman prompted when Henry paused in his writing.

  “That’s all,” Henry confirmed and stood up.

  She fed Henry’s report into her computer and a receipt came out the other side. This she slid across the desk to him. Henry nodded and turned to leave. When he was out the door, but before he turned the corner, she called after him.

  “Be sure to read the poster by the front door.”

  “What’s it about?”

  “Credits to anyone who can infiltrate the rebel force and report on their activity. You can sign up at the front desk. Please close the door behind you.”

  Henry obeyed her command. When he found the poster with the news, he approached it with his hands in his pockets and his neck inclined backwards to see it. Some tall individual had no doubt been responsible for affixing it there. As he read, his lips parted and a nervous sensation developed in the pit of his stomach. The Credits they offered were substantial, but the danger it presented made him feel queasy merely entertaining the idea. He bit at his lips. So tantalized was he that he hardly noticed the cold as he left the Snitch’s Office.

  Chapter 22

  It’s eerie, Alistair decided as he climbed the steep slope of a hill hidden from view of Arcarius, how much the still weather feels like the calm before a storm. The sun’s brilliance waned as it sank below the hill’s summit, and he found himself walking through deep snow in cold shadow. It felt so nice just to be able to exert himself without suffering headaches, as he had for the last few days, that his mood was a good one despite the gravity of the meeting ahead.

  By the time he reached the top, a tree-lined ridge about five hundred yards north to south, he was breathing harder and sweat formed on his forehead. He was losing his peak conditioning. Vowing to train more faithfully, he looked about and spied the large rock of which he had been told and, weaving through the sparse covering of pine trees, made for it. Clever Johnny and Oliver were already there, the former perched on top of the twenty-foot-tall rock eating an apple while the latter, arms folded, leaned against its base. Alistair waved to his friend and called out a greeting.

  “We’re not talking until Brad Stanson gets here,” Clever Johnny informed him, though his attention seemed to be more on the apple than on Alistair.

  “Unless you can come down here and shut me up,” Alistair replied, “I think I’ll say hi to my friend.”

  “This was your idea,” Clever Johnny retorted. “No talking until we are all together. I expect you to stand by it since the rest of us have while you were busy nursing a headache.”

  Oliver shrugged but said nothing. Alistair folded his arms and stood quietly with his legs apart, irritated with himself for not lashing back, but moved to silence by the logic. For the next minute, until Brad arrived, the three quietly remained in their chosen places. Only the crunch of Clever Johnny biting into the apple and chewing it broke the silence. It seemed the red haired man consumed the apple as loudly as possible, smacking his lips as he chewed and relishing the sound he was making, that he had brought the apple just to have the ability to make noise while they were quiet. When Brad did arrive, Johnny tossed the core off into the trees, wiped his hands on his winter leggings with a self satisfied air, and announced the meeting could commence.

  Brad came burdened with a bundle of books and parchments rolled up like scrolls. He kicked at some of the snow under a tall pine tree and set down the load in the space cleared off.

  “I’ve got maps and all sorts of resources here if we need it,” he proclaimed, out of breath, and as an afterthought nodded a greeting to the three of them.

  “First order of business is to discuss our little food distribution program,” Clever Johnny announced.

  “It’s been successful,” Brad asserted. “I think we’ve created a lot of sympathy for our cause. That with the symbol Alistair thought up—”

  “We need to anticipate the reaction,” Johnny interrupted him. “We’ve been breaking into the homes of politicians. The next home we break into is likely to be guarded. Traps are going to be set. We need to evolve before they do.”

  “Do you have any suggestions?”

  Clever Johnny shrugged and leaned back to recline on the top of the rock. “It’s hard to suggest things before we know what they are going to do.”

  “That’s not hard to imagine,” said Alistair. “They will set traps for us, but the best thing for them to do is to stop doling out food to high-ranking party members in such large amounts and reduce our payoff. That particular avenue is going to get cut off, but it may have already done its job. Now we need to concentrate on recruiting.”

  “Which raises other problems,” said Clever Johnny. “We’ve proven ourselves enough of a threat that they will try to infiltrate us.”

  “That was inevitable and we knew it a long time ago,” said Oliver. “No new members will be given access to sensitive information. We stay decentralized and loosely coordinated. We pick lieutenants we know we can trust.”

  “It might also be a good idea to infiltrate them,” offered Alistair.

  “I was about to bring that up,” said Oliver. “Bob LaSalle’s got a cousin in the police force. He says he might be prime for the picking.”

  There was a moment’s pause, and then Clever Johnny said, “Move ahead with it and see what he can do. But don’t forget he can play us as a double agent.”

  “Speaking of infiltration,” said Brad, “a number of our men have been drafted.”

  “And?” prompted Clever Johnny, as if he cared not a whit.

  “Do we let it happen or what?”

  Alistair shook his head. “If they get drafted they either l
eave the rebellion or go into hiding. There’s no in between choice.”

  “They might be of use in the military,” suggested Brad. “Just thinking long term.”

  “We need them here now,” said Alistair. “No military ever participated in a rebellion not led by one of its generals. They’ll be little use there, and with full bellies, likely to go over to the other side.”

  “So we order the men into hiding when they’re drafted,” Clever Johnny said simply.

  “We can’t order them to do that,” contested Alistair. “If they want to remain, that’s up to them.”

  “The State’s ordering them to go, so we order them to stay.”

  “They’re not in the rebellion because they obey orders,” Oliver observed. “We can’t make them stay; it won’t work.”

  “Even if it did we have no right to do it,” added Alistair. “If they go, they go. The rebellion must be voluntary.”

  Johnny’s eyes challenged Alistair through their narrow slits. “We have few enough men as it is.”

  “Which brings us back to recruiting,” interrupted Brad. Alistair and Clever Johnny were still busy with a staring contest, but he continued. “How about another prison break? They’re out in the open so it should be easier this time. The last prison break netted us a whole bunch of recruits.”

  Alistair shook his head. “I can assure you they are prepared for just such an attempt. We can only pull something like that off if we have surprise on our side, and we won’t. If we are going to win, it will be by keeping a step ahead of them and biding our time until everyone and anyone is ready to jump on board. At that point, we storm the castle and depose the aristocracy.”

  “So how do we stay ahead?” asked Brad.

  “We pick different targets and keep attacking,” said Clever Johnny. “They can’t possibly guard everything. And we infiltrate. And that reminds me: isn’t your brother a ranking bureaucrat for the Transportation Bureau?”

  Slowly, Alistair nodded and said, “That’s right.”

  Johnny made an expectant face, like a teacher waiting for a pupil to catch up. “So… why don’t you infiltrate?”

  Alistair shook his head, caught off guard by the suggestion. “There’s plenty of reasons why that’s a bad idea.”

  “Like?”

  “I was being followed. The night I used the Null Suit they came looking for me, asking my family where I was.”

  “It’s not against the law to leave without letting them know.”

  “Not yet anyway,” muttered Oliver.

  “The night I went out, I robbed a politician’s home. They are going to question me about that.”

  “Homes get robbed. You weren’t the only one out that night.”

  “I was the only one out whose father’s restaurant had just been seized by that particular councilman.”

  “They’ve only got motive and opportunity.”

  “I was a highly trained marine in the Elite Corps. They got means as well.”

  “That’s not enough to get a conviction.”

  “If I even get a trial! Forget it; it’s out of the question. There’s no way I can go back and not be arrested.”

  Johnny shrugged. “I just thought you might want to help the cause, but if you don’t want to use your brother that way, I understand.”

  “No, no, no, you’re not going to manipulate me like that. Do you think I’m that easy? My brother is a government stooge and a jackass; I have no problem with using him. As for helping the cause, I’ve done more since I arrived than I’ve seen you do.”

  “So you’re done, then?”

  Alistair cut himself short and glared at Clever Johnny. “That doesn’t even deserve an answer.”

  “If they were going to arrest you for the robbery,” continued Johnny, “they would have done it. They had the opportunity. It’s not a crime to evade police surveillance, even if it makes you look guilty as hell. They’ll probably put you under watch if you go back, but what I want to know is whether your brother can get you into the Transportation Bureau.”

  Alistair calmed his breathing which, without his realizing it, had sped up. “Yes, he could probably get me in. If I went back. But going back is too risky. I think I can be better used elsewhere.”

  Johnny made a face of mild disappointment, as if it meant little to him. “I guess we’ll go with LaSalle’s cousin, then.”

  The meeting’s intensity and focus diminished, and finally they called it quits. On the way back, Alistair found himself walking next to Brad Stanson who was struggling to hold onto the materials that had been of no use.

  “Can I help you carry something?” asked Alistair, and Brad gratefully handed over a few things. He had to stop and pick up a few more that fell before continuing. They walked side by side, picking their legs up high as they trudged through the powdery snow.

  Alistair decided to pose a question to Brad. “When this is over, assuming we win, what do you see as the ideal government?”

  Brad jumped right in with an answer, eager to discuss the topic. “Definitely something more like what we had, with the Voluntary System. We need to keep the elections free and open, and we need leaders who can govern selflessly, who can make decisions for the public good.”

  “Is that the important thing then? The greater good?”

  “Of course,” said Brad with a puzzled look.

  “Can you know what the greater good is?”

  Brad, panting as he tried to keep up with Alistair, motioned that he needed a breather. “It’s obvious.”

  “Is it? What if there is a public debate over a tract of land. Some people want to use it to grow crops; others want it for a new factory. How can you tell which serves the greater good? Do you take a vote? But what if the minority has stronger feelings about it? How can you measure that? How can you tell what serves the greater good?”

  Brad nodded. “I see what you mean. There will be some cases that are going to be a judgment call, but a well intentioned governor will make more right choices, on the balance, than wrong ones.”

  “So your system depends on the good will of the governors?”

  “Doesn’t any system?”

  “Don’t you think anytime you create an institution with the kind of powers governments have, you are going to attract precisely the kind of people you don’t want using those powers? The power to tax is the power to take the money one man earns and spend it on what you want, not what he wants. The power to regulate means you control how a business operates, not the man who actually worked to create it. Government is the power to punish and reward arbitrarily. Why give anyone that kind of power?”

  “Government is needed to make sure people stay in line and follow the law, that businesses don’t take advantage of people, that order—”

  “But who watches the watchers?”

  Brad opened his mouth. He shut it again. Alistair turned and began walking again. Hopping through the snow to catch up, Brad said, “No matter what you do, there is going to be someone on top. You have to design government as best you can and watch over it.”

  “The human element is always going to be what fails. What if there were a self regulating system which didn’t rely on human qualities because it’s kept in check by other forces?”

  “There is no such system.”

  “No?”

  “If there is no one’s thought of it. I don’t think we’re going to happen upon it. But in the meantime, I think you should consider Clever Johnny’s idea about the Transportation Bureau.”

  Alistair took the suggestion but did not comment.

  “You could do us a lot of good there. And I don’t think you’re going to be arrested.”

  Alistair walked a bit farther before he answered. “I’ll think about it.”

  Chapter 23

  As she propped up her head with her left hand under her jaw, Stephanie found she was able to flick her pencil so that it spun around for up to a dozen revolutions without falling off the edge of her des
k. Moreover, she was confident she would be able get as many as twenty with an especially accurate and forceful flick of her finger. The trick was to get it to spin without moving laterally because, if it fell off the table, obviously none of the revolutions counted.

  “Is he handsome?” asked a male voice, startling her. Her cheeks blushed.

  “What?”

  “The guy you’re daydreaming about.”

  “Do you have something for me?”

  The officer tossed a folder onto her desk, chuckled with a merry glint in his eye and sat down across from her.

  “You’re free to go now,” she informed him as she opened the folder.

  “I think I’d like to help you out,” he said with a youthful self-assurance she would have found amusing if he had not just caught her twiddling her pencil.

  “I’m quite fine by myself.” Stephanie emptied the contents of the folder onto her desk: a computer disk and a parchment with a now familiar yellow symbol. She tossed the propaganda aside and inserted the disk into her hard drive.

  “Have you made any headway with the prisoners?” the young man asked her, placing his feet on the edge of her desk.

  Stephanie swatted them off. “Are you still here?” Not waiting for an answer, she spun around in her chair to face her computer display.

  “I heard they’re not talking.”

  “They don’t know anything. Believe me, if they knew something they’d have told me by now.”

  “So I thought maybe you could use some help.”

  Stephanie gave an exasperated sigh and spun back. “What’s it going to take to get you to leave me alone?”

  “Take me on as a partner.”

  “I don’t even know your name.”

  “You don’t remember?” The young man affected mock sorrow. “Ryan LaSalle,” he said brightly with a smile that nearly split his face in half, “since you’re pretending not to remember. But my friends call me—”

  “I’m not your friend. Whoever your friends are, I hate them. I know what you’re trying to do: you want to get in on some of the good action for yourself.”