“See what?”
“That they’re like us. The Pines are like us. I never expected that, but it’s true.” She spoke in an angry rush. His questions felt unfair; he was doubting her without listening first. But if he wanted to discuss the Tribe then, fine, that’s what they’d do. She wanted to shock him. “I was scared in the cave,” she said, “I was. But now I don’t believe that they ever wanted to hurt me. Because they had the chance and they didn’t. They left me alone in the cave rather than kill me.”
“You’re projecting. You mean that if you had been in their situation, you would not have caused purposeless harm to another human being.”
“I’m not projecting. I was there. I’m telling you what I saw.”
“Okay, then how about abducting you and terrifying you beyond belief? Is that like us?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” Natasha faltered, her voice rising with irritation. “But at least you have to agree that the Pines aren’t in the same situation that the Cranes were in. The Cranes were suffering. I can see how they needed our mercy. But these people—I saw it with my own eyes, Jeffrey. They’re healthy and strong and they want to keep living.”
“But they can’t keep living,” Jeffrey said. “Surely you see that. They don’t have bioreplacement. Their bodies decay with no intervention. You’ve stopped thinking clearly, Natasha. Healthy and strong now, for a moment. But it won’t last. The human body wasn’t built to last—not until our technology changed that.”
“Well, maybe the people outside aren’t so obsessed with eternity. Maybe the moment’s good enough for them.”
“So what’s your point?” Jeffrey asked, suddenly sounding fatigued.
“That we change things!” Natasha said. “That we stop what we’re doing in the Office of Mercy.”
There was a crack in his demeanor, a subtle twitch of his mouth. She could see that she was finally getting through to him. At the same time, the Wall had disappeared in her mind, letting forth a wave of other thoughts, new thoughts. Natasha didn’t care. She didn’t want the Wall. She’d rather remember everything that had happened to her, unfiltered by the Ethical Code.
Jeffrey rubbed the fabric of the chair with his thumbs. He grunted and then he stood and opened a door in the base of his bedside table, removing a green bottle and two waterglasses. He poured a clear, strong-smelling liquid from the bottle, only filling each cup a quarter full.
“That’s alcohol,” Natasha said, recognizing the sting of its aroma. “How did you get that?”
“The rules are somewhat more lenient for the older generations,” Jeffrey said. “Try some if you’d like. You’ve never had this kind before.”
He returned to his seat, taking slow sips. Natasha took the waterglass and brought it to her lips. The liquid burned in her throat but she drank it all. She returned the empty glass to the table with the tingling, grassy taste still in her mouth. Jeffrey’s eyes remained fixed on her through all this, though he did not speak.
Natasha glared at him, wiped her mouth with deliberate force, and stood. There were three pictures hanging in a line near the door, and a polished piece of wood, a flute, resting on two large nails above them. On closer inspection, Natasha saw that the pictures were photographs of Outside things: one was of a valley of leaning trees, their branches weighted by ice; the second showed a human shelter of animal skin and sturdy sticks, propped against the base of a vertical cliff; and the third was of the river. Natasha reached up and touched the flute, understanding now that it was not some relic of a childhood pastime, but a genuine artifact from the Outside.
Jeffrey rose from his chair and walked over.
“I don’t know why I still have those things,” he said, a note of annoyance in his voice. “I’ve been meaning to move them to the Archives for years.”
He was close to her, only inches away. The familiar smell of his body, the familiar, low tenor of his voice, the hard symmetry of his muscular shoulders and handsome features, all except—no, including—the furious burn—these sensations of his presence impressed themselves upon Natasha with a power that blocked out all the world but him.
He looked down at her and before she could consider the magnitude of what she was doing, Natasha raised one hand and cupped his neck over his scarred flesh, her fingers reaching to trace where the mark rose to a gathering point, the way fire would, just below his ear.
His steady expression gave her no permission, no response, but driven by the momentum of her own mounting passion, Natasha lifted her face to his and kissed him on the mouth. His lips yielded, though he did not make a move to touch her. Her arms wrapped over his shoulders, clasping at the back of his neck. She kissed him hard, determined beyond all else to break through the barricade he had made to keep her out; she kissed him so that he could not ignore her, so as to force his feelings to come raging to the surface.
Their mouths pressed together, and now Jeffrey did touch her, holding her waist, taking against himself the weight of her body. Natasha’s hands traveled down to find the first fastening on his second-skin shirt. She removed one and then the other, down to the base, where she fumbled to release his prote-pants too.
He stopped her then—an abrupt and startling halt—releasing her body so that she stumbled. He turned away and quickly redid the fastenings, leaving her stunned and staring at the large square of his back.
When she finally spoke, her voice was hoarse.
“You didn’t want that to happen?” she asked.
He was silent.
“Well?” she asked, more forcibly now.
“This is not appropriate, Natasha. You know as well as I do what the Alphas advise. A well thought-out, committed partnership is one thing. But for lustful feelings, there are other ways, the Pretends—”
He turned around, striving to appear tidy and put together, like nothing had happened.
“I don’t care,” she said loudly, as if to drown out her own embarrassment. “It’s not like other people follow those ridiculous rules.”
“Well, I do care. And as your teamleader, I cannot in good conscience engage in this type of action with you. My work means too much to me. I know the Office of Mercy means a great deal to you too. Besides,” he said, with a small and infuriating smile, “we’re not even of the same generation. You’d be better off with someone like Eric, or one of the other Epsilon men—”
“Oh, stop it, Jeffrey,” Natasha said, cutting him off. “I’m really sick of how you’ve been treating me. You’ve been a real jerk and it’s just getting worse.”
He paused, considering this accusation. “You mean since the mission.”
“Of course that’s what I mean,” Natasha answered, completely exasperated. “What else would I be talking about?”
He retrieved his waterglass from the bedside table, his expression thoughtful and cold. In the course of just minutes, he had managed to banish the whole, amazing moment of their kiss and return them right back to where they’d been before, when Natasha had first entered his sleeproom. He took a sip, regarding her from over the top of the glass.
“I’m extremely disappointed in you, Natasha. You’re aware of that, right?”
Of all the terrible things she had imagined him saying, she had not prepared herself for this. The words hit her with material force.
“What do you mean?”
“Not, not this.” He waved his hand at where they’d been standing. “I’m talking about the mission.”
Natasha shook her head, unable to speak.
“I went to the Alphas,” he continued. “I vouched for you. I put my own reputation on the line. I told them that I’d never seen a young member of the Office of Mercy with more promise. That you had more than lived up to your scores on the Office of Mercy entrance exam. So how do you thank me? First you refused to listen to me—everyone refused to listen to me—when I said that the mission had
changed. Then in the field you go gallivanting off on your own despite my warnings. And then . . . then you fail to maintain the Wall at the most crucial moment. And not even in the face of a human being, but for a dog! Never consulting with me or Arthur, never stopping to think how suspicious it was, that a Tribe dog just happened to find you. You ran right into their trap!”
“Fine.” Natasha blinked, fighting to hide her emotion. “Fine, I understand.”
“I’m not done yet,” Jeffrey said. “At the very least, you could try to make up for it now. Instead, you go spouting nonsense to Arthur, the head of your Office. You come running to me in my sleeproom during my leisure hours. . . . Did you know I have Claudia going behind my back, talking to the Alphas? If it were up to her, she’d get both of us transferred.”
His tirade seemed to exhaust itself here, but it was too late, because Natasha felt she would collapse if he made her listen to more. Amazed that her legs could carry her, she got up and walked out of the room. Three people passed her in the corridor but she did not dare look up or return their singsong hellos. She jammed the button for the elephant until the slow, stupid thing arrived; and, by the power of will alone, she managed to keep the explosion of tears at bay until the doors had closed.
Her own sleeproom was mercifully empty. On her bed, someone had left a bag of freshly laundered clothes, the clothes that she had worn on the morning of the mission. Beside the lamp on the bedside table stood a waterglass with three daisies and, tucked beneath the glass, a note from Min-he: Welcome home! Natasha sniffed and inhaled a shuddering breath. That was kind. Min-he must have snatched the daisies from the Garden when no one was looking, as the private use of Department of Agriculture flowers was not allowed. Natasha pulled off her shoes and lay facedown on her bed, letting her own misery overwhelm her as Jeffrey’s terrible words echoed through her body in painful waves. Was it possible? Natasha wondered. Had she really misunderstood him so completely? All her life, Jeffrey had distinguished her from the group, had made her his confidante, his apprentice, his favorite. It was simply impossible to believe his indifference. She could not believe it! And yet. The facts spoke for themselves: she had kissed him and he had stopped her. The memory of it was excruciating, and Natasha pressed her face down until the air was hot and she could hardly breathe. She felt humiliated and she sobbed, hating Jeffrey and hating the world.
Because then, on top of everything, there was the mission, his disappointment in her over the mission. (Or maybe the two were intertwined, Natasha thought—he decided he liked her less when he realized what an idiot she was.) It hadn’t occurred to Natasha to regret what she had said to Arthur until Jeffrey had cast this new light on her actions. She realized only now how ridiculous it was to have thrown a fit over the Tribe’s speaking English. She should have perceived that possibility herself, simply from knowing the basic history of the Storm, and knowing that once, the Alphas and the other human beings on this continent had shared a common language. She thought about chasing after the Tribe dog and her self-hatred plunged a notch lower. Of course she knew how stupid she’d been, of course everything Jeffrey had said about her mistake was true—but hadn’t she suffered enough for it yet? She certainly didn’t deserve to have people like Claudia gloating over her failures. Natasha pressed her cheek into the pillow, wishing for a thing that she had never wanted before: that she did not have to go to work tomorrow, that she could spend her Alpha-given eternity in bed.
The evening deepened and the lights began to dim automatically. Natasha felt too tired to get up and hit the override switch by the door, and she was about to change into her nightclothes when a noise from the hallway caught her by surprise. She lay there for some seconds, listening. Then it came again, someone tapping lightly at her door. Thinking it must be Jeffrey coming to apologize, Natasha jumped out of bed. She wiped her face with her sleeve and turned on the lamp, catching sight of her own reflection in the small oval mirror by her wallcomputer. She pinched her cheeks to redden them but it was a losing battle; she was a frightful mess. The tapping sounded again and she leapt across the room and opened the door. But she had guessed wrong: it was not Jeffrey, but Eric who stood in the hallway, hands in his pockets, looking weary and afraid. The hopeful glow in Natasha’s chest snuffed itself out at once; she had never been so disappointed to see anyone in all her life. She remembered what Jeffrey had said about her being better suited for Eric and she almost slammed the door in Eric’s face.
“Your roommate here?” Eric whispered, noticing nothing of Natasha’s distress.
“She’s working late, I think.”
“Good, that’s what I heard. Can I come in? I need to talk to you.”
Natasha sighed heavily, but she stood aside and let Eric past her. Citizens rarely visited one another in their sleeprooms. To have two visits in one night—first Natasha to Jeffrey’s and now Eric to hers—was unheard of. Natasha gestured to Min-he’s bed and Eric sat down, still nervous.
“What’s the matter?” Natasha asked. “Did something happen in the Office?”
“No. At least, not yet.”
“Not yet?”
“Listen,” he burst out, “I want to know what they said about me, what Arthur said. I heard he came to visit you in the medical wing.”
“We didn’t talk about you,” Natasha said, completely bewildered.
“But they told you about the manual sweep?”
“They said Nolan did it. Eric, what’s this about? I was almost asleep.” Natasha was getting annoyed; she didn’t feel like talking about the Pines right now.
But then, to Natasha’s astonishment, Eric dropped his face into his hands and groaned.
“I messed up, Natasha. I totally froze out there.”
“What? What are you talking about?”
“Twenty minutes after you left,” Eric said, still refusing to look up, “they told us you were missing. Jeffrey took off. Alejandra was ten feet ahead of me when I heard something behind us. I knew it couldn’t be Douglas or Nolan, because they were coming from the other direction. It was a Pine. A man.”
“Who?” Natasha asked.
“I don’t know who,” Eric said. “But he spoke to me.”
“In English.”
“Arthur gave the order for a manual sweep,” Eric continued, “but I just stood there. And then when I finally thought I could do it, the man dropped to his knees. He begged me to let him go. He swore he wouldn’t come back here again. I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t sweep him. It didn’t seem right. I know it was the ethical thing to do, but it didn’t seem right. And then he ran away and everyone yelled at me.”
“Maybe it wasn’t right,” Natasha said. Suddenly Eric’s presence was not so unwelcome, perhaps someone in the settlement did understand her after all. She walked over and sat beside him on Min-he’s bed. “The same thing happened to me when I tried to sweep one of their dogs. I hesitated and it got away and I followed it. That’s how they got me. But the thing is, I don’t feel sorry I let the dog live.” Natasha wasn’t totally sure how safe it was to confess the full truth of her feelings to Eric, but she pressed on. “I’m glad it lived, no matter what the Alphas say.” She put a hand on Eric’s shoulder. “Aren’t you glad you let the man live?”
“He won’t live long,” he answered. “And I wasn’t strong enough to give him a peaceful end. Stupid, embracive thinking. I let down my Wall.”
“But it’s more complicated than that,” Natasha urged. “And I bet other people would agree with us too, if they’d seen the Pines like we had.”
“There was something different about them, wasn’t there?” Eric said. “They didn’t act like the Cranes. Or the Larks or the Wolves,” he added, naming two partial sweeps from when they were children. “I tried to explain that to Arthur, but he didn’t get it.”
“Jeffrey wouldn’t listen to me either.”
As Natasha spoke, trying to keep th
e hurt out of her voice, her gaze drifted to her wallcomputer, which was glowing with an announcement. She walked over to turn off the screen, her eyes scanning the Alpha bulletin regarding progress on the New Wing.
Eighteen members of the Office of Material Science and the Office of Agricultural Maintenance have been transferred to the Construction team. We hope that these new additions will hasten work on the exterior paneling, as well as free up our electrical engineers to work exclusively on the phase-three and postliquid incuvat environs. As for our eighty-three generation Zetas, they continue to develop in the Office of Reproduction. Their liquid-emergence date remains December 10th, and not even we, as Alphas, can request that they push it back.
Eternally Yours, Alphas/deptofgov
Natasha circled the sender address with her finger. She had an idea. It was risky; it would probably get them in trouble with Arthur. But given that he had already demoted their team to satellite watch, she figured they didn’t have much to lose.
“Eric, do you think you could write down what you just told me, about the man begging for his life?”
“Why would I write it down?”
“Because I want to send a message to the Alphas. I want to tell them what happened to us in the field. Both of us.”
Eric shot her a dubious look.
“Wait, think about it. Who knows what Arthur’s telling them? What he’s censoring from his reports? He’s already made up his mind about the Pines. Why would he bother making a case for them to the Alphas?”
“And you’ll message them?” he asked. “Message the Alphas? You realize what you’re saying, right?”
“Yes, I do. We should explain what really happened and request a meeting with them. A meeting in the Department of Government. No Epsilon has ever contacted them directly before, as far as I know. At least they won’t be able to ignore us.”
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