Office of Mercy (9781101606100)

by Djanikian, Ariel

  Eduardo said that if they could only stop the sweeps, the Tribespeople could live rich, fulfilling, and independent lives—lives that would inevitably last under a century—but that would still probably rival the citizens’ own in excitement and depth of experience. He and Mercedes had spent a good deal of time looking over the Office of Mercy’s own satellite data, and they had noticed for themselves the large animal migrations of last year.

  “Why can’t we allow the Tribes to continue in that direction?” Eduardo asked. “Right now there’s a huge gathering of animal species due south of this settlement, five degrees down longitude seventy-five. If the large mammals are thriving in that area, then it follows that the Tribes would do well there too. What makes us think that the people Outside wouldn’t be happy in a place like that? The problem is that we’re so demeaning to them. We act like the suffering they endure robs the rest of their life of any meaning or profundity, and that’s a mistake. Look at what we call them, even. Cranes. Pines. Obviously that’s not what they call themselves. Language like that is designed to keep up the Wall. It’s an attempt to position ourselves above them. Keep us from misplacing our empathy, or whatever the Alphas call it.”

  Ben, his voice trembling slightly with so much eager attention on him, turned his large brown eyes to Natasha and said, speaking for himself and Sarah both, for she had taken his hand in silent encouragement, “If we only shared a little of what we have with the Tribes, it would do so much good. Seeds from our gardens, medicine from the Department of Health, or simply knowledge about our world. Anything that could help them build permanent homes and food supplies of their own. Just little things would help so many.”

  Raj spoke the most passionately of all.

  “We think,” he said to Natasha, “that because the Alphas wield control over death, because they have stolen that control from nature, they also in some way have a right to it. But they don’t. To me, they are nothing but overgrown children. Control does not give the right to control, and it certainly does not grant understanding. Our lives are mysteries, Natasha. Yours, mine, the Alphas’, every one of the Tribespeople’s. And just because we’ve figured out how to keep rearranging our cells to force our bodies to go on century after century doesn’t mean we’ve gotten one nanometer closer to the true nature of our existence. What is life? What is that spark of consciousness that makes you more than a collection of material stuff? What is that whole universe of thoughts and memories that exists for you? That exists for each of us? Doesn’t it bother you, for instance, that the nature of your thoughts as you think them and the flicker of chemicals between neurons in your brain bear so little resemblance to one another—and yet we say they are the same phenomenon? The Alphas don’t have answers. None of us do. We can’t begin to explain it.” Raj shook his head. Then he folded his hands before him and looked deeply into Natasha’s eyes. “We do not know what life is, and so we cannot know what death is. And if we cannot know, then we should never, no matter our earthly justifications, kill.”

  They had plans, too. Or rather, they had plans to make plans. They wanted to do what Natasha had done, to sneak out of the settlement and talk to the Pines. They got it out of her that she knew where to find them, and that she was considering going to meet them six days from now, on the night of the next full moon. With their rapid talk and zealous scheming, they convinced her that any such action would require their help. Eduardo, who held a high position in Construction, could schedule maintenance work on the exterior of the New Wing, thus ensuring the shutoff of the sensors on the green. Ben and Sarah could linger in the Dome, keeping their eyes and ears open for anything out of the ordinary—signs that a citizen suspected a breach, or worse, signs that the Office of Mercy had found the Tribe too, and was preparing to sweep. Mercedes could wait in the hall of the Department of the Exterior, ensuring that Natasha would not need to reenter the settlement blind. And Raj. Raj wanted to go with Natasha. The Outside was a dangerous place and she could not possibly go alone. Besides, he had devoted his whole adult life to fighting for the rights of the Tribes. He wanted to meet them. He needed to see them with his own eyes and touch the hot flesh of their hands and know that the people he fought for, the people for whom he had already sacrificed so much, were more than just numbers on the maincomputer or grainy sensor images—that they were more than dreams.

  Oh, it was happening too fast. They invented schemes with such optimistic hurriedness, a hurriedness that pushed aside the horror that lived in every blade of grass and every molecule of air in the Outside. Natasha had to interrupt the rhythm of conversation several times to remind them how quickly safety and danger and life and death could interchange once a person exited the sturdy enclosures of America-Five. She left the conference room in a turbulent state, with too many voices and possibilities swirling around in her head: the chief, Axel; the beautiful Tezo; and Raul, whose family had died; Jeffrey and his recent reprimands, his sincere and heartfelt warnings, but the fire too, the orange flames and heat of the past that hid a truth she could not begin to name; and Arthur and Eric and all that she had worked for in the Office of Mercy; the Wall and the Ethical Code and the Alphas, those three pillars that had supported her life for as long as she could remember. And now Raj, Mercedes, Eduardo, Sarah, and Ben—their voices rang in her ears as if she were still in the room with them, their words about life and justice and death and consciousness echoing within her skull until, late that night, she moaned into her pillow to shut them up, waking Min-he, whose startled cry, “What is it, Natasha? What is it?” disturbed her as much as her own thoughts.

  The next morning, Natasha made a decision. She typed in a request at her wallcomputer (not even minding when Min-he peeked at the screen), and within minutes she had an appointment at 0800 hours with Neil Gershman in the Office of Psychotronomy, a place she had not gone since her childhood. Instead of continuing down the central hallway to the Bioreplacement offices, as she usually would when visiting this Department, Natasha entered through the first door on her left. The Psychotronomy office had a small, comfortable waiting room with dark maroon walls and two threadbare but still very plush couches. Neil’s office too had a warm, cozy feel, so different from the sterile coldness that characterized the rest of the Department of Health. He offered her a seat in a large prote-velvet armchair while he brought up her file on his wallcomputer. Once she was settled, he uncapped a pen and reclined in his own high-backed chair.

  “Let’s begin with your feelings about the Office of Mercy,” he said. “When did you first make the decision to work there? According to your records, you passed the entrance exam with very high marks at age seventeen, within just a month of finishing school. . . .”

  Neil Gershman was the senior psychotronomist. He was a Beta and he had held this position twice as long as the vast majority of citizens remained in any one Office: an uninterrupted seventy-one years. He was a handsome man with a head of thick brown hair that was famously his own—not transplants like most Betas wore.

  His expertise showed. His kind, pointed questions had the power to shed light on the strangest corners of Natasha’s mind, and coax answers out of her that she hardly knew were there.

  “I guess I only felt curious about the Tribes at first,” she found herself saying. “It wasn’t until a year or two into working at the Office of Mercy that I sometimes wouldn’t build the Wall when I knew I should. But I liked to think about them. And then there was Jeffrey. I knew he couldn’t keep the Wall up all the time because he understood the Tribes so well. He could predict what they’d do better than anyone. He’s always been the best in the Office, everyone knows that. I thought maybe I could be like him . . .”

  “But there are consequences to letting the Wall down, aren’t there?”

  Tears rose in Natasha’s eyes. “When you don’t build a Wall, you start to project yourself onto them. And then, when it’s time to sweep, the ethical thing doesn’t feel right anymore.” Natas
ha exhaled a deep breath. “I’ve realized something, though,” she said.

  “What’s that?”

  “I’ve realized there’s a whole history behind our dealings with the Tribes that I’ve only just begun to learn. And also that, well, other people, especially older people, must have felt the way I do sometimes, and asked the same questions. The Alphas have lived through all these changes. If they believe the sweeps are ethical, that this is the best possible action, then maybe I should trust them. And as I get older, maybe I’ll begin to understand it better too.”

  Neil smiled. “That’s very sensible of you, Natasha, very thoughtful. I’ve had Gammas and Betas in here who aren’t capable of that kind of maturity.”

  At the end of the session, Neil had her schedule an appointment for the following week, this time on her free day, so that she wouldn’t have to miss work again. He also gave her a bottle of small orange pills.

  “I happen to know that these were prescribed to you after the mission. But this time, maybe you’ll take them?”

  Natasha nodded and promised she would, tucking them into her pocket.

  Outside the Department doors, a lone figure was pacing up and down the marble floor of the sun-drenched Dome. It was Jeffrey. When he saw her, he came to her and drew her into a tight hug. Natasha did not resist.

  “How did you know I was here?” she asked. But she was not at all surprised. She had guessed that when she failed to show up for work, he would come looking. She had counted on it in fact.

  “When the maincomputer canceled your shift, I got worried. I thought maybe one of your injuries had healed improperly. So I called the Department of Health and kept them on the line until they gave me answers. I’m sorry, you don’t mind that they told me, do you? I know the sessions are supposed to be private. I didn’t give them much choice in the matter.”

  “No,” Natasha said. “I don’t mind.”

  She pressed her face against his chest.

  “I’m proud of you,” he said. “You’re going to be just fine from now on.”

  12

  “She’s not coming.”

  “She will,” answered Tezo.

  “She’s not coming, and we’ll be dead if we stay here!”

  Mattias rose to his feet, his bare chest, which he had painted that morning, thrust out as if ready to fight.

  Axel glared from where he knelt in the cold sand. He did not like Mattias’s temper. He would have sent the young man off to the mountains with the children and old ones, if not for his unparalleled strength.

  “We should go on without her,” Mattias continued. “We’d be better for it. Besides, the risk is too great. If she’s told them already—”

  This time, Tezo did not respond. Instead, he unsheathed the knife that hung at his right hip and began to sharpen the blade against a palm-sized rock.

  “I agree with Mattias,” spoke up Hesma, the most skilled of their female hunters and, recently, their new leader of prayers. She snapped a bundle of kindling over her knee. “I’d rather risk blood than let years of preparation go to waste because of one god-person girl.”

  “Then let it be your blood, not mine,” growled yet another voice from near the fire. Raul.

  Hesma met this challenge with excited resolve. “You’re upset about your family,” she said. “But they never should have been here. Ollea, maybe, but not the children. Why you allowed them to stay—”

  Raul suddenly grabbed a copper-tipped arrow from where it lay on the ground. He held it gleaming over his head, his mouth open, threatening not only Hesma but also some pervasive and unseen enemy of his mind, the whole vast darkness beyond the shallow light of their fire.

  This would not do.

  Axel rose and stood before Raul; he laid a hand on his shoulder while the others looked on. He whispered words for only Raul to hear, words of comfort, of understanding.

  Tezo walked over too. He urged Raul to put the arrow down and, in its place, to take his last handful of grain, as Raul had eaten little in days. Axel stepped away. He could count on Tezo. Of course, he used to be able to count on Raul too, before they had lost Ollea and the children.

  “Do you think she’s really coming?” a boy asked hesitantly from beside the wind-whipped flames, interrupting Axel’s thoughts. “Nassia?”

  Now it was London who had spoken, Axel’s half-brother who, at fourteen, was the youngest person allowed to stay for the fight. Too young, that was obvious now.

  “Yes,” assured Axel. “As soon as she can, she will be here. She warned us about the attack on our caves, didn’t she? If it wasn’t for her, we might have been dead. Those were strong weapons, like she told us.”

  London nodded and, moving out of the shadows, stoked the fire with a stick, his solemn face bronze in the orange radiance of heat, his eyes squinting against the ash.

  “But for tonight,” Axel continued, now openly addressing the group, “we need to forget about ourselves. We came here to honor the sea-fishing people who died in this place, who were killed by the same murderers who tried to destroy us. Their bodies are scattered here, with no one left to remember them but us. Let us pray and ask God to accept their souls into the land hereafter.”

  At this reminder, the people stifled their own impatience and fear and returned to the task before them: preparing a funeral for the sea-fishing people. They had not known this group well, only traded with them once or twice in the North. But they had witnessed the cloud of black smoke that had signaled their annihilation; and, in death, these strangers had become dear to them, like distant family.

  As soon as the fire grew strong enough, they lit four torches and carried them to the four points that marked the corners of the wreckage. Two torches burned where the ocean foam broke across the sand, and two others at the edge of the toppled, singed expanse of forest. Usually during a funeral, these four points of light would mark the area of the deceased person’s body: two torches at the head and two at the feet. Arranged in this manner, the light allowed God to look down from His place in the afterworld and see the soul that was ready for Him to free from the shallow dwelling called Earth. Here, however, because the bodies of the sea-fishing people had gone to dust, and had mingled with the particles of sand and dirt and water up and down this beach, the best they could do was to mark off the whole spread of death. They imagined the souls lingering just above the sand, in the exact place of the body’s death, waiting, however the dead may wait, for God to call them home.

  Once they had secured the torches, Axel ordered the fire at their camp built higher. Then, in the orange heat, with the circular dark of forest at their backs and the depthless dark of ocean before them (fushh-ahhh, the ocean breathed, sighing cold gusts that made their ears and noses go numb), the group began the funeral prayers.

  They appealed to God for forgiveness, their voices gathered together in song: forgiveness because they themselves had not done more to warn the sea-fishing people of the danger here, forgiveness for the humbleness and hurriedness of these funeral rites, and, most of all, they asked forgiveness on behalf of the dead. For though it was probable that the sea-fishing people had not worshipped the true God in life, surely it was only ignorance of His presence, and not pride or evilness, that had prevented them from a holy existence.

  Hesma, the leader of prayers, began the concluding calls, and the rest of the Tribe gave answer:

  “Who is gathered here?” Hesma sang.

  “We, the children of God.”

  “God in His mercy will bring these souls to Him.”

  “We trust in God. He who gave us life, who lifts our souls at death, who promises life forever in His grace.”

  “We trust in Him.”

  “We trust in You, God.”

  “The Sun and the Moon are Him.”

  “Lead us, God, our lives are lived for You. Accept us at death into Your kingdom.�
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  Their voices converged to one and then dispersed, leaving behind the climactic silence of sixty-four desirous souls. Because now God would come, if He had deemed their prayers worthy. The people fell to their knees, digging ruts into the sand, their arms outstretched to the sky and their wrists and fingers stiff with reaching, their heads thrown back. Oh, and now God was close, they could feel His invisible presence against their flesh, filling their hearts. He had come to carry those poor souls away; the air rang with cries to Him.

  “O God, I love you. Forgive me,” cried London, with the heartfelt sincerity of youth, and who would have fumbled to name his offenses if pressed.

  “Watch over my family,” said Tezo, thinking of his mother and his little brothers and sisters. “They are with the others in the North Mountains. The children, please, the children. They are so afraid.”

  “Save us,” said Mattias, who had only weeks ago promised himself to the most beautiful woman on Earth. “Let me return to Nona. It will kill her if she hears I have died.”

  “O God,” cried Raul. “I have said bad things against You. I have been angry. But I will be better, the best, if You will see us through this fight.”