Office of Mercy (9781101606100)

by Djanikian, Ariel

  The attention warmed Natasha’s heart and overtook her thoughts to an almost unhealthy degree. She could forget the rest of her life when she was with Jeffrey. Her distress over what the Pines had done, how they had tricked her, how they had lied, drifted away in his presence. Her worry over how to get the Tribe a nova felt less urgent when he was there. At the same time, though, Natasha comprehended the danger of what she was doing. Here she was conspiring against the Office of Mercy, making deals with a Tribe, and breaking the most fundamental, Alpha-laid laws of the settlement, and who was she cozying up to? Who was she bringing closer and closer into her life? Jeffrey Montague. The Alpha favorite. The driving force in the Office of Mercy. The man who had singlehandedly swept more Tribespeople than any person in America-Five. Natasha could not waver in her duty to the Pines, and she could not stop seeing Jeffrey, and so she would walk with forced calm beside him in the Garden, listening while he talked about the abstract nature of the Ethical Code, her stomach clenched against the looming danger of her own deceptions.

  “Old societies,” Jeffrey was telling her one quiet evening, arriving at one of their usual subjects, “would talk for centuries and centuries—millennia even—about the possibility of eternity. They would write about it in stories and debate its availability for one type of person or another. Meanwhile, they were dying off in generational masses. For all their careful thoughts and complex considerations, for all their energy and imagination, they never seized wholeheartedly on the idea that the best place in which to herald in eternal life was within the realm of the living.”

  “Why didn’t they?” Natasha asked, anxious to keep their conversation on these general, highly theoretical concepts. “Wasn’t it obvious that the goals of society should be world peace and eternal life?”

  “They didn’t have their ethical priorities straight,” Jeffrey said. “For instance, if you look more closely at Pre-Storm systems, it becomes clear that their most cherished ethical decrees served one of two purposes. The first was to maintain social order, and the second was to create a false sense of control over the natural world. Some ethical values served both purposes at once.”

  “Like what?” asked Natasha.

  They had turned onto one of the narrow footpaths that dipped behind the row of trees, the high, latticed, and vine-covered wall rising on their right. Three little birds skipped away and took flight at their approach, and a large, bright green beetle flickered into the grass.

  “Well, like sexual rules, for example,” Jeffrey said. “It used to be that sexual relationships were sanctioned by whatever government or authority had power at the time.”

  “But that’s private!” Natasha said. “That’s only between the people involved.”

  Natasha glanced furtively at Jeffrey, expecting him to look as embarrassed as she felt; to her surprise, though, his expression was calm and his face retained its usual pallor.

  “Now it is,” he said, “because our government doesn’t require any method of control beyond its own, self-evident logic. And we as citizens don’t have to believe any illusions about our bodies. We control them. We control our own fate.”

  Jeffrey and Natasha reached the back wall of the Garden, and the floral sun that had been built for the Crane Celebration. They walked in silence until they reached the long, eastside wall and could slip behind a row of trees again. Casually, as though it were nothing, Jeffrey reached over and took Natasha’s hand, lacing his fingers through hers.

  In general, it was not such a meaningful gesture to take the hand of another person. Natasha and Raj had held hands in the woods, and Natasha had affectionately clasped hands with plenty of Epsilons over the years. But between her and Jeffrey, it was different. Natasha’s heart beat hard, and she felt like time itself had become thick and slow. Even after they had reconciled, Natasha had not anticipated that Jeffrey would touch her like this, not after the disaster in his sleeproom. But here he was, squeezing her palm, gazing at her like there was nothing in America-Five that he cared about more.

  As they continued down the path, Natasha’s senses took in everything, startled by the surge of life in her veins. The call of birds through the branches, the delicate fall of two brown-fringed leaves, the measure of her steps next to Jeffrey’s, the calm of the widening shadows as the diffuse light of evening died away—all of it touched with a fresh, vibrant aspect. She was acutely aware, too, of the tones and colors of her own feeling; how her happiness spread calm and bright like rippling waves over every surface, and also how, though she wished to deny it, a heavy sadness lay at the center of it all.

  Sadness, yes, it was there, drawing in her joy with its pull. It had to be. Because Natasha had realized in this moment that Jeffrey might actually love her, and also that she might love him; and yet, in this near-perfect culmination of years of close friendship, their minds had never been so far apart.

  She had lied to him, and she was lying to him now. And, worst of all, he did not in the very least suspect her. Her meetings with Neil Gershman were an act, and he believed it. Her regret for her actions during the mission and her acquiescence to his ethical views were manufactured, and he did not suspect a thing. How was it possible? Hadn’t he always said that she was a terrible liar? He used to sense the most subtle upsets in her mood, her fears and her quiet desires. He had known when she was having a bad day in school or when her nightmares had kept her awake, however she might have denied it. Once she had grown up and taken the job in the Office of Mercy, he would notice—he and no one else—the certain times when she struggled to keep up the Wall.

  At first, Natasha had been so proud of herself for fooling Jeffrey, but now that feeling was gone. She certainly did not wish Jeffrey would discover what she was hiding—but still, but still, it made her miserable. A whole other set of concerns existed in her head now, the concerns of the Tribe, and she could not share that with him. She hated that their minds had so diverged, and (though she knew she was being unfair) she was angry with Jeffrey, disappointed in him even, that he could not guess the truth.

  They passed into a shadowy area enclosed by the long, delicate vines of a willow tree. A little bird chirped overhead, rotating its thick neck and showing a glimmer of blue-orange iridescence. It felt like they weren’t in the settlement at all, in such a private and uncornered spot. A small, white tuft of pollen floated by Natasha’s ear. Then a slight pressure on her arm made her stop. Jeffrey was looking at her, at all of her, with a focus that would have seemed more appropriate directed at a computer screen in the Office of Mercy. She did not realize what he was planning to do before he did it. His chin dipped and his lips met hers. It felt wonderful and strange, and so different, so much more deliberate and tender than the kiss in his sleeproom. His hands rubbed upward along her sides, but before their embrace could deepen, Natasha pulled back.

  “Was that okay?” he said. He did not seem worried though; gladness and triumph lifted his voice.

  “I think so,” Natasha answered.

  She reached out and took his hand and they started walking again. She was grateful the path was so dim; she felt sure that her face was flushed pink.

  “This doesn’t need to lead to any next steps,” he said, after a pause, “if you don’t want it to.”

  “I’m confused,” she confessed.

  The sadness that had been at Natasha’s core was rising to the surface, but she watched the smooth dirt path at her feet, raked into lines by some fastidious worker that afternoon, and willed herself not to let her feelings show.

  “I can understand that,” Jeffrey said. “And there’s so much going on right now, with the Pines out there and the Zetas coming.” He held her hand tightly. “The last thing I want is to upset you.”

  “Okay,” she said. But it was no good, the sadness was coming. “I really love you, you know,” she burst out, as if those words alone had the power to make things right.

  “Of cou
rse,” he said. “And I love you.”

  • • •

  In the following days, Natasha and Jeffrey continued to meet after the dinnerhour, only they did not keep to the usual public areas, and the intimacy between them did not stay hovering around handholding and kisses. They convened in Jeffrey’s sleeproom, leaving the Dining Hall at discreet intervals, careful to signal each other with no more than a fleeting glance. Jeffrey would board the elephant first and Natasha would follow minutes later. He would greet her at the door, having listened for her footsteps in the hall, and then he would say, “Hello, beautiful,” and draw her in with him, kicking the door closed on the vacant hall. Early on they kept the lamp off and stayed to the bed, clutching each other and speaking in quick whispers, as if they were two kids in a dormitory, afraid of getting caught by their teachers. And yet, as the nights passed without the faintest indication of rumor or recourse, they grew more reckless, and cared less about who might hear them. The walls were thin, yes, and people were nosy, but stranger things had happened than this.

  Besides, the truth was that Natasha could not have stopped if she’d tried. It would have been impossible to stop. The more they possessed each other, the wilder her desire grew, as if they were passing through a finite dream of ultimate pleasure and happiness, a dream they could live out hungrily but could not save. Certainly the precariousness of Natasha’s situation within the settlement prevented her from taking any kiss or touch for granted. But Jeffrey appeared to feel it too; the same looming knowledge seemed to energize them both. Natasha felt this desperation, this threat of disaster and future aloneness not yet come to pass, and she struggled against it with her whole body, she raged against it with ravenous force.

  Jeffrey’s sleeproom could not contain them, and they began to meet in other places: a latched stall in the level six shower room, the empty Office of Air and Energy during the noontime shift change. One evening they returned to the Garden, only this time they stayed past the first dimming of the overhead lights. In the shadowy recesses of the oak trees, several feet from the path and hidden from view, Jeffrey pressed her back against the rough trunk of a broad sycamore tree and took her there—their prote-pants kicked under the bare soles of their feet—with only the birds as witness.

  When Natasha returned to her sleeproom that night, still brushing bits of leaves and bramble off her shirt, she found Min-he waiting for her, filled with anxious gossip about the New Wing.

  “It’s official,” Min-he said, springing up from her wallcomputer as soon as Natasha had entered the room. “The Zetas have outgrown their phase-two incuvats. About half of them weigh over three pounds now, and if they’re not transferred within the next fourteen days, the medworkers say they might experience developmental damage. The Alphas are mad, and Cameron Pacheco is an absolute wreck. I don’t think he’s slept in a week. They’re saying they still need more workers. I heard from my Director that Cameron asked for a list of all nonessential personnel—people he could draft to make temporary construction teams. In the Archives, that’s basically everyone, so I’m guessing I’m on the list. Did you hear anything like that from Arthur? I guess the Office of Mercy will have to hold some people back, but they might send the Epsilons first.”

  “Yeah,” said Natasha.

  “Oh, Arthur told you?”

  “No. I mean, no. I hadn’t heard anything.”

  “It would be fun, though, don’t you think? I wouldn’t mind if it’s only a week or so. I think it’s healthy to have a little workplace variety.”

  “Sure,” Natasha said. “Well, I think I’m going to take a shower.”

  “You took one last night.”

  “I was in the Garden, though. I feel kind of dusty.”

  “You were with Jeffrey again, weren’t you?” Min-he said with a smirk. “I knew it. You practically ran out of the Dining Hall when you saw him leave.”

  “We had plans to meet at nineteen hundred,” Natasha said shortly.

  “What’s going on between you two? I never run into you during leisure hours anymore. Has he been sneaking you off to empty storagerooms or something? I bet he has access.”

  “No, nothing like that,” Natasha objected, dismayed by how closely Min-he had guessed the truth. “Jeffrey’s very conscious of what the Alphas advise.”

  “Except for starting romantic relationships with people outside his generation, for reasons possibly other than what the Alphas condone. I mean, honestly, Natasha, is your partnership truly based on fully empathetic grounds?”

  “Of course.”

  “I’m just saying . . . you’re an Epsilon and he’s a Gamma. Your life experience is different, which makes it more difficult to create that sort of bond. There’ve been very few cross-generational partnerships, you know, for precisely that reason. You can look it up in the Archives, we keep track of the sleeproom assignments.” Min-he raised her eyebrows. “Don’t you think it’s possible that he might be letting down his Wall, giving in to prerational instincts? Your body fits the ratios that people used to glorify in women during Pre-Storm times. Bust to waist to hips. It sends signals about sexual vitality, or something like that.”

  “Where do you come up with this stuff, Min-he?”

  “You can read about it for yourself if you want. It’s all in the Archives.”

  “I’m not going to read about it because that’s not what’s going on between me and Jeffrey,” Natasha replied, her voice rising. “Age isn’t always the most important thing. You’re underestimating the power of empathy if you think so. Just because we don’t have as many shared experiences as people of the same generation doesn’t mean we can’t form a deep connection. Look at our interests. How we both chose to work in the Office of Mercy. How we’re interested in the Outside and how we like to discuss the Ethical Code.”

  “Okay, okay, I believe you!” Min-he said, putting her hands up. She plopped down on her pillow and gave a sudden, cheerful laugh. “Oh, Mother, I’m going to lose you, aren’t I? I can see it already. They’ll probably move in Hasmira or someone. Everyone knows that she snores.”

  “I’m not moving out.”

  “Aren’t you going to apply for a couples’ sleeproom?”

  “No,” Natasha said emphatically, turning her back on Min-he while she unfastened her shirt and her slightly wrinkled prote-pants and changed into her robe.

  Min-he, who was usually good at backing off before the two of them got into any real arguments, only smirked in response, then returned to talking about the New Wing. Natasha was hardly listening, though, because she was still thinking of Jeffrey.

  Truthfully, the idea of living in a couples’ sleeproom with him had occurred to Natasha many times, and only the more pressing matter of the Tribe had kept her from plotting ways to suggest it. She thought she would like that. Lying beside him every night. Sharing a closeness that excluded all but their own two bodies. That would crush the distance her secrets continued to force between them. That would cure Natasha of her worries and confusion; after all, despite what the Alphas said, what were things like settlement rules and the Ethical Code compared with two people living as one? After the Pines, Natasha thought, her heart pounding and her fantasies loud in her head. After they figured out some way to get the novas to the ocean and after the Tribes were finally safe. She had to trust that Jeffrey would still love her then, no matter what she had done. She believed—she had to believe—that his loyalty to her would trump his loyalty to the settlement, that he would stand by her side.

  By the time Natasha returned from the shower room, her damp hair tied up in a towel, Min-he was asleep. Natasha got into her own bed and huddled against the wall, the events of that evening still playing in her mind. A part of her remained shocked that she and Jeffrey were together at all. She would think, “Jeffrey loves me,” and her mind would work to grasp such a strange occurrence as fact. It reminded Natasha of her contact with the Pin
es, how she struggled both in the moment of meeting them and afterward to convince herself that what had actually happened had happened. Her eyes closed and her breathing slowed. She could hardly tell the difference these days: the divide between real and pretend.

  14

  Because of Min-he’s warning, Natasha was not as surprised as she might have been when she woke the next day to a flashing message on her wallcomputer: “Report to New Wing at 0800 for morning and afternoonshifts. Shifts in the Office of Mercy are canceled until further notice.”

  Min-he had the same instructions and, as they learned at breakfast, so did nearly every other Epsilon and a good portion of the older generations too. But not Jeffrey.

  Natasha found him in the crowded Dome, on his way to the Department of the Exterior. The Alphas had assigned him double shifts in the Office of Mercy, putting his and Natasha’s schedules into absolute conflict, and forcing their meet-ups, at least for now, to a halt.