by Leahy, R. J.
“Is that right? And who will head this new, ‘people’s government’?”
“It’s all ready been discussed. Once the Ministry and the Council have been eliminated, a committee will be formed from the leadership of the movement to govern the city, but only until a more democratic system can be set up. Our first order of business will be to end these food shortages.”
“And you think you can do that?”
“Please. Everyone knows the Ministry channels most of the food to the Delphi and Garden District, leaving the rest of us with the scraps. I will make certain the distribution is fair and that everyone is treated equally.”
“You? I thought we were talking about a committee?”
He flushes. “None of this concerns you. Maybe you just can’t understand what we’re trying to accomplish here.”
I want to tell him that yes, I know exactly what he’s trying to accomplish, just as I know exactly how it will end. I helped crush an earlier “resistance movement” that had the conceit to call themselves a revolution, one that neither he nor anyone else has ever heard of.
We kept close surveillance on them for six months. When the Council was certain they had enough information; had infiltrated them thoroughly, we went in. In a single evening, every nest, every meeting place, every home that was even marginally associated with those involved was raided. The operation was as silent as it was efficient. The following morning the city awoke to a day just like any other. The only abnormality was an unexplained spike in the number of missing person reports. The ovens burned hot for two weeks after.
But I don’t tell him any of that. He wouldn’t believe me anyway. An incidental consequence of methodical extermination is that each subsequent resistance thinks they’re the first. They each think they’re breaking new ground, when in reality all they’re doing is following in the footsteps of the damned.
After the Council finishes with this group, there won’t be anyone left alive who even remembers Kingston or Abby or sadly, Pen; Pen, who isn’t a revolutionary at all and only wants her old life back. There’s nothing I can do to change that, but at least I can save her from Devon.
“You do realize all weapons are tagged, don’t you?” I ask.
“We aren’t idiots. They were found and removed.”
“Good. Can I see one of the weapons?”
The request takes Kingston by surprise. “Why?”
“To prove a point.”
Jace grips the assault rifle more firmly.
“Take out the clip if you like. I just want to examine it. Trust me, this is something you want to see.”
Kingston looks skeptical but finally nods to Jace, who pulls out the clip and clears the bullet in the chamber. Slipping the strap from off his shoulder, he hands me the weapon.
The rifle is short and squat, a design known as a ‘bull pup’. Breaking it down is as easy as pulling the take-down pin and separating the barrel assembly from the stock to reveal the firing mechanism. I do it quickly and lay the parts on the desk.
“Anyone have a compass?” I ask.
Jace looks to Kingston for guidance, then reaches into his pocket and pulls out a simple metal compass. Taking it from him, I run it along the barrel assembly and firing mechanism, circling each several times. The compass needle doesn’t move.
“And this proves what?” Kingston asks.
“Only that the metal and composites aren’t magnetic. Now watch.” I move the compass to the front end of the one-piece stock and the needle swings instantly toward it. “There’s a radio-controlled mechanism in the receiver, buried in the stock near the firing pin. Each weapon has its own unique code. The mechanism can’t be reached without disabling the weapon. When the correct signal is sent, the magnet is engaged and the firing mechanism shuts down.”
I put the weapon back together and hand it to Kingston. “Did you really think they would allow anyone to use their own weapons against them?”
Kingston stares at the rifle in stunned silence before looking up at me. “We’ll find a work-around.”
“No, you won’t.”
Jace steps up, his eyes staring angrily into mine. “How do you know all this? Who are you?”
“What does it matter,” Abby says. “He knows.”
“Give Devon the rifles,” I say. “You can’t use them.”
Jace is still glaring at me, but Kingston seems subdued. “It will have to be discussed.”
“Two days; three tops. I wouldn’t wait much longer,” I say.
“Yes, thank you. We’ll be in contact with you,” he says, which I take as my dismissal.
No one escorts us out and Abby follows me to the lobby.
“Come with me,” she says.
I shouldn’t. All my instincts are screaming at me to put as much distance as possible between me and her. There is no way those weapons left the Ministry without notice. Kingston is being set up. But what is the Council hoping to accomplish? Why haven’t they shut him down yet?
My guess is Kingston got lucky. Whatever the Council’s plans, they couldn’t have anticipated the guns being held in a leaded room. It’s just possible they lost contact when the weapons were moved here. If so, then they’re operating in panic mode. Maybe that was the reason for making a show of Abby’s arrest, to coax Kingston out of hiding. Since that obviously didn’t work, they’ll have redoubled their efforts to find the guns. Counselors are nothing if not thorough. I doubt it will be more than a few days before they finally have Kingston—lead walls or not. And once they have him, Abby is of no further use to them.
But I know I’m not going to run. Besides, I don’t have a nest anywhere close by and the nearest tunnel I know of is ten long blocks away through a gauntlet of Blueshirts and Counselors.
“The streets will be full of Counselors. You won’t get far tonight,” she says, as though reading my thoughts. “I know a place we can stay; some friends of mine. It’s where Pen and I went after we left your nest. Just a few blocks west.”
She leads us past several rubble-strewn streets to an area dense with row houses. There are no streetlights and most homes are dark, their drapes closed or the buildings abandoned, it’s difficult to tell. The only light comes from a thin sliver of moon and the constant bluish glare of the scanners.
She knocks on a door and it opens just slightly. A man’s face appears: balding, sallow skin, noticeable epicanthic fold of the eyes. His expression shows fear until he sees Abby, then he smiles and flings the door open, embracing her. “It is so good to see you,” he says. Turning back into the house he calls out, “Compatcho ekay Abby toto Meki.”
Metrolect. An amalgamation of several dead languages and centuries of slang all jumbled into a verbal shorthand understood by just about everyone in the Chojo quarter.
A slightly younger woman comes to the door. “Abby! Oi kay! Oh how good to see you. Please come in.” She steps out onto the porch and sees me, her smile freezing.
“It’s all right Meki, he’s a friend,” Abby says. She gestures to the couple. “This is Jirou and Meki. They can be trusted.”
The man smiles. “If you are a friend of Abby’s then you are welcome in our home. Please come in before the neighbors become suspicious.”
We enter into a small paneled room, crowded with well-worn furniture. A coal heater burns with a reddish glow in the corner. Abby takes a seat on the couch while I sit across from her on a wing-backed chair, the upholstery tattered and worn almost through in places.
“Are you hungry?” Meki asks. “Let me get something for you both.”
“Thank you, but we’ve just eaten,” Abby says, even though I haven’t eaten in hours and I have a suspicion neither has she. She looks at me for confirmation.
“Yes,” I add. “Couldn’t eat another bite.”
“Tea, then?”
This time Abby thanks her and nods.
With the tea comes idle conversation: the weather (unpleasant), Jirou’s work (he’s employed by a small plumbing parts b
usiness. Business is poor, but he can’t complain), the children (there are two).
At the mention of their children, my mood sours. I find myself fidgeting and glancing frequently at the door.
After a short while, Jirou turns on the DVL and adjusts the volume up.
“I don’t want to turn it too loud,” he whispers, almost apologetically, “the children are sleeping. But if anyone has been listening, they should be placated by now.” He smiles. “Just friends enumerating on the dull and uninteresting accounts of their lives.”
Meki takes Abby’s hands in hers. “When we heard you were taken, we thought we might never see you again. Then when we learned of your escape, it seemed like a miracle.” She glances at me. “Is this him?”
Abby nods.
Jirou smiles. He’s obviously kind and trusting. There’s nothing but gratitude in his eyes. Meki is grateful as well, but in her expression I sense something else—wariness. She seems to instinctively understand that no one raids a station house and lives to tell about it. No one the mother of two children should completely trust, anyway.
“We are thankful to you,” Jirou says. “But how did you manage such a thing. Who are you?”
Meki holds up a thin hand. “Perhaps such questions should not be asked.”
Jirou nods. “Of course.”
“And Pen,” Meki says, “she too is safe?”
The question obviously flusters Abby, but she forces a smile. “Yes, but she can’t be with me just now.” She quickly changes the subject. “I don’t mean to inconvenience you, but Counselors will be out in force tonight. May we stay here until dawn?”
“Maybe we should just leave,” I say, beginning to stand, even though I’m not familiar with this area and have no idea where else we would go.
“No, no, you must stay here,” says Meki, firmly. “We will move the children into our room. You can have their beds.”
“No, please, don’t disturb them,” Abby says. “This is fine.” She pats the couch.
Jirou grins at me. “And the chair reclines. I have had to sleep on it a few times myself.” He looks sheepishly at Meki.
Meki argues for a few more minutes, but finally acquiesces. Something passes between her and Abby; an unspoken expression and then she’s bringing us blankets and hustling Jirou out. Saying goodnight, they retire to their bedroom.
They leave the DVL on and the intent is clear: Abby wants to talk in private.
“Something’s upset you,” she says, when we’re alone.
“We’re putting these people at risk by being here.”
“They know the danger,” she says.
“Do their children?”
Her odd expression annoys me. “What?” I ask.
“It’s just…. I didn’t think that would bother a man like you.”
I mutter something under my breath and begin to stand, but her hand is on my knee in an instant. “I’m sorry. That was a stupid thing to say. I have no right to judge. I know nothing about you and I owe you my life.”
I ease back into the chair. “Forget it.”
The silence grows. “You think we’re fools, don’t you?” she asks.
“I think you’re risking your lives and the lives of their children for nothing. All you’re going to accomplish is to make them orphans.”
She pauses before answering. “You were raised in the Alba district?”
I nod.
“Then you know what poverty is.”
“Everyone in the city knows poverty. At least everyone not born in the Garden.”
She flushes. “I suppose I had that coming. You’re right, I didn’t grow up hungry and poor, but I’ve spent my life in the shadows of those that are and I’ve seen lives so hard it grinds people into dust. They’re born, they live and they die without ever having hope of something better. Yes, I understand the risks, so do Meki and Jirou, but they won’t willingly cede their children a future without hope.”
“Hope? Hope for what?”
“For a better life: for freedom; freedom from hatred; freedom from oppression and fear.”
I shake my head. I’ve heard this song before, from Reed and others. A slight variation of the lyrics, but the tune remains the same. “Abby, that’s just a fantasy, a dream that in the end will only get you all killed.”
She sits up, defiant. “Maybe, but I’d rather die for dream than live in a nightmare.”
I say nothing. I don’t want to press her and I’m too tired to start another argument. Suddenly, my stomach growls loud enough for us both to hear. “By the way, what was all that about having just ate?”
“I’m sorry, but they would have pressed us to eat even though they can barely feed themselves and their children. Why, are you hungry?”
“Not since you put it that way.”
She smiles, but it’s forced and fades quickly.
“What is it?”
“I don’t trust Kingston.”
I shrug. “I don’t trust him either, but I think he realizes now that the guns are useless to him.” I try to recline the chair but something locks in the back and the footrest won’t raise. I make several more attempts before finally giving up. Jirou must have really pissed Meki off to be forced to sleep in this thing. “What’s his story anyway?”
“Kingston? He was a junior professor of history at Polytechnic. Two years ago his wife became associated through a reading group with people the Ministry alleged were subversive. When the Counselors came for her, he resisted.”
In an escalating altercation, go for the legs. If the agitator can’t stand, he ceases being a problem.
“You knew him?” I ask.
“We were friends. We had even dated for a short time before he met his wife. Nothing serious. Of course after her arrest, he was discharged from the University.”
“Which explains how he became involved with the resistance.”
“Yes.”
“And you kept in touch with him? Dangerous.”
A frown. “I don’t turn my back on my friends.”
“Noble.” I try not to sound snide, but I’m not sure I succeeded. I rattle the chair one last time, then stand and go the window, pulling back the curtain just enough to gaze out. A black van rolls slowly and silently down the street. Counselors will be out patrolling in force tonight. “So naturally, you reached out to him after the purge.”
“He was the only person I knew who felt like I did.”
I turn back before I can completely wipe the smirk from my face.
“Something you want to say?” She asks.
“You heard Kingston. He doesn’t feel like you do. He isn’t interested in bringing the quarters together. He wants to overthrow the government—violently.”
She lowers her voice almost to a whisper. “I’m against violence, but maybe bringing down the government wouldn’t be such a bad thing.”
“Yes, it would be.”
“Strange words coming from the man who just broke me out of a station house.”
“Like I said, that was just a job.”
“Yes, you’ve made that very clear.” She shakes her head. “I don’t understand you. You’re a shade, living outside the law. You obviously have no reservations about killing a Counselor and yet you sit here and defend the government.”
“I’m not defending anything. I just don’t want to see the government overthrown.”
“Why?”
“Because as soon as it falls, every quarter, every tribe, every clan, will be at each other’s throat and no one will be able to stop it. I have my own problem with Counselors but as bad as they are, I’d rather have them out there than not.”
“You can’t mean that.”
“Are you afraid of them?”
“What a stupid question.”
“Are you afraid of them?”
She hesitates before answering. “Yes.”
“Yes, and so is everyone else. Remove that fear and the quarters will tear into each other like packs of rabid dogs.
Forget about unfriendly stares and the occasional riot. You’ll have heads on pikes; wholesale slaughter; ethnic cleansing; mass rape. You couldn’t paint a picture grim enough to describe it. It will be quarter against quarter, block against block. A week without the fear of Counselors and there’ll be nothing left of this city but burning rubble, with the survivors in the streets, cooking their enemies over a slow fire.”
She shakes her head sadly. “You have a sick view of humanity.”
“Do I? Tell me Abby, why are we the last city? What happened to the world? What did we do to each other?”
The question throws her off. “No one knows the answer to that. It could have been anything. Disease, drought…”
“War.”
“You don’t know that.”
“No, I don’t. But whatever the reason, those that survived finally found their way here, where the first thing they did was to set themselves apart by tribe, or race, or whatever. Think about it: even after watching the death of their world, they couldn’t bear the bear the sight of one another. That tells you something, doesn’t it?”
“That’s the Ministry’s doing.”
“The Ministry manipulated the situation, sure, like they do everything else to their advantage, but they didn’t create it. We did. We the people.”
“So what are you saying, that we’re all monsters? That we aren’t worth saving?”
I don’t answer immediately and her jaw drops. “That really is what you think, isn’t it?”
I look away, grumbling. “No, not exactly. Anyway, it’s no longer a question of if we’re worth saving, but if we can be saved. Maybe we’re too far gone.”
“I don’t believe that. I’ll never believe that. There are thousands, millions of people in this city just like Meki and Jirou. They don’t hate, they just want a chance at a better life. Maybe you’ve lived in hiding too long. You’ve become afraid of the people. Well I’m not afraid.”
“Aren’t you? Abby, where do you think they recruit Counselors from?”
She flushes, but remains defiant. “Believe what you want. I still think most people are decent,” she says, lying down and pulling the blanket over her. “You’ll see. The future will prove you wrong.”