by Hannah Ross
Enzo chuckled. "Who exactly do you think we are? We don't, you know, kidnap people. We have our style, and that ain't it. You'll have safe passage. Barry gave me his word."
"Forget it," Ben said. "We're not going anywhere with you. If Barry wants to talk to us, he can come himself. See that little plaza over there? We can wait for a little while."
The plaza was half-blocked by large piles of rubble, remnants of the bombings. Ben, Tom, and Elisa walked over and sat down as Enzo disappeared down the side street. The friends had time to get thoroughly bored, and to start wondering whether they should forget all this and head back to camp, when they heard footsteps which were clearly heavier than Enzo's. Someone else was coming, and he was coming alone.
A young man emerged from the half-ruined street and walked to them at a leisurely pace. He could not be more than twenty, but he was surrounded by an aura of strength and confidence fitting for someone much older, someone with an established place in the world. He was very tall and impressively wide, with a lion's mane of sandy yellowish brown hair. His smile was wide and open, but neither the simplicity of his expression, nor his heartily outstretched hand, dispelled the jolt of dread Ben instantly felt. I don't like this guy. Nothing good's going to come out of this.
"Barry," the young man said, sounding like the very soul of easiness and friendliness. "You must be the new kids."
Ben nodded, ignoring the proffered hand. "Some of them."
Barry stuck his hands in the pockets of his jeans and whistled, looking around. "This was a grand place before the War. I remember the movies they showed to us in school, you know? The shops. And cars, cars, cars. Fancy, shiny, gleaming cars. And people rushing by. So many people. Ten times more than in the biggest Urban Island. When we came here, it was hard to believe we ended up in the same place. It was so empty and quiet. And lonely. Yes, very lonely. There were only five of us. There was a lot of work to do before other people started coming along."
"Like Michael?" asked Ben.
Unperturbed, Barry nodded. "Like Michael. You live in his camp now, right?"
"We've joined the Grey Eagles."
The difference between the two definitions was subtle, yet there was no doubt Barry picked on it at once.
"What's up with you and Michael, anyway?" asked Tom, in a tone a little too casual to be natural.
"Nothing," replied Barry with an innocent shrug of the shoulders. "As far as I'm concerned, I have no bone to pick with Michael Fox. It's him who's the problem. I'm a reasonable person, see, but what's mine is mine, and I won't give it up just like that."
"What's yours is yours?" repeated Elisa, her eyes narrowing. "Like what, this city?"
Barry chuckled. "Clever girl. No, not all of this city, but some parts of it. We've done a lot of work here, see. Clearing rubble, sweeping away broken glass. So I think the least Michael can do is ask permission when he or his people want to pass through. Or he can stay away." His fingers coiled into a fist.
"That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard," Elisa said. "This city is enormous, and there's a total of, what, a hundred, two hundred people living around here. Why should anyone fight over space?"
"You're right in a way, but there are…nuances. Sure, the city is big, but some of it was rendered totally useless by the bombings. Other parts are intact and hold all the good stuff. And there's the river. As far as living space goes, you have to find something close to the water. No taps, right? I think you've seen very little of the city so far. How about I give you a personal tour?"
"A tour?" Ben shook his head. "Doesn't look like there's much to see around here."
A corner of Barry's lips twitched. "You might be surprised."
Ben opened his mouth to answer, but Elisa offered a cold, "No thanks. We didn't go with your friend Enzo. Why should we go with you?"
Barry took the rejection in good stride, smiling as if he were genuinely amused. "You don't have to be afraid of me."
"You wish," Tom said under his breath.
"And you have no reason to think badly of me. How well do you know Michael Fox, anyway? You've only just arrived. You should think well, very well, about who you join, so a day won't come when you discover you've picked the wrong side."
His voice had the same pleasant tone, and his baby blue eyes still sparkled, but something ominous could be heard in his words.
"We can decide for ourselves," Ben said. "But thanks a lot."
"You can, but you shouldn't. Not before you see our camp, anyway, and meet the people. We can offer you a better place than Michael with his pathetic warehouse. Yes, I know exactly where the Grey Eagles live, and I pity you. Together, we'll be the biggest group in the city, and nobody will dare to challenge us." Barry gave them his friendliest smile, "Eagles fly, but bears walk firmly upon the ground."
Ben knew he was about to speak not just for himself, not even for his two friends, but for all his classmates. Perhaps some would hesitate, tempted by what Barry had to offer. Some people loved being the biggest kid, the biggest bully on the playground, and some loved being part of the largest gang. But he saw no choice. He had to say this, even if it meant big trouble later on.
"You're wasting your breath. C'mon, Tom, Elisa."
Together, the three of them turned and walked away from Barry the Bear, Elisa slowing down just enough to throw him one last contemptuous look.
They walked in silence for a few minutes. Then Tom said, with a look of satisfaction, "You pissed him off."
"Yeah. I guess I did. Not that I meant to. It's just, you know, I didn't feel I could say anything different."
"Of course, Ben," Elisa said, signaling her approval with a smile. "You did just what you should. This Barry is nothing but a big, arrogant bully. It's time he learned not everybody will dance to his tune."
At the camp, Ben took advantage of a quiet spell, pulled Michael aside, and told him of the meeting with Barry. Michael's eyebrows contracted slightly, but there was not much surprise in his voice.
"I should have expected this. Barry does this every time, to every new person who joins our group. Of course he'd want to recruit you."
"Why?"
Michael shrugged. "I presume he wants to make his own camp larger."
Ben pondered this for a second. "Does he also try to do this with people from other camps? Or just from yours?"
His head tilted slightly to the side. "The other groups pay homage to Barry the Bear. 'Yes, Barry, you're the man. Yes, the city's yours.' I, on the other hand, will take no such crap. Barry knows it, and he won't let it sit. Unless I'm much mistaken, he'd love it if I were left alone in this camp."
Ben gave him a long, puzzled look. There was something ridiculous in all this, like two overgrown toddlers fighting over space in one sandbox. "Well, you won't be left alone," he said. "I told Barry he can get lost. I don't think any of us should have anything to do with him."
"You're a good judge of people, Ben."
"But I still think we should get out of the city."
Michael's hazel eyes narrowed. "Why? Do you think we should be afraid of the Bears?"
"Not afraid." Ben stopped for a second, wanting to say it right. "I just can't see anything good coming out of this. We all live like a pack of rats, scurrying from hole to hole in this great big dead city. Sometimes, when I hear the wind whistling through broken doors and smashed windows, it sounds like the voices of ghosts. And sometimes it seems like we are ghosts, walking among the ruins of a destroyed world. Elisa is right. It would feel better, even safer, in a way, to live out in the open. It would be a good, fresh start. I know there are things we need in the city, and we can still come up and raid the stores, but if I were you, I'd set up my main camp someplace else. Someplace small, without crumbling walls all around me. What was before the War is over, done with. The people are dead, the cities are ruined. There's land, though, a whole lot of land. And if we want to have a future, we should learn to live off it."
Ben fell silent, feeling slightl
y embarrassed. Geez. I don't remember ever saying so much at once in my whole life.
Michael's brow was furrowed, and Ben could tell the older boy was considering his words, not dismissing them outright. There was something flattering in how Michael, who was five years older than him, treated him like an equal.
"You have a point," Michael finally said. "Perhaps someday we will leave the city. But on our terms. Not because Barry the Bear decided he doesn't want us around anymore." He laid a hand on Ben's shoulder, "Trust me. There's no reason to leave with our tail between our legs."
Ben, though not entirely convinced, gave him a silent nod. He did not entirely agree with Michael, but felt he was in no position to argue. It was not like he would leave on his own, or with the few who would dare to follow him, into the vast, empty, wild country. They would all have a better chance by sticking together. Of that, at least, he was sure.
"Come on." Michael clapped him on the back. "I smell dinner. Let's eat."
8
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Rebecca sipped her coffee and stared at the computer screen, trying in vain to reach the degree of concentration she needed to be productive. I have less than a week to deliver an in-depth article about post-War agricultural methods and all I've done for the past half hour is edit a few words and drink coffee. She set her cup down and sat up straight.
"Concentrate now," she said, hoping the sound of her voice would motivate her. "Get your mind off Benjamin and population control laws and concentrate or pretty soon no one's going to want to hire you."
She was startled when the phone rang, relieved that it gave her an excuse to slack off a little longer. Perhaps it's Kate. Or Daniel calling from work to ask if he should pick up anything on his way home. Or maybe mother's lonely again out there in her rural retirement.
"Hello," she said, anticipating a nice chat, but the female voice was unfamiliar.
"Am I speaking to Rebecca Hurst?"
"Yes, that's me," she said, cradling the phone between ear and shoulder.
"I'm glad I was able to reach you. I'm Tracy, Tracy Locke. I heard of you from… Natalie."
"Natalie? Natalie from the Urban Observer?" Her curiosity now peaked, she set her half-empty cup of coffee on a side table. "Why would she direct you to me? Who are you?"
"I'm a doctor and a researcher. I… Look, this is something I'd rather not discuss over the phone. Do you think we could meet?" She paused. "Today?"
"Sure. Would you like to talk things over lunch?"
Locke hesitated for a moment. "If you don't mind, could we meet now? Unless, of course, you're busy."
"Oh, no, not at all," said Rebecca, her work forgotten. "Do you want to meet someplace for a coffee, or would you rather drop by here?"
"I'll come over, if you don't mind. I'd rather be somewhere private."
Rebecca gave Tracy her home address. Twenty minutes later, the doorbell rang.
She opened the door to an athletic-looking woman with shiny black hair she brushed back and pulled into a tight bun. She wore a simple but elegant dark blue pantsuit with a crisply ironed white blouse and carried a briefcase. Next to her, Rebecca instantly felt ashamed for her frumpy sweatshirt and old well-worn slippers. Her guest, however, did not seem to notice any of it in her eagerness to come in.
"Thank you for agreeing to meet me on such short notice," Tracy said. "Especially as you know so little about me."
"I admit I'm curious." Rebecca pressed the button on the electric kettle, fished a bag of apricot-flavored tea out of a jar in her upper kitchen cupboard, and set a cup in front of her guest.
Locke looked around, as if making sure they were alone. Her voice low, she said "Natalie told me you're interested in the population control policy."
Rebecca froze, sugar container in hand. "Do you have something to tell me?"
Locke nodded. "As I mentioned over the phone, I'm a doctor and a researcher. I earned my PhD in genetics from the Central University fifteen years ago, just as things were beginning to settle after the War. I was one of the very few blacks in my year, and the only black woman."
Tracy's bluntness made Rebecca squirm.
"Though everyone's world was turned upside down by the War, and though the country, social organizations, economics, and ecology were altered beyond recognition, one thing did not change. Somehow, certain kinds of people still had a tendency to slide faster and deeper into poverty."
Rebecca put a plate of biscuits on the table. "You mean blacks?"
"All people of color. But treating this as a racial issue alone would be over-simplifying. It isn't about race."
Tracy blew on her cup and took a cautious sip. "Someone like you, who is interested in statistics, knows there are less of certain races in the academy now than before the War. Actually, you don't need statistics for that. You can see it with a naked eye when looking at any yearbook picture." Tracy lowered her head, hesitating, and finally lifted her eyes so that they met Rebecca's. "Of course, that may be because there are fewer non-whites in the general population to begin with."
Rebecca nodded. "Non-whites were always minorities and, sadly, many of the first to perish during and after the War. The whole population has shrunk. And I suspect the government plan is to make it shrink even further."
"Yes," said Tracy, "but not in equal proportions, and not just non-whites. The government wants more of some groups, less of others. I work for Public Health, which gives me access to certain information few are aware of. And…" She ran a hand across her forehead, and Rebecca was surprised to notice that the hand shook slightly. "…it is a heavy burden sometimes, Ms. Hurst."
"Please, call me Rebecca."
"Rebecca." Tracy nodded. "Natalie speaks very highly of you. She's my friend, a good girl, and a careful one. She said I can trust you. She doesn't want to get herself into a mess…even if deep down, she feels you and I are right."
"She told you I came to see her not long ago?"
"Yes. The Urban Observer is too well-connected with the government to publish articles with risky trends. We'd be risking our skins, too, if we decided to dig too deep. But I have a hunch you're past the point of caring, and so am I."
Rebecca nodded. "I know some part of the truth, about the orphanages and what happens to most of the children who end up there. I assume I don't have to explain to you what I mean. I've come to the conclusion that every government worker of a certain rank probably knows."
"Yes, but as someone who works for Public Health, I also know that the orphanages could be a lot fuller if it weren't for a certain practice. You do know, of course, that anyone who applies for a Reproductive Permit must first undergo genetic screening?"
"Sure. My husband and I did that when we married. We were given the A code, meaning that we were allowed to have two children. I know some get the A+, which gives them permission to have more than two."
"Quite correct. Other people grudgingly get a B permit allowing one child and no more. And some are told they have a predisposition for genetic illnesses and get a C status. For them, childbearing is illegal."
"I know that. Of course, if I were a carrier of genetic defects, I probably wouldn't want to have children anyway. The risk is too high."
Tracy took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Let me ask you something. If you and your husband are average people, and you go in for genetic screening, and an imposing doctor in a white robe tells you that one of you is a carrier of a potentially fatal mutation, and that any child you might have has a significant chance of a degenerative illness and death in infancy, and that therefore you get a C status, what would you do?"
"I'd probably be heartbroken."
"Yes, but would you doubt the doctor's verdict? Demand to see the full medical file? Ask for a second opinion?"
The air seemed to grow heavy, making it hard to breathe as Rebecca looked away for some seconds. "I want to say I would, or think I would, but no, I probably wou
ldn't."
"And if the same nice, sympathetic, and trustworthy doctor offered you a quick, simple, and effective sterilization procedure as insurance against any possible accident in the future, would you agree?"
This time, it took Rebecca a full minute to answer. "I guess I would."
"What if I tell you that incorrect diagnoses are given out intentionally and systematically?" She leaned forward. "Everything is recorded in the system, and if anyone bothered to check the data published every year by the General Bureau of Statistics, they would notice the inconsistency. The actual rate of genetic diseases among the general population is not that high. And there's no reason why the sterilization rate should be so much higher among certain groups."
Rebecca's hand flew to her mouth. "You don't mean to say…"
"It's simple, really. Those in positions of power live very privileged lives and they want to keep those lives from ever changing. They see themselves as superior by virtue of their ability to acquire and wield money and power. They want their children and grandchildren to possess the same. But taking care of those who can't care for themselves, who need government assistance, who don't care to work hard for their whole lives so others can live in luxury…they see those people as a burden to society, a burden that must be slowly but surely eliminated. There's a list of undesirable traits, like being lazy or unlucky or an undependable worker. And those who exhibit any of these traits, or who come from such inferior families, are told they are carriers of genetic defects. Women who become pregnant before testing are usually told at prenatal screening that there is some sort of fatal problem with the fetus, that it isn't viable. Of course they are advised to have abortions, and virtually all agree. And then, 'Oh, we're so sorry Mrs. Brown. Something went wrong during the operation. It was completely unpredictable, impossible to prevent, and you'll never have children again.'"
"But the orphanages. Why don't they…"
"Not all the illegally born orphans are discarded as no good. Some might grow to be useful adults. Useful to the privileged. And the rest are dumped beyond the boundary to live or die on their own. Out of sight, out of mind."