by Hannah Ross
"You're talking like a child now, Stephanie," Ned snapped.
"No, no, that's perfectly reasonable," Andrew said, seeing that his niece was about to make an angry retort. "Yes, of course there are some things we don't want people to know. But it's for their own good. There are all sorts of wishy-washy types who would have everybody believe that the low-quality human material of the Illegals has the same value as the rightful citizens of the Boundary. One mustn't forget, however, what sort of scum had been sent there for decades. Descendants of flawed lines who would have been given the lethal shot as infants if this was still practiced. Then they were left to live like animals, which they did for years and years, breeding without any control. They're no better than Neolithic savages from the dawn of human history. They ought to feel thankful the White Tower is attempting to civilize them to a certain degree. We're doing them a huge favor. But you can't expect everyone to understand that."
"But is it true that people have died in Pollution Zone C?"
Ned tsked. "Not more than would have died if they continued to live in their primitive conditions. They die like flies every winter, don't they? They die of sepsis and in childbirth and because of injuries they don't have the means to properly treat. So what's the difference?"
"What we have to do, Ned," Andrew said, cutting short the younger man's speech, "is come up with some snappy broadcast. Something in which we address all the points your sister-in-law brings up in that ludicrous video of hers. Make her look like a loony. You get my drift? It has to seem like we can hardly keep our faces straight, too. Like it's obvious to any sane person how deluded her claims are. No, wait!" Andrew raised his arm, overtaken by a wave of inspiration. "I've got it! There's a reason why every conscientious mother teaches her children not to listen at keyholes. This lesson, unfortunately, was lost on Priscilla Dahl. And most importantly…" Andrew lifted a warning finger. "…don't you attempt to do her any harm. You hurt Priscilla, and people will never stop sympathizing with her cause. So play your cards right. Are you following me so far?"
Ned was about to open his mouth to argue, but changed his mind and gave a jerky nod.
"Good. Don't worry about this, now. I'll take care of it."
* * *
"Well, this is it." General Evans steepled his fingers and looked at Senator Newson across the coffee tray. "The White Tower has declared open war on the Freeborn. They're going to blast Resurrection Town to smithereens."
The senator was so nervous he had to hold his hands in his lap to keep them from twitching. "They have no right to do that. That town is full of innocent people who have done nothing wrong. And whatever bone they have to pick with the Freeborn, it doesn't justify a war."
"You're naive. Don't you see the Tower is unused to resistance, and those in charge see it as a matter of course that they have a right to crush their opponents like cockroaches? And besides, after that scandal with the interview Priscilla Dahl gave…” He smiled as his head shook. "You have to give that girl proper credit, by the way. It was one damn brave thing to do. They had to make a move to distract the public. This has been brewing for a long time now."
Newson hemmed and hawed, but made no objection. The General was not used to hearing any.
"What say you, Hughes?" the general asked. Peter, startled at being asked his opinion, took an excessively large gulp of coffee, choked, and coughed for a minute or so, tears streaming from his eyes. Newson humanely clapped him on the back.
"I say there will be war, General. In fact, the White Tower declared war on the Freeborn back when it decided to go forth with the Registry program and punish those who don't comply. I'm not surprised things have come this far. They were bound to."
General Evans nodded, satisfied. "Sensible words, Hughes. And I'll add that this is a moment in history when one must either resist evil or become an accomplice. There can be no neutrality. We stand with the Freeborn, or we aid their annihilation."
"We have been collaborating with the Freeborn these ten years," the senator pointed out.
"Yes, but in all this time, there's been no significant change in the status quo. This cannot go on much longer. The current system must be made to retreat with its tail between its legs, or all we've done so far is good for nothing. But why is our guest so silent?"
Evans looked at the fourth man in the room, who was sitting on the couch and fiddling nervously with his coffee cup. He was of average build and average height, with thinning brown hair and a nondescript suit and tie, and would have been utterly unremarkable, had it not been for the uncommonly keen, intelligent expression of his bright blue eyes. "Will you give us your opinion?"
Jordan Hurst looked even more nervous when addressed by the general. "I believe you all know my brother, Benjamin Grey."
Evans nodded. "I've had the pleasure of meeting your brother two or three times. But Mr. Hughes here knows Benjamin a lot better."
Hughes nodded. "We have, or rather, had an established trade with your brother and other Freeborn in Resurrection Town. Of course, our other, ah, interactions were always kept secret."
Jordan nodded. "I was ten years old when Benjamin was born. Old enough to feel pain and love and confusion, but not old enough to understand. My parents had used up their reproduction quota. Benjamin, therefore, had no legal right to be born." He could not hide the bitterness in his voice.
"I'm familiar with your brother's story. He grew up in an orphanage, didn't he?" General Evans inclined his head. Jordan nodded.
"We lost sight of Benjamin for many years. He was grown up when we met again. And though I'm grateful we did, there's no making up for all the lost years. Families were torn apart, human rights violated, acts of unspeakable cruelty committed. I didn't understand how people can harden their hearts to it until I became one of them myself."
Senator Newson frowned. "I don't understand. Aren't you in Environmental Restoration?"
"Yes, I've been with the department these past ten years, which just goes to show that even a degree in sustainable ecology can be used to obtain a fat paycheck and a nice office with a padded leather chair. For years, I've acted as a rubber stamp for the Van Wullen Corporation, though I would have stormed and raged at anyone bold enough to say that to my face. I approved areas for work and permanent residence that really shouldn't have been used by anyone on a regular basis. I glossed over inconsistencies in pollution level reports, I gave the approving stamp of 'sustainable' and 'eco-friendly' to please my supervisors, and I worried more about how to pay off the latest renovations in my apartment than about Class B workers risking their health and shortening their life-span so the rich and powerful could keep their pockets well-lined." Jordan hung his head in shame.
"Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned," Peter Hughes said in an undertone. The senator's mouth twitched. General Evans let this pass.
"So what was your breaking point, Mr. Hurst? I can tell you what mine was. Being ordered to shoot citizens for protesting on the streets, back when all the rumors about the NOAGE formula were ripe. It was at that moment the White Tower lost my loyalty."
"For me it was seeing the Registry camps. It didn't take a genius to figure out that these were essentially labor camps, very thinly and not painstakingly disguised. Some of the places I visited were in Pollution Zone C. I was warned of the danger, and asked to comply with all the safety regulations for a couple hours' visit, yet they were going to drive people over there and make them work with no safety regulations at all. Then, when their health and strength wore out, those poor devils would be tossed out. Or worse. Unfortunately, General, there are some very dark examples written in blood over the pages of human history. And my brother could have been one of those unfortunate men, if he weren't clever and resourceful enough to escape in time."
"Your brother," Senator Newson said, "is married to Priscilla Dahl. This card, if played right, could have given him Class A citizenship and a privileged position whenever he chose to have them."
"You don't know Ben. He would never a
ccept favors from the Dahls and Van Wullens."
"That was my impression of the young man as well," Evans said. "So you started passing information to the Freeborn?"
"Yes, through my sister Kate. I believe you know her as well. At first I wanted to quit my position at the department, but Kate assured me that remaining there would serve the cause of the Freeborn far better. And, with all due humility, I do believe I played my small part in warning the Freeborn and forestalling some of the moves the Van Wullens planned to make. Pulling some strings, I ensured the safety of Dr. Hill and his patients, too, while the White Tower would have disposed of them all as incriminating evidence."
"That's quite correct, Mr. Hurst. Your contribution has been undeniable, and made at great personal risk."
These were gratifying words, coming from a man of the caliber of General Evans, but something told Jordan there was more.
"Now, however, we must ask you to do more to strike a blow that, as we hope, will shake the foundations of trust the common people put in the Van Wullen Corporation. You are a high-rank official in your department. You have access, or can obtain access, to incriminating documents. I am certain of that. We need you to do this. We need you to take copies and deliver to us the papers that state, quite plainly, in black and white, that the Van Wullens are a greedy, cold, heartless bunch. That they feel no more qualms in taking human lives than in swatting a mosquito. That they are corrupt to the core and have built all their riches and power on corruption. I know you can do this, Mr. Hurst."
Fear appeared on Jordan's face. "I… I don't want to seem like a coward, but… in the past months, I've often felt as though I was walking on a very steep and narrow edge. I have a wife and children. I'm not afraid of losing my position anymore. I was ready to give it up. But if I'm caught…"
"You know I wouldn't be asking you to do this if it wasn't important, don't you, Mr. Hurst?" the general said, looking him straight in the eye. "You do have access to the documentation. I know it."
"N-not exactly. My supervisor, Glenn Marshall, is the one who has access to everything. I only see what I deal with directly."
"But I know Marshall trusts you. You used to be best friends in college."
"Yes. Glenn isn't a bad man. He's just very, very good at following orders without asking questions. Much better than I ever was."
"You could obtain access to all the documents, though?"
"Yes, I believe so. Glenn isn't very good about keeping his network password hidden. But… what would happen to him, if the Van Wullens are exposed?"
"Mr. Marshall has nothing to fear, provided he doesn't shy away from giving the necessary testimony when it comes to trial."
"Trial?"
"Yes, Mr. Hurst. It might not happen soon, but it will eventually. The responsible will be punished. Or, if they are beyond human punishment, the perpetuators of their way will. Alexander Dahl, unfortunately, is too sick to hope he will live to see justice prevail." Evans expression shifted into a savage grin. "Our old pal Andrew Van Wullen, and the young scion of the Thorntons, on the other hand…"
Jordan thought about it for a moment, then nodded. "I'll never be safe again as long as I live."
"Protection will be provided for you and your family, and the Van Wullens would be so exposed that any sudden accident or mishap happening to you would incriminate them as sure as day. What do you say, Mr. Hurst? Will you do what must be done, and help restore justice?"
Jordan took a deep breath and nodded. "Yes. Yes, General, I will. It's too late to turn back. I'll do all I can for the cause of the Freeborn."
General Evans smiled and stretched his hand for Jordan to shake. "I knew we were not mistaken in you, Mr. Hurst."
"But what about the more pressing matter? The upcoming attack on Resurrection Town?" Jordan asked anxiously. "This is more urgent than exposing the Van Wullens."
"Don't worry, Mr. Hurst. We have our agents working on this day and night, and we have some very nice surprises up our sleeve. Trust me. It will not go the way the White Tower intends."
* * *
Tilly was indignant. "They're making you look like a crazy fool," she said as she and Priscilla stared at the TV screen together. It was eight o'clock in the evening, and every channel was broadcasting Ned Thornton's interview.
"We live in a democracy," he said. "Freedom of speech is one of the cornerstones of our society. This basically means that anyone gets to say whatever they want. My sister-in-law mistakenly pieced together some snippets of conversations she overheard as a child, and came to utterly wrong conclusions. Any sane person will understand that her arguments don't hold water. We are not concerned about it in the least. We did, however, choose to remove her message from mainstream channels due to its hateful and disturbing nature."
Priscilla turned off the TV. "I think it's time for me to clear out, Tilly."
Tilly looked at her in alarm. "Are you afraid they'll try to—"
"Not really. Though with Ned, I feel like I can never know. But I've done what I could here. It's time to go back. I might be useful to the Resistance." She tried to keep her voice from trembling. "And I might get to see Ben."
Tilly gave her a hug. "You say hello to Ben from me when you see him again. I love that lad. Not that I know him very well. But I know he's made you happy."
"You take care of yourself, Tilly. And no matter who asks you, don't admit you've heard from me at all lately."
* * *
Priscilla's ride to the crossing point was uneventful. She produced an ID in the name of Claudia Moreno, which she obtained through a contact of Tony's. Not that she expected she would be arrested. Her name still gave her a certain level of protection. But she thought Ned might have given an order to detain her, and she wasn't interested in that one bit. Now that the crossing point was behind her, she felt relatively safe. The Registry wouldn't bother anyone with a valid ID.
She wondered where she and Ian should go now. Looking for Ben would be pointless. The Resistance units roamed all over the country. Thunder Cloud's camp, where she stayed with Jill was much too far. Her little home beckoned, but Priscilla felt she couldn't go back there yet, not alone without Ben. She decided to go first to Resurrection Town and then to the Hursts' farm.
With Ian asleep on her lap and her dinner in front of her, Priscilla sat in the same diner seat she occupied ten years ago, when she first ran away and was looking for work and a place to stay to keep away from her father. Many things changed since then, but not her desire to stay as far away as possible from her family.
In the intervening years an upper floor was added to the diner, which now also served as an inn of sorts for the adventurous travelers passing through Resurrection Town, or for farmers and others who came from afar to spend a couple of days in town selling their produce or furs or other wares.
She was not at all pleased when the door was unceremoniously banged open, and three armed Registry men sauntered into the crowded diner, looking for all the world as if they owned the place.
"ID check!" one of them announced. "IDs on the table, everyone!"
Hoping to would be overlooked, she flipped open her Claudia Moreno ID, which didn't receive more than a cursory glance. The Registry men swept around the room, looking at everyone's documents, finally coming over to the counter, where the owner whipped out his very battered ID card.
"Sam Buxton, Class B," the Registry man sneered. "Well, this godforsaken place is just where you belong. What about that girl in the kitchen out back? Let me see her ID."
"That girl is my niece Frannie," the owner said. "She's not a regular worker. She just came to give a hand here for a couple of days."
"Well, I need to see her ID all the same."
"Look, young fellow," Sam said, wiping his hands on a ragged towel, "we're all honest folk here, with our papers in order. Don't blow things out of proportion. Frannie doesn't bother to bring her ID with her when she comes to visit her uncle."
"The hell she doesn't," the m
an scowled. "Everybody carries their ID at all times, or they get arrested. That's the law. Step out of my way, old man."
The girl in the kitchen stopped washing dishes and stood there, frightened, a dripping wash cloth in her hand.
The sound of a cartridge being chambered in a rifle froze the Registry men. It was held by a burly farmer who stood up, pointing it at the Registry men. "You leave that girl alone, you hear me?" he growled. "Leave us all alone. We ain't playing by your rules no more."
"Put that down, you idiot," the Registry cop said with an ugly scowl, before he realized a dozen settlers had taken out their guns as well, and were pointing them straight at him and his fellows.
"You'll regret this," the cop said, turning around and marching out, flanked by his two men. Everybody stood in silence for a long moment, until the reverberating echo of the slammed door faded away.
"Resurrection Town is marked now," someone said in the lingering, ominous silence.
"So what? Let them mark us all they want. They want war, there'll be war. Only just don't let them expect they can round us all up and pack us away. Too many of us to do that."
Priscilla got up and moved on to the counter to pay for her lunch, balancing Ian on her hip. "Is that girl really your niece?" she asked, dropping her voice. The landlord stopped in the act of wiping glasses and looked at her above his spectacles.
"It doesn't matter. We can't let them haul people away, ID or no ID."
"How much?" Priscilla rummaged in her purse. The man, however, kept looking at her. "Nothin'. I know who you are. I saw your video. You are one brave girl."
Priscilla looked straight at him. "I am Priscilla Grey, the wife of Benjamin Grey, a Resistance warrior fighting for the rights of the Freeborn. I don't want to be anything else for as long as I live."
She asked for permission to use his phone, afraid her own might still be tracked. A minute later, she heard her mother-in-law's voice through the cracked and patchy signal.
"Prissy! Oh my God! I'm so relieved to hear from you. I was afraid that… Where are you now? I'm coming to pick you up."