by Beth Goobie
Longing rose in a quick singing rush up Nellie’s throat. What if she, Nellie Joanne Kinnan, were free right now to walk through every scanner in the Detta complex and up the long tunnel, then out into the sweet breezy streets of Marnan where she could mingle, just mingle, with kids on skateboards, street vendors, girls in swimsuits and mothers with their little kids? What could possibly be wrong with that?
And yet it was wrong, or so the priests said. Pure and unsullied, soldiers of light were to be kept separate, entirely unto themselves. Contact with civilians meant contamination, and contamination reduced a soldier of light to the black soul of the enemy. How could the Great War that had been waged from ages past between the Goddess of Light and the Dark Forces of the Outbacks be won if the Goddess’s soldiers allowed themselves to be defiled?
Nellie’s shoulders slumped and she stared dully at her feet. If there was one thing she knew above all to be true, it was the Goddess. The Goddess was the Mother of All, She was the life force that gave the stars their light and breathed air into people’s lungs. While it was true She could be as cruel as the electric shock that pushed a cadet to greater physical exertion, She was also as gentle as the peace that came after the Mind Cleanser had removed unnecessary mental debris. Who could question the depths of Her love and wisdom? Surely not Nellie, a cadet who mattered so little she could be released by her superiors at their slightest whim.
And yet she seemed to matter to Ivana, enough for the Goddess to have reached into her mind and opened filing cabinet MK5DZ. Hope flared in Nellie, straightening her shoulders. If the Goddess had decided she was to remember Lierin McNearn, perhaps She was also sending these questions about the scanners into the mind of Her humble devotee. Where else would they be coming from? Why it was even possible, Nellie thought in a rush of excitement, that the Goddess was whispering the words Golliwash, lies and superstition into her head.
Turning toward the checkpoint scanner, she swallowed the predictable surge of bile and walked through the security beam toward Station Seven.
“IT’S GOOD TO see you again, Nellie.” With a smile, Juba fitted the Relaxer helmet onto Nellie’s head, then lowered the blinders into place and slipped the tiny speakers into her ears. “Now, just try to relax.” She patted Nellie’s shoulder gently as she checked to make sure the blinders were positioned properly. Wriggling her shoulder in distaste, Nellie listened to the firm click of the assistant’s heels crossing to the control panel. A whir filled her left ear, followed by the sound of ocean waves, their gentle heave and swish coursing through her brain.
Focus, she thought. Inside the darkness of her head, a brightly painted sailboat took shape. Picking up a rock beside her foot, she heaved it at the boat.
“So, Nellie,” came Westcott’s voice in her right ear. “How are you today?”
“Okay,” said Nellie, bending down to work an especially large rock out of the sand. Cradling it in her arms, she stepped into the water and staggered toward the sailboat.
“Anything interesting happen to you since our last session?” asked Westcott.
“Nope,” said Nellie, dumping the rock into the bow. Turning around, she headed back toward shore.
“Oh, come now,” said Westcott cheerfully. “Nothing at all?”
“Nothing I can remember,” said Nellie, stooping to work another large rock out of the sand. A slight hook in the psychiatrist’s breathing caught her attention and she raced back over what she’d just said. Had she given anything away? No, she hadn’t said anything about—
Stop! she yelled silently in her head. She had to remember she just could NOT think about certain things, or picture them in any way. Fiercely she went back to work, digging away at the large rock.
“Well,” Westcott said heartily. “Why don’t you tell me what you can remember?”
“Huh?” asked Nellie, pausing in her efforts to work the second rock out of the sand. This was different. Westcott didn’t usually ask questions that allowed long-winded answers.
“Go on,” said the psychiatrist. “Tell me what you can remember about this past week.”
“What I can remember?” faltered Nellie, staring at the ocean in her head. “Don’t you first want me to put my concerns and worries into the sailboat and send it over the horizon?”
“But that’s what I want you to remember,” the psychiatrist countered smoothly. “Just tell me about your week, and then we’ll send your worries over the horizon.”
“Well, um ... “ Instinctively Nellie probed the arm of the Relaxer with her right index finger, seeking the tip of the loose screw. A frown traced itself across her forehead and she probed again. The screw was gone. Panic swept her and she jabbed harder, feeling along the surface of the chair arm. Where could it have gone? The screw had been here for two years, slightly lopsided and out of position. How could it simply vanish?
No, here it was. Someone must have taken it out and rethreaded it, because the head now sat level with the surface of the chair arm. The screw wasn’t gone, it wasn’t gone at all. Fiercely Nellie pressed her finger against the tip but felt only smooth, precisely fitted, everything-in-place edges. Tears filled her eyes. It was here, all right. The screw was in position, functioning exactly as expected.
“Go on,” prodded the psychiatrist, a smile shaping his voice. “I’m waiting.”
Nellie stopped blinking back the tears and let them slide unresisted down her face. “I, uh,” she stammered. “I went to classes and we had a couple of movie nights, and I hung out in the gym the rest of the time.”
“And whom did you hang out with?” asked Westcott.
“Phillip,” Nellie said immediately. Finally, a question she felt safe answering.
“No one else?” asked Westcott.
“Sure,” she said carefully. “There were other kids.”
“But no one special?” said the psychiatrist.
“I dunno,” faltered Nellie. There it was again, that probing note in Westcott’s voice.
“Tell me, Nellie, don’t you wish there was someone special in your life?” he asked.
“Special?” Nellie asked, bewildered.
“Like a best friend,” said Westcott.
“I’ve got Phillip,” said Nellie.
“A best girl friend,” the psychiatrist said pointedly.
Fear struck, a web of electrodes strung across Nellie’s body. They knew. It must have been Phillip. He’d probably asked an instructor about a poison called Lierin, or keyed a search into the computer. “I’ve got girlfriends,” she said, fighting the telltale wobble in her voice.
“Tell me, Nellie,” said the psychiatrist, and she could feel him leaning in for the kill. “Do you remember anything about a girl named Lierin?”
“Lierin?” Nellie’s voice collapsed in on itself, barely a whisper.
“Yes, Lierin,” said Westcott. “She used to be an Advanced cadet, just like you.”
“No,” Nellie said, swallowing. “No, I don’t remember a girl named Lierin.”
“That’s good,” said the psychiatrist. “Because there are certain things that are better not to remember. And a girl named Lierin is one of them.”
“Why?” The single, tell-all word burst like a signal flare from Nellie’s lips. Her body convulsed once, helpless, but it was out. She couldn’t take it back.
“Why what?” asked Westcott.
“Why shouldn’t I remember a girl named Lierin?” Nellie faltered. “If, in fact, I do remember her, which I don’t.”
“Because the Goddess forbids it,” said the psychiatrist.
Beyond the rush and hiss of ocean waves in her head, Nellie heard the squeak of Westcott’s chair as he got to his feet. “The Goddess knows there is only so much each of us can keep in our minds at one time,” said the psychiatrist, continuing to speak calmly through the speaker in her ear as he came toward her. “An Advanced cadet has a lot of responsibility. You absorb enormous amounts of information every day in your classes, and that’s where you need to k
eep your focus. Everything else is non-essential. Whatever is non-essential, we discard.”
“How can a person be non-essential?” Desperately Nellie began to scan, trying to locate the psychiatrist by his vibes. But fear was everywhere, roaring in the air, blocking her attempt.
“Now Nellie, I never said a person was non-essential,” soothed the voice in her ear. There — she could hear Westcott’s footsteps now, coming up on her right. Creepy-crawlies swarmed her skin as an electrode slid under the Relaxer helmet and onto her right temple.
“No one is non-essential,” said the voice in her ear, “but the memory of someone might be.”
“But Lierin just lost her hand.” Nellie began sobbing outright, the tears pouring down her face. “She had a bad maze run and they couldn’t find her hand, so Col. Jolsen released her. Why did he have to do that? She could’ve learned to function without her hand. She was smart and fast. Her hand wouldn’t have mattered.”
“Col. Jolsen has been a Detta instructor for many years,” said Westcott, slipping a second electrode onto Nellie’s left temple. “And Lierin is with the stars now, you need to let her go.”
“Wait ... ,” whimpered Nellie.
“Now Nellie,” Westcott interrupted firmly. “This will be just like the Mind Cleanser. But first I want you to bring up filing cabinet MK5DZ. Have you done that?”
MK5DZ appeared in Nellie’s mind, half of its drawers open and empty. “Yes,” she whispered.
“Open the rest of the drawers,” said the psychiatrist.
Immediately, without Nellie consciously thinking it, the remaining drawers slid open.
“Empty out each drawer,” said the psychiatrist.
“But ... ,” protested Nellie as each drawer lifted itself out of the cabinet and overturned, folders sliding everywhere.
“Now, look around inside,” said Westcott. “Make sure everything important is put away and locked tight, except your memories of Lierin McNearn. Leave them out. Done that?”
Wordless, Nellie nodded.
“Now, relax,” said Westcott. “The Mind Cleanser will take care of everything.”
Nellie tensed, bracing herself as two blue-white jolts of light flashed through her brain. Her body convulsed, she grunted softly and slumped into the Relaxer. Thick throbbing sludge grumbled and burped in her head. Vaguely she felt something being removed from both temples.
“Tell me, Nellie, how do you feel now?” Cheerful as ever, Westcott’s voice purred through the speaker in her right ear.
“I dunno,” muttered Nellie. “A headache. I have a headache.”
“Oh, that’s too bad,” said the psychiatrist. “Would a candy help? A Lierinberry candy? Pardon me, I meant dengleberry.”
A ripple passed through Nellie’s brain, the faint sensation of something shoving against a locked door. Something that wanted out. “Yeah, sure,” she said dully. “A dengleberry candy.”
Juba’s heels clicked to the desk, then returned, and a candy was placed in Nellie’s hand. Unwrapping it, she slid it into her mouth.
“Now, Nellie,” said Westcott, his voice giving a small hitch as he sat down in his chair.
Chair? thought Nellie dully, shifting in the Relaxer. When had Westcott gotten out of his chair? He was always in that thing, seemed to live in it like some kind of bizarre potted plant.
“How about you find that sailboat?” the psychiatrist continued, and she could almost see him in her mind, fiddling with the mole on his chin. “Just put all your worries and concerns from Advanced inside it, then send it over the horizon.”
“Okay.” Fixing on the sailboat in her head, Nellie began picking up rocks and firing them for all she was worth.
“Have you put all your concerns into the boat?” As usual, Westcott sounded amused.
“Yes,” said Nellie, watching the sailboat keel onto its side.
“Great,” said the psychiatrist. “Wonderful, marvelous. Now take the boat and send it over the horizon. Have you done that?”
“Yup.” Grimly Nellie watched the sailboat sink without a trace.
“And it’s gone now?” asked Westcott.
“Yes, it’s gone,” said Nellie, a sudden incomprehensible ache undulating through her.
“Good,” Westcott said calmly. “Now, Nellie, let me ask you some silly nonsense questions just to keep my paycheck coming in.”
With a sick feeling, Nellie pressed her finger against the surface of the Relaxer’s right arm, but there wasn’t the slightest curve or angle to resist her finger — nothing, nothing at all.
Ten
NELLIE WOKE, surfacing out of yet another dream of running through dark twisting tunnels and endless galaxies of stars. About her the bedroom was quiet, the barricade a hunched black outline, Tana breathing deep in sleep beyond it and the security alarm beeping faintly overhead. Turning over, Nellie saw the monitoring screen was on, glowing with images of galaxies flung across deep space. Incredulous, she gaped at it. Why in the Goddess’s name would it be broadcasting images to a sleeping audience?
Abruptly Col. Jolsen’s face appeared, superimposed over a plethora of stars, and the shrill blast of a whistle sounded. “Attention all cadets,” he barked. “This is a High Star drill. Observe codes eight, seventeen, twenty-three and fourteen. You are expected in the Common Room in ten minutes.”
He disappeared, leaving distant pinpricks of starlight glimmering on the screen. In a surge of excitement, Nellie threw aside her bedding. High Star meant top secret, no questions asked. The four codes Col. Jolsen had listed meant “don’t talk,” “function in the dark,” “get dressed” and “form a line,” respectively. Slipping out of her nightshirt, she pulled on her bodysuit and shoes and headed for the doorway, passing Tana who was standing at her dresser tying her hair into a ponytail. As she emerged into the corridor, Nellie came to an abrupt halt, her mouth opening in astonishment. Along the full length of the hall, both walls were glowing with the same galaxies as her bedroom monitoring screen. What a rush — she hadn’t known these walls could double as projector screens.
Briefly she stood staring at the constellations gleaming along the corridor. Each star was the soul of someone the Goddess had loved enough to take to live with Her in eternal ecstasy. What would it be like to live in constant joy, far from pain and sadness and the misery of living in a human body?
Coming through the doorway behind her, Tana gave her a shove. About to shove back, Nellie remembered code fourteen and filed the grievance for later payback. Up and down the corridor, girls were emerging from their rooms and standing about, staring at the walls. Pointedly, Tana took up position in the middle of the hall, and the rest of the girls fell into place behind her. In her usual position second to Tana, Nellie marched silently along the passageway with the others, footsteps in sync, her eyes fixed on her roommate’s bobbing ponytail. When the line turned into the main dorm hallway and met up with the rest of the girls, she found its walls glowing with the constellations of the nine castes. Passing the Cat, Nellie made the sign of obeisance and continued on, flushed with exhilaration. The stars were with them, the Goddess had seen fit to bless cadets from every caste in this endeavor. Whatever was coming, luck was with them all. There would be no pejoratives, pain or shame to anyone. Blessed be the Goddess’s holy name!
Beyond the crisp tread of the cadets’ feet and the faint beeping of the security alarms lay a dense quiet, the dim corridors sunk into a deep, middle-of-the-night dream. Turning out of the dorm, the girls passed several offices, then proceeded toward the area reserved for classrooms. Each hallway they entered glowed with stars and resonated faintly with the beeping of overhead alarms. As they approached a fork in the corridor outside the cafeteria, they were joined by a line of cadets coming from the guys’ dorm. Grins plastered across their faces, the boys merged with the end of the girls’ line, and the entire group turned into the hall that led to the Common Room. About a third of the way down the line, Nellie could see the double doors to the Common Room stand
ing open, the lead cadet turning in through them. No sound came from the room, and a quick probe with her mind told her only that various instructors were present and the chairs had been stacked and pushed to one side. Upon entering, she saw all four walls glowing with far-flung stars and planets, her instructors outlined in stark relief against them. Unsure what to do next, the line of cadets began to buckle. Wordless, they milled about, not yet released from their code of silence. Someone whispered and was instantly shushed.
Without warning the stars glowing along the walls took on startling vivid colors. A shrill sound filled the room as if the stars were singing, and they began to spin and whirl randomly. Then a wall that contained a huge image of the Twin Moons split down the middle. Nellie gasped as she saw it slide slowly apart. She hadn’t known this wall could divide. How many times had she sprawled against it during movie nights and never noticed a crack or seam? As she stood watching the two moons slide to opposite sides of the room, she felt as if her brain was splitting in two. Suddenly the gap left by the dividing wall exploded into light. Nellie blinked, her eyes smarting at the brightness. Squinting, she thought she could make out a large brilliantly lit room beyond the gap.
“Code fourteen,” called Col. Jolsen from a corner of the room. “Ride the light, cadets. Ride the light.”
Repeating the phrase, he began to clap his hands, and the cadets took up the refrain as they reformed their line. An instructor tapped the lead girl on the shoulder and pointed toward the brightly lit opening in the wall. Immediately she moved toward the gap, her body a dark outline stepping into light. Close to the front of the line, Nellie kept her eyes on the cadets preceding her through the opening. “Ride the light, ride the light,” she chanted with the others, and then the cadet ahead of her was stepping into the gap and it was her turn.