“The boy was distraught because he loved his grandfather dearly. Not just because he was the boy’s grandfather, but because the old man was a kind, gentle and generous soul.”
“The boy had made many visits to the place. It was a large mansion with a library and all sorts of knick-knacks the boy never sees at home. While going through the old man’s belongings the boy finds a small purse full of coins and bills, but he has no idea what it is.”
“Why is that,” Zheng asked, hoping the answer would be what finally brought Pedersen’s confessional to a close.
“Because the boy had never seen money before,” Pedersen explained. “The boy had always lived in a society where his needs were supplied by the state. His family lived in a flat that was supplied by the state. They had their groceries delivered weekly by the state. When anyone was sick, they went to a state run medical center; all without the exchange of currency in any way shape or form.”
“Long ago the country where the boy lived had abolished all forms of capitalism in favor of a way of life where everyone shared everything equally. Nobody went without and nobody got any more or any less than anyone else. There was no party to earn acceptance into, or elite of any kind. Everyone was on even footing. Individuality had no real appeal to anyone.”
“You went to work every day for the state and produced exactly enough to cover expected consumption plus a little more to help meet any emergencies. At the end of the day, you came home and partook of your share. It was the epitome of a socialist utopia. Your house was the same size and floor plan as the house the family next door lived in. You were given the same consumables in the same amount as every other person. Your clothes were the same as your neighbor’s. Everyone was your equal and you were the equal of everyone else.”
“And everybody in the boy’s homeland is happy and there is no conflict,” Zheng asked.
“No social ills whatsoever,” Pedersen answered. “The boy’s life is perfect. A Marxist’s bloody wet dream.”
Zheng gave Pedersen a puzzled look.
“What’s the scary part,” he asked.
Pedersen laid out the rest of the boy’s story for Zheng.
“In order to explain the contents of the purse,” Pedersen said. “The father had to explain what currency was. When the boy was confused by that, the father then had to go on and explain things like bartering, trade, and capitalism.”
“I’m assuming that although it should have been nothing to fear in such a communist Eden, capitalism was still being demonized,” Zheng asked.
“Of course,” Pedersen said. “The boy asks why his greatly adored grandfather would have such things in his home and what possible use a kindly old man would have for them. He had always been taught by his government that consumerism was aberrant behavior and the source of all social evils.”
“The boy’s father must explain that when the grandfather was young, the only way to have a home, clothing, food or other necessities was to work for a living and purchase them with your earnings. He then tells the boy the reason the grandfather lived in such a large house with so much land and had so many possessions was because he owned a factory that produced goods for people to purchase.”
“So according to the state,” Zheng piped in, realizing why it was so important for Pedersen to start out by mentioning Orwell. “The boy’s grandfather was actually one of those evil, fat, ugly-faced men who owned everything in the world and went about in top hats and frock coats forcing commoners to bow as they passed?”
“The enemies of the boy’s state were the upper caste in general and in particular those of the aro clans who were capitalists and industrialists,” Pedersen replied. “Everyone in the boy’s country is now essentially alo, a public servant, although the book never specifically mentions the word alo. It uses the Ekkidan word for citizen.”
“I didn’t even know there was a word for citizen in Ekkidan,” Pedersen continued, shaking his head in amusement. “I looked it up, though. There is a word. It’s ma’shudu. Its root covers the same concept as the term plebeian, which in the Ekkidan context means without title. That says quite a bit, doesn’t it?”
Zheng thought hard about the choice of the word ‘citizen’ in the Ekkidan story. Ekkidans generally kept their class titles attached to their names, even when they expatriated themselves to other planets for life. It didn’t make a difference whether the Ekkidan was upper caste or lower caste.
The one notable exception Zheng could think of was Galuz Cozeremi. He now thought that Pedersen might be drawing some parallels to recent events inside the Bureau he was not privy to. He listened intently as Pedersen continued.
“The boy is knocked off center by the revelation,” Pedersen stated. “His father wants to tell him he can’t always trust what the state tells him, but realizes he would be leaving himself open to arrest for sedition.”
Pedersen paused again. He looked at the door as if he were wondering if Mahzarhi was alright.
“Nashur’s been on guard duty many times before,” Zheng laughed. “I doubt you’ll find him asleep at the post.”
“That isn’t it,” Pedersen admitted. “I’m just wondering how much I should tell him about what is really going on.”
“Hopefully, it will be more than what you have told me so far, Len,” Zheng joked. “Please get to the point.”
“Herb, you are the one person in the League who I know will be able to put all of this together in the right order when the time comes,” Pedersen said. “Aren’t you curious how this story ends? I’m sure that once you finally see it in context you will find it quite enlightening.”
Zheng gestured for Pedersen to continue.
“The boy is consumed by panic,” Pedersen said. “He can’t reconcile his memory of his grandfather with what he’s been taught in school.”
“His feelings told him that his grandfather was the salt of the earth so it was apparent that his teachers didn’t understand that not all capitalists were evil. When the boy returns home, he tells his favorite teacher at school about how kindly and loving and generous that his grandfather was and how sure he is the old man was an exception to the rule.”
“The teacher looks at the boy with great concern. She wants to comfort the boy and reassure him that his grandfather could have indeed been all those things and still a capitalist, but she can’t say anything that would be contrary to state teachings. And, she can’t lie to him because he is a sharp boy and would pick up on it.”
“She finally says in these exact words, ‘I would like to be able to tell you your grandfather was a wonderful, kind and generous man. I would also be overjoyed if I was able to say he was not like the evil, selfish and heartless fiends that our state tells us capitalists were. However, I cannot.’”
Pedersen looked at Zheng to be certain he was following before he added, “The rest of the novel concerns the boy’s fall into paranoia and suicidal feelings.”
“Does the boy kill himself,” Zheng asked. He would have to be sure to locate a copy of this novel to read later. Hopefully, knowing the ending would not dampen the experience of reading it for himself.
“Worse than that,” Pedersen replied. “I’m over-simplifying of course, but after agonizing over this inconsistency in his existence and allowing it to torture him almost to a tragic end; the boy goes to sleep one night mentally exhausted. The next morning he wakes up with a feeling of euphoria.”
“Without any real explanation by the author, the boy decides, just like that, what has passed is now gone. His grandfather is dead and it is too much trouble to think about whether he was evil or not. It just did not matter whether the feelings he had about the old man’s character were genuine or he had been deceived.”
“Life at home was too good to spoil with all this distress over an uncertainty. Who needs it? The boy was happy before finding out about his grandfather’s background and learning about it didn’t change his situation one iota. Even if he could prove that his grandfather was wrong
ly characterized by the state, what would it bring the boy other than a battle, which if won, didn’t change anything about his day-to-day existence?”
Zheng spoke up.
“I don’t understand, Len,” he said. “That ending is a bit of a surprise, but I’d hardly call it scary.”
“Because you aren’t concerned you were on the way to becoming just like that boy,” Pedersen replied.
“I haven’t read the whole story, Len,” Zheng said. “But, it could also be the author was just telling the story of a boy passing through the stages of grief over the death of his grandfather. The sudden change of heart could just as easily be explained by the boy going from depression to acceptance.”
“Who are you trying to convince, Herb,” Pedersen asked. “You or me? Isn’t it plain to you that these authors are telling us the human condition never changes from era to era or from planet to planet?”
“I must admit it took me quite a while to see it but I agree now that humans are still not far enough along to give up class distinction. I can accept with little discomfort that there are people even in this day and age who want to rule the galaxy and even feel it’s their birthright to do so.”
“But,” Pedersen said shaking his head and growing pale at the thought. “It scared the Hell out of me when I realized there are also plenty of people who would be content to be dominated as long as the trains run on time, there is reasonable access to doctors and plenty of bread in the pantry.”
Part IV - Childhood Lost
Chapter 20
“You will not remember any of this when you wake up.”
The voice was human and female, but it was impossible to tell where it came from.
“If you try to remember any of it later, you will die,” she said. “Attempting to remember any of what you experienced here today will bring you great fear and pain. Do you understand?”
“Yes, I understand. Please. No more,” begged the young female feline.
“If you understand, repeat to me what I just said to you,” the human demanded. “Do it, now.”
“You told me I shouldn’t remember any of this. And I won’t, I promise,” the feline said. “Please take away the pain.”
“Where are you?”
“I can’t remember.”
“I don’t believe you. Where are you?”
“I can’t tell you. It hurts too much.”
“Do you have a mother?”
“No. We don’t have parents. You know that,” the feline cried out. “Please stop this.”
“Of course I know that,” the human stated impatiently. “But I don’t think you are convinced. Answer me. Do you have a mother?”
The feline was strapped down on a cold stainless steel table. It was one of the tables from the morgue that was used for autopsies. It had a drain at the bottom and small lips around the sides. It was more like a long flat sink than anything else.
There were heavy braided vinyl straps over the feline’s chest, abdomen, thighs and calves. There were also straps around her wrists that held her arms by her sides. She was in terrible pain from head to toe, even though the only physical injuries inflicted upon her were the lacerations she made in her own thighs with her own claws.
“Felines don’t have parents. We develop in incubators from the genetic material of unknown donors. You know that. Please make this pain stop.” The feline was not begging anymore. She was demanding that the human make the pain consuming her body cease.
“I don’t give a damn about whether other felines have parents or not,” the human replied. “I’m only concerned with you.”
“I have... I… have,” the feline shouted. As she tried to say more, her body burned as if she’d been thrown into a giant blast furnace. She screamed and dug her claws back into her thighs once again. The thighs bled profusely. The blood ran down into the drain.
She sucked in a deep breath and shouted, “I have a mother. She is human and she loves me. Where is she?”
The feline fought against the wrist strap that held her arm by her side. There was a violent snap as the hand became free and she thrust it up to grab the human that was torturing her.
****
31-Jan-2210
“Morning Grass, let him go! He can’t breathe!”
Morning Grass released the med tech’s throat immediately when she heard the familiar voice commanding her to do so, but the damage was done. She had crushed his larynx. Her claws had also punctured his left jugular in multiple locations. Blood came out of the wounds in spurts as she watched the tech slip from consciousness and fall backward to the floor.
Morning Grass was still highly disoriented but gradually coming to herself. She felt pressure on her chest and a stinging in her face. Her right ear was ringing. She looked at her bloody hand as if spellbound.
She drowsily redirected her gaze from her gore covered right hand to Russo, who was straddling her with a look of horror on her face. Her arm was cocked and ready to backhand the feline once more if she didn’t respond.
Morning Grass was consumed by panic when she looked again to her right and saw that Teacher was there with a death grip on her wrist. There was another human hanging onto Morning Grass’ right leg. The human was on the verge of tears, with a black eye and a bloody nose, looking as if she had just lost a prize fight.
“Please, Teacher. Let go of me,” Morning Grass asked meekly as she turned back to look at him. “You’re hurting me.”
“Not so fast, Sergeant,” Russo yelled at Teacher. She grabbed Morning Grass’ head with both hands and turned the dazed feline’s face toward her own.
“What is your name,” she yelled. Her face was only inches from Morning Grass’. “Do you know where you are?”
Morning Grass looked up at Russo, afraid to answer.
Morning Grass knew exactly where she had been for most of the time since being pulled from the regeneration tank. She had been looking around the recovery room and answering questions from the techs that were taking care of her, when without warning she found herself transported momentarily to a most terrifying place. It was dark, cold and oppressive.
Morning Grass was afraid she might still be there even though she could see Russo and Teacher when she opened her eyes.
“Major Russo,” she pleaded as she looked once more at her bloody claws. “I was… I can’t… I swear I didn’t mean to…”
Russo looked up and around the room. She yelled to the beaten up tech that still had her arms around Morning Grass’ leg holding it tightly.
“Private Haley,” she ordered. “Sound a Code Blue for Corporal Lowell, and please get over there and try to stop his bleeding.”
Russo then turned back to Morning Grass.
“What the Hell just happened here,” she asked. “I think you killed that man.”
Medical and security personnel rushed into the recovery room. Some were coming to answer the Code Gray that Private Haley had called when Morning Grass became combative and, some were coming to answer the Code Blue she just called for Lowell.
Russo stayed on Morning Grass’ chest and ordered Teacher not to loosen his grip on her wrist until someone could inject her with a sedative.
Morning Grass cried, “Please, Major. No drugs. I promise I’m not going to hurt anyone. I’m myself again. Please don’t.”
The pleading did no good. A med tech injected Morning Grass with the sedative and the pleading feline quickly lost consciousness.
Russo motioned for Teacher to release the wrist and she ordered one of the techs to put the feline in full restraints.
“Find something to put over those goddamned claws that can’t be easily removed,” Russo barked to the security officers. “I don’t care what it is, as long as it keeps her from being able to shred anyone else to death.”
Russo ran around to the side of the bed that Lowell was on. Doctors, nurses and med techs knelt on the floor all around him, fighting desperately to close up the wounds on his neck and get him stable enoug
h for transport to emergency surgery.
“My God,” one of the doctors shouted. “It looks as if he’s been mauled half to death.” She then turned to a nurse who was still standing and yelled. “Get me a line started with all the plasma you can find. Get some whole blood too. Does anyone know this man’s type?”
“A-positive,” Russo answered.
“Get on it,” the doctor told the nurse as she turned back to work on Lowell’s wounds.
“Can I help,” Russo asked.
The doctor, Colonel Stiles, answered Russo without looking up. “You and Haley are too damned close to this, Dawn Marie,” she said. “We’ll talk tomorrow. Until then, I don’t want either of you in the sickbay. Get out of here and let us cover it.”
Russo motioned for Haley and Teacher to follow her as she turned to leave.
“What about Morning Grass,” Teacher asked.
Russo motioned for Teacher to keep quiet and follow.
“They will be putting her in the security ward for now,” she finally answered after they were out of the recovery room. “It’s out of my hands. Once she attacked Lowell, she became a prisoner of war. There is going to be a really big stink about this. Now, the both of you follow me.”
Russo led Haley and Teacher away from all the confusion.
“Haley,” she said. “I need to know exactly what you remember about this.”
The young nurse was shaking violently and obviously in a state of shock. One eye was almost swollen shut and her broken nose was bleeding.
“First,” Russo added. “I want to look at your injuries before they throw us out of the sickbay and refuse to let us back in.”
They made their way to a bed in the trauma unit and pulled a privacy curtain around it. Teacher looked back to see Morning Grass strapped down and being rolled toward the security ward.
Chamberlain's Folly (The Terra Nova Chronicles) Page 18