by Rori Shay
Vienne comes to sit behind me. “Well, yes, I do.”
I turn to her, delighted. “You do? Really? Is there a way?”
She turns her whole body toward me so I have no other option but to look her in the eyes. “I need to have sex with a man.” Her words are so blunt I feel like an idiot for not having seen them coming.
“Oh.” I look down at the ground in front of me. Today was supposed to be a good day, and already my new wife is explaining how our union won’t work.
“You know it’s true.” Recognizing my discomfort, she insists, “We can’t put off this conversation.”
“I know.” I refuse to look up from my shoes. The thought of a man touching my beautiful Vienne—not only my wife but my first real friend and confidant—makes me suddenly sick. “Maybe we can talk about this later.”
“Okay, but we do need to talk about it. Make some decisions.” She sounds resolute. “Getting pregnant is my biggest role in this marriage. And we need to arrange it as fast as possible while I’m in my most fertile years.”
“Maybe after breakfast,” I say, putting on my other boot.
She laughs. “All right then, after breakfast.”
When we arrive in the dining area, Griffin is already sitting at our breakfast table, eating a piece of toast and drinking out of a crystal glass filled with lemonade. He lifts his goblet to me as soon as we walk in, the awkwardness of our last exchange purposefully ignored.
“Good lemonade, Elected. And good morning, Madame Elected.” Griffin tips his head toward Vienne.
She beams back at him. “Griffin. A new day to you.”
“I have more security reports for you both.” He slides a sheaf of papers across the table to me. While Vienne and Griffin order a variety of marzipan delicacies leftover from last night, I pore through the numerous reports.
“Tomlin has already read them too,” Griffin says. Tomlin nods from across the breakfast table where he’s just sat down to breakfast with an apple and a slice of pumpkin on his plate.
“I hope you enjoyed the festivities yesterday. I know the townspeople were buoyed by the celebration,” he says.
I nod but am again reminded we need to make a baby as soon as possible if my countrymen’s morale is to be bolstered for longer than a day. The hope of our country sits with two women who can’t biologically have one baby, let alone scores of children together. I try to block out the thought as I read through Griffin’s report on our collection of chemicals to conduct testing. Today is the town hall where I will explain to our people we’re searching for metal. I still haven’t decided whether I’ll tell them about Imogene’s gun.
I read the report about how Imogene found the weapon. Her children say they never saw a gun in the house. Her husband admits, though, Imogene brought home the helmet a day before she was taken to the prison. And she was acting strange, talking about objects falling from the sky. The same thing she told me at the prison compound. I shudder, remembering her prophesies.
I continue reading through inconclusive evidence. The second report talks about rumors brewing. Some people are saying the Technology Faction is manufacturing its own weaponry, although how they’re making the metal is a complete mystery. Then there are other rumors Mid Country is arming itself against us. To take us over. To take over our precious water supply. That they’re banding together with West Country to vanquish us. This last idea isn’t one I’ve put a lot of thought into at all. I can almost deal with the internal threat of the Technology Faction. But what would we do with outside enemies too? I thought the days of intricate political conflicts were over. I thought we were in isolation now. That would be easier. New enemies, amorphous ones, are more worrisome than ones I can see and understand.
Somehow, I can almost come to terms with the ideals of the Technology Faction, no matter how much I won’t let them win. I can understand how they think just a little technology use won’t hurt anyone, how we could harness it to fix our population’s decline, how we could make water purifiers and clean up the oceans. There are a million tempting ways we could use technology to better our situation.
What I can’t understand is other countries banding together to eliminate my people. It doesn’t make sense at all. And yet, where did the gun come from? The first report indicates Imogene’s husband says she was in the hills the day she came home with the helmet. Perhaps this is where she found the gun too. The hills are on the border with Mid Country. If they’re arming themselves against us, perhaps a gun made it over the border right there.
I put my head in my hands, trying to make sense of it all. And that’s when two guards run into the room. We all glance up in haste.
“Elected, your parents’ horses have returned,” one says.
“And my parents? Have they come back too?” My voice conveys hope, and I don’t even care who hears. My parents, above all others, will be able to help me think through these recent developments.
“No.”
Vienne asks. “But why did it take so long?”
It’s been weeks since my parents left. I’d almost forgotten the horses were trained to arrive back in East Country.
“I’ll ask my father if they look all right,” Griffin says, rising from his seat at the table. “He’ll be checking them over right now, I’m sure.” He looks over at me, remnants of our disconcerting interlude at the wedding still cracking through his normal lightheartedness. “I’ll meet you at the town hall.” Then he nods at us and exits.
“I’m sure your parents are fine.” Vienne stands by my side, putting a hand around my waist.
I try to nod in agreement, but it comes out stilted, a half bob of my head. I wish my parents were on the horses. I wish their mission to leave East Country failed and they returned. I could use their support now more than ever. I try to finish eating the dry toast I have in my hands, but it tastes like nothing so I just deposit it on my plate and a maid quickly takes it away. I have more things to think about today than eating, anyway.
As we leave the White House and near the Ellipse, I see most of our people are already at the town hall, sitting on the stone benches, their talkers spaced out every ten rows. Vienne and I dismount and walk up to the front at a fast pace. This time, Griffin is positioned directly to the right of us, already sitting on the stage. This comforts me somewhat. I have him next to Vienne with orders that, if there is another assassination attempt, he’ll fly to her side first instead of mine.
“A new day to you all,” my voice booms once we’re onstage.
There’s a murmur of happy agreement back to us. People are still in a good mood from the wedding yesterday. As I look out at their faces, I see many eyes droop from the late hours last night. Maybe their sleepiness will make my next announcements go over more smoothly.
“I’ll get right to it. I have three pieces of business today. The first is that everyone will receive a packet of tree saplings. We really need some of these trees to take root. These saplings are from the heartiest of our current trees, so we’re hoping at least twenty percent of these make it. Please plant them near your houses by the end of the week.”
The talkers relay my message, and I wait for the words and precious saplings to get distributed—one sapling per family.
“The second topic is a reminder to conserve your nirogene. We’re dangerously short on our supply. So there won’t be any new cans of nirogene issued this month.”
There’s a rumble from the crowd as my warning makes it to their ears. I wait for an inevitable question. Rumblings always arouse questions. And if I know my people, they won’t be mute on this subject. They’ll want to preserve their bikes and other salvaged metal, and a reduced supply of nirogene will make this process harder.
The first question comes from a talker in the middle. “Elected, Dasan asks why the supply is low.”
I answer after just a moment. “To tell the truth, I’m not positive. I’m going to visit the hills to look at our mines. If nirogene production is low, perhaps it�
��s because of a reduced harvest. I’d like to turn the town hall over to Madame Elected now for our next topic.”
Vienne stands, and the people smile back at her automatically. It’s this response I’m relying on for the next announcement. I think it’ll go over better coming from one who has become so beloved so quickly.
“Good day to you all,” she says, smoothing one of her blonde locks behind an ear. “I have rather startling information. Unfortunately, I found a gun on a prisoner’s body just last week.”
There are loud eruptions of confusion from the crowd. Like me, they’d all assumed guns were a thing of the past.
“Yes, it’s very troubling,” Vienne says, her hands up to quiet the crowd. “Thus, we need to do a countrywide metal scan to ensure there are no more.”
One of the talkers from the back stands, a question already upon his lips. “Madame Elected,” he says, “why don’t you and the Elected trust the people.”
Vienne squints her eyes. “Can you clarify your question?”
The talker answers, “Only one gun was found. I don’t understand why this constitutes a countrywide metal scan. Don’t you trust that people will bring forth weapons if they’re found?”
At this, I stand up beside Vienne. “Imogene carried the gun on her body. It went undetected for who knows how long, and she didn’t bring it to anyone’s attention. We don’t have the full story on this. Since there may be other weapons in our country, we can’t take any chances.” There is widespread displeasure across the crowd at my last statement. And I realize I’ve just sent worry through the minds of my people.
“We don’t think any of you are in danger,” I say quickly. “To date, the only life-threatening violence this country has seen in the past thirty years was directed at me.”
I hate to say this fact out loud, but it’s true. The only assassination attempt—the only use of a weapon—was aimed at me. Twice now.
“I must take action,” I say.
Someone shouts from within the crowd. I’m surprised because the voice isn’t coming from one of the talkers. No one’s ever spoken out of turn like this.
“You cannot hold us all responsible for the actions of one who went crazy!”
I look out into my people, searching for the voice. I don’t find it, but instead I see Imogene’s husband standing up, gesturing toward the crowd. “She wasn’t crazy! I don’t know how my wife got hold of the gun, but she wasn’t crazy!”
Another man shouts out of turn, “A metal scan shows you don’t trust us! Use of a weapon was the act of one person only!”
“We don’t know that!” I answer. “Plus, the Technology Faction is growing.” People give displeased rumbles. “It’s true. Just yesterday there was a showing of the Faction at our wedding!” I grimace, covering the still puffy, raw flesh with my hand. “Vienne and I were imprinted with... unusual bindings.”
I lift up my sleeve so the people in the front rows can see the shape burned on my arm. They give astonished gasps of understanding as they view the image.
“We were each given the symbol of a long arrow—the very weapon used against me in the attempt on my life!”
There are many shouts from the audience. One man stands and again doesn’t wait for a talker to approach him. “Get the offender up on stage for questioning!” he yells.
“We’ll speak to the metal worker this afternoon,” Vienne starts to say. “I’m sure he was just confused...”
She’s cut off midsentence by the very metal worker running forward. I think he’s just trying to defend his name, but our guards catch him in their arms as he tries to leap onto the stage. Griffin and I both instinctively hover closer to Vienne.
“It’s a warning from the Technology Faction to you, Elected!” he yells. “You cannot keep us down! A new day for technology!”
There’s an uproar as a small group of people in the middle stand. “Technology now!” they yell in unison.
I realize the Technology Faction was waiting for the metal worker’s signal. The guards rush at the Faction, providing a fence around the small group, roping them off with their bodies.
“We need technology!” the group yells again—in an obviously orchestrated demonstration.
I try to shout over the mob. “You’re out of line! Sit back down!”
And before I can stop him, the metal worker hits one of the guards holding him in the face, throwing the guard off balance. The man is free once more. He ascends the stage, lunging for me. I step back fast, wobbling over a few chairs, trying to keep my balance. I crash back against the podium, all the while yelling out to Vienne. “Get back!”
The metal worker is caught at once between the arms of Griffin and another guard. They hold him off the floor as he thrashes and kicks.
Most of the crowd rallies with me, shaking their fists at the mob in the center. A rock is sent flying in their direction. Then one of our precious saplings is lobbed at the head of one Technologist. And the Faction, held behind the circle, responds by throwing objects back out.
There’s a sharp whack and everyone looks around, expecting another gun now the idea’s been put in people’s heads. Townspeople scream and cover their heads. I look around for a weapon in the circle of Technologists, but I don’t see anything.
It seems every time we assemble now—every time we have a town hall—it erupts in violence. I cringe at the thought that our society is taking steps backward. Back to when we relied on technology to kill and maim each other.
“Calm down!” I shout. “This is folly! You’re fighting against your own people! There are so few of us left!”
They don’t hear me. There’s chaos as the guards try to hold people back, but the group at large is pressing in on the Technology Faction. They’ll crush them, I think. The protestors will be suffocated with the guards stuck right in the middle, about to be trampled. I can’t believe it’s come to this. A full-out riot.
“Stop!” I yell. “Stop right now!”
There’s another dull thud, something thick hitting a hard object. I can’t tell where it originated until I see a fist rising up amidst the crowd to hit another man in the back of his skull.
Now Vienne is yelling too. “Peace! Please, peace!” she shouts, but to no avail. So close to her, I’m the only one who has a chance of making out her words.
I see a circular orange object crashing toward the stage from the circle of technologists. The pumpkin hits a chair to my right. It splatters into four squishy sections, sending seeds flying. But it’s not just a pumpkin. The squishy masses have shards of metal sticking out from them. I only have a few seconds to analyze what the pumpkin holds before more objects come flying from within the Technologists’ circle. An apple hits me in the arm, hard, something sharp digging its way into my biceps. I’m cut, but worse, it’s hit my upper biceps, colliding with the burnt flesh still healing from the marriage binding.
I yell backward again, warning Vienne to get down. I hold my arm, watching the Technologists closely to make sure nothing else is coming toward us. But there’s no way to stop the onslaught now.
At once ten arms go up from the Faction’s circle, and each holds a bunch of apples. All of the apples glint with bits of metal sticking out of their skin.
Before the surrounding guards can stop the Technologists, the apples are thrown with full force all at once on a single, coordinated command. They hit the stage with a multitude of thwacks. Some of the shards of metal stay attached to the fruit, but others fling outward once the apples hit the stage. None have hit me, and I stare back at once to show the group we’re unhurt.
But we’re not. Someone on stage has indeed been hurt. And it’s the worst possible person.
Vienne.
17
She stumbled backward, away from the onslaught of apples and tumbled off the raised stage. I hear a sickening yell, primal and wounded. It’s my own voice as I run to Vienne. She lies still on the ground, her left arm sticking out grotesquely in an awkward position fro
m her shoulder.
Griffin is already next to Vienne, having left the metal worker in the care of the other guard on stage. A few other people surround Vienne too, trying to revive her. I scream again, calling her name. She’s been hit in the head and the shoulder. Already a large welt is bulging on her forehead. She’s knocked out cold, but at least she’s breathing, her chest rising and falling in even swells.
Tomlin rushes over with a glass of cold water. A doctor runs forward too, holding something fragrant, lemon rind, I think, under Vienne’s nose. I don’t even know what’s going on offstage right now. All I can focus on is Vienne. The doctor turns her shoulder sharply in its socket. I hear bone and cartilage grind together, and the sound hurts my teeth. Vienne’s shoulder clicks back into place, and the action revives her. She yells out in pain.
Griffin holds one hand on my shoulder to steady me and puts his other hand on Vienne’s perspiring cheek.
“She’s going to be okay, Aloy.” He doesn’t bother using my official name. I don’t care. I just nod at him, unable to take my eyes off Vienne’s face.
“She’s going to be okay,” he says again. Maybe he’s trying to reassure himself. His eyes are stricken, round and wide in his face. It looks like he was the one who was hit, his cheeks are so red. Vienne going down, under his watch, is like a knife in his side, I realize.
I finally look into the crowd. Everyone is quiet, watching us with open mouths. They’re all transfixed on Vienne, scared for her too. Even the Technology Faction is subdued. Nothing is being thrown anymore. All fist-fighting has ceased.
I’m not sure how to proceed. I don’t know how to punish all of the Technologists who’ve thrown objects. East Country has never convicted more than one person at a time before. Mass execution is unthinkable. I turn to the guards. “Please take this man away,” I say, gesturing to the metal worker. At least I know how to deal with the squirming man who’s the one person still trying to get out of the guards’ hold to attack me.
Vienne sits up in the dirt, groaning with the effort, and whispers close to me. “Did your arm hurt?” I think she’s asking about the apple hitting my biceps, but then I wonder if she believes the superstition about feeling your true love’s pain on the brand. My thoughts turn to my throbbing arm. In the middle of all this chaos is Vienne asking if we’re true loves? Or does she just want to know if I’ve been hurt by a thrown object too?