CHAPTER SIX
The
Note
10:30 a.m.
It was a short walk
back to the transit stop from the doctor’s office. I didn’t mind. I had a lot
to think about—detoxification—coffee with the young doctor—and Silas Drummond.
I was afraid Silas would pop up again, and I looked around anxiously. I didn’t
see him anywhere and felt some relief. As I sat on the transit waiting bench, I
pulled Drummond’s note from my bag.
“Dear Miss
Applewait,
I must talk to you
immediately. Be very careful.
We have been linked together since I tried
to contact
you at the library. I’m sorry. Now, we are
both in
grave danger.
You may be the only person who can
help expose
this evil. The entire endless-sleep program
is a sham!”
What
is he talking about? I jammed the
paper back in my tote. I’ll read the rest
of it later. Fear crept in again, like a mountain lion that stalks the
shadows, waiting for a weakened prey. I had to think. My mind raced in circles,
from my grandparents, the doctor, the note, the mountain people from the old
video Marge and I had viewed—to the beautiful day.
I looked out over the city below the transit
platform and drank in the beauty around me. We were well into December and snow
was beginning to cover the distant mountain peaks. The frost that had covered
the ground earlier in the morning lingered in the lower spots. I had missed
many seasons while buried away with research for my thesis. Now, I only wanted
to enjoy the holiday Gifting lights, and the colors that dance off the
glittering frost.
My thoughts went to the video we’d seen,
because it had taken place around this time of year. That family had celebrated
Thanksgiving and gave thanks to their favorite Deity. Yet, they had so little
to be thankful for . . . except love. In November 2112, we too had celebrated
what Society has provided for us. So you
see, in some ways, we are the same . . . and yet.
I was surprised by the glorious December
day. The bright morning sun was warm. I took off my tunic and laid it over the
back of the bench. It was not possible that cold weather was upon us . . . but
it was.
Lost in my own daydreams, I thought of Dr.
Jason O’Reilly and smiled. Don’t be
silly, I admonished myself. I just
met him. We’re not even friends, not yet. When the cross-town transit car
arrived, I jumped to my feet and boarded quickly.
“Ma’am,” the driver commanded softly, “you
didn’t pay.”
“Pay?” I was confused. I had never been
asked to pay for a bus ride. Then I remembered my cloak. “Oh, wait, I left
something on the bench.” I jumped off the bus and grabbed up my tunic, then
skipped back on.
“Oh, I’m sorry Ma’am,” the driver
corrected himself. “I thought. . . . Please, just have a seat.”
I moved past the currency exchange as an
older woman quickly got out of her seat. “Here, take my place,” she offered.
“I’ll be getting off soon.” Her face was drawn and her color seemed pasty
white.
“Thank you.” Surprisingly, a feeling of
gratitude stirred within me. “Are you all right?” The woman seemed frail.
Perhaps she wasn’t well. Maybe she was the one who should be sitting.
“Yes, dear,” she smiled briefly and then
her face fell again as if she remembered something sad.
I started to sit down, then asked again,
“Are you sure you’re okay?”
“I am sure, thank you,” she added, but
this time her face was flat, expressionless.
“Maybe you’d better go home and rest. What
are your plans today?”
“Plans? I haven’t had any plans since my
Harold died.” The little woman’s eyes
were empty and distant. I studied the old woman as she moved toward the exit
and waited.
At the next station, the woman got off and
a young man bounced up the steps. He moved quickly with a spring in his steps.
I thought him odd. He had more energy than most people my age. Everyone else lacks zip, why not this
fellow? The man’s eyes met mine, and he didn’t look away. Why? People
always averted my gaze. It was protocol. Why was he different? He looked familiar
but his stares made me feel uncomfortable. I turned to the passing scene beyond
the window. The calcium reinforced stone on the passing buildings glistened
like jewels as the sun bounced off the surfaces. Regardless of what was out
there to see, Silas’s words whispered in my ear, “Danger . . . danger!”
I tried to focus on my destination, not
the people inside or outside the tram. The trip to the stately old homes on the
other side of the city wound past sleeping gardens tucked behind white fences.
The orange and yellow mums of the last season had been replaced by red and
green Gifting lights that peeked out from brightly decorated windows.
Many of the homes had two stories, a
tradition that had been banned in newer construction. Recent structures were
designed to occupy a minimal footprint and stood tall against the city’s
skyline. The multi-family buildings lacked the beauty of the rambling homes
that lay on both sides of this street. The old houses reminded me of the home I
had seen in the teleplay, large and roomy with space for everyone.
My parents had a single family home that
was more modest than these. Mother and Daddy had one large gathering room, a
kitchen and eating center, three sleeping cubicles, and two bathing areas. It
was quite adequate for them. They both worked long hours. Mother was the Chief
of Staff to the Center Chair of the Council of Elders and Daddy was the
Director of the Schools. While most people spent their spare time after work at
the Social Centers around town, where they played games and listened to
lectures, Mother and Daddy spent quiet evenings with friends and family.
When Legacy Citizens turn twenty-one,
after we graduate from University, we move out of our parents’ home and into
our own apartment where we can begin to live independently and solve our own
problems. We are supported by our trusts, but we must work or go to graduate
school before taking up a career. It never occurred to me to be thankful for all
I had. I was simply entitled.
As the transit passed through the
Victorian subdivision of Oakwood, the lines dropped down to ground rails, like
a trolley of old. People on wraparound porches smiled and waved at us.
Surprisingly, the driver waved back. I guess he felt free to be friendly there.
These were my people, Legacy and Council of Elders members. I closed my eyes and enjoyed the renewed
sensations of warmth and neighborhood.
“My Lady,” the driver prompted, “I think
this is your stop.”
It was the end of the line. The stop had
to be mine. As I walked along, I had the eerie sensation of being watched. I
had led such a sheltered life, I was not prepared for this intrigue, and I was
frightened.
In my grandparents’ block, no one was in
adjoining yards that cuddled up to the sidewalk, but the street out front was
busier than usual. In the time it took me to walk from the bus stop to my
grandparents’ front door, two Blue Guard strata-cars drove past slowly. They
seemed to be searching for someone as they scanned right and left. I thought of
Silas Drummond’s letter that was stuffed in my pocket and his desperate
warning. We had been seen together earlier and that had frightened him and me.
The officers looked right past me and then looked back again. Were they looking
for Silas? Or, were they looking for me?
CHAPTER SEVEN
Grand-mère
and Grand-père
11:30 a.m.
When I arrived at my
grandparents’ sidewalk, I just wanted to be inside, away from whatever was
happening outside. The neighbor’s yard had a pair of stuffed dogs that barked
and wagged their tails when I passed. Except for the prowling Blue Guard cars,
the stuffy dogs were the only movement in the neighborhood. Even with the warm
winter day, no one sat on their porch at the houses around my grandparents’
home.
As I walked up the sidewalk, the old house
I loved so much seemed to be wrapped in goose down, all soft, comfortable, and
warm. The heavy wooden door, with its beveled glass panes down both sides, let
light flood the entry beyond. I tapped on the door then opened it with a shove
of my hip.
“Christiana!” Grand-mère sang out and
threw her arms open to welcome me. She was just crossing the entry hall from
the kitchen when I walked in. “I didn’t know you were coming.”
“I took the chance that the Council of
Elders wasn’t meeting today Grand-mère. I wanted to visit the two of you. Where
is Grand-père?” I looked around the familiar room where the family had gathered
each December for Gift-giving. It was a joyous holiday when we thought of ways
to please other people rather than cater to ourselves. Gifting Day was full of
promise and joy.
“Come, Baby, sit here with me.” Grand-mère
patted the sofa beside her as she sat down.
“Grand-père is puttering in his garden out back, clearing away the dead
plants that gave up blooming several weeks ago.”
I snuggled close to her. She always
smelled like flower petals or cinnamon and other spices, a sign that her cookie
jar was full. For me, that cookie canister was a symbol of Grand-mère’s love
for her family and neighbors.
“Now you stay right here and I’ll bring us
some lemonade and a plate of cookies. I just made some this morning.”
Grand-mère patted my hand and hurried toward the kitchen.
Sometimes, I felt a little guilty for
being closer to my grandparents than to my own mother and father. But,
Grand-mère was able to demonstrate so much more love than Mother did. I guess Grand-mère
had memories from the old ways that Mother never experienced, just like the
story I had seen on the small screen that morning. Grand-mère’s love oozed from
every love pat and hug.
I am sure Mother felt that she was loved
as she grew up. Grand-mère was always Grand-mère. But, Society was severe in
their edicts on demonstrations of affections. During those years, when Mother
was a child, people were told to drink plenty of water. I thought about that as
I waited for the cookie tray. But, Dr.
O’Reilly said the detoxification tablets were only started four years ago. So
Mother had been exposed to the water everyone drank all of her life, into
middle-age. If the pills dilute the additives, I wondered what the chemicals
did to people’s bodies, including hers. When I was small, my mother and father
would have been fully medicated. Now, there was evidently a reversal of
thought, at least for Legacy Citizens. According to Dr. O’Reilly’s timetable,
my parents would have probably undergone that transformation in the last few
years. They would have begun detoxification after I was already out of their
home and on my own. As I think about it now, I guess I had noticed a change in
my parents. They were warmer, more loving, more interested and attentive.
As a child, I had my grandparents, the
generation that was not medicated. I know how fortunate I was. None of my
friends still had their grandparents. Most of the older generation had already
gone into the never-ending-sleep, which made me think of Silas Drummond again.
What was his note trying to tell me?
“What brings you way over here?” my
grandmother asked as she came back with the treats, eager to entertain. Those
in her neighborhood rarely had drop-in visitors.
The Oakwood area wasn’t banned, but casual
sightseeing in the neighborhood was discouraged. All of the Council of Twelve
lived in that section of town. Their privacy was strongly protected. Among my
grandparents’ neighbors were high-ranking government people, bankers, all those,
whose Length of Days extended beyond that of the common person.
“I’ve been thinking Grand-mère. At the end
of the month, right after Gift-giving Day, you and Grand-père turn seventy-five.”
“Yes, dear . . . seventy-five.”
“How old were your great-grandparents when
they died?” I was cautious. I wasn’t sure how she felt about the inevitable
which was to come.
“Christiana, you’re worried about the
never-ending-sleep aren’t you?” Grand-mère moved closer and took my hand. “It
is a natural occurrence. It’s not something to worry about.”
“It is not natural. I’ve read enough books
to know there is nothing natural about it. Today, someone called it a sham.”
“A sham? What on earth are you talking
about?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Somebody just . . .” I
hadn’t finished reading Silas’s message, so there was little more that I could
say. “Grand-mère, it’s important to me. Truthfully, do you know how old your
great-grandparents were when they entered the sleep?”
“The truth? Honey . . . well, some day you
will be a member of the Twelve. I guess there are things you need to know. Let
me see. Both of my great-grandparents were still living when I was small.
Great-Grandma died when she was, ah, eighty-seven and Great-Grandpa was
ninety-one.”
“Died? I’ve read about dying. That’s when
they just . . . pass on, isn’t it. My friend Rachel fell from a top terrace and
ceased to live. She must have died too because she didn’t enter the permanent
sleep chamber.” I knew Rachel’s passing was different from most. People my age
were so sheltered and protected, they rarely died an accidental death and most
diseases had been eradicated.
“Yes, Honey, but back then, when they just
. . . died, sometimes people suffered with physical maladies and serious illnesses.
They may have been in pain and . . . no one would want that.”
“Grand-mère, would you rather have no pain
or live more years with Grand-père?”
“Sweetheart, I would rather be unable to
walk or be in constant pain, than to lose one precious moment with your dear
grandfather.” My grandmother’s eyes glowed as they often did when she spoke of
Grand-père.
“I’m going to research the
never-ending-sleep. It’s new to society. I have . . . well . . . I’ve read many
books. Across eons of time, there was never something like the never-ending-sleep.
It wasn’t imposed until the last one hundred years. It is not natural. It is
calculated murder.”
“Christiana!” Grand-mère gasped. “Don’t
let anyone hear you say such a thing.”
I could see the fear in her eyes. “I
cannot just wait for you two to be . . . terminated, Grand-mère. I have to do
something.”
“It won’t be in time, Honey. We will be
seventy-five in two weeks, after Gift-giving time.”
“It has to be in time! You have a right to
live as long as you can. I saw an old document in the library Grand-mère. It
read in part, We hold these truths to be
self-evident, that all men are
created equal, that we are endowed by our Creator with certain inalienable
rights that among them are life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. We have a right to life, Grand-mère,
an inalienable right, a right that cannot be repudiated. Our creator gave us that right. Now,
Grand-mère, please tell me, who is the creator? I will contact him.” I picked
up her hand, pressed it to my lips and silently pleaded for the answer.
“Christiana, it is forbidden, dear. I . .
.”
“But, I’m Legacy, Grand-mère. I’m supposed
to grow in wisdom and wisdom requires as much knowledge as can be learned in a
lifetime.”
“Christiana, I . . . it’s been so long
since Great-Grandpa told me about God.” She seemed to search for words again.
“He said . . . if you seek God, he will come in and make his home within you.
“He said that the creator is . . . God,
the Holy One, he who created everything, even you and me. God is other, not anything within our understanding.
He is the all-in-all and his most precious gift to all of us, is a reverence
for life, for he is Life.”
“Where can I find him Grand-mère? Maybe he
will tell me how to reverse this terrible edict of Society.” I had to know
where he lived. God may have been the only one who would have known how to accomplish
what seemed impossible.
Grand-mère smiled sweetly. “He lives in
the other place, Honey, just as he is
other.”
“Other what?” I couldn’t fit it all into
my unstretched, unpracticed, untouched mind.
I was overwhelmed with all the new
information, but maybe I already knew. Something or someone had been tugging at
my heart for months as I read the old books. It was a force that was strong
enough to call to me from the pages of man’s writing and move within my being,
like a fog that overtakes a meadow of wild flowers and blankets it, while doing
no harm, then leaves a light nourishing mist on the surface of all that lives
there.
“What more did Great-grandfather tell
you,” I pressed.
“Great-grandfather taught me about the
ways of the Lord. He told me . . . ,” Grand-mère hesitated but she seemed to
want to tell me all she knew. Finally, she went on, “There is a special book
about him—God—but all those books were destroyed, their contents long forgotten.
Great-grandfather had much of it memorized and quoted from it often.”
Grand-mère looked away from me. “No,” she began again quietly, “that’s wrong.
They weren’t all destroyed. Society had entrusted a copy of the book with
Great-grandfather since he was the great philosopher, the Wisest One.”
“Grand-mère, if he was so wise why did he
vote to institute the Length of Days policy?”
“He did not vote for it, Honey. He cast a
black ball, not a white. But, the yeas won
out. There is nothing that can be done now.” Again, Grand-mère seemed to accept
the inevitable.
“Maybe there is, Grand-mère. What about
the book you talked about and the old Bill of Rights? I just know there is
something.” I could not accept the required sleep. Exposed to life through the
old volumes and the harmless teleplay I had watched earlier in the day, hope
had begun to take root in my heart. I felt an awakening of my spirit that
somehow felt familiar, but I couldn’t remember having experienced it before. It
was like being surrounded by a sweet life-force that I neither understood nor
could describe.
“Let’s go into the study, my dear,” my
grandmother offered as she rose and steadied herself. Large wooden pocket
doors, which vanished into the wall and reappeared with a pull on the recessed
ring of a brass plate, were parted for the two of us to enter. “Over here,” she
directed.
I followed her into the wonderful old
office with its elegant oak desk. Shelves of books that reached from floor to
ceiling stretched around the entire room. “You haven’t let me come in here very
often,” I whispered in awe.
“Now that will have to change, won’t it
Christiana.”
“Why now, Grand-mère? I have been Legacy
since I was born.”
“Yes, dear, but now you are twenty-four
years old. You’ve started your detoxification process, haven’t you?” She asked
as though she already knew.
“Yes, in fact, I came here from Dr.
O’Reilly’s office. I had this thing on my shoulder.”
“What thing
on your shoulder?” My grandmother seemed concerned. My health and well-being
were important to all.
“There was something in my vaccination
site. It turned out to be no big deal. More curious than anything. Dr. O’Reilly
removed it.” I reached in my pocket and pulled out the tissue containing the
small piece he had returned to me.
“Christiana, that looks like your chip.
That was not to be removed.” Grandma Constance picked up the piece from my hand
and turned it over. “Jason O’Reilly should have known better than to remove the
chip. He’s Legacy too. This little chip contains the proof of your linage.”
I was surprised and amused. The doctor
almost bowed in my presence and all along, he was Legacy too? “Dr. O’Reilly is
a Privileged Citizen? Why didn’t he tell me?”
“With you, Legacy identifies your
position. With Jason, his occupational title hides his privileged status.
Rather than Lord O’Reilly, he is by education and examination, Dr. O’Reilly. As
a physician, he should have known not to remove the chip.”
“Have all physicians been trained to know
about the device?” I folded the little piece over in the tissue and replaced it
in the pocket of my cloak.
“Well, perhaps I’m wrong. I may have been
too harsh on Dr. O’Reilly. I imagine only the pediatricians would need to know,
since the chip is implanted in an infant immediately after birth.” She paused
for a moment in her conversation while she searched the upper book shelves. “I
only know that everyone is supposed to have one. It’s like a permanent census
card.” She stopped and held the back of her neck as she craned to see the books
on the top shelf near the ceiling. “There it is. Christiana, would you climb up
there and fetch it down? It’s a little beyond my reach these days, my dear.”
“Sure,” I offered and pulled the library
ladder over that was attached to a track that ran along the ceiling and in
front of the shelves of books. From the higher elevation as I climbed the
rungs, another thought struck me. “Grand-mère, how does it happen that you and
Grand-père were both of Legacy Linage?”
“Well, I don’t really know,” she responded
slowly. “Over a little to your left, dear. It’s that black leather book between
the two red volumes.” I fingered the book spines and then she exclaimed
excitedly, “That’s it.” She watched for a moment then added. “Your grandfather
was the only man I was ever attracted to. Just Oliver Richly. He made my socks
droop.”
“Grand-mère!” I gasped and laughed until I
nearly dropped the book.
“Christiana, have you never met a man who
absolutely turned your heart into a field full of butterflies?”
“Not yet, Grand-mère.” Then, the face of
Jason O’Reilly flashed before my eyes and I began to giggle. “Why are we
talking about this?” I laughed out loud. As I descended the ladder and handed
the book to my grandmother, I felt the warmth of a blush.
“We’re discussing this topic, because you
asked . . . sort of.” Grand-mère took the book to the brown leather sofa that
sat in front of the window. I smiled as I thought of my cozy spot in the
library.
“Yes, this is it. I’ve never read it but
Great-grandfather told me it had been a very popular book at one time.” She
took a handkerchief from her pocket and dusted off the cover. After patting it
for a moment, she handed it to me. “Now you must protect it. Great-grandfather
said it is sacred. This is the one book that Alister Bedlam has not only banned
but has also attached the punishment of imprisonment on anyone who possesses
it.”
“Bedlam? Grand-mère, he’s not in the
government. What does he have to do with decisions that impact all the rest of
us?”
“Oh, Christiana, he has never been elected
but he pulls the strings. He’s like the supreme head of a shadow government
that influences all aspects of life without ever holding office.”
“You said, prison, Grand-mère. One could go to prison for just possessing this
book. I don’t like the sound of that. Besides, I thought the prisons had been
emptied a long time ago.”
Grand-mère leaned toward me and lowered
her voice. “There is one prison, outside of our zone, that houses . . .
political detainees.”
“Political prisoners? You mean, owning
this book could threaten the very fabric of our government?” My mind raced. “As
docile as people are in this Age of Silence, how could anyone be a threat?
Besides, you’ve had the book a long time.
You and Grand-père have been safe.”
“That’s what I am hoping, for you,” she
whispered. “It is absolutely necessary that this book lives on. I am so sorry,
my dear, that I have to pass it on to you. But you’re the only one I can trust.
Besides, no one else in your world will know of its importance.”
“Thank you Grand-mère, for your confidence
in me. I’ll protect it.” I thought for a moment. “I’ll need to find a safe
place for it.”
“It may be safe out in the open but above
or below eye level, as we have stored it.”
“Did Grand-père read the book?” I wondered
out loud.
“No, I ―”
A familiar voice joined the conversation
from the door. “Yes, I have read the book, several times, and replaced it in
the same spot after each reading.” Oliver Richly removed his wide-brimmed
gardening hat and slapped it across his leg.
“Oliver, dear, the dust,” Constance
scolded softly.
“I’m sorry, Honey. Dust to dust, some people say. If people were really passing
through on dust beams, I guess we would all have to stop using the vacuum
cleaner.” He smiled and winked his eye. Then his voice softened and his eyes
shone with a spirit of light.
“Christiana, dear,” he began as he took my
hand that cradled the precious book, “promise that you will read it word for
word, chapter by chapter, cover to cover. And, when you’ve finished, read it a
second time, for a clearer meaning and greater understanding.”
“I will, Grand-père. I promise.” His words
charged me with the power of purpose.
“Oliver? Why didn’t you tell me you read
the book? Would I have liked it?” She sounded surprised, hurt, as if her love
had betrayed her heart.
“Oh Connie, you would have loved it. But,
you saw me reading it many times. Since you didn’t say anything, I didn’t push
it on you.” Grand-père was taken aback. “I never intended to leave you out.”
“Perhaps, I should leave the book with you
Grand-mère, until you’ve had a chance to read it.” I was embarrassed. It felt
like I was taking something of great value from my own grandmother who had only
weeks to live.
“No, no, Christiana,” Grand-père
corrected, “you must take it. And, you cannot reveal anything about what I’m
about to say.”
“Of course,” I said as layers of intrigue piled
up like cordwood around me.
“My dears,” Grand-père’s voice lowered to
a whisper, “I made a copy of the book a few years ago when we still had access
to personal copy machines.”
“You mean you actually had a copier here
in the house? I don’t think I remember that. Why are those things no longer
available to everyone?” I asked.
“When the country converted the energy
source from electricity, they said it wasn’t fair that everyone should have to
buy a new computing machine and printer. And, since everyone’s personal space
is much smaller than it used to be, they decided to have computing centers for
communication and use the home models exclusively for gaming. It seemed
reasonable at the time.”
“And now?” I couldn’t imagine why
decreased reading and communication would be considered something to be
praised.
“I don’t know any more. It seems like
people have lost interest in life, in each other, in everything,” my grandfather
admitted, but had no explanation for the phenomenon.
“They
said? Grand-père, who are they?”
“The government, honey. The Council of
Elders only advises the government. The decisions belong to the governmental
officials unless it is a constitutional issue.”
Then his eyes brightened again and he
added, “You take this one.” He patted the leather bound book in my hand with
reverence. “And, I have something for you, dear.” He pulled a manuscript from a
high shelf and handed it to Grand-mère. “You may have this one Connie.”
I cradled the book in my arms and drew it
to my chest. It seemed precious to me, at least that’s the impression I got
from my grandfather and I believed him. “I’ll have a safe installed in my
apartment.”
“No!” both of my grandparents admonished
me at once. “They will suspect you’re hiding something.”
“They?” Their sudden outburst startled me.
“Society . . . the government. It would be
best if you put it in a grocery sack and simply carried it into your building
along with vegetables and fruits. You can remove it from the sack and put it
somewhere in your apartment. When you move over to this end of town, they won’t
be curious. They wouldn’t dare. The homes of the Council of Elders are off
limits.”
Grand-père gave me a hug and kissed my
forehead. It felt like he was anointing me as I ascended into the Lower Council
where future members are exposed to the vast wealth of knowledge available to
the few.
“Gotta run, Sweeties. I have an
appointment,” I chuckled and started toward the door.
“A meeting?” Grand-mère questioned.
I thought for a moment and wondered if I
should reveal my afternoon coffee time with an interesting man. “I’m meeting
Dr. O’Reilly in a while for a cup of coffee, and I want to take this book home
first.”
“Here’s a little shopping bag, Honey.”
Grand-mère offered one from the corner of the desk. “I brought a new pillow
home in it. Put the book in here,” she offered. “We’ll get some celery and
apples to put on top of it.” Then she smiled mischievously, “You’re meeting
Jason O’Reilly for coffee?”
“I’ll get the food camouflage while you
two have some girl-talk,” Grand-père winked.
I studied the impish look on my
grandmother’s face. “Now, don’t make something out of this,” I laughed softly.
“It’s just coffee.”
“Yes, dear,” she agreed but it sounded
like she was only humoring me. “I’ll try not to ask any questions.”
“There isn’t anything to say, Grand-mère.
I just met the man this morning,” I protested.
“But, you’re having coffee with him
already, my dear. It seems to me like there is something to say. If nothing
else, you could say, ‘He seems like a very nice man.’”
“Okay Grand-mère—Dr. O’Reilly seems like a
very nice man.” As we laughed together, the giggles warmed my heart. I knew how
much I will miss our time together once Grand-mère enters the sleep.
“Here you are.” Grand-père returned with
the food and placed it in my sack. Then he did something he had never done
before. He placed his right hand on the top of my head. “Now, may the peace and
safety of the Lord go with you, my child.”
I felt blessed and overcome with awe. I
didn’t want to leave. I wanted to stay in the glow I was feeling. But, time was
moving on. I breezed back through the house with the musical laughter of my
grandparents tickling my ears from the warmly paneled office. Those two Rascals, they are probably in
their hugging and laughing with the sheer joy of life. I have so much to learn.
As I stepped out onto the porch and
started down the walk, another strata-car pulled to a stop and then the
driver-side window opened. “Excuse me Ma’am. We’re looking for a man in a red car that has darkly tinted windows.
Have you seen the vehicle or the man?” The Blue Guardsman asked.
“No,” I answered but that one word caught
in my throat like a seed and I could scarcely breathe. They are talking about Silas
Drummond. They’re looking for him. He’s in danger. I may not be safe either.
There was something to fear and I didn’t
know what it was. As the squad car moved on, I turned for one last look at
Grand-mère and Grand-père’s stately old home and wondered where my family would
gather next year on Gift-giving Day. I had to find a way to save them. I want them around forever, and if not
forever, then when their bodies wear out, not when they wear out their time.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Inspector Stoner
Out on the streets,
other forces bustled about the city. It was the season that brought most people
out of their little apartment cubicles and into the world of shops with holiday
trappings. Extra police were on patrol. The masses had to be supervised.
An official Blue Guard, four-wheeler
strata-car, with a unique black stripe down the side, passed by one of the many
transit entrances. The strata-car windows were tinted black and the whole thing
had a dark, menacing look, like a rolling crypt. But the strata-car was no
burial place. The vehicle had multilayers of assault and defense technology
that made it nearly impenetrable and unstoppable.
Busy,
busy, busy little people, the strata
driver mocked. Inspector Tombstone was what his men called him, never to his
face, but he knew it. Inspector Stoner would never have permitted it. He stared
blankly at the holiday shoppers as they passed. A bunch of rusty robots, every one of them, he mumbled to himself. How can they drag about like lazy mice in a maze?
He had been driving around all morning.
With Gifting Day not far off, security had been increased in town. And now
there was this business of Silas Drummond going AWOL at work. Drummond had to
be found. Everyone, from boot officers to Ward Stoner, the Chief Inspector of
the Blue Guard, was on the streets.
Most people were afraid of the Blue Guard
and crossed to the other side of the street when they encountered one. The
officers’ behavior was just too unpredictable. One day they might help a child
up the steps to the transit platform, another day they might not be helpful at
all and could even be abusive. If the walk-paths were congested, a member of
the elite division thought nothing of jabbing someone in the ribs with a
prodding stick to move them aside. If accused of a crime, a handcuffed person
could arrive at Guard Headquarters bloody and broken. Now, during the holidays,
even the Guard had joined with the regular police patrol and Inspector
Tombstone didn’t like it one bit. He was above having to deal with babysitting
women in shopping cart brawls.
He gripped the steering wheel tightly and
stirred restlessly on the seat. He saw a young family begin to cross the street
and turned on the siren, as much to scare them, as to hurry them along. That’s right—take your time, he groaned
sarcastically. There’s always somebody dragging their sorry carcass
across the street, getting in everybody’s way. Why don’t they stay at home in
their tired little apartment if they can’t move about the streets with more power
than that? The chief inspector of the Blue Guard sneered at the world
around him.
“Inspector?” His communication device
interrupted his thoughts.
“Of course,” he snapped back.
“I’m sorry to break into your patrol, but
there’s no one else to send. There has been some sort of situation on a Public
Transit car this morning.”
Stoner sighed and pulled away from the
curb. As he listened to the details, he headed toward Capitol Square.
When he arrived up town at the City Transit
office, Ward Stoner—skilled detective and Chief of the Blue Guard’s entire
investigative division—burst through the door with the might of one who had no
problem seizing authority. He had no time to waste and was in no mood for
nonsense. He was a man ruled by his own power. Power was his master and he
controlled others by the strength of that small Kingdom of Stoner, his own
world, his own power, his own rules. No one got in his way.
Stoner burst through the door of the
transit system office. He would make the frivolous stop but he didn’t have to
like it. “What is all of this about?” His question was crisp. His tone was
bored.
“Yes, Sir.” The woman in the outer office
jumped to her feet. “Follow me, please,” she said as she led the way through a
swinging gate that separated the inner rooms from the public space, then down a
hall to the manager’s office. The woman entered the room first and attempted to
introduce the Chief to the transit line manager. “Mr. Munson, the Inspect―”
“Stoner,” the Inspector interrupted. “We
are nearly upon Gift-giving Day and you have me running around chasing a—a what—a
ghost?” Stoner laughed rudely as though his time could be better spent
somewhere else, doing almost anything besides talking to Munson.
“I don’t know what it was, Sir,” Munson
whispered as he shooed the woman out of his office. He checked the hall for
eavesdroppers and motioned to a chair for his guest.
Stoner waved him off and remained
standing. “I have no time to get comfortable.” He squared his shoulders and
tried to remain calm in a situation that was making him more irritated by the
moment. He blinked his eyes three times, tilted his head to the side and worked
his jaw with gritting anger. “Again, speak up Mister. What is this all about?
Invisible intruders? Maybe it’s the jolly Gift Giver.” Once more, his jaw
tensed and he ground away at apparently nothing, except Munson’s tired
explanation.
“Sir,” Munson stood up, leaned his
knuckles on the desk and stared the inspector in the eyes. “I do not know what
was there. I am reporting a . . . situation.”
“Well now,” Stoner drew out his words in
mocking disbelief. “Why don’t you tell me about the . . . situation?”
“My driver on the midtown line called in a
strange . . . situation. I’m sorry, Sir. I don’t know what else to call it.”
“Go on . . .” the inspector’s boredom was
evident in his voice. He wanted information, not irrelevant details and he
wanted it faster than it was being delivered.
“The driver reported that a woman boarded
a bus this morning and didn’t set off the buzzer, just a . . . swish . . . you
know . . . a . . . swish . . . like when a cat passes in front of a sensor.”
“A cat . . .” Stoner could feel his pulse
beating behind his eyes and knew his blood pressure was rising. He was wasting
time. He still had a few Gift Day presents left to buy and time was running
out.
“Sir . . . you are making me feel a little
foolish. I was ordered to report any irregularities.” The manager stood as tall
as he could. What power he didn’t have in authority, he seemed to be trying to
make up for in height.
“Go on,” Stoner moaned. His jaw flexed as
his eyes darted from the window to Munson and back again.
“A cat . . . or a dog . . . anything other
than a person makes when it passes.” Munson cleared his throat. “The driver
said that a woman got on the bus and didn’t set off a buzz, just a swish, and
then got off to get something she forgot. When she got back on, the buzzer
sounded like it was supposed to. He didn’t think anything more about it, but he
thought he’d better report it when he got to the end of the line.” Munson said
his piece and waited.
Stoner’s eyes snapped back at Munson. “Did
he check the mechanism? Was it defective? There has to be a more logical answer
than a swish.”
“He pulled the bus into the garage so we
could check it out. There was nothing. The tone trigger worked just fine.” Munson
crossed his arms. “We have done our job here, Sir.”
“Did he say who the passenger was?” Stoner
didn’t acknowledge Munson’s unspoken message. Now you do your job seemed buried beneath the surface. The Inspector didn’t take orders from
anyone.
“The driver said he was busy this morning
and couldn’t say for sure who it was.”
Inspector Stoner gripped his hat in his
hands several times, then, controlling himself again, he smoothed it with his
fingers. “It happened only one time and yet, he was too unobservant to notice
who the patron was.”
“He noticed that it happened but not who
it was, Sir. That’s why he reported it.” Munson’s teeth sounded clenched.
Stoner ignored the man’s mounting anger
and walked toward the door. “You did the right thing, Munson. I’ll look into
it.” He started to leave without looking back, then turned and shook the man’s
hand. Stoner respected a man who could hold his own in a good argument.
He shook his head and tried to clear his
thinking. No guilt here. Toughness is what’s needed, what’s always
needed, he thought. He had to remain hard and rigid on the job. He was
sure, if he didn’t use fear to intimidate others, he would lose the power that
came with his office. He battled with himself daily. One side of his head was
at war with the other, as if good whispered in one ear and evil writhed in the
other. Chatter on—I will win this battle.
CHAPTER NINE
The
Horror in the Note
1:30 p.m.
After leaving my grandparents’
home, I rode the transit back to my apartment, but I couldn’t focus on the city
as it passed. There is that same man
again. I was very uneasy with his constant presence. He was on the bus earlier today. His stares make me feel
uncomfortable. He didn’t even look
away when I caught him looking at me.
Does he know I’m carrying the secret
book? A chill over took me, and I shuddered. I could not appear anxious or
secretive. No one could have known that I was carrying a banned volume. I had
to make sure my behavior and attitude didn’t create suspicion. I tried to
ignore the man and maintained an empty gaze out the window.
Rather than being concerned with the
scenes as they passed, or the penetrating gaze of the other riders, I was caught up in the words and
images I had just experienced at my grandparents’ home. I was determined to do
whatever I had to do, to find a solution for overturning the Length of Days
policy that would seal their inevitable fate.
As I thought of the Length of
Days policy, I pulled Silas’s note from my bag and picked up reading where I
left off.
“The entire endless sleep
program is a sham!
Lady Applewait, people either
reach their allotted days,
are ill or injured, and then
are told they will enter into
an endless
sleep. Some people actually believe they will
be awakened at
some time in the future. Some have even
left a
wake-up-call for a specific date and time. They
thought they
were staying in a fine hotel. The saddest
people, My
Lady, are the ones who would have healed
on their own
but are told they will heal more quickly if
they take a
long nap. All of those people, the timed-out,
the sick and
the tricked, have the same fate. Ma’am, they
are taken alive
to the mountain where they are placed in
the furnaces and their ashes are disposed
of.”
I gagged on the words and fear
rose in my throat like vomit. I wanted to scream, but I knew people would be
watching me. I had to hold myself together. The man on the front seat stared at
me intently as I tried to control the waves of sickening nausea. I trembled at
the thought of the danger the information had put me in and the fate awaiting
Grand-mère and Grand-père. I had to finish reading the note, but I also had to
control myself. I breathed in and out slowly several times. I wasn’t finished
with the letter. What more could Silas have written?
“Their bones,”
Drummond continued, “are ground into
calcium powder
that is used in the mortar of our
buildings and
epoxied into large chunks for carving
statues and
other works of art. Please, My Lady, I
didn’t know
anyone else I could tell. You are the only
one who can
stop this abomination. I will contact you at
the apartment
building soon.
Respectfully,
Silas
Drummond”
No, I
whispered bitterly. It is all a lie! I
had to regain composure. Control, calm,
peace—I repeated it over and over. Suddenly I felt a light touch on my
shoulder. The little boy who sat with his mother on the opposite seat patted my
shoulder.
“Don’t cry, Miss,” he soothed.
“It’ll be all right.”
I buried the note in my tote again
and wiped my eyes. “Yes, honey, I think it will be.” I jumped up, eager to get
away where I would not be observed. I patted the boy on the head with a
sincere, “Thank you.” Then it was my stop, and I bounded quickly from the
transit.
I know it’s not true. It can’t be true. I will
get to the bottom of it. I’ll track Silas down. He’ll pay for this. If I find
it is true, if this evil exists, I’ll absolutely do something. What? I don’t know . . . but something.
CHAPTER TEN
A New Way of Being
2:00 p.m.
I ran from
the transit and down the platform staircase with Silas’s note in my bag and
Grand-père’s precious book held tightly in the sack with the vegetables. Near
the entrance to my residential building, I heard a faint whimper coming from
the shadows under a low bush near the door.
“Well, what’s this?” The
little puddle of fur was not much larger than my hand. “A real kitten,” I
marveled as I stroked the fur. For a brief moment, I was transported from the
danger I was in. “I never noticed any of you little mouse patrollers before.
Where did you come from?” As I picked her up, I looked around, but no one was
nearby.
I walked to the corner and
looked down the side street for a possible cat owner in search of a kitten. No
one.
“Amazing,” I purred to the
little creature in my arms. “I never knew your kind would be so soft and
cuddly.” I had never held a kitten before. Her fur was as smooth as the
silkweed from the grassy meadow behind Grand-mère’s house. As I petted the
kitten’s head and belly, a quiet calmness came over me.
I knew the kitten’s ancestors
had been feral for decades, but I wanted to keep it. “I don’t think you’ll eat
much. Would you like to come home with me?” I whispered. The little creature
nestled in the crook of my arm, balanced on top of the grocery sack with the
precious book inside. Carefully, I carried her into my building.
My mind raced, one thought
canceled out the other. The kitten was soft and cuddly, a stark contrast to the
rage that coursed through my body. A new purpose flooded my mind. Emotions I
had never known before collided and demanded my full attention. I felt
terrified and energized at the same time. Despite the vileness of the
information Silas had passed on to me, a feeling of joy mingled with fear and
disgust. Courage had ridden in on the back of all that anger. I was determined.
I would do something to help my grandparents.
As I walked through the
apartment lobby, I felt exposed. Maybe I had been reckless, drawing attention
to myself with the kitten. I felt sure the people around me could see the
entire contents of my bag with x-ray vision. I knew that made no sense, but my
insides knotted like a Gifting bow. I was relieved when everything in the lobby
seemed cheery. Colored lights and a festive wreath hung from the walls.
Everything looked brighter, more vivid. The biggest change must have been
within me.
How can so many opposing feelings survive in one mind? Tender
feelings, fear, anger, hope, courage. And just as amazing, I
have a new energy. It felt as if I could actually fly or I’d fly apart from
the tornado of emotions within me.
“Hi, Mrs. LaGassi,” I sang out as I passed a
longtime resident of the modest building.
“Good afternoon Ma’am,” the
woman responded. She appeared startled that I had noticed her along the way.
“How is your son, Tony? He was
sick, wasn’t he?” I stopped for a moment with my foot in the elevator door and
continued to enjoy my contact with the middle-aged woman.
“Yes, he was, but, I wasn’t
aware that you knew. He is much better now. Thank you for asking,” Mrs. LaGassi
added with an air of surprise.
“You tell him, I like the hat
he had on the other day. They used to call those, ball caps.” I stepped onto
the lift and continued to hold the door with my foot. “Baseball was a game they
used to play, on teams, with other players . . . outside . . . in the field.”
“Oh,” was all the woman could
say as the elevator door closed.
All the way up to the tenth
floor my mood was erratic. It was a strange experience. My insides rattled. I
understood the fear and anger, but they were mixed with good feelings as well.
Pounding waves of emotions rolled within me. I’ll research these symptoms when I get back to the library. My
books will tell me what I need to
know. I looked at my timepiece. It was already a little after 2:00 p.m.
I pushed the door to my
apartment open and entered my sanctuary, my sweet solitude from the world. The
kitten scampered playfully around the kitchen when I put her down. The white
furry ball of fuzz wrapped her body around, in and out and through my legs.
“I think I’ll call you Shakespeare,”
I said. “No one now knows who Shakespeare was, so you’ll be my own private bit
of culture in a dull and drab world.” I poured her a little saucer of milk as
my mind darted to what the events of that day could mean. First, this book must be hidden. But the other . . . I don’t know what to do with Silas’s note.
Gripping fear clouded the
outer edges of my mind, as I went to my desk and research area. Where should I put this strange Bible? My
friends have never understood about me and my love of books. They thought I was
nuts for having any of them. Now, I’m even crazier for bringing a banned book
into my home. A banned book, a banned cat, and a note that could inflame a
revolution. Citizens’ lack of interest may be the very thing that will protect me from the danger I could be facing.
My collection of books was
innocent enough. Many of them were a group of uninteresting volumes about rules
and policies of the Populous. Yesterday, I felt privileged to have four rows of
unimportant books. Now, they had become the very camouflage to conceal the book
that held such mystery and danger.
My communication instrument
flashed its blinking light. “Hello?”
“Christiana, dear ―”
“Grand-mère! Twice in one day,
how wonderful!”
“My dear, I have been so
worried about you since you left.”
“Worried? Why?”
“The . . . the box of candy we
gave you today, dear. Possessing chocolate is very dangerous for you—it could
draw in neighbors you don’t even know.” She spoke in code and faked a little
chuckle. “Have you hidden the box as we said?”
My mind raced to catch up. Grand-mère was talking about the Bible.
The communications line—it may not be secure. We would not know who could be
listening. “I was just
about to.”
“Where, Sweetheart?”
“Well,” my stomach started to
tighten and my heart pounded. Where was I going to hide the Bible and how could
I tell Grand-mère, to ease her mind, without revealing much? “I was just going
to shelve it in the pantry. Maybe I’ll wrap the box in brown paper and put it
behind Great-grandpa’s favorite cereal. No one would see it or know it’s
there.”
“Yes, yes . . . no, wait ―”
“Grand-mère, you’re
frightening me.”
“I’m sorry.” Her voice became
low and full of regret. “Maybe we shouldn’t have given the candy to you.”
“No, it’ll be all right. It
will be well hidden behind my other foods.”
“But, what if someone finds
the box wrapped in paper? If it’s discovered, then they’ll wonder why it’s so
important that it needed to be camouflaged and concealed.”
“Oh, Grand-mère.” Fear gripped
my chest like a vice. “What’s in that candy?” I couldn’t believe my
grandparents would have had anything vile or sinister.
“Christiana, it is a box of
chocolates full of love and promises.”
“Love? What’s so subversive
about love?” Fear and joy clanged inside me, both at the same time. All of my
new emotions were bombarding my mind with contradictory messages.
“Love, my dear, can change the
world, even more surely than the arms of war. You must be careful. Chocolate is
the stuff that inspires revolution.” Grand-mère tried to sound light and bubbly
but there was an intensity in her manner that let me know her concern.
“Mutiny? Grand-mère . . .
anarchy? In that box of chocolate?” I laughed nervously.
“A revolution of the heart, sweetheart.
Just hide it well. Perhaps out in the open is still the best place to put it.
Just another box of food among many. Besides, most people have no interest in
sweets anymore. Anyone who visits won’t even see it.”
I wanted to ask her more about
the never-ending-sleep. But, it wasn’t safe to talk about such things over the
communication lines. I decided not to question her but imagined what Grand-mère
would say.
“Sleep dear. Just a very long
sleep,” is all that she would say. I dared not ask her more.
“Well okay, Grand-mère. It was
nice talking to you. I’m fine. Everything will be all right. Bye-bye.”
Grand-mère didn’t know the
horror that Silas wrote about. It must be
a lie, I told myself.
I sat down in front of the large
window and watched the day. Some of the Gifting lights were on even though it
was the middle of the day. Still, they were beautiful. I sat there and allowed
my mind to empty of all of the evil images Silas’s note had imprinted on my
mind.
• • • • •
I have no idea how long I had
napped. But, I felt a little better when I awakened. Still, I had to hide the
book.
I looked over my shelves of books
for a good spot to place the leather edition. On the top shelf, to the left,
was a series of leather bound philosophy books my great-grandfather had
written. I had been so proud of the volumes. I had always thought of them as
objects of beauty or artful room decorations. Now, something had changed within
me.
“I’ll devour every page right
after Gifting Season, Shakespeare,” I mumbled to the scampering toenail tapper
in the otherwise silent room. “I want to know the legacy he left to me, and not
just to me. He had willed it to all of us.”
I pushed the book that was
shelved beside the set of six, farther down the shelf, and placed the precious
one I had just brought home on the shelf beside them. At a quick glance, it
looked like a cluster of seven, rather than six, and would go unnoticed,
certainly by the uninterested eyes of my friends who usually passed unaware. It
had to go unseen.
Possessing revolutionary
materials would have meant an indictment for treason. Although no one is
allowed to violate the privacy of a Legacy Citizen or enter their living space
without the written consent of a zone judge, they often did. My hands trembled
as I thought about the gravity of the situation I was in. I had to know what threat waited within its pages. Why was it
banned? What made it precious? I’ll begin
reading it later, I promised myself.
Even while Grand-mère’s
frightening words still hung in my mind, I felt I had to avoid facing them as I
always had. I’ll quickly splash some water over my face and apply a small dab of lip
rouge. At least I’ll feel refreshed. I started toward the sink and then I
thought of Dr. O’Reilly and decided to apply a little color to my cheeks as
well.
I fumbled with the compact
that refused to open. “Oh, stop it, Christiana,” I snapped at myself out loud,
but my hands would not stop shaking. Their trembling only made me more
anxious—I was anxious over being anxious. In my usual form, I tried to ignore
my fear.
“You are being melodramatic,”
I admonished myself. Life simply isn’t that deep or complicated. “Who do you
think you are—some international spy?” I grumbled into the mirror. “Don’t make
yourself that important at a time like this. Fear won’t be your credentials,
but it may be your undoing. Snap out of it. Get some courage.” Trepidation
continued to fight a battle for my mind, so I chose to focus on happier
thoughts. As I applied the lip rouge and brushed some color over my cheeks, I
remembered blushing in the doctor’s presence without the help of cosmetics, and
for a moment, I smiled to myself. Then, I remembered the seriousness of my
task.
I’ll hurry over to the library and begin researching the subject
of death. I also want to review the change that was made to our laws regarding
the Length of Days policy.
There will still be enough time to meet Dr. O’Reilly at 6:00 at the Demitasse
Coffee Shop. I grabbed my tunic and darted out the door, relying on my name
and position alone to protect the Bible book. No one is allowed to violate the privacy of a Legacy Citizen—yet rules
have been broken.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Seeable but Unheard
3:30 p.m.
On board
the Public Transit, again, I moved to the first seat, sat down and resumed my
gaze out the window. The scenery that passed outside was very different in that
part of town from the picturesque, old section where Legacy Members and the
Council of Elders lived. A tired looking woman of nondescript age sat down
beside me.
“It’s not as colorful in this
part of town is it?” I said but didn’t expect her to answer. The woman glanced
in my direction then back to nothingness.
“The buildings are all the
same, one apartment building after another.”
She said nothing, but I
noticed her breathing had changed.
I tried again. “It seems we
have high taxes for infrastructure, community centers and parks, but nothing to
brighten up people’s homes.”
She leaned slightly in my
direction and whispered, “People have no money left to personalize their own
homes—just sameness everywhere. That’s why I love the lights at Gifting time.”
She then faded back into the vacant space from where she had just come. Like
the surroundings, she had merged her self with the masses.
When we got to the woman’s bus
stop, she started to get up, then turned back to me and whispered. “Funny how
those in the government and other professionals can maintain a measure of
uniqueness for themselves, isn’t it My Lady?” Then she was gone. I rode on in
amazement. The woman had learned to move in and out of mob dullness at will.
The transit bus stopped again
at the corner near the library. As I disembarked, I stepped into a day that
seemed brighter and more glorious than any December afternoon I could remember.
It was as if I were seeing the world through new eyes. How could anyone be in
danger in that bright world? The colors were more vivid and sparkling than I
had ever seen them. Why? Why was the sky so high? Why did it have such a vast
expanse? Why did the whole world suddenly come alive? All of that beauty had
the power to lift my spirits higher than I had ever known.
On a mission, I hurried into
the building. “Good afternoon, Frank,” I sang out as I breezed past the guard
who was stationed at the portal, near the archive room.
“Afternoon, Ma’am,” he smiled
back without looking up from his row of monitors. “Funny, I didn’t see you come
in,” he remarked dryly.
”I am invisible today, Frank,”
I teased.
“Most likely,” he yawned. “Or
in-hearable,” he added.
I didn’t know what he meant,
but I didn’t linger around to ask questions. I floated through the swinging
gate and stopped at the Reference Desk.
“May I leave my bag and stuff
here, Mary?” If I had to leave the back recesses of the library in a hurry, I
didn’t want to leave anything behind. Mary, the Research Librarian, was always
helpful.
“Sure, Christiana, just stash
them under there.” Mary pointed to a low shelf in the checkout desk, out of
vision and out of touch.
“Thanks,” I added and moved on
through the outer reading room and into the back stacks. My shoes clicked and
echoed on the concrete floors. I had left my purse behind and had taken only a
small pencil, some paper to take notes, and my keys. Unlocking the side door, I slipped into the archival room. It was
a tense adventure into my beloved books, since I knew I would only have a few
minutes before someone would come to check on me. After all, I had already
checked out of the library for the day when I left for the doctor’s office in
the morning. I had been thinking of an excuse that I could use for being in the
room if someone came back. The only thing that came to mind was an explanation
about having left something in the room when I was researching other materials.
The misplaced item could not be my tunic I decided. No, I had left it with my
purse. I’ll have to think about it as I
look through the papers and texts. Maybe it won’t matter. It could be anything. No one else knows what’s in the room anyway.
I couldn’t help thinking how I
had amazed myself. Where had I gotten the nerve to be on this dangerous quest
in the first place? Silas’s note, if true, was motivation enough to speak out,
but it was also reason for fear. Now, suddenly, I felt new strength to follow
through, to find the truth, to do something about the terrible policy of
termination, even though I didn’t know yet what to do. Did I really grasp the seriousness
of the cause and the danger I was in? Would I succeed . . . and at what cost?
CHAPTER TWELVE
The Precious Document
4:00 p.m.
The long
rays of afternoon light were still streaming through the western window of the
library when I walked into the back sections. The light was so beautiful that
lamps were not needed. Besides, I preferred natural light to the dreary blue
haze cast by energy efficient lamps. I moved directly to the document case I
had noticed when I had been in the archives before and stopped in front of a
large glass-covered display box. I paused and listened for the guard to come to
see who had gotten too close to the case and had activated the sensors. No one
came. I was still alone.
The document was clearly
visible through the glass, in spite of its faded condition. It was considered
to be one of the few copies made of an original document. School children no
longer filed past to view the archive. The top of the case had only gathered dirt.
No one studied its contents. Few people were even aware of its existence
anymore, but still it remained, sealed up in an environmentally controlled case,
safe in its own cocoon.
I pressed as closely as I
could, wiped the dust of the ages from the surface, and read the words that I
had only glanced at before. An odd sensation overtook me as I began to read.
Excitement and awe bathed me like anointing oil.
IN
CONGRESS, JULY 4, 1776
The unanimous Declaration of
the thirteen United States of America
When in the course of human events it
becomes necessary for one people to dissolve the political bands which have
connected them with another and to assume among the powers of the earth, the
separate and equal station to which the laws of nature and of nature's God
entitle them, a decent respect to the opinions of mankind requires that they
should declare the causes which impel them to the separation.
So, when the people decided to make their own country, under the
authority of their God, they believed they should list the causes for their
decision to separate.
We hold these truths to be self-evident,
that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with
certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit
of Happiness. — That to secure these rights, governments are instituted among men,
deriving their just powers from the consent of the governed. — That whenever
any form of government becomes destructive of these ends, it is the Right of
the People to alter or to abolish it, and to institute new government, laying
its foundation on such principles and organizing its powers in such form, as to
them shall seem most likely to affect their safety and happiness.
Wow! Everyone is equal—there are no elite—no Legacy Citizens, and
everyone has a right to live, to be free, and to pursue their own happiness.
These people are to govern themselves, and when the government
interferes with the right of the people to self-govern, that government should
be abolished. It is their responsibility to do so. It is all here—every bit of
it—especially my grandparents’ right to life.
Prudence, indeed, will dictate that
Governments long established should not be changed for light and transient
causes; and accordingly all experience hath shown that mankind are more
disposed to suffer, while evils are sufferable, than to right themselves by
abolishing the forms to which they are accustomed. But when a long train of
abuses and usurpations, pursuing invariably the same Object evinces a design to
reduce them under absolute despotism, it is their right, it is their duty, to
throw off such government, and to provide new guards for their future security.
—
It says when a government, even a long-standing one, becomes
tyrannical and their abuses are evident and numerable, it is the duty of the
people to abolish that government and create a new one. The colonists had
reached the limit of their patience. They would act. And we have reached the
limit of ours.
Such has been the patient sufferance of
these Colonies; and such is now the necessity which constrains them to alter
their former Systems of Government. The history of the present King of Great
Britain is a history of repeated injuries and usurpations, all having in direct
object the establishment of an absolute Tyranny over these States. To prove
this, let facts be submitted to a candid world.
My heart leaped within my
body. I grabbed my chest and felt the beat of it. Self-evident truths. Our Creator
. . . our Creator . . . God. God is the Creator! I couldn’t stop
rolling the thought around in my head. A sweet cloud of Presence filled the
room, and I knew . . . I knew. I read it over and over, until I had satisfied
my soul that the words were buried in my heart.
The truths, that we are all created equal, that we have inherited from
God—the right to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness—took my breath
away. We are guaranteed the right to
life, the right to live. Why had it been changed? With mood
altering additives in our water there were fewer disturbed individuals and
fewer still who disturbed others. People rarely got angry. But then, they
rarely felt anything at all.
The people were to be
self-ruled. If they were not and those who governed, repeatedly abused their
authority, that government should be taken down and replaced by one that will
govern by the will of the people. The colonists listed their grievances for all
the world to see.
I had to move on. The other
materials I wanted to see were further back in the room. No one went into the
old manuscript room, not even the cleaning staff. The books within that space
were now forgotten.
I walked freely through the
room. Books and papers were shelved haphazardly everywhere. It looked as if
someone had shoved the last bit of knowledge away from sight, slammed the door
and locked it. Nearly a hundred years later, I had unlocked the rooms full of
old novels, and the history, philosophy, and religious texts that had been
banned years ago. Newer versions of those books had been cannibalized beyond
recognition. The new editions, re-written texts, no longer spoke truth but were
rendered utterly impotent with their lies. Marge had alluded to a time when
information flowed like honey from the hive, then its comb was cut down and
thrown behind locked doors where it buzzed in silence, still living but
unheard.
I checked my time piece. There
was still time to do more research before going to meet Jason at the coffee shop.
Against the back wall was a long series of history and legal volumes. Let me see—I fingered my way through the
books until I found historic references that were previous to the last
one-hundred years. I leafed through the index. The New Bill of Rights. It was right
there. On page 384 I began comparing the old with the new first ten amendments
to the United States Constitution. The first and fourth amendments tugged at me
more strongly than the others. I wasn’t able to let go of those two.
1. Freedom of Speech, Press,
Religion and Petition.
4. Right of search and seizure
regulated.
What I read seemed
unbelievable compared to the policed restrictions of the new society. Citizens
used to have the right to speak their mind in public, get accurate information from
newspapers and news outlets, and were free to worship their God. There he was
again, the Creator, God. What on earth had happened?
Then, the New Bill of Rights glared at me from the pages. During the upheaval
of one-hundred years ago it was determined, in order to control the people,
there had to be fewer citizens and a smaller territory. So, the country was
separated into four political zones/states, each with their own government and
president, which was all controlled by a central government and Prime Minister.
A new government was established with a new set of rights. Let me see, Preamble to the New Bill of Rights. I read on:
“The Constitution of the United States made
certain introductory statements that can no longer stand in a modern thinking society.
In particular, individuals have a right to life, liberty, and the pursuit of
happiness. An enlightened society recognizes that life is a privilege and
should be available to those viable souls who participate the most, for the
greatest good of all. In light of the cost of living, education of the masses,
health care, incarceration of those in opposition to society, and financial
entitlements and support for those who will not be productive, it is evident
that each individual’s Length of Days should be planned and terminated before
the cost of care begins to be a burden on society. No one has a right to expect
society to care for an individual for an undetermined and lengthy period of time.
Therefore, an individual’s Length of Days will be calculated as follows:
twenty-two
(22) years to graduate from college
two (2)
years beyond education to form a family unit
two (2) years
from the beginning of the family unit to the
arrival of the first child
two (2) years until the second
child is born and thus replace
the two
parental units
twenty-two (22) more years to
rear the youngest child and
support them
through four years of college
six (6)
years to give ample time for the youngest child to be
reared, educated,
construct a family unit and have their first and second children
four (4) years
until the youngest grandchild is established in
a society supported preschool
A total of sixty (60) years equals an
individual’s Length of Days, with the exception of certain professions that require
additional education and length of service, such as medicine, space, and
politics. Those professionals will live until age sixty-five (65), in order to
serve society with their knowledge. The members of the Council of Elders will
live until age seventy-five (75) to take advantage of their wisdom.
In addition to these citizens, families
who initiate fetuses over the allotted two per family will terminate the
gestation of the third and any that may follow.
In the event a couple may want to swap out
an existing child for another, the first child will enter the sleep chamber by
eighteen months of age, thus keeping the family unit to three or four in total.
I was stunned. It was all
there, a planned termination of each individual citizen into the endless sleep.
With a few strokes of a pen a century ago, people had moved from a right to
life, to a right to a speedy termination, with no suffering, just a simple
sleep. Some people called it putting a
citizen down. Silas Drummond’s
message didn’t confirm the long sleep however. He called it extermination.
According to the older
documents, life was not all we had a right to. People had a right, given to
them by God, to liberty or freedom, and the pursuit of happiness. Now, it was
becoming clear to me that society had translated the last right, to a guarantee
that all people would be happy. In order to guarantee happiness, our ancestors
who were in control of society had started putting additives into the water
supply. The antidepressants and chemicals that restrained people’s behavior
through mind control were loaded daily into the water supply. It had a less
than desirable effect on everyone however. While people would not say they were
sad, they couldn’t say they were happy either. Their emotions and energy were
flat. They were neither unhappy, nor happy, just maintained.
Of course this explained why
their need for intimacy and sexual contact was without desire. It was just
strong enough in the early years of the formation of their family unit, that
they were able to consummate and create a pregnancy to insure the next
generation. The chemicals were modified for each couple through the conception
of a second child. By eliminating the sex drive, society thought they could
control the root cause of violence and successfully eradicate competition and
aggression.
But, why was a free press so important? It was listed early in the document, right
up there in the first Amendment. Then, it came to me. When people are informed, they’ll not allow their freedoms to be
stripped from their grasp. But, their televisions dispensed news all day long.
Had the news casters lied to the people? It hardly seemed possible.
My mind whirled around my new understandings. I had studied the
New Bill of Rights in school and had always had an innate sense of there being
something more, something beautiful, energetic. The novels had also taught me
about romance, love, a fuller life.
I was aware of my time in the
back stacks and felt panic overtake me as I tried to read all I could. The
Original First Amendment stated:
“Congress shall make no law respecting an
establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof; or
abridging the freedom of speech, or of the press; or the right of the people
peaceably to assemble, and to petition the Government for a redress of grievances.”
So, under the original
Constitution, the government could not set up a National religion or keep the
people from exercising the religion of their choice. I would need another book
to pursue my second question.
I got out the dictionary.
“Abridge: to reduce or lessen in
authority; to deprive, cut off.” That’s easy. An abridged dictionary is
shorter without changing the definitions and meanings. So, the government
could not shorten or change the free speech of people or the press. Then I
continued on to the fourth amendment:
“The right of the people to be secure in
their persons, houses, papers, and effects, against unreasonable searches and
seizures, shall not be violated, and no warrants shall issue, but upon probable
cause, supported by oath or affirmation, and particularly describing the place
to be searched, and the persons or things to be seized.”
That means, the Blue Shirts simply cannot come into my home and
take out books and papers without good reason. That
includes the Bible book and Drummond’s paper. I looked at my time piece
again. I had to be careful in the library. I wouldn’t go undetected for very
long. Someone would remember seeing me come back to the Library later than
usual. I quickly turned to the page that contained those two amendments in the
New Bill of Rights.
“When
in the lives of a free people, it becomes evident that the speech of a gentile
society has slipped into an inflammatory, prejudicial, and threatening
treatise, it becomes necessary to limit the ability of that society to express
itself openly. Under penalty of punishment by incarceration and fine, there
will be no speech that is prejudicial with respect to age, social class or
occupation, nationality, race, sex, sexual orientation, political affiliation,
or religion. Within the press and media, there can be no inflammatory words
written or spoken in respect to the above classifications. All written and
verbally expressed media will first seek governmental approval of their
proposed texts, and then file for position equivalence time, so that all
represented opinions can be presented at the same time and in the same venue,
whether that be private or public, on television or radio programming, in
religious locations or public institutions.”
I knew I must speak up and speak
out, but how was I going to stop them? I wasn’t a public speaker or a
particularly brave person. It would be easier to look the other way. But, I
couldn’t. My grandparents’ lives were too dear to me.
I finally knew the truth.
There was a glorious time in a blessed place, when Freedom had stepped onto the
stage of life, inspired the world with her words and gifts and actions, then,
like a bored, tired, careless actor, forgot her lines and silently, willingly,
drew the curtain closed, turned off the lights, and went home to sleep.
Read
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