sooo, since updates are officially on hold indefinitely, I'll keep posting here. This is the second installment. I love it when people quote, so go nuts
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1/2
8In a secret room beneath the halls and corridors of Freedom Reading Room, a group of men were gathered around a table for a meeting. All eyes were on a dark-haired adolescent who was sat in the corner by the window, trying his best to hold the hostile stares that were being sent his way. The tension was so tangible that one could quite possibly have cut it with a knife, and if it weren’t for the man next to him, the troubled youth would have to handle matters far worse than a dozen deathly gazes.
“Julian has made a grave mistake,” Jurgen admitted sternly as he looked around at those present. “But what’s done cannot be undone. Blame is superfluous.”
“His stupid vendetta has ruined everything!” an elderly man cried as he got up, slamming his fist down on the table. “We were so close! We might have gotten into negotiations with Father himself!”
“I know that, David.”
Deliberately keeping his voice down, Jurgen, too, rose from his seat, and for a few moments the two fought a silent battle of supremacy, trying to stare one another down. Exchanging grim looks of determination for what felt like forever, but in fact was only a few seconds, it seemed as though the hostility was going to boil over any second. However, challenging their leader was something even someone as passionate as David Shepherd would find daunting, and thus he eventually backed out. Grinding his teeth, he reluctantly sat back down. Mumbling something that sounded like
‘pity the Clerics didn’t get him’ into his beard, he fell silent when Jurgen narrowed his eyes at him.
“If you think that I will condone my brother’s actions, you’re mistaken,” he then continued firmly. For the time being, nobody else seemed to feel the need to spontaneously voice his disapproval regarding his decision to cease all resistance activity until further notice.
“There is no doubt that our first, last, and possibly only chance for a peaceful revolution has been spoiled,” he acknowledged with a faint hint of regret in his voice. “But if we let that cause enmity among us, we will never get a second opportunity of
any kind to free Libria. It’s live together or die alone. So unless anyone has any constructive ideas, this meeting is now over.”
Discontent was evident on his comrades’ faces, but while some muttered words of disagreement under their breath, nobody else spoke out. Once everyone except the two brothers had left the room, Julian collapsed in his chair, letting out a heavy sigh as he covered his face with his hands.
“Thank you,” he whispered shakily.
“I’m not doing this for you,” Jurgen replied coldly. “The only reason I’m not turning you in myself is that I cannot risk you spilling your secrets in clinical interrogation. You know too damn much.”
With that, he turned around and exited the room, leaving his younger brother to his own devices.
He hated to even think along the same irrational lines of ‘justice’ and 'vengeance' as Julian because he knew that it was madness. But as much as he despised what the boy and his comrades had done, deep down he did understand where it had all come from. Desolation, heartache, frustration and terror… when leading a double life in Libria, it was extremely hard at times not to lose it. And yet he never had. He had struggled to stay in control of himself many times, and he’d been to the very brink of failure. But in the end, somehow his painstaking stoicism had always prevailed. Being the one in charge, he could not allow himself to impulsively take anyone’s side in an emotional matter… not even his own.
Others sometimes considered him callous, but he depended on the gruelling self-restraint of his emotions. Not only did he need it to keep himself sane. More importantly, it was essential to disregard everything but pure fact in order make the right decisions for those under his wing. It did not matter what, or how,
he felt. Many years had come and gone since he had chosen to ignore his own wishes in order to safeguard the lives of others. Jurgen knew that there was only a fine line between rationality and heartlessness, and while he had never fully crossed that line, he’d probably put a toe across it a few times. But without restraint, without control, emotion was chaos, and chaos was of a too destructive nature to ever be controlled. Julian knew that, too. Unfortunately, there was a huge discrepancy between knowing and believing – which was why he and his small radical splinter group had carried out the fatal attack.
Despite what he’d just told his men – that there was going to be another way to achieve their goal, and that flying under the radar until matters would have smoothed out was not their general new strategy - Jurgen didn’t exactly know what to do next. The fact that this had never been the case before did not help either.
‘Maybe they just deserve a better leader,’ he thought to himself as he impetuously kicked a small rock, hurling it almost to the end of the corridor he was following.
Right at that moment, the future looked even gloomier than usual.
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9
“… and thereby the so-called Resistance has clearly proved that human emotion is the origin of violence, hatred and suffering. Libria, we must stand united against this malice, and - ”
Releasing an inward sigh, Grace impulsively reached for the remote controls and muted the telescreen in the adjacent living-room. She’d patiently put up with Father’s latest broadcast for a good twenty minutes when something inside her head suddenly snapped. Afterwards, she froze for a moment, wondering what on earth had just gotten into her.
She failed to explain the strange irritability that seemed to have gripped her ever since the bomb attack. Every once in a while, that exact same petulance that had just caused her to turn off the television set would strike her like lightning. Naturally, those unpleasant sensations would not bother her for a very long time. Within seconds, Prozium would dissolve the disconcerting disruption of her peace of mind into a soothing nothingness, and yet… she could not help thinking that she shouldn’t be experiencing any of it in the first place.
‘Must be the headaches,’ she thought to herself as she gingerly massaged her temples.
The blow to her head that she had received when she was catapulted against the hard metal wall of the train had resulted in a light concussion. It wasn’t serious enough to keep her in the infirmary, but the effects were still quite bothersome. Not only did the physical pain come and go as it pleased, never succumbing to the painkillers she took. It also appeared as though her brain had ceased to function properly for the time being.
Shaking her head, Grace finally put her pen down and shut the books on the table in front of her. For the past two hours, she’d been trying to read, structure and annotate a two-page essay of a former Council member, but it was just useless. By the time she got to the full stop, she’d entirely forgotten the content of the previous sentence.
The fact that she wasn’t able to keep up the standard of her work troubled her. What if she fell behind? Her professors knew that she had been injured in the recent assault, but she was very aware that this did not mean she could count on anyone’s understanding. The problem was hers to take care of. There had to be a more effective way of dealing with the circumstances, or she would have to face the consequences.
When she heard a key being turned in the lock, she shrugged off all those thoughts that had just been spinning around in her head, and rose to greet her father. Over the past few days, he’d been on numerous extensive raids with Preston that had prevented him from ever coming home before ten or eleven o’clock at night. Just like the nights before, he looked exhausted as he put his guns on the commode in the hallway, and took off his gloves and bloodstained coat.
“Are you hungry?” she asked.
The Cleric simply nodded, and so Grace turned around and headed for the kitchen. Before the attack, her mother had taken care of the household, but since Helen had been identified and officially declared dead forty-eight hours ago, this was now up to her. It was at this moment that the home economics lessons from middle school came in quite handy, because other than that she had no idea of how to handle domestic tasks and errands.
Opening the overhead cupboard to get a dish, Grace sucked in a sharp breath through her teeth. If there was one thing that was worse than breaking several ribs, it was contusing them. The physician had told her the injury would take weeks to heal, and it would be very unpleasant.
Mentally counting to three as she lowered her arm again, she breathed through the pain in her rib cage, waiting until it had returned to a somewhat normal level before putting a larger portion of food on the plate and returning to the dining table.
“How’d it go?” she asked as she passed it to her father, along with some cutlery.
The latest information from the papers was that a van had been found in a deserted garage near the Outer Libria train station. There, Intelligence had found walkie-talkies used by railway staff, annotated maps, timetables and classified security information about the train network. Furthermore, a previous robbery of explosives from a weaponry factory had been linked to the attack, as well as a major seizure of EC-10 rated material on the morning of the assault because the homemade bombs used in the attack had contained the same chemicals that had been found in that warehouse. CCTV recordings and fingerprints had completed the puzzle, and once the list of suspects had been drawn up, the hunt was on.
“We almost captured two offenders who were directly involved in the bombing today,” Partridge replied as he ate. “However, they blew up their apartment block when we were about to go in.”
“To avoid the Council’s fair justice?”
“Presumably.”
“Did clinical interrogation of the other suspects produce any valuable information?”
“No.”
“So this is it? No arrests? No… nothing?” Grace wasn’t pleased.
“You seem to take a great interest in this investigation,” Partridge wondered aloud in a way that left it to her interpretation whether it was a question or a statement, his cold emerald eyes meeting hers for a moment.
“Uhm…”
It was true; she had asked quite a few questions recently, and she’d started reading the newspaper thoroughly on a regular basis instead of merely speed-reading through the front page. She wasn’t sure why her father’s remark seemed like an accusation to her now, because it probably was none.
“It’s just that I was there, so I … well, I suppose I want to make sure it’s all going as planned. Even if that only goes as far as being as well informed as I can be.”
The answer seemed satisfactory, because Partridge returned his attention to his meal and did not say anything else. Grace sat at the table for a while and waited without actually doing anything in particular, until eventually her eyelids became just too heavy.
“I’ve washed your other uniform and put it away in your wardrobe,” she said as she got up and collected the dirty garments from where he’d left them. “I’ll go to bed now. If I don’t see you in the morning… guess then I’ll see you when I see you.”
Partridge nodded ever so slightly without looking up.
“Good night, Errol.”
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10It was exactly noon on Libria Day when the Vice-Council designate emerged from the Palace of Justice and came to a halt before the wide steps of its main entrance. Below him on the vast expanse of Freedom Plaza, the carefully selected crowd of spectators rose in perfect unison to greet him.
DuPont allowed himself the briefest and subtlest smile of satisfaction as his gaze drifted over the dead straight rows of black, blue, grey and khaki. As the ocean of citizens sat back down, he continued his short walk towards the lectern in the centre, where the Head of Clergy was already waiting for him.
“Librians,” the leader of the monastery announced, “you are assembled here today to witness the ascension of Council Member Gabriel DuPont, as it is Father’s will in these difficult times. We proceed with the oath of office.”
Stepping up on the lectern, DuPont raised his right hand and dutifully repeated after the clergyman.
“In the name of Father, I solemnly swear that I will defend our great society against all enemies, foreign and domestic, that I will bear true faith and allegiance to His will and to all that has made us great. I take this oath not as a leader but as a humble servant, a devout messenger between all of you and the man who has given us freedom, peace and unity.”
The crowd broke into a reticent applause that lasted precisely ten seconds. Afterwards, DuPont took a moment to breathe before delivering his speech. Watching the special units of sweepers as they patrolled the multitude of onlookers, he knew that he had made the right decision. Father’s late lenient tendencies could have brought Libria to the brink of failure, and he couldn’t have let that happen. Occasionally, one had to do a little evil to do a greater good.
“Librians,” he began, his voice calm, but commanding. “I am not pleased to be here today. I am not pleased to be given this position, to accept the responsibility of this office.”
He paused for a moment, letting the words sink in before he continued.
“And the reason why I’m not pleased is that unfortunately my promotion is the necessary consequence of an act of unspeakable brutality. We have been attacked. Father himself has been attacked. But Librians, we will not yield. Let us remember that hatred and the crimes committed in its name can only prevail if the righteous do nothing about it. If we stand united, we will defeat our mortal enemies. By outlawing emotion, we secure peace for everyone. I am standing here today with a promise. I promise that those who sabotage our great society will know no mercy. …”
When he finished his speech, the spectators applauded once more. DuPont stepped down from the lectern, waiting for his special unit of sweepers to clear and secure the path down Federation Avenue to the Tetragrammaton Headquarters. Once his squadron of newly promoted Clerics were assembled to follow him, he began to march through the crowd, towards his destination.
In the name of the Father… that’s what they all thought.
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11“Here’s your uniform, John.”
Allowing herself the briefest glimpse of her husband’s muscular torso as he was busy shaving, Viviana Preston put the neatly folded pile of his new black garments on the small commode next to the shower cabin. Knowing it was utterly silly to expect even a meaningless ‘thank you’ in return, she still felt just a little hurt when Preston showed no reaction whatsoever, as though she wasn’t even there. It wasn’t like he had to say or do anything; she knew he’d heard her. And yet…
She was playing a dangerous game, and she knew it. Day by day, she was gambling with her life. Sometimes Viviana couldn’t quite understand how she had gotten away with it for the past three years. How could John not know? He had to know. She had no doubt that, intuitive as he was, the subconscious part of his mind had started picking up the signals long ago… because she constantly made small mistakes. Like looking at him fondly. All he needed was a push in the right direction, a big enough slip up to open his eyes. It was his unconditional faith in the system that kept saving her from the furnaces, and there wasn’t a day when she wasn’t extremely aware of the sword of Damocles that was pending right above her head.
Mentally and physically drained, and thus susceptible to doubt and curiosity, she had first ceased her dose temporarily during her pregnancy with Robbie. Terrified of the consequences, she’d gone back to the sedated life of a good Librian citizen after giving birth. Four years later, however, it had happened all over again when Lisa had grown under her heart. The first time around, she’d somehow managed to ignore the bothersome questions that had come out of nowhere – what purpose would her children have besides serving Libria? Why live solely to continue a communal existence? Should life not be more than merely a straight line from cradle to grave?
At first she had dismissed them as irrelevant confusion related to an unfamiliar situation. But when it had happened all over again, the doubt just wouldn’t vanish. The second time around, she had battled through the petrifying uncertainty to an exhilarating reality one could only find beyond Prozium.
She had never regretted her decision to cease her dose, not once. The initial days had been the hardest, and even after all these years she still wasn’t sure how she’d gotten through them without being discovered. She’d felt as though her mind was drowning, unable to grasp how anyone was supposed to handle the volatile and powerful nature of feelings so manifold that countless dictionaries were filled with their definitions. One thing that she’d quickly learned about emotions was that they were instinctual. They were always there, sleeping in the depth of the human soul, yet always ready to awake and strike with troublesome suddenness. Anything and everything could trigger them, and intercepting and channelling the symptoms of perturbation before they became apparent to an outsider took constant concentration.
Yet as gruelling as it was to master the continuous masquerade, she found it was worth every second. She’d been surprised to find that it was small things, not huge miracles, that brought her the most joy. The deep blue of the sky, a fiery sunrise and the warmth of the first golden rays of morning light, a tiny bird stubbornly singing a happy song as it sat on a power line, the first snow of winter, the nightly diamond-sprinkled firmament… there were so many seemingly irrelevant things to live for. She’d conserved them all in her mind, keeping them in a little imaginary treasure chest that she could open and look through whenever life became unbearable.
And then, of course, there were her children. Viviana loved to think that, subconsciously, they somehow loved her. It wasn’t until the age of one that they started taking their own intervals, so even though they would not consciously remember it later on, who could be sure they would not carry a faint residue of love in their hearts?
But most importantly, it was the love for her husband that got her through the day. How such a strong feeling had developed from an emotional void was beyond her understanding. Whenever she tried to come up with just one good reason why she loved him so much, Viviana failed miserably. His demeanour was as cold as a Librian winter, and she knew that the sole purpose of their marriage was to secure the continuity of the great society.
‘So why do I love him?’She had spent many sleepless nights trying to solve the mystery. From a rational point of view, it was utterly inexplicable. It had taken her a long while to realise that understanding her heart required the complete exclusion of the mind. Because eventually, it all came down to a wishful ‘what if’.
‘What if there was no Prozium?’Whenever she was alone, Viviana would wonder what John would be like if he was feeling. She knew that there was a good, honest man inside him, and she longed to see his true personality, unrestrained. Would he still be the same efficient perfectionist? Or would he be less controlling? Would he be gentle and openly affectionate, or would he rather conceal his softer side? Would he be a good father? What would he look like with a genuine smile on his face?
She didn’t love him for who he was, because there was nothing about him that could inspire such a strong bond. Instead, she loved him for the man that he could possibly be.
Exiting the bathroom, she returned to the kitchen, where Robbie was just about to finish his breakfast cereal. Viviana couldn’t help thinking that there was something unsettling about the way he looked in his black Acolyte uniform. When his frosty eyes searched hers, she deliberately avoided them. If anyone was an even greater threat to her than her husband, it was her razor blade-minded, eight-year-old son.
“Lisa hasn’t had her morning interval yet,” he reminded her sternly.
“Thank you. I was just about to take care of that.”
The mere thought of sedating her three-year-old daughter made her sick, but Viviana knew she did not have a choice. Entering her bedroom, she was entirely functioning on autopilot as she inserted the morning capsule into Lisa’s PIU. Once the girl had finished buttoning up her dress, she dutifully approached her mother and did not even blink as she injected the amber liquid into her neck. Leaving her to put her shoes on, Viviana returned to the kitchen to pack her children’s lunch boxes – a welcome excuse to get away from what she had just done. She knew that if she thought about it too much, it would drive her crazy. At times, ignorance could indeed be bliss.
‘If only there was someone I could talk to,’ she thought.
She had no desire whatsoever to get involved with the resistance; she felt that there was too much at stake. Throwing her own life away was one thing, but she feared for John and her children. If she were found guilty of sense offence, what would happen to them? As much as she wished for a free Libria, she could not bear the thought of bringing harm upon her beloved ones.
What she wanted was a friend, a like-minded soul who actually knew and understood what the word ‘friendship’ implied. But how to find one? Occasionally, when her eyes met someone else’s in a passing glance, she would sense that the person was possibly off the dose. However, she had never approached any of those brief acquaintances. She just couldn’t risk being mistaken.
“Make sure you drop Robbie off at the monastery on time.”
Preston’s voice startled her momentarily, but he had his back turned on her as he checked his firearms.
“I will.”
Until a week ago, John would take his son to the monastery with him in the car before picking up his partner for the A&R. Over the years, it had become an unwritten rule that it was compulsory for the subordinate Cleric to attend the briefing in person, whereas senior Clerics had the option of receiving the relevant information in text format on their communicators. Now that he had been promoted to First Class because of outstanding efficiency in the bombing investigation, her husband would be home even less.
As she watched him leave, Viviana wasn’t sure whether she should be happy or sad about that.
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Slightly off topic but I LOVED the image of Mary's ID card! Looking forward to more!