The Hinges of Destiny

Author's Note: I don't know if anyone reads Equilibrium stories anymore, but I'd written part of this many years ago and just felt the urge to expand and complete it. The title comes from the quote, Choices are the hinges of destiny, attributed to Pythagoras.

Summary: Husbands, mothers, friends, lovers – the cost of peace was high in Libria. This is the story of the choices that led to its downfall.

I – Five Years Ago

Desperate footfalls echoed along the bleak and narrow corridors that wove a maze beneath the Librian Learning Annex as a woman – wild-eyed and breathing heavily – anxiously rushed towards the command center. Her brown hair fell loose around flushed cheeks and she wore an ill-fitting hand-made dress that had lost what little color it ever possessed; her state-sanctioned wardrobe along with the bulk of their possessions had to be left behind when they fully committed to joining the Resistance three months ago, and while it was never the height of fashion (even for Libria) it did have a quality befitting their previous social status.

Often at night she would lay awake in bed and mentally recount all the amenities she had given up coming down here. Even post Prozium withdrawal they had lived a good life, dangerous to be sure, but comfortable. Down here it was cold, dull, crowded…but then he would pull her close in his sleep and she would lay her head on his chest. Above ground every touch, every glance, could be a death sentence, and Jack was the one thing she would not – could not – give up.

She cursed the dank and claustrophobic sanctuary as she prayed to a previously unknown deity that her worst fears had not come true. She was given a wide berth as she flew down the halls.

Skidding to a stop in front of Jurgen's office, she gasped as she attempted to catch her breath. Men spilled out of the open door in an impromptu conference of the resistance leader and his lieutenants. Three men, looking ragged and one covered in blood, stood off to one corner. One of them noticed her and quickly snatched his eyes away. She tried to listen in on the quiet words inside, but a large man she barely remembered prevented her from moving any closer. He was resolute in his silence as she begged for information.

The agonizing wait was cut short when most of the group filed out of the room solemnly, not one eye able to meet hers. She knew she was mostly ignored, and often outright disliked among the close community beneath the city, but this didn't bode well at all.

"Let her enter," Jurgen's soft voice called out.

The barricade stepped aside, and she moved into the room. The three disheveled men still waited quietly by Jurgen's desk staring intently at their shoes. Jurgen himself sat behind the desk, hands clasped together. For the first time someone looked directly at her. "Sit down," he said softly.

"No," she moaned despite herself, unsure if she was refusing the instruction or in denial of the truth, maybe both. She tried to look at the three men, silently begging them to tell her something hopeful despite the grime and blood that caked their clothes.

Jurgen called her name and then cleared his throat. "I am sorry to inform you –"

She clapped her hands to her ears even as the tears spilled down her cheeks. "Stop! If you can't tell me without your canned speech, don't bother."

Wordlessly Jurgen motioned for the men to leave them. He stood up and closed the door after the last had departed. He leaned his back against the door and crossed his hands over his chest with a sigh. "It was an ambush. They," he nodded his head towards the door, "were the only ones to make it back in one piece."

She looked at him desperately. "Jack?"

Jurgen shook his head. "The Clerics have him."

"So he's still alive?" she gasped, a small kernel of hope in her chest.

"Only until they make room in the incinerator."

She moaned, finally dropped into the chair, and began rocking gently back and forth.

Jurgen made no attempt to console her. "He was a good man. And a good friend." Her breathing hitched as she sobbed into her clenched fist. "I know it hurts now and, trust me, it is supposed to, but it will ease with time and I hope the knowledge of his sacrifice for our cause will provide you with a small comfort."

The sobbing stopped and she turned towards him. "It doesn't," she hissed. "You called him your friend? Yet you sent him to his death. He was a doctor, not a soldier! He didn't belong in this war."

Jurgen's jaw tightened. "Everyone who wants to be free belongs in it."

"I don't! I was here for him."

"I know that. But now you've got to be strong now. Fight those that did this to him."

She flew from the chair to face him, finger poking his chest. "You did this to him!" Biting her lip, she took a step back. "I can't do this. I can't feel like this. I'm going to die inside."

"Emotions are still new to you, and it can be frightening. It's natural and you will survive, but you need to let it run its course."

"Let me out."

Jurgen frowned. "I understand you need to be alone."

"No. Let me outside. I can't stay here."

"You won't survive out there."

"I'll take my chances."

"Listen to me, you will be a danger not only to yourself, but to everything we've accomplished. That Jack accomplished. There are lives at stake."

"Are you saying I'm a prisoner?"

"Of course not. Go to your room and sleep on it. If you feel the same in the morning we'll smuggle you into the Nethers."

"There's no Interval in the Nethers," she said thickly.

Bringing his hand to his temple, Jurgen sighed. "Get some sleep." He moved aside and held the door open for her. "Hiding your emotions doesn't make them disappear."

"I hate you," she said as she passed. "That will never disappear."

The following morning Jurgen sat at his desk perusing the newest issue of Father's Voice that had been left in the library. There was never any actual news in it, except for the occasional coded message sent by an agent on the writing staff.

There was a quick knock at the door, then without waiting for an answer a young man poked his head inside, a chagrined look on his face. "She's gone. And it gets worse."

"How could it get worse?" Jurgen asked knowing full well it could.

"She was spotted entering an Equilibrium Center as soon as the doors opened."

Jurgen shook his head ruefully. "What are the chances of a citizen who has been off the grid for three months walking up to the counter and receiving a fresh PIU with injections without anybody raising the alarm?"

With a shrug the other man replied, "About the same as you being appointed Vice-council." He closed the door behind him.

Alone again, Jurgen knew his first order of business was security; second was damage control. He glanced at the pamphlet he'd been reading. The coded message spoke of a Cleric that may be sympathetic to the cause, may even be offending already. This would be a major coup. He had his work cut out for him.