II – Four Years Ago
She was cold.
The concrete walls were poor insulation and the gunmetal gray chair felt like an ice block beneath the thin gown prisoners were issued. The harsh lighting provided no heat and only served to coat everything in a sickening frosty sheen.
Twenty-four hours since Viviana's arrest. There was the humiliating strip search; the begging for food at midnight because no one bothered to bring her dinner; and the inhuman looks of the Tetragrammaton's finest. But by far the worst part was the waiting, because the end of her life's journey was nearing and she certainly wouldn't be complaining about the cold then.
Sitting in the interrogation room, feeling what remained of her body heat seep into the frigid air, she felt miles away from herself, from everything she had believed in just two short days ago. But that was the point. It wasn't enough Father's goons had to snuff out any sign of life and culture, they had to break you first, make you deny all that had been important.
She hung her head, letting the dark hair cover her face, and whispered one word, "Home." It was safe, at least as safe as you could be in the heart of Libria. How foolish she had been. He couldn't protect her; he couldn't even protect himself.
The door opened with a loud bang that reverberated in her head like a gong. She felt sick to her stomach, tired, and weak. One foot was already in the grave; the furnaces just tidied things up.
Grammaton Cleric Second Class John Preston took the seat opposite her, set aside a metal file folder, and clasped his hands together on the table. She hadn't been expecting this.
With an audible swallow she said, "What are you doing here?" The smallest flutter of hope took root in her stomach despite herself. The small voice reminded her how he'd come to her aide…at least until he'd been told the truth.
John's eyes darted sideways for a moment before saying, "The Council believes you will speak to me more freely. That you'll confess the extent of your crimes and name your accomplices."
Oh really, she thought sourly. "I don't have any accomplices," she replied in a low defeated voice.
"You must," he said evenly.
Viviana felt the tears, biting down hard on her lip. "Don't you care!" she yelled, slamming a fist down on the table. "Don't you feel anything? I'm your wife, the mother of your children, and you have nothing to say to me? Yell at me, John! I've embarrassed you! I've hurt your chances at a promotion! Aren't you angry?!"
John took a deep breath, and then said, "It is a rather disappointing match. I should initiate an inquiry into the Department of Marriage and Family's testing requirements."
"Disappointing match?" Viviana repeated, incredulous; while most marriages were founded on a compatibility score of 54-76%, theirs had been an astounding 93%. "Yes, I can see that." She sat back against the chair, ignoring the shock of the cold through the thin material on her back. "But our children? Surely you can't just disregard them? Look into your son's face! Tell me that doesn't stir something deep down?"
"If you are not going to cooperate, there is no point in continuing this. Perhaps clinical interrogation will be more successful." He stood and gathered the metal file that held her picture inside.
A sudden panic filled her chest and she leapt up. "No! I do have something to confess!" She flew around the table and grasped his arm peering into his eyes. "It started when Robbie was born."
Glancing down at her hand, he firmly pried it off his arm. "Continue."
"From the moment I looked at him I…sensed something…knew that I should be feeling something. I would have gone off the dose then and there if you hadn't been so…." She bit her lip and leaned against the tabletop, which, if possible, was even colder than the chair. Goose bumps rose up and down her arms.
"You had just left the monastery, and were so…so goddamned arrogant, looking for sense offenders around every corner, trying to rise to the top. If one didn't know better they would have thought you full of pride." After hearing the bitterness in her own voice she shook her head; the interrogations were always recorded. She couldn't, even now, bear the burden of his life, especially when her children's lives were also in the balance.
"You were and are the perfect Grammaton Cleric. You've never shown a single emotional spark since the day we wed," she finished softly. "What I'm saying is, that by the time Lisa was born, you were far busier and I had more time alone. The bond couldn't have been stronger. Just holding her in my arms. My god, John, how could you not see it?" she asked sadly. "I've been off the dose ever since."
If John was affected by her admission, he showed no sign. "Disappointing," he said quietly, making a mark in her file. Angrily she snatched it out of his hand. Two enforcers burst through the door, guns raised. He waved them away. "She's no threat," he told them. "Give it back," he commanded her.
"After you've listened to me." He stood quietly and stared at her with narrow eyes. "One day. I know one day you're going to come out of this. And when you do, I want you to promise me you won't blame yourself."
He gave a humorless snort. "There's nothing to blame myself for."
Viviana nodded. "You will. And I need for you to promise me you'll remember what I said." She waited but he offered no response. "Tell Robbie and Lisa that they are the world to me. I love them with everything I have, and the memories of them are going to accompany me to a better place. And then I want you to tell yourself the same thing." His face shifted slightly, but he remained quiet. "I love you. And I know somewhere there is a man who is a good husband and a wonderful father. You will find it. You can't let Father's corruption rule you forever."
"Your sentencing is scheduled for nine am tomorrow." He seized the file from her hands and exited the room letting the door slam behind him.
She waited for the guards to return her to her cell, but instead when the door opened again it was another Cleric, newly adorned in his black First Class uniform.
Errol Partridge walked into the room slowly angling himself between Viviana and the camera high in the left corner. "Here," he spoke softly, and then pulled something out of the pocket of his coat. A small vial of amber liquid winked in the harsh light. "You'll have to ingest it," he spoke in the same soft voice. "There is no way to smuggle an injector. Drink it fifteen minutes before the sentencing. There should be enough to hold you until…" his voice trailed off, unable to speak the harsh truth.
"Errol, you shouldn't have," she whispered, but a shaking hand reached out to accept it.
"I'm sorry I can't do anything more."
She smiled at him, and then remembering the camera, turned it into a sneer. "Coming to gloat, Cleric?" she said aloud.
"I should go," he said and turned away.
"Errol," she whispered. He met her eyes again, and she said, "Take care of him."
With sadness he nodded.
"He's not a bad person," she continued.
"I know."
"I just hope someday he'll understand."
"He was born to be a Cleric. There's little you or I can do to change that." The cynicism dripped off his words.
"You did. There is always hope, Errol, otherwise, what are Jurgen and the others fighting for?"
The knuckle of his forefinger briefly touched his lips. She nodded and then he was gone.
She was escorted back to her cell to wait, and the waiting was what finally did her in. She had hoped to be strong, to face the fires of Libria's furnaces with head held high and senses fully intact. But she couldn't. She broke off the top of the vial and with closed eyes, poured the liquid down her throat. The taste made her gag.
He was there during her sentencing, but the dose had taken effect and she found herself as aloof as he was, barely registering his presence. Inside the furnace she focused on nothing. A tickle in the back of her mind said she was supposed to be thinking of something, but it hardly seemed important now.
A small boy of about six years old sat on his bed, hands folded in his lap, staring at the plain wall across from him. It had been just over 24 hours since he'd seen the woman dragged off by the Tetragrammaton. She had been arrested for Sense Crime, and he knew with perfect logic that it was for the best.
Sixth months ago he'd started attending classes at the Monastery as a novitiate, to follow in the footsteps of his father, who was generally considered to be the most exceptional Cleric the Tetragrammaton had seen in a decade. His instructors often spoke of the speed and accuracy of his father's final Kata lesson with as much reverence as was allowed by law.
The boy was well aware of the dangers presented to a society that reveled in its emotions. He could recite the long list of devastating wars that had almost wiped humans off the face of the planet. And he had spent the last five and a half years taking the dose as he had been taught, without question, to maintain Father's utopia, as all obedient Librians must.
Then why now did the injection unit sit on his bedside table untouched since last night?
A small figure appeared in the doorway. She stared blankly at him, and Robbie was acutely aware of the how wrong things were. It still seemed logical, but, maybe…maybe logic wasn't always the answer. His intuition – the very ability prized in a good Cleric – wasn't just whispering to him; it was screaming in his ear and it sounded a lot like the woman's voice. His mother's.
"Come here," he told his sister. Obediently she walked over and hauled herself onto the bed next to him. Lisa was small for her age and lacked the ability – or the desire – to speak.
He'd overheard discussions – calm and quiet, of course – between his parents debating whether she was substandard. Libria had little use for those that couldn't pull their own weight. Robbie imagined that if she hadn't shown signs of improvement by her fifth birthday she would have been taken away. Inexplicably, the thought caused a sharp contraction in his chest and he frowned.
"Did you take your interval this morning?" he asked her.
Her eyes flicked to the left and she nodded briefly.
He glanced to his own unused unit and he reached out and pulled it to him. Popping the cover he showed her the intact vials. Lisa's eyes widened.
Licking his lips, Robbie said, "I've been thinking." He drew a finger lightly down the black case. It surprised him to realize how cold it was. "I think…I think it might not be the best thing for us. I…" Robbie wasn't sure exactly what he was trying to say, or to whom he was trying to say it. Surely his mute three-year-old sister wasn't the best sounding board, but he wasn't going to do this without her, either, and logically she should have a chance to decide on her own. "You may not realize it now, but I'm not sure this is helping us…maybe all of Libria?" Confusion was flustering him. This couldn't be right, it would get him killed.
Lisa tugged at his arm and glanced at the doorway anxiously. Shaking his head, he said automatically, "He didn't know about Viviana, did he?" She still looked vaguely unsettled. Robbie regarded her for a moment and began to wonder if her dose had never been properly adjusted, or if…. "Lisa, are you feeling already?" he whispered into her ear.
After a moment's hesitation she shrugged. "Did Viviana know?" he asked. She shrugged again and gnawed on her thumb. "It's all right," he told her. "I won't hurt you."
She began to kick her heels against the bed, making a soft, uneven rhythm while her tiny hands twisted together in front of her face. Finally, he heard a muffled voice say, "Frère Jacques."
"What?" he said in surprise.
She turned to look at him and he noticed just how wide her eyes were. Barely whispering she started to sing, voice cracking intermittently:
Frère Jacques
Frère Jacques
Dormez-vous?
Dormez-vous?
Sonnez les matines
Sonnez les matines
Ding, ding, dong
Ding, ding, dong
As her soft voice trailed off, Robbie couldn't contain the look of surprise on his face. Several questions jammed themselves into his brain at once. "You can speak? What did that mean? Where did you learn it?"
Her mouth twisted a bit and then she replied quietly, "It's a song momma taught me to help me talk."
"Why haven't you spoken before?" She simply shrugged again. "But you would talk to Viv…Mother?" She nodded shyly and picked at the hem of her dress.
Robbie sighed and fell quiet, lost in his confused thoughts – so much was going on around him he didn't understand. Absently he reached up and scratched his head. He became absorbed in the feeling of the hair sliding between his finger and the trail of his fingertips across his scalp. Then he dropped his hand and ran it over the rough bed cover, feeling the coarse fabric beneath his palm until it tingled. Even the dim grayness of their room grabbed his attention for a moment.
"Okay. I don't know how we're going to do this," he told Lisa; she reached over and clutched his hand between hers. They were surprisingly warm. "But we'll do it together, right?"
"Right," she whispered. And then, "Do you know when she's going to be home?"
"I…don't know," Robbie answered reluctantly, unable to reveal the truth to her.
They sat for a while in silence until the sound of the front door opening made them both jump.
"Careful," Robbie growled as much to himself as his sister. "You should get to bed," he told her.
With a nod, she slid off the bed and walked over to her own and after a few moments her soft breathing told him she had drifted off, completely unfettered by the anxiety that was plaguing him. In the meantime he heard sounds coming from the kitchen, the tapping of things being placed on the table.
Robbie pushed himself off the bed and walked quietly into the kitchen. John was sitting at the table, guns spread out before him. One had been completely stripped down and he was beginning to clean and oil it. Almost instantly John's eyes looked towards the darkened doorway.
"Want to help?" he asked as he purposefully wiped the barrel. He had changed from the Cleric uniform and sat in a plain dark t-shirt, hair slightly mussed.
According to John it was never too early for a future Cleric to learn proper weapons maintenance, and one of Robbie's earliest memories was of listening to his father's instruction.
Robbie quietly slipped into the chair next to his father's and picked up the second black pistol. It was heavy and cold in his hands. With a deft flick of a thumb, he pressed the release and the slide popped loose. Out of the corner of his eye he watched John for any signs of…what? Regret? Suspicion?
"John?" he asked, suppressing any hesitation.
"Yes?"
"Do you think it would be possible if I could speak with Viviana?"
John's hands paused. "Why?"
Heart fluttering in his chest, Robbie managed to say, "I thought it would be good research into the mind of a Sense Offender. Docent Sommers tells us never to miss an opportunity to learn about the enemy." He could feel sweat dripping down his back. John would know. He had to know. It was his job to know.
After a terrifying moment of thought, John nodded his head and resumed cleaning. "Excellent idea. However there's no time. The incineration is scheduled for tomorrow morning."
"Oh." The air suddenly froze around Robbie and he could only clench his jaw and force his hands to continue working.
"I interviewed her today," John told him as he gently pushed a small wire brush into the barrel. There was a loud clatter as the other gun slipped from Robbie's hands. John looked at him sharply. "Be careful with that."
"Yes, sir," Robbie muttered as he silently wondered how – or why – John was able to interrogate a prisoner considering it was a duty reserved for First Class Clerics.
As if reading his mind, John said, "The Council thought since she was obviously sympathetic towards me she might be more willing to give up information."
Robbie shuddered at the callous voice.
"Unfortunately," John continued, "she was uncooperative." He turned to look directly at Robbie. "Did you ever see her speaking to anyone suspicious? Visitors? Phone calls?"
He concentrated on the weapon in his hands, the smell of the gun oil, the smooth coolness of the metal. Even as the words left his father's mouth a face was pushed forward from his memories. His recall was perfect, even if it was only a brief moment in time. Viviana saying almost too loudly, "I'm sorry, Cleric Partridge, he's already left for the office."
"No, sir," he said impassively. "I didn't notice anything."
John stared at him a moment, and then with fluid, confident movements reassembled the gun and pushed a clip home. "I hear you're going to have your first Kata lesson tomorrow."
"Yes, we are," Robbie replied slightly nonplussed as he finished with the gun in his hand. "In the afternoon."
John nodded, stood up, and gathered the guns together. "I think I'll stop by after…the…combustion," he started with the barest hint of hesitation. "I want to make sure the docents are giving your class the proper instruction. If you start out with a lazy Kata, it could cost you your life."
"Yes, sir," Robbie said with a dry mouth.
John paused at the doorway and they locked eyes. Stay calm, Robbie thought. Stay calm and stay alive. But just as he was certain his father was going to raise one of the guns towards him, John said, "Good night."