Change

India

Simrat Kaur was one hundred and twenty five years old. Still she took a walk every day to keep physically fit. She walked for one hour every evening after she had finished her daily check up on her famlies' finances. Although they were mostly handled by her family group now and she had given over the position of the head of the family to her son, she still had a sharp mind and a good eye for economic developments. As she slowly paced through the streets the people greeted her with respect, not due to her age but her position as the most successful businesswoman in the small town. She had done well in life. As a young woman she had adapted to the Silence Protocol better than most her age and subsequently built a small enterprise for kitchen accessories that gave many people in the area a job. Today like every day she paused her walk for a short rest at the top of the small hill that was the only challenge on her route.

Nothing was any different from every day during the past couple of years, except for the timing. For a few weeks she had gradually started her walk a little later so she would always be at the top of the hill right when the sun set behind the horizon. At that hour of the day the sky just turned the most beautiful color. So beautiful, it sometimes brought a tear to her eyes.

Chapter 78

Kaleb was worn raw. He still held on to his iron control but it was faltering more with each day that passed. Within a few short weeks he had fully transformed into a ruthless rebel leader. No more perfectly cut suits, no more false charm. He had no reason left to disguise who he was.

His army consisted of those Psy who finally had risen, those who finally dared to question the system, to demand change, the last ones who could scrape up a Psy's version of hope in their desperate struggle against their doom. But even that faint hope was leaving him with each day he had to look into those empty, black eyes.

The largest part of the day Alja scuffled around the halls or just sat in some corner barely moving until he made her get up or sit down again. Sometimes she would just stop somewhere and stand there, staring at something, as if there was nothing else in the world. And then she would start some every day task like opening a door just to stand there with her hand on the handle, as if she didn't know what to do. Other times she would lie down on the bed in the middle of the day but not sleep. Sometimes she even went to the gym, but just stood there staring at the floor rocking back and forth on her heels until someone ushered her out. Every time he hoped for a sign that there was some part of her left that remembered what she had done there, who she had been. But she never changed.

And then, this morning, it had happened. She had suddenly gotten up from the chair in his office by herself and walked over to the window. She had just stood there and looked out at the sky. And then she had started crying.

From one second to the next his heart had started racing, hope surging through him with a violence he had barely known from any emotion he had felt before. He had rushed over to her, called her name, kissed her face and held her in his arms for minutes before he couldn't ignore the truth any longer: she was still as unresponsive as she'd been ever since the rehabilitation.

He couldn't clearly remember how he had managed to pull himself together afterwards. But since that incident he tried not to look at her too often. When she rose again in the afternoon he let her leave the office. If she got too far away, someone would carefully guide her back. He hadn't even had to tell them. Everyone knew she was to be treated with utmost care but not restrained within the building. He wanted her to be as free as possible. Even if she couldn't relish it now.

Not having her too close by made it a little easier to concentrate on the border situation he had to deal with. He didn't want to, but that didn't matter. He no longer wanted anything. In a way he was even less involved than he had been when he had been Silent. But this had to be done. For her. That was his sole motivation.

What Delenko reported to him now was nothing he hadn't expected: An increasing number of Psy had started to cross the unofficial borders into his territory, among them not only those who had decided to side with the rebellion, but also a lot of Psy who had been hiding defects in their conditioning, some for years. Now they were pulled towards his sector by the promise of freedom and pushed be the tightened Center-regulations of the other Councilors. The sectors of the other tolerant Councilors were overseas, so his was the best or even the only viable option for every Psy in Eurasia and even Africa, who wanted to escape the fate of the woman they had all seen on screen a few weeks ago. Finally they had reacted, had been shaken out of their lifelong stupor.

"And the first thing they do is run," he stated more to himself than to the man on front of him.

"Sir?" Delenko asked when Kaleb didn't follow up his statement.

"Our whole race has cowered before the Council for so long. And now they're doing it again by running away from the threat of rehabilitation," he clarified. He knew he should be thinking about this rationally. But it was hard not to be led by the contempt he felt for those Psy who were seeking protection from the Centers in his territory. The truth was he didn't blame them for being scared. But a part of him wanted to blame them for reacting too late for Alja. But that reproach rebounded right back on him. He could have made them react sooner, could have taken the rebellion into the open, before Alja was so desperate, she saw no other way than to sacrifice herself. In the end it all came back to him. It was his fault. More guilt for him to suffer.

"We could close the borders." His chief of security suggested, pulling him from his thoughts once more. "We have the manpower to do that as long as there is no invasive action from the other former Councilors."

"No, they can come. But they'll have to agree to fight, if it becomes necessary. I want everyone with offensive abilities above 6.0 on the Gradient and everyone who's physically able in military training, from age fourteen upwards. Use the personnel you'd have put on the borders to arrange that."

"That's a very young age, Sir."

"It's old enough to kill." The children Ming had sent for Alja had been even younger than that. His hand closed around the silver star pendant, he still carried in his pocket. It was as if the thing collected all the guilt he amassed to remind him of it. Now Alja was the third woman tied to that symbol of lost hope.

"Understood." The other man turned on his heel without further comment, but was called back before he reached the door.

"Delenko… Don't make it obligatory for the younger ones. They can train if they want to but if we have to deploy them I want no one active before the age of 18 and no one in the offense under 21." Alja wouldn't have wanted it.

As if the thought of Alja had triggered a connection to her, he felt something from her, he hadn't ever noticed before. But she wasn't there. Where had she wandered off to? He had needed to focus intensely to find her mind in space, because there was so little left of her to make out. The moment he did, he teleported to her and found himself in the bathroom of her apartment. She was standing in the shower, fully dressed, the water cascading over her. When he appeared beside her she turned and looked at him with the same empty eyes as always.

"What are you doing?" he asked, although he knew she wouldn't answer. He reached for the shower controls only to jump back at the pain that hit him with the water. It was almost boiling. Not bothering to try and turn it off again he grabbed Alja around the waist and pulled her out of the cubicle. She didn't react. Not when he ruggedly pulled her from the bathroom in his shock, not when he changed her clothes and checked her body for burns from the hot water. Her skin had turned an angry shade of red. But she didn't seem to register any pain.

„There is some damage to her skin. First degree burns on her forehead, cheeks and shoulders. I applied a cooling spray. They should be healed within a few days," Aden concluded after doing a medical check-up on Alja.

"But what's wrong with her? Why would she do this?" Kaleb asked. He had to know what it was, that made Alja behave so strangely.

"Those symptoms and the behavior you describe are not uncommon. They happen sometimes, when the rehabilitation was very thorough." He looked up as if uncertain whether to go on but decided there was no way around it, when he saw the cardinal's intense, questioning look. "When the personality is removed too rigorously, it can impair some of the more basic functions."

"Like knowing when to close your eyes at the light and when you should stop boiling yourself in hot water?"

Aden clearly was unused to the open aggression in Kaleb's tone. But he didn't flinch. "Basically, yes," he answered almost apologetically. "Most of the major brain processes are short-circuited by the rehabilitation. Another theory is that the brain seeks intense stimuli to try to restart them."

"And has that ever worked in anyone?" Kaleb asked although he already knew the answer.

"Not that I know of." He paused again. "Look Kaleb. That she doesn't react to the burn damage isn't a good sign. It could be, her nerves have been damaged by the Jax during the procedure. The alternative would be that her brain has lost the ability to react to input from the skin nerves."

"So what else is she going to do?"

"It's hard to predict but this kind of effect usually doesn't fade…" Aden hesitated again.

"Tell me the truth. It won't make me any more unstable than I already am," Kaleb demanded impatiently.

"Her behavior may change from catatonic to more erratic at first. In the long run all her brain functions might shut down one by one, alongside her physical ones. If that happens she might start to have seizures and in the long run –"

"She's going to die," Kaleb finished his sentence.

"Yes." The medic's voice was calm, when he confirmed it, but the look he gave Kaleb said he was waiting for the storm to break loose.

"Maybe that is the best then. She is already gone anyway," Kaleb stated mechanically. But he knew it wasn't true. After all he still cherished that body that had once held the woman who had meant everything to him.

"I saw that she still carries some of her weapons. In her current state that is dangerous. Why would you give them to her at all?" Aden asked.

Every day Kaleb strapped one of her willow-glass blades to her shin and another to her forearm, just as she'd always worn them. "An Arrow is never without a weapon," he cited her now. "I cannot take that from her. She has given enough. They took enough from her. She wouldn't feel safe. – I know it's not rational. But with her I don't have to be. It doesn't matter." Then he took one of her hands that seemed still alive but some degrees colder than usually. "But you're right, she should no longer have to wear that uniform… Something softer would be better on her skin as well. Don't you think?"

Aden didn't respond. He had the feeling that the other man was no longer in the room with him. The Arrows would monitor him. But in the end, what were they to do? Their very purpose of existence was inevitably falling apart. Who should they protect now? Who should they kill? Vasic was the best example for an Arrow who had lost his purpose and was deteriorating. Aden would talk to him again…

"You've known her almost all her life. Why did she do it?" The question came so suddenly, Aden almost thought he had misheard. But Kaleb's eyes were focused on him once again, as if he'd just remembered that question and come back to ask it, from wherever it was he went before.

"You're right. I knew her longest in the Squad. But I didn't know her like you did. She never revealed who or what she really was to any of us."

"Still you grew up with her. I just want to know your perspective."

Aden realized Kaleb was looking for answers he'd never find. His answer wouldn't matter. But he decided to give him the truth. "She grew up as an Arrow. If she thought herself less needed than another team member, it was logical to give herself up. – I think she had high hopes in you."

Without knowing what Alja had told him, what she'd written in that senseless letter, Aden had hit the nail on the head. And it didn't bring any relief to Kaleb. Again the strings of Alja's web pulled tighter.

But how much longer would they hold?