by Scott Allen
Marjorie replied, “Dana, it may look like I have a good life, but that is an illusion. Life stopped being good when they took my sons and my husband away. When I look back at our days together, I remember how good it all was. Today is just one horrible lonely day after another. I would probably thank them for killing me. I’m only living to strike one last blow against them, as you said. Don’t worry about me. Just keep an eye out for when Male Control can’t possibly be watching you, and get here as quick as you can. Or, if the Mexicans advance to here, hide. Get here if you can, but hide until they free you. Do we have a deal?”
“Deal, Marjorie,” he said, unsure as he was.
“Now, you’d better get back to your dorm. You’ve been here a long time for one air conditioning service.” Marjorie stood up, obviously in some pain.
Uh, Ma’am,” said Dana, “Would you want to come with us?” Dana thought he should ask.
Marjorie smiled. “I’m too old, Dana. My hip makes walking any distance impossible. I’m at peace with whatever happens now, if I can just get you out.”
“I thought hip problems could be fixed?” asked Dana.
Marjorie snorted. “Maybe years ago. Nowadays, being a doctor is a privilege awarded to the daughters of the Party elite. Education has reached its final stage of corruption. Major surgery is a prescription for waking up dead. No thanks.” She smiled.
Dana stood up, and began to head for the door. Marjorie stopped him, “Dana, would you mind if I gave you a hug?”
Dana nodded, and she gave him a tight, long, clinging hug, as if she were hugging one of her own sons. He would have had trouble describing his feelings at that moment. He had not been hugged since he left his mother 9 years before. She had clung to him with terrible intensity, sobbing, which had caused him to scream and sob and kick as he was carried away by four women in pastel blue uniforms. This felt like his mother’s hug physically, but different emotionally. Not fearful. It felt warm and friendly.
Finally, she released him. There were more tears in her eyes. “You can take the covers off your microphone and camera. Go carefully. I hope we see each other again.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Dana tried to gather his thoughts as he walked home. It had started to rain, and he had pulled his poncho out of his pack. It was transparent, so his face and body could be seen. It was miserably hot and humid under the poncho, and he envied the few women he could see riding in vehicles.
He started to weigh the consequences of his choices, to run or not to run. It had been an abstract matter when he discovered that Rowan had run. Now, it was deadly serious, because it could happen. If he didn’t run, he would probably have the same life for the next twenty-eight years and some months, and then be killed, unless policy changed. Of course, after he had fathered a number of children, he could be found unsuitable for the breeding program, and killed then. So, he had at most twenty-eight years or so of appliance repair work and living in a dorm ahead of him. It seemed like a long time. A long, boring, but safe time. It was what he had been raised for.
If he ran, on the other hand, the risks were enormous. Instant death, if he were caught. The thought of death seemed like a huge, terrifying, and mysterious black wall in front of him. He had never talked to anyone about death, never read anything. And, the pain that would precede it! He had never seen anyone electrocuted, but he had been subjected to lower-intensity shocks, and he never wanted them again.
On the other hand, pain and death were only somewhat likely if he ran, while his death in the next twenty-eight years was a certainty if he didn’t. Balanced against the unknown probability of execution was the chance to live a life of … what? A life in Mexican territory where he could live a long life, and live like the women around him did, free to go where they wanted and to choose their work? Somehow he had the sense that, in fact, the US government decided what women did with their lives, what kind of work they did, and when they got pregnant and by whom. But, Marjorie had served in the US Senate. Didn’t she get to choose? Was Mexico any different? What would he do as a Mexican citizen? Would he be able to survive in their world? Would it be even worse than his current life?
Dana had always lived a life of certainties. Now, so little was certain. He had no experience in balancing risks against each other. He had no experience in deciding to take risks. The word “risk” was only barely in his vocabulary, beyond the small risk of failing to take the correct appliance parts with him. Now, the stakes were life and death. As had so often been the case in the past few months, he didn’t know what to do. He ran through his memory for what anyone had taught him about making decisions.
What he had studied in school was of no use. Of course, he had learned how to read, spell, write, and do simple math, and of course he had learned a little United States history, largely about how women had been oppressed, and how they had begun to organize and fight for their rights at the Seneca Falls Convention in the middle of the 19th century. There had been a lot of detail about the women’s movement and its heroes since that time, punctuated by the various horrible wars started and prosecuted by men. He had learned how men must never again have control of government or other institutions like corporations or the military, because of their natural tendency to oppress women and cause violence. And, of course, he had learned how to behave in the presence of females, reinforced by shocks from his teachers if he misbehaved. But there was nothing that gave him a hint as to how to deal with this personal situation.
His next teacher had been the man who had taught him appliance repair. But, he had been a sad, worried, and quiet man, who had little to talk about beyond work. And after him, there had been no more teachers. Just the disciplinarians from Male Control. He had no heroes, no revered teachers, nobody to model himself after. No one to be X in the question, “What would X do in this situation?”
The heroes presented in school were women writers and politicians who largely complained about men oppressing women, made fun of men, and argued that men were responsible for all the evils in the world and none of the good. Dana hadn’t done any of the evil things that men were blamed for, he suddenly realized. He was not to blame. So, why was he having to pay for it? He could not make heroes out of these women writers and politicians. They were only complainers, who wanted things given to them because they existed, not because they earned them. There was nothing in their ideas that he could use to think his way through the decision he was facing. They would just have told him to shut up and sit down.
He thought back to Marjorie and her stories about her husband Bob. She had referred to him as a “real man.” What would a “real man” do in this situation? He had just a foggy notion of what she meant by that phrase. He had images of Bob walking hand-in-hand with Marjorie, kissing her, holding her, playing flag football, playing catch with his sons, not caring what anybody thought, and walking quietly out into the night to be arrested and executed. That was all he had in his head. Was a real man someone who was physical with women, played physical games, made up his own mind, and sacrificed his life to keep his wife from being killed? Was that it? He couldn’t connect that with his current choice, except for the part about making up his own mind. But, that didn’t help him make up his mind.
Should he hate the government, and make that a good reason to risk death? He had certainly never felt positively about the government. MC agents had dragged him away from his mother, had put metal surveillance rings on his body, had watched him day and night, and had threatened to torture and kill him for misbehaving, and forced him to masturbate into a jar once a month. He had just accepted this because…well, he was male and needed to be controlled, and anyway, there was no choice. But, Bob had not misbehaved, and they killed him just for being a man. They were going to kill Dana at 50, or sooner, for being a man. That seemed horribly wrong, but he couldn’t articulate why. It made him angry. He felt the first stirrings of real, violent rage that he had ever felt. For a moment, he began to scowl and grit his teeth. But, he re
membered that he was visible on the street, and that his heart rate was being recorded. He concentrated on listening to his breathing and his heart rate came down. A camera drone flew beside him and hovered briefly, looking him over, and then flew on. Dana suddenly suspected that MC had some computerized way of correlating all the information about a man in order to identify men that were reaching the point of exploding with anger. He didn’t want some MC officer, or worse, MC computer, deciding to terminate him.
He wished he had someone to talk to. But, doing so was out of the question. He could not even show anything on his face that might indicate something was bothering him. He arrived back at the dorm looking as tired and bored as he could manage. Inside, he was slowly simmering. The Matron was waiting for him at her door. He entered the vestibule, looked cheerful and wished her a good day. She nodded her head and went back to her desk. Dana felt relief.
CHAPTER TWELVE
The next few days were routine as they could be, given the war. He often returned to the dorm in mid-afternoon, while Blake would be later than usual. But, the hearing aid was working, and he heard more and more as he walked around town and listened to the Matron’s viewscreen.
The advance of the rebels and the Mexican army had slowed down, as the President began negotiating with the Mexican government. Apparently, she had started by appealing to the Mexican sense of justice and fair play, but the Mexican president was having none of it. He heard a woman speaking a few words in Spanish – what the newswoman referred to as their language - and then a translator’s voice came in. He heard, “Mexico demands the territories that were taken from us so many years ago by force. We have never forgotten the … subterfuges … that the United States used to take half of our country from us. You speak of fair play, but when have you been fair to us? You speak of justice, but when have you been just to us? We do not want any further loss of life, but we will have our land back.”
Dana also heard more raucous discussions in congressional committees, with women speaking over each other and someone repeatedly banging a gavel. Some women appeared to be arguing that if they ceded land to Mexico, it would be like inviting the rest of the world to come and take a piece of America. Another one would argue that fairness demanded that the Mexicans have their territory back. He heard suggestions that all women of military age be drafted, which was received with some agreement. He also heard a single suggestion that men be drafted, which was shouted down, as he had heard before. There were questions about why the production of arms and equipment couldn’t be sped up, and again there was a suggestion that men be put to work doing heavy labor in arms factories, which was shouted down. One woman yelled, “We ought to call on the Canadians! We have the same values!” But, no one responded to this.
He couldn’t talk to anyone about it, of course. He couldn’t talk about Marjorie’s offer. He could only ask Blake, “Hear anything today?” and watch Blake nod his head slowly.
One morning their rings woke them and a message appeared on their wrist screens. NO ASSIGNMENTS UNTIL AFTERNOON. ASSEMBLE TOWN SQUARE 8 AM. Dana looked at Blake, who shrugged his shoulders. They dressed, ate breakfast, and walked downtown, Blake following Dana, even though his wristscreen would have given him directions. The other four men from their dorm took the same route in two pairs, keeping a distance of about 10 meters between pairs. As they neared the town square, they saw perhaps three dozen men, all clad in black like themselves, all between the ages of 18 and 50, approaching the square from all directions. Middle-aged women in pastel blue uniforms were arranging them around three sides of the square in groups of two, with sufficient distance between them that they could not communicate between groups. In the center of the town square, about 15 meters from the men, was a platform about a meter off the ground. There was an MC Officer behind each pair of men. Dana could hear the fluttering of birds’ wings overhead and knew they were camera drones.
A woman in a pastel blue uniform ascended to the platform and began to speak in a loud voice. “You have been called here to witness what happens to rebels! Look up now, and see!” screamed the officer. She made a motion with her hand, and 5 black-clad men, arms bound behind them, shiny collars around their necks, clothing torn, faces bruised, were led into the square between two lines of MC officers holding large control boxes. The men walked up the stairs to the platform and stood in a line behind the speaker, with the two lines of MC officers on the grass below and behind the men. The speaker continued, “These vile beasts escaped from the arms of a gentle and generous society that fed them, and clothed them, and gave them meaningful work! They threw all that away in a futile attempt to re-establish patriarchy! They spied for our enemies. They committed every sort of crime their gender is famous for! They committed robbery and burglary! They committed assault! And, finally, they committed rape and murder! They do not deserve clemency!” The last sentence was screamed even louder. “Should any of you be planning to copy them, be aware now of what will happen to you! Do not look away or you will suffer the same fate!” Then, she stepped down from the platform.
At that moment, Dana noticed that one of the men who had been behind the speaker was Rowan! His face was so badly bruised and he was so very thin, favoring one leg as if it was injured, that he was barely recognizable. Dana tried to make eye contact, but Rowan was barely able to stand up, and did not look around. He hung his head.
The speaker gave another signal and the two lines of MC officers looked down at their control boxes and squeezed buttons. The five men suddenly went rigid, and then began twisting, screaming, and falling. One urinated copiously in his pants. The screaming was horrible. Dana felt a small tingling in his neck collar, but no shock. The five men collapsed onto the platform, but for one who fell off in his death throes. It was over in less than ten seconds. Dana had not looked away, but wished he could have.
The speaker walked back up onto the platform, stepping over the bodies. She slowly looked around the square, her eyes pausing at each man. When she had stared at each one with a look of pure hate, she said, “You may go now. This will be a lesson to you. The officers will escort you out two at a time. Do not move until you are escorted.”
Back at the dorm, Dana felt drained. So did Blake. They both lay on their beds staring at the ceiling. At noon, their wrist rings vibrated and the screens called them to their assignments.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
On his work rounds that afternoon, Dana heard things from nearby viewscreens. There was breaking news. Talks with the Mexicans had broken down and their forces were resuming the attack. Dana saw two flights of two aircraft each streaking south loudly above. Also a missile. He only surmised it was a missile, because it moved south so fast he did not see it, just the vapor trail it left behind. He heard faint, but unmistakable explosions from the south as well. Two large khaki canvas-covered trucks, belching black smoke from their exhausts, rumbled past him going south. They were carrying soldiers, visible from behind the trucks. Each woman had a khaki uniform, a helmet, and a weapon. He heard the sound of things in the sky he couldn’t see, coming closer, heading towards him, passing over him.
Then, there were more explosions, much closer. There was one tremendous boom up ahead just around a corner that nearly knocked him off his feet, made him deaf, and made his head ring. He had no choice but to walk forward and hope his hearing would come back. He had to get back to the dorm. That’s when he came upon the two trucks.
They had been hit by something explosive, and twisted bits of metal and women’s bodies were all over the intersection. Blood was all over the buckled street. Small bits of bloody flesh clung to the walls here and there. Dana stood horrified. His eyes worked randomly around the intersection, seeing a bloody arm here, the top half of a torso there, a head still inside its helmet, eyes staring at him. He felt sick immediately, leaned against the wall, and vomited. He had to move on, and shakily worked his way around the carnage.
At the other side of the intersection, there was a woman in kha
ki face down on the street moaning and trying to crawl away from the center of the explosion. She was leaving a thick trail of blood. Dana froze. He had no idea what to do. He had no medical knowledge. He couldn’t call for help because his wrist viewscreen would only allow him to contact Work Control to ask for work instructions. He walked slowly towards the woman. “Ma’am…” he said.
She raised her head and stared at him uncomprehendingly for a moment. Then, a look of fear came into her eyes. She reached for her belt, fumbled for and found a control box, and pushed a button. Dana screamed as the jolt hit him, and he collapsed to the pavement. The jolt went away as suddenly as he had felt it. He looked at the woman, who was now lying still and limp. Dana slowly got up and continued to walk back to his dorm on rubbery legs.
When he arrived at the dorm, he spoke to the Matron and told her the location of the two exploded trucks. She looked frightened, and immediately started pushing buttons on her wrist bracelet and talking into it. Dana went upstairs. He had never seen a Matron frightened. He continued to hear the sounds of explosions, probably 5 or 10 kilometers away. He also heard the sounds of aircraft and missiles overhead. Gradually, the explosions and roars of aircraft and missiles shifted to the west, and finally, there was quiet. Dana didn’t feel hungry yet. He just lay on his bed staring at the ceiling. He hoped Blake would make it back OK.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Blake had returned almost as the sun went down, which was unusual, because men were not supposed to be out after dark. They exchanged careful desultory conversation. “Rough day,” said Blake. Dana nodded. Both of them turned their heads and slapped their ears to listen to the Matron’s viewscreen.
