by Attila Orosz
Crowley was a legend, a symbol of humanity. Men like him were living proof that all was not lost, and that there were people who still did care. Alex had seen him only once, but he had been one of the very few men he truly admired.
“Is it true that you use the tunnels? I heard rumours,” said the guard, breaking the silence like he was reading Alex’s mind.
“If you think I’m going to take you there, you will be very disappointed.”
“You said you want me to cooperate. Probably you could set an example first?”
“No,” said Alex. “But we need to make plans.”
“That’s a start.”
Alex suddenly changed the subject in an attempt to break the guard’s evidently building confidence.
“What’s your name, boy?”
“It’s Peter. And if you call me boy again, you will taste the butt of my rifle!”
“I already have.”
“So you should know better.”
Alex stopped himself from retorting. The sharp replies just kept coming, and he knew he would not get anywhere if they continued like that. He extended his hand instead.
“Right, Peter, I’m Alex.”
They shook hands, it felt awkward and out of place. Neither of them spoke for a while. Alex could not decide what the guard’s intentions were. He was in it alright, he must know what awaited him, were they discovered. Yet his defiance and the insistence on staying in the tunnels were suspicious. Does he still think he can get out of this?
Then he turned to the African, who huddled himself up in the corner, keeping his knees tight to his body and swinging slowly back and forth. Quite pathetic, he thought. Letting himself go like that. How is he planning to stay afloat when he expects us to do everything for him? No wonder the whole continent went under!
Little more was left of Africa than tribal wars and chaos, or so it was believed. Nobody really knew, there was no diplomacy, no news, nothing. The black continent had fallen dark and silent after the destruction the water-wars of the 2020s had brought. The US of E, and the Communist State of China—which had by then engulfed the former India, Japan and most of South-Asia—had been fighting for over a decade for the African water supplies, devastating the continent.
And all that for nothing. Africa was destroyed, the defeated US of E pulled out its troops, and a few years later the Chinese decided that it was not profitable to extract any more water from such a distance, and focused on technology to tap into the endless water reserves stored in the Earth’s crust. Of course, all sorts of natural resources had been mined and exploited to the utmost and shipped back to China, before the last of their forces left Africa. Politics were disgusting, but business was worse. The water-wars had initially only served the financial interest of select corporations, who had expected to cut a good deal, riding the imminent threat of global water shortage; and had ended as a more complete exploitation of natural resources than the age of colonisation had ever seen.
But that was history, and now he was facing one of the people from those unfortunate lands. Even though he had met several Africans before, he had never acquainted himself with the transits. He never spent more than a couple of hours with them as he delivered them into transit and, even then, there was not much time to make observations. Usually all they did was running and hiding. This was the first time he could see one under different circumstances, and quite frankly he was more than a bit disappointed.
“Why are you doing this?” he heard Peter say. “I mean, why risk so much for those you have nothing to do with?”
Alex thought about this, and he realised that he would have had a ready answer to that question even just yesterday, but looking at the arrival now he was a lot less sure.
“Somebody has to do that too, I suppose,” he said, unconvinced by his own words.
“Do what? Take these invaders into the country we are trying to protect from them? What good does that do anyone?”
Alex looked up in surprise. The young man sounded like he was reciting a textbook.
“You really do believe all that bullshit, don’t you? Get a grip, man, you sound like one of your government flyers!”
“Oh, you don’t know shit!” snapped the guard.
***
“Do you even know what was here before? You and your ideals! You come here from half-way across the world and behave like you own the bloody place, but you forget this is a different bloody continent!” Peter did not believe he even had to argue about the obvious.
“I fought oppression most of my adult life! And I don’t care what continent it is on,” said the American.
“Look at this land! It is kept bloody safe!” shouted Peter. He was angry now. “And you come here and destroy the work of those you have nothing to do with! Who the hell do you think you are?”
“Nothing much to be proud of, hunting down harmless people,” replied the American, with disgust showing on his face.
“Harmless? You really have no idea what you’re talking about, do you?”
There was no reply. The American turned the other way. Peter looked at him in utter bewilderment.
“So you think that if you just turn your head away, then all your problems will magically disappear?”
When the American turned back, he looked angry.
“The hell are you talking about, man? What problems? Your people deployed the whole damn army to fight innocents! Do you really miss going to war? Why not try Asia? Are the Chinese too far away, or you mind getting your ass whipped again? How about Turko-Russia then? Are those guys too tough for you too? You mind them shooting back? Fucking cowards!”
“We protect our homes, you prick!” Peter was practically yelling now.
He suppressed the urge to hit the American bastard. How the hell could a man be that stupid? Had he never learned history? Coming here from the richest of all countries, he talked like he knew the whole bloody world! But he knew nothing! He had never seen the news footage of their hordes destroying villages, taking everything and killing people! He had no way to understand.
“You know nothing,” he said in a forcedly calm tone.
“Do I?”
“These innocents of yours killed more people, than I care to even know! They came by the thousands! They took everything! Food! Lives! Everything! And they just pressed on. That’s why the internal border was built. But it could not stop them. So we built a wall over the fence. They still kept coming. So what do you suggest we should have done? What you see now, just works! Keeping those out, and keeping us safe! That’s all.”
The American said nothing, but he was now showing genuine interest. Peter was calming down somewhat.
“Yeah, there were causalities too,” he continued, “I mean when they first scorched Zone-1, villages had to be destroyed.”
Peter fell silent again. He was told that his grandparents’ village, Ásotthalom, was part of the collateral damage. He had never known his grandparents, but he hoped they knew it was all for the greater good.
“Anyway, our families live in Zone-2. That’s beyond the burned strip, you know. And they have to be protected! And the people inlands need our protection too!”
The American interrupted him.
“Do you have a family, Peter?”
The question caught him off guard.
“No, not yet. I mean, I have some relatives still alive, but I have none of my own. Maybe after I’ve been promoted for internal guard.”
“Does that have anything to do with that internal border you were talking about just now?”
“You don’t know what the inner-border is?”
“No.”
“When you came down from the inlands, you must of crossed the border.”
“It was night. We rode a train. I mean I’m not quite sure. I’m from the UNA, you know, and those days we were treated quite differently.”
“Well, there is a border-line at the edge of the inlands.”
The American looked blank.
“It is what marks the end of Zone-3, the DMZ between Zone-2 and the US of E Inner Territories,” explained Peter, somewhat impatiently.
“I never heard of Zone-3 either,” said the American.
“It’s not really a zone, like the other two, not even an official name, really. Beyond the scorched strip, Zone-2 is about 10 kilometres for the most. Zone-3 ends a further 3 to 400km towards inland.”
“But why…”
Peter smiled, the way people smile, when they have to explain something to a not particularly bright kid.
“This is the way to keep the first-citizens safe, you see. It works too. Inlands people are not allowed in here, but they usually wouldn’t bother coming, anyway. What’s more important, sub-citizens can never make it inlands. It is strictly forbidden.”
“Sub-citizens…? What the hell are you talking about?”
Peter laughed to himself. The American ‘hero’ turns out to be quite stupid after all. How can he not see the pattern?
“Sub-citizen is what you are, when you’re born in the Zones. This keeps people from wanting to leave. And they keep an eye out for each other too. Nobody wants trouble,” he said in a forcedly patient, and somewhat cynical tone.
“I still don’t understand how that can benefit anyone. Especially you!”
“See, the borderlands provide the manpower to work The Wall. All the watchtowers and patrols need hundreds of thousands of soldiers.” Peter was getting tired of having to explain the obvious.
“Anyway,” he continued, “the bordermen take on the duty of guarding The Wall. Now, if people were able to leave, they might get the idea to go West for riches and good comfortable lives, whatnot. Who would do the border duty then? It’s not an easy job, you know. Then in Zone-3 the crops are grown. Armies must be fed. The population there is kept to a minimum, only the few farmers. You see, it is all well thought up. Really self-contained, and pretty efficient too. Nobody in, nobody out. It’s a double border, really.”
“So how do you know all this?” said Alex with a surprised expression on his face. “One would expect a government to keep its sub-citizens ignorant about all that. How can you live with being a sub-citizen, anyway?”
“Most are ignorant,” said Peter with a knowing smile.
He was particularly proud of his schooling. This was his, nobody could refute it. The American would understand it, Peter was sure, he seemed to be an educated man himself. His tone changed now, he savoured every word as he spoke.
“I was sent to a special NC officer school that is on the internal border line, near Vienna. We were the bright kids, we got real proper education, and we learned about culture and history. We know much more than the other people here. We came back as NC officers and took up good positions, good jobs, with good salaries. It’s like being the top class of the slums.
“But after ten years of service we will have the chance to be transferred to inner-border duty. You need to apply ‘n all, they select only a few, but those who make it, will be able to pass through occasionally, to travel to select cities, usually where the local command is posted. They can also retire there later. And they have a chance to marry inlands.”
“Is that your plan? Have an inland wife? Live there, have a good life?” said the American, interrupting him.
“It is. For me it’s only good for the retirement, when I can leave this ignorant scum behind. But my children would grow up as first-citizens!”
Peter was proud of this, and it showed. Becoming a first-citizen was the one chance anyone had to ever leave this hell, and he would provide it to his family.
“Only now your plans went to smoke.”
Peter’s smile faded. The American was right. All this, that never happened, was already history. He looked sternly at him and said, “This is why I want in now. I want to go wherever they go.” He nodded towards the illegal. “This is my only chance. You got me into this, you’ve got to help! Besides… if I stay here, I die.”
“I understand,” said the American. “It won’t be easy but I’m sure we can work something out.”
Chapter Four
They sat in silence for a while. Neither of them had anything more to say, and the African appeared to be sleeping. Alex was buried deep in his thoughts, peering into the flickering neon light on the ceiling. It hurt his eyes, but it also helped him keep his mind focused. His plan to rid himself of the guard had not worked, and he was out of options now.
What Peter had said was becoming more disturbing the more he thought about it. There appeared to be no way to even try to convince him, this boy deeply believed every word he said. It made him dangerous, especially as he did not even consider the African to be human. What if he decides to get rid of him? He could not allow that to happen, Alex needed the African. He must process the man into delivery, he could not afford to miss his next payment, he could not spend a whole week without the stuff.
He had to do something about the guard, but it was not easy. Truth was, he had come to rather like the boy. He was naive and blind, but something told him that deep inside Peter was not a bad person, even though the whole ‘protecting the borders’ propaganda had been so deeply implanted into his every thought, it seemed to have become an almost religious belief. He also reminded Alex of his late brother. He was keen minded and outspoken, so passionate about what he believed in. Brian used to be like that, and although his brother would not talk much about his ideas, being around him felt too similar. You just knew he was firm on his ground. Poor brother, being so set about his views only brought him trouble. He was so young. Probably still is. God knows where he is now. Alex hoped in the back of his mind that Brian was dead. He would probably be better off that way.
***
It was back in 2046 when his younger brother had disappeared. He had never got home one afternoon after classes. He had just started his first year at college, so it had not at all felt suspicious. All the family knew and approved of his boyfriend, who he said he wanted to be marry. That day they expected home late. They went out together, but neither of them were ever seen again.
Brian was usually a quiet boy, but he had a way to disagree with whatever he disliked without using any words. He never openly criticised the government, or disobeyed any rules, but his defiance caught the eye of his more vigilante lecturers early on, and he had often been reprimanded for ‘being on the verge of misbehaviour’. Yes, Brian seemed to have inherited their parents’ rebellious nature, but as much as Alex could judge, or even care, he was containing it really well.
Alex was fundamentally different from his brother. He regularly used Phasebook, checked in every movement he made, and was rather active on the network. He lived the life that was expected of a student of his age: Staying high with legal drugs during exam periods and winding down with semi-legal ones right after. In between, there were the parties and the girls, and some popular extreme sports, with nothing much to look forward to besides a promising future in corporate finance, one of the most lucrative career paths for one with no particularly good family connections.
He was looking forward to an uneventful life of moderate luxury, he really was, as far from the politically charged family home as possible. He could not care less about politics, or the world, or who had died in some stupid war thousands of miles away, which seemed the only topics his parents ever talked about. He despised violence, and any topic related to it. His closest connection with any weapon was in the shooting range of the University, where he fired two times twenty rounds of gas propelled pellets into a paper target, twice a week. Pure sport, no violence. He was a good shot too, but only indoors. In his opinion, talking about war and suffering that happened somewhere far away was not only meaningless, but quite distasteful as well. Even the official government communications had stopped glorifying war and depicting soldiers as heroes almost a decade ago. There was no need for it to be part of his reality.
At the time he still believed that his little brother was living happily somewh
ere far away, having finally realised that it was time for him to leave the family nest. Sure, he could have done it more subtly, but it was not for Alex to pass a judgement. His life was good, and so it was to remain, or that was what he had hoped for, in any case.
But his mother went berserk after Brian’s disappearance. She would not accept the idea that they might have just eloped together. She knew her son, he was not that kind. She took up the activism she used to pursue in her younger days, even in face of his father’s protests. His father said one was enough, that he could not bear losing her too, and that they should not go back to their old ways, and it was all in vain, anyway. But she could not be bent. She was sure that Brian had been taken, and she only had to find out the reason. She said the government was up to its old game, that everyone who didn’t quite ‘fit in’ would be detained. It was almost common knowledge so far, but this was not enough for her. When she could not narrow it down to anything more particular, she settled on the idea that Brian’s only sin was being gay. But it didn’t make sense. Even the church had accepted same sex marriage lately.
She then took to underNet, the decentralised, encryption based network that had gained popularity in the underworld and among activists in those years. She researched documents that seemed to prove her claim that LGBT people were being secretly arrested all across the United North America. Any evidence she found to prove this was too weak to be even considered fictional, especially in an environment where detention was as much a part of life as birth and death.
Still, she kept organising groups and distributing information. Apparently there had been over nine thousand disappearances in the last month alone, all LGBT people, who never came back from detention, or that was what she claimed to have found out, and so his younger brother was only one of many.
His father tried to calm her of course. He said Brian was most likely reported by one of his teachers, for not following standards of behavioural expectations, and being held like so many other UNA citizens on similar charges. He said they would not get anywhere unless they proved them wrong, and the only way to achieve that was by playing along. He tried to convince her that if they behaved as expected, Brian could be released.
