In opstand
Page 20
“This isn’t an isolated incident.”
“Incident? The man murdered my father!”
Bartho slowly shakes his head. “That’s – not what I meant. I was talking about the incident during the Tribunal.”
“With Aron? What do you mean?” I want to find out. I want to hear Bartho’s thoughts. Of course, I already know – in my mind, an unstoppable train of linked accusations and suspicions is hurtling toward an unavoidable conclusion – but I need to hear someone else say it. Fortunately, Bartho doesn’t make me feel silly for asking; he just smiles for a brief moment, and it’s a smile of sad wistfulness, not of joy or some misplaced sense of humor.
“There have been more incidents during which Tribunals were used as means to political ends. To get rid of opponents, to force certain decisions, to allow people to have things their way by threatening someone with possible persecution. The system is corrupt, and this corruption has Marcus as its most fervent supporter. The Sector, the Tribunal – they’re all just hollow and meaningless now without the right ideals to back them up; ideals that your father and others fought for in their time. Segregation creates a false sense of security. And the true danger doesn’t lurk without, but within, Justa. I’m sorry you had to find out this way.”
I hold my tongue and take the time to let Bartho’s words sink in while I take a drink of my tea, trying to wash down my confusion.
“My father fought against the Sector?”
Bartho drums his fingers on the tabletop. “More or less. Your father was the founder of a new philosophy, a new way of thinking. The Antibellum was supposed to create a new kind of society based in codification, in an infallible system of rights and obligations. A society where all men were equal, no matter on which side of the Sector Gates they’d been born.”
Antibellum. The group that asked Aron to deliver the USB stick.
“Where does Irina fit into all this?”
Bartho shakes his head. “Irina believed in a new society. She and some other Sectorals worked together with the Antibellum. Some of them had been doing so for years.”
“People like you.”
Even though it isn’t exactly a question, Bartho nods. “Yes. Like me.”
I feel dizzy. “You, and who else?”
“Does it matter? What matters is that we have people in key positions – people who are waiting for a chance to do the right thing. Some of them will get that chance sooner in life than others.” He holds up his hand to indicate that I’ll have to save my other questions for later. I bite my lip and watch as Bartho grabs the phone, punches in a number, and turns his back toward me.
“Gustav, it’s me. Can you arrange for an emergency transport to pick up the suspect held in the Tribunal House? Your practice? Agreed. One o’clock? That’s okay. Take care, Gustav.”
Bartho clicks off and sits down across from me. “Aron is sick. One of his wounds is infected and it’s gotten worse. He’ll be transported to Gustav’s practice. He’s the doctor monitoring health care for all suspects and convicts. He’s one of us.”
Us.
Am I one of them?
“Did you somehow make sure he got sick? Aron, I mean. How – what else do you guys know?” And more importantly, why has nobody ever told me anything? Why did no one bother to tell me that I kissed my dad’s murderer goodnight every single evening? That I sat down for breakfast with a killer? That I was trying to impress a criminal by showing him my school report cards, feeling so happy whenever he was proud of me? I feel betrayed, and I don’t even know whose betrayal hurts the most. Did Irina know? Why didn’t she take me into her confidence? What about Bartho? Why now?
Bartho taps his finger against my still almost-full mug of tea. “Drink this, Justa. We have a long night ahead of us.” He takes my hand and puts the USB stick in my upturned palm before folding my fingers around it. “This is what they’re waiting for outside those gates.”
17
THE world is turned upside down. My world is. I have no clue what time it is. I have no idea where I am. I don’t know how I got here, wherever here is. I followed Bartho through so many narrow streets and alleyways – past areas of the Sector that I didn’t recognize at all. Maybe these parts look different in daylight. Maybe everything looks different when you’re not out plotting crimes. And planning to help a convict escape, leave the Sector Gates without permission, and smuggle the convict out through those same gates are all criminal acts. Let alone actually executing those plans.
And even though I know the punishment for each separate crime I’m about to commit by heart, even though I could recite all the articles in the Codex and their separate subsection numbers from attending lessons from the very man who’s leading me through this maze of streets, I couldn’t care less. I’ve come to accept the consequences of my actions by now.
This is my way of taking revenge on Marcus, no matter what. If I manage to get Aron through the Gates, Marcus will have failed as an Arbiter. And the Sectorate won’t take his failure lightly. If they catch me in the act, it will mean his end as well as mine. An Arbiter with a foster daughter who’s broken the law in every way imaginable? He won’t be able to maintain his position after that.
What I’d like to do most is to plunge a knife into his heart. I was considering it, earlier this night. How easy it would be. All I needed to do was to enter his bedroom with a knife from the kitchen as a weapon.
But I’m no killer. I’m not like him.
I’m different.
I’ve always thought that it made me less worthy.
“We’re here.”
I almost bump into Bartho when he stops in front of me and I sidestep him to avoid our collision. We’re in front of what must be the back entrance to an immense mansion. Bartho knocks and we don’t have to wait long for a boy of about seven years old to open the door for us. He points to another door in the hallway and leaves almost immediately again.
Again, Bartho knocks. This time, it takes a while longer for the door to be answered, but when someone does at last, we enter a kind of treatment room. The doctor letting us in is the same tall, skinny man who set Aron’s arm yesterday. He nods at Bartho, then at me.
“I gave him some antibiotics and painkillers.”
Aron is sitting on the examination table in the middle of the room, his legs dangling over the side. The unhealthy sheen to his skin is gone and his eyes look clear. Alert.
“Justa.”
He jumps off the table, pulling a painful face when his feet hit the floor, but he recovers very quickly and walks up to me. We stand there facing each other awkwardly. I reach for his hand, then pull back at the last minute. It’s strange to see him outside of the Arbiter House, outside the frames of reference in which I’ve come to know him – as his judge and executioner. Now it feels as if the tables have turned. I’m no longer the one making the decisions, if I ever was.
But then Aron takes my hand in his. His warmth chases away the cold in my bones, and for the first time in hours, I allow myself to breathe again.
He wants to say something, but he’s interrupted by a bang on the door. A different door from the one through which we entered this room.
“Open up!”
The voice is pounding the wood harder than the fists pummeling the rhythm on the door.
“Open up! Right now!”
Panic buzzes around my head like a swarm of wasps and before I fully understand what’s happening, Aron pulls me along. Through the back door, into the corridor. I can see Bartho running ahead of us, fleeing outside. But then he stops.
“Marcus.” His name slips from my lips like a sigh.
Aron lines up in front of Bartho and me. He’s taller than Marcus. It’s a rare sight, someone being tall enough to tower over the Arbiter.
“Stay put. The Corps is on its way. You can’t escape. Release your hostages.”
“Murderer!” I spit my accusation into his face. Marcus staggers back as though the syllables are whiplashes tearing his skin. I wish they were.
“Who’s been telling you these lies, Justa? Come on. You can’t trust them. A Stateless and a traitor? Please. What have they told you? That I killed her? That the blood is on my hands? Why would I want Irina dead?”
I want to tell him he’s wrong, but then the horrible truth hits me. I think back to all those afternoons Irina spent at my place so we could study together. And the last few times, when I came back from the toilet, or the kitchen to get some food, and I’d find the dining room empty. I’d seen her coming out of Marcus’s study and she’d said she needed a new pen so she’d gone looking for one in Marcus’s desk drawers. And that had been the last time Irina had been at our place. The last time before her death.
“The USB stick. Where did Irina get it?”
Marcus raises his hands. “What are you talking about, Justa?”
“The USB stick! How did she get her hands on it? Was it just waiting for her there, in your study? Right under my nose?”
Nausea ripples through my body and I swallow and swallow again, trying to stay calm, trying to stay put, but the ground seems to shake underneath my feet and for a split second I think it’s because of the tension, the stress, my grief, it’s because I myself am shaking, not the ground, but then I can hear them. Boots stomping on the cobbled stones of the street. How many are there? How do they know where we are? I might have asked that last question out loud.
“Your Tribunal number can be traced.”
I stare at Marcus. As soon as the words leave his lips I can feel the numbers on my skin beginning to itch, to fade out.
“Sentence has been passed and the Tribunal adjourned. The suspect will be placed under the care of SevLabs, where he will be donated to science.” It’s like we’re still in the courtroom, the way Marcus is calmly passing sentence on Aron. And he’s not done yet. “Bartholomew Echesis, a warrant for your arrest has been issued because of your contriving to overthrow the Sectorate. I strongly advise you to wait for the Police Corps to arrive and to come with them willingly and without resisting arrest.” And then he turns to me, his tone changing to that of someone addressing a small child, someone who thinks I’m not the sharpest tool in the shed. “Justa, darling. I think we may have put a little bit too much on your plate. We have to take into consideration what you’ve been through. Irina. Your father. Serving on a Tribunal for the first time can rake up old pain. How about we visit Severis’s lab? He’s had some good results with sedatives. Come on, honey, it’s time to get some rest.” Marcus extends his hand and beckons me over.
“Come here, darling.”
I’m rooted to the spot. That’s when everything seems to happen at once. Bartho shouts that we should make a run for it while we still can. He tugs at my arm, but I can’t seem to move. My eyes search and find Aron’s and his are lit with a fire like I’ve never seen before. I watch as Aron turns and approaches Marcus. The Arbiter raises his hands again and wants to twist away, but Aron is quicker. He lashes out and punches Marcus. And again. The attack is so sudden that I suspect Marcus had no time to come up with a defense. At the third and final blow, he hits the floor. Aron whips around to face me, that same fire still burning in his eyes. It’s blazing hot and some of its heat rubs off on me.
“Go! We’ll be right behind you.” Aron fires off the command to Bartho, who hesitates for a second before turning on his heels and dashing into the alleyway. Away from us, away from the sound of marching soldiers who are coming for us. They must be really close by now. Where are the hands tearing me away from Aron, pulling me back, clicking cuffs on my wrists, taking me away into detention? Dragging me off to Severis’s lab, where Aron will be used as a lab rat and I’ll be stuffed full of pills to the point where I can’t tell reality from delirium, and truth from fiction?
Can I tell truth from lies now, even?
I hesitate. What is the truth? What’s real? Is it really possible that my world is so... so broken? So sick? Everything I ever believed in turns out to be a house of cards built on lies.
“Please! We don’t have much time.”
I look at Aron and realize that the plea is his. I’m not all there. So is this what they call shock? He’s standing close to me, so close that I could touch him if I wanted to. And I want to. And I don’t want to. Everything will change. If Aron hadn’t entered my world, my life would still be the same now.
A lie.
“Justa, please.”
I see him. A soldier rounds the corner. I expect him to head straight for us, but he doesn’t – he stops. Why? He kneels down, lifts his gun to his shoulder, aims, and shoots. I feel something whiz past me.
“Freeze!”
The command is uttered by a soldier coming up behind the first one still training his gun on us. The word sounds distorted in my ears, and it doesn’t seem to hit home. I know what he means, but I don’t understand what he wants. What does he want from me? From Aron? Everything goes by me in a blur, happening right in front of my eyes but not seeming to touch me at all. Until I see how a bullet hits Aron in the shoulder. The impact shakes his body and blood stains his prison suit. I want to scream, but no sound passes my lips. The cry I expected to hear dies halfway on its way out, and all that remains is a quiet sob.
I see more and more soldiers gathering around us, lifting their weapons, waiting for orders, for someone to give the command to fire – to shoot us and end our lives.
Ours.
Aron’s.
I move forward so I’m protecting him from them, using my body as a shield. He’s taller than I am, but that doesn’t matter. They won’t dare. They won’t risk shooting and hitting me. Who’ll dare to shoot the Arbiter’s daughter? They don’t know. They have no idea what has happened, what events have lead to all of this.
The world is ours to create.
The soldiers don’t know who’s innocent and who’s guilty; they only know what they’ve been led to believe. They only understand what they can see.
“Grab me.” I reach backward with my arm and find Aron’s hand, pulling it up to rest on my neck.
“Justa?” All the questions he wants to ask are contained in the way he pronounces my name, but I can’t answer them. Not yet. Later, hopefully.
“Grab me. Put your other arm around my waist. You’re taking me hostage.” It sounds stupid, my command to Aron. If I’d had another way to say it, I would have done it, but I don’t have any choice. I just act. I do what needs to be done. But this time it’s not because I’m following someone else’s orders.
I feel Aron’s arm slipping around my waist. He pulls me back. My heart beats erratically – he is so close to me.
“Don’t do something you’ll regret, convict!” The soldier speaking is the same who was talking to Aron before. “There’s nowhere to go. Hand over the girl.”
Aron laughs. I feel his chest against my back, his breath on my face. “I’ve got nothing to lose. I’m a dead man anyway, so the question is who else dies with me.”
The fingers around my neck caress the skin just below my ear. It’s a reassuring gesture, as though I might not understand that he’s just playing along in this theater piece. I cherish his caress. It feels genuine. Honest. Arousing. Aron takes a step back and pulls me with him. I surrender to him; there’s nothing else I can do.
“Let me go and I promise no harm will come to her.”
Another step back. And another. And yet another. The distance between us and the weapons is growing. The spokesman lift
s his hand and I see the soldiers are lowering their guns.
Aron steps up the pace of our retreat and we shuffle back, further back. We round a corner and the Corps disappears from view. In one movement, Aron lets go of me and grabs my hand. He pulls me along and I hope and pray that he knows his way. He zigzags through narrow streets, alleyways, ever faster and always sure whether to turn left or right, to go straight or to take a side street.
Then the road stops. We’re facing the wall built around the Sector. The only way in and out is the Sector Gates. I look up at the gray concrete rising up in the air, seemingly for miles and miles. It’s so high that the top looks like a part of the black night sky.
“We’ll never get through the Gates. They’ll be waiting for us and…”
Aron pumps my hand, making me aware of the fact that I still haven’t let go. I’m holding on because right now, he’s the only one left I can rely on.
“You people think the Gates are the only way to get into the Sector.”
He pulls me alongside the wall, at first following a sort of path, but it soon disappears and turns into a sandy hill sloping up. My feet catch in the shifting surface a few times, so it’s a good thing that Aron hasn’t let go of me or I’d tumble downhill backward. The hill of sand is growing higher and higher, making me realize where we are. This is the sand quarry where the builders come to get raw materials for construction work in the Sector.
“Don’t be scared.”
Aron leads me to a spot where the giant heap of sand touches the wall. He presses me against the cool stone surface and stands behind me so I’m wedged between him and the concrete.
“Close your eyes and hold your breath.”
Before I have the time to comply with his orders, he steps to the left, taking me with him. We plunge down and I close my eyes just in time, but my last inhalation gets sand into my mouth and nose. Panic hits me and I kick around me in order to get Aron off me and fight for air so I won’t suffocate. It causes me to suddenly fall forward when the stone surface pressed against my chest and tummy seems to fall away.