The “private” room was much like the cell in which she’d been kept last time, but with slightly more amenities: a mattress at least two inches thick, a blanket that didn’t scratch. “Could I have something to read?” Her CodeX had been confiscated when she came in.
“I’m sorry. No personal electronic devices allowed. Tell you what, though, I’ll turn on the ‘caster for you. It only plays news and educational documentaries,” Lukas said apologetically, “but that’s better than nothing.”
When she was alone Devra sagged down to the cot. She had hardly slept in the shelter, and now she felt as if her brain were firing random neurons in a desperate search for intelligence. She lay down and closed her eyes, but she was too keyed up to sleep, so she listened to the beginnings of the hourly news broadcast. Redoubled efforts to meet the colony debt payments, sasena collectives protesting the increased quota, dispatch of re-education specialists upriver to restore harmony in the sasena growing region…The ‘caster’s voice changed subtly as she announced that there had been a tragic accident on the coastal train line, a multi-passenger unit derailed by Esilian saboteurs. No passengers had survived, but the Bureau for Security had issued a statement that they were already pursuing several suspects who would pay for the untimely deaths of these citizens…
While the next documentary started, Devra started to drift off. She pulled the blanket over her and slowly stopped hearing the historical account of how the individual sasena cooperatives had voluntarily joined together to make a unified country under the Central Committee. It was easy to tune out; the program was one she’d heard every year in the senior crêche classes. But sleep still evaded her; the relief and the hope of returning to her old life and the sensual pleasure of being clean again gradually receded, and she found herself wondering just what her assignment was to be. Security had gone to a lot of trouble to ruin her life in stages, to make sure she was desperate. Whatever did they want her to do? What could somebody like her – a short, slight woman with two years’ experience in teaching – do for the State? Was she to assassinate someone? Trick a traitor into betraying himself for the habbers? Denounce her family and friends? She didn’t think she’d be particularly good at either of the first two, and she hoped she wouldn’t do the last.
As the shadowy possibilities merged and separated and twined in her brain, until finally they were all just grey shadows and she could fall asleep, she never thought about the one thing she had lost forever in just a few days.
She no longer believed that agents of the State would only ask her to do what was good and right and promoted harmony.
***
“Do you ever hate what we do?” Lukas asked.
The partners were seated in a tavern whose main attractions were cheap beer and the fact that no one there recognized them when they were out of uniform.
“Pays well,” said Aleks. “Now I could work up a pretty good hate for Grigg, but thank Harmony we’re too lowly for him to bother with us most of the time. In theory, anyway, we report to Mersi and he reports to Grigg.” He looked at his partner. “Re-thinking that application, are you? Realized that if you get promoted, you’ll be reporting directly to Grigg?”
“I can deal with him,” Lukas said. “It’s the universal hatred I find hard to handle. Why do we always change into civvies as soon as our shift ends? Why do we have to keep finding new bars to hang out in? It’s been over a year since we dared go into any bar within a reasonable walking distance from the Bureau, because it’s hard to relax and enjoy your off-duty when everyone else in the room is looking at you out of the corners of their eyes and is afraid to say anything for fear of offending Security.”
“That’s not hatred, it’s fear,” Aleks argued. “Loyal citizens have nothing to fear from us; I can’t help it if they don’t understand that.”
“I used to think I was doing something worthwhile,” Lukas mused, “protecting our country from traitors and saboteurs.”
“And spies,” Aleks added helpfully. “So? That’s still the job description. Nothing’s changed.”
“Maybe I’ve changed,” said Lukas. “Somewhere around the twentieth time I picked up a citizen who turned white with fear at the sight of me.”
“That,” said Aleks, “is called consciousness of guilt. If they pee their pants when we show up, that just proves they’re traitors.”
“Does it? I wonder… That would mean everybody we’ve ever picked up was a traitor. Doesn’t Security ever make mistakes?”
Aleks drained his beer and signaled for a refill. “Talk like that, pal, and I’ll have to report you for rehab. Of course Security doesn’t make mistakes. We have data on every citizen; the computers can track their movements, their purchases, their friends, their CodeX reading habits, their CodeX contacts and messages. It would be pretty damn funny if Security couldn’t interpret all that data, wouldn’t it?”
“When we are looking at one particular citizen,” Lukas said slowly, “of course the bosses can track their behavior down to the last detail. But sometimes they tell us to pick up anybody we find at a certain location – they don’t know who they’re looking for.”
“And when my hand on his shoulder makes this anybody-we-find turn white or pass out from fear, then I know we’ve got the right man.” Aleks peered at Lukas’s tumbler. “You know what, partner, what you need is more beer. Keep up with me. Enough beer, pick up a pretty girl, have a little fun, that’ll clear these cobwebs out of your head.”
“I don’t want to clear them out of my head!” Lukas snapped. “I want to know if we’re doing the right thing!” His voice grew louder. “I want to know if Security is good for anything but terrifying innocent citizens!”
Suddenly the boisterous chatter around them began to still. A circle of silence surrounded them and gradually enlarged until everybody in the room was sitting very quietly and carefully not looking at the two habbers.
“Discord,” cursed Aleks, “see what you’ve done now? We’re going to have to find a new bar. Again.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Two mornings later, Devra’s appreciation of the outside air was sharpened by the fact that the fall rains had momentarily ceased, giving the streets of the city that clean, rain-washed smell. The clouds hadn’t parted, but somehow the day felt bright.
So did her prospects – if only this job interview worked out. What the Security official had wanted of her wasn’t anything wrong or bad or dangerous after all; she had simply to get the position of baker at this street address and report to Security any revolutionary activity that she observed.
“The proprietor and her assistant are Esilian,” the gray man had told her, “and we’re morally certain that the place is a hub of dissident activity and sabotage planning. But by the terms of our treaty with Esilia, any building or business owned by Esilians has the same protections as the embassy; it’s considered a part of Esilia and we have no jurisdiction.” He gave a long, world-weary sigh. “How the politicians expect us to carry out our duty to protect the country, while they handcuff us with ridiculous treaties like this, is beyond me.”
To facilitate her getting this job, all Security notices had been expunged from her record except for one brief note of suspicious behavior that had necessitated her leaving the school system. “They’ll want to know why you quit teaching,” Grigg pointed out, “and with people like this, a little hint of dissidence will likely be more of a recommendation than a drawback.” And after she’d finished working as an informant, the gray man had promised, her entire record would be cleared. They could even make the school take her back, if that was what she wanted.
Of course that was what she wanted… wasn’t it? Devra put the momentary uncertainty aside and concentrated on the good. She was clean, she had had a boring but restful three days in Security’s “private room,” the air smelled new and she was starting a new life. And there really hadn’t been anything to trouble her conscience in this assignment. All they wanted her to do was a citizen’
s duty; to be alert to saboteurs and dissidents and help Security prevent more terrorism like that disastrous train crash.
Her steps slowed as she approached the address she’d been given. A plain painted board over the door announced the name of the place: The Green Cat. Two cats in silhouette – green, of course – faced each other from opposite ends of the sign.
The slightly bowed windows, the step up, the old-fashioned green door standing ajar were all familiar to her. It was the same place where she’d been humiliatingly unable to pay for her food, that night before she went to the shelter. The place where that Mikal had said he could be found. Her steps slowed even more. This place already had a baker.
Well, maybe they’d fired him. If all his experiments turned out like those muffins, he hadn’t been a very good baker.
She still felt oddly reluctant to go in. The woman who ran the place had been kind to her… For the first time she felt just a little hint of uneasiness about her assignment. She was supposed to make friends with these people and then betray them?
If they’re saboteurs, they have to be stopped. If they aren’t, they have nothing to fear.
“Hey! Are you just admiring the paint job on the door, or were you planning to come in eventually?”
Devra jumped – it felt as if she went up six inches, though that was hardly probable – and looked at the young man who’d interrupted her. Reddish-brown curly hair, a snub nose, a wide mouth; not a handsome face, but a memorable one. She certainly remembered it; when last seen he’d been chasing after her, trying to get her contact information..
“Mikal, what are you up to now?” a woman’s voice called from inside the café.
“Oh, Discord! Look, Devra, you have to come in now, or Vess will be mad at me for scaring customers away. It’s all right, I work here, but we try to avoid blocking the door, you know? A paying customer might want to come in.”
She guessed that Mikal remembered her from that humiliating scene the other night, even if she hadn’t registered his presence. And she’d been moved, in his mind, from “attractive girl,” to “deadbeat customer.” Devra felt a tide of red sweep over her face and neck. “I – I –”
The woman with the crown of braids swept into view, wearing a broad white apron that was oddly stained and crumpled near the hem. Her eyes were red, but her voice sounded steady enough. “Mikal Zandru Barlo, are you trying to scare customers away? What did you do to this girl? She looks as if you were a dragon trying to gobble her up!”
“I don’t know what I did, Vess! I mean, I didn’t do anything! I met her at the market the other day and just now, well, she was standing in the doorway and I tried to encourage her to come on in and for some reason she got all upset with me.”
Maybe he hadn’t recognized her; maybe that comment about paying customers hadn’t been meant as a dig. Vess put her arm around Devra’s shoulders and drew her into the café. “Don’t mind my nephew, my dear, he’s a sad case of arrested social development. Would a kahve on the house help you to forget his atrocious manners?”
Over Mikal’s disgruntled mutter of “I didn’t do anything to her, I like her,” Devra tried to explain herself.
“It doesn’t matter – really it doesn’t. And I didn’t come for kahve; I wanted to apply for the job.”
Vess’s face stilled. “The job?”
“I- I heard you needed a baker.”
“Bad news travels fast,” Vess murmured. “Yes, in fact, we do need a baker, but I don’t really feel like giving a job interview now; maybe you could come back in a few days?”
“We need somebody now,” Mikal interrupted, “before all our customers drift away. If you don’t feel like interviewing her, Vess, I can do it.”
“Harmony forbid! You’d probably terrify the child so much she’d take off upriver.” Vess sniffled a couple of times and then managed a smile. “Come and sit down,” she invited Devra, “and tell me all about yourself.”
With Vess sitting in front of her, and Mikal hovering in the background as though he expected Vess to shatter at any moment, needing him to pick up the pieces, Devra described her apprenticeship at Gunter’s.
“But they didn’t choose to keep you after your apprentice period?”
“They would have,” Devra said, “but there was a need for secondary teachers, and the Bureau for Education decided that I should go to the university to get certified.”
“And how did that work out? Did you finish the course? I gather you’re not teaching now.”
“I was at Wilyam Serman for two years – this was the start of my third year.”
“It seems an odd time to embark on a career change.”
“There was – a difficulty,” Devra said, picking her way carefully. “I was reported for handling seditious literature. It wasn’t a serious charge – Security investigated and released me – but Admin felt they couldn’t risk having somebody with that kind of record teaching school children.”
“But instead of looking for another school, you decided to go back to your old career? Why not go back to Gunter’s?”
“It’s, um, it’s been a while since I apprenticed. I’m not totally out of practice, I’ve been making pastries and rolls and muffins for parties at the university and for my friends. But I don’t know if I quite have the edge to pull off a job at Gunter’s now. It’s kind of high pressure. I thought maybe a smaller place…”
“And maybe you remembered us from the other night, and heard we’d lost our baker?”
“Ye-es.” It was more or less true.
“We didn’t exactly mislay Rojer,” Mikal interpolated. “What happened was –”
“We don’t know what happened,” said Vess. “What I want to know is, what was he doing on the coastal train line in the first place, when his room was not half a block from here?” She blinked hard, wiped her eyes with the corner of her apron and would probably have blown her nose on it if Mikal hadn’t pushed a soft flimsy into her hand.
“Oh! Was he one of the people who died in that terrible accident? I didn’t know that, I’m sorry, of course it’s too soon for you to want to replace him… “She didn’t want to go back to Security and confess her failure, but neither did she want to be in this pleasant, bright room with people who thought she was trying to push her way into a new job opening while they were still grieving their loss.
One of whom had tried to date her.
Well, that wouldn’t be an issue if she got this job; there was no way she could get involved with one of the owners.
Whom she’d been sent to spy on.
The whole thing was impossible, that was it, and she’d better stop thinking about Mikal that way immediately.
“Nobody could replace dear Rojer,” Vess said, “but Mikal’s right; we’re losing customers on every day that we can’t offer baked goods to go with our kahve. Somehow my meat pastries aren’t enough of a draw.”
“Your meat bricks,” Mikal muttered. “The filling’s fine, but the pastry is pure lead.”
“I’m not much of a hand with pastry,” Vess admitted. “But that won’t be a problem now, will it? When can you start, my dear?”
“Right now – well, I need to find a place to live first. My old apartment was a benefit of my teaching job, so…”
“Let me work on that,” said Mikal. “I’ll get onto the Bureau for Housing right away. If I promise to have a place for you by tonight, can you start right now?”
“Don’t you want my references from Gunter’s?” Devra instinctively liked both Vess and Mikal, but she couldn’t read them. They were so – well, foreign. They talked too fast, talked across each other, made decisions while two Citizens in Harmony would still be discussing the most harmonious way to take.
“If you’re volunteering them, I expect they’re good,” said Vess briskly, getting to her feet, “and the proof of the pastry is in the baking, isn’t it? Come and see your work space.”
That night, in her new lodging, Devra couldn’t believe her l
uck. It might not have the luxuries of her former apartment: the bathroom was on the landing, shared by the other three roomers in the block, and there was no kitchen and no balcony. But it was a room all to herself, not a sleeping space in a dormitory, and she hardly needed a kitchen with the facilities of the Green Cat less than a block away. It seemed like too much luxury for an assistant in a small business run by Esilians. Perhaps the SecHead had intervened with the Bureau for Housing to see that she was assigned a private space. Very useful for a spy, having a private place to keep notes…. She didn’t want to think about that; already it seemed a shame to spy on such nice people, trying to trick them into admitting crimes against Harmony.
She’d think about the kitchen instead. And what a kitchen! Stone countertops to keep pastry cool while she rolled it out, real stone and not polished syncrete; that couldn’t have been cheap. Two ovens. A walk-in refrigerator, and beside it a walk-in pantry with shelves for all the supplies she needed. A cupboard full of extras – chocolate, three kinds of jam, candied fruits and ginger, the spices she was used to and some she’d never seen even at Gunter’s. Just like at Gunter’s, though, the cupboard was locked – but like the front door, it locked with an old-fashioned key, not with a sensor like normal people used. Well, Esilians were probably backward and not quite comfortable with the modern conveniences of Harmony.
Devra fell asleep enumerating the delights of the new kitchen and dreaming of the exotic pastries she’d produce there. Today had been a mad rush, no time to do anything but a few types of muffins and some bar cookies, but she’d stayed late to cut butter into pastry flour and chill it for the morning. She needed a key so she could come in early to start sweet buns rising without awakening Vess…
Well before dawn of the next day after that, having been let in by a grumbling Mikal, Devra was flying around the kitchen happily trying to do three things at once. With one of Vess’s aprons wrapped twice around her, her hair tied up in a dishcloth, Devra was floury up to the elbows after she gave the sweet buns their final kneading. Let them rise, top them with plain brown sugar since Vess wasn’t down yet to open the spice cupboard, pop them in the oven, and the first batch should be coming out just as the café opened. While the buns rose, Devra sprinkled flour on the smooth stone countertop and started the laborious job of rolling and folding and rolling the puff pastry. She’d prepared a lot of dough the previous night; half was reserved for Vess’ meat pastries, and with the other half she intended to dazzle the morning customers. Finishing those would have to wait until one of the Esilians came downstairs to unlock the spice cupboard.
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