by Alex London
“Purifiers take no personal enjoyment in their duties.” Chairwoman Pei recited dogma of the Reconciliation. “Their joy comes from service and it is a joy shared by all. A joy you would be wise to embrace.”
Syd’s jaw clenched. He looked to the shadowy figures of the Purifiers, couldn’t make out Finch, and felt some relief. If the Council wouldn’t do anything about their policy with the nopes, he could bring at least one person to justice today. He would denounce his old classmate. It wasn’t much, but at least he’d be doing something. “I know of one Purifier who takes personal joy in cruelty.”
“If so,” the chairwoman said, “then he’ll be brought in for self-criticism.”
Syd nodded. “His name was Atticus Finch; now he calls himself Furious. I used to know him at school. Before. He was laughing when he slaughtered the Guardians.”
“Nonoperatives,” one of the counselors corrected.
“That’s all?” The chairwoman rubbed her hands. “Laughter? Laughter is not a crime.”
“But you just said—” Syd clenched his fists. It was clear she had no intention of pursuing the matter. Syd glanced at Liam, who tried to shake his head.
“No,” said Syd. He heard Liam sigh. “Finch—er, Furious, he also attacked me. Threatened to kill me. I think that is a crime.”
A gasp rippled around the room. The eyes of the Council then shifted to Liam.
“This is a serious accusation,” Baram said. “Treason.”
Syd’s hands went clammy. The punishment for treason was death. He wanted Finch transferred, humiliated, maybe even hurt a little, but he didn’t want him killed. He’d spoken rashly; he’d gotten mad.
“Is this true?” the chairwoman asked Liam.
Liam nodded.
“And where were you at the time this attack took place?”
Liam tensed. In the shadowy heights of the catwalk above the factory floor, a lone figure in green leaned casually against the railing and watched. His perfectly bald head caught a gleam of light in the darkness. Liam pictured the sweat on his back turning into razor-sharp icicles.
“It’s not Liam’s fault,” Syd broke in. “I’m the one who—”
“Each of us must answer for our own failings and Liam will answer for his,” Chairwoman Pei cut Syd off.
“I have no excuse,” said Liam, keeping his eyes down.
“And you do realize, young man, that the life of Yovel is of vital symbolic importance to our efforts, do you not?”
Liam looked up, but dared not meet her eyes. Instead, he looked at the folds of her neck, the green banded collar of her uniform with eight vertical white stripes around it, signifying her place on the Council.
What the Council was going to do to him for letting Syd be attacked, he couldn’t know. In denouncing Finch, Syd had really denounced Liam for failing to protect him. And failure was never tolerated. It could lead to reassignment to a work camp; it could lead to a public whipping; it could lead to a sudden and permanent disappearance. The Advisory Council was unpredictable.
Unpredictability was, in fact, a tenet of their philosophy. They claimed that it strengthened the revolution. A storm cannot be bribed nor can a flash flood be infiltrated. The Reconciliation modeled itself on natural disaster.
Lightning strikes might have been more predictable.
Before they did what they would with him, Liam figured he could, at least, let Syd know whose side he was on, whose side he’d always been on.
He took a deep breath.
“He goes by Syd,” Liam said.
“Excuse me?” Chairwoman Pei lowered her hands to her lap.
“With respect, Chairwoman.” Liam cleared his throat. “He prefers to be called Syd.”
The chairwoman’s eyes darted to Syd. Syd too looked at Liam with surprise.
“Yovel was the name given him by his late father in service of the revolution,” the chairwoman said. “Sydney is the name given him by the patrons of the old system. It is his proxy name. The Reconciliation does not recognize these names.”
Liam shrugged. He gave Syd a small smile.
Syd knew what he had done. Chairwoman Pei, as leader of the Advisory Council, could order the death of almost anyone for almost any reason.
Anyone except, of course, Syd.
He’d been angry and felt helpless and wanted to punish Finch for how he felt. Instead, he’d punished Liam.
“Syd is my name,” he announced. He put himself between Liam and Chairwoman Pei. “It’s the only name I’ve known and I intend to keep it.”
“I understand you feel attached to this name,” the chairwoman told him. “But we are a new organization now, with new structures, and new expectations. Your personal preferences must be subordinate to the needs of all. Your stubbornness undermines what we are trying to build. If the people are to abandon faith in the return of the networks, if we are to stamp out these Machinist cults, then the people must believe in something else. They must believe in our symbols. In Yovel.”
“I never asked to be your symbol. I’m seventeen. I just want to be like everyone else my age.”
“Everyone else your age obeys the advice of the Council!” The chairwoman threw her arms in the air. “We have countless seventeen-year-olds in our ranks—Liam, here, is seventeen. He obeys. The Purifier you are so quick to denounce, he obeys too! Why should we expect different from you?”
“Because”—Syd cleared his throat—“like you said, you need me. I’m of vital symbolic importance.”
A few counselors shifted uncomfortably on their knees. Syd might have been just a teenaged boy, but to many of them, he was still Yovel, the savior, and they didn’t like to see him get a public scolding.
Chairwoman Pei, for her part, appeared to relish the opportunity. Syd knew by the way she adjusted her posture that she was fighting the urge to have him beaten to death by the Purifiers behind her. Teenagers were moody and demanding. The chairwoman would certainly have preferred a martyr to a flesh-and-blood teen.
“Anyway, what happened with Finch today wasn’t Liam’s fault,” said Syd. “I snuck away from him. I—” Syd had to find the right words here, the words that would undo the damage he’d done by letting his anger cloud his judgment. He had to get Liam out of the bind he’d put him in and had, in spite of himself, to keep them from executing Finch. Syd didn’t like having a bodyguard around all the time, but no one deserved to die for it. “I shouldn’t have let myself get dragged into a petty argument with a Purifier. I provoked Finch and I deserved to be hit for it. It wasn’t treason. Just settling an old score. No real damage was done.”
“You provoked him?” The chairwoman looked skeptical. “Yovel provoked a Purifier?”
Syd nodded.
Behind Syd, Liam pressed his good hand into his leg, willing Syd to stop talking. Syd was stubborn and opinionated, and he didn’t realize that the chairwoman could always find ways to make him suffer. She couldn’t hurt him, but she could make his days very uncomfortable and it would be Liam who would have to enforce her will. That way, both of them were punished.
Syd would hate Liam for whatever the chairwoman made him do, but Liam would have to do it, or he’d be removed from Syd’s protection assignment. And he knew that wherever Syd was was where he wanted to be. He couldn’t help it. He was just like the people from the crowd. In spite of himself, he was a believer.
“Is this what happened?” Chairwoman Pei asked Liam. To her left, Counselor Baram knelt quietly, watching Liam with an expression that expressed nothing.
“I can’t say,” said Liam. “I only saw the end of it.”
“Liam didn’t do anything wrong,” Syd said again. “He—”
Chairwoman Pei raised her arm, demanding silence. “Your objections have been heard, and your testimony noted. In spite of our better judgment, no action shall be taken against this Purifier
. Next time you make an accusation, you best make sure you are prepared. That is all. You will be escorted to a billet for the evening.”
“I—” Syd looked over to Counselor Baram, who shook his head ever so slightly, a small warning to Syd not to push it any further. Two more Purifiers stepped behind Syd. It was not an idle suggestion that he accompany them. “And Liam?” Syd asked, looking to his bodyguard kneeling on the floor.
Liam didn’t look back up at him.
The chairwoman smiled without opening her lips.
“He’ll be along shortly,” Counselor Baram said as Syd was led from the room.
• • •
The moment the metal doors closed behind Syd, the chairwoman fixed her steely gaze on Liam, but it was Counselor Baram who spoke:
“Liam, you have failed, on several occasions now, to maintain watch over Sydney.” The chairwoman scowled. Baram cleared his throat. “You allowed him to get into a scuffle with a Purifier. In public. Then you shot another Purifier for no apparent reason. Does something have you distracted?”
“Nothing has me distracted, Counselor,” he said.
“Maybe some private thoughts?” Counselor Baram studied him with eyebrows raised. Liam’s mouth felt dry. He imagined a holo floating above his head, projecting his every doubt, regret, and desire for all to see. Private thoughts, which kept an individual apart from the community, had also been banned.
Liam shook his head. “My feelings and thoughts belong to the Reconciliation, to which I devote myself fully.”
“Purifier Alvarez,” Chairwoman Pei barked and suddenly, Marie stepped forward. Liam’s heart thudded in his chest. “Do you have any reason to doubt the statement you have heard given to the Council? Do you accept Liam’s statement and forgive him for the wound he inflicted on you?”
Liam did not look at her. With one word, she could condemn him. She had caught him looking at Syd. Of course, it didn’t mean what she thought it did. He was just a believer. That was all. Nothing more.
But still, he had been looking. She knew he had been looking. She knew how he had been looking. Private thoughts were hard to keep that way.
“I have no doubts, Counselor,” Marie answered. “He did his duty without hesitation or regard for himself. He shot me because to do otherwise would have compromised his duty. If anyone is at fault, it is I, who did not approach my own task with the discipline it required. I am sorry and submit to the mercy of the Council.”
Liam exhaled a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. The cavernous factory was silent. After an endless moment, the chairwoman rose and the rest of the Council rose with her.
“This inquiry is complete,” she said. “Liam, you will remain at your post . . . for now. Do not fail again. Yovel—” She stopped herself and glanced at Counselor Baram. “Sydney’s safety is of paramount importance in these troubled times. No more mistakes.”
“Yes, Counselor,” said Liam, remaining on his knees on the floor with his head bowed.
“As for you, Purifier Alvarez.” The chairwoman pointed to Marie. “Your service until now has been exemplary and your role in the success of the Jubilee has not been forgotten. For that reason, you will be forgiven by the Reconciliation. You have disappointed yourself, however, have you not?”
“Yes, Counselor,” said Marie. “I have.”
“And?”
Liam heard Marie let out the slightest sigh. “And I will gladly surrender half my rations to purge the disappointment from myself.” The silence when Marie finished speaking lingered in the air. The Council did not move. “And half the rations of my parents,” Marie added. “Who raised me as a greedy decadent patron and therefore bear the shame of my failure as well.”
The chairwoman gave one curt nod of approval and left the factory floor, with the rest of the Advisory Council departing in other directions, through other doors, until Marie and Liam were alone.
Liam stood and turned to her.
“I don’t know what to say,” Liam started. “I guess owe you.”
“You don’t owe me anything,” she snapped at him, her voice barely containing its rage. “Debts are an outdated way of thinking.”
“Still . . .”
“Just do your job,” she said. “Keep Syd safe.” She swept by him and made her own way out into the emerald sunlight of early evening in the jungle city.
“You have no idea how much I want to,” Liam said to himself. If only Syd would let him.
[9]
THEY MOVED SYD TO a new room every few nights. He’d slept in old factories and new barracks. He’d slept in a hovercraft and once, under the stars with nothing but a heat blanket.
Tonight’s place was the worst yet. Punishment, he was certain, for his disobedience and argumentativeness. He’d heard it a thousand times. His safety was of vital importance to the Reconciliation. His freedom, he understood, was not.
He was in an old school building, and from what he could tell, his room must have been some kind of storage space. There were no windows; the walls were bare concrete, and the door was locked from the outside.
He had a mat, his cot, a side table, a chair, and a water basin. His bathroom was a bucket behind a screen in the corner. He leaned against the wall, with his legs stretched out on his cot, his shoes still on, and his finger absently tapping on the letters behind his ear.
Locked in for the night, he had nothing to do. No holo projector—holos had been banned and there was no network to watch them on anyway; no books—they were hard to come by even before the Jubilee. Nothing to do but sleep.
He was too wound up to sleep.
He couldn’t believe what he’d seen at the rally. The Guardians couldn’t even fight back as the Purifiers slaughtered them. And the people, his people, cheered. No one defended the Guardians. No one would face justice for killing them. They were extraneous people now, lost, living on in a world that had no use for them. They were sick and no one would try to cure them. When they died, no one would mourn them.
A cure is not politically viable? A fancy way of saying no one cared. The suffering of the nonoperative entities was not a priority.
But what choice had they ever had? They weren’t the ones who’d programmed themselves and they weren’t the ones who’d shut that programming down.
That was Syd. Well, Knox, on Syd’s behalf.
Syd wondered why people always abandoned the things they broke. The Guardians were broken and no one was trying to fix them. Back in the Valve, he’d worked in a repair shop, fixing the machines that others had discarded. He could fix anything back then. Now most of what he knew how to fix was gone, and most of what was broken he’d been the one to break.
It’s your future. Choose.
He stared at the bare concrete wall. A giant crack ran along it from the floor to the ceiling, zigzagging like a canyon through the desert.
The desert.
He shut his eyes.
Just a few months ago—six months and three days to be exact—he’d left Mountain City and crossed the desert. He’d had friends with him then, Egan, whom he’d known since they were in the orphanage together, and Knox, who had been his patron for about as long, but whom he’d only known in person since he’d tried to buy fake ID off him in a club. Marie came along later, a Causegirl with big ideas about tearing down the unjust system of Proxies and Patrons. She believed in the Jubilee before Syd ever did and she’d have done anything for it. She did do anything for it.
There were also some smugglers from the Maes gang, real criminals, whose only plan was to get paid.
Syd hadn’t wanted to change the world, just his own little piece of it. But it cost him, cost them all.
Knox’s father killed Marie’s proxy, an innocent girl whose only crime was being poor.
One of the Maes bandits killed Egan, whose only crime was being poor and stupid. Well, no, a
ctually Egan had plenty of crimes, but still . . . nothing he deserved to die for.
So Syd killed the bandit who killed his friend. He could still see her face, sneering, mocking Egan, crumpling dead at Syd’s feet. Her face haunted him. She deserved to die. Of course she did. If anyone deserved to die it was her.
But still, Syd saw her face. And the face of the assassin this morning.
It was self-defense.
Each of them died so that Syd would live.
But still . . . what made their lives worth less than his? Or Finch’s? Or the nopes? Credit and debt might have been wiped away, but the old rules still applied. A person was judged by their value, their life set against some fixed worth. Those who were useful, like Syd, were worth more than those who were not, like the nopes. Death wasn’t an arbitrary event. It was an expression of value. The nopes were worth less. Worthless.
What about Knox? Was Knox’s life worth more because at the end, he’d sacrificed himself willingly? Was life the kind of thing that gained value by giving it away? Knox, who had spent his whole life being a thoughtless knock-off patron, in that one moment, found his worth. Syd couldn’t help but feel he was letting Knox down, that it was he himself who was worthless.
Marie wasn’t much help, even if she was the closest thing Syd had to a friend. She was always gone on some Purifier assignment, proudly wearing the green and white. She submitted herself willingly and completely to the new system, which allowed her to protect her parents from execution for the crime of having once been rich.
Syd had arranged, on her behalf, for her parents to be sent to a farming cooperative in the desert where they would receive reeducation, as if trying to harvest food from sand would teach them to forget their comfortable past, as if memory could be erased by suffering. In Syd’s experience, suffering only made memory stronger.
And vice versa.
But her parents were alive, at least. Marie got to see them. She even kept her old name as a reminder to others that, under the new system, even patrons could be reformed. Her friendship with Syd gave her that privilege. The Reconciliation couldn’t exactly disappear their savior’s only friend because they didn’t like her name. And besides, she was a good Purifier. Competent and thorough, with unwavering faith in the new ideas.
