The auditor seemed a little surprised by her presence, startling when he saw someone in the room, but collecting himself quickly.
Isis rose to her feet, almost bowing at the man. “Hello, sir,” she said, absolutely perfect.
The auditor just nodded at her. He looked through her room, and her things, and Jere went to stand next to her, feeling her anxiety bleeding through.
“You’ve had some problems with the girl,” the auditor reminded Jere. “She’s supposed to be leashed in public, am I correct?”
“We’re not in public,” Jere protested, earning him a glare from Isis. “I mean, yes, but I don’t bother inside the house. She’s perfectly under my control, and I don’t need the hassle.”
The auditor just nodded.
“What is it that you do around here, girl?” he asked, looking at the art supplies that she had actually put away in her closet for once.
“I... I help at the clinic, sir,” she mumbled, taking a few steps closer to Jere. “I help my master.”
Jere moved closer to her. “She’s got a memory gift. She takes all my notes for me, assists with whatever I need.”
“Sounds useful,” the auditor said, dismissive. “Let’s go see the clinic.”
Jere left Isis there, smiling at her, proud of how well she had done. He led the auditor into the clinic, followed closely by Wren, who was eager to play the part of the good slave.
The auditor noticed the signs indicating that slaves could no longer be treated in that location, directing former patients to the nearest veterinary office. “Having some problems here, I see?”
Jere tried not to seethe too obviously. “The state medical regulation board is concerned that I am overexerting myself treating the slave population. The case is under review.”
The auditor nodded, perhaps unwilling to step on the toes of the other agencies. He checked the clinic thoroughly, and Jere even mentioned the cellar, which was checked as well, barren except for some spare furniture and extra supplies.
The auditor seemed just as happy to leave that place as Jere and Wren always were.
“The visual inspection is unremarkable,” the auditor said. At Jere’s confused expression he clarified, “You passed this portion.”
“Thank you,” Jere said, pleased. He knew there was more to come. It wasn’t the house or clinic he was really worried about, it was the interview portion.
The auditor looked from Wren to Jere. “I’ll take you first,” he told Jere. “Send your slave away, please.”
Jere tried not to bristle, but he knew this was part of the audit. “Wren, go wait in another room.”
“Yes, master.”
Jere still hated those vile words.
The auditor asked him a series of boring, pointless questions; how long he had been in Hojer, how many slaves he owned, past, present, and future, how they assisted in his work and personal life, what kinds of discipline Jere had used and planned to use in the future. Overall, the auditor seemed pleased with the results.
Then the man moved on to more difficult questions.
“Are you opposed to slavery, Doctor Peters?”
Jere considered it for a moment. No lying. “Yes,” he nodded. “Personally, I mean. I think it’s an inefficient and cruel way of arranging a society.”
“And yet, you own slaves?”
Jere shrugged. “I try not to let my personal beliefs get in the way of business or productivity. The practice here is not to hire assistants, but to purchase slaves. I would never compromise my medical treatment due to a lack of appropriate help.”
“You treat your slaves very kindly,” the auditor said, his face a blank. “Do you make and enforce rules for them?”
“I enforce all the public rules of Hojer and Arona, and do my best to ensure that those rules are not allowed to be broken.”
“What was the purpose of your recent trip out of state?”
“Business.” When the auditor didn’t ask another question, Jere continued. “I went to network with other medical providers. Other healers. I’m considering other employment opportunities.”
“Did you attend an event and criticize Arona’s current slave codes?”
Jere frowned, suspicious. Gossip traveled quickly, at least when you were being scrutinized. “Yes. I wanted to draw interstate attention to what I see, as a healer, as major deficits in policy.”
The auditor was silent, writing notes. Jere wanted to see what he was writing, but he held himself back from looking. He wondered if he had been too brash, too provocative. They just had to get through this audit, and he would leave all of this alone.
The auditor switched to another topic. “Are you a member of any abolitionist or anti-slavery organization?”
“No.” He wasn’t. Kieran was, but he wasn’t.
“Are you now planning, or have you ever planned to help a slave escape to a free state?”
“No.” He was suddenly overwhelmingly glad that nobody had decided to go through with that plan.
“You’re an associate of a Miss Kieran Stellan?” the man switched topics again.
“Yes. She’s a friend of mine, and she goes to school at my alma mater. We speak frequently and discuss life in the city. I lived there my entire life, before accepting the position here.”
“Are you aware that she is associated with anti-slavery activism groups on campus?”
“Of course,” Jere answered, perfectly calm. He had discussed these sorts of questions with Kieran, and she had emphasized the importance of being truthful. “Last I checked, Hojer allowed for dissenting political beliefs. I have friends who are vegetarian, but it doesn’t stop me from eating bacon when a shipment comes in.”
The auditor actually smiled at that, just a little. He asked more and more questions, of different specificity, but in the end, he found nothing of worth from Jere.
“I’ll take the male slave next,” the auditor said. “If you have patients waiting, I’m sure you can check in with them now.”
“I’ll wait,” Jere muttered, even as he was summoning Wren.
Jere was terrified and angry, but he could feel that Wren was calm, going through the motions in the accepting, compliant way that he had. Wren was good at this sort of thing. Still, knowing that Wren was trapped away from him in another room made him far more nervous than he liked.
Wren came out with a smile. “Relax, Jere. He asked what my gift was, and how Burghe died, and he asked what I do around here and he asked about activism stuff. I’m sure I passed.”
Jere just smiled at him. Of all of them, Wren was the one he had never doubted.
“You can get the girl,” the auditor told him, looking calm and bored.
Jere figured that the man must do hundreds audits every year. He went to find Isis in her room. “Your turn. He’s waiting for you in the other room.”
She wasn’t amused. “I’m scared. Don’t make me?”
“You’ll be fine,” Jere promised. “Come on, just talk to him. It’ll be quick, only ten minutes or so, that’s all he spent with Wren.”
Isis paled, looking like Jere had just told her she was to be tortured for an hour. To her credit, she went willingly enough, making her way to the room and walking in, casting a nervous look at Jere as he closed the door.
He poked at the mind connection a tiny bit, not wanting to be too pushy, but still wanting her to know he was there. She went from nervous to panicked in just a few seconds, and Jere was on his feet and walking in that direction as the door opened back up.
“Care to tell me why the girl is lying in response to every question I ask her?” the auditor asked, suspicious.
“Please, I’m not lying!” Isis begged, huddled on the floor.
Jere didn’t even have time to think. He just went to her, putting himself between her and the auditor.
“She’s not lying,” Jere insisted. “I don’t even need to know what you asked; if she said she’s not, she isn’t!”
The auditor looked st
unned by Jere’s defense. “Well, you certainly believe her. What is her gift? I can’t get her to answer me truthfully.”
“She has a memory gift,” Jere explained. “The physical kind. She remembers everything that she sees and hears.”
The auditor considered it for a moment. He pulled out a wallet and handed his identification card over to Jere. “Give that to her and have her memorize it, please.”
Jere did as he was asked, and after a second or two, Isis nodded, indicating she was finished.
“How old are you, girl?” he asked.
“Sixteen, sir.”
“Are you forty-eight years old?”
“No, sir.”
The auditor sighed, glancing at Jere. “My apologies, Doctor Peters. I’m misreading the girl. The way her gift works, anything she’s been exposed to comes up as true. According to her results, since she has imprinted my identification card on her memory, it appears that she’s lying when she says she’s not a forty-eight year old man.”
“That’s interesting,” Jere admitted. He wasn’t familiar with this particular interference between gifts, but there were plenty of similar phenomena documented in the literature.
“You can still ask me questions, sir,” Isis suggested. “I’m not going to lie about them. I know I’ll be in a lot of trouble.”
Jere was familiar enough with Isis’s performance that he could tell she was acting, but she was putting on a good show. She was the perfect slave, just for a few minutes.
“That will have to suffice.”
Jere left again, feeling slightly reassured, and he could hear Isis and the auditor talking. After only four or five minutes, the auditor opened the door.
“I’d like to see the other slave again, please.”
Jere felt ready to attack. “Why?” he snarled, despite the fact that Wren was already moving forward.
To his credit, the auditor didn’t so much as blink at Jere’s outburst. Wren went with him, and this time, Jere could feel him panicking, struggling to stay calm. If he thought he had any chance of killing the auditor and getting away with it, he probably would have.
It seemed like they were gone forever, but it could only have been a few minutes before the auditor came back out, Wren following him silently. Wren gave Jere a disappointed look, shaking his head slightly.
“What’s wrong?” Jere demanded. “Why did you talk to him again, what did you ask him?”
“Dr. Peters, I’m sorry to inform you, but I’ve consulted with the Slave Control, Regulation, and Enforcement agency regarding the details of your case. Our team has decided that we will need to take one of your slaves for additional evaluation at our facility.”
Jere stared at him in shock. It couldn’t be true. He wouldn’t let them take either Wren or Isis.
“I’ll give you a few minutes to make your decision and finalize anything you need,” the auditor informed him. “We’d prefer the male, since you’ve had him a while longer, but the female would work as well. I’ll be waiting outside, and one of the members of the Hojer police department will assist. Thank you for your cooperation.”
With that, the auditor left, and Jere stared at his slaves. Isis burst into tears.
“It was my fault!” she cried. “I’ll go. I fucked up at the certification, and my gift is broken or whatever...”
“No.” Wren’s voice was quiet. He was obviously terrified, but he was still holding himself together. “It wasn’t you; it was me. I brought the attention anyway, at the vet clinic.”
“Bullshit, Wren, you’re perfect!” Isis protested. “I fucked this up. I’ll go.”
Wren shook his head. “You can’t. If you go, you’ll fuck it up for both of us. I know you don’t mean to, but you will. If you go and fuck it up, they’ll take me anyway. It has to be me.”
Isis didn’t protest, and Jere didn’t know how. He knew Wren was right, but he also knew that Wren had so much more to lose.
Wren continued addressing Isis. “You need to stay here and help Jere. Help him get me back. I’m counting on both of you.”
Isis nodded silently, accepting the truth in a way that only those from a slave state seemed able to do. Jere just stood there dumbfounded and speechless.
Wren came over to him, pulling him close and holding him tight. “This isn’t goodbye,” he promised.
“I’ll burn this entire fucking state to the ground if it means getting back to you,” he added, his hands warming over Jere’s back.
“I love you,” Jere managed, but it didn’t seem to mean anything. He had failed, somehow, he was incapable of protecting those he loved the most. He watched as Wren turned and walked out the door, where the auditor and police officer took him by an arm on either side and marched him away.
The audit was over. Wren was gone. Jere felt more lost than he had since arriving in Hojer.
Chapter 27
Evaluation
At first, Wren had found the audit more interesting than anything else. It was a strange thing to find interesting, and he acknowledged that, but being asked questions like he mattered was something that he wasn’t very used to, especially as a slave.
The questions hadn’t even been that uncomfortable; a lot of “yes” or “no” answers, basic facts about what he did, questions about the rules of Hojer and how they should be followed. The man asked him about the small altercation he and Jere had had years ago, when Wren was caught out without a pass, but the auditor seemed content with Wren’s answer that his master was busy with a patient and couldn’t be bothered to write a pass for a slave. It demonstrated disregard for Wren’s safety more than anything else, and the safety of a slave wasn’t even worthy of considering in an audit.
The auditor asked all sorts of inane questions about smuggling slaves, and being part of anti-slavery organizations, and things like that. Clearly, whoever had been making complaints about Jere and his mastering abilities had no idea of what was really going on, and just wanted to set him up to get him into trouble. It was nothing more than a ploy to cause problems. The auditor looked bored by the fact that he was even conducting the audit; Wren figured he had somewhere else he wanted to be. The most uncomfortable question he had asked was whether Wren was primarily used for sexual purposes, and Wren could feel himself blushing. The man just shook his head as Wren explained that he also helped in the clinic and kept up around the house. The auditor muttered something about him being as shy as his master, which Wren didn’t really understand, but he was glad the man let it go. He had no interest in discussing their sex life.
Right up until the end of the interview, Wren thought that they would pass with flying colors.
And then the auditor had given him a strange look.
“What’s your gift, boy?”
“Speed, sir,” Wren had answered, calm and content. But the auditor didn’t seem to buy it.
“Has that always been your gift?”
Occasionally, when someone was young, they showed signs of multiple gifts. Some people’s gifts fluctuated wildly, changing on a daily or even hour basis, but by the time they hit puberty, the gift had usually settled into one solid gift. The chances of having two were so rare as to be almost impossible.
“I had a little variation when I young, sir.” Wren had sat and hoped that the line of questioning would stop. He had no desire to discuss his early gifts, and even less desire to discuss the one that had persisted throughout his life.
“Tell me again what gift you have.”
“A speed gift, sir.”
When they brought Wren to the evaluation facility, the first person he faced was a gift identifier.
“Look this one over,” the auditor announced, releasing the hold he’d had on Wren since they left Hojer. “There’s something off about his gift. It was in the original notice from the veterinarian, and I can’t get a good read about him. See if we can find something to justify our hold on him.”
The speed train ride had been miserable; for a few minutes, he still h
ad his mind connection with Jere. He thought he would be able to maintain it, but it was ripped away from him. He knew it wasn’t Jere’s doing, and he knew he wasn’t far enough from his master that the connection had failed, but he wasn’t going to risk himself by probing with his own psychic abilities. He could only assume that some other member of the slave agency had interfered, severed the connection, pulled him away from Jere.
“On your knees, slave.”
The order was chilling enough to jar Wren back to reality. Looking down at the floor meekly, he knelt in front of the gift identifier, dreading the moment when the man would probe his gift. Would it be different now that he used it more often?
He felt the uncomfortable presence of someone intruding on his energy, exploring, violating. He squirmed, but focused on repressing the firesetting. He had to do it; he had done it for so long.
Jere’s mum had detected the firesetting gift almost instantly, and she had described it as “latent” back then. Wren had worked so hard on developing it over the past few years.
“You do have an odd presentation,” the gift identifier muttered, taking a few steps closer to Wren. He reached out his hand.
When Wren flinched away, the gift identifier cuffed him in the head. “You should know better than that,” he chastised. He didn’t seem overly angry, and Wren’s slight resistance didn’t slow him down at all.
Wren sat silently, tolerating the feeling of the man’s hand on his head, strengthening the ability of the identification gift. He tried to remind himself that only the weakest gift identifiers typically worked in these sorts of facilities; rural outlands had few natural resources of that sort, and people from free states who could identify gifts were rarely interested in relocating unless their gift was weak and rather useless. His suspicions were confirmed; while he felt the probe of his gifts, he could tell that the man was confused.
“Is there anything we should know about your gift?” the man asked.
“No, sir,” Wren lied. “I have a speed gift. Not even a particularly fast one.”
The gift identifier pulled back, and Wren felt an overwhelming sense of relief. Maybe this would be it; maybe they just wanted to evaluate him a little more. The gift identifier stepped into the hallway, not even bothering to close the door behind him.
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