by Bina Shah
His so-called reprieve was nothing more than a prison. She knew she’d rather die than be put, no matter how gently, back into the system. “You have your world and I have mine. I wish you hadn’t interfered. With your substances. With your ‘help.’”
Reuben lowered his head. “I fell in love with you. I know I shouldn’t have.” The confession, coupled with the sight of his thinning hair, brought a flood of regret that washed over her tense body. He’d had such thick hair when they’d begun, she could put her hands in it and not be able to see her own fingers. “I made a mistake,” he admitted, after some thought. “I should have been more careful and not given you that drug. But I never, ever meant to hurt anyone. Not Sabine and never you.”
For a few moments Lin couldn’t speak. Sabine’s death, she knew, was entirely her responsibility to bear. His love couldn’t save Lin from that. She leaned in close to the display, taking a deep breath and gazing at his face for a very long time before speaking. It was strange to cherish a last moment of intimacy between them, at a distance. “Listen to me, Reuben, listen carefully.”
Again the visual cut out for a second. When it returned, his expression was smooth and blank, as if he’d washed his face with innocence. “What is it? Tell me,” he said.
“Reuben. I need a favor. The biggest favor I’ve ever asked of you.”
“Anything.”
“You tried to help Sabine. It wasn’t your fault that she … that she didn’t make it.” Lin had to stop for a moment and compose herself before continuing. “But now I need you to help the others.”
His expression grew quizzical, then suspicious. “What do you mean, Lin?”
“I’m shutting it down, Reuben,” she said, in a soft voice.
“Shutting what down?”
“The Panah.”
“Well, at last you’ve seen reason. You can shut it down and then we can be together, properly. As man and Wife.”
She winced at his visible relief, but she had to focus on the next step. “No, Reuben. It’s not going to be. You have to help them but we can never meet again.”
Reuben scowled. “Lin. I know you’re in shock, it’s terrible news, but we can still save the Panah, the rest of the girls. One of them died; it’s a tragedy, but you and I can go on as we were before. You’ll see.”
Lin felt a surge of energy now her decision was made. She could see the path in front of her, clear and unhindered. “The others can’t stay here any longer. The Panah is finished. And you can’t put them back in the system. You have to help them leave Green City.”
“And if I refuse?”
“I’ll make sure that all of Green City knows you’ve supplied drugs to Green City women that will kill their unborn children.”
“But you aren’t Green City women,” said Reuben, bewildered.
Finally he was telling the truth: he saw them differently, their lives more expendable than the ones above ground. She replied, “We’re women just the same. And I have the proof of what you’ve done. I have the drugs in my possession. And I would never have gotten access to them except through you. That means you’ve helped perpetuate something that is against the rules. Not mine, but Green City’s rules. You’ll be accused of the treachery of killing precious unborn children. They might even think the Panah was your idea in the first place: a harem for the rich and powerful like yourself. Your reputation will never recover.”
Reuben jumped up and backed away from his display. She could see him a few feet away, pacing up and down like a caged animal. Then he came back and leaned over his desk, his face so close that she could see the red veins in his eyes, the dark holes of his nostrils. “Don’t threaten me! I don’t want to hear this nonsense! Do you understand? If you don’t stop talking like this, I’m going to—don’t make me come over there, Lin, don’t.”
“Reuben,” Lin smiled. “That’s what I want you to do. If you loved me ever, you’ll help me get these women out of here. Bring transport in an hour. They’ll be waiting for you. Goodbye, Reuben.”
Abruptly, she terminated the session. Reuben’s face instantly snapped to blackness, leaving only her own image staring back at her, twenty years older than she was.
There was a hesitant knock at the door. Lin unlocked it and opened it to find Rupa standing there, two steaming mugs of tea in her hands. “I heard you talking, so I waited outside until you were done.” She caught sight of Lin’s face, and her eyes widened. “Are you all right? Wait, Lin, Lin, where are you going?”
Lin lunged past Rupa, leaving the girl standing there, holding the mugs of tea. She ran, stumbling through the corridors until she came to a stop in the Charbagh, gasping and panting for breath. The day sky was shifting into twilight, lavender and rose, to simulate the setting sun. The water of the four streams splashed at her feet. Stars twinkled in the eastern corner of the garden, where the night was gathering strength.
As she clutched her knees and rubbed the stitch in her side, the women, who had followed her into the Charbagh, murmured and whispered among themselves. She straightened up to regard each of them with a long, hard stare. Some of them met her eyes, others averted their gaze.
“Listen to me, all of you. Listen hard, now. The Panah is in danger and I have to shut it down. That means that all of you will have to leave.”
“What?”
Mariya whispered, “But where will we go?”
“Don’t worry. I’ve made arrangements. You’ll be safe.”
“We want to stay here!” said Su-Yin.
“And wait until Sabine comes back,” added Diyah. The rest nodded in agreement.
“You can’t,” said Lin. “I told you. Things have gone terribly wrong. None of us can stay here anymore.”
“But where …”
“Don’t ask any more questions. Do you trust me?”
They all nodded: Diyah, Su-Yin, Mariya, Rupa, all of them except for the one whose absence was a void in the midst of their tight circle. Lin wished she had warned them when they’d first arrived at the Panah that this could never be more than a temporary resting place, a pause in their lives. The Panah could never have gone on forever as Ilona and Fairuza had hoped. Lin hadn’t even known it herself until now. The Panah was the only life she’d ever lived.
Finally Diyah spoke up. “Tell us what you want us to do.”
Lin willed herself to stay strong, not to cry in front of them. “You’ve got an hour to get ready, get your things together. Pack the essentials. Leave everything else behind.” She knew Reuben would come: he would not be able to resist interfering this one last time, to try and dissuade her in person from the path she had decided to take.
“Should we bring food?” said Diyah. Lin heard a new tone in her voice, authoritarian, decisive; she felt unexpectedly grateful. First Rupa’s help, now Diyah’s cooperation: maybe this could work after all.
“You’ll be provided for, where you’re going. Now go. Hurry. Meet at the entrance in an hour. Hurry!”
They ran helter-skelter toward their rooms. Lin waited until they had dispersed before returning to her own quarters. She was taking a huge gamble, all hinging on the threat she’d made to Reuben. It had to work. He could keep one fallen woman hidden from the Agency; a half-dozen of them emerging from the Panah in broad daylight was completely different. It would be all over the Bulletins; the whole of Green City would know about it by nightfall. And when the women were taken by the Agency and questioned, they would tell all, on Lin’s coaching, about Reuben’s involvement with the Panah, his collusion with Le Birman, the drug that wrecked women’s bodies and killed their children. The Agency would turn on Reuben. Lin knew he had no option but to help the rest of the women escape.
She gathered the half-dozen small devices in which she stored all her records and set them on the floor of her room. On top of that she piled up other objects: cushions, clothes, small decorative trink
ets, anything that wasn’t too large for her to lift. She took down the silk wall hangings and placed them on top of the heap. It took ten minutes for her to accumulate everything, and when she stopped, her back and shoulders were sweaty and trembling with the strain.
She went to the kitchen, the place where she’d always been most strict about cleanliness and orderliness. Despite her instructions, the women had searched for any food that they could take with them on their journey to parts unknown. Drawers and cabinets gaped open, packages of food were spilled over the counters and the floor. Lin ignored it all and bent down in front of a floor cabinet. She lugged out a gallon bottle of cooking oil, lifting it to her chest with a pained gasp. She could hear the women calling out to each other in panic as she struggled with the canister all the way back to her room.
It only took a few seconds to open the canister and pour the oil all over the pile of belongings: a sorry, sodden mess when she finished. She shook the last drops from the empty bottle on the pile and stood back to survey her work, flicking an unlit match between the fingers of her left hand.
The women would all be waiting for her in the entrance to the Panah. But she would not emerge above ground with them, blinking at sunlight that they never saw. She would not be there when Reuben showed up to take them to their new lives. She was already disconnecting from the world and their faces, all anchors to an existence she no longer wanted to live.
More knocking on the door, this time loud and insistent; the hammering startled Lin out of her reverie. Swiftly she crossed the floor and unlocked it, hiding the match behind her back. Rupa stood there, her hair and clothes disheveled, a bag thrown over one shoulder. “Aren’t you coming, Lin?”
Only then did Rupa notice the jumble of devices, clothing, knick-knacks soaked in oil in the middle of the room. Her whole body shook like water, and she nearly lost her balance and sagged against the door.
Lin beckoned Rupa into the room and opened her fist, scratching into it with a derma-pen. Rupa snatched her hand back and stared at the combination of numbers and letters Lin had written on her skin.
“It’s the unlock code for the door. Now give me your other hand. This belongs to you.”
Rupa opened her hand and stared at the tiny memory slip Lin had placed there. “My diary!”
“Yes. I’m sorry I took it. But I put something else on there, too. Information about Le Birman—and Reuben Faro.”
“What?”
“Listen to me. The drug Le Birman told you about—it hurt Sabine, it can hurt other women. Read all of what I’ve written quickly, right now. Tell the others. If you’re in any danger—any of you—use the information to bargain with Reuben. Don’t back down until he gives you everything you need to get away from here.”
“I don’t understand,” Rupa said, her mouth open in shock. Lin could see her beautiful white teeth and the small, delicate tip of her tongue. Under different circumstances, Reuben might have taken her as his Wife, as part of the spoils. He was certainly capable of working it that way, and sending the rest of them to other good households. The rich men of Green City would be clamoring to lay claim to the sudden influx of extra women: even a half dozen was a shower of abundance for them. After their punishment and their reeducation, of course. But Lin would make sure that they’d never have to submit to the Agency or the Bureau again.
“There’s more, too, about the Panah. All my notes, all Ilona’s notes. If he doesn’t help you get out of here, tell him you’ll send it all to the Agency. They’ll know what to do with it.” She pulled Rupa close to her in one last embrace, kissed her on the cheek. “Now go, Rupa. And take the others with you.”
“I’m not leaving without you!”
“Don’t worry about me,” Lin said softly. “I’m going to find Sabine.” She pushed Rupa away and out the door, then slammed it shut behind her and locked it.
When she was certain Rupa wouldn’t return, Lin lit the match and gazed reverentially at the flame until it nearly burned down to her fingers. With a quick flick of her wrist, she tossed it on to the pile and watched the clothes ignite, then the wood, and the other trinkets that could burn first, and easily.
The acrid smoke filled the room, and the flames spread around and into the pile, penetrating deep into its heart. The room danced and glowed with orange light, transforming the melting devices into gleaming magma. It was the measure of her life’s work, and Ilona’s before her. She was glad to destroy it all. She had no regrets, except for the biggest one: that she could not set Sabine free along with the others. Death had beaten her to it.
She took out the vial of Sleep from her pocket, opened it, and spilled the pills into her hand. With one swift motion, she put them in her mouth, lifted her neck like a swan, and swallowed.
Lin’s last thought was not a question, but a prayer that they’d meet again, she and Sabine, once the fire had reduced her body to ash and burned all the pain out of her bones.
Bouthain
He suspected they’d be outside waiting: Reuben Faro, standing in front of a phalanx of Security, guns raised and pointed at them. Bouthain prayed his drug had been effective, that it had paralyzed Sabine’s vocal cords so that not even a whimper could betray her to them.
But the looming figures existed only in his imagination. The elevator doors opened to blank space and the empty corridor beyond, a wormhole for them to slip into and make their escape from Shifana. Bouthain tried to control the tremor that seized his hands as he held onto Sabine’s gurney. He and Mañalac carefully wheeled first Sabine, then Julien, into the low-lit corridor. A cool draft brought out drops of condensation on the heated polymer cocoons that swathed the two sleepers, hiding them from sight.
Mañalac was explaining the quickest way to the ambulance bay. “Mortuary’s nearby,” he said, pointing ahead. “But we go straight to the bay. I have an ambulance waiting. Arrangements all done.”
“Did you use any official portal?” Bouthain asked.
“No, sir.” Mañalac explained how he’d duplicated records from the last patient in quarantine. Nobody checked carefully anymore since there were so few patients left. “Should be easy for you to go straight back after we leave and fix things.”
“Oh, I’m coming with you,” Bouthain said casually.
Mañalac reared back: “No, sir! Too dangerous!”
“Really? I’ll have you know, Mañalac, that I was at the front lines during the insurgency. I saw men bombed and blown up, and usually I was the one who had to sew them back together. A little drive to the border in a sandstorm shouldn’t be too hard in comparison. Is there anything else you’d like to warn me about?”
Bouthain couldn’t hear Mañalac’s whispered reply, but the nurse probably wished he were lying in a body bag along with Julien and Sabine. The whole hospital feared Bouthain’s dry anger, a reputation that he cultivated carefully so that most of them would leave him alone unless absolutely necessary.
Bouthain chuckled to himself, recalling how Julien could never get used to his way of speaking about the most serious things as if they barely mattered at all. If the young doctor were awake, he’d jump up from the gurney in protest, but Julien, sufficiently drugged, lay still as an abandoned shell.
As they crept along the subterranean passageway, Bouthain could only mark their progress by the lights that ran along the ceiling at regular intervals. Eight hours to go until they woke up. In Bouthain’s mind, the man who raped and impregnated Sabine was another dark figure in the invasion of Reuben Faro and his Agency foot soldiers. Who had done this to her—a Client, or someone else? Bouthain had seen many rapes in his career, treated many victims of sexual assault in Green City, even young boys. What else did they expect when they repressed the normal urges and behaviors in human beings? What was shamed into submission was bound to erupt, cruelly and unnaturally, somewhere else. But his clinical assessment of a societal problem at large distanced him from
the reality of a woman who had been victimized in such a cowardly way. He was surprised at how much anger there was inside him at the hard facts of her violation, the injustice at its root, and the trauma that had manifested so bizarrely that he, too, was swept up in its aftermath.
“Almost there, boss,” muttered Mañalac. Hating to be called “boss,” Bouthain only grunted in reply.
The corridor widened into a larger foyer, immediately bringing with it a change in air pressure. Beyond two sets of doors, brightness beckoned, promising warmth and safety. Mañalac went up to the door display and pressed his hand on it, then tapped in a code. The display glowed red, and another red light flickered to life on the other side of the door. “Quarantine, quarantine, quarantine,” a robotic voice affirmed. “Commencing quarantine procedures now.”
“They’ll clear the bay for us,” said Mañalac.
“I know.” Bouthain was tired; Mañalac’s detailed explanations were wearing him out. If Mañalac was talking out loud for Julien’s benefit, he was wasting his breath: Julien could not hear him through the chemical-induced sleep and the insulation of the pod. The nurse wouldn’t be the first person to try to talk to the dead, but Sabine and Julien wouldn’t be the only ones to die if it all went wrong.
Bouthain wished Julien were awake so he could observe everything with his intelligent blue eyes and take the pressure off his mentor by giving directions to all those around him: instructions about the quarantine rules, or an explanation for some little-understood aspect of hospital statutes. Bouthain had taught him well. But the silence from the gurney behind them was complete, emanating the truth that the connections between people were only temporary. At best they could psychically visit one another from time to time, but they would always remain mysteriously out of reach to one another. Death was feared, Bouthain knew, because it changed those distances from temporary illusion to irreversible permanence.
