Be Thou My Vision (The Population Series)

by Elizabeth, Cori

  Daniel still appears to be out cold as I take hold of his arms again and begin the slow progress across the length of the house. His broken breaths mix with the soft shhhh of his feet dragging along the carpet, and I silently plead with him to not wake up again.

  “Io, what are you doing?”

  My heart jumps as high as I do when I realize that James is standing right behind me. The music is still playing, but he’s holding an empty plate in his hand, on his way to return it to the kitchen.

  “Sorry, you scared me. Here,” I reach for the plate. “I can take that for you.”

  His grip doesn’t loosen.

  “Are you carrying something?”

  “No, no.” I brush off his insinuation like it’s a silly suggestion. “I spilled water on the ground and I’m trying to dry it up. I wouldn’t come through here if I were you. You’ll get your socks all wet. Give me the plate.”

  He remains silent, eyes falling toward the floor. I don’t understand how he knows where to look until I realize what’s giving him a direction. He can hear Daniel breathing.

  My voice grows a little louder, a little higher, in anxious concealment. “Well if you won’t let me take it for you, then let me at least guide you around the spill.”

  He turns back to me, and an uncharacteristically bitter inflection worms its way into his voice. “You’d think that someone who can see wouldn’t be so clumsy.”

  I don’t know where it’s coming from, but for the time being I tell myself he’s just being a teenager. That’s just how thirteen-year-olds are, at war with the world, and there’s no point worrying about it now.

  “Here, stay close to the wall.”

  I put myself between him and Daniel, though it makes for a ridiculously narrow passage. James seems frustrated at my acting as an impediment, but he doesn’t pursue the issue any further. As soon as he is past, I pick Daniel up again and drag him as gently but rapidly as I can, chatting incessantly to cover the noise.

  “Did you finish your puzzle yet? I have no idea what it’s going to be. I think it might be one of the government’s new ones, don’t you? I’ll see if I can find you some more, because it seems like you’re getting really good. Maybe we could even start timing you. You know, see how fast you can get.”

  James reappears at the end of the hall, frowning perplexedly. “What the heck are you talking about, Io?”

  I can’t help but smile as I lower Daniel to the ground. We’ve reached the closet.

  “Nothing, James. Just ignore me.”

  He shrugs, entirely okay with obeying that particular command, and returns to his room. As quietly as I can, I open the linen closet door, pull Daniel inside, and close it behind me. The lowest shelf still leaves about half a meter of space below it, plenty of room to fit a person. A failsafe in case Ruth or James do come in. I pull a few spare towels from the shelves and lay them out, forming a sort of cot that, if nothing else, must be more comfortable than the floor below. I wish I could treat his wounds, even just clean them, but I have no idea if there’s time before the examiner comes. Unwilling to risk it, I slip silently back into the hallway. Daniel will have to hang on a little bit longer.

  I wipe my hands off on my shirt, certain the examiner will not be pleased to see that much blood, and a few moments later realize my own idiocy. My entire shirtfront is covered with a mess of scarlet stains. Streaks, blotches, and now a pair of handprints, and the nearest clean shirt I have access to is in the Optic dormitory. The examiner is going to be here any minute.

  Every cleaning solution in the kitchen, whether meant for fabric or not, has little effect no matter how many I layer on, least of all while I’m still wearing the garment in question. Eyes smarting from some unfortunate combination I accidentally created, I search wildly through the cabinets, but all that’s there are dishes, pots and silverware. Then my eyes alight upon the dirtied knife sitting in the sink, waiting to be cleaned. My heart flutters warily at just the thought, and my head spins as though warning me against where I’m headed. But if I can’t erase the blood, I have to explain it.

  I’m certain I’m not strong enough to watch, so I fill up the sink with water, a layer of soapy bubbles on the top to keep my eyes from telling my brain what’s happening below, and plunge both hands in. I close them anyway, plagued by a moment of indecision. This goes so against everything I know.

  And then a knock echoes at the door.

  Clenching my jaw, I bring the knife in my right hand toward my left palm and don’t stop to think as I allow the tip to knick the surface of the skin. It stings awfully in the soapy water, but I don’t think it’s very deep. Trembling at my moment of self-injury, I drag my hand across my smock, covering Daniel’s blood with my own, and run to answer the door.

  The examiner gasps at the sight of me, even takes a step back. One hand slides, almost of its own accord, to the wrist of the other, looking to activate the device that by some magic known only to the government will connect him with his superiors. His eyes search the room behind me for Ruth and James. He probably thinks I killed them.

  Before he has a chance to act on his suspicions, I hold up my hand by way of explanation and declare, “Chill out. I was doing the dishes.”

  He shakes his head disapprovingly and runs a hand exasperatedly through his hair, perhaps struggling a bit more than he’d like to admit to recover from the shock. “You should know better than to get that kind of injury while working, Io. And to wipe it on your uniform! That’s your responsibility to clean up now.”

  I nod, just about ready to roll my eyes, but before I can fully respond he hands me a small glass vial full of tiny pills.

  “One a night, every night, got it? And you need to stay here with her the first few nights, to make sure she doesn’t have an adverse reaction.”

  “Will do.”

  “And take care of that cut. You’re bleeding all over the place. Do this one more time and I’m going to report you.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  And with that, he’s gone. It seems, or maybe I’m just desperately hoping, that the hardest part is finally over with.

  A Body

  “When did he go missing?” Mack demands. His back is to the door, and he stares resolutely out the window at the atrium below, but his anger is betrayed by clenched fists and the expression on his face reflecting in the glass pane. Maybe, Mr. Watson hopes, Mack won’t kill the messenger.

  “This morning.”

  “But when exactly?” Mack snaps. “What time?”

  “Chalmers reported him missing at 12:30, but the video showed him getting out about half an hour earlier. It seems that for that period of time, he was not being monitored.”

  Finally, Mack turns to face Mr. Watson, and his eyes burn with fury. “What do you mean getting out? He did this on his own? No one helped him?”

  “He, er, he used the walls of the pit, sort of wedged himself between them and climbed out,” Mr. Watson explains slowly, aware of the incriminating implications of the account.

  Mack raises his eyebrows expectantly. “So he got out of the pit, but beyond there? How did he get out of the room? Those doors are bolted shut.”

  “Well, to be honest, I’m not entirely sure. Chalmers insists the doors were properly sealed, but…well, they were always very confident that he was too weak to pose a threat, so my best guess would be that maybe people were careless, left doors unlocked behind them and such.”

  Mack begins to pace around the room. His rage has turned cold and calculating, his face calm but for a fierce gleam in his eye. Mr. Watson can feel the adrenaline flow through his heart, setting it to skipping inside his chest. Suddenly, his knees feel very weak.

  After a few seconds of silence, Mack suddenly stops and stares Mr. Watson down.

  “You didn’t say door, you said doors. Just how far has he gotten? How wide an area do we need to search?”

  Mr. Watson looks down to his hands for a moment, gathering the courage to address his superior while h
e’s at his most deadly. After a few seconds have passed, he begins, “Now, I need you to hear me out in this, Mack. It’s…well, it’s a complicated scenario. We have reason to believe that he made it as far as the atrium and the quadrants –.”

  Mr. Watson jumps when Mack slams the palm of his hand down on the desk, but the man refrains from interrupting him further, so Mr. Watson continues warily.

  “He was found by a guard near the back of the South Quadrant who, um, did a number on him, but an alarm was triggered a few doors down so the guard had to leave. By the time he returned, the boy had disappeared.”

  Mack’s voice suddenly rises again in anger. “He had him and he let him go? To answer an alarm? Were the guards not made aware of the situation?”

  “It was coming from your orders, Mack.” Now Mr. Watson can feel himself becoming irritated too. This is just like Mack to get in the way of his own implausible plans. “You told us that no one in the city was to know the true nature of the boy’s being here. So we told the guards that he was a particularly dangerous Neither. Obviously, given his condition, the guard didn’t perceive him as a threat.”

  “So what now, Ned? What do we do if he finds her?”

  Mr. Watson sighs and shakes his head. This man is full of more conspiracy theories than anyone he’s ever met, but at least this one happens to coincide with their wider goals. “There is a silver lining to this storm cloud, Mack. It was a smart choice, keeping him so weak. Chalmers doesn’t think he’ll last long. Between his time in the pit and the damage done by the guard who found him, I don’t think we’re looking for a boy anymore. I think we’re looking for a body.”

  Insomnia

  All sounds are louder at night. I’m sure of it, now that I’ve fallen prey to the inconvenience of that silence that invades after the lights go out. For every strip I rip off of the towel, I swear I can hear a foot kick, a breath catch, a head toss and turn, searching for the coolest part of the pillow. And yet Daniel, right beside me, remains dead to the world as ever.

  I checked on him twice an hour for eight hours straight, ignoring even the offer of dinner in favor of the Governor-free haven that is Ruth and James’ home, but now that I’ve neglected my stomach for two meals, it growls its disapproval, furious at my ignorance. The hours wear later and later, but I don’t want to rest until I’m sure that Daniel is going to be okay. It’s an inexplicable connection that prevents me from pausing, prevents me from leaving him to fend for himself. Sleep is out of the question until I can convince myself that he won’t somehow bleed out during the night, and I won’t be able to rest until I’ve seen to it myself.

  With a bowl of warm water, a dishcloth, and whatever sort of home remedies I can remember from Optic training, I work slowly over four hours to tend to as many of his injuries as I can find. It seems they worked as methodically to cause as much pain, as much physical damage as I do now to heal those same injuries. I have to force myself not to wonder what this must have done to his mind, his heart. The government isn’t known for mercy when it comes to the Neithers. It’s a miracle he’s alive at all.

  By the time I’m finished, head spinning perilously for lack of energy, he’s half-tied up with the strips of towel and his wrists are bound to cooking utensils, the only long, stable items I could find in the house to hold the shattered bones in place. As an afterthought – if it could even be called thought at this point – I soak a spare towel in water and let a few drops fall into his mouth. I don’t know how else to do it without drowning him. He stirs just enough to swallow, his body’s passive acceptance of outside help.

  By the time I stumble back across the house, carelessly dragging my nearly unresponsive feet across the carpet and too tired to mitigate the noise anyway, there only remain three hours until I have to be awake again. It would be less, were I sleeping in the dormitories tonight, but the fact that I’m already here will save me the time I would spend in transit.

  At this point, I can’t imagine anything left that could come between me and my blessed sleep, until the memory of a promise electrifies me into consciousness. I told Henrick we could talk again, either last night or in the morning, and I’m about to neglect the second of either obligation. He was already frustrated enough at lunchtime, and even if I can find him in the morning, I won’t be much more attentive in this state than I was earlier. Although after a few minutes’ rumination I settle to blatantly beg forgiveness at lunch tomorrow, the thought of deliberately breaking a promise, to Henrick of all people, leaves my empty stomach so uneasy that I forget I’m even hungry. And despite the time of night, my disquiet of what’s to come keeps me awake for hours.

  My New Governor Friend

  “Io! Where have you been?”

  Henrick jogs to come level with me, as though concerned that I’ll somehow slip away from him again among the crowd.

  “I’m sorry,” I begin weakly, scared to even give him a chance to be angry. “Listen, can we talk?”

  “Yes, Io. Yes, we can talk.” His voice is hard, almost antagonistic in the way he seems to mock my question. He grabs my arm and pulls me into the stairwell that climbs in a column up the side of the atrium. I’m in no position to resist, hardly strong enough anyway, and I let him drag me into an unused training room and among the grid of desks arrayed across the space’s center until we reach the front. We’re as far from the closed door, as far from prying ears, as possible. In the pursuit of any sort of privacy within the city, this is second best to monorail monopoly.

  “Listen, Henrick, I –.”

  “No,” he interjects and I feel myself recoil involuntarily. “You need to listen to me, Io. I don’t know how much time I’ll have to tell you all this and I need to know that you’re going to be around to hear it.”

  I swallow any hurt that comes of his callousness. I don’t think he has the patience right now for my pointless niceties and heartfelt apologies, and the urgency in his voice has caught me off guard. My silent nod prompts him to continue, but his mood suddenly shifts, from aggravation to enthusiasm. Maybe he’s not all that angry after all – just impatient.

  “Io, they’re serious about this, about me being part of the government. They called me in again this morning, talking about moving me out of the Optic dormitories and into the Governors’ City.”

  I fight to keep my voice even. It’s hard to hear Henrick talk about the government with such unhesitant excitement. “So you’re going to take care of Frank, Anne and Roger while living there? I didn’t know it could work that way.”

  “It can’t.” He shakes his head, but his eyes light up like the massive bulbs that illuminate the atrium during the day, brilliant and shameless. “That’s the thing. I’ve made the decision. I’m not going to be an Optic at all anymore. I’m going to be a full Governor!”

  I sit down hard in one of the desks. “A Governor?”

  His wide grin shines as he nods and begins to pace energetically before me, completely oblivious to my shock. “I’m going to live there, eat their food, attend their events, everything! I mean, I’ll be coming in as a low-level Governor, so they’ll probably give me some sort of job, maybe an examiner, or a guard, if I’m lucky. But now you’ll have a Governor friend, Io! I can sneak you extra food and get you out of trouble. And in a few days, once they’ve gotten used to me being there, I’m going to ask them about the food, and then you can pass the information on at the meetings.”

  I take a risk and glance up at him, but the ridiculous glee hasn’t yet faded off his face. There’s a hint of satisfaction in his voice, as though he’s been secretly awaiting this opportunity for years, and only now that his undisclosed wish is fulfilled is he willing to admit that he wanted this all along. It’s painful to see him so happy to leave his life, to leave the life that we’ve lived side by side for as long as either of us can remember. I can’t explain why, but the thought that he hasn’t been content with being an Optic – that all of our mutual railing against the government and vehement declarations that we
stood apart from them were just a façade on his part – bothers me to no end. I can’t even begin to understand my own emotions, but I do know one thing for sure: this just feels wrong.

  I try to nod and force a smile anyway, knowing that even if I don’t like the reason behind it, I have no right to take his joy away from him. But even though I’ve always actively resisted the influence of Henrick’s more dramatic side, sometimes it rises up within me before I can catch it. Right now must be one of those times.

  I would rather my thoughts be a panicked overreaction than the truth of what’s happening. I want to force the idea out of my head before it can wreak havoc on my heart, but it isn’t working. I continue to wrestle with it, the fear that threatens to paralyze my mind.

  I’m about to lose my best friend.

  “So will I ever see you, if you’re always in the Governors’ City?”

  His voice rises in annoyance and he stops pacing. “I’m not going to disappear, Io.”

  “No,” I agree. “But if you’re eating with them and living with them and you aren’t going out to the quadrants anymore, when are we ever going to be in the same place?”