Be Thou My Vision (The Population Series)

by Elizabeth, Cori

  “Don’t you remember what I told you yesterday?” he demands, growing more irritated. “This isn’t going to change anything. I’m still the same person, just with a different title.”

  “And a different life,” I mutter back, but the moment my words have reached the open air I want only to swallow them back down.

  Henrick rounds on me immediately, on the edge of rage. “What did you say? Are you mad at me about something, Io? Have I done something wrong?”

  I force myself to look him in the eye, though it’s easier now that my hurt has been replaced by reciprocal resentment. “Henrick, you’re my best friend. But you’re in complete denial about what this decision is going to do to your life. You can’t live like a Governor and pretend to be an Optic at the same time. Eventually one of them is going to win out over the other.”

  “I’m not going to let that happen,” he insists emphatically, taking a seat at the desk beside me. “I’m not going to become like them. Our friendship is more important to me than fancy food and powerful friends.”

  “Are you sure about that?” I can’t help but challenge, but again, I regret my words. His face has fallen, and when he answers my question, I know that I’ve hurt him far worse than he’s hurt me.

  “Yes, Io. Of course. Do you think I’m making this up?”

  I shake my head, fixing my stare on the wall to my left. He’ll know I’m avoiding eye contact, still unconvinced, but that isn’t worth my making it now. I don’t want to feel him reading my emotions.

  “Are you okay, Io?” His voice has turned gentle, infused with concern that kills me even more. Guilt has begun to seep into my mind, along with a question. Am I acting like this because I value our friendship, or am I jealous that he’s moving on and leaving me behind?

  Divided now about my own emotions, all I can do is nod and bite my lip to keep my expression impassive. But he wants more than that; he wants an explanation, and I offer the best I have, the closest thing to the truth I can muster.

  “I just didn’t sleep much last night.”

  “Why not?” He seems more concerned than normal, perhaps a stab at fulfilling the promises he’s been desperately making for the last ten minutes.

  “It’s a long story,” I answer wearily, but my mind jumps to Daniel with an undercurrent of panic. A series of worst-case scenarios play out in my head, as though my having forgotten to worry about the situation, even for just a few minutes, will have somehow led Ruth and James to find him.

  “Well, I’ve got time. I have to meet with Mr. Watson after lunch, but he never gave a specific time.”

  I take a deep, shaky breath, struggling for a reason to postpone the truth, but a general cop-out is the best I’ve got. “Not right now. I just…I don’t feel like explaining it all.”

  With no reason to suspect deceit, he accepts my pathetic excuse without question, but I can’t relax with the fear that he could change his mind at any moment.

  “Well, I’ll walk you down to the cafeteria, then. You look like you need to eat something.”

  Relief only comes when we’re outside in the atrium again, when an unspoken agreement mandates that nothing of consequence be discussed outside of the security of a classroom, the deserted last monorail car, or any of the plethora of unused tunnels that run, dark, dank and entirely empty, below and around the city. I’ve always trusted Henrick with my life – he’s the only one I ever told about the pact Ruth and I made six years ago – but with this governmental revelation driving a wedge into our relationship, the unforeseen future drives me to reconsider that trust, however much it hurts to do so. I don’t know what position Henrick will be in in a year, what threat they might hang over his head or what immaculate sense of loyalty he may develop that could drive him to betray me. Whether it’s true or not, I reassure myself that this is just innocent precaution, the anxious speculation of someone who’s used to getting into trouble and being punished for it. I don’t want Henrick to know that I would so readily question his fidelity, but I wonder if my reaction in the training room has already given my foreboding away. A question rushes through my mind, defining my concerns, however irrational, in an instant. The thought won’t leave my mind as we cross the wide, open center of the atrium.

  Can I even be friends with a Governor?

  The Fastest Way to Learn Your Limits

  The beauty of life is that even the most atypical, unexpected and frightening circumstances can eventually become routine. Humans, it seems, are quite adept at simply getting used to things. After a week and a half, my heart no longer pounds when Ruth and James pass near the linen closet door, and though I still feel the hunger, my stomach seems to have finally accepted that its already-scarce fuel is going to have to be shared for a while. It turns out that white mush is perfectly suitable to feed to an unconscious person, possibly more so than to an unfortunate soul fully awake, because a person who can’t talk can’t complain.

  I’ve spent each of the last ten nights at Ruth and James’ home, the first five in dutiful supervision of Ruth’s new medication, the second five in precautionary guardianship of Daniel’s precarious condition. But over the past three nights, after a week of unbroken coma, he has finally begun to respond to my presence, not with coherent speech but with the same sort of dreadful moaning that almost gave him away to Ruth and James on the first day. And the only solution I’ve found to keep him from completely revealing his existence is to sit beside him as often as possible and respond to his pain with soothing whispers, a reassuring hand wrapped around his, and a cool towel wiping the sweat off his forehead. By this arrangement, while simultaneously endeavoring to fulfill my duties as Ruth and James’ Optic, I haven’t slept more than three hours in the last three nights combined. And that, in concordance with halved portions of already decimated rations, leaves me unsteady of foot and uneasy of mind.

  Having only left the house for minutes at a time to acquire fresh clothes from the Optic dormitories and a portion of food from the cafeteria, I finally succumb to the realization one afternoon that if I continue with this impromptu hermitry, Henrick is going to think that he’s the cause of it.

  That’s not to say that I’m unhappy with the timing of the two situations. It’s of no inconvenience to me that the revelation that most impacted the bond between Henrick and me just happened to occur simultaneously with an abrupt need to stay out of the city center as much as possible. But I can’t help but feel guilty for so readily accepting the barrier that’s been placed between us. For all I know, Henrick has already been moved to the Governors’ City, and there’s a good chance I won’t find him at all today, but there’s also a certain pressure of conscience on the back of my mind that’s telling me I have to at least try. So, after verifying the well-being of my three charges, I take to the city with just three of goals in mind: find Henrick, find food, and don’t pass out in the process.

  It takes me only thirty seconds to realize how difficult all three will be.

  The atrium spins around me with the rush of bobbing heads hurrying to retrieve their meal, flashes of familiar faces appearing intermittently among strangers. It’s a struggle just to put one foot in front of the other as my eyes skip along the crowd’s surface, as though my brain can no longer distinguish between a stream of people and a solid wall and is therefore classifying the space before me as impassible. The flurry of their intermingled voices turns dull and monotonous as something shifts in my inner-ear, an abrupt change in pressure that manifests as dark splotches clouding my vision. I stop dead in my tracks. Suddenly the distance to the cafeteria, though just outside the government city, seems much, much farther.

  “Io!” A divergently cheerful voice bursts through the uniformity and drives like a needle into my ear, cracking my immobility. A sprightly figure appears beside me and pulls me into a hug before I have a chance to react.

  “Hi, Nellie!” I manage weakly, regretful to have happened to run into an old friend under these conditions. Nellie and I are the same
age, and before the Last Chance, she was my closest girlfriend, a necessary kinship when it came to those particular conversations that just can’t be had with a boy. I’m certain we would have remained friends to this day had our decisions to become Optics not cast us to opposite ends of the city. But because we ended on good terms, an unspoken agreement that has endured six years obliges us to catch up on life whenever chance has us meet, which is why it’s so problematic that that day is today.

  “I’ve missed you so much lately,” she gushes, already preparing for an upcoming exchange of life stories. “It’s like there’s always so much to do, there’s never any time to make friends.”

  Pessimistic today, my mind automatically responds, I think that’s the point, but I nod and smile to hide it.

  “It’s lonely being an Optic, isn’t it?” she continues, and takes hold of my arm as we make for the cafeteria.

  Among the tedium of the city, Nellie was always a blinding light, a source of energy so endless, it often drove others away in irritation. But I never minded at all, nor ever really understood the annoyance. With her infinite liveliness comes a sort of uncontainable, unconditional joy, the contagiousness of which has been known to draw many a self-pitying sulker back, against their will, to contentedness. Her excitement, I realize, is a fuel to me right now, so I follow willingly as she leads me the rest of the way. I’m not sure I would have made it without her arm to lean upon anyway.

  “Are you planning on eating in the cafeteria? We should eat together!”

  Even as she’s presenting the suggestion, I’m already surveying the massive space – low-ceilinged with poster-laden, peeling white walls and rows of presently unoccupied tables – in search of Henrick. As much as I do want to take the time to reconnect with Nellie, there are other, more pressing issues to deal with at the moment. Her face falls at my hesitation.

  “But it’s okay if you can’t, too. We can always pick another day.”

  “No, no. Let’s eat together today,” I agree, maybe a little too readily. With no sign of Henrick, it would be a waste to refuse her invitation, and it doesn’t help that I can’t get her unintentionally inculpating observation out of my head: It’s lonely being an Optic, isn’t it? Considering how often I manage to see Henrick, I don’t really have any excuses for the quantity of friendships I’ve neglected in the past six years.

  “Okay, umm,” she eyes with distaste the infinite procession of people aligning themselves along the counter from which the food is distributed. This room was never meant to handle the 5,000 people who are about to attempt to pass through it in the space of an hour. “Maybe we could just sit here for a few minutes, until the line dies down?”

  I nod eagerly, uncertain how much longer my legs will entertain the force of gravity, and lower myself onto the first bench available.

  Nellie watches me uncertainly. “Are you okay, Io? You look kind of pale…”

  “Yeah, yeah. I’m fine,” I promise her, pretending that my ears didn’t just begin ringing and that the wall opposite us always appears to rotate a little to the right. I take a deep breath to steady myself, summon a smile to rival Henrick’s most obsequious and ask, “So, how have you been? How are your Plenties?”

  Her delight at the fact that we’ve actually found time to eat together is unrestrained, and she seems even more pleased to answer my questions, as though it was of the utmost kindness for me to inquire. “We’ve been really good! Little Ronnie is about to turn four and she just discovered the volume dial of the music the other day, so it’s been a bit loud lately, especially for her little brother. I don’t think I ever told you. Deborah and Carlos had their second baby just under a year ago. His name is Ethan and he is just the cutest, chubbiest little thing, but he’s teething, which has made life a little difficult for everyone, including Ronnie.”

  A question immediately burns in the back of my mind, but I know better than to ask. It isn’t even necessary. If the baby is still with them after a year, then there’s no question of it. He won’t have a choice when he turns fourteen, nor will he ever.

  “She just doesn’t quite understand not being the only kid in the house,” Nellie continues with mild resignation. “You know?”

  Searching the room subtly while I listen, I start to nod absentmindedly, but quickly catch myself. I really do have atrocious listening skills. “Wait. Well, no actually, but I can imagine.”

  She smiles appreciatively before turning the same question on me. “Enough about me! How are you, Io?”

  “I’ve been well, too,” I begin unthinkingly, because the resources of my mind are gathered elsewhere. I know there’s no point fretting over what I can’t control, but my desperation to find Henrick, for the sake of both my peace of mind and possibly his, is growing. If we never cross paths and I can’t communicate with him, how will we ever see each other? Worrying about it can’t change the situation, unless Henrick can somehow feel my anxiety crossing through the walls of stone, but it’s hard to resist. Somehow, I manage to squeeze out a general outline of my past few months to Nellie without her noting my distraction, but after the fact, I can’t even remember what I’ve just said.

  Either to save me the discomfort of admitting my absentmindedness, or simply in convenient honesty, Nellie glances over to the line again and seems satisfied by its diminished length. “Well, I don’t know about you, but I’m starving. Should we head over now?”

  “Sure,” I manage to respond as a nauseating hollowness suddenly swells inside me. Whether due to guilt at my lack of presence in the conversation, apprehension about finding Henrick, or just the hunger of a week with little sustenance, I can’t tell, but it’s almost enough to remove my appetite entirely. Some distress must play across my face, because Nellie immediately stops and takes hold of my arm, wide-eyed.

  “Are you sure you’re okay, Io?”

  “Yeah, yeah.”

  To prove it to her, I take to my feet, but the action is easier thought than executed. As soon as I think I’m fully upright, gravity shifts so quickly I can’t follow it. The people around me waver back and forth, keeping time with the tilting ground, and suddenly there are too many of them, too close for me to breathe. Nellie’s tearful eyes shimmer and wave before me and I hear her voice begin to call for help, mismatched from the motion of her mouth. My knees give out from under me and give in to gravity, pulling me to the ground. A couple of older Optics appear fleetingly before an even taller figure, like an adult towering among children, sends them scurrying away. A guard coming to investigate, my brain dully notes, before the world fades completely to night.

  On Government Orders

  The journey back to awareness is a long and slow one, more than anything because I don’t wake up anywhere I would expect to be. It doesn’t take me long to figure out that I fainted, and it doesn’t surprise me, given what I’ve put my body through during the last week and a half. But I’m not the first Optic who’s ever passed out, and, barring extreme illnesses, the medical procedure to take care of those Optics is always self-contained. If they wake up immediately, they are sent off with a bit of extra food and water gathered from among other sympathetic Optics, and reminded by older members of our caste not to overwork themselves the rest of the day. In more severe situations, they are transferred by other Optics to the dormitory, where our de facto nurse and upon necessity midwife, an octogenarian named Elena charged with maintaining the space, monitors their recovery. But when I wake up, I’m not in the cafeteria, nor am I in the Optic dormitory. When I wake up, I’m in the medical building at the edge of the Governors’ City, and the only time Optics are allowed there is in matters of life and death. I can’t be the one to judge, but I just don’t feel like I’m dying.

  After a few minutes pass, which I spend staring blankly at the ceiling attempting to coax my brain back to full cognitive function, a click at the door announces the arrival of a medic, a tall, thin, pointy sort of woman with silver hair pulled back in a bun at the nape of her neck and a
severe expression on her face. She marches over, eyeing me with something like suspicion, and, after shining a light in my eyes and taking a measurement with a cuff around my arm, declares accusatorily, “Your friend has been waiting outside to see you for hours.”

  I nod, feeling my heart grow heavy at the memory of Nellie’s petrified face as she watched me collapse before her, at the idea of her sitting outside the medical building all this time waiting for me. I can’t decide if I would have thought to do the same for her.

  Taking my gesture as approval, which confuses me further because Governors never await Optic approval, the woman turns silently and returns to the door. As she leaves, an auburn head ducks through behind her. I nearly burst into laughter at the sight of Henrick, somehow still managing to look flustered even after hours of waiting.

  Given the desperation with which he rushes to my bedside, I reconsider my certainty that I’m not dying. He grabs the plastic seat beside the bed and pulls it up right beside me, then takes hold of both my hands and frantically asks the same question I fielded several times from Nellie just a few hours ago. “Are you okay, Io? What happened?”

  “I fainted,” I reply bluntly, not nearly as concerned about my own well-being as he apparently is.

  “But why? How did it happen?”

  I consider for a moment telling him everything right there, just to get it over with while I’m still in a position to be pitied instead of berated. But the fact that we’re in a building completely controlled by the Governors, right on the edge of the Governors’ City, convinces me otherwise. So I give him the most shallow, one-dimensional answer I can come up with, drawing on a prior excuse in the hope that it will lend me some credibility.

  “Still not sleeping well.”

  He doesn’t look satisfied with the response, but neither does he seem eager to pry deeper and risk upsetting me. I get the sense that I’m supposed to be fragile right now.