by Jason Tesar
Lukas decided to join her. Before this meeting, she wouldn’t have even considered that a possibility. Now, she didn’t know what to think.
o
Rena’s parents had already picked up Gareth and Suzanne by the time Rena found them in the main auditorium next to an adoption discussion booth. Marshall was holding Gareth’s hand and finishing up a conversation with the discussion leader. Clarine was carrying Suzanne on her hip.
“How did it go?” Clarine asked as Rena walked up.
“Good.”
“Did you talk to Kirti?”
“No. She was in a discussion when I got there. But I saw a new student from my school.”
“That’s great. What’s her name?”
“His name is Lukas.”
Clarine’s eyebrows rose. “Oh.”
“We talked with a former university professor about the writings of Abigail McCormack,” Rena quickly added.
The look of surprise faded from Clarine’s face. Then she put an arm around Rena’s shoulders and gave her a squeeze. “I’m so happy you came with us.”
“Me too.”
Suzanne reached for her sister, and Rena took her from Clarine.
“I’ll ‘verse you tomorrow and we can schedule a visit,” Marshall said, shaking the discussion leader’s hand before turning around to join his family.
“What was that about?” asked Clarine.
“I might be able to do some consulting work for his agency. We’ll meet next week and see if there’s anything I can do for them.”
“That’s great.”
Marshall smiled before his eyes settled on Rena. “How did it go?”
“She met a young man from her school,” Clarine said before Rena had a chance.
Marshall’s eyes narrowed. “What’s he rated?”
The question was irritating. It revealed what was most important to Marshall, but Rena reminded herself that she was trying a different approach. “Um … twenty-five. I think.” Not that it reflects anything about his character.
Marshall was visibly relieved. No doubt he was thinking about Dal and hoping Rena’s choice in male friends was finally improving. “Well, I’m glad you’re participating.”
“I’m hungry,” Gareth said, tugging on Marshall’s hand.
The statement was enough to end Rena’s interrogation, and she was grateful when her family began heading for the exit. Before they reached the front doors of the community hall, Marshall stopped by a row of terminals lined up along the wall. It was where citizens made their donations. Rena suddenly realized how big this building was. With all its chairs and lights and equipment, and the number of booths and discussion leaders, it must be expensive to run, regardless of how plain its furnishings were.
Marshall touched a holographic button, and the rating on his hand dropped from 044 to 042.
He’d worked hard to get his number back into the forties after the police report, and Rena couldn’t believe how much he had donated. “Dad … that’s too much!”
Clarine put her hand on Rena’s shoulder. “It’s OK. You don’t need to—”
“No, it’s too much. You both work so hard, and …”
“Rena, let us worry about that. We’re the adults.”
“… and my counseling is expensive,” Rena finished.
Marshall turned away from the terminal with a wrinkled brow. “I appreciate that you’re concerned, Rena. It shows me you’re thinking about the consequences of your actions. That’s a step in the right direction. But the purpose of life isn’t just to save your credits. You have to support the things you believe in.”
Rena handed Suzanne back to Clarine. “I know, but …”
“This community hall provides a service,” Marshall added. “This is where we come to discuss issues and get informed. It takes money to run this service, and if people don’t give, they’d have to close the place down.”
Rena couldn’t stand the thought of her parents sacrificing so much, and the more she thought about it, the more it seemed like they were being taken advantage of. They were made to feel guilty if they didn’t give away their credits. All of a sudden, Rena’s mouth was open and an argument was spilling out before she could control it.
“If they closed for lack of support, wouldn’t that mean a consensus was reached? Wouldn’t that be a good thing—the truth about its obsolescence was finally determined?”
“Rena Waite!” Clarine replied.
Marshall’s face transformed from one of fatherly concern to one of disgust. “You know, Rena, sometimes your way of thinking really bothers me. You’re twisting the concept of truth. I don’t want to talk about this anymore. We’re leaving. Let’s go!”
Clarine followed Marshall out the front doors.
Rena hung back for a moment and watched them go. She felt terrible about upsetting them, but she couldn’t help the thoughts that came into her head. Sometimes they wouldn’t stay there. They forced their way out like escaping prisoners. Why couldn’t anyone else see these contradictions? Maybe if some other citizen were bringing up these arguments, Rena wouldn’t have to.
012
The trip home was awkward for Rena, and lunch with her family was filled with long periods of silence. Clarine attempted to start several conversations. Marshall had a hard time pretending he wasn’t still upset. Afterward, Rena took a walk around her neighborhood to clear her mind. Then she spent the early afternoon playing with Gareth and Suzanne. By late afternoon, the mood in her house seemed to have improved. Rena’s parents began acting normal again, and Rena remembered that she was supposed to be trying a different approach. Instead of wasting her weekend, she should be voting like other responsible young adults.
“Mom, where’s the ex?” she called to the kitchen.
“It should be charging in the office.”
Rena pushed herself up from the living room floor, where she’d been coloring a picture with Gareth. “Can you finish my part?”
“Yeah,” Gareth said, grabbing the marker Rena had been using.
Rena walked down the hall, turning into Marshall’s office. Fortunately, it was empty. Marshall was helping Clarine in the kitchen, chopping vegetables for dinner. It would be best if Rena could avoid any significant conversations for the rest of the day. If she didn’t talk, she couldn’t say anything upsetting.
The exterminal was on Marshall’s desk, sitting on its charging pad where Clarine said it would be. There were only two exterminals in the house—the one embedded into the surface of Marshall’s desk and the portable one Rena and Clarine used. It was a small rectangle of glass, with rounded edges, no bigger than the palm of her hand. She grabbed it and headed straight for her room, closing her door for privacy.
She sat down on her bed and placed the exterminal on her nightstand. As she touched the power button, she noticed her rating had dropped to 011 again. Sunday afternoon was the most active voting time of the week. The majority of Esh’s citizens were home from consensus and freshly motivated to make an impact on society. If they weren’t working or attending school, their voting was what allowed them to maintain or improve their ratings. Rena often skipped this duty. It wasn’t until the middle of the school week that her number usually recovered.
The surface of the exterminal began to glow. The holographic interface for the Collective appeared in the air above it—a soft, blue image of concentric circles and intersecting radial lines that called to mind both Esh’s layout and the way in which citizens were all connected to each other.
“Hello, Rena. How may I help you?” asked a deep, soothing voice. The verbal interface was one of Rena’s preferences that she’d set up years ago, as well as its tone. She’d chosen one that sounded like the man from her visions. It made her feel safe.
“I would like to vote,” she answered.
“Here is your voting history,” said the voice at the same time as a list of topics appeared.
She preferred the text listings over icons or images because they were easier to revi
ew when there was a lot of information. Although in Rena’s case, there weren’t many entries. She didn’t vote on enough issues to make reviewing data difficult. The only entries were her associations and a few older topics from months ago.
“Would you like to review any of these topics?”
“Yes. Associations,” she said.
The list updated to show the names of her family members, her friends, and Dr. Mallory, who was her only professional association.
“Which association would you like to review?”
“Marshall, Clarine, Gareth, Suzanne, Dal, and Dr. Mallory.”
“How would you like to rate these associations?”
“Positive,” Rena answered.
“Thank you for your participation,” said the voice. The names disappeared from the list, inaccessible for the next twenty-four hours.
Rena stared at the remaining name—Kirti Vasu. The orange text indicated that Kirti had already deleted her friend association to Rena. But there were two sides to every association in the system, and Rena could choose to keep hers if she wanted to continue rating Kirti … negatively or positively. It was an aspect of the system that encouraged citizens to settle their disputes, and to do so in person.
“Would you like to rate this association?”
“No. Delete Kirti.”
“This association has been deleted.” The name disappeared. Then the voting history reappeared. “Which topic would you like to review?”
Rena scanned the list and settled on one near the top. “Adoption.”
The adoption topic opened to another list of choices—agencies, personnel, pros and cons, and statistics.
“Which topic would you like to review?”
“Agencies,” she answered.
Another list appeared—by segment, by specialty, pros and cons, and statistics.
“Which topic would you like to review?”
“By segment.”
Twelve entries appeared, one for each of Esh’s major sections.
“Which—“
“Segment Eight,” Rena instructed.
A list of letters from A to D appeared, one for each of the four adoption agencies in Segment Eight.
“Agency C.” It was where she’d lived before Marshall and Clarine found her.
The list updated again to show the choices of facility, personnel, process, and statistics.
“Which topic would you like to review?”
This time Rena hesitated long enough for the voice interface to repeat its question in full. She stared at the list, not feeling particularly interested in any of the choices. This was one of the reasons why she didn’t pay much attention to the constant and numerous recommendations to get informed. Teachers always wanted her to have an opinion about things that didn’t matter to her.
How can any citizen possibly care about everything?
This was probably why Dr. Kalmus advised her to pick just one topic.
“Would you like more information on one of these topics?” asked the voice.
“No,” Rena answered, glancing up at the ceiling. She remembered what it had been like inside the agency after the police had taken her there. Sleeping in a large room with so many other children. “Facility.”
The list updated to the topics of interior and exterior.
“Interior.”
Within the interior facility topics were the choices of design and furnishings, electrical, heating and cooling, lighting, and plumbing.
Rena took a deep breath and let it out through pursed lips.
This is monotonous! Why do there have to be so many choices?
“Which topic would you like to review?”
“Design and furnishings,” she answered. Then she made the next two selections quickly, before the voice had a chance to say anything. “Statistics. Rating.”
Finally, she’d drilled down far enough through the topics to locate some actual information. It appeared the facility for agency 8D had a 62% positive rating of its interior design and furnishings. That seemed higher than Rena remembered, but it had been a long time since she’d viewed this information.
“Would you like to refine this rating by the following criteria?”
The information updated to show more choices—by age group, by residence, and by occupation.
“No,” Rena answered. She didn’t care how the agency’s rating differed within those categories. “Go back to design and furnishings. Vote.”
“How would you like to rate this agency’s design and furnishings?”
Rena remembered the sleeping room as being dark and scary, but the average was higher now. Maybe they had made improvements? “Positive.”
“Thank you for your participation.”
Rena looked at her hand. It still read 011. With so many people voting, she’d have to make quicker selections if she wanted to do better than just maintain her number. “Go back to Adoption.”
The list updated to the higher-level information she’d viewed earlier.
“Pros and Cons.”
The next round of choices appeared. Pros—helping children, helping birth mothers, helping adoptive families. Cons—long and challenging process, credits and emotional costs, challenging children.
“Which topic would you like to review?”
Rena rubbed her eyes. Her vision was starting to blur from the overwhelming amount of information. No one has the capacity for all of this! How am I supposed to stay informed on the things I care about, let alone everything else?
“Would you like more information on one of these topics?” asked the voice.
“Rena. Time for dinner,” came Clarine’s muffled voice from the kitchen.
“OK,” Rena yelled back. Apparently she had been at this for much longer than she thought.
“On which topic would you like more information?” asked the voice.
“No. I wasn’t talking to you,” Rena said.
“I do not understand your request.”
Rena let out another quick exhale. How can I do this more efficiently?
“Would you like more information on one of these topics?” asked the voice again.
“Open all adoption topics and subtopic statistics.”
The information became a long list of topics with percentages at the end of each one.
“Which topic would you like to review?”
“Select all topics,” Rena tried.
“I do not understand your request. Which topic would you—”
“Vote all positive.”
“I am unable to fulfill your request, because the pros and cons for each topic have not been reviewed. Which pros and cons would you like—”
“Switch to manual input method,” Rena said.
The information list was suddenly populated with holographic buttons next to the ratings of each topic. She went down the list, looking only at the percentages. If they were above 50%, she pressed the thumbs-up button. If below, she pressed the thumbs-down.
“Rena! Dinner is on the table!” yelled Marshall.
“Coming.”
She’d only managed to get through about fifteen votes, but she could always pick this up again after dinner. She reached out and pressed the power button, shutting down her connection to the Collective. The rating on the back of her hand was now 012.
o
Suzanne was crying from somewhere far away. There were other voices too. And footsteps. All muffled. It took every bit of Rena’s strength to open her eyes. She was in her bedroom, lying facedown on her bed.
013.
That was the number on the hand in front of her face. It was significant somehow, but she couldn’t think why.
“Rena, you’re going to be late,” Clarine said as her footsteps retreated down the hall outside her door.
Rena pushed herself up to a seated position and rubbed her eyes.
More footsteps sounded, but this time they were approaching, followed by a knock at the door. “Rena?”
“I’m up,” she mumbled.
The door opened and Clarine peeked her head in. “Honey, you’re going to be late for school.”
“OK. I just …” she began, running her fingers through her hair.
Clarine suddenly inhaled. “Your number!”
“What?” Rena’s heart lurched, fatigue giving way to panic. Then she looked at her hand again. “Oh … yeah.”
“Is that why you’re so tired?”
The thumping in her chest was slowing down. “I was up late, voting.”
Clarine smiled and leaned on the doorway.
“What’s going on?” asked Marshall from behind her. A second later, his head came into view. He was dressed for work and holding a cup of coffee.
“Rena’s back up to thirteen.”
Marshall stepped closer and opened Rena’s door all the way. “That was fast. What were you voting on?”
“Adoption.”
Marshall smiled as his eyes drifted to the exterminal on her nightstand. “It’s great to see you applying yourself, but don’t be late for school or it won’t matter.”
“You don’t want to waste all that hard work,” Clarine added.
“OK.”
Marshall and Clarine backed out of the room and shut the door.
Rena climbed out of her bed and went to her closet. As she changed out of her pajamas, her body moving sluggishly, she realized this was the first weekend in months when she hadn’t gone out to the Barrens. Or even the Outskirts. Those fog-covered fields usually captured her imagination and made her wonder about what was beyond them. And wandering through the old buildings made her think about the past. Time seemed to stand still when she was out there on the edge of the city. Perhaps that was why this weekend had passed so quickly. There had been no time to let her mind wander. No time to think about anything but the present.
When she was dressed and ready for school, Rena grabbed the exterminal off her nightstand and walked down the hall to her dad’s office. Marshall was sitting at his desk, reviewing some images of a factory on the Collective. She set the exterminal back on its charging pad and turned to leave, but the factory images reminded her of the Outskirts, and she felt a question stirring in her mind. She hesitated to ask it. Her questions had a way of ruining things. But this one wasn’t like the others. It wasn’t the start of an argument, or a critical observation of society. It came from a simple, honest curiosity.
“Dad?”
“Huh?”
“When was Esh built?”
Marshall turned around in his chair and shrugged. “A long time ago. Why?”
“Decades, or centuries?”
He set down his coffee mug. “I don’t know … exactly. But you could look it up on the Collective.”
“OK.” Rena nodded and was about to leave again when another question popped into her head. “And how big is the city?”
Marshall’s lips flattened into a strange expression he often made when pondering something. “I think we’re just over two and a half million citizens … but I haven’t checked the—“
“No. I mean … size.”
“Like square kilometers?”
“Yeah.”
Marshall shook his head slowly. “I’m not sure. But you could look that up too. Are you interested in civil operations?”
Rena wasn’t thinking in terms of Esh’s layout or construction as much as its history, but she nodded anyway.
“Oh, that reminds me …” Clarine said from the kitchen across the hall. “Your father and I are going to an adoption meeting at the community hall on Wednesday night, so you’ll be on your own for dinner.”
“That’s fine.”
Marshall crossed his arms, but the look in his eyes wasn’t suspicious. It was something else that Rena couldn’t place. “You know, community halls all across the city host discussions every weeknight. If you’re interested, I could check the schedules and find out if there’s one on civil operations?”
“Yeah. Sure.”
Marshall smiled. “I know … I said I didn’t want you going out on weeknights anymore. But if it’s for a good cause, I’m willing to make an exception. You can go after your sessions with Dr. Mallory.”
Rena nodded. “Thanks, Dad.”
013
The forest was quiet. So quiet that Rena’s careful steps seemed loud against the damp earth. So quiet she could hear herself breathing. Each exhale drifted away from her mouth in a thin, white cloud. The air was cold, but her supple, leather clothing held in her warmth and a layer of perspiration.
Somewhere ahead, through the morning fog and dense trees, a deer wandered. Rena had caught a glimpse of it a short while ago. It had been moving casually, unaware that it was being stalked. And if Rena had done exactly as she’d been taught, it would still be moving at the same pace and in the same direction. When it reached the clearing, it would stop, hesitant to move through the open space. That was the moment Rena was going to exploit.
Her father was approaching from a different direction, in case the deer decided not to cross the field and instead move along the edge of the trees.
The forest began to thin. An indication that the clearing was nearby. Rena pulled an arrow from the quiver at her back and set it into the notch in her bow. With a finger on either side of the nock, she tugged until the bowstring snapped into place.
Though she couldn’t see the deer, she knew the moment had come. Her heart was racing in anticipation. She scanned the horizon, looking into the sunrise for a silhouette that was different from the narrow, vertical tree trunks.
The light suddenly dimmed and changed direction. Fog swam in through the trees and enveloped her. The aroma of pine was displaced by an older, musty stench. Rena looked down and saw rotting leaves where pine needles used to be. And instead of her tan boots of animal hide, there were black boots of a synthetic material. Above that, camouflaged pants with square splotches of black, gray, and mossy green. The wooden bow she’d been holding was now a black, metal carbine fitted with a suppressor.
The excitement of the hunt that had sped her heart rate a moment ago was now something else. Colder. More calculating. Adrenaline coursed through her body. A body that felt more powerful and agile than before. The confusion that had been creeping in from the edges of her mind was gone. In its place was a clear and distinct resolution. Her prey was near. Revenge was at hand, and she had to move.
Rena stalked forward, weaving through the thick, gnarled trees with precise steps. The forest was growing thinner. The sky brighter. The clearing was close. She could feel it. Her eyes scanned the terrain, taking in the smallest of details—a cluster of brush, a broken branch, the upended root ball of a fallen tree. Dozens of observations noted, evaluated, and rejected in an instant. She’d been trained for this. Done it hundreds of times before.
Ahead, the fog began to clear. The breeze moved more easily across the open field below than up here in the trees. It left the convoys exposed. That was why the enemy sniper had chosen this position. Elevated. Concealed. Protected.
Or so he thought.
Rena’s eyes settled on a large clump of moss and weeds, two meters behind a leafless thicket. It looked natural except for the thin cylinder sticking a few centimeters out the opposite side. Rena was twenty meters behind the sniper and three to the right.
She raised her weapon and took aim.
A section of the weeds turned. Strands of moss hung down over a painted face. The eyes were now looking straight at Rena. But they weren’t human. They were large and black, with a narrow band of golden brown around the perimeter. And the painted face was now long, covered in tan hair.
Rena’s arms began to tremble from the exertion of holding the bowstring taut.
The slight movement alarmed the deer, and it sprang into motion.
Rena pivoted, first matching the animal’s speed, then leading it to account for the delay between release and impact. All traces of hesitation were gone. She was operating on instinct.
/> She opened her fingers.
The bowstring made a low, breathy twang.
The fletching of her arrow spun as it shrank from view.
The deer’s legs went limp, and its body dropped to the ground before rolling over and sliding to a stop.
The forest went silent again. So silent Rena could hear her own breathing, more rapid than before.
She raised her fingers to her mouth and let out a whistle that echoed through the trees. A signal to indicate her position and also that she’d fired on the deer. Seconds later, another whistle sounded. An acknowledgment.
Rena quickly nocked another arrow and sprang forward. When she reached the deer, she circled around to its back and approached it from the side opposite its legs. The arrow was sticking up from its body, just behind the shoulder. She’d taken it in the heart. There were no signs of chest movement from breathing. No blinking eyes or quivering muscles. But her father had taught her to be careful.
She knelt and touched the animal’s eye.
There was no reaction.
She slid the unused arrow back into her quiver. Then she laid her hand on the deer’s body. It was still warm.
The sound of running footsteps brought her attention upward again. A tall man came through the trees, slowing as he neared. Like Rena, he was also clad in soft, tan leather. He had Rena’s face and eyes, except for his nose, which was long and narrow. And instead of dark brown hair, his was silver, covering his head in finger-length strands and his face with stubble. Eldric was his name. Rena’s father.
“Hey, Chipmunk. You got him!”
Rena smiled.
“And a perfect shot too. Well done!”
Eldric knelt beside Rena and put his hand on the deer, verifying it was dead. Then he glanced around the forest. “This is as good a place as any. Here,” he said, pulling a knife from the sheath on his belt.
The blade was elegantly curved and razor sharp, with a handle made from a deer antler.
Rena took the skinning tool and held it for a moment, feeling the weight of it while her father rolled the deer onto its back and spread its legs. She reached out and slid her fingers through the animal’s hair, probing for its sternum. A place to make the first incision without puncturing the internal organs. When she found it, she moved the knife into position.
“Your skin for my clothing,” she told the animal. “Your meat for my food. And your bones for my tools. Thank you for your life.”
The tip of the blade lingered. Rena hesitated.
“This is how we used to live,” her father said. His voice was kind. When he placed his hand on Rena’s shoulder, it was gentle. Warm.
Rena looked up.
His eyes were full of love. He was teaching her something incredibly important. “If you’re not ready … I’ll do it.”
“No. It’s my responsibility. I’m ready,” she said.
But when she looked down again, there was already blood on her hands. The knife in her grip wasn’t elegant. It was crude and rusted. A sharpened piece of scrap metal with cord wrapped around it for a handle. And the deer was gone. Instead, there was a man on his hands and knees, dressed in thick, dirty clothing. On the back of his right hand was a glowing number.
002.
Blood gushed from his wrist.
Rena dropped the knife and let out a gasp of surprise as she stumbled backward.
The man realized what Rena had just done to him, and he turned his head to look her in the eye. “I’m gonna kill you,” he grunted. Then he began climbing to his feet.
Panic spread through Rena’s chest like fire and grabbed hold of her throat. Her heart thumped so powerfully it threatened to break through her ribs. She couldn’t breathe.
“And now … you’re back with me,” said Dr. Mallory, her voice calm and soothing. The vocal signal was followed by the sound of snapping fingers. And Rena found herself in her counselor’s office once again.
HOW YOU CAN HELP
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ALSO AVAILABLE BY JASON TESAR
THE AWAKENED SERIES
Awaken His Eyes | Book 1
Paths of Destruction | Book 2
Hands to Make War | Book 3
Combined Edition | Books 1-3
Seeds of Corruption | Book 4
Hidden from Men | Book 5
Foundations of the World | Book 6
Combined Edition | Books 4-6
WANDERING STARS SERIES
Incarnation | Volume 1
Manifestation | Volume 2
Inhabitation | Volume 3
Regeneration | Volume 4
The Making of Incarnation | A Reader’s Companion
CONSENSUS
Citizen | Part 1
Delusion | Part 2
Outlier | Part 3
Renegade | Part 4
Truth | Part 5
OTHER STORIES
Emit (a short story)
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
The third of four children and an introvert from the start, Jason Tesar grew up as an imaginative “middle child” who enjoyed the make-believe world as much as the real one, possibly more. From adolescence to adulthood, his imagination fed itself on a diet of books, movies, and art, all the while growing and maturing—waiting for its opportunity.
In late 1998, Jason
