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Chapter Six

At Speer’s command, we rise from our desks and file out into the hall, making our way down to the computer labs. We shuffle our way there under the monitors’ withering stares.

Entering the room, I make my way as quickly as I can toward the computer farthest from the instructor’s desk. Speer always looks and I don’t want him looking. He enters last. Taking his place behind the instructor’s desk, he kicks his feet up and leans back.

“You have an hour of unstructured computer time. I suggest you use it wisely.”

Picking up his newest copy of
Drumbeat,
he begins to read. The other students quickly log into their terminals and begin watching videos and instant messaging each other.

Normally the computers are highly restricted. When we have access to them we use them for specific lesson plans, and Speer is always watching. But today is different.

This unexpected turn of events fills me with excitement. Using the computers I can search for answers; I can start uncovering the truth.

The three girls sitting next to me pull markers from their pockets and with great zeal begin scribbling on each other’s masks with shapes and colors of every variety. The desire to decorate my mask never crossed my mind. Sure I’ve seen it done a few times over the years at school, and at the rare sleep-over, but it never made my mask feel like mine.

Decorating your mask does nothing to alleviate its discomfort or confinement. I may have done it when I was a little girl, but now it feels wrong to personalize something that erases your identity. If it brings them some measure of happiness who am I to stop them, but no one is going to look at a dozen kaleidoscopic patterns and think, “Oh, that’s so and so.” They’ll just see another young girl who has become complacent in her prison.

They might be, but I am not.

Despite how I feel about their choice of activities it has given me the opportunity I need. Every student must log in with their own individualized user ID and password. Once they’ve done so, every action they take is copied off of their terminal and sent to the school’s central database where Inspector Aldridge picks through every line to ensure we aren’t looking at restricted materials.

In my eighth year, I searched “what makes the Great Society so great?” That little act would have landed me two weeks detention if I hadn’t been able to convince the Authoritarian and Inspector Aldridge that I had not meant for my search to be sarcastic and that I actually wanted to compare my own list of what makes the Great Society great with what the computer said. When the Authoritarian commanded me to recite what makes the Great Society humanity’s crown jewel, I felt genuine terror. Each word of praise I spoke fell from trembling lips.

I haven’t used computers to satisfy my curiosity since. And I fear, that if I am caught today, I won’t be able to force praise through my lips and escape from punishment. And at my age I know I wouldn’t get off easily with only detention. But I have a plan to dodge suspicion, and I think it’ll work.

Of the three girls, the one sitting next to me is Victoriana. Her unmistakable bright yellow hair flows past her shoulders and to the middle of her back. Normally the thought of getting someone else in trouble by using their login wouldn’t cross my mind, but with Victoriana I feel no guilt.

I know how she treats me, and I’ve seen the way she manipulates others, spreads lies and starts rumors. I’m not jealous of her or her popularity. Not in the least. I simply care nothing for her. She coerces and deceives to get what she wants. She is a living embodiment of what I feel is wrong with our society. Besides, her parents are powerful people. Being high-level bureaucrats, I’m sure they could convince people to look the other way in the case of one transgression.

Plus, Victoriana is an easy target. She is the only girl to have ever gone to Neptus Memorial. With her initials “VZ” that meant her username was “VZ1”. Knowing her username wouldn’t be enough, but a few weeks back I watched her type in her password, ‘vicky123’. She’s made this almost too easy. I know it’s risky, and Victoriana might get in serious trouble, but this is my best shot. I have to take it.

In the corner of my eye I watch her draw detailed patterns onto the mask of whoever is sitting next to her. Taking a deep breath, I begin.

My fingers dance through the projected light from the terminal. I’m in. There is no telling how long they can keep themselves preoccupied with decorating their masks before they decide to use their computers, so I work as fast as I can. My fingers darting like lightning, I type in the question Delia left me with, “If the air we breathe is toxic, killing people all the time, why aren’t the streets littered with bodies? What’s hidden in the silver trucks?” The search is instantaneous.

The Public Works and Infrastructure informational page opens, scrolls down the page, and then focuses on a headline. “GSPWI workers toil around the clock to keep your streets clear of refuse, debris, and obstacles. We keep the city beautiful so you don’t have to.” Fantastic, more lies. More propaganda. What did I expect? I doubt the truth is that easy: to type in my burning question and have it instantly gratified with a clear and rational answer. Having wasted my one and only opportunity, I log out.

Heart racing, I lean back in my chair, staring. The ceiling cracks and discolored spots of the concrete scowl back at me with unflinching coolness. Nothing is that easy. I had one shot with that, one shot to find something out, and I threw it away. At least now I know for sure the computers are not to be trusted, and whatever the truth is, they really don’t want people to stumble across it. I should have known; nothing is that easy to find, especially when the entire state apparatus is invested in keeping it hidden.

Victoriana finishes drawing a thick golden line completing the zigzag pattern on the girl’s mask. As soon as the pen lifts from the rubber, the excitement of decorating the mask fades and she abruptly turns toward her computer terminal and logs in with fast, practiced fingers. Pages of fashion sites, media, and instant messaging clutter up every pixel of her screen.

I let out a sigh.
That was close
. Unable to look at her, and with apprehension knotting my stomach, I log into my own terminal. Pulling up pictures of the billboards that stare at me through the glass walls of my home, I scour them hoping to uncover the secrets they’re hiding.

Without warning, the door to the computer room bursts open. I look to the clock floating in the three dimensions of the illuminated light to see if it’s time to go back and watch the documentary. It’s only been ten minutes. My stomach tightens with fear. Cautiously, I look up to see the towering form of Inspector Aldridge storming in. My skin prickles and the hairs on my neck stand up. Speer quickly sits up, but makes sure to place
Drumbeat
down carefully so as not to lose his place. Aldridge’s thick build bulges under her khaki uniform. Her large head looks bulbous and inflated squeezed into her rebreather.

“Victoriana Zarrov, come with me immediately.”

Victoriana looks up from her screen. She hesitates to move, but slowly, she starts to stand.

“Now!”

The rebreather amplifies the authority in Aldridge’s voice. Victoriana snaps up and with her head held low, quickly races out the door. Aldridge follows her out into the hall. The door closes cutting them out of view. Looking around nervously for a moment, Speer jumps up from the desk.

“Up! Back to the room. You will sit there in silence until I return. Comply?”

The other students had already sprung to their feet.

“Yes, sir!”

Speer rushes out the door, which slams hard behind him. Hector, the boy who was fidgeting with his hands after the first documentary, steps up to the door and holds it open.

“File in behind me.”

The class obeys without thought to the authority of his command. I rise from my seat at the last possible moment and jump to the end of the line. Anxiety grips me. Walking down the hall to the classroom, I feel the monitors’ eyes on me like lasers. Their heads and eyes follow me as I walk past them. They can see my guilt. They can see it written on every pore, on every strand of hair. I know these thoughts are irrational, but I’m terrified the monitors can see right through me.

The room is empty. The technicians have already removed the old projector and replaced it with a new one. Its color is slightly
more
black, but otherwise it looks no different. New.

We file in and take our regular seats. Hector comes in last and stands at the front of the classroom, shoulders back, arms crossed. The powerful pose he intends to strike comes off as insecure and delusional. He doesn’t scare me, nor do I think anyone in the class would keep themselves from talking on his account, but nonetheless, we all remain silent.

One day he’ll look back on this as the moment he knew he would be a Peace Officer. I don’t have to wonder what kind of person he will become once he’s give his uniform and baton. While I’m speculating on Hector’s potential future, Speer enters the room and interrupts my thoughts. He takes two large steps, stopping in front of Hector.

“Take your seat,” commands Speer.

“Yes, sir!” Hector says without hesitation. He nearly knocks his desk over in his haste to sit down. Speer turns to look at us. Hunched, his clothes are slightly disheveled and his mechanical breaths are coming more rapidly than normal.

“Before you all start raising your hands with questions, let me remind you that when a student is removed from class, their crime and/or punishment is none of your concern. If you prod me or any other faculty member for answers, we will have to assume that you were an accomplice and take you in for punishment as well. Now, I know that you all understand these rules, I’m simply reiterating them for your own good.”

He straightens his back and refastens the two unbuttoned buttons on his shirt. Tucking his shirt in while he walks, Speer moves around the desk and retakes his seat. He sits still for a few seconds until the rasping mechanical sounds of his assisted breaths slow down and become normal again.

“Victoriana is being questioned by Inspector Aldridge. She will not be returning to class today. Because of her actions, twelfth-year computer lab privileges are being revoked until further notice. But it’s not all bad news. We now have more time to watch the Caretaker’s videos. In fact, I think with our extra hour we should be able to squeeze all of them in before the redundant air scrubbers are installed and classes return to normal.”

Speer stands, returns to the command module on the wall and begins to activate the film. The new projector sputters on and once again we are bombarded by the crackling of the speakers.

“Listen to the thoughtful words of the narrator. I hope you take them to heart. Remember, you will be tested on all the different ways a citizen can make their life useful to society.”

The film begins and the narrator’s voice attempts to grab my attention, but I am lost in thought and his inviting tone cannot find me.

What have I done? Was Victoriana being tortured because of me? Had Speer beat her and that’s why he’s out of breath like that? It should be me in there. Looking up at the film for a moment, I can tell they aren’t going to show us any of the more nefarious embodiments of the Great Society like that of the people interrogating Victoriana. Within the walls of this institution, at this very moment, she is terrified and in pain while we all just sit here, vegetative. I feel sick. I need to be more careful in the future. Using the computers was a bad idea, and no matter how cruel and manipulative Victoriana can be, she doesn’t deserve to be punished in my place.

Chapter Seven

I wallow in shame for the rest of the day. My mind is filled with images of Victoriana. Aloof from the world outside my head, I finish the school day. Following the line of students, I leave school and find my place on the bus. Traffic is surprisingly light today so I gaze absently out the window. Watching the city pass by in a blur takes my mind away from the day. It’s amazing how the bleak soot-covered buildings can be transformed into swirling black-grey pieces of art by the moving windows of a bus. I wish more art looked like this instead of the overly bright and optimistic pictures of men and women working, their faces like the woman’s on the
Mountain Air
billboard, overly enthused. It has been my experience that no one looks like that, without medication anyway. I lose myself in the blurred world beyond the windows.

Slowly the artistic images begin to un-swirl and reform into solid shapes of buildings and the bobbing masked forms of people walking the streets. The bus stops with a jerk. I wait my turn, watching the girl to my left. When she rises, I do too. Keeping my eyes down, the shuffling of my feet brings my thoughts back to Victoriana. They never left; they were only momentarily covered. The disgrace I felt earlier retakes me. I step off the bus and push my way half-heartedly toward my apartment and its requisite airlocks.

The entrance line is short, so I find myself promptly inside the cylinder of hissing air and grinding steel. After the airlock removed the air from the street and replaced it with scrubbed air from the building, the door opens. I step onto the shiny floor of the large entry hall. Music is playing like normal but it sounds muffled and distant. There is no line for the elevators. I press the call button and the doors open right away. Stepping inside, I press the button for my floor and lean back against the wall. Like normal, like clockwork. I wonder if Victoriana is home now or if they’re still holding her at the school? Does she know it was me who logged into her account? And if she does, would she tell them or would she protect me? The elevator stops and I begin the long walk down the hallway to the my door at the end. As I move I hear faint, distant voices. I don’t look up from my feet to investigate; instead I focus on the swirling pattern of the floor’s carpet, attempting to keep my mind off Victoriana. From years of walking this hall I know exactly when I’m in front of my door without having to look. The voices have grown louder. Looking up, I find the door wide open. I see my masked mother and the building’s superintendent, Mr. Standish, in the living room. They appear to be arguing because their arms are gesticulating wildly. Despite my close proximity, their voices still sound muffled; shouldn’t I be able to hear the argument? I then realize that when I came through the airlock I forgot to remove my mask. How could I forget to do something so simple, so automatic? I think I’m more shaken up by what happened to Victoriana than I’ve allowed myself to believe. With a single motion I pull the mask free and suddenly their words were clear. I quickly move into the kitchen to eavesdrop.

“I’ve told you a dozen times already, ma’am, we’ve already taken precautions and installed a redundant air safety system.”

“I don’t care if you’ve done it already. I want you to do it again! And double check all the seals and doors to this place while you’re at it. You may be too thick or too young to remember, but the people who murdered those children at the school are the same ones who terrorized the city decades ago!”

“What are you even talking about? It was an isolated incident, that’s what the news said.”

“That’s what they told us last time too, even when you could look out your own window and see the city burning!”

“Look lady…”

“That’s Mrs. Brennan to you!”

“Look, Mrs. Brennan, I do remember those days. This is nothing like that. All the subversives are in prison. This was an isolated incident. You are safe here. You don’t need to wear your mask inside.”

“Are you that naïve? You think you can simply imprison all of those deranged people and have the problem go away? They’re like cancer! Once they enter society, the only way to remove them is to purge the whole body. Every cell, every molecule, must be scoured clean! I know they’re back, and I’m not going to have my family choke and die because some penny-pinching custodian won’t inspect the building again!” Her frantic tone morphs into a steely resonance. “If you don’t ensure the safety of MY apartment, then I’ll be forced to call the authorities. For all I know, YOU could be a subversive attempting to murder every man, woman, and child in this building.”

“What? Hold on a minute, there is no need for any of that. I’ve already inspected everything. All of the building’s safety certificates are up-to-date. Besides, who’s going to pay for all that? You? Do you even know how much a backup air purifying system for a building this size costs?”

“For a moment I thought you would see reason, but I’m convinced now that you are a subversive. I’m calling in Peace Officers.”

Mother moves toward the phone—the phone in the kitchen. She won’t be happy if she finds me in here without my mask on. Even if I wanted to put my mask on, which I most assuredly do not, there’s no time. Bracing for her arrival, I’m saved. Mr. Standish jumps in front of Mother. Placing a trembling hand on her shoulder, he speaks through quivering lips.

“I’ll do it, I’ll do it all. Every crack, every crevice. The second redundant system is going to take a week or more to install, but I’ll have my people get started on it right away. Just please, don’t call them.”

Mr. Standish sighs, defeated, then makes for the open door. His face looks weary with a hint of fear in his eyes. Mother’s face remains emotionless, veiled behind her mask. He passes the kitchen without noticing me then closes the door gently behind him. Holding my mask in my hands, I look into the two small glass circles and see my eyes reflected back. I see his fear in my own eyes. I unwillingly stand up from my crouch, ready to face Mother without my mask.

“What are you doing? Get your mask on! Quickly, before something happens.”

“You heard Mr. Standish, Mother, nothing’s going to happen. He already checked it.”

“How much of that did you hear? Can’t you tell how worried I am, and you still want to side with that man over your own Mother? I love you, Evelyn. That’s why I want you to wear your mask. I don’t want you to die.”

Mother begins to sob. Grief clouds her eyes.

“I’m not trying to hurt you. I just don’t think there’s anything to worry about.”

“Nothing to worry about? Children are dying in their classrooms. Do you think that’s nothing? You are too young, thank the Caretakers, so you don’t know how much there really is to worry about out there. I know I let you do what you want, but not today, not this time. You will wear your mask from now on! Period! End of discussion! I’m not going to lose my child! Put on your mask and go to your room!”

“But…”

“Now!”

I’ve never heard Mother scream with such fury in all my life. Muffled as it was by her mask, it lost none of its power. My fingers dance over my mask’s straps, electrified by the intensity of her voice. Fumbling, I get the straps loose then slip it back over my face. In my haste to tighten it down, I get some of my hair caught in the straps and it pulls out painfully. I keep my pain inside.

I take my backpack off and hold it in one hand while opening my bedroom door with the other. Closing the door in one instant and tossing my backpack across the room in the next, the tension and weight of the day wash over me full force. I flop ungracefully onto the bed, listening to the heavy rasps of my stress venting through my mask. The day boils in my mind. Did those students really die? They couldn’t have, Delia didn’t. But how is Delia now? How is Victoriana? Do they know it was me? Why was Mr. Standish so afraid of having the Peace Officers called? Why is Mother so afraid of subversives? Why is she demanding things of me now, when she never has before? Will she fight with Father again tonight? Too many questions, too many emotions. Overwhelmed, it’s not long until the world fades and I fall off into a restless sleep.