Office of Mercy (9781101606100) (13 page)

The metal door rose and then sank down with a whoosh behind her. A loud sob broke from Natasha's lips. She collapsed against a wooden fence built to keep the livestock away from the exit: forty dairy cows grazing in an open pasture.

She did not know how long she stayed there. She had draped herself over the wooden beam, in a position to vomit, though the sickness never came. The cows observed her with their large, stupid eyes, their jaws patiently churning the warm-smelling grass and their chins dripping with greenish saliva.

There were no skylights in this room, only the vast brightness of long, low-energy bulbs. The cows must have only recently entered this pasture, as the grass stood high and lush. Along the two side walls, narrow troughs ran with fresh, clear water. At the far end of the pasture, beyond another wooden fence, Natasha could see the door to the stalls where the cows went for milking. She could also hear the distant squawking of chickens from that direction, though she could not see the coop. When the sound of new music came muffled from the Garden, Natasha's tears fell harder, blurring her sight. Her misery had forced her to feel so alone that, despite her proximity to the celebration, when the door rose behind her, she whirled around in surprise.

“What's going on?” Jeffrey asked, walking into the room. The door fell closed. “Natasha?”

The glow of merriment still showed in his cheeks, despite his obvious concern. Natasha turned back to the cows, furious that he had found her here.

“Hey, are you all right?” he asked. “I've been looking everywhere for you.”

Natasha sniffed and tried to wipe her face dry.

“I realized that I don't like Celebrations very much,” she said. “You should get back, though. They'll notice you're gone.”

But, amazingly, he did not go away. He was already walking over to her; and then (though Natasha could hardly believe it) he was pushing the damp strands of hair out of her face. He looked so confused, so worried. The mask of anger he had worn since the mission, and since she had kissed him, had disappeared from his face. The sincerity of his concern disarmed her. Suddenly it was impossible to pretend, impossible to hide her anguish.

“I don't know what's wrong with me,” she said. “Ever since the mission, since the Pines . . . it's like I never came home. I'm sorry for what happened in your sleeproom, but you have to understand, I'm all messed up. I don't know if I'll ever go back to just living
normally
again.”

“No, Natasha. Don't say that.”

His hands stroked firmly through her hair.

“It's my fault,” he said. “I'm sorry I was hard on you. So sorry. I don't know what I was thinking.”

“You shouldn't be sorry, though. You're angry that I screwed up the mission.”

“No.”

“You are! You told me! I was in the medical wing for a week and you didn't even come to see me.”

“I was upset, deeply upset, that the mission failed. And it terrified me, having things get so out of control like that. Having you disappear. I've never been so scared in my life. But I didn't mean to put the blame on you.”

Natasha shrugged. What would it matter to the dead who took the blame for the manual sweep? And who cared what Jeffrey said to her now? His words could not temper her pain. She had thought he felt one way when in fact he felt something different. No words could take away that sting.

“Forgive me, please,” Jeffrey said. “This is my responsibility. I'm
angry with myself.”

“I was the one who kissed you,” Natasha reminded.

She blushed and looked at the cows; for the first time in her life, she was beginning to understand why the Alphas recommended that all sexual play take place in the Pretends. It wasn't worth the pain, the disruption to the peacefulness of one's work and well-being, just to satisfy the body in situations where close friendship would suffice. And yet. As Jeffrey looked at her, her heart beat harder and, in the rush, she forgot it all again; she would not trade her feelings for anything.

“I did visit you in the medical wing,” he said, bending to rest his arms on the fence, so that his face was level with hers. “I came after my shifts, in the evenings. You were sleeping, but I was there. I thought you knew. I thought one of the nurses would have told you.”

“Stop,” she said, briefly closing her eyes. “We don't have to talk about it. It doesn't help anything.”

“Then tell me,” his voice was strangely desperate, “tell me what will help.”

In response to his movement, she leaned into him, allowing her cheek to press against his shirt. She breathed his smell, feeling how it mingled with the smell of the cows and the sweet grass and the warm stench of manure. Thoughts of her Free Play in the Pretends came creeping into her mind, but she pushed them back, embarrassed. She was just glad to have Jeffrey. He squeezed her close, crushing her chest against something cold and hard. She drew away; she hadn't noticed the gold medal.

She let go of him and turned back to the pasture, her weight resting against the fence. The bad feelings that Jeffrey's appearance had pushed away were drifting slowly back.

“Eric and I wrote to the Alphas,” she said. “We requested a meeting.”

“I know.”

“You do?”

“Yes, they told Arthur and me. It's best that we have a complete understanding of what's going on in the Office.”

“Did they tell you they denied our request?”

“No. But I figured they would.”

Natasha bent down and grabbed a handful of untouched grass growing near the fence post. She held it out to the nearest cow who, after contemplating the offer for some long moments, lumbered one step forward. And yet, still as Natasha remained, the beast would not eat from her hand. It huffed hot breath through its nostrils; and, eventually, Natasha dropped the grass to the ground.

“Can I ask you something?” Natasha said.

“You can ask me anything.”

He leaned against the rail beside her.

“Instead of growing new babies for the next generation, why don't we take in Tribal children?”

“What made you think of that?” He was trying to sound casual, but his whole body had stiffened.

“It's just . . . seeing them up close. That boy and girl. It seems like the most ethical thing would be to make use of the life that's already here.”

“And what about those eighty-three Zetas in the Office of Reproduction?”

“I know it's too late
now
. I was thinking for next time.”

“The Wall, Natasha,” he said with quiet urgency.

She nodded vaguely.

“You're letting your fear get to you,” he said, speaking the way a teacher or a teamleader would. “It's impeding your abilities. It's giving you tunnel vision, as fear often will. Right now, you are making conclusions based on the particulars of one, isolated situation—in this case, a very brief interaction with a forest-dwelling Tribe—instead of seeing from a universal perspective. Plus, you're doing something very dangerous. You are trying to bend ethical thinking into a form that will help you cope with the horror you perceived in the field. I want you to build a Wall right now.”

He was no longer leaning on the rail; he had turned to face her, waiting. Natasha closed her eyes, but she was not concentrating on the Wall, not really.

“How do you think
they
do it?” she said at length, opening her eyes.

“Who?”

“The Pines, the Tribes. How can they see from a universal perspective? Do you think they build Walls in their minds?”

“I wouldn't consider it likely,” Jeffrey said, an expression of grim amusement touching his face. “It's not necessary for them to perceive the world in that way because they're not making decisions for vast numbers of people like we are. They worry about themselves, their children, occasionally their immediate relations and allies. For a Tribesperson, tunnel vision, or a nonuniversal perspective, actually helps them survive.”

“What about fear, then? If they don't have Walls, they must live in a constant state of fear.”

“Yes and no,” Jeffrey answered. “Certainly fear is a driving force in their lives, but they've found ways of pushing it into the background, covering it over with other ideas. Ultimately, they don't experience fear in the same way we do because they don't have the same
object
of fear. Or if they did once, it's been morphed beyond recognition.”

“What object?”

“The same as always,” Jeffrey said darkly. “Suffering. Death. In the settlement, we never mess around with the truth of those terrifying realities. We let them stand—cold and vast and undeniable. That recognition, that acknowledgment, is an extremely difficult thing. You don't always realize, because you grew up with this system of thinking. But no human society before the Alphas ever structured itself in stark opposition to these absolutes the way we have. Dared to look them in the eye. It's what defines us. It's what makes this the modern age. And it has—this recognition—it's what allowed us to make such leaps in medical technology and ethics. The sweeps were a revolutionary idea when they came about. So was bioreplacement, the unapologetic pursuit of eternal life. Only by feeling the full force of suffering and death were we able to usher in this world of peace and life. It's astounding,” he said in a faraway voice. He seemed to be losing himself in his own meditations. “Truly remarkable what the Alphas did.”

“But we need the Wall,” Natasha prompted.

“The Wall tames us, for starters,” Jeffrey said, returning from his thoughts. “It blocks out the irrational instincts that nature built into the structure of our brains. Modes of thinking that, after two hundred million years of evolution, are too enmeshed in our genes to cut out. That's the usage you learned first, what we teach in school. It's what happened to you after this mission, if you don't mind my saying. You are perfectly safe in this settlement, and yet some prerational part of your brain is holding on to the sense of danger you felt in the field. In ancient times, this behavior would have been advantageous. It might have kept you from putting yourself in danger again, in the future. You can see, though, how in your situation it's merely an inconvenience.”

Natasha nodded.

“The Wall has an even greater importance in the field of ethics,” Jeffrey continued. “It keeps us from projecting ourselves onto others, as in cases of Misplaced Empathy. Other times it helps us in situations in which the most ethical decision does not match our natural inclination. Like when the tattooed man was killed by the bear. We were forced to allow suffering in the moment in order to prevent greater suffering in the future. Our minds tend to rebel against those sorts of decisions. Or at least they do without learned intervention. We're evolved to react to immediate harm rather than the harm in some hypothetical, even an extremely
likely
hypothetical, future.”

“And sometimes the Wall shuts down all thought,” added Natasha.

“Our recognition of horror can be overpowering,” Jeffrey agreed. “So much so that it dissolves our capacity for a universal perspective. A single man or woman cannot save ten others from drowning. The drowning ones would pull that person down.”

“And the Tribes?” Natasha asked, after a pause. “How do they manage?”

“For them, the horror of existence is inevitable. Like I said, they're not able to fight it and so they deal with it in other, nonproductive or indirect ways. They think of their existence as extending through the lives of their children, their children's children. They have religion, legends. Ways of thinking that glorify suffering, or at least transform it from pure horror into something that has the sheen of godliness, or purpose. In many of their stories, suffering and death are the very gates that lead to eternal peace.”

“I feel sorry for them.”

“You should. We all do, that's why we're trying to help them.” He looked at her, searchingly. “If I tell you something, Natasha, will you keep it to yourself? Not mention anything to Eric or Yasmine, or even your roommate?”

“Sure, of course.”

“Well, we're going to step things up with the Pines. The Alphas have planned another mission. Only Gammas on this one,” he added quickly, “Arthur, Claudia, Douglas, and myself. We didn't announce it on the maincomputer because the Alphas don't want to cause unnecessary worry. But we're going to attempt a manual sweep of the Pines who are still within the perimeter. Soon you won't have to worry about their pain.”

“Another mission?”

Forty large heads rose up from the grass, startled and staring with big, round eyes.

“I thought you'd be relieved,” Jeffrey said.

“When are you doing this?”

“Tomorrow, in the morning. We'll be back before lunch.”

“You can't!”

“Of course we can. We have to.” He was getting flustered. “Look—I thought you were coming around. I was trying to put your mind at ease. If I'd any idea you'd react like this, I wouldn't have told you.”

“You can't sweep them, Jeffrey! We should wait. We need to learn more about them at least, that's what I've been trying to tell you. I'll go right now and tell that to the Alphas!”

A whoosh interrupted their talk, and the door opened to reveal a chatting, jolly party of seven Gammas and Deltas. At the front of the group stood Tom Doncaster, Director of the Department of Agriculture, wearing his usual blue coveralls. Unlike everyone else, he had apparently decided to forgo the chance to dress up in new clothes.

“Oh. Hello, Jeffrey, Natasha. Hope we're not interrupting anything. I was just leading a tour of the Farms.”

An awkward moment followed as the others poured in, their talk dying down as they noticed Natasha's distress. Natasha didn't care, though; she didn't care what they thought of her, she was too busy fighting the desire to scream. Sweep the Pines. Tomorrow. A manual sweep with the best in the Office. And this time, the citizens would be prepared, they would know where to look, thanks to her.