Chapter 20
Adam staggered through the door of his apartment and flicked on the switch. He stared around the room with blank eyes, making certain he was alone before he dropped the mental mask he still clung precariously to. He moved across the room, dropping his jacket on the floor as he went. Passing a hand across his face, he sagged limply into the chair and took a shuddering breath.
It had not been an easy day.
He untied his boots and pulled them off. Still soaked, they squished as he tossed them back towards the door. He glanced at his feet. His right foot had no sock, and the skin was white and clammy, wrinkled from the exposure to all the water. He pulled the sock off his left foot and winced as he accidently tore the blister that had begun to form on the back of his heel, where the soaked sock had begun to bunch. He rose and walked into the bathroom. He peeled off the rest of his soaked clothing and tried to dry himself off.
He remembered very little after he had forced his mind to shut down. He knew he had ambled along the corridors of the Sanitation building beside Angie, but his actions had been zombie-like, his responses to questions monosyllabic. He hoped she had passed his earlier behavior off as a result of the transfer. He couldn’t afford to have her begin to wonder about his behavior.
He walked back into the living room and pulled on a clean, dry pair of pants. He flicked on the stereo as he passed, and the system automatically skipped to the tune he listened to most often, the 1812 Overture. He let the opening strains wash over him as he moved his chair away and began his evening ritual. Just as the morning ritual was necessary to establish his Simple Adam persona, the evening routine helped him to focus his mind and his body. The stretches got the blood flowing back into his icy limbs. Once he had warmed up, he shifted into the strikes and kicks. He allowed his mind to drift back over the major events of the day as he pushed himself to move as quickly as he could while maintaining the proper form for each technique.
A part of him cursed himself for his carelessness during the day. He’d known how hard it would be to re-establish the Simple Adam act once he’d let it slip. He knew that it had been necessary, that revealing himself to Casey had been important, but it had left him vulnerable. He probably could have salvaged things if it had been someone other than Angie that had met them at Sanitation, but there had been something about her that had made it difficult to regain his mental composure. It had been more than her appearance, though she was unquestionably stunning, that had made it so difficult. She had seemed... different.
He finished his routine and grabbed the towel from the chair, wiping himself down. He knew that Casey would be arriving shortly, and he needed to think things through before his step-brother arrived. He had kicked things into motion by exposing the truth about himself, and he needed to make sure he was ready for what would come.
He needed to look at things objectively.
He knelt down in the middle of the floor and closed his eyes. He’d gotten adept at meditation over the years, especially while playing Simple Adam. He could drop into a trance-like state almost instantly, now. It was a technique that few people even remembered, much less practised anymore, but Adam found it to be incredibly calming and refreshing. It also helped him to clear and focus his thoughts.
He centered himself and focused on his breathing, much as he did while preparing his morning act. He felt his heartbeat slow down, and his breathing grew steady and calm. Once he felt himself completely settled, he turned his mind inwards.
He started with his greatest fear: what if he was wrong?
His greatest fear was that everything he believed, everything he thought he perceived, was the construct of a damaged brain; while he didn’t want to admit the possibility that he was, in fact, delusional, he could not objectively deny that possibility. He had been shot in the head as a child. That sort of thing could have long-term consequences. It was possible that the child he had been had constructed a reality where he had idolized those most important to him and had demonized the society – the government – which had stolen those people from him. It was a fear he had struggled with his entire life.
What kind of child could rationalize creating an alternate persona, a mentally deficient alternate persona, as a means to a theoretical end? What kind of person could then maintain the act for two decades? Objectively, it seemed ludicrous... possibly even completely insane. Was it possible that he was deluding himself?
He forced his breathing to slow down again. He had to face his fear, and he had to do it objectively. Was it possible that he was insane?
It was a possibility. He didn’t think he was, but when did a crazy person ever think they were crazy?
If he was insane, if he had constructed a false view of reality in the same way he had created a false identity, that false reality could not stand up to a careful, objective evaluation of the things that created it. He needed to examine, as objectively as he could, the fundamental truths of the world around him and contrast those truths with his perceptions.
The principle concept which governed his perceptions was that something was terribly wrong within his society – so wrong, in fact, that the only possible recourse was through violent revolution. That premise was the rock upon which his actions had entirely been based. If that premise was flawed, then it would call everything else he believed into question. Consequently, he needed to examine that premise.
But what, exactly, did he perceive as being wrong within his society? He tried to push away the biased perspective, developed from the years growing up with his grandfather; instead, he tried to focus on the world as it was, not as he wished it to be.
There were several positive aspects of his society, if he examined them without bias. The crime rate, which had exploded following the American withdrawal nearly eighty years before, had dropped to an astonishing level. Major crimes, like arson, murder, and sexual assault, had been completely eliminated according to recent government announcements. Minor crimes, such as theft, had diminished as well, though they had not been completely eradicated. Unemployment within the Zones was non-existent. Everyone over the age of seventeen worked. Children between the ages of five and seventeen were required to attend school. Children under the age of five were cared for by day homes run by the government. Every individual over the age of eighteen within the Citizone was required to spend a minimum of two years in the Militia, which taught not only basic self-defense and weapon use, but provided occupational training prior to employment.
If one considered those facts, the government was accomplishing its motto of “Peace Above All”.
However, the question had to be raised about the manner in which those objectives had been accomplished.
Reducing crime rates had been one of the government’s primary objectives. The solution had been remarkably simple. To eliminate crime, make the consequences for criminal behavior so severe that only the most desperate or idiotic would disobey the laws. For all of the major crimes, including treason, sedition, murder, assault, arson, sexual assault, resisting arrest, possession of contraband, possession of firearms, and gathering for political, religious, or non-governmentally sanctioned activities, the penalty was death. For minor crimes, such as breaking curfew, theft, missing Counselling appointments, or the falsification of Zone Passes or bidaily accounts, the penalty was relocation to the Disreputable Zone. To streamline the new justice system, trials were limited to capital offenses. An accusation by a CP for a minor offense was sufficient proof of guilt to require relocation to the DZ. Trials for the major offenses were conducted in private hearings, overseen by a Citizone Magistrate, and were limited to one hour. According to a recent governmental announcement, less than one percent of defendants were acquitted.
Unemployment rates, like crime rates, had dropped significantly since the Zone Laws had been implemented. Dismissal from a position was grounds for relocation to the DZ, upon recommendation from the employer or Counsellor. Voluntary unemployment required that the unemployed individual procure alternate employment within twelve days or face mandatory employment placement or relocation to the DZ. Children between the ages of twelve to sixteen were provided mandatory placement, and could be transferred between Zones by employers with a minimum of twenty-four hours notice to parents. Employed adults could be transferred between Zones with a minimum of forty-eight hours notice. Spouses of the transferred employees could relocate to the new Zone and find new employment or could opt to remain in their current position but lose their marital status.
Education was mandatory to the age of twelve. Non-attendance or tardiness for non-medical reasons was treated as a curfew infraction, and often resulted in the child and their entire family being relocated to the DZ. Children under the age of five were required to attend governmentally run day homes. The day homes were universally over-crowded, and the cost of the day homes was approximately one-half the daily credit income of one parent. A little noted fact that the government regularly glossed over was that infant mortality rates, unlike crime rates, had spiked with the institution of the day homes.
Adam opened his eyes. Perhaps he was crazy, but that didn’t mean that he was wrong. There was something terribly wrong with the current state of society. In addition, there was no method of addressing the issues which wasn’t illegal. Discussing governmental policy was considered an act of sedition. Approaching a Citizone Magistrate – essentially the Judges and Juries within the respective Zones – directly was considered a misdemeanour. Approaching a Citizon – essentially the Zonal Governor – was considered a felony. All concerns needed to be directed to a Citizoneprotect, who could lay a simple accusation against any citizen and have them either taken to trial or relocated to the DZ.
Adam remembered a quote from Thomas Jefferson his grandfather had once told him. ‘Experience has shown that even under the best forms of government those entrusted with power have, in time, and by slow operations, perverted it into tyranny.’ He rose quietly to his feet. While he could not discount the possibility that he was crazy, he could also not discount the fact that those currently entrusted with the mantle of governmental power had become tyrants.
“And,” he said softly, still recalling the words his grandfather had quoted to him so long ago, “‘the tree of liberty must occasionally be refreshed from time to time with the blood of patriots and tyrants.’” He shook his head sadly and walked quietly into the kitchen. He glanced at the plant sitting on the counter. He poured a little water into the dirt and carried it to the window. There was very little light left, but he hoped what there was would do some good. Returning to the kitchen he was about to open another can of ration when there was a light knock on his door.
His heart skipped, and then returned to its normal rhythm. If They had come for him, there would have been no warning, no knock. It was illegal to lock the doors. He wondered, briefly if that law stemmed from the cost of repairing damaged doorframes after the Great Purge. He chuckled softly and called out, “Come in!”
Casey poked his head in the door, his red hair gleaming like a beacon. “Hi, Adam!” he called out, just loud enough to be heard from any listening devices outside. “The boss wanted me to come and look in on you. Can I come in?”
Adam did his best to fall into the speech patterns of Simple Adam. “Hiya, Case! Did you hear I got a new job? I work at... um...”
“Sanitation,” Casey finished. “Yeah, I heard.” He stepped inside and allowed the door to close. He glanced at the stereo, which had shifted to playing the William Tell Overture. He smiled slightly. “How did the day go?”
His tone indicated that he was either unsure if he could still be overheard, or unsure if he had imagined the conversation from earlier in the day. Adam smiled at the hesitation in his brother’s voice.
“About as well as I expected,” he admitted drily, and Casey’s expression relaxed somewhat. “It’s always difficult, transferring to a new job. It was a little harder than usual, today, though.”
Shaking his head, Casey stepped into the living room. “It’s going to take me a little while to get over the change in you, Adam,” he admitted.
Adam smiled and walked over to the wardrobe and pulled out a wrinkled t-shirt. He pulled it on and walked over to where Casey stood. “I can imagine.” He pulled the chair into the middle of the room and waved for Casey to sit. “Can I get you anything?” he asked as he moved back into the kitchen and pulled a glass from under the counter.
Casey shook his head and sat down in the chair. “Not right now. You were right about how Dan would react, by the way.” Adam glanced up. He hadn’t known his old boss’ name was Dan. Casey leaned back in the chair. “He was so upset about how he’d treated you that he insisted I come and make sure your day went okay. He punched the time into my bidaily... and I made sure I memorized his code.”
Adam felt his eyebrows rise. A corporate code was a powerful thing. It was one of the few things which could circumvent the curfew. Anyone with a properly coded bidaily could walk around after curfew without fear of reprisal. The CPs would just check the code was valid and would wish the possessor a good night. He shook his head, impressed. “You mean to tell me...”
Casey grinned. “I have permission to be doing whatever I happen to be doing,” he confirmed. “Until Dan realizes someone is using his code.”
Adam smiled back at his brother. “Then we make sure we only use it when we need to. That was clever. Well done.”
Nodding, Casey peered over at Adam. For a moment he was silent, and then he cleared his throat slightly. “I can’t say that I’m not terrified, Adam. It’s one thing to remember Grampa talking about... the R word, but to actually consider it...?”
“Revolution, Case,” Adam said softly as he poured himself a glass of water. The stew could wait. “The word is revolution.”
Casey stared at him in silence, his expression tight. At last he licked his lips and glanced around nervously. “Revolution,” he whispered. “God, it’s been such a long time since I heard that said out loud.”
Adam nodded in agreement, but then walked around the counter to sit on the corner of his bed. He peered at Casey as he took a sip of water, then commented, “To be totally honest, Case, if you weren’t terrified, I’d be suspicious. History is full of people who have tried this kind of thing before... and there is no such thing as a happy ending if you don’t succeed.” He cocked his head to one side. “Revolution. It’s a big word. A dangerous word.”
Casey glanced down at his hands. “I know. It’s already got me jumping at shadows.” He looked up at Adam, his eyes wide. “I don’t know that I can do this, Adam. I’m not... I couldn’t have...” he paused to collect his thoughts. “You’ve managed to hide what you are for twenty years, Adam. I don’t think I have that kind of...”
Adam smiled grimly at Casey’s uncertainty. “I know what you’re trying to say, Case. In all honesty, though, you’ve been pulling off the same act as I have. Grampa’s ideas have been sitting in the back of your mind for just as long, and you haven’t been able to hide behind a mask like I have. You’ve probably been dragged in for questioning more times than you want to remember.” Casey’s eyes told him he had guessed correctly. “And despite all of that,” Adam continued in a measured tone, “you have managed to convince Them that you have nothing to hide. I don’t know if I could have done that.”
Casey frowned. “I had to. They would have come for Mom.”
“True, but that doesn’t change the fact that you managed to convince Them that you were not a threat. If you hadn’t, you wouldn’t be here. You’ve been acting your entire life, too.” Adam frowned. “And somehow, I don’t think that we’re the only ones that have been forced to pretend, to act like model citizens. How many kids did you know going through school that had lost a parent or a grandparent, an older sibling... how many Ghost Kids were there? And we were young during the Great Purge. There have been at least three more, not counting the individual takings.” He ran his hand through his thick blonde hair. “To be totally honest, I don’t understand how people haven’t tried something like this before. How many people are left who haven’t suffered some kind of personal loss at the hands of the government?”
Casey stared morosely at the floor. “Damn near everyone I know has lost someone... and most of those who didn’t are working directly for the government.”
“Then that’s where we have to start,” Adam reflected, his voice quiet. “People are scared, just like you and I are, but at what point do people move beyond their fear? When enough has been taken from a person, don’t they start to wonder what they can do to stop anything else from being taken? You and I both know that just discussing this could get us executed, but how many other things are there that could result in the same thing? If you are late with your bidaily, you run the risk of being relocated. If you try to get together with a group to discuss anything more controversial than the weather, you can be executed. Surely there are others who want that to change, and the most likely candidates are the ones who have lost someone important.” He looked at Casey steadily. “That’s going to have to be your job, Case. Find people who have lost someone important and approach them.”
Casey’s eyes widened. “Why me?” he demanded.
Adam laughed sardonically. “Can you really see anyone talking to me, Case? Besides, I have a different job.” At his brother’s questioning look, Adam smiled ruefully. “I’ve got the DZ.”
At Casey’s look of shock, Adam shrugged. “I’m in the perfect position for it. I’ve been assigned manual clean up, and part of the responsibility includes the DZ.” Rising, Adam paced back into the small kitchen. He stood at the sink, sipping from his glass, and stared down in contemplation for a moment. “How did they do it?” he wondered, almost to himself.
“How did who do it?” his brother asked, glancing up at him.
Adam shook his head slightly. “The ones who have done this before: the great leaders and thinkers that have existed periodically throughout history; the people who had the audacity to stand up to tyranny and oppression. Leaders in things like the American and French Revolutions, the Russian Revolution, the French resistance in the Second World War…”
He glanced up, and suddenly his face drained of color. There, standing in the entry of his home, her eyes wide with shock, was the security guard from Sanitation. Angie. He hadn’t heard or noticed her enter. The glass slipped from his fingers and shattered on the floor.
Without thinking, he moved smoothly around the counter and reached her in two quick strides. Gripping her elbow securely, he wrapped his other hand around her slender waist and pulled her firmly but gently inside, kicking the door shut with his foot. He glanced over at Casey, who was standing by the chair, terror etched across his face. “Lock it,” he snapped.
Casey blinked. Locking a door after curfew was an offense. If it was discovered, it would result in the arrest of anyone found on the premises. Even so, Casey only hesitated for a moment. He stepped past Adam and Angie and locked the door as Adam led the dazed security guard to the chair and sat her down, placing his hands on the arms of the chair to indirectly confine her. She stared up at him, her face pale and her eyes wide. Trembling, she opened her mouth to speak, but Adam shook his head. “Who knows you’re here?” he demanded, his voice a whip.
She flinched slightly. It was obvious she had been interrogated in the past. With frightened eyes, she glanced back over her should at Casey standing between her and the door. She turned back to stare at Adam, unable to speak.
“Who?” Adam snapped again.
His tone seemed to shake her out of her daze, and she blinked at him. “No one knows,” she whispered. “I just thought I would come and make sure you made it home alright. You looked so lost…” He could see her struggling to connect the confused, simple man she had guided around the Sanitation building with the one who now loomed threateningly over her. Suddenly her eyes widened and she looked again towards the door. “You locked the door,” she whispered, her wide eyes returning to his. “I heard you. Russia, France, the American…” She faltered at the forbidden word, her voice fading to a whisper.
He could see the terror in those wide, brown eyes, the realization. The unspoken word seemed to hang, motionless in the silence of the room. He was close enough that he could feel the heat of her, feel her rapid breathing against the skin of his throat as she grasped the heart of what they had been discussing. He leaned in, his cheek brushing against hers as he whispered, almost tauntingly, the word that quivered in the air. “Revolution. That’s the word you’re looking for, Angie: Revolution.”
He drew back and watched her eyes, saw the word plant itself in her mind. He held his breath for a moment, eyes locked on hers. He saw the terror rise at the thought, and he braced his arms on the arms of the chair, prepared to take swift action if she reacted wrong.
The terror suddenly diminished, replaced by what he had prayed he would see. Hope, sheer blind hope, came to soul-shattering life within her dark eyes, and a single tear crept its way from the corner of her eyes as she whispered the word, tasting it for the first time. “Revolution...” Her voice was hesitant, tremulous, almost pleading with an unspoken need. With a tiny smile, Adam released the arms of the chair and straightened.
He was right. People were ready for this.
Still, his stance and Casey’s position in front of the door demanded something more from her, and she knew it. She stared at Adam, a silent war raging inside her. The years of oppression had left their mark on everyone, and overcoming that innate terror of what might come was a struggle. At last she took a shuddering breath. “I’m in,” she murmured. “God help me, but I’m in.”
Adam nodded slowly. The tension in his shoulders eased, and his eyes flicked to Casey. His brother stared hard at Angie for a moment before meeting his eyes. Adam nodded, and he saw Casey relax marginally.
“You can move away from the door, Red,” Angie commented quietly. “I’m not going to run.” She looked back at Adam, and a small smile touched her lips. He recognized it. It was the same cold, hungry smile he felt upon his own. “I’ve waited for this moment for as long as I can remember.” Her voice dropped to an almost throaty purr as she tasted the word again. “Revolution!”
“Revolution,” Adam agreed.
“Revolution!” Casey hissed, moving away from the door and approaching the two of them.
Angie glanced over at him, and then returned her gaze to Adam. “You two were fast,” she observed, admiringly. “One on the intruder, one on the point of entry…” She paused, and their actions suddenly seemed to register with her. Her eyes widened again, but this time with sudden appreciation. “I wouldn’t have left here if I had answered differently, would I?”
Adam didn’t answer, but he knew he didn’t need to. He glanced over at Casey. “We need to be more careful,” he observed. “If she had been a Citizoneprotect…”
Casey hung his head. “I froze,” he muttered. “You moved so fast, but I froze…”
Adam shook his head, but it was Angie who spoke. “Don’t beat yourself up over it. So did I.”
Adam glanced at her, his expression serious. “What exactly did you hear when you came in?”
She hesitated for a moment, digesting the situation. At last she swallowed. “What did I hear? I heard someone I’d thought to be an idiot talking about the French Resistance. That’s what startled me. Not the part about revolutions, but how you spoke. It was so different from this afternoon.”
She left the question unasked, but Adam sighed and shrugged, looking away. She didn’t know the history. She’d seen two very different people in the same person. “Simple Adam, the man you met this afternoon, is an act,” he explained. “I’ve been playing that role since they executed my grandfather… twenty years ago.”
Angie stared at him for a moment, and then she shook her head. “How?” she murmured, her voice soft with either awe or sorrow. “Why?”
Adam looked back at her. “For this,” he replied simply.
It had not been an easy day.
He untied his boots and pulled them off. Still soaked, they squished as he tossed them back towards the door. He glanced at his feet. His right foot had no sock, and the skin was white and clammy, wrinkled from the exposure to all the water. He pulled the sock off his left foot and winced as he accidently tore the blister that had begun to form on the back of his heel, where the soaked sock had begun to bunch. He rose and walked into the bathroom. He peeled off the rest of his soaked clothing and tried to dry himself off.
He remembered very little after he had forced his mind to shut down. He knew he had ambled along the corridors of the Sanitation building beside Angie, but his actions had been zombie-like, his responses to questions monosyllabic. He hoped she had passed his earlier behavior off as a result of the transfer. He couldn’t afford to have her begin to wonder about his behavior.
He walked back into the living room and pulled on a clean, dry pair of pants. He flicked on the stereo as he passed, and the system automatically skipped to the tune he listened to most often, the 1812 Overture. He let the opening strains wash over him as he moved his chair away and began his evening ritual. Just as the morning ritual was necessary to establish his Simple Adam persona, the evening routine helped him to focus his mind and his body. The stretches got the blood flowing back into his icy limbs. Once he had warmed up, he shifted into the strikes and kicks. He allowed his mind to drift back over the major events of the day as he pushed himself to move as quickly as he could while maintaining the proper form for each technique.
A part of him cursed himself for his carelessness during the day. He’d known how hard it would be to re-establish the Simple Adam act once he’d let it slip. He knew that it had been necessary, that revealing himself to Casey had been important, but it had left him vulnerable. He probably could have salvaged things if it had been someone other than Angie that had met them at Sanitation, but there had been something about her that had made it difficult to regain his mental composure. It had been more than her appearance, though she was unquestionably stunning, that had made it so difficult. She had seemed... different.
He finished his routine and grabbed the towel from the chair, wiping himself down. He knew that Casey would be arriving shortly, and he needed to think things through before his step-brother arrived. He had kicked things into motion by exposing the truth about himself, and he needed to make sure he was ready for what would come.
He needed to look at things objectively.
He knelt down in the middle of the floor and closed his eyes. He’d gotten adept at meditation over the years, especially while playing Simple Adam. He could drop into a trance-like state almost instantly, now. It was a technique that few people even remembered, much less practised anymore, but Adam found it to be incredibly calming and refreshing. It also helped him to clear and focus his thoughts.
He centered himself and focused on his breathing, much as he did while preparing his morning act. He felt his heartbeat slow down, and his breathing grew steady and calm. Once he felt himself completely settled, he turned his mind inwards.
He started with his greatest fear: what if he was wrong?
His greatest fear was that everything he believed, everything he thought he perceived, was the construct of a damaged brain; while he didn’t want to admit the possibility that he was, in fact, delusional, he could not objectively deny that possibility. He had been shot in the head as a child. That sort of thing could have long-term consequences. It was possible that the child he had been had constructed a reality where he had idolized those most important to him and had demonized the society – the government – which had stolen those people from him. It was a fear he had struggled with his entire life.
What kind of child could rationalize creating an alternate persona, a mentally deficient alternate persona, as a means to a theoretical end? What kind of person could then maintain the act for two decades? Objectively, it seemed ludicrous... possibly even completely insane. Was it possible that he was deluding himself?
He forced his breathing to slow down again. He had to face his fear, and he had to do it objectively. Was it possible that he was insane?
It was a possibility. He didn’t think he was, but when did a crazy person ever think they were crazy?
If he was insane, if he had constructed a false view of reality in the same way he had created a false identity, that false reality could not stand up to a careful, objective evaluation of the things that created it. He needed to examine, as objectively as he could, the fundamental truths of the world around him and contrast those truths with his perceptions.
The principle concept which governed his perceptions was that something was terribly wrong within his society – so wrong, in fact, that the only possible recourse was through violent revolution. That premise was the rock upon which his actions had entirely been based. If that premise was flawed, then it would call everything else he believed into question. Consequently, he needed to examine that premise.
But what, exactly, did he perceive as being wrong within his society? He tried to push away the biased perspective, developed from the years growing up with his grandfather; instead, he tried to focus on the world as it was, not as he wished it to be.
There were several positive aspects of his society, if he examined them without bias. The crime rate, which had exploded following the American withdrawal nearly eighty years before, had dropped to an astonishing level. Major crimes, like arson, murder, and sexual assault, had been completely eliminated according to recent government announcements. Minor crimes, such as theft, had diminished as well, though they had not been completely eradicated. Unemployment within the Zones was non-existent. Everyone over the age of seventeen worked. Children between the ages of five and seventeen were required to attend school. Children under the age of five were cared for by day homes run by the government. Every individual over the age of eighteen within the Citizone was required to spend a minimum of two years in the Militia, which taught not only basic self-defense and weapon use, but provided occupational training prior to employment.
If one considered those facts, the government was accomplishing its motto of “Peace Above All”.
However, the question had to be raised about the manner in which those objectives had been accomplished.
Reducing crime rates had been one of the government’s primary objectives. The solution had been remarkably simple. To eliminate crime, make the consequences for criminal behavior so severe that only the most desperate or idiotic would disobey the laws. For all of the major crimes, including treason, sedition, murder, assault, arson, sexual assault, resisting arrest, possession of contraband, possession of firearms, and gathering for political, religious, or non-governmentally sanctioned activities, the penalty was death. For minor crimes, such as breaking curfew, theft, missing Counselling appointments, or the falsification of Zone Passes or bidaily accounts, the penalty was relocation to the Disreputable Zone. To streamline the new justice system, trials were limited to capital offenses. An accusation by a CP for a minor offense was sufficient proof of guilt to require relocation to the DZ. Trials for the major offenses were conducted in private hearings, overseen by a Citizone Magistrate, and were limited to one hour. According to a recent governmental announcement, less than one percent of defendants were acquitted.
Unemployment rates, like crime rates, had dropped significantly since the Zone Laws had been implemented. Dismissal from a position was grounds for relocation to the DZ, upon recommendation from the employer or Counsellor. Voluntary unemployment required that the unemployed individual procure alternate employment within twelve days or face mandatory employment placement or relocation to the DZ. Children between the ages of twelve to sixteen were provided mandatory placement, and could be transferred between Zones by employers with a minimum of twenty-four hours notice to parents. Employed adults could be transferred between Zones with a minimum of forty-eight hours notice. Spouses of the transferred employees could relocate to the new Zone and find new employment or could opt to remain in their current position but lose their marital status.
Education was mandatory to the age of twelve. Non-attendance or tardiness for non-medical reasons was treated as a curfew infraction, and often resulted in the child and their entire family being relocated to the DZ. Children under the age of five were required to attend governmentally run day homes. The day homes were universally over-crowded, and the cost of the day homes was approximately one-half the daily credit income of one parent. A little noted fact that the government regularly glossed over was that infant mortality rates, unlike crime rates, had spiked with the institution of the day homes.
Adam opened his eyes. Perhaps he was crazy, but that didn’t mean that he was wrong. There was something terribly wrong with the current state of society. In addition, there was no method of addressing the issues which wasn’t illegal. Discussing governmental policy was considered an act of sedition. Approaching a Citizone Magistrate – essentially the Judges and Juries within the respective Zones – directly was considered a misdemeanour. Approaching a Citizon – essentially the Zonal Governor – was considered a felony. All concerns needed to be directed to a Citizoneprotect, who could lay a simple accusation against any citizen and have them either taken to trial or relocated to the DZ.
Adam remembered a quote from Thomas Jefferson his grandfather had once told him. ‘Experience has shown that even under the best forms of government those entrusted with power have, in time, and by slow operations, perverted it into tyranny.’ He rose quietly to his feet. While he could not discount the possibility that he was crazy, he could also not discount the fact that those currently entrusted with the mantle of governmental power had become tyrants.
“And,” he said softly, still recalling the words his grandfather had quoted to him so long ago, “‘the tree of liberty must occasionally be refreshed from time to time with the blood of patriots and tyrants.’” He shook his head sadly and walked quietly into the kitchen. He glanced at the plant sitting on the counter. He poured a little water into the dirt and carried it to the window. There was very little light left, but he hoped what there was would do some good. Returning to the kitchen he was about to open another can of ration when there was a light knock on his door.
His heart skipped, and then returned to its normal rhythm. If They had come for him, there would have been no warning, no knock. It was illegal to lock the doors. He wondered, briefly if that law stemmed from the cost of repairing damaged doorframes after the Great Purge. He chuckled softly and called out, “Come in!”
Casey poked his head in the door, his red hair gleaming like a beacon. “Hi, Adam!” he called out, just loud enough to be heard from any listening devices outside. “The boss wanted me to come and look in on you. Can I come in?”
Adam did his best to fall into the speech patterns of Simple Adam. “Hiya, Case! Did you hear I got a new job? I work at... um...”
“Sanitation,” Casey finished. “Yeah, I heard.” He stepped inside and allowed the door to close. He glanced at the stereo, which had shifted to playing the William Tell Overture. He smiled slightly. “How did the day go?”
His tone indicated that he was either unsure if he could still be overheard, or unsure if he had imagined the conversation from earlier in the day. Adam smiled at the hesitation in his brother’s voice.
“About as well as I expected,” he admitted drily, and Casey’s expression relaxed somewhat. “It’s always difficult, transferring to a new job. It was a little harder than usual, today, though.”
Shaking his head, Casey stepped into the living room. “It’s going to take me a little while to get over the change in you, Adam,” he admitted.
Adam smiled and walked over to the wardrobe and pulled out a wrinkled t-shirt. He pulled it on and walked over to where Casey stood. “I can imagine.” He pulled the chair into the middle of the room and waved for Casey to sit. “Can I get you anything?” he asked as he moved back into the kitchen and pulled a glass from under the counter.
Casey shook his head and sat down in the chair. “Not right now. You were right about how Dan would react, by the way.” Adam glanced up. He hadn’t known his old boss’ name was Dan. Casey leaned back in the chair. “He was so upset about how he’d treated you that he insisted I come and make sure your day went okay. He punched the time into my bidaily... and I made sure I memorized his code.”
Adam felt his eyebrows rise. A corporate code was a powerful thing. It was one of the few things which could circumvent the curfew. Anyone with a properly coded bidaily could walk around after curfew without fear of reprisal. The CPs would just check the code was valid and would wish the possessor a good night. He shook his head, impressed. “You mean to tell me...”
Casey grinned. “I have permission to be doing whatever I happen to be doing,” he confirmed. “Until Dan realizes someone is using his code.”
Adam smiled back at his brother. “Then we make sure we only use it when we need to. That was clever. Well done.”
Nodding, Casey peered over at Adam. For a moment he was silent, and then he cleared his throat slightly. “I can’t say that I’m not terrified, Adam. It’s one thing to remember Grampa talking about... the R word, but to actually consider it...?”
“Revolution, Case,” Adam said softly as he poured himself a glass of water. The stew could wait. “The word is revolution.”
Casey stared at him in silence, his expression tight. At last he licked his lips and glanced around nervously. “Revolution,” he whispered. “God, it’s been such a long time since I heard that said out loud.”
Adam nodded in agreement, but then walked around the counter to sit on the corner of his bed. He peered at Casey as he took a sip of water, then commented, “To be totally honest, Case, if you weren’t terrified, I’d be suspicious. History is full of people who have tried this kind of thing before... and there is no such thing as a happy ending if you don’t succeed.” He cocked his head to one side. “Revolution. It’s a big word. A dangerous word.”
Casey glanced down at his hands. “I know. It’s already got me jumping at shadows.” He looked up at Adam, his eyes wide. “I don’t know that I can do this, Adam. I’m not... I couldn’t have...” he paused to collect his thoughts. “You’ve managed to hide what you are for twenty years, Adam. I don’t think I have that kind of...”
Adam smiled grimly at Casey’s uncertainty. “I know what you’re trying to say, Case. In all honesty, though, you’ve been pulling off the same act as I have. Grampa’s ideas have been sitting in the back of your mind for just as long, and you haven’t been able to hide behind a mask like I have. You’ve probably been dragged in for questioning more times than you want to remember.” Casey’s eyes told him he had guessed correctly. “And despite all of that,” Adam continued in a measured tone, “you have managed to convince Them that you have nothing to hide. I don’t know if I could have done that.”
Casey frowned. “I had to. They would have come for Mom.”
“True, but that doesn’t change the fact that you managed to convince Them that you were not a threat. If you hadn’t, you wouldn’t be here. You’ve been acting your entire life, too.” Adam frowned. “And somehow, I don’t think that we’re the only ones that have been forced to pretend, to act like model citizens. How many kids did you know going through school that had lost a parent or a grandparent, an older sibling... how many Ghost Kids were there? And we were young during the Great Purge. There have been at least three more, not counting the individual takings.” He ran his hand through his thick blonde hair. “To be totally honest, I don’t understand how people haven’t tried something like this before. How many people are left who haven’t suffered some kind of personal loss at the hands of the government?”
Casey stared morosely at the floor. “Damn near everyone I know has lost someone... and most of those who didn’t are working directly for the government.”
“Then that’s where we have to start,” Adam reflected, his voice quiet. “People are scared, just like you and I are, but at what point do people move beyond their fear? When enough has been taken from a person, don’t they start to wonder what they can do to stop anything else from being taken? You and I both know that just discussing this could get us executed, but how many other things are there that could result in the same thing? If you are late with your bidaily, you run the risk of being relocated. If you try to get together with a group to discuss anything more controversial than the weather, you can be executed. Surely there are others who want that to change, and the most likely candidates are the ones who have lost someone important.” He looked at Casey steadily. “That’s going to have to be your job, Case. Find people who have lost someone important and approach them.”
Casey’s eyes widened. “Why me?” he demanded.
Adam laughed sardonically. “Can you really see anyone talking to me, Case? Besides, I have a different job.” At his brother’s questioning look, Adam smiled ruefully. “I’ve got the DZ.”
At Casey’s look of shock, Adam shrugged. “I’m in the perfect position for it. I’ve been assigned manual clean up, and part of the responsibility includes the DZ.” Rising, Adam paced back into the small kitchen. He stood at the sink, sipping from his glass, and stared down in contemplation for a moment. “How did they do it?” he wondered, almost to himself.
“How did who do it?” his brother asked, glancing up at him.
Adam shook his head slightly. “The ones who have done this before: the great leaders and thinkers that have existed periodically throughout history; the people who had the audacity to stand up to tyranny and oppression. Leaders in things like the American and French Revolutions, the Russian Revolution, the French resistance in the Second World War…”
He glanced up, and suddenly his face drained of color. There, standing in the entry of his home, her eyes wide with shock, was the security guard from Sanitation. Angie. He hadn’t heard or noticed her enter. The glass slipped from his fingers and shattered on the floor.
Without thinking, he moved smoothly around the counter and reached her in two quick strides. Gripping her elbow securely, he wrapped his other hand around her slender waist and pulled her firmly but gently inside, kicking the door shut with his foot. He glanced over at Casey, who was standing by the chair, terror etched across his face. “Lock it,” he snapped.
Casey blinked. Locking a door after curfew was an offense. If it was discovered, it would result in the arrest of anyone found on the premises. Even so, Casey only hesitated for a moment. He stepped past Adam and Angie and locked the door as Adam led the dazed security guard to the chair and sat her down, placing his hands on the arms of the chair to indirectly confine her. She stared up at him, her face pale and her eyes wide. Trembling, she opened her mouth to speak, but Adam shook his head. “Who knows you’re here?” he demanded, his voice a whip.
She flinched slightly. It was obvious she had been interrogated in the past. With frightened eyes, she glanced back over her should at Casey standing between her and the door. She turned back to stare at Adam, unable to speak.
“Who?” Adam snapped again.
His tone seemed to shake her out of her daze, and she blinked at him. “No one knows,” she whispered. “I just thought I would come and make sure you made it home alright. You looked so lost…” He could see her struggling to connect the confused, simple man she had guided around the Sanitation building with the one who now loomed threateningly over her. Suddenly her eyes widened and she looked again towards the door. “You locked the door,” she whispered, her wide eyes returning to his. “I heard you. Russia, France, the American…” She faltered at the forbidden word, her voice fading to a whisper.
He could see the terror in those wide, brown eyes, the realization. The unspoken word seemed to hang, motionless in the silence of the room. He was close enough that he could feel the heat of her, feel her rapid breathing against the skin of his throat as she grasped the heart of what they had been discussing. He leaned in, his cheek brushing against hers as he whispered, almost tauntingly, the word that quivered in the air. “Revolution. That’s the word you’re looking for, Angie: Revolution.”
He drew back and watched her eyes, saw the word plant itself in her mind. He held his breath for a moment, eyes locked on hers. He saw the terror rise at the thought, and he braced his arms on the arms of the chair, prepared to take swift action if she reacted wrong.
The terror suddenly diminished, replaced by what he had prayed he would see. Hope, sheer blind hope, came to soul-shattering life within her dark eyes, and a single tear crept its way from the corner of her eyes as she whispered the word, tasting it for the first time. “Revolution...” Her voice was hesitant, tremulous, almost pleading with an unspoken need. With a tiny smile, Adam released the arms of the chair and straightened.
He was right. People were ready for this.
Still, his stance and Casey’s position in front of the door demanded something more from her, and she knew it. She stared at Adam, a silent war raging inside her. The years of oppression had left their mark on everyone, and overcoming that innate terror of what might come was a struggle. At last she took a shuddering breath. “I’m in,” she murmured. “God help me, but I’m in.”
Adam nodded slowly. The tension in his shoulders eased, and his eyes flicked to Casey. His brother stared hard at Angie for a moment before meeting his eyes. Adam nodded, and he saw Casey relax marginally.
“You can move away from the door, Red,” Angie commented quietly. “I’m not going to run.” She looked back at Adam, and a small smile touched her lips. He recognized it. It was the same cold, hungry smile he felt upon his own. “I’ve waited for this moment for as long as I can remember.” Her voice dropped to an almost throaty purr as she tasted the word again. “Revolution!”
“Revolution,” Adam agreed.
“Revolution!” Casey hissed, moving away from the door and approaching the two of them.
Angie glanced over at him, and then returned her gaze to Adam. “You two were fast,” she observed, admiringly. “One on the intruder, one on the point of entry…” She paused, and their actions suddenly seemed to register with her. Her eyes widened again, but this time with sudden appreciation. “I wouldn’t have left here if I had answered differently, would I?”
Adam didn’t answer, but he knew he didn’t need to. He glanced over at Casey. “We need to be more careful,” he observed. “If she had been a Citizoneprotect…”
Casey hung his head. “I froze,” he muttered. “You moved so fast, but I froze…”
Adam shook his head, but it was Angie who spoke. “Don’t beat yourself up over it. So did I.”
Adam glanced at her, his expression serious. “What exactly did you hear when you came in?”
She hesitated for a moment, digesting the situation. At last she swallowed. “What did I hear? I heard someone I’d thought to be an idiot talking about the French Resistance. That’s what startled me. Not the part about revolutions, but how you spoke. It was so different from this afternoon.”
She left the question unasked, but Adam sighed and shrugged, looking away. She didn’t know the history. She’d seen two very different people in the same person. “Simple Adam, the man you met this afternoon, is an act,” he explained. “I’ve been playing that role since they executed my grandfather… twenty years ago.”
Angie stared at him for a moment, and then she shook her head. “How?” she murmured, her voice soft with either awe or sorrow. “Why?”
Adam looked back at her. “For this,” he replied simply.