The Culling Page 11

  Edison’s cheeks flamed crimson.

  “There have been no problems among the workers,” he said. “Besides, it was poor performance of the monitors that caused this, not anything my ministry did.” He glared at Gravius-One who studiously ignored him.

  Cruz noticed this byplay, and what he saw worried him. Gravius was like a large statue carved from some obsidian rock. He never seemed bothered as the others did, nor did he engage in the back and forth sniping as they did in their pathetic attempts to either impress him or to cut each other down. As the alpha male of the pack, Cruz knew that the only threat to his dominance would come from the monitor commander – the true alpha male. He needed to begin the process of taking Gravius down a peg or two, but it had to be done skillfully. He wasn’t quite ready to alienate him entirely.

  “He has a point, Citizen Gravius,” Cruz said. “A single prole, and a mere child at that, overcame two of your armed men. How do you expect to maintain control over the population with such shoddy performance?”

  He flavored his words with a smile that to Gravius looked like a cat about to pounce upon an unsuspecting bird.

  “You make an excellent point, Citizen Cruz,” Gravius responded levelly. “Rest assured that the officer that sent the monitors out who botched this job has been dealt with.” The officer in charge of the station had been demoted and assigned duty as guard at the manure processing facility near the power plant, and had been lucky that Gravius hadn’t executed him on the spot. “The two monitors, of course, paid for their stupidity and incompetence. The situation has been contained.”

  “That, at least, is gratifying to hear, citizen, but what have you done to prepare for the possibility of prole unrest when, and I believe it just a matter of time, the word gets out that your much-vaunted monitors are not so powerful after all?”

  “I wouldn’t worry over much about that, citizen,” Gravius said in his gravelly voice. “The death of two monitors at the hands of a prole, and the punishment visited upon the officer in charge of that debacle has focused every monitor’s attention on the need for vigilance. A prole even looking cross-eyed at a monitor at the moment is likely to be shredded on the spot. Don’t worry, we have things under control.”

  Cruz’s smile broadened. As much as he feared Gravius, he also admired the man’s iron self-control.

  “That is good to hear, my friend, good indeed. Now, on to other business.” He turned to Edison. “Are plans for the culling still on track?”

  “Y-yes, citizen, everything is in order. Those who were not already in custody were picked up and transported without incident – except for the one prole from Columbus Heights.”

  “Was there indication that anyone knew of the situation with the prole Hiroshi Jackson?”

  “No --,” Edison started to say, but was cut off by a preemptory wave of Gravius-One’s hand.

  “When the monitors arrived at the Columbus Heights Crèche, there was some concern about Jackson having been picked up the night before off schedule,” Gravius said. “And, the director reported that another prole, Clementine Adams, was also missing, but when the monitor officer in charge of the detail told her that both had been taken into custody, she seemed mollified. I’m sure no one knows except us.” “Us, and every monitor on the force by now.”

  “What about the presence of two dead monitors on the premises?” Cruz asked.

  “Fortunately, we were able to get into the facility and remove the bodies before any of the residents became aware of their presence. No one seemed to be aware that anything other than the unscheduled pickup had occurred.”

  “You have an answer for everything,” Cruz thought. “Or, so you think. But, you don’t know what’s on my mind, and that will be your undoing.” “Very good, citizen,” he said. “I am concerned, however, that your monitors terminated the search for these two proles so early.” Gravius opened his mouth to speak, but Cruz held up a hand. “I know - the assumption is that they perished in the wilds, or were eaten by animals. A dangerous assumption, I assure you, especially where this prole Jackson is concerned. I want the search resumed, and I don’t want to hear that it has been terminated until you can bring Jackson for me to see. If he has been killed by animals, I want to see the corpse.”

  20.

  The others had long since filed from the room, confused looks on their faces. None of them more so than the monitor commander, who he had ordered to resume the search for the two missing proles. That had given him a certain amount of pleasure, knowing that Gravius had wanted to refuse, but dared not.

  Cruz sat staring at the empty chairs, his mind in turmoil. The others might not understand why a single prole boy could be so important, but he did. He should have had the child killed with his parents. But, he had allowed his spiritual advisor, Elder Robertson, to talk him into putting the boy in a crèche. Robertson and his damned book, and his rules and restrictions. He would be among the first to go, right after the monitor commander, as soon as Cruz had his hands on those missing books.

  His last encounter with Ulysses Jackson still rankled. He’d handled it badly by allowing his emotions to rule.

  It had been eleven years earlier, and in this very room.

  When the monitors brought Ulysses and Junko to him, it was clear that they’d been beaten, and beaten badly. Junko Jackson’s left eye was swollen shut, and Ulysses’ right ear was hanging from his skull by a thread of tissue. Despite their injuries, both looked at Cruz with derision as they were shoved toward him.

  “You’re probably wondering why I had you brought here,” Cruz said.

  Ulysses’ lips were swollen, making it difficult for him to speak, but he was able to spit a glob of bloody sputum in Cruz’s direction.

  “Iss proly ‘cause you want to wash us die, you bastard,” he muttered through his misshapened lips.

  Cruz laughed; a sound completely without mirth.

  “Hardly, Ulysses,” he said. “After all, we grew up together. You were like a brother to me.” He looked at Junko. “And, you know how I felt about you.”

  She turned her head away, refusing to meet his gaze.

  “If he’s like a brother, and you care so much about me,” she said with venom in her voice. “Why did you have us beaten like this?”

  “I’m afraid the monitors were perhaps a bit over zealous. But, you were in violation of the law. You know that all births are supposed to be registered and the children delivered to a crèche for orientation. You kept that brat of yours hidden for seven years.”

  Junko stood erect with her shoulders back, and turned to face Cruz directly. The look of hatred that clouded her beautiful features gave him a hollow feeling in his chest. His cheeks felt hot.

  “Hector Cruz,” she said coldly. “I was not about to turn my child over to the state to be raised as a mindless, docile worker in the factory. What The Committee is doing to the prole community is nothing less than slavery to allow a few citizens to live in idle comfort.”

  “Ah, my beautiful Junko. You always were the fiery one. But, you can’t put yourself above the community. The will of the individual must always be subordinate to that of the collective.”

  She made a snorting sound, and then winced in pain.

  “Except the will of the collective is really the will of the Cruz family,” she said. “You rule the citizens through coercion and who knows what, and you rule the prole community by keeping the ignorant and backing it up with the weapons of the monitors. In the meantime, none of the rules seem to apply to you, or the select few close to you.”

  “At one time, you and this fool, Ulysses, were among the select few,” Cruz thought. “You could have enjoyed that privilege as well, my dear,” he said. “Instead, you chose to follow Ulysses here on his foolish mission to bring enlightenment to the proles.”

  Ulysses Jackson moved to place himself between Cruz and Junko. He stared down at the man he had once called friend.

  “Stop playing with us, Hector,” he said slowly and p
ainfully through his swollen lips. “Tell us why you had us brought here instead of executed.”

  “Good old Ulysses,” Cruz said. “I could never hide anything from you, could I? Very well, I’ll tell you. I could have you executed – after all it is the law – but I’m willing to offer you clemency.”

  “At what price?”

  “Your father was involved in removing forbidden texts from the Library of Congress during the purges and hiding them somewhere. Unfortunately, he was killed during the final assault and The Committee was never able to interrogate him to locate that hiding place.” Cruz looked up at Ulysses with eyes that were cold and lifeless. “At the time, it was assumed that the location died with him, and, while my father believed it, I never did. I was . . . am convinced that Benjamin Jackson shared the hiding place with someone – and, that someone, Ulysses, is you. I’d hoped you might lead me to it someday, but you turned out to be like your father. I’ve had you watched since you went back over the river, but I must say, you’re quite skillful. My spies have never been able to track you to the books.”

  “Maybe, that’s because they don’t exist,” Ulysses said.

  “Oh, but we both know that they do. And, I mean to have them, so here’s my deal – tell me where they are and I’ll spare the two of you. I might even allow you access to that whelp of yours – provided you agree not to make a fuss about him being in the crèche.”

  “If I did know where such books were hidden – and, I’m not saying that I do - why would I tell you so that could be destroyed?” Ulysses’ eyes widened. “Because, you have no intention of destroying them, do you? You want them and the knowledge they contain for yourself.”

  “What’s wrong with that? Besides, if you tell me, you and your beautiful Junko here get to live.”

  Ulysses was torn. Like anyone, he wanted to live, and he certainly didn’t want Junko to die. But, the thought of living in a world where monsters like Hector Cruz had all the power was repellent. His father had entrusted him with the secret of knowledge. He could not betray that trust.

  “Sorry, Hector,” he said. “I can’t help you.”

  “You mean you won’t help me.”

  Ulysses stared back, his expression wooden.

  “All right, then,” Cruz thought. “You want to die, so be it.”

  He looked over at the two monitors who’d been standing motionless just inside the door. He nodded and waved his hand negligently.

  The monitors marched over.

  “Take them out and execute them,” he said without emotion.

  The monitors took the prisoners by the arms and pulled them from the room. Cruz sat alone, brooding, for hours after they’d gone.

  Just as he brooded now, thinking back to that evening. At the time, he’d not considered the possibility that Ulysses might have shared the secret with his seven-year-old son. That had been his mistake. He’d allowed his anger and jealousy to override his common sense. He could at least have used the boy as leverage against him if Robertson hadn’t forbidden it, insisting that the child must be taken immediately to a crèche.

  Now, he had to find Hiroshi Jackson if he was to achieve his aims.

  21.

  As they came down the mountain in their approach to the river crossing, Hiroshi was beginning to have second thoughts.

  After agreeing to help Abraham Moses and the Freelanders in their campaign against New Liberty, he’d spent time with Rebecca Stennis learning more about his family history. He’d been impressed at the bravery shown by his grandparents, and their heroic efforts to preserve knowledge in the face of the ignorance that was running rampant as the economy and ecology of the world began falling apart and people reverted to barbarism. He knew that his father had inherited that bravery and dedication. As he and the small group of Freelanders hiked through the forests and mountains north and west of New Liberty, he began to wonder if he’d inherited it as well.

  Hiroshi, Abraham, and ten men had left the settlement before sunrise, and had reached the river crossing by dark. They camped on the west side and crossed at sunrise the next morning. Across the river, they began moving south and southeast, planning to approach New Liberty from the north, parallel the fence to the river, and then infiltrate under the fence near where Hiroshi and Clementine had made their escape.

  Away from the mountains the temperatures were higher, and they were very quickly covered in sweat. Even though the terrain was relatively level, because of the heat and humidity, walking required some effort, so they stopped frequently. Near mid-day, as they were an estimated three hours from the river, they stopped in a clearing on a slight rise.

  Most of the men found shaded spots under large bushes or against the trunks of trees, while Abraham Moses assigned five to sentry duty in a circle around the clearing.

  “Is that really necessary?” Hiroshi asked.

  “We’re not too far from New Liberty,” Moses said. “While they don’t normally patrol out this far, with you and Clementine escaping, we have to assume they’ll be on extra alert, and they might still be looking for you.”

  Hiroshi hadn’t thought of that.

  “That could make it difficult to get to the place where the books are hidden,” he said.

  “Well, you two managed to get out. It’s doubtful they’ll be looking for you inside the fence. Once we get through, we only have to find a place to hide until dark.”

  Hiroshi had to admit that made sense. Of course, getting to the fence wouldn’t be a cake walk.

  As if he’d mentally summoned them, they saw four black-suited monitors thrashing noisily through the brush about a half mile away and downhill from them.

  “Shouldn’t be too hard to avoid them out here,” Hiroshi said. “You can hear them from a mile away. They make more noise than an angry bear.”

  This brought a laugh from everyone in the clearing.

  “You have a point, but it’s not good to under estimate your opponent, as you well know.”

  They waited until the monitors were well away and heading west before continuing their journey toward the river. On the way they spotted two more groups of monitors. Moving cautiously, it was nearing sundown by the time they reached the river, and almost dark before they made their way to where the fence went into the river.

  Moses had them wait in the bushes for several hours just to make sure the area wasn’t being patrolled. When he decided it was safe to move, he and Hiroshi moved down the muddy river bank along the fence. Hiroshi found the rusted wires he’d broken in his own escape, and bent them back. He bent back two more to make more space, as Moses and some of the men were much bulkier than either him or Clementine.

  After everyone had made it through the wire, Hiroshi led them up the bank and eastward toward the edge of the prole community. The smell of burning methane and animal manure used as fertilizer was strong in the air, making his eyes sting and tear up. He’d gotten used to the clean air of Freeland, and forgotten just how noxious New Liberty’s atmosphere was. The others suffered even more, having never been subjected to this level of pollution.

  “How the hell does anyone live in this muck,” one of the men, a light browned skinned man with slick black hair, said. “It smells worse than a privy before you put lime in it.”

  “Quiet,” Moses said in a harsh whisper. “Just because you don’t see anyone about, doesn’t mean there’s no one about.”

  “The monitors don’t often patrol the streets at night,” Hiroshi said. “They guard the entrances to the factories and other buildings. Few people go outside at night.”

  “Can’t blame them for that,” the dark-haired man said in a tone just above a whisper. “At least inside the smell might not be as bad.”

  When they came to the first buildings, Hiroshi led them through the alleyways, avoiding the main streets. It took the better part of an hour for him to find the iron grating in the park half a mile the vine-covered building that had once housed most of the world’s knowledge. The grating was near
the center of the park and under a tangle of thorns and English ivy. He hadn’t been to this place since he was seven, but it didn’t seem changed from his last visit.

  With Moses’ help, Hiroshi hefted the grate out of place and, stepping onto the rusty metal ladder, slipped down into the tunnel it covered. The others followed. At the bottom of the ladder, he felt his way along the wall until he came to a T-intersection, where he turned left. He led the others about twenty feet and stopped, feeling around the wall until he found the recess about three feet up from the floor in which his father stashed the torches he’d so laboriously fashioned from certain twigs and branches found in the park above. Hiroshi took out two torches, handing one to Moses. The Freelander lit them.

  With the flickering torches leading the way, Hiroshi and Moses led the ten men along the underground tunnel which twisted and turned several times before terminating at a large, rectangular metal door that looked rusted into its frame.

  “How do we get through that?” Moses asked.

  Hiroshi studied the door, trying to recall how his father had opened it. He felt along the seam between door and frame. About midway down, he felt a slight bump in the metal. He remembered his father holding his hand in about this same position and the door swinging inward. He pressed the bump, and was rewarded with a grinding sound as the metal door swung open.

  Hiroshi walked through, followed by the others. As the light of the two torches illuminated the space, there were gasps of astonishment. Before them was row upon row of books, stacked neatly.

  “My God,” Moses said. “I’ve heard of it for years, and I never really doubted, but to stand here and look at it . . . it’s . . . amazing. And, to think, Hiroshi, you grew up surrounded by all this knowledge.”

  Hiroshi looked around. He felt the hot sting of tears as he recalled the times he’d spent here with his father, at first learning to read, and later reading on his own.

  “Yeah,” he said. “It’s been a long time, but everything is exactly like I remembered it.”