Elected (The Elected Series Book 1) (21 page)

28

Griffin gives me his hand to pull me to my feet. I can’t erase the smile from my face and find he can’t either. We start buttoning up each other’s clothes. I tie the string on his pants, wanting to prolong our intimacy.

“There is one more thing I must show you,” he says. This time, though, his words don’t carry worry. He’s excited to show me this new object.

“Okay, what is it?”

He leads me across the room to one of the glass vases that seems to hold another firefly. “This firefly is brighter than the others!” I say. My eyes focus on the most intense of the lights.

“That’s be
cause this one isn’t an insect.”

I look at him with raised eyebrows.

“It’s electricity... I made it.”

“But Griffin, this... isn’t... you shouldn’t have...”

“I found a way to harness the sun.” He’s so proud of his work, he doesn’t even acknowledge the knot forming on my brow.

“How is that possible? Wouldn’t that require panels and metal and... and... technology?” My words pour out over each other.

“Sort of.” He opens the glass jar and shows me a dark square on its bottom. “I did have to make this part.”

He takes out the copper square and places it in my palm. I feel the illicit metal resting in my hand. Threatening me with its illegality.

My voice shakes. “This is against the law.”

He looks at me, still calm. Still having faith in my love for him. Hoping this will be one of those instances where I ease the meaning of the Technology Accord and make accommodations.

“This tiny piece of metal isn’t hurting anyone. It’s not spewing pollution into the air. It’s just a piece of metal, broken down, and shaped back into the right sized square.”

“But it is not just a piece of regular metal, is it?” I already know the properties needed to harness solar power. “There is silicon in this.”

“Just an ounce. It won’t hurt anyone.”

I’m conflicted. Manufacturing these materials is off limits. But Griffin’s right. With so little a chunk of metal, there were no harmful by-products created in the dividing of these pieces. It’s indeed a technology but not one that will hurt our environment. The only harm done is a violation of the meaning of the Technology Accord.

“You can’t make any more of this.”

“I can’t anyway. We don’t have any more nirogene component. That’s what was needed to piece this together.”

“Nirogene? Nirogene can do this? Were you stealing it? Was the Technology Faction taking it to make solar panels?”

“No. This is the only panel. One of its kind. The supplies of nirogene are diminished, but it’s not because of the Technology Faction. All I can think is the people are right. Mid Country is taking it.”

“By using airrides?”

“We haven’t seen any airrides, though, right?”

I picture the airride I saw in the Multiplier. The little robot opening the airride door and scooping up the blood of the unlucky man with the bullets. My spine involuntarily gives a shiver.

“No, I haven’t seen one,” I say, thinking it’s true I haven’t seen one in person. I don’t know why I lie about the Multiplier, but for some reason, I keep it my secret.

He nods. “We need to get back.” Then he stops and holds both of my hands out in front of me. “It was all right to show you the light, wasn’t it?”

I know what he’s asking. If I’ll turn him in. If our marriage proposal still stands.

I think of the other prisoners who I’ve seen die because of their creations. Then I remember my and Vienne’s plan for all prisoners going forward, and I know Griffin is right about me. I am starting to see gray areas in the Accords. Starting to buck the system to create my own rules.

“I won’t tell anyone. Just promise me again you won’t make any more electricity.”

“I promise.”

My decision to be faithful to him comes at all costs. I realize there’s nothing he can do now that will change the way I feel about him.

He walks me back to the house and leaves me in the front hallway with a light kiss on my forehead. It’s tender but noncontroversial if anyone were to see us. He turns right and I go left toward Vienne’s room.

She’s already in bed. I slip under the cool sheet, hoping not to wake her, but she whispers my name.

I turn over to look at her, wondering if she’s just saying my name in her sleep. Vienne’s eyes stay closed, but she wraps an arm around me, burrowing against me even though it’s so warm outside. She’s in a semi-sleep, close to nodding off but not entirely there yet.

“I’m here,” I say.

“Mmmm,” she mumbles. She’s falling deeper into dreamland.

I take the opportunity to look at her in the moonlight streaming through our uncurtained window. As I stare at her serene face I think of the actions I’ve taken against our marriage tonight. Do I feel badly for acting on my feelings with Griffin now that my wife is back in my arms?

I want to keep her happy, but I realize Vienne was never the porcelain figure whom I needed to protect on a pedestal. She knows what she’s doing. She’s stronger and more determined than any of us. She grew up lonely in this place, not being able to tell a soul, aside from Tomlin, who she was to become. It was an even lonelier life than mine. Yet, she doesn’t complain of it. Whereas I often feel the burdens of the Elected position hanging over my head, Vienne seems to embrace it willingly. Happily.

And she knows how to turn situations to her advantage. She was so easily able to convince me and Griffin to go along with her plan for making a baby. She was not a fragile, delicate angel there. I don’t resent her for manipulating us into the strategy. In contrast, I respect her will—her ability to get things done when they need to happen. Vienne may be beautiful and delicate, but she’s no wilting flower. She has more iron in her stomach than in my whole being.

I touch her cheek, barely grazing it with my fingernail. One day I hope to be as strong in my loyalty and conviction as she is. But for now, I am just happy to have made a few more decisions of my own.

At the next town hall I will tell my people they can start creating armor glass. Griffin is right. I do find the gray areas within the Accords. And my mother hinted at the Accords’ antiquity too. At some point they will become outdated. Maybe the time is now.

We will band together as a country to ensure our survival against whatever powers out there might be aiming to violate our sanctuary. We can’t remain defenseless.

The web of lies I’ve sanctioned can’t be for nothing. I risk my own life to violate the Fertility Accord and pose as a boy. I risk Griffin and Vienne’s lives to create a child who will take over my office eighteen years from now. All of this could be for naught if our country is overtaken.

This country. It is the one thing I will not risk.

29

A few weeks pass without much incident. We still monitor the hills nightly and there still remains a fierce sense of patriotism across the country. Somehow, though, everyone’s private stores of nirogene are entirely depleted. All we have left is protected under lock and key at the chemists’ workspace. It’s not much, so we don’t use it for the bikes anymore.

Today is the next town hall, and we plan to tell everyone about my acceptance of armor glass manufacturing. Vienne will also announce her pregnancy. She’s slept more than usual lately, which she says is normal for the first trimester of the gestation. But I still watch her closely for any signs she’s growing sick or unable to carry the baby.
In fact, I watch her so much, Vienne sweetly scolds me when she sees me staring at her. Just yesterday at the breakfast table, Vienne turned to me over her tea.

“I’m fine!” she moaned with mock exasperation. “You don’t have to stare at me quite so intensely. You look at me like I’m a ticking time bomb about to explode. I’m doing very well. Don’t worry!”

I try to take her advice, but the statistics are just so daunting. Only about half of our pregnancies come to fruition. And of the fifty percent of women whose pregnancies end early, five percent of those women die because of the strain on their bodies.

I’ve taken to waking early and immediately turning to look at Vienne. I watch her stomach rise and fall until I’m convinced she’s breathing normally and is okay. This morning, Vienne is still sleeping when I wake. After watching her for a full minute, I slip out of bed and head straight to the kitchen.

“Dorine,” I say from the kitchen entryway, “can I ask for something?”

The tiny, elderly woman in her forties, who’s been our cook for many years, walks toward me, balancing on her one good leg.

“Whatever you wish, Elected. Are you going out? Would you like me to pack you a breakfast?”

For some reason, I hadn’t thought about my own need to eat at all. But when she asks me, I picture poached eggs on toast. The idea of the slimy eggs running off the edges of the toast makes me feel queasy, so I decline.

“No, thank you. I’d actually like a couple of baskets. The kind my mother used to give sick or grieving people.”

“Ah, you are doing some ministering then, I assume?”

“Yes, I’d like to stop at two houses this morning. Bring them something.”

Dorine starts puttering around the kitchen, pulling out drawers and opening cabinets until she’s arranged items into two overflowing wicker baskets. Within minutes, both baskets are full with a few squash, apples, homemade bread slices, and a packet of assorted nuts.

“You might be ministering to my house at some point soon.” Dorine’s voice cracks in the back of her throat as she hands me the baskets.

My eyebrows furrow. “Someone in your family is sick?”

“Yes, my son.” Dorine looks up to the heavens, like she’s asking the very skies above for mercy. “He has cancer. Got it just this year at age twenty-five.”

She makes a guttural tutting sound. I want to say something about how miracles can happen, but I know it’s useless. No one gets better from cancer here except for the Elected family.

I go to pat Dorine’s arm as a method of soothing her, but she takes a step back.

“And you, Elected? How are you feeling lately?”

“All right, I suppose.”

“Your plates are coming back full. Do you not enjoy what I’ve been cooking recently?”

Again I think of slimy food resting like gel on a piece of bread and have to force back the urge to be sick.

“No, no. I just haven’t been as hungry lately.”

I thank Dorine for the baskets and then start my walk into town. I didn’t want to get into a specific conversation with her about the kitchen’s latest culinary concoctions. I’m sure she has bigger issues, such as her son’s health, on her mind, and that’s the reason why everything she makes me nowadays tastes like wet slugs.

In about ten minutes, I’ve walked down into the town. People are starting to come outside now, gathering full milk bottles left on their front stoops. A few of the townspeople stop to wave at me as I go by, surprised to see me walking around the neighborhood this early. I’m repulsed by the frothy milk in these jugs laid out each morning. Since the country no longer has many animals, like goats or cows, which can offer us milk, we use what we have. We don’t let any resource go to waste. Our women are so often pregnant and nursing that leftover breast milk is distributed around the village. People swear by it, saying the sweet milk is a creamy version of water. I know it’s supposed to be nutritious, but I’ve never been able to make myself drink a glass.

Perhaps it’s because I know I will never be able to produce my own milk. Maybe I’m jealous and my feelings manifest themselves in my utter distaste for the stuff. Either way, I’m more turned off today than usual. I walk faster by the homes with the milk on the doorstep, not wanting to see the way it bubbles at the top of the glass jugs.

My first stop is Margareath’s house. I almost want to tell her family she’ll be back one day. They just need to be strong right now. But I can’t give them that yet. For all I know, my plan will fail. It would be wrong to give them false hope now.

I find my second destination at Brinn’s house. I can see she isn’t well, but I don’t know if it’s more from the loss of Maran or the result of her illness. I suggest ways her pain could be alleviated, but she says she doesn’t want anything prolonged. I leave just as her sickness forces her to vomit.

I make my way back to the White House, faster now without the heavy bundles bobbing at my sides. I run through the village, past the houses that still haven’t taken the milk inside. In just a few minutes time, I’m panting as I reach the doors to Vienne’s rooms.

“Ah, there you are!” Vienne remarks with vigor when I step inside.

“You’re looking well.” With glowing face and skin, she’s radiant in pregnancy. She’s a complete contrast to Brinn’s sickly demeanor. I’m silly to worry about her having a baby. Vienne is made for this. Her hair is even silkier than ever, flowing down her back like it’s grown a few more inches in just a month.

“Today’s the day we get to tell people about our baby! Breakfast first and then into town. I’m famished!”

Thinking about breakfast again gives me a slight chill. After seeing Brinn throw up, I know I can’t eat a bite. But I douse my face in water, pull on a new shirt, and follow Vienne to the dining room. Breakfast is an intense affair now we all know Griffin’s status as the Technology Faction’s leader. I brace myself for the philosophical discussion we’re most likely going to have again today.

Griffin and Tomlin aren’t in the room yet, so there’s nothing to distract Vienne from beginning to eat. I watch as she rips into a fragrant croissant even before settling down into her seat.

As soon as she swallows a few mouthfuls, she says, “Are we also still announcing Griffin’s role at today’s town hall?”

“Well, it’ll allow us to bridge the gap between the Technology Faction and the rest of our people. Have more open discussion. If more people know who he is and that we still accept him, they’ll be more inclined to tell us their true opinions too. And Griffin is moderate on his views of technology creation. He is not unreasonable.”

“I’m not?” comes his voice from behind us. “You were listing off my good attributes?” He pretends to tick them off on his fingers, grinning wide. “Reasonable. Go on.”

“No, that’s not exactly what we were doing.” I roll my eyes, but I can’t help showing a big grin of my own. Like Vienne, Griffin is the picture of good health. He’s clean shaven and freshly washed. I catch the faint whiff of fresh grass coming off his skin. Since the night in the abandoned shack, Griffin and I haven’t met alone again. I want him. Desperately. The skin on my entire body seems to vibrate when he walks into the room. But another indiscretion is too dangerous to take lightly.

“You’re still okay with standing up, telling everyone you lead the Faction, right?” I ask for the fifth time this week.

“Yes, but hopefully people won’t react as badly as when I told Vienne a couple of weeks ago.”

I remember her response well. Griffin said he wanted to be the one to tell Vienne and Tomlin. So over breakfast he’d dropped the bombshell in between taking bites of egg, trying to nonchalantly throw it into conversation. Tomlin dropped his muffin on the floor, too shocked to respond. And Vienne paced around the table, detailing all the minutia of how Griffin single-handedly ruined our baby’s future.

“Look,” she says now, defending herself. “I’m pregnant... a bit more ferocious than normal because of the hormones. You took me by surprise, is all.”

“I’ll say,” mutters Griffin.

“Hey, I didn’t react too well when you first told me, either,” I interject. Then I change the subject before we can delve into where exactly Griffin broke the news to me. I’ve yet to tell Vienne about Griffin’s and my intimacy that night at the shack. “Come on, we’ve got to get going. Tomlin’s already there, getting the stage ready.”

We move out together, a tight-knit threesome ready to let the rest of the population in on our news. Griffin’s role, my new policy, and Vienne’s baby. If ever the three of us were a trio of power, this is it.

When we reach the top of the town hall pavilion, I’m amazed at the sight. Tomlin has arranged crisscrossing beams over the stage like a large trellis. And from these beams hundreds of bright flowers delicately hang. It’s a deluge of color.

From behind Vienne, Griffin looks over to me and shrugs with a big smile on his face. “Surprise!” he says. “We’ve all been gathering the flowers for a while. Even Brinn helped out. Tomlin wouldn’t tell anyone why we needed them, but I think people might be catching on now.”

Tomlin stands with one hand on a wooden, hand-crafted baby basket that I realize he must have whittled himself. I continue to hold Vienne’s hand as we descend the pavilion stairs, passing by our people who can’t help staring at Vienne to see if she looks different.

Vienne immediately walks up to Tomlin who’s beaming off to the side of the stage. He keeps looking up at the flowers, like he could keep them aloft just with determination.

“Thank you,” she says and kisses him on the cheek. “It’s gorgeous.”

“This is a momentous occasion,” he says, looking happier than I’ve seen him in a long time. He looks back and forth between me and Vienne. “We displayed flowers at your birth announcement, Elected. Lilacs and peonies, if I remember correctly.” He pauses and puts a hand on both our shoulders. “Your parents would be so proud. So overjoyed.”

“Yes, they would have loved this.” I try to think of something else besides my parents so I won’t become wistful.

“Well, it looks like paradise,” says Vienne. “I could lie on the ground and stare up at these all day.”

I’m reminded of saying almost the same thing to Griffin a month ago. My heart flutters in my chest, out of rhythm for a moment, as I remember our exchange. All of this—the flowers, thoughts of my parents, Griffin’s closeness—threatens to unhinge my guarded emotions. It’s even harder than usual to keep my feelings tamped down.

So instead of delaying, I start the town hall meeting. “People of East Country! We can no longer keep our joy from all of you. We have much to celebrate with you today!”

I wait for the talkers to excitedly pass my words back. There’s a rumble of anticipation from the crowd. A wave of elation, rising slowly toward the front.

I laugh out loud, cheered even more by their expectancy. Vienne stands farther up on the stage, ready to share the full extent of our news, as we previously agreed.

“We will be welcoming a new child into the world in eight months’ time!”

Even before the talkers have finished relaying her news, there’s a gush of cheering rising from our countrymen. People yell out their congratulations.

One man stands up and shouts, “To the Electeds!” More people rise and echo his toast, lifting both of their arms in the air in the traditional greeting. “To the Electeds!” they yell back.

It’s a thrill to see all of our people standing for us, exulting in their good wishes for our new baby. As I hoped, this will be a unifying event.

I put up my hands to quiet the audience, but it takes a few moments before it is quiet enough for me to speak again. “We must all watch over Madame Elected. Make sure she’s safe at all times. As we must always do for all of our pregnant women. We will monitor her health closely. She will be healthy, as will this new baby!”

People cheer again in agreement. I put up my hands for quiet, and the pavilion settles. “I have more news to share with you today. It’s all not as joyous as Madame Elected’s, but it’s essential to the good of our nation. I know there are many rumors of Mid Country trying to infiltrate us. To launch an attack, perhaps. We know none of this for certain, but after much thought I’ve decided on a defense strategy.”

I pause, running a hand over my forehead, determining how best to explain I’m now advocating breakage of our most sacred Accord.

“The Technology Accord was created to ensure we didn’t emulate the mistakes of the past.” I pause, looking into the audience to gauge their reactions. People sit on the edge of the stone benches, waiting for me to go on. “It didn’t fulfill its designed mission. Without isolation the countries couldn’t remain peaceful. Thus, the Ship Accord was established. Finally countries were able to let down their defenses and stop relying on technology to guard against other entities. But now our isolation is infringed upon again. We don’t know how they’re doing it, but Mid Country is infiltrating us. Stealing nirogene. Depositing bullets on our land. We cannot continue to allow this.”

I stop for effect.

“You don’t know how much it pains me to say this, but we must break the Technology Accord.”

There’s a rise of agitation from the crowd. People look to their neighbors in confusion, then back to me with raised eyebrows. They’re surprised about my decision. I don’t give them much time to reflect upon it. I lift up my hands to regain quiet.

“I don’t wish to disregard it entirely. I just want us to build one thing. I know it’s asking a lot to forego our rituals, but we need to build a wall between us and Mid Country. Something that cannot be knocked down, pushed through, or excavated. We must manufacture armor glass.”