Fugitive From Asteron (4 page)

“The prisoner pleads guilty,” said
the commissioner.

The farmer paled. He fell to his
knees, stunned, all life draining from him. The Arm of Justice nudged him, but
he did not rise. Then the Arm lifted him like a sack and carried him to the
scaffold, propped him up, tied his legs, and curled the noose around his neck.
With the hint of a flourish, the Arm pulled the bolt from the trapdoor under
the farmer’s feet, and the matter ended.

The counselor said, “Justice has
been done.”

The crowd applauded. I remained
motionless. A guard stared pointedly at me until I raised my hands and clapped.

The commissioner called the next prisoner,
a reporter accused of writing and distributing political essays that contradicted
the principles of the regime. The charge was treason. The Arm reached for a
coffin.

The counselor complained, as if she
were the injured party. “Our laws let you write and publish anything you wish—and
all we ask is that you not spread creeds that threaten the public safety. Is
that too much to ask? You violated these simple rules.”

“But if I can publish anything I
wish, as you say, then what is the problem?” asked the writer.

“When your writing runs counter to
the interests of the public, then the harm done to society outweighs your personal
privileges. Now, we know you had an accomplice. Name this person, so you can
clear your conscience and do some good.”

The accused, a young man with a
face as unmoving as marble, stared at the counselor. She waited for a reply. Then
as if resigned to his doom, the prisoner smirked. “Why not?” He pointed his
bound hands at the person sitting next to Feran. “The mayor!” he shouted. “The
mayor of this city is my accomplice!”

The crowd gasped, the mayor cursed
the accused, the guards moved in on the mayor, and a great commotion followed.
The writer called witnesses from among the spectators. They testified to the
mayor’s traitorous statements and suspicious actions, but the official
furiously denied the charges. Finally, the matter was settled. The Arm removed
an extra coffin from the stack and dispatched both the writer and the mayor on
the scaffold. The faces of the people near me were wild with excitement, for
the day’s performance was exceeding their expectations.

Then the commissioner announced the
next case: “Stabbing an official and attempted murder.”

The Arm of Justice brought the next
coffin down from the stack.

The commissioner continued: “A
guard took someone who needed medical attention to the hospital. When the
doctor attempted to treat the patient, the rebellious citizen grabbed a scalpel
and threatened to kill both the guard and the doctor. When the guard tried to
disarm the anarchist, the accused stabbed him and fled. A short time later, the
citizen was apprehended.”

As the prisoner took the first step
to the stage, I glimpsed a gray kerchief with a band of gold hair around the
rim. On the next step, my incredulous eyes froze on Reevah’s childlike face.

“I do not need what you call medical
attention,” she shouted.

A desperate voice that I did not
recognize tore out of me. “No! No!” I screamed. “No!”

My cries were smothered in the
crowd. I pushed and shoved to fight my way to the front.

“My dear citizen, when you needed medical
attention, you should have complied with those trying to help you.” The
counselor spoke kindly, as if her words’ soft tone could make their content
seem reasonable. “We set the highest standards for your health, so there was no
cause to object, much less to kill anyone.”

I had to avoid the guards on the
sides, so I furiously pushed forward from the center of the standing throng of
thousands, struggling to reach the stage before the officials could seize me.
All the time my mind frantically searched for the answer to a question that had
none: How could I rescue Reevah?

The commissioner spoke next:
“First, citizen, you behaved irresponsibly, which led to an unlicensed
pregnancy. You acted with no regard for the community that has to feed and rear
the product of your indiscretion. Nonetheless, we showed leniency in your case
by giving you a job in the fields. With the planting season approaching, and
you so young and strong, you still had a chance to start over and learn better
ways.”

The counselor added: “The people
asked only that you undergo a minor medical procedure to aid with your
rehabilitation. And what did you do? Not only did you defy the order for your
abortion and sterilization but you showed yourself quite capable of committing violence
to thwart these measures.”

“I want to have my child!” Reevah
shouted.

“Why? To bring another miscreant
like yourself into society? You need a license to have a child,” said the
commissioner.

“Then give me the license I need,
and let me have it.”

“And how would you feed it? We
cannot give ration cards for unauthorized children. What if everyone acted like
you, and people bore children whenever they wished? How would we ever feed
them?” added the counselor.

“I will feed my baby from my own
rations.”

“As you well know, that would not
be enough. You would have to bring your child to Children’s World, and they
could not accept it without the proper registration,” said the commissioner.
“So you were ready to bear a child that would have starved. That is the kind of
mother you want to be!”

“I will see that it lives! I want
to have it.”

“Then you should not have stabbed a
guard,” the counselor admonished.

“In view of the circumstances,”
said the commissioner, “any plea for leniency is out of the question.”

There was a rumble in the audience as
I shoved my way to the front. People turned to see what was happening.

“You have sealed your fate,” said
the counselor. “Now name the accomplice in the deed.”

Reevah said nothing.

The counselor prodded. “Well, citizen? . . . Well?”

“The Devil!” Reevah shouted, as I
reached the seating area and raced down the center aisle. “My mate is Satan!
Yes, the monster from the elders’ old fables. I met Satan, and I wanted him!”

The crowd whispered. They sensed
the presence of a great evil in their lives, and the name Reevah uttered struck
fear in them.

“If anyone touches me or my baby,
Satan himself will put a curse on all of you! He will extinguish the light of
the sun, and you will all rot in darkness, as you deserve!”

Reevah’s threat agitated the crowd.
Some people screamed. Others shouted, “Witch! Kill her! Kill the witch!”

“Let her go!” I demanded as I tore
away from the guards trying to grab me. “She is innocent,” I cried, jumping
onto the stage. “Release her at once! I am the one you want.”

The guards were about to follow me
onto the stage and seize me, but Feran intervened, signaling them to wait. Then
he gestured to the commissioner to proceed.

“Are you responsible for her
condition?” asked the commissioner.

“I never saw him before! You must
not let him speak!” Reevah screamed.

“Quiet!” the commissioner ordered.

“I am the one who violated the law,”
I cried. “I entrapped her. I committed this vile deed because I have no noble
desires to serve any of you, but only wicked desires to serve myself. I am
responsible. Let her go.”

“I never saw him before! You must
believe me!” cried Reevah.

The commissioner and the counselor
looked confused. They left us for a moment to confer with Feran.

“So you did not take the tablet,” I
said to Reevah.

“No.”

“You lied to me.”

“Yes.”

“Why, Reevah? Why?”

“Because once, just once, I wanted
something that was mine. And Honey, you were mine. The little thing I feel living
inside me is mine.” She moved her bound hands over her stomach, tightening her
clothing so that I could see an impression of the growing object. “Do not be
angry with me. Now we must not involve you. I beg you, Honey!”

“Reevah,” I whispered as I scanned
the guards, my voice shaking with terror, “I do not know how to save you.”

“I cannot be saved. But
you
can.
Listen to me. You must stay out of this!”

The commissioner returned to
address me. “Your name is Arial, and you have been in trouble with the law
before. You have been discharged from the military for crimes against the
people. Now you continue your unlawful ways. As your punishment . . .”

The Arm removed a second coffin
from the stack.

“. . . for the deed you
have just confessed to—”

“You will be treated with the calming
probe in the morning,” Feran said, interrupting from the gallery.

The crowd gasped. The Arm put my
coffin back in the stack.

“Very well.” The commissioner
nodded at Feran, then turned to me. “Tomorrow you will receive the calming
probe, and now you will be whipped until you recant your evil ways.”

“No!” Reevah shouted. “You will set
him free. He is innocent!”

“Quiet!” ordered the commissioner.

Reevah closed her eyes and bent her
head. The tears that dropped made dark streaks down her shirt.

“You, Arial, will be dismissed from
the space workers’ quarters and transferred to the Mental Health Caring Center,
where you will receive your therapeutic treatment,” instructed the commissioner.
“When you recover from the procedure, you will be moved to the farms, where you
will labor in the fields for the planting season, and then we will decide from
there what is to become of you.”

The counselor added, “Dear citizen,
Feran is giving you another chance. Once cured of your disruptive tendencies,
you will be able to serve your community with a willing heart and a tranquil
spirit.”

I shut my eyes in horror at the
thought of my future, and then I turned to Feran. “I accept my punishment. Now
let the female go free.”

Feran did not deign to answer but pointed
his finger at the commissioner to proceed.

“I think not, citizen,” said the commissioner.

With a nod of Feran’s head, three
guards leaped onto the stage and encircled me.

“Justice will be dispatched.” The commissioner
nodded to the Arm.

“No!” I screamed. I grabbed Reevah
and pulled her toward me. The Arm also grabbed her and pulled her toward him.
With her hands tied, Reevah stood helplessly between us. The guards seized me.
“No!” I screamed, my arms in an iron grip around her waist, my head pressed
against her abdomen, my body raised like a rope tugged by the guards. I thought
I heard the thing growing inside her crying out too. My grip was so tight that
the guards could not pry me loose.

Then there was a terrible blow to
my head, fists in my eyes, and kicks in my stomach. The guards pulled off my
shirt, spread my arms between the whipping posts, and chained my wrists. I
twisted savagely to break the chains, but they held firm.

“You cannot do this!” I screamed so
loud that my voice reverberated through the crowd, echoing to sound my alarm
again and again. “This is murder!
Murder!
You vile
murderers
—”

The Arm threw a gag over my mouth,
tying it tightly around my head. He then picked up his whip and repeatedly lashed
my back until my feet gave way and I hung limply by my arms. Then the Arm took
care of his other chore. He brought Reevah to the scaffold, tied her legs, and
placed the rope around her neck.

Her much smaller female form beside
the monstrous Arm and her long, fragile neck inside the coarse noose moved the
crowd to silence.

“I have a request,” Reevah said. I
turned my head to the side to see her.

The Arm stopped.

“I would like the kerchief removed
from my head.”

The Arm looked at the commissioner.
The commissioner looked at the counselor. The counselor looked at Feran. No one
had ever made such a request. Feran looked out at the spectators, studying
their mood. Our leader dispensed his medicine carefully, never exceeding the
dosage he thought the people could take. The sudden somber turn of the crowd
seemed to weigh on him, because he nodded to the officials on stage.

The counselor stepped forward. “Of
course,” she said, removing Reevah’s kerchief.

“And I would like my hair
unfastened.”

“As you wish.” The counselor
unfastened the clasps.

The wind, stirring with the threat
of a storm, blew Reevah’s golden hair in wisps, like hot flames dancing in the
cool gray sky. She turned to the side so that she could see me. With the cloth
gagging my mouth, I could not say the things I had never said but urgently wished
to say at that moment. I could not tell Reevah how the sweet drink of her
laughter poured life into me.

“Honey, when I lied to you, I never
intended you to be punished. Never! Only me.”

I nodded, wondering how I could
accomplish the only act now left to me, that of wiping the torture from her
face.

“Do not let them hurt you. Find a
way to . . . to prevent. . . . You are
clever. Surely you can find a way—”

A fury of tears choked her
trembling voice. She looked at me helplessly. I wanted to reach out to her, but
I could not. I wanted to cry out to her, but I could not. Then I thought of the
only thing I could do: I blinked at her with one eye.

She emitted a tiny laugh, a mere
puff of air expelled from her lips. She lowered her head, seeming to struggle
against a great turmoil within her. Then Reevah slowly raised her head for the
last time, her eyes choosing me for their final sight. The serene glow I knew
so well had returned to her face. She held herself in that familiar way that
was Reevah. No word in Asteron’s language could describe the way she lifted her
head. I could only say what it was not: It was not repenting or guilty or meek or
broken. Indeed, it made a mockery of all those things.