Assimilation (Concordia Series Book 1) (14 page)

“Very well,” Janat replies.  “The Tribunal of All recognizes that the theft of Davinney Keith from the closed world Attero was unintentional and deeply regrettable. At this time, it does not feel that Disposal would be an appropriate consequence.  If you should violate any standard over the course of the twelve new-month period, you will face immediate Disposal without the benefit of Tribunal. Do you understand this outcome, Ritter Boone?”

“Yes,” he says, and his relief seems to course through me, too, doubling my own.

“In addition, if Davinney Keith should fail to assimilate, you and she will face the same possibility of immediate Disposal.  Do you understand this outcome as well?”

“Yes,” he repeats.

My relief gives way to renewed fear.  It is not over after all.  Not only does my life hang in the balance if I fail to assimilate, but Ritter’s does, too.

11

IT DOESN’T MATTER that I knew the probable outcome since my arrival on Concordia. I am feeling numb, but I suspect the world will come crashing down on me later. Strega waits while Ritter and I are led away to different rooms to process out.  As I trail behind my guide, I see him sit down in the lobby in a row of chairs I hadn’t noticed when we arrived.

I am taken back to what I am now calling the white death room, but I barely have time to sit down against the wall before the door opens and a serious looking woman with a dirty blonde, angled bob enters the room.  She’s not quite beautiful, but she’s close.  Something desolate in her eyes keeps her from beauty, at least by Attero’s standards.

“My name is Lyder Vale,” she says, stretching a hand out. I’m not sure whether she intends to shake my hand or whether she’s offering me help in rising.  “I’ll be your Assimilation facilitator.”

I stand without her assistance, but her hand is still out so I shake it, which satisfies her. 

She passes me a black zippered folder. Her words are clipped and flat and remind me so much of Janat’s that I want to punch her. “You are to review everything contained in this folder prior to our next meeting, the date and time of which is listed inside on my function plate. You will meet the current class of candidates and will receive your Idix at that time. Do you understand these instructions?”

“Yes.”

“You are now placed in Ritter Boone’s custody until such time as you have completed Assimilation and have received your Tribunal awarded keeping.  Follow me to the exit.”

I don’t need her to show me, but I follow.  Something tells me I don’t want to disregard anything she has to say.

I don’t study the contents of the portfolio except to check the date and time of my next meeting with Lyder.  It is two weeks away. Lyder catches me looking and says stiffly,

“Grieving time.”

“What?”

“You’re wondering why Assimilation doesn’t start for two weeks,” she says emotionlessly.  “The answer is grieving time. I will see you in two weeks.”

She turns and walks away, back down the hall that leads to the white death room, but stopping in front of the elevator.

Strega rises when he sees me.  There’s turmoil in his eyes, but his voice is steady as always. “Ritter will be another few minutes.”  He studies my face. I stare at the place between his collarbones.  “How are you feeling, Davinney?”

“I’m fine,” I say mechanically.

Ritter’s face, when he sees me, is a paradoxical mixture of giddiness and sympathy.  He thinks the better of saying anything to me.

Strega and Ritter talk on the slide. Meaningless chatter, mostly, from the bits and pieces I catch. I stare straight ahead and try not to feel anything. Because it’s really over now, and the answer is no. I can’t go home. Being warned beforehand, no matter how strongly, hadn’t killed the little seed of hope I carried with me. And now it’s black and shriveled inside me.

Knowing that I must go on, must perform like a trained poodle for the Tribunal and assimilate like a good girl or risk not just my own Disposal, but Ritter’s, too, is a weight I wasn’t prepared to carry. It crushes me as I follow them from slide to slide until we’re…home. 

I have to start seeing Ritter’s keeping as home. I have to. Too much depends on it. Yet I can’t fight back this silent grey weight of apathy.

We humans are pleasure seekers. We will strain and strive for the proverbial carrot, if the carrot is something we really want.  But maybe I don’t want the carrot. Maybe I really, really want a bucket of French fries, instead. Nightshades. Nightshades that the stupid ScanX won’t let me have, no different from the home and family the Tribunal won’t let me have. 

I can breathe and breathe and strive and strain, but that nightshade carrot will never appear.

When we arrive back at Ritter’s keeping, it is early evening, but late enough that neither Strega nor Ritter find reason to object when I tell them I’m going to sleep, that even with the sleepbringer I had trouble resting last night.  Ritter tentatively squeezes my shoulder. Strega tips my chin with his fingers until I manage to meet his eyes for a few moments. Though he frowns, he says nothing. He swipes my forehead. I don’t stick around to see whether he reacts to the fact that I don’t swipe back.

The MedQuick dutifully dispenses toothwash, moodleveler, and sleepbringer.  I swish the toothwash, waiting like a trained monkey for the tone before spitting it into the sink. I palm the other two tubes and close myself in my borrowed unit.

I don’t plan to sleep tonight, and I don’t want to feel better. I just want to be alone, away from their pitying looks and feeble attempts at comfort. Their medicines are, to me, more evidence of a government in tight control of its people. Everything seems like it is for the good of the citizens, while if Ritter is right, underneath it all, there’s no actual regard for them.  Just keep them quiet and happy and they won’t give a crap what is really going on. No one will suspect they might be murdering low functioners or that they are possibly building an army out of assimilated citizens.  Pay no attention to the murderers behind the curtain.

Well, I won’t live as a dutiful, cheery citizen of this pretend Utopia.  I will do my sixty days. I will assimilate. I am not interested in hurting Ritter, after all.  He’s just another victim. Once I successfully assimilate, Ritter will be safe. His life will no longer be tied to mine. My behavior, my actions will have no consequence for him. That is when I will figure out a way to get home. There’s got to be a way. Ritter hinted at some sort of underground means.  If he won’t help me find it, I’ll find it on my own.

Time passes quickly when you want nothing more than to avoid your future.  Though I dutifully breathe into the ScanX, I seldom eat the things I choose. Everything tastes like cardboard. Sometimes salty cardboard, sometimes sweet, but still cardboard. Without that nightshade carrot I long for, everything seems pointless.  I continue to use only the toothwash.  I tuck the other two tubes, the sleepbringer and the moodleveler, in the middle of a stack of towels in the back of the linen cabinet.  There’s quite a growing collection there.

Ritter is back to functioning, and I’m glad for it. He’s distracted when he arrives at the keeping each evening. It’s easy to fake a smile and pretend to log Mina or Melayne or to be absorbed by the latest updates on the viewer. When either of them actually log me, urging me to catch up with them, I beg off with increasingly imaginative excuses.

The launches are still closed, but I don’t let it stop me from searching for an exit. I spend most of the night after Ritter has gone to bed on the scape searching through screen after screen for anything that even sounds remotely like an answer to my problem, careful to be quiet and close the meld to the office.  Ritter no longer receives sleepbringer. I guess with the Tribunal over with, he’s unconcerned, able to find sleep all on his own. Good for him.

I always make sure to leave my logger lying around, loaded with the books I found listed in the Assimilation portfolio, to make it look like I am studying up on Concordian life and history.  If Ritter snoops, I’m just getting a head start on my Assimilation like a good little robot, though I haven’t actually done more than open the files.

I do watch the viewer. Quite a bit, in fact. The news channels report more and more suicides, and the local Tribunal is interviewed about the launch closures. Janat is infuriatingly emotionless as always.

“What is happening, Janat, that is causing these launch closures?” Velert Belk, one of Ritter’s fellow heralds, asks. He’s got piercing eyes that rival Janat’s and a challenging tone to his voice.

“The closures are due to routine maintenance. If you recall, last year’s Agreement review mandated several upgrades and changes to the launch systems for all open worlds.”

“But Janat, the launches have never been closed for more than two days for maintenance or upgrades before,” Velert points out.

“And that is precisely why a longer closure was deemed necessary this year.  The launch system is painfully out of date, a condition which if not addressed appropriately could endanger all incoming and outgoing travelers.”

“Rumors have been circling about tension between some of the closed worlds and some of the open ones, particularly Concordia and its allies.  What—”

Janat’s voice is just as bland with Velert as it was in the Tribunal.  “There is always tension between parallels. As you already know, the Agreement review is a time for the parallels to air any grievances about the slivving process, the guidelines set in place by the Agreement, and the consequences for violating that sacred pact. It is a time when formerly open worlds can choose to close their melds and when closed worlds can throw theirs open. Tensions under such circumstances are normal and to be expected.”

My heart leaps. Attero could chose to open itself to slivvers?  If it did, could I, as a citizen of Attero, go home?  Why didn’t the Tribunal mention this? Why didn’t Ritter, especially when it could sway me to stand for him?

“The citizens are worried about what it means.  Are we about to lose our ability to travel the parallels?  Has Concordia decided to close itself to parallel travelers from other worlds? Is that why all slivvers were asked to depart?”

Janat’s eyes are cold as always, giving nothing away.  “All I can tell you is that during the upcoming review in September, everything is possible and nothing is off the table.”

“Janat, it has also come to our attention that the current class of Assimilation candidates is estimated to be over three—”

Janat has already turned away, and Millick and Danig, her silent partners, stand bodily in the way of Velert so that he cannot follow.  She holds up a hand as she goes, signaling the end of the interview.  The question remains unfinished and unanswered.

After the first week passes, I quit bothering to bathe. It is a very strange thing to logically know you are depressed while still not caring enough to do anything about it. It would be easy to suck down some moodleveler. I would probably feel pretty disgusted with myself once the magical potion kicked in, too. But I can’t be bothered.

When there are only three days left before Assimilation begins, I step on the scale plate and breathe into the ScanX.  It issues a long beep and instead of the usual scrolling message, a woman’s voice speaks through the machine.

“You are six pounds under your goal weight. Your breath chemistry indicates a serious depletion of key vitamins, minerals, and micronutrients. See your assigned caretaker, Strega Bocek, today if possible, for a comprehensive examination.  Here is a list of today’s acceptable in-stock foods …”

I choose fried eggs, a side of bacon, and a fruit platter.  For the drink I choose chocolate milk, just because I can. The machine wants me to regain the lost weight.

I actually take a few bites of each item and a few slugs of the milk before dumping the rest down the compactor.  It still tastes like cardboard.

There’s no reason for me to pretend when Ritter is functioning, so I flop back down on my rift and stare at the ceiling.  I’m no closer to finding any clues to anything that might get me home, and I’m too tired and too discouraged to bother with the scape right now. My logger is dead. I haven’t bothered to charge it. There’s nothing Mina or Melayne can say or do to help, though they’ve been persistently asking me to visit with them while I still have abundant free time.

I must have fallen asleep because the next thing I know, rough hands are hauling me off the rift.  Ritter eyes me coldly from the cleanse meldway, and I realize with faint surprise that if he’s over there, it must be Strega that’s manhandling me. His arm circles my waist now, and he tugs me off of my feet as I sway.

Ritter starts to say something, but the sound of the shower sputtering to life cuts him off.

“Ritter, go find someplace else to be so that I can consult with my ward in private,” Strega snarls.  In the next instant, Strega deposits me under the spray.

Ward.
I’m back to being his patient. I never really stopped, I guess, but I’d started to think we were becoming friends.

I duck past him from the other end of the shower, but I don’t get far. He grabs me fiercely. I curse at him, wondering where gentle, concerned Strega went. Uncannily, as if he hears my thoughts, Strega snaps,

“No more leaving you be, giving you time and space to adjust. And especially no trusting you to adhere to the MedQuick’s ministrations on your own.”

He probably expects a meek response. Instead, I meet his eyes and sneer, “You want me to just soap up in my clothes?”

He pulls the sliding door closed on the shower stall and says, “I’ll leave you alone, but when the water goes off you’d better cover yourself, because I’ll be back.”

After I shower, Strega orders me to dress in a clean pair of clothes. I’m just about to snark at him again when I see a set on the counter. When I step out of the cleanse, Strega seizes my arm at the elbow and practically drags me back in.

“Why haven’t you answered your facilitator’s logs?” he demands.

I blink at him. “What logs?”

He stomps out of the cleanse. I stand there dumbly. I think about running, but I’m starting to feel a little light headed. Probably all those meals I haven’t been eating.