I Am Margaret (29 page)

“Hardly. As soon as I became fifteen—knew I had to decide—I could hardly think about anything else.”

A year in a mental maelstrom with thoughts of life and death, truth and lies, salvation and damnation, agony and wellbeing pelting you from every side...

What do I
really
believe?

What my parents have always taught me?

Just ‘cause they believe it doesn’t make it
true
.

Just ‘cause
they
believe it doesn’t make it false.

What’s the evidence… for and against?

Do I believe this enough to
die
for it?

Horrible, Jon called it. That was about right.

“
My parents were really good about it,” I went on, “stepped right back and let me work it out for myself. I’m only surprised Bane didn’t find someone more fun to be around after a few months! Though he got worse than me in the end. ‘Cause I never did manage to convince him, but
I
was convinced, and oh my, was he desperate to change my mind.”

“‘Well, he practiced all the arguments on me first.” Jon sounded like he was grinning. “His priorities were pretty clear.”

I had to smile too.

“He did have them rather smooth. He was still whispering them in my ear when I was about to walk up to the altar for Confirmation. Had to fix my hair band three times ‘cause he kept pulling my veil askew to give himself more time! In the end I kind of grabbed it and ran.”

But afterwards he’d said, ‘Well, I tried my best. And look at you glowing…’ Picked me up in a big bear hug and spun me around with my feet off the floor… ‘Seeing you this happy… it’s almost worth the risk…’ Dear, dear Bane.

The risk.

The happy memory slid from my mind and this time I did have to swallow before I could get out, “Do you know…” I hesitated. “Do you know if they actually break many people? At the last minute? Do many people…”

“Apostatize? Make the Divine denial?”

“Umm.”

“Some. I can’t give you figures, but… people are only human. You must’ve heard of Father Hart?”

“
Father Faintheart, they used to call him.
Six
times, wasn’t it, that he Apostatized?”

“Yes,” murmured Jon. “Poor Father Hart, they say, had a rather low pain threshold. Every time they got him strapped down on that gurney he’d panic and make the Divine denial. The EuroGov would gloat like mad and let him go. He’d be barely clear of the Facility’s shadow when he’d be seized with the most overwhelming remorse for his cowardice. His penitence was always so genuine he’d be absolved at once and would go on with his work. Until the next time he was caught, when it would happen all over again.”

“Until the seventh time. When he held firm at last.”

“That’s what they say. Father Better-Late-Than-Never, some people call him now.”

“Yes. Poor man. Uncle Peter knew him, you know,” I told Jon. “Said one glimpse of a scalpel and Father Hart’s spine would turn to custard, but that he was the most lovely man.”

“
Knowing Father Peter, he probably thought
Doctor Richard
was a lovely man
really
.”

My stomach churned, ice splinters spreading into the surrounding tissues.
I don’t want to think about this now!

“I think…” my voice came out barely audible. “I think that’s an exaggeration.”

Jon’s shoulders lifted in a shrug.

“All right. But you know what I mean.”

I kept quiet. All the slow, sick terror that’d been building this last fortnight had been unleashed inside me. My chest was so tight with it, it choked my breathing.

“Margo? Are you all right?”

I couldn’t reply. I was too busy breathing nice and slowly and deeply and holding myself together. I was being silly. Or so I told myself, as firmly as possible.
I probably won’t even win
…

“You know, there’s something I’ve been wanting to tell you. Um, sort of about Father Peter. Something Father Mark told me. He… seemed to know what he was talking about.”

I didn’t want to hear about Uncle Peter any more right now, even something Jon thought might make me feel better about it. It was too close, far, far too close to the root of my fear. But I couldn’t get out the words to frame my objection and Jon took my lack of response for interest.

“Father Mark said whatever the EuroGov like to tell everyone, no one could stay conscious for a whole dismantling. He said even with minions clamping blood vessels, by halfway through you’d pass out from blood loss and if you took the pain into account as well, then most people would be unconscious well before that. So… Father Peter… well, there’s an awful lot he wouldn’t actually have felt.”

The sequence of dismantling forced itself bloodily into my mind: skin, eyes, tongue…

“
He felt enough!” I choked. Was I going to be sick, right now? I swallowed hard and lay very still, my eyes pressed closed. I felt and heard Jon draw breath…
“Please be quiet, please, please be quiet
…”

There was a long silence.

“Margo, I’m sorry. I thought you’d like to know.”

I took several more long breaths and wiped cold sweat from my forehead.

“
I am glad to know that,” I said very collectedly.
I’m fine. I’m just being silly.
“This just wasn’t a good time to tell me.”

“Why not? What’s wrong?” he demanded at once.

“It’s late. I’m tired. I’m stressed about this competition and everything.” All true. If rather unspecific.

Another silence from Jon.

“Well, if you do want to talk about it, I’m here.”

Oh, I’m sure we would talk about it, just as soon as I read him my
masterpiece
, but I could put it off a bit longer. But after a few more moments of churning internal turmoil and external quiet, four words escaped me, blurted into his listening ear.

“I want to live.”

I felt his head jerk slightly, startled.

“Who doesn’t?”

“
No, I really,
really
want to live. I hadn’t… hadn’t realized how much, until… until I came here. And now more and more, every day, I realize how much I want it. The rest of my life. However long or short, even if it’s just some quick martyrdom not far down the line, just… my life. Away from
here
. I want it so much. Is that wrong?”

“
Wrong?
No!
It’s the people who are stealing our lives who are
wrong!”

“
If someone takes your cloak, give him your shirt also
,”

I muttered. “Jon… why’ve you been making an Act of Acceptance every night for way longer than I have?”

He sighed.

“
All right. All right. You’re right. I know you’re right. I just… when I think of all the people they murder, the lives they take… when I think of them doing that to you… it makes me so
angry
.”

“
And
you?
Where’s
your
life in all that anger?”

Jon gave a tiny dismissive snort.

“
Oh,
my
life. My life’s been spoken for since before I was born. Most people live expecting a hundred and twenty years; I’ve only ever expected twenty. I suppose in my mental clock I ought to be at the equivalent of a hundred plus by now.”

“And that really works? You’re as happy to die now as a centenarian?”

“
Oh yes, I’d say so,” said Jon, his voice chokingly bitter, “seeing they’re so happy to die they’re having us chopped up so they don’t have to! It doesn’t work
at all
. I want to live just as much as you do and yes, it bothers me too. I just don’t like to hear
you
say it.” His voice went very soft. “I want you to live, y’see.”

“
Well…” I said quickly, then stopped, a shaft of mental lightning illuminating my brain. “Look, we’re both being silly! Think of Our Lord’s example! What did
He
do when faced with death?”

“He tried to avoid it,” said Jon, brightening. “It was only when he realized it was meant to be that he accepted it.”

“
So perhaps Bane will come up with something, and we’ll escape. Because if we don’t
try
to escape, that’s like sitting back and allowing evil to trundle on its way unimpeded!”

My heart pounded with sheer relief. The knot of uncertainty at which I’d been teasing for weeks was all of a sudden completely untangled. “I’m going to do my utmost to get us all out of here and if I get shot halfway up the bank
that’s
where the acceptance has to come in! Difficult as it might be at such a frustrating moment!”

“I still can’t believe Bane agreed to rescue everyone.”

“
He agreed to
try
,” I said, more soberly. “It’s a tall order. I wouldn’t pin too many hopes on it, if I were you.”

“
Me? I’m not pinning any hopes, Margo. You’ll have to leave
me
behind, you know that, right?”

A hot bubble of anger surged up in my chest and I thumped him so hard there was an audible smack. He flinched, in shock or pain, I couldn’t tell.

“We’re not leaving you behind! You’ll be going with us, if we go anywhere!”

“Ouch. If you say so. Seeing I’m not sure I’d dare argue with you. I daresay Bane will take a more sensible view,” he added under his breath.

My fist clenched again, then I let out a long breath, my fingers uncurling.

“
I’m sorry. I’m not mad at
you
, I’m mad at
them
. Did I hurt you?”

“I’ll live. Shame Bane’s not here. We could all be plain furious together.” But his arm tightened around me slightly and he rested his chin on the top of my head.

Bane.
Oh, how I wish you were here. I want to talk to you, Bane. I never feel so afraid when I’m with you. No doubt my parents would say that wasn’t an advantage, but it would be, just now
…

“Margo? You all right? What’re you thinking?”

Cruel to say I was wishing he was someone else.

“Just thinking. Everything’s so crazy at the moment. But we’ll get through it. One way. Or another.”

“
I’d rather it was
one way
, for you…” His voice had gone soft again. “Out of here and away…” He rolled up onto his elbow, letting my head slide to rest in the nook of his arm, and his fingers traced my cheeks, my brow, the slope of my nose. “Let me worry about the
another
.”

My body felt oddly hot as his bulk hovered over me in the dark.

“
I would have you safe…” he murmured, and his fingers moved to caress my tingling lips…

***+***

19

100,000 WORDS OF TRUTH

I lay rigid, my mind skittering wildly—shove him away? Slap him? Too noisy, and lingering guilt from my last blow stayed my hand. What were the right words for this?

No words. I raised my hand and slipped it over my mouth, so his fingers brushed the cool metal of my ring. About which he’d congratulated me, with that disturbing touch of hesitation…

He twisted away, throwing himself into his cramped half of the bunk, putting his back to me. His whisper was hoarse and tormented.

“Think… Think I’ll sleep this way tonight. Nothing… nothing personal.”

But it was. It was everything personal. Too personal. That was just the problem.

I turned onto my side, putting my back to him as well, but I offered a quiet, “Night, Jon,” over my shoulder. ‘Cause somehow I couldn’t feel angry with him. I lay with my cheek for once nestling on a pillow, which was soft, but not as comfortable as I remembered, for all that. Lay staring into the darkness.