Office of Mercy (9781101606100) (21 page)

At first, Natasha had been so proud of herself for fooling Jeffrey, but now that feeling was gone. She certainly did not wish Jeffrey would discover what she was hiding—but still,
but still
, it made her miserable. A whole other set of concerns existed in her head now, the concerns of the Tribe, and she could not share that with him. She hated that their minds had so diverged, and (though she knew she was being unfair) she was angry with Jeffrey, disappointed in him even, that he could not guess the truth.

They passed into a shadowy area enclosed by the long, delicate vines of a willow tree. A little bird chirped overhead, rotating its thick neck and showing a glimmer of blue-orange iridescence. It felt like they weren't in the settlement at all, in such a private and uncornered spot. A small, white tuft of pollen floated by Natasha's ear. Then a slight pressure on her arm made her stop. Jeffrey was looking at her, at all of her, with a focus that would have seemed more appropriate directed at a computer screen in the Office of Mercy. She did not realize what he was planning to do before he did it. His chin dipped and his lips met hers. It felt wonderful and strange, and so different, so much more deliberate and tender than the kiss in his sleeproom. His hands rubbed upward along her sides, but before their embrace could deepen, Natasha pulled back.

“Was that okay?” he said. He did not seem worried though; gladness and triumph lifted his voice.

“I think so,” Natasha answered.

She reached out and took his hand and they started walking again. She was grateful the path was so dim; she felt sure that her face was flushed pink.

“This doesn't need to lead to any next steps,” he said, after a pause, “if you don't want it to.”

“I'm confused,” she confessed.

The sadness that had been at Natasha's core was rising to the surface, but she watched the smooth dirt path at her feet, raked into lines by some fastidious worker that afternoon, and willed herself not to let her feelings show.

“I can understand that,” Jeffrey said. “And there's so much going on right now, with the Pines out there and the Zetas coming.” He held her hand tightly. “The last thing I want is to upset you.”

“Okay,” she said. But it was no good, the sadness was coming. “I really love you, you know,” she burst out, as if those words alone had the power to make things right.

“Of course,” he said. “And I love you.”

•   •   •

In the following days, Natasha and Jeffrey continued to meet after the dinnerhour, only they did not keep to the usual public areas, and the intimacy between them did not stay hovering around handholding and kisses. They convened in Jeffrey's sleeproom, leaving the Dining Hall at discreet intervals, careful to signal each other with no more than a fleeting glance. Jeffrey would board the elephant first and Natasha would follow minutes later. He would greet her at the door, having listened for her footsteps in the hall, and then he would say, “Hello, beautiful,” and draw her in with him, kicking the door closed on the vacant hall. Early on they kept the lamp off and stayed to the bed, clutching each other and speaking in quick whispers, as if they were two kids in a dormitory, afraid of getting caught by their teachers. And yet, as the nights passed without the faintest indication of rumor or recourse, they grew more reckless, and cared less about who might hear them. The walls were thin, yes, and people were nosy, but stranger things had happened than this.

Besides, the truth was that Natasha could not have stopped if she'd tried. It would have been impossible to stop. The more they possessed each other, the wilder her desire grew, as if they were passing through a finite dream of ultimate pleasure and happiness, a dream they could live out hungrily but could not save. Certainly the precariousness of Natasha's situation within the settlement prevented her from taking any kiss or touch for granted. But Jeffrey appeared to feel it too; the same looming knowledge seemed to energize them both. Natasha felt this desperation, this threat of disaster and future aloneness not yet come to pass, and she struggled against it with her whole body, she raged against it with ravenous force.

Jeffrey's sleeproom could not contain them, and they began to meet in other places: a latched stall in the level six shower room, the empty Office of Air and Energy during the noontime shift change. One evening they returned to the Garden, only this time they stayed past the first dimming of the overhead lights. In the shadowy recesses of the oak trees, several feet from the path and hidden from view, Jeffrey pressed her back against the rough trunk of a broad sycamore tree and took her there—their prote-pants kicked under the bare soles of their feet—with only the birds as witness.

When Natasha returned to her sleeproom that night, still brushing bits of leaves and bramble off her shirt, she found Min-he waiting for her, filled with anxious gossip about the New Wing.

“It's official,” Min-he said, springing up from her wallcomputer as soon as Natasha had entered the room. “The Zetas have outgrown their phase-two incuvats. About half of them weigh over three pounds now, and if they're not transferred within the next fourteen days, the medworkers say they might experience developmental damage. The Alphas are mad, and Cameron Pacheco is an absolute wreck. I don't think he's slept in a week. They're saying they still need more workers. I heard from my Director that Cameron asked for a list of all nonessential personnel—people he could draft to make temporary construction teams. In the Archives, that's basically everyone, so I'm guessing I'm on the list. Did you hear anything like that from Arthur? I guess the Office of Mercy will have to hold some people back, but they might send the Epsilons first.”

“Yeah,” said Natasha.

“Oh, Arthur told you?”

“No. I mean, no. I hadn't heard anything.”

“It would be fun, though, don't you think? I wouldn't mind if it's only a week or so. I think it's healthy to have a little workplace variety.”

“Sure,” Natasha said. “Well, I think I'm going to take a shower.”

“You took one last night.”

“I was in the Garden, though. I feel kind of dusty.”

“You were with Jeffrey again, weren't you?” Min-he said with a smirk. “I knew it. You practically ran out of the Dining Hall when you saw him leave.”

“We had plans to meet at nineteen hundred,” Natasha said shortly.

“What's going on between you two? I never run into you during leisure hours anymore. Has he been sneaking you off to empty storagerooms or something? I bet he has access.”

“No, nothing like that,” Natasha objected, dismayed by how closely Min-he had guessed the truth. “Jeffrey's very conscious of what the Alphas advise.”

“Except for starting romantic relationships with people outside his generation, for reasons possibly other than what the Alphas condone. I mean, honestly, Natasha, is your partnership truly based on fully empathetic grounds?”

“Of course.”

“I'm just saying . . . you're an Epsilon and he's a Gamma. Your life experience is different, which makes it more difficult to create that sort of bond. There've been very few cross-generational partnerships, you know, for precisely that reason. You can look it up in the Archives, we keep track of the sleeproom assignments.” Min-he raised her eyebrows. “Don't you think it's possible that he might be letting down his Wall, giving in to prerational instincts? Your body fits the ratios that people used to glorify in women during Pre-Storm times. Bust to waist to hips. It sends signals about sexual vitality, or something like that.”

“Where do you come up with this stuff, Min-he?”

“You can read about it for yourself if you want. It's all in the Archives.”

“I'm not going to read about it because that's not what's going on between me and Jeffrey,” Natasha replied, her voice rising. “Age isn't always the most important thing. You're underestimating the power of empathy if you think so. Just because we don't have as many shared experiences as people of the same generation doesn't mean we can't form a deep connection. Look at our interests. How we both chose to work in the Office of Mercy. How we're interested in the Outside and how we like to discuss the Ethical Code.”

“Okay, okay, I believe you!” Min-he said, putting her hands up. She plopped down on her pillow and gave a sudden, cheerful laugh. “Oh, Mother, I'm going to lose you, aren't I? I can see it already. They'll probably move in Hasmira or someone. Everyone knows that she snores.”

“I'm not moving out.”

“Aren't you going to apply for a couples' sleeproom?”

“No,” Natasha said emphatically, turning her back on Min-he while she unfastened her shirt and her slightly wrinkled prote-pants and changed into her robe.

Min-he, who was usually good at backing off before the two of them got into any real arguments, only smirked in response, then returned to talking about the New Wing. Natasha was hardly listening, though, because she was still thinking of Jeffrey.

Truthfully, the idea of living in a couples' sleeproom with him had occurred to Natasha many times, and only the more pressing matter of the Tribe had kept her from plotting ways to suggest it. She thought she would like that. Lying beside him every night. Sharing a closeness that excluded all but their own two bodies. That would crush the distance her secrets continued to force between them. That would cure Natasha of her worries and confusion; after all, despite what the Alphas said, what were things like settlement rules and the Ethical Code compared with two people living as one? After the Pines, Natasha thought, her heart pounding and her fantasies loud in her head. After they figured out some way to get the novas to the ocean and after the Tribes were finally safe. She had to trust that Jeffrey would still love her then, no matter what she had done. She believed—she
had
to believe—that his loyalty to her would trump his loyalty to the settlement, that he would stand by her side.

By the time Natasha returned from the shower room, her damp hair tied up in a towel, Min-he was asleep. Natasha got into her own bed and huddled against the wall, the events of that evening still playing in her mind. A part of her remained shocked that she and Jeffrey were together at all. She would think, “Jeffrey loves me,” and her mind would work to grasp such a strange occurrence as fact. It reminded Natasha of her contact with the Pines, how she struggled both in the moment of meeting them and afterward to convince herself that what had actually happened had happened. Her eyes closed and her breathing slowed. She could hardly tell the difference these days: the divide between real and pretend.

14

B
ecause of Min-he's warning, Natasha was not as surprised as she might have been when she woke the next day to a flashing message on her wallcomputer: “Report to New Wing at 0800 for morning and afternoonshifts. Shifts in the Office of Mercy are canceled until further notice.”

Min-he had the same instructions and, as they learned at breakfast, so did nearly every other Epsilon and a good portion of the older generations too. But not Jeffrey.

Natasha found him in the crowded Dome, on his way to the Department of the Exterior. The Alphas had assigned him double shifts in the Office of Mercy, putting his and Natasha's schedules into absolute conflict, and forcing their meet-ups, at least for now, to a halt.

“Just until we finish the wing,” Jeffrey told her. He was being brave, but Natasha could hear the pain in his voice.

“Sure,” said Natasha, matching his tone. “Small price to pay for the betterment of America-Five.”

She smiled, though she had already felt it—the flicker of fear that what she had with Jeffrey was too precarious, that it would not survive a break.

“Shouldn't take too long,” Jeffrey said. “And then we'll get our shifts together again in the Office of Mercy. I promise. You'll be sick of me, you'll see me so much.”

Natasha laughed a little and they said a quick goodbye, both wanting to say more but unable. What they had together was private, and this was not the moment to change that.

He squeezed her wrist, pressing the veins under her skin with his thumb.

“Have fun in construction,” he said.

Natasha flushed. “I will.”

She watched him go. A trumpeting of new voices emerged from the elephant, and the bodies crossed the Dome before her. Finally she turned and joined the swelling crowd at the entrance to the New Wing.

The temporary airlock still separated the Dome from the construction area. The workers did not need full biosuits, as they would not be coming into direct contact with any natural elements; however, because they were still building the exterior walls, they did need masks and airfilters. Wires hung from the ceiling and the piping systems overhead cut off abruptly, needing their next fittings. The sound of zippy hammers and electron saws echoed in the massive chamber, and at the center of the room were eighty-three cylindrical and dome-topped vats, the incuvats for the third phase of the Zetas' prebirth development. The incuvats were empty of fluids now, and about ten citizens were fiddling with their electrical systems, installing small generators through open panels in the base. Other citizens were adjusting intricate webs of tubing that connected the clear, bubblelike interiors to the pipes on the ceiling. The bubbles were where the Zetas would go, and from where they would emerge to take their first breaths—if only the citizens could get this wing ready in time.

Cameron Pacheco did indeed look as if he had lost several pounds; his round, usually cheerful face was wan and tensed, and he was dashing from one area to another, determined to check every bolt and section of wire that went into the walls. He had all the labor he needed now. Though except for his core construction team and the Electricity and Piping crews (of which Raj was a member), everyone was undertrained and out of their depth, and required thorough and detailed instructions before they could even begin to help.

Natasha joined a team working ten feet off the ground on a long scaffold, bolting a row of metal panels into place. Originally, the open strip in the wall was supposed to receive a series of colored glass windows—each depicting a scene of everyday life in the settlement—though with the work so rushed, such extravagances would have to wait. It was one of the more difficult jobs; the panels were heavy and cumbersome, and required a person on each side to hold them in place while a third person (usually Natasha) drilled. Natasha worked hard, and she thought she was doing a pretty good job until Dalton Tulis, the construction worker in charge of this project, noticed she was using 3.5-centimeter bolts instead of the standard 6-centimeter and, nicely suppressing his own frustration, handed her a pair of zippy pliers to undo her work from the entire morning.

Natasha was down on the floor sorting through the supply bins (more carefully this time) when she noticed Raj. He was sitting on the lowest rung of a ladder, taking a break with several others. A group of three men from Electricity and Piping passed by.

“Hey, what's this?” one of them snapped at Raj. “Think you're too good to work for the Zetas?”

Raj did not answer, but sat calmly, looking straight ahead.

“He doesn't think he's too good for the Zetas, he thinks he's too good for Electricity and Piping,” a second man said. “Had a bit of an attitude, haven't you? Ever since they sent you down from the Archives.”

“I hate the Archives,” the third man said. “I hate anyone who doesn't work to keep this place running.”

(He'll get a course of reeducation for that, Natasha thought automatically. Every Office keeps the settlement running.)

Raj still would not respond, and so the third man, with a grunt of anger, kicked Raj's hardhat, which was resting near the foot of the ladder, so that it skidded across the floor.

Cameron Pacheco and Walker O'Reilly, who headed Electricity and Piping, descended upon the group in seconds.

“What's going on here?” Walker asked.

“This traitor is slacking off again,” said the first man, pointing to Raj. “And the rest of us are getting sick of it.”

“My group just finished installing the eighth yard of piping,” said Raj, willing to speak at last. “We agreed to take a break before starting the next set.” Raj was standing now, but he looked very alone. The other men and women on his team had returned to their task, and none were coming to his defense.

“Well, we can't have that,” Cameron said. “Maybe you haven't noticed, but we're all working hard to get this thing done. Whatever views you hold against the collective goals of the settlement, please, this is not the time for a protest.”

Natasha could not believe the injustice of it, especially because she had never known Cameron to be anything but kind and fair-minded. Now practically everyone in the New Wing was glaring at Raj, muttering in low voices to nearby citizens, their faces under their visors screwed into expressions of bitter disgust.

“But he was only taking a break!” Natasha said. “He's been working just like the rest of us.”

The glares of the citizens shifted to her, and Natasha went silent. Raj, in his steadiness, in his own silence, was warning her not to continue; and, amid a group near the airlock, the eyes of Ben and Sarah jumped out at her, anxiously urging the same.

“We don't have time for this,” Walker said. “My crew, I want you focused, now.”

Heads turned back to the tasks at hand, and the clamor and movement of construction started again.

Only hours later did Natasha have the chance to talk to Raj, allowing him to intercept her at the supply bins.

“I'm sorry,” Natasha said in a hushed voice. “I shouldn't have spoken up, it was stupid.”

“They'll forget,” Raj said. “It's you I'm worried about.”

“Me?”

“It's going to get worse, Natasha, much worse, if we do what we're planning. I'm used to this, I honestly don't care how they treat me. But you need to understand how much things will change for you. Everyone, all your friends, they're going to turn against you. They're going to hate you.”

Their eyes met briefly over the bin of silver washers, and then they both looked quickly down. Natasha wondered if Raj knew about Jeffrey. She considered assuring him that she had thought through all the possible repercussions already, personal and professional both, but decided against it. That was no one's business but her own.

“Nothing will change if we can't find a way out of this settlement,” Natasha said instead.

“No breaks on your end, then?”

“I keep coming back to the same problem. I need to be in the Office of Mercy to shut off the alarms on the green. But then, even if I let you out of the settlement and stay back myself—”

“Someone will see us sneaking into the Office of Exit,” Raj finished. “And we still can't get into the Strongroom. Well,” he said, after a pause, “I'm working on something too. It's difficult, and it could only work once.”

“We only need once.”

“They'll kick me out if they catch me . . . if not worse. Honestly, I don't know what they'd do.”

“If it's good, then it's worth it,” Natasha said. “It's worth the risk.”

“Later,” Raj said, lowering his head. “People are looking.”

Construction on the New Wing kept the days full, and Natasha did little else but eat, sleep, hammer, drill, and return to her sleeproom too exhausted to miss Jeffrey or worry about the Tribe. Several more times she witnessed Raj getting bullied by other members of Electricity and Piping, but she did not dare to speak up again. She noticed, too, when Sarah got snubbed by the other workers from Health during lunch, and when three Deltas deliberately turned their backs on Eduardo after he'd asked for help snapping one of the new incuvats into place. It will be worse, Raj had said, and Natasha believed it. If this was payback for holding “antisettlement” views, then she could hardly imagine the citizens' fury when she and the others betrayed America-Five and the Alphas outright.

As it turned out, the extra push did the trick. After eleven days of nearly nonstop labor, the New Wing—though it was not really complete—was at least in good enough shape for the transfer. Natasha stood in the crowd just inside the New Wing doors, waiting to get her first glimpse of the new generation. Raj, Mercedes, Eduardo, Sarah, and Ben were nowhere to be found, and Natasha wondered if they had skipped the event in an act of peaceful defiance. Part of her wished she could have skipped it too.

The Office of Reproduction scientists, all sporting long white lab coats and proud smiles, wheeled in the first tiny Zetas one by one. The new generation did not look like much—just pale, large-headed blobs floating in a slightly cloudy liquid. Their thin limbs curled against their bodies and a long, fleshy, purplish cord connected them to the base of their now too small, phase-two incuvats.

Zeta followed Zeta and everyone sighed in awe and applauded. Arthur whistled, eliciting cheerful admonishments from those around him. Min-he and two other women from the Archives were making a big show of themselves, holding their hands over their hearts and sighing long “
awww
s” every few minutes. Jeffrey, on the opposite side of the New Wing doors from Natasha, was more subdued, standing with his hands clasped behind his back, though he was certainly just as enthralled as the others. At one point near the middle of the long procession, Natasha glanced over at Eric, who stood next to her, and was surprised to see tears in his eyes.

“You're really excited about this!” she said, taken aback.

“Yeah, I am,” Eric answered, wiping his face with the collar of his sleeve. “It's spectacular, bringing all these people into existence. Don't you feel it? Don't you feel how amazing it is?”

“I don't know,” Natasha said. “I guess with everything going on I hadn't thought about it much. With the construction so rushed, and the Pines still out there . . .”

She trailed off, but Eric's posture stiffened. Up until now, Natasha had been careful to avoid making any references to Eric about the Tribes, except when absolutely necessary.

“Well, you can't help thinking about them,” she whispered. “We have no right to be producing more generations with so many people suffering out there.”

“Can I give you a piece of advice?” Eric asked, his voice dry. “Don't love anything on the Outside.”

“Do you love them?” Natasha quickly countered. “The Zetas?”

“Not yet, but I'm starting to. Look at that little guy.”

Eric pointed to the incuvat passing by, where inside a male Zeta, his eyes tightly closed and his minuscule hands balled into fists, was turning somersaults in the gently undulating fluid. Eric laughed, joining an amused chorus of several others. But it was impossible. The citizens' thoughts did not extend beyond the walls of the settlement; Natasha could not feel what they felt.

As the transfer continued, her thoughts drifted back to earlier that morning, when one of the Betas had posted the projected rankings for American settlement population growths. It was an act clearly motivated by prideful and competitive feelings, and Natasha was shocked that the Alphas had allowed it. Perhaps the old ones had thought the numbers would boost morale and, granted, for most people, they did. In two months, assuming the healthy birth of all eighty-three members of the Zeta generation, and the clean, successful sweep of the Pine Tribe, America-Five would soon lead the continent in both Tribespeople swept and settlement population. For Natasha, there was a terrible sickness in the symmetry of those numbers. Why can't we take in Tribespeople instead of making new generations? She had asked once and she would ask again; especially now that she felt sure, more sure than ever before, that no one—not Jeffrey or Arthur or even the Alphas—could give an acceptable answer.

Finally, the scientists declared the transfer complete. They stepped away to reveal four rows of Zetas, all floating lethargically in their new, slightly larger homes. Natasha watched them turn and bob. The Zetas had not asked to be created, or asked
not
to be created. A series of infinitely complex events had conspired to bring them into their present state of existence, and here they were—here and here and here—from airy possibility to flesh and blood and bone. Natasha's heart strained in their presence. She felt the pull toward them and the yearning to give them the unadulterated love that every innocent creature deserved—but Natasha felt distant from them too. She resented their luck, a luck they did not know they had, in coming to life in America-Five and not in the Outside.