The Line (8 page)

At first she saw nothing unusual, just the water flowing around in lazy swirls, making its way to the pool’s outlet, where it would bounce and bubble along the rock stream-bed and off to oblivion. Then Rachel caught a glimmer on the water’s surface. The sun reflecting off the ripples? No, it was something silver, floating in lazy spirals on the water, trapped in an eddy. She leaned out over the pool, trying to see what it was, but couldn’t tell. She broke a long reed off and poked at the object until she had it by an edge. Carefully, she maneuvered it toward her. She almost lost it to the current when she tried to get it clear of the eddy, but she was able to catch it again and bring it close enough to grab. With her free hand, she plucked it from the water.

It was a thin, flat rectangle of silver-colored plastic, smaller than a playing card. It looked much like the corder Rachel’s mother kept in a box of odds and ends from her college days, except Vivian’s was black and less battered around the edges. This one had the same three buttons on the front, one to activate the audio recording mechanism, one to rewind and fast-forward, one for playback, though they were of a clumsier, older-looking design than the buttons on her mom’s. Vivian’s still had part of a lecture on Renaissance artists on it from a long-ago class. Rachel had played with it when she was little, fast-forwarding endlessly to turn the instructor’s sonorous voice into skittering chipmunk chirps.

She wiped the corder on her pants to remove as much water as possible. Her mom’s corder used the energy generated from the rewind and fast-forward functions to continually recharge its tiny batteries. This one was older than her mom’s, but Rachel thought it might work the same way. She pushed the playback button. At first there was nothing, but after a moment the tiny speaker on the back emitted some scratchy sounds. A few seconds more and Rachel heard a voice. It was a male voice, but nothing like that of the long-ago college instructor. This voice sounded friendlier and sad. The words were hard to understand, and parts of the recording were nothing but static. Rachel hit the rewind button and played it again.

“Hello,” the voice said, followed by some static. Then, “indigo . . . forgive . . . we are desperate . . . help.” More static, then, “. . . if you live . . . danger . . . would not ask if . . . choice. Our . . . die if we cannot get medicine . . . he will wait near the edge . . . green house each day at sunset . . . this message . . . will explain. Please help us.”

Rachel stared at the corder. She rewound it again and played the message, straining to hear more words through the static. When she realized she wouldn’t be able to, she walked back to her book near the stump and sat down to think. A message. But from whom, and why? Rachel shook the corder hard to get more water out. She set it on a rock in the sun and ate some of her picnic food while she waited for the corder to dry out a bit more. Soon she would have to go back home, because she had promised to go to Bensen with her mother that afternoon.

After a while she tried the corder again, but the message was no more understandable than before. The words that struck her most were “wait near the edge,” “green house,” and “please help us.” The green house had to mean
their
greenhouse, the greenhouse on The Property. Someone wanted to meet near the greenhouse. They needed help. And that thing about “indigo”; what was that? The person said it twice, but she couldn’t figure out what it meant. The corder looked pretty old and beat-up, but the date stamp on the message was only two weeks ago.

She gathered her book and picnic things and slipped the corder into her pocket. She would make it back just in time to meet Vivian if she hurried. The message would have to wait. Who could the person be? Whom did he want to meet? Rachel wondered if she should show Vivian, but she didn’t think she would. It was a mystery, a sort of adventure, and she wanted to keep it to herself for a while longer. Her mom thought everything was dangerous. If she told Vivian about the corder, Rachel knew that she would never see it again.

She studied the pool for a moment, watching the water from the stream spill into it. Where did the stream come from? She imagined the tiny corder tumbling along on its way to the pool. On its way to her. Then she turned and walked quickly toward home.

V
IVIAN AND RACHEL took the greenhouse utility vehicle to Bensen when they went for supplies. A fine, almost luxurious passenger vehicle was kept charged in the garage next to the main house, but it was covered in a thick layer of dust. Ms. Moore had used it when she still went to town. She had not been to town even once since Vivian and Rachel had come to The Property. So the beautiful vehicle slumbered, a softly glowing red light on the charging meter the only indication it still had any life in it. The utility vehicle was dirty and dinged, but the seats were comfortable. It had ferried Rachel and her mother back and forth to Bensen many times, bouncing over the rough roads dependably.

The long drive to Bensen was always fun for Rachel. Her mother was usually in a good mood, feeling free and laughing. Today was no different. Vivian asked how Rachel’s first day off had been, and Rachel said it was fine. She told her mother about reading by the stream and having a picnic, but she didn’t mention the corder. Vivian had her read the list of supplies out loud, so she could make sure there was nothing missing that they might need during the next week. By the time they pulled into Bensen, they had added two items; some honey for Ms. Moore’s breakfast muffins and some fresh fish for their own dinner. Fresh fish was pricey, and they rarely indulged.

“What’s the occasion?” Rachel asked, wondering at the extravagance.

“We’ll have a little celebration of your vacation,” said Vivian. Her mother’s mood turned serious for a moment. “You should enjoy this time, Rachel. You’re smart and safe and free and . . .” Then she giggled and spoke in a high, eighty-year-old-lady-imparting-words-of-wisdom voice. “You’re only young once, as they say, my dear. Live life to the fullest and thank the stars you have your health. Now, let’s get shopping!”

Rachel rolled her eyes, but she laughed.

Bensen’s shopping district was always busy, at least whenever Rachel saw it, with lots of different vendors. According to Vivian, it was possible to find almost everything you could find in larger cities like Ganivar if you knew where to look. Rachel didn’t remember Ganivar at all; she couldn’t imagine living in a town even as big as Bensen. It was a little overwhelming. She did like to visit though, to watch how the people behaved.

There were so
many
people, some rushing, looking like they were late for appointments, some strolling along as though they had all the time in the world. Two men standing outside a cred center were disagreeing about something in low, heated voices. A Labor Pool crew was repairing the water pipes in the street. They all wore gray jumpsuits with
LP
emblazoned on them in big black letters. Two of the men from the crew were down in a hole, handing tools up to a boy who looked younger than Rachel. On the corner in front of the fish vendor’s, a woman in a red coat leaned down to wipe the strawberry ice cream off her child’s face and laughed when the little girl promptly smeared more on.

It didn’t take long for Vivian and Rachel to collect the items they needed. Their last stop was the fish store. Inside, a man argued with the vendor about the price of a salmon. The vendor argued back for a while about the rate of his taxes. Finally, he just folded his arms and waited to see if the man wanted the fish or not.

Rachel and her mother were next in line.

“Well, Rachel, what do you feel like having?”

Rachel surveyed the selection. “The trout looks good,” she said finally, “if that’s okay with you too?”

“Trout it is, then.” Vivian smiled at the vendor and pointed to one of the fish in the display. “That one looks nice,” she said, handing over her cred card.

“That is a fine choice, ma’am.” The vendor weighed the fish and wrapped it. After swiping her card, he handed it back to Vivian along with the fish.

“Thanks,” Vivian said, and she followed Rachel toward the exit.

“That trout is going to be delicious, Mom.” Rachel grinned at Vivian over her shoulder, then turned to open the door. “Can we fix it with that salad, like we did last time?” She stopped suddenly, halfway through the door. Vivian, unaware that Rachel had stopped moving, ran right into her, and they both stumbled out onto the sidewalk.

“Rachel, you almost made me drop the . . .” Vivian stopped.

Rachel stared across the street, where a small crowd had gathered. The woman Rachel had seen earlier, the one in the red coat, was in the center of the crowd. Her arms were outstretched to her child, but she was roughly restrained by an Enforcement Officer. Two feet away from her, her little girl was screaming, her livid face slick with tears. She was struggling to reach her mother, but another EO had hooked his baton into the collar of her jacket. He was laughing because the little girl didn’t understand why she couldn’t make any forward progress. The woman jerked her arm, trying to shake the EO’s hold on her and get to her daughter. The EO slapped her hard across the face. The little girl’s screams grew louder.

“Mom!” Rachel started toward the scene, alarmed at how rough the officers were being.

“No, Rachel.” Vivian’s voice was low, but as hard as the grip she had on her daughter’s wrist. Rachel looked back, surprised, and the expression on her mother’s face frightened her. Vivian pulled Rachel back into the shop and let the door swing closed. She stood for moment, still holding Rachel’s wrist. She was shaking.

“Mom?” Rachel was torn between her urge to go help the woman outside and her concern over her mother.

“Rachel, follow me back to the counter and be quiet.” Vivian whispered the instructions, smiling incongruously at Rachel the whole time. “Act as though there is nothing wrong at all.”

“But, Mom . . .” Rachel started to protest, but her mother tightened her grip and turned to go.

“Just do what I say,” Vivian hissed, still smiling grimly. She walked back toward the vendor with Rachel in tow.

“Forget something, folks?” The fish vendor had finished with his other customer. He put his hands on his hips and surveyed the cases. “The salmon is pretty good, and the halibut is on sale right now if you like white fish.”

“That’s what we were thinking,” Vivian said, her voice a note too bright. “Some of that halibut would be perfect.” She stared at the vendor, keeping her smile fixed in place.

The vendor looked past her though, out the window to the street. “Look at that,” he said, walking out from behind the counter. “Looks like some trouble out there.” He moved closer to the window.

“Oh?” Vivian half turned. “I hadn’t noticed.”

“Yeah, looks like government men . . . well, I think that’s an Identification!” The vendor opened the door for a better look. “We haven’t seen one of those in Bensen in years.”

The other customer, an old man with gray hair, shuffled toward the door as well. “Been at least ten years since the last one if I recall,” he said. “I think I’ll have a closer look.”

“Ma’am, if you don’t mind waiting for a minute, I have to see this.” The vendor smiled and shrugged sheepishly at Vivian. “It’s the most excitement there’s been around here for a long time. I’ll come right back.” He left without waiting to hear Vivian’s reply.

Once the shop was empty, Vivian’s smile disappeared. “Rachel, get behind me and stay close. I’m going to wait until nobody is looking this way, and then we are going to get out of here as fast as we can.” She held the door open a few inches, peeking out.

“Mom, what are you talking about?” Now that Rachel knew what was happening to the woman across the street, she understood why Vivian didn’t want to interfere. Her mom had always instructed her to stay far away from any government officers. And though she had never seen anything like it in Bensen, Rachel knew things like this happened; streamer coverage of Identifications was common. News announcers always described the incidents as “another example of your government at work protecting the public safety” and usually cited a long list of crimes committed by the person being Identified. None of the coverage showed such violent treatment though; Identifications were always quiet and orderly, if you believed the streamer coverage.

Rachel didn’t understand why they had to
sneak
away. Everybody else was standing around staring. Even if Vivian wanted to avoid trouble, the woman in the red coat was the one in trouble, not them.

“Rachel”—her mother didn’t even turn around—“when we get back on the road, I have some things to tell you. Now stay close, we’re going.”

They slunk out the door, Rachel staying as close to her mother as she could. Once they were on the street, Vivian put her arm around Rachel and turned her toward the vendor’s display window. She watched the crowd in the window’s reflection, waiting for the right moment to move. When it seemed as though everyone’s attention was fully on the Identification, Vivian hurried Rachel down the street.

One person in the crowd wasn’t watching the Identification anymore. He had stopped paying attention to that as soon as he had noticed Vivian across the street. Her odd behavior interested him, and he followed her progress until she and Rachel disappeared around the corner. When he could no longer see them, he pushed his hat back off his forehead in a thoughtful way, then turned and walked in the opposite direction.

V
IVIAN PULLED OFF onto a side road and found a place hidden by a grove of trees where they could park unobserved. She took a deep breath and gripped the steering wheel hard to stop her hands from shaking. When she spoke, her words were ragged and rushed.

“Rachel, I need you to understand how dangerous it is to attract attention of
any
kind when we’re in Bensen. We cannot take chances like the one you almost took back there. Those EOs would have been just as happy to haul you away with . . . with that woman. They don’t need a reason; they can do whatever they want. In this society—”