Born from Fire: Tales from The Longview - Episode 1, Page 2

CHAPTER 2

  This Criminal

  TWO EVILS FROM the Death Circus wash this criminal in warm, falling water, and are not unkind. They use soft cloths and something that froths white and bubbly as they rub it over this criminal’s broken skin, and the white substance numbs the places where it hurts. Where its skin bleeds, they spray a bitter-smelling substance that closes the wound. This criminal wonders at the Evils that do kindness before killing.

  This criminal finds the process of its death at the hands of the Evils increasingly less alarming. It listens to them talk together, easily, in terms it does not understand. As they talk, they laugh, and do not look over their shoulders to see if they have been overheard.

  It thinks if it must die today, it would rather die at the hands of these.

  They are Apart. Not We. They do not carry the mandatory posture of Submission to Duty in their backs and shoulders. They do not have the cautious speech or wary eyes of We Report Or Are Reported. They act in a fashion this criminal can barely comprehend—they carry themselves as this criminal did when it was Apart secretly with We-42K, except without the constant fear.

  Fear justified, in fact, for We-42K finally reminded itself of the requirements of Submission to Duty and We Report Or Are Reported, and brought this criminal’s time with it to an end. It rejoined the We in death by choice.

  This criminal cannot choose death.

  Duty is life.

  Life is dying.

  Dying is duty.

  That is part of the Truth of We. It is the Truth this criminal failed in its every thought, in its every dream, in its every waking moment.

  This criminal dared to imagine some other better truth might appear. That was its first and worst crime.

  On this, the day of its death, this criminal thinks somewhere else must exist, where people stand with shoulders and backs straight, with eyes forward, where they laugh aloud and don’t look around to see who might have heard. This criminal thinks in the place that gave these Evils birth, a different truth already lives.

  When all are washed, this criminal is led to the front of the tent with the other criminals. It can read the sign painted above the flap:

  Welcome to the Death Circus.

  Enter and be judged.

  This criminal and all with it have already been judged and sentenced. All that remains, it thinks, is the form its death will take.

  “We who are about to die enter the Death Circus,” this criminal murmurs, and realize it has committed Blasphemy by naming itself We.

  That is another crime for which it will never be charged or sentenced. This criminal can only die once.

  It laughs and steps through the tent flaps.

  The tent is not filled with torture devices, with spears or knives, with huge Evils crouched over criminals, ripping out the insides of their still-living victims with their filed teeth. The stories are lies, then. The tent contains a mesh-sided walkway with one-way gates that will fit Each Apart singly. When Each steps forward, a handless touch at the back pushes all forward. The gates swing open. The gates snap closed. This criminal stands always alone, as fits the nature of its crime.

  But this criminal sees that not Each Apart bears scars. The criminals far in the front of the line are all healthy and well-fed and dry. And clothed in a blue version of the clothes worn by the We. Those in front of this criminal, as well as all those behind it, are gaunt and beaten and dripping from being cleaned, and they are dressed in the clothes of the Evils. Otherwise they would have been naked.

  Each Apart moves through the walkway—a step, a pause, a step, a pause—and then this criminal stands before the first of the Evils. The Evil presses something white and smooth against the arm of this criminal and holds it in place for an instant.

  “No diseases,” the Evil says, and marks something on a white, rectangular sheet. The texture of the sheet is exquisitely smooth, its color is unblemished. This criminal recognizes the markings on the sheet as words, though they are not words from the Truth of We. The evil holds the sheet out and this criminal takes the sheet and holds it carefully, and the line moves again.

  “Paper,” the one at the next station demands. This criminal has seen all criminals before it pass the white sheet through the small opening in the mesh. It passes its sheet through.

  “Hand through the opening, hold this ball.”

  The ball is smooth and gray, strangely cold, slightly damp. Holding it makes pulling this criminal’s flesh back through the opening impossible.

  This criminal finds holding the ball and having its hand trapped in the grate uncomfortable and frightening.

  “You are accused of the crime of Willfulness, with the specific charges of being alone; of sharing aloneness with another; of making an unlicensed infant; and of failure to volunteer to rejoin the We. Are you guilty?”

  This criminal glares at the Evil, and says, “Yes.” The ball in its hand glows the yellow-gold of summer sunlight.

  The Evil looks from the ball in this criminal’s hand to its face, and smiles. “Good for you. Is the other who shared your crimes here?”

  This criminal does not understand the smile or the words that accompany them. This criminal has heard mockery before—if the Evil mocked, the Evil did it wrong. This criminal says, “The unlicensed born died. We-42K volunteered to rejoin the We in Return to Citizenship.”

  The smile leaves the face of the Evil, and the Evil shakes its head. “I’m sorry. Truly.”

  “Why? This criminal is guilty. We-42K did what the We say is right.”

  “Do you think the We is right?”

  “This criminal does not know ‘you.’ This criminal does not believe the Truth of We. But that is because this criminal is criminal. It is broken and evil. It thinks Apart, it thinks Willful, it denied We in word and deed. When it was We...”

  This criminal begins to cry, then forces itself to stop.

  “When it was We, it called itself We-39R, and even then, it knew it was lying.”

  The Evil stands up and stares into this criminal’s eyes. The Evil’s skin sheens with sweat, and its expression is fierce. “I was once We. Things change.”

  It marks the criminal’s paper and adds a second sheet, hands both through the grate, and sends this criminal to the next station.

  This criminal, Apart and Alone, walks forward—step, gate, step, gate—and sometimes the line pauses, and this criminal turns to look back, and sees the Evil that was once We talking to another criminal.

  I was once We. Things change.

  This criminal cannot get those words out of its mind. There is We, or there is death.

  Things change.

  The Evil was We, but it lives.

  The final gate, and the final Evil, stand at last before this criminal.

  The final Evil takes the papers, reads through them, and says, “Your sentence of death is complete. Go to Door B. Stand on the identity plate. The door will open for you. Walk forward, go through the door at the back, step through the next door, turn to your right, walk through the paddock, and stand in the corral with the others who have been sentenced.

  “You have been purchased by the Death Circus.”