My micro-dot has shaped my life, sometimes in ways I barely understand.
—From the victim statement of Blake Raintree
I’m afraid to face Hanif when Erica and I board the minibus the next day.
“Good morning, ladies,” he greets us. “You look particularly fetching today.”
There’s no crack in the facade. He’s an ambitious minibus driver with a quaint way of talking. Harmless, trivial. His disguise is perfect. But he doesn’t meet my eyes.
Erica and I talk about anything but the day ahead of us while we travel, because the aides are sitting in on another Justice Council meeting today.
“Have you heard from Marrella?” I ask. Unlike me, Erica is in contact with people from home daily. I’ve used the confusion of relocating and the demands of the work to explain my silence. If Erica sees through these flimsy excuses, she says nothing. It would be cruel to talk to everyone but Fraser. Even if he’s mostly in St. Pearl, he’d be sure to hear if anyone had news of me. But Marrella is pregnant, and she has auto-immune problems that are causing complications. I should be paying more attention to her.
“I haven’t heard from her since she went to the hospital in Corner Brook,” Erica replies. “But Donna says everything is stable. Donna can’t wait to be a grandmother.”
I smile. Donna’s had a hard time accepting wilful Marrella as her daughter-in-law. This baby seems to be changing everything. People do change.
“I’m hoping the holo-conference line will be connected this weekend, so we can see William,” Erica adds. I nod and smile, but my heart lurches. Fraser is working with William.
At work, when I see Kayko, I long to tell her what happened with Sparrow, to find out what happened to her. But I know we’ll have to wait, not just until we’re alone, but until we’re out of the building. Even then, we may not have privacy. Maybe privacy doesn’t exist. We fall in together behind Kenji and Erica on our way to the conference room.
“This should be interesting,” Kayko says, “working out the details of accepting victim statements.”
“That’s a breakthrough, isn’t it?”
Kayko smiles as we enter the room. “It means the Justice Council will accomplish at least part of its mandate,” she whispers quickly.
“Who’s chairing today?” Daniel Massey asks when everyone is settled.
“I am,” Kenji replies. “You’ll find the agenda on your scribes. I took the liberty of sending it to the aides as well. The first item is carried over from yesterday: Who will be allowed to file a victim statement?” That sounds like an easy question, but when I call up the agenda, I see how complex it is. At least ten topics are listed under this heading.
Kenji seems to want every possible opinion to be heard before decisions are made. Over the next few hours, the conversation goes back and forth. Sometimes it goes around in circles. That’s one thing I’ve learned since the Uprising: democracy has many appealing features, but it’s tedious. After an hour or so, I stop listening. Even Griffin appears to be doodling.
“Next item: Will people living outside the prefecture be allowed to submit a victim statement?” This catches my attention.
“Why would anyone living outside the greater Toronto area want to make a statement?” Daniel asks.
“Maybe they were relocated during the technocaust, as I was,” Erica says. “We have the opposite question to deal with as well. What if someone living here wants to make a statement about events that happened because of the technocaust in some other protectorship?”
“We can only deal with things that happened because of Queen’s Park,” Monique says. “If people want to submit statements about events that happened elsewhere, we could pass those along to Justice Councils in those places.”
“But Justice Councils aren’t being established everywhere,” Erica says. “Take my case, for example. I was forced to flee from Toronto, and I ended up in a concentration camp in Terra Nova. They’ve already held elections in Terra Nova. There may not be a Justice Council there.”
“Yes, but your problems began here,” Paulo de Lucas says. “So you should be able to submit a victim statement here.”
“So everyone in those circumstances will be able to?”
Erica asks.
As everyone agrees, I realize I’ve been holding my breath.
What would I do if I couldn’t present my victim statement?
The councillors work out the fine points of victim statements and geography, then move on. “Should immediate family of those who perpetrated the technocaust be allowed to make victim statements?” Kenji reads. “This question is complicated, of course, by the fact that we don’t know how we’re going to deal with perpetrators.”
“Let’s not whack that hornets’ nest today,” Daniel growls.
“Hornets’ nest?” Paulo says. Monique quickly explains in what sounds to me like perfect Spanish.
Kenji smiles. “I wasn’t planning to, but you can see how this muddies the waters. People applying for amnesty will seem very different from people facing trial.”
“No matter how you look at them, why would their immediate family members qualify as victims?” Daniel asks. “These are the people who caused the suffering.” His voice is tight with the effort to control his anger.
“We’ll need time to discuss this,” Monique says, “and it’s almost noon. I move we break for lunch.”
Leaving the room, I can barely contain my fury. Those people and their family members shouldn’t have rights.
We go back to our offices before lunch. Reflexively, I think of an apple for Sparrow, then I smile. Sparrow won’t need little scraps of help from me any more.
“So, what did you think of that?” Erica cuts into my thoughts, jolting me back to reality.
“I thought it was interesting,” I say, trying to keep my voice as neutral as possible. It doesn’t work.
“Won’t you tell me what you really think?”
“Erica, how can anyone even think about letting the relatives of those monsters make victim statements?” The words rip themselves from my throat. I sound like I’m choking.
Erica looks shocked. “Does it mean that much to you?”
I try to collect myself before I speak again. “Yes, it does.”
“Blake, can’t you imagine how someone close to those running the technocaust could have been a victim of the events that unfolded?”
I shake my head. I’m not even willing to consider the possibility. Anyone who lived with those criminals is guilty in my mind. Even they deserve to be punished.
Erica comes over and takes my hand. “I understand this is hard for you,” she says. “I admire the way you’ve been able to deal with it.”
I turn away quickly, tearing my hand from Erica’s, too ashamed to meet her eyes. I am not the person she thinks I am. I don’t even come close.
I feel her hand on my shoulder. “Please don’t be angry with me, Blake.” She’s misunderstood my reaction, but how can I explain?
“I’m not angry with you. I’m really not.” I turn back to her and wipe the tears that have started against my will. I’ve got to get away before I tell her the truth. “I’ve got to meet the others for lunch now,” I say. Erica looks disappointed, but she lets me go.
When I came to work this morning, I hoped Kayko and I might go out for lunch so we could talk about yesterday, but she’s already gone when I look for her. By the time I reach the cafeteria, Kayko and Astral have faced off over their food. I can’t hear the words, but their angry voices carry over to me while I get my meal. The Transitional Council employees who sit at the other tables throw worried glances their way as I approach.
Kayko’s words come into range. “That’s guilt by association. You can’t say someone is guilty of crimes committed by their parents or a spouse.”
“Why not?” Astral shoots back.
“They might not even have known. How can you be guilty of something you didn’t know about?”
“They benefited, didn’t they? Didn’t they live comfortable lives while the rest of us suffered?”
“Astral, not sharing in the suffering of others is not the same as being guilty,” Griffin says. These are harsh words, but his tone is mild.
Astral looks like he wants to hit somebody. I know how it feels, that overwhelming anger, with nowhere to aim it. I sit down beside him. “What do any of you know about it?” he finally says, his voice bitter. Kayko looks down quickly, shamed because he’s right, she knows nothing of the kind of suffering he’s living with. Griffin does not look away, but he doesn’t answer either.
What does Griffin know about it? I wish I knew. But now’s not the time to ask.
Griffin looks at me. “What do you think, Blake?”
I freeze. I’d rather not side with Astral against Kayko and Griffin, but my heart’s with him.
Astral picks up on my distress. “Leave her alone.” His voice is quiet, but the intensity of it literally makes the others draw back. He sounds like he’s ready to kill.
“Griffin isn’t trying to hurt her, Astral,” Luisa says quietly.
“A lot of the people who harmed us weren’t trying to, Luisa. They didn’t even know we existed. They ruined our lives anyway.” Astral stands. His lunch is barely touched. “I’ve got to check about . . . something.” He leaves.
Before I know what I’m doing, I’ve pushed my chair from the table to follow him.
“Astral,” I call just before he disappears around a corner.
The sound of my voice stops him.
“You’re the only one who understands,” he says when I reach him.
“I’m not sure that’s true,” I say. I intend to share what I wonder about Griffin’s past, but he cuts me off.
“Blake, you’d be a lot happier if you didn’t always try to be so bloody good.” He makes the word “good” sound like a disease. I’m speechless, because I’ve often suspected the same thing about myself.
“I’m sorry,” he says, but he doesn’t sound sorry, he sounds furious. Then he says, “It’s always the same. Every time I care about someone, I drive them away.” He’s gone before I can respond.
I’m not sure I believe what I just heard. Did he say he cared for me? The shock is almost physical. Any other girl would follow him, I suppose. Not me. I flee back to the cafeteria. . .
“We shouldn’t have pushed him,” Griffin says as I sit down. He sounds contrite.
“What’s pushing Astral is inside him,” I say. “You just poked at it.” My voice is shaky.
Luisa and Kayko look puzzled, but Griffin nods. I wasn’t expecting anyone to understand, but he seems to.
There’s a long silence, then Kayko speaks. “What’s coming up in the holograms next week, Griffin?” There’s a forced brightness in her tone.
He looks puzzled. “We went over the indexes this morning. You know as well as I do.”
“I think Kayko is trying to change the subject,” I say. “Thank you, Kayko.”
“You’re welcome, Blake.” We exaggerate our politeness, making it a joke, but Kayko is doing me a real favour. I need to escape these overwhelming emotions.
Griffin blushes. “Oh. Sorry. We’re into the reports from 2353 now so things should be heating up. We have some newscasts, and then there was a major protest rally at the Hippodrome that summer, the last event the outside press was allowed to cover. There were holo-cameras attached to all the poles in the stadium, of course, to get the action of sports events from all angles, so the projection should be quite detailed. It might take a while to mine that one for information, but it’s the last we have. We should take our time, give it serious scrutiny.”
“There’s always the option of breaking the projection into smaller sections,” Kayko says.
“How do you do that?” I ask.
“You scale the projection down to get an overview, then impose a grid and break it into identifiable fractiles. I can do that in the master projection room.”
She’s about to tell us more, but Luisa interrupts. “The meeting starts again soon.”
Astral catches up with us in the hall. I’m afraid of what he might do or say, but he just puts his hand on my shoulder, squeezes lightly, then lets go. He’s saying we’re in this together. Astral’s at ease with physical contact, I know that by now, but I have to wonder what else his touch might mean. What would life be like with Astral? He would protect me from the world. Yes, but who would protect me from Astral? The thought comes from nowhere, as if a stranger has spoken inside my head, but I have to admit the truth in it.
By now, I’m almost glad of the distraction provided by the Justice Council. The councillors take up where they left off, discussing the relatives of those who carried out the technocaust, considering their rights from every possible angle. Voices are raised. Finally, Kenji says, “It’s clear there’s no consensus on this. We’ll have to vote. Does someone want to make a motion?”
Daniel volunteers. After a few minutes of furious keyboarding, he reads, “I move the Justice Council refuse to accept victim statements from immediate family members of those being held for crimes in the technocaust.”
“I’ll second the motion,” Paulo says.
“We’ve already talked this to death. Call the question,” Daniel says.
“Those in favour?” Kenji says. Daniel and Paulo raise a hand. Then, so does Erica. The other councillors look shocked. I have to stop myself from gasping.
With only Monique and Kenji to vote against, the motion is carried.
When the session finally ends, Astral looks grimly satisfied. He leaves without speaking.
“Did you know she was going to do that?” Kayko whispers in the hall. I shake my head.
Erica is waiting for me in our main. office. “I broke ranks with Kenji and Monique,” she says. She sounds stricken, surprised.
“Why did you?”
“I couldn’t bear to see you so unhappy.”
“Oh, Erica, you shouldn’t have done that for me.” I feel I’ve pushed her to act against her better judgment.
“We’ll talk later,” she says. “I’ve got to catch Kenji and Monique before they leave for the day. We’ve got a press conference tomorrow and I want to make sure they aren’t upset. This may take awhile. Wait for me?”
This is the chance I’ve been looking for. “I’ll come with you and find Kayko.”
Kayko and her uncle are just about to leave. As Erica takes Kenji with her to find Monique, Kayko says, “Do you mind if Blake and I go out?”
“Half an hour, maximum,” Kenji says, and they’re gone.
When they leave, Kayko takes off her security badge and mine. “Oops,” she says. “We forgot these.” She puts them into a desk drawer. “Let’s go,” she whispers.
“How will we get back in?”
She laughs. “I guess they’ll have to rely on our retinal scans.”
Her bodyguards see us at the front entrance and follow at a distance. “I would have called you last night,” Kayko says, “but I was pretty sure our communication would be monitored. Besides, I was in big trouble.”
I’m surprised. “I thought this wasn’t going to be reported.”
“Who told you that?” she says, and I explain about Hanif. “Well, your bodyguard reports to the Transitional Council, apparently. Mine report to my parents. And they’re very loyal. I spent hours defending what I did.”
“Kayko, I’m so sorry,” I start to say, but she waves this away with a grin.
“Once or twice a year I do something that sends my parents into meltdown. They’ll recover. Tell me what happened.”
Kayko listens silently, but smiles when I describe Sparrow on the playground. “So Security let us have a happy ending.”
“But how did they know?”
“I wondered about that. It seemed unlikely the building would be so carefully monitored, so I ran some scans. The security badge was the culprit. They’re completely plugged in.”
“And we wore them every day. When I went into the park to look for Sparrow.”
“Yes, and the afternoon we worked out how to pick you up. It all fits. But that Hanif must be special.” Kayko glances back at her bodyguards and lowers her voice. “Most don’t think for themselves.”
Then I remember a piece that doesn’t fit. “Weeks ago, the night I met Prospero, I ran into Hanif at the main entrance to High Park. But I didn’t have a security badge then. It wasn’t ready.”
Kayko frowns. “They must have planted a tracker on you. It’s lucky you come from such a low-tech culture. If you had an implant, they could track you constantly.”
I stop walking. “What kind of implant?”
“You know, a micro-chip.”
“But I do,” I say, and I quickly explain about my microdot. “You mean they could use that to track me?”
“Sure,” Kayko says. “With satellite tracking, they’d always know where you were, give or take a few centimetres. But they’d have to scan it first.”
I remember the unexplained blue light. “I think they did, when I had my retinal scan. Oh, and that was the same day I met Prospero.”
Kayko nods. “It all fits. I never could believe they’d just let you wander around without bodyguards. So they knew about your plan to rescue Sparrow. They could have turned us in. Instead, they created a backup in case we fouled up. Which we did.”
“But why did they let us go ahead with it?”
“I thought a lot about that last night, too. It’s just a theory, but I think they were protecting the Justice Council. If we’d been caught, it would have been hard to explain what we were doing. If it got into the media, the Justice Council would have been discredited. We’d probably have lost our jobs at least. Security must have decided it was safer to let us follow through.”
“That’s what Hanif said. ‘Ill-considered, but harmless.’”
“A fair assessment. We were lucky, but, you know, this whole thing scares me.”
Her words chill me. I didn’t think Kayko was afraid of anything. “Why?”
“Security knows how stable the society is. There was so much unrest until the Transitional Council set up the Justice Council. Things have been fairly quiet since, but Security must have reason to believe it’s a fragile peace.” She turns to me, looking deadly serious. “From now on, we’d better behave.”