Escaping from the Tribe was one of the most important things that ever happened to me.
—From the victim statement of Blake Raintree
Erica and I are both worn out by the stress of the day. We fall into a gloomy silence on the bus ride home that lasts into supper. As we eat, I think back to the beginning of my program of study in St. Pearl, two years ago. I was so excited. Even when the work got so difficult it scared me, I always felt the same. How could I have left that behind? Coming here seems like a big mistake. I feel more and more like I’m pretending to be something I’m not. Maybe I want to be part of the effort to put things back together. But maybe all I really want is to see the people who caused the technocaust pay for what they’ve done. If Erica knew that, if Kayko did, what would they think of me? Now, it seems, the aides will be doing something like history research. I feel the way Kayko does. The prospect bores me to death.
That night, I dream I’m back with the Tribe, lying on the floor of the big room in the abandoned building. We slept in the daytime because the Commission told everyone to be afraid of ultraviolet radiation, even though the ozone layer was recovering. The heat is suffocating, and reflections of the sun off the water of the harbour play on the ceiling, so bright I can see them even when my eyes are closed. I’m awake in the dream, and the familiar smell of unwashed bodies, the stench of the harbour, is vivid. I turn, and the little girl from the noodle stand is sleeping beside me. That’s all, but the dream seems so real. When I wake, it takes a few moments to realize I’m no longer the slave of a Tribe.
But others still are. I try to shake the dream image of that little girl from my mind, but I can’t. That’s not why I’m here, I tell myself, but that doesn’t help. By the time we reach work, I know I’ve got to do something for her.
There’s a protest outside the legislature today, mostly women with babies and small children, a few men, carrying signs and chanting, “Daycare now! Daycare now!” They have my sympathy, but my stomach clenches involuntarily as we pass them.
Inside the building, a security officer stops me. “Aides for the Justice Council are requested to go directly to the media rooms today. Down those stairs and follow the signs.”
In the basement, I follow the sound of conversation to find Luisa de Lucas and Astral Robertson sitting together in the conference room. I wish I’d gone to find Kayko first.
Before I can even sit down, Astral pins me with a look.
“You’re the homeless child, aren’t you? I mean, you were.” He sounds angry, as if my past were my fault.
I’m almost too shocked to reply. “Yes,” I manage to say, ducking my head to avoid those eyes.
“You lost your mother in the technocaust,” he continues. I can’t imagine why he’s doing this until he speaks again. “I did too.”
My head comes up. “You? I thought Truth Seekers weren’t harmed in the technocaust.” I realize, too late, I’ve let him know we’ve been talking about him. I blush to remember what Kayko said yesterday.
But he ignores this, pressing on with his own questions.
“How old were you? You couldn’t have been very old.”
“I was two.”
“Two!” His voice is filled with scorn, as if he blames me for being so young. It’s too much. Luisa looks too surprised to speak. I’m ready to turn and flee but Kayko and Griffin enter with a man I’ve never seen. They are laughing. Suddenly everything’s normal again. I quickly sit as the newcomers seat themselves.
The stranger is a portly man in his thirties with long black hair and a beard. He seems pleasant and relaxed. “So this is everyone?” he asks, and Griffin nods. “Excellent. I’m Terry Raven, the archivist. I thought we’d better meet to discuss the materials you’re getting.”
Griffin leans forward in his seat. “How much is there?”
“I had a look at the indexes. Most of the material is holographic; it was shot for newscasts. But they didn’t just send the finished product. This is raw, unedited footage of holo-projections. You have hours of material.”
“Fantastic,” Griffin says before anyone else can react. Terry Raven smiles. “Once the technocaust actually starts, there’s very little, but until then, the record should be quite complete. I need to know how much technical expertise we have here. Has anyone worked in an archive before?”
“I have,” Griffin says quickly.
“So have I.” We all turn to Luisa. Her voice is low and musical with a trace of an accent. “I spend one season—how do you say this?—semester, in the National Archives in Havana as part of my education.” I’m surprised—and a little disappointed—by how serious she seems, how normal. I was hoping to learn something from her, something about feeling and love.
“Good,” Terry says. “Then you’ll both know how to use the indexes. Eventually, these materials will come to our archives. The micro-disks must be kept in order and not lost. It’s too easy for those little things to disappear. Does anyone know how to run the holo-projectors?”
“I do,” Kayko says.
Terry’s dark eyebrows fly toward his hairline. “You surprise me. I knew about your holo-zine, of course, but I assumed you’d have, well, people to do the ‘technical part.”
“Servants, you mean,” Kayko says. She sounds mildly annoyed and I gather she’s used to this conversation. “In my family, if you want to do something, you have to learn to do it yourself.”
Terry looks relieved. “Then you’ll be able to work without extra staff. We need a few days to prepare our own indexes. You can get started on Monday.”
We rise to leave. I try to get to Kayko as quickly as I can, but Astral is faster. He grabs me by the elbow. “Listen,” he says in a low, urgent voice, “I’m sorry I attacked you like that. I didn’t mean to. Sometimes, I get so angry I can hardly breathe. Do you understand?” I’m too surprised to reply. He looks at me for a long moment and then he says, “Of course you do.” He lets go of my arm and leaves without saying another word.
“What was that about?” Kayko asks.
“Just a misunderstanding,” I say. I can see she’d like to know more but I’m glad she doesn’t press me.