Shattered Lives Page 3

  “The Chosen Council would have checked all the related bloodlines,” Russell said. “And double-checked, I presume. If they’d turned up anything . . .”

  Still.

  Laura cleared her throat. “Are they living in our sectors now?”

  Hall shook his head. “No. They’re not our problem.” That earned a collective sigh of relief. “So enough about them. We have our own potential crisis brewing. For my part, I’ll try to watch the two appointments, but I have a meeting with the government this morning to inform them that we’ll soon be invoking Article 553.”

  Lesley understood why. The curfews and restrictions covered by 553 would help prevent the chaos Hall wanted to avoid.

  “If the meeting runs long, I’ll miss the 11:00 appointment. I trust your judgment, Finney. Don’t wait for me, just move in.”

  “I will.”

  “And if nothing happens during the two appointments today, we’ll do the same tomorrow.”

  “Four will fit the profile tomorrow,” Laura said. “I’d guess that something will happen in one of those six appointments.”

  Hall nodded once. “Agreed. I’ll be surprised if we have to observe beyond that.”

  “We have him under surveillance, so he can’t do any damage in the meantime.”

  “Good.” Hall paused. “Anything else?” When nobody spoke up, he slapped the table with both hands. “Then let’s get to work. Dismissed.”

  Laura motioned for Lesley to walk with her as everyone rose. “Having you make the announcements wasn’t my idea,” she murmured after they’d left the conference room.

  “I figured that.” Lesley shrugged. “Oh well, it can’t be helped.”

  “After this, every Rymellan will know who you are. It will be great exposure for you.”

  And potentially hurt Mo. At this point, Lesley was sure Mo hadn’t received her Papers. She would have heard by now, if not from Mo, then from Michael or one of Mo’s siblings. Was Mo upset? Relieved? Depressed? Would seeing Lesley on a public monitor cheer or darken her day? Perhaps she’d be indifferent and care more about the Chosen Violation than the announcer.

  Lesley inwardly sighed. She was losing her focus again. She should care more about doing her duty and playing the role the admiral wanted her to play than about how Mo would react to seeing her image. Her primary concern shouldn’t be Mo.

  But it was.

  *****

  Lounging on the bench in front of the faculty residence, Mo squinted down the path. Nope, couldn’t see her, and it was—she swung up her comm unit and checked the time—12:40. They were supposed to meet at 12:30. Maybe the shuttle had been delayed or an aviacraft hadn’t been available. She’d wait another five minutes, then beep her.

  Her comm unit beeped. Mo snorted; that must be her now. Without bothering to look at the unit’s display, she pressed the connect button and barked, “Where are you?”

  “At home.”

  She gasped. “Papa, I’m sorry. I thought you were someone else.”

  He mumbled something unintelligible, then said, “Listen, I might not be able to see you tomorrow.”

  Her shoulders slumped. “Why?”

  “Uh, government business. I might be called into a meeting. Look, why don’t you come home?”

  She bit back an angry retort. “I’ve told you already, I can’t be at home right now,” she said through clenched teeth.

  “Yes, you’ve said, but I really wish you’d change your mind. I’d feel better if you were on the estate right now.”

  Something in his voice made her pause. “Why?”

  “I just would.”

  “But why?”

  “Can’t you do what I ask for once without an argument?” His voice held an edge of irritability.

  “I’m not arguing, I’m just asking why,” she said, bristling herself.

  He took his time answering. “Because I’ll worry about you if you’re not here. Something’s in the air. That’s all I can say.”

  She didn’t know what to make of his answer, couldn’t decide if he was genuinely concerned for her or trying a new tactic to get her to come home. No, she’d see through that as soon as she arrived on the estate, and be furious with him. Maybe he was being evasive because it was related to the government business he’d mentioned and he couldn’t give her specifics. Whatever it was, he was overreacting. She was on Rymel. Everywhere was safe, especially the Military Academy. “Papa, I don’t know what you’re worried about, but whatever it is, you don’t need to worry about me. I’m at the Military Academy, remember?”

  “I know, but—”

  “I have to go. My friend’s here,” Mo said, spying the figure striding up the path. “I’ll beep you later and we’ll talk more about tomorrow, okay?”

  He sighed. “I guess it’ll have to be.”

  Mo didn’t like cutting him off, but she’d only lose her temper if he kept badgering her to come home. “Bye, Papa.” She slipped the comm unit into its holder and stood.

  Ann stopped in front of her and eyed her up and down. “It’s a good thing you stood up or I probably wouldn’t have seen you.”

  She ignored the barb. “You’re late.”

  “Yeah, well, the stupid aviacraft wasn’t ready.” She motioned at the knapsack on her back. “Let me drop this off in my room, then let’s eat. I’m starved. What are you doing out here, anyway? I would have figured out where you are and knocked on your door.”

  “I felt like some air,” Mo said, following Ann into the residence and up the stairs to the third floor.

  Ann opened the door to the second room on the left. “Home!” she announced. “Where’s your room?”

  “Three doors down on the right.” Mo glanced around and noted the bare walls and lack of personal belongings. “Do you always stay in this room, or do you get a different one each time?”

  “No, this is mine.” Ann shrugged off the knapsack and let it fall onto the bed.

  “Oh.” Ann was on a three weeks on, five days off rotation. Mo didn’t know why Ann was no longer living with her mama; Ann had ignored Mo’s questions on the subject. She’d “lived” at the Military Academy for almost a year, but maybe she viewed the room as temporary, regardless. “Have you thought of getting your own place?”

  “I don’t see the point, given my schedule.” Ann walked to the door. “Mess hall or dining room?”

  “Dining room. We won’t have to shout.”

  Ann nodded and patted her stomach. “Let’s go.”

  “Don’t you get tired of staying here?” Mo asked as they bounded down the stairs to the first floor.

  “Don’t you?” Ann shot back. “You have a home and a family that wants you there.”

  So Ann was at odds with her family; Mo had suspected as much.

  When they reached the dining room, a server who recognized Ann greeted them, led them to a table, and took their order. Mo lifted the jug from the centre of the table and filled her glass with water, then Ann’s. “Why don’t you come back to the Falcon?” she suggested. “If you’re not taking care of your mama anymore . . .”

  “No.” Ann leaned back in her chair and folded her arms.

  “Why not?”

  She shrugged. “I’ve discovered that I like feeling the sun on my face more often.”

  Mo had a feeling that wasn’t the only reason.

  “Anything exciting happen on tour?” Ann asked.

  “Nope. Oh, David and Angie had their baby, three days before we docked! A boy.”

  Ann frowned. “Glad I won’t have to pretend I care when they start shoving the kid in everyone’s face. Why do parents expect everyone to coo over their smelly baby? Dimwits.”

  “I’ll remember that when I have one,” Mo said, grinning.

  “I’ll need a magnifying glass to see yours. And I’ll have to watch where I step until the kid is at least five.” Ann stamped her foot for emphasis. “You haven’t committed suicide, so I guess you didn’t get your Papers.”

  Mo tutted and shook her head.

  “You’d better hope they don’t do it by height, or you’ll get yours the day before you turn thirty.”

  Why had she agreed to spend the day with Ann? When Ann had returned to domestic duty, Mo hadn’t expected to hear from her. But several weeks after arriving back on the Falcon, she’d received a dispatch from Ann asking how things were going. At the time, she’d still been struggling to cope without Les; corresponding with Ann had been another distraction. They’d stayed in touch. Mo had seen her at least once during every leave. Ann had got the idea of staying at the Military Academy from her. Fortunately they were both at least lieutenant rank; otherwise they’d be sleeping in the barracks.

  Each visit followed the same pattern: Ann would get all her short jokes out of her system and then settle down. Mo didn’t mind her company, and Ann apparently didn’t mind hers. They were both lonely, their lives in a holding pattern. They also loved to fly and to talk about it. Knowing that someone other than a relative was mildly interested in what she was doing had helped Mo get through some dark moments. She’d even talked to Ann about Les, though she was careful about what she said—she still didn’t completely trust her. Ann held back details, too. It was an odd . . . friendship.

  “Not that I’m giving your height remark any credence, but my Chosen is probably taller than I am,” Mo said to her.

  Ann barked a laugh. “Probably?” Then her eyes narrowed. “Did Lesley get hers yet?”

  “No.”

  “Since you’re staying here again, I guess you’re still not over her.”

  She’d never be over her.

  “I wonder if she’s over you. Oh, here comes our salad.”

  Relieved, Mo unfolded her napkin as the server set down their salads and dr
inks. Ann inched her chair closer to the table. “How is the new batch of pilots?” Mo asked, jabbing her fork into a piece of lettuce.

  Ann grimaced. “They’re okay, I guess. Maybe I’m biased, but our class was one of the best.”

  Finally, something Mo could agree with wholeheartedly. As she and Ann nibbled their way through a leisurely lunch, they discussed Mo’s last tour on the Falcon and Ann’s work on 72 in more detail. Over tziva, they threw around a few ideas about how to spend the afternoon. Mo chuckled to herself when they settled on flying speed sims against each other, if they could book simulators on such short notice. They were pilots, through and through.

  “Let’s just head over there.” Ann stood. “If simulators are available, great. If not, I guess I wouldn’t mind going for a swim.”

  Ann had suggested a public lake in C7, but Mo had quickly shot down the idea. She’d managed to avoid lakes for almost two years. The Recreation Centre had several pools. “I’d rather race.”

  “You might not feel that way after I’ve beaten you,” Ann said as they neared the residence’s exit.

  Mo snorted. “Still clinging to that fantasy?” Ann had never beaten her. Not in the simulators, anyway; she’d beaten her to the door. Mo shielded her eyes as they stepped out into the sun. “You domestic pilots—”

  Her comm unit chimed. Not beeped—chimed. So did Ann’s. Chimes seemed to be sounding all around Mo. Her mouth dropped open at the same time Ann’s did. The government or military would make a mandatory announcement in five minutes. Everyone nearby was converging on a public monitor just up the path. Mo and Ann joined those assembled in front of it. Someone had already turned it on.

  “Wonder what’s going on?” Ann said.

  “It can’t be that the Preeminent Ruler has died,” said an officer near them, referring to the reason for the last global announcement, years ago. “She’s young—relatively young.”

  Mo swallowed. The Preeminent Ruler was around the same age Mama had been when she died. Wait a minute—could this announcement have anything to do with Papa’s government business? He’d sounded worried. She waited impatiently for the announcement to begin, listening to the speculations of those around her.

  When the chimes were sounding every two seconds, the insignia of the Interior Division appeared on the large monitor mounted above the unit. Interior. Not good. The chimes stopped. The insignia faded. Mo covered her mouth.

  “It’s Lesley,” Ann breathed.

  Yes, she could see that, thank you. And she wasn’t hallucinating. The strip under Les’s image read Lt. Cmdr. L. Thompson.

  “My fellow Rymellans,” Les intoned. “I have grave news. I ask you to remain calm and to remember that we are all Rymellan and that, together, we are strong.”

  Mo registered the words, despite focusing more on Les than on what she was saying. That nightmare had been just that—a bad dream. She would have recognized Les anywhere, even if Les had aged or changed her hair, though she hadn’t. Les looked tired, but otherwise the same as when Mo had last seen her.

  “Earlier today, Interior witnessed a Chosen Violation.”

  Many around Mo gasped; several couples reached for each other.

  “This is not another Adams Incident. One person has fallen. I belong to the team that investigated and apprehended the criminal, and I assure you that we have contained the situation. At this time, we have no reason to suspect that others are involved in the crime, but our investigation is ongoing. If others are involved, we will find you.” Les looked directly through the screen, as if meeting the eye of every viewer. “And we will punish you. Death to those who commit a Chosen Violation.”

  The crowd rumbled its agreement.

  “The military has invoked Article 553, effective immediately. I will remind you of what that means. There is now a curfew of 8:00 p.m. for all Rymellans, with the exception of Interior personnel and those whose professions require them to be outside their homes after that time. To be outside your home between the hours of 8:00 p.m. and 6:00 a.m. is now a violation unless you are accompanied by a member of the Interior Division or you are working at a profession that requires you to be away from your home during that time.”

  Now Mo could see why Papa wanted her home. They’d have to cut their days together short until 553 was lifted. Well, tough, because she couldn’t go home. Her insides were quaking at the sight of Les. She wanted to elbow her way to the front, reach up, and press her hand against the monitor. What a terrible time to be on leave.

  “We have increased the military presence in all sectors,” Les continued. “Curfew violations will not go unnoticed or unpunished.” She paused. “We understand that news of a Chosen Violation is shocking and upsetting and that you will look to each other for support and comfort. Do so privately, with your families, not publicly. Public discussion of the Chosen Violation will not be tolerated. We will disperse groups of more than four Rymellans, unless the group is within an area immediately surrounding a public monitor. Be prepared to answer any questions the military poses to you quickly and honestly. Your cooperation with the military is always important, never more so than now.

  “When Article 553 is in effect, the punishment for several articles is upgraded to execution. I’ll read those article numbers now—pay close attention: Article 73, Article 74, Article 101, Article 122, Article 167, and Article 168. All these articles relate to cooperation with the military.”

  “Maybe I should have stayed on 72,” Ann murmured.

  “Article 553 will remain in effect until we have completed our investigation. I will announce the name of the criminal later today.”

  Please, no more announcements. Why had Les agreed to do them? Surely someone else had been available. Anyone would have leaped at the chance to become so widely known; it would do wonders for anyone’s career. Oh. Mo felt sick.

  “I know this announcement has upset you and I encourage you to discuss it with your families. However, I remind you that emotional distress is not an excuse for violations against the Way, and that we will not tolerate public speculation about the nature of the violation or those involved. Above all, fellow Rymellans, remember that disobedience means death. Death to those who commit a Chosen Violation. Death to those who disobey. Death to those who violate the Way. Thank you for your attention.”

  The insignia of the Rymellan government replaced Les’s face. It quickly faded. The Preeminent Ruler appeared on the display. “Greetings to all Rymellans. We are all shocked by the horrible news Lieutenant Commander Thompson has just delivered, but we must remain calm. The military has the situation under control. The criminal is in custody, and we all want to see the criminal punished. Commander Finney of the Interior Division will execute the criminal tomorrow morning at ten o’clock.”

  Mo’s jaw tightened.

  “At two o’clock in the afternoon, those of you who reside in D2 and nearby sectors are invited to view the criminal’s body as it is carried from the execution site in D2 to the Wall’s crematorium, where it will burn, as all criminals burn. The criminal’s ashes will be added to the communal urn for offenders, and the name of this heinous individual—I will not refer to this person as a Rymellan—will be added to the Wall of Offenders as a reminder to all of us of what happens to those who fall from the Way. We will broadcast the procession. All non-essential businesses will close for the day, to allow as many of you to attend or view the procession as possible.”

  Ann jabbed Mo in the ribs and whispered, “We should go.” Mo ignored her.

  “All Level Four and Five classes from the Indoctrination Academies in Sector D2 will attend the procession. Several members from each class will march at its rear.” She paused. “I would like to extend the gratitude of all Rymellans to Interior for capturing the criminal and protecting the Way. Our military works tirelessly to preserve our way of life. We might comfort ourselves by saying that this is the first Chosen Violation we’ve had in thirteen years, but that would be folly. The Adams Incident taught us that serious threats to the Way can arise at any time, as happened today. We must always be on guard. Only our continued diligence and the protection of our military will keep us safe.