Elected (The Elected Series Book 1) (17 page)

21

I think I’m alone, leaning against the wall with one hand when Tomlin turns a corner and almost bumps into me.

“Oh, Elected! Good. The Technology Faction rioters from the town hall are here for your meeting.”

I’d almost forgotten about that.

“Right. Let’s get to it.”

I follow Tomlin to another part of the White House into what used to be a conference room, or war room, off the oval office. Already there are fifteen people, a mix of men and woman of various ages, seated around the table. One man sits near the head, but the prime seat is left open for me. I walk to it right away, sitting down as the other meeting participants start to stand in deference.

So, they do still regard me with some degree of respect, I muse. Or they must feel bad about causing Vienne harm.

On cue, the gr
oup’s representative, Grobe, inquires, “How is Madame Elected? We hope she wasn’t hurt badly.”

“She’s fine,” I say, my words clipped. “She has a small welt.”

“We apologize again, Elected. And we brought something for Madame Elected.” One of the women, Margareath, whom I recognize as one of our planters, brings out a plump, spikey green shrub in a terra-cotta pot. She sets it down in the middle of the table, and it’s passed over to me.

“An aloe plant,” Margareath explains. “Its leaves, if broken in half, give healing lotion to the skin. It will help Madame Elected’s scrape on her head.”

“Thank you,” I say. “She’ll appreciate it.” I don’t say I’ll appreciate it, as I don’t think I can like anything from these people. For all I know, one of them might be my assassin. In fact, I decide to ask outright.

“If we knew who it was,” says Grobe, “we would hand him or her over to you. It would be the patriotic thing to do. Again, we didn’t mean to hit Madame Elected. And we didn’t think the metal-laced fruit would really hurt you. We just meant to capture your attention enough so you’d understand our dissent.”

I don’t believe him, as I remember the trajectory of the fruit laced with metal. It was all aimed for my head. “It could have been voiced through more productive means,” I say, bitterness in my tone.

“Well,” says Grobe, “thank you for meeting us today. Your father never would.”

That sounds like Apa. He was opposed to even discussing the use of technology, as any violation of the Technology Accord went against his morality. He, like me, was schooled in history better than anyone in our country. He’d seen pictures of our world before climate change was brought on by the pollutant, carbon dioxide. I’d seen the same worn and tattered snapshots. Lush, green fields. Flowers aplenty. Great snow-capped mountains. Now our world is barren. Dirt fields. Mountains under so much snow that they’re now entirely unscalable. And flowers. So precious to us now, they’re hardly ever picked to go in a vase and die.

“I won’t bend easily either,” I say, looking once again into Grobe’s eyes. “I don’t think you’ll change my mind about using technology. I’m not going to be responsible for the destruction of our people.”

“We don’t see it that way. We see it as an improvement. Our people could prosper with just a bit of technology use.”

“We’re not advocating a return to the old ways,” says another man. “We don’t want to start using cars again. Nothing like that.” He winces at even the mention of vehicles.

“Just a few items,” says another man.

“Such as?” I ask.

“Defense systems, for one thing,” says Grobe. “If Mid and West Countries are arming themselves against us, we need to be prepared.”

“Who says they’re arming themselves?” I ask, reproachful as it sounds like Grobe has helped spread the news.

“It’s a rumor,” says Margareath.

“We’re not saying we should manufacture weapons ourselves,” says one of the men. “But some force field exploration maybe—”

I cut him off. “You know what you’re asking for? Force fields require electricity. That’s a slippery slope. If we start manufacturing any of it, we’ll need electricity. Some of the old machines. Oil to run those machines. Where are we going to get oil anyway?”

“It could be harvested from the Atlantic,” says Grobe. “If we used ships.”

“I don’t think so,” I say quickly. They’ve thought all this through too completely. Even Tomlin, sitting in the corner of the room, looks uncomfortable. “This is all too much.”

“And health technology,” says Margareath. “Manufacturing the purple pills. Don’t you want to help your people, Elected?” She almost gets me with this one, as I’ve thought about the same thing in the past. If there’s anything that would get me to advocate for technology, it’s the health of my people. But I have my answer ready.

“We don’t have the ingredients for those pills anymore. Those plants died out years ago.”

“We could try emulating the ingredients,” she says. “With what we have.”

“Creation of those pills would, again, require electricity,” I say.

“And so what?” says Grobe, angry this time. “What’s so wrong with electricity?”

“What’s so wrong with it?” I say, aghast. “Electricity is generated at a power station by electromechanical generators. Primarily driven by heat engines, fueled by chemical combustion or nuclear fission. We can’t turn that on.”

I can tell they’re impressed with my understanding of science. A few of the men look up at me with greater respect.

“Yes,” says Margareath. “But it can also be created by the kinetic energy of flowing water.”

She too is learned. I am taken aback by Margareath’s intellect. In just a few moments she’s not only appealed to the one thing I care most about—my people’s health, but she’s also shown the range of her scientific understanding.

“We would need a waterfall to create enough force for the kind of flowing water you’re describing,” I say. “We’ve looked for waterfalls. There aren’t any left in East Country. They’ve dried up.”

“We could create one,” says Margareath.

“Enough!” I say. “We just keep going around in circles. Anything we want to create would require the use of other technology to build it. I appreciate you telling me your thoughts, but I can’t give the answer you want to hear. I’m not about to reverse a century’s worth of decisions just because a small group of our people wish it.”

Grobe stands. “We see. Well. We agree to disagree.” The line of his mouth is taut. “Just because a small group of people are forward thinking and the majority wants to stay stuck in the past is not a reason to resist advancement. I’d heard you were reasonable—that you might not be as rule-fearing as your father, but apparently that was inaccurate.” He is agitated, rocking back on his heels.

I nod. “Well, we can at least keep this dialogue open. We can meet periodically. But before you leave, there’s the penance you must pay for hurting Madame Elected.” I don’t mention anything about the hurt they caused my arm.

“Yes,” says Grobe who sits back down, rightfully admonished.

I’ve been thinking of a suitable punishment for their use of violence. It doesn’t warrant death, but I do have to take some action. Punish them. Deter others. But also show these people that I do believe in them and their intrinsic goodness. I hope trusting this group now isn’t a mistake.

“I need you to take shifts at night, watching the hills.”

“Whatever the country needs,” Grobe says, “we’ll gladly help.” His eyes are wide, clearly surprised at the tame retribution I seek.

“Good. We need teams of extra people to help the guards watch the hills. We need to ensure Mid Country isn’t dropping off bullets or stockpiling weapons near the area.”

“So I was right!” exclaims Margareath.

“We don’t know for sure,” I say. “But we need people to watch at night and report back to me. There just aren’t enough guards to cover the entire border.”

“We’ll accomplish that,” says Grobe. He slaps his palms on the table, like the meeting is over and he’s preparing to leave.

“There’s more,” I say, grimacing as I dispense the last part of their punishment. “Each of you must pay another penance for throwing the metal-laced fruit. It was dangerous and shows vast disrespect for the Elected family. You must each be branded with the symbol of an apple on your stomach.”

I see a few of the technologists cringe. I’ve picked the fleshiest part of the body for the branding. One that will surely hurt when touched with the hot poker.

“As you wish,” says Grobe. His eyes squint at me.

I nod at the guards who open the conference room doors. The group stands and Tomlin ushers them out of the room in an orderly fashion.

I turn around, my hands resting on the table in front of me. I stare at the wood grain on the surface, following the horizontal lines with my eyes. I’ve assumed the room is empty, so when a voice flutters close to my ear, I jump.

“It’s not so hard to build a waterfall,” says Margareath. She’s too close for comfort.

“Back up slowly,” I say to her, wondering for a split second if she could be the assassin.

“I’ve brought one with me,” she says, so excited about the contraption she’s about to show me she ignores my command for space. From beneath her cloak, Margareath pulls out a small bird whose wings are tied down at its sides. She attaches the bird, via a wire and some sort of battery, to a small bucket of drinking water set out for the meeting. She unwraps the bird’s wings, which begin to flap furiously with great whooshes of air. I start to protest, but at once a few drops of water from the bucket burst straight up, like it’s raining upside down. The droplets hang in midair for a split second before plopping back down into the larger pool again.

“See?” she says.

I stand next to her, speechless. What I can’t decide is if Margareath is a genius or if she’s gone ahead and demonstrated explicit use of technology right in front of her Elected, an act so foolish, I can’t even comprehend her motivations. I stare at the device, full of silver wires.

“Where did you get these?” I finger one of the thin cables in my fingers.

“Oh...” Margareath blanches at this. She doesn’t continue with an answer.

“You took these from a bike.”

Margareath licks her lips. “I didn’t think... it’s my own family’s bike... I can put them back on...”

And then I focus on the battery. “And this?”

Margareath stumbles backward, eyes down. “Oh that... I found it.”

I can’t decide what to do. If I turn a blind eye, word will get out I let her dismantle our precious resources to create inventions. And I find it highly unlikely Margareath found a working battery. Batteries left from previous centuries would have lost their energy by now, even if they could power an entire rocket ship back in the old days. I can’t let her walk out of this room and tell people I approved this contraption. And by doing nothing, it would be as good as giving implicit approval. It’ll start an avalanche of Elected-approved technology creation.

I frown at her, thinking fast about my options. About the Accords and the harsh implications of breaking them. About breaking the Fertility and Elected Accords myself. About showing my countrymen what happens when they tinker with technology. About the threat from Mid Country and our lack of defense. And about Margareath herself. Her warm, expectant smile as she passed the aloe plant across the table to me. Her learned response about kinetic energy. Her anxiety now that I figured out she broke the Technology Accord.

A plan forms in my head, something of which I’m sure my father would disapprove. I must deter my people from creating technology, but for the first time, I decide to defy the Accords on my own.

“Guards!” I yell.

22

Margareath starts to protest, looking at me with wide eyes. She didn’t expected this reaction from me. As two guards burst into the room and look at her invention on the table, they immediately understand their task. They take both of Margareath’s arms by the elbows, leading her out of the room.

She tries to reason with me, even as she is being pulled out the door toward the prison. I stand in the frame, watching her as they go. She twists her head around to see me, still pleading, calling out the Elected’s name for mercy.

I stare at her, my face blank so as not to give away my new idea to either Margareath or the guards. I try to imagine my father’s voice in my head. What would he think of my new ideas, the way I’m starting to think my own thoughts instead of just being his parrot. I can almost hear the deep mesmerizing way he spoke, but his voice is like a butterfly flitting away. I have it and yet it’s gone again.

I carefully untangle the wires from the bird’s wings and set it free through an open window on my walk out of
the war room.

I proceed toward the one person with whom I can discuss my idea. Who, no matter what she might think personally, will have to go along with my plans. I just hope Vienne agrees with my decision of her own free will. My stomach knots, imagining how it will feel to force her to defy laws on my behalf once again. I find her in her quarters, a book open on her lap.

“Aloy!” she says, surprised and pleased at the same time. “I’m so glad you’re here. I thought you might be upset after our conversation at breakfast.”

Her face is earnest and open. I try to smile back at her, but again the thought of Griffin with her threatens to turn my stomach. I concentrate instead on the task at hand.

“I just met with the Technology Faction, and one of them was daring enough to show me an invention she created.”

“Oh no,” says Vienne, rising out of her chair by the window. “Is she at the prison now?”

“Yes, but there’s something I want to discuss with you. Something I want you to do with all of our criminals going forward.”

I move closer to Vienne and pull her gently down to sit on the bed next to me. She faces me, listening to every nuance of my plan. Her eyes never move from my face, and I’m at once overwhelmed again at her level of loyalty to me and this country. She doesn’t just hear my words. She listens to them, takes them in, and processes them. She refrains from commenting until the end, but when I’m finished, I look to her for an answer.

She’ll have a key role in this plan, and I need to know if she’s on board. Vienne doesn’t take more than a second to give me her reply.

“I’ll do it. Of course.”

I smile, a heavy weight lifting from my shoulders. I grab her toward me, almost crushing her shoulders as I envelop her in a hug.

“Thank you.” Then I pull back and look at her face again. “I know this goes against everything you were taught. But I think it’s where our society needs to go next.”

Vienne bites her bottom lip, pausing for a moment before speaking. When she does, her answer, as so much of her, surprises me. “It may have been what I was taught, but I never agreed with it.”

In that one second I realize Vienne and I may be more alike than I thought.

Over the next few weeks, rumors that Mid Country is stockpiling bullets against East rise up like an infection in the minds of my people. The miners who saw us dig out the bullets, the Technology Faction, and the metal workers can’t be quieted. Before long, the entire country knows about the threat of Mid Country. We have multiple town halls. People don’t even bother going home in between the meetings. Many of them camp out with their bikes on the Ellipse, crafting makeshift tents out of fabric borrowed from other countrymen.

And their questions about our defense systems mount. Now the rumors that West Country is in on the coup also take shape in their minds. The questions bubble up at the town halls so fast the talkers hardly have time to repeat a question before the next one is asked. People don’t even wait for the talkers anymore. They just yell out their questions, and others in the audience propel the words forward like children’s balls bouncing on raised, outstretched arms. Many times I have to call order to the proceedings before my countrymen become so flustered they start fighting amongst themselves again.

The Technology Faction comes forward, more and more people outing themselves, and the small group I believed existed, grows larger. They speak at the town halls about creating defense systems. Grobe talks about manufacturing force fields and more purple pills. But, to the credit of my people, discussion and conversation is all the fighting that breaks out. There are no physical assaults. No one throws anything. The words are heated, but people maintain decorum.

Members of the Technology Faction watch the border day and night, working in shifts to ensure no other stockpiles of weapons are deposited. I have no fears the Technologists are finding weapons, keeping them a secret, or hiding them for future use, because I also employ as many guards as possible to help during each border shift. The guards watch both the hills and the Technologists. The teams report the arrival of no other bullets, and metal scans show nothing more.

Additional people, besides the Technology Faction rioters, offer to watch the hills and play guard. The outpouring of volunteers is high, and I’m buoyed by the care our people have for the country.

Everyone seems more diligent in their work. More focused. The planters grow twice the amount of greenery, throwing themselves into digging holes and watering the land. The chemists take the additional vegetation and mix it to stockpile homeopathic medicines, in case we’ll need them later. And the guards maintain a quiet presence everywhere. Wherever I turn, there are a couple who trail me dutifully.

The one person who doesn’t trail me is Griffin. We’ve avoided each other for days. I’m almost thankful for that, as I imagine Vienne’s fertile period is coming soon and it’ll start their intimacy. I can’t bear to look at him, so I’m grateful for the reprieve. He is there, still watching us, on the sidelines, but he doesn’t guard me specifically. He doesn’t guard Vienne either, almost like he’s trying not to show a preference for her. And I’m distracted enough by the proceedings in the country that I’m almost okay with this.

My plan with Margareath in the prisoner’s quarters goes off without a hitch. I’m there as she drinks the mouthful of clear liquid, the tears welling up in her eyes as she thinks it is her last moment. I just nod at her encouragingly, not giving in to emotion. Only I know what will happen next, and this affords me the luxury of looking past her fear, knowing in the end she’ll be okay. Vienne dresses the body, as we discussed, and this too goes as well as we could imagine.

I visit Margareath’s family afterwards, apologizing to them, listening to them tell me stories of her bravery and devotion to her children. I hold their hands as the youngest child cries, his tears falling like raindrops on the top of my thighs. I grasp tightly to his shoulders, telling them everything will be all right. As I watch them deep in despair, I try to remember I know things that will make them feel better later—that Margareath will eventually return. I try not to dwell on their despair further as I step out of their small house, into their side garden that is now overrun. It used to be one of the best personal gardens in the country, but without Margareath there, no one has thought to care for her plants. The space is closed off by a thick fence on all sides, allowing me a moment of semi-privacy to collect myself as a pair of guards wait on the other side of the high walls.

I bend down and brush dirt off the tender petals of a few plants. The sun beats down on my uncovered head. The air has grown hot now, in stark contrast to the unwavering cold of one month ago. I’m not sufficiently prepared to work outdoors in the garden, but I lose myself in caring for Margareath’s plants. I stay there longer than I should, the harsh rays of the sun starting to burn my neck.

“You should take more caution,” says a voice over my shoulder.

I don’t look up, already knowing who it is.

“What do you care?”

“I care a lot,” says Griffin.

He gives the two guards who are watching me through the garden gate a curt nod, relieving them of duty. The guards bow in my direction and make themselves scarce. Griffin and I are alone for the first time in a long while, but I don’t look at him. I keep my hands deep in the dirt of Margareath’s garden, pulling at a rock that just won’t come loose.

“Here, let me help,” he says, squatting down next to me. He holds his hands out, meaning to dig the rock from the earth. Our fingers touch, just the slightest inch of his skin brushing against mine, and I’m paralyzed with the sensation.

“No, don’t!” My voice comes out like a bark. “I don’t need your help.”

He eases up, rocking back on his heels and then standing. “Well, it looked like you did.”

“Don’t let this little stone fool you. I don’t need you.” I yank on it hard until it puckers from the ground and tumbles into my hand.

“You certainly need me for something,” he grumbles, angst in his tone.

I stand up fast, the blood rushing to my head. I’m wobbly on my legs but I overlook the feeling, too angry at Griffin to notice my own body’s needs.

“Yes, over and over again, like you said,” I hiss.

“Yes, that.” Griffin looks down at the dirt on the ground between us.

“Why did you have to rub it in?
Over and over again
?”

Griffin sighs. “I wanted you to be mad enough to change your mind.”

“You could have refused either way. Everyone is free here.”

“It’s like Vienne says, though. If you need something desperately, you know I won’t refuse you.” He pauses for a moment, looking up at the high sun instead of at me. “And yet you ask this of me, knowing I will ultimately do what you want.”

My barrier of anger falters slightly. “I
need
this, yes, but that doesn’t mean I
want
it. The thought of you and Vienne...”

My voice falls off. I can’t finish my sentence.

“The thought of us making a baby together makes you want to choke, to throw up, to keel over, your stomach lurch?”

Yes. How does he know me so well?

“And does it elicit the same reaction in you?” I ask, knowing already any answer other than yes will cause me to wilt in this hot sun, the same as the plants on the ground in front of us.

Griffin doesn’t answer for a moment and instead looks down at Margareath’s garden. “To tell you the truth, the physical act of being intimate with Vienne doesn’t bother me in that same way. She’s a beautiful woman. Any man would want her.”

He’s just voiced my exact worry. I kick up the dirt in billows, knowing this is the ultimate truth. He will enjoy this. He will fall in love with her.

“But,” he says, “the thought of what this does to you... that I’d rather be intimate with you... how even though you’ve requested this, you’ll hate me for it. That turns my stomach.”

He catches my face in his hands, and before I know it, Griffin’s kissing me. It’s like a million fires spontaneously crackling as his embrace grows deeper. Like a wave of water crashing down on my body. Like I am on the ground but floating at the same time.

I kiss back, my lips working perfectly with his in an amazing symphony of rhythm. All of my questions about what gender I like, or if I even want to feel someone’s touch, are answered in a split second. I know I’m trying to leave a passionate impression on him, so I have a slightest chance of Griffin remembering me after being with Vienne. I take in the taste of his lips on mine, the feel of his warm hands as they grasp my upper arms in the embrace.

After what feels like mere seconds and eons all at once, I hear a bird in the distance caw. It breaks my concentration enough that I reluctantly take a step back. We may have relative privacy, but what we’re doing still isn’t safe. I cough, stepping back from Griffin and look up at the sky instead of meeting his eyes.

“We shouldn’t,” I say.

Griffin slowly lets go of my arm and rubs one hand over his forehead. “I came here to tell you Vienne and I will be together tonight. I thought you deserved to know. I will be... as fast as possible.”

I turn red at the thought. My next words are stilted, caught in my throat. “Thank you... for the heads up.”

He nods, mouth set in a grim line. “I guess I’ll see you around.” Griffin brushes a strand of hair from his forehead. It refuses to budge, clinging to his skin in a moon shaped curl. I want to brush it away for him, but I hold back.

I blink, trying to block out my feelings as Griffin starts to walk away, out of the enclosed garden. Then he turns and his whispered words burn a hole into my heart.

“You know, we could make love too.”