Immortal (6 page)

Once again the monotonous task allowed her to
return her thoughts to Jericho. She had never even spoken with some
one that had been controlled, so she truly did not have any idea
what happened to him after he was taken. But as she began to
imagine what could happen, tears once again began to fill her
vision. She sniffed quietly, and quickly wiped her eyes, as she
tried to hide that she was crying. But even the thought of this
action, made the tears come quicker, and her vision blurred even
more. She had a hard time being able to see the gauges, and
suddenly it seemed that the readings that she could see, had
becoming more erratic. The needles seemed to begin to swing wildly,
and through her tears she worked faster and faster to make the
necessary corrections as she turned her dials. The required
adjustments became larger and larger, in order to keep the gauges
within acceptable margins. As this continued to become more
difficult, the tears made it even harder to see, and to correctly
judge the readings. By the time she emitted the first choked off
sob, one of her gauges had passed the red line, and the alarm
sounded. Astonished, and flustered, she quickly turned the dial,
but as another alarm sounded she realized that she had turned the
wrong dial, and that now there were two gauges in fault. She
desperately focused her attentions on the dials, and made
additional corrections as she tried to bring the gauges back into
the correct ranges. She was so focused, that she never saw the
Guardian approach her from behind.

When Jericho finally awoke, there was light
in the room. And he could see that he was alone. The Guardian had
left. Though he was quite groggy, he knew where he was, but had no
idea how long he had been here, or how long he had remained
unconscious this last time. He had no memory of whether he had
awoken since the last time or if he had ever spoken to the
Guardian. Or if he might have admitted that he had been
disobedient, just to make the noises and lights, and touches from
the control stick come to a stop. As his mind began to clear he
took in his surroundings. The dark dank dirty room he was in had no
apparent openings in the walls or ceiling. The only thing
remarkable at all was the metal grate in the center of the floor.
Small, round, and rusted. He noticed a trail of darkness from under
the control chair he occupied, as it ran into the grate, and
surmised that at some point while unconscious he had urinated where
he sat. As he realized this, he also realized that it had happened
long enough ago, that his bottom was now cold from the dampness.
His arms were still shackled behind him. It was silent. As he
remembered all that had occurred to him in this room, it came back
to him in bits and pieces. He could not imagine what could be
next.

Had he confessed to disobedience, he
wondered. That seemed to be the only reason that the Guardian might
have left. It did not seem as though anything less would have
stopped that interrogation. The Guardian certainly did not want to
hear about how it had not been his fault. The Guardian had not
seemed to listen to anything he had said, but had just continued to
make the same statement.

“Admit your disobedience.” It had said, what
seemed like hundreds of times. And each time in that same
unfeeling, unemotional flat mechanical voice. That must be what
happened, Jericho thought. I must have finally just given up and
admitted it. Anything to get the pain to stop. Now, the question
that came to him was, what next? Okay, so if he had admitted
disobedience, that means that his punishment would be next. In the
square. It could be in the next few minutes, or it could be in the
next few days. He knew enough about the punishment for disobedience
to know that the exact time of the execution of the punishment was
always unknown to the one being punished, and this was thought to
be a part of the punishment itself. The not knowing when. He hoped
that Donavan was at least okay. Jericho knew that if he admitted
disobedience, and Donovan was hurt, he may not survive the
impending punishment. He knew the penalty for the fight would
probably yield 10 or 15 lashes, but if Donovan was hurt, then it
could be much worse than that. Much, much worse.

He swallowed, though his throat was dry.
Parched, he thought. He wondered how long he had sat in the room
alone. How long he had been asleep. How much longer before he at
least had some idea of his fate. Somewhere inside he asked himself
if he had it to do all over again, would he do anything different.
If he had just stayed in line and not moved. If he had let Donovan
be dealt with by the Guardians. If, he thought. Without hesitation
he knew that he could not have just stood there. Regardless of the
punishment, he would have protected Gabrielle, even if it meant
death. He swallowed again, his throat scratchy. He may have begun
to cry a bit, but he thought that as thirsty as he was, there may
not be any tears left in him. He tried to adjust his position in
the chair to make his back more comfortable. All of the touches
from the control stick had made the muscles in his back, arms and
legs ache. Even as he just sat there in the chair , he hurt. So
tired. He hurt. He slept.

When he next came awake, he drifted into the
sea of consciousness much easier this time. He did not feel like he
had to fight his way to the surface, but simply came awake. As he
opened his eyes it startled him. The Guardian stood right in front
of him. He quickly tried to push back in the control chair, but
remained securely bound. Instinctively he looked down to where the
Guardian had held the control stick during his interrogation, but
noticed instantly that the control stick was not extended. It was
positioned safely away from him. His breath came rapidly, as he
tried to relax just a bit, and felt the tenseness in his muscles
release. He was not going to be touched, at least not at this
moment. The room was still lit, and it was just him and the
Guardian. It stood in front of him as before, and though there was
no way to tell, he was certain that it was the same Guardian. They
each looked exactly alike, and had no distinguishing features or
insignia, but Jericho knew, somewhere deep inside, that this was
the same Guardian that had unmercifully interrogated him. He felt a
sense of nausea well up inside as he looked at the unmoving
figure.

The Guardian stepped suddenly to the side, as
it sensed that he was awake. Jericho jerked back, his eyes keenly
aware of the location of the control stick. The Guardian grabbed
his shoulder and reached behind him. Jericho desperately continued
to fight to stay away from it, as he struggled with all of his
might.

“Be calm.” The mechanical voice emitted from
the Guardian. Be calm my ass, thought Jericho, as he still
struggled to get away from it. Pain shot through his wrists where
his hands were shackled behind his back. “Be calm.” Repeated the
Guardian. “You are in no danger.” It said, and suddenly the
shackles came free. Jericho still fought to get away, and was
brought down by his own struggles, onto the cold dirty floor, as he
landed harshly on his side. He scrabbled across the stone smelling
of urine and mold and who knew what else, and kicked his legs to
get away from the Guardian, as it remained motionless. Silence.
Just his own breathing and his own heartbeat. He pulled himself
into a sitting position, his back against the wall, and stared at
the Guardian. The feeling began to rush back into his arms, and
they began to tingle as if on fire, when suddenly the Guardian
spoke.

“Be calm.” It said once again. “You are in no
danger.” It repeated, and suddenly broke from its motionless stance
and began to approach him. His struggles had left him exhausted
after the interrogation ordeal, and though ever fiber of his being
screamed for him to get away, Jericho had nothing left. He sat
there. Tired and exhausted, against the wall, he waited. The
Guardian approached, and it reached down its hand.

Jericho held his hands up in front of his
eyes, as he stepped out onto the street. His eyes had become
accustomed to the barely lit interior of the control center, and
now he had to squint them. He sneezed, and wiped his nose with the
back of his hand. As he blinked, and remembered his painful
experiences with bright light during the interrogation, he just
wanted to get home. He saw the Guardian as it stood at the
building’s corner, and thought that he had had quite enough of them
for now. He looked down, careful not to look directly at it, as he
crossed the street that was mostly empty, and headed towards the
building that contained his compartment. Any other time he might
have been self conscious about his urine stained pants, but for now
he was too tired to care. His father would still be asleep, and his
sister still at the factory, but her shift would be over soon. He
just wanted to clean up and then get to the meal building. It had
been yesterday morning since he had last eaten, and he was
starving. Literally starving, he thought, as he turned the next
corner. And Gabrielle, he thought, she must be worried sick. He
needed to be at the meal building when she got there so he could
let her know that he was okay. The street was empty except for a
single Guardian, but at least this one was far enough away that
Jericho was not totally unnerved. Seeing Guardians on the street
was a commonplace occurrence, nothing unusual. They constantly
patrolled the entire village, the road, the factory, and the meal
buildings. Guardians were as commonplace as the streets and
buildings themselves. But since his recent ordeal, Jericho thought
that maybe he was a little oversensitive to their existence. As he
continued to walk home, the Guardian continued its patrol, as it
followed Jericho. He began pick up his pace, but the Guardian’s
speed remained the same. He did not quite run, but he moved as fast
as he could without actually breaking into a trot, Jericho finally
made it to his building’s entrance. Just as he stepped across the
threshold, he turned to see the Guardian as it still came at the
same rock solid pace. It appeared to not have noticed him at all,
but Jericho wasn’t so sure. He turned and ran up the steps.

As the Guardian came up behind Gabrielle, the
alarms that had been blaring suddenly stopped. Right before her
eyes one by one, each of her gauges fell to zero. Shocked, she
realized that her station had been deactivated. She turned in place
to the Guardian, and put her hands up in front her, unsure what was
about to happen. She did not have the presence of mind to look for
or locate where the Guardian held its control stick. Her hands
shook, and tears still ran from her eyes.

“Be calm.” The Guardian said, as it stood
inches from her.

“My station-” She began. “My station was
deactivated.” She managed to get out.

“Be calm.” The Guardian repeated. A few
seconds passed, and then, “This station was in fault. It has been
deactivated.” It said. Seconds ticked by, the Guardian still did
not move. “You are in no danger.” It said. Suddenly it stepped
back, and Gabrielle dropped her hands, still unsure of what would
happen next. Seconds passed again, and then the Guardian spoke.
“You have been dismissed for today. Exit the factory.”

Bewildered, Gabrielle stepped cautiously away
from her station, and slowly exited the room. She never took her
eyes away from the Guardian, that remained motionless. She saw the
control stick clearly now. It had never left the Guardian’s side.
She quickly made her way to the return road. How unusual she
thought, as she saw the road completely empty, and she began her
journey back to the village. She was alone on the road. Alone on
the road with her thoughts.

She thought herself lucky that she was simply
dismissed by the Guardian. Her station had been in fault, no doubt
about that, and it was surely her fault. She had been too
distracted to complete her task effectively, and it obviously led
to the fault. Tomorrow she would do better, hopefully. Hopefully
she would find out that Jericho was okay tonight, and all would be
well. She felt sure that as she worked at her station tomorrow, it
would be okay, she thought. At the thought of maybe seeing Jericho,
she picked up her pace. Soon she would back at the village, and
might be one of the first in the meal building. She decided she
would camp out there waiting for Rebecca to find out what had
happened, or hopefully Jericho, so that she could see with her own
eyes that he was okay. She so hoped that he was. She would eat very
slowly, that way she would still be there when she or he showed up.
Very slow, she told herself, as she hurried faster down the
road.

Shortly she had reached the end of the road,
and as she looked around she did not see Rebecca or Jericho
anywhere. She had barely seated herself in the meal building, when
Sarah came across the room towards her. Gabrielle had known Sarah
for a number of years, even before Sarah had become linked to her
husband. When Sarah’s first child had come, she and Gabrielle had
talked for hours about what to name the little boy. He was such a
cute bundle of joy, with his little fat arms and legs, and chubby
little cheeks, and that shock of black hair that sat on the very
top of his head. Gabrielle had come up with every variation of
Jericho that she could, but Sarah continued to shoot down her
ideas. Sarah and James, her husband, wanted something simple. A one
syllable name that was easy to say and remember. James’s favorite
had been Tog, but Sarah refused to allow that.

“My son is not going to be named Tog.” She
had adamantly said. Her favorite name had been Bit, but James was
dead set against it.

“No way! Bit! That’s crazy.” He had said.

“But he’s just a Bit of a thing.” She had
said lovingly. But, as so often happens in these types of
negotiations, they had named their son, Lucas. Gabrielle still did
not understand it, but they liked it, and that’s what mattered.