Matronly Duties (10 page)

“I am sorry about today, Ma’am. Howard is a very popular team member here, and they’re angry about his treatment. Most of them signed a petition to not have you come today.”

I understand instantly their misgivings. I wish that I could say something to allay their fears, but I don’t have the words. Choosing to respect the workers’ wishes, I cut the tour short and head back to the parliament.

***

When I arrive at my office the next day, a couple of workers are walking out. I glance at them curiously as they walk past me without even acknowledging my presence.

What is going on?

When I look inside, the radio is set up on my desk for me to listen to Howard’s trial. I find it hard to breathe, the weight of the trial sitting like a boulder on my chest. I can’t help but hope that it is swift and that Howard is found not guilty, because if he is found guilty, I suspect protests like the one yesterday at the power plant will become more prevalent.

When it’s time for the trial to start, I flick the radio’s power switch with shaking hands. The roar of blood pounding through my veins makes it a little hard to hear. I take a couple of deep calming breaths until the voices coming from the radio are clear.

“All rise,” the court clerk says. “Judge Reginald Bishop presiding in this matter of the Municipality of Oceania versus Howard Matthew James. Please be seated.”

The voice changes, and I assume it is the judge speaking. “Howard Matthew James, you have been charged with assault and the unlawful detention of a citizen. How do you plead?”

“Guilty, Your Honour.”

My pen clatters to the desk. “What?”

I was under the impression he was going to fight the charges. He was supposed to plead not guilty. I don’t realise I’m crying until a tear drips on the papers in front of me. I don’t understand what is happening.

There are a few moments of indistinct sound, and then the judge clears his throat.

“Mr James, it is the court’s understanding that you have entered this plea in exchange for leniency and a full confession of your crimes. Have you been informed of these terms and do you agree to them?”

“Yes.”

“No.” I lean towards the radio as if he can hear me.

“Please stand,” the judge orders.

There’s another pause and more indiscriminate noise followed by the sound of Howard’s voice.

“On Sunday, the first of May, after months of watching and learning Ms Bethanie Greene’s schedule, I led a group of men, all known Trads, into the catacombs where we waited for her and her bodyguard. We knew they went for a run every Sunday and knew what route they took. We positioned ourselves around a bend so they couldn’t see us until it was too late. I stayed hidden so that no one could see me. The guys were supposed to grab Ms Greene and disable her bodyguard. It was supposed to be peaceful, but both Ms Greene and the bodyguard fought back. One of my men used a Taser on Ms Greene, and when I saw her go down, I called off my men. We took her to one of our holding cells, where one of my men proceeded to rough her up. As planned, I came to her rescue just in time.”

I shake my head and wrap my arms around my waist. “This isn’t happening.”

It can’t be true.
Please, let it not be true.

“Later that day, we gave Ms Greene a pill that looked like a painkiller, but was actually a drug we developed that allows a person to be open to suggestion. We then made her think it was her choice to stay with us. After breakfast the next day, I walked her to a nearby post office to let her call MITI and let them know she was safe.”

My blood is pounding though my veins, and my hands are shaking so badly I’ve got them tucked under my thighs. I can’t believe the things he is saying. Could I really have misread the situation so much?

“Later that afternoon, I took her for a walk. My intention was never to harm her but to open her mind to our ways in hopes she would be able to sway the government and make some societal changes once she was Matron. We ended up in some caves on the other side of the catacombs. We talked for a while, and then . . . I kissed her and forced myself on her sexually.”

“No!” That’s not true.
It’s not true!

“Afterwards, we were returning to the house when I was captured by Oceania Security Patrol. That is all I have to say, Your Honour.”

I hear a chair scrape against the floor, and goose bumps cover my skin from head to toe. The judge speaks again.

“Howard James, you have satisfied the conditions set forth in your plea agreement. As such, you are sentenced to seven years in Oceania Correctional House. This case is adjourned.”

With a bang of a gavel, the trial is over.

I turn off the radio and clutch it to my chest. The crushing pain inside makes it impossible to breathe. Everything I thought I knew has been turned on its head—again. He lied! He used me!

I hurl the radio at the wall. With a loud bang, it splinters into hundreds of pieces. An anguished scream crosses my lips and I start to sob uncontrollably.

April bursts into my office and races to my side. “Are you okay?”

Unable to speak, I shake my head.

“Is there anything I can do for you?”

If I had even the foggiest idea what I needed I would ask for it, but everything is so jumbled up in my mind.

After a few moments, she gives up and goes to the phone on my desk. I cannot hear the conversation, but my doctor appears not long after. He tries to calm me but to no avail. Then I feel the sting of a needle, and within seconds I’m calm and sleepy and my eyelids are beginning to droop.

***

When I open my eyes, I’m back in my bedroom with no memory of how I got here.

“You’re awake,” Margie’s timid voice says from across the room.

“Why are you here?” I want to know what her game is. She and her brother have been playing me all along.

“The doctor said you shouldn’t be left alone. So Belinda, Red, and I have been taking turns watching over you.”

“Why do you care?” I ask, the venom clear in my tone.

“What do you mean ‘why?’ You’re my friend. I hate seeing you this upset.”

“Well, if you’re really my friend, then you’ll tell me the truth. Is what they told me true?”

“Is what true?”

“Is he the leader of the Trads?”

Margie bows her head and looks at her hands folded in her lap. “Yes, he is.”

Another piece of my heart breaks. I trusted him, let him do things to me no one has ever done before, and he lied to me. “How am I supposed to believe anything anyone says anymore?”

“It’s not all a lie. I promise, if you just go and visit Howard, he will explain everything.”

“Why on earth would I go and visit a man who orchestrated my kidnapping, drugged me, and took advantage of me?”

Margie sighs and shakes her head, then gets out of the chair and comes closer to my bed.

“Stay away!” I screech, scrambling backwards on the bed.

“Oh my God, Bethanie! I’m not going to hurt you.” The look of shock on her face only serves to confuse me. Everything is so screwed up.

She holds out an envelope before placing it on my bedside dresser.

“What is that?”

“It’s a letter from Howard. He was hoping to explain to you in person, but I guess he knew what we would hear at his trial and he wanted a chance to set the record straight.”

I stare at the envelope, at my name elegantly scrawled across the white paper. One part of me is jumping out of my skin to open the letter and read it, to find a different truth to the situation. The other, more dominant part of me doesn’t give a flying crap.

“I can’t,” I say, determined not to give in. “Not yet.”

Margie’s eyes are pleading, but she nods resignedly and turns towards the door. Before she leaves, she pauses. “Do you still want me as your assistant?”

I consider her question. The old saying,
keep your friends close and your enemies closer
, plays in my mind. I have no idea which one she is, but the only way to find out for certain is to keep her around.

Chapter 8

It takes a couple of days to settle back into a routine after the trial. Everyone is treating me like I’m made of cut glass, like if they make one wrong move I’ll shatter into a thousand pieces. Margie is the only one not using kid gloves. She’s even respecting my decision not to read Howard’s letter, which still sits untouched on my nightstand. I should stop tormenting myself and just read the letter, but if I’m honest, I am scared that it will irrevocably change things, and I’m not sure I am ready for that.

Fortunately, the last of my visits to the government facilities is this week, and it’s a welcome distraction. I have been looking forward to visiting the farming sector since I first saw it on the schedule. It’s a part of the city that I have always been curious about.

The farming sector is a giant greenhouse. It has climate and air systems controlled separately from the rest of the city to maintain the perfect temperature for maximum crop production. It is also hermetically sealed so nothing damaging can get in.

As we drive through the airlock at the entrance, I feel my anticipation ramp up. Very few citizens, other than those who work inside the greenhouse, get to see the inner workings of the farming sector. It is one of the reasons I was so surprised to see the Jameses with their own chooks and a veggie garden.

Unlike the other sites I’ve visited, where the reception was reserved, the citizens in the farming sector are gathered around waiting for me and seem genuinely excited to have me visiting.

The crowd erupts in cheers when I exit the cart. Much to security’s annoyance, I decide to say hello to some of the crowd. I start shaking hands and thanking them for the warm welcome.

Everything is going great until I go to shake the hand of one young woman. Instead of taking my hand, though, she pulls me in for a hug.

“Please, Matron Greene.” Her voice is a soft whisper against my ear. She places my hand on her stomach and, though it is small, there is a distinct bump. “Please don’t let them take my baby.”

Before I can even ask what she means, security pulls her away and practically tackles the woman to the ground.

“Let her up, she’s pregnant!” I yell, seeing no need for the violence.

Security does help her up, but they don’t let her go. Instead, they start to lead her away.

“Excuse me, what are you doing? Where are you taking her?” I ask, stopping them in their tracks. They look a little confused. “I would like to speak with her.”

Red steps in. “It’s okay, Ma’am, they’re not going to hurt her. They are just going to find out why she tried to accost you.”

“Oh, Red, that wasn’t what happened. She just hugged me. She did say something to me, though, and I would like to know what she was talking about.”

“If you tell me what it was, I can have them question her while you continue your inspection of the farming sector, Ma’am.”

I really want to talk to her myself, but I have a job to do. I tell Red what she said and then ask him to find out what she was talking about.

My excitement about visiting the farms wanes after my encounter. Though I enjoy seeing everything—the hydroponic crops, the livestock, the lighting systems—I can’t stop thinking about the woman. Why would someone take her baby?

When it is finally time to go, I relax in my seat in the cart. Once we are moving I can’t wait any longer.

“So, Red, what did you find out?”

Red shakes his head. “Her name is Estell Babbish. She is a suspected criminal. She used her sister’s ID to sneak in with the hopes of speaking to you. She is currently awaiting judgement on a charge of conception by fornication.”

“And if she is found guilty?”

“If she is found guilty, she will live out the remainder of her pregnancy in a special medical facility. After having the child, she will undergo forced sterilisation and then be sent to work in the mines for twelve months.”

“What about the child?”

“Children are removed from the mother and taken care of by the government.”

The way he says the words leaves me with a terrible feeling. “And by taken care of . . . you mean?”

“The children are kept at the medical facility where they are born and undergo a vast array of genetic testing.”

My hand flies up to cover my mouth. “But why don’t . . . I . . . how do you . . . wow.” It takes me a minute to finally rein myself in. “Sorry, Red, what I was trying to ask is, how you know about this?”

“I am one of those children, Ma’am.”

Just when I think I can’t be any more shocked than I am. “You were taken from your mother and genetically tested on?”

“Yes, Ma’am. I am one of the first generation of children experimented on.”

“But how do you know?” My head is spinning from his revelations.

Red chuckles a sad humourless sound. “When the children are returned to their mothers, it is with the understanding that the test subjects will return annually for checkups. So that they can monitor our health.”

“That must have been an awful burden for your mother.”

“It may have been if she had survived her time in the mines.”

I lean forward and place my hand on his shoulder. “Oh, Red, I’m so sorry.”

He looks at me. “It’s all right, Ma’am. I learnt to deal with it a long time ago.” He moves in his seat, causing my hand to drop away.

“Do you know what they did to you?”

“No, Ma’am, but my health has been perfect at every checkup.”

“I get the feeling you mean more so than someone who isn’t subjected to these tests.”

Red smirks and nods.

Knowing that something is illegal is one thing, but hearing the ramifications of it is another. I don’t have to be a mother to imagine how awful it would be to have my child taken from me for their first year of life. Worse, that while your child was away from you, it would be subjected to who knows what kinds of tests. And all because you conceived a baby by fornicating instead of in a test tube, as dictated by the government.

My thoughts go to the James family. Their children could so easily be like Red if fate had taken a different turn. It makes me wonder why they would take the risk.

You know why.

My subconscious is annoying but also right. If what I shared with Howard was a fraction of the pleasure that “making love” can bring, then . . .

My mind fills with images of dark-haired, blue-eyed babies. Which reminds me.

“What about the baby’s father?”

“I have no idea, Ma’am,” Red says.

“Could you see if you could find out for me?”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

“Thank you,” I say before retreating to my thoughts.

I have no idea how the government has managed to keep such an awful thing quiet, but I intend to find out.

***

I spend the following day in an endless string of seemingly pointless meetings, never feeling as if I’m doing any actual governing. I sit, nod, listen, and sign a bottomless pile of paperwork. When I ask questions, I am frowned at or simply ignored. My position seems to be for the sole purpose of providing the public with a face.

A reality that becomes even more obvious when I try to get information on Estell’s situation.

Upon exiting yet another briefing, I corner Chief Inspector Wright, the head of OSP.

“Inspector Wright, may I have a minute of your time?”

He has a scowl on his face but answers with a happy sounding, “Yes, Matron Greene, how can I be of assistance?”

“I was wondering if you had any information on the Estell Babbish case. I have sent a couple of requests but have not received any response.”

“Oh, that. It’s nothing you need to worry about, Ma’am.”

“I worry about all of my citizens. Even the ones who’ve broken the law, Mr Wright.”

“I’m sorry, Ma’am, but the Matron’s office has no authority in these matters. I’m sure your citizens appreciate your concern, though. That’s very sweet.”

I don’t dignify his last comment with a response. I’m sick and tired of being treated like a child. I walk away, trying not to let him see how much his comment affects me.

Several hours later, midway through a budget session in which I have not been addressed once, I decide I’ve had enough. Feigning a headache, I excuse myself and return to my office without a thought to the consequences. It’s not as if I’ll miss anything important, and it wouldn’t matter if I did anyway.

When I reach the reception area outside my office, I realise someone is talking to April. I am curious as to what happens in my office when I’m not there, so I pause just around the corner.

“Yes, sir,” April says.

“Good,” replies a male voice I recognise as Justin, personal assistant to the chief minister. “So here is next month’s public appearance schedule. Like always, the appointments in red are the ones she isn’t allowed to cancel or change. The rest are open for discussion.”

“Okay,” April replies. “But I still don’t see why we have to go behind her back.”

“It makes them feel important,” he replies with a chuckle.

Fury rises up inside me so fast my head spins. My cheeks are hot as I fight the urge to dash around the corner and start making demands. But it wouldn’t help to reveal myself now. This is the first real proof I’ve had that they are hiding things from me, and it spurs me to investigate further. I take a couple of deep breaths, letting the calm wash through me and focus my mind.

“Has she given you any trou—” Justin begins.

“April,” I say, stepping around the corner.

Justin’s head almost flies off his shoulders from turning in my direction so fast. He stands up from his perch on April’s desk, and I must admit I find the mix of shock and fear on his face rather gratifying.

“Yes, Ma’am,” April replies.

I paste a tired but polite look on my face. “Sorry if I’m interrupting anything, but could you please call Red? I’m heading home early.”

“Yes, Ma’am, of course. Is everything all right?”

“Just a small headache. Thank you for asking.” I smile again, being sure to seem fatigued, before I turn my eyes to the chief minister’s assistant. “Justin,” I say by way of greeting.

“M-ma’am,” he replies with a slight stutter. His cheeks flush as I nod in his direction.

I walk past him to my office door and enter without another word.

When I sit at my desk my heart is racing. I am so angry, so frustrated, and so scared. I am the Matron of Oceania, but my own government is hiding things from me. The chief minister’s
assistant
is managing my calendar like I’m his personal toy. Then there is Estell and her baby, and all the things I saw in the city when Howard kidnapped me—
if
Howard really is responsible for my kidnapping.

I decide here and now I am reading Howard’s letter tonight.
My situation is already looking grim. How much worse can it get by hearing his side of the story?

***

June 18, 2220

Dear Bethanie,

If you are reading this letter, it means I never got the chance to talk with you in person before you had to hear the blasphemy I will be forced to speak at my trial.

I also know you probably have questions, so I hope this letter will answer most of them for you. If it doesn’t, please write to me and I will answer anything else that you ask.

I have gone over this a thousand times in my mind and tried to figure out the best way to explain things, but I’ve decided that telling you the whole story is the best way.

Yes, I am the leader of the Trads. It was a position I was given when the previous leader disappeared without a trace. It’s not something I ever wanted, but I did it because someone had to hold the government accountable for its actions.

Not long after I took the position, someone came up with a plan to kidnap the next Matron in hopes of opening her eyes to the true nature of things before she took office. The next Matron, of course, was you.

For months, I watched you from afar, keeping track of all your movements and learning your schedule to find the right time and place to enact our plan. It became clear early on that the easiest opportunity would be when you were in the catacombs on one of your runs.

When it came down to it, though, I couldn’t go through with the plan. Some of my favourite times were watching you when you ran. You seemed to be so much more carefree than at other times I observed you, and the very idea of taking that away from you, of scaring you just to further our cause, made me feel physically ill.

Unfortunately, my men got it into their heads to go it alone. When Margie got word to me that you’d been kidnapped, I headed straight for the place I knew they’d have you. Fury the likes of which I’ve never known almost brought me to my knees when I got there and saw Albert pawing at you. I promise, he paid severely for his behaviour. I never meant for you to get hurt. I’m so sorry. Carrying your limp body back to my parents’ house, I promised you over and over that I would set things right no matter what.