Office of Mercy (9781101606100) (28 page)

“So you started killing,” Natasha said. “Whoever wasn't in your club of Alphas, you decided to kill.”

“The first mercy sweep took place a few months before the demise of the Yang political group,” the Father said, somewhat nostalgically. “One point three billion people in the heart of a country that has not existed by its former name since. There was a drought. The devastation it caused left the rest of the world with too many to help. Too many even to fathom. It was better than letting them thirst and starve.”

“We Alphas had little choice,” the Mother explained, as if wanting to soften this bluntly offered fact of the past. “We came alive in this mess of a world and we witnessed the failure of the Yangs for ourselves. We could not stand by. The centuries before us had dealt with suffering in two different ways: first, to ignore it, which we found cruel, and second, to end the causes of the suffering itself, which the Yangs' failure proved was impossible. Our generation was the first to commit itself to the only paradise possible on Earth: the one that allows for either a long, peaceful life, or else, for nothingness. We took over the old Yang bunkers and built these settlements with our paradise in mind, and three hundred and five years ago we launched simultaneous sweeps from our new homes to wipe the world clean of the unsavable human beings. Some managed to survive, and their descendants make up the Tribes. We are sorry that the Storm was not complete, but we try to atone for its failings the best we can.”

“What about the Yangs? What happened to them? Were they in the settlements too?”

The Mother's eyes went suddenly cold, and she averted her gaze from Natasha's. “That is a moment in our history,” she said, “that we do not need to revisit.”

Natasha wondered if the Alphas were right, if life before had been so bad. But no, she stopped herself. No matter the terrible mistakes the Pines had made, she could not begin trusting the Alphas now. She thought of Axel, of London, fleeing from the settlement, out in the forest somewhere. She knew that they probably despised her, and probably blamed her for their suffering. But that didn't matter. They were human beings and they had the right to live and be free without the interference of the strangers in America-Five.

“It's wrong,” Natasha said, fighting against the dulling effects of the Alphas' logic. “You shouldn't kill, never kill.”

“Do you remember the dog you encountered on your mission?” asked the Father.

“Yes,” said Natasha, her heart filling with trepidation.

“You had the chance to end its life and you chose not to. You hesitated. The dog ran away, and before you could correct your mistake, you were captured. What if I told you, less than forty-nine hours after your encounter, that dog broke its leg chasing after a rabbit, was unable to return to its masters, and died of thirst in the woods?”

“Stop,” said Natasha.

“Do you think the bit of life you gave that dog was worth it—forty-nine hours in exchange for a long, terrible death?”

But at this, Natasha screamed, she could not bear to hear them talk anymore. They were creating the Wall again, this time with their words. They used their words to make it right but what they said was not the truth, it wasn't real. She could feel the real thing but she couldn't say it. The real thing didn't fit within their language. She screamed and let the pain burn her from the inside out.

Only when the Mother and Father had been quiet a long time did Natasha speak.

“I feel empathy,” she said.

“Misplaced Empathy.”

“No,” Natasha shouted, propelled to her feet by the force of her frustration. “It's not misplaced! You can't tell me that. I talked to them. I understand them. Maybe I didn't know they'd lie about the attack. That they'd panic and shoot people instead of keeping their word. I hate them for hurting Min-he and everyone else. But you won't make me forget. You're the ones to blame for this. All these terrible things are your fault. Just like you say. The Storm, the settlements. You made it so that there was such a thing as the Tribes. And now look at what your Ethical Code has done to them. You Alphas didn't even realize that the Pines had passed down stories of the Storm. But I figured it out. I saw beyond your ethics and I can feel what they feel.”

“And what do they feel?” the Mother asked, her voice thick with condescension.

“The same as us. They want to live. What if I came over there and put my hands around your neck and squeezed? You wouldn't think anything except that you wanted to live!”

“Sit down, Natasha. Now,” said the Father.

She sank slowly to her seat. The Father had not raised his voice a decibel, but the sheer authority of a direct command made the muscles in her legs go soft.

“We are surprised at you,” he continued. “We thought that witnessing the devastation you caused to this settlement, and to a great number of Tribespeople and citizens both, would be enough to make you reconsider your views. But it's no matter. We have other ways.”

Natasha did not answer. Despite her fear, a sudden tiredness was coming over her. Because what good was it to fight? She was one person. Not even a real settlement-created citizen. Her arguments hit as severely as a fist against a concrete wall. The settlement was indomitable. If she had only understood that before, she never would have tried to bring it down.

“Please place your arms on the armrests, palms up. Kindly raise your head. That's it.”

The frustration washed away, upward through her limbs, dissolving from her core. What was it about obeying that made that happen? Clamps came over her arms and legs. A helmet lowered from the ceiling fixed over her head. It fastened beneath her chin.

“Certain new technologies have emerged from the Department of Research in recent years,” said the Mother. “This machine—but
machine
sounds too base a word—this
communicator
is a descendant of the Pretends you are familiar with.”

The Mother rose and approached her with surprising gracefulness.

“You say that you feel empathy for the Tribes. Well, empathy is very important for ethics. Once upon a time, in fact, the only ethical systems available to the human race were glorified variations of the most common articulation of empathy, the Golden Rule. You remember learning about the Golden Rule, don't you, Natasha? Treat others as you would like to be treated. Love thy neighbor as thyself. Do unto others as you would have others do unto you. Laws depended on it, religion depended on it. But can you see the failure acknowledged within these formulations? Treat others as
you
would like to be treated. Love thy neighbor as
thyself
. Do unto others as you would have others do unto
you
. They made no bones about it. The statements themselves implicitly acknowledge that we can truly know nothing other than ourselves. It's the best we can do to project our minds onto others, and act accordingly. We Alphas, however, expect a bit more from the human race than portable solipsism. In order to make truly ethical decisions, we must holistically understand the minds involved. In the case of the sweeps, one must understand pain in order to understand the ethical purposes at work.”

A surge of energy erupted in Natasha's head, and before she understood what was happening—that the Mother had touched some switch on the chair's controls—she plunged into a terror of feeling like she had never known. Her perceptions ripped away from her mind; her mind ripped away from her own self. What she had felt and thought a second ago—her anger at the Alphas, her outrage at their smugness, her fear for the future—had slipped into the farthest corners of awareness—gone. Pain splintered down the spine. Real, fiery pain. Nerves in the body that she had never felt before—the dead center of the brain, the full column of the neck, the guts through from flesh to bone—shook violently and screamed.

She looked around; the Department of Health. She recognized its sharp smell and high walls and ceiling that rained nets, tangles of clear thread thin as fishing lines and spiked with silver,
let me go, let go, oh, please let me go
.

Then she cowered because there were people: strangers with broad foreheads and white masks across their mouths. They held metal instruments in gloved hands, and she would not let them touch her. She needed to keep them away.

With a last burst of strength she threw herself at them. A hand, Natasha's hand but not Natasha's, lashed out at them and made contact, scratching across a woman's cheek. A last hatred. A last defiance. The masked faces scattered and screamed.

But she should not have done it, because as she fell back from them, the pain sliced through her. Deep in the chest. Natasha opened her mouth wide. Blood gurgled in the throat. She sucked at the air and flailed but her lips could not grasp it. Her hands reached for a burning pool of blood at her center, at the place of her lungs. Then a rush of feeling overwhelmed her and suddenly it was like her eyes had fallen into her head. She was hurtling toward a terrible darkness, with gathering speed, and there was no feeling but despair, because the others had gone, they had gone already. . . .

Natasha came alive again, suddenly, her mind bursting into the recognizable world like a deep-sea diver in the Pretends abruptly splashing through to the surface.

She gasped. Her hands went for her chest though the clamps restrained them. Her whole body trembled. Acid rose in her throat and stuck and she began to cough uncontrollably. The faces of the Mother and Father danced in her vision, stonelike and unconcerned.

“What was that?” Natasha asked finally, still struggling for air.

“Not what,
who
,” answered the Mother. “As I said, there have been interesting developments in the Department of Research. Our earliest Pretends allowed us to stimulate the body's senses directly, making the player feel, touch, hear, smell, and see a reality that was not actually there. With Free Play, our technology allowed us to reverse the process—to draw out feelings and thoughts from the player's mind and project them in enhanced form. Now we have another breakthrough, one that combines these technologies. Our computers have learned to read the feelings and thoughts of one human being—the mental ‘pattern' as the researchers call it—and enforce that pattern directly onto a second, entirely independent mind.”

“You put someone's thoughts into my head?”

“Yes. That captures it well enough.”

“Who was that then?”

“He calls himself ‘Tezo.' He was one of five Tribespeople whom we recovered alive.”

A chill went through Natasha. They knew; they were watching her closely for a reaction. Raj or Sarah must have told them that she and Tezo had been intended for each other all those years ago, that he was the focal point of the life she had not lived. Or else, perhaps the Alphas had more ways of knowing what went on outside the settlement than Natasha had guessed.

“Who else do you have?” she asked, afraid to hear the answer.

“We didn't get their names. But they have been granted mercy already. Tezo has done us the service of telling the Pines' story. The Palms' story, I should say. We expect his thoughts to be an invaluable resource for years to come.”

“If that was him, then why is there pain? I thought you didn't believe in pain!”

“They administered the medicines several minutes ago. It takes some time to feel the effects, especially when the damage is great.”

“He'll die?”

“Eventually, yes. We'll make it as easy as possible. But realize that what he endures in these moments will likely prevent other pain in the future. That is why it's allowed.”

The Mother moved toward the controls on the chair and Natasha lunged against the restraints to stop her, the muscles in her body leaping instinctively into revolt.

“Don't!” she said. “Please!”

“We are not doing your body any actual damage,” the Father assured from his chair. “Every organ, every molecule inside you is carrying happily along. It is only Pretend. Only a change in perception. Two minds merged together as one. You wanted real empathy, so here is your chance.”

Again, Natasha plunged, this time deeper than before. Her nerves electrified, and the anguish that rolled over her drowned with its own tenor of horror. Natasha woke fully, with opened eyes. A whole universe of impossible memories battered every mote of this stranger's present—stranger and not stranger, because it and she, he and she, the separation did not hold.

The masked faces were huddled in the corner, one bleeding from the cheek. Good. Hatred for these people emanated in waves, a hatred that was always there, now unleashed. Their alien houses. Their alien clothes.

But as soon as the anger had fully taken hold, enough to nearly incite a second attack, the feeling cut off, suddenly, because now something else was happening. A crush inside the ribs, like three tons of weight had fallen, crushing them without relief. Their hands went to stop it—but too late. The room began to swirl and now the dizzying crush held the fleeting and impossible faces of Axel, Sonlow, London, and Raul. . . .

The air would not come, no matter how they demanded, and Tezo and Natasha and Natasha and Tezo began to fall. They howled a silent howl as they fell backward into oblivion. The abyss; a crash against a wall; and nothing to shout at, nothing to fight. The only action was arrival; the only distance, this; for nothing existed more absolute than the nothing, and so many had died, they had died already. And then the machine had nothing to grasp at, and the separation did come.

Natasha did not wake right away. Her body writhed, her lungs rising and falling forcefully, as if her mind feared that any cessation would be the final cessation, that breathing would not start again. When the Mother began to speak, her voice was far away.

“We understand how difficult this is for you, Natasha. Your life in this settlement has hardly prepared you for the pain of a broken finger, much less that of collapsed lungs and an agonizing death. However, this suffering occurred. It is real. It happened here, in America-Five, and as a direct result of your actions against us. We hope you understand the necessity of your feeling this pain for yourself. The necessity of confronting with your own body the evil thing that is the true enemy of this settlement.”