Truancy Origins (11 page)

“It's a condition caused by recessive genes. It can be inherited from the parents, or sometimes occur through random mutation,” Umasi explained as Zen's head flopped silently down onto the table once more.

“Very good.” The teacher nodded. “And what does it do?”

“It prevents the body from producing pigment, which is what gives it its color,” Umasi quoted the textbook, watching Zen lazily raise his own textbook to shield his sleeping head from view. “Aside from sensitivity to sunlight and some vision disabilities, albinos are just as physically fit as regular members of their species.”

“Excellent,” the teacher exulted, turning back to face the class as a whole. “Albinism can afflict mammals, reptiles, fish, birds, and amphibians. Individuals with albinism usually appear white, and in many species the eyes appear red due to the underlying blood vessels showing through.”

The teacher's predatory gaze began to sweep around the room, coming dangerously close to spotting Zen's head buried in his textbook. Thinking fast, Umasi raised his hand again. The motion caused the boy next to Umasi to mutter “suck-up” under his breath, but Umasi ignored the snide
remark, as the sudden movement had succeeded in catching the teacher's eye.

“Are there albino people?” Umasi asked. He knew the answer, but out of desperation had seized upon the first question to come to mind.

“As a matter of fact, there are, though you'll seldom see them, especially in this City.” The teacher pursed her lips, as if discussing a distasteful subject. “In human albinos, the eyes are usually blue more often than red. Human eyes are typically deep enough to cover the blood vessels, though there are exceptions in certain types of lighting.”

Umasi continued to jot down notes mechanically, keeping an eye on his brother's condition out of the corner of his eye. What the teacher said next, however, stopped Umasi dead in his tracks.

“However, all albinos regardless of eye color have significant vision problems that make them unfit for education, and thus unfit for normal life in this City,” the teacher finished. “It's unfortunate, of course, but students must conform to education and not the other way around.”

A moment of tense silence followed, indicating that some students in the class disagreed with the teacher—though no one cared enough to speak up. Then the silence was shattered by an outburst from the most unexpected of persons.

“Unfit for life?” Umasi demanded. “How can you say that?”

For a moment the teacher was taken aback at a model student arguing with her, but she quickly rallied and responded with a note of anger in her voice.

“Education is the most important aspect of any child's life. There is no place in this City for an educational liability,” the teacher said. “Some of these people can't even do as much as look at an overhead projection. Their handicap guarantees substandard grades. It's unfortunate, like I said, but they are unfit for school, and if you're unfit for school, you're unfit for society!”

“That doesn't make sense!” Umasi retorted. “You can't judge a person's worth based on their grades alone!”

By now all the students in the class had shaken off their weariness, staring at this new phenomenon—a teacher arguing with her favored student. Out of the corner of his eye, Umasi spotted Zen looking at him with a mixture of surprise and approval.

“You can in this City!” the teacher snapped. “And
you
need to show more respect! I'm surprised at you, of all people, talking to a teacher like that!”

“I'm sorry,” Umasi lied, “but if education isn't meant to conform to the needs of students, what should it conform to?”

“The rules. And the rules are that a student is worth no more than their grade,” the teacher said flatly. “It's harsh, but it's the truth. And unless
you
want your personal value to decrease, I suggest you hold your tongue.”

Umasi did was he was told, but fumed on the inside. He wasn't sure what had set him off like that. The teacher
had
upset him with her callous statements, but he had never been one to talk back to a teacher, no matter what. Still, somehow his anger felt
good,
as though a long-dormant part of him was finally asserting itself. Umasi smiled; maybe losing your temper once in a while wasn't so bad after all. Then he remembered the anger from his nightmare, and his smile vanished, replaced by a thoughtful look.

Zen was up to
something,
he knew, which was good; Umasi now agreed that something had to be done. And Umasi had the utmost faith in his brother. Zen's plans were always effective ones. Whatever it was that Zen was planning, Umasi resolved that he
would
make his brother tell him about it.

And maybe, just
maybe
, Umasi would help him.

 

I
've looked at the latest proposition.”

“And?”

“It's unacceptable.”

“I had a feeling you'd say that, sir. Do you mind if I ask why?”

“Not at all. Reinstating physical punishment is completely counterproductive. It's a regression, an insult to decades and generations of progress.”

“Our system did start with it, sir.”

“And that was before my time, if you'll recall. Since then we've refined our methods so that we don't have to be so . . .
crude.
”

“Crude methods can be effective.”

“And destructive. There
will
be official complaints from all sides with something as blatant and dramatic as this. Not to mention that our more subtle tactics have produced much better results.”

“If this were phased in over the course of several years, even decades . . .”

“It wouldn't be worth the trouble, or the risk. We have much more promising venues to pursue.”

“And I imagine that you're concerned about your own sons.”

“I wouldn't be much of a father if I weren't. As a matter of fact, I'm not much of a father anyway—I hardly have time to see them these days, and when I do, it's clear that our work has been taking its toll on them.”

“It taken its toll on all of us at one point.”

“A common rationalization.”

“I know, sir. And I don't actually support the proposition, I was just curious.”

“Oh?”

“Yes. I . . . apologize for lying to you before, sir, but I actually
do
have children.”

“I see. And why didn't you tell me?”

“If you'll forgive me sir, I just wanted to know if your heart was in the right place.”

“I've fired others for less, but as one parent to another I can understand your concern. Besides, I knew you were lying.”

“You . . . you did, sir?”

“I personally examine the backgrounds of all my staff, no matter how minor they are. But now that you've come clean, I can assure you that though some have accused me of lacking a heart, my intentions
are
noble.”

“I believe it.”

“Good. Now, let me see if I recall correctly . . . you have one daughter and one son, right?”

“Yes, sir, their names are Tack and Suzie.”

 

S
atisfied with his work, Zen collected his papers into neat piles, rolled them up, and then stuffed them into the various coat pockets hanging above him. He was making good progress; by now he had to use six different jackets just to hold it all. He had lists detailing every conceivable item he'd need, their exact costs, and how he might procure them. He had circled critical government buildings on his map. He had even determined which potential Truants would be most beneficial to his cause.

Zen didn't think that funds would be a problem. With his and Umasi's special accounts combined, they easily had enough to sustain a sizeable army for a decade, if not longer. And Zen knew that there would be ways to generate income and offset expenses once the Truancy was established. In a few days, he would finally be ready to pass the point of no return—to leave home, hit the streets, and see the abandoned districts for himself. After he'd secured reliable hideouts, the recruitment could begin.

Zen stood up and stretched amidst the various garments. Allowing himself a deep sigh of satisfaction, he made his way to the door, pushed it open . . .

And found himself face-to-face with Umasi.

“Greetings,” Zen said, swiftly masking his surprise.

“What were you doing in there?” Umasi asked innocently enough, though Zen could see Umasi's eyes narrow slightly behind his glasses.

“Homework,” Zen said.

“I see,” Umasi said. “Well, that's odd, because I have your homework here. I just did it for you, as a matter of fact.”

Umasi held out a roll of papers, which Zen slowly reached out to accept before changing his mind halfway through.

“Thanks for the thought,” Zen said, withdrawing his hand and narrowing his eyes, “but I think we both know that I won't be needing them.”

“Quite so,” Umasi agreed. “What are you up to, Zen?”

Zen contemplated Umasi for a second before smirking.

“I suppose there's no reason not to tell you now. After all, in a few days it'll all begin.”

“What will?”

“The Truancy.”

“Truancy?”

“
The
Truancy,” Zen corrected. “The organization that will stand against the Educators.”

“How can I help?” Umasi asked without hesitation, prompting another smile from Zen.

“You won't need to do much, of course,” Zen assured his brother. “I will need your account card, but frankly you're not much good in a fight and—”

“Wait,” Umasi interrupted, frowning. “What do you mean by ‘fight'?”

Zen looked at Umasi incredulously.

“Fight, battle, conflict, war, whatever you want to call it,” Zen explained as though Umasi were dumb. “What, did you think that the Truancy would be all pickets and picnics?”

“Why not?”

“Why not?” Zen repeated. “Surely you're joking. You can't possibly hope to change anything in this City that way.”

“You can't know that until you try,” Umasi pointed out.

“And if you try and fail, enormous effort would've been wasted only to have the Educators crack down so hard that you won't be able to piss without having something breathing down your neck,” Zen spat.

“Then why not wait until we're adults?” Umasi suggested. “Then we'll be treated like real people, we'll have the same rights—”

“No.” Zen shook his head firmly. “I will not fall into that trap.”

“What do you mean?”

“Don't you see? That's the greatest part of their system, it's their safety valve!” Zen hissed. “Oppressed peoples might overthrow their tyrants, but not if they can count on
one day joining the oppressors
! The City does just that, and it works! Those that harbor rebellious thoughts in school eventually grow up, forget what it was like not to be treated like a real person, and then dismiss the suffering of the next generation as a childish phase. The oppressed can't
wait
to become the oppressors, and some of them will even defend inequality so that they can someday enjoy it themselves.”

Umasi stared at Zen, clearly disturbed by the passion with which Zen uttered every word. Either that, Zen thought, or perhaps he was more disturbed by the realization that every word Zen spoke was the truth.

“This is an eternal cycle of cruelty, and
I
will not be part of it,” Zen continued darkly. “If I am to cause suffering, I will do it on my own terms, not theirs.”

“But if you're as devoted as you say you are, you'll remember your goals, your ideals, and carry them even into adulthood.”

Zen hesitated at that, just for a moment. It wasn't like Umasi to maintain an argument for this long.

“And what if I do?” Zen laughed. “What if I do succeed in toppling the Educators, securing freedom for the students? What then? I'll become their protector, their
rescuer,
a wizened parent that guides the dumb child, a devoted shepherd that protects the vulnerable flock! If I rescue them and they are unable to do so themselves, I, the adult, will be the superior and they the inferiors. The cycle will start all over again!

“You see, Umasi,” Zen continued, “it must be done now, while we're still children. If we wait too long, we'll become them, and even if we defeat them they will have won. Students need to secure their own freedom, to prove their own worth and demonstrate their own strength. Only when children genuinely dominate the adults can you say that something has changed. We have to act before it's too late.”

Umasi let out a sad sigh. “And this action would involve bloodshed.”

“There is no other way.”

Umasi breathed deeply, as if readying himself for an impossible task. Then his head rose and he looked Zen straight in the eye.

“Then I'm sorry, Zen, but I can't be part of your Truancy.”

Zen stared, his eyes wide, and Umasi realized that for the first time in his life, he had made Zen speechless. Umasi felt his heart squeeze painfully at the look of infinite betrayal in Zen's eyes, but still managed an apologetic smile as he turned to walk away.

“You said it yourself, Brother,” Umasi called sadly. “I'm a pacifist.”

 

U
masi finished buttoning his pajamas and lay down upon his bed, his hands folded behind his head. He took a deep, calming breath before shutting his eyes. He couldn't believe it. Umasi had been so sure that Zen couldn't possibly be planning murder, and yet that was exactly what he had been doing all this time. Umasi was tempted to believe that Zen couldn't possibly know what he was getting into, but he knew Zen too well to accept that. What's more, Umasi still remembered the anger of his dream, the unspeakable hatred and the clarity it had brought—or rather, the insanity.