Soldier at the Door (22 page)

Then there were the, “We do not become involved in local issues such as chicken thievery or loud neighbors. Consult your local magistrate and/or fort” letters, and the occasional, “We are certain the birth of your child [insert name here] was a joyous occasion for you” forms. 

But some letters catch the skimmers’ eyes and are sent on ahead
to the Main Skimmer, who then sends them on to the head of the Letter Readers. Some lucky letters leave this division to go to the specific departments, such as Office of Family, or Commerce, or Farming.

And every once in a great while a few of those letters move on, after visiting the full hierarchy of their intended department, to the Administrators themselves and the desk of Mr. Gadiman, Admini
strator of Loyalty.

This particular day a letter from the little village of Edge sat in front of Gadiman. His mouth twitched as he read and reread the words.

It was borderline.

The writer
could
have been sincere in her desire to help children that, as she phrased it, “would benefit from an alternative form of education.”

Yet something in the very idea of questioning the Administr
ators’ educational policies had alarmed the Department of Instruction.

Perhaps it was the subtle insinuation that the current school sy
stem seemed like a remembrance of the era of kings that the Administrators were trying so hard to eliminate.

Or maybe it was the suggestion that current educational proc
edures may be unsuitable to meeting the needs of some children.

Or maybe it was the assertion that parents could make decisions about their children, freeing the Administrators from any liability in their education.

Or maybe it was because an annoying woman was pointing out the faults of the Administrators.

Nothing in the letter specifically, however, suggested undermi
ning the government—the Administrator of Loyalty’s primary concern.

But he could never understand people’s need to be
different
, only to be difficult. It was like herding hogs, the diverging ways some people insisted on going. They were all destined for the same fate at the butcher’s, so Gadiman couldn’t understand why they fought it so much. 

He tapped the feathered end of his quill on the letter as he po
ndered it.

The idea that someone was thinking beyond the bounds of what the Administrators advised was slightly troubling. Most likely not
hing would ever come of this woman’s letter. She was merely a small teacher in a small village.

Still, small things had the disturbing tendency to grow larger.

Especially when such things had such
connections
.

Administrator Gadiman made some notations on additional pieces of paper.

One note recommended that the first form letter be sent to the writer with a signature from some junior assistant in the Department of Instruction.

The second note indicated that the writer was the wife of the commanding officer in Edge.

Captain Shin’s file sat in front of him. Next to his name was a blue dot of paint indicating perfect compliance and noteworthy performances. Gadiman leafed through the pages of the file and found nothing alarming. He didn’t expect to, considering whose son he was.

The Administrator of Loyalty set the file aside and picked up a new, empty one. In large bold letters, he printed a name along the top. He placed the original letter and his notations in the file, then put a drop of yellow paint next to the name.

Mahrree Peto Shin was now officially Watched.

Gadiman was going to have to get another crate. His office was filling with files full of yellow and red dots. Or he needed a bigger office.

-
--

Two men sat in the dark office of an unlit building.

“Question,” asked Mal. “What kind of a
woman
writes a letter to the Department of Instruction?”

Brisack held a piece of parchment. “
Mrs.
Shin?” he said, looking at the writing again and shaking his head.

Mal nodded. “Yes. And look, she signed it alone. I hadn’t co
nsidered her as more than an appendage to her husband, but she’s demonstrating independent thought.”

“I realize you may not know this, but many women are not
always
completely under the control of their husbands and frequently do things without them,” Brisack said with a smirking hint of approval. “Besides, would our Captain Shin marry anyone who didn’t?”

“I suppose not,” Mal said with a slight glare. “You know, it sounds as if your appreciation of
our captain
, and now
his wife
, is increasing. Objectivity, my good doctor?”

Brisack waved that off. “Oh, come now, didn’t you ever feel a bit of personal interest in your research subjects?”

Mal sighed. “Only occasionally, for a moment. But once that personal connection is recognized, it can be dealt with and destroyed. I’m warning you—don’t get too attached to Shin. Or his wife. All research subjects will eventually be terminated. Otherwise, what’s the point?”

“Perhaps, perhaps,” Brisack said reluctantly while Mal scowled. “But I can’t help but wonder, might
you
be intrigued by Mrs. Shin?”

The older man shrugged grudgingly. “While I hadn’t considered observing her, she
just might be worth our attention. Now, read the
entire
letter.” An odd, somewhat sickly smile appeared on his face.

It was as if Nicko Mal wasn’t used to demonstrating genuine happiness, and it nauseated him.

Seeing him truly
happy
about something naturally put Brisack on edge. The good doctor held the letter up to his eyes to read it in the dim light.

“This is really quite bold, suggesting that the Administrators are extending the practices of the kings. But it’s subtly worded, so I’m surprised Gadiman noticed it. Only an intelligent woman could craft such a sentence,” his voice warmed without his noticing. “No wo
nder the administrator over education couldn’t recognize it.” He chuckle softly. “Something concerned him about the letter, but he couldn’t discern exactly what.”

Mal nodded. “Initially I wondered, is she truly intelligent or did she accidentally write the wrong words?”

“Sounds like another question for us to test,” Brisack grinned. “I wonder if her husband knows what kind of thinking she’s committing. Look at this line, suggesting that parents be allowed to supervise their children’s education and not hold the government liable!” He chuckled as he shook his head. “No, it’s not accidental. She’s far too clever, and too often.”

His tone grew so appreciative it dangerously approached ador
ation.

“Indeed, she’s a little
too
perceptive. No wonder her letter made it all the way to the top.”

Mal sat back in his chair, watching his companion’s growing ardor with amusement. “Keep reading. I don’t think you’ve reached
the end
just yet.” His smile took on an uncomfortably pleasant, yet also intestine-knotting, quality.

Brisack squinted to read the neat, careful handwriting. A m
oment later his breathing stopped. His eyes quit moving across the page. His chest inflated and his lips pressed tightly together.

Mal’s smile turned positively diarrheal, spreading all over his face.

Breaking their rule, Brisack grabbed a candle and lit it in order to make sure he actually read the words correctly.

He did.

“Why, that little . . .
sow!
” the good doctor swore in aggravation.

Mal’s eyebrows went up, never before hearing his companion use that vulgar term for women, and his smile grew to epidemic pr
oportions. “I see you found it.”

“How dare she?!” Brisack spluttered. “Did Gadiman notice this?”

“He didn’t mention it,” Mal said easily, almost cheerfully. “He was more concerned about what the Administrator of Education pointed out to him. I suppose that since that section was also so
subtly worded
, he didn’t notice it. But apparently you did.”

Brisack flattened the letter on his lap and read the sentences out loud that caused his face to contort and his language to burn.

“‘I therefore request that I be allowed to conduct such a trial, the results of which I would happily share with the Administrators and Chairman. While what I am requesting is untested, it is only through conjecture, then trial, that we can see if such an alternative to education would be beneficial for this small segment of our citizenry. After all, it is through conjecture that we have accepted that the rest of the world is poisoned and uninhabitable, and it is through conjecture that it is assumed women are unable to safely bear more than two children.’
Conjecture?! Assumed?!”
Brisack exploded.

Mal wiped a bit of Brisack spittle off his face.

“I proved
conclusively
that women can’t bear more than two children! How dare she question my research methods?!”

“Keep reading,” was all that Mal said, his smile settling in for a
long pandemic.

Brisack’s eyes bulged and he turned back to the letter. It took only a moment for the next explosion to occur.

Mal had pulled out his handkerchief in preparation.

“‘If you allow me to conduct this test of teaching very small groups of children in the home, I will do so using only volunteering parents and children. The results should be measurable, which should please the Administrators who have in the past year accepted other research conducted without the use of any volunteers—’ She’s alluding to
my research
, isn’t she?! Why,
that little
—”

Mal stopped him with a raised hand.

“Not that I don’t appreciate you making a diversionary case for keeping our population down—it’s not as if suddenly the women of the world had an outbreak of baby hunger and each wanted to have an unconscionable amount of children—but I’m curious, Doctor: who
did
you evaluate in this study of yours? I’m afraid I never took the time to read your full report, I only glanced at the notice we sent out. And since we don’t
have
any women that have more than two children, at least, not for
long
. . .” He waited for the doctor’s explanation.

Brisack guffawed, scoffed, and smacked his lips.

Mal grateful he still had the handkerchief available.

Brisack finally blurted, “Why, why I
couldn’t
study anyone in particular, now could I? Not without permanently maiming the mind of some poor woman, or destroying her body! Who’d volunteer for that? Instead I employed a method of exponential application.”

“Ah, the more syllables it has, the more legitimate your made-up
conjecture
is?” Mal leered.

“No, it’s valid,” Brisack said
defensively. “I looked at the effect one child has on a mother, then, based on the few women I could find with two children,” his voice sped up, “extrapolated the effects of continued childbearing by applying a logic sequence that I created—” his tongue was now running a race with his lips, “—to gauge the changes and distortions to mind and body that one could reasonably and exponentially expect to occur with subsequent birthing!”

He paused only to take a breath, then exclaimed, “It was all quite carefully constructed!”

Mal’s smile continued to infect his entire body. “I have no doubt, my good doctor. But she makes an interesting point—
you have no real proof
. Nothing measurable, no one to really evaluate. It was all simply pure
conjecture
. Interesting—for a woman in the throes of the insanity caused by birthing
two
children in such a short amount of time, she’s rather insightful. Isn’t she?” Mal actually fluttered his eyelashes.

“How dare she?!” was all Brisack could froth.

“Yes, yes,” Mal said with malicious merriness, thoroughly enjoying his companion’s fury and divining new ways to prolong it. “I can’t help but consider,
before
child birthing, we never heard from the woman. And now, after two children, we get this most carefully crafted letter with alarming insights and subtle intimations that men with lesser minds couldn’t recognize.”

He tapped his lip as if in deep thought.

“Almost . . .
almost
as if giving birth has made her
more intelligent
,” Mal said slowly.
“
As if that letter on your lap has invalidated your study
because everything you just claimed about the affects of birthing on women, she’s just proven to be—” his stomach-churning grin returned, “—
completely false
.”