The Line (5 page)

“So they were effective, in the way they were
designed
to be effective,” Vivian said. “Because none of them was ever meant to
stop
war. They were meant to stop us from incinerating the planet, just as you said, Rachel.” Vivian scowled. “I don’t know that most governments really
want
to stop war—it has too many uses. But that’s another day’s lesson.”

The timer dinged, indicating that their dinner was ready.

“Thank goodness.” Rachel hopped up and started toward their small table, which she had set with dishes.

“Not so fast,” Vivian said. “We can quiz and eat at the same time.” She brought the food to the table. Rachel groaned again.

“Okay.” Vivian poured water from the pitcher for each of them, ignoring Rachel’s protest. “So what effect did the Deactivation Acts have on warfare?”

“War tactics changed.” Rachel was glad she had studied the night before. “When high-tech weapons were banned, countries had to fight in more old-fashioned ways. Troops, heavy artillery, direct physical attacks on borders.” Rachel served herself a piece of corn bread and passed the rest to her mom.

“Thank you, dear. This looks delicious.”

“What does any of the Deactivation stuff have to do with Away?” Rachel didn’t remember anything about Away in the reading her mom had assigned. It had all been about long-ago political accords and pacts.

“I’m getting there,” Vivian said. “The change in fighting techniques leads us to the National Border Defense System. Why was that constructed? Wait, two-part question. (A) why was it constructed, and (B) why was it controversial?”

Rachel grinned. “I know this. (A) it was constructed because with the change in fighting techniques, a physical border protection system was the best way to defend us from ground invasion. (B) . . . um . . . it was controversial because even though most other countries already had one long before the U.S. built ours, the U.S. had always upheld individual freedom as a right. If they built the National Border Defense System, people wouldn’t be able to just come and go from the country. The government said the type of system they were going to build was different than the ones most other countries had—that it was super-special or something—and that it wouldn’t be easy to disarm. They were restricting the borders. So there was a lot of protest about that.”

“Hmm.” Vivian thought for a moment. “Well, on (A), you got it mostly right. It was the most
economical
way to protect the borders from invasion. That doesn’t mean it was the best. And as for (B), yes. The U.S. was based on individual freedoms being our right. At least at one time. And people didn’t want their right to leave the country removed.” Vivian smiled at Rachel. “Somebody
did
do their reading assignment, even if all those net books seem so much more enticing.”

“I always do my assignments, Mom.” Rachel looked up from her plate and saw Vivian’s expression. “Well, almost always.”

“So, now we’re getting to what the National Border Defense System has to do with Away.” Vivian took a sip of her water. “Even though there were protests about the System, it was built anyway, right? So tell me what building the System has to do with Away.”

Rachel pointed to her mouth; she had just taken a bite of corn bread.

“I get it now,” she said, once she could speak again. “The Korusal threat, the whole rush construction job on the Line.”

“Exactly!” Vivian nodded. “Come on. You don’t get off that easily; I want the history lesson here.”

“Korusal was about to attack the U.S.,” said Rachel. “They were huge back then, but we had more advanced technology and they wanted it. So they were going to launch an attack, but somehow word got out. The U.S. only had a small section of the System left to finish, but it involved some complicated shoreline work. They didn’t think they had time to do it before Korusal attacked. So the U.S. was worried because, with the number of ground troops they had, Korusal could have really done some damage if they got in where the border was unprotected. The U.S. and Unifolle had an emergency meeting—”

“Why Unifolle?”

“The U.S. figured they could close their border system in time to stop the attack if they just built in a straight line to Unifolle’s system, where it shared their border. And that’s what they did. Without any real notice to people. So lots of people got stuck outside when they activated the System. And when Korusal attacked, the unprotected area—what is now Away—got blasted. To make it worse, Korusal used prohibited weapons, or at least that’s the claim. I don’t think they ever proved that, did they?”

Vivian shook her head. “No, they didn’t ever prove it, officially. And nobody has had any real information about Away for decades. But they got really strange readings from that area for years after the blast.” She wiped the table off and tossed the cloth in the sink. “And all of your exaggerated net book stories are based on those strange readings and some unsubstantiated rumors about the Others.”

“They can’t all be completely wrong.” Rachel turned her head so that Vivian wouldn’t see her grin. “After all, even the streamer news shows have stories about the Others—weird stuff they might be responsible for and possible sightings.”

“But that’s my point, Rachel,” Vivian began, sputtering with frustration. “The official story—”

“Isn’t always the true story.” Rachel laughed. “I know, I know. I’m just teasing you.”

“You . . .
brat
.” Vivian charged at Rachel, who ran, giggling. Vivian chased her around the couch until they were both breathless.

“Truce!” Rachel held up her hands.

“Okay, truce.” Vivian collapsed on the couch, breathing hard.

Rachel flopped down next to her.

“Mom, what do you really think happened to them? The people who got stuck Away, I mean. The Others.”

Vivian shrugged. “What makes you think anything happened to them? Besides being shamelessly abandoned by their own country and left to fend for themselves in a war zone? Oh, and then banished forever because of some lie about national security breaches and unknown contamination factors. Let’s not forget that.” Vivian snorted.

“Is that really the only reason they won’t let them back in? Do you really think all the stories are just . . . stories?”

“Who really knows, Rachel.” Vivian ruffled Rachel’s hair. She sounded tired. “Well, I think I’m off to bed. You coming soon?”

“Pretty soon. I have to go over some notes from Ms. Moore for tomorrow. She’s going to let me try pollination.” Ms. Moore had demonstrated the technique twice now and explained how it could create a whole new kind of orchid depending on what two species were crossed. The idea of creating an entirely new thing, something that had never existed before she made it, was extraordinary to Rachel. Ms. Moore had cautioned her that hybrids, or crosses as Ms. Moore called them, could take years and years to bloom. Some would never bloom at all. But that didn’t bother Rachel. She was intrigued by the possibility—the possibility of what might become.

D
URING RACHEL’S THIRD month working in the greenhouse, the last she was obligated to finish in order to pay off the window, Ms. Moore had an accident. Rachel was repotting again—an endless task in the greenhouse—when Vivian came running into the greenhouse.

“Rachel,” she cried, “come help me! Ms. Moore is hurt!” She looked strange, scared like Rachel had never seen her before. She ran back out, heading for the main house. Rachel dropped the pot she was working on and ran after her.

Ms. Moore was on the entryway floor near the foot of the stairs, her face twisted with pain and what looked to Rachel like embarrassment. Rachel wasn’t sure, because she had never seen Ms. Moore look anything close to embarrassed before. Her steely hair was frazzled, the normally bulletproof bun she always wore threatening to come loose. Her dress (Ms. Moore never wore anything but dresses) was askew, revealing her stockings. The left stocking was frayed at the top, from much use and just as much laundering. She was trying to pull her dress hem down, but couldn’t move without gasping in distress. Vivian settled by her head and held her shoulders. “She fell,” she said to Rachel. Then, to Ms. Moore, “I called Dr. Beller and he’s on his way. We shouldn’t move you, he said, until he gets here.”

Rachel grabbed some pillows from the sofa in the parlor and handed them to Vivian. “These will make her more comfortable.” While Vivian put them under her head, Rachel pulled at Ms. Moore’s dress, trying to get the skirt out from under her.

“Rachel, stop!” Vivian’s face was bloodless, her hands shaking. “You’re going to hurt her.”

“Leave the child be,” said Ms. Moore, in a voice wracked with effort. “I won’t have Beller waltzing in here to see my delicates exposed in all their glory. I guess that old saying about wearing holey underwear has proved true.” Then she made a sound low in her throat, a strange sound. The sound kept coming, burbling up and out, higher and wider. It seemed impossible, but Ms. Moore was laughing! Vivian and Rachel stared at each other and then both looked down at Ms. Moore.

“Um . . .” said Vivian, “yes, Ms. Moore, that does seem to be . . .” and then she burst into giggles. That made Rachel giggle too, even as she managed to get the dress smoothed down over Ms. Moore’s legs.

“Enough of this frivolity, now,” said Ms. Moore. Vivian and Rachel immediately pasted on serious faces. “I will need to have access to a certain box, Ms. Quillen. It’s in the desk in my study, a black box, with silver fastenings. The desk key is here.” Ms. Moore always wore a chain around her neck on which hung several antique metal keys and an odd, old-looking ring made of some silver metal. She selected one of the keys and took it off, handing it to Vivian. “If you would be so kind as to take the box to my bedroom. Also, if you could see to my room, I believe the breakfast tray had not yet been cleared when this incident occurred.”

Even when she was in excruciating pain, Ms. Moore was worried about someone seeing her room in an untidy state. Rachel couldn’t decide if she admired Ms. Moore for this or thought she was silly.

“And you, Rachel,” she said, when Vivian had gone to do her bidding. “If you would just . . . stay until Dr. Beller arrives, I would appreciate it.” Ms. Moore’s face had taken on a peculiar sheen, as though she had just finished a brisk set of aerobic exercise. Her breathing was ragged, and there were tears springing from the corners of her eyes. “So stupid! A simple slip on the stairs and look what becomes of me. I think I’ve managed to break my leg.”

Ms. Moore’s reserve had always been part of the backdrop of Rachel’s childhood, a constant in her experience. Today, she had seen her both laugh and cry. It made Rachel wonder again what Ms. Moore was hiding behind her carefully arranged facade. What did she do in the evenings before she went upstairs to bed? Did she wish her life were different? What
did
she know about the Line, about Away? Rachel had been so busy—working in the greenhouse, learning about orchids—she hadn’t had much time to devise a plan to discover Ms. Moore’s secrets. Her one attempt to quiz Ms. Moore had failed miserably.

“Of course I’ll stay, Ms. Moore,” Rachel said. She took Ms. Moore’s cold hand in hers.

Ms. Moore’s leg
was
broken. Dr. Beller, an ancient man with a stooped back and only about two gray hairs left on his head, wanted her to go to the clinic in Bensen, where she could have proper medical care and rest. Ms. Moore, however, insisted that she would not leave The Property.

“I can rest as well here as in the clinic,” she said. “Ms. Quillen will be here to see to my needs. I’m certain we shall manage.”

Once Dr. Beller realized she wasn’t going to change her mind, he agreed to set and cast her leg on The Property. He had what he needed to do it; Bensen was a long way if there was an emergency out in one of the rural areas, so his vehicle was well stocked with medical supplies. He had Rachel help him bring the supplies up the stairs to Ms. Moore’s bedroom, where they had managed to move her after the doctor’s initial examination on the floor downstairs. “I will have to anesthetize you in order to set it,” he told Ms. Moore. “It would hurt quite a bit if you were conscious.”

“In that case, Dr. Beller,” Ms. Moore said, “I believe we should settle our accounts prior to the procedure.” Dr. Beller started to object, saying there was no need to worry, but Ms. Moore gestured toward the box Vivian had brought to her bedroom.

“Ms. Quillen, if you could bring that to me, please. And if you would be so kind as to return after the doctor and I have concluded our business, I would prefer it if you were present during the procedure. I will call you as soon as we are ready.” Vivian set the box on the bed next to Ms. Moore and left the room. Ms. Moore took a different key from her chain and fit it into the lock on the box. “I suppose this is going to be expensive, Dr. Bell . . .” she began, and then stopped. She looked at the doorway, where Rachel still hovered. After a moment Rachel realized Ms. Moore was staring at her.

“Rachel!” Vivian materialized at the door, grabbed Rachel by the arm and pulled. “So sorry, Ms. Moore, I thought she was right behind me.” Vivian tumbled Rachel out into the hall and down the stairs to the parlor. “Goodness, child, she told us to leave! What were you thinking?” Vivian’s hair was escaping its combs, wavy auburn strands flying around her face.

“I’m sorry, Mom. I was . . . I wasn’t thinking.”

They heard Ms. Moore call “Ms. Quillen?” from above. Vivian took a deep breath and straightened her shoulders. “You,” she said in her no-nonsense tone, “stay here, unless I call you. I shouldn’t be long.”

 

 

THAT EVENING, WHEN Ms. Moore was resting comfortably and Vivian and Rachel had retired to the guesthouse, it hit Vivian how much her daughter had grown up. Rachel had handled the accident with such great composure, not like the gangly girl Vivian was used to seeing. She was so composed, so caring. Vivian hadn’t thought to get a pillow for Ms. Moore, hadn’t thought of much at all beyond making sure she was alive and calling for the doctor. As soon as that was done, she had run, shaking, to get Rachel. The routine on The Property had made her feel almost safe, for a long time now. Seeing Ms. Moore hurt, not knowing if it meant the end of their sanctuary there, had unnerved her. But Rachel had been so calm; she saw what needed to be done, and she did it. It made Vivian feel proud. Proud and relieved—relieved that isolating Rachel here, sheltering her from so much, hadn’t stopped her from growing into a good person.