Deanne Dolhon

A War to Come A hungry baby cried in his mother's arms. His echoing cries were muted as the Sector square filled with hungry day workers who emptied out from the factories to receive their rations and go home. His skin was inflamed as he fussed. From the edge of the square, Clara watched his desperate young mother doing all she could do to hold her baby close and comfort him as she stood in line for their ration. Sweltering in the heat, Clara felt sorry for the little one, not wanting to imagine how hot he was. Guards eyed her as she got closer to the ration table. She was pretty, maybe a failed breeder. Alterations didn't work with everyone. The woman took the protein cubes and powdered milk. Perfect amounts for her slight figure and her baby's to survive. But they would never be satisfied. Not in the Bottom Quarter. A day's food for a day's work. Clara remembered what the work was like; remembered how she was desperate, not happy, to receive her pitiful bounty of rations. Clara waited for Gabriel in the shade. She was now too used to the UV domes of the elite Top Quarters where she belonged. Standing in even the weakest patch of light for long upset her skin. The guards along the feeding lines kept their eyes on Clara, recognizing she wasn't from the Bottom Quarter, knowing she could get in trouble if she handed out a few chips of currency. "I don't suppose you remember your mother holding you in line." Clara turned, as always Gabriel had been watching her for a little while. "It's more likely you waited in line for her and kept her hidden." They embraced briefly, awkwardly, for a second longer then either one wanted. She could feel the scares, she remembered the riots. He favored his left side still. His kneecap had been shattered 20 years ago. Of course, it never healed properly. "I could never keep you hidden though." Clara smiled, remembering her curiosity, her meandering about the quarters she lived in as a small child. She caught one of the guards watching Gabriel intently. "Some things never change. We should go somewhere privately if you want to talk." She was sure Gabriel knew he was being watched. He'd look like a terrorist if he didn't let guards see she went with him of her own volition. "This way." He led her behind the water treatment plant. Passage ways were smaller then she remembered, or maybe it was just because she was smaller the last time she wound her way through them. Gabriel was living in the Third Quarter levels now. Good for him. She got the idea from his leathery skin he was still spending too much time preaching to those in the lower level. The room was small; a bed, a sonic shower, a door, window and balcony ledge. She stood on the small ledge admiring a plant. "It feels alive." Her fingers touched the soft moist leaves as delicately as she could, fearing her dried skin would take away from the moisture that might have been there. "It is alive." "You give part of your water rations to a plant?" Gabriel's face hardened only for a second. It wasn't just a plant, not for Gabriel. She knew that, she spoke too quickly, and far too shallowly. If he could make it grow here, he could make it better down there. It meant things everywhere could get better. "How does it survive?" "With a great deal of work, and a great deal of care." Moving through the door frame he offered her a glass of water. Clara took it, watching the churning clouds that hung over the lower levels. The gases were thinner here; she could see the horizon, but it was hazy and yellow. The air purifiers were never that good in the bottom levels; they needed constant maintenance and the filters needed constant changing. But there was no one around who really knew how they worked, just how to maintain them. The designers and engineers were in the second level, and none ever went down that far. Years of industrial poison, and years of capitalism couldn't be changed over night. The filters barley maintained the air in the Bottom Quarter. "Too much work maybe" she mumbled. Her finger traced along the rim of her glass. "The world can change Clara." He said it as though he was reading her mind. "What you're talking about is war Gabriel. You want me to lead these people into a war." "Not war Clara, revolution. Educate them, organize them, give them something to believe in." "They believe in naturals; that's the only gift to give them. That's why the Elite still administer that stupid test, to keep them quiet, to give them something. They'll breed out of control in hopes that one child can make it to even the second level. And even that's an empty belief." "Your mother believed in something." "My mother believed in you." "That's more then you it seems." There was a long pause, a familiar tension passed between them; a tension steeped in contention and discord. Her idealism faltered in the face of his. She was afraid of being a terrorist. He wasn't. Clara fought back tears. She wanted to believe in him, wanted to be intoxicated by his idealism again. "I'm not that special Gab. I can't do it anymore." Clara's eyes followed the clouds, she had to wipe bits of brown hair out of her mouth as winds whipped around her. Gabriel was only a few feet behind her, "You're more then your genetics Clara." "You know it started with a chicken and a quail about 150 years ago?" She turned to him, her eyes pierced into his. Confronting him was all she could do. "Some doctor decided to find out about learned and genetic behavior." She looked down wanting to see the line up through the thick smog. She knew it was there. Problem was no one down there knew that much about the people above them. The Elites had money, that's all that made them better. "People aren't smart enough to use that information properly. I'm special because some doctor figured out that intelligence could be genetic. Talent could be imprinted, knowledge could be downloaded, and you could be born with skills. That's all that sets me apart, my skills were bought." "You could use those skills Clara, better use could come out of them." "Yesterday a baby was born with no sex. It's possible now, and that's the new plan. Now they are just going to grow the workers. Population control, breeding control; they won't suffer anymore Gab, they won't know any better. That's the new 'humanitarian' way the Elites are going to deal with the suffering in the Fourth." The seething anger in her voice was barely masked by a trained logic; she couldn't let herself get too emotional again. "I'm not special Gab, I'm a byproduct of stupidity and greed." "Is that what you've been telling yourself lately?" the revulsion in his voice faltered, twisted with compassion he didn't want there but couldn't help. "The weather's changing. It's going to rain, if you can warn the Bottom Quarter you better." She said looking to the wind as it gently pushed strands of hair into her face. He watched her as she stood with her back to him, standing, almost silhouetted against the gray-yellow sky and the glowing clouds. "Is that why you came down, ease your conscience. Let the little people know what you've been monitoring in the Top Quarter." "It's not magic Gab, there's nothing special about knowing. You can smell the condensing acid, and sounds don't carry as well. For a few moments the air smells cleaner, like water instead of dirt." Clara closed her eyes and felt the breeze push past her dry lips. "It's the wind that changes, it's colder when it touches your skin, it sends a little shiver through you even though the air around you is so acrid." Clara turned her head only slightly to see him from the corner of her eye, "It's nothing special Gabriel, even you can feel it when things change, so long as you aren't stuck in the middle of it." "You're special Clara, did you know that?" Gabriel held his breath for a moment trying to find a place to touch her. He leaned onto the balcony rail tracing the edge of her profiled cheek, and let his hand rest on the center of her neck. She looked so much like her mother. He would have loved to be her father, but was thankful every day that he wasn't. He had to stop caring the day she was taken to the Top Quarter. "Things have to change Clara, this world is going to die." "I can't lead these people into war." "You don't think the Second and Third Quarters change? That they'll turn on the Elite too?" "The elite wouldn't hesitate to destroy them. Level one section here or there just to make a point." "Martyrs." Her steal grey eyes burned into him. "Would you be willing to let an entire Sector die?" Muscles in his body twitched lightly. Waves of discomfort passed through her, strangling every nerve. He had no answers for her; he was willing to die, but what about letting others die. He had only what he knew and that wasn't enough to placate her. "Do you ever wonder how special you are to this world Gabriel?" Gabriel looked up slowly, he could see the shallow shadows that washed over the small dips in her neck where her own muscles were tight. He could see the deep red of her lips and traced the lines, wondering how many hours she had sat biting them lightly, if she even still did that. Her eyes were poised, cold, calculative, unwavering. If she would lead, he wouldn't be the only one willing to march into slaughter. "All the time." He chocked as breath caught in his wind pipe, threatening to release his passion, his fear. She turned her gaze from him to the glass of water in her hands and placed it down beside the plant. Gabriel watched her face. She traced her slender finger around the rim purposefully. "All you need to do is dip your finger in the water, and notice the change when you take it out." Clara turned her eyes back to Gabriel; they were no less intense, but the stare was some how slightly lazier. "I don't like looking at the glass Gab, I see nothing's changed."

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