I wanted to scream. He’d left my sister out on the boundary road to die. I threw the broken bottle down on the couch, making him flinch. Then I stomped across the cellar and up the dark steps, and burst out the door. Outside I grabbed my moped and got the hell out of that sector. I knew what I had to do now. I had to go see Pa.
18
I HATE GOING TO HEALTHCARE United. Hate, hate, hate it. And every time I go, I remember that someday I won’t have to come here anymore. Then I feel both glad and guilty.
The receptionist on duty recognized me, of course. For the first month I’d come every single day. Then every other day. After that the neighbors had faded away, and there was no more help in the fields or people bringing food by for me and Becca. Once I started having to work the farm and feed us and keep the house going, my visits dropped down to a couple times a week.
On the second floor I passed the baby nursery and couldn’t help glancing in. Today there were three babies in their little plastic bassinets. Which meant that roughly nine months ago, three people had died. Balance is everything in the cell. On the side of the Management Building was a public screen that kept a running tally of how many people had died that month. So if five people had died, then the next five people on the waiting list for babies got their licenses approved. They had three months to make good on it, then they had to cede their place to the next couple in line. A few times in my life, more people had died than there were people on the baby-license waiting list. Then the Provost visited couples who had only one child so far and encouraged them to have another.
Again, balance is everything. To help with predictable population planning, there was System-Assisted Suicide. You didn’t even need a license for it. You just called them up and a black van showed up at your door. They made sure your papers were in order, and then the nurse hooked you up, the preacher stood there and prayed with your family, and you died.
Of course Pa, being Pa, had chosen his own way out.
He’d been in the Lingering Wing for a while now. His room looked out over the memorial garden, not that he saw anything. I pushed open his door and was greeted as usual by the soft beep and whir of machines. Not extreme measures to keep him alive, of course—that would throw the balance all out of whack. No, just machines to feed him, monitor him, let the nurses know if anything happened. Anything like him dying, for example.
When Becca and I were little, Pa had been the strongest, handsomest man we knew. He could carry both of us on his shoulders at once, while we shrieked and clung to his hair or his ears. Ma would laugh and tell him to put us down before we fell. I was never afraid of falling. I knew Pa would catch me.
He was neither strong nor handsome now.
Behind me the door opened and one of Pa’s regular nurses came in quietly.
“Hey, Sandy,” I said.
“Hey, Cassie,” she said softly.
I moved to the bed and took one of Pa’s hands. It was warm, and the skin was softer and smoother than it had been when he was working the fields. Well, months in the Lingering Wing could do that.
I needed Sandy to leave so I could tell Pa about Becca, but I knew why she was here.
“Cassie,” she began. “I need to tell you again—”
“About our options for System-Assisted Suicide,” I finished for her. “Pa won’t ever get better. He’s dying, but slowly. He has minimal brain function. He’ll never be able to work again. He’ll never come home. I should let the system lovingly help him find his way to his final rest. It will be fast, painless, and is a service offered for free to our citizens.”
With a look full of compassion, Sandy nodded. I knew this wasn’t her idea. I knew she was required to tell Pa’s relatives about Murder United.
“I’m sorry, Cassie,” she said gently. “I know it’s hard. But it really would be better for your father now. It’s been three months since… the incident. His lungs are slowly filling with fluid, and his kidneys are shutting down. We don’t want him to suffer anymore, do we?”
I shook my head, trying not to cry. Sandy was probably right, but I just couldn’t sign the order that would take my pa away forever. Not yet.
“I’ll think about it,” I said, which was more than I usually agreed to. I saw surprise in Sandy’s eyes, and then she squeezed my shoulder and left as quietly as she had come.
I leaned against Pa’s bed and held his hand. “Hi, Pa,” I said, and then my voice broke. I cleared my throat and tried again. “It’s me, Cassie. You won’t believe what I’m going to tell you about Becca.” I took a deep breath. “She’s actually at home studying. Studying! Becca! I asked her what she had done with the real Becca.” I gave a small fake laugh and held his hand tighter. “Well, maybe she’s changing, Pa. Maybe she’s growing up at last. That would be good, wouldn’t it? Anyway, I’m sure she’ll come visit you soon. And so will I.”
Leaning over, careful not to dislodge the sensors, I kissed Pa’s cool forehead. “I have to go now, but you get better soon, you hear me? I need you at home. You get better immediately, if not sooner. Okay?” Then, clamping my jaws together so I wouldn’t start bawling, I turned and got out of there as fast as I could.
19
IF PA WERE HIMSELF, HE’D have seen through my lies in a jackrabbit second. These days, I could get away with anything.
The moped and I were both running low on juice by the time I came up on the town square. The streetlights showed a crowd of people standing around the Management Building’s steps. Maybe they were handing out extras of some kind, like milk or apples—they did sometimes. I parked the moped and glanced at my watch: 9:00. One hour till curfew.
I’m pretty tall, but I still had to peer over people’s heads and edge my way into the crowd before I saw what was happening.
“When else in the history of this great union have we achieved such impressive goals? But we have, neighbors! Our cell—and every other cell—reports one hundred percent literacy!” Provost Allen said, opening his arms wide. A spotlight made him look like he was glowing against the dark backdrop of the Management Building. The crowd cheered and clapped, all the cellfolk nodding and smiling at each other.
The Provost of our cell—whose word was literally law—stood at the top of the steps, looking down at us. He was like everyone’s uncle, everyone’s strong shoulder to lean on—that’s what his office said. He came to company Christmas parties, grade twelve graduations, sometimes even baby namings. My pa had told me that the Provost and his family had moved here fifteen years ago, sent here by the system.
“Under my guidance, and thanks to your strength and work ethic, our cell has reached an all-time high in wheat production, feed-corn production, and milk production!” the Provost went on as people clapped more. “We are Stronger United!”