Chapters Twenty-eight and Twenty-nine

The Assembly Chamber reminded me of a bowl cut in cross section:  Rows of cadet-blue seats fanned down and in toward an elevated, slightly curved dais crowned with a highly polished black table.  By the time everyone else filed in, the Council members—aside from Vella, who was still wearing diapers and sucking her thumb on Deck Three—were already seated in throne-like black-leather chairs set behind the table, facing the audience.  As Eran and I stepped through the middle portal in a set of three, I was jolted by the sight of Abila Lawler occupying the chair that had been Ke-Ling’s.

She and Garan were engrossed in conversation, bodies angled toward one another, heads together.  To Garan’s left, Rune leaned forward so he could see around Theda Sofert to speak to Enid, who listened intently, then nodded gravely before she sat back again.  Watching the two of them interact so easily gave me chills.  If I hadn’t known better, I would have sworn our security chief was solidly with the official program.  I had to hand it to him—he had cool, calm, and collected down pat.

Me, not so much.  I had to force myself not to glance around nervously, keeping my eyes glued to the gray-carpeted steps as I descended.  I didn’t want to attract anyone’s attention—my emotions were still raw and volatile, and I was afraid someone might read them in my face.  I also didn’t want to single out any of my friends with the wrong kind of glance, although when Rune first recommended against sitting together, I wrote it off as him being professionally over-cautious.  But as Eran and I shuffled into a centrally located row to our right, and I settled into the aisle seat, stomach fluttering and nerves strung tight, I decided maybe it hadn’t hurt to be careful after all.  Lu was every bit as emotional as I was, so sitting next to her would have been a recipe for disaster.  A group of people sitting in a row, telegraphing unspoken messages via meaningful glances and raised eyebrows wouldn’t have been much better.  Rune had been right.

The crowd rustled, whispered, and murmured, prickly with suspense, hungry for reassurance, but shadowed by inescapable doubts and fears.  The subdued restlessness eddied around me like a mild electric current, making my skin tingle and raising the fine hairs on the back of my neck.  After what seemed like an hour, but was probably no more than ten or fifteen minutes, Evin Talbott bounded up the steps to the dais, strode rapidly across, and bent to whisper in the First Councilor’s ear.  Everyone stopped talking when Garan nodded and stood.

He didn’t speak right away, but slowly scanned the audience.  Was he trying to gage our mood or establish a quick, subtle connection?  I didn’t know but wished he would get on with it.  Apparently, he read my mind.

“None of us,” he began, “could have foreseen the circumstances that bring us together this evening.  We were caught totally unprepared, because we never dreamed anything remotely like this could happen.  Lacking a protocol to guide us, my colleagues and I have worked almost around the clock for the past week to come up with an appropriate response and to find a way to put these events into their proper perspective.”  He raised one hand, palm up.  “I know what you’re thinking:  ‘Is that even possible?’”  His hand fell back to his side.  “I don’t know.  I only know we have to try.  We have to find a way to go on from here.

“Like you, I’m shocked, heartbroken, and bewildered.  Doctor Ke-Ling Yan was one of our best and brightest, the unsung hero of the Life Continuance Movement, and a selfless servant of the higher good.  We all remember the day he and Doctor Lawler were awarded the Humanitas Science Prize for their tireless efforts to conquer the Known Span and for the revolutionary techniques they engineered as part of that battle.  To a man and woman, we basked in the reflected light of their honor; in a very real sense, their triumph was our own.”

He shook his head sadly.  “Now Doctor Yan has gone from us.  The manner of his death doesn’t bear thinking about.  Yet we have to think about it.  We have to penetrate the dark confusion surrounding his loss and come to some kind of understanding.  What could have happened?  Could it happen again?  If it could happen again, how do we prevent it?”  He paused.  “And finally, what are we to make of our friend’s incredible parting allegations?”  Eran hadn’t moved since we sat down, but I could feel a fine tension radiating from him.  “I don’t have the expertise to speak intelligently to any of those questions,” Garan admitted.  With a slight nod toward the individuals sitting to either side of him, he continued, “Fortunately for all of us, there are those sitting at this table who do.  I’m going to turn this meeting over to them.  Rune?”  He sat as all eyes locked on Gaspar.

Rune leaned forward in his chair, resting his forearms on the table and clasping his hands.  “Councilman Garan asked me to go over the facts as we know them.  That’s a good idea for a couple of reasons.  One, it’ll put us all on the same page before we go any further.  Two, you have an incident like this, the rumor mill starts working overtime.  Separating fact from fiction is going to make things easier on all of us.  The facts of this case are hard enough to swallow; getting ourselves into one uproar after another over wild speculation won’t help matters.

“The high points you already got straight from the horse’s mouth, so to speak.  Doctor Yan’s broadcast didn’t leave anything to the imagination, up to and including the manner of his death which occurred twelve days ago at approximately 0301 hours.  My job is to give you a time line of events leading up to his demise and to make a start on putting his final actions into context.”

Even though he had warned us he would have to be part of the spin team, hearing Rune talk so matter-of-factly about Ke-Ling was hard to take.  I had to remind myself he was on our side.  He hated the charade as much as we did, but like he had said, “When the chips are falling, you had better stand still until you see where they land.”

Back when the truth first fell on me like a ton of bricks, common sense dictated I hunker down and keep the revelation to myself.  But as the months passed, the burden of truth grew heavier.  The urge to collar the oblivious and tell it like it was ripened to an ever-present ache, a Quixotic yearning to save my people from themselves.  The longing was something my friends and I all felt.  We might have found a way to spread the good news, if Enid Huw hadn’t played the Alpha Genesis card.  Now here we sat, muzzled evangelists pretending to be part of the crowd until the dust settled.  Sighing inwardly, I forced my attention back to Rune.

“—first popped up on my radar because of some interesting behavioral changes and a dramatic decrease in time spent in the Gen-Lab.  The critical red flag as far as I was concerned was the fact that, despite these pronounced shifts in behavior, there was no record of Ke-Ling Yan visiting an Adjuster.  By the time Abila got around to consulting Enid Huw, I had been surveiling Yan for a week or so.

“Other than the fact that he seemed preoccupied, tended to keep to himself, and stayed away from the lab, I didn’t uncover anything at first.  I started to think I had overreacted.  Maybe the explanation was as simple as a scientist stewing over a new theory, working the knots out in his mind before getting down to business.  I had about decided the investigation was a waste of time when the messaging started.”

Rune’s piercing gaze swept the crowd.  “You’ve all seen the video, so the gist of those messages and the meetings that followed is no secret.  His co-workers argued until they were blue in the face, but nothing they said dented his conviction that the Known Span was an impassable barrier.  They couldn’t change his mind about the fidelity, or lack of same, in replication.  Maybe he didn’t expect the push-back.  For whatever reason, his psychological condition deteriorated even more.  The messages dried up, he withdrew further.  His colleagues tried, but nobody could convince him to get help.”  Abila Lawler put one hand over her eyes as Rune continued, “He got in touch with his staff once more to say he had decided to speak to the Council and invited them to be on hand to rebut.  That was enough for me.  I decided to bring Enid into the loop.  As it turned out, Abila Lawler beat me to the punch.

“By this time, I was monitoring everyone concerned.  When I found out the other parties involved—and by that I mean Enid, Abila, and the Gen-Lab staff—were planning to ask Kiril to authorize an intervention, I contacted them, advising them to hold off on any further plans and communications until I could work up an airtight case.”  His lips thinned grimly.  “I obviously didn’t work quickly enough.”

Theda laid a hand on his shoulder as Enid shook her head firmly.  “There was no way you could have known,” said the psychiatrist, “no way any of us could have predicted Ke-Ling’s aberrant behavior.  A psychochemical imbalance had clearly occurred, and we believed it was catastrophic enough to warrant involuntary treatment.  But no one involved, not even I, appreciated the full extent of his neurosis.  He didn’t express self-destructive impulses or overtly display any of the preparations classically associated with an impending suicide attempt.  Lacking those indicators, and in light of the fact that suicide is completely alien to us as a culture, Yan’s decision to take his own life can only be characterized as wholly unforeseeable.”

Was she right?  Or should we have guessed that caught between her plan to ravage his mind and his own feelings of loss, our friend would see only the one way out?  Not for the first time, I wondered if we were wrong to tell him about the conversation between Enid and Abila; and not for the first time, I couldn’t see how we could have failed to warn him.  Besides, we all had a vested interest in brainstorming a strategy for dealing with the situation; it wasn’t like his was the only neck under Damocles’ Sword.  Although, to be fair, he had been first in line.

But replaying his final comments in my mind, I didn’t think Ke-Ling had elected to take that fatal step because he had been convinced intervention was inevitable.  Rather, he had seen the mere suggestion of Alpha Genesis as the final nail in hope’s coffin.  Unable to regain his balance, he only knew he could no longer be the man he had been.  The Quingenti, on the other hand, weren’t going to let him be anyone else.  If we had understood the depth of his despair, would we have seen the handwriting on the wall?  Before I could decide, the sound of Garan’s sonorous voice pulled me back to the business at hand.

He was addressing Enid.  “I think one of the questions on everyone’s mind is, could something like this happen again?”

She hesitated slightly before reluctantly answering, “I would like to be able to say no.  However, while it’s highly unlikely the chain of events that triggered Ke-Ling’s breakdown will be duplicated, but we can’t be sure.  We can’t unequivocally rule out future incidences.”

The answering uneasy murmur started small, but quickly rose like a tide, rushing toward the dais until Garan held up a placating hand.  “All right, all right.  Let’s hear what Enid has to say.”

Looking more than a little uneasy herself, the woman ran a hand over the crown of her head, nervously fingering the weave of her French braid.  Probably wondering just how many crazies are out here, I thought, briefly, bitterly amused in spite of myself.

Enid lifted her chin slightly and cleared her throat, no doubt a device calculated to help her regain her professional composure.  If that’s what it was, it worked, because when she spoke again, her voice was steady.  “As I said, we can’t rule out anything.  What we can and will do, is take steps to determine if anyone else is at risk.  We’ll begin individual in-depth psychiatric assessments immediately.”

I stiffened involuntarily.  Unable to stop myself, I darted an alarmed glance at Eran.  Our gazes held for a second before he gave an infinitesimal shake of his head and a slight nod toward the dais, mouthing, Rune.  I forced myself to look.  Unbelievably, Gaspar seemed completely relaxed, one crooked forearm still resting on the table, the other on the arm of his chair.  He was staring straight at me, and as our eyes locked, I could feel him willing me to keep it together.  I belatedly realized Enid’s announcement came as no surprise to him, since as a Council member he would have weighed in on every decision.  He probably already had a counter-plan.  Releasing a quiet breath, I dipped my chin a tiny fraction of an inch, letting him know I was going for the stiff upper lip.  His eyes warmed with approval before his gaze shifted back to Enid.

“Unfortunately, I and Jasun Iakona,” she said with a nod toward the barrel-chested, balding psychologist seated in the front row, “are the only fully trained, mature staff available at this time.  Given the fact that there are only two of us qualified to collect and interpret the data, surveying everyone on board will take some time, perhaps as long as a year and a half.”

Her next statement brought both surprise and relief.  “Rune Gaspar has agreed to sit in on all evaluations in order to insure objectivity and the safety of everyone concerned.  One of his people will take over that duty when the time comes for the Councilman himself to be assessed.”  She glanced down at her associate.  “Jasun?  Would you care to go over the particulars?”

Iakona stood and turned to face us.  His homely, rough-hewn features appeared fatherly and benign.  “Our evaluative regimen will include psychoactive medications designed to give us access to the deepest levels of the subconscious, a complete battery of diagnostic tests—blood workups, brain scans, and the like—and computerized screenings designed to detect physiological indicators of deceit and/or evasion.  In addition to the assistance already mentioned, Rune will lend a hand during that last phase, since the technology involved is more commonly employed by law enforcement or security personnel than those of us in the psychiatric professions.”

“Thank you, Jasun,” said Enid as he sat down.  “Doctor Iakona and I will begin by interviewing one another, followed for obvious reasons by essential personnel—pilots, engineers, navigators, reactor technicians, and so on.  Then members of the Council.  Because of their repeated exposure to Ke-Ling and his ideas, the Gen-Lab staff will form the fourth group of interviewees, after which we’ll move on to security and medical staff.  Once those key groups are processed, nonessential personnel will be scheduled alphabetically by last name.”

“In the meantime,” interjected Rune, “Security Section will keep eyes on the situation.  If we spot anyone acting out of the ordinary, he or she wins a quick trip to the front of the line.”

Enid nodded, adding, “We all need to be on the lookout for abnormal behavior.  If you notice anything unusual, if you have any doubts at all about a friend’s or acquaintance’s mental state, report the matter to Security; they’ll look into it immediately—discreetly, of course.  Take care of each other and take care of yourselves.  If you’re struggling, don’t wait to notify us.  Don’t force someone else to report you or compel us to intervene without your consent.  Remember:  We’re here to help.  What happened to Ke-Ling Yan need never, must never, happen again.”

The Janus was morphing into an interstellar police state right before my eyes.  The future was all too clear.  Plagued by fearful suspicions, the Colony would quickly breed panicked informants.  Meanwhile, the best solution the powers that be had to offer was to schedule every soul trapped on board for a mandatory mind rape, courtesy of Enid, Jasun, and the miracles of modern medicine.  There was no question in my mind:  If things proceeded according to plan, Alpha Genesis would see the light of day in no time at all.

Ω

Chapter Twenty-nine

The more I thought about it, the worse I felt.  I almost bolted then and there.  Not that I had anywhere to go, but no way in Hades did I want wait around to find out what other disasters Garan and his crew had up their long, black sleeves.  Rune or no Rune, I was one stitch away from coming apart at the seams when Eran covered my hand with his and squeezed gently.  I wouldn’t go so far as to say I was instantaneously reassured, but being reminded he was there in the fullest sense of the word did take the edge off.

“Thank you, Enid,” said Garan.  He turned a paternal gaze our way.  “Long centuries ago, you entrusted yourselves to this Council, agreeing to abide by whatever rulings we deemed it necessary to make.  New protocols, however, must be approved by a majority vote of everyone on board.  I want you to know each member of the Council had a hand in drafting the proposed procedures; we approved them unanimously.  But whether the protocol is actually enacted or not is up to you.  Before we put the matter to a general vote, does anyone have any questions?”

A hand went up down front.

“Asiya?”

“What constitutes abnormal behavior?” asked the Medi-Tech from the Ectogenesis Lab.  “I mean, everybody has bad days now and then, you know?  Sometimes two or three at a stretch.”

“An excellent question,” conceded Huw.  “Generally speaking, we’re looking for pronounced changes lasting two or more weeks.  You heard Rune mention the fact that Ke-Ling became withdrawn?  That would be of particular concern, especially combined with evidence of depression or prior episodes of extreme agitation.  Be alert, but use your common sense, too.  When in doubt, if you feel comfortable doing it, approach the individual in question and ask if anything is wrong.  Try to draw him or her out.  You would be surprised—many unhappy people are more than ready to unburden themselves; they’re only waiting for a sympathetic ear.  Once they open up to you, it’s often a small step to get them to admit they need help.”

“Believing it would be abnormal behavior,” called a voice.  It came from one of the upper rows behind me.  Necks craned as those sitting in the lower seats tried to spot the speaker.

“Believing what?” said Garan, scanning the crowd in search of the source.

Up in the last row a thin, red-faced man popped to his feet.  Cecyl Fachtna was the Colony’s pinched, scrawny proofreader.  Any and all written works produced aboard the Janus were raked over with Cecyl’s fine-toothed comb before publication.  A well-known punctuation stickler and grammar nut, Fachtna was a guy who knew all the rules and played by them.  Religiously.

“Believing that madman’s claims,” clarified Cecyl.  “That would be abnormal behavior, too.  Am I right?”

A deathly hush fell on the assembly as heads swiveled back toward the dais.  My stomach contracted into a tight, hard knot, and my palms grew damp as I waited for the other shoe to drop.

Garan’s aristocratic features were tinged with faint disapproval.  “Let’s take first things first, shall we?  Once  the ballot has been taken, we’ll address the issue of Ke-Ling’s unorthodox allegations.”

As he was wont to do when arguing against the excessive use of commas or championing the three- versus four-dot ellipse, Fachtna folded his arms across his chest—always a bad sign.  “You expect us to cast a vote one way or the other,” he sniffed, “without thoroughly comprehending the parameters?  Forgive my impertinence, but I don’t understand your obvious hesitation here.  My question was rhetorical, by the way.  Frankly, I don’t see the need to address the issue at all.  These so-called allegations were nothing more than the deranged ranting of a man who was clearly certifiably insane.  A raving lunatic.”

“Is that your professional diagnosis?”  Rune shook his head.  “Ease up on the name calling, Fachtna.  The man’s dead.  Besides, we already established the fact that for all we know, what happened to him could happen to any of us.”  He paused.  “Even you.  Or weren’t you listening?”

“Ke-Ling Yan encountered a traumatic professional setback, one that led him to believe his life’s work had been misguided and completely in vain,” Enid cut in.  “Since his work was his life, the sense of loss must have been enormous.  We have every reason to believe that trauma triggered a chemical imbalance that became more acute when he drew various conclusions from his perceived failure.  Conclusions, I might add, that were entirely logical, based on his premise.”

“So what are you saying?” Cecyl muttered with a wary glance toward Rune.  “Yan was right?”

“I’m saying,” Enid replied patiently, “Ke-Ling Yan was not insane.  He was deeply depressed, disastrously mistaken, but he was not seriously deranged, nor was he a ‘raving lunatic.’”

“Maybe not, but he was wrong.”  Enid started to say something, but Fachtna cut her off with a smug, “You just admitted as much, Doctor.”

“It appears,” interrupted Garan, “we’re going to discuss Ke-Ling’s allegations before the ballot after all.  In the interest of moving things along, I suggest we yield the floor to Abila Lawler without further ado.  Please sit down, Cecyl.  I think you’ve made your contribution to this evening’s proceedings.”

Council blacks suited Abila in a macabre sort of way, highlighting both her pallor and the sylph-like aura that clung like mist to her tall, willowy frame.  She had pulled her hair into a severe knot, a style that emphasized the wide, dark pools of her eyes and the hollows under her high cheekbones.  Her  white hands contrasted starkly with the black tabletop where they lay.

“Thank you, Kiril, for giving me this opportunity to address my late colleague’s assertions.  I would like to preface my remarks by stating this for the record:  Doctor Ke-Ling Yan was one of the most gifted researchers the scientific world has ever produced.  His knowledge base was formidable, his methods precise, his instincts exceptional.  No one was more dedicated to, or contributed as much to, the quest for life continuance.  Sadly, in the end this same burning devotion to the cause acted as a catalyst in his eventual downfall.

“Imagine waging a centuries-long nonstop battle against man’s greatest enemy, death.  Think about the painstaking, meticulous research involved, checking and rechecking results day in and day out, year in and year out.  Imagine investing yourself completely almost every waking moment, because there’s so much at stake for hundreds of people—and for the generations that will eventually descend from them.  If you can imagine all that, you’ll begin to understand how it was for Ke-Ling … what his work meant to him.”

A tear stole softly down my cheek.  I hadn’t expected anybody outside our circle to present this kind of eloquent tribute to our friend.

“Genetic engineering eliminated chromosomal imperfections well before we left Earth,” she went on, “including those caused by the aging process and mutation.  We spent our first few spans going over every advance again and again.  We wanted to make sure nothing had been missed during the dash for genetic perfection.  Once we were confident nothing had, we shifted to a biochemical focus, examining cellular processes and mechanisms in a hunt for hidden failures or inherent weaknesses.”  Her long finger started to trace an absent circle on the table.  “Last month we reached an unavoidable conclusion:  There was nothing to find.  The cause of death hadn’t been tucked among the chromosomes, now we knew it wasn’t lurking in the cell’s chemistry.  At first glance, there appeared to be no biological explanation for mortality.

“The rest of us were temporarily stunned, but Ke-Ling was shattered.  Whereas our attention quickly turned to identifying other avenues of approach, he became fixated on the idea that the Known Span would never, could never, be breached.  You all know where that conviction led him.”  She fell silent for a moment, moistening her lips before continuing, “Those of us who remain in the department—Doctors Kosha Poya, Choko Tsutomu, Skyler Velle, and myself—would like to assure all of you Ke-Ling was, as Enid put it, disastrously mistaken.  We’re confident our current tack will eventually uncover the lethal flaw in human physiology.  Once we identify it, it will only be a matter of time before we find a way to correct it.”

“Can you expand on the direction your research is taking?  It might help set minds at ease,” suggested Garan.  “Nothing too detailed—it’s doubtful most of us would understand—but perhaps you could share your basic plan of attack.  I know I personally found it both plausible and reassuring.”

“Of course.  To put it in a nutshell, Doctors Xiao-Ping Zhang and Adrienne Soames—who, as you all know, are theoretical biophysicists of considerable expertise and renown—will be taking the lead as we proceed on the hypothesis that the forces dictating the Known Span operate on a subatomic level within one or more of the cell’s myriad molecular structures.”

Picking through the subatomic makeup of “myriad molecular structures” sounded like a long-term proposition, guaranteed to keep them in business for a few more centuries.  I could only marvel at their persistence.  It took real willpower—or blind, pigheaded stubbornness, depending on your point of view—to turn your back on the truth once it had been flung in your face.  But then, they weren’t looking for truth, were they?  Keeping the dream alive was the name of this game.

Good luck with that, Abila.  My friends and I weren’t looking for the truth, either; it came looking for us.

“Sounds promising,” Garan noted with approval, “and I know I speak for everyone present when I say we’ll be eagerly awaiting good news from your team in the not-too-distant future.  Now that we’ve dealt with Ke-Ling’s first declaration, can you speak to the other?”

A tiny line formed between Abila’s brows as she tucked her hands in her lap.  Not that I was an expert in body language or anything, but to my untrained eye she seemed at least mildly uncomfortable with tackling this one head on. “You mean his remarks about variations between replicants.”

Kiril nodded.  “The idea that the differences might … that we might not be ….”  He trailed off, clearly unwilling or unable to spit it out.  Meanwhile, the unspoken possibility raised by his unfinished sentence hovered like a cloud over each member of the audience.  “It’s a significant concern,” he finished lamely.

“Before we left Earth,” the geneticist began almost hesitantly, “the prevailing scientific opinion was that no two generations were identical in every respect, regardless of the methodology used to produce them.  This opinion was so widespread, it was postulated as a law and taught as such in elementary biology classes, eventually achieving the status of common knowledge.  We know the Prime Tenet and the Protocols were, in part, drafted with this eventuality in mind.”  She shifted slightly in her chair.  “However, in the hundreds of years since our departure, we’ve had no means to physically verify or disprove this theory.”

Theory? I sat up straighter.  Was she heading where I thought she was?  Surely not.  Surely, she didn’t intend to discount tens of thousands of documented case studies?

Surely she did.

“We’ve come a long way since then, made incredible advances in both genetics and the replication process.  We’re absolutely confident in our ability to replicate each individual with complete accuracy.  With the Prime Tenet and the Protocols to guide the post-gestational formative process, seamless continuance of both physical and conscious existence have been achieved.”

I blinked.  That was it?  Her answer to a raft of scientific evidence was one large dollop of denial and another of wishful thinking?  Who did she think she was fooling?  One quick glance at the relieved, smiling faces around me served as a harsh reminder:  You don’t have to fool people already intent on fooling themselves; just tell them what they want to hear.

“I would be happy to answer questions at this time,” offered Abila.  No one had any.

Garan’s gratified expression spoke for almost everyone.  “Thank you, Abila.  I trust your remarks have laid to rest any and all concerns about the truth of Ke-Ling’s misguided opinions, which were obviously both the cause and the result of his mental incapacitation.  Which brings us to the decision at hand.  The protocol under consideration is designed to make sure no one else succumbs to a breakdown like the one that tore Ke-Ling from our midst.  You have the facts as we know them, and you’ve heard our carefully considered proposed course of action.  Please use the handhelds stored in your armrests to review and vote on the proposal.  Take your time.  Once you’ve cast your vote, please leave quietly.  As soon as all votes are counted, we’ll disseminate the results.”

Giving my fingers one more gentle squeeze, Eran released my hand.  At the touch of a recessed button, a panel in the top of my armrest slid back, revealing a slim, rectangular touch screen tucked in a lightly padded niche.  The Protocol text populated a frame on the left-hand side of the screen, two voting icons flashed on the right:  For bordered in green and Against in red.  Abstention wasn’t an option.

I sat there staring at the thing like it was a snake poised to strike before I reluctantly lifted it out.  It felt weightless, cool, and lethal cradled in my palm.  Understanding the reasons for what I was about to do didn’t make doing it one bit easier.  Nor did the fact that I didn’t have a choice; if anything, that awareness only increased my agitation.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Eran touch the screen to cast his vote.

Suck it up, Kai, and it over with. Rune and Eran insisted this was the only safe way.  Reminding myself of the unpleasant consequences bound to follow if a no vote were cast, a vote they would easily be able to trace back to me, I unhappily tapped For.

But as Eran and I stood and silently climbed the steps,  I wondered how long it would be before they tracked us down anyway.

© 2010, Kathy DiSanto, all rights reserved