“My, she’s certainly a thorough woman, isn’t she?”
Perrin chuckled tightly. “Yes, Administrator Giyak. When Mahrree gets started on something, there’s really no stopping her.” Then he held his breath. If there would be any fallout from what she’d said yesterday morning, it would likely come now.
The Administrator of Security sifted through the detailed pages of what had occurred in Edge, and Mahrree’s recommendations for the future. “So I see,” he muttered, smiling faintly at the words. “Probably fortunate for the world she can’t be elected a magistrate. She’d redo the entire village.”
Perrin forced another chuckle. “She’s said the same thing herself. Good thing, eh?”
The Administrator glanced up at him with an expression that said, We’ll just let yesterday slide.
Perrin nodded once back.
“So,” Giyak looked at the other three officers seated at the table with Perrin, then at the Administrator of Family Life who sat across from them, watching Perrin intently. “We’re here to discuss the reaction of the villages and forts to the recent crisis, and to catalogue what has so far proven successful, and the ways we need to improve—”
Perrin put his hand under the table and made a rolling motion, hoping it would subliminally encourage the Administrator of Security to get to his point. In the corner sat a young officer madly trying to record every unnecessary word. Perrin regarded poor Lieutenant Nelt with sympathy.
“—and we’ll start with Colonel Shin, whose village, it seems, was one of the hardest hit. We have the details of the clean up efforts,” he waved Mahrree’s pages, “but what I’m wondering is, how is Edge planning to pay for all the rebuilding?”
Perrin exhaled. “Sir, that’s what I’m wondering too. For now, everyone is helping, but that’s because they’re numb. Once that numbness wears off, it will turn to pain. And no one seems to think that pain is part of the human condition; they seem to think they should be compensated for it.”
“Interesting observation, Colonel,” Dr. Brisack smiled warmly. “You’re absolutely right. The glow of generosity will fade, and then?”
“Well, the labor’s free, so to speak,” Perrin said. “It’s mostly the soldiers doing the work, culling lumber from the river banks and edges of the forest. I can compensate them for their double shifts later by giving them extra days off and relaxing on drills. But the sawmill will want to be paid. So will others who have been generous with livestock they’ve given to be butchered. I worry that the glow’s already died, Doctor. Now, there have been a few families completely wiped out by the tremor. We can auction off what remains of their possessions, then use that money to help compensate, but that likely won’t be enough . . .”
He trailed off, unsure of what else to say. It’d been pressing on him for days, how to help those who had lost everything. Some of the shop owners not only lost all their goods, but their gold and silver. Most had their metals hidden in their stores, and it melted in the heat of the blazes, slipping irretrievably into cracks of stone. The memory of Mr. and Mrs. Snobgrass, sobbing at the charred remains of their shoppe—even the extra p and e reduced to ash like their adornments—tore at him.
Perrin looked at his hands as if there might be a solution there he hadn’t noticed. “What are you doing in Idumea?”
“Well,” Giyak began proudly, “we have a surplus, as we have always had, in reserve for such a situation. Major?”
The major sitting next to Perrin produced several pieces of parchment. “Full listings of homes that were damaged or destroyed, along with the estimates to repair or replace them.”
The Administrator of Security took the pages and turned to the last one, looking at the final total. “Just as we expected. You see, Colonel Shin, the Administrators will pay for the repairs of all these homes.”
Perrin’s jaw dropped. “You . . . you will what?”
Dr. Brisack grinned. “Fantastic, isn’t it? That’s what this Administration has done for the world, Colonel Shin: we provide.”
Perrin shook his head in astonishment. “That’s . . . that’s really quite amazing. And what do you expect back?”
Giyak scoffed. “Nothing, Colonel! This is why we’re here: to take care of every little thing, as your wife so accurately accused us of yesterday. Could the kings ever have done something like this? Of course not! But we’re here for the people.”
“And you want nothing back? Well, except for what you already take in ever-increasing taxes and fees,” Perrin muttered to himself. He swallowed when he realized the Administrators were staring at him.
“All we want, dear Colonel,” Giyak said distinctly, “is devotion. Loyalty. Allegiance. Is that too much to ask?”
Oh, it could be, Perrin thought bitterly, depending on what the Administrators are loyal to.
He realized he hadn’t answered yet when the lieutenant colonel sitting on the other side of him coughed quietly.
“Loyalty,” Perrin began, desperately searching for a response that would please them yet allow him to remain true to himself, “is always a noble characteristic,” he finished vaguely.
Giyak nodded, seemingly satisfied by the answer. But Dr. Brisack watched Perrin with a faint smile.
Giyak dropped the pages in front of Perrin. “Take a look at what we can do for Idumea, Colonel. And perhaps we can do the same for Edge.”
Perrin missed the suggestion as he thumbed through the pages. He looked at the first, then at the fourth, then back to the first again. “Sir, I don’t understand . . . here’s the estimate for rebuilding a two bedroom home in the north near Pools, and another estimate for a similarly sized home in eastern Idumea. The home in the north is budgeted for nearly twice as much as the other house. Why?”
Giyak looked at the major for an explanation.
“Zebra Eztates vs. Dripping Stream.”
“Ah,” Giyak nodded. “Of course. Colonel, the quality of houses in Zebra Eztates is markedly different than Dripping Stream. Those that live in Zebra Eztates—”
“Wait a minute,” Perrin interrupted. “Don’t both families deserve the same quality of construction? Look at this—most of Dripping Stream was devastated. Why is that?”
“Poorer construction,” the major told him. “Older homes. The place has been rundown for quite some time. It’s convenient so much was destroyed. Been wanting to clear that area out for a while,” he sniffed.
“So the houses you’ll replace will be again of inferior construction?” Perrin asked, genuinely bewildered.
Dr. Brisack leaned forward on the table, and Perrin felt as if he were being analyzed.
“They don’t mind,” the major promised him. “They’re used to simpler things. But those in Zebra Eztates, they’re used to better, so they need better.”
“Everyone deserves a sturdy house, Major!” Perrin declared.
Brisack smiled indistinctly.
Giyak scoffed. “There’s simply not enough funds to build everyone a mansion, Colonel!”
“I don’t live in a mansion in Edge, Administrator,” Perrin said steadily. “I live a fifty-year-old home with three odd additions to it, two made solely by me. It’d probably qualify as a Dripping Stream home—”
“I see,” Giyak cut him off. “Colonel, if this is about building you a better home, that’s what your new colonel’s bonus is for—”
“It is NOT about me!” a frustrated Perrin bellowed, slamming his hand on the table and stunning every man there. “It’s about treating everyone fairly! Dripping Stream deserves the same as Zebra Eztates, and if you can’t afford that, then rebuild Zebra Eztates the same as Dripping Stream. And change the name while you’re at it. Ridiculous spelling of Eztates!”
Brisack burst out laughing, but stopped when he realized he was the only one. He winked at the colonel.
Perrin looked apprehensively back at him.
Giyak exhaled. “Colonel, I appreciate your sense of fairness. Very few men have that anymore. That’s what makes you an excellent comma
nder, I’m sure. But politics is different. More delicate. Those that live in Zebra Eztates are, are . . . more achieved. More deserving of their station in life. They worked harder, are smarter . . . I don’t know. Perhaps the good doctor could explain to us the differences in achievement in one’s life.”
Brisack smiled. “Not really. Still working it out myself. I’m quite interested to hear your philosophies, Giyak. Please, continue.”
Perrin recognized the sarcasm and winked back at the doctor.
Brisack beamed.
Giyak sighed again. “You see, those who Nature have favored . . . Nature has favored. That’s all there is to it. We, as a political entity, must also recognize that Nature has chosen some for success rather than others. That so much of Dripping Stream collapsed, and so many residents there died, merely validates the fact that Nature did not choose those people.”
“Why, that’s very convenient, isn’t it?” said Perrin sardonically.
“Yes. Yes, it is,” Giyak agreed, only vaguely aware he was missing something.
“I don’t believe that’s exactly what the colonel was saying,” Brisack said with a knowing squint at Perrin. “I think he’s disagreeing with you, Giyak.”
The Administrator of Security scoffed again. “So what you’re advocating, Colonel, is that we lower the standards on the Eztates to raise those at the Stream? That would not bode well for the politics of the area.”
“How so? And why should politics be a concern?” Perrin demanded.
Giyak sighed as if dealing with a most annoying teenager.
Brisack just continued to smile.
“Dripping Stream is used to their condition,” Giyak tried valiantly. “They’re thrilled we stepping in to help them reconstruct. Their houses will be the envy of people like them.”
“People like them?” Perrin asked, his skin itching at the phrase. “People like them. As if there are different kinds of people in the world—”
“There are!” Giyak insisted. “Ask the doctor.”
Brisack shrugged. “Please, Giyak, continue. This is quite fascinating. Much I’ll have to consider.”
When Giyak shot Brisack an angry glance, Perrin held up his hands. “Sirs, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Really, I’m not trying to be difficult. I just don’t understand. In my mind, everyone deserves a mansion. Except maybe for my son. He thinks the Grand Hallway is for punting his new kickball. My mother was most displeased by that.”
The officers chuckled and Giyak smiled obligingly. Brisack grinned.
“I just worry about a society that deems one person more worthy than another. I believe in the Creator, and I believe He created us all equal. To see us deferring to some and neglecting—I’m sorry, not ‘neglecting,’ but marginalizing others in order to favor another?”
“They pay more taxes, Colonel,” Giyak told him. “They deserve more assistance.”
Perrin rubbed his forehead. “They’ve already been ‘rewarded’ with more by their status. Is it truly fair or right that a builder of a school makes three times as much as an eggman? Don’t children need food as much as they need education? Or why should I as a colonel make more than my major? We work the same hours, at the same fort, doing each other’s job most of the time—I don’t deserve more than Brillen simply because I now have brass buttons on my uniform—”
A thought came so clearly to him that he was momentarily startled it had never occurred to him before.
“My major,” he started slowly, talking to the table, “needs more than I do. Or rather, he has a young woman with sickly parents who need more than we do. My pay will go up a level with the promotion, but I don’t need extra slips of silver—”
“What did he say?” Giyak asked Brisack. “Who in the world doesn’t need more slips of silver?”
“—why should I take the extra?” Perrin continued to muse out loud, forgetting anyone else was in the room. “I earn more than enough, we don’t even need Mahrree’s earnings, in a few years our children will be on their own, yet Brillen—if he has more silver—will be able to change the lives of three more people. If extra silver’s to be given, it should be given to him with the greater need—”
Brisack leaned forward, fascinated, as he watched the colonel thinking out loud.
“And my master sergeant—Shem makes even less, but he’s the one taking the recruits out on all night maneuvers, not me. He deserves extra pay for his extra headaches. But who gets the credit for the highest retention of soldiers in the world? Me. How’s that fair? Why are we perpetuating this? I don’t get it.”
Giyak turned to Dr. Brisack. “Do you understand what he’s talking about? Because I don’t. I really don’t.”
Brisack grinned fully. “I don’t either, but he’s marvelous to listen to. Don’t you agree?”
Giyak twisted to look at Perrin who was still lost in thought.
The Creator had declared in The Writings that each person was responsible for his brothers and sisters, Perrin considered. So really, whose responsibility was it to provide equity in the world?
Not the government’s.
It was his.
“I was warned about you, Colonel, and I didn’t believe it. But now?”
That brought Perrin out of his reverie. Besides, he’d already made the decision. Mahrree would agree completely.
Perrin looked up into the perplexed face of Giyak. “Uh, I’m sorry. I just was a little . . . May I ask who warned you?”
“Chairman Nicko Mal,” Giyak said steadily.
Brisack chuckled.
Perrin tried to smile. “I am sorry, sir. I thought I’d improved over the years, but I think my proximity to my old university has triggered my adolescent need to challenge everything anyone tells me. If my wife were here right now, she’d give me a well-deserved lecture. And you’ve met Mahrree—no one can lecture quite like her.”
Perrin kept the smile on his face hoping it would work. Not his scary smile, his real one, or at least a close proximity to it, because nothing in him at that moment felt jovial.
He was miles away in thinking from these men, and it was doing nothing good for the name of Shin. It would be his father that suffered from that, not him. And the last thing his father needed right now was more aggravation, caused by his son.
Giyak couldn’t remain flustered. A smile grew on his face, and Brisack chuckled louder. The two officers sitting next to Perrin smiled—as deferring officers were known to smile—not really understanding why they were, but doing so to avoid being ordered, or questioned.
In the corner, Lieutenant Nelt continued to scribble, and for a worrying moment Perrin wondered just how much of his ramblings the young man had recorded.
“I believe our Colonel Shin has a unique way of looking at the world,” Dr. Brisack decided. “And it would do well for the world to perhaps hear a bit more of those views. Tell me, Colonel: why is it that you’ve stayed all these years in the north?”
Perrin shrugged. “I guess I’ve just grown accustomed to the mountains. They tend to grow on you, you know? So much land, in such an odd formation . . . I could stare at them for hours just pondering things.”
Giyak shook his head slowly. “Truly, Colonel, you’re the most peculiar man I’ve ever met. No one in the world likes the mountains. They’re an aberration of Nature, a deformity it has yet to rid itself of. And yet you seem to enjoy them?”
Brisack’s hands were clasped, his fingers steepled in front of him, eagerly awaiting Perrin’s response.
“I suppose I do. One man’s deformity is another man’s delight?”
“Odd,” was all Giyak could say. “Getting back to the issue of paying for rebuilding in Edge—”
But Perrin wasn’t listening. He was too engrossed in remembering what his son had recently said when they saw the filthy man picking through the trash heaps. Why did the world assume the Administrators should solve all the problems? If we are all family, as The Writings proclaimed, then shouldn’t that family take care of t
heir own?
“Paying for rebuilding Edge will be covered,” Perrin said suddenly, surprising even himself.
Giyak shook his head, realizing he had missed something. “You just said, you didn’t think it would be. There’s not enough land to auction off—”
“Those requiring compensation will be compensated, Administrator,” Perrin said confidently. “Idumea need not raid its coffers for the citizens of Edge.”
“It’s not raiding coffers,” Brisack assured him. “We want to do this for our citizens, for the families of the world. We want to demonstrate that we will take care of them.”
“To ensure loyalty?” Perrin queried. “Because Doctor, giving a little to those in need engenders a sense of gratitude and loyalty; giving too much, however, creates a sense of entitlement. And after that attitude has been placed, you have a spoiled child who throws a fit whenever he’s not given every last thing he wants. He’s no longer devoted to his benefactors, but he’ll quickly follow whoever promises to give him more.”
Brisack thought about that. “I don’t think so—”
“Oh, but I know so, Doctor. I saw it all the time with the thieving youths of Edge. They came from the most wealthy families. Their parents gave them everything, and they repaid that by following the next person in line who would give them just a little bit more: the Guarders. They didn’t need it. They just wanted it.
“But there’s a way to avoid that, Doctor, Giyak,” Perrin continued. “Provide enough to keep the villagers going, and allow them to keep their pride. They need to be able to say, ‘We persevered on our own, with a little assistance.’ All we need, sirs, is a bit of food for the next few weeks to help with our remaining stores. Just until the early harvest comes in. We have resources for building, and I promise you the costs will be taken care of, but if you provide food—just enough to get us by, then Edgers will be everlastingly loyal to you, with their pride intact.”
Giyak sneered slightly. “Where do you expect us to get this food?”
“The garrison reserves,” Perrin said easily. “I know there’s enough. My mother’s dinner isn’t using it all.” He smiled at the men.
They didn’t return it yet.
He cleared his throat. “All we would need would be about 10 wagon loads—the extra long wagons the garrison uses for supply shipments—full of grain. We can survive on bread for a few weeks until the first peas and lettuces are ready, and new livestock is born. It would be only a small fraction of the reserves; no one would miss it. And, if you’re concerned that they would, Edge will pay you back. At the end of the season, we’ll send back the same amount of grain that we took. The best way to secure loyalty is to feel a sense of duty to your benefactors. We could never repay the gold you’re offering. Edge does quite a bit in bartering. But give us the grain, let us replace it again, and I promise you that Edge will be forever loyal.”
He knew it’d work. His chest burned with the energy of the idea, so much so that it took all his strength to not leap out of his seat in excitement. This wasn’t his idea; it was the Creator’s. He was sure of it.
“No,” Brisack said simply. “I don’t think it will work.”
Perrin’s face screwed into a picture of dismay.
“I mean, Colonel, I personally think it stands a chance of success,” Brisack explained, “but I doubt those who need to release the stores will agree. Not only do you need my authorization and Giyak’s, but you also need the Administrators of Taxation, Commerce, and Farming to agree. And your father, of course, since he’s the holder of the key to it. Now, I’m sure the Administrator of Security will give his approval—”
Giyak still stood with his furrowed brows, running the proposal over in his mind.
“—but you won’t easily get Taxation. No one easily gets Taxation,” Brisack chuckled mirthlessly. “However, the funds for rebuilding Edge lie in a separate coffer, one that I alone control. One that I will willingly give you—”
Perrin’s chest tightened. “Doctor, I appreciate the offer, but it won’t work. You can’t buy the loyalty of the village.”
“Buy?” Brisack blinked in surprise. “You see this as a bribe?”
Perrin shrugged. “What else is it?”
“Charity!”
“No,” Perrin shook his head. “Charity is something else. It comes from a deep sense of love, and asks for nothing back. Charity’s greater than love, even. Love is a feeling, but charity demands sacrifice, acting on that feeling. Forgive me, but I don’t think you truly love Edge, because you don’t know them well enough. What you’re offering is a bribe to retain their loyalty. But like an ill-tempered dog, this will come back to bite you. It takes away their dignity, and one of the few things Edgers have a great deal of, in their own odd ways, is dignity. Let them keep that. Feed them, let them repay you, and see if I’m not right.”
Giyak scoffed and turned to the doctor. “Are you just going to let him—”
Brisack held up a hand to silence him. “While I am a doctor and the Administrator of Family Life, there’s something I am above that: a scientist, and one who enjoys an experiment with teeth. Perrin Shin, I will accept your ‘speculation’ that Edge will become more loyal if we provide only food reserves. But I speculate against you.”
Perrin’s belly sank to his feet. “Sir?”
“Here’s my proposal: you return to Edge in about two weeks, correct?”
“Yes, sir.”
“I want you to evaluate Edge during the week after that. Task some of your soldiers to ask those in need what they want: food or gold. Then, after that week, send me a report as to the results. I expect complete honesty from you, Colonel. Let the people decide what they want and need.”
Perrin sighed. He couldn’t imagine why people would want shiny metals when they needed warm bread, but then again there were some less-than-logical villagers. “What if the results are split?”
Brisack shrugged. “Perhaps we’ll send relief that accommodates both. By then it will have been a few weeks, I will have had that much time to work on the Administrator of Taxation, and he may be willing then to release the stores.”
Perrin exhaled in frustration, but Brisack cut him off before he could protest.
“It’s the only way I’ll agree to this, Colonel. I’m a very fair man, Shin,” the doctor told him, his blue eyes staring deeply into Perrin’s nearly black ones. “You have no idea how fair. The preservation of life is critical to me. In the past I’ve gone to great lengths to ensure that some people had a fighting chance.”
For some reason the old scar across Perrin’s back, received from flushing out more than a dozen Guarders in the forest intent on killing his expecting wife and daughter fourteen years ago, itched.
“Unlike Moorland, Edge will survive,” Brisack assured him, with his voice strangely not containing any reassurance, “but on my terms. I’m allowing you the possibility of altering those terms. At any rate, relief will come to Edge in four to five weeks. What kind of relief will be up to them, not you. Is that understood, Colonel Shin?”
There were times Perrin realized there could be no other answer than the one demanded. It was those times that let him live to be forty-three years old.
“Yes, sir,” he agreed dully. But he still had a plan.
An hour later the meeting finally adjourned, and as the Administrators and officers tidied up their pages, Perrin made his way over to the lieutenant completing the minutes of the meeting.
“So,” said Perrin, trying to sound casual, “some soldiers earn their positions because they run the fastest, while others are placed because they can scrawl the fastest.”
The lieutenant chuckled and held up a finger as he finished writing his last sentence.
Perrin frowned. “Did you just record that as well? Wasn’t even a good line.”
The lieutenant looked up at him and smiled. “No, sir. Just a note to myself about who wanted copies of the minutes.”
Perrin nodded slowly, noticed th
e other men leaving the room, waved a final goodbye, and turned back to the lieutenant. “Nelt, is it? I know your father Colonel Nelt. He was a couple of years ahead of me in Command School.”
“Yes, sir,” Nelt said, standing up and gathering his notes. “He’s mentioned you a few times. Pleased to meet you, sir.”
Perrin looked at the pages hungrily. “May I uh, may I see all that you wrote down?”
Nelt held the papers a bit closer to his chest. “Everyone who was in attendance will be able to inspect the minutes and give his final say before they are distributed, sir.”
“Yes, yes, yes,” said Perrin a bit hurriedly. “I was only wondering if I might . . . if I might check one or two items?” It was his ramblings that worried him, realizing that his musings about Brillen and Shem and how pay is decided—ideas that he thought were mostly in his head—had actually come out of his mouth. Depending upon what this young officer, whose dark brown hands were gripping the pages even more possessively, wrote, Perrin may come off looking . . . well, not very supportive of the Administrators.
“Sir?”
Perrin’s gaze traveled up from the pages to meet the deep brown eyes of Nelt.
“Trust me, sir? I do an excellent job. That’s why I was chosen as scribe.”
“Yes,” Perrin said slowly. “That’s what worries me. Just how excellent a job do you do?”
Nelt chanced a small smile. “I write down what was intended to be heard, sir. After all, with so much discussion, it’s frequently difficult for me to record every last word,” he said meaningfully. “So instead I record the spirit of the conversation, if not every letter. Don’t worry sir, I do an excellent job,” he repeated. “You will be pleased.”
Perrin’s shoulders relaxed. “Well then, I suppose I’ll have to be satisfied with that.”
Nelt smiled. “My father often remarked how unusual you were, in a good way.”
That made Perrin chuckle. “You’re coming to The Dinner, aren’t you?”
Nelt grinned. “Yes, sir! Wouldn’t miss it for the world. Last year my wife was feeling too ill, so we had to miss it—”
Perrin’s eyebrows rose. “You’re married? Good for you! Too many soldiers today think that’s not important anymore, but I promise you there’s nothing better than finding a wonderful woman.”
Nelt’s brown cheeks flushed. “She is, sir. And so is our son. That’s why we missed last year. The idea of food and dancing kept making her . . . um, throw up,” he said uncomfortably.
Perrin chuckled. “Understand. My wife had a rather unpleasant time of expecting herself. And to be honest, the idea of the food and dancing still makes me a bit sick to my stomach as well.” But the wheels of planning were turning in Perrin’s mind. “So your son must be very young?”
“Yes. And my wife’s a bit worried about leaving our baby with a tender the night of The Dinner, since he’s barely six moons old—”
“Then don’t leave him, Lieutenant,” Perrin said. “Bring him! The Dinner is for families, after all. And a baby’s the most entertaining part of a family, I always thought.”
Nelt blinked rapidly at that. “Bring the baby?”
Perrin grinned. “And I’m making that an order, Lieutenant.”
---
On the way out of the garrison, Perrin stopped at the rubbish heap where Peto had seen the filthy man.
But the heap—and the man—were both gone.
Perrin tucked the full gold slip back into his pocket. There were still more rubbish heaps in Idumea.
---
“How was your meeting this afternoon with the Administrators?” Mahrree asked him as they readied for bed that night.
He groaned.
She chuckled.
“How was your afternoon with my mother?” he asked her.
She groaned.
He chuckled.
They slipped into the silk sheets next to each other, trying not to slide out of the slick bed.
“So, Jaytsy learned to dance today,” Mahrree began. “I have to confess, it didn’t look as bad as I imagined. I sort of started to think about it . . .”
Perrin sighed loudly. “Yes?”
She rolled onto her side to face him. “Would it really be so bad if we . . . I mean, you and I . . . um, danced?”
To her surprise he chuckled. “You sounded as nervous as a first-year private at his first dance.”
Mahrree punched his shoulder.
“But no, my darling wife, I guess dancing really isn’t that bad. It just strikes me as an odd development. Men and women who normally wouldn’t converse with each other more than twenty seconds suddenly holding hands and moving in time together for five minutes? What do you look at? What do you say in such intimate positions? An odd thing, really—”
She snuggled into him. “I don’t know. Some of those slower dances could be rather interesting,” she hinted.
He pulled her closer. “I agree. But there’s something I think you don’t understand about dances. If we dance together, we are then obligated to dance with others as well.”
She stiffened. “Really?”
“Oh yes. Any man that asks you, you must oblige him unless you are ill or exhausted, or it’s considered an insult to the Shin family name, which we simply can’t abide,” he said with a haughty sniff. “And consider—you may even be asked to dance by an Administrator or two.”
She recoiled as her husband chuckled again.
“And there’s something else,” he said more soberly. “I would be expected to ask other women to dance.”
Already Mahrree was gritting her teeth and clenching a fist at the idea. “Would a certain Versula Cush Thorne be there?”
Now Perrin went rigid, and Mahrree knew she had to find out more about her.
“Colonel Thorne is the commander of the garrison,” Perrin said in a dead tone. “He’s more socially and politically connected than even my parents. And since this is the first major event of the year, he’ll be there. And so will his wife,” he grumbled.
“Was she at the first one you attended, where you did dance? Your mother told me you did a few times.”
“I don’t remember,” he said hurriedly. “Mrs. Thorne was already married, and I was more interested in the dessert tables. Mother would know that. As for actually dancing, I think Mother’s getting a bit fanciful in her memory as she ages.”
“Well then, as hosts of the evening trying to assist your ailing father and your fanciful mother, I suppose it’s best that we both sit out dancing this year and tend to the party itself.”
“What an excellent idea,” he declared. “Funny I didn’t think of that myself, not dancing at all.”
Mahrree giggled, then said, “Perrin, did you know there’s a huge reserve of food at the garrison?”
“I do. That was part of the discussion at the garrison today. I want to take part of it back to Edge.”
“Yes!” Mahrree squealed, and kissed him happily. “That’s exactly what I was thinking.”
“But it’s not what the Administrators are thinking,” he warned her, and explained what happened.
She sighed, deflated. “But you’re right. Give too much, people stop taking care of themselves. Just like thinking. Give them all the answers, especially the wrong ones, then don’t allow them to think about possibilities or debate those answers, and people stop questioning, thinking, fixing, innovating—”
“I got it, I got it.” He kissed her to stop her rambling.
“You said you have a plan for compensating those who will want to be repaid for their supplies and help. How?”
He swallowed. “Mahrree, how much would you say is in our cellar.”
She swallowed back. “You mean, hidden behind the jugs?”
“Yes.”
She hesitated only a second to calculate it. “Much more than we need. Especially since we don’t want to buy a house in the Edge of Idumea Estates. You want it to supplement what the auctions bring in, don’t you?”
/> “If those wanting compensation see there’s only a certain amount to go around,” Perrin mused, “they’ll lower their wants to match the supply. But if they think there’s an inexhaustible amount from Idumea, they’ll become greedier than Peto when he’s missed midday meal. If they become too accustomed to taking from the Administrators, they’ll never do anything for themselves again. What kind of existence is that?”
“They’re nothing more than children themselves, then,” Mahrree said.
“So you’re all right with this? I mean, it’s half your silver.”
“No, it’s not. Not half my silver, nor half my marriage. It’s ours—all of it. There are no lines between what’s yours and what’s mine. I’m all yours, and you, Mr. Shin, are all mine.”
He chuckled quietly. “Have I told you lately how your mind is so much like mine?”
“You don’t have to. I already thought it.”
“I know what you’re thinking right now, Mrs. Shin: How do I get out of The Dinner?”
“Hmm. Very good! What’s the solution?”
“I’m sorry, my darling wife, I don’t have one. I suppose I’m only allowed one genius solution per day. I’ve discovered a way to help Edge, but I can’t help you.”
---
Two men sat in a darkened room of an unlit building.
Nicko Mal whistled under his breath. “I warned you about him, didn’t I?”
Dr. Brisack sighed. “That you did. I hate to admit it, but I always thought you were exaggerating the aggravating nature of the man. But today?”
Mal chuckled. “Do tell. I read the draft of the minutes Nelt took, and they appeared innocuous enough—”
“Someone needs to retrain that lieutenant!” Brisack declared. “He has very selective hearing. While he captured the spirit of the meeting, he let escape the most incriminating moments. I saw Perrin chatting with him after the meeting, and Nelt told me he was only asking if he was coming to The Dinner. But I’m sure Perrin persuaded him to clean things up a bit. Our discussion was far, far messier, I assure you!”
“I do so enjoy seeing you humbled, my good Doctor,” Mal said. “So, do you think he’s right? About the villagers becoming too greedy and demanding too much without feeling loyal?”
Brisack shrugged. “I really don’t know. He compared them to spoiled children, but since neither you nor I ever had children, I don’t know if his comparison is valid.”
“Remind me again how you became Administrator of Family Life?”
Brisack scoffed. “Because no one else would take it. Because I do know a few things about families. This is merely another question for us to test.”
Mal shrugged diffidently. “So will you keep your end of the deal?”
“Of course. I don’t go back on my word. In fact, I’ll be sending a few assistants to make sure his survey is conducted according to my specifications.”
Mal clasped his hands in front of him. “Oh, good. What kind of assistants?”
“Haven’t decided,” Brisack said. “I don’t know any of our men well enough yet. We just barely regained contact, and I’m not sure that they can—”
“There are a few we’ve never lost touch with, my good doctor. We could use one or two.”
“Perhaps.” Brisack paused before saying, “How does Perrin come up with such ideas? It’s as if he sees the world sideways, somehow, from angles and perspectives no one else has ever considered. What makes a man function like that?”
Mal smiled. “It’s most fortuitous that we’ve started the experiments again, isn’t it? The trials and analysis of Perrin Shin are about to begin.”
“Yes. Yes, it is,” Brisack nodded. “And his wife.”
“Now, are we studying them to see how to encourage this kind of thinking, or how to destroy it?”
Brisack swallowed, knowing the correct answer but unwilling to state it. “There’s something that he said,” he mentioned, dreading to utter it. “About the Creator.”
Mal chuckled coldly. “Yes, I think Relf is a bit of a secret Writings Wretch himself. It’s rare to find any of them left among the so-called intelligent, but I suppose there’s one or two—”
“It’s what Perrin said,” Brisack said more firmly. “He distinctly believes the Creator made all people equal.”
Mal glared. “I told you years ago that Shin believes in a Creator. And you dismissed that years ago, and you were correct to do so, I reluctantly concede. The beliefs in the Creator are dying, along with their old rectors. There’s only one congregation left in Idumea, and no one younger than sixty attends. You’re outdated in your concern—”
“Yes, but there’s real potential—”
Mal rolled his eyes. “Potential? The Creator is their . . . their manifestation of Nature. Since so few still believe, I hardly see how this so-called Creator that brings imaginary comfort is a threat to us. If he were real, he would have shown himself by now. He’d be head of the Administrators, instead of me!” Mal worked himself deeper into his large cushioned chair as if to plant himself there.
“But it could be a threat,” Brisack said in a low voice. “The belief in a creator. Remember what Shin said about loyalty?”
Mal squinted, a splinter of his mocking demeanor falling away to see his companion so concerned. “Something about feeling loyalty to those who gave you something.”
“‘The best way to secure loyalty is to feel a sense of duty to your benefactors.’” Brisack recited. “I memorized the words because they struck me so oddly. And now I know why. His loyalty isn’t necessarily to us, Nicko; his sense of duty is to his Creator.”
Mal scoffed, but only half-heartedly. “So what? If he believes in his imaginary friend—”
“Nicko, I’ve talked to boys who burned down barns because their ‘imaginary friends’ told them to,” the doctor said levelly. “I’ve treated girls with knife slashes on their arms because their ‘imaginary friends’ told them they were worthless.”
“Those are examples of children—”
“—proving that I do know something about family life! Thoughts that begin in childhood frequently continue into adulthood. Don’t underestimate the power of what the mind believes. What if Perrin believes his Creator wants him to do something contrary to what we decree? If his sense of duty lies elsewhere?”
Mal scoffed again, out of habit. “Oh, really, Doctor. What would he possibly dare to do?” He chuckled in a manner that struck Doctor Brisack as unnatural and uncharacteristically worried.
“Right now? I fear nothing might be beyond the daring of Perrin Shin.”
Chapter 14 ~ “The enlisted men are teaching the brassy a thing or two.”