Red Dahlia Pt. 3

“Eglantine Hawthorn.” 
Two men stepped into the dim circle of the streetlight, nodding at the agreed code phrase. The light was almost non-existent; by the early hours of morning the solar-powered shine was mostly depleted. The two glanced at their surroundings in unison, checking out the thick undergrowth, the tall trees, and the dark windows of surrounding houses. Agri had very few areas without surveillance, most of them residential. Even the dog parks and elementary schools were equipped with cameras and motion sensors. The only safe areas were neighborhoods and public restrooms. They entered the underground shelter--presumably made for threat of bomb attacks-- as more men and women arrived, whispering among themselves. It made sense for the conspirators to meet here: it was secluded, quiet, and close to the housing development for the Professionless, which constituted much of the revolution.

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By Kat Franklin and Lynn Reynolds.
   
“Eglantine Hawthorn.”

Two men stepped into the dim circle of the streetlight, nodding at the agreed code phrase. The light was almost non-existent; by the early hours of morning the solar-powered shine was mostly depleted. The two glanced at their surroundings in unison, checking out the thick undergrowth, the tall trees, and the dark windows of surrounding houses. Agri had very few areas without surveillance, most of them residential. Even the dog parks and elementary schools were equipped with cameras and motion sensors. The only safe areas were neighborhoods and public restrooms. They entered the underground shelter--presumably made for threat of bomb attacks-- as more men and women arrived, whispering among themselves. It made sense for the conspirators to meet here: it was secluded, quiet, and close to the housing development for the Professionless, which constituted much of the revolution.

The crowd was buzzing with fear and excitement that contradicted their near silent demeanors. The conversations were hushed. That’s what a rebellion was after all, a collection of whispers that grow not in volume but in numbers. And soon enough those numbers can no longer be ignored.

“I call all to silence. The meeting has begun.” A tall woman with broad shoulders and almond shaped eyes addressed the crowd, silencing them with a shake of her short black hair. She did not yell, and she did not need to.

“Anyone with information, business, or transaction with the rebellion step forward. We will call in order according to who comes up first.” A man in a tacky green sweatshirt stood and shoved his way through the crowd to the front bypassing, or ignoring, those trying to get to the front as well. They grumbled in annoyance, but did not complain. If the man was that desperate to go first then whatever it is he had to say must be important.

The tacky man didn’t even try to gather his breath before barking out,“Paloà Partridge!”
Rutlet shoved his tacky purple gloved hands into his pockets, “What do we know about her?”  
Upon hearing the name, the leader’s eyebrows shot up, her mouth forming a perfect ‘o’. Quickly, she composed herself.

The leader, known as Bethlee, repeated the question to the crowd and invited anyone who had more information to come forward.  A buck toothed teenager walked forward and the leader, Bethlee, pointed at him-signaling for him to speak.

“I don’t know her personally, but I do know of her,” the boy admitted, “She’s apprenticed to The Miss Fuar as a Gardener. Apprenticed quite recently in fact even though everyone else in her class had already been apprenticed months before…by all rights she should have been sent to the Professionless to deal with.” The boy trailed off, his brows furrowing, as he got more lost in thought. Rutlet nodded as this was information that he already knew, and just needed confirmed.

“Is there anything of importance we should know?” Rutlet asked. He eyed the boy suspiciously, wondering if he was about to be hit with mindless chatter.

The boy hesitated,”Well,” he started,” I’m not sure this counts as important but it is very peculiar. A couple of years ago, I heard a rumor that a Ms. Partridge was missing from school for a week when she was seven.That same week the Dirigeant visited our town, and when he left the next day Ms.Partridge showed up and not a word was said about her absence. The Teachers didn’t punish her either--not even when the students complained. And considering what we now know about the Dirigeants visit that particular week, I believe it to be more than just a coincidence.” Rutlet starred in annoyance at the boy wasting his time with gossip.  

“Thank you for the information.” Rutlet said sarcastically then turned to Bethlee, effectively dismissing the boy from his report. “From what I gathered, she’s trying to save one of her seedlings. I don’t know exactly how she plans to do it, and she doesn’t seem to know either. He won’t pass his development tests, there isn’t a chance.”

Bethlee scoffed when she heard mention of the tests. Everyone in the rebellion knew they were to thin the population. Long ago, the Councils decided that only the biggest and strongest needed to survive; the weaker ones would pass their genes on. They put all children under age five into care facilities and determined from there which were privileged enough to continue life.

Rutlet continued on in a sly tone,”I think I can get the kid away. If you can get me the supplies I can get him out of there, and the other failed seedlings as well. The Dirigeant and his brainless entourage don’t pay any attention to the rejects so it’ll be easy to swipe them out from under his big nose.”

“An operation as ridiculous as you’re proposing takes time to plan, and we simply do not have the time,” Bethlee shut him down, shaking her head. “We have a different operation for the ceremony, and adding another may lessen its success.” Her eyes hardened, “We can not take that risk.”

Rutlet refused to back down. “Come on. A day like this doesn’t come very often! Everyone in Agricola will be distracted with the festivities--they won’t be expecting us! We can make a statement and save the seedlings in the same day. The Dirigeant won’t be able to sweep that under the rug, and the people will panic. The Dirigeant will be so distracted with reassuring the people that he won’t be able to come after us.”

Bethlee stared him down, and Rutlet met her gaze head on. Her voice lowered to a near whisper,” We do not have the resources for that kind of mission. If you had came to me with your concern earlier, maybe we would have been able to do something. But as it is--it’s simply not possible.”

“Thank you anyway.” Rutlet tipped his hat, today a crude yellow and brown plaid creation that could shock even the most fashion-blind bystander.  He left the assembly, only catching a few phrases about the global council before he departed. He knew he could help the girl he met earlier, and her seedling she seemed so worried about. He hadn’t meant to overhear, but the walls of the Arboretum were thin at best, no match for his trained ears. He would find a way, of course. Rutlet always found a way.

***
“Lakota, look at me.” Paloá grabbed Lakota’s chin and turned it towards her. “This test is the most important test you will ever take. You can’t joke around- it’s serious!” She didn’t know how to emphasize the gravity of the situation without telling Lakota the truth: if he didn’t pass the test, he would die.

“It’s always serious with you.” Lakota grumbled. “You’re acting like Ms.Fuar.” Paloá ruffled his hair and he smiled, throwing his arms around his caretaker. Paloá fell back, not expecting the rush of affection from the boy, and patted his back. Lakota was the only person she knew who still “hugged” people. It was something done in the archaic times before The Union, before people learned to control themselves. No one had taught him that, but he did it nonetheless.

“You better get to studying, hugging never saved anyone, and it certainly won’t help you in the exam,” Paloá teased. Even as she said this, she couldn’t help but laugh. Lakota was such a unique child, and even though that was frowned upon, she marveled at what a miracle he would be if he passed. “Now go wipe that smile off your face and show the Dirigeant how much you know!”

“And how strong I am, and how healthy I am. . .” Lakota rambled. He gave Paloá one of his biggest grins, showing his missing front tooth and the one just starting to grow in beside it. She returned the gesture, but the strong and healthy part was the one that worried her most. Lakota was an inch shorter than most of his classmates, and almost ten pounds lighter. He was smart, but smart counted for nothing when Lakota’s bunkmate weighed more than Paloá’s first bike.

“Wait.” Paloá stopped him. “You should change your shirt, that one has a smudge.” She handed him a fresh one, pushing him toward the bathroom to distract him from looking for the imaginary stain. She had sewn tiny rocks from the garden into the hem of this t-shirt. It would make him weigh more. When he came out, she splashed her hand with water from the fountain, and ran it through his hair so it would stick up more. The first thing examiners looked for, before intelligence or personality, was the child’s height and weight. Lakota would pass, of course he would, but it never hurt to add leverage.

You’ll be fine, she thought, her shoulders rising with her hopes, For both of our sakes.

***
“Welcome citizens of faction Agricola to the 100th Anniversary of The Union and the yearly testing of the Seedlings.”

The Dirigeant waved to the crowd with all the enthusiasm of a Seedling on a sugar high. The people went wild, screaming and shouting their praises for all to hear. A symphony of “We love you”  twined across the crowd like ivy vines around old brick houses.

The Dirigeant basked in the attention for a moment longer before calling for silence, and when the crowd quieted he spoke, “I thank you all for joining me today on this very special day.” The Dirigeant paused and walked around the podium oblivious, or uncaring, of the guards’ half-hearted attempts to pull him back.  

“Agricola is a faction with a rich history--the very definition of a diamond in the rough--a hidden gem among our world--Though I may be a bit biased.” The Dirigeant paused to smile. “I am proud to be here at the site of the first faction on the anniversary of our birth as a nation. But enough about history-” he trailed off.

The Dirigeant beckoned the Seedlings onto the stage, and waited as they were arranged in lines.
He smiled,”--let’s talk about the Future.” The Dirigeant waved his arms at the Seedlings as if he were a salesman trying to sell an old saddle to a king.

“Look at the generation of tomorrow! Future Parents, they stand before you today ready to take the next steps in becoming working members of Society in the coming years. I ask you to nurture them, and help them grow into the best worker they can be! The Seedlings are the very roots of our Society, and it is paramount that they receive the best education we could possibly give them. I Wish them good fortune on their exam, and remember, Future Parents, to choose wisely. They will be living with you until their education is complete, and it’s best on all accounts if you can get along."

The Seedlings clambered off the stage with the guards behind them furtively trying to keep them all in straight lines. Once the Seedlings had gone, the Dirigeant clapped his hands and grinned with a kind of glee that seemed out of place in a man as old as he.

“A day like this only comes once in a lifetime, and I am ecstatic to share this experience with you all.”

***
“Lakota.” The Doctor’s kind smile seemed off to Paloá, but that was probably her worry. “It’s your turn.” Paloá’s heart sank as Lakota followed the Dirigeant into the one room in the Arboretum without glass walls- the exam room.

He shivered as the door shut. He didn’t know much about the tests, other than that they meant a lot to Paloá, and he got to ride on the float if he passed. He’d never seen a parade before, but Paloá said they were magical.
 
“Step on the scale, would you?” Lakota did as he was told. He watched the numbers change, up and down, before they settled on four and a zero. The Doctor’s neutral expression betrayed no hint of whether those were good numbers, or bad numbers.

“Stand up straight, back against the wall.” Again, Lakota complied. He wanted to complain that the wall was cold, and he was tired, but Paloa had told him time and time again that he was not to speak unless the Doctor spoke first. The Doctor lowered a flat piece of metal onto the top of Lakota’s crown, stopping when his hair was pressed against his head. This time, the Doctor made a small tsking sound and Lakota shrank. He sounded unhappy, and Lakota knew that unhappy adults meant trouble for him.

“Run through your drills for me?” Lakota ran through the miniature obstacle course, stopping once to catch his breath.

“That will be all.” The Doctor wrote something on a clipboard and moved to the door.

“Wait!” Lakota cried. “What about my maths skills? My reading and language and science?”

“That won’t be necessary.” The Doctor shook his head.

“But-”

“I said.” The Doctor frowned. “You can go.” He ushered him out the door and Lakota looked back, his tiny brows furrowing together. Paloá had told him he needed to study. Paloá had told him he would be okay. 

“Hey.” Paloá greeted him, interrupting his thoughts. “How’d it go?”

For the first time in all of his five years, Lakota decided to lie. “It went just fine. I think I passed.”

To Be Continued …

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