Janus sipped his vodka now. The drink soothed him. The first drink was always the best. The comfort it gave him in the early evenings always outweighed the problems it led to in the late hours of darkness.
Rain drummed on the roof of his lodging. The fireplace crackled. He set his empty glass back on the table. Closed his eyes. Pictured her. Their last conversation. She’d made a simple request, asking him to stay with her that night, the night of the accident. But he’d said no because work came first. Then he’d left her there. Alone.
Guilt haunted him now. The guilt of choosing duty over love. He wondered how things would have turned out if his decision had been to stay with her that night. Would she still be alive? Could he have saved her from the accident? These questions were impossible to answer. But they still haunted him.
Now Janus opened his eyes. Frowned at his empty glass. He picked up the bottle of vodka and poured another drink. Drank a swallow. Felt the warmth ease through his body. Drank some more. Drank till the glass was empty. Then put it back on the table.
He picked up the object from the table and studied it. It was tiny. It was white. It was her Equalizer.
Some citizens were required to wear one. Citizens who were different. Different because they possessed one or more areas of superiority and/or inferiority. These citizens were unequal to normal citizens. Equalizers leveled these inequalities. The electronic device emitted electronic signals that weakened areas of superiority and strengthened areas of inferiority. It made attractive faces normal by creating skin blemishes. It made athletic bodies normal by weakening muscles. It made intelligent minds normal by lowering IQ. And vice versa for unattractive faces and unathletic bodies and unintelligent minds. Equalizers ensured that every citizen was Equal to every other citizen in every possible way.
Janus had never been required to wear an Equalizer because he’d never developed any areas of superiority or inferiority.
Now he rolled her Equalizer between his forefinger and thumb as he thought about her area of superiority—her stunning beauty. He rose from the chair and ambled over to the fireplace and mumbled under his breath and threw the electronic device into the roaring fire and then sat down again to make another drink.
* * *
WHEN SHERIFF JANUS arrived at work in the morning he went straight to his desk. He found Sheriff Orcus sitting there, tilted back in Janus’s chair, his muddy boots up on Janus’s desk.
“You always put your feet up?”
“Improves my thinking.”
“Something should.”
The Sheriff’s Department was bustling with activity. Sheriffs coming and going. Lawbreakers getting booked. Citizens filing complaints.
Every citizen aged twenty-one to twenty-five was a Sheriff. Janus was a twenty-one-year-old rookie. Orcus was a twenty-four-year-old veteran. Seniority offered no advantages. Everyone working in the Sheriff’s Department received the same salary and held the same title and wore the same uniform.
Now Orcus laced his fingers behind his head and leaned back farther in Janus’s chair and stamped his muddy boots on Janus’s desk. Grinning at Janus, he said, “I’ve been thinking about you.”
“Lucky me.” Janus stood looking at the mud caked on his desk. No expression on his face.
“You got a smart mouth.”
“It’s a gift.”
“Try keeping it wrapped up.”
“What do you want, Orcus?”
Only thirteen more months, Janus thought. Then Orcus will be gone. He’ll turn twenty-six and become a Blacksmith. He’ll be someone else’s problem. Only fourteen more months. Not that long.
“What do I want? I want to know how things are going.”
“Things?”
“Things.”
Janus knew what Orcus was referring to. The man wanted an update on the competition between the two of them. It was an unspoken competition. It was unspoken because competition was forbidden in Equal. Competition was the antithesis of the socially stable environment demanded by the people and delivered by the government.
“Things are perfect,” Janus said. “Just perfect.”
Orcus grunted.
Janus knew Orcus understood. Knew the man could read between the lines. Could translate the meaning of “perfect.” It meant Janus still had a perfect capture record. No Runner assigned to him had ever escaped. He’d captured all of them.
Janus wasn’t the only one with a perfect capture record. Orcus had one too. So it was a competition between the two of them.
Who was the better Sheriff? The answer wasn’t clear. Orcus had been Sheriffing longer, which made it more difficult to maintain a perfect capture record. But Janus had maintained a perfect capture during his rookie year, which was when most mistakes were made. No other Sheriff in the local Sheriff’s Department had ever done that before. Except one. Orcus.
“Things are about to change,” Orcus said, folding his arms across his chest.
Janus raised his eyebrows. “Meaning?”
“Diana.”
“Diana?”
“Your new assignment.”
Janus didn’t say anything.
“She’s not your average Runner.”
Janus waited.
“She’s already evaded three separate Sheriffs.”
“And?”
“And you’re next.”
Runners were lawbreakers who tried to flee from society. A Sheriff was given three days to capture a particular Runner. If you failed? The assignment was given to another Sheriff. Assignments were handed out by the eldest Sheriff in each Sheriff’s Department.
Janus turned and started to walk off toward the office of the eldest Sheriff.
“Hey—were you crying?”
Janus heard the voice behind him. He stopped and looked over his shoulder at Orcus. “What?
“Yesterday,” Orcus said. “At the cremation ceremony. Were you crying?”
Janus had to think about it. He was pretty sure no emotions had played across his face, betraying his secret, his forbidden passion for another. Yet there might have been one tender moment. A moment when his eyes had been swimming with regret. But tears would have been impossible for anyone to see in the dark rain.
Janus said to Orcus, “Always trying to bring me down. Aren’t you? But you haven’t succeeded.”
“Yet.”
“Crazy—that’s what you are.”
“Something to keep in mind.” Orcus’s mouth formed a grin. Then his eyebrows went up and down twice.
* * *
SHERIFF JANUS HEADED back to his desk after getting his new assignment from Sheriff Aurora. He dropped into his chair and nibbled at his lower lip. He opened the folder. Began to read about his new assignment.
Diana 040-71-967. Age: 18.
He skipped down to the section on her childhood.
Birth to five years: Student. Demonstrated superior intelligence during first year. Issued an Equalizer. Equalizer programmed to lower IQ to 100.
Six to ten years: Clothier. Demonstrated superior athleticism during ninth year. Equalizer programmed to weaken muscles to normal strength.
Eleven to fifteen years: Farmer. Demonstrated superior attractiveness during thirteenth year. Equalizer programmed to create skin blemishes that reduced appearance to normal level.
Sixteen to eighteen years: Cook. All three areas of superiority rapidly developed further during eighteenth year.
Janus set the folder on his desk and put his head back against his chair and closed his eyes. He thought, Three areas of superiority. Is that even possible? Three areas? Three?
He thought about what Sheriff Orcus had told him. That she’s not your average Runner. That she’s already evaded three separate Sheriffs. Janus frowned now. Dammit, he thought, there goes your perfect capture record.
His perfect capture record was the only thing that kept him going. It justified his existence, gave him purpose, a sense of himself. He was no one without it. Just another hollow person. The sa
me as everyone else.
Sheriffing was something he could do well. Very well. Perhaps the only thing he was good at.
Janus opened his eyes now. He stared into space for a moment. Then he pressed his chin to his chest, wondering why he was feeling this way. Feeling superior was wrong. It made him a bad citizen. Bad citizens could make the country socially unstable. Janus knew the concept of Equality was good, so how come he was being so damn selfish?
He kept looking down, trying to figure it out, make sense of it. After a while his eyes drifted up to the mud caked on his desk. Mud from Orcus’s boots. Janus glaring at it. Cracking his knuckles now . . .
He sat upright, forward in the chair, and reached and picked up the file again. He brought out the rendering of Diana’s image. He studied it. Memorizing her features. Making sure he’d recognize her when he found her.
And he would find her. No doubt about it. It was what he was good at.
CHAPTER 2
ANTEVORTA WRINKLED HER nose. The smell wafting through the air was pungent. Like burnt sulfur. It seemed to be coming from the group of five-year-olds, twenty of them, standing over there in their little red tunics.
Antevorta studied them, thinking, Grubby faces, runny noses, dirty hands. Disgusting creatures.
One boy, the shortest of the group, was picking his nose. Then sticking his finger in his mouth. Little savages—that’s what they were. Germ-carrying savages.
Antevorta now felt the need to wash her hands for the third time today. And what a day it was. Having to escort these little turds through the laboratories. Explaining what Scientists did. Answering stupid questions. It’s not how a Scientist should have to spend her day. Especially today. Not with those technical hiccups occurring in the Genetic Engineering Department.
“Ma’am?”
Antevorta looked down. One of the girls had said something to her. “You have a question?”
The little girl gave her a nod and said, “How old are Scientists?”
“How old do you think we are?”
The girl, wearing a little frown, looked Antevorta up and down. “Hmmm,” she said, thoughtful. “You look about thirty.”
Awww, how sweet. What an adorable child. Antevorta was about to pat the girl on the head but then thought better of it. What she did, she crouched. Eye to eye with the child, she said, “Every citizen between the ages of forty-one and forty-five is a Scientist.” She paused and said, “Me—I’m forty-four.”
Eyes wide open, the girl put her hand to her mouth. Antevorta mirrored the gesture. And the girl giggled. That was when Antevorta noticed the Equalizer in the girl’s ear. Hmmm, she thought. Wonder what it’s for. Superiority? Inferiority? Combination of both?
Antevorta stood up and smoothed her silver tunic. She looked past the twenty little Students and their Teacher. Looked past them and saw the glass doors. Doors emblazoned with GENETIC ENGINEERING DEPARTMENT in bold black letters. Scientists inside there, her coworkers, were busy working on something of significance. While she was stuck entertaining Students on a field trip. She sighed.
Then, without saying a word, she waved the little savages to come on. The tour continued through the laboratories on the third floor. Questions the entire time. “What’s that?” “A microscope.” “What’s that?” “A beaker.” “What’s that?” “A Petri dish.” Driving Antevorta out of her mind.
And then, finally, a good question. It came from the Teacher. “Can you explain to the children why some citizens have to wear an Equalizer?”
Antevorta reached into her pocket, brought out an Equalizer. She threw it in the air and caught it in her hand. Now she had their attention. She said to the Teacher, “You bet,” and to the Students, “Follow me.”
She led them down the stairs to the second floor. They passed through a corridor, turned around a corner, and stopped in front of glass doors labeled EQUALIZER DEPARTMENT.
Antevorta turned to the group. Raising her hand, she said, “Show of hands. How many of you wear an Equalizer?”
Two kids raised their hands. The same proportion as the population at large. Ten percent.
Antevorta nodded. Opening one of the glass doors, she signaled the group to enter. They entered. Antevorta scanned the enormous room, searching for the eldest Scientist, eyeing them one by one . . . There he was. He was looking right at her. Antevorta smiled at him and gestured to the field-trip group. As if to say, Is it okay for them to tour the department now? He gave her a nod, yes, it’s okay.
Sometimes departments were too busy to accommodate visitors. Just like today in the Genetic Engineering Department. There was too much going on in there today. No visitors allowed.
Antevorta felt a tug at her tunic. She looked down to see a grimy little hand gripping her tunic. Tugging at it. It was the hand of the nose-picker. Great. Now Antevorta would have to wash her tunic after work today. Little savage. What’d he want? The boy pointed to the glass water tank. He wanted to see the tank. Okay, fine, Antevorta thought. We can start with the tank. It’s as good a place as any.
She led the group across the huge room. Past rows of laboratory tables with stainless steel sinks and faucets. Past Scientists wearing clear goggles and white gloves. Past the assembly line producing Equalizers. The cacophony of the mammoth machines filled the room. Thrumming and hissing and groaning. You could feel the floor vibrating underfoot. Antevorta imagined it was an impressive sight for those seeing it for the first time.
When she got to the tank—a giant glass tank full of water and Equalizers—she stopped and turned around. Everyone in the group was staring in wonder at all the technology. Everyone’s eyes were glittering. Antevorta stood in front of the tank with her hands clasped behind her back. Smiling, she asked the kids would they please take a seat on the floor. They did as they were told. Some of them sat on their heels. Others sat with legs crossed. Their Teacher stood behind them.
Antevorta was getting the feel of it now, what it’s like to be a Teacher, kids doing what you tell them to do. She liked the feeling. The power. It was something she could get used to. Which was a good thing because her days as a Scientist were coming to an end. There was only a little over a year left. Then she’d have to move on. Become a Teacher. No choice in the matter. You turn forty-six, you become a Teacher. And that was that.
She thought the power aspect of being a Teacher was good. But having to interact with germ-carrying savages? That was bad. So on balance it was a wash.
Pointing her thumb over her shoulder in the direction of the glass water tank, Antevorta told her little audience they were looking at the newest version of the Equalizer, now one-hundred-percent waterproof. She told them the tank could perform all kinds of tests on the tiny electronic device. Hot water. Cold water. Pressurized water. The kids seemed impressed.
“Earlier,” Antevorta said, “your Teacher asked me a question. He wanted to know how come some citizens have to wear an Equalizer. Before we get to his question there are a few things you need to know.” She paused a moment and said, “Who can tell me the purpose of science?”
No hands went up.
“Any guesses?”
Nothing. Blank stares. So much for Q and A.
Antevorta told them, “The purpose of science—the sole purpose—is to create and maintain an environment of Equality for every citizen.” She said, “Now, how do Scientists do that?” It was a rhetorical question. “There are several ways. One way is to use genetic engineering to design humans. Design them to be the same. Same level of attractiveness, athleticism, intelligence. Sameness—that’s the goal. Designing humans to be the same is the first step in creating an environment of Equality.”
Oh, look, a hand went up. Good. Antevorta pointed to the questioner.
The little girl rose and said, “Is that why every citizen has gray flesh?”
Antevorta smiled, saying to her, “Not exactly.” Saying, “Scientists also use genetic engineering to design humans to conform to desired features. Gray flesh is a
desired feature. Gray, because it’s neither black nor white. It’s neutral.”
The girl nodded, sat down again.
Antevorta’s eyes swept over the audience, a sea of gray faces staring back at her, listeners waiting for more words of wisdom. She cleared her throat and took a moment to compose her thoughts before saying, “Another desired feature is the inability to produce offspring. Which is why humans are designed to be infertile.”
The enormous machines of the assembly line were rumbling with such intensity Antevorta could feel it in her bones. She looked over her shoulder at the giant glass tank full of water and Equalizers. The glass was shaking, the water disturbed. Antevorta was glad she worked in the Genetic Engineering Department, where it was quieter. She turned back to the Students.
“Everyone knows that only Scientists can make babies. But there used to be a time when every child had parents. A mother and a father. This was something that led to problems. See, babies born to parents didn’t enter the world as Equals. Some were born with superior traits of one kind or another. Others were born with inferior traits. And not every baby was blessed with good parents. There was no fairness to the system. No Equality.”
Another hand went up. The kids were getting into it now.
Antevorta heard the boy say, “And things are better now? More Equal?” She told him they were. She explained that babies now entered the world as Equals. Born with the same traits. Raised by the state instead of by parents. Nurtured in an environment of Equality for every citizen.
The boy nodded, sat down again.
Now Antevorta watched a group of Scientists working in a far corner of the room. They seemed to be experimenting with the electronic signals emitted by the newest version of the Equalizer. It looked like they were trying to find additional ways to weaken areas of superiority and strengthen areas of inferiority. Antevorta was pretty sure that’s what they were doing.
When she returned her attention to the audience she could see that the kids were looking over their shoulders to see what was going on in that far corner of the room. She could see the numbers branded on the back of their necks—their serial numbers and dates of birth. It reminded her of another topic to discuss.
“If I could have your attention,” she said.
All the little heads turned to face this way.