“How many of you have a birthday on the first day of January?”
All the kids raised their hands. Antevorta knew they would.
Now she turned her back to them, saying, “Me too,” and then reached behind her head, lifting her hair from her neck, revealing her serial number and date of birth, saying, “Notice, the year’s different than yours.” Antevorta standing still for a few moments, giving the kids a chance to see it, the date on her neck. Then turning to face them again. Telling them that every citizen shares the same birthday.
How come? Because January 1 of each year is when all the lab-developed babies are mass-produced for that particular year. Mass-produced at the forty-eight Genetic Engineering Departments that dot the country. Each of the forty-eight locations is responsible for producing a certain number of babies.
How many? Well, kids, that depends on how many deaths occur during the previous year. See, the population of Equal remains constant at roughly one billion citizens. Scientists make sure of that. And so do Sheriffs.
Sheriffs? Sure, kids. Sheriffs are the ones responsible for enforcing the mandatory euthanasia of every citizen at the age of fifty.
Euthanasia? It’s the painless killing of citizens. It’s how we maintain population control. It’s also how we provide the same lifespan to every citizen. Everyone gets fifty years. No more, no less. Well, sometimes less. Nothing can be done about early deaths. And nothing can be done about lawbreakers who receive the death penalty before reaching fifty.
Sounds came from the glass water tank now. Gurgling sounds. Antevorta turned to see one of the Scientists operating the tank controls. She knew what he was doing. He was testing the new Equalizers for their ability to withstand boiling water. Good timing, because Antevorta wanted to talk about Equalizers next. It was finally time to answer the Teacher’s question.
Antevorta turned to face the audience again. “Sameness,” she said. “Designing humans to be the same. It’s an imperfect process. Scientists have yet to produce flawless results. But we’re working on it. Perhaps someday . . .” She broke off, staring into space for a moment, lost in thought.
“Despite our best efforts,” she said, “anomalies sometimes occur. Ten percent of all babies develop unique traits. Sometimes superior traits. Sometimes inferior traits. And, in a few rare cases, both.
“These traits tend to develop in spurts. Unpredictable spurts. You wake up one morning and boom—you’re different than you were the day before. Maybe more intelligent. Maybe less intelligent. Maybe more attractive but less athletic. It happens.
“Other citizens notice when these changes occur, and they report it to the authorities. That’s when you get issued an Equalizer. You must wear this little electronic device in your ear at all times. It emits electronic signals uniquely programmed to eliminate your particular areas of superiority and/or inferiority. Whether it’s attractiveness and/or athleticism and/or intelligence. And/or whatever. Your Equalizer makes you Equal to everyone else. Only about ten percent of the population is required to wear one.”
Antevorta saw some of the audience members eyeing the two kids who wore Equalizers. She said, “Look at this,” pointing to the glass water tank. Thousands of the tiny white electronic devices were dancing to the beat of the boiling water. Antevorta stood with her arms folded, observing the spectacle, the magic of science. Incredible.
Now she heard a voice. A deep voice, several feet away, saying, “They don’t always get the job done, those Equalizers.”
Antevorta looked over her shoulder to see the Sheriff standing behind the seated audience. Where’d he come from? Antevorta studied him. Blue tunic. Long scar on his chin. The dark gray tone to his skin was probably from working outside too much.
Sheriffs did that. They spent a large part of the day working outside in the sun. Antevorta remembered her time as a Sheriff. Which had been—what, over nineteen years ago? Long time ago. Her skin too had been dark at the time. But now it was a pale shade of gray. Too many hours working in the lab.
She said to the Sheriff, “Something I can help you with?”
He gave her a nod.
She watched him walking this way now. He was saying, “You Antevorta?” with his calloused hand extended toward her. Antevorta ignored the gesture. She didn’t want to have to wash her hands again.
When the Sheriff asked if he could have a word with her she stared at him. She wanted to say something like, Can’t you see I’m busy here? But what she said was, “Problem?”
He shook his head, saying, “Just a couple questions, ma’am.” Saying, “The front office referred me to you.”
Wasn’t that just great? The front office thought Antevorta had nothing better to do with her working day than to escort little savages through the laboratories and to answer questions from whoever happens to drop by.
She turned to the kids and told them, “Just a minute,” and then led the Sheriff to an isolated corner of the gigantic room. When the two of them were alone she folded her arms and raised her eyebrows and waited.
He told her his name was Sheriff Janus.
She didn’t say anything.
Her cold silence didn’t faze him. He went on.
“Like I said, they don’t always get the job done, those Equalizers.”
Antevorta knew what the Sheriff was referring to. Sometimes citizens would develop unique traits to such an extent that they were immune to Equalizers. Electronic signals emitted by the device were only so strong. At a certain point they were rendered useless. When citizens developed beyond this point there was no way to level their inequalities. They were superior citizens, and nothing could be done to make them normal. So they had to be euthanized. The problem was, not all of them accepted their fate. They became Runners. Running from society. Running for survival. Only to be captured and returned by Sheriffs.
Antevorta said to the Sheriff, “You’re right. Equalizers don’t always get the job done. But Scientists are always working on improving the technology.”
The Sheriff was nodding. “And a fine job they’re doing.”
Was that sarcasm? Could it have been? Probably not. The look on his face seemed sincere.
The Sheriff was saying, “First question, you or your coworkers ever run across three areas of superiority?”
Antevorta frowned. “Developed by a single citizen?”
The Sheriff nodded. “Developed beyond Equalizer capacity.”
She eyed him, brow furrowed, serious. “You’re joking.”
“Wish I were, ma’am.”
“Three areas? Beyond Equalizer capacity? That’s unheard of.”
“What I suspected,” he said, scratching his jaw.
They were quiet now. The din of machinery playing in the background. The floor vibrating underfoot.
Antevorta said, “We’re talking about a Runner?”
“We are,” the Sheriff said. “Name’s Diana.” His hand went to his tunic pocket and brought out a piece of paper. It was soiled and wrinkled. He smoothed it out, handed it to Antevorta.
She took it, reluctant, wrinkling her nose. She read it. It was a fact sheet from the Sheriff’s Department. It listed facts about a Runner named Diana.
The Sheriff tapped the paper and said, “Next question, see anything there could be helpful?”
Antevorta took a moment to study the fact sheet. She started to hand it back to him, saying, “Nothing,” then stopped to look at it again, thoughtful. “Maybe one thing. Diana’s date of birth coincides with a significant event. It’s the same day our Genetic Engineering Department was broken into.”
The Sheriff’s eyebrows went up. “Is that a fact?”
CHAPTER 3
LATE AFTERNOON, PLENTY of people around, you still got the feeling the black market was a dangerous place to be. Especially for a Sheriff.
Sheriff Janus tied his horse out of sight of the road. He worried about leaving the animal alone for any length of time. It could very well end up in a pot of stew. Merchant
s at the black market were known for doing that.
Now Janus cupped his hands over his mouth and blew in them and began to snake his way through the woods. Wind whistling through the trees. Dry leaves rustling.
He stopped at the edge of the woods. He stood surveying the dirt road, looking left, looking right. Making sure no one would see him exiting this part of the woods.
The coast was clear.
He stepped out into the road. He began to walk up a rise. His boots crunching on brown pebbles. He was thinking about all the Sheriffs who’d been killed at the black market. He was thinking about getting back on his horse and heading home. It was an option. Something to consider.
The problem was, he needed to find Diana, and the black market was the best place to look. Her lodging was located there.
The black market was illegal. Which was why Sheriffs were unwanted there. This never made sense to Janus because Sheriffs always left the merchants alone. Never bothered them. The black market, illegal or not, was a good thing. It provided goods and services you could never find at the government-run public market. And it was open twenty-four hours a day, every single day, no exceptions. Every citizen relied on the black market. Including Sheriffs.
Topping the rise now, Janus could see the long row of red-brick buildings on either side of the road. In the middle of the road were tables. Jumbles of tables under shade umbrellas. Merchants at each table. Customers crowding around. Merchants and customers engaging in negotiations and verbal maneuvering. Purchases made. Bags filled with goods. Services performed.
The goods and services that were sold out on the road were never of the prohibited kind. Prohibited goods and services were sold inside the buildings. Hidden from view. It was a different world inside those buildings. Drug trafficking. Human trafficking. Arms trafficking. Prostitution. You name it, you could get it. No problem.
Prohibited vices never interested Janus. His vice was vodka. Vodka wasn’t prohibited. You could buy it at the government-run public market. Except when they had shortages. Which was often. Then you had to buy it at the black market.
Janus, still cupping his hands over his mouth and blowing in them, now approached the outer fringes of the crowd. As he got closer he observed two things. One, there was some stew cooking in a pot. And, two, there was a dog limping along with one missing leg. Janus wondered if the two observations were related.
He was weaving his way through the crowd when he caught a glimpse of several merchants eyeing him with suspicion. He knew why they were staring. It was because of his blue tunic. It made him stand out like a bull’s-eye target at a bow-and-arrow contest.
A few minutes later he walked past a cluster of merchants selling bottled perfume, and a familiar scent wafted through the air. It reminded him of his deceased lover because she used to wear that same perfume. Janus would buy it for her. A little gift from time to time. You could get it only at the black market.
Now Janus pictured her, his deceased lover. He pictured her giggling. It was something she always used to do.
Her death was his fault, he knew. He should have stayed with her that night, the night of the accident. But he’d gone to work instead. Why? If only he could go back in time. If only.
She was a ghost now. The memory of her haunted his every waking hour—always thinking about their time together, unable to forget it, regret eating at him.
Now Janus moved away from the tables of bottled perfume. But he could still smell that familiar smell. So he began to move faster. Then he realized something. His hands were trembling. And he knew why.
His eyes scanned the black market. Searching for it. Desperate for it. Spotting it now. Over there. Not far. He gravitated in that direction. Drawn to it like a moth to a flame. The warmth of it. Vodka. Merchants selling vodka.
Then something happened. Something inside Janus made him stop. He stood looking at the bottles of vodka lined up on the tables. Row after row after row. Clear bottles filled with the magical elixir. He knew better than to drink at a time like this. There was a job to do. A Runner to capture. And drinking would only slow him down.
He turned away. Looked in another direction. Saw the oak tree. He headed for it, his hand going into his pocket, digging for one of the wanted posters. He brought one out, unfolded it.
When he got to the oak tree he stood scanning the public notices posted to its trunk. He found an unused tack and plucked it out. He used it to pin up the wanted poster.
Now he stepped back and folded his arms and looked at the blizzard of white paper pinned to the great oak. The wanted poster of Diana seemed lost. Buried in a snowstorm.
But the wanted poster would be seen. Janus was sure of it. Some citizen passing through the black market would stop at the oak tree to read the public notices. Would see the rendering of Diana on the wanted poster. Would recognize her. Next thing you know, this citizen is showing up at the Sheriff’s Department to report Diana’s whereabouts. That’s how it worked. And Janus knew it.
Experience had taught him citizens were his best allies. Citizens were vigilant when it came to maintaining Equality. Almost every citizen was a stoolie. Stoolies loved nothing better than to inform on other citizens who demonstrated superiority. And no one demonstrated superiority as much as Runners. Stoolies loathed Runners. Which was why Runners always had to worry. Who could they trust? Would someone turn them in? Would someone try to blackmail them?
Janus could smell bread now. He turned from the oak tree and saw fresh loaves of bread stacked on a table. It looked good. It smelled good. And he was hungry.
When he took a coin from his pocket he noticed something for the first time in his life. There was an engraved design on the back of the coin. He looked at it. Close. It was the national flag of Equal. Janus thought, Huh, has that always been there? He of course knew that it had. He’d just never noticed it before because he seldom used coins. No need to. Pretty much everything was provided by the government. Housing. Clothes. Food. The only time you really needed coins were when you wanted something from the black market.
Like the loaf of bread Janus now eyed.
He stepped up to the table, pressed the coin into the merchant’s hand. The woman looked tired. Merchants often looked tired. Working at the black market wasn’t their regular employment. Working for the government was. Every citizen was required to work a full-time job for the government. Some worked the day shift, some the night shift. The merchant woman, dark bags under her eyes, dropped the coin in a bucket and then handed a loaf of bread to Janus. When she smiled at him her upper lip rose away from her yellowed buck teeth. Janus thanked her and drifted away.
Wandering through the black market now, chewing on his loaf of bread, Janus sensed someone watching him. His Sheriff mind was telling him to keep his eyes open and alert.
He wouldn’t be walking out in the open for much longer. He was getting close to the building where Diana resided. Her lodging.
Janus didn’t expect to find her there. Runners never hid at home. What he expected, maybe he could find clues to her current whereabouts.
Eating the last of the bread now, smacking his lips, Janus spotted a Blacksmith at work. He stopped to watch the action. Heavy blows of the hammer striking the anvil. Sparks flying. Sweat dripping.
Janus had a new appreciation for Blacksmiths because they could make those coins with the impressive design on the back.
Blacksmithing was a government job. But Blacksmiths never set up shop near government buildings. They preferred to be near the black market. Where the action was.
Blacksmithing would be Janus’s next job. You turn twenty-six, you become a Blacksmith. Everyone had to do it. Janus could see himself doing the job, standing there swinging that hammer, looking good in that black tunic. Still, he knew he’d miss his Sheriffing days.
Now Janus moved on, past more merchants, past more customers. Pretty soon he saw the building, the one where Diana resided. It was at the end of the block. Not far.
A b
itter wind poured through the road, buffeting Janus this way and that, turning the short walk into a painful experience.
When he reached the building he took a look at its façade, a quick look. Red-brick exterior, square foundation, three stories. Just like all the other buildings in Equal. There were a couple of broken windows and lots of maintenance deficiencies. It was a dilapidated building. Again, just like all the other buildings in Equal. It was nothing special. It wasn’t where someone who possessed three areas of superiority would choose to live if she had a choice in the matter. But no one ever had a choice in the matter. Lodgings were assigned by the government.
Standing in front of the building, Janus glanced back down the road. No more than a block away was the dividing line where the black market ended and the lodgings began. Citizens living in this neighborhood had easy access to the black market. How convenient. Janus lived an hour or so from the black market. How inconvenient.
As he surveyed the surroundings he thought, This is what Diana saw every single day. This was her world.
Janus stood in front of the building for about a minute, soaking up the atmosphere, getting a feel for the neighborhood.
Something brushed by his boot.
He looked down.
A gray rat stared up at him, black eyes, long wirelike whiskers. It blinked. Then it trotted off.
Janus opened the front door of the building and stepped inside. He stood here for a long moment, letting his eyes adjust to the semi-darkness. The strong wind had extinguished the candles in the front hallway, and there were no windows to let in the sunlight.
Now he closed the door behind him, pushing it against the wind, hard. He shuddered and rubbed his arms. He struck a match. It flared in the darkness. He looked around the front hallway. Threadbare carpet. Leaky pipes. Soiled walls. There was the heavy smell of disinfectants. He walked over to the candles and lit them. Then he stood listening. The wind. Nothing else. Dead quiet.
He climbed the battered stairs, past broken plaster, and stopped for a moment on the second floor. He leaned over the rail of the stair landing, looking down at the front hallway, a bird’s-eye view of its rotting condition.
He went up another set of stairs. The third floor. He stopped in the middle of the candlelit hall. Looked left. Looked right. Where was 333? He read a number on the nearest door. Then he turned right and went down the hall.