Chapter 1 - Lace

So, as Rainey is still struggling to find a voice, I've decided to continue my work on Resistance (which is actually Listed's new title...I had forgotten...) So...here's Chapter 1!

2458 words

Chapter 1

 “The historian uses art in telling his stories, but he must bow to the higher value of faithfulness if he is to be a good steward of his sources and his task.” – Dr. Donald Williams

            On the first day of class, the students arrived, prepared to be bored to tears. It was a history class, and history in Eleth, like history in the former realm of Calormen, was dry as a bone, as the phrase goes. When the professor entered, their conclusions seemed to be even closer to the mark. She looked like the most mundane librarian that there had ever been. Her hair was tied back in a bun, and she carried a large stack of what looked like handwritten notebooks—and, the students knew, anyone who did that much writing by hand by default must be horribly prosaic.

            But as soon as she opened her mouth, they realized that their beliefs were incredible misconceptions. She spoke not like a professor, but like a true storyteller.

“The story I am about to tell you,” the professor began in her musical voice, “is an incredibly important one. You have heard, of course, about the rebellion, thirty years ago?”

            The sea of students filling the lecture hall all nodded. Though most of them had been born a decade after the fact, they had grown up hearing horror stories about the old Governor and grand tales of the heroes of the Resistance.

            As though reading their minds, the professor smiled. “Yes. I’m going to tell those stories—tell them as stories, mind you—of the heroes and what they did; the history of the Resistance, the Counter-Anarchists, and the Anarchists themselves. You see, much of the story has yet to be told. And after years of research and hearing eyewitness accounts, I am ready to tell this story to you.”

            At that, the students sat up in rapt attention. The way their professor had said this, they were certain that they would be the very first to hear many, many new stories about the Heroes and the others who had been involved in the conflict.

            “Does anyone have any questions before I begin?” the professor asked.

            The room was silent, until one student shouted, “Tell the story!”

            “All right,” said the professor, smiling and opening one of her many notebooks. “Then I’ll begin.” And she started to read.

            Ben Sinclair sat down exhaustedly in one of the chairs at the large round table in the center of the hall. Nevertheless, he opened his notebook and began to write, spelling out nearly word-for-word the lecture from that afternoon. It was a practice he employed often, this writing out of the lectures he had heard, in order that he could go back and read them in the future and further solidify his memory of what he had learned. His fellow students likewise appreciated this methodical transcription, for it ensured that they, too, could remember the lectures.

            After about a half hour, his silent vigil was interrupted by loud footsteps. “You doing that thing again?” his friend York asked, dropping into the seat next to him. “Where you write it all down?”

            Ben nodded silently, his pen hardly pausing.

            “You’re insane,” York announced to him and to the room in general. Naturally, no one but Wynn and Hazel heard him. They were part of his and Ben’s inner circle of friends, who would work on papers and projects together, researching, drawing on their various fields of expertise to help each other learn as much about the world—and the other worlds—as they possibly could.

            “Can’t you say it more eloquently, York?” Wynn asked, with a good-natured smile. Hazel nodded in agreement. “We all know that you are capable of eloquent speech—why is it that you never make use of it?”

            “I don’t like people to know I’m smart,” York admitted with a shrug. “It gets boring when everyone knows. They expect a lot more from you, and I don’t want a lot expected of me. I’d rather just fly under the radar for a while, write the occasional paper, but not be a famous academic.”

            “So you want to pretend to be normal,” Hazel summarized.

            York grinned at her. “Yeah, exactly!”

            “Whereas Ben here could never pretend to be normal if he tried,” Hazel chuckled.

            “Hey, it’s not my fault that I have a photographic memory,” the young man grumbled, putting the finishing touches on his transcription. “So, what’s for lunch?”

            The students laughed, and the lecturer smiled at them. “I’m guessing many of you live in much the same way,” she guessed, and was rewarded with a second chuckle.

            In the midst of his extremely busy life as a graduate student at university, Wynn was working on an invention which, despite his penchant for eloquent speech, he had dubbed an Education Machine. It had begun as a bizarre theory one day, as he sat in a psychology class and learned about the brain. What if, he thought, one could artificially implant information in an individual’s brain? Would it be possible to educate a person using electricity, of all things? Wynn mentioned his theory to his friends, and they, very interested, agreed to help him research it.

            “How’s the work coming?” Hazel asked Wynn one day, as they walked to their history lecture.

            “It’s going remarkably well, all things considered,” replied Wynn with a smile. “All the experts I’ve spoken to have concurred—education by electrical impulse is a definite possibility.”

            The work progressed. Wynn and York found out, by several tests run on guinea pigs, that simple tasks could be taught by altering this or that area of the brain. Not irreparably, of course—by which I mean that it wouldn’t change the person in any way. The individual would remain fundamentally the same, but simple skills and knowledge could be added by using even a mild electrical impulse.

            They increased the strength of the signals slowly but surely, and eventually wound up basically creating an entirely new race of guinea pigs. There is an Otherworld book which tells the tale of rats that learned to read; Wynn and York seemed to manage this feat remarkably well.

            But one day, Ben, who had been preoccupied with his doctoral thesis during this stage of their work, came to find out how they were doing.

            “Look at what these guinea pigs can do!” York exclaimed, holding up one of their prized specimens with unconcealed glee. “They can read, they can communicate...all because of electricity!”

            Surprised, Ben looked closer. The guinea pig stared back at him with its overly-intelligent eyes.

            He took several steps back.

            “York, that’s unnatural!” he exclaimed in an almost disgusted voice.

            The other man beckoned him to take a closer look. “We’re just pushing evolution along a bit. They would’ve learned to read sooner or later.”

            Wynn rolled his eyes. “How many times do we have to go through this, York; evolution is not a scientific fact, but a mere theory.”

            “Whatever. I believe it. Because look what we did!” He danced around the room with the guinea pig still in his hands.

            “You may have evolved the guinea pig, York, but I don’t like it,” Ben explained quietly. “There’s something really wrong with doing that to animals. You’re not supposed to be able to talk to animals!”

            “That Otherworld guy did it!”

            “York, that was fiction, even in the Otherworld!” Sighing exasperatedly, Ben took a closer look at their instruments. “You use this to send the electricity in?”

            “Yes, that’s what it’s for.” Wynn peered over his shoulder, then pointed at a set of complicated-looking dials. “This is where we adjust the impulses. We don’t use enough to kill them...most of the time, that is; this isn’t an exact science yet. We’re still learning what does what.”

            “And you’re putting living things into it?!”

            “Well, how else would you expect us to find out how this would be done?”

            “I dunno, Wynn; I still don’t like it.”

            “Suit yourself, Ben. You don’t have to help us any more—not that you’ve done that much, anyway,” he added bitingly.

            “I was working on my doctoral thesis!”

            “Well, couldn’t your thesis wait? This is a new science, an incredible discovery! You could be famous!”

            “No. I don’t want any part of it.”

            “Well, if you turn up your nose at it, I don’t want you coming around any more. This is my proudest moment, Ben, and if you won’t support me—”

            “I won’t.”

            “Then...get out,” Wynn spat, his voice unnaturally terse.

            They didn’t speak for years after that. While Wynn, York, and Hazel worked on their Education Machine, Ben joined the Education Department of the brand-new Government, working his way up in the ranks until he was very nearly in charge.

            Along the way, he heard disconcerting reports. York had apparently traveled to another town to pick up some parts for a large machine and never reappeared. Hazel had apparently perished after a brief but severe illness. Wynn, however, was still plugging away, and eventually contacted the Education Department, asking them to send a Government agent out to inspect his work. He wanted to see if it would, when finished, do them any good.

            While he was proud of his former friend’s success, Ben didn’t want to go himself, so he sent an Agent named Kione Gregory, who was known for his thoroughness and loyalty to the Government. If there was any worth in Wynn’s machine, Gregory would commend the man and see to it that his work was heavily subsidized.

            When Gregory returned from Wynn’s laboratory with the invention in tow, Ben was mildly fearful. While it meant that his friend had managed something excellent with his work, he had also specified that it was in the preliminary stages—not ready to sell. And his suspicions were confirmed when Wynn himself arrived at his office, a small girl about three years old in tow.

“Ben. It’s started,” he said.

If it had been anyone else, Ben would have been rather nonplussed at this intrusion. But the fact that it was Wynn, whom he hadn’t seen or talked to in years, made him leap to his feet. “Wynn! What’s—” He stopped abruptly in the middle of his sentence. He had been right. Something was definitely wrong.

“It’s started, Ben. The Government’s taking over.” Wynn’s eyes were wild.

“Isn’t that kind of obvious?”

“You don’t get it.” Wynn pounded his fist on Ben’s desk, causing a cup of pencils to tip over and spill onto the floor with a wooden rattle. “They’re taking over. Controlling everything. Do you hear what I’m saying?” he roared, grabbing Wynn by the arms and practically shaking him. “Ben, everything is changing.”

“Now, calm down, Wynn.  I’m sure you’re overreacting. It can’t be as bad as you seem to think—”

“You don’t understand,” moaned Wynn through clenched teeth. “They’ve taken everything—everything, Ben!”

“Is this about your machine?”

“Yes, it’s about the machine! And about everything I own—my equipment, my food...Ben, they’ve taken it all! Everything!”

“Why on earth—”

“I had to stop them, Ben! They’re not who you think they are!”

“Stephen, I know they’ve lied about the takeover. But all in all what they’ve done has helped Mirkal. Less people are breaking the law. They’re moving everything to those new buildings they’re putting up at the center of town. They’re a lot more organized than the old government was—”

“Do you think that’s what this is all about?” spat Wynn. “Organized? Better at keeping the peace? If that’s what you think...”

“I don’t know what to think!” Ben suddenly roared. “I’m being bombarded left and right with this propaganda! No one is telling the truth! I just have to trust that they know what they’re doing! It’s all I can do!”

“No, Ben.” Wynn’s voice was quieter now, shaking with emotion. “It’s not.” He indicated the little girl standing beside him.

“You have a daughter?” Ben inquired, his voice gentling.

“Yes. She’s the spitting image of her mother, isn’t she?”

“I wouldn’t know.”

“Oh, that’s right—we lost contact after you wouldn’t help me.” A bit of bitterness returned to Wynn’s voice in that moment, an irate, stiff sound which, somehow, brought Ben back to when he and Wynn had fought over the Education Machine. “I married Hazel McClenaghan—you remember her?”

“Yeah.” Suddenly remembering that Hazel had died, Ben lowered his voice and said, “I’m sorry, Wynn.”

“Kara is all I have left of her now,” the other man murmured. “And now,” he suddenly growled, “I can’t even take care of her. Ben, I’m Listed. And so’s she.”

One student raised her hand. “Er...what’s Listed mean?”

The professor blinked. “You don’t know?”

“No.” The other students let out a murmur of agreement.

“Well, Listing...it’s like exile, ostracism from Otherworld history...” Off the students’ blank looks, she continued. “It means you’re kicked out of society. No one can talk to you. You can’t work. You’re dead unless you find a community of people who find some way of getting food.”

“Oh. Thanks, Professor.”

Ben blinked. “They Listed her?”

“They think I’ll raise her to be a threat. They weren’t taking any chances—not after I refused to give them my machine or my help. They’re heartless.”

“Stephen, what can I do? I—”

Clearing his throat, Wynn held his daughter out. “You can take her...raise her as your own daughter.” His voice cracked. “She’ll be safe. She can get an education, have the life she deserves. They’ll never know.”

Ben took a deep breath. “Wynn, as much as I’d like to, I can’t. Taking care of someone that young...it’d be an unbearable burden on me. I couldn’t teach, I couldn’t work, I couldn’t do anything.”

“But Ben—you can’t—”

“Wynn, I can’t afford it. It’s too risky, too much to ask. Why don’t you ask York?”

“No one knows what happened to him,” hissed Dr. Wynn through gritted teeth.

“Oh...right.” His voice trailed off as he remembered that his other friend had vanished.

“You see, Ben? You have to take her. You’re the only one!”

Ben’s heart ached. He wanted to take her, he really did. But it just wasn’t practical. “I can’t. I’m sorry. Surely I’m not the only one—surely there’s someone else?”

“There is no one else.” Wynn’s voice was hollow now. “Goodbye, Ben.”

“Wynn...wait...where will you go?”

“I don’t know.” And with that, Wynn gave Ben one last look, a glance filled with every ounce of his anger and fear. Then he lifted his daughter and stalked out of the office, slamming the door behind him.

Within two minutes, Ben ran after them. He couldn’t let them go that easily. He had to take the girl; who knew what would happen to her if he didn’t?

But Wynn and Kara were gone. They had vanished without a trace.