Raphael Carter - The Fortunate Fall

“I know, I told her. You didn’t do a thing wrong. You don’t have anything to feel guilty about.

“Yes, it was a most commendable murder, she said. But I knew her: she would find a way to hold back grief until we were safely out. It was not in her to lose control.

“Five minutes later the camp commander, Katya’s ‘Uncle Eddie,’ drove up with a worried look on his face. ‘Kitty?’ he said. ‘It is you—what are you doing here?’

“‘Oh, Father wanted me to see the glorious workings of the Guardian cleansing machine or something like that. Honestly, to hear the man talk, you’d think the Square Miles were a dishwasher. All I’ve seen is a bunch of Zaks and Stonies, and some stupid guards who’re too busy watching the fire to notice them escaping.’

“‘Why on earth didn’t I know you were here?’

“‘I was supposed to be just like any other guard. He didn’t want me to get the executive tour or be coddled. He wanted me to see what it’s really like.’ Her face lit up. ‘And I sure did that, didn’t I! I shot a prisoner! Father’s going to be ever so proud!’

“‘He certainly will, Kitty, but right now we’ve got to get you out of here. It isn’t safe.’

“‘But we haven’t got a ride! We weren’t supposed to leave for three more days. Can you take us?’

“‘I’ll get a couple of the guards to take you.’

“‘Oh, God, you must be kidding. Those idiots? That prisoner couldn’t even walk, and I still had to do him myself because those incompetents couldn’t keep track of him. Honestly, I can’t believe you’d leave me to them. Can’t you take us yourself, Uncle Eddie?’

“‘Kitty, I have armed people loose in the camp—’

“‘Well, we’ll just wait in your office till they’re found, that’s all. Come on, Eddie, you don’t have to take us to our dorm, just as far as Father’s house. It’s only a few miles. Father’ll be mad if you don’t.’ A spark of shrewdness lit her disingenuous eyes, and she whispered: ‘We don’t have to tell him about the break-in, you know.’

“Edward Sinclair, the commander of the third or fourth most efficient killing factory in the world, closed his eyes in amused irritation. ‘All right, then. Get in. I never could say no to you.’

“Can’t say no to making a hero’s entrance at the Heptarch’s house, he means, the old hypocrite, Katya said, starting toward the truck.

“‘Put your guns on the rack, kids,’ he said, ‘and be sure you unload them first. We don’t want them going off if we hit a pothole.’

“Katya complied. We climbed into the enormous pickup truck, Sinclair giving her a hand up.

“‘Who’s your friend?’ he asked her as I climbed in numbly.

“‘Paul Wintermute. He’s a ninth cousin or something. Don’t make him talk to you, it’s cruel—he’s never seen anyone die before and he’s trying really hard not to throw up.’

“I understood: if I spoke, my accent would give everything away. The Heptarch’s daughter could not associate with a Russian.

“‘And be a love and don’t tell anyone I’m here. Father made me promise.’

“We waited in his office for an hour, with a guard watching over us, until Sinclair returned to tell us that the intruders must have escaped.

“He knows we’ve been here, I said as we were waved past the guard station out onto the highway. Sooner or later he’ll tell someone who can put two and two together.

“No, he won’t, Katya said matter-of-factly, her eyes searching the cab of the truck. She looked down between our feet; found a red metal bar with a bifurcated tip that was lying on the floor. ‘What’s this?’ she asked, picking it up.

“‘It goes on the steering wheel,’ Sinclair said absently. ‘I use it to keep the truck from being stolen if I have to go into town.’

“‘Good idea,’ Katya said, nodding vigorously. ‘Those Russians’ll steal anything.’ She idly laid the bar across her lap, resting one hand on it.

“‘What are those cells we saw for, Uncle Eddie?’ she asked. ‘Are they politicals?’

“‘They’re the worst politicals, honey. The most dangerous.’

“She snorted. ‘Not anymore they’re not. The man I shot could barely stand.’ She leaned against Sinclair and laid her head on his shoulder. ‘I’ve missed you, Uncle Eddie. Remember when you used to come over every weekend, and talk to my father about all the funny things that happened at the camp? When I was little I wanted to be exactly like you.’

“He took his eyes off the road just long enough to glance at her with fondness. ‘You are a lot like me and your father, Katya. You keep your head under pressure and you’re not squeamish about things dying.’

“You bet I’m not, she thought grimly.

“Katya, don’t.

“Of course I will, she said. It’s the only thing that makes sense. Piotr should have made me do this in the first place, if it weren’t for his idiot chivalry.

“Please, I said. Let me do it. He’s no one to me, just another Guardian. It won’t hurt me the way it’ll hurt you.

“You’re right, she said. He’s no one to you. That’s why I’m the one that has to do it. He and my father talked genocide the way other men talk football. He taught me to admire every form of atrocity when I was still wearing drop-drawer pajamas. If you killed him he’d die like anybody. When I kill him he’ll die as the monster he is. This is the man I was born to kill.

“Don’t do this to yourself, I pleaded. You’ve got yourself so worked up you’re not even thinking straight.

“‘I wish I had a hundred like you at the Square Mile, Katya. You’d make a great camp commander, in fact; it’s a pity you’re not a man.’

“‘Now, Uncle Eddie,’ she chided him, brushing the hair from his brow, ‘can you really wish such a thing?’

“He laughed. ‘Well, I can, old fogy that I am, but I imagine the young men at MGU would put up quite a protest.’ He looked at her again, mist in his eyes. ‘You’ve grown into a fine woman, Kitty.’

“‘Oh, Uncle Eddie,’ she said, kissing him on the cheek, ‘you always know just what to say.’

“In my head she shrieked: I WILL kill him!

“‘Please, Katya!’ I said. Only when he looked at me did I realize I had spoken aloud.

“‘You’re Russian? But—’

“And before he could work out the implications, Katya grabbed the bar of steel on her lap, and thrust the forked end into his face. His head was driven back into the side window, through the glass, which cut the arteries of his neck. When I reached across her to grab the steering wheel and slid over to hit the brake, the inside of the truck was already covered with blood. By the time we pinballed to a stop, my left leg was on his lap and my right on hers, and both of them were perfectly still.

“‘He made me kill that man,’ she said. ‘He murdered thousands—and he drank tea with my stuffed animals—and he made me kill that man.’

“‘It’s all right, it’s all right, it’s all right,’ I said, trying to embrace her. I might as well have been hugging Uncle Eddie. Of course it was not all right. From Square-Mile-on-Martha’s-Vineyard to Square-Mile-at-Kamiyaku, and from my mind to hers, as far apart as those two islands, nothing was in the least all right. And it is my shame that when I should have been trying to comfort her, my thoughts were of myself. I kept trying to figure out just when I had stopped being a child, playing a game with secret names and passwords.

“At last she said, ‘Let’s take care of the body.’ I realized that I was still clutching her, so hard it must have hurt. I let her go: and that was the only time that we ever embraced.