Kassy Tayler: Remnants of Tomorrow

“Oh dear,” Dr. Stewart says.

Pace shakes his head. “You can be a part of this if you choose. A new future for everyone. Or you can decide not to, and you will be on your own. I think if you look around, you won’t find anyone to support you. Everyone here is looking to the future.”

Voices rise around us, most of them in wonder at the library. I did not realize how many more were excluded from coming inside. I always thought it was just the shiners who were penalized. Now I realize there were so many more. We all may find that we have more in common than we thought.

“The time of living in the past is over,” I say. “It was over the second the glass came down. The time has come to look to the future.”

“Is there anyone here to represent the royals?” Pace asks. “Wouldn’t you like the privilege of doing so, to really be a part of making decisions instead of letting someone else do it for you?”

“The only way we will survive is if we all work together,” Adam adds.

The king opens his mouth to protest once more, but one look at the people milling around inside the library silences him. “I suppose I should listen to what you have to say and voice my opinion on matters,” he says instead.

“Stupendous!” Dr. Stewart says. He grabs the king’s hand and pumps it up and down while clasping his other hand against his back. I know the king is not used to being manhandled in this way, and I put my hand to my mouth to cover my grin. “Can I be of any assistance to you during your meeting?” he asks.

“I think we would all appreciate anything you have to offer,” Pace says. “Should we get this under way?” he asks me, and I appreciate his doing so. He doesn’t need me. He should be the one representing our enclave, not me. Then I remember what we learned about parliament, and I realize that perhaps instead of representing just one faction, he should be the one who heads up all of them.

But will this group see his potential, or will they dismiss him because he is young?

“Can everyone find a seat please?” Pace calls out. People move to the chairs and the sound of wood scraping over wood fills the space as they settle in.

An arm raises to get my attention, and I see Jon coming toward us. “Are you here to represent the scarabs?” I ask.

“I am,” Jon says with a smile. “And we are searching for a new name for our group. We will no longer be living off of everyone else’s castoffs. We will be making our own way.”

“I’m so happy for you, Jon,” I say. “For all of you. Of us all, your people have suffered the most.”

“I’m not so sure about that, Wren.” Jon takes my hands into his. “I am so sorry about James.”

“So am I,” I say. “I truly believe he could have done great things if given a chance.”

“That is all any of us wants,” Jon says. “A chance. And now we all have one. I hope we will appreciate it.”

“If everyone looks at it the way you do, then they will.”

Most everyone is sitting now, so Jon and I sit down at the table closest to us with Adam and Dr. Stewart. I see that Findley has come in also, and he sits at the table next to us. No one has enough courage to join the king at his table, except for the man with the scarf who chastised us, and he stands behind him, instead of sitting down.

Pace stands before the tables and waits until everyone quiets down. “I know you have questions about what has happened to our world,” he begins. “Questions about the world outside. Questions about how this all came to be.”

A few voices rise, some with insults directed at the king, others with questions. Pace waits until they quiet again, and I watch him, amazed and proud at the easy confidence he displays as he stands before everyone.

When the crowd is quiet Pace introduces himself and tells them the story of how we escaped the dome. He begins with Alex’s death, because they all saw it or knew someone who did. The way he tells it does not make either of us sound like a hero, instead we just seem determined. He also does not speak ill of my father, even though he was responsible for so many deaths. They listen, enraptured, as he speaks, until Pace tells them about the rovers. That is when the concern plainly shows on their faces.

“So by breaking the glass you have condemned us to death,” someone says.

I shake my head. They sound just like my father, living in fear.

“We can beat the rovers,” Pace says. “I have not mentioned them to make you frightened. I am telling you this so you will be prepared. We have high hopes that we will have peace with them.” He glances at me, and I smile my encouragement. We still have not heard anything from Ragnor. “Now,” Pace says, “tell us who you are and who you represent and then Dr. Stewart, who is from America, will tell us about a thing called parliament.”

“I think it would be helpful if all this was written down,” Dr. Stewart adds. He must not know the value we put on paper, but then I realize, paper is something we can have plenty of now.

The king clears his throat. “My man, Snowdon, can record everything, if that is agreeable,” he says. Everyone agrees, or else they are too taken aback by the fact that the king is here with us to protest. Snowdon goes in pursuit of paper and pen, which is provided to him by a woman who I missed before. She must be the librarian, and for a brief moment I envy her position. Snowdon nervously sits down beside the king and holds the pen aloft, waiting for Pace to proceed. Pace looks at me and smiles.

“My name is Wren MacAvoy, and I represent the enclave, a settlement outside the dome.”

“My name is Adam Reid, and I represent the shiners.”

“My name is Jon Monroe, and I represent those you called the scarabs.”

And to my amazement, the king stands. “My name is King Henry of Hanover-Saxe-Coburg and Gotha, Duke of Kent and Windsor,” he continues to rattle off titles that have absolutely no meaning to the rest of us, but we listen in fascination. “And I represent,” he pauses and then grins so widely that he looks like a small boy who has just discovered a rare treasure, “the royals!”

The voices ring out around the room. I did not realize how many smaller factions there were. The butchers, the bakers, the metalsmiths, the gardeners, the shopkeepers, the launderers, and those who serve the royals. The workers from the fans who attacked us. The teachers and the doctors and nurses and those who cared for the animals. The street sweepers and lamplighters and Max who represents the dome cleaners. The last to stand is Findley. I am surprised when he does not; instead the bluecoat next to him stands and declares his name as Pierce, while Findley just sits and smiles. So many groups to make up the whole. So many to care for, but so many who can work to make this new world succeed.

The future is ours if we want it bad enough. I know I do.

The meeting continues for hours, hours in which I realize that I have not eaten anything at all today. Hours in which I fight the urge to lay down and sleep because I am still so weak from my wound. I have to pay attention. There is so much these people need to know to survive and so much I need to do to ensure the safety of the people who I represent in the enclave.

They ask question after question. All of them having to do with their survival. I had not realized how safe we were inside. There was no question of food or shelter. We might not have had much, but there was always that assurance that we would not starve or be in fear of outsiders for our lives.

Pace answers their questions with an amazing amount of patience, even when it seems like the exact same question is being asked again.

At least they are happy about parliament and what it represents for the future. Finally, when I do not think I can keep my eyes open any longer, Pace draws the meeting to a close.