jiffy."
I readied the device and set the connections, but the bonnet didn't flash. The cartridge containing the tiny ray tube spun through its inner tracks. It spiraled from bottom to top as dutifully as ever, but never gave off its signature glow. I couldn't tell if it had worked or not.
"There we go." I lifted the bonnet. Penelope blinked back tears, her lips quivering as if she'd cry. I shushed her, and placed her back in her carriage so I'd have time to think.
Clearly, the scorching hadn't worked on this girl. She tossed about in her pram, her gaze flittering everywhere, her features full up with emotion. I blamed the bonnet, but even if it had burned a tiny fraction of its program onto her brain, she couldn't be re- scorched . The process was too dangerous to try a second time.
"What shall I do with you?" I stared at little Penelope. She looked timidly back, arms outstretched and pleading.
Scorching had been compulsory across the entire population since the Prince Consort's death nearly a decade ago, when the Queen herself had submitted to the process. There hadn't been an unaltered soul in years.
"I'm sure I'll have to tell," I said. But should I?
The scorching , so strangely lacking in some aspects of my personality, didn't remove free will. It merely suppressed the wasted notions of loyalty and sacrifice, replacing them with frugality of action and the hard limits of conformity.
The proper thing would be to do as I'd been told. Hadn't the warden specifically instructed me to "t ake care nothing happens" when she'd spoken to me earlier? I could let this girl go, continue my duties as if nothing had happened, and still be obeying the letter of my orders. She'd grow up without he scorching , free of the fetters binding humanity to a dull and robotic existence. What might someone like that accomplish?
~
"Do we have a problem?" The warden bent to stare into the carriage. Little Penelope hid her head.
"Mam, the bonnet's malfunctioned. I don't believe it's done its job." The words tumbled dutifully from my lips.
I felt no sense of betrayal, no sadness. The scorching wouldn't allow it. I did feel a twinge of loss, as if I'd misplaced something uniquely important, but I could not hold the sensation for long.
"Well, put it aside then."
"The girl?"
"No, the bonnet." The warden gave me one of her sour looks. "Put the bonnet aside, and continue on with the others."
"But what about the girl?" I asked.
"She's been processed. We can't do it twice."
I glanced at Penelope. She smiled and stared with curious eyes as her carriage rolled away. How would she see the world we'd made? How might she change it?
My heart beat faster, my thoughts on the future.
Then I turned, feeling nothing.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR:
D. A. D'Amico lives in Lowell, Massachusetts with his large family. They are the source of many of his stories, but sadly, those stories are too implausible to render into print.
The Great Exodus:
Into the Wasteland
By Steve Coate
EDITOR ’S NOTE: This is part one of the six part serial, The Great Exodus
Safiya tugged at her little brother’s arm. “Come on. The old man is going to tell us a story!”
Raldan was just as excited as his sister, even though he was two years older than her. The old man’s stories were the daily highlight of the evening for the children of the community. Together, the siblings rushed to the common room, where several other children of varying ages and some of the adult population of New Kona had already gathered. Safiya and Raldan seated themselves on the dirty cold tile floor and looked up to the dais, where sat the old man, his dark beard salted with white streaks and specks that signified his advanced years.
With the help of a walking stick, the old man stood, spreading his arms wider even than the welcoming smile on his cracked face.
“Gather round, everyone.” He turned in place, gazing at those assembled as though taking stock. “Once everyone has
I readied the device and set the connections, but the bonnet didn't flash. The cartridge containing the tiny ray tube spun through its inner tracks. It spiraled from bottom to top as dutifully as ever, but never gave off its signature glow. I couldn't tell if it had worked or not.
"There we go." I lifted the bonnet. Penelope blinked back tears, her lips quivering as if she'd cry. I shushed her, and placed her back in her carriage so I'd have time to think.
Clearly, the scorching hadn't worked on this girl. She tossed about in her pram, her gaze flittering everywhere, her features full up with emotion. I blamed the bonnet, but even if it had burned a tiny fraction of its program onto her brain, she couldn't be re- scorched . The process was too dangerous to try a second time.
"What shall I do with you?" I stared at little Penelope. She looked timidly back, arms outstretched and pleading.
Scorching had been compulsory across the entire population since the Prince Consort's death nearly a decade ago, when the Queen herself had submitted to the process. There hadn't been an unaltered soul in years.
"I'm sure I'll have to tell," I said. But should I?
The scorching , so strangely lacking in some aspects of my personality, didn't remove free will. It merely suppressed the wasted notions of loyalty and sacrifice, replacing them with frugality of action and the hard limits of conformity.
The proper thing would be to do as I'd been told. Hadn't the warden specifically instructed me to "t ake care nothing happens" when she'd spoken to me earlier? I could let this girl go, continue my duties as if nothing had happened, and still be obeying the letter of my orders. She'd grow up without he scorching , free of the fetters binding humanity to a dull and robotic existence. What might someone like that accomplish?
~
"Do we have a problem?" The warden bent to stare into the carriage. Little Penelope hid her head.
"Mam, the bonnet's malfunctioned. I don't believe it's done its job." The words tumbled dutifully from my lips.
I felt no sense of betrayal, no sadness. The scorching wouldn't allow it. I did feel a twinge of loss, as if I'd misplaced something uniquely important, but I could not hold the sensation for long.
"Well, put it aside then."
"The girl?"
"No, the bonnet." The warden gave me one of her sour looks. "Put the bonnet aside, and continue on with the others."
"But what about the girl?" I asked.
"She's been processed. We can't do it twice."
I glanced at Penelope. She smiled and stared with curious eyes as her carriage rolled away. How would she see the world we'd made? How might she change it?
My heart beat faster, my thoughts on the future.
Then I turned, feeling nothing.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR:
D. A. D'Amico lives in Lowell, Massachusetts with his large family. They are the source of many of his stories, but sadly, those stories are too implausible to render into print.
The Great Exodus:
Into the Wasteland
By Steve Coate
EDITOR ’S NOTE: This is part one of the six part serial, The Great Exodus
Safiya tugged at her little brother’s arm. “Come on. The old man is going to tell us a story!”
Raldan was just as excited as his sister, even though he was two years older than her. The old man’s stories were the daily highlight of the evening for the children of the community. Together, the siblings rushed to the common room, where several other children of varying ages and some of the adult population of New Kona had already gathered. Safiya and Raldan seated themselves on the dirty cold tile floor and looked up to the dais, where sat the old man, his dark beard salted with white streaks and specks that signified his advanced years.
With the help of a walking stick, the old man stood, spreading his arms wider even than the welcoming smile on his cracked face.
“Gather round, everyone.” He turned in place, gazing at those assembled as though taking stock. “Once everyone has
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