The Death of the Wave Read Free

as if he had a secret.
    We sat in the cafeteria, amidst the hot steam and clatter of a thousand dishes.
    An hour until exams.
    The Head Keeper, the one who told the stories of Author, he smiled at us,
    but the smile did not reach his eyes.
    Breaker 376, with the narrow face and broad shoulders waited by the door to discourage escape.
    He held a rifle in his hands but as we passed he met my eyes,
    and his gaze was dark and steady.
    We lined up to go back to our bunks and change in the hurried dark.
    As I went to join the others who were ready for testing, 56859 ran up to me and pushed
    a wrapped something into my hands.
    “In case”, he said, and I looked at him, a small dark figure scrubbed almost crimson,
    his uniform mended with bright blue patches.
    I told him he was clever, and that he was not to worry.
    He told me I was silly, and ran off to join the line.

BREAKER 256
----
    The medal jangled upon my chest as I made my way towards the Camps.
    I stopped it with my hand.
    My uniform had been cleaned and darned,
    Sonnet’s blood had long been washed away and
    the insignia shined, no longer hidden for a Poet’s benefit.
    I glanced furtively around the corner, hoping not to spy a Watchman.
    They are under the Breakers, they go where it is far too dangerous for Breakers to go.
    Young and inexperienced, every Breaker pays their due as a Watchman.
    Although they are young, they are full of adolescent zeal,
    and their warning red uniforms are that hue for a reason.
    Blood-proof and highly visible.
    I saw one wandering aimlessly down the street in alarming red vinyl,
    his dark hair gleaming under the street-lamps.
    He was headed in the direction of the Perform Camps, and his thin face
    in the washed-out moonlight was young, and had the frailty of a child.
    I waited until I was certain I was out of his sight.
    When I was certain, I removed the heavy medal and held it at arm’s length
    and watched as it swayed and glinted insolently in my grip,
    the bright copper tree of knowledge outstretching in all directions
    and the delicate insignia gleaming over its graceful branches:
    Knowledge of the Edicts Will Set You Free.
    I put it away, folding it into my pocket, and
    entered into Writer territory and the Poet’s outcropping.
    An all-night pharmacy blinked bewilderedly into the night
    with a line of stragglers still outside its dark doors.
    It must have been the first of the month again, Citizens’ health care for free on the first.
    Nutrition is poor for everyone here in Eden, especially in the Camps,
    and supplementary Proto-pills are meant to address this problem.
    The aristos told us that it was fair, but the life expectancy discrepancy
    still exists between the Camps and the Palaces.
    Some of the aristos seem to live forever.
    I turned to the entrance of Poet’s Camp, when a dark mass blocked my way.
    It was 376.
    The big man looked uneasy.
    His dark eyes were fixed firmly on mine, but his hands were
    twisting and untwisting, reaching for his gun and then relaxing away.
    His voice, ever familiar, was soft in the darkness.
    “What are you doing here, 256?” he questioned levelly, direct and serious.
    “I am only doing my duty, 376,” I responded calmly.
    “Why are you out of the Hives? Did Galileo tell you to watch over me?”
    “That is irrelevant. Your shift is over.”
    I raised my head.
    He looked away.
    “You should go,” I responded slowly,
    and watched his implacable face,
    the face that could not tell a lie,
    as a tremor went through his frame.
    He gazed at me again with troubled eyes.
    “Go now,” I urged quietly. “I will not be followed—”
    He fretted and whispered: “I will not be forced.”
    Something had shattered in the great man’s conscience,
    and he shook his narrow head.
    “You are not wearing your medal. I knew of your hesitation. You are sympathetic to the Camps—”
    “As I should be,” I retorted, “we are from the Camps. Leave now, 376.”
    He reached out for an instant, and