Childtime Institutions

– 1 –

Governor Jelan felt the child’s neck bones crunch beneath his fingers. He did not so much feel it directly as through the faint vibrations that traveled along the structure of his cybernetic arm to where it connected with his own bones. Lacking direct sensation in his fingers and hand, it was the best he could manage. Still, he found it sufficiently satisfying. He might have wished for more, wanting the full range of feeling—if not more—in his replaced limb, but after his father’s scolding when Jelan had expressed his disappointment by killing two of his surgeons and badly crippling another one. The last one would never perform surgery again. He had finally—and reluctantly— accepted that his needs were still just a little too far ahead of the current state of biomedical technology.

The child dangled limply from his still-outstretched hand. It had made only the faintest sigh as it had died. That Jerrick had heard clearly enough. Unlike his replaced limbs, the aural implants had not diminished his hearing one bit. In fact, they had enhanced it, allowing him to hear both higher and lower frequencies than he had before. He could now also hear whispers in his presence that previously might have gone unheard. People had died because of that.

An unpleasant aroma reached his nostrils and, almost without thinking, he let the child drop. It fell to the stone floor with a soft, muffled sound—something like a small skeleton falling into a gel mattress. Jelan did not look at it, nor did he turn away. Instead, he moved his gaze alone to what remained of the child’s family.

Only his mother and older sister remained. The father had already been dealt with, although now Jelan wished that he had thought to have the man die before the eyes of his family.

Man! Jerrick almost snorted aloud.

The father had lasted less than two hours before he had succumbed. His inquisitors were typically far more capable than that, able to prolong their interrogations for days before the accused succumbed under their techniques. They had been, Jerrick though, perhaps a little too eager when they had driven the spikes up into the man’s genitals. Jerrick did not smile at this, but he did experience a faint, but noticeable, flush along his cheeks at the thought.

Before him, the mother struggled against the officers who held her. She did not scream out, although Jerrick suspected that she wished to. Her eyes remained fixed on the dead body of her young son, squirming and twisting in a vain attempt to reach his small, lifeless body.

Jerrick considered her for a moment. She was, he remembered, generally unskilled and, now, too old to be of any use to him in any of the places where he normally sent such women. Yet, she might still be of some use in some menial domestic capacity somewhere. She would either die there or else sustain herself with her hatred of him and her dreams of one day possibly realizing her retribution. He had seen it many times before.

His eyes turned now to the daughter. Although it was difficult to tell through the grime and much-worn clothing, Jerrick could tell that she was well into adolescence. The ill-fitting clothes hid her figure somewhat, which was probably intentional, Jerrick knew. Still, he could see that breasts were well-formed and he could picture them—and her—bare under his hands. Her face was expressionless, her eyes turned downward. He could not tell whether this was from fear or to hide them from him. Nothing in her posture was in the least way threatening, but he had seen that before: assassins carefully trained to be as still as statues until they saw their moment to strike. One such had cost him both of his arms and hands from the middle of the forearm. She had tried to kill herself before she was caught, but his surgeons had salvaged enough of her that his inquisitors were able to spend some time with her before she had died.

This one, though . . .

Jerrick nodded to the officers holding the mother.

“Take her to the domestic labor pool,” he told them. “Perhaps someone might find some use for her.”

“Yes, sir,” they both responded, almost in unison. Jerrick noted that the one on the right must have been female, although it might have been a conversion.

They removed the mother from the room, even as she struggled to reach the body of her dead son. Sounds that were not words gargled from her throat as the officers dragged her away. They were cut off abruptly as the door closed behind them. At least that was probably the reason, Jerrick considered. The officers might just as likely have clubbed her into silence once away from his sight. In either case, he really did not care.

His eyes returned to the girl. He took a step forward, his hand moving to rest on the dagger that he wore at his side. It was more than ceremonial—as many agitators had come to learn. She neither stirred nor looked up at his approach. Jerrick tried to remember her name, but was not certain that he had ever known it.

As he moved closer, he caught the familiar aroma of someone who had not bathed in several days. He was not surprised at that, considering the conditions under which they had been held. He stood before her now. Her head remained bowed before him. Reaching down, he took a handful of her tangled hair. It might have been chestnut when clean, but it was difficult for him to tell for sure.

He pulled her head upward slowly, and with surprising gentleness. She fought to keep her eyes aimed downward, but there came a point when she no longer could. They were silver-blue. Jerrick found himself surprised at how bright they were. It was not tears, he realized, but a fierce intelligence. If there was anger hidden in them as well, he could not see it—although he would not have been surprised to find it there.

Her face, he saw, was quite lovely—not beautiful in the way that so many of the courtesans and actresses were, but in that manner that made men look twice without quite understanding why. He studied her, trying to decide her proper fate. She looked back at him without any change in expression.

A faint smile formed on Jerrick’s lips. He released his hold on the girl’s hair and her head dropped forward again.

“Take this one to The Chambers,” he instructed the officer who stood nearest to the girl.

“Yes, Governor,” the officer replied. This one was definitely female, Jerrick noted, although her expression revealed no deference or opinion as to the fate of the young girl.

The young girl did not struggle or resist as the officer led her away. Nor, Jerrick noticed, did she follow the officer meekly. She kept in step, showing no sign that she might attempt to bolt at her first opportunity. This intrigued Jerrick even more. He would have expected fear, or at least beaten resignation, but the girl demonstrated none of that.

This one will bear watching, he warned himself.

Once again, he tried to remember her name, but failed to come to a full recollection of it.

Sarah . . .

It was something like that, he recalled, but that was not it exactly.

I’ll know soon enough.

He continued to observe her until the doors closed once more, cutting her off from his view.

Jerrick turned back toward the small audience that had gathered to witness his actions. His gaze swept across the floor, pausing for an instant on the limp body of the dead child. It had soiled itself, he saw, and the stench of it had grown stronger. He gestured toward it, catching the eye of one of the senior guard officers standing nearby.

“Return that to its mother,” he told the officer. “If she still wants it.”

“Yes, sir,” the senior guard officer acknowledged smartly as he motioned for two junior deputies to come and fulfill the Governor’s orders.

Reluctance played briefly across both of their expressions, but they masked it well, moving toward the lifeless form on the stone floor. A third officer joined them, handing one of the other guards a folded piece of cloth. The third officer turned away and left without a glance at the fallen child. The other officer knelt, unfolding the cloth and spreading it open along the floor. The first guard helped him lift the body of the child into the cloth, although his assistance was probably not needed. Neither of the officers, though, seemed to get too close to the child’s body.

Together, they folded the cloth around the child’s body, tucking it around it until it looked like nothing more than a large bundle of crumpled cloth. Each of them took one end of the bundle and carried it from the room. Jerrick watched them only until they left his sight, not turning to see them exit the chamber.

As his gaze surveyed the members of the audience, he saw a mixture of fear, hesitation, and even the occasional glimmer of admiration. Those, he knew from experience, were the ones to watch most carefully. They were the ones who aspired to power of their own.

He turned and nodded toward his chief clerk, signaling that he was ready for the next item on the morning’s agenda.

– 2 –

The car, a scarred and dented Honda sedan manufactured more than a decade earlier, shuddered its way along the shattered streets. The shock absorbers, probably those that originally came with the vehicle were no match for the shallow crevasses and potholes that comprised much of what remained of the original road. Metallic groans issued from the car’s chassis as it moved along. Not for the first time, Harlin expected each sound the vehicle made to be its last.