“Post-traumatic stress disorder” became another word for “normal” after the war. “ Dysthymia ,” “ intermittent explosive disorder,” and “ cyclothymia, ” also grew into popularity after the ash swallowed up the sun and all of the vegetation along with it. “It’s a coping mechanism you’ve created in order to maintain some semblance of control.” The therapists all smiled before the Unions had banned psychotherapy altogether. “Not to worry, though. ” The therapist leaned across his chair and gently patted her knee through a wink. “You’ll just always be on time, that’s all,” and had laughed in his chair.
Laughter still ringing in her ears, she bolted upright into a sitting position—her eyes gravitated to her clock.
“Good morning, Jing-Wei!” chirped the ceiling. “Today’s date is November 21 st and the time is exactly 5:00am!”
Ignoring the cheery digitized voice, Jing-Wei sprang out of bed, ripped open her closet, and began shedding her pajamas. She yelped when ‘Happy Birthday’ blared down at her from the ceiling speakers. Recovering from the sudden noise, she tossed an angry glare towards the ceiling.
“Didn’t think I’d put it in my system calendar, did you?” said the apartment over the birthday song. “The next subway train will arrive in exactly fifteen minutes. Curfew hour is still 10pm across all three Unions. The current temperature inside the 1 st Union Dome is 22.78 ° C.”
Unimpressed, she slipped into the flats waiting for her by the foot of her bed—each shoe had been picked free from lint the night before with tweezers and a magnifying glass. She stabbed a chopstick through her hair bun, and then snagged breakfast from one of the bottles in the medicine cabinet.
“Have a good day, birthday girl!” The apartment giggled.
“Lock the doors,” she said on her way out the door. The heavy locks slid into place. The light on her front door blinked red, and a hologram sign reading “LOCKED” in all capitalized letters flashed twice by the key slot. She inhaled, then soldiered her way to the subway further down the street.
Jing-Wei walked briskly but savored each sour breath into her lungs. The city slept in an almost comatose fashion when the factories were off. The empty silence only lasted until 6am, and then like magic, all two million inhabitants teemed everywhere at once. Breathing in the stagnant air and sweating together under the lights, the city would not sleep again until after curfew. But beneath the city, no one slept.
By the hundreds, immigrants from the remaining continents flocked through these subterranean caverns. Their presence alone enticed unscrupulous salesmen into the throng of endless travelers. Using brainwave remotes, vendors “tuned” into the unsuspecting prefrontal cortexes—swindling thousands of rubles a day. And hundreds of teenagers, hookers, and musicians prowled through these tunnels looking for something to do. The constant flux of moving bodies clogged every vein and artery in the subway channels—it was the only “free” place the Unions hadn’t touched—couldn’t touch, as the subways were the only means of transportation between the Domes.
The stink of perspiration and rusting metal billowed into her nostrils as Jing-Wei pushed her way down the metro steps. The others behind her were already throwing their briefcases and purses at each other. A white-haired woman elbowed her way down the steps with an android stumbling behind her on its leash.
“Excuse us!” the android apologized as the woman shouldered Jing-Wei into the wall. An immigrant family moved to the side as the woman bulldozed her way through the crowd, and in a flash, a nearby salesman whipped out a remote control and fiddled with the dials.
“Your hands, put them over your ears,” said the immigrant father to his wailing children, “so he won’t hijack your brain!”
In a single throbbing mass, the crowd pushed shoulder-to-shoulder against one another, squeezing one-by-one into the subway trains. Some kicked their way inside, while others tossed people off the trains to make room for themselves. Jing-Wei saw a fistfight every morning. She ignored the same white-haired woman as she swung her fists at a teenaged girl. The woman’s android waved to the onlookers while the two women tackled each other down to the floor.
“A pretty red scarf for your hair?” said a woman, appearing by Jing-Wei’s side. While the woman spoke, her hand fumbled through one of the pockets in her dress. “I can give you a discount!” Her harsh voice croaked and a grey film oozed through the spaces in her teeth.
Jing-Wei slapped her hands over her ears and ducked away. Once cramming herself into the train, she seized a handrail and looked around. While she caught her breath, her eyes settled on the barcode peeking from her neighbor’s naked left wrist.
His Citizen’s ID Number glared across the subway compartment like a neon sign. She must’ve snorted because the man jammed the offending wrist into his coat pocket and mumbled; “I forgot my watch this morning.” No sooner had the words left his mouth, half the train yanked down their left arms and double-checked their own wrists.
Watches intact, the passengers shared the same thought when they looked up in unison, glaring in his direction. “He’s from the Decay,” someone whispered. “Bet he stole someone’s ID Number…”
The Watchless Man hid his face with his briefcase, his expression suddenly nervous.
“Might be an illegal immigrant from the 2 nd Union,” hissed someone else. “No one just ‘forgets’ to wear a watch now that the sun’s gone!”
The subway pulled to a jarring stop. Jing-Wei disembarked and squeezed off the subway platform emerging into the heart of the city. She shielded her eyes while blinking back the thousands of light bulbs blaring down at her from the Dome’s ceiling. It was now 6am and the city was starting to show signs of life. The Water Conservation Workers were already drilling by the edge of the Dome—their orange suits, soiled, and dripping with putrid brown water. They cleaned the water as much as technology allowed, but only the truly desperate drank it.
Eyes trained on her watch, Jing-Wei stomped into the Border Patrol building on the other side of the street. The familiar pair of blue eyes waited for her by the elevator, but without looking at him, she marched through the hall.
His ruddy cheeks looked too youthful for his twenty-eight years; however, despite his naïve appearance, Nikolai Khovansky was not only the highest ranking Deportation Officer in the building, but was also in charge of the unruly applicants. Underneath his boyish veneer, a steely interior was ever present and he was quick to show his unflinching grit whenever things got too violent around the office.
Like all high-ranking Deportation Officers, numerous pins and badges studded the uniform across his barrel-chest. “You’re on time as usual!” he beamed, his blue eyes twinkling.
Caution bit through her as she passed by him . “Good morning, Officer Khovansky.” She kept her eye on her watch as she gave a cursory nod without slowing her pace.
“How many years have I asked you to call me Nikolai?” he winced. When she didn’t respond he continued following after her. “You wouldn’t believe the trouble I had yesterday. A crazy old woman from the 3 rd Union bit me here,” he flashed his hand above his face, proudly displaying a faint red ring on the back of his palm. “She kicked me good in the shins too. I’m sure she cursed me in Arabic…or whatever the hell language they speak over there…”
“3 rd Union immigrants are often difficult, officer,” Jing-Wei responded,uncertain why Officer Khovansky made her feel so uneasy.
“Nikolai,” he reminded again through another wince. “And today it looks like we’re lined for another batch of difficult deportations.”
“You’d think they’d be grateful going to the Centers.”
“Yes.” The officer gave a dry laugh, “you’d certainly think so! It gets awfully tiring being the bad guy all the time. I hate my job,” he said.
“The Border Patrol is doing a much-needed service for the Unions even if the people don’t realize it.”
“You don’t know the half of it.” Nikolai’s expression turned grim, “What we do is quite disgusting, really…the few minutes I spend with you makes this job worthwhile.” He looked at her again, his expression soft and longing. “I wish I saw more of you,” he said.
Jing-Wei checked her watch—it was exactly 6:13am. She gasped at once and quickened her pace down the hall. Nikolai met her stride without looking away. “I want to spend more time with you…I only get to see you in transit to your office!”
“I’m sorry Officer Khovansky, but I—!” Jing-Wei gasped to her watch, now breaking into a run. “Oh my god, I’m going to be late!”
In retaliation, he seized her elbow and pushed her hard against the wall. She craned her neck, looking up at him in shock and confusion. “I told you before… I want you to call me Nikolai,” he said in a low voice. A faint blush crawled up his neck from his stiff collar, and he released her with a sheepish expression on his face.
After staring at him for a moment, she again turned to leave. Nikolai stepped into her path. “I didn’t mean to grab you like that and scare you…it’s just …” he trailed off. “There’s something I want to show you later.”
Once again, her eyes swiveled to her watch. “I don’t want to be late!” she blurted in a half scream. Without stopping a beat, she flung herself through her office door and fell upon her desk. Her eyes searched the auditorium where the applicants sat six feet below her on a stage.
A hologram screen appeared behind the protective glass around her desk. “Good Morning Chief Evaluations Director!” spoke the room’s CPU.
“The time, please?” she said panting.
“It is exactly 6:15am.”
Jing-Wei smiled, relieved. “Of course it is,” she beamed, checking her watch with the flick of her wrist. “Note the date and time into the Border Patrol’s main service log and signal the Deportation Officers for the first applicant.”
“Thursday, November 21 st, 2072, 6:15am,” the CPU droned. “Starting record log now.”
The stage door flew apart at once where an unsmiling officer directed the huge woman standing beside him. She waddled across the room on stiff legs, the skin around her thighs looked curdled and venous from excess fat and cellulite.
“Does the light have to be so damn bright in here?” the applicant snapped, shielding her eyes from the spotlight. She tugged on her bra straps, readjusting her enormous breasts.
“I’m sorry for your inconvenience,” Jing-Wei responded, “please take a seat and raise your left wrist.”
The woman rolled her eyes but lifted her left arm into the air, exposing her barcode tattoo. Her Citizen’s ID Number flashed onto the hologram screen with the woman’s data and personal history. Jing-Wei took a red pen and began circling notes in her file.
“Victoria Lopez,” her voice reverberated loudly from the stage speakers, flooding the auditorium. “You are here for the second time and now face disciplinary action from the Union,” she read off the hologram screen.
“For what?”
“Looking at your file, for several reasons,” Jing-Wei stated matter-of-factly. Her fingers went to work on the keypad. “First and foremost, this is your second health code infraction—six months ago you promised the state you’d work on your weight problem.”
“What ‘weight problem?’” Lopez scoffed, pumping out her cleavage through her shirt.
“Secondly, there have been recent allegations made by your neighbors,” Jing-Wei ignored her, “concerning your…sexual orientation.”
“The hell…?” snapped the woman.
A hologrammed image of Victoria Lopez crackled onto the screen and hovered above the stage by her chair. “This video feed was taken last month in front of your apartment by security cameras,” explained Jing-Wei. “According to the data, you’ve invited ten different women into your apartment in the last two months—all of them after mandated curfew hours.”
Laughing, Lopez’s hologram put its arm around an approaching woman’s shoulders. The two images laughed for a while before disappearing into Victoria’s apartment.
Jing-Wei pressed “pause” and the image froze in place.
“So because I put my arm around her, suddenly I’m lesbian? I invited her over as a friend.”
Jing-Wei leaned across her desk. “That may be, Miss Lopez, but the behavior itself is unorthodox. I’ll let it go with a warning, but that still doesn’t excuse your health code infraction.”
“I am not fat!” Lopez said, rising from the chair, her breasts bouncing in protest. “I’m not built like you people from Europe and Asia.”
Through Jing-Wei’s window, Lopez looked like a tiny fat figurine.
“The state is well aware of the various differences the Old Americas have to this continent—being ‘big boned’ has nothing to do with this. Your medical records indicate cardiovascular disease along with your high BMI score,” she read aloud without looking up. “I’m assuming you’ve been cooking illegally.”
“Absolutely not!” Lopez said.
“In conjunction with your age, your extra weight limits your chances of fertility—your chief responsibility as a citizen is to aid in the proliferation of the species.”
Jing-Wei scribbled with her red pen. “If you refuse to lose the weight, the state has no choice but to deport you to one of the Centers. The Centers can properly monitor your daily caloric intake and assure your fertility goals. You’re thirty. You only have five years left, you should use them wisely, Miss Lopez. Computer, please send for a Deportation Officer.”
“Wait—what?!” she circled in place. “You’re deporting me?!”
“Please come with me,” said the officer by the door, gesturing.
“You don’t understand.” Lopez dodged the officer’s outstretched arms. “I’ve lived in the 1 st Union for most of my life. You can’t just deport me.” She twisted in the officer’s grip.
“As soon as you lose the desired amount of weight at the Center, you can re-claim 1 st Union citizenship,” Jing-Wei said.
Although a very large woman, the officer had no problem lifting her up and carrying her to the door. “Hija de puta! No me jodas. YOU should go to the Center for being so fucking ugly!”
“The Union doesn’t deport citizens based on subjective levels of attractiveness,” Jing-Wei replied without feeling. “Computer, have the next applicant sent in, please.”
Victoria Lopez screamed obscenities in Spanish long after the Deportation Officer had carried her out of the room. Jing-Wei heard her voice shouting through the walls.
“Director Han?” the CPU chirped, “Your heart rate has increased forty percent in the last thirty seconds. Are you alright?”
“The next applicant,” Jing-Wei repeated, and the stage doors flew apart again.
The young man couldn’t have been anything over twenty, yet something dangerous lurked in his tousled presence. Without sitting in the chair, the boy glared up at her, fiercely setting his jaw.
“Please raise your left—”
“—I don’t have a Citizen’s ID Number,” the boy interrupted.
“…Why not?”
“Just don’t have one,” the boy shrugged his shoulders and looked angrily around the stage, “does it matter? You don’t need a Citizen’s ID Number to apply for citizenship. My name is Dietrich Knapp. That’s all the identification I have.”
“No birth records? No licenses of any kind?” she said.
His glare returned up from the stage. “I don’t need birth records.”
“Yes, but without a valid form of ID, I can’t properly put you in the system. As far as the 1 st Union’s concerned, you don’t exist. Do you know your parents’ Citizen’s ID Numbers?”
“I told you -- my name is Dietrich Knapp, I’m eighteen, that’s all the information you need to process me!”
She scrutinized the boy’s disheveled appearance. The skin around his face was taught and yellow, his eyes appeared weak despite his glaring. His clothes were torn and tattered, his dark hair oily and limp across his forehead. If she didn’t know any better, it appeared as if he had jaundice—a clear indication of Decay.
“I can only assume you’re from the Decay then.” She narrowed her eyes.
“I’m not from the Decay, alright?” The boy’s scowl darkened.
“How am I to know otherwise? You don’t have identification to clear you. The Union must assume you are an illegal immigrant. Proper citizens are given Citizen ID Numbers at birth. Every Union does this to prevent the Decayed from coming inside the Domes.”
“You can’t reject my application,” Dietrich said. “I’ve already been rejected by both the 2 nd and 3 rd Unions. This is my last shot, you won’t even send me to the Centers.”
“Only citizens go to the Centers after deportation,” she said. “You will go to jail or most likely be sent back into the Decay.”
“You can’t!” Dietrich pulled at his hair. He threw tufts of it onto the ground, then looked miserably at fallen hair in his fists. The scream that followed curdled the blood in Jing-Wei’s veins.
“Do you have any idea what it’s like?!” He yelled and panted, his eyes glued to hers. “People fight and kill each other like wild dogs for just a swallow of fresh water! Toddlers live off the scraps of human carcasses, often feeding on their own parents and siblings to survive!”
Noticing the sudden discomfort in her expression, Dietrich composed himself and took a menacing step towards her. His eyes burned brightly from the stage. “And the nuclear ash,” he continued bitterly “…eventually breathing in that poison will kill you.” His eyes flickered in the light, his expression dangerous again. “You can’t reject me -- but if you must, at least send me to prison.”
“I’m denying your application for citizenship based on your lack of identification,” she announced through the speakers. “You say you’re eighteen, but you could very well be sixteen or even fifteen—you have no legal guardian to vouch for your age or to supply valid identification for you.” As she spoke, the boy’s face turned beet-red with fury. The veins in his neck grew thick and fat while he clenched and unclenched his fists. Before Jing-Wei had finished her sentence, Dietrich grabbed the chair and flung it against the wall.
“Mr. Knapp, behaving violently won’t get you anywhere,” Jing-Wei spoke calmly. “Computer, send for a Deportation Officer at once.”
Still seething, the boy spun with a scream, now hurling the remnants of the chair up at Jing-Wei’s desk.
The protective glass shattered on impact. She gawked through the gaping hole, uncomprehending the broken glass at her feet. “Computer—!” she gasped, as the boy hauled himself up through the broken window. She half-stood from her seat to run, but his hands slammed her head into the wall before she had turned around completely.
Jing-Wei saw stars—she tasted blood on her lips. While she writhed on the floor, Dietrich flicked a switchblade open from his pocket. “Not so high and mighty now, are you?” he growled.
In that instant, a fifteen-year-old memory rushed back to her as vivid as the day she had lived it. “You’ll just always be on time, that’s all,” the therapist’s voice said in her ear. Jing-Wei looked away from Dietrich’s face to her watch. Deviating from her schedule frightened her more than Dietrich’s knife.
A swarm of Deportation Officers burst through the door as the boy cut the knife across her face. Arms slammed him into her desk, strewing her stack of applications every which way across the floor.
She screamed with horror and threw herself to the ground, snatching up her beloved documents and rearranging her desk. She screamed again when the men’s scuffling crumpled the papers under their boots.
Dietrich jammed his knife into the nearest officer’s chest and he dropped to his knees, blood trickling down the handle of the knife. The officer looked up at her as if bemused, and then collapsed into a heap beside her.
The officers ran after Dietrich, leaving her alone in the room.
Barely breathing, Jing-Wei yanked the folder free from underneath the man’s body. To her dismay, his blood had already stained the corners of the folder. Blinking back tears, she flapped the excess liquid onto the wall. “No!” she moaned, blotting the bloodstains with her jacket sleeve.
“Are you alright?!” Nikolai Khovansky ran into the room. “Miss Han!” He fell to his knees beside her. “Oh no, you’re bleeding…!”
“Your feet,” she croaked. “Don’t step on my papers.” Her head dropped onto Nikolai’s shoulder, and she rolled to the floor unconscious.
***
“Miss Han,” said a female voice. Soft hands pushed her flat onto the hospital bed. “Your injuries are minor but you should rest.” The nametag read, “N-Model 7” on the woman’s starched white uniform. Jing-Wei explored the bandage across her temple with her fingers while looking across the bed to the woman’s milk-white face.
Jing-Wei watched from her pillow as the android-nurse waved the curtain divider shut and walked away. Her eyes then moved to the clock in front of her—5:56pm. Two minutes later, the curtain divider swished apart and a man stood by the foot of her bed.
“I am Dr. Gupta, your physician.” The man smiled. “The lacerations are superficial and you can go home at any time. Just make sure you keep the bandages clean for today. Tomorrow you can take them off.”
She eased herself against the stack of pillows, “Was I…exposed for too long?” she asked him.
“We don’t think so. Your contact with him was minimal,” the doctor replied. “You should be fine, only, your superintendent from the Border Patrol asked me to tell you not to go back to work for the rest of today.”
“I see,” she muttered, and the doctor swished the curtain behind him.
Without wasting any time, she hopped out of bed and started for the exit. A little dazed but undeterred, Jing-Wei soldiered into her new mission, which was to arrive home by 7pm. Bumping into Nikolai Khovansky in the middle of the hall was an unwelcome delay. She frowned and tried to walk around him.
Ignoring her irritable expression, Nikolai laughed and swept her into his arms. He sighed with relief and set her down again. “I got away from Border Patrol as soon as I could to see you!” his blue eyes brightened. “Are you alright?” he reached for her hand.
Jing-Wei pulled her hand free and continued for the door, “I’m fine,” she reassured him. “The doctor said my wounds were superficial.” She rubbed her forehead with aggravation.
“Wait,” he cried, and she paused by the doors with her back turned to him. “That thing I wanted to show you…” Nikolai walked to her and stopped. “I…bought you something for your birthday. It is today, right?” he grinned sheepishly.
“I suppose it is,” she faced him again. Once again she craned her neck as he stood there in front of her.
“You know, I’ve always loved your name.” He spoke in a quiet voice. His eyes softened on her face, his expression very serious. “I’m sure you already know -- but in ancient Chinese mythology, Jing-Wei was the name of an emperor’s daughter who drowned at sea. Later, she was reincarnated as a small bird with red claws.” He pulled a small box from his pocket and opened it in front of her, revealing a tiny crystal bird.
Right away she noticed the figurine’s red-painted claws. It shone in the light as she held it up in her hands.
“Jing-Wei tried to fill the sea with pebbles and twigs so that she could save others from drowning. Though the sea laughed at her, Jing-Wei never gave up,” Nikolai continued, gazing in her eyes. “You are a lot like that bird, you know. In your small way, you dutifully try to help others—you take your job very seriously and I…it’s what I admire most about you.”
She looked away from the box and up into his eyes.
He blushed. “I’ve carried it in my pocket for the past couple of months -- I can finally give it to you now.” He laughed.
Jing-Wei shook her head and closed the lid. “I can’t accept it,” she said, handing it back.
“Sure you can.” Nikolai beamed. “I want you to have it, it’s for your birthday!” he insisted, pushing the box towards her again.
“No, that’s not what I meant.” Jing-Wei sighed. “Company policy forbids this sort of thing between government employees. I’m afraid I can’t accept it, although it is a lovely gift.”
Dumbfounded, Nikolai stared at her with his mouth hanging open. “You…you must be joking!”.
“I’m sorry.” Jing-Wei offered an apologetic smile and placed a sympathetic hand over his shoulder. “Try to have a good night, Officer Khovansky. I’ll see you tomorrow.
When Nikolai didn’t move or respond, she waved and walked away, leaving him there alone in the hall. She took the subway home and walked into her apartment by 6:45pm.
Five o’clock the next morning, her battle against the clock resumed, but unlike the previous days before, Officer Khovansky was not waiting for her in the hallway.
To her delight, the broken glass had been cleared away and a new window had been installed by her desk. Hours later into her work, Jing-Wei looked up from her red pen and down the stage at the applicant below her.
But before Jing-Wei could begin, the stage doors opened and a swarm of Deportation Officers marched onto the stage. The hallway door also flew apart behind her, revealing the Border Patrol’s superintendent and a ring of other Deportation Officers. Nikolai Khovansky was among them at the door, his eyes narrowed as he studied her face.
“Gentlemen, I haven’t began my case.” She laughed, half-rising from her desk.
The superintendent thrust a red slip of paper in front of her face. “A Union Warrant,” he declared. “Your 1 st Union citizenship has been called for immediate review.” He held the slip of paper just long enough for her to read, “Warrant,” before whisking the document under his arm. “I’m afraid you must come with us now.”
Nikolai turned on his heels and disappeared through the door. The other officers waited without moving, each of their faces had the same impassive expression.
They led her down the hall without speaking—only the clicking from their thick-soled boots filled the silence.
“Will you at least tell me why my citizenship has been called into question?” she asked the back of the superintendent’s head. He said nothing, however, and her stomach lurched as she wondered about the change of events.
One of the officers steered her away to the staircase on the far side of the hall. “Where are you taking me?” she asked, her voice tinged with alarm. “I don’t understand what’s going on!” She stumbled down the steps after him.
The officer said nothing, but continued tugging her arm across the dark basement floor. The corridor walls looked damp and smelled of mold. Only a single florescent bulb lit the hall.
She reassured herself that the warrant was a bureaucratic mistake, and that after fixing this trivial matter, she would be back at work again.
The officer paused by one of the doors and released her arm. Jing-Wei shivered in the drafty air without saying anything. She looked from his unreadable expression to the forlorn door in front of them.
“Your watch,” the officer grunted, and opened his palm for it.
Hesitating, she unclipped the watch from her wrist and placed it in his hand. The Deportation Officer took a hold of her elbow and pushed her through the door.
The door fed into a large auditorium where only a single chair sat in the middle of a gigantic stage. Looking up, she found Nikolai and the Border Patrol’s superintendent peering down at her from a window.
“The hearing room?” she said.
“Miss Han.” The superintendent’s voice boomed across the stage.
Confused and bewildered, Jing-Wei shielded her eyes when the spotlight flicked onto her face. She winced and allowed only a fraction of the glaring light to pass through her fingers. “Take a seat and raise your left wrist into the air,” the superintendent said.
“I…I don’t…?” She threw a desperate look over her shoulder towards the officer.
“Sit down!” The voice thundered, and she fell into the chair. “Your left wrist, Miss Han.”
Jing-Wei hoisted her left arm into the air, still squinting in the spotlight.
“You came in contact with a Dietrich Knapp yesterday? A man from the Decay?” The superintendent’s voice blared from the walls.
“Yes…” she answered, still shielding her eyes from the light.
“Is it also true that Deportation Officer, Nikolai Khovansky, visited you last night?”
Jing-Wei nodded her head, “Yes…but how does that—?”
“Did you touch him?” boomed the next question.
Through the glass, Nikolai stiffened his back and narrowed his eyes to slits.
Jing-Wei paused for a moment with her mouth hanging open. “I…I might’ve patted his shoulder. I still don’t see how…?”
The superintendent continued on, ignoring her. “Did you strike him?”
“Strike?” Jing-Wei dumbly repeated.
“Did you physically try to assault Officer Khovansky at the hospital last night?” he said.
“No, of course not!” She rose to her feet. “There’s some sort of misunderstanding, sir! I would never—!”
“Officer Khovansky gave us a troubling account of his visit. He says you were in a fit of rage, that you showed signs of Decay, and in your anger you destroyed a gift he had given you that day.”
A hologram of the crystal bird, broken into a dozen pieces, appeared in front of her chair.
“What?” Jing-Wei gasped, pointing to where the image was playing. The date and time blinked above the hologram video as if it had been taken from a security camera. “I didn’t break his gift, although I did give it back to him.”
“The security camera wouldn’t lie, Miss Han.” The superintendent blew up the image of Jing-Wei’s face on the hologram screen, and she gasped.
Every line in the hologram’s expression was contorted with malice and hate. Even her teeth were bared in anger, and yet, it was her face.
“I was…irritated. I was just trying to go home…I wasn’t going to…” Her voice trailed off. “You’re taking the photo out of context!”
“Khovansky has been in the hospital all morning testing for radioactivity. Luckily the doctors were able to spot the contaminant before it spread.”
“What?!” she cried.
“She’s already showing signs of Decay—she’s hysterical!” Nikolai’s voice whispered through the speakers as he leaned into the superintendent’s ear.
“Dr. Gupta told me I wasn’t affected!” Jing-Wei said from the stage. “Check the medical report!”
“Dr. Gupta’s report was wrong.” The superintendent looked cross. “And what about your duties towards the proliferation of the species? Even if you aren’t Decayed, you haven’t fulfilled your role as a female citizen.”.
“I…” Jing-Wei was caught off guard. She swallowed hard. “My career took over everything! You told me I was the best chief evaluations director the Border Patrol has ever seen! I thought that—!”
“—Are you not thirty-six years of age today?” he said. “You’re well past your time limit anyways. Officer, please escort her out.” The superintendent waved his hand, “You’ll be taken to the Center for further observation. I’m sure you understand, the Decay is known to spread…”
“Let me explain!” But with a final tug, the officer had pulled her through the door and half-carried her through the hallway. “Officer, please!” She wriggled under his arm. “I’m not Decayed, I’m not!”
The officer shouldered open a door marked, “CENTER,” which led further down the basement floor. The damp corridor flickered with light—her visibility reduced to only a few yards in front of her. His hand gripped her so tightly that she winced with pain. “You’re hurting me!” The farther she walked, the darker the corridor became, until only a square of light from the doorway could be seen.
The silence in the corridor was shattered when the door behind them swung open, and Nikolai Khovansky stood there panting at the end of the hall.
“Let me speak with her for a moment!” he said to the officer, his voice echoing against the damp walls. “And give me her watch.”
“Officer Khovansky!” Jing-Wei said.
Nikolai steered her away. She tried to yank her arm free, but he held her fast. “When I get to the Center, I’ll have you exposed! You tampered with Border Patrol evidence! I’ll have you fired, maybe even thrown in jail!” She tugged against his grip.
“I loved you!” Nikolai said over her voice, his expression pained. “I’ve always loved you, Jing-Wei! Despite everything I did it never seemed to make a difference! Can’t you see that?!” He shook her shoulders.
Sickened, she gasped and pulled away.
“Look at me, please!” Nikolai seized both sides of her face with his hands. “I’ll go back up there and tell everyone it was all a mistake! I just want you to love me, that’s all I ever wanted!” His lips reached for a kiss.
“Get off me!” Jing-Wei freed her arm and slapped him hard across the face. Her hand smarted as Nikolai stood there in the darkness without speaking. “When I get to the Center, I’ll file a report about this!” she screamed at him.
“Don’t you get it? The Center is the Decay!” He gingerly touched the side of his cheek where she had slapped him.
“You’re lying!”
“He’s not,” the other officer said. “It’s not so fun when you’re on the other side,” his eyes gleamed. “Time to go,” he reached for her.
“You’re both lying!” she backed fearfully into the wall.
“Just say you’ll marry me and I’ll save you, Jing-Wei!” Nikolai pleaded, and she shook her head with disbelief. “You don’t have to mean it, just as long as I hear you say it, that would be good enough for me!” he cried.
“I could never marry you…especially now!” The venom in her voice was unmistakable. “As soon as I get to the authorities, I’m reporting you both!”
Nikolai’s expression hardened into stone. The lines in his face looked surreal under the single flickering light bulb. “You would’ve been deported anyway.” His voice remained quiet. “Even if I hadn’t of lied about the bird.” He narrowed his eyes and turned away.
Jing-Wei watched as Nikolai moved to the door, her back frozen against the wall.
“You really don’t know?” Nikolai laughed without turning away from the door. He pulled the door open, flooding the hallway with light.
“My watch,” she moaned all of a sudden. “Give it back to me!”
The light waned into nothing as the door swung shut behind him.