The Underground Read online

  “Thank you,” Nathaniel said.

  “Everything go alright last night? You okay?” Chester asked, raising his eyebrows in question. Nathaniel wondered if he was referring to Reminder of Truth, but knew it wasn’t safe to mention specifically.

  “I’m tired. It took a while to clean up. I also stayed up late to do a little reading, thank you, which raised a lot of questions for me,” he said, knowing full well they wouldn’t be answered today.

  Chester said nothing, but gave Nathaniel a dark look that he had seen the night before. It felt like a signal of something new and secretive between them. Did Chester know the author? By now, “Anonymous” was surely deceased, judging from the aged book. Nathaniel wanted to find out more. The very idea that an American society existed without mandatory castration was mind-boggling. As a Spot, Nathaniel wondered how Chester felt about the book. Did it make him hopeful or resentful?

  “Can I ask you a question?” Nathaniel said, leaning in toward Chester.

  “You can ask me anything.”

  “It’s personal,” Nathaniel said, wanting to make sure that Chester wouldn’t mind or be surprised.

  Chester nodded.

  “How were you able to start the bakery after…?”

  Chester’s jaw visibly tightened.

  Nathaniel immediately regretted his intrusion. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have asked. It’s none of my business.”

  “No, it’s okay, really,” Chester paused for a moment. The way Chester touched the dime sized purple tattoo on his neck belied his words. “It happened so long ago, and I try not to think about it, but the C Center changed my life’s path. You’ve seen the statistics of homeless Spots who just plain give up. As horrible and as wrong as I believe our system is, I vowed not to become another unproductive Spot who goes through life feeling sorry for himself.”

  “I’m sorry,” Nathaniel said.

  “For what?”

  “For what you went through, for asking you…”

  Chester shrugged. “You didn’t make the laws. Keep reading your book. Maybe your generation still stands a chance.” Abruptly, Chester stood up.

  Nathaniel walked toward the bakery door, wanting to ask more, but knew this wasn’t the time or the place. He was about to step out the bakery door when a strong hand gripped his arm.

  “Tasers!” a stranger said, discreetly, staring outside.

  Nathaniel was sure they were coming for him! They found out about the book!

  The Good Samaritan was gone before Nathaniel had a chance to thank him for the warning. Peering out the storefront window, he saw a man being dragged away by the Tasers with his mouth duct-taped. It was a common sight, but Nathaniel never grew accustomed to it.

  Nathaniel wondered how many Parties of Availability that guy attended. He looked decent enough – not overweight, but still he clearly didn’t get picked for marriage.

  That could be me, Nathaniel realized before gingerly stepping outside and heading to work. A few minutes later, he walked in the door of the Cambridge Public Works and breathed a sigh of relief, though he was still rattled. He couldn’t wipe away the look on that guy’s face as he was being dragged away.

  Nathaniel tried to force that image from his head, but realized how goddamn lucky he was to have Janice.

  Nathaniel’s thoughts consumed him as he walked down the corridor, and the more he tried to suppress his true feelings, the more he could not. His blood boiled at the thought of that man going through a horror. Still, abuse of men was considered the norm.

  On top of everything, Nathaniel now worked for the Queen’s daughter, Shayla Smith, at the Cambridge Public Works. People claimed she wasn’t as extreme as her mother, but Nathaniel didn’t trust workplace gossip.

  After the chaos he witnessed on the way to work, he relished the silence of walking alone through the hallway. He needed it. The only sound was the echo of his shoes on the cement floor, with each step. The hallway walls were off-white, lined with photos of woman supervisors in action. There was a consistent theme to the pictures: Supervisors yelling through a megaphone, giving orders to the staff of nervous men. He knew that feeling and hated it. He stopped looking at the photos and moved a little more quickly, but then paused as he approached Shayla Smith’s office. She had hardly been there a few weeks, and her freshly engraved nameplate shined and greatly contrasted the oversized steel office door to which it was affixed.

  SHAYLA SMITH, CHIEF OFFICER, CAMBRIDGE PUBLIC WORKS

  Maybe it should say: “The Queen’s Daughter – Better Kiss her Ass”

  He pulled out a coffee from his brown paper bag as he stared at her nameplate but realized his bag was still heavy. He discovered a second coffee and muffin. Nathaniel supposed it was Chester’s way of offering comfort.

  Nathaniel looked down the hall, both ways, and impulsively set down the extra cup of coffee and muffin in front of her door before hurrying along to meet Brigg.

  He didn’t know what made him do it, but less than thirty seconds later he thought it was a mistake. They’d probably fingerprint the cup and come arrest him, somehow manipulating a simple gesture of kindness into Nathaniel stalking her. He turned back and thought of retrieving it, but it looked tiny from a distance. He took two steps toward it but stopped.

  Nathaniel decided he couldn’t live in fear of everything. Besides, how much trouble could giving a coffee and muffin possibly cause?

  Chapter 4

  “Couldn’t you at least have warned me?” the Queen said stiffly to her daughter. “Hiding my surprise from the reporters wasn’t easy.”

  “Can you please take me off speakerphone, mother?”

  “I’m getting dressed for a meeting. Sorry, but I just want to understand why you didn’t tell me. I’ve got enough to deal without being surprised by something my daughter should have told me.”

  “Must we rehash this every time we talk?” Shayla said. She couldn’t believe that her mother was still harping on the fact that a few weeks earlier she had chosen to become head of the Cambridge Public Works.

  “I promise not to bring it up again if you answer my question. Why didn’t you tell me that you were taking this job?”

  “Because I thought you’d try to talk me out of it.”

  “You’re damn right I would have!!” Queen Amanda’s voice rose. “Why the hell do you want to be there?”

  “I was curious to see how the other half lived,” she said, trying to shut her mother up. Shayla thought that since Cambridge, Massachusetts was known to be liberal, it seemed like a good testing ground for making small changes to improve male worker conditions. Of course, she knew better than to say that to her mother.

  But it was the truth, or at least part of the truth. Ultimately, Shayla had bigger changes in mind. Much bigger.

  “You can do anything you want… I’ll find something better for you, either in industry or public service,” the Queen said.

  “I can get my own job, Mother. I like what I do and where I work.” Shayla tried to control her urge to yell back.

  “You’re wasting your Harvard education managing tasks in the armpit of the earth.”

  “The ‘armpit’ you speak of is in the very town where Harvard resides,” Shayla said, triumphantly.

  “I’d just like to see you do something more valuable. That’s all,” the Queen said.

  Shayla noticed the forced sweetness in her mother’s voice, but wasn’t fooled.

  “At least let me get you a security detail, please.”

  “I’m fine.” Shayla knew that her mother would probably put a detail out on her anyway, but they’d be discreet. At least she wouldn’t have a mess of bodyguards surrounding her every trip to the bathroom.

  “If your father were alive…”

  “I’ve got to go. I have a meeting in a little while. Goodbye,” Shayla said.

  She hated when her mother started down that path: If your father were alive. Shayla tried not to think about how the world would be and the type of leader
her mother could have been if her father hadn’t died. Even as a young girl, Shayla remembered how her father tried to convince the Queen to banish mandatory castration for any man unmarried by age 26.

  “Bring back equality. You have an opportunity to make history, Amanda,” he used to say, with young Shayla sitting with them at the dinner table.

  The day her father died, so did his dream. Shayla started thinking that if he lived, maybe the Queen would have changed, but Shayla stopped herself. Allowing her mind to enter “what if” land was pointless. History and the laws were cemented, along with the Queen’s bitterness.

  Shayla walked toward her office checking email on her phone, nearly causing her to trip over the bag outside her door. She thought about calling security, but when does a bomb smell that delicious? She carefully picked it up and looked inside. Coffee and a muffin?

  She placed her hand up to her office door sensor, and it quickly unlocked. Shayla stepped inside, closed the door and could practically hear her mother scolding her for even considering eating what was there. “You have to be careful! Someone might want to poison you!”

  Perhaps to spite her mother, or because she was hungry and tired, she took a sip of the coffee. It was still hot. It was probably the best coffee she had ever had, prepared just the way she liked it with just a little milk. She took a bite of the muffin and decided it was even better than the coffee. She justified eating it since she needed her strength for the morning meeting. If it poisoned her, it was worth it. The muffin was that good.

  Until now, she had only observed the worksites and studied the existing processes at the Cambridge Public Works. Today, she would begin to unveil her agenda. Treading carefully was vital.

  She read the logo on the side of the cup. She had heard of Chester’s Bakery. The fact that the bakery came to her, so to speak, suited her fine. Maybe it was one of her 50 subordinates trying to suck up. It wouldn't work, but that didn’t mean she was going to let it go to waste.

  No man in his right mind would think it was okay to leave something for the head of the Cambridge Public Works. Yes, it had to be from one of her subordinates. She decided to bring the coffee to her morning meeting to see if someone confessed.

  “Good morning,” she said, trying to mask her uneasiness as she entered the meeting. It was the first step to improve working conditions for the men. At least that’s what she hoped.

  “I’ll get right to the point, unless anyone has a pressing issue.” Shayla paused to take a sip of her coffee as she surveyed the crowd.

  “Effective immediately, field workers will have breaks every two-and-a-half-hours,” Shayla declared. “Let them smoke or sit or get a drink or whatever, but make sure they get a ten-minute break. Not six minutes, not eight. Ten full minutes, and they can talk amongst themselves. Any questions?” she said, feeling happy. She waited for expository reactions, but all she saw and heard were gasps as the women shifted in their chairs.

  “Are you lowering our quota requirements?” one brave soul asked.

  “The quota requirements remain. Anyone else?” Shayla said, tersely.

  “It’s going to impact productivity. The men don’t need so many breaks,” said the same spark-plug of a woman.

  “I agree,” said another.

  “Ten full minutes, every two and a half hours,” Shayla repeated. Her voice grew louder as she leaned into the microphone for emphasis. While Shayla’s message was opposite anything the Queen ever declared, Shayla copied her mother’s communication tactics. She spoke forcefully, with confidence.

  “A little more rest for the men will do the opposite and improve productivity and morale. Respect begets respect,” she said, waiting for some kind of reaction, but the room was silent.

  “Questions? Good.” She left the meeting with her mother’s quick gait and heard the room begin to buzz with discussion. Most likely they were bashing her behind her back. She couldn’t blame them. They were used to getting their way and having full power over men who worked for them.

  Nobody else could get away with the kind of change Shayla made. As the Queen’s daughter, they wouldn’t dare speak against her, at least not right away. Shayla knew that even with her status, her stance was risky, perhaps even treasonous.

  Eventually, her mother would find out, but hopefully not too soon. She hoped her mother wouldn’t publicly denounce her, as that wouldn’t be publicly pretty either. That was just about the only thing she had in her favor.

  As she neared her office, her father’s voice rang in her head. “The balance of equality in the country needs to be restored. Never forget. Promise me that.” He told her this over and over when she visited him at his sick bed. Even as a young girl, she knew the day to turn around the tradition of female intimidation and live out her father’s dream would come.

  Pleased with herself, she took the last sip of her coffee. She was certain that after the meeting, whichever woman had left it would not do so again.

  Chapter 5

  “Can you believe she’s giving us those ten minute breaks?” Nathaniel said to Brigg, before holding up his empty glass and nodding to the bartender. “Another Maker’s, neat and straight up, please.”

  Nathaniel knew not to drink too much as he still had to get home to take care of Janice, but one more wouldn’t hurt. In fact, it might actually help.

  “Let’s drink to new policies and Miss Shayla herself,” Brigg said.

  “Here, here,” Nathaniel said. As he clinked his refreshed glass with Brigg’s, he thought of Shayla and smiled.

  “You look like the Cheshire cat with that smile,” Brigg said, laughing.

  Nathaniel’s smile vanished. Despite Nathaniel’s discretion as he left breakfast over the last few weeks, it occurred to Nathanial that Brigg might have seen him, or was he being paranoid?

  “What’s up with you and Janice, anyway. Things getting better?”

  “No,” Nathaniel said. Just hearing Janice’s name wiped the smile off his face.

  “Things weren’t always so great with Grace when we first got together,” Brigg said casually.

  Nathaniel grew irritated when Brigg brought up Grace, as though she and Janice were interchangeable. Grace wasn’t an alcoholic. She treated Brigg like a decent person and had forward-thinking views on men. On top of that, she was attractive.

  “You’ve got a great wife. You can’t possibly understand,” Nathaniel said.

  “Look, I’m just trying to help,” Brigg said, with compassion.

  “Well, you can’t. Okay. Just accept that my life with Janice can’t be better,” Nathaniel said, bitterly, before draining his glass.

  “Maybe there are ways to make life with her more palatable that you haven’t thought of,” Brigg suggested.

  “She’s a raging alcoholic. I clean up her vomit, and the thought of fathering her children, which she talks about all the time, makes me sick. You keep telling me it’ll get better, but it’s not going to change. Ever,” Nathaniel said, pulling money out of his pocket and slapping it on the bar. He headed straight for the stairs and took them two at a time, exiting the Black Hole quickly.

  “Wait!”

  Early dusk met Nathaniel as he stepped outside. Brigg caught up and grabbed his arm.

  “What do you want?” Nathaniel asked Brigg, not giving him room to answer. “… You wanna give me yet another lecture about how I should have gone to the Parties of Availability with you when I was 18? Let’s just get this out of the way… Yes, you were right, okay… I should have gone. I should have pandered at those stupid fucking parties, so that maybe just maybe I’d get chosen for marriage by someone I could get along with before I turned 26. But I didn’t go because I didn’t want to be humiliated. That’s all those women do at those parties from the moment they see a fresh 18-year-old walk in until the day he turns 26 and gets dragged off to the C Center. Do I regret not going to those parties now? Yes. You happy? Maybe I would’ve found someone a little better, or at least a woman who isn’t a drunk. Still
, I’m lucky. Janice is my savior. Hallelujah!” he said sarcastically. “She is my lifeline and life sentence at the same time.”

  “Keep your voice down!” Brigg said. “And watch what you’re saying.” Brigg dragged Nathaniel down an alley so they would be less vulnerable to Tasers who might walk by. “You seemed like you were doing okay for a while, and clearly you are not. I was just asking. I thought I could help,” Brigg said.

  “Nobody can help me,” Nathaniel said, with a smile that felt scary, not happy. “I’m a man with my biological clock attached to a bomb on my balls. And it’s just about gone off. I can’t move, man. Can’t you see that?” he whispered to Brigg.

  “Do you trust me?” Brigg whispered back, close to his friend’s face.

  “Of course I trust you,,” Nathaniel said, annoyed, and shaking his arm free from Brigg.

  “There is a way for you to be happy,” Brigg said. He was absolutely resolute.

  “Not with Janice.”

  “I’m certainly not going to argue about that.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Look, I know some people who can help you.”

  “How?” Nathaniel said, holding onto his frustration.

  “I can’t say,” Brigg said, pleading. “But you have got to trust me.”

  “Who could possibly help me?” Nathaniel asked, hoping to wear Brigg down.

  “Call this number, and tell them I said you should call,” Brigg said jotting down a phone number on a cocktail napkin that he had had in his hand from the bar.

  “I can’t tell you the details. I can only say that this is a chance for you without Janice.”

  “What is it… some sort of murdering service?!” Nathaniel whispered.

  “Of course not!” Brigg said.

  “What then?”

  “Look at yourself. You’re miserable. I’m giving you a chance for something more,” Brigg said firmly pressing the number into Nathaniel’s hand.

  Nathaniel clutched the napkin tightly in his pocket as he walked home. It had been a long time since he felt any hope. Forget about love, all he could think of was his future with a woman he despised. He tried, unsuccessfully, to quell his yearning for fulfillment. Just as Nathaniel started to feel sorry for himself, he passed a group of Spots and reminded himself to be grateful. He threw the napkin in the next trashcan he saw on the corner, knowing he shouldn’t screw up what he had.