“I said enough,” John repeated in a resonant voice. “Change is always frightening.”
“I’m not scared,” Nathan blurted out. “I just don’t like strangers and machines ordering every aspect of my life. Why is that so hard for y’all to understand? We aren’t meant to be cogs in the Ministry’s wheels. Personal choices should be up to us.”
“I won’t have you repeating that blasphemy at our table,” Doris said, falling into a sullen pout.
“Where did you hear these ideas?” his father asked. “Tina is quite happy in her marriage—has a baby on the way. You’ve read her letters from Lewisburg. Her husband runs a lumber mill, and they’re enjoying life.”
“Nobody put ideas into my head,” he answered, lowering his chin, crossing his arms. “They’re all mine. I’m glad Tina’s happy, but I’m not Tina.”And I want to marry Soren.
It would never happen—not in Appalachia. For the past three years, staring down his twentieth birthday, Nathan had kept track of the area’s matches. Students at The Institute in Clover Hollow or Parkersburg were almost always paired, as were academy graduates and those like him with no access to higher education. Genetics and ethnicity were carefully selected to preserve race while promoting desirable traits—never two short people, dumb people, or sickly people. Urbanites typically ended up together; the same for country folk. Usually, twenty-year-olds were wed to each other, but occasionally a widow, a widower, or a divorcee was thrown into the mix if they weren’t too old. Always a man and a woman.
“I’ll get Shepherd Cain to have a talk with him,” his mama said to his pa, as if he wasn’t right there. “He’ll get through to Nathan. I want our boy to be so happy on his wedding day, excited to start a new life with his appointed bride.” She passed a sorrowful glance at Nathan. “Not apprehensive like this.”
Nathan dropped his chin, staring at his nearly full plate. He pictured Shepherd Cyrus Cain parading through the commune in his charcoal robe and multicolored sash, the enormous, shiny sigil pendant—the all-seeing eye—on its silver chain, thumping on his chest with each step, crooked staff in hand, ready to gently guide or harshly rebuke. Pious, arrogant snake, poisoning the minds of his flock. Rubbish! No, worse—deceiving, exploiting everyone.
Denver scooped another spoonful of sweet potatoes onto his plate, completely unconcerned with Nathan’s plight.
“Don’t be a hog, Denny,” Eve complained. Nathan didn’t look up.
Or maybe there’s just something wrong with me.Nathan had voiced doubts about the Theocracy, the ministers in the Oligarchy, but never his most personalaberrations. In a world where a man must marry a woman, he felt like a square peg being shoved into a round hole. He didn’t fit.
As he pushed up from the table, Nathan said, “Remember, I’m going to Clover Hollow tomorrow. The Oracle is speaking. Maybe you’ll get your wish, and I’ll see the light.” While it was true that an event was being held and thousands would show up to hear the Oracle, he really just wanted to see Soren. They’d planned to meet at their usual place and time.
“But you haven’t finished your dinner,” Doris despaired.
“Not hungry,” he sighed, excusing himself to retire to his room.
Nathan couldn’t convince his own family, much less fight an entire nation. Before him lay only two choices: go along with the society, obey the Oracle, and pretend all was well, or flee and never look back.
Chapter twenty-one
Spine of Logic
Clover Hollow, capital of Appalachia, same day
Soren climbed the steps of Unity Hall beside his father, Minister Adélard Delacroix—PhD in molecular logic and data harmonization, a ranking member of the College of Ministers. Entering the monumental structure, with its stone columns and sleek geometry, was a rare privilege granted to Soren only as part of an Institute of Excellence assignment. At the end of their second year, students were funneled into specialties based on test scores, experience, and family ties. Personal preference was also given weight. His father was excited to influence him into following his path and seeking a position maintaining the Core itself.
They paused at the top of the wide stone steps on a marble portico. Government officials and scientists filed inside, all but uniform in their grays and dark heather blues, skirts sharply cut against knees, pleated slacks, Nehru jackets buttoned over crisp, white shirts, and bleached lab coats. An enormous flag draped above the capital, and a two-meter metallic seal gleamed on the towering double doors: an all-seeing eye inside a triangle within a circle, etched with the motto, “Divine Vision, Infinite Logic.”
Soren glanced back at the lush park, with spacious grassy areas, exquisitely kept flower gardens, shrines to the founders, scattered benches, and severalbroadleaf shade trees that sprawled before Unity Hall. The space was designed to hold thousands of gatherers for state announcements and events; it also provided a 180-degree arc of separation from the rest of the great city. Looming large behind the edifice rose Core Mountain.
In school, they’d been taught that, a century ago, those who foresaw the bombs hollowed out a tremendous cavern in the natural rock. Within, they built a futuristic refuge of wonders, including the giant computer core with its artificial intelligence machine. Running on compact nuclear cells, its power should last for centuries. Father had told Soren about the redundancy of generators, the vast digital libraries, and the hordes of technological devices it housed. The early founders had taken refuge inside. When they emerged, finding no destruction here in the middle of nowhere, they set to work building the impressive city of Clover Hollow.
“I’ll show you around the offices and lounges of Unity Hall,” Adélard said. “But we’ll spend most of our time inside the mountain. Son, nothing surpasses the pride and joy of working in conjunction with the Core. I hope one day you’ll take my place in the College of Ministers.” With a sparkle in his dark eyes, he opened the door, ushering Soren inside.
Soren felt small beneath the foyer’s lofty ceilings, its grand décor gleaming under electric chandeliers. He was only five-foot-seven, a hundred and twenty pounds, but Soren suspected even a giant would appear trivial in such surroundings. The sounds of many footsteps echoed around them, some low voices, the ding of an elevator bell.
“Down that hallway are the bureaucrats’ offices,” his father indicated, “and meeting rooms and staff facilities that way.”
Soren spotted door placards that readChamber of ContinuityandSpine of Logic.
A woman of around thirty years, sharp edges of her blonde bob lining her cheeks, stopped in front of them, assuming a posture of attention. “Minister Delacroix, would you like me to give your son a tour?”
Adélard regarded her pleasantly, brushing his fingers along the lines of his trim, gelled hair. It was black, like Soren’s, only with some silvery threads tohighlight it. His father’s suit was cut from finer cloth, deep iron to Soren’s pewter. Their jet shoes both shone with a high polish.
“No, thank you, Elaine. Soren won’t be assigned to an administrative job. He’s gained highest marks,” he boasted, beaming with pride in his son’s achievements. “He’ll be pursuing one of the sciences. I’m taking him to see the Core.”
Elaine’s mouth eased open in awe. She stepped back, clasping her hands in front of her, and bowed her head. “Indeed. I would expect no less of your son. Please, esteemed minister, continue your tour.”
