“We won’t,” said Daphne again. “I swear to you. I have too many questions, and Zada is too kind to place the blame on that many people, especially when so many of them aren’t even involved.”
Zada thought of the foyer of the community center, the sisters bustling about. She knew what she ought to say to the authorities, the proof she ought to log, the report she ought to file. If the majority of the nuns genuinely had no idea what was lurking in their basement—bringing the might of New Ionian security down on their backs did seem almost monstrous.
Still,kindsat uneasily on her shoulders. Was she good-hearted, or simply a coward?
“We won’t tell anyone,” said Zada. “Unless we think you pose a danger to New Ionia.”
“I’ll take it,” said Sister Justice. “Thank you.”
“Now I must insist that you allow me to walk you out. We do have some urgent business to attend to,” Sister Patience said.
“Feel free to come back later with any more questions you might have,” said Sister Justice. “We have a lot of lace, so you’ve got a lot of excuses.”
“We’ll keep that in mind,” said Daphne. She held out her arm to Zada. “Shall we?”
The sisters led them back up the sloping hallways and out of the community center into the blistering sunshine.
“Take care now,” Sister Patience called.
Out of habit, Zada smiled politely. “You, too.”
Daphne blew a breath of air out of her mouth slowly. “Where to now?” she said.
“Somewhere we can think,” Zada said.
“Dangerous,” said Daphne.
Zada pressed her lips together as she considered their options. “Contemplation Park?” she said at last.
“Huh,” said Daphne. “A bit on the nose to do our thinking there, but—”
“It’s so on the nose, it may be up the sinus cavity,” Zada agreed. “But it should be quiet in the middle of the day. Nobody to overhear—uh, whatever there might be to overhear.” Maybe the carefully cultivated natural beauty would serve as a reminder of the gifts of New Ionia, she thought. Not that the reminder was strictly needed, of course.
They were silent in the hyper-carriage, silent on the sidewalk, silent as they strolled under the arch dripping with lush ivy. Zada almost wished Daphne would say something shocking, something provocative, if for no other reason than to break the tension. But Daphne said nothing, just gazed at the greenery pruned into amusing shapes as if she’d never seen it before. They’d been right about this much: Nobody else was out admiring the gardens at this hour. There were no passersby to watch for, no couples keeping up a steady murmur of conversation. Nothing but the two of them, and the weight of Zada’s thoughts.
Finally, Zada cleared her throat. “What I’m stuck on,” she said at last, “is the book claiming it was published in Chicago. Even if that part of the land is making progress, who dragged a printing press out into the water and muck? Andwhy would they hate us so much to even bother? Could they be so jealous?”
“Of what?” said Daphne. “The books we’re not allowed to read? The music we’re not allowed to play? We’re doing all of this in the first place because we believed something was wrong! This system, this world that says you, Zada, have to marry the literal embodiment of unseasoned oatmeal, and be grateful for it—you came to me because you knew it shouldn’t be that way!”
“To assume that just because I can’t drag up proper feelings for Buford means that we have to—to throw out the entire city—” Zada shook her head. “Either New Ionia is basically good, or else a million people are wasting their lives for nothing; do you realize how that sounds?”
“It sounds like maybe they should know,” said Daphne, “and decide what to do for themselves.” She waved her free hand. “You’re so scared of breaking the rules, you won’t even admit to yourself how miserable they make you.”
“I’m not miserable,” said Zada, face warming.
“You forget that I’ve seen you happy,” countered Daphne. “Night and day.”
Zada swallowed, trying to think of something, anything to say. Daphne’s dark eyes were fixed on her face and her mind was blank.
“Do you really trust everything we’ve ever been taught?” said Daphne. “Do you really think every professor said nothing but the truth? Why are we trusting the two percent of books we’re allowed to see if there’s another ninety-eight percent out there?”
The phraseheavy social coercionsang in Zada’s head overand over.
“If we can believe the nuns,” said Zada slowly, “then that is an awful lot of books.”
“Right?” said Daphne. “And we can believe our eyes, right? All those shelves were packed withsomething.”
“Written by people who have never even been here,” said Zada. “They don’t know us. They don’t know the good that comes of how we live.”
