Outlanders

Chapter 12: Orphans

ANNA

MANDESTADT

NEW REPUBLIC

Officially, my mother committed suicide a week ago. As suicide is considered a disgrace in the Republic, I have been careful not to mourn her. I have not cried once, not even in the privacy of my own apartment. It's funny how I used to dream of having an apartment all to myself, and now that I do, I hate it. I fill its silence with cleaning. The wood floors have never glowed with polish as they do now, at least not in my memory. There is a stubborn scratch in the hallway by the door that won't polish out. I can feel it mocking my efforts by its very existence, defying me even here, in an office with an entirely different floor.

I am sorting the mail into neat piles on my desk. I'm a sorter, a recorder of notes in shorthand. I have a pile to my left for citizen protection unit reports. To my right, outlander affairs. In the center, citizen affairs.

Citizen affairs are the trickiest to sort. Citizens send a lot of letters to their Regional Republican Bureau, and not all of them are concerning citizen affairs. Sometimes they are tips for our protection units about crimes, real or imagined, inevitably sorted into the pile of outlander affairs by my steady hand. Citizens rarely condemn each other. Often the letters destined for the citizen affairs pile are concerning taxes, or the request to purchase a new domicile. The requests are most often granted, with the tacit understanding that donations will be made in the future - sometimes to the Bureau directly, sometimes to the citizen protection units, but always benefiting the Republic. He that gives and also takes away, words that should be added to our proud burgundy insignia, just beneath the eagle. Give and takes, and takes, and takes until there is nothing left.

I feel a hand touch lightly on my shoulder and am jarred from my thoughts. I barely control my shudder before I turn. It's Christoph. He's already removed his hand but I can almost feel the imprint of it in my skin.

"Got any good ones for me?" he asks. Christoph is a sorter, like me, but specialized in outlander affairs.

"A few," I try to smile. He is being friendly, and I try to treat him in kind. "A lot of visa renewals in today, your favorite."

Christoph gives a theatrical groan. Visa renewal applications are the longest, most tedious paperwork the Republic has created thus far. Christoph is obligated to make sure the applications are filled out correctly, and that all of the required certificates are present, and only then can he pass it along to the visa renewals department. Most of the time he finds something missing, and he sends the form back. Of course it is in the Republic's best interest to do so - outlanders have to pay a fee each time they send a renewal application, even if we send it back. The more often we send them back the more fees the Republic prospers from.

"I shouldn't have asked, I guess." he says with a smile. I think I have been smiling back but I realize I may have missed the mark when I notice the change in his expression. I look down, not willing to face the pity in his eyes, or the kindness, or whatever it is that i just caught a glimpse of, and go back to sorting.

"Anna, I was wondering - do you have plans Saturday afternoon?"

Scrubbing an already spotless, empty apartment.

"No, not really."

"Great! We can have a picnic on the beach together, then."

He doesn't really ask me if I want to go with him and that bothers me for a moment. Of course I will go with him. He is handsome and has a good, steady job. Technically speaking he's my superior. That bothers me too for a moment, but surely nothing could happen to my work if I refused? But I don't want to refuse. He is smiling at me again, his grey eyes crinkled at the edges, his dirty blonde hair perfectly combed at the part. It is so straight it could be ironed just as carefully as his shirt surely is. Despite working in an office he has the physical presence of a farmhand or a carpenter. Broad shoulders, his ironed shirts are filled in with the look of a man who works his body hard and eats well. I wonder if his hands are calloused or soft, like my own. I think about my apartment, the deep scratch in the hallway.

"OK," I tell him before I've even realized I've made the decision. If being careful couldn't save my mother, it can't save me either. If they came for her then they must already know, or suspect. I'm glad she was spared their interrogations.

I might as well have this. This one normal thing, just another man and woman enjoying each other's company. I've known Christoph all my life; we were in the same class at ecole maternelle. I don't trust him, but I trust him as much as any citizen. He is not cruel. He does not enjoy the outlander visa denials he is obligated to send, condemning outlanders to a life in 'communities' hidden throughout the New and Old Republic. Because their countries no longer exist, outlanders cannot be 'sent back' to where they came from. Where they came from is the Republic now. So they are sent to work for the Republic, building roads, rails, or working the land. Of course there are the rare cases who choose to live in exile in the wilderness of the north, outside the new Republic, or to the south, outside the Old Republic. Most do not survive. There is no triumph on Christoph's face when he seals the fate of outlanders, only pity. If he can pity an unknown outlander, represented in paper before him, a theoretical outlander really, then maybe he could....

"I'll pick you up at 11:30 at your place."

"Do you need-"

"You're by the train station, right?" he asks before I finish my question.

"Yes. 8 rue de la gare."

"I'm not far from you, I live in quartier Viotte."

His neighborhood borders mine. It's similar to mine - simple citizen housing, no frills. I am mildly surprised that he does not live in one of the houses with white columns and perfectly spaced palms in centre ville. Viotte is a modest neighborhood, although to me the air without coal smoke from passing trains is almost a luxury.

"I didn't realize you were so close."

"Yeah, we're practically neighbors," he says, still smiling.

"You're paid to sort, not to make eyes at each other," says a familiar voice behind me. It's Catherine, of course, I look back down to my desk while Christoph turns to face her.

"I sincerely apologize for my error. I was under the impression that the Republic fully supported brotherhood and companionship amongst its citizens. I will simply collect my files from Miss Anna and move along, then. Protection is vigilance."

"And vigilance is protection," Catherine and I respond at the same time, without hesitation. As Christoph turns to leave Catherine leans down toward my desk, her long, ash blonde braid falling forward over one of her shoulders.

"Don't let yourself get any ideas, orphan. He has close ties to the Deputy."

"Of course I won't Miss Catherine. I appreciate your concern for propriety, though it is misplaced. But of course it is better safe than sorry, better left said than unsaid."

She seems satisfied by my answer, by my employment of not one, but two favorite maxims of the Citizen Republic. "Good. Keep that in mind, citizen Anna."

Orphan. If only that were the most improper part of my lineage in their eyes. I almost smile at the thought of Catherine finding out the truth. Almost.