Evolution (8 page)

"Merry Christmas," Matt says softly.

We look at each other and start laughing.

By late afternoon, when I finally make it to the Rustler,
the Outpost is buzzing about Matt's declaration.  Apparently I missed the
announcement.  Four things.  One: Current territories will remain in
effect.  No trying to expand.  That should put a stop to some of the
bickering, and I didn't even have to mention it to Matt.  He's probably
been dealing with it as well.  Two: Only approved hunting parties will be
allowed outside the wall until further notice.  I already knew this, but
it's still annoying.  I guess I can’t expect anything different, given
that a couple of days ago everyone wanted to escape.  Three: In lieu of
erasure, all crimes are punishable by death.  Again, not surprising, but
not exactly encouraging either.  Four: The Ten Laws have been reduced to
Five Laws.  Politics, religion, slavery, marks, and attempts to discover
erased information have all been legalized.  There is no mention of the
Founding Principle that the voice spoke of.  Matt’s not even bothered to
acknowledge it.

I sit and ponder for a while, shooing people away at first,
and when that doesn't work, ignoring them.  About ten minutes later, I
drum up the courage to make my own declaration.  I stand up, clear my
throat, and hope to hell that people take me seriously.  My face is
blank.  Everyone has fallen quiet.  I say with calm authority,
"One more thing.  Anyone who makes more than three silvers a month
will pay five percent of their income to fund the sickhouse I'm building. 
Then, the sickhouse will be open to everyone in the Outpost who needs it,
regardless of anything else."

Utter silence.

I sit down.

The questions and comments explode in a blur of voices
talking over each other.

Everyone?  Absolutely everyone?

How are the beggars going to pay for services?

I have a slave to tend to me when I'm sick.  Why
should I have to pay if I'm not going to use it?

If you let people with contagious diseases go there, it
won't be safe for the rest of us.

Five percent?  Isn't that a bit high?

Why doesn't everyone have to pay if everyone is going to
use it?

Shouldn't it be a set amount?  A few coppers a
month, I could do that....

Everyone is talking.  No one is listening.  I make
no attempt to answer.  I give them a few moments to run down, then I hold
up one hand.  I lean back casually in my chair like I don't have a care in
the world.  I wait for complete silence.

"This is not the same Outpost it has always
been."  I wave one finger back and forth between them. 
"From now on, you're going to start looking after each other, instead of
tearing each other to pieces.  That's how we're going to be strong enough
to stand against all the things that are going to come against us. 
Because I can tell you, there are going to be a lot of them."  I raise
my eyebrows in authority and give them a moment to mull that over. 
Uncertain glances fly around between them, but not a word.  They're all
considering an enemy from outside, whether it be someone like Grey, or an army
of Sentries.  They're considering that we might need each other after
all.  Before they can start up again, I dismiss them with a wave. 
Most of them go away.  Most.

Canson and Julian nervously pull up chairs at my table and
lean in.

"Do you really think there's going to be more trouble
from outside?" Julian asks quietly.

I shrug.  Better not to focus on the Sentries. 
"Think about it.  We're building something better here.  Right
now, the only people who know are scared of us.  We're a wild card. 
But eventually people are going to see how good we've got it.  Then
they're either going to want to be part of it, or they're going to want to take
it away from us.  We have to start thinking about that now, while we have
time."

"There will always be people like Grey out there,"
Canson mutters.

I nod.  Realistically, we should be preparing for more
Sentries.  We clearly don’t know enough about them.  Part of me
expects them to show up in numbers at any moment.  Maybe Matt thinks he's
prepared.  Maybe he has his own Sentries, and men ready to run out and
yank crystals as necessary.  That could still be done with Sentries that
haven’t been reprogrammed.  But I'm not so sure it will be that
simple.  My instincts are telling me they are more complicated than we can
know.  Nevertheless, I don't bring it up.  Right now, that would
weaken Matt's authority, and by proxy, my authority.  I only want to give
them something nameless and distant to unite against.  A reason to
actually make things better.

Julian is silently having a conversation with himself. 
He's talking it over in his head, staring at the table and nodding. 
Finally, he looks at me.  "Imagine if no one in the Outpost was
sick," he says.  "No diseases to catch.  Everyone able to
work.  We'd be almost twice as strong."

I smile and pat him on the shoulder as I leave. 
Strolling down the streets with Jacob and Taylor behind me, I can’t help but
feel cautiously hopeful.  Things around me are changing.  There’s a
different feel in the air.  My heart does a few little jumps as I wonder
if things might actually continue to get better.  And the Sentries… I
could be worrying over nothing.  If more come, we’ll handle them the same
way as before.

For the first time, I allow myself to ponder and consider
Matt’s words from our earlier conversation.  His assurances.  His
hopes.  Even his explanations.  Before I know it, I’m wondering if he
was right.  If his actions, however harsh, could be justified by the end
result.  Part of me resists even considering it, but part of me is
softening.  A little chill runs through my whole body as my eyes are
suddenly opened to how much I’ve changed.

When I see Matt now, I see
Matt.
  It’s becoming
harder and harder to imagine him with the gun in his hand.  I realize with
a fair dose of dismay that it’s too late.  I’ve started to question. 
I see reasons.  I see holes.  That’s how we are—people of reasons and
holes.  Anything we want, we can justify.  We can poke holes in
anything inconvenient by asking the right questions.  And simultaneously
we can
patch
holes in anything attractive by concocting the right
explanations.  It comes down to the lies we prefer to believe.  The
lies that bring us the most comfort.  The lies that fulfill our desires
and dispatch our fears.  We are able to see truth in anything, and
therefore we can find truth in nothing.

So the question is… what do I want?  And what am I
willing to believe in order to get it?  And the answer is… I have no idea.

***

Deciding to beat Matt to the punch-line tonight, I walk
around back before going inside.  Surprisingly, there's nothing on the
porch.  Have the noisy birds shown him his folly?  Pondering the
possibility, ever-so-slightly disappointed, I go in through the back door.

Matt hears me and appears in the doorway between the dining
room and the parlor.  Smiling.  Oh no.

"I have something for you."

I narrow my eyes at him as he beckons me to follow him into
the parlor.  "Let me guess.  More birds.  Are they smaller
this time?"  I don't hear anything that would confirm my suspicion as
I step into the room.  Just the crackle of the fire.  I glance
around, looking for something.

"No birds," Matt says, taking something from the
table beside his chair.  At first, I think it's a book.  But it's a
small red box, as thin as a book.  He smiles at me.  "Not this
time, at least."

While I eye him, he nudges the ottoman.  I take a seat
and he crouches on his toes in front of me, offering me the box.  I turn
it in my hands, wondering what could be inside.  He watches me with this
anticipatory smile that makes me want to dig in to the box and shove it back at
him at the same time.  Finally, I gather the courage to open it.  I'm
not prepared for its contents.  My fingers fumble over the box and I
almost drop it.

Gleaming up at me is gold.  A lot of gold.  That's
all I make out at first.  I utter a few choice cuss words under my breath,
pushing the box toward Matt, but he pushes it right back.  "No,"
I say.  "Nah ah.  That's gold."  I'm shaking my head
at him.  Cutting into his business with my own bargaining skills is one
thing, but an outright gift of gold from Matt is another thing entirely.

My protest only seems to amuse him.  He sets the box
firmly in my lap, gives me the eyebrows of authority, and says, "It's a
Christmas present.  You're not allowed to give them back."

I stare at him with a blank face and an open mouth. 
"Matt," I finally say, shaking my head, "this is insane. 
Why on earth would you— I mean, it's too much.  It's really too
much."

"Trust me, there's plenty more where that came
from," he says easily, as if it really is nothing.  "Besides,
it's required by the song."

"The song?" I mumble helplessly.

He nods.  "Yep.  On the fifth day of
Christmas, you get five golden rings.  That's just how it is." 
He reaches into the box and slides one of the pieces from where it is tucked
into the velvet cushion.  So it is a ring.  Now, shellshock beginning
to fade, I actually look at the contents of the box.

They’re probably the prettiest things I've ever seen. 
Bright as the sun, finely worked, each one is designed with the form of a
different animal.  Ultimately, it's the designs that get me.  Most I
recognize, or at least I think I do.  One is completely foreign. 
"Animals," I say as I dare to touch one.  "Is that part of
the song, too?"

Matt rises from his crouch to sit on the edge of
my
chair.  Valentine snorts at him.  He ignores her. 
"Nah," he says.  "They're all the things I love about
you."

My eyes move from the rings and fly to his face.

“I know,” he admits, his cheeks flushing as if he were a
boy, not a semi-evil overlord.  “It’s a little cheesy.  I just… I
wanted it to mean something.”

I’m staring at him, my mouth open.  Then I’m shaking my
head slowly.  “Not
that
cheesy,” I manage.  My voice
catches.  I swallow, feeling my own cheeks grow hot.

His eyes are thoughtful, his smile warm.  He leans
forward a little, looking at the rings.  "The bear is for your
strength.  The wolf is courage.  The crow is how smart you
are."  He shrugs.  "They're pretty damned smart, you
know."

I look at the rings and swallow again.  "Then
what's the cat?" I ask in a somewhat normal voice.  My heart is
thumping away at an insane rate that makes me a little breathless. 
"Cats are smart, too, aren't they?"

"Not just any cat.  A giant cat.  I think
it's a lion."

He says it as though he's remembering.  Like he's
actually seen one.  Before I can ask, he continues.

"They're beautiful," he says, looking from the
rings to my face.  "The same kind of beautiful that you are."

My whole face is warm now, and my heart picks up even more,
making me feel light-headed.  My eyes drop to the rings. 
"What's this thing?"  I nudge the last one.  "Some
kind of stretched-out rat?"

He laughs and laughs at my assessment.  Finally,
fighting down his smile, he says, "It took me a while to figure it out,
too.  They live in the water.  I'd never heard of any such
thing.  But they were damned cute.  They're called otters, I
think."

"Otters," I say, squinting at him.  "For
my cuteness?"

He starts laughing again.  "Nope," he
says.  "For your playfulness.  For humor."

I consider him for a moment.  I can't say I think of
myself as playful.  But if I analyze the course of my relationship with
Matt, humor has been its redeeming factor.  And out of all the things I
like about him—all the things that I probably shouldn't— humor is definitely at
the forefront.  My eyes scan over the rings for a moment, taking in their
beauty.  I sigh.  "This is really nice."  And I mean
it.  "But... do you have somewhere I can lock them away to keep them
safe?"

He makes a noise.  "You're supposed to wear
them."

"Wear them?" My voice is incredulous. 
"Someone will chop off my hand!"  The words are out before I can
stop them, but Matt misses any unintentional reference to the Sentries.

His eyelids come down until his eyes are just slits in a
very serious face.  "Not in
my
Outpost."

"Well, I'm glad that your confidence extends past the
wellbeing of my appendages."

He leans in and takes hold of the appendage in
question.  "Everyone in this Outpost knows that harming a hair on
your head will result in a seriously painful and slow demise.  No one
would dare touch you, even if I plated you in gold and attached a tail of
diamonds to your behind."

My lips quirk, then go still.  "Oh."  I
match his sober tone.  "So you're saying I don't really need those
bodyguards after all."

A look of disbelief crosses his face and vanishes in a
flash.  He stands.  "You're a pain in the ass," he
says.  "I should have given you six gold rings, one more for
pain-in-the-assishness."

"So you love that about me, too, huh?"

He laughs and ruffles my hair.  "Merry
Christmas," he says, and retreats out of the room.

"What kind of animal would that be, anyway?" I
call after him.

His footsteps are moving up the stairs.  I think I've
heard the last of him.  Then his voice floats down the stairway. 
"A pig.  Clearly."  His door thuds closed behind him.

I raise my eyebrows at Valentine.  She snorts at me
indignantly.  I make myself comfortable in Matt's chair, and try on my
rings.

***

I'm up early, wanting to get things moving with my
sickhouse, so I'm straight out the door.  Matt, having just finished
breakfast, is on his way at the same time.  We walk together until we
reach the main street, at which point we're going in different
directions.  Before we do, he catches my hand up and admires my rings.