The Line

If you accept my terms

The schedule hadn't been hard to build. Whenever Flynn was on food duty, Weiss caught up to him just before he reached the market; together, they headed to the shop, found a table, and had a pitcher of lemonade set between them.

The meetings' agenda hadn't been hard to build, either: Weiss would quiz Flynn about his life on the North Side, while the latter would counter with questions about the court or the Line, most of which went unanswered.

"Where's the court from?" Flynn would ask, eyeing the lemonade eagerly. His constant hesitation stemmed from a certainty that he would make a mess of it, like always. "Why are we here? Have you 'manufactured' our relatives' memories? Is that why no one's come looking for us? What is the forcefield made of? And what about Retrials?"

"I can't tell you that, Flynn," Weiss would answer. He would look away for a moment, turning back with a brightness to his eyes. He would say something maddening like: "I'll have to try hot cocoa some time. What's it like?"

But today, today Weiss said something else. Something that struck Flynn cold.

///

"The Line is a testing ground."

Flynn leaned in closer. "Testing ground? I'm being tested? Why? "

"I can't tell you that. But I can tell you there are two possible outcomes to this test: one of them is incredibly pleasant, while the other is indisputably awful."

"This is bullshit!" Flynn had reached for the pitcher, and, sure enough, the table was now wet. For a moment, whether this exclamation was due to his fumble or an unsatisfactory answer was a matter of debate. Then he said, "You said you'd show me the way out if I did something for you. So give me something to do... sir."

"I don't know if--"

"We can't keep doing this forever," Flynn muttered. "I'll stop coming. I will. Unless you give me something to do."  

He didn't mean it, of course. How could he mean it? Weiss was his only true shot at leaving the Line. 

But the bluff paid off. 

"Are you sure?" Weiss asked. 

"I'm sure!"

Whenever Weiss smirked, Flynn reflected, something precious burned. Whenever he grinned, as he did now, whoever owned that precious thing got its ashes tossed in their face, up their nose. In their eyes. "I hope you understand there are some tasks of mine I don't mind relegating to others. It may be difficult--"

"I'll do it. I'll do anything!"

Weiss's pause was torturously long. "I want you to help me carry out Retrials."

Flynn opened his mouth, but Weiss didn't stop talking. 

"What is a Retrial? The final court session, where the cumulation of your stay is examined and used to pass judgment. Retrials determine whether you move on to cool bliss or hot agony. You see, the Line is just the go-between, the buffer between the world you used to know and the new worlds to discover.

"And, incidentally, the frequency of Retrials prevents any form of mass organization here. With just one year to live, or so it seems, individualistic goals are prioritized by the populace. True natures are revealed. Order is skirted." Flynn opened his mouth again, and again Weiss seemed to read his mind. "No, you don't die during your Retrial: you can't. Retrials simply enable you to move on."

Flynn was lost in a thought. When he spoke, he spoke slowly. "If I was to die tomorrow, say, before the deadline--what happens then?"

"You go directly to your Retrial, but the judges will be harsher. This is why we use pluggers. Why there are much less acts of violence than there could be."

"If I was to get plugged?"

"You don't want to get plugged. What you'll be doing--if you accept my terms--is quite simple. When someone's Retrial is due, I direct you to them, and you fulfill your duty: liberating them from the Line so they can access the final court."

Flynn lowered his head as it dawned on him. "You want me to..." He made a gesture at his throat. Electricity was crippling his chest in the worst way possible--and it hurt.

"In a way. You wouldn't be using just any weapon, though. I consider the key--that's what it's called--to be seamless and practical. It sends the body and the psyche to the Retrial. Banalities like murder only send the psyche, and pluggings send--"

"You want me to kill them?"