Control

VIII

"What should we do?" I asked Aunt Peggy, who was stroking her cat as if that could calm her down. "Mother's just kinda...lying dead on the ground back at the house. I don't think I want people to see that— especially not the Officers."

The Officers were like the police of the 42nd Century. They looked around their assigned Division for possible treason, murder, and the occasional Reformer. Of course, the only difference was that if they just so happened to find you guilty of anything, they'll bring you to the main Division, which we call Down South, and no one has ever come back. They're not known for being 'forgiving'.

"Well, sweetie," she started, looking out the window. "I wish I could say something, I really do. But the thing is, I haven't been a mother in a while and—"

"In a while?" Ashton said confused. "If you're a mom you can't just stop being a mom! Isn't that rule in a handbook for parenting, or something?"

"Yeah," Jules said. "Wasn't there the disowning of children a few thousand years ago?"

"For your age, you look really nice," Izzy said, trying to be decent.

I cringed physically, earning me a very confused stare from Rain. You don't just tell someone they look nice for their age, especially if you don't even know their age.

Aunt Peggy laughed, and I hoped it was because she was amused. "I'm not that old, Izzy. My child..." she faltered for a bit, her smile fading away. "My child ran away 7 years ago, a week before we were supposed to move here. I ended up moving without him. A year later and," she took a deep breath, her eyes misty, "and Officers came. They told me he had died."

I frowned. I always wanted to know her past, but I was hoping it would have been happier. Instead it kind of reminded me of those fables we learned in early Education, about the villains with tragic backstories. Aunt Peggy didn't really strike me as someone evil.

"Aunt Peggy, we're so—" Jules started, but she cut him off.

"Oh, it's fine dear!" she said, although it wasn't fine for me. "I've moved on. Now, how would you like me to help with your Mother, hmm?"

"Umm," I started, but I didn't know where I was going. Before then I never really thought about how she could help— but I just knew she could. "I'm not 100% sure on how, but we just figured an adult might know how to explain all this."

I was going to say shit at the end, but Aunt Peggy doesn't agree with cursing.

"I don't really know if I can," she pursed her lips, petting Diane. "I've never experienced something like that in all my years. I would tell you to notify the Officers," she chuckled, like her own idea amused her, "well, that wouldn't be the best option, would it? They would question all of us to no end, and might even take us Down South. No, we couldn't risk it. Then again, it won't be a secret forever. I'd imagine we have a day at most before people start to question something," she looked at me warily, like whatever she said next might make me blow up like a bomb. "April, I know you might not want to see them, but I think the best idea is to tell the Officials."

Aunt Peggy was right. But she just so happened to be right about everything she had just said. I wanted to argue about talking to Officials— saying shit like they were all dead to me. But I also knew they were the least likely to confuse me or Mother for Reformers, since I was apparently supposed to take my Father's position as another Official. That really didn't mean I liked the idea.

I decided not to complain— I could complain about something much more worthwhile. "Okay," I said, although it sounded like I was growling. "We'll tell the Officials. Thank you for the advice, Aunt Peggy."

Aunt Peggy frowned. "April, I didn't mean to offend—"

"No," I muttered. "No, you haven't. I promise. It's just," I sighed, trying to sound calmer. "It's just with everything that's happened over the course of a couple weeks, I've started to doubt even more about how we should have statuses and ranks. It just doesn't make any sense if no one can do anything about it. Makes all of us sound like a bunch of wild dogs who can't help whenever a member of their pack is eaten."

Rain blinked. "That's an..." she laughed nervously. "Interesting comparison. But, I guess you always complained whenever we had to make the food pyramid in Science."

I rolled my eyes, remembering the Educator looking down at me distastefully when he saw I had nothing on my sheet.

"You'll need this one of these days," he muttered angrily at me, like I had insulted his first born, or something. "This is very useful in the animal kingdom."

"Every prey has the ability of destroying their predator." I said sternly, glaring so much my eyes looked older than an eight year old's.

He laughed, yet there was nothing happy with it. It was more like he was laughing at a small deer, struggling to get up for the first time. "Yeah, when pigs fly. Ms. Suzanna, you must improve your attitude towards schoolwork."

The problem was, I only hated Science. This was our only teacher until I was 12, and he always hated me for hating Science. He never gave me full credit for anything.

I crossed my arms and huffed, leaning back on the huge tree we had gathered around. "I'll improve my attitude when you give me a reason to. This work is unneeded and degrading. It shows how one species can rule over another just like that," I snapped my fingers, "and we should agree with it. Don't you think that's bonkers?"

For a child, I had strong opinions, and strong words.

The Educator sighed, he knew he would never win when it came to me. "Your parents were such good students. If only you could be like them."

I growled. "I'll be my own person, thank you very much. I don't need to be weighed down by my parents. They're not me and I'm not them— my choices shouldn't be judged by their choices."

"When you get older, you'll see how silly you sound."

And I was older. I know I was being realistic and inclusive, even if nobody except my friends and Aunt Peggy thought the same. That day the Educator told my parents about my 'bad' behaviour, and my parents weren't happy campers. Although, I don't really know what happened after I came home from Education. I didn't really remember anything about that afternoon.

"Yeah," I muttered, biting my lip. "I just complained."