The Five Unnecessaries

Chapter 17

The painting represented every challenge I hadn't foreseen in six long weeks of training.

I loved it.

I wasn't supposed to love anything here. But I loved it.

Two days into my cover, I stood on a Republic street, trying to look as disenchanted as I was supposed to be. The painting in front of me was created by people who wanted to kill me. Who thought imperfect babies should die. And who believed the lie that their happiness was the only thing that mattered.

But it was beautiful. Everything about it fascinated me—the textures, the colors. It was creativity gone wild against the stark, clean lines of their concrete buildings.

Just like the city.

All the buildings were taller than I had imagined, stark lines mixed with domes. Every block seemed orchestrated so that the buildings flowed together. Efficiency, technology and art, the movement of the shuttles hovering by, almost in rhythm to a song. There were no lights to signal traffic. The shiny metal plates along that had once held them would instead alert the drivers of directions.

The architecture was simple, bold, and graceful. There wasn't one building that contrasted with the design of another. Rather, they were individualized by the splash of color in the front center level, whether a store window or restaurant display.

Music played in every store and café, even in the pristine streets. I had made the mistake of tapping my finger to a song, quickly realizing that I had attracted a police officer's attention. I made a quick assumption and took the first gamble of my life.

"It's still one of my favorites, even though it's archaic. It's kind of embarrassing," I'd replied to the officer's inquisitive glance.

I had guessed the song must be a few years old and would be white noise to everyone else. I held my breath until he laughed, along with a few others in the line. A few minutes of small talk, and I walked out of the shop with my cover, my latte, and—more importantly—my life intact.

It was hard to remember that I was in a dangerous place. People walking, living, talking, coughing, laughing; it seemed no different from our town, but also horribly normal. I hated that sense of familiarity. I assumed I would immediately hate everything about the Republic. And I questioned myself every day when I didn't.

While the Territory was not barbaric or even as rustic as our homes in the outlying area, we didn't have unique artistry in every store window or MCUs in every person's hand. We didn't have towering buildings, covered with concrete and glass. The maps of the city showed the symmetry of all the city centers, like each of the eighteen districts had an epicenter from which streets would ripple outward. The technology and sophistication in the science center around 30th Street and the Fourteenth District enthralled me, until I reminded myself it was all a facade.

The Society Party labs had all done their job very well. Every person was beautiful. And they made beautiful things to seduce those people, stealing a piece of their soul with each cheap thrill. And while their world amazed my eyes, their words burned my ears.

I had overheard several shallow conversations filled with profanity, degrading comments about Sub-Terras, and references to their casual sex lives. It disgusted me, as I'd predicted it would.

Every crisis seemed to center on having a new outfit or item of interest, and the acquisition of that outfit at a certain location. They would grasp for more money, going further into debt with looks of desperation that only ended with the purchase of a silly status symbol. It made the piece of silk I thought was beautiful seem horrid because of what they would give up for it. Adults had the emotional range of thirteen-year-olds. They got upset if someone cut in line, if their server made a mistake, if a driver took a wrong turn. "Send them back to the lab," they'd say.