3

T he town square was a hive of activity. Teams of workers were cleaning up after last night’s Foundation Day celebrations—and the revolution, of course—sweeping the cobblestones and taking down the popup stalls. The restaurants and shops were open, although given the weather, most patrons were inside rather than milling about on the square.

I could have cut through the alley on the other side directly to Berkley House, but I’d wanted to see what was happening in town. Two things pulled my eye as I wheeled my bicycle through the square.

The screen on the clock tower was still playing, although the footage looked new with Geneva addressing the population. She wore a different outfit, but the sincere, concerned expression was the same. She looked like a woman promising to sacrifice her firstborn for the good of Capra. Maybe she would, I didn’t really know her that well, but she certainly wouldn’t hesitate to sacrifice mine.

More importantly, I spotted my mother. She was sitting with two other women behind a table on the bandstand. Temporary canvas had been wrapped around the wooden pillars to provide shelter from the elements and a makeshift banner across the top read Information.

Three short lines of people waited to file up the bandstand steps to the information table, mainly women but a few men as well.

It was all very orderly.

But then, that was our way.

Last night, the Sisters of Capra had seized power from the ruling council. Today everyone was back to work. New regime, same old citizens. That’s how the council, and as little as sixty guards, had controlled Capra. We weren’t rebellious. We wanted to work toward the greater good of mankind. We did what we were told, in the simple belief that everyone had the world’s best interests at heart.

We still believed it.

Hell, even I still believed it…with a few notable exceptions.

We weren’t weak people.

We were just desperate people. We didn’t want the human race to end on our watch.

My mom saw me and indicated that she’d be with me in a minute, as soon as she’d dealt with the woman in front of her.

I strolled closer to the screen, to hear what Geneva was saying.

“…sacrificed so much, and now is not the time to throw it all away. The Sisters of Capra stand for every woman, man and child. We will build on the foundation on which the Eastern Coalition was born, not break it down. That is our pledge, my promise , to you.”

She smiled with just the right amount of gravity, then the feed appeared to loop back to the beginning of her message.

“Citizens of Capra, welcome to the dawning of a brighter, better future for everyone. We have been blind. We have been deaf. We have been mute. But we have not been misguided. The Eastern Coalition was founded on the fundamental principles of securing the future of mankind and that has not changed.”

Geneva clasped her hands together on the table she sat behind and cocked her head, taking a few seconds to stare into the camera, to stare out on the handful of people gathered around me beneath the clock tower.

“All our efforts are beginning to bear fruit. We can see it, and now we need patience and renewed commitment to stay the course, to keep on this road, and we will succeed. I urge everyone to go about their days as normal. We cannot allow Capra to falter. We are what is left of civilization, and we will triumph.”

“Georga.” My mom tugged on my arm, pulling my attention from the screen. “How are you holding up, darling? Did you sort everything out with Roman?”

Not in the least. But that’s not what she was referring to. “Yes, Geneva released him last night.”

Mom smiled. “That’s excellent.”

“What about dad?” I asked. “I stopped by the house. Did he really go off to work today, like it’s just a normal day?”

“Geneva sent out a message this morning. Everyone with an iComm would have received it.” She clapped her hands together. “Business as usual. Your father’s fine, and yes, he left for work this morning, the same as every morning.”

My gaze narrowed in disbelief. “He’s just okay with everything that’s happened?”

Mom’s smile wavered. “You know your father.”

I did, and I knew he rarely held back his opinions. “What did he say?”

“He’s concerned about you, naturally, but I assured him that you’re perfectly well,” she said, and promptly shifted the conversation. “You and Roman should come for dinner tonight. What do you say?”

I doubted Roman would be willing to sit around a table with me for a family dinner right now.

“Maybe another night. Roman’s got a lot going on today.” I nudged a look at the bandstand. “What’s that about?”

“We’re making ourselves available to the public,” Mom said. “There’s a lot of uncertainty right now, and people have questions. We’re reassuring everyone that nothing is changing.”

“But isn’t that the point of everything?” I frowned at her. “Change?”

“The Sisterhood has great reforms in store for Capra, but all in due time.” She rubbed my arm. “We don’t want to alarm people.”

“And change frightens people.”

“People are afraid of change,” she said, nodding. “So long as it’s good change, though, there’s nothing to fear, and nothing to dislike.”

“You sound so calm about everything. Relaxed. As if everything is just going to work out.”

She continued rubbing my arm, soothing me. “I’m not deluded, darling, but I do have faith in mankind. The top one percent is usually the problem, and they’ve been ousted from power. The other ninety-nine percent? We’ve got this.”

Except we now had a new one percent. There’d always be a one percent ruling over the other ninety-nine percent. The trick was to get that one percent right. Personally, I didn’t think Geneva belonged up there.

She was off the screen now, replaced by the edited clips of my interview that had played on a loop last night. And apparently was still playing.

“It’s all lies,” I declared to the whole of Capra. “Our eggs don’t start off rotten. We are healthy for the first couple of years, until we reach the age of fourteen, maybe a few months more. That’s where Capra gets its supply of eggs from, harvested from young girls in The Smoke. It could be harvested from us. It should be harvested from us . There’s no reason we couldn’t have children of our flesh and blood.”

“I should get back to the information kiosk,” my mom said.

My gaze shot to her. “Can I ask you something?”

“Of course.”

“Geneva blasted me and that…” my arm flung out, pointing to the screen “…interview all over Capra last night while I was at the Foundation Ball, trapped amongst all the council members and dozens of guards. If her plans didn’t work out, I’d be in rehab now. Doesn’t that bother you?”

“Oh, darling.” Her face crumpled and she placed a hand on my arm again, squeezing gently. “I assumed you were part of the plan and knew everything. And when I learned you’d been taken by surprise, well, it was mostly over, and you were fine.”

“So her antics, putting me in that kind of danger without my consent, doesn’t make you the least bit angry?”

“I wasn’t thrilled,” she finally admitted. “But Geneva would have had a rescue operation in place, if necessary.”

I studied my mom’s face. She genuinely believed that. Her faith in Geneva and the Sisterhood was not shaken.

Maybe it was just me. For everyone else, even for my mother, it was a case of ‘All’s well that ends well.’

But for me, it hadn’t all ended well. Roman could have lost his life last night, protecting me. As it was, he hadn’t emerged unscathed. Daniel was locked up with the rest of the heirs, some of them still children, and Geneva had no intention of ever releasing them—not fully whole, anyway. She’d made that clear to me. The council must be stamped out in all its iterations.

I smiled weakly and said goodbye to my mother without further argument. I’d never been able to get her to question the Sisterhood’s more shady methods of operandi, and I guess that hadn’t changed.

Berkley House was across the road from the Guard Station where Daniel was being held. I was itching to cross the street, to check up on him, but I didn’t want to stir up more trouble for him. The heirs were all locked up in the same cell, and some of them resented his connection to me. Especially the Otter heir. I’d stopped an all-out brawl last night by promising to get them all out of there, but until I delivered, I couldn’t risk my presence triggering another incident.

I tried the door to Berkley House before knocking.

It opened and I stepped inside.

A hum of noise indicated people were around, busy, but I found myself alone in the foyer. I headed for the staircase, was halfway to the second level when I met Rose descending. She was dressed in silky harem pants and a thin, full-length coat of finely spun wool, her blond hair was scraped into a bun, and she didn’t seem particularly delighted to encounter me. Then again, when had she ever?

She was my contact point for the Sisterhood, my mentor and, I suppose, my supervisor. She was also a mother of three and she was somewhat involved in a network to support abused wives. Despite myself, I held a grudging respect for Rose.

“Georga.” She didn’t offer me a smile. “I was wondering if you’d show up.”

“Why wouldn’t I?” I arched a brow. “I imagine there’s a lot of work to be done. I’d like to remain fully involved. I am an active member of the Sisterhood, after all.”

That little reminder was pertinent. I’d stolen Julian Edgar’s handprint for them. I’d brought them the candy—the truth about our rotten eggs and some other hard-hitting facts from The Smoke. I’d given them the ammunition, both literally and figuratively, to enable them to overthrow the council and instate the Sisters of Capra.

I was the spark, and the face, of this revolution. And yes, Geneva would stamp me out if I took it too far, if I challenged her authority too much, but I’d be careful. I’d play their game. And they could still get a lot of use out of me if they didn’t alienate me. We were a push and pull, a delicate balance.

Rose stood there, studying me, then reached whatever conclusion she’d been deliberating over.

“I’m pleased to hear that.” She did an about-turn and climbed back up the stairs. “We were hoping you remained committed to the Sisterhood. You’re very important to us, you know, a vital cog in our organization.”

I followed her up the stairs and to the map room, where she paused to look at me. “You’re not just an active member, Georga, you’re a significant active member.”

My nose wrinkled. “Is that like a promotion?”

“You still report to me.” She folded her arms, her body between me and the closed door, a barrier to the inner circle. “Geneva has some concerns.”

My stomach tightened. “She wants me out of the way.”

Rose shook her head. “Not at all. We want you exactly where you are, and it’s in all our interests to keep your profile high, for the cause, but there is a hierarchy that everyone adheres to. No one is exempt. Do you understand?”

I understood fully. Geneva had ordered Rose to manage me, to make sure I knew my place and stayed there. “I report to you.”

“If you have any issues, or suggestions, those come through me,” she said. “The Sisterhood isn’t a maverick organization. We don’t act for the good of a single person. Everything is discussed at the highest level and decisions are made for the good of our cause.”

“I get it,” I said. I really did. That didn’t mean I liked it.

“Excellent.” She opened the door and we entered the map room, formerly a private library that had been repurposed into our strategy hub.

A few women sat at the long tables stamped with reading lamps, some pouring over documents, others jotting down notes. I recognized some faces, but the only one I could place a name to was Mrs. Saunders, Carolyn’s mother. Huh. That meant Carolyn was also a member of the Sisterhood.

I scanned the other women milling about, disappointed when I didn’t see Geneva. I wasn’t supposed to confront her directly, and I wouldn’t, but I wanted to know what was happening with the heirs.

“Where is Geneva?” I asked Rose, making sure I sounded casually curious.

“She’s at the Foundation Hall,” Rose surprised me by answering. “She has meetings scheduled all day with the heads of the various departments and institutions. Our primary goal for the moment is to ensure we keep Capra running as normal.”

That made sense.

“We’re also moving our headquarters to the Foundation Hall.” Rose gave me a pointed look. “But most of our operational activities will be run from here.”

So that’s why she was so forthcoming with information. She wanted me to know that I’d be based here, at Berkley House. That our leaders were removing themselves from easy access.

That was not ideal.

“You’ve been allocated an iComm.” Rose ushered me over to the enormous oval table on the other side of the room, and picked out one of the iComms from the pile. “Have you ever used one?”

“No.”

She spent a minute tapping buttons on the thing, then she made me speak into the device to activate it for my voice.

Most instructions were voice-controlled.

Open new messages.

Open all messages.

Call xxx.

In order to connect to someone, I used their Citizen Number. I could speak directly to them, or leave a message, and I could also save their Citizen Number in a list of contacts under their name. She’d linked my iComm to my own Citizen Number, with a trailing ‘F’ to distinguish it from my husband’s number.

“Despite the revolution, despite the Sisters of Capra now being in control, I’m still an extension of my husband.” Maybe that was unfair. But it was the truth.

Rose’s harsh veneer cracked slightly. Her eyes softened. “Elevating women to be equal partners in their marriage is right at the top of our agenda.”

I thought of Carolyn. And Beth. And all the other women out there who’d been less than fortunate in their graduation choices. “What happens when someone doesn’t want to be in that marriage at all?”

“We’re committed to maintaining the family unit, Georga. That’s one of the founding principles of the Eastern Coalition. But we can still make a difference.”

Some of the mutiny inside me shook loose. This was where it had all started for me, after all. I wanted to make a difference. “What can I do?”

“We’re concentrating on our three top priorities.” Rose pointed out a woman I recognized from my first meeting with Geneva. “Eliza has been appointed Captain of the Guard and we’re recruiting new trainees. We have a signup sheet in the information kiosk in the square. Everyone is welcome to apply.”

I wondered if Jessie would be interested. Maybe she’d be more forgiving if she started experiencing the positive changes in our society. Then again, I didn’t see Jessie in guard uniform. She had rebel fire in her belly, even if she didn’t always show it, even if she wasn’t currently playing for either side.

Rose gestured to a woman seated at the lamp table. “Janice is supervising the Center for Reform and Rehabilitation and she’s looking for three or four volunteers. But I feel you’re particularly suited to my team and I would love to have you,” she added with emphasis. “I’m in charge of our brand new social welfare program and we’re setting up our first center in the Bohemian District.”

That was exactly where my heart belonged, but I was pretty sure Daniel would end up in rehab. That’s where I needed to be.

Rose wasn’t delighted with my choice. But was she suspicious? She wasn’t easy to read. After unsuccessfully trying to talk me out of it, she introduced me to Janice Clearwater and left us alone to talk.

Janice was a striking woman with strawberry-blond curls and sharp blue eyes. Either she’d aged extremely well, or she was in her late twenties, maybe early thirties. She carried authority, though. It was there in the rigid set of her shoulders, in those sharp eyes, in the well-worn look turning down the corners of her mouth.

“I’m afraid Rose isn’t quite correct,” she said. “I’m not looking for volunteers. The Rehabilitation Center is a sensitive area and I’m handpicking candidates.”

My smile was appropriately sober. “What are you looking for in candidates?”

“I’ll know when I see it,” she stated flatly.

I wasn’t giving up that easy. “The Rehabilitation Center—or should I say, the fear of rehab—has shaped many of us. I’ve always wondered about that. Is it a deterrent, a threat, a punishment, or is it actually a radical reform that adjusts citizens to fit back into their lives in Capra?”

I had her attention.

“You know what I’ve done,” I continued. She had to recognize me, although she hadn’t given off any signs of it. “I’m not daunted by ‘unusual’ situations. I went outside the wall, despite the risks. I discovered a lot of truths and handed everything over to the Sisterhood. I’m loyal, and I’m not afraid of the ugliness in this world.”

A watchful silence fell between us.

What more could I say to convince her?

While I was racking my brain, Janice slid a form and pen toward me. “Very well, I will keep you under consideration. Fill out the form.”

Thank you!

I turned the form around and picked up the pen. There wasn’t much to fill in, just my name and citizenship number, my address, and a brief summary of why I thought I was suitable for the role. I wrote down everything I’d just told her, then added a few lines praising my own character. This wasn’t the time to be demure, or completely honest.

When I was done, Janice took the form, barely glancing at it. “If you don’t hear from me, then your application wasn’t successful.”

“Thank you for considering me,” I said politely and left it at that, making my way out the map room and down the steps to the ground floor.

One of the doors leading off the foyer stood slightly ajar. A whirring sound drew me closer. Since the door wasn’t closed, it wasn’t like I was intruding on anyone’s privacy. I pushed the door a little wider and peered inside.

Two men sat with their backs to me, hunched over their keyboards by a bank of computers set up against the far wall. I was surprised to see them, here in the heart of the Sisterhood, but their presence made sense. It wasn’t like we had any technical expertise amongst us. Or any specialized skills, for that matter. The social structure of Capra had seen to that.

The whirring noise came from two giant printers spitting out pages. Lisa Bickens stood there, gathering batches from the printer trays, squaring the pages and stacking them on a table.

She didn’t notice me until I stepped deeper into the room.

Her ice-blue stare locked on me. “Georga.”

“Hey.” I didn’t smile with the greeting. Neither of us would have appreciated it. “How’s your father?”

She mangled her bottom lip as she crossed the room to me. “They haven’t allowed me to see him. He had surgery last night. They had to amputate his leg, just above the knee, but I think that’s the worst. At least, that’s what they say.”

“I’m really sorry.” It wasn’t a total lie.

Lisa’s father was General Bickens, the old head of the Guard and a horrible man. The last time I’d seen him, the purple veins around his nostrils had been pulsating with his fury—all about to be unleashed on me—so no, I wasn’t absolutely gutted that Geneva had shot out his knee. But he was still Lisa’s father, and I knew how I’d feel if anything happened to mine.

She folded her arms tightly and looked like she was about to say something, then decided against it and pursed her mouth instead.

I gave her a few moments, then glanced around the room. “What’s going on here?”

“ This …” She unwrapped her arms and shifted to stand beside me. “This is our news center. My mother is in charge and she’s enlisted me to be her aide. I call it the propaganda machine, but don’t quote me. If anyone asks, I’ll deny it. I’m super excited to be doing my little bit for The Sisterhood.”

Her tone was clipped, perched between amusement and frosted scorn, but you never could tell with Lisa. She could be secretly thrilled by her prestigious assignment.

There were only two ways to get important announcements out in Capra—the public screenings and newsletters. My stomach had always turned a little watery whenever that yellowish paper was slipped beneath our door. When it came to the council, the news was rarely good.

I looked to where both printers were still churning out pages, filling up their multiple trays. “We’re sending out a newsletter tomorrow?”

The reminder sent Lisa over that way to clear the trays before the pages spilled over onto the floor.

“It’s just a general statement,” Lisa said. “Geneva wants it delivered in the morning.”

“That’s a pretty big responsibility.”

She smirked as I joined her by the printer. “You know I don’t actually get a say in what’s printed, right? Geneva sent the layout straight to the computer and those guys are making sure the magic happens. They’re teaching me the ropes, but for now I merely get to stack and pack and make sure the parcels are collected at the crack of dawn for delivery.”

My neck twisted as I tried to read off the top page of a stack.

Lisa saw and laughed. “Help yourself. It’s not classified.”

I rolled my eyes at her. Obviously not, since they’d be delivered to each and every home in the morning.

I was curious, though, so I did exactly that before I left Lisa to her duties.

SISTERS OF CAPRA

BULLETIN

Dear Citizens of Capra,

For many of you, these may feel like uncertain, scary times. I wish to reassure you that the Sisterhood stands for all citizens, regardless of your age, gender or social standing.

The Eastern Coalition was founded on the sacrifice of women. We gave our rights, our equality and our bodies to Capra for the greater good.

Now the time has come to reap the rewards and celebrate all that has been accomplished.

We are healing.

Our eggs are entirely viable in our early years.

The women of Capra have returned hope to mankind.

The old regime, the council, tried to take that from you.

They took your hope.

They took your victories.

They took your celebrations.

Why?

That’s a good question, and the answer is control. They were afraid to lose their grip on you. They were afraid that without fear, they could not control you.

But now we know the truth and the truth is liberating.

The Sisters of Capra pledge to move our society forward, towards the brighter future that the council hid with false promises.

We refuse to hide.

We will no longer remain stagnant in the past.

The time has come for change.

The time has come to embrace hope.

So far as propaganda machines went, it was good. It even had the power to jolt my recently jaded views.

I shouldn’t forget what the Sisters of Capra stood for.

I wasn’t happy with some of their methods or decisions. But it wasn’t all bad. Geneva’s newsletter was an apt reminder of what I’d originally signed up for.

As I reached the front door to exit Berkley House, I spotted Bev moving around inside what appeared to be an office.

Another apt reminder.

Bev was an elderly woman, grandmotherly, with a permanent scowl in her eyes. She didn’t talk much. Actually, I wasn’t entirely sure she ever talked. According to Geneva, she’d served a six-year stint in rehab. I couldn’t even begin to imagine what they’d done to her.

This was why I couldn’t truly regret anything I’d done. If Roman couldn’t ever forgive me, well…my heart ached, and those stupid tears brimmed just below the surface again, but this was bigger than me and Roman.

There was always a price for progress, wasn’t there? Sacrifice. I didn’t want it to be me, or us , but I wasn’t special, we weren’t special…we weren’t any more special than Bev, and Beth, and countless other women who’d been paying the price of Capra for generations.

I didn’t want to lose Roman.

I didn’t want to lose Jessie.

I’d fight for them, I hadn’t given up, but most importantly, right now, I didn’t want to lose Daniel.

Not because he was more important, but because this wasn’t just about losing Daniel, or Daniel losing his freedom.

This was about right and wrong.

We were supposed to be better than the council.

We weren’t supposed to randomly dictate who was a threat and indiscriminately eliminate them.

I wouldn’t stop until Daniel was safe, and I knew Roman felt the same. That’s one thing I could still count on. One thing that still bonded us tighter than our marriage vows.

I used the iComm to place a call to Roman. “Call RWZ.”

There were three abrupt beeps, then he answered. “Hello?”

“Hi, it’s Georga.” My hand tightened around the device. “Um, I just wanted to let you know that they’ve given me an iComm.”

There was a small pause, almost negligible. “That’s good.”

“My number is the same as yours, with an F at the end. RWZF.”

“Thanks for letting me know.” He didn’t sound angry or hurt. He sounded formal and polite, pretty much like it had been with us in the beginning, before we’d fallen in love.

“Okay, then.”

“Okay.”

“I’ll see you later.”

“Goodbye, Georga.”

Well, that had gone just about as well as I’d expected. I sucked in another deep breath, releasing it slowly as I tucked the small black device into the back pocket of my jeans.