Chương 133

The evening instruction room had once been a school auditorium. The People's Army had turned it into an instruction hall. Old basketball lines still showed through the scuffs on the floor. Rows of benches had been dragged in and bolted down. An unlit scoreboard hung above the far wall, its numbers dark, its school name painted over in red. Someone had covered the padded gym walls with slogans. At the front, beneath another framed portrait of Lenin, a blackboard had been rolled into place.

A man in a red jacket stood before it. He was short, with a sharp face. His voice carried to the back rows.

"Sit down." They were directed to the third row from the back. Louis sat first, then Angelique to his left. Savannah sat on his right, arms folded, her dark work shirt still smelling faintly of soap and machine grease. Cherish sat beside Savannah with Donya close enough that their shoulders touched. Willa and Gladice took the other end of the bench. Maeve Fyres dropped onto the bench directly behind Louis and made no effort to hide her annoyance. Louis glanced back.

"I thought you didn't like us," he said. Maeve leaned back, boots braced against the frame of the bench in front of her.

"I don't. But it is the order of my supervisor."

"Supervisor?" She ignored him and faced the front. Workers filled the benches around them. Some still smelled of oil and steam. Some wore gray jumpsuits like Louis. Others wore dark work shirts, patched pants, red armbands, and cards on cords. A few soldiers stood along the walls with rifles held across their chests. The man waited until the whispering stopped.

"Comrades," he said. The workers answered, unevenly but immediately.

"Comrade Yates."

"Tonight we study the enemy within," Yates said. He turned to the blackboard and wrote in chalk: Ideological Sabotage.

"We have new arrivals. Some have been seduced by the lies of the fallen system. Some still carry the poison of bourgeois values." He turned back to face them.

"We must cleanse these people. Through education. Through work. And through discipline." Louis did not react. He saw Cherish go very still.

"Who are the bourgeoisie?" Yates asked. He looked over the workers row by row.

"Anyone who believes in profit over people. Who thinks class does not matter. Who speaks like the enemy." He walked down the aisle, hands clasped behind him.

"These new detainees were found traveling with the toll regime. They accepted its protection. They paid its bribes. They helped it profit."

"That ain't what happened," Savannah muttered. Yates began to write on the blackboard again: Criticism and Self-Criticism.

"We will correct their thinking. By exposing them to the truth. By listening to their confessions. By helping them become productive members of the working class." He kept writing. The chalk scraped against the board. Louis saw his own name appear: Louis Collins — Dynastic Bourgeois Parasite. The back of his neck tightened.

"Collins is the worst of them," Yates said, still facing the board.

"The son of an imperialist. Raised in privilege. Taught to despise the working class." He underlined the word parasite.

"He will work. He will confess. He will change." Yates turned to Louis.

"Collins, come forward." People shifted on the benches and turned in their seats. Louis did not move at first. Then Angelique leaned over and spoke quietly.

"Go. Don't make it worse." He stood and walked to the front of the room. Yates watched him approach without moving. He gestured to a stack of chairs at the corner of the platform.

"Bring seven chairs," he said.

"Set them facing the room." Louis brought the chairs one by one and set them under the portrait of Lenin. Yates returned to the blackboard and added the others' names. Angelique Bourbon — Feudal-Aristocratic Remnant Gladice Simington — Bourgeois Civic-Military Enforcer Willa Locke — Reactionary Intellectual Donya Al Madani — Religious Superstition Cherish Nowak — Religious Superstition Savannah Ellington — Oppressed Subject under Bourgeois Influence He stepped back and gestured to the chairs.

"Sit." Louis took the center chair. Savannah came next and sat with her arms folded. Angelique sat on his left, back straight, hands still in her lap. Gladice dropped into her seat and crossed her legs. Willa sat quietly, her hands folded. Donya looked pale and kept glancing between the soldiers and the board. Cherish was the last to sit. She was shaking enough that the card at her chest trembled. Yates stood before them.

"You are here to confess your ideological errors." He went down the line.

"You will tell the comrades what you did wrong and how you will correct yourselves."

"Confess what?" Savannah said.

"We ain't done nothing wrong."

"You traveled with the enemy." Yates pointed to the board.

"You participated in a system of exploitation."

"We escaped the Holy States," Louis said.

"That is not a crime."

"Silence." Yates raised his voice.

"You will speak when I ask you a question." Louis stared at him. The soldiers watched from the walls. Yates turned to Cherish.

"You. Nowak. You were raised in a snake-handling church. Do you believe your father's God has more authority than the working class?" Cherish went pale. She glanced at Louis, then at Angelique.

"Answer," Yates said. She swallowed.

"I... I believe in God."

"That is an ideological error." Yates stepped closer.

"There is no God. There is only the material world. And the class struggle. Your faith is a tool of the bourgeoisie to keep you obedient."

"I... I do not mean to be wrong."

"Then reject your faith." Yates crossed his arms.

"Tell the comrades that you renounce God and accept the supremacy of the working class."

"I... I can't."

"Then you are an enemy of the people." Cherish began to cry. Louis clenched his hands at his sides.

"Don't speak to her like that," he said. Yates turned to him.

"You will remain silent, Collins."

"I won't!" Louis stood up.

"She has been through hell. Leave her alone!" If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it. Yates gestured toward the soldiers. One of them stepped forward.

"Sit down, or you will be restrained." Louis looked at the man, then at Yates. He sat, but kept facing Yates. Yates looked at Donya next.

"You are also religious. Do you deny it?" Donya took a slow breath.

"I believe in Allah."

"That is the same error."

"No." Donya's voice was stronger than Louis expected.

"It is my faith. It does not harm anyone."

"Religion harms the revolution," Yates said.

"It tells people to accept suffering instead of fighting it. It is a drug for the masses." Donya shook her head.

"No. It gives me strength."

"Then you are corrupted." Yates moved to Willa.

"And you. Locke. You are educated. You have studied the lies of the bourgeoisie. Do you still believe in them?" Willa lifted her chin.

"I believe in science and reason. Not ideology."

"Science is not separate from ideology." Yates sneered.

"Science serves the class that controls it. In a capitalist system, science serves profit. In a socialist system, it serves the people."

"You are twisting words," Willa said.

"No. Let me ask you. Who owns your knowledge? Who paid for your education?" Willa hesitated.

"I earned it."

"You used intelligence to hide enemies from the people. Why should the people trust your mind?"

"I can think for myself," Willa said.

"And what will you think for? What will you build with that mind?"

"Nothing I will share with you," Willa said. Yates pointed at the board.

"Reactionary intellectual. Unrepentant." He turned to Gladice.

"You. Simington. Tell us about yourself. Are you a soldier, a guard dog, or a rich boy's private weapon?" Gladice laughed once.

"I'm a fucking survivor."

"Surviving for whom?"

"For myself." She leaned forward.

"Just like you." Yates stared at her.

"How many working people have you pointed a gun at?" he asked. She shrugged.

"Many. But I didn't kill them for being workers."

"No. You killed them to keep your class in power."

"Whatever you say." Yates turned to Angelique.

"And you, Bourbon. You think your blood makes you better than us."

"I think nothing of the sort," Angelique said.

"I have never claimed superiority."

"Your family ruled Navarre for centuries. You were born to oppress."

"I was born to a dead monarchy in an exiled court," Angelique said.

"I am not a princess. I am a woman who was kidnapped and taken from her home."

"But you still carry the poison of nobility." Yates walked behind the chairs.

"You think you know how to lead. You believe you are entitled to respect."

"I believe respect is earned."

"By birth?"

"By action."

"And what actions have you taken for the working class?"

"I have survived with my friends. That is enough." Yates stopped behind her chair.

"No. It is not." Then he moved in front of Louis again.

"And you, Collins. The worst of all. The son of a capitalist empire. You were raised in luxury while the workers of your nation slaved to build it." Louis looked up at him.

"You think you know me?"

"I know your kind." Yates folded his arms.

"You think you are special. You believe your father's power makes you special. But here, you are nothing. Just another laborer." Louis said nothing.

"Tell the comrades what you have done wrong," Yates said.

"How many women have paid the price of your protection?" People shifted on the benches behind him. Savannah shifted beside him. Angelique went still. Louis thought of Jennifer before he could stop himself: the road, the headlights, her hand on his jacket, the way she fell. He did not say her name. Yates would use it.

"Say it!" Yates insisted. Louis spoke quietly.

"I have done nothing wrong."

"You have exploited them. Used them as shields. As weapons. As property."

"No." Louis faced him.

"They are not my property."

"Then you admit you used them?"

"I protected them. They protected me. It was a mutual choice."

"Lies!" Yates turned to the workers.

"He lies to protect his bourgeois privilege." Louis stood again.

"I am not lying."

"Sit down!" Yates shouted.

"No!" Louis faced the crowd.

"I am not your enemy! I did not come here to fight you! We were just passing through!"

"A bourgeois always says that." Yates pointed at him.

"And the working class pays the price." Louis looked over the rows. Most looked away. Some kept watching. A few seemed confused. Behind him, Maeve Fyres sat forward on her bench, elbows on her knees. Louis turned back to Yates.

"Do what you want with me. But leave the others alone."

"We will decide what to do with all of you." Yates walked toward Savannah.

"And you, Savannah, you know what Dixie does to women like you. Why do you sit beside a Pacific prince?" Savannah stood slowly, her hands at her sides.

"'Cause I want to."

"Because he corrupted you.""'Cause I trust him." She kept her voice low.

"And I don't trust you."

"That will change." Yates smiled.

"Tell this room what he does not understand about people like you." Louis reached for her arm, but she stepped away from him.

"I know who I am," Savannah said.

"I'm a black woman who survived the Holy States. I got out. I fought my way out. And I ain't sitting here listening to you tell me I'm corrupted because I choose who I love."

"Don't evade the question." Yates moved closer.

"From now on, answer directly." He pointed at the guards.

"If you refuse again, you will be shot. One after the other." Savannah froze. The guards raised their rifles slightly. Angelique's hands closed into fists. Willa went rigid. Donya put a hand on Cherish's shoulder and pulled her close.

"Now," Yates said.

"Tell us what Collins does not understand about people like you." Savannah stared at Yates.

"What he don't understand," she said, "is I'd rather die than let y'all hurt him." Yates said nothing for a second. Then he nodded to the soldiers.

"Very well." Two of them moved toward her.

"Wait!" Louis stepped between Savannah and the soldiers.

"No. If you shoot anyone, shoot me." Yates turned to him.

"You are not in charge here."

"I am responsible for them."

"Take her outside," Yates ordered.

"No!" Louis shouted. Cherish began to cry again. Angelique stood up. The soldiers came to Savannah. She did not resist. She let them take her arms.

"I love you," she said to Louis.

"Don't you forget that." They pulled her away. She did not struggle. Louis tried to follow, but two other soldiers grabbed him. Angelique moved toward him, but a soldier blocked her with a rifle. Cherish was still sobbing. Then two shots came from outside the building. People flinched on the benches. Louis froze. For a moment, he could not breathe. The soldiers returned without Savannah. They took their positions again by the walls. The gray-haired woman from the mess hall stood at the back now.

She gave Yates a small nod. Yates turned back to the group.

"Let this be a lesson. The revolution does not forgive disobedience." He turned to Louis.

"She is dead. Because of you." Louis lunged forward, but the soldiers held him. He fought them, trying to tear himself free.

"Let me go!" he shouted.

"You are in no position to make demands," Yates said.

"You killed her!" Louis screamed.

"You killed her!"

"She chose her fate."

"I will kill every last one of you! You hear me? Every last one of you!" The soldiers held him back.

"I will kill you too! I will kill all of you!" Louis screamed.

"My father will kill you all! He will nuke this whole fucking country! He will burn it to the ground!" Yates did not move.

"We are not afraid of your father."

"You will be!" Louis shouted.

"You will be when he comes!" He turned toward the benches.

"You will all burn! You will all die! I promise you that!"

"Shut up," one of the soldiers said. He hit Louis with the butt of his rifle. Louis fell to the floor and lay there gasping.

"No!" Cherish cried.

"Please don't hurt him!" Yates gestured.

"Put him back." The soldiers pulled him up and forced him into the chair.

"Now," Yates said.

"We will continue." Louis sat there, stunned, a bruise already forming on his chest. He looked at the empty chair next to him. Savannah was gone. He had heard the shots. He had not been able to say goodbye. He had not been able to do anything. He had failed her. He had failed all of them. Angelique looked at him. Her face was pale, but her eyes were hard.

"Don't do anything stupid," she whispered.

"Not now." Louis did not answer. He looked at Yates.

"You will pay for this," he said. Yates ignored him. He turned toward Angelique.

"Now, Bourbon. You know Collins better than most. Tell the room what privilege made him." Angelique rose and stood in front of her chair.

"Louis," she said, "is ignorant. About many things." Yates waited.

"Go on."

"He was raised to believe that power could protect what he loved. He was wrong. He has learned that. He is still learning it."

"And?" Yates asked. She looked once toward the door, then back at him.

"Louis would trade his life for any of us. He would not hesitate. That is not privilege. That is love." Her voice shook slightly.

"And it is more than you will ever understand." Yates said nothing for a moment, then turned to Gladice.

"Simington. Tell us what the Bourbon woman thinks when she looks at workers." Gladice stood slowly, her eyes murderous.

"She thinks we're worth dying for," she said.

"And she's right." Yates turned to Willa.

"And you, Locke? You claim reason. Then reason for us. Who benefits from this little private kingdom?" Willa stood, blinking hard.

"No one. It wasn't a kingdom. It was survival."

"Survival for whom?"

"For all of us."

"Who is 'us'?"

"Us." Willa swallowed hard.

"Me. Angelique. Gladice. Donya. Cherish. Louis. And Savannah." Her voice broke on the last name. Yates turned to Donya.

"Now you, Al Madani. Do you still believe your God has a plan for you?" Donya stood, shaking.

"I believe I will see Savannah again in Jannah. And I believe you will burn in hell." Yates paused, then turned to Cherish.

"Nowak. You have seen how they live. Tell the room what kind of morality the bourgeoisie taught you." Cherish stood. Her cheeks were wet with tears. She looked at Louis, then at the workers in the benches.

"Louis is kind," she said, trembling.

"He saved me. He saved all of us. And Savannah... Savannah was my friend." Her voice cracked.

"She was better than anyone here." Yates raised his hand.

"Enough." He turned to the workers.

"You have heard the confessions. These people are corrupted. They have chosen the wrong path. They must be re-educated. They must work harder. They must confess every day until they understand their mistakes." Louis stopped shaking. He did not look at Yates again. He looked at the soldiers, the gray-haired woman, and Maeve Fyres, who had not moved or spoken. Yates said, "This session is dismissed. Comrades, return to your dormitories." He turned to Louis and the others.

"You will be escorted to your assigned rooms. You will write letters of apology before morning. And you will work tomorrow as instructed." The soldiers came forward. Louis did not resist again. The others stood without speaking. They were marched out of the auditorium, down the hall, and through a side door into the yard. The sky had gone dark. A floodlight shone over a small building with barred windows. Louis looked at Angelique. She looked drained. He tried to speak, but the guard pushed him ahead.

Inside, the guards separated them into individual cells. Louis's cell had a cot, a bucket, and a small desk with paper and a pen. The door closed behind him. He stood in the center of the cell, still shaking. After a while, he could not stay upright. He sat on the edge of the cot and cried, his face buried in his hands.