Face/Mask (33 page)

Along with his disappointment at being unable to help further, Janus felt another, quite familiar sensation; something he hadn’t felt since the night Joe had been arrested: it was resentment.

Even in these desperate straits
,
he won’t stop thinking of others
.

Chapter fourteen

Canadian Illegal Alien Enforcement Act 79-12-1466 (Definitions):
The term “ineligible states or nations” refers to certain nations or states whose nationals shall be refused any probationary permission to reside in Canadian territory; these ineligible states or nations shall be determined pursuant to executive orders by the Prime Minister's Office (PMO), and the list of such ineligible states or nations may be revised from time to time.

October 12, 2039:

Richard lay in bed, breathing heavily in the dark. As he had on most nights since he first met her, he’d masturbated to a fantasy about himself and Suzanne. That she was Mr. Robinson’s wife meant little to him. The 17-year old boy was head over heels in love. Day and night his adolescent thoughts were filled by her long, flowing hair, her bra-less breasts barely hidden underneath her loose tops, and a warm smile he was sure she reserved for him.

He’d been to their apartment three times now, mostly listening as the group talked and argued about what they could do to motivate people to act against the oppressive administration. Whether it was demanding fair trials for alleged terrorists, or less censorship of the news, or just healthier food, the topics of discussion were endless.

Richard had always taken the country’s laws for granted, having never known any other way of life. But he’d learned so much just by listening to the group, especially to Suzanne’s impassioned criticisms of the sheep, as she called them, who meekly went along with whatever lies they were told and never thought to ask why things had to be the way they were.

Tonight he’d surprised himself and the others by speaking out without being prodded.

“Nobody gets angry with the way things are until something hurts them,” he’d said, eliciting nods of agreement from the others, as well as Suzanne’s beautiful smile. She took a deep toke on the joint that her husband was holding, his arms wrapped around her as if to hold her back from throwing herself at Richard.

“
Vas-y,
Richard,” she said. “Say what you think.”

Richard had taken several puffs of the marijuana already and was feeling less timid than he usually did. That he had her rapt attention added to his enjoyment of the moment.

“It’s just that, well, everybody goes on, doing whatever they’re doing, And we’re all used to things being the way they are, and we don’t really care much about the Muslims, or the enviro-activists they arrest because, you know, they probably deserve it and it doesn’t really affect us. Nobody remembers when you could buy fresh vegetables at the corner store, or when you could swim in a lake, because they’re so busy just trying to get by it’s not worth it for them to worry about it.”

He caught his breath, feeling slightly exhilarated at having everyone’s attention and having so much to say. He knew he was parroting his father’s complaints about the fresh vegetables and lakes, but that didn’t matter, because he’d come to believe these arguments. He also thought of his little brother, Rollie, and the months he’d spent in an oxygen tent until his lungs were able to work on their own. He hated that children could get sick just from spending too much time outdoors.

Emboldened by another of Suzanne’s warm smiles, he went on with an impassioned voice he didn’t recognize. He shouted out the first things that came to his mind without worrying about how much sense he made.

“So if you want more people to get angry with the administration, to ask questions about why stores have to sell toddler-sized air-masks, or when this war on terror is ever going to end, or, or why we can’t eat fresh vegetables, well you…you have to make it matter to them. When something hurts you, that’s when it matters most. But I think people are just too used to their pain. They’re too numb to care about anything!”

“
Bravo,
Richard,” Suzanne clapped. “I think you really understand what we’re trying to do here.” She turned to her husband and said, “You were right, Jordan. I adore this boy.”

Richard blushed deeply at her words, not knowing where to look. The conversation continued around him, everybody rushing in with ideas on how to make others care about the administration’s policies. His ears were burning, and he could hardly hear what they were saying. His teacher was speaking, but it took Richard a moment to realize that he was asking him something.

“Oh, sorry. Yes, Mr. Robinson?”

“What I said was that it’s important to think the way you do. But actions speak louder than words, right? Not a lot of people are willing to do what they have to, especially if this means really making it hurt. A quick, sharp pain for the public’s own good. To wake them up. But I don’t think you’re all talk, are you, Richard?”

Richard looked at Suzanne’s beaming face for several seconds before he answered.

“I’m willing to do whatever you want me to.”

October 17, 2039:

When the time came Richard knew there would be a high probability of serious injury, not only to the
Cons
, but also to innocent by-standers. He’d told them he didn’t want anybody to get hurt, and that, despite his big talk a few days earlier, he believed they should remain a non-violent movement.

But Suzanne had spoken to him quietly the night before in her kitchen, while Mr. Robinson paced worriedly in his cramped living room. She held his hand and gazed into his eyes as she told him how proud she’d been when he’d spoken up at the last meeting. She was glad he understood that a certain amount of pain was necessary, or else people wouldn’t react.

“The sheep,” she said, “will keep walking down the chute unless something scares them. Only then will they open their eyes and see where they’re headed.”

Richard didn’t respond. He knew that even scared sheep couldn’t stop themselves from going to slaughter, but he didn’t want to contradict her. She saw his hesitation and asked him if he was afraid, with a look that told him she would only accept one answer.

“Of course not,” he lied, looking down to avoid her searching gaze. “I just want to make sure I’m doing the right thing.”

“What else can we do, Richard? The public is so apathetic they can’t be shaken out of their torpor with clever slogans and colourful signs.”

She brushed the hair out of his eyes and bent her head to look into his face.

“Without some real pain they’ll never see that the administration is run by militarists and elite industrialists who are happily enriching themselves while families are poisoned by the air and water around them.”

He felt unable to speak, so he nodded in agreement. He hoped his father would understand, and maybe even be proud of what he was going to do.

After-all, his father had changed so much in recent days; he no longer behaved like an officious civil servant all the time. He’d even begun to criticize the administration, although only in the privacy of the family home. If his father’s position prevented him from acting on the anger he felt, then his oldest son would have to do it in his place.

So that morning Richard stood inside the library’s entrance, remembering Suzanne’s words, and smelling her perfume like she was still holding his hand. He watched as his fellow students trudged in and out of the building. Most carried small waist-packs containing their study discs or some nutri-snacks under their coats. He worried that somebody would wonder why his own pack looked bulkier than everybody else’s. Surely nobody would expect him to be carrying an actual textbook around. But nobody gave him a second look.

The air that day was passably clear, so hardly anyone wore air-masks. Richard had asked Suzanne if he should wear his mask to hide his face from the pervasive cameras. She told him not to, explaining that anyone seen wearing a mask on a day like today would quickly come under suspicion.

“Just look like any other student. That way you’ll blend in, without drawing attention,” she said.

In the street, in front of the RCMP station that was next door to the library, several patrol cars were parked. He watched as two
Cons
, their air-masks hanging from their belts, chatted amiably while they leaned against their cruisers. One of them laughed out loud while squeezing his colleague’s arm, before they strolled into the station.

Richard wanted to imagine that they were laughing about an arrest they’d made, maybe some innocent and harmless old man like Uncle Joe, but he couldn’t. It was easier to hate a faceless administration than it was two buddies sharing a laugh. Whatever passion he’d felt in Suzanne’s apartment had dissipated. This would have been easier to do if his heart was still full of anger, but there was no turning back.

He looked at the clock on the library wall: it was 9:45 AM. They’d told him to plant the bomb at 10 o’clock, five minutes before the planned detonation, to minimize the risk of discovery. But his heart was beating too rapidly, and he could feel the sweat pouring down his face. He was certain that he’d faint if he had to wait much longer.

Nobody’s going to find it anyway
, he told himself, as he placed the waist-pack behind a bench near an exterior wall, leaning on his crutch to keep his balance.

The detonation was set to expand outward, toward the police detachment, and not inward, where the students would be crowded into the tight space. Still, the chances of some of them being seriously injured, maybe even dying, were fairly high.

He repeated to himself some of Suzanne’s arguments that he’d memorized as a mantra:
All shortages are tools of the administration; hungry people pay more for food; there’s always someone else to blame.

He took a deep breath and told himself that it had to be done. After this act of defiance the administration would have to take them seriously. And Suzanne would know that he was a real man.

He just hoped that nobody he knew would get hurt.

It had been a slow morning at work for Janus. Rush hour traffic had been predictably bad, and an overloaded power station in the East End of Montreal had him scrambling repair crews. There had been worse starts to his days.

As for Joe, his preliminary hearing was still over a month away, and there was little that could be done for him in the meantime. The wheels of what passed for justice nowadays would continue turning mercilessly, rolling over him and whoever else got in their way.

Janus hadn’t heard from Sévigny since their run-in at the courthouse, and he couldn’t decide if this was a good sign or not. The only reason he could think of for Sévigny not having him arrested was that the cop had taken the money himself, although he didn’t seem like the corruptible kind.

Janus’s work helped him get his mind off his problems for a little while, and as long as he was at work he didn’t have to look at Terry’s mournful face. Nor did he have to feel as useless as his wife surely thought he was.

The first few weeks after Joe’s arrest, Terry had been very reliant on him, and fairly confident in his abilities to solve their problems. Chaloux’s double-cross had put an end to that. She never said so, but Janus knew he’d let her and the boys down.

He reached out for some scalding hot coffee and sipped it, trying to get his mind off Joe’s situation. The P-screen pinged softly, and a small red dot appeared on the map of Montreal. He was about to touch the spot to see what the trouble was when Leblanc burst into his office, a look of distress on his face.

“Norm, Jesus! You look like somebody just died.”

“Not yet, but it might be me.”

“Hold on a sec,” Janus held a finger up to his friend as another soft ping rang out, followed by several red dots that began popping up across a three block area of the downtown core.

What the hell?

“Allen, are you listening to me?”

Janus pulled his eyes from the screen where clearly something serious was happening.

“Normand, what’s got you so frazzled?”

“That shit, Prescott. He’s ordered me up to his office.”

“What? When?”

“I got an e-message first thing today. I’m supposed to be there now. I think it’s about the contracts.”

“Christ! I thought you were being careful.”

“I was, but things came up. Once you start down this road word spreads among all the other crooks in the city, and soon the cockroaches start crawling out of the woodwork, each one wanting a piece of the pie.”

“What the hell does that even mean?”

“Some guy,” Leblanc began and then stopped himself. “It’s better if I don’t tell you too much. But I was getting pressure from someone to change who I recommended for the contracts. I didn’t want to and I think this guy may have squealed on me.”

Janus’s mouth went dry. It must have been Walid. He hadn’t wasted any time in turning on Leblanc, after all but promising that he’d never do such a thing. And it was Janus who’d put him on his friend’s trail.

“I’m so sorry, Normand,” he whispered.

Before Leblanc could say anything else Janus’s com began buzzing, and the insistent pinging on the screen became a loud alarm. Outside his office he heard the sounds of excited voices and footsteps running around. Leblanc fell into the chair in front of his desk, his head in his hands, but Janus could no longer ignore that something major was happening in the city. The electrical grid in a large section of the downtown core had gone off line without warning. Janus turned back to the flashing dots and switched to camera view, but no matter how many times he tried nothing in the area worked.