The Man With a City in His Head by Maxwell Jameson	Table of Contents part 1 part 2 part 3 part 4 part 5 part 6 part 7 part 8 part 9
part 6

He stood for a few moments, drinking in his victory. He looked out over the crowd with the expression of a displeased schoolmaster.

And it connected in my mind.

It was around the forehead. How the skin around the eyes tightened.

He said his father was a major figure in Our City. He’d tightened his eyes and given me that same expression when he said it. Just before he buried me.

Distrust rumbled from the pit of my stomach and up.

Marcus straightened his jacket and walked towards the door. I watched him the entire time. I tried to imagine him doing the things his son had told me. I couldn’t. This Marcus the Statesman was incompatible with the one I’d learned about years before. Were that other one known, everything would fall apart.

When he reached the door, Marcus turned back to the crowd.

“Now I must leave,” Marcus said. “I have work to do. And I think most of you do as well.”

The voice was the same. The same as when he’d disparaged every element of Our City, the same City his father had just glorified. Turned upon its origin.

I sighed in relief when he was gone.

Many Citizens followed him out, their faces once again those of Citizens, their movement direct and ruthless.

But I noticed many stayed. I saw them looking at the door. I saw them lingering near the counter. Near me.

My heart jumped. I had never Shared.

When Frederick the Writer began speaking again, he was still defiant. His robust mind, the tool he’d used to escape his humble beginnings, was far from defeated. Many people stayed, though not as many as before. They agreed to continue.

The Takers, of course, were unmoved by Marcus. They could not Share and had no desire to. But the sight of losing so many Citizens so quickly was discouraging. They now outnumbered the Citizens considerably in the establishment.

I just went about cleaning. James and Aaron helped me. They had no way of knowing what I’d done. Frederick spoke for some time. He managed to encourage the few remaining Citizens, and the day ended on a faintly optimistic note. The Party would go forward as planned. They must steel themselves. But I knew many of the Citizens wouldn’t be back the next day.

People filed out, until it was just James, Aaron and myself. James and Aaron began speaking.

“They were defeated today,” James said.

“No,” Aaron replied, “they will go on. They always knew that people such as Marcus the Statesman would be against them.”

“Yes,” said James, “they will go on for a while, but they will achieve only limited success. This will be the peak of their movement.”

“I don’t know,” Aaron said in his thin, milky voice, “they seem determined. Especially the writer. The fact that they are not accepted by many people may steel them to continue forward.”

“Yes, but they do not offer what their opposition does: power. No matter how strongly they Share, they will never be able to match the pull of the sense of entitlement and status that Citizens must have. They have worked their entire lives to conform and to admit that they were misguided in doing so will be too difficult for them. There was a chance for a moment, but it was slapped down before it could gather strength. Those in power were quick and ruthless, as people in power always are.”

“Those in power know what is best,” said another voice.

We all turned to see Adam still seated in his alcove.

Watching him side by side with James and Aaron, it was hard to tell them apart. His beard was now as long as James’, leaping from his cheeks enthusiastically as soon as allowed, reclaiming its rightful territory. His wrinkled, unwashed Citizen’s clothes looked dirtier and less comfortable than either James’ or Aaron’s, almost grotesque in their debasement.

“What does that mean?” James asked.

“What it sounds like,” Adam said. “Those who have authority in Our City have it because they have gone through a set of trials that only the qualities of great leaders can master. Therefore, once they have been vetted, their judgment ought to be trusted.”

“And what qualities are these?” asked James.

“Strength. Discipline. The courage to be completely sure of what is right and to draw lines that cannot be crossed.”

Adam’s voice was feeble, becoming quiet as a whisper in some places and blaring loudly in others.

“You call that bravery?” Aaron said, his voice pitched with excitement. “You call drawing artificial lines over the world and then refusing to even consider what lies past them brave?”

“Oh,” Adam said, jumping at the chance to confront someone he saw as weaker, “what would you call it, then?”

“Cowardice,” Aaron said. “An obsession with security.”

“And what is wrong with security?” Adam demanded, standing up, his squat, compact body raised as far as it would go but barely reaching to Aaron’s shoulders. “Why is security wrong? We all wish for it, but only a few of us are able to achieve it. Why must we be ashamed of it?”

“I guess there is nothing inherently wrong with it,” Aaron said. “The wish for security is really just the wish for complete unity with your surroundings. And that is the deepest wish of all human beings. But that unity can only be discovered, it cannot be snatched and twisted into the form in which you would like to see it. Because then more disorder is created, and more suffering.”

“But... those people deserve it, deserve their safety and security, because they can take it for themselves!”

“Now who are the Takers?” Aaron sneered.

Adam shoved his hands in his pockets and skulked across the room like a pouting child.

“Our City will move on, despite your attempts to tear it down,” he said.

“How are we attempting to tear it down?” James asked. “We only wish to help it evolve.”

Adam jerked around and pointed a short, stubby finger. “That is how you mask your theft, yes. Your lies. I know your types well. You want to make it appear that you are helping us as you take and take, when all you are doing is stealing comfort and security from those who rightfully deserve it and ensuring mediocrity.”

“But what is glorious about Our City in its current form? What is glorious about the poverty in the Inner Districts? What is glorious about the sight of the Floating Center with its weapons permanently cocked?”

“What is glorious?” Adam spat in an incredulous tone. “Have you been to the Floating Center? Have you seen the tall buildings reflecting the sun in so many glorious angles? Have you seen the detailed patterned statues and the holographic representations of great moments in our history? These are what make Our City glorious and what will be debased by the likes of you.”

“Yes,” James said, “I have been to the Floating Center. In fact, I was raised in the Floating Center. My parents work in the Council restaurant, feeding all of the Council members. I grew up immersed in their world. And I agree that much they have there is glorious. But they come with a heavy price.

“For every square mile of transcendent beauty, there are ten miles of squalor. Below, in the Inner Districts, the people live in horrendous poverty and desperation. They are told they have no choice, because of the threat of the Takers. Watchers cover their sky like locusts, rooting out any signs of dissent and threatening the guilty parties with ejection from the city. Is your transcendence worth this? To leave so many of Our City’s Citizens flailing in such desperation so that others can cling to a fantasy?”

Adam turned to James. “You are full of lies,” he said.

But James went on, unfazed. “I agree with Marcus the Statesman when he speaks of focusing on what is before you. But Marcus has never known anything but the Floating Center. He does not understand its remoteness to those who begin out here.

“Imagine if every district were allowed a dollop of this greatness. Imagine if, just like the Citizens in the Floating Center, they could believe that where they lived was great and transcendent, was as authentically a part of Our City as the Floating Center.

“Imagine the increase in pride and motivation. Imagine the increase in quality of life. People would no longer feel the need to discard their roots, but instead they would celebrate them.”

“You are an ignorant fool,” Adam growled. “Who are you to call Marcus the Statesman a liar?”

“I am not calling him a liar,” James said, “but I think he is confused.”

“And you would have the arrogance to question a man of his caliber?”

“I am a human being,” James said. “I am a Citizen of Our City, although I did not choose it. And if you truly believed in any of the values you have stated, you would never refute the notion that I am entitled to express my opinion.”

Adam was a withering silence.

“You ought to come with us tonight,” James said.

“Why would I come with you?” Adam sneered.

“Because the old man has agreed to show us his city. He has not informed Frederick the Writer or Stephen the Historian. Believe it or not, he doubts them. He is not entirely comfortable with their support. They apparently are not interested in seeing his city first-hand, and all he wishes to do is share it. So he will share it with us.

“Come with us and see it and decide for yourself. You said yourself that strength means being completely sure of what you believe. So if this is true, you ought to have nothing to fear. You will know your opponents’ position. And then, if you believe Our City as it is is truly the best of all possible cities, then go on as before. I shall not try to stop you.”

Adam breathed in and out. He stood up to his full height and buttoned his rumpled jacket.

“Very well,” he said. “I will come and look. I look forward to listing its weaknesses afterwards.”

“And I will listen with interest,” James said. “Meet us at the Center with the View.”

“You mean...?”

“Yes, the old Takers’ City Hall. We thought it fitting.”

“Yes,” Adam said. “it is fitting. Because my father built it. Fitting it is there that I destroy you.”

“Very well,” James said with no fear, “I look forward to it.” He picked up his mop. “But first we have to finish our work.”

Adam nodded and walked out. James, Aaron and I worked until my establishment at least resembled itself from the day before. But I knew it would never be the same.

“Will you be joining us tonight?” James asked as I locked the door.

“Umm, yes,” I replied. “But I must run an errand first.”

“You know where the Center with the View is?”

“Yes,” I replied.

James nodded and set off down the street with Aaron. I walked in the opposite direction. I told myself I was walking home. I was alone with my thoughts and the buzzing Watchers. When I first reintegrated with Our City, they often stopped and took note of me, unsure if my changed behavior was authentic, but after some time they showed less and less interest until now, when they ignored me.

I was unsure of how to feel. With my realization that afternoon, I knew I could never trust Our City as I had before. Even if the son of Marcus the Statesman had exaggerated, I knew there was a foundation of truth. But I still did not entirely trust Takers. I had been buried by a hybrid of the worst qualities of Takers and Citizens and was left unsure of who to trust.

I remembered the first time I’d visited the Floating Center. It was after I had left the Takers but before I began Sharing. I remembered stepping off the hovership and onto its surface and nearly stumbling as it wobbled. I remembered being shocked.

We were told the Floating Center was the bedrock of Our City, yet it couldn’t even stay in one place. I was told I’d get used to it, that the wobbling would become imperceptible after a time. But I was woozy and disoriented, and my condition was worsened by the inundation of holographic images covering every street corner, telling us the days news or retelling Our City’s celebrated history, or the brightly-lit white statues of Our City’s most famous Citizens, or the ruthless inertia of the other Citizens, as they struggled to reach their destinations.

My mind flashed to the night I was buried. At the time, it often did, so I disregarded it. But looking back now, I remembered how vivid those flashes had been. How I’d felt pressed down by a body much larger than mine and then occupied. I felt the sights, sounds, and thoughts of the Floating Center were being shoved into me the same way.

I’d left early in the day, before I’d planned. I’d returned several more times — after I began Sharing — and found it easier and easier to process. I felt more integrated. But I chose to stay in the Outer Districts. I could never stomach the thought of living in the Floating Center.

I thought they gave me a middle ground, even if it still meant I had to see Takers from time to time. Both the Floating Center and the Takers’ Culture seemed extreme. And when Frederick and other Citizens had begun patronizing my establishment, I thought I’d succeeded. I was a productive Citizen, but I did not have to subject myself to the Floating Center. I was productive, but still free. Unburied.

Proceed to part 7...

Copyright © 2011 by Maxwell Jameson