Elites of Eden (Children of Eden #2)(19)

Is it Lark that makes me feel that everything isn’t as grim as it first seemed? Now that I’ve met a friend, shared my secret, anything seems possible.

Not that I don’t have enough problems of my own to worry about, but somehow I keep thinking back to everything Lark told me about the supplies, the one-child policy, her vague theories about something being wrong with Eden. But what does that matter? The world is what it is—dead outside, alive in here—and I have to make the best life for myself given what I have. Whatever is going on in the government and supplies, or in the electronic heart of the EcoPanopticon, that’s not my problem.

My heart slows to the point that I can have a real look around me. We’re walking briskly through the next entertainment ring. While the one nearest my house—the entertainment district closest to the Center—seemed loud and boisterous at the time, I can see now that by comparison with this ring it was quiet, civilized, and staid. There, people walked slowly, in orderly fashion, politely making way for one another. Here, they jostle and shove. There seem to be many more people. More security, too. Did Lark make a mistake going this way?

“They have other things to worry about,” she says when I express my concern. “Look over there.”

I see a man standing on a small folding stool, head and shoulders above the crowd. Fragments of his impassioned speech reach me. “Dominion over land and sea, over the beasts of the Earth and the fish of the sea . . .” Few people seem to be paying him any attention. Most just walk by, but every once in a while someone stops to shout a curse, and once someone hurls soggy scraps of a sandwich at him. He keeps on declaiming with the burning eyes of a fanatic.

“Idiot,” Lark says, scowling in his direction. “That’s the kind of thinking that got us here in the first place.”

“What is the Dominion, exactly?” I ask. I’ve heard the term occasionally, but I only have the vaguest idea what it’s all about.

“It’s a cult, or a political movement, depending on who you talk to,” Lark said. “They believe that humans were meant to rule the Earth, and that destroying it was just part of the master plan.”

“Whose master plan?” I ask.

She shrugs. “They talk about a book written thousands of years ago that gives them permission to kill and destroy and conquer whatever they like. Far as I know, no one has ever seen or read this book, though. Now they mostly just spout off about how when the Earth is finally healed then people can reclaim their rightful place at the top of the food chain, slaughtering animals and laying waste to the land.”

I shudder. How could anyone actually think like that? I remember reading in Eco-history how in our distant past huge animals like cows and sheep were raised only to be killed and eaten. If a cow walked through Eden right now, every citizen would fall on their knees in amazement.

Except for the Dominion members. They’d probably start slicing steaks.

“But the Dominion does have one thing right,” Lark said.

“What’s that?” I ask nervously. I know that mere association with the Dominion carries a mandatory prison sentence.

“Humans belong out in the world, not trapped in a prison city.”

“But Eden is the only reason we survive!” I say. “How could we live out there?” I gesture in the direction of the far edge of the city.

Lark shrugs. “I didn’t say it was possible,” she says. “Only that’s where we belong. We’re part of nature, not this artificial paradise.”

I look back at the proselytizer. “Why don’t they arrest him?”

“Oh, they will once someone starts listening to him, agreeing with him. He’s safe until he has an audience. As long as he has no support he’s just an advertisement for the movement’s foolishness. He’ll be in prison soon enough.”

I shudder again. That’s my fate—at the very least—if I get caught.

Lark notices. “Don’t worry,” she says. “As long as you’re with me you’re safe. I know these streets like the back of my hand.” That phrase makes me think of Mom, and calms me. Lark seems so fearless, so confident, that it’s rubbing off on me. I feel safe with her at my side.

It’s a long, circuitous walk back to my house. We even pass her house, though she doesn’t point it out until we’ve walked beyond it. I crane my neck and see the soft warm glow in one of the windows.

Lark is chatty, which is a novelty to me. Ash tells me all about his day as soon as he gets home, and no matter how tired Mom is after work she always makes a point of sitting down with me for a while before I go to sleep. But so many of my hours have been spent in silence. Just hearing Lark’s patter is so interesting that sometimes I lose the train of her conversation and just listen to the flow of her voice, marveling that it is directed at me. Soon all of my life will be like this, with friends and conversation. But Lark will always be the first.

I’m lucky, too, that she takes the burden of conversation on herself. Most of the time I really don’t know what to say, how to respond. But she seems to understand, and barrels through any of my awkward pauses with a steady flow of words. She makes all this new socializing almost easy for me.

When we reach our home circle Lark suddenly stops, gripping my hand tightly.

“What is it?” I ask in alarm. She seems frozen. A few seconds later, though, she relaxes, though she doesn’t let go of my hand.