Page 2 of Privilege

He was still talking about it yesterday after graduation. Going on in a whispered hush about a men’s colony in Alaska, with runaway men from the Peaceful Society and other territories who are trying to revive the old ways.

A dream or a rumor. I can’t imagine there’s anything that organized in Alaska all these years after the Integration. I wish he wouldn’t talk to me about it; I don’t want either of us to get in trouble.

I sympathize with the men who say they are treated as second-class citizens, punished for the violence of their fathers and grandfathers. I want things to change for them, but that change will happen frominsidethe Society, not from a bunch of feral men in Alaska. He should know why we take baby steps in granting the Privileges to men—we took the same history classes.

Zeph nods to me as he takes off down the sidewalk. I try to keep up with his long strides. He taps a light rhythm on his leg as he walks.

“Are you ready for Oath Day?” he asks me, polite and formal.

“Shut up, Zeph. Are you taking the Oath?” I hiss, the reserve I sometimes wear as the daughter of an Officer dropping away. I loop my arm through his, pleading. “Come on. It’s time to settle down.” My words are a command, a suggestion, and a plea.

Zeph’s expression is stubborn and resentful. “You don’t understand what it’s like.”

“What does Miro say? Does he know?” I continue to press. Zeph’s boyfriend, Miro, took the Oath last year and he’s doing fine. Works for the WPA.

“Miro is doing his own thing,” is all Zeph says.

I glance at my friend and his lips are pressed in a thin line. Is there anything I can do to convince him that it’s better to go ahead and take the Oath? It’s not so bad, living as a Citizen. He could try for Clearance, although it’s hard to get for men, since the training is so rigorous.

Zeph shakes his head with a sigh. “I’m done talking about it,” he grumbles, sidestepping another argument.

I walk quickly, keeping up with him on the last block to the bus stop for our little corner of Northeast Baltimore. I think I’m in shock. He really is planning to refuse the Oath.

In school they say it runs in families: rebelliousness, defiance, and aggression. Maybe that’s true because Zeph’s father is either an Oath Refuser or an Oath Breaker.

Probably an Oath Breaker. I’ve never asked. The way he shuffles around their house, thick monitor on his ankle, obviously on a cocktail of meds to curb his aggression, makes me think he broke the Oath and committed violence. We don’t talk about his dad.

Not all Oath Refusers are rebellious—some people refuse the Oath for religious reasons, but they’re not allowed to hold jobs or have any of the Privileges of being a Citizen. I can’t imagine that life for Zeph.

We stand apart from the cluster of people waiting at the bus stop. Electric cars slide by on the street but there’s no sign of the bus yet. I glance at the SafeGuard on my wrist for the time. I’ll be turning it in for a Citizen SafeGuard after I take the Oath, according to my mom.

We still have plenty of time to get downtown to the courthouse, and the line to get in will be so long it won’teven matter if we’re punctual. Not that I would ever say that to my mom.

“So what? You’re just going to sit at home with your dad?” I can’t stop myself from pushing him on this, but I keep my voice whisper soft, not wanting anyone to hear.

Zeph shudders. “No. No way. I have a plan.”

Alaska?I mouth silently, rolling my eyes.

There’s a pause. His foot taps on the sidewalk. We’re standing in front of a wide bench. The bright sun shines on the wooden slats. If you look carefully you can see the shadow of the words that were engraved into benches all around the city: The Greatest City in America.

When my mom was a kid people laughed at the slogan, she told me. It was a time when nearly any adult could own and carry weapons designed to kill other people, just because they felt like it. There were shootings every day in the city. When my mom was growing up in Baltimore, that’s the world she lived in.

I was lucky to be born at the same time my mom and grandmother and the other early leaders were forming Mothers Against Violence. The MAV network was able to change many of the gun laws and regulations in the United States.

I was only in first grade when the 2nd Amendment was revoked, but I remember the parties. Everyone was celebrating, honking, banging pots and pans on their porches. MAV only got stronger after that.

It’s a privilege to live in Baltimore now in the Peaceful Society of Greater Maryland. It’s safe, it’s clean, it’s a perfect city. Trees line the boulevards and are tucked intothe tree pits dug into every available corner of the narrow streets.

Wide gardens fill the parks that replaced the torn-down blocks, tended by the gentle men of the Works Progress Administration. Mom’s proud to still live in the house she grew up in, even with surveillance being so much stricter in the city than it is out in the towns. It’s worth it for her.

I snap back to the bus stop and Oath Day as Zeph speaks.

“I made contact with a rebel group,” he murmurs finally. “You can’t tell a soul.”

He can’t ask me to promise that. Heshouldn’task me to promise that, knowing what I’m planning to do at the courthouse today.

“They need people like me.” Zeph has always been amazing at programming and tinkering with technology. I’m sure the rebels would be thrilled to have him. “I’m meeting someone there,” he continues in an undertone.

“At the courthouse?” Not possible. How would the rebels infiltrate the courthouse, one of the most secure buildings in the city, on Oath Day of all days?

He chances a nod, glancing nervously to the Security Station next to the bus stop, a pole with a camera, microphones, and a blue, glowing button to call for help.

I see it too and erase all worry and concern from my face.

The electric bus pulls up quietly. The squeal of brakes and murmurs of conversation are the only sounds. We hop on and I check the time again as we head down the aisle. It’s only a little after 8:40 and we’re on track to get to the courthouse by 9:00. I’m not sure if that’s enough time to change his mind.

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