Free Awakening by Karen Sandler Page B

Risa had parked the lorry. Nurtureparents, many with a baby or toddler in tow, accompanied the youngest ones. Non-nurturer adults, those GENs lucky enough to be Assigned right there in Fen, threaded through the crowd as well, headed for their Assignments on warehouse loading docks or in Doctrine school classrooms.
    Some of the adult GENs, recognizing her as a newcomer to Fen, stopped to say hello, and lingered a little while in hope of news from other sectors. One woman, after discovering Kayla was widely traveled, motioned her to the entry of her flat where three second- and third-years clung to her skirt.
    “Do you travel to Chadi sector?” the woman asked. “My nurture daughter, Lis, was Assigned there.”
    “I’m from Chadi.” Kayla suppressed a twinge of longing for her own nurture mother, Tala, and nurture brother, Jal. “I’ll look for Lis next time I visit. Send your good wishes.”
    The grateful nurture mother escorted her charges back inside and Kayla continued on. Who knew how long it would be before she could keep her promise to the woman, or for Kayla to see her own family?
    She forged through the swarm of bodies, pausing to exchange friendly greetings, keeping a sharp eye out for any GENscrib scrawls, in that peculiar longhand or otherwise. She didn’t see any scribbles, but she saw fresh swaths of paint on walls here and there. A crew must have been through Fen recently, wiping away any GEN graffiti.
    For the most part the crew had left the artwork—she spotted abstract depictions of the Infinite’s face, or ornate inscriptions from the liturgy on warren walls. But in the still-glum overcast, she couldn’t make out anything that might have once been GENscrib under the dull beige paint.
    She dove into a less-crowded alley between two warrens. Murals lined both sides of the alley—on the left, the Infinite placing the twin suns in Loka’s sky; on the right, representations of the prophets, Pouli, Cohn, and Gupta. In spite of herself, Kayla’s hand went to her waist, reaching for her prayer mirror.
    She dropped her hand again without pulling it out, but could barely resist the urge to send a mental prayer to the prophets. Even though she now knew the truth about the three—that Pouli and Cohn were complete frauds and Gupta killed himself as repentance for his part in creating the GENs. Even worse, the liturgy of the Infinite was Pouli and Cohn’s creation to keep GENs oppressed.
    Still, her heart couldn’t deny the existence of the Infinite. She’d come to realize that the deep knowing within her of that great Divinity hadn’t really come from the false liturgy. What Pouli and Cohn had created had nothing to do with the way the Infinite had placed His hand on her heart throughout her life, when she’d most needed His love.
    Morning sunlight punched through the surly clouds, illuminating the lower left corner of the mural of the prophets. The angle of the sunlight revealed the edges of what had been painted over just below the mural. She crouched to see if she could make it out.
    Yes, there was GENscrib there, but what had been scrawled was another insult, this one comparing the hairiness of a certain member of the Judicial Council to a bhimkay’s ass. No secret, mysterious messages.
    She’d taken so long meandering through Fen’s streets and alleys that by the time she reached the warehouse, Risa had already arrived. When Kayla would have climbed up on theloading dock to help ferry crates of processed plass-fiber to the lorry, Risa pulled her aside.
    “Where you been?” she asked.
    “The crowds were thick,” Kayla said. “Everyone was hungry for gossip.” Not strictly true, but close enough. “Did the councilor agree to change your routing?”
    Risa shook her head. “Too risky, he says. Going to send a trueborn to pick up the GEN girl, like she was a reset to be realigned.”
    The weight of apprehension settled in Kayla’s stomach. “They wouldn’t actually reset her, though,