Quiet Society

My face had already shown my suspicions.

The words I used next had to be chosen carefully. Thankfully, I am a Curator of English Narration.

And as a CEN, carefully chosen words are my area of expertise.

Ray had still looked calm for someone in his position. Arms folded as though he had placed them that way himself. As opposed to having them forcibly cuffed together by the Overseer who now stood in guarded wait as I drafted my reply.

His dictation rang into my ear again:

[Did you see this man leave his dwelling last night?]

I had often seen Ray leaving his dwelling past twilight, but he was always back before curfew. Despite my suspicions, it did not confirm he was a member of the Order of the 1st. Ray had always been a polite friend and neighbor. Despite his night wanderings, he was an upstanding citizen of our Quiet Society. However, he would not be the first "OO1" to surprise the community. And if he was an OO1, he would have known what this meant. And since I am a CEN, he should have known I could not help him.

I liked Ray though, there was even a time we considered applying for a shared dwelling. I moved my hand mindlessly to brush over the copper heart locket I still wore. Useless now. Those emotions we felt, but whose names have long become obsolete, raised the hairs on my skin. I realized, I desperately wanted this to be a mistake.

No, wait... a misunderstanding. We passed the elimination of the word "mistake" sixteen weeks ago under the code of ruling that, "No one in Quiet Society makes mistakes. To accuse a community member of making a 'mistake' is offensive, and therefore must be stricken from the language index. Henceforth, these situations will only be categorized as 'misunderstandings.'" This is my job as a CEN. It is my responsibility to keep language succinct and eliminate problematic vocabulary.

The Overseer was growing impatient with my slow typing. I submitted the message for dictation. The blue lights of the ear sensors glowed as my message was narrated to them both.

[Yes. I did. He returned by curfew.]

I kept my face impartial. Ray did not. In his eyes I could see the pain. No, pain wasn't accurate. I fumbled for the precise word. It had been eliminated years ago and I had difficulty recalling it.

Betrayal.

Perhaps he believed that our affections had earned him my lies. But I am still a CEN. My position is regarded as one of the highest in our Quiet Society. Only those who show outstanding moral character and dedication to following the Community Guidelines are considered for this placement. To lie would be a direct violation. I reported the facts, and I did so with the details most relevant for a dismissal of this accusation hearing.

It may even have been sufficient, if not for the tiny twitches in the corner of Ray's mouth in time with his next dictation. The kind of minute movements that one could only replicate if they had once spoken the words aloud.

It rang clear in our ears.

[This is not how our society should be, and you know it. Having these ear sensors installed from the moment of our first breath... Under the excuse that a quiet society is a polite society. Remaining silent our whole lives and being told what we can and can't express. So that we don't even know the sound of our own voices. And you are responsible for it! This is all your doing! Can't you see what it has done to us? Under what definition are you curators of english narration categorizing this treatment? Remaining words do no justice for emotional expression. Finding any j(0)y in this world is impossible when I can not even use the word! End this! What are you .... ]

The silence hummed as his dictation was interrupted and the noise-cancel was boosted. The Overseer was unfazed, but my body jolted.

A quiet dictation began:

[We apologize for the interruption. Emergency protocol had to be enacted as outlined in the community guidelines section 2-62: Problematic speech must be dealt with swiftly to prevent disruption and eliminate spread of problematic ideology. Thank you for your understanding.]

Ray's hand hung limp at his side. My eyes were fixed on his fingertips as the warm crimson trailed down from the tiny circular wound, and hit the floor in metronome splashes.

[You may now return to your dwelling.]

...

I sat on my back porch letting my food ration grow cold on the table.

I pulled up the Dialect Log from earlier this afternoon. Ray's last words would no doubt be stricken from the log within the next 48 hours. Only after the CEN had the chance to inspect them, and identify any words that may have been the source of the problematic ideology.

Dialect Logs are kept for all conversations, and are available to all community members if they care to look for them. Rarely do we care to look for them. I cared to look for them. After all, I am a CEN. And Ray received his orders from someone, though he would not have known who. Even if he had his suspicions. No one in the OO1 really knows who delivers orders and who obeys them.

I had to find out if I could decipher who sent him these orders.

But first I had to check his work. Taking the capital letters from each transcribed sentence, I found the code he did not know that I knew.

[THUR AT CURFEW]

Simple. Effective. Easy to find for anyone who knows where to look. Just the way I designed it. And all of the OO1 would be looking tonight.

This Thursday at curfew, the Order of the 1st would dismantle the dictation receiver. And for the 6 hours it would take to get the tower back online, all of our Quiet Society would get to experience the beauty of an offline ear sensor.

I traced my own fated faulty wiring gently with my fingertips, and was reminded of Ray. His fingertips pushing my hair off my ear in a similar fashion, securing the locket. His fingertips interlocked with mine. His fingertips metronome dripping.

I wish it hadn't been Ray. I popped the locket open and dumped the powder contents to the wind. The heart's only use these last two years was keeper of my deadly secret.

I listened to my own muffled sobs harmonizing with the rustle of leaves, and the forgotten bird song of Quiet Society.