The Publican

A short intro to this post.  I entered the NYC Midnight Short Story Challenge, and for my first round was assigned to heat 24, given the guidelines of a sci fi, a new law, and a tax collector.  Below is the story I submitted.  It was so much fun to participate, and I am hoping to advance to the next round, as well as find other fiction contests.  I hope you enjoy!


 The Publican

     I stood in the threshold of the couple’s home, smoking a cigarette as the soldiers did their duty. The woman of the household was pinned on the floor, screaming pleas for mercy. Pvt Myles was on top of her, his knee pressed against her back, a hand clutching a fistful of hair so she couldn’t look away. In front of them, her husband was slumped over in a chair, face bruised and bloodied. Sgt Harmon paced the space between the couple, tapping his baton impatiently against his thigh.
    I flicked my smoke outside and walked back into the house. As I approached the woman quieted her wails to low moans, and I was grateful. I had been at this all day, and my ears were ringing.
    “Ma’am”, I spoke gently as I knelt next to her. “You know why we're here. You know we are not going away. This can all end right now, just tell me where your child is.”
    She sobbed in silence, biting her lip and shaking her head in somber defiance. I took a deep breath and sighed, folding my arms across my chest. I turned my head to nod at Sgt Harmon. He readied his baton and placed himself in front of her husband. He activated the weapon’s taser, and it awoke with a sharp crackle. I heard the woman’s fear escaping her as a whimper as he pointed the baton at her husband.
    “Are you sure we can’t solve this in a more civilized manner?” I asked, looking back to her.
    “Go to hell, Publican!” She spat the words at me. This was her decision.
    Sgt Harmon thrust the rod into the beaten man’s chest. A horrible howl erupted from the husband’s lungs as he writhed in his chair. His torturer continued to press it against him until my ears could no longer handle his cries.
    “Enough, Sgt. They know we aren’t leaving. Not until we find him.” I said, shaking my head.
    I stepped outside and lit another cigarette. This had been my day, and I was exhausted. Nearly every parent had tried to hide their child from us, had tried to keep them from joining the Ark. Why couldn’t they accept and understand? There could be no peace with Earth. Had they all forgotten the missile assault that rained down upon us barely a decade ago?
    I stared out at the setting suns, and the massive silhouette in front of them. The Ark of War, Alpha Centauri’s answer to the death dealt that day. The colossal vessel had taken eight years to build, and finally stood near completion. All had known it was to take ten million souls on the twenty year journey to Earth to defeat the aggressors, to ensure peace and survival for our people. Few of us had known the Emperor's plan to seed it with infants, to be trained over those two decades into the most elite army ever known.
    Few had known, but they should have suspected. Certainly they didn’t expect Earth to fall to an army of middle aged soldiers. Yet when the Decree of Perseverance was issued just a few weeks ago, requiring all children born in the next two years to be submitted to the Empire and join the Ark of War, parents across the globe began to hide their newborns.
    It was anticipated by the Emperor. He had formed the Publicans, men and women like myself, tasked with collecting the children. We had been preparing for this for several years, still I had hoped more would pay these dues of justice with pride. Scurrying like rats, stuffing their children in basements and cabinets, I expected better of our honorable citizens.
    Of course I didn’t anticipate people swarming the streets, thrusting their babies into my arms, but I thought they would at least understand, and be proud that their offspring would secure peace and freedom.
    I dropped my smoke on the stoop and stamped it out. There was no point wondering why they couldn’t understand, there was simply the task at hand. I strode back into the house.
    “Pick her up”, I ordered Pvt Myles. I turned to the husband, lightly slapping his cheek until he opened his eyes. “What we’ve done to you, we will do ten times worse to your wife. End this insanity, tell me where you’ve hidden your child.”
    I stepped aside so he could watch as his wife was pushed into a chair opposite his. Pvt Myles bound her hands, then drew his own baton off his belt, brandishing it to the beaten man. The husband coughed quietly, then whispered something inaudible.
    “Don’t tell them anything! Keep our boy safe!” the wife shrieked.
    “Shut her up” I snapped. A series of jabs to the abdomen ended her commands. She was coughing and crying, and I turned back to the husband. Still unable to hear his words, I lowered my face to his.
    He lunged, snapping his jaws ferociously. As I tumbled backward, he fell on top of me, his teeth finding flesh upon my cheek, and they sunk in. Flailing, punching, I desperately tried to free myself from his bite. Sgt Harmon finally pulled him off of me, and I leapt to my feet.
    “You bit my face!” I shouted in a mixture of anger and disbelief. “You just bit... My face! Are you insane?”
    The husband was laughing, my blood still dripping from his teeth, dribbling down his chin. His cackle was mindless, and it shook me. This bruised man before me was broken beyond the beating, whoever he was had left in a primal panic to protect his family. I stared at him laying there, out of options, nothing but desperation, and in that moment I feared him.
    I retreated to the kitchen to wash my face. Gingerly dabbing it with a wet towel, I looked around for some bandages. I began to walk up the hall towards a bathroom after I couldn’t find any in the kitchen, but stopped and turned to the wall.
    I had already searched the house, I had been up and down this hallway a dozen times, yet I hadn’t paid any mind to all the pictures on the wall. Now, they captivated me. I stood, staring at images of the couple in the next room, smiling, laughing, playing. There were wedding pictures, shots from vacations, and even several with their new baby. As I looked at their faces, I hardly recognized them.
    I turned away, suddenly unable to face this family. All at once, I felt that this was their end. They would never again smile as they had, their laughter would be hollow, as their existences would remain empty. Somehow now, the big picture seemed insignificant. Children sent to protect a world that would forever miss them. Families torn apart that would rather die together.
    I walked back to the front room. All of us had fallen silent, they weren’t going to talk, and I couldn’t summon the conviction to continue an interrogation. I sat in one of their chairs and lit another smoke. Leaning back, I stared up at the ceiling, wondering if I even knew what was right anymore. I exhaled a foggy column, curious if there even was a “right” anymore.
    Silence was then broken by a faint, muffled crying. For several moments, all was frozen, five of us stopped breathing, transfixed by a baby’s bawling. Action then exploded upon the room, the parents frantically struggling once more, the soldiers restraining them, and I raced out of the room, following the cry.
    In the kitchen again, I paused and listened. Honing in on the sound, I emptied a cabinet. The baby wailed, resonating through the base of the cupboard. Feeling around, I found a latch, snapping it open to reveal a small compartment, and the child I had come to collect.
    The child quieted as I picked him up, and as I looked down into his face, I couldn’t shake a feeling of remorse. What was I taking from this child? What would he have become, living his life here on our home world? I imagined him as a painter, a doctor, a teacher, even a government official, like me. Whatever he became, it would have been his choice, and that is what I was taking this night.
    To secure the freedom of billions, we were taking the freedom of millions. I had thought this over before, it had made sense, it was reasonable. Yet in this moment, it seemed so cruel, so unfair and unjust. This boy was only days old. He would not remember the world he fights for. He would never know his parents faces. A life without a mother’s love, or a father’s guidance. He would be brainwashed, his convictions would come from training rather than emotion. Was I robbing him of the very things that make him human?
    As I reentered the living room, I felt as if I were entering a funeral. The boy’s parents stood together, crying quietly, their hands still bound. His mother’s head was buried in his father’s chest. It was over for them as well. Their lives had built together to this moment, they had a child out of love, and now I was taking him away forever. How did we expect them to recover from this taint upon their lives?
    “Untie their hands”, I commanded, weakly. The soldiers looked confused, but complied. “I really could use another cigarette. Would you hold him for me as I step out?”
    I handed the child to his mother. She clutched him close to her chest, and began to whisper to him. Not wanting to hear their goodbyes, I walked out the front door.
    As I lit my cigarette, I wondered how many I had smoked that day. I had been talking of quitting, but I somehow knew now that I never would. It was a comfort I would need forever.
    I picked at the blood dried to my face as I tried to imagine how I was going to do this every day for two more years. I tried to summon up the pride and certainty I possessed before, but I could not find it within me. Regardless, this was reality. I had no more choice in this than the parents inside the home behind me. Even if I quit, another Publican would come for them.
    I put out my cigarette and turned to go back inside. I struggled to control my expression. I could show no remorse, no doubt. This was necessary, I told myself. This was an unfortunate tax of life, but there was no other way. I knew this to be true.
    I took the boy from his mother’s arms. She resisted for a moment, but relinquished her son to me. I could see the fire had died in her eyes, she had surrendered to the darkness, the cold facts of life. I left them like that, hoping to never see them again. I could hardly handle the thought of them drifting through the rest of their lives, forever dominated by fear and guilt for the son they surrendered.
    I climbed into the back of the transport and placed the child in the container prepared for him. Looking down at his blank stare, I felt a small joy in the fact that he would at very least not remember this night. I turned away and strapped myself in as the vehicle began to move.
    On the seat next to me was my communicator, which I specifically had not brought inside. It was blinking with missed messages, and I picked it up, hoping for a distraction from the events that had just transpired.
    Fifteen missed calls from my wife, and worry flooded through me. She rarely called me at work, and certainly not fifteen times. I quickly called her back.
    “What’s wrong? Are you alright?” I asked immediately when she answered.
    “No, I’m not. I don’t know what to do.” Her voice was hollow, and my worry turned to panic.
    “What’s going on? Has something happened?” I waited for her response. I could hear her breathing shortly, and knew she was crying. I was desperate to know what had made her like this, but knew better than to rush her. It seemed an eternity before she answered.
    “I’m pregnant.” My body went cold, as if all the blood in my body had suddenly evacuated. I searched for words of reply, but had none. Stunned, silent, I just sat there, her two words repeating in my mind over and over until she finally spoke again. “What are we going to do?”