Arcam

Arcam
Ryan W. Murphy

I do not know why injustices are always present, as a deadly undercurrent to any society. I do not know why one poor boy had the misfortune to bear the ends of paranoia.
I am Emily Standau, I was stenographer for a military base in the Unified Nations territory of Siberia. This experience from my years on the base was easily 2 or 3 years ago, but it rings fresh in my mind every time I recall the base. The incident of which I now write was not a single thing, something that only happened once. This exact line of thinking is what allows such barbarism to continue.
Before this episode of my life began we had more than a few intelligence leaks around the base and the higher ups were going to come down on us hard unless we solved the problem. So, the decision was made, off the record, to pin the blame on a local worker as one of the spies. Thus, Ben was drawn into this web of lies. Being in the middle of nowhere there shouldn’t have been that many people.
Early that morning the guards set the laborers to work clearing the deep snow out of the base. Before very long the intelligence officers walked down the rows of laborers, scrutinizing them constantly, until they came to a tall, dusky haired, 17 year old. With merely a gesture of the officer’s hand two guards came and took the man away. Several other workers were set to work in a field, digging.
Not long afterward, the boy was brought to an interrogation room, where he was then searched. In the boy’s simple tunic and overcoat they found what could have been the young man’s only possession, a small black, lacquered wood box not bigger than the palm of your hand. This was all they needed and more, though, so they hauled him away to a courtroom.
In the trial room there was hardly even an attempt to have a fair trial.
“Ben Thomas, you stand accused of high treason against the sovereign land of the Unified Nations. How do you plead?” The barrister asked with the air of an inquisitor.
“I’m not guilty, I’ve never done anything against the state, please just let me out of here.” The poor boy wailed “Please, sir let me be, all I wan-
“Silence! Now, Mr. Thomas, there is sufficient evidence found on your person to have you executed. However if you make a confession we just might let you off,” The barrister dryly recited the ancient tactic as he slowly fingered the box. The young man’s gaze was drawn inexorably towards it.
“Sir, I’ve no idea what you’re talking about. I’m just a laborer here to earn my pa-
“I’ll have none of your lies in this tribunal. Now this box what is it?” The barrister said sharply.
“Sir that is my most valuable thing, more so to me than life please gi-
“Enough of your lies, traitor” he pocketed the box. Ben’s eyes widened and took on a defeated glaze. “For your crimes against the state I’ve no choice but to have you shot. Miss Standau, Take care of this trinket.” As he set the box down two guards dragged the defeated Ben outside. I had to witness the execution; it was the worst part of my job.
They stood Ben up in front of the grave; he put up no fight, a far braver show than any I’ve seen. Then as the guards shouldered their rifles to deliver the state’s final judgment, Ben said his last words, “Where has it gone?”
A crack tore apart the world.
Before they buried him I walked over to the open grave and in the frosty air saw the strongest expression of loss ever placed on a person’s face. As a final tribute to this man, slain by paranoia, I dropped his beloved box into the grave. When it hit his chest it shattered both releasing from his lungs in a sigh as if of relief, and revealing a slip of paper with three lines written on it in a girl’s handwriting.
Ben,
I’ll always love you.
Yours
I couldn’t make out the name as the finality of the earth cascaded over the young man’s chest.