Pursuit of Truth (Ultimate Edition): The Kesher Chronicles, #1

By Sarah Wallin-Huff

This Ultimate Edition includes an Artemisian Language Guide, brand-new chapter titles, and original artwork!

 

It is 2,241 years after the human race resumed counting. America has undergone a prior century of tyranny. The country is slowly finding its way again under the leadership of President Schulberhe. While no one doubts the good he has already brought the nation, others question his motives. He is a foreigner, after all, hailing from the war-torn island of Artemisia. When Janice Smith's mother is suddenly targeted as a national threat and attacked in their home, the twelve-year-old girl escapes. While evading the agents who pursue her, Janice stumbles upon an underground society living outside the System's absolute control. They have been watching the influx of Artemisians for years and stand ready to resist the President's unfolding plans.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Sarah Wallin-Huff
• Release date: Mar 30, 2022
• ISBN: 9798201940010

Sarah Wallin-Huff

Violinist/Violist, Composer, and Author Sarah Wallin Huff has been playing the violin since 1990 and composing since 1993. Sarah’s music compositional style is what she calls "stream-of-consciousness" composition. She is currently a professor of music at Cal Poly Pomona, and published her first textbook, "History of Technology in Music," in 2019 with Great River Learning. Throughout the course of her exploits, Sarah's literary writing has been a regular part of her creative life, beginning seriously in 1992. As she enjoys exploiting the abstract and the philosophical as a backdrop to everything she does, it is no surprise, then, how influential both her literary and music composition are to each other.

Book preview

Chapter One

Overture

She glanced out the window and squinted through the rain-streaked film on the glass. Her heart stirred as the gloom of the starless night weighed upon her. But, when a baby’s whimper broke the stillness, she smiled and turned back to comfort the little one.

Oh... there, there. Don’t cry...

Her voice was gentle against the patter of raindrops on the metal sheeting overhead. She lifted the baby girl into her arms and said, Your daddy should be coming ‘long about any time now.

She drifted about the plain, single-story home while gently rocking the babe. Simple, yellow bulbs cast a practical glow on the barren structure. The furniture of the living room matched the kitchen cabinets in their earthy hue, and all practically disappeared into the blandness of the walls and flooring.

But this woman regretted nothing of the uninspired environment around her. It was her everyday reality, that of the living expenses permitted on an Allowance such as her husband’s, and she accepted it with contentment.

It was the rosiness of the baby’s cheeks, the glimmer in her wide, brown eyes, the laughter on her pouty lips—that is what brought an unprecedented vibrancy to her home since the day the child entered their lives. The woman stared into her beaming face, captivated by the sight of her.

A clap of thunder resounded, and the sky lit with an arc of lightning. In response, a cabinet door in the kitchen slammed shut with such urgency that the fixtures flickered for an instant. The woman allowed herself a small laugh when she realized that her firstborn child, timid from the storm’s fury, had taken refuge in the dark cavity. The rickety groaning of the home was rhythmic in the breeze outside. Yet she approached the kitchen and spoke with a calm smile.

Now, Johnny. There’s nothin’ to be afraid of. We’re safe here, darling.

The baby girl in her arms began to fuss again. So, with an amused sigh, she left her young son in the comfort of her stowed pots and pans and returned to the living room where she settled into a nearby chair.

Lowering her gaze to the fidgeting babe in her arms, she sang, Hush little baby, don’t say a word. Mamma’s gonna buy you a mockingbird. And if that mockin’bird don’t sing...

She paused when a knock came at the front door. Her lips turned with joy, and relief brightened her tired features. She knew it must be her husband, Jake, returning home from work at last.

Poor fella probably forgot his keys again.

When the pounding came again, there seemed to be an impatience about it that forced the mother to her feet. Frowning, she laid her baby in a crude cradle tucked in a nearby corner before hurrying to unlatch and crack open the front door.

The night chill bit harshly while a drizzling rain misted upon her cheeks. The woman gave a slight shiver and wrapped her arms about herself while she peered out at the stranger on the muddy stoop.

Mrs. Roberts? a voice asked.

The mother gave a start when she looked and spied the thigh-length suitcoat and buckle-strap combat boots. Mrs. Roberts huddled behind the door while attempting a meek smile.

Softly, she said, Yes? What can I do for you?

Mrs. Roberts, we’ve received a series of disturbing reports, and we are here to investigate.

Mrs. Roberts felt her stomach tighten and inched the door closed a little. She snuck a glance past the official woman on her stoop, hoping to catch sight of her husband in the distance. Instead, she detected an unfamiliar vehicle parked just down the walkway from her home.

The stranger remained expressionless when she met Mrs. Roberts’s eyes again. She said, Records indicate that your husband, Jacob Roberts, works as a roustabout in the local energy factory.

Yes, that’s right.

Naturally, you are aware of the Allowance-Level permitted for someone in his position?

Of course. We are diligent with what we’re given, and each month we’re careful not to spend beyond our means.

Indeed. The reports confirm this. 

Then... what else can I do for you? 

While your Allowance-Level is rarely exceeded, we have been alerted to a change in the types of items recently purchased with your family Allowance.

Mrs. Roberts stiffened to hide her mounting agitation.

Suggestions are only suggestions, she replied. We just buy what we need to take care of our family. We always stay within our assigned Level.

The woman on the stoop eyed her carefully.

True. However, when we took a closer look, we found this abnormal activity beginning approximately two months ago and showing no signs of slowing. So, we became concerned.

The sky lit fiercely for an instant and shuddered with the power of thunder. Troubled from the noise of it, the baby girl began to fuss in her cradle. When gentle whimpering emanated from inside, the official frowned and moved toward the crack in the doorway.

Mrs. Roberts, what was that?

The mother’s eyes flickered with panic for an instant, and her voice faltered when she said, My daughter. That was my daughter.

Suddenly, the stranger pushed upon the door and drove past Mrs. Roberts, who gave a frightened gasp and hurried after her as she towered over the cradle.

The official’s gaze remained fixed as she said, The reports say you have a young son.

Mrs. Roberts’s hands tightened into stubborn fists then, and her body shook with hatred and fear. With much effort, she spoke through swelling tears.

The reports are wrong.

The official turned to face Mrs. Roberts, and her emotionless features seemed perfectly chiseled.

The reports are never wrong, she stated.

She wandered about the living area, eyeing each detail with trained precision. Mrs. Roberts slipped beside her daughter’s cradle and was helpless to do anything but stand there and watch.

A roustabout’s Allowance will support a family of three, the official said. That is, two adults and one child. To allow an imbalance of this healthy structure would be to endanger the welfare of one’s family.

So we’ve been told.

Then you won’t mind if we take a look around.

Daring a slight glance toward the kitchen, Mrs. Roberts answered, Not at all.

Her heart sank when the woman touched a modern earpiece and uttered something to the two men waiting in the vehicle outside. In another moment, they were at the front door and proceeded to enter the home.

Their presence was overwhelming: their long black coats billowed and engulfed the narrow hallway as they made a thorough search of the bedrooms beyond it. Mrs. Roberts cringed at the ruckus that emerged, and she bristled at the thought of the awful mess she was sure to be left with. Yet, reaching down to stroke the baby, she comforted herself in her daughter’s sweet innocence.

Before long, one of the strangers returned down the hall and turned aside into the modest kitchen. Mrs. Roberts’s heart fluttered at the sight of it. Her furnishings were sparse, leaving only the bare cabinets for the man’s wandering gaze to find. She closed her eyes and stiffened against the dread that began to tighten her chest.

Pots and pans clattered to the floor, and there was a brief pause of surprise. A shout from the man and a furious scuffle of movement followed. 

Tears escaped down the mother’s cheeks as her little boy shrieked in protest to being dragged out from his hiding place. When they had emerged from the kitchen, the obstinate five-year-old was in tow, flailing behind the stranger.

No! Johnny...! Mrs. Roberts stumbled toward them, but the commanding woman held her back with startling strength.

The distraught mother shook and wept as she growled through clenched teeth, Don’t you dare make me choose! I will not choose between my two children!

The woman appeared unaffected by her passionate cry. As you wish.

Mrs. Roberts was then acutely aware of the second man moving behind her. He approached the cradle, and the baby gave a pinched cry as he lifted her to his chest for protection.

Her eyes wild with alarm, Mrs. Roberts lunged at him. But the official woman gave her wrist a sharp twist, causing Mrs. Roberts to squeal and slump in submission.

Take them, the woman said, and the two men obeyed.

Little Johnny squirmed and reached out for his mother, so his captor hefted the struggling boy over his shoulder and followed the first man out into the drizzling chill. Mrs. Roberts’s heart twisted with intense and bitter pain. She gave a wail that shook her body to its core and felt as though she would die from the anguish inside of her.

When she collapsed to her knees, the official leaned down to look into her tear-flooded gaze. She said, Mrs. Roberts, it is clear that you and your husband are incapable of taking proper care of your family at this time. But perhaps this will motivate you to make wiser decisions in the future.

Mrs. Roberts’s grief turned to hatred at the sound of her words. Her face contorted as she spat, You have no right to do this!

The woman gave her a tight smile. We know what’s best for your family.

She made her way toward the door then and left her with a final word: We’ll see to it that your children get their chance at a better life.

The mother’s initial shock began to wane, leaving the heartless words to pulse in her ears and set her heart ablaze. Peering out the open crack of the door, she watched the men heft her two children into the back seat of the vehicle. The room spun in her mind as its engine roared to life, and, with a sudden cry of abandon, Mrs. Roberts leaped upon the official before she could approach the front threshold!

The two stumbled against the door; when their weight had landed upon it, it fell closed with a firm bang. Holding her pinned there, Mrs. Roberts clawed furiously at the woman.

When her fists showed tremors of weakness, the official seized Roberts’s neck and felt her fingers cut in toward her throat. The mother staggered back under the terrible force of it and thrashed about to throw her off. But her attempts were to no avail, if release now seemed of any worth to her at all.

The two suddenly fell to the floor when a brilliant flash of light caused the official to stumble backward with a gasp. A crack of thunder came in response, near enough to cause the windows to shudder. In a shocking display, the lightning bolt sought a path to the earth and caught the corner of the little home on its course.

The air tingled with electricity. A crackling current traveled through the meager fixtures and overwhelmed the home’s substandard circuitry, which exploded in a cloud of glass and heat. The two cried out and cowered from the falling shards, and when smoke tickled their nostrils, they looked up to find orange flames licking at the walls around them.

The fire sprawled and rapidly approached their position. Wheezing in the stifling cloud, the official bolted toward the front door in time to find it opening from the outside. She stumbled out into the rain while one of her associates caught her and rushed her to the protection of their vehicle, which wasted no time in speeding down the muddy road.

Left alone in the rising heat, Mrs. Roberts gagged between heaving sobs of heartache and smoke. She dipped low and struggled to find her way toward the front door, but she soon became lost in the flickering gloom. She dared not wander deeper into the inferno, so she curled into a fetal ball, wrapped within herself and her hopelessness.

Tears ran down her sooty cheeks as she whispered to her beating chest, Why? ...O god, tell me why...

Then praying that she would wake from this nightmare, she surrendered herself to the flames.

Chapter Two

Prelude

We cannot continue to live like this, to raise our children in this System, isolated from each other and silenced! For nearly one-hundred years, we have been treated like animals of labor, caged and made to work for the powers that rule over us!

But what would you have us do? The System sees and controls everything.

I tell you, there was a day when all individuals were free to determine their own path: their education, their career, their Level of access to the System and its benefits. You can’t tell me that you don’t long for those days again!

Of course, we do, if even for just a taste of what once was. But the System you wish to dismantle is the same System that manages what we can and cannot own, who we can and cannot talk to... As well, it maintains the segregation of supply between every state border. We are cut off from each other. After one-hundred years, this System has become more-than-adept at protecting itself from harm.

What about the World Alliance? If we could reach out to them, perhaps we might find powerful allies among their ranks... 

Impossible! America is among the strongest representatives in the Alliance. The other nations admire the stability of our System. Talk going around is that the Allied Nations have already installed their own Systems. They are eager to follow the example that was made of us.

Then there is no hope for change, not after all these years.

At the sound of that, Cecelia Smith straightened in her chair, and her brown eyes sparkled with passion.

No, she said, firmly. Only when we give up is there no hope.

The small group seated around her lowered their gazes. Some gave a smile in acknowledgment of her courage. Others frowned in solemn disbelief.

One seated across from her grunted and said, But, again, what can we do?

Though she was petite, Cecelia seemed to bristle at the sense of despair lingering in her darkened living room. She glanced at the faces around her, each sheltered within the subtlety of night, and she smiled.

We keep meeting, as we have for months. We keep encouraging each other. We keep spreading uncomfortable ideas, across the Allowance Levels if we can. We keep exercising every bit of freedom and individuality we have while pushing for more. And, most importantly, we keep at it, no matter what.

She allowed her words to settle for a moment before she stood to her feet and said, It’s late. I’ll record the contents of our discussion, as usual. And I’ll see you all next week.

The covert gathering nodded with respect and followed her past the kitchen. Filing through the adjoining garage, they slipped out a back door and disappeared into the shadows. When Cecelia had made certain her home was secure again, she ascended the stairs. 

She reached her bedroom and tiptoed past the bed where her husband lay. She eased soundlessly into a closet in the far corner and curled cross-legged onto the floor. She retrieved a simple box from beneath a pile of forgotten sundries, from which she withdrew a pen and an old stack of paper. Then, while her mind was still fresh with the words from this evening, Cecelia scribbled by hand all that she could remember.

In another few minutes, she smiled with satisfaction and tucked the leaves of paper back into their box. She stowed it under the haphazard pile, then stood and exited the closet. But she gave a start when she found her husband sitting up in bed, looking at her.

Marcus, she said, casually. What are you doing up at this hour?

He wrapped his arms around her when she slipped under the covers beside him and laid her head against the pillow.

Marcus Smith gave a worried sigh and said, Another late-night meeting with your friends?

Well, she shrugged, if we’d met any earlier, we’d risk being discovered.

When’s the next one scheduled for?

She paused and grimaced. It’s best that you don’t know.

Can I ask at least if the group is within our Allowance Level? As long as you’re not breaking the Mingling Ban, you’re still law-abiding citizens, technically.

When Marcus watched her bite her lip and remain silent, he held her close and said, Cecelia, I’m worried.

She smiled and turned to kiss him. Don’t be. We’re taking every precaution...

You’re courting danger, especially since you keep records on everything that’s said...

Ah. But see, I’m keeping handwritten notes. The System can only detect digital entries in its databases. No one would even suspect... 

But why keep records at all?

Cecelia’s gaze warmed with hope. Because, one day, the law of Guarded Speech will be lifted, and I will have so much to share with anyone who will listen. I don’t want to forget a word of this, all our hopes and dreams...

But, Cecelia, do you really think all this is worth putting our little girl in danger?

Marcus, it’s for our daughter, and others like her, that I’m holding onto these words of hope. It’s for her that I’m preserving them, and, one day, I’ll find a way to share them so that our message of hope will spread.

Chapter Three

A Day in the Life

Apolice vehicle rolled up the driveway, and the twelve-year-old girl in the back peered out her passenger window at the modest home in front of her. She gave a happy sigh when the vehicle eased to a stop along this tree-lined street of suburban Bossier City, Louisiana. The police officer behind the controls looked back at her now with a gentle smile before exiting the vehicle.

Opening the door for her, he said, Come along, Janice.

His eyes were warm with hazel flecks. When he spoke, his words rolled with the distinct flavor of some distant land. It was enough to cause the girl’s heart to skip a beat at the charm of it all. Janice slipped out of the police car and slung a weighty bag over her shoulder.

Taking the officer’s outstretched hand, she accompanied him up the walk to the porch. They had scarcely arrived at the front door when it opened and allowed a slender woman to greet them, her features glowing at the sight of the two. She reached out to stroke Janice’s long, wavy brown tresses and then looked up into the officer’s gaze. 

Officer Ehlroe, she acknowledged him respectfully. 

He smiled politely in return. Mrs. Smith.

Did my daughter behave?

He grinned down at Janice as she stood beside her mother. As always.

The girl looked up at the two adults and managed a slight, knowing smile before she rolled her eyes and escaped inside. Watching her go, Cecelia Smith said, Would you like to come in, Devyn?

He glanced at his timepiece and said, Sure, I think I can spare a moment or two. Things have been pretty slow today.

Entering the pleasant two-story home, Cecelia closed the door and led him to