Mother had told Ana that once upon a time, people never knew their true purpose. Not really. People simply died when they died. She told her some people believed they would understand what their purpose had been in an afterlife; others, that we simply remain decaying organic matter and that’s that.
Back then, it was the health of the body that determined the moment of cessation of life as we know it. Some people might feel a calling to do, or be, different things. Artists, fighters, researchers, politicians, businessmen, soldiers, dreamers, lovers. Still, most of them were just trying to get through the day. And ultimately, even for those who claimed to live their fullest life, one’s true, individual purpose remained an enigma.
That was before the changes.
Ana did envy those primitive folks, in a way. Perhaps in their slavery to organic biology, there lay an unexplainable freedom.
Mother told her these things when she still had her baby teeth. Mother would gently brush Ana’s shock of soft red hair and tell stories of the old times.
But now Mother was long gone. Everyone was—brothers, cousins, sisters, her dear husband. Everyone Ana ever loved went away.
“Ms. Ana! Please let me in. It’s urgent.”
“Come in, Jacob.” The thin man stepped into Ana’s office and briefly bowed.
“Good morning, Jacob. May I ask what the occasion is? I was just taking tea. Another candidate for a scientific paper on my fascinating abnormalities?” Ana said drily as she raised her eyebrows and ran a hand through her still red hair.
“I apologize, Ms. Ana, but no. In fact, it is the Prime Minister’s office. He’s asked you to come in to his office at once.”
“The Prime Minster? Again? Well I suppose I shouldn’t be too surprised. Well, tell them we’ll be on our way then! Let’s go. Bring my tea.”
Ana stepped into the mansion from a dull drizzle outside, which appeared so modest from the street, with Jacob slightly behind her, keeping a respectful distance while still close enough to protect her from any disturbances. Two men in suits led them down a marble hallway, and opened the doors into a spacious, carpeted room with a large oak desk with two armchairs facing it.
The Prime Minister was a man of medium height, slate gray hair, with an angular face and deep set eyes. He had put on a small amount of weight as he reached his 90s, traditionally seen as “middle-aged,” but it rendered him more approachable than in his youth.
“Ms. Benson, please, sit down.” Ana took one of the plush blue armchairs. She nodded to Jacob, who bowed and stepped out of the room. Ana heard locks turn and seals close.
“Good to see you again Ms. Benson. I wish this was a more social occasion, but I am afraid the situation is quite dire.”
“With all due respect, Mr. Prime Minister, I’ve lived through a number of such situations, so you’ll forgive me if my perspective on them is less…concerned, than yours might be.”
“Which of course, is exactly why I want you here. Look, I’ll get right to it. What I have in my hand”—he motioned to a thick stack of papers—“is a proposal. A proposal to stop the escalations that have been happening. To stop the constant threat of annihilation they’ve been throwing at us.” The P.M was sweating, and looked like he hadn’t slept in some time.
“So what are the terms?”
“There aren’t any. They just want to call a truce. It seems Mr. Phan’s people have had about enough. The unrest is much worse than we though.”
“You think it might be a bluff.”
“Of course. That is the first thing we though. But my agents think there is also a chance this is real. So you see my dilemma.”
“Mr. Prime Minister, I want to help you, but surely I am the last person you should be asking for advice on your true purpose in this situation.” Ana was tired and wanted to go back to her tea. Couldn’t this nuclear escalation take care of itself like it always did?
“Ms. Benson, if this is a true call for truce, and I don’t sign it, it will mean the death of millions. But if it’s a bluff, and I do sign it well, millions will die as well. What should I do? Can’t you see the gravity here? I cannot have that on my conscience—I couldn’t live with—well, if I did live that is—please, Ana, someone with your wisdom surely can know better than I!”
Ana looked at the man. She felt pity for his fear; the same kind of pity she felt for most everyone these days. It was the fear they carried caused by a short life, one without perspective, one in which every crisis had eternal consequence. She decided to tell him about her thoughts. The ones she wasn’t supposed to have, that she never shared, except in the occasional hint in conversations with Jacob, who was far too respectful to ever question what she meant.
“Just do whatever you want.”
The P.M.’s eyes grew wide and his jaw slackened, unable to find words for a moment.
“Sorry? What does what I want have anything to do with this?” He asked.
“Don’t you think it’s kind of funny, sir, that one man like you, or like Mr. Phan, could have so much power over others’ lives? Don’t you think that’s a bit odd, in a world where everyone lives their true certain purpose without a doubt, that millions of lives could be snuffed out in a moment by a simple flick of a wrist? Surely that would be a phenomenon—I can see the headline now—‘Millions of souls fulfill their true purpose at the same moment!’”
Ana couldn’t stop once she had started expressing what she hadn’t for centuries.
“What would their purpose be? To have lived a humdrum daily life? To die at the political whim of a conflicting nation? And if you or Mr. Phan did cause their death,” Ana said, “wouldn’t that make you the arbiter of their purpose?” She took a deep breath. “Would that not make you gods?”
The Prime Minster’s eyebrows were raised but he hid all other signs of surprise.
“I had…considered some of these…angles, but did not think they were significant enough to mention in this context.”
“Well, I have lived a long time. Today is my 1000th birthday, which nobody seems to have remembered. And I am telling you, none of it makes sense anyway, and you’re destined to fulfill your true purpose and so is Mr. Phan and so are all the innocent civilians here and that is why I say to do whatever you feel like. It might be the only freedom you ever get. Now, if you don’t mind, I am going to take tea and have a slice of cake in my study, as it is my birthday after all.” Ana stepped out of the chair, gave the P.M. a respectful nod, and stepped out of the room.
Jacob was waiting, and they began the long walk down the marble hallway. About halfway there, there was a muffled thud, followed by squeaky, running footsteps. Ana turned just in time to see two men in suits carrying the Prime Minister’s lifeless body.
Whatever his purpose was, Ana thought, he seems to have done it. I wonder if I had anything to do with that?
Later that afternoon, Ana snuck past Jacob’s incessant thoughtfulness to sneak out of the house to pick up a pint of milk, a slice of her favorite cake from Gallatin’s, and some more food for Petite Pois, the cat.
The moment she stepped out into the overcast day she was blinded by a thousand cameras and a sea of reporters. “Ms. Benson!” They all shouted. “What did you say to the Prime Minister before he passed away?” “Did he tell you he was going to do it?” “Did he say anything about—“ The words blurred together into a surreal montage as she felt something cold and hard clamp down on her wrists—handcuffs. She felt them lock just as her stomach dropped. Two men in long gray peacoat and gray hats skillfully pushed her into a stone alcove away from the road and the crowd “Some birthday this is,” she huffed as she tried to resist
“If you’ll please come with us, Ms. Benson,” they said as they pushed her into a waiting black car.