Carol Emshwiller - The General

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The General

By CAROL EMSHWILLER

They had conquered his people, then raised him

as one of their own. How far would they be willing

to go to destroy their own creation?

One of the enemy has escaped into the mountains. An important general. He knows our language, he knows our

ways, but we don't know his nor where his men are, nor even if there are any of his men left at all. We were holding him

in our maximum-security facilities and we had thought to torture him until he told us what he knew of his own army.

We had called in others to torture him because we don't believe in torture, but he escaped before they arrived.

There's a large reward for his capture. For a sum like this, even his own men would turn him in. He can't count on

anybody. There's no way that he can survive very long anyway. It's too cold and everybody is on our side around

here. Most likely they'll fight among themselves over the reward. There'll be a few more of us dead.

We had dressed him in orange. He'll have to steal some clothes. We hope he won't kill any of us to get them. He

must be very stupid to try to escape in a place like this and at this season. The weather can only get worse. But

perhaps death is better than our (deliberately) rat-infested, latrineless cells. He has been trained by us in our own

schools to laugh at death. Most likely his body is already out there somewhere. We've sent local children to search the

rocks and bushes. They know the area better even than our experts. We'll give them pennies and salt for any clues

they pick up. We warned them if they find him and he's not dead, they should run, as he is extremely dangerous and

has probably obtained or made a weapon.

I'm on a trail now. At first I just headed out, not following any road or path, but there's no way to cross these

mountain passes and not be on one. Every now and then there's a hut. This time of year they're all empty. I don't dare

spend the night in any. I stole clothes from one, long underwear, and a worn-out sheepskin jacket. I found a knit cap.

They shaved my head so I needed a good hat. Everything I took was worn out and smelled bad, but I wear them

anyway. I stole food and a blanket. I was wearing leg irons. At the hut I found tools to break them off. I'll be able to go

a little faster now. I stole a sickle but dropped it later. I don't want to be tempted to lash out at anyone, especially not

with a sickle.

I sleep several yards from the trail in any handy sheltered spot. Or if there are scattered boulders I cover myself

with the blanket and lie along them as if I were just another stone. I haven't met a single person up here, but I don't

dare relax.

I sleep the sleep of exhaustion. I'll think to myself: This is a good spot, and that's all I know until I wake up.

I'm aware that I'm walking through great beauty but if I sit down to appreciate it for a minute I fall asleep.

Sometimes the moon has risen and I lie back and think to look at the sky and take some time to realize I'm in a

wondrous place and this is a luminous moment, but no sooner do I have that thought than I'm asleep.

Notices have been put up on every corner:

WANTED REWARD. Wild and dangerous man. Medium height, shaved head, dark eyes. He'd as soon kill you

as look at you. By now he may have weapons. If you harbor him or give him food, you'll be considered as guilty as he

is. There's a microchip imbedded in his shoulder where he can neither see it or reach it. Anyone who has removed it

will be considered as traitorous as he is. The sentence for helping him is death.

The irony is, we brought him up ourselves in our own military schools. We thought contact with us would

civilize him, but he's no more civilized than he was at the age of nine when we took him in. At that time he said he'd kill

us all and, in spite of all these years in our care, that's what he still wants to do.

We thought he would soon see that life with us was preferable to the primitive ways of his own people. We had

thought he would realize our superiority. Anybody with any sense, we thought, even a child with any sense at all,

could see we had the science, the money, the schools, the workforce, the wealth. . . . And we were ready to share our

wealth with him. He was, after all, at the top of his graduating class. The top! We were surprised that a savage child

had beaten out our own. We took it as a sign we could mold the wild ones to our civilized ways if we caught them in

time. We were glad to have him on our side. Until he defected, we suspected nothing.

I wake with a child looking down on me—so bundled up I wonder how she can move at all. A dirty child but I'm

dirtier. At first I think a boy, but then I think, girl. I see her skirt and coarse hand-knit wooly petticoat hanging below it.

I'm not a good judge of the ages of children, but I'd guess about nine or ten years old. Beside her there's a bundle of

sticks she's been gathering.

I distrust everybody. I wake up in a rage as usual, ready to strike out. I think, Here's one of them, but then she

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Carol Emshwiller - The General

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