The Unwanteds

“Good heavens, Jim, you’re right.” Mr. Today stood up quite tall and announced in somewhat of a rushed voice, “Jim is correct, children. I generally forget from year to year what a terribly shocking experience this is for the Unwanteds. And let me assure you before you follow me around all day—this happened last year and I’ll never forgive myself; those poor, sweet children agonized half the morning—that this is not a sort of torture-before-I-eliminate-you ordeal, this world and the shock of it. What I’ve done here, you see, is … well …” He gave a small smile. “I’ve saved you. That is, if you want saving.”

His audience stared.

“Let me ask you this,” the man continued, more slowly, trying to rein in his excitement for the sake of the bewildered Unwanteds. “Does anyone wish to be eliminated right now?” Mr. Today waited politely for ten seconds or so to see if there were volunteers. When he saw there were none, he nodded and smiled as the children uttered short gasps of acknowledgment to each other at the realization of their new fate, such as, “We’re saved?” and “Wow!” and “Unreal!”

Mr. Today remained still and smiling until they were quite finished, and then he said, “Oh, splendid. Well, then. Let’s have a tour.”

Mr. Today dismissed the hefty, long-necked Eliminators—the girrinos, he called them—with a kindly, “Thank you, Arija. Ladies.” And the four girrinos responded pleasantly, in melodious voices, “Pleasure, Marcus dear,” before lumbering back to the gate to stand guard. Meanwhile Jim lifted a front leg in salute, turned away from the circle, broke into a staggering walk for momentum, and flapped his wings mightily. Slowly, very very slowly, he ascended and flew over the property this time, narrowly shaving the top of a particularly tall tree on the lawn, toward what looked to be a jungle in the far-off distance, just beyond the edge of the grass.

Mr. Today turned back to the children, who had moved very little all this time, and beckoned with his hand. “Walk with me,” he urged, and with that he strode sprightly across the lawn, pointing out the flowers and various creatures like a tour guide, and pretending there was nothing at all unusual about twenty seemingly mute children stumbling after him.

Quill Prevails When the Strong Survive

After the Purge, the High Priest Justine gazed pointedly out the window of the ancient Quillitary jalopy in which she rode. Next to her sat the secretary to the high priest, a prune of a woman who had served the land of Quill since Justine had become ruler fifty years before. While the secretary was not a forgetful woman, she had somehow managed to disremember her own name decades ago, and no one else could recall it either. Now she simply answered to Secretary.

Normally, the High Priest Justine was accompanied by at least one governor as well, but on the day of the Purge all of the governors were busy delivering the Unwanteds to their deaths, and so it was just the two women in the backseat of the vehicle today.

“Secretary,” Justine said evenly. “I’ve decided that this will be your last year.”

Secretary stared straight ahead at the back of the driver’s head. She nodded slowly.

The High Priest continued. “I’ll choose your successor from the university. You’ll train him as your assistant. When he’s ready, we’ll send you on to the Ancients Sector to be put to sleep.”

“Quill prevails when the strong survive,” murmured Secretary. Her voice showed no emotion.

It was a matter of usefulness, of course. Until this year, when Secretary’s eyesight had begun to grow fuzzy, there would have been no reason to eliminate her, though recently she seemed to be moving a little more slowly, too. Her time had come. And the last thing Secretary wanted was to bring shame to the High Priest Justine or the land of Quill for not emanating perfect strength. Secretary nodded her head slowly and watched the dizzying blur of checkerboard shadows that rushed over the vehicle from the barbed wire overhead. The shadows did not make her feel secure today.

When they arrived at the palace, the High Priest Justine and Secretary made their way to the dining room for the annual steak luncheon feast, this year celebrating the largest Purge of Unwanteds Quill had ever seen. A moment later Quillitary General Blair arrived, greeted the high priest, and took his place at the far end of the table.

The three waited in silence until the governors returned from the Death Farm. Justine’s eyes gleamed when finally they appeared. “Greetings, Governors. The Unwanteds have been disposed of, I presume?” she asked as the palace servants served the meal.

Senior Governor Haluki nodded curtly and handed the Death Farm’s gate key to the High Priest Justine. “It’s done,” he said. He was one of two middle-aged governors. The other four were young and fairly new to their posts over the past five years—all recent graduates from Wanted University. They had replaced Justine’s elderly governors, who’d had to be put to sleep once they’d lost their edge.

The high priest nodded to Haluki, satisfied. “A record year,” she said. She became preoccupied with working her dull knife like a saw across the steak. After an unsuccessful bout, she glanced up. “It was the first year that the Unwanteds outnumbered our Wanteds.”

Haluki grunted as he attacked his steak. “Even so, we’ve been too lenient in past years,” he said gruffly. “Quill feels richer without them already.”

“Indeed it does, quite right,” Justine muttered, still struggling with the steak. Finally frustrated, she slammed the knife on the table. “Cook!” she bellowed to the empty doorway, and then she turned to the senior governor. “Great Land of Quill, Haluki. Find me a university student who can solve the beef problem, will you? This steak is nowhere near first-rate.”