Penultimatology

Chapter Four of Helena, a novel in progress. This work of fiction examines Christian nationalism, political power, and the corruption of religious language.

Helena arrived at the Office of Pastoral Compliance at 06:47.

Her wristband had selected the route. Instead of directing her toward the employment center, it led her through streets she had never traveled and into the government quarter, where the buildings were older and more ornate. Stone columns framed their entrances. Scripture had been carved into their walls deeply enough to survive any change in projection.

The Office of Pastoral Compliance occupied a building of pale stone surrounded by a narrow garden. Flowers grew beneath its windows. Birds gathered around a fountain in the courtyard.

There were no fences.

Helena stopped at the entrance.

REPORT BY 07:00.

EARLY ARRIVAL DOES NOT ALTER APPOINTMENT PRIORITY.

She entered.

The reception area was warmer than her apartment. Soft instrumental hymns played from concealed speakers, and the air carried the faint scent of cinnamon. Upholstered chairs had been arranged around low wooden tables. A pastoral landscape filled one wall: green fields, still water, and sheep resting beneath a cloudless sky.

On the opposite wall, a verse appeared in gold lettering:

“For whom the Lord loveth he correcteth; even as a father the son in whom he delighteth.”

Proverbs 3:12 KJV

Beneath it, in smaller letters, were the words:

CORRECTION IS LOVE.

COMPLIANCE IS PEACE.

A receptionist sat behind an unprotected wooden desk. She wore no uniform—only a cream-colored dress and a small gold cross at her throat.

“Good morning, Helena.”

Helena had not given her name.

“Good morning.”

“You may sit wherever you are comfortable. Someone will be with you shortly.”

“Thank you.”

Helena chose the chair nearest the entrance.

Four other citizens were waiting. None looked at her. An elderly man held his hat between trembling hands. A young woman sat unnaturally straight, one palm covering the compliance band on her opposite wrist. Beside the projected landscape, a middle-aged man moved his lips in what might have been prayer.

A door opened.

A pastoral aide appeared and read from his tablet.

“Citizen 731-480-962.”

The elderly man stood.

“This way, please.”

The door closed behind them.

At 07:02, the young woman was called. At 07:09, the middle-aged man followed her through another door.

None of them returned to the reception area.

At 07:16, the first door opened again.

“Helena?”

The man who spoke her name was perhaps fifty years old. He wore a dark suit without insignia and a clerical collar beneath his shirt. His smile was gentle.

“I’m Pastor Elias Ward. Please come with me.”

Helena followed him down a short corridor.

The interview room contained two chairs, a small table, and another projected landscape. This one showed a shepherd carrying a lamb across his shoulders. There was no visible recording equipment.

“Please sit,” Ward said. “Would you like some water?”

“No, thank you.”

“Are you certain? Your hydration level is slightly below the recommended range.”

Helena looked at her wristband.

“Water would be fine.”

Ward poured it from a glass pitcher. He waited while she drank.

“There,” he said. “That’s better.”

He sat across from her and placed a thin tablet on the table. Its screen remained dark.

“You seem anxious.”

“I was ordered to appear.”

“Requested.”

“The notice said attendance was mandatory.”

Ward smiled.

“Some citizens neglect requests unless we make their importance clear. But you are not under arrest, Helena. This is a pastoral conversation.”

“Yes, Pastor.”

“I would like you to think of me as someone concerned for your spiritual well-being.”

Helena placed the glass on the table.

“Am I spiritually unwell?”

“That is what we hope to determine.”

Ward folded his hands.

“You are thirty years old, unmarried, and have no children.”

“Yes.”

“Your parents, Thomas and Judith, remain in the western residential district. Your brother Daniel is married and has two children.”

Helena waited. None of it was a question.

“How often do you communicate with them?” Ward asked.

“Once a week.”

“Because you wish to?”

“They are my family.”

“That was not my question.”

Helena said nothing.

“How did you sleep?”

“Well.”

Her band warmed against her skin.

Ward glanced at it.

“Approximately five hours and nineteen minutes, with six recorded interruptions.”

“I slept as well as usual.”

“Of course.”

He touched his tablet, and the screen illuminated.

“You completed your annual Affirmation two evenings ago.”

“Yes.”

“Do you remember doing so?”

“Yes.”

“Did you understand the Affirmation?”

“Yes.”

“Did you agree with it?”

Helena looked toward the shepherd on the wall.

“I selected ‘I affirm.’”

“That is what you did. I asked what you believed.”

“I would not have affirmed it if I did not agree.”

The band warmed again.

Ward’s expression did not change.

“Would you like to revise that answer?”

“No.”

“You are not being tested, Helena.”

She looked at him.

“Then why am I here?”

“To understand an anomaly.”

He turned the tablet toward her.

A graph filled the screen. Several colored lines crossed a horizontal scale marked in seconds. Helena recognized measurements for pulse, respiration, skin temperature, eye movement, and muscular tension. A vertical white line indicated the moment the Affirmation had appeared on her wall.

Another marked the instant she selected I AFFIRM.

Between them were forty-three seconds.

“Your average response time during the previous seven years was four-point-two seconds,” Ward said. “Two evenings ago, it was forty-three-point-seven.”

“I was reading.”

“You had read the Affirmation before.”

“I wanted to consider it carefully.”

“That is admirable. Which portion required additional consideration?”

“All of it.”

“All seven declarations?”

“The Affirmation is a single statement. I thought it appropriate to consider it as a whole.”

Ward leaned back.

“A thoughtful answer.”

Helena could not tell whether he meant it.

“Did any particular declaration trouble you?”

“No.”

“Did you experience uncertainty concerning abortion?”

“No.”

“Marriage?”

“No.”

“Sexual morality?”

“No.”

“The divine origin of prosperity and poverty?”

Helena hesitated.

It lasted less than a second, but the tablet marked it.

Ward looked down.

“Would you like me to repeat the question?”

“No.”

“Do you believe that wealth is evidence of God’s blessing?”

“The Affirmation says that it is.”

“Yes. But do you believe it?”

Helena remembered the words projected above the tables at work. She remembered Mara’s empty station.

“God blesses whom He chooses.”

“That is not quite the same answer.”

“It is the answer I have.”

Ward studied her for a moment.

“Have you recently encountered religious material that contradicts the Affirmation?”

“No.”

“Unauthorized Scripture commentary?”

“No.”

“Historical sermons?”

“No.”

“Pre-Republican theological works?”

“No.”

“Have you discussed the Affirmation with another citizen?”

“No.”

The band tightened.

Ward looked at the tablet, then back at her.

“Helena, do you know why the Republic monitors involuntary physical responses?”

“To detect deception.”

“No. Deception is a moral category. The system detects discrepancies.”

“What is the difference?”

“A discrepancy invites clarification. Deception implies guilt. We do not presume guilt.”

On the other side of the wall, a muffled voice said something Helena could not understand. Another voice answered more sharply.

Ward waited until the room was quiet.

“Your delayed response was not a crime,” he continued. “Many faithful citizens experience occasional uncertainty. Doubt can become the instrument through which faith is strengthened.”

“Then why was my association history reviewed?”

For the first time, Ward’s smile faded.

“You saw that notice?”

“It appeared on my workstation.”

“Of course.”

He made a notation on the tablet.

“What did you believe it meant?”

“I didn’t know.”

“What did you fear it meant?”

Helena looked down at the water glass.

“That I had associated with someone under investigation.”

“Have you?”

“I don’t know.”

“You had a conversation yesterday with Citizen Livia Saye.”

“Yes.”

“Your bands made physical contact.”

“For a moment.”

“Why?”

“I touched her wrist.”

“I know what happened. I am asking why.”

“She stood before our break had ended.”

“And you wished to prevent her from leaving?”

“I wanted to ask her another question.”

“About Mara Venn?”

Helena said nothing.

Ward waited.

The hymns playing in the reception area were barely audible through the wall. Helena recognized the melody but could not remember the words.

“Yes,” she said.

“Why were you interested in Citizen Venn?”

“She worked beside me.”

“Did you consider her a friend?”

“No.”

“Did you dislike her?”

“No.”

“Then how would you describe your relationship?”

“We worked beside each other.”

“For nearly three years.”

“Yes.”

“You shared two hundred eighty-seven scheduled meal periods.”

“If the records say so.”

“They do.”

Ward swiped the tablet. Mara’s identification photograph appeared.

She was smiling.

Helena had never seen her smile like that. The photograph must have been taken years ago, perhaps when smiling for identification records was still permitted.

“When did Citizen Venn first express dissatisfaction with her reproductive monitoring?”

“She didn’t.”

“Did she ever claim that her band reported inaccurate information?”

“No.”

“Did she discuss an irregular menstrual cycle?”

“No.”

“Did she tell you that she feared she might be pregnant?”

“No.”

“Did she ask how unauthorized medication could be obtained?”

“No.”

“Did she express unhappiness with her husband?”

“No.”

“Did she engage in a sexual relationship with another man?”

“I don’t know.”

“Did she ever suggest that a woman should not be held morally responsible for the loss of an unborn child?”

Helena looked at Mara’s photograph.

“No.”

Ward watched his tablet.

“What did Citizen Venn tell you about her reproductive review?”

“Nothing.”

“Are you certain?”

“Yes.”

The word left Helena’s mouth before she could reconsider it.

A thin red line appeared on the tablet.

Ward looked at it.

Helena’s band tightened until its edges pressed painfully into her skin.

Ward did not ask the question again.

Instead, he removed Mara’s photograph from the screen.

“Do you believe the system can distinguish between an induced termination and a spontaneous miscarriage?”

“I am not qualified to answer.”

“A sensible acknowledgment. Neither am I.”

Helena looked up.

Ward continued in the same calm voice.

“The system does not render moral judgments. It identifies patterns for review by qualified authorities.”

“What patterns did it identify?”

“This conversation concerns your spiritual health, not Citizen Venn’s medical status.”

“Then why are you asking about her?”

“Because concern for another citizen can affect your judgment.”

“Where is she?”

Ward folded his hands again.

“Mara Venn is receiving appropriate care.”

“Will she return to work?”

“That decision has not been made.”

“Does anyone know what happened to her?”

“God knows.”

A voice spoke from behind the wall.

“Pastor Ward.”

This time the words were clear.

Ward turned toward a dark panel Helena had assumed was part of the decoration.

“Yes, Analyst Reeves?”

“The evidentiary classification remains probabilistic. Please refrain from characterizing the reproductive event as providentially established.”

Ward’s jaw tightened.

“I made no such characterization.”

“You invoked divine knowledge in response to a factual inquiry.”

“I reminded the citizen that uncertainty does not extend to God.”

“The distinction may not be reflected accurately in the transcript.”

For several seconds, no one spoke.

Ward touched the edge of his clerical collar.

“Your caution has been noted, Analyst.”

The panel went silent.

Helena stared at Ward.

He smiled again, but the warmth had left it.

“Different offices use different vocabularies,” he said. “It is one of the challenges of administering a nation composed of many Christian traditions.”

“I understand.”

“Do you?”

Helena lowered her eyes.

Ward returned his attention to the tablet.

“Let us make this simpler. Did Mara Venn trust the reproductive protection system?”

Helena remembered a midday break several months earlier.

Mara’s band had instructed her to report for recalibration. She had pressed her thumb against its screen, dismissing the notice until the end of the work period.

“It says my temperature has been elevated for eleven days,” she had whispered.

“Are you ill?” Helena asked.

“I don’t feel ill.”

“Then perhaps it is a sensor problem.”

Mara had looked at the band.

“The band doesn’t know everything.”

The memory passed through Helena with perfect clarity.

Ward waited.

“Did Mara Venn trust the reproductive protection system?”

Helena looked at the red line still visible on the tablet.

“Mara trusted the system.”

Her band vibrated.

Ward looked at its display.

Helena knew that he had seen the discrepancy. She knew that he knew she had lied. She also knew that he had expected her to know he would see it.

Still, he entered her answer into the record.

“Thank you,” he said.

He turned off the tablet and stood.

“Is the conversation over?” Helena asked.

“For today.”

“Have I done something wrong?”

“We are not concerned with assigning blame.”

“What happens now?”

“You will report to your employment center at the normal time tomorrow.”

“And Mara?”

“Citizen Venn’s case will proceed according to established protections.”

Ward opened the door.

The corridor outside was empty.

As Helena stepped into it, her wristband vibrated. She looked down.

PASTORAL CONVERSATION COMPLETE.

CIVIC STATUS: ACTIVE.

Relief came so quickly that she nearly stumbled.

Then another notice appeared.

CITIZEN HELENA HAS BEEN DESIGNATED A SUPPORTING WITNESS IN REPRODUCTIVE CASE MV-77241.

DISCUSSION OF THIS DESIGNATION IS PROHIBITED.

FURTHER TESTIMONY MAY BE REQUIRED.

She turned toward Ward.

“What does this mean?”

“It means your assistance is valued.”

“I don’t know anything.”

“That has not yet been determined.”

The door closed between them.

Helena walked alone through the corridor and into the reception area. The chairs were occupied by different citizens now. The elderly man was gone. So were the young woman and the man who had appeared to be praying.

The receptionist smiled.

“May God bless the remainder of your day.”

Outside, sunlight covered the garden. Birds bathed in the fountain, scattering drops of water across the stones. Nothing prevented Helena from walking away.

Her wristband displayed the route home.

She understood now that the Republic did not need to choose between silence and betrayal.

It had made them the same thing.

Previous: The Anomaly — Chapter Three