But its real value lay in the fact that the wording allowed the Administrators to never have to send any more correspondence if they didn’t “see fit.”
And they didn’t “see” most of the time.
Another version reported that, “We appreciate your concern and assure you that the Administrators are doing all that they can,” which also vaguely negated the call for additional action while making the recipients feel the need to proudly hang the letter on their cooling cabinets.
Then there were the, “We do not become involved in local issues such as chicken thievery or loud neighbors. Consult your local magistrate and/or fort” letters, and the occasional, “We are certain the birth of your child [insert name here] was a joyous occasion for you” forms.
But some letters catch the skimmers’ eyes and are sent on ahead to the Main Skimmer, who then sends them on to the head of the Letter Readers. Some lucky letters leave this division to go to the specific departments, such as Office of Family, or Commerce, or Farming.
And every once in a great while a few of those letters move on, after visiting the full hierarchy of their intended department, to the Administrators themselves and the desk of Mr. Gadiman, Administrator of Loyalty.
This particular day a letter from the little village of Edge sat in front of Gadiman. His mouth twitched as he read and reread the words.
It was borderline.
The writer could have been sincere in her desire to help children that, as she phrased it, “would benefit from an alternative form of education.”
Yet something in the very idea of questioning the Administrators’ educational policies had alarmed the Department of Instruction.
Perhaps it was the subtle insinuation that the current school system seemed like a remembrance of the era of kings that the Administrators were trying so hard to eliminate.
Or maybe it was the suggestion that current educational procedures may be unsuitable to meeting the needs of some children.
Or maybe it was the assertion that parents could make decisions about their children, freeing the Administrators from any liability in their education.
Or maybe it was because an annoying woman was pointing out the faults of the Administrators.
Nothing in the letter specifically, however, suggested undermining the government—the Administrator of Loyalty’s primary concern.
But he could never understand people’s need to be different, only to be difficult. It was like herding hogs, the diverging ways some people insisted on going. They were all destined for the same fate at the butcher’s, so Gadiman couldn’t understand why they fought it so much.
He tapped the feathered end of his quill on the letter as he pondered it.
The idea that someone was thinking beyond the bounds of what the Administrators advised was slightly troubling. Most likely nothing would ever come of this woman’s letter. She was merely a small teacher in a small village.
Still, small things had the disturbing tendency to grow larger.
Especially when such things had such connections.
Administrator Gadiman made some notations on additional pieces of paper.
One note recommended that the first form letter be sent to the writer with a signature from some junior assistant in the Department of Instruction.
The second note indicated that the writer was the wife of the commanding officer in Edge.
Captain Shin’s file sat in front of him. Next to his name was a blue dot of paint indicating perfect compliance and noteworthy performances. Gadiman leafed through the pages of the file and found nothing alarming. He didn’t expect to, considering whose son he was.
The Administrator of Loyalty set the file aside and picked up a new, empty one. In large bold letters, he printed a name along the top. He placed the original letter and his notations in the file, then put a drop of yellow paint next to the name.
Mahrree Peto Shin was now officially Watched.
Gadiman was going to have to get another crate. His office was filling with files full of yellow and red dots. Or he needed a bigger office.
---
Two men sat in the dark office of an unlit building.
“Question,” asked Mal. “What kind of a woman writes a letter to the Department of Instruction?”
Brisack held a piece of parchment. “Mrs. Shin?” he said, looking at the writing again and shaking his head.
Mal nodded. “Yes. And look, she signed it alone. I hadn’t considered her as more than an appendage to her husband, but she’s demonstrating independent thought.”
“I realize you may not know this, but many women are not always completely under the control of their husbands and frequently do things without them,” Brisack said with a smirking hint of approval. “Besides, would our Captain Shin marry anyone who didn’t?”