Black Locust Letters by Nicolette Jinks

You know my position. You know how many hundreds of thousands
could die.”
    Betty paused and had to admit that with the weapons she knew
her father controlled, she had to admit that he was right. He could
start another worldwide war, one that would be greater than the
Great War and the World War put together. The thought made her
shiver. A war like that would have no non-combatants, no age
limits, and no sympathy. The war might start and end in a day, but
the effects would continue for generations.
    Her
father continued, “If you agree, I will put a guard on you, someone
who won't interfere with your day to day activities, but will be
there if you need assistance.”
    This
was all too similar to the vein that Clarkin's attentions had
taken. She frowned. “Why am I so important?”
    “ You're my daughter. Please. You can grow up, but that's all
the further I'm willing to lose you.”
    Betty shook her head. “That isn't what I mean. Why am I so
important? What does the City Council need?”
    “ Wave talkers,” said James, as though annoyed with her
insistence. “They need wave talkers, and you're
perfect.”
    She
felt a burst of appreciation for James, and one of sadness for her
father. Still the manipulator. “So if I accept a guard, I will have
to make payment by saying a few lines for the Council?”
    Father nodded, though he still glared at his aide. “Just a
few words, nothing more. You'll be safe and we can put a stop to
the menace.”
    “ I
need to think about it.” Betty knew better than to slap down
anything that came from the Council unless she had an escape plan
in mind, one that did not include any place that she had been to in
the last few months, nor any vehicles she had used in the last
year. Leaving Sanctuary was hard enough, but to do so in a flash
was nearly impossible.
    Father relaxed. “That is all I am asking from you. I knew you
were smart enough to see our view.”
    Any
belief she'd had in what he said was splattered by that last
sentence. But he had raised questions. Questions about electric
pyros and the mysterious deaths over the last several months, and
about what bills were in the council and why they were even there
to start with. These questions swirled in her mind as she
left.
    Outside the Brick Oven, the sun shone bright and warm,
cutting through the crisp autumn breeze which tickled leaves and
made them dance on their stems. In the clear, invigorating
afternoon, there was a rejuvenating quality to the day which made
her spirits lift despite the confrontation.
    Dressed snugly in winter-weight black tights, her long blush
trench coat, and a now-finished burgundy scarf, Betty breathed in
the scent of fallen rain and forced the trembling of her hands to
settle. She turned to the Library, knowing that a copy of bills was
maintained there, stored there every new moon.

Chapter 11
    When
she arrived, Betty headed down the perfectly-trimmed lawn strewn
with sunbathing university students, passed between two columns of
squares, and entered through a door which did not appear to be the
primary entrance.
    Inside, the library was deserted, its musty fences of books
blocking out the fluorescent lights put on a ceiling which had not
been made high enough, and she milled her way through the hedges of
paper until she found herself in what she knew was the south-west
corner, then took the stairs to the basement.
    Through a door which said AUTHORIZED PERSONAL ONLY, Betty
once more sighed, thinking that it would be a warning sign indeed
if they ever found a librarian who could spell to run this place.
They'd had fewer misplaced books when the dyslexic nun had been in
charge.
    For
five years, the library had been petitioning for a new shelving
system for the Congress records, and three years ago, they had
given the funding, only to rip it away again as soon as the old
shelves were out. As a result, all the records were shoved into
cardboard boxed rescued from the grocer's burn pile.
    Even
though it