Governance Database #25

Subject: Wyn Rivera, MOLT 0, age 0-19.

Evaluators: Chancellor Vazilia Azro, MOLT 13, age 13-3. Director Daniel Flynn, MOLT 15, age 15-2.

<Medical Record: see HEALTH DATABASE #475>

<Behavioral Record: see SOCIOLOGICAL DATABASE #373>

Purpose Of Visual Study: Abnormal Pre-MOLT Behavior

Time to MOLT 1: 2.5 wks

Written Transcript of Governance Evaluation

Intellectual Property of the Governance of MOLT, Central Division

March 24, 2254

For the Governance record: The meeting between Dr. Daniel Flynn, Director of the Sociology Division of the Governance and designated MOLT mentor of MOLTee in question Wyn Rivera, and Chancellor Vazilia Azro of the Governance began at the tenth hour of the twenty fourth day of March, year 2254 and took place in Chancellor Azro's private office.

..................

Never before in her three MOLTs as Chancellor of the Governance had Vazilia Anne Azro been called out of the events of her daily schedule to deal with any unplanned issue...much less one pertaining to a Birth MOLT. She did not understand why the Pre-MOLT whinings of a child were to be her concern: the Sociology Department was more than adequately equipped to handle such things, so she could not foresee why its leader, the potent Dr. Daniel Flynn whom she had personally appointed two long MOLTs ago, now sat across from her with his hands folded in front of him and his expression grave.

"Madame Chancellor."

Azro put up a single hand, sheathed in black silk, before the doctor could continue. The gesture, performed by the hand that had given the order to pull back from the overpopulated, unhygienic population centers of before the Great Fall and retreat to the cities, the hand that had sealed the borders of Freziere, and the hand that had called for the ratification of the MOLT Act, had a binding power in itself. Vazilia Azro was arguably the single woman who had pulled humanity back from the verge of extinction, and had the humility to live not receiving a word of credit for it outside of the Governance...her words and actions were not to be taken lightly.

"You know that I do not find it proper to be addressed by my title." Azro spoke only after a prolonged silence, clearly more than aware of the weight of her words. "It makes me look and feel like a pre-Fall dictator."

Flynn shook his head, running a hand through his full head of hair, a result of his latest MOLT. "You leave me utterly dumbfounded as always...Vazilia. You saved our species, yet refuse to be hailed as a hero. You said that you despised politics before running for Chancellor. And now...you hold firmly to your position while refusing to be addressed by it."

Azro only smiled knowingly at this, narrowing her lively, brown eyes. "You're right- I am not your typical politician. But you should be thankful for that...your typical politicians were the ones who initiated the Great Fall."

"As usual, your argument is irrefutable," Flynn bows his head. "And that brings me to the purpose with which I requested this meeting: my department is in need of your infallible judgment."

"How can I be of service to you, Dr. Flynn?" Azro brought her elbows up to the table in front of her, resting her chin on her knuckles in a position of careful attention. This was one of the remarkable things about her: she was both the commanding, charismatic leader of the human race and a faithful public servant, and she knew exactly when to be which. Many members of the Governance openly wished that someone like her had been around before the Fall, so that the catastrophe might have been averted.

"We're dealing with a Birth MOLT, a 0-19," Flynn sighed deeply, wringing his hands together in clear discomfort. It was not difficult to discern that this encounter with the Chancellor embarrassed him greatly.

"What is her name?" Azro quietly demanded, the words barely managing to leave her cherry-red lips.

"...sorry?" Flynn frowned, leaning in closer as if he believed he had misheard the woman.

"I asked you for her name," Azro repeated, not showing the slightest sign of irritation. "Everyone has one," she added helpfully.

"It's Wyn Rivera," Flynn read from the open file in his lap. "But what difference does that make?"

Azro stared at her colleague in disbelief, biting her lip as she arched her left eyebrow. "What difference does it make? It makes all the difference in the world! The day we start viewing living, breathing people as numbers is the day we go from a union of the remnants of humanity to a global oligarchy. We cannot afford to become the kind of government that is conducive to rebellion. Humanity either works together now or it perishes. You of all people should understand that, Dr. Flynn."

For a moment, the two officials regarded each other in silence, before Azro rose ominously to her feet. In contrast to the other smartly dressed Governance officers who populated the halls outside her door, she wore a durable leather jacket over form-fitting pants and combat boots. A pistol hung at her waist and the glint of a knife was visible at the top of her left boot.

"You look ready to kill something," Flynn not-so-eloquently observed.

Azro whipped around, her eyes blazing as her thick, black hair bounced about her shoulders. "I killed many things," she stated with a calm tone that did not begin to match her expression. "Twelve MOLTs ago, I wandered the barren earth with no family, no friends, and no place to go. I did not come from a government safehold like the rest of you lucky survivors. I did unspeakable things in the metallic jungles of the Fall. I wandered the desolate forests naked, killing my food with my bare hands and my teeth. For two MOLTs, I lived like an animal. I nearly forgot how to speak. I thought I was the very last human left...until I found Freziere. It was then that I realized how precious our existence is, how easily shattered. I almost feel obligated to be prepared to defend every part of it...and that includes your Wyn Rivera. Now, brief me on the case, but if this is a contentious issue, know that my background makes me no more likely to take your side than hers."

"I can see that my connections with you do not provide me a sliver of advantage," Flynn laughed. It was impossible to tell whether he said this in good humor or with the slightest touch of resentment. "What I am here to report is the alarming outburst of a usually well-behaved native Frezieran Birth MOLT, who is now known to you as Wyn Rivera. She asked me a question about MOLTing that I could not answer without violating protocol, and then proceeded to grow agitated when I told her this."

"I like curious girls," Azro smiled broadly. She absentmindedly placed the end of a pen in her mouth, and Flynn watched, both spellbound and horrified, as her MOLT-sharpened teeth ground it down into an inky pulp. This was another one of her famous paradoxes- she was both an elegant ruler and a beast of the post-Fall jungle. Flynn was beginning to believe that Vazilia Azro was capable of becoming absolutely anything demanded by the moment.

"She wishes to be made aware of the...er...details of the MOLTing process," Flynn hissed, squaring his jaw. He was beginning to look rather frustrated by the Chancellor's cavalier attitude about what he felt was a serious concern, and made no effort to hide it.

"She will know, soon enough," Azro placed her gloved palms on her desk, inhaling deeply. "We've only to wait seventeen days. She will see my grand vision and accept it on the day of her MOLT...or your department will be forced to engage in a little bit of artificial selection."

Flynn chuckled to himself, leaning back in his leather office chair. "There is pain in enduring, is there not?"

"No," Azro sunk down into her seat, a solemn expression coming over her face. "Endurance and pain are one and the same. We could've lived without pain, but our foolish actions burned that opportunity long ago."

"It is settled, then. It will be done as it is among our dear friends, the insects. When a fly falls into a human's hand, its brothers and sisters do not stop to help it. No, they endure. They fly faster and higher so that they might avoid it's unfortunate fate, so that only one fly is lost, instead of a hundred. Endurance is a very statistical philosophy, you see. Each of us should have one goal and one goal only: to live to MOLT 32, to cross the finish line, to spit in the face of the forces of nature that would take us to an undeserved early grave. If someone chooses to be ungrateful for what they have and reject this goal- which there is no guarantee Rivera will even do- we will not kill them, but let them perish in their own stupidity as pre-Fall civilizations did."

<END OF STORED TRANSCRIPTION>