As she had dreaded, Aster was stolen away that night, snatched from a sleepless, dreamy haze. Her head was replete with anxiety, muddled with musings on the countless developments of the past two weeks, which she was eager to discuss with Nancy.
Nancy however, made haste to return Aster home, promising her that they would have plenty of time to discuss at their next meeting.
Aster turned and looked out the window, lethargic in her anxiety.
The scenery outside blurred past as the car silently whirred down the highway. She watched the several dozen lanes streak across the sea of asphalt they painted over the distance, and groaned.
"Why do I have to come to this?" she complained, turning to her father.
Aster's father, who had been nervously and attentively poring over something important on his AR, looked at his daughter.
"She's your mother," he gave, speaking as if surprised she had the gall to complain. “They requested that all immediate family members be present.”
He mentioned this last detail with a grim tone.
Aster was startled by the melancholic way with which her father moved and spoke, but figured that the entire affair with her mother was gloomy business for him.
She took this moment to glimpse out of the corner of her eye at Dahlia, silent in the backseat.
She had not spoken to her since the incident with their mother, and seemed perfectly content with letting time enclose the tomb of their kinship.
Aster then turned back to her father, still intently squinting at his AR. Her worry was deepened by a second look at his morose face,which seemed even more sullen than that of the past few days. He appeared deep in thought.
“Are they moving her to a new facility?” she asked.
He turned to her, looking at her with faltering eyes. His bottom lip quavered, as if mulling which answer to give.
“I'm not sure,” he answered weakly.
“It better be one that allows more visiting hours!” Dahlia finally put forth, kicking her feet in protest. “One visit a month is bull crap!”
Aster's father did not respond, or reprimand Dahlia's language as he usually would.
She could read the signs of something being amiss clearly in his face, but admittedly did not care much to push the subject.
She had too little concern for her mother's living arrangements to be worried, and the anxiety of having to involve herself in the matter further emboldened her decision to disengage from the situation and gaze out the window as the Department of Health loomed into view from beyond the windshield.
It was a stately building, constructed entirely of concrete. Its design was in an old, 19th century style— an evident leftover of pre-AI society which stood out when bookmarked between the sleek, glass buildings that made up the heart of downtown. Two huge national flags flanked each side of the courthouse, whose grand staircase led to a remodeled entrance.
Aster looked up at the façade as they ascended, and was taken by a strange feeling of heaviness in her chest in gazing at its imposing structure.
The entrance to the building— a row of small, metallic doors waiting atop the sprawling marble staircase, cloaked in shade by the vault of colored marble above it, appeared like the pinhole entrance to a black hole, ready to swallow all.
She had never really paid attention to anything in her world, but now realized the backdrop of Peppermint Plains' sunny village life had given a metric to judge hers against— and what she saw terrified her.
This apprehension did not cease as they finally made their way through the entrance. The metal doors led to a veritable maze of security screenings and heavily armed guards surveying newcomers and ushering them through the checkpoints.
Aster's heart chilled at the sight of it.
The question entered her mind— why had this never stood out to her before? Why was she only now struck by the ghastliness of all that surrounded her?
She didn't have long to think, for soon she and her family were forced through the security screenings, which involved a litany of bodily and psychological scans, as well as a questionnaire.
Aster hated this process even before she had any reason to be disgusted by it. The attention, scrutiny, and expectation of answers never failed to make her a nervous wreck.
The secret of her Eden device usage as well weighed heavily upon her, filling her with a terrible paranoia.
She glanced around, her shaking eyes darting from person to person. A bead of sweat broke above her forehead, and her heart began to race.
She was terrified that she would stick out, that her deceit and fear would be clear to all who surveyed her.
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They passed through one machine to the next. If it was not this device that caught her, it would certainly be the physiological scan. It would clearly see her terrified, writhing little heart thrashing away in her chest. It could see the sheet of perspiration like a foil of guilt upon her terrified face clear as day.
If she made it through that, certainly the psychological scans could pick up traces of Eden device usage, or at least her immense paranoia and anxiety.
When at last they finally passed the guard at the end of the entrance, satisfied with their questioning and waving them on, Aster could hardly breathe.
Her body was wracked with shivers, and she glanced around herself as they proceeded to the office of interest. She was aware how suspicious she looked, but couldn't shake the feeling that someone knew and had let her pass through unscathed.
At last they reached the office, tucked dead center within a barren hall amongst identical doors, which were only identified by names projected upon their touchscreen windows.
“Orlando Bolinger,” read the door before them.
Aster's father waved it open, and entered.
Sitting at the desk before them was a short, slightly round man with very short, curly hair.
He looked up with a smile, and rose as he noticed his guests.
“Please, take a seat,” he said, gesturing to three chairs which sat before the desk.
The three of them anxiously took their seats and Orlando resumed sitting.
“Can I get you some water before we begin? Coffee?” he continued, still smiling.
Aster's father ignored him, and swiped at the surface of Orlando's desk, bringing up a screen.
“The notice said nothing of why we were called here,” he began forcefully, pulling up a copy.
Orlando maintained his warm expression, but it was obvious it was only a paper thin sheet masking an unfathomably deep uncaring.
“Yes, it's a sensitive matter. We attempt to do the utmost in trying to not worry the family.”
Dahlia's face contorted with concern at his response.
“What is the meaning of calling us here? Is she being moved to a new facility?” Aster's father continued with aggression.
Orlando pursed his lips, calculated his words, and flashed a thin smile which chilled Aster.
“The patient is under consideration for state-sponsored euthanasia. You have been called here today to set a date for a hearing in regards to it.”
Aster, who had been gazing absent-mindedly around the room, turned to Orlando in astonishment.
His expression did not waver, evidently confirming that what she had heard was correct.
She felt the impulse to say something— anything— but her mind faltered, and her bottom lip simply trembled.
Suddenly a horrid, ghastly cry came from Dahlia, while her father called out in a chilling groan.
“I knew it,” he muttered, barely audible.
Dahlia rose from the seat, shrieking.
"You're going to kill her?!" she yelled at the top of her lungs.
Orlando was unphased by this reaction, and retained his thin lips in that wispy smile.
Her father attempted to restrain her, pulling her back from his desk.
"Dahlia this is not the time to behave like this!" he yelled, pushing her back into her chair.
“You're going to murder her?!” Dahlia again shrieked, hysterical. “She's done nothing wrong!” she continued to cry, attempting to break from her father's clutches.
“Miss, it's not a bygone conclusion,” Orlando countered coldly, attempting to speak over her frenzied wails.
Her father grabbed hold of her shoulders and looked deep into her eyes. He said nothing, but his trembling, blue eyes made it clear that she was only making it worse.
Orlando, like a wax doll, continued to smile as he watched the two tussle.
Aster, confused and anxious, looked upon her sister's display in anger.
Does she have any idea how this is going to make dad look?! she hissed in her thoughts, scowling. As if he doesn't already look bad enough!
However, Dahlia would not abate, and only under threat of being removed from the room did she acquiesce, folding over into an emotional wreck of quiet sobs.
Aster continued to glare at her, her anger growing.
She had always thought of Dahlia as an irritation, but the rift in their siblinghood seemed to have pulled back the curtain on the true extent of just what an awful person she found her to be. This sentiment was only increased by her currently extremely aggravated and upset state.
At last, having regained control of the situation, Aster's father spoke.
"What charges do you have against her?" he asked in a trembling voice.
Orlando shuffled his hands, happy to finally speak.
"The primary concern is that of her mental state. She is being attended to in an institution at the moment, but chances of rehabilitation seem unlikely. If she can not be brought back into the fold as a productive member of society, then the state has no choice but to intervene."
"She's hardly had a week of treatment!" he roared.
"I'm just following the doctor's recommendation, sir."
"Why would the doctor recommend it?! He knows her!"
"Please, I would appreciate it if you could keep your volume down. What example does that set for your children? All I know is that several recommendations have been made in favor of euthanization. I am only here to facilitate the arrangement of your hearing on the final decision. Do you agree to attend a hearing?”
Aster looked up at her father. His face was crimson.
“Yes,” he uttered gravely.
“Wonderful. Please bring with you all necessary documents and evidence attesting to the patient's contributions to society. Of course, you are also allowed to make use of the services of a lawyer— human or A.I.; the choice is yours. If you cannot afford one the state will provide you one at no cost.”
—
Aster watched as her father hobbled down the steps with a sunken, broken frame. The bright sun shone down on the glass skyline surrounding them, casting an isle of speckled shade sloping down the staircase which seemed to skewer his own shadow which was cast long across the steps.
Dahlia was still hysterically weeping, though her broken cries were low.
Aster's paranoia had long been annihilated by her surprise and subsequent inability to bring forth a reply, and was watching her father nervously. He had not spoken since they left the office.
"Marienne," he finally uttered, weakly.
Aster felt her heart jump at this, and brought her eyes to his back with great hesitance.
He turned to Aster.
"Marienne," he repeated with resolve.
Dahlia, listening, went wide-eyed.
“Marienne? Aster's therapist?!”
Her father turned around and continued down the steps.
"Are you saying Aster's therapist did this?!" she began once more to shriek, overtaking him. "Aster didn't only put her in there— she's the reason she's going to die?!" she shrieked, turning to Aster.
Her eyes, like two, rich lilac buds, held nothing more but hatred now. Aster was at once filled with an unbelievable fury within her belly, but could not bring the rage forth to torch her sister.
"She's not going to die!" shouted their father, turning to Dahlia.
“You listen to me, Dahlia— you are not going to speak to your sister that way, you hear me?!”
“And you too, Aster—” he continued, turning to her. “You will not hate Dahlia because of this.”
Aster, overwhelmed by her father's booming voice and on the cusp of a nervous breakdown, began to cry and raced on ahead to the taxi waiting on the street below.
“You two are all you have in this world!” she could hear him shout as she descended.