Code of the Council

Digging Up Memories

My father was an archeologist. He was in charge of making sure nothing from the Lost Times stayed, and the precious artifacts were either shipped off to other cities or burned. It's a horrible job, but a powerful position, almost as important as a doctor.

My father foresaw the deportation, and made once last act of resistance. He saved some of the old books and hid them in our cellar, amidst jars of rotten pickles. Sometimes I go down there, with a filter-mask, of course, and read. It's written in a strange language, but with familiar letters. The result is gibberish i can't understand. But I find it fascinating anyway. In the parts I can recognize the words, it tells of times when the Council wasn't as harsh. It's really hard to believe that the Council was once a cheery bunch with all smiles.

We never see the members of the Council. My mother told me, and I've read in several books, that the Council members used to often come to houses just to make sure everything was okay and we were happy. If anyone had a complaint, the headquarters were always open, and anyone can come in after a brief check for any weapons. That of course, was unnecessary, because everyone was  happy and loved the Council. Now however, the Council only comes to your house when you have a citation. And even then, its not the Council members themselves, but a mailbot with a strip of paper with a cryptic message on it. To listen to it, you have to insert it into your Visionscreen and put on special headphones.