The Death of the Wave Read Online Free PDF

and folding out the corners with hands damp with snow, begin to read:

SECOND LETTER
DESCARTES
----
    To the Artist:
    I see you received my letter.
    So tell me what you know of Author.
    That is the first thing everyone wants to know, isn’t it?
    Not of you, not of your accomplishments, but of the words
    that died there in the December snow to general applause.
    The world is a much darker and sinister place than you could have ever imagined, my poor fool.
    So now you know that the letter was originally meant for you.
    Good.
    Now is not the time for you to seek out and unravel the story of how I got to know your identity,
    or how I set this unusual series of plans in motion.
    Rather, remember the words that died alone in the dark and the snow.
    Did you know that Author was part aristo?
    At least half.
    They all were, really, the Breakers.
    Where do you think so many of them gained such a length of bone,
    a quickness of speed,
    a callousness of heart?
    But that is a lie, isn’t it?
    We aristos were not bred to be exempt from empathy, we didn’t need to be.
    All it took to butcher your people was not to think of them as people at all.
    And none of you cared to raise a hand against us, not only out of fear, but out of pity.
    You pitied us.
    And out of pity, you exulted in your ignorance and your humanity.
    Save for one.
    Forty years ago a Breaker broke and began to spread the truth to the people.
    Two decades later she was dead.
    Or was she?
    I have watched your career with great interest, and your life with greater interest in here.
    I know who you are, and what you have done.
    Author, The Martyr, she must be dead, but still the writings write on.
    After her fall, it was you, taking up the pen.
    But then you were sent here—
    So who was it after then, Blue?
    And who will it be now?
    —Descartes

PART TWO: GROWTH

    EDICT 5693: The Nation of Eden is lenient. If a man should prove to be treasonous, there will be a careful review. If convicted, that man will be imprisoned or else put to death.

BREAKER 256
----
    And the Lady Justice stands at the top of the Barracks,
    gazing down without expression on the parade grounds
    where the Watchmen once marched, and now Cleaners stand without moving.
    The Lady is the last that stands from before the Censor.
    She is Justice, but she is not our Justice.
    She is Justice grown hideous with human frailty.
    She watches the parade ground with blank medieval eyes over the atrocities
    with her sword outstretched, and scales,
    due to mechanical flaw or irony,
    tipped, and blindfold torn away.
    She looks on benignly over the workhouses and the Hives,
    the staccato of gunshots and the training of the Breakers,
    and smiles a manufactured smile over the Barracks.
    With her back to the people.
    With her back to the Camps.

BLUE
----
    And the Lady Justice stands at the top of the Barracks,
    gazing down without expression on the parade grounds
    where the Watchmen once marched, and now Cleaners stand without moving.
    The Lady is the last that stands from before the Censor.
    She is Justice, and she was once my Justice.
    She is Justice grown corrupted apart from morality.
    She watches the parade ground with blank medieval eyes over the atrocities
    with her sword outstretched, and scales,
    due to mechanical flaw or irony,
    tipped, and blindfold torn away.
    She looks on benignly over the dull pressure of beatings,
    the staccato of gunshots and the acrid smoke of the burnings,
    and smiles a manufactured smile over the Barracks.
    With her back to the people.
    With her back to the Camps.

BREAKER 256
----
    A careless wave of a hand and I was dismissed for the time being.
    It had been an uneventful week.
    There had been two deaths in Poet’s Camp
    and one dramatic execution of a violinist by one of the inner-camp gangs.
    Five more deaths in the large section of Writer’s Camp sectioned off for Prose,
    filthy water supply suspected.
    Normal, everyday stuff and Galileo had long lost interest.
    As I turned to leave,