CENTER 82 (RATION)

by Christina J Thompson

“Let me do it,” Noah said quietly, watching the path of the needle on the screen. “You’ve been awake for almost thirty hours, doctor, your hands are shaking.”

  “I can do my job, dammit!” Andreas snarled, her eyes unblinking as she focused, but Amber’s body flinched slightly and the needle missed again. “Shit! Tighten the straps on her legs and give her another dose of the muscle relaxer!”

  “That’s too much,” Noah told her, giving her a concerned look. “Please, just let me―”

  “Goddammit, Noah! Do you want to go to recycling?”

  He grabbed the syringe, quickly injecting it into the line that had been placed in Amber’s vein and reaching for the straps. Andreas took a deep breath, ducking back beneath the sheet that had been draped over Amber’s lifted legs.

  “You’re going to break the needle off,” Noah muttered worriedly. “The plastic is brittle and this is the fourth time you’ve stabbed her, it’s too blunted by now. You need a new one―”

  “Got it,” Andreas interrupted, scowling at him as the needle clattered down onto the tray beside her. “That’s it, go ahead and wake her up. I’ll be back shortly.”

  “You’re going to see Smith, aren’t you?”

  “That’s none of your business, Mr. Meyers.”

  He sighed heavily, giving her a frustrated look, but she ignored him. She took her gloves off, tossing them in the trash and grabbing her file folder as she walked to the door of the lab.

  Andreas moved down the corridor, pushing people out of her way as she ran up the stairs. She rehearsed her words under her breath, pausing to steel her nerves when she reached level GW12.

  “Here goes,” she whispered to herself, stopping in front of the seventh door and reaching for the handle.

  The narrow reception room was bright with sunlight that streamed in through the panel of windows lining one wall, and Andreas squinted, timidly glancing around before stepping inside. The desk that sat in the corner was empty; Executive Smith’s secretary, Janelle, usually announced her, but the woman was nowhere to be seen. Dread filled Andreas’ heart. Smith hated it when people knocked on his door, but the thought of just walking in felt too awkward despite the fact that he was expecting her.

  After a long moment, she finally sat down on one of the faded, plastic chairs lined up on one side of the room, nervously fumbling with her stack of pages as she looked at the clock. She was already nearly twenty minutes late to the meeting.

  The door opened and Janelle walked in, a tray of food clutched in her hands. She froze.

  “Is he not here?” she asked, cocking her head in confusion as Andreas leaped to her feet.

  “I…I don’t know. I thought I should wait for you to get back, you know how he is.”

  Janelle sighed, rolling her eyes as she moved to set the tray on her desk. She pushed her glasses up on her freckled nose.

  “Yes, Monica, I do. And I’ve told you many times, you’re supposed to just go right in.”

  Andreas pursed her lips.

  “Will you please just let him know I’m here?”

  Janelle shook her head in annoyance, sending wisps of fine, auburn hair cascading down from the loose bun atop her head.

  “Come on.”

  Andreas followed her towards the door, ignoring the woman’s sarcastic, exaggerated flourish as she turned the handle.

  The office’s whitewashed walls were yellowed with age, and bits of plaster had fallen out of the scattering of cracks that had formed near the corners. Executive Smith was standing off to the side of the room, his hands folded behind his back as he studied the maps that covered the entire surface of one wall. He turned when he heard Andreas enter, frowning as he gave a purposeful glance towards the clock.

  “Late again,” he growled.

  He was a big man, intimidating to most people especially when he was angry. His dark eyes would turn nearly black, and he had a habit of flying into a rage when anyone crossed him. Andreas never used to care about finding herself on his bad side; she had once been practically impervious to his angry outbursts when she had sought extra resources for her research, but that had changed in the aftermath of Project Nine. Now, the look on his face when he saw her gave her pause, and she felt a familiar sense of fear well up in her heart as she cleared her throat.

  “I’m sorry, sir. My lab assistant has been showing some suspicion regarding my visits here, and I didn’t want to seem like I was in a hurry.”

  “It’s common practice for executives to use researchers as liaisons between the administration and the board,” Smith snapped, marching towards his desk. “That’s hardly an excuse.”

  “I…I think it has more to do with our history. Project Nine.”

  He scoffed impatiently as he moved to sit.

  “Do you have my report?”

  “Of course,” Andreas answered quickly, stepping closer to his desk. She pulled a page from the folder she was carrying and handed it to him as she sat down. He began to read, then he frowned as he raised a brow.

  “Why is there no mention of Settlement 109?” Smith asked, his voice tinged with dismay. “I thought I made it clear that we needed to make that a priority.”

  Andreas gulped.

  “I’ve been pushing it with the others, sir, but they don’t seem to agree that eradication would be a wise step to take right now.”

  He closed his eyes for a moment, then slowly set the page down on the desk and leaned back in his chair.

  “Perhaps I was unclear the last time we talked, Monica,” he began, biting his words off curtly as he spoke. “The settlement has served its purpose and we no longer need the extra mouths to feed, I don’t see what the problem is.”

  “Everyone agrees with the need for population reduction, sir, but the timing isn’t right. They plan to propose eradication in twelve months―”

  “The settlement found the salt, that’s what we’ve been waiting for! Every day that goes by is another day of them outliving their usefulness, another day of us expending resources to feed people who aren’t necessary!”

  “The only population reductive option we have at our disposal is the red flu,” Andreas explained. “The settlement will require a thirty-day quarantine post-eradication, which would prevent us from accessing the mine for the duration. Only administration and researchers are permitted access to the inoculation, sir, and unless you’re expecting me to propose that we send high-level staff members out to mine the salt, we need to amass quite a bit prior to initiating an eradication.”

  “It’s not going to take a whole year to store up enough salt to get through one month, Andreas.”

  “True, but there are other factors to consider as well, like the fact that the eradication will halt all of our current work. We’ll need to perform autopsies on each corpse to ensure that no virus mutation has occurred that could threaten the rest of us, so every member of the research and development staff will be prioritized to disease control. We’ll be in full quarantine for almost six months, and some of the researchers are in the middle of time-sensitive projects―”

  “THIS is a time-sensitive project, dammit! Forget the flu, we’ll just do it the old-fashioned way!”

  “We can’t do that,” Andreas told him. “The board won’t agree to anything that could be definitively tied to us. The potential repercussions from the population learning that we’ve slaughtered an entire settlement are too risky, that’s why the red flu was designed in the first place.”

  Smith scoffed.

  “The people are too drugged up to care, but even if they did, what the hell could they possibly do? We control the food and our doors are impenetrable, they have nothing without us!”

  She fought the urge to roll her eyes.

  “We rely on selecting individuals from the outside for our breeding programs, Executive Smith. What do you think will happen inside our walls when our program participants consist of people who know that we’ve murdered the settlement?
They can’t be given supplements and still be of use for breeding purposes, so how long before we face an internal revolt?”

  “That’s never going to happen,” he growled incredulously. “Supplements or not, they’re all too grateful to challenge us!”

  “That hasn’t stopped the sympathizers from pushing for the algae harvest,” Andreas pointed out. “And newcomers who are already upset would be much easier for the sympathizers to sway. As I said before, this is precisely why the red flu was designed. These risks were all assessed at the time the settlements were first established, and it was decided that a pathogen was the best way to maintain deniability without initiating a chain of events that would destroy our current system.”

  “You just get me this pathogen and I’ll do the rest. I don’t care what the board says, I want this done.”

  “I…I can’t,” she stammered. “It’s kept in secure storage at Base One, they don’t release it without a facility’s board putting in a request.”

  “Well, then I suppose we need to make something new.”

  “Sir, the board will never authorize experiments that dangerous―”

  “I want this done, Andreas!” Smith roared, startling her as he slammed his hand down on the desk. “Base One is already at my throat over the Project Nine shit-storm you helped cause, and I need my next report to show that I’m above production levels! That’s not going to happen unless the settlement is eliminated, and I’ll be dammed if I’m going to be replaced because I can’t convince my scientists to handle a simple problem!”

  Andreas clenched her teeth.

  “I’ll…I’ll try talking to the other researchers again, but you know as well as I do that the scientific community operates under its own guidelines. I believe they suspect that I’m pushing this on your behalf, but either way, they’ve made it clear that they won’t authorize use of the red flu at this time―”

  “Did you not hear me? Create something new.”

  “The board―”

  “I don’t give a damn about the board! I allow you to continue here based on the agreement that you give me what I want, and I want this dealt with! You need to tell your people to do whatever it is you do and eliminate this problem!”

  A flash of rage surged through her veins, and she could feel her fingernails digging into her palms.

  “The researchers here are not my people,” Andreas managed to say, her voice cracking as she tried to force an even tone. “I have no authority over them.”

  “You have influence,” Smith countered. “You’re the top researcher development scientist out of all the resource centers in this region, and I want you to make this happen!”

  “How?” she demanded incredulously. “I can’t work miracles! They have the final word in matters like this!”

  His eyes narrowed dangerously.

  “Watch your tone with me, Andreas. You owe me your life.”

  “I’m…I’m sorry,” she said quickly, shrinking in her seat. “I didn’t mean to sound disrespectful.”

  “You are here for one purpose: to circumvent the goddamn red tape I have to deal with,” he said, his voice lowering as he leaned forward. “I’m not dealing with the board anymore, I’m dealing with you. If they won’t agree with you, you’ll just have to do it alone. I’m confident that you’re more than capable of creating a simple disease.”

  She gulped.

  “It’s not about what I’m capable of, sir, I would still need help. Dr. Trent’s lab houses the infectious disease archive. He’s not going to grant me access even if I come up with a cover story, he’s mid-cycle in his newest ration strain.”

  “You’re smart,” Smith shrugged, waving dismissively. “I’m sure you’ll find a way. You can go.”

  Andreas closed her eyes for a moment as she tried to fight back the fearful frustration that rose up in her heart. This wasn’t how she had hoped to introduce her request, but she didn’t have much of a choice.

  “There’s something else you need to know about,” she began, eyeing him cautiously. “I think it’s a problem that could be more serious than anything else we’ve encountered.”

  His countenance darkened as he met her gaze.

  “What?”

  “I believe I’ve found a ration that is resistant to the supplements. I’ve been running tests―”

  “That sounds strangely familiar, Andreas,” Smith interrupted sternly. “I’d hate to think that you’re in here spouting the same nonsense that David was trying to sell, or did you learn nothing from Project Nine?”

  Andreas held her breath, forcing herself to calm down before continuing.

  “Sir, this has nothing to do with Dr. Sipp. I brought my preliminary findings to discuss with you, I think you should take a look.”

  He clenched his teeth; she could see the annoyance on his bearded face.

  “I’ve already covered everything we need to discuss, Monica. The settlement is all you need to be focused on.”

  “But sir, if you would just look at my data―”

  “I want the settlement taken care of, you can talk to me after you’ve found me a solution.”

  Andreas could see the resolve in his eyes, and it was evident that trying to convince him to listen now wasn’t going to work.

  “I’ll see what I can do.”

  He grunted in acknowledgment and waved her off.

  “Good girl, that’s what I want to hear.”

  Her face burned with anger as she put her head down and turned to leave. Six months ago, everyone within earshot would have heard her screaming at him for that comment, and shame rose up in her heart. She belonged to him, plain and simple, and there was nothing she could do about it.

  “Have a good day,” Janelle sang as Andreas quietly slipped out. Andreas didn’t answer, her stomach turning as she leaned back against the wall outside the office. She closed her eyes and sighed. The man was a fool, but if she wanted to continue her work on the ration, her only option was to do what he wanted. She whispered a curse and headed for the stairs.

  Smith was in charge of overseeing the general function of Center 82, but the board of scientists was in charge of everything else. It had been designed that way since the beginning of the ration program―the food and water crisis had driven humanity to the brink of extinction, and the scientific community had demanded full discretion over every aspect of the population’s health and survival to prevent future mismanagement. While the administration could make some recommendations based on statistics provided to them, the final decision for matters like these rested with the board.

  Each facility had its own separate board, all of which operated under the same strict guidelines subject to the oversight of Base One. The details of research projects were completely private with the exception of basic information, and the administration’s involvement was kept to a minimum. Despite this separation of power, the board members at other resource centers were generally willing to give fair consideration to recommendations presented by the administration, but Center 82’s board was particularly intolerant of Smith. He had made his resentment of his limited authority very well known, and he retaliated in the only way he could: access to the power net.

  The researchers were allotted a certain percentage of power per week, while the rest was allocated to the function of the facility. Smith couldn’t alter the base amount given to the scientists, but he could choose what happened with the percentage he controlled, which meant that any researcher who needed more time on the power net could put in a request for some of his. As a result, Smith had spent much of his five-year reign at Center 82 trying to use that time as leverage with the researchers to gain more influence and information. This tactic had eventually earned him a formal reprimand from Base One, and he was forced to change his strategy to something that was more difficult to prove. Unfortunately for Andreas, Project Nine had given him the perfect opportunity.

  Andreas had realized too late that Smith
’s uncharacteristic show of mercy towards her in the aftermath of Project Nine had been strategic, but she had quickly learned the truth. Within days of the board’s vote to resolve the project, Smith had summoned her to his office and ordered her to turn over copies of each researcher’s private work within their respective fields. Her attempt to refuse had been met with clear threats, and like now, she had had no choice but to comply.

  Three of her colleagues had been deemed unnecessary shortly thereafter; their research had been focused on studying the sustainability of harvesting algae for use outside the resource centers as an alternative to the ration program, and Smith had twisted their reports into evidence that they were ration sympathizers. These sympathizers―individuals who challenged the idea that the ration program was a permanent solution to the food crisis―were seen as a disruptive force, so Smith’s complaint had been taken very seriously.

  Base One had agreed with his accusation and acted swiftly, but not before the algae reports had been leaked outside the scientific community. Oddly enough, it was Smith’s zealous attempts to frame those three researchers that had caused more discussion about the algae harvest, which in turn had led to the sympathizers increasing their efforts to undermine the ration program. Base One had been quick to shift all blame onto him for the problem, and he was desperate to save his position—or rather, to use her to save his position.

  Andreas frowned as she turned onto the level four walkway. What Smith didn’t seem to realize was that her own standing with the other researchers had been destroyed by what he was asking her to do. They had identified her as the one responsible for turning over the reports that had resulted in the removal of the three scientists, and while there wasn’t enough proof to officially charge her before the board, they wanted almost nothing to do with her. Dr. Jason Trent, the facility’s lead ration development scientist, was no exception, and as she stopped in front of the placard that marked Lab Four, she swallowed hard. He was not going to be happy to see her.

  Andreas knocked quietly, holding her breath as she waited, but there was no answer.

  “Dr. Trent?” she called, pressing her ear to the door as she knocked again. The door flew open a moment later, startling her. It was one of Dr. Trent’s lab assistants.