Time Next

by Carolyn Cohagan

  Bithia nods, sympathy on her face.

  As we leave the house, I look up and see Silas watching us from the upstairs window. I give him a look that I hope he can understand: you can’t avoid me forever.

  Twelve

  Bithia leads me to a car sitting at the end of the block. I’ve never known anyone who owned a car. This one is shiny red and looks like a tiny cab sitting up on its rear tires. It only seats two people, and I’m not entirely sure how it keeps its balance.

  Bithia takes keys from her purse and tells me to get in. “I hope you don’t mind that I have to drive. We don’t believe in AI here.”

  Tabby has used this word before. “What’s ‘AI?’” I ask, opening the door. The seats are much higher than I’m used to, forcing me to climb inside clumsily.

  “Artificial Intelligence,” she says, starting the car and backing up. I’m mesmerized, never having seen a woman drive before. “The spirit can’t work through technology.”

  Turning the wheel, she directs the car forward and into the street with surprising speed. She says, “You can program a robot to believe in whatever religion you want, but you can’t give it a soul. Faith without the hand of God is blasphemy.”

  I’m confused. “So . . . um . . . your car used to hold religious beliefs?”

  “Imagine if your Bee started to say it loved you. Wouldn’t that be strange?” she asks.

  “Yes. Very.” I try not to laugh.

  “Exactly. Because it’s a piece of metal. We don’t believe in technology or machines having emotions or trying to manipulate us. It’s just common sense. God is the only One who has the right to create life. Not man. Out west they don’t have the proper respect for God, and let me tell you . . . ”

  I wait for her to tell me, but she doesn’t finish the sentence.

  I’m glad she stops talking, wanting her to concentrate on steering. She behaves as if operating a car is as easy as fixing tea.

  We arrive at a street with tall office buildings, like the ones in midtown that house government agencies. We stop at a round one that looks like half a tomato.

  “You go on inside. I’ll be back in an hour,” Bithia says. I get out, trying not to fall, and as I’m about to shut the door, she adds, “Behave in there. We don’t need any more trouble.”

  My Bee arrives just as she zooms off. The tomato building isn’t very welcoming, but if Rose is here, I have to go inside.

  The front door is open, and I’m surprised to find an empty room––no people, no chairs, nothing—just a silvery green room with a round ceiling. The front door shuts behind me.

  A female voice from above says, “Please prepare for your exam.”

  “What exam?” I say, turning my head to find the person speaking.

  “Stay still,” the woman says.

  Her voice is so authoritative that I freeze. But when red lasers start shooting from every direction, I duck.

  The lasers disappear. “Please stay still, Miss Clark. This will only take forty three seconds.” She sounds irritated.

  I remind myself that if the Unbound wanted to kill me they’ve had plenty of opportunities. I stand straight, trying to be still.

  The lasers return, flicking over my toes, climbing my ankles, and creeping up my thighs. As they ascend my abdomen and chest, my stomach flutters thinking of a Senscan. Surely this technology is more advanced than ours. What can this red light see? What if it can read my mind?

  After the laser has progressed over my neck, face and skull, the lights disappear.

  “Proceed to the waiting room,” the voice says. A door opens to my right, exposing a small room with several metal chairs. I take a seat.

  An athletic woman in gray cargo pants and a gray top enters the room after a few minutes. Although her hair is clipped back in a girlish ponytail, she looks very serious and professional. She wears red glasses that are wider than her angular face. “You are infection free,” she says and I realize she was the women talking to me through the speaker. “You had to be cleared before we could let you in.”

  She sits in the chair next to me. “Your blood pressure, CBC, and immune responses are perfect; I’m pleased with your overall lack of sun damage. The cloak and veil really protected your skin.” She leans toward me. “But they aren’t allowed here, and I can see that you’re already experiencing dilation of the cutaneous blood vessels and recruitment of inflammatory cells.”

  “Huh?”

  “Sunburn. You’re wearing sunstop every day, right?”

  I’m not sure what sunstop is.

  “Step three, in the shower,” she says. “Never skip it.”

  “I’ve been wiping it off,” I say sheepishly.

  She frowns.

  “Sorry,” I say, as if I’ve wronged her personally.

  She stands. “Follow me.” We walk down a long corridor, her soft shoes making a squishing sound on the slick floor.

  Stopping at a sealed door, she puts on a mask and hands me one as well. I become very anxious when she tells me to coat my hands in a thick liquid that will “protect me like a pair of gloves.”

  She presses a big button to open the door.

  Unlike Rose’s bedroom at Horton’s, this room is very bright. The surfaces are silver and shiny, the air cold and sterile. The smell of rubbing alcohol makes me lightheaded.

  Rose lays in a bed in the center of everything. Her eyes are closed. Her face is pale and her forehead is drenched in sweat, her breathing fast and labored.

  Anyone can see that Rose is very ill.

  A thin man hovers behind her looking bored, checking computers. He also wears a mask and gray clothes.

  “She just fell asleep,” the woman with the glasses tells me.

  “I’d like to talk to the doctor,” I say, indicating the man.

  “I’m the doctor,” the woman says.

  “Oh.” First Bithia drives the car and now this.

  “I’m Dr. Laban, but you can call me Dr. Rachel.”

  “Okay,” I say. I want to ask her how she became a doctor, but I’m too worried about Rose.

  “She’s stable,” says Dr. Rachel, gently taking Rose’s hand. “But her refusal to eat is making her condition much worse.”

  Her condition? “I thought she was sick because she was starving herself,” I say, panicking.

  “Her host thought so, too, but she’s having spasms, which isn’t consistent with the symptoms of starvation.” She touches Rose’s temple. “We found toxins in her blood.”

  I feel faint. “She told me she was being poisoned. She told me Horton was trying to kill her, and I didn’t listen!” I want to kill him for hurting Rose.

  “Horton?” Dr. Rachel says. “He’s a bit crabby, but he wouldn’t hurt a fly. He was very upset when he brought Rose in.”

  “No! Rose was sure, and I didn’t believe her. I should’ve listened to her!”

  “It wasn’t Horton. It’s impossible,” Dr. Rachel says.

  “Everyone hates us here!” I say, with increasing dismay. “He’s a Purist like Mr. Tanner, and he wants Rose dead! When I met him he––”

  “He’s from Manhattan,” she says, cutting me off.

  I stop speaking, dumbfounded.

  “I’m not supposed to tell you. You have to be level Yellow before any former Propheteers can reveal themselves to you. But I guarantee Horton Groodly was not harming Rose. The man takes in more refugees than anyone I know.”

  “How many are there? Where are the others?” I ask, hope swelling in my chest.

  “I can’t tell you. I shouldn’t have told you about Horton.”

  I hope my dirty look lets her know how tired I am of secrets.

  With sympathy, she says, “I asked for you today, Mina, because I need to talk to you about the tests I ran on Rose. The results are . . . odd. They showed traces of mercury in her blood.”

  Dizziness forces me to sit down on the cold floor.

  “Mark, get her some water,” Dr. Rachel tells the man in the room. H
e hurries out.

  “You seem to know what that means.” She crouches down next to me. “Is mercury poisoning common on the island?” she asks.

  Covering my mouth with my hands, I nod.

  Mark returns with a glass of water and hands it to me. Dr. Rachel says, “Please give us a few minutes,” and he leaves again.

  “People stopped using mercury over a century ago,” she says.

  I take a sip of water and then hold up the cold glass, admiring the clarity of the liquid. These people can’t understand the preciousness of what they possess. My father spent his entire life working toward one glass of water this pure and delicious.

  Putting down the glass, I say, “It’s in the drinking water.” Dr. Rachel’s eyes gape. How much should I say? “It’s only been going to the Convenes. Uncle Ruho put it there.”

  “But . . . why?”

  I only know what Rayna and Ayan told me. “Uncle Ruho thinks we’re running out of resources. He wants to make the population smaller. He wants to destroy the Convenes and save the Deservers.” Does Dr. Rachel even know the difference?

  Dr. Rachel has gone pale. After a moment she says, “Ram is negotiating a treaty with Ruho. They’ve been working on it for years, and Ruho is the one who’s holding out. Why would Ruho hurt your people rather than sign an accord to get supplies and food?”

  I have no answer for her.

  “How many people are ill?” she asks.

  “Hundreds. Maybe more. People call it ‘the plague.’”

  “Horrifying,” she whispers. “I don’t understand why any leader would harm his own citizens.”

  “What about Rose?” I say, looking up at the bed.

  “It depends on how long she was exposed. Right now she’s very ill because she hasn’t been eating or drinking. It’s hard for me to separate her symptoms. Once she’s had food, I’ll be able to see how bad the mercury exposure was. I won’t lie. Even if it doesn’t kill her, it could make her ill for a long time.”

  “What can I do?” I want to pray, but to whom? A prayer to the Prophet is a betrayal of the Unbound. Is there a specific way to pray to the Savior? I’ve never felt so isolated from God.

  “You can help me persuade her to eat. I can force nutrients into her body, but eventually she needs to eat solid food.”

  “Does Juda know?” I ask.

  She looks confused.

  “Her son. Does her son know that she’s ill?”

  “I . . . I don’t know. I’m sorry,” she says.

  “Why is everyone here so cruel?” I ask, unable to look at her anymore. “He needs to know. He needs to see her. Wouldn’t you want to see your mom if she were sick?”

  “What you’re asking is not my area. I’m sorry. Ram is in charge of refugee relations. I don’t have the authority to ask where Rose’s son is.”

  “But you’re a doctor,” I say. “Who could have more authority than you?”

  “You have a lot to learn about the Unbound,” she says, looking sorry for me. “I see you got your whites. That’s the way to gain authority. The best thing you can do for Rose, her son, and yourself is to go to the Worship Hub as often as possible, to obey Ram, and to ascend to Green as soon as possible.”

  I can’t think of anything I care less about right now than “ascending to Green.”

  “And try to find her son,” she adds.

  As if this isn’t the one thing I’ve been trying to do since I arrived.

  Thirteen

  By the time I get back to the Dixons, my head is so full of Rose, Juda, and Dr. Rachel that I’ve forgotten about Silas. But when Bithia and I walk inside and find him sitting on the couch, his treachery comes rushing back.

  Blinking slowly, turning off his Tact, he turns to look at us. “Hi, Mina. How was your afternoon?” he says, innocent as a lamb.

  With his mother standing beside me, all I can say is, “Busy. Yours?”

  He smiles. “Pretty good. Thanks for asking.”

  Bithia squints at him suspiciously. “Did you finish your tasks for Tabby? You came home very early, young man.”

  “We finished the flowers, didn’t we, Mina?” He looks at me, eyebrows raised.

  I give him a mean look. Why does he keep dragging me into his lies? What happens if I say it isn’t true?

  Seeing my expression, Bithia says, “What’s going on with you two?” She smiles. “Lovers’ quarrel?”

  I’m dumbstruck.

  Silas brushes his hair out of his face. “Something like that.”

  Hands on her hips, Bithia says, “The best remedy for that is conversation and prayer. How about you two take a walk?”

  “I would love to,” I say.

  Silas’ mouth falls open, as he tries to think of a way out of the walk. He knows I have questions for him, and, once we’re alone, he’ll have to answer them.

  “I thought you wanted me to check with Tabby? Make sure she didn’t need any more help?” he says, a little too eagerly.

  Bithia chuckles. “This must be a real doozy of a fight if you’re volunteering to help Tabby. No. You go on down to the pond with Mina and sort things out. Your sister will be fine.”

  Silas grimaces as I smile smugly.

  Unsurprisingly, Silas doesn’t speak after we get outside. He also doesn’t walk in the direction of the park. Instead he heads east, striding quickly.

  “Silas, slow down,” I say. When he doesn’t, I add, “You have to talk to me eventually. I live in your house!”

  He mumbles something.

  “What?” I ask.

  He spins around, a vein throbbing in his forehead. “I said, ‘Shut up!’”

  I take a step back, stunned. Why is he being so hateful?

  He starts walking again.

  “STOP!” I yell.

  He freezes, probably startled by my volume. I run forward, blocking his path. “I know you lied. About everything.”

  His jaw tightens.

  “I—I’m so confused,” I say. “Do you just enjoy messing with me? Getting me into trouble?”

  He stays silent, but he doesn’t look away. He stares deep into my eyes. Then, he says very loudly, “I’ve never lied to you. You’re being a silly little woolie, and you’re confused.” He continues to look at me intensely, then he widens his eyes and briefly rolls them upward.

  Glancing up, I see my Bee. He raises an eyebrow.

  He doesn’t want to talk in front of the Bee. Oh.

  I give him a small nod of understanding.

  He gives me a tiny nod back.

  We continue to stroll. He says, loud enough for the Bee, “Why do you care what the other girls think? I like you; you like me.”

  He glances at me, and I can see he wants me to respond, but I can’t imagine what I’m supposed to say. I don’t understand the game he’s playing.

  “But . . . I want them to, uh, be my friends,” I say, hoping this is good enough.

  “They’re just jealous of you,” Silas says.

  The whole charade reminds me of walking with Juda through the Theater District, pretending to be his wife. I was uncomfortable acting as if I were something I was not, but I knew what the rules were. Here, I feel like people are constantly telling me how free I am, while putting me in a smaller and smaller cage. I hate being so ignorant.

  The Leisure Center comes into view. I assume this is where Silas was headed all along.

  Spotting the large crowd in the atrium, I feel exhausted. The day has been long and stressful. I want to go back to Rose. Whatever is going on with Silas feels draining. I don’t want to go inside the Leisure Center and keep playing this game.

  We enter and, like last time, my Bee follows. We pass through the throng of people standing, gossiping. As usual, many of them stare.

  Silas takes me to the entrance of the food hall. When we step on the escalator, my Bee stays in the main hall like last time. Silas smiles at me.

  “What’s going—?” I ask, but he raises a finger to his mouth.

 
When we reach the food hall, the noise is deafening. He whispers in my ear, “Now we can talk. Let’s get some food so we look casual.”

  He puts his hand on my back, steering me toward a glass stall that sells what seems like entire loaves of bread stuffed with melted cheese. He orders two, and while we wait, he leans in and says, “Sorry about all that. It’s important no one hear us.”

  Still annoyed, I ask, “Why?”

  As if it’s obvious, he says, “Because I don’t like being called a liar in public?”

  “Then why do you keep lying?” I say, trying to control my temper. “Why did you say Juda was with the Delfords?” I’d also like to accuse him of falling on purpose when he broke his wrist, but I can’t prove it.

  “I never said Juda was at the Delfords. I said ‘two boys’ were there.”

  “Dekker is there, and you knew there could only be one boy in the house!” I say, voice intensifying.

  Women at a nearby table look at us.

  “Shhhh,” he says. The boy behind the counter hands Silas our bread puffs. Silas waves his hand over the counter, just like Tabby did. After the counter flashes pink, he leads me to a table in the noisiest part of the food hall.

  In a whisper, he says, “Would you still be angry if the one boy had been Juda?”

  “Well . . . I . . . Of course!” I wonder if it’s true. If I’d seen Juda that night in the window, would I have started worrying about where Dekker was? Surely I would’ve eventually. “That doesn’t matter. Why did you want to sneak out with me at all?”

  He rubs the back of his neck. “I can’t tell you.”

  I throw my hands in the air. “Then why are we here?”

  “Because I feel bad.”

  “Not bad enough to tell me the truth.”

  “It’s complicated.”

  “I bet.”

  “Mina, please,” he says, and for the first time, his voice is gentle. “You said this morning that you liked me, and I think you meant it.”

  “I don’t like people who use me.”

  “Me neither.”

  “So tell me why you did it.”

  “I . . . can’t.”

  I lean in very close. “Then tell me where Juda is.”