Idiosyncratic

  Dr. Upton slammed the door closed behind us and worked tediously at the locks. It seemed to be a very complex system of pipework mixed with some sort of machinery. He spun a few knobs and pulled out an iron cylinder voltage gauge. The numbers on the gauge flashed, making Dr. Upton press them in some password order. A few seconds passed, and soon the innocent typeface faded. The device displayed a diagram of pipework—a perimeter detector perhaps?

  I heard the moan of a floorboard and jerked around. The girl with the broom froze, her eyes locked on mine. She had taken a few steps toward me as if to investigate me. Maybe I was the first defect she had ever met? I usually was for most.

  I was grateful the girl didn’t seem threatening. Her blonde hair was a mass of curls, and two symmetrical pin curls framed her face. She wore a tea-length, navy skirt and ivory blouse buttoned to her throat. Her presence was as quiet as her clothes, but the longer I held her stare the more uncomfortable she became. Her eyes grew wider and her body started to shake.

  I was paying so much attention to the girl, wondering who she was and why she was acting so strangely, that I didn’t notice the black bag Dr. Upton had lugged out from somewhere. He pulled something out of the bag that he quickly hid behind his back, then gave me that sly smile that made my skin crawl.

  He thrust me into a creaking chair, strapping a velcro cuff around my arm. A tube attached my arm to his fist, which was repeatedly squeezing a rubber ball. The cuff began to constrict, gripping my upper arm forcefully. It was so sudden that I didn’t start panicking until after he ripped the cuff away.

  “Healthy,” Dr. Upton mumbled.

  He got to his knees, hunching over his bag as he dug through it. The girl came up beside him, depositing a small table next to the chair I was sitting in. A glass jar of cotton balls and a metallic container of something rested on the table.

  “Oh’pol,” Dr. Upton addressed the girl, handing her a pocket watch.

  The girl, Oh’pol, gripped the watch in one hand and with the other pressed two fingers to the inside of my wrist.

  My eyes shot to Dr. Upton as he was in the middle of pulling out a brass box and removing a massive syringe from it.

  “One-sixty. She’s too panicked for a clear reading,” Oh’pol said.

  Dr. Upton pulled out a cotton ball and pressed it down on the metallic container, staining the cotton teal. When he rubbed it across my inner arm, I knew what he planned to do. I pushed his hand away, trying to get up.

  “Oh’pol, hold her down,” Dr. Upton barked.

  He nudged me back into the chair. I fell into it, and the old wood creaked with my weight.

  “I...U-u-uncle Ph’loyd...” Oh’pol trailed off. Tears welled in her eyes, slipping down her pale green cheeks. Her body started to tremble, and her fingers froze over my arm.

  I grabbed her hand as Dr. Upton, her uncle, plunged the syringe into my arm. There was something about holding on to another person that made me feel like I wasn’t going through this alone. Oh’pol fell to her knees, hyperventilating, but through her gasps for air she placed her hand on top of mine.

  After Dr. Upton obtained a syringe full of my blood, he closed it inside the brass box and fled. I was surely his next experiment.

  NO WORDS PASSED BETWEEN Oh’pol and me as I followed her down a labyrinth of hallways. This house was practically a museum for gadgets. There were diesel-powered tools, automaton parts, and an array of devices I didn’t know the names of, but they looked like something a bonkers scientist would use.

  A solitary photograph rested on a small table. It was in an ivory frame and seemed so very out of place. Three people were in it: Oh’pol clutching tight to a leather suitcase, Dr. Upton standing next to her with a mischievous smile, and a woman gripping her arm with a pleasant grin. She have must been Dr. Upton’s wife. The short strands of her inky hair poked out of her Federation fedora, her skin a bright emerald with matching scales encompassing her face from the nose up like a distinctive mask. I shifted my eyes away and kept pace with Oh’pol.

  She stopped at a door, holding her hands out, gesturing for me to go through. She peeked at me from under her blonde eyelashes, taking small, skittish glances.

  I gripped the brass knob, hesitating a few seconds before twisting it, waiting for some booby trap to spring at me or some trapdoor to open up under me, but none of that happened.

  When I lingered a little too long at the threshold, Oh’pol padded past me into the room. Gripping my sore, bandaged arm, I stepped inside. Oh’pol signaled to the bed and then pointed at me.

  “Is this my room?” I asked.

  She nodded inside of a curtsy, hiding her quivering fingers behind her back, then strode purposely over to an iron armoire, gesturing again that this was mine.

  “This is all I’m allowed to keep from the Orphanage,” I said, gripping my gray skirt. Our suitcases and all their contents stayed with the Orphanage. They reused the clothes, trashed any personal effects, and gave the suitcase to the next toss-away child. I slipped my fingers inside my pockets, feeling No’ll’s letter. A jolt shot down my spine when my fingers met the paper. I had forgotten about it.

  Oh’pol nodded. I didn’t understand what that could mean, but then she marched over to a small table in the corner. Resting on it was a silver dome and a folded piece of paper. Oh’pol pulled away the dome, revealing a steaming bowl of stew and slices of bread. It took everything in me not to pounce on it like a wild rat on a wolf.

  Oh’pol gave me another curtsy and left me alone. As soon as my door clicked closed, I rushed over to the food. I had a feeling I wouldn’t make it out of this place alive, or at least in one piece, so if this food was poisoned, it wouldn’t be a terrible way to go.

  With spices mingling among the broth, the stew was one of the finest I’d ever tasted. We didn’t necessarily starve, but our meals never filled my belly, and they were always made with whatever was left over or cheapest. The Locomotive Rail, in accord with the Federation Orphan Train Decree, was responsible for our meals, so it’s easy money to skimp on supplies.

  In between mouthfuls of maroon carrots and potatoes, I lifted the piece of paper slightly. The tips of neat cursive writing could be seen. The paper was just ordinary paper. I was used to tech-paper, a thin, flexible sheet of metal that was a device used to view minimal gigabytes of information. But on the ordinary paper, ink stretched and swooped in beautiful sentences.

  Dear Les’ette,

  I’m very pleased to make your acquaintance. My name is Oh’pol Upton, niece of Dr. Upton.

  If you need anything, please let me know and I will take care of it for you. I hope that you will see me as a friend, an ally, and hopefully, one day, a sister. I’m so happy to have you here with us.

  Warmest Welcome,

  Oh’pol

  This letter enlightened me on two vitally important bits of information. One, I was a planned purchase. Two, Oh’pol foresaw a future with me. But knowing both of those left me with a much bigger question: if they didn’t want me as an experiment, then what exactly did Dr. Upton purchase me for?

  |Nine|

  I WAS LYING IN A DIFFERENT bed under the roof of a different home, surrounded by night noises of a different kind. My life was held in the hands of a different person.

  Bone chilling squeals of metal against metal, snarls that morphed into growls, and occasionally murmurs of people, radiated from the vents below, shaking the floorboards. The cries almost sounded like they came from a person, but there was an animalistic quality that made me think otherwise.

  I traced the outline of No’ll’s letter with my finger over and over again. I didn’t know why, but for some ridiculous reason that brought me the minutest fraction of comfort. I didn’t dare read it, though. Why would I? No’ll was gone. I couldn’t have cared less about him, his bright eyes and teasing prods.

  I didn’t get to say goodbye to Hattie, and that was for the best. I think it would have hurt her more, seeing how not choked up I was.

 
; “Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!”

  “Argh!”

  “Grrrrrrrrr!”

  I pressed my palms to my ears, trying to smother out the sounds. But being forced to listen to the gruesome noises wasn’t pointless. It told me that Dr. Upton wasn’t normal. He placed a different value on life, one with a ratio I hadn’t figured out yet. Would I even want to?

  “Raaaaaaaaaaaaawr!”

  “Aghhhhhh!”

  I smashed my pillow over my head, rocking back and forth. A tear slipped out.

  Silly, silly girl, you miss them all.

  No, I don’t!

  I pushed the aching, the longing, the hoping away. Because I wanted for something I’d never had and wouldn’t know what to do with even if I got it. My very first memory told me everything I needed to know about the bedlam of the world.

  My father led me toward shiny chrome doors that twinkled in the dusk’s light. His massive hand encompassed my entire forearm. My mother’s heels clicked confidently behind us.

  I glanced up, seeing the edge of my father’s face. His lips were pressed into a smile. I glanced over my shoulder, noticing my mother’s was the same. I was overjoyed by the smiles on their faces, though I couldn’t recall any time before that. I just remember thinking this was the first time they’d smiled with me around.

  We walked into the building. It was loud with adults talking, rushing from desk to desk, people arguing back and forth, and shuffling of tech-paper. I couldn’t remember specific words or sentences; it was just noisy to me at the time.

  A woman wearing a pencil skirt and a bright smile led us into a room. It was massive compared to my five-year-old self. The light fixture on the ceiling swung back and forth, shadowing all the adults’ faces. Or maybe it was just my own mind unable to recall their descriptions, and the darkness grew because of it.

  I climbed onto a tall iron chair, having to use my arms to pull myself onto it. Sitting at the edge of my seat, I was just high enough to see the tabletop. My mother’s fingers rested on a piece of pristine white paper as she nodded at the woman who sat in front of us. The paper had the Federation emblem at the top.

  My mother’s red nail polish sparkled as she wrapped her fingers around a pen and signed her name. She then handed the pen to my father, who signed as well. The woman’s powder-green fingers collected the paper and replaced it with some device.

  A battery pack hummed next to the sleek steel handle of the gadget. My mother’s red fingernails glinted as she picked it up and pointed it at me. I perked up, seeing my mother’s smile widen. I wanted to feel her love, for her to know I returned it; this was the closest I'd ever come. I still didn’t even know what my parents looked like. I just remember her lips, thin but with a perfect dip in the center of the top one. I inherited her lips.

  “This is the best place for a defect like you,” my mother cooed.

  A ruby light sparked out of the device. My chest burned as the beam passed through me. Something started happening to my insides. My guts and organs felt like they had transformed into creatures, moving around. It was only a matter of seconds, but it felt so much longer.

  I stared down at my chest, but it wasn’t there anymore. There was a gaping hole, fractured pieces chipping off to dissolve into nothingness. I screamed as I fell backward in my chair, but before my back hit the ground I burst into a million pieces.

  Waking up is the wrong term, but that was the only way to describe it. I was suddenly on my stomach in a different room.

  I had no limbs.

  I screamed between gasps for air. My body shook and twitched as my arms reassembled themselves, and then my legs. The tremors didn’t stop until I was whole again.

  In the distance I heard the crying and hollering of children, the yelling and laughing of adults. My parents were gone. I knew that I was on my own. I knew from then on I was alone.

  I didn’t realize then that the pen my parents had used was being wielded as a weapon against me, signing me over to the Federation Orphanage. The device was a transportation ray gun preset to their headquarters, the Prison for Lost Children.

  The world wasn’t fair; too much of it bled with corruption to be fair. I knew I would never get what I secretly wanted, so I had to let that hope die. Now what I wanted was not to want or hope for anything. I wanted to feel what everyone else felt when I was around...nothing.

  |Ten|

  “THEY AREN’T AS BAD as the gossip alludes. Emerald Pride is nothing more than propaganda giving Astronauts a bum rap,” one of the men grunted to the group as he gulped his morning coffee.

  I walked the perimeter of the restaurant, keeping silent, listening. I’d had much practice over the last three months, fine-tuning my stealth with each courier mission. Since I seemed to be Dr. Upton’s official errand girl, I assumed that was why he'd purchased me, because I was invisible. I had yet to get a straight answer from him, though I was fairly certain about my theory.

  “We caught one last ride through the toxics,” the same man recounted.

  I slowed my steps. The man with the bright jade scales, matching skin, and neatly cropped black hair had just said one of the “alert words”. That was what Dr. Upton called them. When someone spoke about Astronauts, I was to become an ear hustler.

  The hiss of the trains pulling into the Nickleby Station echoed through the restaurant. The smell of exhaust mingled with sugar and butter, clinging to all the patrons’ clothes. This had become one of my favorite smells.

  The three men were probably commuters, but their brown slacks, white button-ups, and gray pea coats didn’t hint at where they were going. They wore ritzy, crocodile leather shoes, so whatever they did, they did it well.

  “Hello, little Mirage,” Kill’ee’in whispered from behind the counter.

  As Kill’ee’in leaned forward, one of his scales fell off his cheek. His was a mess of patchy scales and olive-green skin, a true testament to his old age. I tugged on the tip of my newsboy cap, hiding my peachy face. I kept my steps light, trying not to let the soles of my boots echo on the wood. I pressed my index finger to my lips, nudging my head toward the gang of men. Kill’ee’in tapped his nose, a sign of acknowledgement, and set out a croissant and a mug of cocoa for me.

  I pulled a half-tribute out of the pocket of my black slacks and slid the dingy brass coin toward him. I swiped the two items, taking a seat at the counter close to the group. Eyes forward as if I were in my own world waiting for my train, I kept the men in my peripheral vision, risking occasional glances.

  “So, what happened, Sea’bastin?” a younger man asked the recounting one. As I took another glance, I realized he was closer to being a boy, maybe an apprentice. His hair was short with copper curls.

  “Come on, flap your lips like you always do,” barked an older man with nothing but emerald scales on his head.

  Sea’bastin was quiet as he sipped his coffee. His hooded eyes narrowed pensively, but a mischievous smile played at the corner of his lips. “We trapped it in one of the carriages, but when it broke the window open, we pinned it down.”

  “Holy mackerel!” the boy said.

  “Did you...you know...take off its helmet?” the older man asked.

  The two men leaned closer to Sea’bastin, who clearly loved the attention. He scratched the scales on his chin, shooting them a sly grin.

  “Doesn’t everyone want to know what they look like? And isn’t that what we want, to get to the truth of the matter?” he said with a shrug.

  He dangled that piece of information like I dangled meat in front of Vlady’mir, which never ended well for me. I eyed the scratches that ran across my fingers as I gripped my croissant. I will never try to feed that monster again. Daft, sadistic bunny.

  “You’re talking like a spook,” the old man said.

  “I’m no spy, Call’ighan, but gathering information isn’t like pennies from heaven,” Sea’bastin scoffed.

  “So what did it look like?” the boy asked, bringing them back around. He moved to the
edge of his seat. His over-eagerness left him one step away from frustration, which was just a step away from anger.

  “It wasn’t what I was expecting. It was like nothing.”

  “Dagnabbit, we want the dope,” Call’ighan clipped, throwing his fist down. Their ceramic mugs clanged together. Sea’bastin held his hand out, closing his eyes to hear if anyone was thinking about them.

  I am, but he won’t know that. I smiled to myself.

  “No, really,” Sea’bastin said, lowering his voice to almost a whisper. His expression was gravely serious.

  “What do you mean?” the boy asked, clearly irritated.

  “Call’ighan, Gid’ion, it was like they were made of some sort of stone. That’s what was under the helmet. They were like some kind of rock beast.”

  “You know there are hunting parties,” the boy, Gid’ion, said, seeming too zealous about the notion.

  I’d always thought we were victims of the Astronauts, but now I wasn’t so sure who was the hunter and who was the prey anymore.

  “They don’t need an ace like you, Gid’ion,” Sea’bastin said, punching the boy playfully on his shoulder.

  “I hear the Federation pays a small fortune for an Astronaut,” Gid’ion said.

  The Federation. That was another “alert word”. But unlike the word Astronaut, the Federation meant I had to leave.

  “I’m not interested in a lousy fistful of tributes,” Sea’bastin retorted. “I’m interested in something much more valuable.”

  “Something publishable,” Gid’ion suggested.

  “Something libelous,” Call’ighan laughed.

  “It’s not libel if it’s true,” Sea’bastin said.

  “Truth. Ha.” Call’ighan chuckled.

  “The creature started to convulse or something right before a Watchman came to arrest him,” Sea’bastin continued. “We put the helmet back on, but nothing. I don’t think it can survive outside of its suit. The Astronaut wasn’t moving when we were forced to leave. I’ve heard things.”