Inside the Palisade

by Maguire, K. C.

  Omicron pats my good knee. “But the least we can do is get you home, my child. You’ve been through enough. For today.”

  Chapter 7

  Omicron stands in the hallway outside the open door to the birthing room, speaking in hushed tones into a communicator. She hasn’t answered any more of my questions but has reassured me several times that I’ll be safe until my mother returns. The Med-Tech, whose name is Pi, has located a pair of coveralls for me to wear. She helps me replace the Nest-issued robe with the new gear, deftly avoiding my injuries. As I push my feet into the slippers she found for me, I try to avoid thinking about how many other people have worn them. They look like they might have been pale blue once, but now they’re a dull gray. I’ve tried probing Pi for more information about what’s going on, but she either doesn’t know or won’t tell me.

  The heavy clack of a Protector’s boots sounds from the hallway.

  “Elder.” Outside the door, a new voice greets Omicron. Not Theta.

  “Thank you for coming,” Omicron says, as she ushers a smartly dressed young Protector into the room. The woman is much shorter than Commander Theta, not much taller than me. Almost too short to be a Protector. They’ve had to relax the standards as the population thins. The woman stands to attention beside the Elder, white blonde hair framing her face. Omicron looks weary as she bends over her cane.

  “Omega, this is Private Upsilon,” the Elder says. “She will escort you to your quarters.”

  Upsilon takes a step toward me and then freezes when she gets her first good look at my eyes. Omicron pats her arm and the Protector relaxes her posture before speaking.

  “Pleased to meet you, Daughter Wye.” She stretches out a hand and I step forward to take it. Her grip is firm but not intimidating.

  “Call me Omega.” Even though “Daughter Wye” is my formal title, I’ve always hated the sound of it.

  She turns her attention to Omicron. “I’ll take her out the side entrance. I have a vehicle stationed there.”

  “Omega, I am sorry for what you have been through. Please try not to worry about Commander Theta. I know it’s difficult for you to understand, but she means well. Sometimes her methods are unfortunate.”

  “Will she come back for me?”

  Omicron’s brow furrows. “Try not to worry, child. I will counsel the commander about her behavior, and we’ll take other precautions. You will be safe.”

  She nods toward Upsilon who offers her a small salute. “Come, Daughter Wye … Omega.” She beckons toward the open doorway and moves aside for me to pass.

  As I head for the door, Omicron says, “It was a pleasure to finally meet you, Omega. I’m sorry it could not have been under more pleasant circumstances.” She, too, steps aside as the Protector leads me forward. I turn to say goodbye, but the Elder and Med-Tech are now huddled in a low, urgent conversation.

  Private Upsilon directs me through a dimly lit hallway. I follow a few paces behind her, occasionally tripping over my feet in the unfamiliar slippers as I work the stiffness from my sore knee. The Protector doesn’t seem to mind my lagging pace. This passageway seems completely abandoned. It’s dusty and there’s no sign of life anywhere. We continue walking for what seems like a long time. Finally, Upsilon stops and waves her communicator over a keypad mounted on the wall. A panel beside it slides open to reveal a set of steps leading down to a patch of gravel overgrown with weeds. A small vehicle is parked there. Upsilon guides me out, closing the panel behind us. She flicks a button on her communicator and the headlights flash on either side of the vehicle as the doors swing open.

  “Ever been in one of these?” She runs a hand over the hood.

  “No.” I’ve never been in any kind of transport. I walk everywhere except when my mother lets me borrow her pushbike for the occasional run to the market.

  Upsilon ushers me to the passenger side door. Lowering myself into the seat, I watch her slip gracefully into the driver’s space opposite. There’s a large steering wheel and a control panel on her side. She reaches behind her and pulls a wide belt over her left shoulder, snapping it into place at her right thigh. She turns to me.

  “Seat belt,” she says. I realize I’m supposed to do the same. I crane my neck over my left shoulder, but don’t see anything. “Other side.” She points to the hook over my right shoulder. My cheeks flush as I grab for the belt.

  She swipes her communicator over the control panel, and the vehicle hums to life. We lurch backward, but my seatbelt catches me, causing an ache in my stomach. She turns the wheel and the car circles out of the lot and makes its way to the main causeway. It’s late afternoon. The route is empty other than some young mothers pushing infants in strollers. Watching them, it’s easy to see the attraction of motherhood as a Calling. They seem so happy and relaxed. One woman cradles a newborn in her arms as a second woman leans over and presses a kiss to her forehead.

  A family.

  A pang of loneliness stabs through me.

  “What time is it?” I ask Upsilon, who’s humming an unfamiliar tune.

  “First shift after lunch.”

  “What day?”

  “Since you’ve been in the Nest? Only overnight. It probably seems longer.” She shoots me a meaningful glance. Peering through the tinted windows, I realize how fast we’re moving. Faster than Mom’s pushbike, that’s for sure. We pass the sprawling grounds that separate the Nest from the Clinic, and move on to the wider transit path. The sun beats against my cheek through the tinted window. Untidy patches of flowers are dotted around solar lamps and community benches. We pass a few workers on pushbikes heading back from their shifts at the factories and farms. I can tell from their uniforms where they work.

  “You were probably expecting something faster,” Upsilon says. “These electric cars are nowhere near as powerful as the old gas guzzlers, but they get us from Alpha to Beta.”

  Gas-guzzlers? I remember the term from history class. The demen used them as part of their systematic degradation of the planet before the palisade was built to keep out the pollution. And the polluters. No way was I expecting a gas-guzzler. We drive on in silence. I think I dozed off because I’m startled by the sound of the Protector’s voice as the vehicle grinds to a stop by the side door of the housing block.

  “Home sweet home,” she says. Usually only bicycles are kept here. Even though the lot is empty now, there’s barely enough room for the vehicle. It’s weird to think it was only yesterday I walked out the front entrance of this cinderblock building for my shift at the factory. This structure is roughly the same size as the factory, but is divided into six floors rather than the two levels in the plant. The lower floors of the housing block comprise the smaller more basic living spaces while the upper floors house more lavish dwellings.

  Upsilon whisks her communicator over the panel to shut off the engine. We both get out of the vehicle at the same time and she motions me toward the side door, following close behind. She’s keeping watch.

  I raise my wrist to the panel, forgetting that my communicator is gone. Upsilon moves past me and opens the door with her own device. “Don’t worry. We’ll arrange for a new communicator as soon as we can.”

  I follow her down the corridor. She knows exactly where to go. When we arrive at my door, she presses the buzzer. When there’s no answer, Upsilon uses her emergency override code to get in.

  Inside the dwelling, she flicks on the lights. The space is empty. The tiny living-room-slash-kitchen seems a little smaller without Mom pottering around. The bright yellow paint she used to make the place more cheery when I was a child is now peeling. She was so proud when she first painted it. It had been my color choice. I was only about two hundred weeks old at the time. Probably we couldn’t easily get our hands on that much decorative paint anymore if we wanted to redo it.

  Upsilon indicates one of our shabby living rooms chairs. “Why don’t you sit for a while? I’ll get you some water.” She heads for the kitchen.

  “Are you st
aying?” I don’t know how I feel about having a Protector stationed in my quarters, even a relatively nice one.

  “No. I have a few things to take care of. Omicron asked me to get you settled and come back to check on you later. You’ll need to keep the door locked.” Upsilon rinses a mug and fills it with water before pressing it into my hand. “I’ll leave an emergency signal device with you.” She fumbles for something in her pocket and retrieves a small metal object that she passes to me. It’s no bigger than my thumbnail. The metal is cool to the touch. The device emits a faint pulse. “It’s a direct line to my communicator,” she explains. “If you need me, just wave it over the wall screen and it will buzz me.” She points to the data-port on our living room wall. “Will you be alright for now?”

  I muster the best smile I can. She turns to the door. Before exiting she says, “Don’t hesitate to use the signal if you need me. I’ll be back to check on you at”—she glances at her communicator—“eighteen hundred hours.”

  She offers me a small salute as she exits. The door locks behind her. I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding and drop the signal device into the pocket of my borrowed coveralls. I realize I want them off. Now. I want all reminders of what I’ve been through gone. I only hope I’m safe enough with Upsilon’s security measures in place. I head for the bathroom and make sure I lock the door behind me.

  Chapter 8

  I can’t stop shivering despite the steaming shower. I tell myself I’m safe now. I’m home. Everything’s going to be alright. Dull pain radiates from my abdomen as the water flows over my stomach. There’s a sizeable bruise, beginning to turn crimson around the edges, where the commander hit me. I’ve let my injured arm get wet so I shake it out, hoping it won’t need another dressing. The brace on my knee didn’t fare so well. I couldn’t keep it dry so I had to remove the bandage. It doesn’t look too bad. A little swollen but it’s bearing my weight better.

  The buzzer at the front door sounds. It can’t be Mom. She wouldn’t ring the bell, and it’s too early for Upsilon to have returned. I shut off the water and shiver as I grab for my pajamas. Whoever is outside is now holding the button down causing a continuous ringing that’s hurting my ears. I throw my robe over my pajamas and belt it at the waist before finger combing my wet hair, leaving untidy clumps hanging around my shoulders. Rattled by the noise, I head for the door where the buzzing is suddenly replaced by an urgent knocking. I dash to the intercom and press the button. “Who is it?”

  “It’s Gamma. Are you okay?” She sounds frantic. Of course. I was supposed to meet her for dinner yesterday. The panel shudders as she pummels the door from the outside. Without thinking it through, I open it. She stands on the threshold, arms braced against the doorjamb, breathing heavily. She’s still in her factory uniform. “I’ve been ringing and ringing. What’s going on?”

  “I was in the shower.” I indicate my damp hair, draped messily around my face.

  She pushes past me and strides inside. “How could you not call me? I thought something had happened when I didn’t hear from you last night and then you weren’t on shift this morning. And now I find you lounging around in your PJs.”

  I move forward, hands raised in surrender.

  That’s when she notices.

  My eyes.

  The frozen look of disbelief on her face is all I need to remind me that I forgot to look for my spare contacts before my shower.

  Her mouth drops open.

  “It’s only a birth defect. It’s no big deal,” I say.

  “They’ve always been this way?” she asks.

  “Yes.”

  “And you never thought to tell me? Your best friend? What else haven’t you told me? How about where you really were last night? You weren’t in the Clinic. I checked my mom’s datapad.”

  “It’s kind of a long story.”

  “That’s what they all say. I thought you were better than that. I thought we were friends.”

  “We are, but—”

  “Save it.” She turns on her heel and storms out.

  I trail after her, but I’m much slower in my bare feet, and I need to stop to fix the door so it doesn’t lock behind me. I have no way of opening it again without my communicator. And part of me thinks it’s safer to let Gamma stew in her own juices. I’ve seen her get like this before, but never with me. I know I can’t really leave her this way.

  The fire door slams at the end of the corridor. She’s obviously avoiding the less-than-reliable elevator. When I get to the bottom of the stairwell, she’s at least a flight above me. I can hear her stomping footsteps further up the stairs. She’s heading up to her quarters. I stumble over the hem of my robe and curse as I grab at the twisted metal banister to right myself. By the time I reach the sixth floor, there’s no sign of her. I head for her door and knock loudly, not caring that I’m on the important folks’ floor in a bathrobe without my contacts.

  When Gamma’s door opens, I find myself face to face with her mother, Ma Temple. Gamma’s mom is an anomaly because she has a dual Calling: motherhood and Med-Tech. It’s rare, but it happens. Of the two, motherhood is the higher vocation, attracting the honorific “Ma” title like my own mom. She examines me from head to toe, not flinching at my appearance, or my eyes. Rather, she steps aside and motions me in.

  “I suppose we’d better get that daughter of mine back here and sort this out,” she says.

  Ma Temple is so much more stylish than my own mother, with her scarlet tunic over fitted slacks. The combination works somehow despite her pale complexion. She leads me to the lounge suite that takes pride of place in the living area and gestures for me to sit.

  A door cracks open behind her to reveal Gamma hovering just inside the kitchen, scowling.

  Ma Temple addresses her. “Could you come in here please?” Gamma takes a reluctant step, glaring at me.

  “I suppose this”—Ma Temple indicates my eyes—“explains this.” Now she’s pointing at her daughter. I want to be angry with Gamma, but it’s true that I’ve kept this hidden from her our whole lives. It’s not every day you find out your best friend is concealing an inexplicable mutation.

  Gamma looks from her mother to me and back again.

  “You know about this?” Gamma says to her mom.

  Ma Temple doesn’t deny it. My back stiffens. She’s obviously been keeping some secrets of her own. She beckons us to the sofa. This time I allow myself to sit. The cushions are so plush, I sink into them despite my best efforts to sit up straight.

  “I suppose I owe you both an explanation,” Ma Temple says. “I only wish your mother were here, Omega. I told her something like this would happen. I’m surprised it didn’t happen sooner.”

  My fingers beat a tattoo on the armrest. Gamma’s jaw sets into a tight line. Ma Temple touches her arm gently. “Honey, why don’t you come with me to the kitchen? We can calm down and maybe fix some hot chocolate? Then we can sit and talk.”

  Hot chocolate. Ma Temple’s answer for everything. It usually works on Gamma. I want to push Ma Temple to start talking now, but that won’t be possible until Gamma gets her temper under control.

  “Omega, you’ll be alright here for a few moments on your own, won’t you?” Ma Temple clearly isn’t expecting a response.

  They’re in the kitchen for a long time. Their voices rise in pitch until the kettle whistles. Then the smell of hot chocolate wafts into the living room. It causes me to salivate, despite the charged atmosphere. I haven’t eaten anything since the factory yesterday.

  Glancing out the picture window, I notice a hummingbird flitting around the branch of an oak tree. Quite a contrast to the view from the window in our quarters, overlooking the dumpster. The arguing from the kitchen has stopped. Gamma and Ma Temple return. Ma Temple holds two steaming mugs while Gamma cradles the third to her chest. Ma Temple presses one of her mugs to Gamma who takes it automatically. “Honey, why don’t you give this to your friend?” She emphasizes the last word and Gamma g
roans.

  My heart sinks as I remember Gamma at the factory. Have I lost her as a friend? After a few moments, she places the extra mug on the coffee table in front of me and shuffles away with her own. She stops when she realizes her mother has taken the chair across from me, and the only place left for her to sit is on the sofa beside me.

  I pull my legs aside so Gamma can pass without having to touch me. She gets like this when she’s annoyed even though she’s never been this angry with me before. Maybe she’s scared of me now, of what my eyes might really mean.

  “Gamma, please,” I say. “I should’ve told you sooner, but it doesn’t change who I am.”

  She still won’t look at me, and seems to be making sure she’s sitting as far away as possible without leaving the sofa.

  “Please, Ma Temple.” I force myself to ignore Gamma. “Tell us.”

  Chapter 9

  Ma Temple blows the steam from her mug before taking a deep draft and licking the residue from her top lip. Gamma curls her knees to her chest and hunches into the far corner of the sofa. Her mug is clasped between her fingers, but she isn’t drinking. She’s staring straight ahead and ignoring me. My hot chocolate doesn’t seem so tantalizing anymore.

  “What has your mother told you so far?” Ma Temple asks me.

  “Nothing.”

  “She never told you anything about where you came from?”

  “She never talks about her Procedure if that’s what you mean.”

  Gamma’s honeysuckle fragrance mingles with the aroma of the hot chocolate, a heady combination.

  Ma Temple addresses her next words to Gamma. “Honey, do you remember what I told you about why you should never go outside the palisade? Back when you were young?”

  Gamma releases her knees from her chest before she answers. “You said the demen hordes are still out there, even though they’re supposed to have died out.”

  They’re definitely still out there. At least one of them.