Another shaded figure emerges at the edge of the trees.
“Sigma?” A familiar voice calls for my mother, sending a chill through my veins. Ma Temple. I can make out her white scrubs against the darkness. She’s holding something by her side. A Med-Kit? She killed Ghent and now she’s come for me and my mother. I shoot to my feet and launch myself at her, but something pulls me aside. My mother has me by the arm.
“Omega, it’s alright,” Mom says.
“Mom! Weren’t you listening to me? She killed Ghent. She’s working with them. It’s not safe.”
She grips my shoulders and turns me to face her. “Yes, it is honey. She’s with me. With us. We have a plan.”
Ma Temple hasn’t moved from her position at the edge of the clearing. Finally she speaks. “Omega, I’m not your enemy. Please believe that.” She takes a single step forward. I flinch.
“What’s the Med-Kit for?” I ask. “More lethal injections?”
My mother’s grip tightens around me. “She’s here to help, honey. I asked if she’d mind patching up your bruises before we get moving.” She glances at Ma Temple and a strange look passes between them. “Would it be alright if she takes a look?” My mother maneuvers me back to the log, and I let her press me down to a sitting position. I’m exhausted and confused. My mother nods at Ma Temple who approaches cautiously, keeping her hands by her sides as she kneels in front of me. She deposits the Med-Kit on the ground and flicks a small flashlight on, leaning it against the log, angled so she can see me better.
“I’ll keep watch,” Mom says, squeezing my shoulder before taking a few paces away. Ma Temple fumbles with the clasp on the Med-Kit. I soon realize it’s because her hands are shaking. She finally manages to open it and retrieves a syringe and a vial of clear fluid. She holds it up to show me.
“It’s only an anesthetic with a mild sedative. I can work without it, but it will make you more comfortable.” She doesn’t move any closer, waiting for my response.
“It’s okay, honey,” Mom says, as she takes a few paces around the clearing checking our surroundings. “Let Ma Temple help you, and then we’ll get going.”
“Going where?”
“To see an old friend,” Mom says. She smiles at me.
When I nod to Ma Temple, she lets out a breath and unseals an alcohol swab. She moves slowly, looking up into my face periodically to check that I’m comfortable. She begins to cleanse my skin before inserting the needle. I hardly feel it, and soon a warm sensation floods through me, making me feel light all over.
“Better?” she asks as she leans in close, expertly examining each of my hands before turning her attention to the sutures in my arm. Some of them appear to have torn during my tussle with the commander. Ma Temple selects the equipment she needs from the Med-Kit and sets to work removing the damaged stitches and replacing them with her own, glancing at my mother every now and again. For her part, Mom seems to be doing a pretty professional job of patrolling the clearing. Like she’s done this before. I can feel the tug of Ma Temple’s needle against my skin and try to focus anywhere but on my arm. My thoughts are beginning to drift. It must be the affects of the anesthetic. I’m still not a hundred percent sure about Ma Temple, but I trust my Mom, and she said to let Ma Temple work on me.
Of course, Ma Temple’s hair is perfectly French-braided around the crown of her head. I notice this as she bends over the Med-Kit. She unwraps some more alcohol swabs, a lot more, and rubs them carefully over each of my fingers and around each wrist. “I don’t think anything is broken.” I wince at her touch. “Perhaps a hairline fracture here. It will mend on its own easily enough.”
She sifts through the sticking plasters in the kit and picks out some that are the right size for my worst cuts. When she’s done, she starts to pack up, organizing each item carefully in the small case.
She extinguishes the light and makes that clucking sound in the back of her throat. Mom turns around.
“All done?” she says. “How are you feeling, sweetheart?”
The injection has taken away most of the physical pain. Now I feel heavy and tired. The scent of the woods reminds me of Ghent, but I’m too tired to even think about him. Something heavy and warm drapes around me and I realize Mom has slipped her cloak over my shoulders again.
“Honey?” She eyes me with concern.
“I’m okay.” My voice sounds like it’s coming from far away.
“What did you give her?” my mother asks Ma Temple, her voice laced with anxiety. “We need to explain everything and she can barely stand up.”
“It was only a mild sedative, Sigma. She’s dead on her feet. She needs rest.”
“I wish we had time for that. Can we get her to the transport like this?” My mother props me against her shoulder and tries to lift me. I stagger to her side.
“Wait.” A nasty thought pierces the haze of my brain. “We can’t go back to our quarters. Theta has a guard posted there.”
“Don’t worry, honey. That’s not where we’re going.” My mother’s breath puffs warm against my cheek. She’s speaking to Ma Temple now. “Help me get her to the path.”
I feel a jolt on my other side as Ma Temple and Mom brace me between them.
“Where are we going?” I ask.
“It’s not much farther.” My mother’s words are the last thing I hear before my muscles give out and darkness claims me.
Chapter 20
A bump startles me awake, knocking my teeth together. I’m curled up in a snug space pressed against someone’s side. Something warm and soft has been draped over my legs. The person beside me is massaging my arms in gentle comforting strokes. Everything’s so warm and soft. I must be dreaming. The jostling increases. I force my eyes open to relative darkness. The first thing I see is my mother’s concerned expression. I’m curled against her side in the back of an electric vehicle.
“Are you okay?” Her arm is around my shoulders. I can make out the back of Ma Temple’s French braid in the front passenger seat.
“Everything good back there?” The driver’s voice is familiar too. Private Upsilon.
I press my knuckles against my temple. “What’s going on?”
“We’ll explain when we get there.” My mother rubs my arm again.
In contrast to Ma Temple’s rigid posture, Upsilon’s shoulders are relaxed. I try to figure out where we are, but it’s difficult to see much from the back, particularly at night. The lights of the housing block flicker dimly to our right, but we’re heading away from them.
“Kill the lights,” Ma Temple says, leaning toward Upsilon.
Upsilon presses a button in the front panel to extinguish the headlights. My mother leans back and reties her ponytail at the nape of her neck, gathering the stray strands together in the process. The vehicle slows as we drive on in near-darkness. We approach a dimly lit single-story building made of pale cream stone that glints in the moonlight. I’ve never seen it before but I know what it is. The Elders’ private quarters. No one comes here without an invitation, and invitations are rare from what I understand. Upsilon pulls around to the side and stops beside a recessed opening in the exterior wall.
“Everything will be fine, Omega.” Mom pats my wrist as Upsilon and Ma Temple swing their doors open and glide from their seats into the darkness. Mom guides me by the arm and Upsilon steadies me once I’m outside the vehicle. I’m still a little woozy.
The air is rich with the scent of gardenias. The same fragrance I recall from when Omicron stopped Theta interrogating me at the Nest. That seems like a lifetime ago. I lurch to the side and Upsilon grabs for me while Ma Temple snaps on a flashlight. Upsilon braces me with an arm around my waist before my mother pushes her away and guides me forward. I notice in the flashlight beam that my mother’s skin is a little darker than when she left, as if she’s been out in the sun, not in a retreat. I try to speak, but my mother shushes me, pointing at a recessed door ahead of us.
I hear the soft purr of the electri
c vehicle as it starts up and slowly fades into the distance. That’s when I notice Upsilon is gone. It’s only me, my mother, and Ma Temple now. My mother guides me to the entryway and places a thumb into a well-concealed panel. The door opens. Biometric locks? That’s highly specialized tech. Why are the Elders’ quarters coded to accept my mom’s fingerprints?
The three of us hurry into some kind of service entrance that opens to a narrow hallway. The walls are dark brown with a fluorescent bar along the ceiling. We hurry across the stone-tiled floor. The space is almost clinically clean, no dust anywhere, and the corridor is so narrow we have to walk single file. Mom goes first, with me in the middle and Ma Temple behind me. I can’t say her presence gives me much comfort. A lemony scent permeates the air. It reminds me of the detergent we use in the factory. After about twenty feet, we get to a wood-paneled door. Mom opens it and ushers me into a circular atrium with a domed glass ceiling. Moonlight streams through to illuminate potted plants in handcrafted ceramic tubs and stacks of cushions organized around the edges of the polished timber floor. This must be where the Elders meditate. Several more wood-paneled doors are evenly spaced around the perimeter of the room. Ma Temple moves toward one of them.
“Sigma, we should hurry,” she says.
Mom motions for me to follow. She opens the door and ushers us through. It self-locks behind us.
We’re in a larger hallway now. The walls are painted burgundy, the floor covered with a thick pile carpet. I glance at my mother, surprised by the determined set of her jaw. The hallway is illuminated by ornate lamps spaced at regular intervals. Interspersed between them are screens displaying images of the past. Most of them are in shades of gray, with the occasional color picture interrupting the pattern. I slow down to get a better look. They depict horrors from the ancient wars. Familiar scenes from history class: burned buildings, abandoned cityscapes, people bleeding in the streets, men and women, dying and suffering. Together. There’s something peculiar about the surfaces of the images, grainy and imperfect. Suddenly, I realize where I’ve seen pictures like this before, or rather one picture. Ghent’s photograph of his mothers. These are much larger in scale, but the same tech.
Lost in the details, I fail to keep pace with the others. I’m startled when Ma Temple turns back for me, clasping her hands at her waist. “Horrifying, aren’t they?” She glides behind me to look over my shoulder at the picture I’ve been examining. I flinch at her proximity but she ignores me, apparently lost in the image: a woman shielding a baby from something in the distance. The infant is wrapped in a dirty blanket, the woman’s face streaked with dirt and tears.
“Why are these here?” I ask.
“To remind us of what was. So it never happens again. Those who forget the past are doomed to repeat it.” Ma Temple says.
“We won’t be repeating any mistakes once we all die out,” Mom says, taking a few steps toward us.
Ma Temple’s shoulders straighten and it looks like she’s about to respond. I get the feeling this isn’t the first time they’ve had this argument. But when she speaks, she only says, “We need to keep moving.” She turns and walks away. It’s difficult to tear myself away from the photograph, but when I finally do, I don’t want to look back. I can’t bear it.
Eventually, we stop at a plain wooden door. Mom presses her thumb against a panel beside it and the door opens to a miniature version of the atrium outside, except this room is carpeted, the same plush carpet as the hallway. While the walls are curved, they are not completely spherical. In place of the glass panel in the ceiling, this room has a tinted picture window on the far wall. The sun is rising, and I can make out the silhouettes of gardenias in the dull purple light. Birds are beginning to chirp outside.
The walls are painted in mute colors and there is little in the way of furniture – only a low wooden bench with cushions on the floor around it. The side wall houses several smaller doors. One of them opens without warning, causing me to jerk back against my mother. Two figures emerge. One is Omicron, her dark robes cinched with a crimson tie. Her gray hair flows over her shoulders, as she leans against her cane, and bows her head to acknowledge us. The other woman is younger, tall and thin, with blonde hair and ice-blue eyes. She’s wearing a loose-fitting crimson robe. Though her face is puffy and red, she looks more serene than when I last saw her: Delta.
Chapter 21
When Delta catches sight of us she stiffens. I’m tempted to turn and run. I don’t know what to say to her. My knees begin to buckle, but my mother holds me steady.
Omicron addresses Mom, “Welcome back, my child. It’s so good to see you again. And all in one piece, too.” In a flash, my mother is across the room and drops to her knees in front of the Elder, holding the older woman’s hand to her cheek.
“I failed,” she whispers. “I let you down.”
Omicron pulls Mom to her feet and places a hand over her own heart. “You could never disappoint me, child.”
It’s such an intimate moment. After a while, Mom turns to Delta and clasps her forearms gently. “I’m sorry.”
They know each other too? All this time, Ghent’s mother was friends with my Mom, and I never even knew he existed.
“Thank you for seeing us at short notice.” Ma Temple bows before the Elder, drawing attention to herself. Not knowing what to do, I try to imitate her movement and almost overbalance in the process. I feel Ma Temple’s steadying grip on my arm. When I raise my head, Delta’s staring at Ma Temple, the flush of anger unmistakable in her cheeks. I pull out of Ma Temple’s grip, worried Delta will think I’m working with her. Then I realize that I am working with her.
Omicron continues as if this is a perfectly ordinary gathering. “It’s my pleasure, and I do believe this is the right time.” She turns to Delta. “If you wouldn’t mind, Healer.” Delta places her fingertips beneath Omicron’s elbow and guides her forward. The hem of her robe swishes around bare ankles as they move. They stop in the center of the room where Delta assists Omicron to sit on the bench. Mom follows and stands by the Elder’s side.
Omicron places her cane flat on the seat beside her, and regards us all, her fingers tented beneath her chin. “Please sit.” She indicates the cushions at our feet. Delta sinks down on the one closest to Omicron, tucking her legs beneath her. Mom hurries over to me and helps me to my own cushion, taking her place on the floor beside it. Ma Temple sits on the other side of my mom, as far away from Delta as she can get.
Omicron bends forward to examine my bandaged fingers. “Seems like you’ve had another busy day.”
I don’t know if she’s joking, so I don’t respond. I tuck my bandaged hands into the folds of my shift.
Delta has remained silent this whole time, watching us. I turn to her and finally speak the words I should have offered her at the Clinic. “I’m so sorry. About Ghent.” His name sticks in my throat. “I know he died because of me.”
Delta opens her mouth to respond, but Omicron interrupts. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” she says. “Perhaps we should start at the beginning. I want to thank you all for coming here. The things we discuss today must be kept private. While I am not completely alone amongst the Elders in harboring certain concerns, I am in a rather small minority. Until more of us feel this way, it is important that we conduct our business in relative secrecy. Unfortunate, but necessary. I know this may be frightening for you, child”—she turns to me—“but it is of great importance. This may take some time to explain. Are you comfortable?”
I nod, embarrassed by my ungainly position on the cushion. My legs are stiff and sore, making it hard to sit like the others.
“Perhaps you would like to take off your shoes?” Omicron’s invitation is very tempting but I’m wearing Epsie’s shoes and I’d be too embarrassed to flaunt them in front of Delta.
“No thanks. I’m fine.” I attempt to reorganize myself into a less awkward position with my feet curled beneath me, concealing the boots.
“Our time is li
mited, but we need to start at the beginning so the child understands what we’re asking of her.” Omicron pinches her brow with a gnarled finger and suddenly keels over coughing. Deep throaty heaves rasp from her chest.
Delta’s arm darts out to steady her as Mom screams, “Mother!” Mom races to the Elder’s side and kneels, grasping her shoulders and steadying her until the coughing dies down. When they both look up, everyone is staring at them and my mother clamps a hand over her mouth. Omicron takes a minute to catch her breath before dropping her hand to Mom’s shoulder and smiling.
“I suppose that is one thing we no longer have to explain,” Omicron says. My mother’s face is ashen, but Omicron chuckles. “Daughter, in the larger scheme of things, the fact that these women have learned you are my child is the least of our worries.”
“But Elders don’t have children,” I say.
“This one does, my granddaughter.” Omicron seems somewhat amused by the reaction to her revelation. “Simply believe that I love you and am proud of you. Both. However, the story of our family is for another time. What is important now is that you understand the choice we will ask you to make, and why we are asking it of you.”
The sun’s rays begin to peek through the window. Ma Temple glances at her communicator. “Yes, Healer.” Omicron acknowledges the concern. “Time is short, and we must press on.” The Elder makes a motion with her hand to indicate that Ma Temple should speak now.
Gamma’s mother casts a furtive glance at Delta who is glaring at her as if she would like to kill her. Not surprising. Ma Temple took her child away. Forever. I grip my elbows in my palms, as I remember Ghent’s quirky smile, his lips against mine. All gone now.
“Omega,” Ma Temple interrupts my thoughts. “How much do you know about the Procedure?”
“Only what we learned in school.”
“You didn’t tell her anything?” Ma Temple glares at my mother who ignores her and wraps a protective arm around my shoulders. “Great work for someone who believes we’re letting our society go extinct because of our ignorance.” My mother’s arm tenses, but she makes no retort. Ma Temple returns her attention to me. “Do you know anything about natural reproduction?”
Inside the Palisade Page 13