Unworthy: Marked to die. Raised to survive.

by Joanne Armstrong

  “Those were his words,” he answers, busily packing the First Aid box away.

  “I’m not going home, am I?” I whisper, but he simply looks at me steadily, as if to say, what do you think?

  When the sky begins to lighten, I can see that our stop is actually within view of the Polis. It is still many hours’ journey away, but the awareness that the military city is in sight gives me goosebumps. The seat of power for my country. A place where it was decided that hubbites could be secretly injected with killer germs, and where it is believed that the Unworthy should have had the decency to die at birth. I am both, and am heading straight for it.

  Hayes is leaning into a tussock, the monitor in his hands. His eyes are not on it though. He looks out over the plains to the city, criss-crossing straight lines of roads and rows of tiny boxes reaching out towards us in a semi-circle, sliced off on the far side by the blue coastline.

  I am going to put all my cards on the table. My options are becoming frighteningly slim, and all involve him in some way. I sit down next to him. “Captain Hayes,” I start.

  “Alex,” he replies, not looking at me.

  He’s side-tracked me. I blink and open my mouth but his name doesn’t form, so I try to get back to where I was. About to admit my fear. “I’m scared. Of going to the Polis.”

  He doesn’t look at me. I know that having fears is considered weak to a Polisborn, but to admit them is downright shameful.

  “What is it that scares you?” he asks carefully. It’s the kind of thing Grandad might have asked, and I don’t get the feeling that he’s judging me.

  “It’s the not knowing, I think. The fact that I don’t know why I’ve been asked for, and what will happen when I get there.” He nods, so I add, “What I’ve learned about the Polis over the last few days doesn’t help me to feel any better about going there.”

  “I’ll make contact with the General,” he says. “Maybe he can give us some more information about why you’ve been summoned.”

  He positions himself on a rock, with the monitor on his knees. He motions me to stay out of sight, but I remain close by so that I can hear what’s going on.

  Hayes gives a password - a jumble of letters and numbers that mean nothing to me - and after a short buzz, I hear a voice come through the monitor. “Captain Hayes, you have something to report?”

  “Sir, I have located the hubbite, and we are nearing the city.”

  “Good, what is your ETA?”

  “Maybe another day. The perimeter… is that something you can assist us with, Sir?” I raise my eyebrows when he mentions another day. We’re looking down on the city from here.

  “No, Captain. You are on your own, as I made clear from the start. Have you encountered any difficulties?”

  Alex pauses before dismissing everything we have been through. “No, Sir. But it would be easier if you were able to call off the tracker.”

  There is a short silence before the reply comes through. “I can’t do that, Captain. There are procedures which must be followed. Who was assigned?”

  “Elyssa Greene, Sir. She is rather… determined… to disrupt my mission. Is she expendable?”

  “Yes. But I would rather you left no trail. Avoid her, Captain. She is simply doing her job. She sounds as though she is doing it rather well.”

  “She is,” Hayes’ mouth is in a tight line, his exasperation only just held in check. “I hope the horses are expendable also, Sir.”

  “Yes, Captain. Everything is. Even you are expendable. Only the girl matters.”

  There is a pause. I watch Hayes’ face as he processes this. I am more important to the Polis than he is.

  “Permission to use Vicki, Sir?”

  “Vicki?”

  “Corporal (Sergeant, Lieutenant??) Victoria Watson, 42nd Division. If you can’t help us to get in….”

  The monitor is quiet for a moment. “Tell her the bare minimum. There are many in the City who would be very interested in the girl.”

  Hayes takes a deep breath.

  “Sir, I need to know… why do you require her? What do you plan to do with her?”

  The answer is sharp and to the point. “You need to know? Captain, must I remind you of your position? It is your duty to make sure she arrives here safely, nothing more, nothing less. You need to know no more than that.”

  “Yes, Sir,” Hayes remains calm, looks me straight in the eye and sets his jaw. “Will she be safe in the City, Sir?”

  There is a stony silence from the other end. “If that is all, Captain Hayes, this communication is at an end.”

  Hayes deflates. “That is all, Sir.”

  “All right then. I have one piece of advice for you, Captain. This is a job, a mission. Your impertinence is noted, but I will choose to overlook it due to the highly irregular nature of the task. However, the level of your involvement concerns me. Step back and deliver the package.”

  With that, the link is broken and the screen goes blank.

  Hayes puts it down, gingerly. I get the feeling he’s trying not to throw it. All his motions are slow and deliberate. He smooths the hair on his head and replaces his cap, letting out a deep breath.

  “Who was that?” I ask.

  He leans on his steepled fingers for a moment before answering me. “That was the man who gave me my orders. To find you. General Graham Hayes, highly decorated military strategist.”

  “General Graham… Hayes,” I repeat, slowly.

  “And my father,” he finishes.

  I nod. “A close family, then?”

  One eyebrow lifts, and he shakes his head, but I’ve managed to squeeze a smile from him. He is silent for a minute. During that time the phrase about him being expendable, delivered by his own father, takes on new meaning for me. When he speaks again his tone is completely serious.

  “Arcadia, I can’t promise you any safety in the City at all, and I still have no idea why you’re wanted.”

  “But you have theories?”

  He shrugs. “I wondered originally whether you could be a Firstborn that had not been reporting for duty, but that doesn’t make sense; there are protocols for that. It could be anything. You don’t appear on Polis records; but that’s not unusual in itself. Hub records are notoriously unreliable, and not centrally pooled. We’re working to improve this.” I’m still watching him, waiting, aware that he’s not yet given his opinion. “But the fact that you are Unworthy… I think it’s got something to do with your mark, and your survival. You’ve been exposed multiple times, and yet here you still are; the picture of health. That’s obviously of interest to the General.”

  “I wanted to go to the west coast. Or Sector Seven,” I confess. “On your map it was dark red.”

  He shakes his head and his eyes narrow. “That doesn’t make it a good place to disappear. It means it’s dangerous.” He huffs in exasperation. I’m getting a bit sick of his attitude to my ignorance.

  “Listen, I know I keep betraying my lack of knowledge about the real state of things, but honestly - whose fault is that? You can’t keep blaming me for being uninformed!” My tiredness is showing.

  He tips his head and rubs his forehead. I guess he’s tired too. “You’re right - and I’m sorry. There are some areas of our country that have never experienced the peace that your sector has. Imagine an area with two hundred years of unrest. No rules, no laws, no organised authority. Life’s pretty rough,” he concludes.

  “So you’re saying I really do have no choice. I have to go to the Polis.”

  He looks at me steadily, and doesn’t say anything. I know the answer, and sigh. I just didn’t want to admit it.

  “Why do you think he’s trying to be secretive about it? About me?” I ask.

  His mouth twists with the ghost of smile. “That part doesn’t surprise me very much. The Polis might seem well-organised to you. We might seem united in purpose and mission, but in reality, that’s far from the truth. There are all sorts of little factions within the milita
ry and the Council, with some of the Councillors working to their own ends alone.”

  “You mean that they’ve all got their own agendas,” I suggest.

  “Exactly,” he agrees. “The fact that one General doesn’t want the others to know what he’s doing doesn’t surprise me in the least.”

  “There’s more than one General?” I ask, surprised. General Hayes sounded pretty much in charge.

  “There are four. All answer to the Council, but in reality they have their favourites both ways.”

  This is all news to me. I knew about the Council of course, but the relationship between the law-makers and law-enforcers isn’t part of the Polis curriculum.

  I wonder if the General intended his son to be quite so honest when answering my questions, and I say so. It makes Alex shrug.

  “It’s not common opinion. Just my observations. I suppose I’m in the rare position of being partly on the inside.”

  “You don’t talk like a loyal Polis soldier,” I tease gently.

  He ignores the jibe and frowns almost guiltily, then looks out to the city again. “I think the First Council had the right idea. They had noble ideals. But it’s become so corrupted, especially with the current Council.”

  He lets this hang in the air for a moment, then turns from the view across the plains, and takes a breath. “There’s something else,” he says matter-of-factly. “Something that isn’t going to be easy for you to hear. When I was looking into Matthias Clark, before I left the City, I found out that he never had any children.” He watches my reaction steadily.

  I press my lips together. “Of course he did. His daughter was my mother.”

  Hayes shakes his head. “Firstborn records are very detailed. He had no children.”

  “Then your records are wrong. Inaccurate.”

  I screw my eyes shut, blocking out the intensity of his honest gaze.

  “Grandad, tell me about my mother.”

  “She was just like you.”

  “No she wasn’t, silly! Tell me really.”

  “She had golden hair that fell down her back in waves.”

  “Was she beautiful?”

  “Of course. She was also strong, and intelligent and lively. At your age she had more cuts and grazes than even you do.”

  “He would never talk about their deaths,” I whisper. “All he told me was that they drowned - my parents and my brother. But he wouldn’t talk about it. I thought it was too painful for him to remember.”

  Hayes regards me for a moment before saying, “I’m not telling you to upset you. Maybe you’re frightened of going to the City, but it might be able to offer you some answers.”

  I look out across the plains, following the winding route of the river and the straight lines of paths and roads. All converge in the distance, where the city glints in the glow from the rising sun. The Polis. So close. Structure, control, power, secrets, unrest, inequality. But it also represents answers. About my identity, my past, my survival and about my family.

  “Into the lion’s den then,” I say grimly to Hayes.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  He pulls out the monitor and relays a new series of numbers. The static clears, and from the side, I can see a round face appear, with large dark eyes and dark hair.

  “Vicki, I need your help.”

  “It’s lovely to hear from you Alex, I’m well, thanks,” comes the chirpy reply.

  “I’m sorry, we’ll catch up another time. Please can you help me?”

  There is an audible sigh from the girl, but I hear her smiling when she says, “It’s okay, I’m just teasing. You know I’ll always do what I can for you, Alex. What do you need?

  “I have to get into the City without being identified.”

  “Alright, I can probably mask your DNA temporarily.” A short silence follows, and I can hear clicking. “I’m bringing up your file now… apparently you’re already in the Polis?” There is the hint of a laugh in her melodious voice.

  Her easy way with him tells me that she knows Hayes well. She is even familiar enough to joke with him.

  “Not yet. But I need to get through the western gate today.” He pauses and then adds, “There’s something else. I have someone with me, but no-one can know that she’s in the City.”

  The woman on the screen grins broadly, “What are you up to, Alex?”

  “It would be better for you if you knew as little as possible.”

  She rolls her eyes. “I have to admit that I never took you for such a rebel… gosh aren’t you a dark horse?”

  She’s flirting with him, and I see him look a little uncomfortable. “Vicki… just…”

  “Alright, alright!” she laughs, then picking up his more serious tone she says, “There are two Firstborn due to arrive at that checkpoint this afternoon. I can overwrite your DNA with their details for an hour or so, but then I’ll have to start erasing the mask, before the records are uploaded to the central system. And the real ones arrive.”

  “Thanks Vicki.”

  “Thank me when you’re in. Name of your companion?”

  He shakes his head. “You won’t have her on file. I’ll take a sample now and send you the data for analysis.”

  He looks uncomfortable at the mention of my details not being on Polis records and I think I see her mouth purse but she says nothing. I realise that he’s avoiding telling her that I’m a hubbite. Alex holds out his hand and I pass him a hair plucked from behind my ear. He feeds it into a small chamber on the side of the monitor, and screws it shut.

  “Scanning and sending now.”

  “It’ll take me some time to analyse, but I’ll set up the mask for later this morning, well in advance of when the real pair will turn up. Ten am.”

  “Ten is good.”

  “Remember, you will only have a small window of time. Arrive before the mask is in place and your real identities will be known.”

  “I understand. Thank you Vicki. I owe you one.”

  “You do, Alex, and I’m going to hold you to that,” she smiles on the screen and lifts a suggestive eyebrow.

  I prod Hayes. “Ask her about Bastian,” I whisper. “Please.”

  His face shows annoyance, but he humours me. “Last name?”

  “Walker,” I answer.

  “Vicki, can you have a look at the Polis entries for Sector Four? Search for a Firstborn; Bastian Walker.”

  There is a pause while she finds the information. Then I hear a crackly response, “Bastian Walker… taken into custody three days ago, Sector Four holding pen, released yesterday.”

  Relief floods through me. He’s okay. I can’t imagine what might be happening to him right now, but at least he’s been released.

  “Thanks Vicki, I’ll let you know when we’re in.”

  After the screen goes blank we sit in silence for a while.

  “Your friend is alright,” he ventures, stating the obvious. I nod, but I don’t want to think about Bastian right now, when I’m on the brink of entering the Polis.

  “You didn’t tell her I was a hubbite. Or Unworthy,” I say.

  “She doesn’t need to know,” he replies, which I guess is true. A little more quietly, he confides, “She might not help us if she did.”

  I shrug that off and turn my thoughts to the checkpoint ahead.

  “How many entries to the Polis are there?” I ask.

  “Three. The northern, western and southern gates,” he replies. “Each of them are the start of the main thoroughfares that lead directly to the centre of the City.” He takes a stick and sketches a rough outline in the thin layer of dry dirt and ash near the fire.

  I squint into the distance, making out what I can of the intersecting lines, the gaps between filled with tidy structures. I can see no walls. What he describes as a “gate” makes no sense to me.

  At the risk of sounding ignorant again, I ask, “Why do we have to use the gates? It all looks fairly open to me. Wouldn’t it just be possible to sneak in simply by avoiding
the roads?”

  He shakes his head. “No. The City may not have fences or walls, but it’s well defended night and day.” On his stick drawing he adds two semi circles, well out from the intersecting lines of the main roads. “The gates are located at the outside of these rings. Between the rings, the Perimeter of the City is a kilometre-wide band of permanent triggers. They trip the automatic sentry turrets which hose the whole area with energy pulses. Nothing can survive that.”

  A feeling of dread scuttles its fingers up my spine. Their confidence is well founded. It may be invisible, but there is a kilometre-thick wall of death separating the Polisborn city from the rest of the country.

  “It’s the gate then. You think that Vicki can get us through?” I ask.

  “I’m certain of it. She’ll be able to access the records on file at the western gate, and when we’re stopped and checked we’ll show up as the Firstborn cleared to pass.”

  He tips out his entire backpack on the grass, and beckons me over to do the same. I’m wondering what he’s doing until he says, “Some Polis equipment is understandable, but no weapons.” He picks up the dazer and puts it to one side. With it he puts two knives, and I unstrap mine to place with them. A few other items which have been evidently used for camping he also discards. By the time he is finished both our piles are substantially smaller, and look much less fearsome.

  He is tapping my blowpipe thoughtfully on his palm.

  “It’s a risk,” he says. “If they realise what it is…”

  I press my lips together and consider what he’s telling me. That I can bring it if I really want to, but it could cause problems at the gate. I don’t want problems. “It’s okay. We’ll leave it,” I say. With regret, I hand him the vial of poison-tipped darts that goes with it.

  Under a ti kouka tree, he digs a shallow hole and places the items inside, wrapped in his Polis uniform. I wonder if I could ever find them again if I needed them. With neither the knife nor the blowpipe, I feel exposed.

  While we pack up the campsite, I realise that I’m going to impersonate someone who I know nothing about.