I think I could get used to this, while I work to befriend Charlie and convince him to transfer Logan here. I’ll find a way, but it’s like Beechy said, there’s time for that. I’m ready to live without worrying every day.
The silver door opens, and Cadet Waller appears. She gives me a curt smile. “We’re ready for you,” she says.
I slide off the bench and follow her. Through the door, she points me into a small room with hooks on the walls and a clothing slot like the one in my bedroom.
“If you’ll please change out of your suit and into the outfit that comes out of the slot. As soon as you do, the next door will open.” She glides out of the room, her smile looking like she had it cosmetically plastered to her face.
I unzip my leather suit. The fabric is soft and stretchy, and I slip out of it easily. I press the button on the slot and change into the clothes that slide out of it: a plain tank top and a pair of shorts more like underwear. They don’t cover much of me, but the air is warm.
I take a deep breath and stand in front of the next silver door.
After a moment, it slides open. I step forward.
Two figures block my path. Two women with the same blue eyes and black curls, wearing surgeon coats and caps.
My stomach clenches—
squeezes—
drops two stories.
“Hello there! It’s good to see you again.” Nurse One smiles at me, while Nurse Two slips her fingers around my wrist and pulls me into the room. It’s a round examination room with blue lights and a white reclining chair.
I must be dreaming, because this can’t be happening again. I’m supposed to be finished with metal hubs, Unstables, and examination rooms.
But I notice one good thing: There aren’t any metal tables or drip bags with blood and clear liquids. Still, I can’t help saying, “Could you please tell me what I’m doing here?”
“You’re here for a quick and easy examination,” Nurse One says. “It’s a standard procedure for all citizens, designed to check you once a month and make sure you’re safe, happy, and healthy.”
“The doctor will be here in a minute,” Nurse Two says, guiding me into the chair.
I lean into the mesh and press a palm to my flip-flopping stomach. This isn’t anything to worry about. This is standard, an examination, not another operation.
“Good morning.” The doctor whistles as he enters the room, making four taps on his tablet before handing it to Nurse Two. He flashes a smile. “How are you today, Clementine? Promising, eh?” He laughs. “This is nothing to worry about, I assure you. First, I’m going to do some quick checks to make sure you’re healthy.” He rolls up his coat sleeves to sanitize his hands in the sink. “Nothing to worry about, like I said.”
“I’m not worried.” I’m afraid I say it a tad fast.
“Well, of course not. That would be silly.” Nurse One hands him a stethoscope from a hook on the wall. He sticks the ear tips into his ears, and presses the silver disk to my chest. “If you’ll take a deep breath for me.”
Breathe in, breathe out.
“Perfect.”
Nurse Two taps on the tablet keypad. Nurse One takes the stethoscope from the doctor and hands him a small monitor, from which he pulls three multicolored wires with small cups on the ends. “I’m going to take a reading of your brain waves, Clementine. It’s quick and easy. Nothing to worry about.”
I wish he’d stop saying that.
I fold my hands in my lap. He dabs dots of a sticky material onto my forehead, then presses the electrodes to my skin. His fingers fiddle with the knobs on the monitor.
There’s silence in the room, apart from a soft whir from the monitor.
“Perfect.” He pulls off the electrodes, and Nurse One puts the monitor away. I wonder what sort of reading I gave him, and why he needs it.
He claps his hands together. “That’s all for today, except for your injection, which the nurses will administer before you move through the next door to learn about your career choices. Quick and easy, eh? Do you have any questions for me?”
“An injection?” I repeat, digging my nails into my legs.
“The nurses will explain. Okay? Great. I’ll be off, then.” He gives me one more smile, then leaves me alone with the nurses.
Nurse Two sets her tablet aside and begins sanitizing her hands.
“This will be quick,” Nurse One assures me, wrapping a tight strip of latex around my upper arm.
“What is it?” I say.
“A little injection all citizens of the Core receive once a month.”
Nurse Two scrubs with foam for what must be a full minute until she’s satisfied. After snapping on gloves, she reaches for an object sitting in a rectangular tin on the counter, beside jars of cotton balls.
She turns enough so I can see what she’s holding.
The needle is long and thick, protruding from an orange syringe. This must be the injection Cadet Waller showed me on the day of the Extraction test.
My sweaty palms grip the armrests. Nurse Two touches the needle tip to my shoulder, and I flinch. Her lips form a small frown, but she doesn’t stop. She pushes the needle through my skin. There’s a sharp jab of pain.
“I’m sorry, what’s this for?” I ask.
“We live in close quarters in this sector,” Nurse One says, setting a hand on my other shoulder. “There’s a high risk for spreading disease, so inventors developed a serum to protect against it. Everyone receives this once a month.”
Nurse Two presses the plunger, sending a stream of orange liquid into my arm. It rushes through my veins, up my shoulder, toward my pounding heart.
She removes the needle. Nurse One places a small, round piece of gauze over the spot.
“Quick and easy,” she repeats.
I smile vaguely. My hands shake. I swear I can feel the liquid trickling through my temple but that’s impossible. I must be imagining it.
Overhead, the fluorescent lights seem stronger, a brighter shade of yellow. I squint to see what Nurse Two is doing. She sets the needle back in its metal tin and strips the gloves from her hands.
A nauseous feeling sinks into my stomach like a heavy weight. I press a palm to my stomach and squeeze my eyes shut.
“Is it normal to feel sick?” I ask.
“That is a potential, mild side effect. It should pass shortly.” Nurse One gestures to the exit door. “Head through there, and instructors will meet you for the final part of your ceremony.”
I nod, wondering what was inside the injection. Are they trying to make me sick? Gritting my teeth, I ignore that thought and force myself to rise from my chair and walk. I clench my fists at my sides and take deep breaths to steady myself.
“Have fun!” Nurse One waves me out the door.
I see spots as I walk through the hallway, and my vision blurs.
“In here,” Cadet Waller says.
The doorway tilts, and I lean against the wall for a split second, breathing too fast. My eyes are wide. They did something to me. Just like Oliver was afraid they’d do. They lied when they said I’d be safer.
Gritting my teeth harder, I use the wall to heave myself into the next room.
Cadet Waller stands next to an instructor I don’t recognize, and another whom I might, but her face is too blurry. I can’t tell where I am.
“Congratulations, Clementine,” a familiar voice says. The face is Sandy.
I swallow. What’s she doing here? She’s an instructor, I think, but still …
“It’s time for your career assignment,” Cadet Waller says. “Afterward, you’ll receive new civilian attire to change into.”
I nod, hoping they can’t tell how much I’m trembling. They did this to me, so I have to pretend it didn’t work. I don’t want them to know.
Cadet Waller glances at her tablet screen. “Your preliminary career assignment is mathematics: data sampling. You will report to Training Division Room 54B this evening for further instructions—”
“W
ait.” I cut her off, squinting and shielding my face because the light is way too bright. “Wait. I thought we get to pick careers.”
Cadet Waller frowns. “I don’t know where you heard that. We assign careers based on our observation of your skills—”
“No, you’re wrong.” I raise my voice more than I intend to. “I need to pick—I need to work for Commander Charlie.”
“Clementine, it doesn’t work like that,” Sandy says. She seems really nervous, but I might be imagining that. “You might be able to work your way up to a position with Commander Charlie, but you can’t start with one right away.”
“That’s not good enough!” Again, I yell too loud. My voice makes me wince.
But this isn’t okay. It’s not supposed to work like this.
My head isn’t supposed to hurt this bad.
“The injection didn’t work. She’s not being submissive,” I hear Cadet Waller whisper as she reaches to turn on her earpiece. “I’ll call the commander to find out what he wants done with her.”
“No, he’s busy. I’ll take care of this.” Sandy moves toward me. “Do you feel all right, Clementine?” Her face blurs again. Her hand touches my burning forehead, while her other steadies my arm.
I think she mouths something, but I can’t tell what. A fierce ache slips through my body, like a thousand blades slicing through my skin. It takes everything in me not to cry.
“I think she’s just tired from last night,” Sandy says, turning away. “I’ll have her sit down and keep an eye on her.”
“You’re sure?” Cadet Waller says.
“Yes. Come on, sweetie.” Sandy puts her hands on my shoulders and guides me through a door. “You can change into your new clothes.”
The door closes behind us. She helps me onto a soft bench. “The red suit right there is for you.” She points at a blotchy shape on a wall hook. “Get changed, and then I want you to stay here, Clementine.” She grips my shoulders. “You hear me? Stay here. I’ll be back to check on you in ten minutes.”
I can’t tell if she’s trying to help me, or if she’s working with the doctors and Cadet Waller. I don’t know if I should trust her or run away. But I have to lie down; my head hurts too much. Tears slip out of the corners of my eyes.
Maybe I say, “Okay.” Maybe I stand and put the suit on.
Somehow, I end up on the bench wearing red, curled up in a ball. My breaths are uneven. My body shakes and sweats uncontrollably.
I have to know—I have to figure out what was inside that injection—but my head’s on fire and my heart is pounding too hard and I can’t think and it needs to stop. Why can’t they just leave me alone? Why can’t things be okay?
A soft buzzing reaches my ears. Through the haze of tears, I notice a tiny black blur rests in the edge of the ceiling, with a flashing red light.
A camera.
They’re watching me. Someone is monitoring the effect of my monthly injection.
Whoever’s watching has no right to see me weak like this. Especially if they did this to me. Especially if they want to make me weak.
I push myself up with my elbows and throw my legs over the side of the bench. I can barely see, and I want to rip out the knives in my arms and legs and hands, but there aren’t any. Tears still streaming down my cheeks, I grope for the wall.
Sweat makes my palm fumble on the door handle. I get it open and stumble into the corridor before anyone can stop me.
24
I don’t know where I’m going.
There are doors and more doors, and branching corridors. I run, crashing into the walls and dragging myself around corners. My stomach heaves, and I try to stop it, but it’s no good. Remnants of my breakfast end up on the floor.
I wipe bile off my mouth with the back of my palm. An elevator appears, and I stagger into it. My fingers slip on the emergency brake knob, then pull it so the whining of the shaft breaks off.
In the corner, I curl up in a ball, drenched in sweat and crying and shivering.
I’ll be okay.
I cough up something that tastes like blood.
Why am I not okay?
Whatever’s inside the monthly injection did something to me, the same way the intelligence hub did something to me. But the hub did something to everyone else, so maybe that’s happening now too. Maybe the other Extractions are fine—or as fine as vacant, expressionless people can be.
I have to focus. I solve Yate’s Equation—the longest and hardest equation a person can solve—in my head to help myself calm down.
I try to think. I think back to yesterday, to the helmet over my head, and the cold gas seeping out of the tubes, and me breathing it in. At first it made me feel like I was floating, content with everything, trusting the Developers. And then it didn’t—then it made me hurt almost as bad as my body hurts now.
The gas and the injection must be made from the same chemical.
But the gas didn’t hurt Oliver, Ariadne, or the other Extractions. It made them more like robots.
The injection didn’t work, Cadet Waller said. She’s not being submissive.
It hits me. I know what the chemical is. That time in the hub wasn’t the first time I’ve been this sick—this happened to me before.
*
It was wintertime, and I had just turned eight. A slick layer of ice covered the ground. Since the crop fields were dead, everyone had to work in either the packaging warehouse or the greenhouses, where plants continued to grow hydroponically under special lights.
Logan, Laila, and I were following the train tracks home one night, running so we wouldn’t catch frostbite, when the hovercraft passed by overhead. It looked like it had come from the city and was on its way outside the settlement, for whatever reason. It was flying too low, and there was an opening at the back. When the ship tilted toward the sky to gain altitude, a couple bundles fell out and nearly landed on top of us. I screamed as Logan pulled me out of the way, tripped over a track, and skinned my knees.
While I wiped the ice off my trousers and tried to make my teeth stop chattering, Laila took a hesitant step closer to one of the bundles. Its drawstring was already loose. A simple touch made its contents spill onto the ice: delicate green stems with silver petals.
Laila’s laughter pealed through the air. “Look at these!” She pulled a heap of them into her arms. “Real flowers!”
Logan picked up one of the asters. He turned to me with a radiant smile. “I bet they’d look pretty in your hair,” he said, and tucked the stem behind my ear.
*
A cold wave of air washes over me in the elevator, making my teeth chatter. I feel like I did then, once the aster pollen seeped through my skin into my bloodstream. But I was tough, and the fever broke after a couple days. It wasn’t until later that I heard the story about the Core scientist who genetically modified aster flowers to make them useful as stress or pain relievers for sick patients.
But when we learned about the asters in school, there was no mention of their pollen being used in great amounts, even in the sanitarium. Yet silver asters were on the Surface in the back of the hovercraft that day when I was eight, for one reason or another. And their calming effect didn’t work on me. My body attacked the serum instead of accepting it.
I stare at my shaking hands.
I’m allergic to silver asters. I’m having the same allergic reaction to whatever injection they gave me.
They must have used pollen in the monthly injections.
A knock on the elevator door snaps me out of my head.
“Hello?” The voice is muffled through the wall, but firm like an official’s. “Is someone in there?”
Oh no. I pressed the emergency brake knob—it must have alerted security. Sam did that before, and security didn’t come, but he’s an army lieutenant. The army is security.
I get to my feet, breathing fast, and use the wall for support. I hold down the button that keeps the door shut, release the emergency knob, and press the first
floor number I find. Twelve. Good, someplace far away.
The elevator rumbles as it starts to rise, leaving behind the official pounding his fist on the wall. I drop to my knees and hold my head in my hands. My stomach churns again, and I clamp a palm over my mouth so I won’t vomit.
Silver aster pollen can’t be for disease prevention or Promise elevation, it doesn’t work like that. The pollen releases two hormones: serotonin and GABA. Serotonin calms and relieves stress; GABA slows overall brain activity. My school instructors always focused on the fact that pollen could be a pain and stress reliever, but if GABA slows the brain, it also inhibits reason. It could make it easy for a person to be influenced by someone else.
It could make people submissive.
Maybe the flowers were in the back of the hovercraft that day when I was younger because the ship was headed to the Karum treatment facility, where Unstables are kept. Maybe the Developers use the pollen to make Unstables submissive, to try to cure their craziness.
But they use the pollen on civilians too. They administer the injection once a month, probably in a subtle dose that keeps everyone docile. It makes them easy to influence.
No wonder no one has any issue with the murder of child workers in the outer sectors. Commander Charlie is controlling all of his citizens.
Wheezing, I lift my head and scan the buttons for the decks. I need to find Beechy. He said he was like me before—he said he had trouble during the last part of his citizenship training, and he must’ve meant the intelligence machines.
Maybe the pollen didn’t affect him, either. Maybe it still doesn’t. Maybe he can help me.
But I don’t know where he is. The elevator jolts to a stop before I can figure out which floor to try.
Nausea overtakes me again. I stumble out of the elevator, open the first door I find, and stick my head into a trash chute in the wall.
A snapping sound comes from a ceiling speaker. “Attention.”
I freeze, still leaning over the chute, my mouth dripping and a putrid smell filling my nostrils. The voice is hoarse, cracking in places. Commander Charlie.
“All citizens of the Core, please report to the Pavilion.”
Another snapping sound.
Extraction Page 22