by Annie Oldham
“Sad, isn't it?” Dr. Benedict says, coming from his office. “She's your cellmate, right? Got into a fight with another worker.”
That doesn't sound like Jane. I watch her until the door closes.
“If you'll just come in here for a moment.” Dr. Benedict gestures to the exam room.
I sit on the table. I look at him in his clean white lab coat, his perfectly combed hair, smelling that faint smell of pine instead of the stink that must hang over me like a cloud, and I suddenly feel disgusting. I put my hands over my face, not wanting anyone to see me right now. My hands smell even worse, and I've been sleeping in it for twenty-four hours. How must I smell to him? I can't stop the tears.
“It's okay, Terra. Solitary is horrible. I'm sorry they put you there, really I am. If I had any power over those kinds of decisions I would change things. It's no way to punish anyone.”
He reaches for me, but I just sob. I slept, but it wasn't good restful sleep, and now my brain feels both fuzzy and too sharp at the same time, and I'm so hungry I could eat the beef stroganoff and call it a feast.
He touches my arm, and I shiver under his touch. The first touch I've had since talking to Jack in the yard. He's not Jack, but he's more companionship than I've had for too long. I try to calm down. When the tears stop and I'm nothing but sniffles, Dr. Benedict smiles at me, but his eyebrows are turned down like he's upset.
“I'm sorry, Terra, but I have to give you another injection.”
He bends over me—too close, he's always too close—and reaches for another needle. I try to tell him I don't want another injection, but he doesn't listen. Before he would tell me how sorry he was, but he had to do it anyway. He would never just ignore me. What happened that changed things? I think back, racking my brain for what could have set him off, changing the way he treats me. Then I realize. I saw Jack during yard time, and he had reached out to caress my face. I had touched his fingers through the chain link. It was all I could do. Did Dr. Benedict see that? Surely he doesn't watch me that closely, and that couldn't have been enough to change the way Dr. Benedict sees me.
I stare at his black eyes, but he's not looking at me. His shoulders slump as he fills another syringe with serum. He looks defeated and small. Could he really be broken-hearted? I want to laugh, to think it isn't possible. We've never really had a decent conversation, never spent more than ten minutes together at a time, and it's always been under the scrutinizing eyes of the watcher or agents or soldiers. Never a moment alone. Surely he can't have developed feelings for me.
Before he can stick that syringe into my skin and force the serum into me that will—what? What will it do this time? More hallucinations, nightmares, paranoia?—I grab his arm and don't let him go until he drags his eyes slowly to mine, and those reflective black pools don't give anything away. I open his hand.
What's wrong?
He shrugs it off. “Nothing. Can we proceed?”
It's not nothing.
He smiles sadly, only one corner of his mouth lifting, the dimple half-formed in his cheek. “Fine, if you want to talk. Have you ever thought you had something, and then it was taken away?”
I sit back. Yes, I have. The only place that felt like home—the settlement—and I left it.
It broke my heart.
“Then you know what's wrong.”
I'm sorry.
He shakes his head, and his eyes glisten. His black irises show nothing but my own face, but there are tears in his eyes. I'm awash in guilt. I shouldn't be—it's absurd—but I am. Maybe I'm not thinking clearly between the hunger and being unearthed from solitary.
Can I do anything?
He turns from me and wipes his eyes. “I hoped that you might have been able to, but not anymore. Don't worry about it.”
He puts the bottle of serum back in the fridge and then takes two steps toward me. I grab his free hand.
Please. No more.
He bites his bottom lip. “I have to, Terra. I'm under orders because you're from the wild and you won't tell us where you've been. It's for your own protection and the protection of everyone else here. I'm sorry.”
It's a lie. From what I've figured out, it's all been a lie, but how much does Dr. Benedict know? He seems so good and so kind; I have a hard time believing he'd willingly give me nightmares. I can't stand another nightmare, another day not trusting anyone around me. If he gives me this shot, would even Jack look like a monster? I can't stand not being in control of my own mind.
I have to tell him where I'm from. If I want it to stop, if I want to have control of my own brain back, he has to know, and I can trust him. He's been the only one to treat me kindly, the only one to comfort me. He can stop these injections if he knows where I'm from. At least then maybe these lies about the serum can end.
Not from the wilderness.
“What do you mean? That's what you told the agent. It's where they found you.”
Not from there.
“But you can't be from a city. You would've had a tracker. Where else is there?”
I look at him long and hard. His eyebrows raise in confusion, like he's trying hard to understand me. I sigh and look at my hand holding his. My finger trembles as I write the words.
I'm a colonist.
“You're a colonist?”
I nod.
“Thank you, Terra.” His tone has suddenly changed. It's short, clipped, and completely professional. It's the voice he uses with everyone but me. “That's all I wanted to know.”
I look up, bewildered at the change in our meeting. He nods to the watcher, and the agent who interrogated me marches into the exam room, followed by two soldiers.
No.
“If you'll come with me, Worker 7456.”
Dr. Benedict watches me, and the hood he's kept drawn over his eyes suddenly vanishes, and I see him as he is: clinical and calculating. None of the kindness is there. He smiles once, showing the tips of white teeth, and then presses a few buttons on his tablet.
I want to scream at him; I want to punch him. He was kind to me this entire time just to get me to admit I'm a colonist? My heart wrenches around inside me, bitten and cut by the betrayal. I trusted him. I talked to him like he was a friend. I should have known better. I did know better—Jack knew better too and tried to warn me—but I needed a friend. I needed to know that all of the people here weren't bad. I'm so mad I could spit.
I follow the agent. Her heels rap sharply on the linoleum. I stare at nothing but where her heels strike the floor. The world feels like it's shutting in around me, like nothing exists but the sound of shoes on the floor. Everything else is dark and empty, and the sounds are hollow and soft and far away.
Those shoes lead me to a door and a small room with a table and bright lights. I sit in the chair, the chair where I get asked the questions. My mind is foggy, and I can barely look up to see the agent folding her arms over her chest and leaning against the back of her chair. I pull my eyes up to her face. She looks satisfied. She looks like she's won. I can't look at that face anymore.
“So you're the colonist.”
The way she says it makes me curious. The colonist? Like they knew one was here all along, but didn't know who?
She laughs. “You're confused? Wondering how we knew you were here? There are indicators that add up, you know. You're not nearly as sneaky as you've deluded yourself to be.” She starts ticking off her fingers. “You never had a tracker. Your bone density scans and blood draws revealed you've had exceptionally good nutrition your entire life—very unusual for someone who has been in a sanctioned city, let alone a nomad.”
So that's what those tests were for.
“And most of all, you were too sentimental. Ridiculous, actually.”
I don't understand her last clue. The fog over my brain hasn't lifted and I'm two steps behind. I hate this feeling. In all of our other meetings I've been on equal ground with her because I knew something she didn't. Now I have nothing.
She rolls her
eyes. “I'll show you.” She snaps her fingers, and one of the soldiers lifts a pack off the ground.
My pack. The letter from Jessa.
I lower my head to the table. That letter. Why didn't I get rid of it? Why did I keep it for so long? I've let too many people use it against me.
“You understand now.” The agent reaches into the pack and removes the paper covered in plastic. She fans herself with it. “You know, we've suspected that the colonists were real for quite some time. We could never prove it, of course. All of our military submarines were destroyed during the war, and we haven't been able to build our fleet back up to explore the ocean floor. But to have it confirmed like this will definitely please certain officials back at the capital.”
She curls and uncurls the letter, and I want to rip it from her hands and shred it into a million pieces. She doesn't deserve to touch those words from Jessa. That piece of her is too valuable for a place like this.
“And you know what else?” Her hands clench around the paper, and it crumples in her fist. “It would be in your best interest to answer any questions we have about the colonies.”
No. I promised Gaea, and I truly see the reason for it now. It wasn't to protect the colonies from people like Mary or Dave or any of the other inmates here who despise the colonies because it's somewhere better they will never see. It's to protect them from people like her, with her greedy eyes and cruel smile.
She flicks her fingers to a soldier, and he steps over and tightens the collar around my neck that will allow me to speak.
“Now then, Terra. Just a few questions for today.”
I clamp my mouth closed, my body burning with rage. I hope she can see it in my eyes; I wish that my gaze could burn her to a crisp.
“How many colonies are there?”
I fold my arms and stare back at her. She laces her fingers together and leans forward.
“How many colonies are there?”
I can speak with this collar, but it's not my voice, and she will never have the pleasure of hearing any of this from me.
“You're going to be difficult about it. That's not entirely unexpected, though it is still surprising considering you left the colony for some reason. Surely you weren't completely happy there? Some grievance you'd like to share with us?”
She's being almost conversational. I know this won't last forever, but I'll enjoy it while I can. I raise a hand, examine my fingernails, and pick out a speck of dirt from my thumbnail.
“This will become very unpleasant for you,” the agent says, tapping a few words onto her tablet.
I ignore her and nip at a hangnail.
“Soldier, take her back to her cell. She doesn't get dinner tonight.”
I fight to keep my face calm. I'm so hungry, and she knows it. And more than just the food, I have to tell everyone that I don't have one more vial of serum or the keycard. There are so few days left, and now that the secret's out about Dr. Benedict, I doubt he'll give me the time I need to search for it. This more than anything will crush me. I have so many people depending on me.
The soldier rips the collar from my neck and drags me to my feet. We're almost to the door when the agent clears her throat.
“I'll be seeing you very soon, Worker 7456. And our next little chat will be a bit more uncomfortable.”
Chapter Sixteen
I lie on my bunk and try my hardest to stare at the vials of serum on my window ledge instead of listening to the pain in my stomach, but the pain refuses to be ignored. When will Jane come back? I need something to distract me. I roll on my side and study the wall opposite me. Then I scrutinize the crack in the ceiling. Then the fading light in the window. Where is Jane?
Finally, the cell door opens and Jane steps inside, her face still as hideous as when I saw her earlier. When the door closes, she rushes up the bunk to sit next to me.
What happened?
She shrugs. “I got in a fight.”
It's not like her to fight. My eyebrows knit together, and I gently touch a bruise under her eye. She winces.
“It's nothing. I'll be fine. But you—are you okay?” She's the one hurting, and she worries about me.
I shake my head. Hungry.
“I figured. Why didn't they let you have dinner?”
They know I'm a colonist.
Jane is silent for a long time. There are too many implications in my words. The biggest one for her is that their eyes will always be on me, and the escape that seemed like a possibility just two days ago, now seems like the most improbable thing in the world.
“We'll still make it work.”
How? We need a vial and the keycard.
Jane lips turn up, and it's the first mischievousness I've seen from her. She tugs up her shirt hem and takes out a vial of serum from her waistband.
How did you?
“You're not the only one who can snatch stuff while Dr. Benedict's back is turned.”
His name brings the bile to my throat. She sees the look, and somehow she seems to guess most of what must have happened.
“You can't trust anyone here, Terra.”
I know. I laugh bitterly. Never much of a listener.
Jane puts a hand on my arm. “The vial wasn't the best part.”
I raise my eyebrows as she reaches into her waistband again. She pulls out the keycard.
“There's an advantage to being the weak, broken one. Dr. Benedict hardly ever gives me a second glance.”
Was it a real fight?
“What?”
You and another inmate.
She gives me an impish grin. “Not at all. I had Madge rough me up a little, and then told the soldiers it was someone else. Of course they sent me to the medical area.” She rests her head on my shoulder. “But don't ever let Madge hit you. It hurts.”
I laugh and surprise both of us when I reach over and hug her. I flip the keycard over in my fingers, the pale metal strip flashing in the dim light. Only five more days. I swallow hard.
Five more days.
As promised, I'm summoned back to interrogation and it's not pleasant. The agent and Dr. Benedict sit at the far side of the table. There is no chair for me. I stand while their eyes probe me. Dr. Benedict approaches me with the collar, and I glare at him with everything I have. It's not enough—it's just a look, and I'm sure he's gotten hundreds of similar looks—but to show open contempt for him helps me feel better.
He laughs. “You know, Worker 7456, you didn't have to trust me.”
I turn my head. He's right, I didn't, but his betrayal still stings. I've been wrestling with this very idea about trust. I've decided it may hurt more, but being willing to trust people isn't necessarily a bad thing. If you trust no one, then you're completely alone. After being separated from Jack and left in solitary, I never want to be completely alone again.
Dr. Benedict fastens the collar around my neck. The agent waves him back, and he sits by her.
“Now then. Let's resume where we left off yesterday, shall we?” She pulls out her tablet, ready to tap my words there. I don't know why she bothers—it's not like the watchers won't grab every one of my words and store them for later use. Maybe the agent just likes feeling more useful. It almost makes me smirk, knowing that she might feel superfluous.
“How many colonies are there?”
Huh. She really expects me to answer. Does she think I don't have people I love down there? Maybe she thinks everyone is as inhuman as she is. I fold my arms and start counting the ceiling tiles to myself.
“I promised this would become unpleasant. Dr. Benedict?”
She has my attention now. Dr. Benedict stands again. He does look a little harried, like the part he told me of not wanting to follow their orders might be true. Not because of some altruistic motive, but because he just doesn't like being bossed around. He pulls a syringe from his pocket. It's filled with a pale green fluid, and I clench my muscles as he approaches me.
He chuckles. “Just like the tracker, Worker 7456
. It'll hurt less if you relax.”
I finally speak, only because the words will scorch my throat if I hold them in any longer. “What do you care if it hurts?”
“Touché.”
He jabs the needle in. I thought the serum burned, but it has nothing on the heat from this stuff. I gasp as it floods through me and white spots dance in front of my eyes. I clutch the sides of my pants, desperate for something to hang on to, something to keep myself together and stop me from falling to the ground. I can't give them the satisfaction of seeing that.
Dr. Benedict studies his watch, and after what seems like an hour of agony, the searing pain eases and he nods to the agent.
The agent smiles at me. “How many colonies are there?”
Suddenly my brain is completely out of my control. The words bubble in my throat before I can stop them. “Fourteen.”
She taps on her tablet, and I squint my eyes and try to focus. Whatever they gave me is taking my willpower away. I can't let it. There's a small portion of my mind that's tapping against the walls they've put up with that awful green liquid, trying to burst through and reclaim me. It's such a small portion, though, and it's so exhausting trying to fight back. My eyes flutter closed for a moment.
“How many colonists are there?”
“I honestly don't know. In my colony there were three thousand two hundred forty-two.”
The agent's eyebrows raise. “I had no idea there were so many,” she whispers, her fingers racing across the tablet screen.
What am I doing? Why am I offering up information she didn't even ask for? That small part of me still in control redoubles its efforts. Seeing her surprised like that calms me somehow, makes me believe I can do this. She's not completely in control, or she wouldn't have had to use the injection on me.
“What defenses do the colonies have?”
This is an important question, and that small part of me knows it. It's put a crack in one of the walls, and part of me is leaking out, shouting to the rest of my body to stop this at once. I hesitate for a moment, my voice suddenly lost in the fight between the drugs and my own conscience. The agent looks at me expectantly. She thinks I'm not sure again or that I'm trying to remember.