Anomaly

by Krista McGee

  “Time for a field trip,” Berk announces.

  “Should I bring my learning pad?”

  “Not necessary.” An Assistant works on a communications pad in the corner of the room, so I try to behave as patient-like as possible.

  I put on my shoes and Berk stands at the door. We walk in silence. We pass the technology center, with its gleaming white walls. I have only been in there a few times, but the visits were fascinating. The Technology Specialists work to create updated versions of our current equipment and to develop new equipment as well.

  But we are walking too far past that for it to be our destination. I can’t stand the suspense any longer.

  “Where are we going?”

  “I have told you that your memory was erased,” Scientist Berk explains. Perhaps concerned that there are cameras on the outside of the building, watching us? “But I haven’t told you that before your surgery, you were one of the most accomplished musicians in the State.”

  I feel a new emotion. I can’t quite describe it, but it feels good.

  “Was I?” I am Patient Thalli, whose mind is a blank learning pad waiting to be downloaded, who does not feel emotion at this information.

  He turns again and we are on a path leading to a large building I know well. I force myself not to run or shout or jump.

  “And what is this?” I ask.

  Berk turns to me and his lips turn up slightly. He is just as happy for me as I am. “This is the performance pod.”

  “The performance pod?” We enter the familiar room and I want to cry. The instruments have all been cleaned and are hanging in their slots along the wall. I want to play every one of them.

  “We want to see if your musical memory is intact. We have a recording of you playing from before your surgery. We would like to see you practice that piece and record it again. Then we will analyze the similarities and differences.”

  “I see.” I know which piece it is. It is the one I wrote for the night of our moon viewing. The one I wrote when I was supposed to be completing a history lesson. Memories of that day flood my mind. I see Rhen showing signs of some type of sickness. The Monitor came in and I covered for her, refusing to allow her to turn herself in. I feel tears threaten to spill. I swallow hard. I miss her so much.

  That was also the day I was sent to isolation, the day I snuck out, the day I saw death. And the day I saw Berk. But I didn’t know any of that when I wrote that song. That was the last song I wrote before all of this happened.

  I look at Berk and I know he sees the panic in my eyes.

  He closes his eyes once, slowly, our signal that everything is going to be all right. “Choose a violin and come into this practice cube.”

  Am I supposed to know what a violin is? Will I give anything away if I walk right over to it? Berk said my musical memory was being tested, so maybe that means that Dr. Loudin purposed to leave that part of my brain the way it was before the surgery.

  Berk nods and I know I am right. So I walk to the wall and I slip a violin from the slot. It is not my violin. Mine is three slots away. I can feel it calling to me. But I know I should not choose it. I should not know it. The new Thalli can know music, but she cannot have attachments from her old life.

  Berk opens the door to the practice cube and we enter. The walls, ceiling, and door are all covered in a soft white film that completely insulates the sound. How many times have I sat here practicing while my pod mates were sitting in the main chamber, waiting for me to come out and perform? I hear the door shut with a soft click.

  “We can speak freely in here.” Berk removes the violin from my hands and sets it gently on the ground.

  I look around. “Are you sure?”

  “I checked the blueprints.” He nods. “There are no cameras in here.”

  I sigh. Freedom.

  “You are doing wonderfully.” Berk leans against the wall. “It appears that music isn’t the only thing you can perform well.”

  “Thank you.” I bite my lip. There is so much I want to know. “So what, exactly, are Dr. Loudin’s plans for me?”

  Berk crosses his arms. “Today, his plans are that you play this song so he can compare that to your previous performance.”

  There is something Berk is not telling me. I can tell by the way he is standing, arms crossed, on the other side of the cube. “What are his ultimate plans for me?”

  “He wants to see if you can help solve the oxygen problem.”

  “And?” I know there is more.

  Berk sighs and drops his hands. “He wants to continue to experiment on your brain.”

  My heart squeezes. “What?”

  Berk rushes to me, his hands holding mine. “Which is why we have to prove you are too valuable.”

  “And how do I do that?” I feel like the walls are closing in on me. “I’m not valuable.”

  “Yes, you are.” Berk’s hands are on my face. “Don’t worry.”

  I step back. “Don’t worry?”

  “I shouldn’t have told you.” Berk rakes a hand through his hair. “I’m sorry.”

  “Of course you should have told me.” I hold in a groan. “But why do I even bother trying to complete all these tests if all I am is just a lab rat?”

  “You’re not a lab rat, Thalli.” Berk’s hands move to my shoulders. I know he is sincere. But he doesn’t have any power to stop Loudin. “I have been praising your intelligence every day. I have told him ideas I have to use you as part of the scientific team.”

  “I am not a Scientist.”

  “Exactly.” Berk begins to pace. “My theory is that we are handicapping ourselves by only having Scientists work on the team. We need other minds, other ideas, if we are going to move forward. I believe having the same type of people in each different area worked in the past, but we are ready to move on from that.”

  He is so animated. I want to believe him. But even with his energy and ideas, can Berk really change the minds of men like Dr. Loudin?

  “All right.” I am going to choose faith over intellect. I am going to trust in the Designer that John is right—that I was created for a purpose. I am not going to live in fear of what might happen. The worst they can do to me is kill me. And, as I have learned, that isn’t the worst at all.

  CHAPTER FORTY

  I have recorded the song. I tried to think only about the notes and not about the last time I played it. But now I am thinking about it. I am thinking about my friends, sitting in the performance pod watching me that last time. Smiling, nodding, working.

  “Can I play another instrument?” I need to get my mind on something else.

  “Certainly.” Berk looks up from the recording equipment. “I need to compress this file and deliver an electronic copy to Dr. Loudin. It will take a few minutes.”

  I walk to the slots. Which one? The flute? The trumpet? The trombone? None of them are speaking to me.

  Piano. That is what I want to play. I walk to the instrument, shiny and black, sitting in the corner of the room. I pull the bench out and sit. I tap the pedals with my feet, play a scale. I close my eyes and the richness of the sound washes over me. I need to be careful. I know there are cameras here. I shouldn’t enjoy this too much. But I was designed for this, to play, to know these instruments.

  I begin slowly. I play what is in my mind, something the old Thalli wouldn’t have learned. I don’t want Dr. Loudin to click on this scene on his wall screen and become suspicious. I start out staccato. I miss a few notes, on purpose, though it kills me. But I am supposed to be blank, relearning what I know. I stop and play chords. Then I add in the staccato notes with my right hand as my left hand plays the chords. The notes clash, they stumble over each other.

  This is my life right now. The old clashing with the new. The sharp pain and the soothing calm. And then my right hand finds a new melody, one that no longer clashes. This is the music of the Designer. It makes sense of what is messy. It fills the room. Sometimes it is loud, sometimes it is quiet, sometime
s the melody is barely there. I want to cry. I haven’t played the melody of the Designer before, yet this melody seems to have always been with me, waiting to come out.

  I close my eyes and play on. Part of me remembers that I must not appear too emotional. That is part of the old me. So I open my eyes. I play a prayer that God helps me be this new person I am supposed to be, that I find a way to help others, so no other pod faces the destruction Pod C faced. I channel my prayers into my fingers and my feet.

  Berk has walked over to me and watches me play. I glance at him and see him smiling. He knows what I am doing, what I am playing.

  I finish and pull my hands away. They are still tingling with the music.

  I want to tell Berk what I am thinking and feeling. I want to go back into the practice cube so we can have more time alone, unwatched.

  But Berk goes back to the work area. He sits back down and taps his fingers across a screen.

  “Are you still not finished?”

  “I am finished with the first recording,” he says, still tapping. “But I am working on the second.”

  “The second?”

  “The one you just played.”

  “You recorded that?” Something in me says this is not good.

  Berk leans back in his chair. “I have a theory I want to test.”

  “A theory?” Scientist Berk is back. He is tapping into the screen again. “What theory?”

  “I want to dissect your music.”

  I bristle. Music isn’t to be dissected. It is to be enjoyed. It enhances and promotes productivity.

  “I am working on adapting a program I wrote last year.” Berk is still tapping while he talks. “That program was a linguistic analysis. But I think I can develop it into a musical analysis.”

  I am confused. I can tell by the way he is smiling that something else is going on. But I have no idea what.

  Berk groans and stops tapping.

  “What?” I walk to him.

  “I don’t know the musical terminology.” He raises his eyebrows at me. A slight rise, but it is conspiratorial. “I need to know the names and values of the notes if the program is going to work properly.”

  He is trying to prove my usefulness to Dr. Loudin. “I see.”

  “This will take some time.” He stands and walks to the door. “I will speak to my superior this evening. I think this program could greatly benefit the scientific community. If we can decode the language of music, we could potentially unlock parts of the brain that we currently know little about.”

  Brain studies. Dr. Loudin can’t resist that. Berk is a genius. I want to run up to him and wrap my arms around his neck. But I don’t. I follow him out like an obedient patient.

  We are outside and it is almost dark. I didn’t realize how long we had been in the performance pod.

  “Have you seen the moon, Thalli?”

  I think for a moment. I must answer like the new Thalli, just in case Dr. Loudin is watching. “I have seen the images in my learning pad. I just read about it today in science.”

  “But you haven’t seen it through a viewing panel?”

  “Not that I recall.” I try to sound as serious and innocent as possible.

  “I believe we have some time,” Berk says. “And we are near the panel with the clearest view this evening. Follow me.”

  We walk behind the performance pod. The grass abruptly stops and there is only the hard ground—concrete—that lines the outer edges of the State. I have only seen the ground like this once before: the last time Berk took me to see the moon. But that was by the water tanks. All I see here is what appears to be the wall of a massive pod.

  “What is this?” I put my hand on it. It is made of the same concrete that lines the ground. It feels gritty, not like the smooth surfaces I am used to feeling. I look up and it continues, as far as I can see.

  “This is the end of our world.” Berk places his hand over mine. I jump back. “It’s all right. We’re safe.”

  “You’re sure?”

  Berk takes a step closer in answer. I can feel his breath on my face, and my heart beats so fast I am sure he will be able to hear it. “I’m sure.”

  His nearness is clouding my thoughts. I step back, my curiosity peaked. “The end of our world? What do you mean?”

  “Just that.” Berk puts his hands in his pockets and leans against the wall. “You know the State was built inside a large mountain decades ago. This is the northern perimeter.”

  I place both hands on the wall. “So the other side of this is . . . ?”

  “Earth.”

  I lay my face against the wall and close my eyes. Even though I know it wasn’t real, I picture Progress. The pods and the people, the children. I think of the images I have seen in my history lessons. Buildings and roads. I think of John’s stories. Oceans and houses and families.

  “We might be able to go there.”

  I pull myself away and feel my head. Is this another simulation? I feel the hole. I hear Berk laugh.

  “The Scientists have sent probes above. There are some places where the air is no longer toxic. They think, in a few years, they can send a colony up there.”

  “Like in the simulation?”

  Berk smiles. “Possibly.”

  “So was I tested to see if I could live there?”

  “I have not been told anything about that,” Berk says. “But it would seem so.”

  I place my hands on the wall again. “I could live there? I might not be annihilated?”

  “I am doing everything in my power to convince Dr. Loudin that you are necessary.” Berk walks closer to me, then leans against the wall and faces me. “I am also trying to convince him that I am the right Scientist to live above.”

  “So we could go there together?” I pull my hands away and lean into the wall, facing Berk.

  Berk stands up straight and looks above. I follow his eyes to the panel above us. The moon is bright, full and clear. “I have been visiting John in the evenings.” Berk looks at me. I see peace in his eyes.

  “You have?”

  “John is an interesting old man. I go to conduct research, of course.” Berk smiles.

  “Of course.” He would not be allowed to visit otherwise. He has to go under other pretenses.

  “And he has told me some things you don’t know.”

  I fold my arms in mock protest. “What?”

  “Stories from the Designer’s book.” Berk’s eyes are dancing. “He is starting at the beginning and telling me all he remembers. It is very interesting.”

  I pull Berk down so we are both sitting. “Tell me.”

  And he does. He tells me about a garden and about the Designer creating a man and a woman for each other. To take care of the earth, to fill earth. To love.

  “He told you about love?” I am sitting, my back against the wall, holding my knees to my chest.

  Berk is looking at me and I am embarrassed suddenly. “He told me that the Designer created love. It’s a gift from him to be shared with others.”

  “That’s not what the Scientists think.” I turn my head slightly, enough to see Berk’s face in the moonlight, but my back stays against the wall, my knees to my chest.

  “Who are we going to believe?”

  I release my arms and turn my body to face Berk so our knees are touching. I reach out and hold his face in my hands. “I think love is real.”

  Berk leans forward slowly. His hands are around my waist and I close my eyes, a feeling like I have never experienced washing over me. His lips touch my forehead and I melt into him, my arms around his neck, my lips on his cheek.

  “Me too, Thalli.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

  I don’t want to wake up. I don’t want to move. How can I go through the day acting like everything is normal when I know it isn’t?

  Berk loves me. And I love him. Love is from the Designer. Berk told me the Designer’s Word says that we love because he first loved us. The thought is overwhelming. I
want to go with Berk today, above, to start a colony on the earth. We can bring John. He can teach us, help us. We can allow him to live out the remainder of his years where he started.

  But reality breaks through the fog that is my mind between waking and sleeping. I am still a project. I am still being monitored. Berk and I must still act like strangers. And if we are to maintain this carefully constructed façade, trips to camera-free zones must be seldom taken.

  I walk to the sink to splash cold water on my face. But I can’t move my left arm. Did I sleep on it wrong? I try to shake it, but it’s just hanging there, useless.

  I examine it in the mirror. It looks fine. But it won’t move. I try to move my fingers, my wrist, my elbow, my shoulder. Nothing.

  I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what is wrong. I pinch my arm and feel nothing. I bang it against the sink. Nothing.

  I can feel myself hyperventilating, but I cannot stop. I want to call for someone, but no one is here yet. Berk won’t arrive for another thirty minutes. I try to calm down enough to reach the emergency screen. But I am breathing so fast that when I move, I feel dizzy.

  Deep breath in. Deep breath out. I have to calm down.

  I start walking again. I make it out of my cube, down the hallway. I can see the emergency screen. I try to concentrate on it and not on the fact that my arm is hanging at my side, dead-weight, slapping against my body.

  I am finally there. “Help.” I throw my right palm against the screen. “Help.”

  “Thalli,” the voice responds. “Musician of Pod C currently undergoing testing. Please confirm.”

  “Yes.” My whole body is leaning into the screen. Everything but my left arm.

  The wall screen flickers to life and a Medical Assistant is peering into the room. I pull away from the emergency screen and move so I am standing directly in front of her.

  “I can’t feel my arm.”

  The Medical Assistant’s eyes widen, then return to her normal blank stare. “Go on.”

  “That’s all.” I want to scream at her, but a display of emotion compounded with a medical malfunction would surely get me sent straight to the annihilation chamber. “I woke up and couldn’t feel my left arm. I shook it, poked it, nothing worked.”