CENTER 82 (RATION)

by Christina J Thompson

  In the fallout, David was removed from the facility and Project Nine was resolved. Ayn’s assignment to the settlements had been ordered shortly thereafter, and while he had no idea what had happened in the months since, it was clear that Andreas was consumed by regret from her betrayal. She was colder than he remembered—bitter, even—and he could tell that she would stop at nothing to vindicate David.

  Ayn stared up at Noah as the platform made the left turn that led to the ramp, a shiver racing up his spine. The lab assistant had been the one to destroy David’s work; Andreas didn’t seem to know about it, but it made Ayn nervous. He remembered the day Noah had appeared in the Project Nine lab—the man had unplugged David’s system, boasting about how eliminating David would earn him a chance to retake the qualifying exams that would promote him from lab assistant to researcher, but Ayn had never figured out how. Knowing that Noah was involved made his presence in Andreas’ lab extremely concerning, especially in light of the fact that his plan to become a researcher had obviously failed.

  Ayn felt the platform come to a sudden stop, and he watched Noah’s hand reach for the keypad beside another set of doors. The loud clunk of a lock disengaging rang out, and the platform began moving again.

  “Slot 56,” Noah called as he backed through the doors. Ayn could see a woman sitting behind a desk in the corner of the room, and she nodded quickly before typing into her computer. A loud buzzer sounded, following by a mechanical whir as the long arm of the ration lift began to lower. This was the part he had hated the most in the time before being assigned to Amber, but now he was grateful for the quiet loneliness that was coming.

  Ayn focused on the rows of small bulbs that lined the ceiling of the storage unit, imagining for a moment that they were stars as he remembered that first night’s journey with Amber. Looking back on it, he realized that he had fallen for her the second he set eyes on her: the tiny young woman wearing that ridiculous, homemade hat and stubbornly refusing to admit that the bags she was carrying were too heavy. He felt the corners of his lips threaten to turn, and he held his breath, trying to keep a straight face as he pictured her.

  Noah secured clamps to the handles around the edges of the platform, then he gave the woman a thumbs up.

  “Slot 56 ready,” he said, and the platform jerked as it began to rise up into the air. Ayn counted in his mind; it would take exactly 73 seconds for him to reach his slot. He could see the hundreds of other slots pass by as he was lifted, small chambers with square doors that housed one lab ration at a time. The main ration dome had even more―there were thousands of slots stacked up on top of each other, the only home the rations knew from the moment they were removed from incubation until being assigned to a keeper.

  The lift jolted as it stopped its vertical climb, shifting as it began to move horizontally. Ayn felt the platform nudge up against the door of his slot, the gears of the lift slowing as he was edged forward into the small space. The clamps released one at a time until he was inside, and he glanced down at his feet to see the door begin to slide closed.

  He let out a heavy breath. It was safe to let his mind wander now that the probes were finally gone and he was alone, and he felt tears of relief well up in his eyes.

  Amber’s alive.

  Ayn swallowed hard against the lump in his throat as his thoughts raced. He had to get out, he had to find her, but he had no idea how. Andreas was being too careful; so far, she had maintained standard lab protocol for unmedicated rations, copying the methods used during Project Nine. She hadn’t allowed him to walk anywhere on his own, and he was either strapped down under her watchful eye or contained in lab ration storage at all times.

  The storage slots were specially designed for limiting movement; there was a hole in the middle of the platforms for waste, and twice a day, a blast of water would power on above and below him, rinsing both him and the inside of the slot clean. Food and water were delivered through small openings, and an automated syringe would inject daily doses of supplements that included a muscle stimulant. This system effectively created a self-contained unit that never had to be opened―the only way to get up or down was with the lift, and unless Andreas decided to house him within the lab itself, he stood no chance of escape.

  It felt crazy to admit, but Ayn actually found himself wishing he could go back to the Project Nine lab. That place was designed differently; rather than being sent to ration storage at the end of the day, the lab was equipped with cages for keeping test subjects. Andreas had a smaller lab, and from what he had seen, there was no cage for holding specimens.

  He frowned. Escaping wouldn’t be easy even if he could get out of the slot. Finding clothing would be next to impossible, and supplies were on the other side of the facility. More importantly, he would have to get to Amber before she entered the breeding program. The physical effects of the hormones would be debilitating, and she likely wouldn’t be able to run once the procedures began. He would only have a few days until that happened, provided he managed to live that long and she wasn’t deemed incompatible for the program from the start.

  Ayn whispered a curse. Amber would have no idea that he was still alive, not unless she had managed to figure it out somehow. Everyone in the settlement had been so concerned over a defective ration, and the council had made a big display of their supposed private harvest of him to set everyone’s minds at ease. They had sent for two smaller rations to take his place, hurriedly butchering them inside the council’s meeting room while secretly whisking him away to the resource center. Amber’s family had been presented with a pile of fresh meat, and any evidence that the source hadn’t been him was done away with.

  The UV lights that lined the slot flickered on, giving him his daily dose of artificial sunlight and sanitizing anything in the tight space that the water didn’t wash away. Ayn lifted his hand, using his finger to lightly draw in the thin layer of residual filth that covered the ceiling of the box. He had memorized every detail of Amber’s face, and with a few quick strokes, her image was staring down at him.

  “I’m still here,” he whispered, brushing his fingertips across the surface. “I’ll find you.”

  The light turned off a few moments later, plunging him back into darkness, and he closed his eyes.

  †‡†

  DAY TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  John shielded his eyes as he headed towards the mining ground, squinting in the bright, morning sunlight. He was tired; he had spent the night tossing and turning, tormented both by Amber’s unexpected departure and the thought of the upcoming harvest. His family’s cycle ended in two weeks, which meant they would be harvesting their ration in only a couple days to give them time to preserve the meat before making the journey to the resource center. Now, as he walked at his father’s side towards the Ordell’s grid, John found himself glancing at his family’s ration every few moments. It was strange seeing the young man as a person rather than an object, but there was no ignoring it. The truth he had learned couldn’t be forgotten.

  He whispered a frustrated curse as they approached the mine, remembering what Amber had told him about the supplements. According to her, the pills were the reason the rations were docile, but something had to be different about his family’s ration. Ayn had taken the supplements every day and could still talk, but this ration seemed empty.

  John had tried interacting with the ration at night after his family had gone to sleep, but his efforts had been met with no response. The ration had studied him, yes, and there had seemed to be a hint of confusion in his eyes, but nothing more. The only thing that made sense was that the supplements were interfering in a way that they hadn’t with Ayn, and John didn’t know what to do about it. He wasn’t in charge of this ration yet―his father was still responsible for administering the supplements, which meant that John had no opportunity to secretly skip doses.

  “Good morning, John!” a loud voice bellowed. “Terry, it’s great to have you here!”


  John glanced up to see Richard Ordell waiting for them outside the mine grid, grinning ear-to-ear and his hand outstretched in greeting. John pursed his lips as he tried not to roll his eyes; his father had asked for a job within days of the breakthrough to the mine, and it had taken all this time for Richard to finally agree. The man was paranoid, convinced that everyone was determined to steal his salt, and he had been careful about the few workers he had already hired. Ultimately, it had been a quiet reminder of all the illegal trades the two men had done over the years that had finally prompted the warm welcome, but John knew that without that bit of blackmail, Richard would have been happy to let them continue digging through their own empty grid in a futile attempt to meet their quota.

  “What’s the plan?” Terry asked, following Richard down the steps that led into the grid. He walked forward to survey the massive hole in the center of the ground. “How do you get down?”

  “Those ropes over there,” Richard answered. “The resource center said they would send a shipment of pulleys this week to make it a little easier, but right now, it’s all done with the ropes. The crew calls when a load is ready, you pull the buckets up and dump them over there, then you slowly lower them back down. Slowly,” he stressed, eyeing them. “I don’t want anyone getting hurt because you’re tossing buckets around. My grid, my responsibility.”

  John stepped closer to the gaping hole and peered down into the darkness.

  “How far is it?”

  “Exactly thirty-six feet,” Richard said, letting out a low whistle. “Makes it that much more unbelievable that Amber survived the fall, doesn’t it?”

  “Lucky your ration was defective,” Terry muttered, shaking his head. “You never would have gotten to her in time if not for―”

  “We’re not talking about that!” Richard quickly growled. “The council made it clear, the situation’s been dealt with and we need to forget about it!”

  John’s eyes grew wide as he glanced back and forth between his father’s face and Richard’s. There was an instant tension between the two men, and if he wasn’t mistaken, he was almost certain that he could see jealously in his father’s darkening countenance.

  “Well, we shouldn’t waste any more time,” John said lightly, quickly stepping towards the rope. “What about our ration, how does he—it—get down?”

  Richard crossed his arms.

  “It’s not, and neither are you. I thought I made myself clear, I hired you to haul the buckets up.”

  “No, that’s not what we agreed to!” Terry snapped angrily. “You said you’d pay one and a half quotas for chipping rock through a full cycle!”

  “For chipping rock, yes, but that’s not what you’re doing. I have enough people doing that, I’m paying you one full quota for hauling it out.”

  Terry opened his mouth, preparing to answer, when John caught sight of one of the council members standing at the top of the dirt steps. He grabbed his father’s arm, giving him a cautioning look.

  “Council Hart,” John called loudly, forcing a smile as he turned. “What brings you all the way out here?”

  “Just checking on the mining progress,” the woman answered as she carefully made her way down into the grid. John gulped; there was suspicion on her face as she eyed Richard and Terry. Conflict like this was unacceptable within the settlements.

  “We’re doing well,” Richard beamed, reaching out to shake her hand. “I’ve just hired the Hafts here to help bring loads up. Any word on the pulleys and extra ropes?”

  “I’m sending couriers to the resource center tonight to pick them up,” Council Hart said. “They’ll be here the day after tomorrow at the latest, manufacturing took a little longer than expected to make them.”

  Richard grunted in acknowledgment, watching as she leaned in closer to the hole and craned her neck. The faint echoes of pounding hammers drifted up through the air, and she nodded in satisfaction.

  “Your people are already hard at work, I see,” she remarked. “How much have you pulled today?”

  “Ready!” a voice called from below, and John instantly darted forward. He grabbed the rope and began to haul back on it.

  “This is the first load,” Richard answered. “Each one is still averaging about thirty pounds.”

  “I thought we talked about this last week,” Council Hart frowned. “We’re looking for closer to twice that per load.”

  Richard smiled sweetly.

  “Once we get the pulleys, I can guarantee it.”

  “You need to hire more people.”

  John shot at glance at the woman’s face; there was a severity in her eyes that was almost terrifying, and Richard nodded quickly.

  “Of course! But we’ll need quite a few more buckets, the plastic sacks can’t handle the sharp edges of the rock with that kind of weight―”

  “I’m sure you’ll make it work,” Council Hart said, waving dismissively as she turned to leave. “The resource centers need this salt, Mr. Ordell, it’s essential to our survival. I’ll include a request for buckets as well, and I’ll have everything brought to you the moment it arrives.”

  “Thank you,” Richard stammered. “I’ll come by at the end of the day with the final tally.”

  Council Hart didn’t answer, quickly disappearing from sight as John finished pulling the bucket up onto the ground.

  “You heard her, you need to hire more people,” Terry said, his voice filled with gloating. “So how do we get down?”

  Richard glared at him.

  “I heard fine, but apparently you didn’t. She said she wanted more hauled.”

  “Ready!” the voice called again, and John began retrieving another bucket of salt.

  Terry returned the glare.

  “That’s how it’s going to be?”

  “Ready!”

  Richard scoffed, gesturing at one of the ropes.

  “There are more than enough people down there to fill buckets, Terry. I need people to haul.”

  John saw a flash of movement out of the corner of his eye, and he glanced up just in time to catch a tiny glimpse of Council Hart’s face as she moved away from the edge of the grid.

  “Shut up!” he hissed quietly. The two men turned to face him, and he jerked his head towards the steps. Their eyes grew wide, and they quickly forced smiles.

  “I suppose I should get to it, then,” Terry said loudly, reaching for a rope. “I appreciate the work, Richard.”

  “Glad to have you here,” Richard bellowed with feigned enthusiasm. A second group of people arrived and began descending into the grid, and his attention instantly shifted to barking orders at them.

  Terry scowled as he moved to John’s side.

  “The bastard,” he muttered, shaking his head as he began pulling another load out of the mine. “I just hope Council Hart didn’t hear that last bit.”

  John sighed.

  “I tried to warn you. I think she was up there listening―”

  “John, I forgot to tell you what your ration’s job is,” Richard called. “After you dump the buckets, have it fill the small sacks. These pieces are a lot bigger than what we’re used to finding, so only about ten pounds per sack otherwise the plastic rips through. Let your dad haul, you go show your ration. You’re going to be a keeper soon so you need the practice.”

  John nodded.

  “Yes, sir.”

  Terry rolled his eyes, muttering under his breath as John moved to obey.

  The ration was standing in the corner of the grid, his dark eyes fixed on his feet. John reached out and touched his shoulder, giving a quick glance around before moving in close.

  “Fill these,” he whispered, pointing at the sacks. The ration’s eyes were dull as he stared at the plastic circles, and John pursed his lips as he began using hand motions instead of words to explain himself. It took a few tries, but after a while, the ration seemed to understand.

  John frowned as he
left the ration to his work, rejoining his father to haul buckets.

  “You’ll make a great keeper,” Terry mused proudly. “You’re a natural with the rations.”

  John shrugged.

  “I suppose.”

  “Don’t worry, you’ll do fine. It’s coming up quick―the harvest is the day after tomorrow, then only two weeks until your first ration. I remember mine, I was so nervous I couldn’t sleep for a week.”

  “I’m not nervous,” John lied, flashing a smile. Not about what his father thought he was, anyway.

  “Terry!” Richard called. “I need you on the other side of the hole, there are more ropes over here!”

  Terry sighed as he patted John on the shoulder.

  “We’ll see,” he said, turning to walk away. “It won’t be long now.”

  John nodded eagerly, his eyes bright, but his face fell the moment he was alone.

  It won’t be long now…

  “What the hell am I supposed to do?” he whispered under his breath, shaking his head in despair. “The damn supplements…”

  His voice trailed off as a sudden thought occurred to him, and he froze, his mind instantly churning. Of course, the supplements. Maybe the solution would be easier than he had imagined.

  As the six-month supply of supplements had dwindled with each passing week of the cycle, his mother had moved them to increasingly smaller sacks. There were only a couple days’ worth left now—barely a few handfuls—which were kept in a bag in the main room of the house. The brown capsules weren’t sealed; surely it wouldn’t take much to open them and empty them out.

  John’s heart began to race. But what would he fill them with? Empty capsules would be noticed in an instant.

  He tilted the bucket he was holding; chunks of salt rock rattled against the plastic sides as the rough, pale-white pieces spilled out onto the dirt, and he gulped. The fine dust that covered the ground was a bit too dark to match the color of whatever was inside the supplement capsules, but maybe it would work. It had taken only a day for the effects of his own supplements to wear off when he had stopped taking them, so if he emptied the capsules tonight, there should be more than enough time.