Brian turned the corner and grabbed the door handle with both hands, jerking against the rusting hinges that held the door tight in its frame. He cringed with anticipation, and a moment later, the grating screech of metal-on-metal filled his ears. It felt louder than it really was amid the silence that surrounded him; in his mind, he imagined a massive shockwave of sound rushing out into every corner of the facility, but the rational side of him knew that it was barely more than a squeak.
He sighed, stepping into the empty feed room and closing the door behind him. Darren would look for him at dinner, and it wouldn’t take long for him to figure out where to go. There were still hours until then, and Brian sank down onto the floor and buried his face in his hands.
“You’re so screwed,” he muttered, shaking his head in despair. He was a fool for thinking he could get away with it, he should have known that he had already used up all of his luck the last time.
He closed his eyes. He had only been living at Center 82 for a year, but it felt like a lifetime. So much had changed since then, and he sneered to himself as he remembered how stupidly naïve he had been at first. Nothing at all like he was now, the old version of him was long gone.
Like most new arrivals, Brian had spent those first few months basking in the comforts afforded to the residents there. It was a dream come true, at least until the novelty of the place had worn off. He had spent so much of his life hoping to be selected to live there, but once his wish had been granted and the apathy caused by the supplements faded, that initial excitement had quickly given way to an almost-unbearable sense of emptiness. There was nothing left to hope for, nothing to dream about, and seeing his face grow older by the day as a result of the hormone treatments made things even worse.
Bitterness became the only emotion he felt from that point on, along with a deep hatred for the facility. Life here was no different than life back at the settlements, not really―instead of digging through an old landfill for scraps of recyclable plastic and raising a ration every cycle, his existence had just shifted to revolve around daily injections and indoor work. He would never be more than a cog in the facility’s machine, and the realization had tormented him.
Then, almost six months ago, Brian had overheard one of the scientists he ran errands for discussing a report about harvesting the algae as a main food source. The woman had said that the report made it clear that the algae was a sustainable option, but the administration would never consider it as long as the ration program was in place. In that moment, he felt like his eyes had finally been opened, and he instantly latched onto a new sense of purpose. If things were ever going to change, if there was ever to be anything more to hope for in life, the ration program had to be stopped.
As it turned out, there were others that wanted to end the program as well, but Brian hadn’t been aware of them at first. The administration had gained a reputation for its excessively cruel manner of dealing with any sympathizers it found; fear kept like-minded individuals from revealing themselves to one another, and Brian had initially believed that he was alone. He hadn’t cared, too driven by his anger to give a second thought to his own fate, and three months ago, he had gathered up enough nerve to take action.
Using an access code he had stolen while running errands for the researchers, he had sneaked into the incubation dome and destroyed two of the modulation relay switches that controlled the protocols for growing new rations. Those piers—each capable of growing fifty rations each—were permanently put out of commission as a result, but it seemed like the researchers barely noticed. Losing a hundred incubation chambers was a drop in the bucket, nothing more, and the event made him realize the astronomical impossibility of trying to destroy the ration program.
Originally, that was to be the end of Brian’s secret attempt to be a sympathizer. He thought he had gotten away with it, but he couldn’t help feeling scared when he saw how relentless Executive Smith was in the search for the culprit. When Brian’s door opened unexpectedly one night shortly thereafter, he was sure he had been caught.
Instead, he had met Darren.
Darren worked in security, a job that was perfect for a sympathizer. Automated logs kept track of every time a door opened within the facility and what code was used to open it, and he was one of a handful of people tasked with reviewing and archiving those logs throughout the day. He had used his position to his advantage―the logs were supposed to be protected from tampering, but he had discovered a way to make changes as long as it was done in the small window of time before the entries were moved to the permanent archive.
When Darren had learned about the destroyed incubation piers, he had known immediately that it had to be a fellow sympathizer. He had barely managed to delete the record that showed whose code had been used before the administration demanded to see it, ultimately saving Brian from detection, but he had made mental note of the code before removing the log entry. Realizing that one of the researchers’ errand runners had to be the culprit, he had tracked Brian down within days.
Brian couldn’t deny it, not with the evidence Darren had, so his only choice was to admit what he had done and for the two to join forces. The only problem was Darren’s unquenchable passion―until that moment, like Brian, he had believed himself to be alone in his ideas, and finding a fellow sympathizer had awakened an uncontainable enthusiasm in the man. Darren began dropping enigmatic comments during conversations with the other residents of the facility, and those comments had ultimately led to their discovery by a third contact. The insane chain of events that had followed seemed almost like a dream, but it was the reason Brian had essentially committed suicide by attempting today’s open sabotage in the ration dome.
This new contact had been waiting for them in the abandoned wing the next time they had met, hiding herself in the darkness to keep her identity from them. They had panicked at first, believing that she was lying, but the information she had to offer was too compelling for them to deny. She had revealed that her role was as a secret liaison between the facilities, and that the sympathizers’ numbers had grown after the new report about the algae had circulated. She had made it clear to them that the success of the movement depended on keeping to themselves, explaining that people like her were the only designated go-betweens for the otherwise blind network that existed. There could be dozens of sympathizers living at the resource center, but low-level people like Brian and Darren couldn’t be permitted to learn exactly how many there were―and more importantly, who they were.
The sympathizers had been focusing their most recent efforts on trying to leak the report about the algae’s sustainability to the settlement populations, but so far, the apathy caused by the supplements and the fear of being reported had kept the idea from spreading. Brian’s bold attempt to destroy the incubation piers had given the sympathizers something new to consider, and he was credited with coming up with the first viable plan for undermining the program―the facility wouldn’t be able to produce enough rations if the piers used to grow them were permanently damaged, which would finally force the program to end.
The incubation dome had been put under heavy guard following Brian’s first sabotage attempt, but luckily, Executive Smith hadn’t thought to do the same in the ration dome. The sympathizers had orchestrated a simultaneous attack at every facility at once, and the timing had to be perfect for the plan to succeed. Once one dome was attacked and the administration learned of it, the other facilities would take precautions, so every group across the region had agreed to strike at midnight that night.
Brian, however, had decided that the plan was too risky, and when he had discovered that he had been assigned as an escort, he had immediately started thinking about alternative options. There were only two ways to communicate with other facilities: sending a courier on foot or dispatching one of Center 82’s three messenger drones. The closest neighboring facility was a fourteen-hour trip by courier and the drones wouldn’t be back for two more days,
which had given him a large enough window of time to make a preemptive attempt on the ration dome without risking the plans of the others. Even if he failed and was discovered, the administration wouldn’t be able to send word in time to derail the attacks at the other facilities. He had believed that tagging along with the orientation tour was the best chance he had, but now, as he remembered all the arguments he and Darren had had about it, part of him almost wished he had listened.
Brian whispered a curse as he leaned his head back against the wall. Their mystery contact was not going to be happy, but instead of trying to rehearse an explanation, he found himself picturing the way Amber’s face had looked the moment she had seen what he had done. He frowned. He had expected her to call for help, or to at least tell Paul what she had seen. Instead, it had almost looked like she had covered for him, even perhaps going so far as intentionally serving as a distraction. Could she be a sympathizer, too?
He scoffed under his breath, instantly dismissing the idea―no one ever arrived from the settlements as a sympathizer, and she hadn’t been there long enough to know what a sympathizer was in the first place. The effects of the supplements wore off quickly, but the mental conditioning caused by living at the settlements could take years to fade. Even then, such an extreme paradigm shift was rare, and it was certainly never immediate.
Her reaction didn’t make any sense, but as Brian settled in for the long wait ahead, he did his best to put the thought out of his mind. He was not looking forward to explaining this to Darren.
†‡†
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Andreas read the note that one of the facility’s couriers had delivered, rage instantly burning through her veins. It was from Jen in lab ration storage.
“Noah,” Andreas called out sweetly, crumpling the note in her fist. “Can you explain to me why my LRS privileges have been revoked for a month?”
She watched Noah’s face turn pale, and he ducked behind his monitor.
“Jen and I, um, we had a…disagreement.”
“Over what?”
“There was…there was a group of new arrivals visiting LRS,” he answered, his voice strained. “I had the slot called up, but I noticed that the Ordell girl was there so I yelled for Jen to stop the lift. I…I don’t think she was happy that I yelled.”
Andreas cursed under her breath, jumping to her feet and storming across the room.
“I thought I made myself clear, no one outside this lab is to see that ration! You should have never called up the slot with people there in the first place!”
“I’m sorry, doctor, I made a mistake.”
“Did Ordell see it?”
He quickly shook his head.
“No, I made Jen stop the lift before it was low enough.”
“You’re sure?”
“Yes, doctor, I’m sure,” Noah said. “But I don’t quite understand why it matters. It’s not like she’s going to be leaving here, she won’t be able to tell any outsiders that the ration wasn’t harvested like we said it was.”
“It’s about maintaining the integrity of my test results!” Andreas snarled. “Something you’re obviously too stupid to understand! I need to be able to monitor any reactions that result from contact between Ordell and the test subject, especially now that I’ve been given such a strict time limit to work with!”
“Are you planning on introducing her into the equation?”
“I’m not sure yet, but until then, I expect you to do what you’re told! I’ve warned you about following my rules over a dozen times, Mr. Meyers, consider yourself a permanent resident of recycling if this happens again!”
Noah hung his head meekly.
“Understood, doctor. My apologies.”
“Watch the damn monitors, I’m going to take another sample,” Andreas seethed, turning her attention to the ration. It was strapped to the restraint platform in the middle of her lab, and she marched towards it as she grabbed a pair of gloves.
Ayn cringed, watching out of the corner of his eye as Andreas put the gloves on. The momentary reprieve he had gained by the short argument hadn’t lasted as long as he had hoped, and she picked up a scalpel as she stepped towards him. She had abandoned the biopsy needles hours ago, saying that she wanted to take samples large enough to run multiple tests, but he knew better. This was all about creating the strongest response she could.
Her pen tickled his skin as she drew a mark on his calf, followed by the light pressure of her hands moving into position. Ayn swallowed hard against the sickening nervousness that welled up in his throat, and a moment later, he felt the tip of the scalpel as she began to make the incision.
He forced himself to breathe as the blade cut deep into his muscle; mercifully, it was sharp, but he could still sense the grating friction from its edge dragging across each nerve that was severed. Burning spasms rippled through his flesh, and he focused his mind outside his body, trying to ignore everything but the bright light that hung above him. In the reflection of the light’s silver hood, he could see Andreas reach for her forceps and lean in closer.
Andreas glanced at the ration; she could feel the exposed band of thick muscle twitch between the teeth of the forceps as she dug into the wound, but the creature remained perfectly still.
“The ration’s brain is lighting up,” Noah called from across the room. “It’s feeling everything you’re doing.”
“Good,” Andreas muttered. “This damn thing is making my life miserable, at least it’s getting some of the same.”
She slowly made another cut, carefully separating a thin slice of tissue from the center of the incision and lifting it up and out.
“It’s been nearly nine hours since you gave it the aversion dose,” Noah pointed out. “All of the supplement compounds are gone, there’s nothing in its system to help with pain. Is it really ethical to perform that procedure without any anesthetic?”
Andreas shot him a withering glare.
“Like you give a damn about that.”
“It’s procedure, doctor, the program edict requires―”
“I haven’t confirmed that all the compounds are gone, why the hell do you think I’m taking a sample?”
“But the blood tests already came back negative. According to the guide, the supplements take approximately twenty-four hours to reach undetectable blood saturation levels with natural elimination, but only five hours for both blood and muscle when an aversion dose is administered―”
“Noah, keep your damn mouth shut. I’m the researcher here, not you.”
He dropped his gaze.
“Yes, doctor.”
Andreas made the final cut; blood ran down the ration’s leg, pooling underneath it, and she beckoned to Noah as she stood up and moved towards her microscope.
“Put a couple stitches in that,” she said, gesturing at the hole in the ration’s calf. “I don’t want a mess all over the floors.”
Andreas concentrated, trying to control her trembling hands as she cut a small piece from the edge of the sample and reached for a microscope slide. Her gloves were slippery with blood, and the fragile glass shifted in her grasp as she carefully placed the piece of muscle on the surface. She turned to grab a bottle of specimen stain and squeezed a drop onto the slide.
“No reaction from the stain,” she mused as she stared into the microscope. “Confirmation, the supplement compounds have been fully eliminated with no indication of muscle retention.”
“So what now?” Noah asked, placing the first stitch. Andreas sighed and stood up.
“Now we do a full analysis of the ration’s current state and start incremental administration of the supplements.”
“It’s fully aware at this stage,” he told her, glancing up as he clipped the end of the suture. “Do you want me to give it anything before we check its weight?”
“What part of current state do you not understand?” she snapped. “We’re not giving it something that
could interfere with the results!”
“It’s just…big.”
Andreas could hear the nervousness in Noah’s voice. He was no doubt concerned about releasing an unmedicated ration this size from the restraints on the platform―several months ago, around the same time Project Nine had been resolved, another researcher’s lab had been nearly destroyed by a ration that was only half-grown.
“I suppose you’ll have to get a prod ready just in case,” she said, rolling her eyes at his feeble demeanor. Everything about the man made her sick, but replacing him wasn’t an option. All the other lab assistants were spoken for, so she was stuck with him for now.
Noah gulped loudly as he nodded; he stood to his feet, moving across the room and retrieving an electric prod from a cabinet in the corner. Andreas walked over to the platform and reached for the restraints.
“Behave, ration,” she warned as she released the first one.
Noah raised a brow.
“Do you really think it can understand you?”
“Yes, Mr. Meyers, I do.”
“But how?” he asked incredulously. “Even if you’re right about the supplement resistance, there’s no way a ration’s brain is developed enough for speech!”
Andreas scowled, silencing him with a look as she began working on the restraints that held the ration’s arms.
“Stand up,” she commanded.
Ayn felt a shiver of fear race up his spine, refusing to so much as blink as he stared at the ceiling. This was the first time she had tried speaking to him, and he mentally ran through every moment he had spent in her lab, trying to remember if he had done anything that might have prompted her to do so. Capacity for speech comprehension had been one of the many hypotheses presented by David during Project Nine, and he hoped she was just basing her actions off of that.
CENTER 82 (RATION) Page 13
