by Adriana Ryan
A government car. Driving one of those massive grey vehicles without a proper license is cause for gassing. But I nod. This is for Ceres. Nothing else matters.
“Good.” He looks around at everyone before continuing. “Vika will transport four of you, dressed as Maintenance, in her car. Here’s the list of who’s going with her.”
Tomas hands out a sheet of paper with four names printed on them. Shale’s is at the very top, I can see from where I’m sitting. He squeezes my hand. We’ll be together for another leg of the journey, then.
“Once you’re at the terminal,” Tomas says, “you four and Vika will get on the bus with the children. You will shepherd the victims onto the bus, if needed, just as they expect you to. Got it? You’re going to be seeing a lot of things you don’t agree with, but you can’t fight it. Not yet. We need to let the little stuff go so we can get to the big stuff.”
Everyone nods. I watch the men—they are rapt, clinging to Tomas’s every syllable.
“The driver will pull into the parking garage in the back of the Asylum. She will need to be eliminated.”
Tomas’s eyes flick over me, looking for a reaction. I keep my face carefully blank.
“Rob will take care of that.” Off to my side, a man nods. “He will then drive the bus down a side road we’ve identified, to the West entrance.”
“What about the children?” I ask. “Surely he can’t take the children with him.”
“The children will remain in the parking garage with you, Vika. No other buses are planned to make a stop there that day. You can stay safely hidden until the men are finished with their work.”
Stay with the children while the men go out and do the important work. Isn’t this what our mothers have fought against all these years? My chest tightens and my face begins to heat when I remember Ceres. I see her face, the fear, the very un-Ceres-like look of blankness, of nothing, of years washed away by torment. So I force myself to sit still.
But Tomas must’ve noticed my brief flash of anger. “Will we have a problem with you?” he asks, glaring at me.
I can see Shale studying my face in my peripheral vision, and Mica glancing from me to Tomas. “No,” I reply. “I’m willing to do anything to get my sister free.”
After a moment of silence, Tomas nods. He continues to outline the plan the Rads must follow from the time they leave the parking garage to the time they’re joined by more Rads. These other Rads, from a group in Toronto, will help free the children in the Asylum and set fire to the entire building, leaving Guards and scientists to burn.
By then, I think to myself, Ceres will be in my arms.
Shale and I look at each other. I wonder if this is all a dream.
CHAPTER TWENTY SIX
After the meeting, Shale and I stop near the door. I watch as Mica speaks to one of the men in the group, and then throws his head back to laugh at something that’s been said. I’ve never seen my brother so relaxed. It looks, I realize, like he’s found his family.
When his eyes travel around the room, he sees me waiting and comes over.
“I’d like to speak with you a minute,” I say. My throat feels dry. “If it’s convenient.”
His eyes dark, he nods. “Let’s step outside. It’ll be quieter.”
Shale squeezes my shoulder as I pass by him. “I’ll wait here for you.”
Outside, the din of the men’s voices recedes until it sounds like a melancholy tune hummed under someone’s breath. A warm wind whips my hair into my face.
“What do you want to talk about, Vika?”
He looks like our mother around the eyes. I wonder how I never noticed that before. “I saw a photograph of Ceres taken last year. She…looks different. Changed.”
There’s a beat as we gaze into each other’s eyes, looking for unspoken words or their hidden meanings. Then Mica looks away. “Yes. The Asylums have changed the children, and not for the better. Some say they’ll never recover.”
But I don’t want to speak of other children. I want to speak of our sister, our blood. “Do you think she’s forgiven us?” My voice comes out a whisper.
Mica doesn’t respond, and I’m about to repeat myself, when he says, “There’s nothing to forgive. We did nothing wrong. We were only children when she was taken.”
“Even so, I’m going to put this right. I’m going to get on a ship to China, and Ceres will get the best treatment from the doctors when we get there. They’ll have to help her, don’t you think? They’re a civilized nation; they wouldn’t let her suffer. All of this will be a nightmare she can wake up from.”
“Do you really believe it’s going to be that easy?” There’s a small, twisted smile on Mica’s face.
“What do you mean?”
“Our government. Have you thought about it? Why are they letting people emigrate at all?”
“Because the resources on New Amana are rapidly being depleted.” I wonder if this is some sort of a trick.
“Yes, but why would they let you go scot-free, Vika? Out of the goodness of their hearts? And what of the new rule that only allows the healthiest, toughest people to emigrate? No older people are allowed to go, no matter how much of their life they’ve dedicated to service.”
My mother’s face flashes through my mind. There’s a sickly taste in my throat. “I thought…I thought it was because China needs the strongest to do the most physically challenging jobs. What are you saying?”
Mica leans in close enough for me to smell something deep and wet and green on his breath. “The Rads have information. Those approved to emigrate are being trained in a certain part of China by our government officials. These women have brand new identities, so the majority of the Chinese government has no idea who they are, how powerful they are. With the help of a few corrupt local officials, they’re creating an army. They plan to declare war against the Chinese. The community over there will serve as a base in hostile territory. You’re a soldier, whether you want to be or not.”
“But…why? What would the corrupt Chinese officials gain by going with this plan?” The world seems to be spinning. I force my thoughts to a semblance of coherence.
“Power. They’ve been guaranteed power.” Mica smirks, shakes his head. “Isn’t that what everyone wants?”
Morning crawls in and lies on my bedroom floor, its gray belly exposed. How many days until I see Ceres? What is she doing at this moment? Does she have a window to see the world go by? Does she have a friend to whom she can speak of her sister, of her life past?
When Shale stirs, I turn on my side.
“Do you always wake so early?” he asks, his voice thick with sleep.
“Not always.”
He smoothes a strand of hair back from my face. My heart beats an erratic pattern at the gesture, and I try to will it to calm. “What’s the matter?”
A tear leaves a salty trail down the side of my nose, and it’s quickly followed by another. I squeeze my eyes shut. “Mica says the government’s building an army in China. That’s why only the healthiest people are being allowed to go. That’s why they’ve made an exception for you, for the young, strong Husbands who can’t reproduce. They’ll use you as soldiers instead. You and—and me, if I can give them a soldier to add to their army, and anyone else they want.”
I suppose there’s nothing else to be said. Shale gathers me into his arms and I lie with my ear against his chest, listening to the steady thudding of his heart.
I’m almost asleep again when my stomach lurches. My head spinning, I sit up and press one sweaty hand to my head.
“Are you alright?” Shale sits up too, and puts his hand between my shoulder blades.
“I think—” But I don’t have time to finish my sentence. I barely make it to the washroom in time to vomit.
When I’m done, I take a deep breath and wash my face. Shale’s pacing in my bedroom, his face drawn.
“I don’t feel very well.” I make my way back to the bed and lie down.
�
�Do you need to visit the doctor?”
“I don’t think so. But could you bring me a cup of water?”
When Shale goes into the kitchen, I hurry to my bag and pull out my mini-calendar, though the dates and their meaning are emblazoned in my mind.
It’s as I thought. I’m pregnant.
CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN
Shale stares at me for a long moment before setting the cup of water down and gathering me into his arms. “How do you feel?”
“Like I just ran twenty miles, and then ate some bad fruit.”
He laughs softly and strokes my hair. “I meant emotionally.”
“Alright, I think.” I pull back and look up at him. “I don’t really know yet. I’ve been waiting for this so long, and yet…it feels much too sudden.” My zero armband. I can actually toss it aside now. They’ll want me to wear the gold one, with the fruit-laden tree.
“You know what this means,” Shale says. “You’ll likely be allowed to emigrate.”
“Yes.” I rest my hand lightly on my stomach, between us. Our baby. Our child. We could be free, we could emigrate to China. But then what? Will I be forced to join the army? Will my child?
But if we stay here, we’ll surely die.
“You should sit out the Asylum mission. It’s going to be much too dangerous, especially for someone who’s carrying a baby. There’s always a chance we’ll be found out.” Shale puts his fingers on top of my hand and looks down at our baby’s current home.
I look at our hands, already cradling our child, worried about its protection. We haven’t even met it yet, haven’t held it or inhaled the vulnerable scent of warm pink skin. We haven’t nourished it or listened to it squall for us and already, there is a bond there.
I look up at Shale. I’m balanced on the knife-edge of two vastly different existences: one as the most venerated member of society, the other as a dissident on the darkest edge of it. “I think I’ll wait until after our appointment at the Match Clinic to make that decision.”
As I dress for the Clinic and work, I’m consumed by thoughts of freedom. It won’t matter that I’ve failed my physical test. What must it feel like to breathe air free of radiation, to not worry about acid rain stinging scraped skin, to look outside and be able to see a blue sky?
Snapping at the heels of those thoughts are thoughts of guilt: What if Ceres doesn’t get out? What if Shale is caught? What if it’s too late for Ceres, and irrevocable damage has been done?
And after all of this, what if China turns out to be a trap laid by the government, as the Rads say? What is to become of me and my child?
I tie on my zero armband, but today it feels diaphanous, almost weightless. Its power is gone and it’s close to disintegrating into the dust of my past.
Shale accompanies me to the Match Clinic. We don’t speak on the way there, but I feel his glances brushing against my cheek like butterfly wings. He is afraid too.
In the Clinic, the doctor looks through my chart.
“Last menses went for the normal length of time?”
“Yes.”
She writes something in my chart. “Alright. Urinate in this cup, please.” She hands me the same sort of plastic cup I’d urinated in before when I’d thought I might be pregnant.
The failure of that day comes rushing back at me and I find my face heating up. What if it’s only a false alarm again? Perhaps my menstrual cycle is only running late, as it did the last time. Will I want to jump back into the fray and continue on with the mission?
As I take a step to the washroom, the ground wobbles and I find my legs buckling. Shale is at my elbow a moment later, hoisting me back onto the doctor’s table.
“Are you alright, Vika?” His face is pinched, concerned.
The doctor eyes me. “The hormones can do that sometimes. Let’s get the test done, shall we?”
I nod, get off the table, and head to the washroom once again.
The timer seems to me a living thing, a knowledgeable entity spitefully holding back seconds and minutes to prolong my torture. I catch Shale’s eye as we wait for its blaring and he smiles, a soft, sad smile that makes my heart weep.
The doctor eventually plucks the pregnancy test from the cup and looks at the strip for a long moment. When she looks up, her face is kinder than it has ever been before.
“Congratulations.”
I begin to cry.
After I am instructed on the best way to keep the fetus safe and on the foods that are unhealthy for it, I’m given a special BoTA uniform to wear that will protect the baby from the highest radiation levels in the air. And, at the end of my appointment, the doctor asks me to remove my zero armband.
I shiver slightly as she opens a large plastic bag and extracts a silky black armband with a golden tree on it. A branch bows down, heavy with a single swollen fruit. She wraps the band around me and, as is tradition, Shale ties the knot.
“May you bear healthy fruit,” he says, looking deep into my eyes.
I nod, my vision blurred from tears. This is what I’ve been waiting for, what I was made for.
Finally, the doctor says, “You’ve now been entered into the computer as being eligible to emigrate.” A thin smile washes across her face. “You’re free, Vika.”
Outside the building, the day seems to be brighter than it was before. Shale smiles that same sad smile at me. It’s as if he can already see me on the ship, sailing to freedom. “Are you going to work?”
“I’m granted a free day today, if I want it.” I glance up at the gray sky. “I thought I might take it. I have somewhere I’d like to go.”
CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT
When she opens her door, my mother’s face is drawn, her eyes wary. Her clothes are just rumpled enough for me to see that things haven’t changed; she is still to be left behind here. “Is everything alright?”
“Everything’s fine.” I try on a smile, but it slips from my face. “May I come in?”
“Of course.” She hesitates another moment and then steps aside. Her house is dark and cold, and so spartan it looks abandoned.
Even though she doesn’t ask me to sit, I take a seat on the couch and look around. “Where’s Orion?”
“In the back. Cleaning.” My mother doesn’t mention whether or not Orion will be allowed to emigrate, and I don’t ask.
“Ah.” I look down at my hands, clasped together on my lap. “Mother…I’m pregnant.”
Silence ensues. I glance at my mother; she has a faraway look in her eyes. Her fingers play across her armband. “Congratulations. You’ve done New Amana proud.”
“How did you feel? When you first found out you were pregnant with Ceres? Did you…know somehow?”
The look of nostalgia is gone, replaced once again with wariness. “Know what? That she wasn’t normal? Don’t be ridiculous. If I’d known, I would’ve aborted the fetus immediately.”
“So then you must’ve felt a connection to her. While she was inside you?” I take a deep breath when she doesn’t respond. “I feel it, Mother. I feel a bond with my baby, and I’m only about four weeks along, according to the doctor. I…I’m not sure I’d be able to give it up if it turned out to be abnormal.”
My mother sinks slowly to the armchair beside me. Leaning forward, she says, “What you’ve just said is traitorous, Vika. I’d advise you to keep those thoughts to yourself. Especially with them looking for reasons to cross people off the list.”
“Is that why you gave Ceres up? Because you wanted to save yourself?” The questions rush out on a wave of desperation. I want—no, I need to understand how she could’ve had my sister with her for five years and then decide she no longer wanted her. How do you make that decision?
“I did it for the future of New Amana. I did it for women to come. For my remaining healthy daughter.” Her fists dig into the flesh of her thighs.
Something about her story doesn’t add up. I gaze into her eyes, trying to see the truth she’s hiding. And then it comes to me. “Why didn�
��t they arrest you?”
She straightens slowly, but doesn’t respond.
“Why didn’t they take you when Ceres was taken to the Asylums? Her father was taken; I saw the notice you received. But why would they think the disease came from his side and not from yours?” When her face pales, I have my answer. “It was because of you, wasn’t it? You finagled the records so you’d be protected.”
“He was a man.” The words come out hard and abrupt, like bullets. “He was a Husband, and I work for the future of our country. Don’t you think I deserve more leniency?”
My legs shake so hard I don’t think I’ll be able to stand, but I manage it. “You’re poison, Mother. I can’t believe I didn’t see it before.”
When I open the door to let myself out, she says, “Vika. Don’t do anything stupid. Let the sacrifice Ceres made be worthwhile.”
I close the door behind me.
Naiad’s house is in the Galaxy District. It’s a squat concrete structure, with the mottled, broken surface common to all our cities, but it’s obvious the residents have tried to make it homier. There are bright weeds being cultivated in a tiny pot, perhaps to bring some life to the front of the house. A child has painted the lone window and drawn on the door. My heart clenches.
When I knock, a striking woman I guess to be Naiad’s partner opens the door. When she sees my green uniform, she closes the door more, as if to shield her house and the little person in it.
“Yes?”
“My name is Vika Cannon,” I say, smiling a little. “I used to work with Naiad.”
“I inferred that from your uniform.” The woman does not return my smile. “What do you want?”
“May I come in and speak with you? I promise I won’t take up much of your time.”
She looks at me a long moment before opening the door wider and stepping to one side.
