The Girl Who Dared to Think

by Bella Forrest

  “I’m supposed to take it with food,” I mumbled, trying to stave off the inevitable.

  “Well… why don’t we head over to the Lion’s Den, and we’ll use our ration cards to get some fry-bread for dinner. You love fry-bread.”

  “Sure,” I replied numbly to my mother’s suggestion.

  The Lion’s Den, an open market in front of Greenery 10, was perpetually busy, people moving through the tight alleys around produce stalls and food carts with small tables and chairs parked around them. We managed to find a table that was unoccupied, and my father collected our ration cards so that he could order. My mother tried to engage me in conversation, but all I could do was stare out at the crowd, too depressed to even pretend to care. Eventually she gave up trying.

  Later, after my fry-bread had been cooked, served, and largely uneaten, my father placed the pill bottle in front of me, my mom setting a cup of water beside it. My hand moved, but it felt like it belonged to someone else. Someone else poured two of the pills into someone else’s palm. Someone else lifted them to my mouth. Someone else swallowed.

  Someone else got up from the chair.

  7

  I rolled over in bed and stretched, slowly coming awake. A yawn cracked my face, and I peeled back my mutinous eyelids to peer around. It took a second for my brain to identify my surroundings as my room. It was just a clean version of it.

  I sat up, confused by its tidy state. Gone were the clothes that normally formed a massive pile on the back of my old, beaten-up stuffed chair. The debris of pens, maps, doodles, and homework had vanished from my workspace, and only a pad and stylus remained, set just so on the surface.

  Slipping gingerly out of bed, half expecting some sort of neat-freak monster to grab me, I pressed my feet to the cold metal floor, letting its chill assure me that this was real. The juxtaposition was too jarring. I couldn’t seem to remember how I’d gotten here.

  I looked up at the display over my door, staring at the date and timestamp lit up in green numbers. Staring at it. Because I couldn’t seem to make sense of the numbers. They were wrong.

  Yet deep down, I knew they weren’t. I combed through the broken bits of memories I could conjure in my mind, trying to explain what could’ve happened to me. I had been at the apprenticeship classes, then we had gone to Water Treatment, and then… The Medica. The pills. My parents. My eyes darted back up to the display, and I felt my stomach sink.

  That was why the numbers looked wrong—a week had passed. A whole week since I had taken those first two pills, and I didn’t remember a single moment of it. Something, someone, had hijacked my body and taken it over, and I had no memory of anything I’d done.

  Nauseated, I looked over to the small nightstand next to my bed, and saw the bottle of pills, two already set out and waiting next to a tin cup containing water and a wrapped nutrient bar. I stared at the pills with revulsion, then quickly scooped them into my shaking hands, deposited them into the pill bottle, and threw the thing as hard as I could, desperately needing it not to be in my hands anymore. I heard the bottle hit something and then land on the floor, spinning across it and rolling toward the closet at the foot of my bed. I curled up in a ball and pulled the blanket over my head, trying to calm the rising tide of panic threatening to tear through my chest.

  A week. An entire week, I thought, fighting back tears. I had no idea what I’d been like—who I’d been like—and that terrified me. I could’ve done anything and never known.

  Why was I suddenly me again? Had I missed a dose last night?

  Or was this what it was going to be like? Brief periods of lucidity during which I was in my body, but looking at the life of a stranger?

  I shuddered, a burst of anger at the injustice of it all making me throw back my blankets and look around. If this girl was taking over my life, I might as well get to know the new Liana.

  No, I thought to myself, perhaps a bit maliciously. Her name is Prim.

  I got up and moved over to my desk, intent on checking the pad. It was password-protected, but my usual password worked—thank God. I couldn’t imagine what it would be like waking up and knowing that a version of myself had changed my passcode.

  I went to run a nervous hand through my hair, and paused when a flash of orange at my wrist caught my eye. I focused on it, and was momentarily shocked by the number emblazoned there.

  Five.

  It flickered to and fro between four and five, as if it could sense my conscious mind rebelling against the drugs that had clouded it, then settled on five again.

  I took a deep breath, trying to gather some calm and force it into my body. I could stop taking the pills now. It had taken me years to fall from five to three, so this had to have bought me some time to figure things out for myself. Like a little boost to my morale or something. I looked down at the five… and saw it flicker again with the thought.

  “I don’t think I have years,” I admitted out loud. I honestly wasn’t even sure I had days.

  I began searching through the pad, opening up recent files and studying them. It was strange to see things in my handwriting—things I didn’t remember writing. I had notes on water treatment, suggestions about improvements to Tower security, and even (this made me gag slightly) a quote from Gerome scribbled in a margin. It seemed that Prim was an industrious and conscientious student.

  Well, that’s good for Prim, I thought. But that isn’t me! I don’t like notes—I like action! Why is that such a bad thing?

  It dawned on me that this room was no longer even my room—it was hers. Sure, it was filled with my things, but she’d made them hers just by putting them away, creating a space that was just as familiar as it was foreign.

  I needed to get out.

  I pressed the button, and my door slid open with a pneumatic hiss. I stumbled out and into the hall, looking around, trying to find the other ways that Prim had taken over my life.

  My mother looked up from where she was standing by a bookshelf in the small communal space we shared. “Good morning, sweetheart,” she said as I stepped out of the hall.

  I paused. Sweetheart?

  “Hey. Mom.” This was so incredibly awkward. She never called me sweetheart, but the way she said it told me that today was not the first time she had done so. Which meant that somewhere in the forgotten memories there were examples of her saying it to Prim. Not to me. That meant there was a version of me she loved.

  She looked over at me, a warm smile touching her lips. “Gerome just came by, sleepyhead,” she said.

  If she didn’t stop with the pet names, I might run screaming from the room.

  “Oh? What did he have to say?” I asked, trying to focus on the question and not give away any of the emotional turmoil I was feeling.

  “He said he was really impressed with how you’ve been adapting to your new medication and stepping up in your responsibilities.” She shut the red Knight’s manual she was holding and placed it neatly back onto the shelf. “I just want you to know, your father and I are so very proud of you. We see you finally becoming the woman Scipio always knew you could be.”

  I nodded, my mouth dry. “That’s nice.” Prim was succeeding where I had failed. God, I hated her so much.

  My mother’s smile flickered, and she took a step toward me. “Are you feeling well? You seem strange.”

  “No, no!” I said quickly, suddenly terrified she would figure out that something was wrong and make me take those pills. I forced a smile onto my face. “I’m fine, just a little groggy.”

  She prowled closer, though, her eyes sweeping me up and down. “Is your medication okay? Should I talk to Dr. Bordeaux for you?”

  “Mom, that’s one of the side effects,” I reminded her, recalling Dr. Bordeaux’s words. “I’m sure it will pass—maybe some air will help. I might go find Zoe and see if she’s free for a walk.”

  “The six,” she said, her voice flat, and I blinked, confusion radiating through me. My mom had never had a problem with Zoe befor
e. What was her problem now?

  “I’m a five,” I quickly pointed out, my mind grasping for straws. “There must be some things she can teach me.”

  My mother grimaced, but then nodded. “I suppose you have a point there. But when your number levels out as higher than hers, I expect you to end the relationship.”

  My heart pounded against my ribcage as I stared at her, defiance already creeping into my spine. My relationship with Zoe would end over my dead body, and not a moment before. My mother looked at me expectantly, and I kept my tongue in line, trying to come up with a non-pithy reply that made her believe I was still Prim.

  “Yes, ma’am,” was the only thing I could stomach saying, and even then it came out strangled. My mother must not have noticed, because she turned back to the shelf to pull out another manual, and flipped it open.

  I made my way back to my bedroom, shutting the door and taking a deep breath. I needed to get out of there—which meant I needed to get dressed. I looked around the room for my uniform, trying to figure out where Prim had put it, and it finally dawned on me. The closet.

  I threw the doors open, and sure enough, a fresh suit was right there—hanging from a hanger, all nice and proper. I glared at it, mentally condemning it for being complicit with Prim. It now felt like it was hers and not mine. I grabbed it and quickly put it on, though, eager to get out. I tucked the Medica pills into my pocket, took a small bite of the nutrient bar and sipped from the water, then made sure to say goodbye to my mom before I left. That was probably something Prim would do.

  I made my way to the lashway, and didn’t hesitate, just flung my lash as I raced through it. It hit one of the arches with a plink, and I swung out, using the momentum to launch myself higher. As I flipped, I felt something of my old self returning. The sheer drop, the trill of my heart as I lashed through the air, made my problems fall away, if only for a moment.

  One lash. Two. I felt my body respond to each cable I threw, as though it was waking from a deep sleep. I threw in an artistic flip at the end, and landed gently.

  Bet Prim doesn’t do this, I thought as I added a little flourish at the end, looking around and expecting, even hoping for, the level of dismay that had always appeared when I got too fancy with the lashes. It would make me feel like me.

  “Nice landing,” a passing Knight called, flashing a thumbs up.

  The smile slid from my face. I had made landings like that over the years, and the lower my rank was, the more people looked at me like I was wrong for doing it. Now, they appreciated it, and the only difference was the stupid five on my wrist. That just made the compliment feel fake.

  I shoved my hands in my pockets and headed for the nearest footbridge that connected to the shell, moving fast. The Tower was in dawn mode, the artificial light brightening. I looked over at the east wall as the lights changed, starting off low and rising as the sun did. I paused to watch it, closing my eyes when the light reached the footbridge, the rays pure and warm. I let them heat my face for a moment, taking pleasure in the feeling, as well as the knowledge that it was mine and not hers. Eventually I left, heading into the shell and moving through the service tunnels and access hatches, going nowhere in particular. Everywhere I went people waved, greeting me, asking how I was doing. While I had once been seen as diseased, I was now seen as normal.

  Once again I felt Prim’s presence, a stain on my mind, and moved deeper into the passages, taking less-used halls to avoid running into anyone. I ducked back as I stumbled into a group of six men wearing orange uniforms and wielding massive tools, prying up a bit of floor, and forced myself to stop and reconsider how I was going to get around the Cog work party.

  “This is madness,” I muttered under my breath as one of them gave a cheerful wave in my direction. How could one little pill affect me so much? More importantly, how was it able to make me work if it wasn’t even me driving? Was this how everyone on Peace felt? The irony of it being called “Peace” was not lost on me, in my current war-torn state, but I let it pass as I headed deeper into the shell, finally finding access to the plunge to get some solitude.

  I jumped through the doorway and let my first lash fly, using the plunge to shut my restless mind off and force it to focus on the task at hand. I spun in the air, losing myself to gravity and relying solely on my wit and reflexes to guide me in and around obstacles. When my fall came to a sudden halt, I swung into a doorway, throwing lash after lash at the beams across the ceiling to propel myself forward. The tunnel opened into a huge collection of beams and girders—a section of the shell designed purely to brace and hold the weight of the Tower.

  I spotted the glowing green arrows painted on the sides of the beams, following their directions up and to the next access shaft. When I spotted it, I immediately swung myself over it, tumbling in the air and then righting myself so that I was falling feet first. I’d judged the distance correctly, and was now falling through row after row of beam walkways, perfectly positioned in the middle so that I wouldn’t have to adjust my position. My eyes caught a splash of glowing blue paint, and I threw a lash, angling toward it and through the door right underneath, landing on my feet in the middle of a hidden Water Treatment hatch.

  My breathing came in sharp pants for a few moments, and sweat was beading across my forehead and the back of my neck. That had been a stiff workout. I waved my hand across my hot cheeks, trying to cool them, and my eyes caught the number on my wrist, instantly grounding me.

  Five. Just like that, my problems were back, pressing down heavily in my thoughts to remind me that there was no way to escape. The five flickered, battling with a four, and I shut my eyes and lowered my arm, trying to calm down.

  I looked around the room for the designation number so I could figure out where I was, and how I could get to Zoe. I desperately needed to see her, talk to her, hear her thoughts. She was incredibly insightful when it came to things like this, and I could use her practicality right now. It also wouldn’t hurt to have someone tell me exactly what I’d been doing for the last week. Maybe filling in the gaps would help ease some of this discomfort.

  I found the room number and quickly began to push through the pipe room, heading for the elevator that was somewhere ahead. As I approached the tall opening, I could hear the sound of rushing water, and realized I was about to cross onto a catwalk suspended over the massive hydro-turbine that supplied massive amounts of energy for the Tower.

  I stepped out onto the platform into a mist of water, my hair immediately going damp. The water churned white as the wheel spun at a moderate pace, crashing down to be gathered into the water storage tanks below. This was the first step in treating the water, and there were thousands of ways the water was utilized after it was processed. I didn’t really understand how all of it worked, but, much like the view from the elevator, it was another beautiful sight the Tower had to offer.

  I walked down the catwalk, thoughts and ideas running around in circles in my head. When I looked up, suddenly, there he was.

  He had one foot braced on one of the lower rungs of the railing, his elbows resting on it as he looked out at the massive waterfall. The water roared all around us, kicking up mist and an occasional breeze, but he just watched it all. His hands were busy cutting an apple, and his mouth moved silently, as if going over a list, or reciting a poem. His nine shone bright blue on his wrist, but his face was wild with expression and unabashed emoting that was captivating to behold. He smiled as if something he’d mouthed was silly. He laughed as if he had some private joke—which I instantly wanted to be in on. It was unlike anything the Tower demanded, and I simultaneously envied him… and desired to know how he did it.

  He finally saw me staring at him like a freak, but instead of walking away like any sane person would, he took a good look at me, then smiled.

  My heart skipped a beat, and I instantly forgot about Zoe.

  8

  The smile flickered and was quickly replaced by wariness, and he frowned at me. “I’m s
till a nine, Squire.”

  I shifted, self-conscious. “I’m not here for that. I didn’t even know you were here. I was just—”

  He looked at me, his brown eyes reflecting his disinterest in what I was saying, and I broke off. His knife flashed, catching the light from overhead, and he crunched into the fruit, his gaze once again on the waterfall.

  I waited for a second, to see if he would say anything, and was disappointed by his lack of interest in doing so. A part of me wanted to just keep walking past. Another part kept me rooted to the spot, reminding me that he had a way to keep me from meeting my current fate.

  “I like it down here,” I announced, and that earned me another sidelong glance. He shifted, turning slightly toward me.

  “Oh?” It was barely a syllable, let alone a question, but I went with it, just happy to get any sort of response.

  “Yeah. Here and the elevators that run along the interior of the shell—where you can see all three buildings from far away. Also outside. Whenever we have to do a repair mission, I like—”

  “A view,” Grey cut in. I met his gaze and was surprised to see a lopsided grin there. He slid another slice of apple into his mouth and then offered me a fresh one. “Got this from a Hand up near the Menagerie,” he said, referencing the section where animals were reared.

  “How?” I asked suspiciously, even as I accepted the slice.

  His gaze was smug as he arched a solitary eyebrow. “Come now, even you couldn’t accuse a nine of stealing,” he said, his eyes sparkling. “A woman up there gave it to me. She was inspired by my ranking, or some such nonsense.”

  Nonsense. He’d said it almost as an afterthought, but there it was. My eyes flicked to the nine and back up to his face, which was once again angled toward the waterfall. I needed to know how he’d done it. I had to. Because more pills like the ones I’d been taking would slowly drive me insane, and I’d become a statistic in one of Dr. Bordeaux’s studies.