“What do you mean?”
“Well.” He looks stuck for a minute, like he can’t really find the words. “Firsts are supposed to… they’re supposed to lead the world, help pass on useful knowledge and information that would be lost without them.”
“So what’s Mr. Socrates going to do, teach me all this before he dies?”
Mr. Flannigan tilts his head on his nonexistent neck, like a fat chicken, thinking about going after a worm. “Yes, that’s it. But I can’t tell you any more. It’s not my job. My position is merely to make you more acceptable to those you’ll meet in Washington. I’m not… permitted to speak about anything else.”
Now it’s my turn to look confused. “Why not? I mean, it’s not some big secret, is it?”
He hesitates. “No, of course not. However, the law states that the only one who can give you that information, besides the President himself, is your First, Socrates. You’ll have to ask him, yourself.”
I let out a huff of frustration. “When will I see him next?”
“I’m glad you asked.” He smiles. “In three days you’ll leave this farm forever. You’ll be heading to Washington for a thorough physical evaluation and to be vaccinated.”
“Against what?”
“Everything, silly girl. We can’t have you getting sick now that you’re chosen, can we? There are so many diseases out there in developing countries that modern medicine hasn’t been able to cure yet.”
“Why bother? We were hit last year by a pretty nasty bug, and no one in my family got sick. Obviously, I’m immune.”
“One thing I can tell you is that, in your new position, you’ll be travelling around the world. You’ll be exposed to different cultures and, therefore, a wide variety of diseases from countries less advanced than ours.”
“So why don’t all of us get vaccinated?”
Flannigan shrugs. “There are limited quantities of the more common vaccines from what I understand, and there are so many of you.”
“So what you’re saying is that we’re expendable.”
He shakes his head. “Of course not. The vaccine is also expensive, and since your people don’t travel, the government deemed it unnecessary.”
I stand up and pace between the chair and the window. “Kids die, Mr. Flannigan. Every few years, some new disease hits us and kills a few of the younger or sicker ones, then disappears. I know we’re servants, but almost all of the ones who die are just little kids. Babies in diapers. If they vaccinated us like the free citizens, none of that would happen.”
He opens his mouth, like he’s about to agree with me, then stops.
I turn and face him, hands on my hips. “You talk about Socrates like he’s this all-powerful guy, like the President.” It’s a statement, not a question, but Mr. Flannigan treats it as such.
“Yes, he’s the first of the Firsts, the oldest of them all.”
I shake my head. “I don’t know what that means, but if he’s as great as you make him out to be, he can do this. He can get his hands on some of that medication.”
“The vaccine?”
“Yes. I want enough for all of them. For any disease that might strike the farm. Especially now that I know diseases can be prevented.” I give him the evil eye as I watch his lips stretch. He curtly nods. “They deserve to be safe.”
He settles back in his chair, a faint respect in his eyes. “I don’t know if that’s possible, or whether you’re in any position to make demands, but I’ll ask him.” He holds up his hands when I open my mouth to speak, to tell him that asking isn’t good enough when kids are dying every few years. “You have to understand, Mira, I can’t make any guarantees, okay?”
“All right. I understand.”
“Do you have any other questions?”
I narrow my eyes at him, at his begrudgingly respectful tone, and bite my bottom lip. “Out with it, girl, what else is bothering you?”
“Nothing…” He raises his eyebrows at me. “Okay, fine. But I’m warning you, it’s stupid.”
He lets out a hollow laugh. “Duly noted,” he says, wryly.
“Why am I still here?” My voice is quiet and sounds young, more like Max’s than mine.
“What do you mean?”
“When my cousin was picked, he left immediately.” I shift in my chair, crossing my legs then uncrossing them.
Mr. Flannigan looks out the window. “Well, Socrates likes to give his Seconds time to say goodbye to their families, since they’ll never see them again.” I can feel the blood drain from my face. “Surely you knew that.” I shake my head, for once without words. “Your cousin has been gone what, a couple years, right?” I nod. “Then, you’ve noticed that he hasn’t returned, nor will he ever. It’s against the law for a Second to return home after being Absolved.” His eyes seem sad, creased at the edges.
“Why?”
Flannigan shrugs. “It’s the law, and it’s not my place to question it.”
He’s lying. I can feel it. But why? What good reason could he possibly have to keep this from me?
He clears his throat. “Regardless of that, you will be able to affect a great change as Socrates’s Second that you would never be able to even hope to achieve living here on this farm.” Flannigan touches the thin computer and grimaces. “You’ll have to straighten up, Mira, from what I’ve seen here.” He arches his eyebrows at me over the edge of his glasses. “And according to your file…” He waves the thin tablet at me, and in my mind, I see it arcing through the air as he loses his slippery grip. “You could cause quite a bit of trouble once you get to Washington, and Socrates doesn’t need that.”
I feel myself flush. How would he like if I looked up his past and all of his faults? “I’m not that bad.”
Another faint grin touches his lips. “Let’s start on the first page.” He peers down at the screen. “Leaving the farm without permission. A few times, in fact. Arguing with your teacher. Leaving the farm again.” He looks up at me again. “Looks like you take your little trips quite often. Where do you go?”
I lift my shoulders before dropping them as if it doesn’t matter. “Sometimes I just need to get away. We kind of live in each other’s pockets here.”
“Let’s see. Here’s one for talking back to a supervisor.”
“He was trying to feel me up! This is ridiculous. I can’t believe they wrote that in there. The man had a serious thing for us girls. I’m glad he’s gone.”
“What happened to him?” His face is impassive, but there is a dangerous glint in his eyes that I hadn’t seen before.
“Shipped off to do construction at another farm.” I smile with satisfaction. At least that disaster ended rather well, for our farm at any rate. Now he’s someone else’s problem.
He looks down at the list again. “Skipping a visit and getting three days isolation?” He waits for me to say more, but I don’t elaborate. “Why did you do that?”
“It’s a long story.”
He waits, fingers strumming on his thick, meaty thigh.
I sigh, letting all my breath out in a big whoosh before smoothing my hands on my pants again. A nervous twitch. “All right, fine. Max was caught watching the news, and Alessa turned him in. But Gloria told him to come with them into the house and watch it with them—”
“Max is your brother, right? How old is he?”
“He just turned five.”
Mr. Flannigan nods. “And Alessa and Gloria are…?”
“Spoiled little rich girls,” I say, borrowing his earlier words. I smooth my palms on my pants so I have something to do other than relive that day.
His lips twitch. “Ah yes, and watching any sort of video broadcast is strictly prohibited, so he was punished. What did they do to him?”
“He got one day in the
box.”
“The box?”
“It’s a metal box with a slot for food capsules and water tablets because they don’t let you eat or drink anything while you’re in there, and a hole in the corner for you to go… well, you know what I mean. And there are three small holes in the bottom on one side for fresh air. That’s it. It’s torture, especially for a little kid, and Max was only four.”
“Was it worth skipping the visit to stay with him?”
I nod. “I’d do it again in a heartbeat. He didn’t do it on purpose. Like I said, they invited him in there. He never would have gone into the manor on his own. They did it to be mean.”
“Hmmm.” He sets the tablet on the end table, far away from my cup of tea and steeples his thick fingers before him, as if contemplating my words.
“Besides, who throws a four-year-old kid in a six-by-four metal cell anyway? The only light comes from those little holes in the bottom. I spent the whole day talking to him through those air holes so he wouldn’t be alone.”
Flannigan raises his eyebrows. “So then they sentenced you to the box, for helping him.”
“Yes, though I didn’t make him stay with me. He tried, but I made him go home at night. He tried feeding me through the little holes but…” I smile, remembering the mash of composite toast, bugs (because that’s what people in the olden days ate, Max had said, proud of himself for knowing that), and twigs he’d tried to force in there. It wasn’t pretty. Nor did it smell especially pleasant.
“Where were your parents?”
“My mom was working, and my dad’s dead.” I spit out the words as if they were venom sucked from a snake bite. “She didn’t know until after it happened. As the oldest child, I’m supposed to take care of Max, get him ready for school, make sure he doesn’t screw around, that sort of thing.”
“I see. Was that your greatest infraction?”
I look away, the old anger slowly leeching from my system. “According to the Chesanings, yes.”
A faint smile tugs at the corner of his lips.
What is this guy’s deal? Is it his job to dig through my past and find reasons why I’m not qualified? Is that it? Is he looking for reasons to kick me out of the program? Hope kindles deep inside me. Maybe everything isn’t so hopeless, after all. “Are you going to tell Socrates about all this?”
Flannigan shrugs. “He does expect an update after I’ve met you.”
“Great. Is he going to reject me?”
“Is that what you want?”
“Yes!”
He arches his eyebrows. Apparently that wasn’t the response he expected. “You’re very candid about this. Most Seconds jump at the chance to serve their country in this manner.”
I bite my bottom lip. Am I doing the right thing? I don’t even know him, so I’ll give him the safe answer. “I just… I don’t want to leave the farm. I want to stay here with my mom and brother. With Tanner. It’s the only place I’ve ever known.” Maybe if I tell him I was responsible for the death of my little sister, he’ll let me go. Is it worth it? No, I can’t.
“That’s perfectly understandable. I don’t think you have anything to worry about. Socrates is not like the other Firsts. He does things a bit differently. I expect he’ll take this information in stride, but I doubt it’ll alter his decision.”
Gerald knocks on the door. “Mr. Flannigan, sir?”
“Yes, is there something I can help you with?”
“No sir, but there’s a call for you from the press secretary at the Smith. He wants more information regarding the Second’s arrival. Do you have time to take the call?”
“Certainly, Gerald. Thank you.” Flannigan glances at me. “You may leave now. I think I’ve learned quite a bit from our first day together.” He gets up and strides from the room as fast as his short little legs can carry him.
Nothing Left to Lose
Socrates
I hunch over the desk in my study, fingers tapping out the next words to my newest book, Life Throughout the Ages, on my ancient keyboard. Another antique, just like me. The manuscript contains vignettes describing important historical events from the point-of-view of people who lived through them and are still here to talk about it. Honestly, if it sells more than a handful of copies to people other than university patrons or other Firsts, I’ll be impressed. The common man doesn’t care much for what he can’t see, feel, or experience, but the university asked me to write a book, so I tap away.
The phone rings, and I pick it up, hand shaking. “Hello?”
“Socrates, it’s me, Edward.”
“My dear friend.” I smile and lean back in my chair. “To what honor can I attribute a call at…” I look at the grandfather clock tick-tocking in the corner of the room, “… ten thirty-two in the evening?”
“You wanted an update. Don’t get snippy with me, either. I can tell you’re still awake.”
“You’re quite right. How did the first day go?”
“She’s trouble, that one. Defensive and making demands already.”
Sitting up straighter in my chair, I chuckle. “What could she possibly want? She’s already Absolved.”
“Vaccines. For diseases that sweep through the farms every few years. Do you know anything about this?” He sounds angry. His words’ staccato notes clang in my ears.
I pause, and it must be too long, because Edward clears his throat. “Socrates? Are you still there?”
“She’ll be vaccinated when she gets to the Smith.” Does he notice my slip-up? My avoidance of his question?
I hear him sigh over the line, as if I have truly betrayed him by not telling him the truth. “Not for her, for her family and everyone else at the farm.”
“Hmm…”
“And you didn’t know anything about this?” He doesn’t believe me. I can tell it in his voice.
“I’ve heard rumors…” I lean back in my chair. “Of experiments. Ways to lessen the population crush by testing new disease combinations and mutations on the farms. Just like they did during the Immigration War.”
“I had no idea.” His words are measured and even, as if he’s not sure he believes me or not. I don’t blame him. Anyone who spends years teaching kids who’ve been picked to die must have a healthy set of mental walls.
My chuckle dies shortly after leaving my lips. “Why would you? You weren’t there.”
“Are you going to do anything about it?”
“About what? All we have is a disease that mutates and hits farms randomly across the country. Not exactly sensational news or a huge government cover-up, here.”
“I don’t know, but it seems you should do something.” He sounds frustrated, his voice gravelly. “Report it, perhaps?”
“To whom? Let’s just entertain your government conspiracy theory for a moment. Who would I report it to? The media? They’re controlled by the government. The most I can do is give the girl the vaccinations.”
Silence reigns on the other end of the line, so I take the opportunity to save the manuscript file. “Look Edward, I know you’re frustrated. Believe me, I’d tell you more if I could, but I can’t. I don’t have any proof, so I’d appreciate you not mentioning it to anyone else, if you don’t mind.”
Edward chuckles. “I don’t think you have to worry about that, Socrates. And thank you for the vaccines. I know your girl will appreciate it.”
I smile and pull open the top drawer on my desk, withdrawing a worn, red pen with most of the silver rim and cap rubbed down to the plastic. Holding its cool plastic shell, I push the button on the top a couple times. Still works. Well, if they still made ink for it, it would. “How is everything else at the farm?”
“Quiet. Not at all like Washington. Even all the way out here, I heard about the incident at the Smith. Are you all right?”
I stand up, knees creaking under my weight. “Of course. You honestly think Eliot would let anything happen to me?”
Edward chuckles. “She’s better protection than the military.”
“You’ve got that right. If I even sneeze wrong she tries to bundle me into bed. Speaking of which, it is getting late, and she’ll have my head if I stay up too much longer, and I know Maggie will tell on me the first chance she gets.”
Edward chuckles. “Anything else?”
“Just more rebel activity. They sure have been making their presence known. Shut down a shipping yard east of Boston. Blew up the transport pods, but no one was killed, so that’s a plus.”
He pauses for a second too long. “Do you think there is anything I should be worried about? You only picked the girl yesterday, so they’ve hardly had time to mobilize.”
“You never know. We’ve all seen the propaganda. They could be anywhere, anyone, remember? Just to be safe, let’s put a few guards in the forest surrounding the farm.”
“Do you think they’ll try something?”
I pick up the pen and put it back in the drawer, just to be safe. It is, after all, the only real pen I have left. “Don’t underestimate people with nothing left to lose. They’re the most dangerous of all.”
After Edward hangs up, the pain in my head and my bones returns with a vengeance. With thick, twisted fingers, I fumble for the bottle of pain pills and twist open the cap. Another old-fashioned relic. Maybe I should get those painkiller implants Eliot mentioned. The top of the bottle skitters across the top of my desk, and I shake out a few pills. How many? Two? Three? Doesn’t matter. All that matters is relief.
“I thought you loved me.”
Mira
Rough wood scratches my arms as I lean over the stall railing next to the old metal shipping crate. The terrified fox inside bares its teeth and hisses. Realizing I’m not going anywhere, it flattens itself, shrinking into the afternoon shadows. Except for its blinking, black beady eyes, I can’t even see it.
First Page 6
