by Paul Melko
“What are they arguing about?” Meda asked. She jumped, not quite reaching the top of the wooden plank fence that surrounded the creche playground. Strom threaded his fingers together and lifted her up.
Manuel scrambled up the wall easily enough, and he and Meda saw the two doctors arguing, but couldn’t quite make out what they were saying.
“I can’t hear them, but they’re going something awful,” she said.
Manuel stood on the thin edge of the fence, walked along it as if he were on solid ground until he could reach up into one of the oak trees that surrounded the front driveway. A thick bough hung over the playground, casting a shadow where the children often played Eco Disaster. The branch was thicker than his torso.
“Be careful,” Corrine called, but he waved her off.
He walked to the trunk. There he took off his shoes and stuck them in a crotch of the tree. His toes caressed the rough bark, finding footholds. Grasping the trunk, he climbed up and around it one hundred eighty degrees to another bough that hung out over the driveway.
He crawled up, careful not to rustle the leaves, until he was directly above Dr. Khalid’s interface, but still hidden in the green leaves and acorns.
“There are no viable sixes,” Khalid said. “We’re jeopardizing the program by trying. My sources say quintets are the optimal size.”
“But twins, Abdel! Two sets of twins. No one’s tried with twins,” Yoder replied.
“Then one of the singles will sheer off,” Khalid yelled. “Which one do we sacrifice! I tell you, this is dangerous.”
Another of Yoder spoke. “But the four are nearly pod bonded. If the new twins can take, we have a sextet, the first ever.”
“Or we have a quartet and a duo, and no one from our labs in the space program. It’s folly, Yoder, folly!”
“Folly is having this opportunity and failing to take it! And what of these mysterious sources you call on as deus ex machina? Show me the peer-reviewed journal.”
Khalid was silent for a moment. “If you wish, we can take it to Cahill. Cahill knows my sources.”
Yoder sighed, then one of him shrugged.
“We must separate one of the twins,” Khalid said. “And we must do it soon.”
Yoder groaned. “Give me a month. They’re young enough yet. Let me try.”
“It’s time for State Two consensus training,” Khalid said. His groundcar appeared through the gates of the creche. One of him opened the door and the rest of him climbed in. “You have until the end of the week to decide which one it is.”
Yoder watched Khalid drive away, then shook his head. Manuel waited for the doctor to disappear into the creche door before running back down the bough to the fenced playground. He almost fell as he dropped down onto the fence.
“What were they yelling about?” Meda asked. She almost always was the one who asked questions of the children or the Matrons.
“Us,” Manuel said.
Corrine caught his look, and she frowned. Manuel realized that she knew he meant her and him as well as the six of them together.
“What about us?” Meda asked.
“Yoder and Khalid don’t agree on when we should start consensus training,” Manuel said, knowing Corrine caught the half-lie.
It wasn’t until that night after dinner, when all the children were playing in the upstairs reading room that Manuel could speak with Corrine alone. The other four seemed to have been hovering too close all day.
“They want to take one of us away,” Manuel said. “They want to make a quintet.”
Corrine said, “They can’t do that! They should take one of the others away.”
“You and me should be together, a duo,” Manuel said.
Corrine frowned, and Manuel realized that she didn’t want to be just a duo. She didn’t just want him.
“Quant should go,” Corrine said. “She never talks.” It was true. Quant seemed in a world of her own, and sometimes Manuel caught a thought of it: tallies of every item, forks, spoons, toothpicks; numbers of things today and yesterday; the speed of the wind instead of the feel of it on her face.
“Dr. Khalid said the four have already pod bonded,” Manuel said.
“Then—” But she stopped herself before she said anything more.
“Can you go get us cookies, Manuel?” she asked.
“Okay.” Manuel ran downstairs for a handful of cookies that Mother Redd had baked. When he returned to the reading room, it was empty.
“Corrine,” he called, but she didn’t answer.
He ran to the bedroom. No one was there.
He ran to the computer room, then the toy room.
He didn’t want to cry, but tears were wetting his cheeks.
Then he heard giggling, and he found the five in one of the other bedroom closets.
“Don’t be a crybaby,” Corrine said. “We were just playing hide and seek.”
Manuel offered the cookies to her.
“We don’t want cookies now,” Corrine said, though Strom took two as he followed Corrine. They all seemed to be following Corrine. Manuel followed too, but when they got back to the reading room, Corrine organized a game of Eco Disaster for just five of them.
“You can play the next game, Manuel,” she said. But he fell asleep before the first was over.
The next day, Dr. Yoder came to speak with Manuel alone. As soon as one of Dr. Yoder had shut the door, Manuel blurted, “I think Corrine should be the one. I’ll go back to Gorton!” Tears ran down his cheeks.
“How do you know about this?” Dr. Yoder asked gently. “Do you all know?”
Manuel nodded. “Corrine really wants to be part of the quintet.”
“I see.” Dr. Yoder touched palms, and the room smelled funny for a long time.
“Do you like the other four?”
“Yeah …”
“Don’t you want to be part of their pod?”
“Corrine wants it more. And she’ll be much better at it.”
“Manuel, why don’t you go back to the library?”
He kept away from Corrine and the four that day. He knew he was leaving. Instead of facing them he climbed up and down the oak trees in back, trying to climb higher and higher each time, until the trunk itself bent under his weight.
From there he could see the University where Dr. Yoder and Dr. Khalid worked. He’d been there a couple of times for games. He could also see the airbuses coming in for landings at the airport. Mother Redd had told them the contrails were just clouds of water vapor, not smoke or poisonous gas. They seemed like bars crisscrossing the sky.
Gorton would be fine for him. He’d find some other friends, and maybe he’d see Corrine. Maybe she’d come to visit.
After dinner, before bed, the four and Corrine—the five, the quintet—were playing games again, but Manuel just read about sharks in the library, and before long he dozed off.
He awoke with a start, the smell of fear in his nose. The sleep snapped from his eyes, and the book fell from his hands. The small lamp at his shoulder was the only light on in the room.
Corrine!
He knew it was she who was in trouble. Not trouble, she was in terror.
He ran from the library into the dark hall.
The bedroom was silent. The four slept softly, gentle snores from Strom, vague dream thoughts in the air. He heard a sound.
Someone on the stairs!
He ran, saw dark shapes at the foot of the stairwell. He took the steps, three at a time, his feet gripping the edge of each step, launching himself to the next, catching himself with his fingers in the spokes of the banister.
Corrine!
Manuel!
“She’s bleeding pheromone!”
“We should have knocked her out.”
Manuel plowed into a dark shape holding Corrine.
“You oaf!”
They went down in a pile, Corrine, Manuel, and two other pods.
“Something came down the steps.”
A ligh
t came on, and Manuel blinked. Dr. Khalid and Dr. Yoder were there. They’d come to take Corrine away.
“It’s the brother,” Dr. Khalid said.
“I told you they were strongly pod-bonded!”
Manuel crawled over to Corrine and hugged her tightly.
Dr. Yoder frowned, then one of him knelt next to them.
“Listen, children,” Dr. Yoder said. “I’ve told you from the beginning that I wanted you together, but I’ve also told you that you might have to go to separate pods. Do you remember?”
Manuel nodded, but Corrine’s face contorted. She pulled away from Manuel.
“Now is the time for you two to go to separate pods. Do you understand?”
“Yes!” Corrine shouted. “But why am I the one who has to leave? Why can’t it be him?”
Manuel recoiled.
Dr. Khalid leaned down and picked her up. “Exactly,” he said. “So you won’t be spoiling my pod with your petty jealousy.”
“Khalid!” Dr. Yoder said.
“Let’s go.”
“The boy!”
One of Khalid turned, while the rest took Corrine through the door. He solemnly picked up the boy and walked him up the stairs to the bedroom where the four still slept.
With his hands, he signed, “Your place.” Then left him.
Manuel stood in the dark, crying until he was too tired to stand, then he slid under the covers with the four, and slept.
I awoke screaming, knowing I was alone.
Strom! Meda! Moira! Quant! Corrine! I screamed, straining to sit up, roll over, stand, but being unable.
“Jesus! This one is squirting again.”
“Let him. Did you see his feet?”
“Yeah.”
I opened my eyes, saw a white ceiling. My arms and feet were restrained. Not good.
“Where am I?” I croaked. My throat was gritty. I swallowed dryness. “Where’s my pod?”
“You brokens always want to know that.” A face appeared above me. An unmodified singleton. He wore a white smock. The name Fanning was stitched to his coat.
“I’m not broken.”
“You wouldn’t be here if you weren’t.”
I fought down panic. “I’d like to see my pod now, please. The ones I was with.”
“No can do. It’s time to take care of this smell.”
Fanning raised a hypodermic and tapped my inner arm looking for a vein. Two other men, no, a duo, stood by the door grinning. He was military, judging from the camouflage fatigues he wore. With a start of recognition, I saw it was Anderson McCorkle.
“No! I don’t need that.”
“Don’t fight it, kid,” one of the duo said.
“You put up a good chase, but face it, you’re caught,” said his partner.
Fanning smiled and inserted the needle, holding the arm against my jerking.
“This man is a spy!” I cried. “He’s trying to kill us. You need to alert the OG!”
“Now there’s a new one,” Fanning said.
Cotton filled my ears, and all I could taste was the metallic sheen on my tongue. My eyes focused and took images of what I looked at, but it was as if my nervous system were dull.
I exhaled.
“What was that?”
“Cluster buster.”
The phrase thundered in my ears, then faded away, and for a moment it meant nothing. Cluster dissolution factor.
I heaved at my bonds.
“Take me to my pod!” I yelled. I tried to send the distress pheromone, but I was detached from my body. I couldn’t trigger the glands in my neck. The pads on my palms were dry.
“There, there. You’ll be okay in a while. We’ll take care of the rest now.”
The man disappeared from my view, leaving the military duo. They leaned close.
“You know how many people are looking for you, freak?”
“They scrambled Space Fleet when you disappeared onto the Ring.”
“But by then, we knew you were compromised.”
“If we hadn’t known when you got fucked in the back of the head by Leto—”
“—we knew when you ran for the Ring.”
“Bad move.”
“The worst move was when you made me look bad.”
McCorkle disappeared from my view. The light went out, leaving me in near darkness, save for the light coming through the transom above the door.
The door shut, clicking locked.
I fought back tears as the desperation rose in me. If the drug had destroyed my ability to bond with my pod, I was certain to go insane. My body shuddered, and I felt cold, alone, empty.
In anger I slammed against the bonds holding my arms and legs, rattling the hospital bed. My legs bounced off the mattress, and I saw them rise up.
I realized that the leg manacles had more play than the ones on my arms. I raised my legs, and saw a leather strap binding my modified feet, but it had a good twelve inches of slack.
I brought my feet together and they touched. I laughed, perhaps a bit maniacally. My captors had commented on my modified toes, but they hadn’t understood their capabilities. Even McCorkle hadn’t understood.
“Idiots,” I muttered and began unbuckling the left fetter. It came open easily. Then with my free left foot, I undid the right ankle. Rolling my torso up, my feet stretched over my head. Yet I couldn’t reach the straps on my wrists. I tried pulling my feet all the way around and down to my waist where my arms were, but I wasn’t that flexible.
I flopped back down. Then I raised my hips and bent my knees back, bringing my feet up under my hips. Just barely, I could reach the shackles at my wrists. Straining, my toes found the buckle on my left hand, and it opened. In moments I was free of the bed.
The room was small, just two meters square, the bed against the wall opposite the door. The ceiling was high. The only window was the transom over the door, which let in fluorescent light from the hallway.
I tried the knob, but it was locked from the outside. I looked up at the transom. Pulling the bed over, I could easily reach the top of the door. Jumping, I caught the edge of the transom and pulled myself up to the thick ledge.
Through the window I saw an empty hallway. I pushed at the transom window, but it was locked as well. I pushed harder and the window rattled in its frame. Dust rose around me, but I couldn’t smell it. It tickled my nose and I almost sneezed, but the odor was utterly absent. They had stolen something from me.
In rage I punched at the window. It shattered and fell with a crash onto the floor of the hallway outside.
Gingerly, I slipped through the opening, feeling a graze of glass on my back, and jumped beyond the mess of glass on the floor.
My clothes had been removed, and I wore a pale green hospital smock. I rubbed at my back where the broken glass in the transom frame had sliced me. The pain I felt, and I was thankful. It stoked my anger. My hand came away damp with blood.
The sound of the window would bring someone soon, and even if it didn’t, the broken glass on the floor would be obvious to the first person who walked by. I needed cover; I needed to find my pod.
The hallway was lined with doors, and extended in both directions for twenty or thirty meters before teeing off. I picked a direction at random and started opening doors. Each door opened to a cube just like the one I had been in, with a bed. All were empty, but then I opened one with a sleeping pod member. It was no one I knew, but I shook the woman awake and kept looking.
“What are you doing?” the woman asked.
“Escaping,” I replied, opening another door.
She trailed after me. “Why?”
“Because I don’t want to be here.”
“Where will you go?”
“To wherever my pod is,” I said.
“I had a pod too,” the woman said wistfully.
“Help me open more doors.”
An orderly appeared at the end of the hall.
He shouted and the woman backed up against the wall, sca
red.
I looked right at him, started to back away, as he came toward me. Then as the orderly gained full speed, I ran at him, slid beside him, tripping him at the knee, and sent his bulk hurtling down the hall.
I was on top of him in a second, yanking his baton from his hand, and choking him with it. The orderly grunted and went still, his eyes wild.
“I am not a happy person,” I whispered. “I feel very angry. Do you believe me?”
The orderly grunted.
“Good. Now where is the rest of my pod?”
The orderly grunted again. I released the baton from across his throat.
“I don know,” he grunted, coughing once.
I took the baton and whacked the orderly on the back of the skull. Moira would have urged calm and reason; but Moira wasn’t here, and I wasn’t interested in reason. I felt more angry than I ever had before.
“All the new pods are taken to Wings Two and Three. This is Wing Two,” the woman said.
“Where’s Three?”
“I can show you where that is,” she said.
I spun the baton around and hit the man hard enough to knock him unconscious and perhaps fracture his skull. I didn’t care. I dragged the orderly into one of the rooms and stripped him of his clothes. He had an electronic key pass on his belt.
“You look just like a doctor,” the woman said. “It’s scary.”
I saw that she had pheromone glands at her neck and pads for chemical thought on her wrists, but I could smell nothing from her. I didn’t know if it was because of some defect in her or because she had been given the drug too.
“What’s your name?”
“Jol,” she said. “It used to be Edgar Longhorn, before, I mean.” She was a broken pod. Revulsion snaked through me. I swallowed.
“Show me where Wing Three is.”
“This way.”
The woman led me to a stairwell, taking a flight up to the next floor. It opened into an empty hallway identical to the one below.
“How many people do they keep here?” I asked.
The woman shrugged. “I dunno. A lot. We all come here from the creche when … well, when our pods don’t form right.”
“You’ve been here for fifteen years?”
