by J. Andersen
“So, where are we headed?”
Saul’s dark, cropped hair gives his face a severe look, but his eyes are soft, like melted chocolate as he smiles at me.
“You’ll see.”
A few twists and turns down the main streets and Saul pulls the car into a parking lot of a small building near the far edge of The Institute’s official grounds.
“Where are we?” Taryn asks as she steps out of the car, Cam not far behind her. “You aren’t gonna do anything to us out here, right? Because we all know you Institute Military men are a little crazy!” She giggles.
I can’t believe she’d dare say something so stupid. You don’t mess with people like this. You never know what a person is willing to do to stay in good standings with Fishgold and the other Institute leaders. But Taryn doesn’t seem to notice that her flippant comments could be counted as treason.
My gaze flip-flops from one guy to the other, gauging whether they are offended by her statement. Neither seems upset, so I think we’ve managed to avoid an issue.
“This is where we work,” Cam says.
“And what exactly do you do?” I ask.
Saul grabs our dinner from the front seat and leads us to a little tree-covered area behind the building. Past the fence that surrounds the grounds are the Outer Lands. So close. “We’re in military training.”
“Not just any military training,” Taryn adds, sidling up next to me. “Tier two military training.”
Crap. I’m with the wrong guy. Tier two military training is for those in charge of the rebels. Specifically, capturing and torturing the rebels. Though, if you ask The Institute superiors, no torturing takes place. Ever. They say we’re too civilized to torture someone, but their public displays of power certainly prove otherwise. If they’re willing to cut the skin off someone’s neck in public and not call it torture, I can’t imagine what they’re willing to do in secret.
Taryn’s all over it as the guys lead us to a dry spot under the trees and pass out our food. “Wow, that must be fascinating.”
Saul puffs out his chest. “Yeah.”
“Don’t let his sweet, good boy side fool you,” Cam says. “Saul’s at the top of the class. He’s badass when it comes to new techniques.”
Saul slaps Cam on the back of the head. “Shut up, punk. I have a girl here.” He nods toward me, and Cam laughs.
“Aww, trying to hold back to impress the pretty one, huh?” Cam takes a seat next to Taryn, and the two are quickly involved in a private conversation. Saul sips his drink and looks into the distance, trying to ignore the awkward silence between us.
I figure I’ll try to make small talk with Saul about his training. I’m sure he won’t go into details. He doesn’t seem like the kind of guy to brag about it. “So, what’s your training like?”
He turns his head sideways to look at me before leaning back on his elbow. “I dunno. Normal, I guess. Mostly, I get to boss around the Tier fives. Drills and stuff. You’ve probably seen me and Cam on the front lawn of The Institute. We’re the ones responsible for whipping those peons into shape.”
“Ah. That’s why you looked familiar.” His smile softens his face, and I find myself smiling back. “So, is it true what Taryn and Cam said?”
“About me being the top of my class? Yeah.”
“About you creating new techniques.”
“Yeah. I guess.”
“What sort of stuff do you do?” I pop the last bite of my sandwich into my mouth. “I mean, what kind of techniques?”
“Stuff to get people to talk.”
I don’t say anything, wondering if he’ll tell me. I shouldn’t want to know, but my curiosity wins.
A small grin plays across his lips. “Okay, so you know that guy they brought on stage this summer at the Parade of Values?”
I nod.
“Well, they brought him back here.” He points to the building a few yards from where we sit. “Told us each to come up with a viable punishment that might get him to talk about the whereabouts of other NBRs. The Natural Born Rebels. Like a test. Best idea wins, you know. And, well, mine was chosen.”
Now I can’t help myself. I have to know what this guy is capable of. “So what did you suggest?”
“Fishgold actually gave me the idea when he scalped the guy in front of everyone. I suggested they take off all his skin that way. Little bits at a time. Then when it was gone, they could cut down further.”
I try my hardest to hold my face in such a way that it doesn’t reveal how horrified I am. It didn’t equate. This calm-mannered guy who opened doors for me couldn’t have possibly suggested something so horrific. And he doesn’t look the least bit remorseful. Perhaps he sees my discomfort because he says, “Sorry. I shouldn’t talk about it. It’s supposed to be confidential. We all know The Institute doesn’t harm people.” He winks at me.
And we all know soldiers are so good at keeping their duties confidential.
“Enough about me.” He waves his hand through the air, brushing the idea away. “Want a drink?” Pulling a flask from his back pocket, he unscrews the cap and smells the harsh liquid.
I smile. “I thought soldiers didn’t drink?”
He brings it to his lips and takes a swig. “Soldiers aren’t as keen on following the rules as you may think.” He hands the bottle to me, and I drink. “And we’re pretty trusting, too because we have ways of keeping people quiet.”
I shudder.
“But,” he continues, “any friend of Taryn’s is trustworthy, right?”
I take another long draw on the burning alcohol to force up the courage to look at him. “Of course.”
After that conversation, the night can’t end soon enough, but we still have to wait out Taryn and Cam’s make out session, so we take a walk to give them a little privacy. Saul asks details about my training as a creation specialist, but I don’t have answers for many of the questions he asks.
After telling him that, “No, I hadn’t yet performed a disposal,” and, “Yes, I’d seen a live birth,” we make it back to where Taryn and Cam are sitting. Taryn buttons up her shirt and pats down her mussed hair.
“We should head back,” she says.
I agree, anxious to end this poor excuse for a date. Taryn would hear about this later.
***
Back in my bedroom, I flop down on my bed in an angry huff. “Seriously, girl, you are never allowed to set me up with someone again. I don’t care how hot he is!”
“What? Was he a bad kisser or something?” she asked, pulling a comb through her strawberry locks.
“I don’t know. Never got that far. He was too busy telling me about various ways to torture people.”
“I know! Isn’t it cool?”
I give her a look. “Seriously? What’s wrong with you?”
“Oh, come on. They don’t do that. He was just trying to impress you.”
“Impressing me would mean bringing me flowers. Or helping my kid brother with a science project, not talking about war techniques.”
“You don’t even have a brother.”
I shake my head and roll my eyes. “That’s not the point.” I lay down on my bed to stretch my legs.
Strapping her hair into a ponytail with a rubber band, Taryn crosses the room and sits next to me. “It’s that Micah kid from the labs, isn’t it?”
“What? No. I barely know him.”
“You don’t have to know someone to want to get naked with him.”
“Taryn, not everyone has sex on the brain twenty-four hours a day.”
“I don’t see why not.” She smiles and slides under the covers. “By the way, I’m sleeping here for the night. I told my parents before I left.”
ELEVEN
TAKING OUT THE GARBAGE
WRITTEN ON THE BOARD at the front of class are two words:
Disposal Techniques. Our topic for the day. Just what I need after my failed date last night. A heavy topic for study.
It’s simple. We breed the next generation, but sometimes during the breeding process, something goes wrong. In those cases, it’s necessary to get rid of the developing fetus as soon as possible. Who would want invalids or deformed people living in our society? No one, of course. Only strong, intelligent, capable humans make up our community. No mistakes. We’ll continue on our way to creating the medically perfect human being. Six feet for men and five-feet-eight inches for women. Everyone will have brown hair and brown eyes. So far, there’s a little discrepancy when it comes to intelligence, but the MIH provide intellectual and physical enhancements every few years. The only thing the community allows us is our personalities. This way, they can’t direct our career choices and spousal choices when the time comes. Maybe one day these will be selected for us as well.
The seat next to Taryn seems foreign. It’s been a while since we’ve sat in the classroom. We’ve been too busy in the lab studying the stages of development. I slip into the chair and set my compact on the desk, pressing the button that makes it whir to life.
“Hey, chick!” Taryn’s enthusiastic voice greets me. “Ready for this?” Her eyes glance at the whiteboard in front, and she gives me the double eyebrow raise.
I shrug. “I guess.” It’s the dismal part of this job, but we have to take the good with the bad, right?
“Seems kinda gross, but it’s cool that we’re the ones who have lives in our hands. Can you feel the power?” She laughs.
Before I can respond, the professor enters the room, turns off the lights and pulls in a two-tiered cart stacked with oversized Petri dishes behind him. “Sorry about the lack of light, students,” he begins. “But instead of bringing you all to the lab for this first procedure, I brought the lab to you. Later on, when we learn the more advanced disposal techniques, we’ll spend our time in the lab, but for the beginning of class today, this set-up is more practical.”
No one says anything. We all watch as Professor Limbert stacks the dishes on his desk, placing one under the projector. This way, we can all see the proper ways to destroy the zygote as it’s magnified on the screen.
“These zygotes have been marked for disposal.” He reaches up and scratches his beard before looking around the class. It’s a habit I’ve seen a hundred times in the classes I’ve had with Professor Limbert. I should be used to it now, but something about the way he winds his fingers through his own facial hair makes me cringe. Like he’s scratching for bugs or something. Nothing like the way I’ve seen Micah make the same movement. For him, it’s sexy. With the professor, I’m repulsed.
I glance at Taryn next to me who is scratching her own chin in response. It’s like an unconscious reaction. She meets my gaze, and I smile at her before looking back toward the front of the room.
Professor Limbert flicks on the projector and sets one of the containers under the scope. Instantly, it comes into view on the big screen. Then he looks up at the class through the dim light. “Can anyone tell me why this one has been labeled for disposal?”
All eyes focus on the screen, some squinting to see better as if squinting will tell them the answer faster. The professor centers a cluster of cells so it’s in the middle of the screen. Immediately, I spot a few that are warped. This could indicate diseases like sickle cell anemia or cancer. It doesn’t necessarily mean the baby will get those diseases, but there’s a high probability they may develop into something in the future. It’s better to destroy it now. That way, any hereditary diseases can be eradicated. A long time ago, there used to be more diseases like this. Diseases stemming from environmental factors. Now, our MIHs detect any disruptions in our bodies before they grow to a level of concern. These sort of sicknesses are taken care of at an early stage. Before birth early.
“Katherine Dennard?”
I look up.
“Can you tell us why this zygote was marked for disposal?” He’s testing me to see if I’ve studied the material.
“Some of the cells are warped,” I say. “It’s more likely the baby will develop diseases like cancer in the future. By disposing of it now, we can prevent another strain of disease and hopefully rid our community of such devastation.”
The professor breaks into a smile. Probably didn’t expect me to answer proficiently. “Very good, Ms. Dennard. Since you answered correctly, you can assist me in disposing of this zygote.”
I step out of my desk and move to the front of the room next to Professor Limbert, my hands growing clammier with every step. It’s hard to see the faces of my classmates with the lights off, but when I turn my head to glance out the window, there is movement. Micah, standing with his face furrowed, is peering through the smudged glass. How has no one else seen him?
“It’s pretty simple in these beginning stages,” Professor Limbert says. “A few drops of Sodium Chloride will do the trick. It will stop all functions and render the cells incapable of dividing.”
Why can’t he just say it’ll kill the cells? The professor always has to make things sound big and important. He hands me the dropper and motions to add some of the solution to the Petri dish.
I hold the dropper above the cells in the dish and squeeze lightly. It splashes when it hits the glass case. Turning, I watch the screen behind me to see the cells slow down and finally stop all movement. Strange how something so simple can end what would have been a life. It’s better this way. It’s just a mass of tissue, so there’s no harm to anyone. So much better to do it now than to wait until later. Imagine the pain a person might have to endure if he or she had to live with those diseases. It’s ludicrous.
I set down the dropper and step away from the table, intending to return to my seat, but Professor Limbert stops me. “Miss Dennard, stay here a moment. I’ll allow you to assist on one more procedure.”
Without a word, I step forward again.
This time he reaches under the cart and pulls out a larger container, revealing a wiggling creature inside. It’s only about an inch or so long, but there are arm buds and bulging dark spots that will become eyes. At the base of the container is written Ten Weeks. He places it on the viewing table and hands me a metal instrument.
“This one has been identified for disposal because after having been genetically screened, it tested positive for an abnormality on chromosome twenty-one, which indicates assured mental retardation.” He hands me a pair of forceps, which feel like icy blades in my hand. “This is an embryo that would not be allowed to continue under any circumstances. In some cases, we wait to see how the developing embryo grows to see if it is solely a matter of birth weight or another minor issue that may resolve itself, but with a chromosomal defect, this is a definite disposal.”
I’m trying to listen to his lecture, but the instrument in my hand feels heavier than I remember.
“The most common technique at this stage is to crush the skull and then dismember the rest.” His voice is placid like he’s said this a thousand times with no emotion.
Professor Limbert turns to me. “Hold the forceps around the skull.”
I widen the edges so they fit around the head of the tiny fetus.
“Just a little bit of pressure will do the trick.”
I barely have to close my hand to do the job. A lump catches in my throat, and I hear a few quick inhalations from my fellow classmates, who apparently find this procedure as repulsive as I do. Or maybe they’re fascinated by the idea. If one is to become a Creation Unit Specialist, this comes with the territory. I suck in a breath and hold it a second to gain the composure I lost when the tiny creature ceased its movements under my slight hand pressure. It’s not like it’s a big deal, I convince myself. At this point, it’s still a lump of tissue. If I’m ever going to be a Creation Specialist, I can’t get emotional about every zygote and embryo I have to destroy.
The professor hands me another instrument, and I finish the job according to his instructions. I know I’m just doing what will be my profession, but something about it seems wrong. Suck it up, Kate. You’re pathetic if you can’t do this little procedure.
When I’m done, I set the instruments down and wait for permission to return to my seat, slightly sickened by what I’ve just done. The professor grants it, and as I turn to walk down the aisle, I glance toward the window to see if Micah is still there.
Clearly, no one else has noticed our fearless lab leader loitering on the grass outside the classroom. He’s been there the whole time. Watching me. Micah’s wide eyes stare deep into mine. Before he shakes his head and turns away, I see his jaw clench, hardening his stone features into granite.
For the first time in my life, I want to have the ability to read someone’s mind. At this moment, I can’t concentrate on what Professor Limbert is saying. Instead, I’m attempting to decipher the look on Micah’s face as he walked away. Makes me wonder if I did something wrong. If so, wouldn’t the teacher have said something? Ugh. He’s so difficult to read. One day, we’re nearly kissing and the next, he seems indignant. I need to stop caring what Micah is doing or thinking.
In the hushed bustle of the classroom, I return to my seat, my mind flicking between the images of the destroyed embryo and Micah’s face through the window. Even when Professor Limbert hands out Petri dishes and syringes to the rest of the class for practice, I barely hear more than muffled grunts. I just sit staring at the front of the room, wondering what I’d just experienced. Because it was more than mere disposal techniques.
TWELVE
COMFORT FROM THE OLD AND SENILE
Code of Conduct and Ethics: The Institute—Sector 4, USA
Section 1 Article 4.1: Honor the elders in our community.
AS SOON AS CLASS lets out, I text my mother.
Goin’ 2 Grans.
Somehow Gran always has a way of putting things into perspective, so I figure a chat with her might help me sort out the millions of thoughts floating through my head.
