All eyes turn to me and my face burns.
“In order to ensure it does not happen again, I will go over the rules. Any girl who is not of pure heritage is deemed a slave. They are here to serve you. They are not to be addressed, spoken to, or acknowledged in any way unless it is to give a command. Anyone who breaks this rule, and any slave who speaks without being spoken to, will be punished.”
This is so unfair! I want to scream and shout it, but I dare not.
“You will assemble here each morning to nourish your bodies. As usual, all food must be eaten and not wasted. After meals, you will head off to your assigned classes and tests. Failure to attend classes will result in punishment. By the end of the week I expect half of you to be dismissed as unsuitable. Those who are deemed unworthy will be transported to the sewers and garbage disposal plants. Those of you lucky enough to be graduating concubines will be given further orders and instruction.” The Emperor smiles. “Go in peace, future breeders of Imram and may the universe smile upon you for your unselfish sacrifice to mankind.” The screen crackles and fades.
Unselfish sacrifice? Just who is he trying to kid? The girls take their seats and remove the lids from their trays without a murmur of conversation. I sink into my chair. Somebody scream, somebody rant and rave... somebody do something. No one does anything but eat. With a frown, I slide the lid off my tray. A bowl of warm grey mush floats in thick soy cream. On a plate beside it is a piece of barely buttered toast, a bowl of mixed fruit, and a thick red drink of some kind. Dare I try the gross looking red concoction? I sniff the glass before putting it to my lips. The tomato based vegetable drink almost makes me gag and I set it back down. “I hate tomatoes,” I mumble.
Ashley casts me a guarded look. “I don’t mind them. I’ll drink yours if you want.”
“Thanks.” After glancing around to be sure none of the enforcers wandering the room are watching, I pass the glass to Ashley.
Before long a buzzer sounds signalling the end of the meal. Stuffing the last bite of dry toast in my mouth I follow everyone else in orderly fashion from the dining room. We lift our tags to the scanner over the door as directed and then enforcers direct us down the hall to the right where we find ourselves in a waiting room and told to sit. Squirming, I wonder if they tried to make the chairs this hard and uncomfortable. One by one each girl is summoned to one of ten doors at the end of the room.
A woman dressed in white checks her tablet and calls out, “Concubine Two-twenty-three, come forward.”
That’s me. What kind of things will I be subjected to now? More needle pokes, something else even more heinous I haven’t thought of yet? I’d rather not move, but I get to my feet and cross to stand before her. The woman takes my hand, checks the number on my bracelet and then pivots on her heel. “This way.”
I follow her into a sterile white room. I am so sick of white and grey. A little bit of color here and there would really liven the place up. Maybe the powers that be are afraid of stimulating us. As if a little cheer here and there might incite a riot... Pushing the thought from my mind, I take in the room. A tall examining table takes up the centre of the narrow cubicle. Against the one wall is a stool, a lamp on a bendable stand, and a cabinet. A door in the opposite wall beside a dressing screen gains my attention. Before I can wonder where it leads, the woman points to the dressing screen.
“Remove your clothing, please.”
“Why?” I step back when the woman turns, her eyes flashing with temper and fixes me with a stern stare.
“Lesson number one, Concubine Two-twenty-three, is to do as you are told with no questions. You had best learn that if you hope to be worthy of bearing the future of our race.” She points to the screen again. “Undress.”
It is on the tip of my tongue to tell the woman I don’t hope to be the unwilling bearer of some strange man’s child, but I keep my mouth shut and do as I’m told. After removing my clothing, I remember the necklace and tuck it into the folds of my garment. I can’t bear to lose the little piece left of my former existence. Goosebumps rise on my flesh as I stand naked behind the screen.
“Get on the table.”
Crossing my arms to shield myself from the woman’s gaze, I cross to the examining table and climb up on it. This is so humiliating. No one has seen me naked since I was a toddler and I prefer it that way.
“Lie down.”
The shiny table doesn’t look that inviting, but what choice do I have? I comply, shivering against the icy surface.
The woman sets her tablet on the stool and fastens my arms into a pair of heavy fabric cuffs at my sides. “Bend your knees.”
Raising my head I glare at the woman. “I beg your pardon?”
With a grunt she yanks my knees up and flips a pair of smooth metal stirrups to the side of the table. After buckling my feet securely in them she spreads a white sheet over my midsection before stripping off her gloves.
Just when I think I can’t possibly be more humiliated the door by the dressing screen opens. A tall man in a white coat enters. He looks like some kind of criminal with a mask across his lower face and purple medical gloves; however, I suddenly don’t feel much like laughing. He crosses the room and sits on the stool. I went to the medical center once when I was eleven when I slipped on the subway station platform and twisted my ankle, so I realize he’s a doctor. What I don’t understand is why he’s here, or why I’m here.
“I’m not sick.”
A pair of dark eyes lock on mine. “This is part of the selection process. It is not an option.” He looks away, pulls a tray of shiny metal instruments from a drawer and then rolls the chair to the foot of the table.
Mortified, I squeezed my eyes shut as he pushes my knees apart and begins his exam. A tear slips down my cheek and I smother a sob as he invades my body, poking and prodding with the instruments.
“Definitely virginal. Cervix normal. Tissue healthy.”
Something scraps my insides. “Ow, hey that hurts!”
He ignores my protests and passes a long swab to the nurse. “Bottle this sample, please.” Standing, he probes my feet, legs, stomach and torso. “Subject appears healthy.” He pauses and points to the scar on the inside of my arm. “What is this from?”
“I cut myself a few months ago.”
He raises an eyebrow. “How?”
“Climbing the ladder to the roof of my dorm.” Does he think I tried to kill myself? My cheeky side emerges. “If you are thinking the scar was a suicide attempt, you’re wrong. I’ve never had a reason to before now.”
His brows slant down. “I did not ask you to explain.” Instead of questioning me further, he turns my head and checks my ears. Once my ears, eyes, nose and throat are examined he returns to his chair and taps the screen on his tablet a number of times. “Register Concubine Two-twenty-three as passed.” Without another word he stands, hands the tablet back to the woman, and leaves through the same door he arrived.
The woman taps the screen and then undoes the restraints holding me to the table. “Get dressed and report to the desk in the waiting room.”
I’ve never been so happy to get dressed in my entire life. I scramble from the table and bolt for the dressing screen. Hoping on one foot, I yank on my undergarments and toss the robe over my head before she can change her mind. Once dressed and feeling slightly more dignified, I am allowed to leave the room. At the far end of the waiting area is a row of women sitting at a long desk. I pick one who isn’t busy and let her scan the tags on my bracelet. The woman smiles. “Congratulations Two-twenty-three, you have passed your medical evaluation.”
She gives me an expectant look. What? Am I supposed to jump up and down for joy at the news? I’d rather she said I had some kind of terminal illness at this point. I managed a quiet, “thanks,” before I get a look at the chubby girl beside me. Great hiccoughing sobs wrack the red head’s body and tears run down her freckled face.
The woman at the desk looks at her tablet and frowns. “You failed
Number one-seventeen, very disgraceful. Not a virgin I see. Your poor parents will be so disappointed.”
I’m stunned. Is that all it takes to be considered unfit to be a concubine? Hell, if I had known I would have slept with every boy in the hub the night before we were rounded up. Okay, maybe not every boy... but at least Sol.
The woman shakes her head and raises a hand. An enforcer hurries forward, takes the snivelling redhead by the arm and drags her from the room, oblivious to the girl’s wails of shame.
“Give me your arm.”
Turning my attention back to the woman before me, I hold out my wrist. The woman attaches a white medical tag to it. “This proves you passed. Now follow the red line to the next waiting room.”
I shuffle forward, following the line into yet another bland white waiting room, all the while wondering where the red head has been taken. Is she going to the sewers? Maybe she’s going to be... no, I won’t think about it. It takes a minute before I realize soft classical music is drifting from speakers above another set of doors. The chairs here are just as uncomfortable as the others, but the addition of music I find nice, almost soothing. One by one each girl with a white tag is called. They disappear behind the doors for fifteen minutes and then emerge and cross to another table of waiting women to receive a yellow tag. It appears a long wait and I fidget with the gold ribbon on my robe. What kind of humiliating probing will be forced on me now?
After what seems like hours my number is called. A woman directs me into a room where a man in a brown suit sits behind a small desk. He looks up from his paperwork and pushes his spectacles further up his nose with his forefinger. “Number?”
“Two-twenty-three.”
He types something into the tablet on his lap and then gestures to the chair opposite his desk. “Sit.”
I sit and wait. My fingers shake and to hide it I tuck them in the folds of my robe. I don’t think I can take any more humiliation today. For lack of anything else to do, I study him as he taps unknown keys on the tablet. I’m guessing by the salt and pepper hair he’s about the same age as my father. Crow’s feet gathering at the corners of his sombre grey eyes give evidence he has found humour in life at some point. Maybe he laughs at his own funny bush of a mustache that hangs from his upper lip like a fuzzy scarf.
The man clears his throat and holds up his tablet. A splatter of black ink decorates the white background on the screen. “What do you see?”
What? I blink. “I beg your pardon?”
He sighs, or maybe it’s a groan, and points to the pattern. “What does it look like?”
I study it for a moment. “A glass?”
With a grunt he taps the tablet and holds up another ink blot. “And this one?”
Interesting game. I’ll play for now. “A chair.”
One by one he holds up eight more, each time entering my responses into the tablet. Finally he leans back in his chair. “If you had to choose between your life and the life of your child, which would you choose?”
“Is that a trick question?” I scowl at him.
“Just answer it.”
By his tone I suspect he’s annoyed, yet his facial expression remains neutral. Do I dare prick his ire further? “Well, since I don’t have a child, I’d choose my life.”
His lips press into a thin line, but there’s a hint of amusement in his eyes. “I’m going to say a word and you say the first thing that comes to mind, okay?”
“Um, okay.” This should be good.
“Black.”
“White.”
“Bad.”
“Good.”
“Sister.”
“Brother.”
“Emperor.”
“Oppressor.”
He pauses and raises a bushy eyebrow that matches his mustache. After typing into the tablet, he folds his hands on the desk. “Tell me about your dreams.”
I almost laugh, not quite, but almost. “My dreams? Are we allowed those in Imram?”
His lips purse. “Don’t be difficult.”
“I’m not.” Crossing my arms, I glare at him. “What kind of dreams can you have in a cement city where your every move is controlled and watched?” The corner of his bottom lip twitches. Have I amused him?
“Point taken.” He shifts in the chair. “What do you dream about when you go to bed?”
“Animals, the ocean.”
He nods. “And do you have someone you dream of?”
Sol’s face swims before my eyes. Should I admit I dreamed of a life with him someday beyond Imram’s walls? I sneak a peek at the doctor from underneath my lashes. Is it safe to admit anything when inside the medical walls? Everything I say is probably being recorded. “Where’s the camera?”
He looks shocked for a moment before he hides it under a mask of boredom. “There are no cameras here.”
Yeah, right. “Then in that case, no, there is no one I dream of.”
Eyes narrowed he ponders me for a few moments. “All right, Two-twenty-three, your time is up.” He punches a couple buttons on the tablet. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
I eye him. “So, what, you think I’m crazy?”
His lips twitch into a smile. “Not at all. I do think, however, you are in need of further evaluation before I pass you.”
“Why not just fail me now and save us both some time?” A smirk forms on my lips as I stand.
The skin at the corners of his eyes crinkle more. “Because I like you.”
Seriously? After one meeting he thinks he knows me enough to like me? “Great.” Rolling my eyes I cross to the door.
“Two-twenty-three?”
Casting an impatient look over my shoulder I snip, “I have a name.”
He frowns at me. “This would go so much easier if you would lose the attitude. Don’t you want to be chosen?”
“No.” With that I stalk from the room, letting the door slam behind. “Why does everyone think we should be happy about being rounded up like lambs being sent to slaughter?” I mumble.
Chapter Seven
By the time I hold up my bracelet to the scanner before entering the dining hall for noon meal I’ve gone from confused, humiliated and ticked off, to just plain tired. In addition to my red and white tags I now sport a yellow striped one giving me access to the psychiatric wing of the medical centre. After the light turns green, I make my way to my assigned seat.
Ashley is already there. She extends her wrist so I can see her tags. “I passed. So far so good.”
“Me too, sort of.” Without much enthusiasm I take my seat.
“What do you mean, sort of?”
“The psychiatrist requested another visit.” The urge to pound my fist on the table is strong, but I quell it and shake my head instead. There’s no sense drawing more attention to myself. “They drag us here against our will to be some kind of Virgin Mary and I’m the crazy one.”
Ashley’s eyes widen and she shoots a nervous look at the closest enforcer who shows no sign of hearing. “They don’t think you really are crazy, do they?”
At my snort the enforcer nearest us glances over. I fake cough into my napkin to cover it. “No, at least I don’t think so. The guy said he likes me and I need to lose my attitude.”
The buzzer sounds to begin meal service, cutting off any other remarks. When the kitchen doors open, I scan the slave girls for Danika. As luck would have it she’s one of the first out and heads in my direction. When she draws level with me, a napkin slips from her tray. She bends to retrieve it and mumbles, “I traded with another girl to be your servant.” With the tiniest of smiles she sets the tray on the table in front of me and hurries away.
I can’t hide my ear to ear grin. At least I’ll get to see her on occasion and maybe exchange a hasty word in secret. My joy doesn’t fizzle despite lifting the lid off the tray. A bowl of watery tofu chicken soup, carrot sticks, apple juice and a coarse bun met my gaze. Experience tells me the bread will be grainy and dry, the apple juice tart, and the soup bl
and as all tofu meals usually are. With a sigh I bite into a carrot stick. Food is food, I suppose. I know, I should be used to the food after twelve years, but my taste buds cry for something more appetizing, just once. “Do you have any idea what kind of torture they’ll subject us to this afternoon?”
“No, and after this morning I hope it is something less distasteful.” Ashley leans closer. “Have you noticed how empty the room is?”
Pausing with my spoon halfway to my mouth, I scan the room. Most of the tables are almost empty. She’s right, there seems to be little more than half the girls in the dining room as there had been that morning. “I saw a girl get dragged away after the medical exam because she wasn’t a virgin anymore. Do you think that’s what happened to the missing ones?”
“Maybe. I heard one girl screaming and swearing in the waiting room while I was talking to the psychiatrist. I bet she was crazy.” Ashley lowers her voice, “What do you suppose they did with her?”
A shiver steals down my spine. “I’d rather not know, or think about it.”
When the meal is done, we are directed down the hall to the left and find ourselves in a large gym. Numbers are called and I’m one of the first selected to start on the treadmills. Even worse is the fact all I’m given to change into is a thin white sports bra and tight panty-like shorts. At least we are given the meager privacy of a changing screen. I want to curl up in a ball and hide. Not only am I almost naked but the chill in the room makes my nipples poke out against the elastic fabric.
Once changed, a woman whose stiff, yellow, fake hair is pulled back into a severe bun, presses sticky backed electrodes to my chest and attaches the wire ends to a machine. “Get on the treadmill.”
It begins rolling the second I step on it and I stumble before I get the hang of it. I’m just getting comfortable when it speeds up without warning and I clutch the handrails to keep from falling flat on my face. The speed increases every two minutes. Before long, sweat beads my brow and rolls down my face. Man, I’m in terrible shape. In my defense there isn’t a whole lot of walking in a city as crammed together as Imram. Finally the woman shuts off the machine and unhooks the wires, oblivious to my gasps for air as I double over.
The Emperor's Concubine Page 5
