by Ally Condie
Ky.
“Ky!”
For the first time in my life, I run as fast as I can in public. No tracker to slow me, no branches to stop me. My feet fly over grass, over cement. I cut across the lawns of my neighbors and through their flowers, trying to catch up to the lead group moving toward the air-train stop. An Officer detaches from them and hurries toward Aida. She’s drawing too much attention; other houses have open doors and people standing on the steps watching.
I run faster; my feet hit the sharp, cool grass of Em’s lawn. A few houses more.
“Cassia?” Em calls from her doorway. “Where are you going?”
Ky hasn’t heard me over Aida’s screams. They’re almost to the steps that go up to the air-train platform. When they walk under the light at the bottom, I see they’ve locked Ky’s hands together.
Just like they did in the picture.
“Ky!” I scream again, and his head snaps up. He turns his face toward me, but I am not close enough to see his eyes. I have to see his eyes.
Another Officer breaks away from the group and heads in my direction. I should have waited until I was closer before I called out, but I am still fast. I’m almost there.
Part of my mind tries to process what is happening. Are they taking him away for his new work position? If so, why so early in the morning? Why is Aida so upset? Wouldn’t she be happy to know he has a new chance, something better than washing foilware? Why is he wearing handlocks? Did he try to fight them?
Did they see the kiss? Is that why this is happening?
I see the air train sliding along the tracks toward the station, but it’s not the air train we usually ride, the silvery-white one. It’s the charcoal-gray long-distance train, the kind that only departs from the City Center. I can hear it coming, too; it’s heavier, louder, than the white one.
Something isn’t right.
And if I didn’t know that already, the word Ky calls to me as they push him up the steps confirms everything. Because there in front of everyone, all his survival instincts leave him and a different instinct takes over.
He calls my name. “Cassia!”
In that one word, I hear it all: That he loves me. That he’s afraid. And I hear the good-bye he was trying to tell me yesterday on the Hill. He knew. He’s not just leaving for a new work position; he’s going somewhere and he doesn’t think he’ll come back.
I hear footsteps behind me, soft on the grass and footsteps in front of me, hard on the metal. I glance back and see an Officer hurrying toward me; forward, and an Official rushes down the metal stairs. Aida’s no longer screaming; they want to stop me the way they stopped her.
I can’t get to him. Not this way. Not now. I can’t push past the Officer on the stairs. I’m not strong enough to fight them or fast enough to outrun them—
Do not go gentle.
I don’t know if Ky speaks the words to my mind somehow or if I think them to myself or if Grandfather might be out there somewhere in this almost-night, calling words on the wind, words with wings like angels.
I veer to the side of the platform, feet fast on the cement. Ky sees what I’m doing and he twists away, a sharp movement that earns him a second of freedom before their hands clamp down on him again.
It is enough.
For a moment, he leans over the edge of the lighted platform and I see what I need to see. I see his eyes, bright with life and fire, and I know he won’t stop fighting. Even if it’s the kind of quiet fight on the inside that you can’t always see. And I won’t stop fighting either.
The calls of the Officials and the sound of the air train sliding to a stop will cover my words. Ky won’t be able to hear anything I say.
So in the middle of all the noise, I point to the sky. I hope he understands what I mean, because I mean so many things: My heart will always fly his name. I won’t go gentle. I’ll find a way to soar like the angels in the stories and I will find him.
And I know he understands as he looks straight at me, deep into my eyes. His lips move silently, and I know what he says: the words of a poem that only two people in the world know.
Tears well up but I blink them away. Because if there is one moment in my life that I want to see clearly, this is it.
The Officer reaches me first, grabbing my arm and pulling me back.
“Leave her alone,” my father says. I had no idea he could run so fast. “She’s done nothing.” My mother and Bram hurry across the grass toward us. Xander and his family follow behind.
“She’s causing a disturbance,” the Officer says grimly.
“Of course she is,” my father retorts. “They’ve taken her childhood friend away in the early hours of the morning while his mother screams. What’s going on?”
I hear how loud my father’s voice is as he dares to ask this question, and I dart a glance over at my mother to see how she feels about this. Her face shows nothing but pride as she looks at him.
To my surprise, Xander’s father speaks up. “Where are they taking the boy?”
A white-coated Official takes charge, his voice loud so that everyone gathering can hear. His words are clipped and formal. “I’m sorry your morning has been disrupted. This young man received a new work position and we were merely picking him up to transport him. Since the position is outside of Oria Province, his mother became overwrought and upset.”
But why all the Officers? Why all the Officials? Why the handlocks? The Official’s explanation makes no sense, but after a short pause, everyone nods, accepting it. Except Xander. He opens his mouth as if to speak but then he glances over at me and closes it.
All the adrenaline from trying to catch up to Ky leaves me and a horrible realization begins to sink in. Wherever Ky went, it’s because of me. Because of my sort, or because of my kiss. Either way, this is my fault.
“Lies,” Patrick Markham says. Everyone turns to look at him. Even standing there in his sleepclothes, his face drawn and thin from all he has suffered, he still has a quiet dignity—a quality no one can touch. It is something I have only seen in one other person. Though Patrick and Ky are not related by blood, they both possess the same kind of strength.
“The Officials told Ky and other workers,” he says, looking at me, “that they’d been given a new work position. A better one. But in reality, they’re sending them to the Outer Provinces to fight.”
I reel backward as if I’ve been struck, and my mother reaches out her hand to steady me.
Patrick is still talking. “The war with the Enemy isn’t going well. They need more people to fight. All the original villagers are dead. All of them.” He pauses, speaks as if to himself. “I should have known they’d take Aberrations first. I should have known Ky would be on the list . . . I thought, since we’d been through so much ...” His voice shakes.
Aida turns on him, furious, forgiving. “We forgot, sometimes. But he never did. He knew it was coming. Did you see him fight? Did you see his eyes when they took him away?” She throws her arms around Patrick’s neck and he holds her close, her sobs ringing out in the cool morning. “He’s going to die. It’s a death sentence back there.” Then she pulls away, screams at the Officials, “He’s going to die!”
Two of the Officials move quickly, pinning Patrick’s and Aida’s hands behind their backs and pulling the Markhams away. Patrick’s head snaps back as one of them gags him to keep him from talking, and they do the same to Aida to stifle her screams. I’ve never seen or heard of Officials using such force. Don’t they realize that doing so gives truth to Patrick’s and Aida’s words?
An air car descends near us and disgorges more Officials. The Officers push the Markhams toward it and Aida reaches for her husband’s hand. Their fingers miss by centimeters and she is denied that touch, the one thing in the world that could comfort her now.
I close my eyes. I wish I couldn’t hear her screams echoing in my ears and the words I know I will never forget. He’s going to die. I wish my mother could take me back inside my house,
tuck me back in bed like she did when I was a child. When I watched night fall outside my window without a worry, when I did not know what it was like to want to break free.
“Excuse me.”
I know that voice. It’s my Official, the one from the greenspace. Next to her stands an Official with the insignia of the highest level of government: three golden stars, shining visibly under the streetlight. A hush falls over us.
“Everyone, please take out your tablet containers,” he says pleasantly. “Remove the red tablet.”
We all obey. My hand closes on the small container with its three tablets secured inside my pocket. Blue and red and green. Life and death and oblivion always at my fingertips.
“Now, keep the red tablets and hand Official Standler”—he gestures to my Official, who holds a square plastic receptacle—“your containers. Shortly after we’ve finished here you’ll receive new containers and a new set of tablets.”
Once again, we obey. I drop the little metal cylinder in with the others, but I do not meet my Official’s eyes.
“We’ll need you to take your red tablets. Official Standler and I will make sure you do. There’s nothing to worry about.”
Officers seem to multiply. They walk down the street, keeping everyone who stayed in their houses where they are and isolating the dozen or so of us who stand near the air-train stop—the handful of us who know what happened today in Mapletree Borough and across the country. I imagine other scenes went more smoothly than this; likely none of the other Aberrations had parents or family high up enough to know what was really happening. And even Patrick Markham could do nothing to save his son.
And it’s all my fault. I didn’t play God or angel; I played Official. I let myself think that I knew what was best and changed someone’s life accordingly. It doesn’t matter whether or not the data backed me up; in the end, I made the decision myself. And the kiss—
I can’t let myself think about the kiss.
I look down at the red tablet, so small in my hand. Even if it means death, I think I would welcome that now.
But wait. I promised Ky. I pointed to the sky and promised him. And now, moments later, I’m going to give up?
I drop the tablet on the ground, trying to be discreet. For a second I see it small and red in the grass, and I remember what Ky said about red being the color of birth and renewal. “To a new beginning,” I say to myself, and I shift my feet the tiniest bit so that I crush the tablet; it bleeds beneath my feet. It reminds me of the time I saw Ky’s face across the crowded room at the game center just as my feet crushed the lost tablets beneath me.
Except now, when I look up, he is nowhere to be found.
No one has followed the orders yet. Even though the Official is the highest-ranking one we’ve ever seen and he’s ordered us to do it, we’ve heard years of rumors about the red tablet.
“Would anyone like to go first?”
“I will,” my mother says, stepping forward.
“No,” I say, but a look from my father stops me. I know what he’s trying to tell me, She’s doing this for us. For you. And somehow, he knows it’s going to be all right.
“I will, too,” he says, moving to stand next to her. Together, as we all watch, they both swallow their tablets down. The Official checks my parents’ mouths and nods briefly. “They dissolve within seconds,” he tells us. “Too quickly for you to try and throw it back up, but it’s unnecessary anyway. It won’t hurt you. All it does is clear your mind.”
All it does is clear your mind. Of course. I know now why we’re going to take them. So we forget what happened to Ky, so we forget that the Enemy is winning the war in the Outer Provinces, that the villagers there are all dead. And I realize why they didn’t have us take the tablets when something happened to the first Markham boy: because we needed to remember how dangerous Anomalies can be. How vulnerable we would be without the Society to keep them all away.
Did they let that Anomaly out on purpose? To remind us?
What will they tell us happened to Ky, later? What story will we all believe instead of his true one? Will we take the green tablet next, a calm after the forgetting?
I don’t want to be calm anymore. I don’t want to forget.
As much as it hurts, I have to hold onto the whole story of him, the painful parts, too.
My mother turns to look at me and I worry I’ll see blank eyes or a vacant, slack expression. But she looks fine. So does my father.
Soon, everyone lines up, red tablets in their palms, ready to get this over with and go back to their lives. What will I do when they find out I got rid of mine? I glance down at the grass beneath my feet, almost expecting to see a tiny patch of it seared and obliterated, wiped clean. Instead it looks exactly as it did before. I can’t even see the red fragments in the grass. I must have crushed them completely.
Bram looks terrified but excited. He’s still not old enough to carry his own red tablet, so my father gives him the extra one he carries.
My Official starts checking people, too. She moves closer and closer to me, but I can’t take my eyes from Bram and then from Em as she takes the tablet. For a moment, I remember my dream and I feel horror as I watch her. But nothing happens. Nothing that I can see, anyway.
And then it is Xander’s turn. He glances over and sees me watching him, and an expression crosses his face that is nothing but pain. I want to look away, but I don’t. I watch as Xander nods to me and lifts the red tablet toward me, almost in a toast.
Before I see him take it, someone blocks my view of everyone and theirs of me. It’s my Official.
“Let me see your tablet, please,” she says.
“I have it.” I hold out my hand but I don’t open my palm.
I think I almost see her smile. Even though I know she carries extra tablets—I’ve seen them—she doesn’t offer me one yet.
Her glance flickers down to the grass at my feet and then back up to my face. I lift my arm and pretend to put something in my mouth and then I swallow, hard. And she moves on to the next person.
Even though this is what I want, I hate her. She wants me to remember what happened here. What I’ve done.
CHAPTER 30
When the darkness finally lifts, it is a flat, hot, steel-colored morning, a morning without dimension or depth. The houses around me could be the set for a showing; they could be pictures on a bigscreen. I feel that if I walk too far I’ll walk right into canvas or through a paper wall and then out into black-nothing and the end of everything.
Somehow I’ve run out of fear; I feel lethargic instead, which is almost worse. Why care about a flat planet populated by flat people? Who cares about a place where there is no Ky?
This is one of the reasons I need Ky, I realize. Because when I am with him, I feel.
But he is gone. I saw it happen.
I made it happen.
Did Sisyphus have to do this, too? I wonder. Stop for a minute and concentrate on holding firm, on pushing the rock just enough to keep it from rolling down and crushing him, before he could even think about trying to climb again?
��
The red tablet took effect almost immediately after the Officers and Officials shepherded us home. The events of the past twelve hours have been wiped from my family’s minds. Within the hour, a delivery of new containers and tablets arrived with a letter of explanation that ours were found to be defective and removed earlier this morning. Everyone else in my family accepts the explanation without question. They have other things to worry about.
My mother is confused—where did she put her datapod for work when she finished with it last night? Bram can’t remember whether he finished writing his assignment on his scribe.
“Well, turn it on and check, honey,” my mother says, flustered. My father looks a little blank, too, but not as confused. I think he’s experienced this before, possibly many times in his line of work. While the tablet still works, he seems less bewildered by the feeling of disorientation.
>
Which is good, because the Officials haven’t finished with our family yet.
“Private message for Molly Reyes,” the generic voice from the port calls out.
My mother looks up, surprised. “I’ll be late for work,” she protests softly, although whoever sent this message can’t hear her. They also can’t see her straighten her shoulders before she walks over to the port and puts on the earpiece. The screen darkens, the picture on it only visible from the exact spot in which she stands.
“What now?” says Bram. “Should I wait?”
“No, go on to school,” my father tells him. “We don’t want you to be late.”
On his way out the door, Bram complains, “I always miss everything.” I wish I could tell him that wasn’t true; but then again, would I really want him to keep the memory of what happened this morning?
Something happens to me when I look at Bram leaving our house, and things become real again. Bram is real. I am real. Ky is real, and I need to get started on finding him. Now.
“I’m going into the City for the morning,” I tell my father.
“Don’t you have hiking?” he asks, and then he shakes his head as if to clear it. “Sorry. I remember. Summer leisure activities ended early this year, right? That’s why Bram’s already on his way to school instead of swimming. My mind’s foggy this morning.” He doesn’t seem surprised by that fact, and I think again that this is something that’s happened to him before. And I remember how he let my mother take the red tablet first; somehow he knew it wouldn’t hurt her.
“They didn’t assign us anything else to do yet to take the place of hiking,” I tell my father. “So I have time to go into the City before Second School.” This in itself is an oversight, another little hitch in the well-oiled machine of our Society that proves something is wrong somewhere.
My father doesn’t answer. He stares at my mother, whose face is ashen and pale as she stares at the portscreen. “Molly?” he says. You’re not supposed to interrupt a private message, but he takes a few steps closer. And then closer again.
