Inside the Palisade (4 page)

I stare at the door leading to the examination rooms. It’s clearly been painted over many times. Layers of chipped white paint peek out through the latest rough veneer. The door opens with a creak and a tall thin figure in a white tunic glances around the waiting area until her gaze fixes on me.

“Omega Wye?” She smooths down her gray hair and glances at the datapad propped in the crook of her arm. I raise my hand, not sure why I bother given the lack of other patients.

“My name is Rho Zee,” she says. “Follow me, please.”

Hissing against the pain in my knee, I stand up. My leg throbs when I put weight on it. The Med-Tech directs me through the doorway and leads me down a maze of gray and white corridors to a sparsely furnished examination room where she motions for me to sit on a metal bench. Turning her attention to her datapad, she summarizes my stats. “Omega Wye. Age: Eight-hundred-and-forty-three weeks. Mother: Sigma Wye.” She pauses. “Accident at Main Plant. Gash on right forearm.”

“Yes, ma’am.” The room smells sterile with a hint of the same lemon-scented cleaning agent we use at the factory.

The Med-Tech tilts her head before approaching. Finally, she rolls up my sleeve to inspect my injured arm. “Your supervisor did this?” She indicates the now-seeping dressing. “What about this?” There’s pressure on my knee, and when I can bear to look again, she’s rolling up my trouser leg to expose the bandage. I realize immediately what has piqued her interest. Under the harsh lights of the examination room, I notice the fabric for the first time. It’s a deep crimson, shot through with fine gold thread. I hadn’t been able to make out the details in the dim light outside.

Rho Zee examines her datapad. “The report doesn’t say anything about a knee injury.”

“It happened when I fell,” I say.

“At the factory?”

“Mmm-hmm.”

She runs her fingertips across the
deman’s
handiwork. “This fabric is unusual.” She glances up at me and I try to keep my expression stony. “And it looks familiar. I’ve seen it on a friend of mine.” She leans closer. “You wouldn’t happen to have come across a Delta Jaye, would you?” The words sound casual, conversational, but her lower lip quivers.

My pulse quickens, but before I can respond, the Med-Tech’s communicator buzzes at her wrist. She presses a button to open the comm-channel.

“Everything alright in there? Do you require assistance?” An
unfamiliar voice crackles into the room.

“Everything’s fine. Re-dressing a wound,” Rho Zee answers.

“Carry on then.” The communications channel snaps off, disconnected at the other end.

The Med-Tech locks eyes with me, her face ashen.

“Do you know Del—?” The Med-Tech presses a hand over my mouth to stop my words before holding a finger to her lips. I nod that I understand. She steps back and turns her attention in an exaggerated professional manner to my knee.

When she speaks again her voice sounds a little too loud. “Let’s take a look, shall we?” She strains to untie the
deman’s
knot before unraveling the bandage and rolling it into a tiny ball. She slips it into her pocket and then she starts to manipulate my joint. A spasm shoots through my leg.

“I’ll need to replace this dressing but we also need to see to that arm.” Hoisting my sleeve higher, she loosens Tau’s bandage. Flakes of dried blood drift to the bench around me. She moves to a nearby drawer to retrieve a syringe and a vial of clear fluid. I shrink back. Her movements become stilted, her voice more forced.

“I’ll need to stitch this up.” She indicates the gash on my arm. “But first I’ll give you something to help you relax.” She advances on me with her thumb poised over the hypodermic. I back away, but my shoulder wrenches against the wall. “This won’t hurt.” Her tone is detached, almost robotic, as she grabs for my arm. I try to pin it into the corner, out of her reach.

“It’s just that I hate needles.”

“You don’t have to watch.” She grips my arm and pulls it closer, causing a line of blood to seep from the jagged cut. She dabs something cool and moist across my shoulder. An antiseptic wipe. The sharp point of the needle pierces my skin.

“Try to relax.” Her voice sounds like it’s coming from far away, even though she’s right next to me. I want to protest but my jaw muscles have gone slack. I glance at her, but I can’t make
out her features anymore. Everything is blurry. Rho’s strong arms brace me as she lowers me onto the bench, raising my legs so I’m lying flat. She arranges my arms by my sides. I want to cry out, but I’m too tired.

I don’t know if I imagine her whispered words before I drift off. “I’m sorry. Delta is my friend. I have no choice.”

“Hey! New girl! Are you awake?”

I blink. Eveything’s fuzzy. I’m lying flat on my back, barely able to make out the gray tiled ceiling overhead with vent work snaking around the edges. I ache all over, my limbs heavy and sore.

“Hey! Are you alright?” The stranger speaks again, her tone high-pitched. “You were screaming. Did you have a nightmare?”

I turn my head toward the voice, but I can’t see her. I try to roll on to my side, but I can’t move. Something’s pinning me down. I try to fight it off.

“Easy, easy.” She’s closer now. “Don’t worry, sweetie. They tucked you in a little too snug, that’s all.”

A girl’s face sharpens into focus. She hovers over me, loosening a thick pile of blankets from my chest. A rush of cold air invades my lungs, causing me to cough. The girl braces my shoulders and assists me to a seated position, slapping me too hard on the back and causing another spasm to rip through my lungs. When I catch my breath, she grins to expose a set of shiny white teeth, one of them chipped in the front. Her mousey blonde hair, untidily gathered at the nape of her neck with a bright red bow, is streaked with something sparkly and silver. “I thought you’d
never
wake up. What’s your name?” Her volume is a bit much, but at least she’s friendly.

“Omega.” My voice croaks from my dry throat.

“I’m Ace.” The grin widens.

“Ace?”

“It’s Alpha actually. Alpha See. But I don’t answer to Alpha, okay? When are you due?”

“Huh?”

“The Big Event. You’re not showing, so you must have a while.” Her voice is even louder, like an excited child.

I look around. The room houses only two cots, a wall mirror and a small metal closet with sliding doors. This girl, Ace, smells soapy and clean. She’s clad in a dark robe, streaked with the same silver as her hair.

“Do you like it?” She fishes into her pocket and pulls out a glitter pen. “I can do you too.” She brandishes the pen in my direction, but I cower away, reaching protectively for my braids. That’s when I realize my hair has been brushed out, falling in silky waves around my shoulders. It feels like even the split ends have been tidied up.

“Hey, I don’t bite!” She moves in closer with the pen, before stopping short. Her mouth drops open. “Wow, that’s amazing!”

“What?” I raise my fingers to my cheeks, feeling for bruises, or other signs of trauma.

“Your eyes! They’re unreal!”

My lenses.

Instinctively, I reach for the case in my pocket, but it’s missing. In fact, my whole uniform is gone. I’m wearing a pale robe over a scratchy flannel gown. My real eyes are exposed to anyone who comes in here. I twist my head away but the girl grasps my chin and pulls me to face her. I scrunch my eyelids shut, but it’s too late. She’s already seen enough. She pulls my face closer. I can feel her breath on my skin.

“How did that happen?” she asks. “One’s gray and the other’s—”

“Green. I know.” I open my eyes a tiny crack and watch her through slitted lids.

She punches me in the shoulder playfully. “Don’t be embarrassed. I’d
pay
for eyes like that. How did they get that way?”

“I don’t know.” It’s true, but will she believe me? Realizing there’s no point in hiding them anymore, I open my eyes.

“Are we in the lockup?” I ask her.

“Good one!” She slaps my back as if I’ve made a joke, the motion releasing another barrage of coughing.

When I recover, I try again. “No, seriously. I seem to be having trouble remembering how I got here.” Actually, I’m having trouble remembering much of anything. It’s as if I left my quarters this morning, passed out, and woke up here. Wherever
here
is. I pull the blankets tight around me.

“The Med-Techs brought you.” The girl pats my ankle through the covers. “You were asleep, which I thought was weird. I mean, most girls are excited to be here, but you were out like a light.”

“Most girls? What are you talking about? Where are we?”

“The Nest, of course.”

“The Nest?” I sit bolt upright, shoving her aside. “
This
is the Nest?” I gaze around the cramped space trying to make sense of it. That can’t be right. Whatever tricks my memory is playing, there’s no way I’m supposed to be in the
Nest.

“Where did you think you were?” she asks, indicating her swollen belly. She’s an Expectant, but she seems so young, even younger than me. I know that some girls discover motherhood as their Calling pretty early, but she’s only a child herself. “You didn’t really think we were in the lockup, did you? Why on earth would you think that? Why would they put a bunch of Expectants in the lockup?”

“This is a mistake,” I insist.

“Did you have a bad Procedure? Is that what’s upsetting you?”

“I didn’t
have
the Procedure.” I run my fingers along my flat belly to convince myself.

“Maybe you blotted it out. Repressed it.” She stumbles over the word.

I draw my wrists to my temples and am assaulted by a pain in my right arm. I jerk up my sleeve to reveal a neat dressing, taped securely over my arm, the blue and purple edges of a bruise blossoming around it. I press it experimentally. It throbs in response. It can’t be more than a day old. I probe the skin
around it with my fingertips. It’s a real injury, even though I have no recollection of how it happened. But if there’s one thing I know about the Nest, it’s that no one gets hurt here. That’s its purpose. To keep all Expectants safe and sound. To protect the next generation of our dwindling population. I couldn’t have been here when this happened

Then, I notice something else: My communicator is missing. I check both wrists, and the pockets of the robe before scanning the surface of the bedside table. It’s nowhere. I look at the other girl’s wrists. Her communicator is right where it should be.

“Where’s my communicator?” I ask her.

She looks around, opening and shutting a drawer in the night-stand that I had failed to notice. Empty.

“That’s odd,” she says. “I guess you didn’t have one when they brought you. Where did you see it last?”

I try to remember, but my mind is a blank. “I don’t know.”

“Seriously? Amnesia?” Ace’s voice has lost none of its cheeriness. “That’s great! A mystery to solve! It gets so boring in here sometimes.”

I run my thumb and forefinger over my brow, trying to remember anything. An image of a woman in white scrubs flickers into my mind. A Med-Tech? Ace perches beside me on the bed, her toe tracing circles in the carpet. I force myself to stand up, recoiling when my leg gives out. I half-sit, half-stumble back on to the cot. Raising my hem, I’m shocked to discover a thick elastic brace over an obviously swollen knee. I raise an eyebrow and glare at Ace. “This didn’t happen in the Nest, did it?”

She bends down to examine it.

“Maybe we should call someone?” I indicate her communicator. Her eyes widen for a moment, and she swallows before nodding and pressing the button to open a comm-channel. Nothing happens. She looks away.

“Sorry. I guess it needs a recharge,” she says. When she doesn’t speak again, I wrap my fingers around the bedframe and
hoist myself up, holding tight until I manage to balance on my injured leg. Ignoring the heavy feeling in my limbs, I shuffle to the door and press the panel beside it. Nothing happens. I whirl on Ace. “This doesn’t seem to be working either. Why?”

She bounds over to me. The movement looks almost comical given the size of her belly. She gathers my good arm in hers to pull me back to the cot, murmuring in soothing tones, “I’m sure it’s only a glitch. Someone will come soon to check on us. They always do.”

She arranges me on the edge of the mattress and sits beside me, fidgeting with the fringe of a blanket. Beads of sweat form on my forehead, and I start to feel dizzy. I press my fingers to my temples. “I don’t understand what’s happening.”

“We’ll figure it out. Try to relax.”

Her words frighten me.
Why?
The blanket falls to the floor and puddles at her feet. “Why did you say that?”

“You seemed upset,” she says. “I just thought you should relax. Then your memory might come back on its own. Maybe do some breathing exercises or something.”

That word.
Relax.
Why does it bother me? Pushing to my feet again I’m pleased that I manage to avoid most of the pain by knowing how to balance on my good leg. I start pacing in the cramped space between the cots with a pronounced limp but steady enough. Ace nudges the blanket aside, so I don’t trip over it. My legs don’t feel so heavy anymore. The movement is helping. Fragments of what feel like memories start slotting into place. They don’t make sense at first.

“I think I went to the Clinic. Yes, I’m sure that’s right. A Med-Tech took me to a room,” I mutter to myself. “Her name was Rho and she wanted to know why I asked for … Delta?” I glance at Ace whose skin is now pale. She remains on the edge of the cot, her fingers wrapped around the metal frame. I focus back into my memories. Fragments are returning. A setting sun. A pool of water. Two scampering squirrels. A scrap of crimson fabric with
shiny gold thread. My arm twinges. I touch my fingertips to my eyelids, but the memories slip away. Whatever happened, the one thing that makes the least sense is…

“Why did they bring me here?” I say more to myself than the other girl.

“There’s only one reason anyone is brought here.” Ace bends to retrieve the blanket and starts to fold it into neat squares before pressing it to her chest.