Aftermath (10 page)

The guard looked up at the others through his dark glasses. Finally he nodded, slid Paige a card key and map.

“Here’s your key. You’ll be staying in apartment 408. Curfew’s at eight. This is a map of the city.”

“Guess I can throw out my LA map now,” Paige remarked.

“Your what?” asked the guard, looking up at her.

“My map of Los Angeles,” she replied, already wishing she hadn’t brought it up. He continued staring. “Los Angeles?” she added, “the place that used to be here.”

“What’s she talking about?” asked the guard at the next table, peering over. The guard in front of her continued staring, and Paige couldn’t help but think he was assessing whether or not she was a threat.

“It’s nothing,” she added. “Just me trying to be funny.”

The guard in front of her finally broke his stare. He turned back to her form, picking up where he had left off. “No food in your room. You’ll be eating in Dining Hall 12. Breakfast is at seven, dinner is at five. Don’t be late.”

“Where’s Dining Hall 12?” she asked.

“It’s on your map,” he replied. “You’ll begin work next week. Work hours start at eight thirty.”

“What am I doing?”

“You’ll be assigned to work in the fields.”

She must have flinched, as he shot her that stare again.

“Do you have a problem with labor?” he demanded.

She shook her head. “No.”

“Good. Now extend your right hand.”

“Why?” she asked.

The guard shot her a look. “I need you to extend your right hand.” The implied “or else” was apparent.

Paige hesitated a second, then extended it. He grabbed her hand, held it down on the table, and pressed a stamp down on it. She felt something puncture her skin, like hundreds of tiny needles.

“Ow!” she exclaimed when he was finished. She pulled her hand up, and there was a tattoo on it. Like a bar code.

“That’s your Registration Identification Mark,” the guard explained. “It records when you eat, sleep, who you talk to, where you’ve been.”

She stared at the mark in horror. “Are you serious?” she asked, immediately regretting saying it.

“Very much so,” he replied. “Next,” he continued, nodding to the person in line behind her.

“Wait,” she interjected. “I just had one question. A friend of mine was injured. Do you know where they took him?”

“How was he injured?” asked the guard.

“He was stabbed.”

“Was it by a citizen?”

“It was before all of this,” she replied, motioning to the buildings.

“Try the infirmary,” he replied. “Next.”

***

The inside of the room felt like a cave, or even a tomb, thought Paige, as she and Trish checked out their new apartment. It was built of the same cold gray stone as the outside, only the surfaces had been polished smooth. There was a bunk bed, desk, and chairs, all made of wood, a bathroom, and what looked like some sort of a projector mounted to the wall.

Paige made a beeline for the bathroom. There was a sink and shower, but no mirror. She turned on the faucet, and scrubbed madly at the tattoo the soldier had stamped on her hand. But it wasn’t coming off.

“Dammit,” she exclaimed, returning to the living area.

Trish stood across the room, staring out the rectangular window carved into the wall. Their apartment was on a middle floor of one of the pyramid shaped buildings, and the window provided a sweeping view of the alien city. They were the lucky ones. The boys had been assigned to one of the interior rooms without an outside view. Cold hallways of stone wove like mazes between the apartments, but fortunately the boys’ apartment was just across from their one.

“I don’t like this place,” Trish muttered.

“Me neither,” agreed Paige, joining Trish at the window. “We’re getting out of here as soon as I find my friend.”

“Deal,” replied Trish.

“Ready to help me look for him?”

Trish nodded.

***

Trish trotted alongside Paige, as they headed down the mall. This was a section of the city they hadn’t seen yet.

Large aqueducts criss-crossed high above them, held in place by enormous arches. If this city had an industrial center, this was probably it.

Paige checked her map again, as the two headed along. The infirmary should be right around here, she thought, as she looked up from the map.

And there it was, on the ground floor of a massive pyramid just across the mall. And if she had any doubts, a sign carved into the front read: “Infirmary.”

***

The inside of the infirmary was built of the same solid gray stone as the other structures, with its walls polished to a smooth surface. Lighting came from phosphorescent stones embedded in the walls and ceiling. Four people were waiting on a wooden bench in the lobby when Paige and Trish entered. Oddly enough, the people on the bench, consisting of a man, a woman, a young child, and girl maybe a couple of years older than Paige, were dressed in the same colored outfits. It looked to Paige like the outfits were made of a tan linen type of material. The women’s outfits appeared to be tunics, while the man wore trousers and a shirt of the same material.

Paige didn’t really give their odd choice of clothing a second thought, as she and Trish crossed the lobby to a large window carved in the far wall. A transparent crystal-like material covered the top portion of the window, behind which sat a nurse.

Paige approached the window, tapping lightly on it to get the nurse’s attention.

“Hi,” Paige said, after the nurse finally looked up. “I’m trying to find someone, and one of the guards told me I should ask you guys. He had a knife wound in his leg.”

“Patient’s name?” the nurse asked coldly.

“Chad. Harding.”

“Is he a relative?”

Paige hesitated. Maybe a second too long. “Uhm, yeah,” she replied. “He’s my brother.”

The nurse eyed her. “Let me see your Registration Identification Mark.”

“My what?” Paige asked, looking puzzled.

The girl on the bench overheard this. She glanced over, assessing Paige. The girl’s name was Valerie. Despite the bland outfit, there was something cute about her in a nerdy sort of way. She had the dark hair and glasses, but it was also in how she carried herself. Just sort of… nerdy. And she seemed comfortable with that.

“The mark on your right hand,” the nurse explained to Paige.

“Oh, this thing,” Paige responded. “Here,” she said, holding it up so the nurse could see it.

“I need you to slide it beneath the window,” the nurse instructed.

Again Paige hesitated, then slid it beneath the crystal glass.

The nurse ran some kind of metal gadget across her hand. Paige noticed it glow briefly, then fade. The nurse glanced at something to the side of the window, just out of Paige’s sight, then turned back to Paige.

“You and Mister Harding have different last names, Miss O’Connor.”

Valerie continued watching from the bench, taking notice as Paige’s shoulders sank. It was obvious to her that Paige had been caught in a lie.

“Okay. He’s not my brother,” Paige replied to the nurse. “He’s my friend. He was hurt really badly.”

The nurse just shook her head. “I’m sorry, but we can only divulge patient information to family members.”

“That’s dumb,” Paige insisted, once again engaging her mouth before engaging her brain.

“Those are the rules, Miss O’Connor,” came the nurse’s reply. There might have been a trace of sympathy in her tone.

“Well they’re dumb,” Paige shot back, turning to leave. “Come on, Trish. Let’s go. These people suck.”

Valerie continued watching from the bench, as Paige stormed across the lobby towards the exit. There Paige stopped, turning around to look for Trish. But Trish had other plans. As Paige headed for the exit, Trish stepped up to the window, turning on all of her youthful charm.

“Hi. Look, I’m sorry about my friend. But you see, she’s been looking all over for her friend. He got stabbed trying to save her life, and she feels responsible for that.”

The nurse actually softened a bit, looking past Trish to where Paige had stopped in the doorway.

“We promise we won’t tell, if you could just make an exception,” Trish pleaded.

The nurse thought about it for a moment, then nodded. “How was that last name spelled?”

“H-A-R-D-I-N-G,” replied Trish.

“Let’s see what I can find.

The nurse disappeared behind the counter for a moment. Trish glanced back at Paige, still standing in the doorway.

The nurse returned. “I’m sorry, but I’m showing Mister Harding’s records as being classified.”

“What’s that mean?” Paige asked, rushing over to the counter.

“It means, the security forces must have ordered his records sealed.”

“Can you unseal them?” Paige asked.

“They’re no longer here.”

“So the security forces took him?”

“I have no way of knowing, Miss Harding,” the nurse offered. “I’m very sorry about your friend.”

Paige nodded. “Thanks.”

“Thank your friend here,” the nurse said, nodding to Trish.

***

Paige stormed out of the infirmary, with Trish hurrying along beside her.

“Thanks for the help back there,” Paige said, trying to manage a smile for her short companion.

“You just have to be nice to people. Then they’re nice back,” Trish responded.

“I don’t feel like being nice,” Paige snorted. “They’re working for those things.”

“But it’s not their fault,” Trish explained.

“Stop making excuses for them,” Paige insisted.

“I will when you stop being mean.”

Paige stopped. Took a deep breath. Exhaled. Trish stood there, watching. “Okay, we’ll try it your way,” Paige offered.

Trish smiled. “You’ll see. People will be friendlier.”

The girls didn’t notice the infirmary door creeping open behind them, and Valerie stepping out. She stood beside the door, pretending she wasn’t doing what she was actually doing - eavesdropping on Paige and Trish.

“At least we know there’s a good chance your friend’s still alive,” Trish added, as she and Paige headed down the block.

“How do you know that?” Paige asked.

“Why would they seal someone’s records if they were already dead.”

Paige thought about it for a second. That actually made sense. She smiled, nodding to Trish. “You’re pretty smart for a kid.”

“I’m not a kid,” Trish responded. “I’m nine.”

Paige smiled at that, rubbed Trish’s head. She looked around, spotting one of the guards standing across the mall. She headed over.

“Hi,” Paige said, approaching him with the friendliest face she could muster. “I was hoping you could help me find someone.”

The guard turned and gazed at her through his dark sunglasses. “Why aren’t you in your uniforms?” he asked.

“Our what?” replied Paige.

This guy’s face was like stone, unsmiling. “Your uniforms,” he added, nodding to a handful of pedestrians walking along the mall. Paige followed his gaze, and seemed to notice for the first time that everyone was wearing those bland linen outfits she’d seen in the infirmary.

“All citizens are required to wear the uniform,” the guard continued.

“We are?” Paige frowned.

The guard tensed. Apparently people weren’t supposed to question the rules or orders.

Trish jumped in. “What she meant to say, officer, is that we’ll be happy to.”

“Uhm… yeah,” Paige nodded in agreement. “Just tell us where we get our… uniforms.”

“They’re available in the commissary,” he answered. “Follow me.”

“Oh, that’s okay,” Paige interjected. “We can find it.”

“Follow me,” he glared back through those dark tactical glasses. It wasn’t a request.

***

The guard marched Paige and Trish into the enormous commissary. Nordstroms it wasn’t. With its polished stone walls, it resembled every other building Paige had encountered in the city. She was beginning to feel like she was in a Flintstones cartoon, with the complete lack of distinction their “hosts” had designed into everything.

The interior consisted mostly of row after row of those same linen tunics, trousers, and shirts. Welcome to clonesville, Paige thought, as she and Trish proceeded down the aisles.

“Women’s clothing is on the right, children’s is in the back,” instructed the guard.

“How come they all look alike?” asked Trish, staring at the matching colors.

“Why wouldn’t they?” he responded, as if there had ever been anything different.

“What my friend meant,” inserted Paige, unable to suppress her natural sarcasm, “is how lucky we are that our hosts have such great fashion sense.”

The guard glared at her, still wearing those dark tactical sunglasses, and Paige thought for a moment she was about to be arrested or shot. “Kidding,” she finally added.