Inside the Palisade (17 page)

I hear the soft purr of the electric vehicle as it starts up and slowly fades into the distance. That’s when I notice Upsilon is gone. It’s only me, my mother, and Ma Temple now. My mother guides me to the entryway and places a thumb into a well-concealed panel. The door opens.
Biometric locks?
That’s highly specialized tech. Why are the Elders’ quarters coded to accept my mom’s fingerprints?

The three of us hurry into some kind of service entrance that opens to a narrow hallway. The walls are dark brown with a fluorescent bar along the ceiling. We hurry across the stone-tiled floor. The space is almost clinically clean, no dust anywhere, and the corridor is so narrow we have to walk single file. Mom goes first, with me in the middle and Ma Temple behind me. I can’t say her presence gives me much comfort. A lemony scent permeates the air. It reminds me of the detergent we use in the factory. After about twenty feet, we get to a wood-paneled door. Mom opens it and ushers me into a circular atrium with a domed glass ceiling. Moonlight streams through to illuminate potted plants in
handcrafted ceramic tubs and stacks of cushions organized around the edges of the polished timber floor. This must be where the Elders meditate. Several more wood-paneled doors are evenly spaced around the perimeter of the room. Ma Temple moves toward one of them.

“Sigma, we should hurry,” she says.

Mom motions for me to follow. She opens the door and ushers us through. It self-locks behind us.

We’re in a larger hallway now. The walls are painted burgundy, the floor covered with a thick pile carpet. I glance at my mother, surprised by the determined set of her jaw. The hallway is illuminated by ornate lamps spaced at regular intervals. Interspersed between them are screens displaying images of the past. Most of them are in shades of gray, with the occasional color picture interrupting the pattern. I slow down to get a better look. They depict horrors from the ancient wars. Familiar scenes from history class: burned buildings, abandoned cityscapes, people bleeding in the streets, men and women, dying and suffering. Together. There’s something peculiar about the surfaces of the images, grainy and imperfect. Suddenly, I realize where I’ve seen pictures like this before, or rather one picture. Ghent’s photograph of his mothers. These are much larger in scale, but the same tech.

Lost in the details, I fail to keep pace with the others. I’m startled when Ma Temple turns back for me, clasping her hands at her waist. “Horrifying, aren’t they?” She glides behind me to look over my shoulder at the picture I’ve been examining. I flinch at her proximity but she ignores me, apparently lost in the image: a woman shielding a baby from something in the distance. The infant is wrapped in a dirty blanket, the woman’s face streaked with dirt and tears.

“Why are these here?” I ask.

“To remind us of what was. So it never happens again. Those who forget the past are doomed to repeat it.” Ma Temple says.

“We won’t be repeating any mistakes once we all die out,” Mom says, taking a few steps toward us.

Ma Temple’s shoulders straighten and it looks like she’s about to respond. I get the feeling this isn’t the first time they’ve had this argument. But when she speaks, she only says, “We need to keep moving.” She turns and walks away. It’s difficult to tear myself away from the photograph, but when I finally do, I don’t want to look back. I can’t bear it.

Eventually, we stop at a plain wooden door. Mom presses her thumb against a panel beside it and the door opens to a miniature version of the atrium outside, except this room is carpeted, the same plush carpet as the hallway. While the walls are curved, they are not completely spherical. In place of the glass panel in the ceiling, this room has a tinted picture window on the far wall. The sun is rising, and I can make out the silhouettes of gardenias in the dull purple light. Birds are beginning to chirp outside.

The walls are painted in mute colors and there is little in the way of furniture – only a low wooden bench with cushions on the floor around it. The side wall houses several smaller doors. One of them opens without warning, causing me to jerk back against my mother. Two figures emerge. One is Omicron, her dark robes cinched with a crimson tie. Her gray hair flows over her shoulders, as she leans against her cane, and bows her head to acknowledge us. The other woman is younger, tall and thin, with blonde hair and ice-blue eyes. She’s wearing a loose-fitting crimson robe. Though her face is puffy and red, she looks more serene than when I last saw her: Delta.

When Delta catches sight of us she stiffens. I’m tempted to turn and run. I don’t know what to say to her. My knees begin to buckle, but my mother holds me steady.

Omicron addresses Mom, “Welcome back, my child. It’s so good to see you again. And all in one piece, too.” In a flash, my mother is across the room and drops to her knees in front of the Elder, holding the older woman’s hand to her cheek.

“I failed,” she whispers. “I let you down.”

Omicron pulls Mom to her feet and places a hand over her own heart. “You could never disappoint me, child.”

It’s such an intimate moment. After a while, Mom turns to Delta and clasps her forearms gently. “I’m sorry.”

They know each other too? All this time, Ghent’s mother was friends with my Mom, and I never even knew he existed.

“Thank you for seeing us at short notice.” Ma Temple bows before the Elder, drawing attention to herself. Not knowing what to do, I try to imitate her movement and almost overbalance in the process. I feel Ma Temple’s steadying grip on my arm. When I raise my head, Delta’s staring at Ma Temple, the flush of anger unmistakable in her cheeks. I pull out of Ma Temple’s grip, worried Delta will think I’m working with her. Then I realize that I am working with her.

Omicron continues as if this is a perfectly ordinary gathering. “It’s my pleasure, and I do believe this is the right time.” She turns to Delta. “If you wouldn’t mind, Healer.” Delta places her fingertips beneath Omicron’s elbow and guides her forward. The hem of her robe swishes around bare ankles as they move. They stop in the center of the room where Delta assists Omicron to sit on the bench. Mom follows and stands by the Elder’s side.

Omicron places her cane flat on the seat beside her, and regards us all, her fingers tented beneath her chin. “Please sit.”
She indicates the cushions at our feet. Delta sinks down on the one closest to Omicron, tucking her legs beneath her. Mom hurries over to me and helps me to my own cushion, taking her place on the floor beside it. Ma Temple sits on the other side of my mom, as far away from Delta as she can get.

Omicron bends forward to examine my bandaged fingers. “Seems like you’ve had another busy day.”

I don’t know if she’s joking, so I don’t respond. I tuck my bandaged hands into the folds of my shift.

Delta has remained silent this whole time, watching us. I turn to her and finally speak the words I should have offered her at the Clinic. “I’m so sorry. About Ghent.” His name sticks in my throat. “I know he died because of me.”

Delta opens her mouth to respond, but Omicron interrupts. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” she says. “Perhaps we should start at the beginning. I want to thank you all for coming here. The things we discuss today must be kept private. While I am not completely alone amongst the Elders in harboring certain concerns, I am in a rather small minority. Until more of us feel this way, it is important that we conduct our business in relative secrecy. Unfortunate, but necessary. I know this may be frightening for you, child”—she turns to me—“but it is of great importance. This may take some time to explain. Are you comfortable?”

I nod, embarrassed by my ungainly position on the cushion. My legs are stiff and sore, making it hard to sit like the others.

“Perhaps you would like to take off your shoes?” Omicron’s invitation is very tempting but I’m wearing Epsie’s shoes and I’d be too embarrassed to flaunt them in front of Delta.

“No thanks. I’m fine.” I attempt to reorganize myself into a less awkward position with my feet curled beneath me, concealing the boots.

“Our time is limited, but we need to start at the beginning so the child understands what we’re asking of her.” Omicron pinches her brow with a gnarled finger and suddenly keels over
coughing. Deep throaty heaves rasp from her chest.

Delta’s arm darts out to steady her as Mom screams, “Mother!” Mom races to the Elder’s side and kneels, grasping her shoulders and steadying her until the coughing dies down. When they both look up, everyone is staring at them and my mother clamps a hand over her mouth. Omicron takes a minute to catch her breath before dropping her hand to Mom’s shoulder and smiling.

“I suppose that is one thing we no longer have to explain,” Omicron says. My mother’s face is ashen, but Omicron chuckles. “Daughter, in the larger scheme of things, the fact that these women have learned you are my child is the least of our worries.”

“But Elders don’t have children,” I say.

“This one does, my granddaughter.” Omicron seems somewhat amused by the reaction to her revelation. “Simply believe that I love you and am proud of you. Both. However, the story of our family is for another time. What is important now is that you understand the choice we will ask you to make, and why we are asking it of you.”

The sun’s rays begin to peek through the window. Ma Temple glances at her communicator. “Yes, Healer.” Omicron acknowledges the concern. “Time is short, and we must press on.” The Elder makes a motion with her hand to indicate that Ma Temple should speak now.

Gamma’s mother casts a furtive glance at Delta who is glaring at her as if she would like to kill her. Not surprising. Ma Temple took her child away. Forever. I grip my elbows in my palms, as I remember Ghent’s quirky smile, his lips against mine. All gone now.

“Omega,” Ma Temple interrupts my thoughts. “How much do you know about the Procedure?”

“Only what we learned in school.”

“You didn’t tell her anything?” Ma Temple glares at my
mother who ignores her and wraps a protective arm around my shoulders. “Great work for someone who believes we’re letting our society go extinct because of our ignorance.” My mother’s arm tenses, but she makes no retort. Ma Temple returns her attention to me. “Do you know anything about natural reproduction?”

“You mean in the days before the Procedure?” I shuffle back on my cushion, grateful for my mother’s arm.

Omicron’s gaze shifts between Ma Temple and my mother, brows raised. “Perhaps there is an easier way to approach this?”

Everyone is looking at me, even Delta. Her fingers, which have been threading through the belt of her robe, have come to rest in her lap.

Omicron clutches the end of her cane, rolling it along the bench beside her. It makes a rattling sound. “Omega, you know why the palisade was originally built?”

The words come out automatically, the familiar litany we’re taught at school. “To protect women from
demen.
” My cheeks flush when I realize what I’ve just said, how offensive if must have sounded to Delta. But when I look at her, she’s gazing out the window where a blue-jay hops along a tree branch.

“Yes and no,” Omicron continues. “Did you know that it wasn’t only women to begin with? Some men were here too, at first. They saw that the human race was tearing itself apart. In order for the species to survive, something needed to be done. The women needed to be protected. People were being killed faster than they could be born. The men who dreamed of a better future built the palisade to protect their families. Some of the first children born inside the wall were boys.”

I grip my cushion tight, ignoring the pain in my bandaged fingers. This is not what they teach us at school.

“It’s true, dear,” Omicron says. “The first few generations here comprised both men and women, reproducing naturally. No Procedure. Eventually, fears grew that the new society would
revert to the old ways, that the men would become powerful and greedy again, turn against each other, and put everyone at risk.”

“The men were driven out?” I ask.

“Not immediately,” Omicron says. “The older men gradually died off. Some went off to hunt and explore outside the walls, to see if the lands had improved since the wars. Many never returned. Those that did come back shared rumors of new societies developing outside the walls, building their own tools and hunting their own food. The rumors prompted others to try their luck outside, seeking a less retrained life than what they found inside the palisade. Those left inside were fearful of what would happen if another male-dominated society grew too strong outside. The risks it would mean for those inside.

After much discussion, the leaders decided that as long as the palisade was secure, it would be better not to repeat the mistakes of the past, to leave those who ventured outside to their own devices. Let those outside take their own risks. If the wars started again out there, at least the people sheltered within the walls would be safe. More than that, they decided that a society comprised only of women would be less risky for all of those inside the walls. Less aggressive impulses, you see, at least that was the theory. No one ultimately objected when the Med-Techs set up a plan to genetically engineer all children to be girls.”

I want to ask what it took to get the men to agree to this, how many were even left inside the palisade at the time, and what happened to those who stayed. But before I can speak, Omicron is overcome by another coughing fit. My mother rushes from the room and returns a few moments later with a glass of water. She leans over Omicron and helps her drink.

“Thank you, my child.” Omicron beckons that Mom should resume her seat on the cushion, before placing the glass down on the bench beside her. “Perhaps you could take over from here?” Omicron nods to Ma Temple.

“Omega, even after the men were gone, we still needed male
genetic material to breed.” Ma Temple is running her fingernails through the carpet. “For generations, we were able to use frozen genetic material donated by the original male inhabitants and stored in a secure facility. It’s called the Bank.” She pauses and looks to Omicron who is sipping at her water.