Inside the Palisade (6 page)

The Med-Tech adjusts the back support, enabling me to recline into a more comfortable position. As she did earlier, she places her hand on my shoulder. It’s so reassuring that I want to forget about everything and melt into her. Wrestling with her cane, Omicron drags the metal chair to the side of the bed. The Med-Tech
leaps up to assist her, but the older woman waves her away. As she deposits herself awkwardly beside me, I smell fresh gardenias.

“You never encountered any men before today?” she asks.

“No.” My voice is steadier now.

“What did he want?”

“He asked me to give a message to—”

“Delta?”

I’m suddenly suspicious. Is this another trap?

As if reading my thoughts, the Elder says, “This must be very confusing for you. You probably have some questions for me.” The corners of her mouth droop and I notice the wrinkles etched around them. “Please. Ask me anything. It is important that we trust each other.”

I hesitate, then realizing I have nothing to lose, I say, “So
demen
aren’t extinct?”

“It would appear not.”

“The one I met, he didn’t actually hurt me.”

The Elder follows my gaze toward the bandage on the counter, the one the
deman
made for me. She props her cane against her knees. “He may not be dangerous.”

I run my fingers down my flat belly, thinking about when I was in the Nest. “I had an Expectancy test?”

“While you were asleep.” The Med-Tech rests her palm on the back of the birthing bed.

“Commander Theta didn’t believe this man would have let you alone without, well, I’m sure you can guess what she feared,” Omicron says.

“She told me. She thought I was
with
him. Why would she think that?” The
deman’s
face flashes through my mind, dirty and hairy, one lip imperfectly curving higher than the other.

“The commander has her reasons,” Omicron says. Her forehead creases more deeply.

I prop myself higher and notice a silent communication pass
between Omicron and the Med-Tech. “You say you were not
intimate
with this boy?” the Elder asks, raising a silvered brow.

“Intimate? No, of course not.” I try to maneuver my legs over the edge of the bed, but she’s in my way. “And you said the test was negative.”

“It’s not us, child.” The Med-Tech’s voice is low against my ear. “It’s Commander Theta. She’ll insist there’s a risk of Expectancy because she knows you had contact with him. The tests are not one hundred percent accurate, particularly if your contact with this man was very recent. Technically, she can insist you remain detained in the Nest until we’re sure.”

Omicron looks me over. “I’m assuming you would rather return to your quarters if you had the choice?” She raises her brow again, a glimmer of a smile passing across her face.

The Med-Tech opens her mouth as if to speak, but the Elder quiets her with a gesture. “Don’t worry, Healer. I will take care of it.” She returns her attention to me and says, “Your mother is away.” It’s not a question.

She knots her fingers under her chin, her cane still resting on her knees. “Omega, I can return you to your quarters.” My shoulders sag with relief. “But you will have to stay there until your mother returns. I will attempt to get word to her.”

She stands with difficulty using her cane for leverage. “I’m afraid we have not seen the end of this matter. There is a man – or at least a boy – inside the walls. Too many people are aware of it, including Commander Theta.”

“Unfortunately,” the Med-Tech mutters under her breath, and the Elder shoots a warning glanceat her.

Omicron pats my good knee. “But the least we can do is get you home, my child. You’ve been through enough. For today.”

Omicron stands in the hallway outside the open door to the birthing room, speaking in hushed tones into a communicator. She hasn’t answered any more of my questions but has reassured me several times that I’ll be safe until my mother returns. The Med-Tech, whose name is Pi, has located a pair of coveralls for me to wear. She helps me replace the Nest-issued robe with the new gear, deftly avoiding my injuries. As I push my feet into the slippers she found for me, I try to avoid thinking about how many other people have worn them. They look like they might have been pale blue once, but now they’re a dull gray. I’ve tried probing Pi for more information about what’s going on, but she either doesn’t know or won’t tell me.

The heavy clack of a Protector’s boots sounds from the hallway.

“Elder.” Outside the door, a new voice greets Omicron.
Not Theta.

“Thank you for coming,” Omicron says, as she ushers a smartly dressed young Protector into the room. The woman is much shorter than Commander Theta, not much taller than me. Almost too short to be a Protector. They’ve had to relax the standards as the population thins. The woman stands to attention beside the Elder, white blonde hair framing her face. Omicron looks weary as she bends over her cane.

“Omega, this is Private Upsilon,” the Elder says. “She will escort you to your quarters.”

Upsilon takes a step toward me and then freezes when she gets her first good look at my eyes. Omicron pats her arm and the Protector relaxes her posture before speaking.

“Pleased to meet you, Daughter Wye.” She stretches out a hand and I step forward to take it. Her grip is firm but not intimidating.

“Call me Omega.” Even though “Daughter Wye” is my formal title, I’ve always hated the sound of it.

She turns her attention to Omicron. “I’ll take her out the side entrance. I have a vehicle stationed there.”

“Omega, I am sorry for what you have been through. Please try not to worry about Commander Theta. I know it’s difficult for you to understand, but she means well. Sometimes her methods are unfortunate.”

“Will she come back for me?”

Omicron’s brow furrows. “Try not to worry, child. I will counsel the commander about her behavior, and we’ll take other precautions. You will be safe.”

She nods toward Upsilon who offers her a small salute. “Come, Daughter Wye … Omega.” She beckons toward the open doorway and moves aside for me to pass.

As I head for the door, Omicron says, “It was a pleasure to finally meet you, Omega. I’m sorry it could not have been under more pleasant circumstances.” She, too, steps aside as the Protector leads me forward. I turn to say goodbye, but the Elder and Med-Tech are now huddled in a low, urgent conversation.

Private Upsilon directs me through a dimly lit hallway. I follow a few paces behind her, occasionally tripping over my feet in the unfamiliar slippers as I work the stiffness from my sore knee. The Protector doesn’t seem to mind my lagging pace. This passageway seems completely abandoned. It’s dusty and there’s no sign of life anywhere. We continue walking for what seems like a long time. Finally, Upsilon stops and waves her communicator over a keypad mounted on the wall. A panel beside it slides open to reveal a set of steps leading down to a patch of gravel overgrown with weeds. A small vehicle is parked there. Upsilon guides me out, closing the panel behind us. She flicks a button on her communicator and the headlights flash on either side of the vehicle as the doors swing open.

“Ever been in one of these?” She runs a hand over the hood.

“No.” I’ve never been in any kind of transport. I walk everywhere except when my mother lets me borrow her pushbike for the occasional run to the market.

Upsilon ushers me to the passenger side door. Lowering myself into the seat, I watch her slip gracefully into the driver’s space opposite. There’s a large steering wheel and a control panel on her side. She reaches behind her and pulls a wide belt over her left shoulder, snapping it into place at her right thigh. She turns to me.

“Seat belt,” she says. I realize I’m supposed to do the same. I crane my neck over my left shoulder, but don’t see anything. “Other side.” She points to the hook over my right shoulder. My cheeks flush as I grab for the belt.

She swipes her communicator over the control panel, and the vehicle hums to life. We lurch backward, but my seatbelt catches me, causing an ache in my stomach. She turns the wheel and the car circles out of the lot and makes its way to the main causeway. It’s late afternoon. The route is empty other than some young mothers pushing infants in strollers. Watching them, it’s easy to see the attraction of motherhood as a Calling. They seem so happy and relaxed. One woman cradles a newborn in her arms as a second woman leans over and presses a kiss to her forehead.

A family.

A pang of loneliness stabs through me.

“What time is it?” I ask Upsilon, who’s humming an unfamiliar tune.

“First shift after lunch.”

“What day?”

“Since you’ve been in the Nest? Only overnight. It probably seems longer.” She shoots me a meaningful glance. Peering through the tinted windows, I realize how fast we’re moving. Faster than Mom’s pushbike, that’s for sure. We pass the sprawling grounds that separate the Nest from the Clinic, and move on to the wider transit path. The sun beats against my
cheek through the tinted window. Untidy patches of flowers are dotted around solar lamps and community benches. We pass a few workers on pushbikes heading back from their shifts at the factories and farms. I can tell from their uniforms where they work.

“You were probably expecting something faster,” Upsilon says. “These electric cars are nowhere near as powerful as the old gas guzzlers, but they get us from Alpha to Beta.”

Gas-guzzlers? I remember the term from history class. The
demen
used them as part of their systematic degradation of the planet before the palisade was built to keep out the pollution. And the polluters. No way was I expecting a gas-guzzler. We drive on in silence. I think I dozed off because I’m startled by the sound of the Protector’s voice as the vehicle grinds to a stop by the side door of the housing block.

“Home sweet home,” she says. Usually only bicycles are kept here. Even though the lot is empty now, there’s barely enough room for the vehicle. It’s weird to think it was only yesterday I walked out the front entrance of this cinderblock building for my shift at the factory. This structure is roughly the same size as the factory, but is divided into six floors rather than the two levels in the plant. The lower floors of the housing block comprise the smaller more basic living spaces while the upper floors house more lavish dwellings.

Upsilon whisks her communicator over the panel to shut off the engine. We both get out of the vehicle at the same time and she motions me toward the side door, following close behind. She’s keeping watch.

I raise my wrist to the panel, forgetting that my communicator is gone. Upsilon moves past me and opens the door with her own device. “Don’t worry. We’ll arrange for a new communicator as soon as we can.”

I follow her down the corridor. She knows exactly where to go. When we arrive at my door, she presses the buzzer. When
there’s no answer, Upsilon uses her emergency override code to get in.

Inside the dwelling, she flicks on the lights. The space is empty. The tiny living-room-slash-kitchen seems a little smaller without Mom pottering around. The bright yellow paint she used to make the place more cheery when I was a child is now peeling. She was so proud when she first painted it. It had been my color choice. I was only about two hundred weeks old at the time. Probably we couldn’t easily get our hands on that much decorative paint anymore if we wanted to redo it.

Upsilon indicates one of our shabby living rooms chairs. “Why don’t you sit for a while? I’ll get you some water.” She heads for the kitchen.

“Are you staying?” I don’t know how I feel about having a Protector stationed in my quarters, even a relatively nice one.

“No. I have a few things to take care of. Omicron asked me to get you settled and come back to check on you later. You’ll need to keep the door locked.” Upsilon rinses a mug and fills it with water before pressing it into my hand. “I’ll leave an emergency signal device with you.” She fumbles for something in her pocket and retrieves a small metal object that she passes to me. It’s no bigger than my thumbnail. The metal is cool to the touch. The device emits a faint pulse. “It’s a direct line to my communicator,” she explains. “If you need me, just wave it over the wall screen and it will buzz me.” She points to the data-port on our living room wall. “Will you be alright for now?”

I muster the best smile I can. She turns to the door. Before exiting she says, “Don’t hesitate to use the signal if you need me. I’ll be back to check on you at”—she glances at her communicator—“eighteen hundred hours.”

She offers me a small salute as she exits. The door locks behind her. I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding and drop the signal device into the pocket of my borrowed coveralls. I realize I want them off. Now. I want all reminders of what I’ve
been through gone. I only hope I’m safe enough with Upsilon’s security measures in place. I head for the bathroom and make sure I lock the door behind me.

I can’t stop shivering despite the steaming shower. I tell myself I’m safe now. I’m home. Everything’s going to be alright. Dull pain radiates from my abdomen as the water flows over my stomach. There’s a sizeable bruise, beginning to turn crimson around the edges, where the commander hit me. I’ve let my injured arm get wet so I shake it out, hoping it won’t need another dressing. The brace on my knee didn’t fare so well. I couldn’t keep it dry so I had to remove the bandage. It doesn’t look too bad. A little swollen but it’s bearing my weight better.

The buzzer at the front door sounds. It can’t be Mom. She wouldn’t ring the bell, and it’s too early for Upsilon to have returned. I shut off the water and shiver as I grab for my pajamas. Whoever is outside is now holding the button down causing a continuous ringing that’s hurting my ears. I throw my robe over my pajamas and belt it at the waist before finger combing my wet hair, leaving untidy clumps hanging around my shoulders. Rattled by the noise, I head for the door where the buzzing is suddenly replaced by an urgent knocking. I dash to the intercom and press the button. “Who is it?”