Skylark (7 page)

As she spoke, a young woman in the blue coat of an assistant came out from another room bearing a napkin and silverware, which she laid in front of me. My stomach began to growl noisily. I’d tolerate a room full of people talking down to me, for the chance to eat my fill for once.

“Normally we have four or five children here all together,” said Administrator Gloriette, as I tried to ignore the sting of being described as a child.

“Over the next two days, you’ll be interviewed and tested. The job assigned here will be yours for the next five years. At the end of this period you’ll be allowed to petition for a reassignment, or in the case of poor performance,” and she gave a sad little smile, “you’ll be reviewed for Adjustment.” I’d noticed the Administrator had a habit of sliding a fingernail along the wire that held her architect’s compass on her collar. She did this now as she let the word “Adjustment” hang in the air. Fiddling with the ornamental tool wasn’t just a nervous habit. It was a subtle but definite reminder of her rank. Somehow, despite her sad tone, I couldn’t imagine her shedding a tear when she ordered an Adjustment.

“When you’ve finished eating, please come find one of the assistants up here and they’ll help you to your room.” She inclined her head, round face gleaming slightly with perspiration. It was warm in the dining hall, and Gloriette’s body bulged with a lot more insulation than mine.

As if on that cue, the assistant returned, this time bearing a tray. She set it down in front of me, and all thoughts of the Administrator vanished as I stared.

It was a tray for one, but it was more food in one place than I’d ever seen before. All of the food that fed the city was grown beyond the Wall, planted and harvested by machines designed to survive the harsh conditions there. Most of what was grown, though, people like me never saw—at least not in recognizable forms. Except on Harvest Day.

Mountains of food crowded the tray. There was a large bowl of soup, a plate piled high with vegetables, a small dish with bread and—my stomach lurched—margarine. The vegetable oil for margarine was so energy-intensive to make that even those at the Institute didn’t eat it often. The smell wafted up to me, and I dragged my gaze away to look up at Gloriette.

She laughed, the folds on her face jiggling. “It’s okay, duckling, I’m done. Go ahead and tuck in.”

I wasted no time. I nearly dove face-first into some smashed potatoes on the side of my plate, drizzled with a vegetable gravy that smelled better than anything I’d ever had in my life. There was a dish of mixed vegetables that I didn’t have names for, green and yellow slices cooked in oil. Soy curd in a brown sauce. Shredded carrots soaked in vinegar. Tamren’s potatoes, fried golden and crispy.

I tried to taste a little of everything, but each new thing I tried was so good that I found myself stuffing my mouth with as much of it as I could fit. I had never been full before. I found the heaviness in my stomach to be hugely uncomfortable but also strangely satisfying. And I kept eating.

Gloriette left the room, replaced by a number of assistants in blue coats. I lifted my head to watch them, uneasy at being the only one eating in the big banquet hall. But they came bearing new plates to replace my old ones, and I forgot my discomfort. The new dishes were full of pastry and fried sugar beet stalk, cakes with caramelized syrup drizzled over them, balls of fried dough that had been soaking in sugar water. I saw a neat stack of dark pink wedges and lunged for those. I recognized it as watermelon from pictures in history books, but I was totally unprepared for its taste. Cold, crisp, bursting into delicately sweet juice when I bit into it. From that taste on I touched nothing else. They replaced the nearly untouched plates of cakes with more watermelon. I devoured it all, right up through the bitter fruit at the edge of the rind.

By the time I forced myself to stop eating, I was feeling none too brilliant. All the rich food was catching up to me. There was also an odd uneasiness at the pit of my stomach that had nothing to do with feeling overfull. I couldn’t place it, only that something in the back of my mind kept telling me something was wrong. I had some reason to be afraid, if only I could remember what it was.

I kept picking at my last watermelon slice, not wanting to leave the table full of food even though I couldn’t eat another bite.

Eventually, a young man with dark, wavy hair and a slight stoop to his shoulders came to collect me. He wasn’t much older than I was. He was wearing a red coat, which meant he’d been born here at the Institute. His face was like sculpted marble, all strong angles and smooth planes. I stared openly, forgetting my manners.

“I’m Kris,” he said, flashing me a quick, but genuine, smile. “Ready to head to your room?”

I nodded, and before I could stand, Kris moved behind my chair in order to pull it out for me. Confused and pleased by the courtesy, my face warmed as I trailed along behind him. He was not as tall as my brothers, but still significantly taller than I. He lacked the characteristic fuller face of the other Institute residents, nor was he built strong like the laborers in the rest of the city. He stood slim, trim, with an easiness about him that just made my blush worse.

He held the door open and stood to one side so that I had to move close to pass him. I tore my eyes away with difficulty, staring instead at the mechanimal dog—still dormant by the fire.

“He’s just for show,” Kris whispered as I came near and let the door close again behind me before he led me down the hall.

I was glad for his guidance. The corridor we were walking down looked identical to the others I had seen.

“So watermelon, huh?” Kris said, slowing to a halt in front of a door.

“What?” Lost in trying to keep track of where we were going, I had almost trod on his heels.

“I saw you singlehandedly devour an entire platter of it.” He grinned at me, revealing even, white teeth.

“Oh!” Humiliated, I could only stare at the floor. I was absurdly conscious of how short the smock they’d given me was.

“I like the cakes myself,” he said cheerfully, as if he hadn’t noticed my discomfort. “To each his own, eh? Here’s your room.”

He touched his badge to the handle of the door and opened it for me. Lights overhead came on automatically.

I had expected a dormitory of some kind, or at least rooms that would have held four or five kids, if I weren’t the only one. Instead, Kris had shown me to a small but private room with one bed and a small chest of drawers at its foot. In the corner was a door that, as he demonstrated, led to a small bathroom.

“No water rations, so you can use the shower as much as you like. Temporary clothes in the chest there,” he went on. “You’ll probably want to find something that, uh, fits you a bit better.”

By now I was so thoroughly embarrassed that I wished I could just slip down the drain of the little shower. Was it my fault I was older—and taller—than most of the kids who came through here? “This is just what they gave me when I—” I began to protest.

“Oh, I know, don’t worry. I remember it well. At least I was scrawny and little when it was my turn.”

I had to stifle the urge to blurt out my doubt that he was ever little and scrawny. Luckily, he saved me from that humiliation by continuing.

“Okay, rules. When you’re supposed to be in your room, stay in your room. They’re very strict about that here. There are experiments and equipment that could hurt you if you go wandering around on your own. Once you’ve settled a little, you’ll discover you’re really exhausted. The harvesting process does that to you. You’ve got the rest of the evening to rest, and the tests start tomorrow. Any questions?”

I wished I could think of something clever to say, something that would make him want to stay and talk to me. All that came to mind, though, was the memory of how greedily I’d stuffed myself at the feast, and that he’d seen it all. I was so used to avoiding contact, fending off stares and jeers with prickly animosity, that I had no idea how to seek out attention.

“Uh, no,” I mumbled. “I guess not.”

“Don’t worry, you’ll feel better after you get some rest.” He grinned. My chest tightened.

“Thanks,” I said, smiling awkwardly, my face more accustomed to a scowl. His smile was so contagious that I couldn’t help myself.

“The lights will turn out automatically. If you need anything, ask for Kris, okay?” He waved and backed out of the room, shutting the door behind him.

I checked the chest for something to sleep in, but found only stacks of the same tunic I was wearing, and drawstring pants to match. None of it fit me. It was like I was living in a doll’s house—the bed was too short, the clothes too small, the shower head jutting out from the wall a good three inches below my forehead.

I didn’t want to sleep in the tunic I was wearing—it was clingy and scratchy, and had a strange smell, like sweat and fear. There was nothing in the chest to fit me any better, though, and sleeping naked was an abominable thought. So I gave up and collapsed on the bed. Only then did I discover how exhausted I was. I couldn’t believe it was already evening. It felt like only moments had gone by since I was stuck in the pipe under the school. My mind was too tired to recall the time in between my arrival at the Institute and the feast. It was much easier to lie on top of the sheets and savor the sensation of being completely, utterly full. I thought of Kris, and that infectious smile, and the delicate perfection of his hands.

The lights cut out, leaving me in soft, warm darkness.

Again I felt that strange, nagging sensation that something was missing, even as I began to drift off to sleep. There was a piece somewhere that I’d forgotten in between my nervousness about coming to the Institute and my ravenous assault on the feast. It was as if I’d been dreaming and the dream had vanished upon waking, but I knew clear as day that there was something I ought to remember.

Chapter 6

The lights woke me in what I could only assume was the morning, and a voice projected into the room. “Good morning, duckling!” Though the voice was distorted by whatever process made it possible for me to hear, I recognized the cadence and tone as Gloriette’s. Her voice continued, asking that I dress and report to the testing station. I groaned, remembering the chest full of children’s clothing, and sat up.

Sitting neatly on the chest was a set of clothing that I
knew
hadn’t been there the night before. The new clothes fit—at least well enough that I wasn’t embarrassed to show my face in them. There was no sign of my old clothes—or my brother’s paper bird.

I didn’t see Kris at breakfast. A pang of surprising disappointment shot through me when another assistant led me off to testing.

All morning I completed booklet after booklet of questions testing mathematical and linguistic abilities, spatial awareness, and memory. They brought lunch on a tray in my testing room, and in the afternoon the same assistant led me through the maze of corridors to a large gymnasium full of unidentifiable equipment. The assistant walked me through each of the machines, making notes on her clipboard as I completed the tasks.

At dinner I could barely keep my eyes open, exhaustion for once overtaking hunger. They had been paying attention to what I ate, and brought only those dishes I liked. When Kris arrived, he found me nearly facedown in my last piece of watermelon. “Come on,” he said, putting a hand on my shoulder. “Let’s get you to sleep.”

“I’m not sleepy,” I protested, aware of how idiotic I sounded with eyes half closed and voice slurring.

With a hand under my elbow, he guided me toward the door. My skin tingled and prickled under his touch. “It’s a rough couple of days. You’ll feel better once you’re tucked up in bed.”

I scarcely remembered the walk to my room. My head pounded with exhaustion.

“Here you are,” he said, pushing open my door and gently propelling me inside. “Sleep tight,” he added. He stepped back and bowed, folding one arm across his chest. A day ago I would have scowled, knowing him to be teasing me—but now I just smiled in spite of myself. His charm was infectious. A pang shot through me as he straightened and closed the door behind him. Only one more day left—and I certainly wouldn’t be seeing Kris anymore once the Institute doors closed behind me.

I gazed up at the lights. Their brightness made my head throb. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I remembered this headache, but I couldn’t place it. There was something about a corridor, and a gentle, dark patch that eased my pain. I needed a moment to think. I had to force my mind to function despite my sudden, unnatural weariness.