Stronger (2 page)

Uncle Charlie has been trying to study the idols and the radiation they create for years. He has managed to recruit a few of the Vals who work here in the past but without physical data he hasn’t learned much. He’s debated asking his people to examine them more closely, even touch them, but decided it would draw undue attention to the worker and hence the rebellion as a whole. And also, he values human life too much. Unlike the Orions.

The ‘honor’ of cleaning the Orions’ house of worship means certain death. Yes, those who die in this service are heralded as champions equal to the warriors who die in battle, but where is the glory in it? This young man’s family will be well paid for his sacrifice but if the Orions cleaned their own Square, he wouldn’t have to die.

The whole thing makes me hate the Orions more.

A gravely voice barks out, “Get your filthy Deb hands off that man.”

Startling, I gently lower him to the ground and stand.

My pulse skitters and I peer up at the Val questioning me. Not only do the Vals serve as warriors, but as policemen, rent collectors, and so-called protectors. As if they ever lifted a hand to a Deb unless it was to torment us. Not all of them are malicious, but the ones who police the Square seem to absolutely despise us Debs. Maybe because we’re so fragile; we wouldn’t survive even one hour inside the dome before dying. All I can see is the vague outline of a large person and the sword slung across his back. “You dare to look at me? You dare to touch him?” He raises his hand, ready to strike and on instinct I drop to my knees. My pink, waist-length hair cascades onto the snow. I hear the metallic scrape of his weapon sliding free.

My jaw hurts as I force out an apology I don’t mean.

He brings his long blade between my shoulder blades. “Identification.”

I hold up my left wrist so he can access my personal signacom. He scans it with his, and it reads out: Emily Smith.

“So, Deb, you work at the Val academy. According to your schedule you aren’t supposed to be in this section, ever.” I can hear his smug superiority, the joy he derives from being a Val, superior to a Deb like me in every way. “For that you must be punished.”

Stupid
, I chastise myself. I knew cutting through the Square was a stupid risk but I thought I was clever and careful enough not to get caught. He yanks me to my feet and I brace for the beating I fear is coming. One that I might not survive, and if I do, I might wish I hadn’t.

“I’m confiscating all your ration points.”

My stomach whines again. Without ration points I won’t even be able to eat at the cafeteria in the dorms. He shakes me. “Anything to say, Deb?”

I shake my head and clench my teeth so hard they almost crack as I force myself not to speak.

“That is for being in the wrong sector. This is for touching one so far above you. A Deb needs permission to touch a Val.”

He slams a fist into my stomach and the air rushes from my lungs, little light explosions dancing in front of my eyes. He strikes me again, this time to the nose and I fall back, tripping over my own feet and sprawling in the pink snow. I curl into a ball, my tears freezing on my cheeks as I struggle for breath. I cover my head, both to shield my face and protect the filters in my ears. The ones that help me resist the Orions’ compelling voices.

The snow by my head is turning a deep crimson, as something from my face drips into it. My hand goes to my nose and my heart stops.
No!
My nose is bleeding.
No!
Panic fills me.
I’m bleeding
.

I stare at the sticky red residue on my fingers. Blood.
My
blood. That means. Death.
My
death.

I apply pressure to my nose, trying to staunch the bleeding. The idea of death is so bleak and frightening that I can’t fathom it. It’s like I lose the ability to breathe; tears burst from my eyes.

The Val kicks me three times in the ribs. “Don’t go where you aren’t allowed, Deb.” He’s about to kick me again when I hear a voice call out.

“Lee, that’s enough.”

“Enough? I don’t think so, Ty.”

The conversation falls away from me. Ty? My brother? I haven’t seen him in person since my fake death. Stalked him through the newsfeeds, yes, but never in person. Aside from the videos, this is the first time I’ve heard his voice in over a decade. It’s deepened with age. I let the sound of his voice roll over me, picturing the face I’ve watched grow. Like something out of my dreams, my big brother is saving me. More than anything I want to see him with my own eyes but I can’t risk it.

“She’s in a place she doesn’t belong. And she dared to touch—”

“And she was punished.” Ty crouches down beside me. With everything inside me I want to look at him but I can’t. What if he recognizes me? Worse, what if he doesn’t? “It looks like she learned her lesson,” Ty says, rising to his feet. “Let’s get Marks here to the medic. I think he’s served his last night in the Sacred Square.”

Marks groans as they pick him up. I keep my eyes closed while Ty and Lee shuffle away, carrying the body of their dying friend. I stay curled in a ball until the sound of their feet fades away.

I sit up and watch the morning clouds twirl in the sky until they are once again stationary. I grab a handful of snow and wash off the blood. The steady drip from my nose isn’t stopping.

In most cases bleeding is fatal to a Deb. We don’t heal the way a Val would; we simply die. Our frail bodies don’t produce enough platelets, and our systems reject blood transfusions. The smallest injury can be life threatening.

Everyone says if a wound bleeds longer than thirty seconds, it probably won’t stop. By the amount of blood still leaking from my nose, I feel certain I’m dying.

The blood will just keep flowing, my life leaking out of me drop by drop. Though Uncle Charlie always treats me better than most others treat Debs—teaching me to read and write, letting me join his rebellion—even he couldn’t make me anything but a fragile Deb.

My hands shake as I stare at the crimson drops staining them. I have hours, maybe a day or two, before I bleed out and die.

I need to make it count. I’ve heard that drinking lots of water can help, can keep me alive longer, but they only allow me so much, so I eat snow instead. My stomach complains when I stand, Lee’s punch still aching. My wet clothes freeze against my skin in the cold air. They crinkle and snap as I walk, slowly melting as my body moves. The bleeding has slowed a little, but the chances of it stopping are practically zero. Nothing can save me. Medical treatment for Debs is so pointless it’s illegal to waste the effort.

By the time I make it back to my dorm the three whistles of shift change chime, signaling the beginning of my workday. With my death looming before me I’m tempted to blow off work. The last thing I want to do is clean the Information Center, but the better pay for my janitorial duties didn’t factor into my finagling my way into this job. It was the information I could steal for the rebellion that made scrubbing toilets worth it.

My death feels pointless—just another fragile Deb done in by a nosebleed. I don’t want this to be my end. I always pictured going out in a gloriously brave act. But faced with the reality, I’m terrified. I clench my shaking hands tighter and take a deep breath, trying to slow my racing my heart. I picture Ty running into the collapsed Deb factory, heedless of the danger. I want to be brave too.

Tired and scared, I choose to carry out my mission. The messages I retrieve for Uncle Charlie save human lives. I have one last chance to prove to him he didn’t make a mistake saving me all those years ago. I might be dying, but maybe I can save the life of someone else before I go.

The Information Center is a squat building made of reflective glass and polished steel on the edge of the academy, close to Warrior Headquarters. The Val soldiers guarding the entrance stand at attention, one holding a large mag-accel gun, the other with a sword strapped across his back. They glance at my five-foot tall, reed thin frame and wave me in without a second glance. The Vals see Debs as a harmless, ignorant subspecies. That belief makes it easier for me to spy. I couldn’t possibly be a threat.

I don the jumpsuit that covers my clothes and take the janitorial supply cart complete with broom, dustpan, and mop and head to the central Intel room. It was tricky getting assigned here. I had to be good enough to be given the responsibility, but not so good that I drew unwanted attention.

A drop of blood hits my jumpsuit, reminding me of my impending death. Panic claws at my chest like a rabid panthacat but I push it down, locking it in a cage. Fear won’t save me.

Using a rag as a handkerchief, I dab at my nose again as I enter the Intel room. The five Vals bent over their workstation monitors barely look up before returning to their work. The large screen at the front of the room shows only a map of the city and various video feeds from certain locations. The information I want is on the five smaller screens set in a semicircle around the room where the Vals sit.

From one of the monitors, the heading “Terminations” catches my eye. They have a new kill list, one of the things I smuggle out for the rebels. My throat tightens and my hands squeeze the broom handle.

A Deb with blue spiked hair enters, delivering a tray of steaming drinks. He never even glances at the screens before exiting. But why would he? Debs are purposely kept illiterate, forbidden to learn to read and write. It makes us the perfect slaves, completely ignorant and dependent upon the Vals. The Vals, however, are merely puppets of the Orions, who themselves are servants of their idol gods.

I work more slowly than usual, partly because I feel weaker with each drop of blood that darkens my handkerchief, but also hoping the Vals will leave me alone in the room if I stay through their break. It might seem suspicious, so I normally wouldn’t risk it, but this may be my last chance to access the termination list before I die, and it will take months for the rebellion to find a replacement for me. Besides, what do I really have to lose?

The slow tick of an ancient clock taps its rhythm in the corner. Some days I can barely hear it, familiarity fading the sound away. But not today. This day, every beat reminds me how quickly my time is slipping away. I have to get the information now. There might not be a tomorrow.

I stall, sluggishly cleaning dust from the bundles of cables sprouting from the network hub, waiting for the last Val to follow the others heading for their break. When he finally stands, sweat is dripping down my back. As he walks out, I drop my duster and turn to the nearby workstation, the one where I saw the termination list. It contains the names of those considered a threat by the Orions, citizens who will quietly disappear over the next few days if I can’t warn the rebellion. I type in the access code the resistance smuggled to me and hold my breath, waiting for either an alarm to sound or the search tab to appear.

The prompt comes up and I can breathe again. Using a simple hack, I request the termination list, unlock the file for transfer, and place my signacom bracelet against the transponder. It would be easier if I could transmit the data straight to the rebel leaders, but the walls of this room are lined with a substance that blocks all wireless signals. Not even the rebellion’s best scientist could figure out how to breach it, and she’s absolutely brilliant. Sneaking it out in my own ID is the best anyone could come up with.

I glance again at the old clock. The breaks here are usually twenty minutes, so I should have plenty of time. Midway through the transfer, the door opens with a clang. My heart stutters in my chest, but I mange to keep my left wrist in contact with the transmitter. I hunch over the desk and dab at my nose with my other hand.

“What are you doing?” an angry voice asks. “You aren’t allowed near the workstations without a Val present.”

I freeze. If I move, I’ll lose the list and possibly get caught, but if I don’t move, he’ll know something’s wrong.

Keeping my left arm still I turn my head toward the Val, keeping the cloth to my nose and my eyes down.

“I was… um, dusting, Sir. But I… needed to rest. I’m bleeding, and…”

He moves closer. Out of the corner of my eye I see a notification on the screen: Download Complete. With a sigh, I drop to my knees, forehead touching the floor, and grab the duster from where it fell. “I’m sorry,” I say above the crashing of my heart. “I promise I’ll be done quickly.” From my knees, I run the duster over the monitor, using its tip to try and hit the button that will clear the screen and erase my activity.

“Stop,” he says. “Don’t move.”

I can feel his eyes on me as he walks toward the desk. Did I clear it? Does it show the notification? I can’t see from where I kneel and don’t dare raise my head enough to look.

He stops next to me. Sweat beads on my forehead as he examines his monitor. “Good. You didn’t get any of your filthy Deb blood on my station. You’re free to go.” His eyes study my nose. “Although it doesn’t look like you have much time left. I guess we’ll be getting someone new.”

He waves his hand in a shooing motion, apparently dismissing my death and me without another thought. It shouldn’t sting but it does. After all, what is one Deb life? There will be another one to do the cleaning before my body is even cold. We outnumber the Vals three to one. For my parents to have produced two Val children and only one Deb is an anomaly. Many Val women have five or six Deb children, hoping for just one Val child to carry on the family legacy.

I’ve often wondered how my mother felt when they handed her my small, pale, sickly body. You can tell with one look a Val from a Deb. By the time they’ve taken their first breath they’ve already been labeled. There are tests to verify the child’s classification, but they’re only used for the parents suffering from denial. Val babies are born strong, with a roaring cry and a healthy glow to their skin. I was the opposite of all that. My parents loved me but I worry I disappointed them the moment I emerged from the womb.

Holding the cloth to my nose, I gather my supplies and head to another room to clean. For the rest of the day, my wrist feels heavy, as if the Intel stored there adds to its weight. When I finally leave the building, it’s dark outside. I feel faint, but instead of heading to bed, I turn away from campus and toward the city.

I keep off the road, hoping to avoid notice. If any officer were to stop me and find the stolen information on my wrist monitor, they would kill me, instantly and without question. My final effort to save lives would be for nothing. It’s only a half-mile walk from the school into the city but it feels much longer as I weave around truffs and boulders. The bright flashing lights and lively music grow steadily brighter and louder as I slip into the city, avoiding the cameras I know about and hoping the ones I don’t never notice me.

According to a message on my bracelet, tonight’s meeting place is at an old food store recently up for lease. No one wants to host the rotating meetings in their homes. If caught, it would mean a brutal death for not only them, but for their family, friends, and neighbors as well. Luckily for us, rent is so high that vacant buildings aren’t hard to find.

A small rasping cry catches my attention. It’s a sound I’m far too familiar with, especially in this area. On the crumbled steps of the old building I spot the wiggling bundle. I veer toward the infant’s cries on the steps of one of the dozens of orphanages in the city.

“It’s okay, little one.” I pick up the baby wrapped in a thin blanket and peer into the darkness, wondering if its parents stuck around to make sure it got inside safe, or skulked off into the night, too overcome with shame for having birthed a Deb to care about its fate.

There should be no shame in it. Every Val family, be they warrior, scientist, landowner, or shopkeeper must have had several Deb kids if our huge population is any indication. Some of the snobbier Val families insist that they have only Val children, but I don’t believe it. The orphanages are all bursting with infants and toddlers, though many don’t survive long enough to start a job-training program at the academy, let alone graduate.

Shifting the cooing baby in my arms, I knock on the thick door of the orphanage. The Deb who answers has long gray hair and wears a kind smile. We’ve met each other far too often.

I stay hidden in the shadows, letting them obscure my nosebleed. She doesn’t need to feel sorry for any more Debs. She’s responsible for far too many already.

“Another one, Emily?”

I nod and kiss the baby’s downy curls before giving her to Ruth. These moments with Ruth and the few days I volunteer here are the closest I’ll ever get to being a mother, unless I decide to adopt one day. Most female Debs never start their menstrual cycle and, of those who do, only a handful survive. A small percentage of those risk getting pregnant, but no Deb has ever made it past the first few weeks of morning sickness.

Ruth’s eyes are glassy with tears. “I’ll never understand how they can give up their children so easily.”

Me either. “They want people to think their genes are pure, that they only birth Val warriors.” My parents had been blessed with two strong Val sons before me, but even they didn’t have a perfect record.

The baby yawns before sucking on its fist. I wonder what would have happened if Uncle Charlie hadn’t taken me away. Would my parents have let me stay in their lives? I like to think so, but the orphanages are filled with children of all ages, not just infants. Most of the others at school—even if they were raised with their parents—no longer have any contact with them.

I feel sorry for the children here. My memories of my parents might be old but at least I have them, treasured deep in my heart. Hopefully a kind Deb couple will have enough money to adopt and care for this tiny baby.

“I better get this one a bottle,” Ruth says. “Thank you for letting me know the baby was here. I’m sure I’ll see you again far too soon.”

I smooth the baby’s curls one more time before I leave.

Walking the rest of the way, I’m a little more nervous than usual. The message from Uncle Charlie said I’d be meeting with a different group from now on. To keep the risk of discovery to a minimum, most in the resistance don’t know the names of anyone outside their cell. It’s rare to be moved to a different group like this, but I’m already an oddity. I’m one of the few Debs—maybe the
only
one—in the rebellion. Uncle Charlie says few have the courage to fight, or the belief that they can be useful.

Keeping my face down, I cut through empty lots and dark, dirty alleys until I reach my destination. The building is ancient, made with real wood, its structure twisted and warped. It’s fascinating. I stop to admire this testament to the past before giving the secret knock and slipping inside. There’s no light. Maybe I’m the first one here. I blink into the darkness, letting my eyes adjust. When I can make out the basics of the room I move forward.

A hand grabs my shoulder.