Chapter 8: Everything is Broken, Pt. 2

Details came together like a patchwork coat. Naomi's word was law and life and everything in between. The other Stations had failed. Everything was rationed. Someday an envoy would come and lead them to a green paradise.

This sparked Lily’s interest; she asked where said paradise might be, but no one supplied her with an answer.

Day and night meant nothing, since the lights never went out, but after six meals Ishmael appeared without a tray. His eyes were bloodshot and bagged.

His voice scraped as he pushed a bundle of clothing through a slot in the door and turned away while she struggled into loose trousers and a long-sleeved blouse. Stiff rubber-soled shoes pinched her toes. All of it was white and unworn.

Lily tied the drawstring pants tight. They wouldn’t put her in expensive clothes if they were going to kill her. “Am I leaving?”

“No,” Ishmael said wearily, unlocking the door. “You're a doctor."

"What? No, I'm not really a--"

"I know," he snapped. "I know you're not. Please listen to me.”

"Ok," Lily said. He was blocking the whole corridor.

“We confirmed your story. Things here aren’t…we’re in trouble. We need help. You and I are going to help each other.”

Confirmed? How? Lily’s mind raced. “Get me out of here, and I’ll help however you want.”

“We’re low on resources. Food, power, everything. But I convinced Naomi that you were useful, because you’re a doctor. Do you understand?”

Lily let her breath out slowly. “Yes. I'm a doctor."

"Good. That's good." Ishmael relaxed, but his eyes were dead. “Follow me.”

He led her to a room where a light flashed in her face. A humming grey machine spat out a plastic rectangle, stamped with a picture of a scarred, sharp-boned brown face framed by a dark halo of hair.

Lily had never seen a photo of herself. She was unimpressed.

Beyond that was a wider hall with a red stripe running along it at shoulder-height, broken every few yards by a big number three. She heard Ishmael grinding his teeth as they walked.

“I won’t tell anyone you’re here if you let me go,” Lily said, quietly. “And I won’t use any more of your reseources.”

A long, long pause. Then, Ishmael said, “Naomi determined the risk was too great. She thinks there’s more of you out there.”

“I’m alone. I swear it.” Lily wondered, sharp and abrupt, if he’d found water. Out there. Wherever he was.

Another pause. He was holding something back, maybe something dangerous. Lily’s hands itched for a weapon, for something, anything to hold.

“We have to be sure,” he said at last, as they neared the end of the corridor. “Now. This is very important. Remember this: you’re from from Supply, but you’re tired of fabrication and want cross-training. I manufactured a passing aptitude test for you.”

“All right.”

“Repeat it back,” Ishmael said, as they stopped in front of a pair of doors. “Not the part about the test.”

Lily did, dutifully.

He swiped his card. The doors opened on a tiny metal room with a railing and a panel of dozens of buttons; some were lit, others cracked and dark.

“It’s just a lift,” he supplied, seeing her reluctance. “Do you…not have these? It goes between levels.”

Lily started to ask, but Ishmael pressed a button. The doors shut and the floor fell away with a rush, and as her stomach crawled up her throat her heart tried to follow.

They stopped. Everything settled back into its proper place, queasily. Lily pried her fingers off the rail. Ishmael stayed politely silent.

The hallway on the other side of the doors was almost identical to the one they’d left, but the stripe was white outlined in back, and the number said sixty-one.

“Are there stairs,” she asked, through her nausea. “For next time.”

“No. Sorry.” Ishmael pinched the bridge of his nose. “Remember what I told you?”

“Supply, fabrication, cross-training. Got it. What kind of trouble are you—”

“Don’t ask questions.” His shoulders sagged and he rubbed his face again. “Don’t question any of it, and under no circumstances mention where you’re from.”

“I’m from Supply,” Lily said, and Ishmael actually smiled a little.

He walked with her up to a door with a round glass window, and waited until she passed through. Lily felt the finality of it like a blow to the stomach. She had no more allies in this place, no currency, no leverage.

When Lily looked back out he was still there, staring at nothing. She shuddered.

A tallish, pallid woman with a round face and wisps of soft brown hair falling down from a once-neat bun manifested from a storage room. Her cheeks were pink, her eyes sharp. She radiated manic energy.

“You’re Lily? Good, it’s testing day. Let’s get you taken care of before the crowd comes so we have time for the training. I’m Abigail, by the way.”

Her voice trailed off as she bustled away, leaving Lily to run after her.

First came a shot in the arm administered by a sleek gun-like applicator. Vitamins, apparently. Then her finger was pricked and the blood inserted into a machine that beeped and groaned and flashed a red light.

“Me neither,” Abigail said. Lily was startled by the raw sadness in her voice. “Ok, lets get ready. I hope you ate, we won’t get a lunch break.”

Lily didn’t know what ‘full’ felt like anymore, but she nodded and hoped Abigail couldn’t hear her stomach growling.

Once the women starting lining up she forgot about it.

She’d never been good at ages, especially not when everyone looked so sleek and well-fed, but the youngest were in their teens and the oldest had threads of silver in their hair. They all wore black, brown, or grey jumpsuits.

All of them got a shot in the arm. That part wasn’t hard. Then they got their fingers pricked and the blood tested by the machines, which was more delicate and difficult, but Lily was a quick learner.

Each time the light flashed red, and the women left with downcast eyes, sometimes hiding tears. Or not hiding.

Curiosity wasn’t an itch, it was a burn. Everyone acted like they’d done it a hundred times before, so Lily pretended this was just another day in her ordinary subterranean life and kept her mouth shut.

They’ve never seen the sun, she realized dimly, noticing that even those with darker skin seemed washed-out.

She changed her mind during the second wave, when she saw unmistakably sun browned people in water-stained blue jumpsuits. Grow lamps? Hydroponics? That was how the Coalition grew food, in shallow tanks and vertical racks. She’d gotten a month’s work in one of the facilities once. Sweeping up.

The day ended when the clock on the wall buzzed, and Abigail slumped over the table and groaned into her folded arms. “I hate testing day. It’s pointless.”

“Mm,” said Lily, aiming for agreement and maybe hitting it.

Abigail lifted her head. “I’m not a geneticist. I can’t interpret the data.” She swallowed, swiping her cheek with her palm. Lily heard the unshed tears before she saw them. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t — this is unprofessional of me, I don’t mean to be defeatist.”

“It’s ok,” Lily said lamely, looking around for an exit.

“No, it’s not. You’re keeping it together, I don’t know why I can’t.” Abigail let out a watery sigh. “It’s just so cruel, that’s all. I think they just want to keep us from panicking. No one is getting pregnant.”