The Girl Who Dared to Think

  “He’s going to be fine,” Roark replied. “Zoponal is a sedative, a part of it lies dormant in the system until the heart starts beating too quickly, and then it goes to work.”

  “Zoponal is nice,” Grey said, his eyes now mostly shut. Roark looked at him for a second, and then moved over to the table to pick up an injection gun and a vial. He popped the vial in and pressed it against Grey’s neck, injecting the medication.

  Grey murmured sleepily and then jerked upright, his eyes widening. “Oh, my

  God,” he said, slumping back. “I wish you hadn’t done that.”

  “Pain is good, boy,” Roark chided. “Reminds you you’re alive. And I’ll give you something for it later, but I wanted you awake enough to talk. They got you good, though.”

  They? Got him good? I frowned and looked at the wound on Grey’s chest, now cleansed of the infection, trying to understand what could’ve left such a jagged cut. I remembered wondering about it earlier, but assumed he had just scraped it on something when he was caught. Now I was beginning to wonder.

  “It was a baton,” Roark said, noticing my curiosity. I arched an eyebrow, my hand automatically going to my own baton, when he added, “The tip of one.”

  I felt a shiver run up my spine at the words. While the batons were intended to deliver a harsh electric shock, the device that generated the electric pulse on the tip was actually quite sharp. Getting scraped by one while it wasn’t charged was bad enough, and the scar it could leave was downright awful. But if it were charged? It was the focus point for the entire charge, which was strong enough to stop an organ, depending on where it was pointed. I stared at the red mark, wondering how many similar wounds my parents or Gerome had caused over the years.

  “I’m sorry,” I said. It was silly to apologize—it wasn’t even my fault—but I still felt responsible. I should’ve known something was going on. I’d lived in the Citadel my entire life, and it felt wrong to have missed the Knights’ cruelty this entire time. And now it had hurt a friend of mine—almost killed him. And I had been a part of the system that was allowing it to happen.

  Then Roark began rolling up the sleeve on his own right arm, revealing a long white mark. “That’s from when they came for my Selka,” he said. “I wasn’t inclined to let them take her.”

  He picked up a jar full of pink cream that I recognized as a dermal bond, and began applying it to the skin with a long, thin spatula. “Normally, the dermal bond would heal the flesh and leave no scar, but the electrical charge cauterizes the edges.”

  “Just like with burns,” I said, thinking about my time with the Medica, and a few of the burn victims who had been healed but still had wavy scars where the fire had scorched them.

  “Exactly,” he said, smearing more pink goop into the wound. “You spent some time on Medica detail.”

  “I did,” I replied. “Interdepartmental classes.”

  Roark smiled and took a step back, revealing Grey, his face still pale and his jaw clenched. “That stuff always stings,” Grey grunted, slowly climbing to his feet. “I’m going to bed.”

  “No, you’re not,” Roark said, crinkling his nose. “You’re filthy and hungry. Go take a shower and change, and we’ll have something to eat waiting for you.”

  Grey shot an annoyed look at Roark. “And then bed?”

  “And then talk and then bed.”

  “Fine,” Grey grumbled. “I guess a shower and something clean would be wonderful.”

  He left through a door at the back, and a moment later, I heard the hiss of a shower starting up. Roark moved about the room, pulling down various foodstuffs and arranging them on a plate. Some slices of brown bread, a few grapes, and a leaf of lettuce.

  “Bah,” he said as he stared down at the motley assortment. “I was never any good as a homemaker.”

  I moved deeper into the room to take a look, and shrugged. “I’m pretty sure he’s not going to care,” I commented, and Roark’s frown deepened.

  “I should go get him something else,” he said. “This isn’t a meal that really screams I just cheated death, you know?”

  I snorted. “I’m pretty sure whatever you eat just after that is going to taste amazing. So don’t worry about it.”

  Roark placed the plate on the table with a clunk, and then looked at me. “I haven’t told you thank you yet, have I?”

  I shifted, uncomfortable, but made the decision not to answer. I really hadn’t done this for thanks, and it made me uncomfortable. I shouldn’t be thanked for doing the right thing—we should all just... do it. Drawing attention to it meant that I had done something extraordinary, but I hadn’t.

  “Well, thank you,” he said, his eyes studying me. “It means a lot that you’d risk yourself like this.”

  “The risk isn’t over,” I pointed out. “And we’re all at risk. I mean, what’s your plan here? What are we going to do now? Sure, you’ve agreed to give me the pills, but that’s just a stopgap, and people are dying. The Knights are probably tearing apart that cell to find out if anything went wrong, and guess what—something did go wrong! It’s only a matter of time before they figure it out. Hopefully later, but with the number of prisoners I... heard down there... it won’t be long. If they catch us, we’re going right back into the cell.”

  Roark went silent, and then dragged a chair out from the table. “Sit,” he ordered gently, moving away from it and taking the one on the opposite side. I sat down after a fraction of a second, and then looked at him expectantly.

  “It’s good that you’re thinking of us as a ‘we,’” he said, “because at this point we are, and we’re all in it together.”

  “Yes, but to what end? What purpose? What is your ultimate goal here?”

  I knew I came off as a bit angry, but the truth was I was frustrated. My patience was almost gone, and I was scared and tired—a dangerous combination that always led to emotional outbursts.

  For his part, Roark didn’t seem to mind my anger. In fact, his face looked almost vacant, lost in thought, and a bit sad. I leaned forward, concerned, but then his eyes flicked over to me and he began to speak.

  “Her name was Selka,” he said, and then paused.

  I bit back a sigh and leaned back. Why did everyone want to do this kind of storytelling with me, during which I had to participate and ask questions to coax the story forward? Why couldn’t anyone just be direct?

  “She was my wife,” he continued, just as I was about to ask the question, and I quickly closed my mouth, my frustration fading somewhat as I remembered Grey’s words. “She wasn’t the most beautiful woman, but I didn’t marry her for that reason. She was fiery, passionate, ambitious... She started training at fifteen, was accepted into the department as a full Medic by the age of seventeen. I thought she was good enough to be the next Chief Surgeon after Marcus Sage—you know, if the old man ever bothered to die—and everyone else thought so, too. I loved her mind and her heart so very much.

  “We’d been married for five years when it happened. She discovered something that changed... everything.”

  He was silent, and I didn’t dare interrupt. Still, the quiet lingered as the elderly man struggled to get through the rest of the story.

  “She was working in one of the Water Treatment health stations when some Knights brought in outsiders,” he said.

  I froze. “Do you mean undocs?” I asked. Undocumented citizens did turn up from time to time, but I hadn’t heard of any being found in years. They were almost always the result of a family conceiving, bearing, and hiding a third child to keep it from being killed. Now the net also functioned to transmit biometric data to the Medica, making that impossible. But before, it had been a lot easier to get away with.

  Roark shook his head. “No. People living outside the Tower. Beyond our walls.”

  I drew in a sharp breath. “That’s not possible. The radiation...” The desert surrounding the Tower was the result of a nuclear detonation some three hundred years ago, during the End. The r
adiation was toxic, deadly, and kept us confined behind the shielded walls of the Tower. Over the years, the radiation levels had dipped low enough that we could go outside onto the wings for brief periods of time, but the ground was still too radioactive to even attempt to cross without an exposure suit, and even then, it was only a matter of time. The practice wasn’t even allowed anymore, now that Scipio was fully operational.

  Then again... Scipio relied on the Tower’s continued function to keep him alive. He was powered by the hydro-turbines and solar panels. If humans left him, the Tower would fall into disrepair, and he would essentially die.

  I looked up at Roark in alarm, and he gave me a withering smile. “How would we even know?” he asked, echoing my thoughts. “Anyway, the girl Selka treated was like nothing she had ever seen. The Knights told her the young woman was an undoc, but there had been procedures performed on her that no doctor of the Tower would ever consider, healing methods that were antiquated and barbaric. Her broken arm left to heal over the course of weeks, causing her pain, holes drilled into her skull for no good reason... and she had a genetic profile completely divergent from that of any of our citizens. She was alien, but just like us also—which means life does exist beyond these walls. No matter how many questions my dear Selka asked about the alien, she was met with lies.”

  I already knew where this story was going: Selka had made a mistake by asking questions, and I identified with her intimately. I didn’t say anything, though, knowing the emotional turmoil the story was creating in Roark, and understanding that he needed to be the one to tell it.

  “Questions,” he said, “are bad for a person’s number. Hers, once so high, dipped, then plummeted. She became obsessed with learning more about the outsiders, about how we might survive beyond the Tower. That was when I began developing Paragon, the pill you, Grey, and I are taking. A drug that could bring my wife’s number up. Save her from scrutiny. Allow her to find her answers.”

  I let out a low sigh. “You were too late, weren’t you?” I asked.

  He nodded, a small movement that filled me with sadness for him. He had to be hurting so much right now. “I was,” he said. “Her questions were too dangerous, drew too much attention. They came for her in the night, beating me half to death with their batons when I tried to protect her, and Selka... I never saw her again. I received notice from the Medica that she had died sometime in the night, while I was unconscious on the floor of our bedroom.”

  I swallowed. “Who came for her?”

  Roark’s eyes glowed with the slow burn of hatred. “Knights. Champion Devon was there, and a few others. I don’t remember their names, but I’ll never forget their faces.”

  Devon had been there. That was odd—why would the Champion show up for the collection of a one? It wasn’t exactly a job requirement for him anymore, and I’d never heard of him doing fieldwork like chasing down criminals. Not since he’d won the Tourney.

  “When Selka first met the girl... who brought the girl in?” I asked, curious.

  “Some Knights at first. But she passed Champion Devon and Head Farmer Hart in the hall on her way out.”

  I frowned. “Head Farmer Hart?” I asked. “Did he come before Plancett?”

  “She,” he corrected. “And yes. Died... around the same time as Selka, now that I think about it. Damn shame, too, as she ran her department compassionately—accepting anyone, no matter their ranking. I think she would’ve let ones in there, if the laws had allowed it.”

  “How’d she die?”

  “Hmm. I’m not sure, to be honest. I was pretty torn up over Selka, so I wasn’t paying much attention to the world, y’know? Why do you ask?”

  I opened my mouth to point out that both she and Selka had died after meeting this girl, so if anyone else who had been in contact with the alien girl had also died, then that would mean conspiracy. The door at the back of the room opened, and Grey walked in wearing clean clothes, his hair damp. I watched him for a second, and then turned back to Roark.

  “I’m not sure yet,” I said, suddenly changing my mind about bringing it up. No doubt Roark suspected the same thing, but since he didn’t volunteer any new information, that meant he was either sitting on it, or he just didn’t know. Either way, it didn’t change the fact that I was curious enough to look into it on my own later. “I’d need more information, before I said anything.”

  “Well, let me know if you need anything,” Roark said, sliding the plate over to Grey as he sat down. “Either way, it doesn’t really matter. What does matter is whether you want in.”

  “In?” I looked at Grey, who was watching me intently while scratching absently at the now-fresh skin on his chest, which was smooth and whole except for the pink scar cutting across his torso in jagged angles.

  “You want to bring her in on this?” Grey asked, arching an eyebrow. “Color me surprised. I never thought I’d see you work with a Knight.”

  “She’s not a Knight anymore,” Roark said. “At least, not really. She’s with us, which means we tell her everything.”

  I smiled, pleased that Roark wasn’t going to cut me out now that I’d rescued Grey.

  “So you guys do have a plan?”

  “Wait for it,” Grey said, and flashed me a wink and that slow, burning smile that made my knees suddenly fill with pudding.

  “Grey and I,” Roark said, turning a fond smile on the young man, “have been continuing Selka’s work, so to speak.”

  “As in...”

  “Wait,” Grey said. “It’s better to tell her the stages. Stage one is—”

  “Recruitment,” Roark barked over Grey. “We need people in order to make this work, but it can’t be too many, or we’ll attract attention.”

  “Luckily, we are in the presence of Roark,” Grey said, making a flashy gesture and topping it off with a bow that sent a ripple of pain over his face. “Master doctor and premier drug supplier of the great Tower of Scipio. Offering Paragon to those of low rank who are dissatisfied with life in the Tower, and offering them a way out in exchange for their expertise.”

  I blinked at him, my eyebrows rising, and then turned back to Roark. “Okay, but why are you doing this? Are you starting a... movement or rebellion or something?” If they were, I wasn’t sure I wanted in. I didn’t want to start a war in the Tower. Historically, they had never been successful, not to mention the amount of death they caused.

  Grey laughed while Roark waved an annoyed hand. “No, nothing so preposterous and foolhardy. And don’t listen to Grey; we only have some twenty-nine individuals at this point,” he said. “Hardly the premier drug supplier.”

  I tilted my head. “But you can’t possibly keep up with the demand of all the people who will need the drug,” I said cautiously, thinking about all the levels of the Medica meant for housing the twos, and the prisoners in the Citadel. They all needed help, but there were too many of them. I’d know he was feeding me a lie about his intentions if he said that he could. There was no way.

  To my relief, Roark nodded in assent. “I’ve spent the last decade making as much of the stuff as I can,” he admitted. “I was waiting for the day when I could finally enact this plan. We’ll find as many as we can, and keep them topped off. Until we can enact phase two.”

  “Which is?”

  Roark smiled, and it was the first peaceful expression I had seen on him. He looked wistfully at his wrinkled hands, his eyes soft. “We leave,” he said. “And we don’t come back.”

  Everything stood still. Leave? The idea was ludicrous. Just because people had survived somewhere didn’t mean we could find that place—or them. It didn’t mean there was a surplus of livable land we could claim. We had no means of transportation through the Wastes. No supply of water once we left the proximity of the river, and we’d have to head east, because the river running west was tainted with toxins the Tower dumped into it. No food, because nothing grew in the irradiated desert. Oh yeah... and the desert was irradiated!

  But there
are people out there, my mind screamed at me, daring me to dream of the possibility of life outside the Tower. There were other people who had survived. Could we really just... leave the Tower and live somewhere else? No bloodshed, just those of us who couldn’t survive life here, trying to survive and live our own lives?

  I drew in a deep breath and looked at both of them. “So your plan is to deal drugs to recruit people, and then leave?” I asked, and they nodded. “I feel like I’m missing a few significant details between the two steps. Not to criticize... but yeah... I’m going to need a little bit more.”

  Roark let out a rough chuckle and nodded. “That’s a fair point, girl. And we’re more than happy to fill you in. After you decide whether you want to join us.”

  Life beyond the Tower. If it was a real possibility, it was incredible. It meant there might be something more than the eight massive walls keeping us inside. It meant there was hope for a new and different life—one in which we could live however we chose, free of being monitored and used as slaves to the great machine. It meant a life in which I wasn’t expected to kill anyone.

  “I want to join you,” I said, making my decision. “I’m not sure if I believe your story entirely, but life outside the Tower is worth the risk.”

  “Okay, Squire,” Roark said, and this time the term didn’t seem to have any derision attached to it. It felt more like a nickname than a title. “Welcome to the revolution.”

  20

  Unfortunately for me, being part of a revolution wasn’t as exciting as I had thought it would be. Two weeks had gone by since I’d gotten Grey out of the Citadel, and I hadn’t seen him or Roark since that evening when we had talked.

  I understood the reasoning: we needed to keep a low profile, after everything was said and done. I’d just taken Grey out of the Citadel in somewhat suspicious circumstances—and being seen with him again could draw unwanted attention. It was safer to let some time pass, until we were certain that they weren’t going to figure out I was the one who had saved him, and not Scipio.