I lowered my head and looked at my wrist. The red three glared sullenly back at me, chiding me about my inability to make it change, and I suddenly had the urge to try to tear it off with my teeth and throw it over the side.
Exhaling in an attempt to soothe my nerves, I began walking toward the glowing white light. I didn’t really have a choice in this, but there was no reason I couldn’t try to make the most of it. Who knew? Maybe this wouldn’t be as bad as I was making it out to be.
I tried to hold on to that thread of hope, but it evaporated and died even before it was born. I couldn’t even bring myself to try to believe that I’d come out of this possessing the same traits that made me me. Theo was proof of that.
I have to do this, I thought to myself. It’s this or I lose my home. I was already a three—if I fell to a two, the entire department would drop me, and when I turned twenty-one, I’d have to try to find a new department. If I wasn’t accepted before I became a one, then I’d be locked away deep within the Citadel, and I had no desire to learn what exactly they’d subject me to there.
The queasy feeling in my stomach continued to grow as I fell in with a rush of people, their uniforms a mix of white, crimson, green, gray, blue, and orange—each color representing a part of the Tower. I should’ve blended in, but everyone around me kept a wide berth, the number on my wrist somehow managing to carve out my personal space in a wash of people.
My eyes immediately saw the sign hanging over the wide door on the bottommost level: Ranking Intervention Services—3rd Level, with an arrow pointing at the stairs some hundred feet away. I fingered the end of my lash and sighed; the Medics did not allow lash use on their structure, unless it was absolutely necessary. That meant I had to walk.
I climbed the glass staircase that wrapped around the side, the thing barely shifting despite the fact that it was suspended from the platform above, up to the third level. This level was quieter, the floors deserted. People moved much faster on this level, I noticed. As if they were afraid of being seen there.
The entrance was a wide-open space in the side, and through the glow of the walls I discerned a desk with a woman sitting behind it shimmering into view. Her blonde head was down, her eyes on the screen in front of her while her fingers flew over the glowing keyboard on the desk.
“Name and designation?” she asked when I arrived, not pausing or bothering to take a look at me.
I licked my lips, my mouth suddenly dry. “Liana Castell,” I managed, wiping a sweaty palm against my thigh. “25K-05.”
Her fingers flew over the board, and the next thing I knew, my face was being projected on the desk. “Liana Castell,” she announced, finally looking up at me to reveal a set of tired blue eyes. “You have fallen to a three. Medica treatment is now mandatory. Do you understand?”
“I do,” I lied, because no, I didn’t understand why I needed to subject myself to this, and I didn’t understand why people felt they needed to subject me to it either. Why did I have to be positive in order to serve the Tower? Why did we have to use ranks to decide who was worthy of our time and who wasn’t? “My mother made an appointment for me with Dr. Bordeaux.”
There was a flicker of recognition as the woman gave me a considering look. “Your parents must really care about you,” she commented. “Dr. Bordeaux has a very impressive record with helping potential dissidents change their outlook. He’s also notoriously difficult to get an appointment with.”
This was all news to me—my parents had made the appointment with him. I wasn’t surprised he was recognizable; only the best could help salvage their waste of a daughter.
“Oh. What makes his… technique so effective?”
The woman arched an eyebrow at me as her fingers tapped something out, the movement barely making a sound in the stillness of the room. “That information is the Medica’s intellectual property, Squire Castell. My words were meant to offer you solace, not incite conversation. Please follow the lights, and, as always, have a good day.”
Her fingers came to a sudden stop, and an excessively cheerful noise sounded, a series of green dots appearing on the ground and leading away from my current location, off into the depths of the pristine white building. Her tone had been curt, dismissive, and I found myself not wanting to stick around.
And her words had not offered me comfort; in fact they had the opposite effect. I was now worried that Dr. Bordeaux was an over-medicating kind of a guy, or performed questionable procedures on healthy people in the interest of science. It had happened before—a few Medics going off the deep end and cutting on people unnecessarily—but it generally happened when they were lower in rank. Of course. Just once I’d like to see a ten go off the deep end—maybe then people would stop putting so much faith in the stupid ranking system.
Still, the thought of a rogue Medic running around made me shudder, and I forced myself to remember that the Medica had stricter security protocols now. I followed the green dots through the curved halls, which were bisected by long, straight ones, and finally turned down a long hall and moved forward. These rooms appeared to be patient rooms; the glowing citizen designations by each door were my only evidence. The designations were followed by rankings—all of them twos. Twos were kept in isolation within Medica walls, so they could be monitored closely. These twos were supposed to be the least harmful—the more dangerous individuals among them were carted directly off to the Citadel for restructuring.
I swallowed hard and picked up the pace, my shoulders hunching as my mind imagined the people inside screaming and banging their fists on the walls, trying to get out. If there were ever a perfect reminder of why I was here and what I was trying to prevent, that would be it. It did nothing to settle my continuously fraying nerves, though.
Before long, I was greeted by the strange sight of a section of wall seemingly evaporating into a gradual brightening of the wall around it. I lowered my hand from my eyes as the bright glow receded, and saw an empty space in the shape of a doorway where the wall had been moments earlier. I looked inside and found a tidy office, the wall-screen depicting a painted landscape of green fir trees against a bright blue sky, a flock of birds frozen above them.
“Please enter, Squire Castell.” A gentle old man’s voice invited me in, his voice synthesized, telling me it was automated. Still, I liked the voice. It seemed kind.
I stepped inside, and there was a humming sound behind me. I turned, saw that the door was suddenly gone, and took a step back as my heart skipped a beat. I felt trapped.
“Sit down, girl,” the elderly voice firmly commanded. “Your heartbeat has increased significantly, and I’m detecting a heightened amount of adrenaline. You have nothing to fear from me, Squire Castell.”
I swallowed and backed farther into the room, trying to calm down. “No, you’re right. I’m sorry. I’m nervous.”
“That’s all right, dear,” he replied. “Everyone is, their first time here. It’s completely normal.”
“Oh,” I said. Somehow, the synthesized voice had managed to comfort me. It was nice, if a little odd. Normally the machines in the Tower were coldly critical, but this one seemed… different. “Do you work with Dr. Bordeaux?”
It laughed, a delighted sound, and I blinked, taking a step back and looking at the walls around me.
“You should be asking if Dr. Bordeaux works with me.”
“That’s enough, Jasper,” a firm voice announced, and I turned to see one of the walls open in a flash of light, a man’s silhouette standing there. When the room dimmed to its regular glowing whiteness, I could see a man holding a white plastic pad in his hand and looking at me expectantly. “Squire Castell, I want to thank you for coming in. Can you please sit down so we can begin?”
I nodded and sat in the nearest seat available to me: a red bucket chair. Dr. Bordeaux—presumably—came around a short table to sit in an identical chair opposite me. He smiled and placed the plastic pad on his lap. He tapped it, and it immediately lit up.
“I see Jasper ran a cursory exam, but I’ll need a bit of blood as well,” he said, pulling something from a pocket in the white coat he was wearing. I leaned forward and held out my hand, and he quickly took a blood sample.
“What is Jasper?” I asked, watching him put the sample in a slot on the wall.
“He’s different,” Dr. Bordeaux said.
“He seems like Scipio. I mean… he seems more lifelike than the other automated voices in the Tower.”
“Thank you,” Jasper said, and I smiled.
Dr. Bordeaux turned and gave me a sharp look, his eyebrows drawing together over his nose. “That is a very astute observation, Squire Castell. However, it is also treading on council secrets, so I would suggest you not mention it to anyone.”
I nodded automatically, but in my mind questions began to tumble about. Why would Jasper be a council secret? What made him special? The council had lots of secrets—it was a common gripe in every department—but to have actually stumbled upon one? It was definitely interesting, and worth noting. I had to bite my tongue to keep from saying anything while I calmed my mind.
“I’m sorry,” I said, after a moment.
“No need. At the very least, it told me something very important about you.”
“Oh?”
“Yes,” he said as he sat back down, settling in. “You ask too many questions. Why do you think you do that?”
I frowned, shifted in my seat, and thought about the question. “I don’t know… Just, sometimes things don’t make sense.”
“Like?”
I pressed my lips together, my jaw tightening. “I don’t know,” I said after a moment, the lie less heretical than the truth. “I can’t think of an example.”
Oh, I could think of several, but I doubted he wanted to entertain my thoughts and opinions regarding the ranking system, Scipio, or how everyone running around in service to Scipio and not each other seemed stupid to me. Why did my rank mean that I was seen as inferior, even though I’d never even done anything other than entertain an emotional thought? What was so wrong with emotions? As an AI, Scipio was supposed to be programmed with them. Did he ever have a bad day? Did he ever feel bad about himself when everyone treated him like crap for not working optimally? What gave him the right to judge us?
“I see.” He tapped a few things on his screen and looked at me, the pair of spectacles perched on his nose turning white from the light of his screen. “All right, Squire Castell, we’re going to do some word associations.”
I bit my lip and shifted. “What is that, and why are we doing it? I thought I was here for medicine.”
“Not everyone has the same problem,” Dr. Bordeaux replied patiently. “Some low numbers are caused by depression, or grief, or hormonal imbalances. We can’t treat every case in the same manner, which is why we do a psychological examination as well as a physical one. What will happen is this: I’ll say a word, then you, without thinking, say the first word you can think of. Do you understand?”
I nodded, but inside I was suspicious. It seemed too easy a test. I had expected more torment, but hey—the appointment was still young.
“Trees.”
My brain spun. For a moment, it was just blank.
“The first word that comes into your head, please.”
“Green,” I blurted out.
His face remained neutral as he tapped my response onto the pad. “Scipio.”
“Computer.”
The answer came easier this time. I could feel my brain leaning into the task, growing more accustomed to it with every word he said.
“Knight.”
“Stern.”
“Blood.”
“Mistake.”
The words started to come faster, my responses rolling off my tongue as he tapped away.
“Fire.”
“Water.”
“Friend.”
“Zoe and Eric.”
Dr. Bordeaux gave me a look. “Try to limit yourself to single words.”
I flushed. “Sorry.”
“Insurrection.”
“One.”
“Sadness.”
“Home.”
“Tower.”
“Prison.”
I felt that word slip out before I could catch it, and saw Dr. Bordeaux pause. He looked up at me, his brow thick, then slashed out the answer in a few quick flicks of his wrist. I watched them, instinctually knowing I had just completely destroyed any chance of getting out of here without medication. Comparing the Tower to prison was not an appropriate thought for anyone living here, end of story. It was all I could do not to bang my head against the wall.
“The test results have been collated into a report for you, Dr. Bordeaux,” Jasper announced, his voice stiff and affronted.
Great—apparently I had offended him, too. I closed my eyes and tried not to give in to the despair of knowing that I couldn’t even keep it together for this exam, this one exam. I heard Dr. Bordeaux get up, and when I opened my eyes, his back was to me as he examined the screen on the wall, reading the results there. He sighed heavily, and, with a swipe of his hand, dismissed the report.
“I was hoping it was a hormone imbalance or something easily treated, but it appears you’ve been exposed to some other psychological contamination at some point.” My mind went to Grey, and then immediately dismissed the thought. My problems had started long before I met him. Besides, I had come to the conclusion that psychological contamination wasn’t an actual thing: I’d never been in contact with a one before I started falling. Therefore, my so-called problems were just me. Little, inadequate me.
“I’m putting you on something we call ‘Peace,’” he announced, and immediately a slot on the wall opened, a tray morphing into existence with a burst of light. Massive red pills began to pour from the wall into the dish, falling in what seemed to be a never-ending tide. I watched as the tray then poured the pills into a wide pill bottle, a lid placed on top of it by a slim robotic arm that extended from the wall. The bottle then dropped into the waiting hand of Dr. Bordeaux. “The chemical name is Parlexotalopram,” he said, a forced smile coming to his lips as he held it out to me.
I took the bottle with numb fingers. “Will I have to be on these for life?” I asked, fearing his answer.
“I don’t know,” he replied honestly. “We’ve had more than a few people become stabilized enough that we could wean them off, but right now the majority of Peace users need it continuously.”
I bit my lip and stared at the red tablets. They felt heavy in my hand, as if they were ready to drag me down into the depths of the Tower.
“Side effects?” I squeaked out, hoping somehow it wouldn’t mean the end of everything that culminated in my personality, like it had with Theo.
“Nausea,” Dr. Bordeaux announced gently, his face knowing. “Memory loss, suicidal impulses, and loss of sex drive. You may feel dizzy for a few days, but the sensation should fade.”
“Oh.” He didn’t need to tell me more—these pills were exactly what I feared most. The slow death of my self, trapped behind glassy, dead eyes. At least it would be in service to the Tower. Finally, Scipio and my parents would get the version of Liana they’d always wanted, never mind what it did to me.
At least you’ll still have a home, my mind whispered at me. I couldn’t help but wonder if the price was worth it. Maybe that was why I was a three.
“Sir, Squire Castell’s dopamine levels are falling, and I’m detecting increased signs of depression.”
“To be expected, Jasper,” Dr. Bordeaux said. I looked at him, and his smile was kinder now. “It’s good that you feel so sad about this, Squire Castell. It means you recognize a problem, but are resolved to do something about it. These will help you, I give you my word. Now, take two in the morning and two at night, with food. The first week you’ll be a little groggy, but give it time and be patient. Okay?”
I nodded, still too numb to do anything but sit there.
“Li
ana.” I looked at him again and blinked. “This will fix you,” he said.
And the bottle seemed to grow heavier still.
My parents were waiting for me when I exited the Medica, the pills still in my hand, my palm sweating around the bottle. At first I didn’t see them. I was so wrapped up in my own apprehension and suffocating fear of the pills that I nearly walked right by them. My father, his Knight Commander coat slung over his shoulders, caught my arm with one meaty hand and brought me to a stop. I turned, saw the concerned look in his eyes, and almost broke down in tears, the urge to beg him not to make me do this sitting thick and acidic on the tip of my tongue.
I pushed it back, stamped it out, and looked up at him. “Dad?”
“Hey,” he said softly, his eyes flicking to the pills. “We wanted to be here to show our support. You okay?”
I nodded and held out the bottle. “This is Peace,” I said. “Dr. Bordeaux gave it to me. Two pills in the morning, two pills in the evening.”
I licked my lips, and my dad pulled the bottle from my stiff fingers, giving the case a good shake and nodding at the heavy rattling sound. I suddenly wished I hadn’t told him that, but it was all I could think to say. If I hadn’t, maybe I could’ve taken less, started out more slowly. Now that I had blurted it out, they’d make sure I took the dose. No more, no less.
“I know you’re nervous, but this really is a wonderful thing,” my mother said, one slender hand coming down on my shoulder. I was sure she meant it to be a loving, reassuring gesture, but as soon as she touched me, all I could feel was revulsion. They were on board with drugging their child and killing off enormous parts of her personality until she became an empty shell like them.
“Dr. Bordeaux is supposedly very good,” my father added. “His work with threes and twos is unparalleled.” He fiddled his thumbs, seeming to wait for a response from me. When I offered none, he continued on his own. “Do you want to take your first dose now? It’s close enough to the evening that I think it would be okay.”