Authors: Eric Walters
His initial response was to simply say no, but he
was
hungry. Things could wait until they’d eaten. He’d get farther on a full stomach anyway.
“We have to get your identification before we go to eat,” Christina told Billy as she used her card to get back into the building. “They use the identification to monitor and regulate our food intake, to provide us with the ideal diet for our optimal health.”
“Again … this time in English.”
“They make sure we eat the right things, and they can check through the identification card.”
“What if I don’t want to be checked?” Billy asked.
“Why
wouldn’t
you? It
is
for your benefit.”
“Maybe I don’t like carrying the card around. There’s probably something in there that lets them track exactly where we are.”
“Yes, there is, but why wouldn’t you want your location known? It is for your safety.”
“And what do I need safety from in here?” Billy asked. “Bears and cougars?”
She laughed. Apparently she recognized that this one was a joke. “I guess you’re right. We are safe here, but out there, there is always the potential for danger. Not that I ever saw anything, but I was told that it could be very dangerous outside the walls of our collective.”
“But you don’t know?” Billy asked.
“We really didn’t go outside very often, and we were always under heavy guard when we did,” she explained.
“It sounds like you were in a jail, not a home.”
“We had to be protected. Was that what it was like for you, where you were raised?”
“It was dangerous, but there were no guards,” he said without adding more. “Maybe that’s why I don’t want to carry around that card.”
It was the best answer he could come up with, without saying that it was better his whereabouts remain unknown if he was going to try to escape.
She stopped, and he bumped into her.
“Sorry,” she said, even though he had bumped into her, not the other way around. “This is your room.”
He looked at the door. To him it looked like every other door along the corridor. He stood in front of it. The last time he’d approached it, the door had simply opened. He moved closer until he was practically up against it. It stayed shut. He probably needed his identification to get in—identification that was already in the room. He was locked out … or …
“Could you use your identification to open my door?”
“My identification card is programmed to open some of the doors in the complex but it won’t open restricted or
personal areas, such as your room. Your door can be opened only by
your
identification card or your biometrics.”
“I don’t have a biometric,” he said.
Christina giggled. “I like your jokes.”
“I’m not joking. I don’t even know what a biometric is.”
“Oh … I’m sorry … I can explain it. Biometrics refers to the use of physical characteristics to verify identification and can include DNA, retinal scanning, fingerprints, and both face and voice recognition.”
“Nobody has done any of that with me.”
“Some of it might have been done with only your passive agreement.” She had lost him again. “It might have happened without you knowing. Talk to the door.”
“What?”
“Ask the door to open,” she suggested.
This felt really stupid, but what else could he do? “This is Billy. Could you … open?”
The door slid to the side. Now he felt even stupider. He walked in and grabbed his identification card from the top of the dresser and slipped it in his pocket. It probably wouldn’t be a bad thing to have them think that he was co-operating. Besides, his card could probably open a door to the outside.
Christina stood in the hall waiting. He walked out and the door closed behind him.
“Other biometric measurements are needed for other, more restricted areas. You can either place your hand against the pad at the side of the door,” she said, showing him the place, “or stand close enough to the optics reader to allow
your retina to be scanned.” Again she showed him that spot.
“That’s good to know,” he said. He was already thinking of the doors along his escape route.
He trailed after her down the corridor. “Do you ever get lost in here?” he asked. “All the halls and doors look the same to me.”
“It can be a bit confusing at first,” she admitted. “But if you’re ever in doubt, simply ask and you will be offered guidance.”
“What if nobody is around?”
“You’re not asking a person. Ask the complex. Touch your identification with your hand and tell it where you want to go.”
“I want to go to—”
“Put your hand on your card,” she said.
Reluctantly he pulled out the ID. “I’m hungry. I want food.”
Nothing happened.
“You have to give more specific parameters to facilitate a response. Tell it where you want to go,” she said.
“Okay. Main dining hall.”
Almost instantly a line of green lights appeared along the top of the wall, leading down the corridor and out of sight.
“Follow the lights and they will lead us to the main dining area,” Christina explained.
Slowly, hesitantly, Billy walked along the corridor. As they walked, the trail of lights blinked off behind them. They moved through one curving corridor to a curving junction.
Billy would have been lost without the lights, but he was starting to get a sense of the overall structure. He tried to picture it in his mind.
It resembled a series of curving, circular main corridors that were linked by shorter, straighter sections. The closest image he could come up with was a series of wheels within wheels, with shorter connecting passages like spokes.
Billy stopped in front of a large metal door. In bold letters it read “Restricted Admission, Highest Security, Priority 3 Clearance.”
“What’s behind this door?” he asked.
“I was told that it leads down to the underground facility.”
“And what’s down there?” Billy asked.
“I have not been informed, and I don’t have the level of clearance necessary to access either that level or the information concerning it,” she said.
“And doesn’t that make you curious?”
“Not really.”
“Are there lots of places like that where we’re not supposed to go?” Billy asked. “That are restricted?”
“There are some other areas with that same designation.”
“I just can’t believe that you aren’t curious to see what’s down there,” he said.
“If I need to know, I’ll be shown.”
She started to walk away, but he grabbed her by the arm and spun her around. “Do you
always
accept what they tell you and do what you’re told?”
“Yes … why wouldn’t I?”
“Because maybe what you’re being told is wrong.”
“They are
never
wrong,” she stated. There was no question or doubt in her voice.
“And just who are
they?”
he asked.
“Our teachers, our instructors, our guides. They are always right.”
Billy laughed. “Nobody is always right. Besides, maybe it’s okay to disagree with somebody just because.”
“Just because what?”
“Because you’re a person, and people get to make up their own minds about things sometimes,” he replied.
“I make up my mind about many things. We have been taught to critically analyze literature, philosophy, mathematical equations, and many—”
“I’m talking about life. Don’t you ever just do what you want to do?”
She looked genuinely confused. She tried to pull away but he held her firmly in his grip—and for the first time he saw a hint of fear behind those blue eyes.
“Please, could you release my—”
He let go of her arm.
“Thank you,” she said.
He felt bad. He realized that he had been gripping her tightly—too tightly.
“I have one more question,” he said. “What happens to people who do question, who do argue?”
She shook her head. That look of fear seemed to be growing. “It’s important that we listen and learn. There isn’t time for arguing, only for
becoming.”
“Becoming what?”
“Becoming skilled in our specialty. Becoming closer to perfection.”
“And for those who can’t master that specialty, who can’t become perfect? Certainly not everybody in your collective thing became perfect like you.”
“I’m not perfect,” she said.
“Careful, you’re almost arguing with me.”
“But … but …”
“Another joke,” he said. “But still, you were assigned to answer my questions, so answer that one. What happens to people who don’t master their specialty?”
She looked hesitantly down the corridor. First one way and then the other. She leaned in close. “They are not here. They are sent away.”
“Away where?”
“Outside. They are not chosen. Most from my collective were chosen … but not all … not all.”
“And instead they went and found people like me. I’m not even close to perfect, and I don’t have anything that I can do like you can do.”
“They know,” she said. “They don’t make mistakes.”
“I told you, everybody makes mistakes,” he argued.
She shook her head. “Not them. You are here for a reason, and that reason will reveal itself.”
“And that my purpose is unknown doesn’t make you at least a little curious?” he asked.
She hesitated. “Maybe a little. Maybe I
should
be more curious. It’s just that we’ve always been taken care of, so
there’s really only been a need for
intellectual
curiosity about things. It’s just that I
trust
them.”
Billy laughed. He didn’t trust anyone or anything, except for trusting that if something bad could be done to him, it would. But then he thought about all the people who trusted him, depended on him, and he was here … letting them down. How would they survive without him? Kids could die—kids
would
die—without him there to take care of them.
“The dining hall isn’t much farther,” Christina offered. It was obvious that she desperately wanted to change the subject.
“Sure … good,” he said. Maybe it was best not to push her any further—at least not yet.
They continued to follow the lights down the corridor. He looked back at the door. Whatever was down there—whatever he wasn’t supposed to see—was what he wanted to see.
Another door opened at their approach. Billy walked in and stopped dead in his tracks. It was a large room filled with hundreds of people—a whole lot of them were kids, but most were teenagers. Maybe that should have been reassuring—he was used to being surrounded by hundreds of kids—but this was different …
unnervingly
different. These kids and teenagers were all sitting around long tables. And it was so quiet … deadly quiet. The conversations were muted, with no loud laughter or angry voices. They were eating, engaged in polite conversations, reading, and there were a few games of chess taking place. Were they quiet because they were afraid?
He looked at those sitting closest to him. They weren’t just quiet, they were calm. There was no fear in their eyes.
He moved closer to Christina. “Why is it so quiet?” he whispered.
“It’s not that quiet.”
“Yes, it is!” he said, loudly, and he noticed that people looked up from their books or conversations to see who was making all the noise.
“This is how it always is,” she replied. “I guess everybody is just focused.”
Focused wasn’t the word that Billy had thought of. Comatose, unconscious, asleep, bored, boring were all words that seemed to fit better.
Christina handed him a tray and took one for herself. They fell in line behind a few other kids waiting to be served. Billy could smell the food. He breathed in deeply. He was savouring a memory.
“Is that meat I smell?” he asked.
“It could be. They’ll have almost everything you could want.”
“I want a burger. Do you know how long it’s been since I ate a hamburger?”
“I’m really not sure about the food availability where you were living, so I’m not able to make a … oh, that was a rhetorical question, wasn’t it?”
“Yeah, sort of like a joke, but not funny.”
They shuffled forward. The smell was stronger and he could hear the food sizzling on the grill. For the last year food had been harder to find, cooked food even harder to
get, and the only meat came from one of three sources—rat, cat, or dog.
“Place your card against the reader,” Christina said, “and your specially formulated diet will be provided.”
“I don’t want a specially formulated diet. I want a burger … no,
three
burgers.”
“You can always order additional food, but you must also eat the diet that has been prepared for you,” she said.
“And if I don’t want to eat what they’ve prepared, what then?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know. I’ve always eaten what is prepared.”
He wanted to argue or ask more, but what was the point? He’d take what they offered, eat the burgers first, and then leave their food if he didn’t like it. Then again, after eating so little over the past few months, he was hard-pressed to figure out what it was that he wouldn’t eat. Beggars couldn’t be choosers, and food was food. He knew that he could use a few good meals.
“Here, let me show you how to use the identification card.”
He dug into his pocket and handed it to her. She looked at it, and a strange expression crossed her face.
“Is something wrong?” he asked.
“Your card is different from mine,” she said. “The security level is different.”
“Big surprise there. I just got here.” And obviously they were wise enough not to trust him.
“No, you don’t understand,” she said. “Your security level is
higher
than mine
—much
higher.”
“Higher? But that doesn’t make any sense at all. There must be some sort of mistake.”
He instantly regretted saying that. If there had been a mistake, he didn’t want them to change it.
“No,” Christina said. “I told you, they don’t make mistakes. If you have a higher clearance, then there has to be a reason.”
Billy was happy to leave it at that.
She inserted his identification card into a slot, and a panel in front of them opened to reveal food—lots of food. There was a steaming bowl of soup, and a big green salad, and a plate filled with cooked vegetables—carrots and peas and green beans and some things he didn’t even recognize—and mashed potatoes. And was that a steak? And beside them were an orange and an apple and a banana and, wow, an avocado! He almost laughed out loud. It had been years since he’d seen any type of fruit.