Extraction (12 page)

Last night I folded my old dress and left it on the floor, on top of Laila’s boots. Did someone come in and take them away during the night? The thought makes me tense, because I should’ve heard them if they did. I shouldn’t be letting my guard down.

I wish they’d given Laila’s boots back. They were old and tattered and smelled of mildew, but they were still hers. They were the only thing she left behind.

“I expected something nicer,” Ariadne says, picking at the thin fabric of her shirt.

After last night, I have no idea what to expect.

I slip the slacks on under my nightdress. “Do you know where they want us?”

“Nourishment Division for breakfast.” She points at a small blue screen on the wall over by the door, which Cadet Waller said will relay important messages about our daily schedule.

“Does it say what comes after that?”

Ariadne shakes her head.

I slip socks onto my feet. Cadet Waller said last night that the worst is over, that Commander Charlie wanted to be certain of our obedience to him, of what we were willing to do to stay alive. He wouldn’t want to waste resources on Extractions who care more about the lives of dangerous Unstables than their own.

She said we don’t need to be afraid anymore.

Ariadne meets my gaze and then pulls away from it. “Are you ready?” She bites hard on her lip.

“Almost.” I pull on my new black boots and tie them.

I wonder what they did with Laila’s shoes. I wonder if they were given to a new owner, or recycled, or thrown away, like the Developers threw away Laila.

*   *   *

Rows and rows of glass tables fill the Nourishment Division cafeteria. The room has a rounded shape and a domed ceiling like most of the rooms I’ve seen so far in the Core. Extractions dressed in gray sit on the right side and Core citizens sit in clumps of color on the left. Many people are still up and about, balancing breakfast trays and placing orders through an array of buttons and touch screens on silver panels on the walls.

An instructor guides Ariadne and me through the steps of picking our meals. There are main dishes and side dishes, drinks and desserts. I don’t know what a lot of the words mean until the instructor explains them to me. Hodgori is a baked custard made with caramelized brown sugar and shir grain. Bansa is a stew. A raerburger is a coura patty topped with spicy beans and cheesy sauce, served between two wheat patties.

I’ve never had a choice of food before, and it’s daunting.

We find open spots at an Extraction table. It might just be my imagination, but some of the Core kids at the table next to ours look like they’re pointing and whispering at us. Maybe even laughing.

Memories come rushing back to me: boys knocking me down in the streets; kids throwing mud at my face; people making fun of me and bullying me because I was short and better than them in school.

I hoped I’d escape that here. I hope I’m imagining this.

I duck my head and slip onto the bench, setting my tray in front of me. I picked slivers of hoava root and woreken sausage in a thick, sugary sauce. I’ve never tasted woreken before, though I fed the snorting, fat creatures many times on the Surface.

I take a bite of the sausage. Sweet and tangy juices fill my mouth. The meat is delicious, but so different from the tough muckrat I’m used to eating that I have trouble swallowing it.

Across from me sits Oliver, the boy with the glasses. His eyes are on his plate. He has a strip of butter-soaked coura meat halfway to his mouth when he lifts his head and notices me. “Oh, hello—Clementine, is it? You look different without the … gun.”

I smile. “So do you. Less shaky.”

A light shade of red rises in his cheeks.

I introduce him to Ariadne, who gives him a shy smile. “It’s nice to meet you,” she says. “Where are you from?”

“Crust,” Oliver says.

I think back to what I saw of Crust through the window on our way here: the dusty, rocky caves. The coal mines.

Oliver nods, and his glasses slide forward. He pushes them back up the bridge of his nose.

Ariadne’s eyes meet mine for half a second. I wonder if she’s thinking the same thing as I am. On the Surface, those with poor vision rarely make it past age five or six. Their lack of vision usually makes them ineligible for high Promise, and since they can’t see well enough to be much use in the fields, they’re usually replaced early.

I wonder how Oliver survived, let alone got picked for Extraction. His intelligence, maybe. I study his face, wondering how fast he can solve a chemical equation or divide 201,388 by 23.

“This food is good,” Ariadne mumbles, more to herself than anyone. “It doesn’t taste like rocks or paper or dust.”

“Shh.” Oliver cuts her off, his eyes widening like he’s trying to point something out.

The cafeteria has fallen silent.

Commander Charlie stands inside the entrance doors, two officials flanking him. His eyes sweep the tables, and a smile plays around the edges of his mouth. It seems almost possessive. “Don’t mind me,” he says.

The chattering slowly picks up again, but remains quiet.

He inspects us from the entrance doors for a moment, and then turns and walks away. Only after he’s gone do I realize I wasn’t breathing.

I shouldn’t be afraid of him anymore, but I am, because he’s the one who can still save Logan. He can make an exception.

I don’t know how I’m going to convince him yet, but getting close to him seems key. The thought of doing that, of pretending I admire him and will do anything he says, makes my stomach churn.

But it’s my only option.

*   *   *

After breakfast, Cadet Waller leads us down a long stretch of corridor outside the cafeteria. We’re all quiet, unsure where we’re headed. Ariadne chews on her fingernails. Oliver frowns at everything, from the floor that makes our footsteps echo to the walls without windows.

That’s the strangest thing about this place: the confinement. I’m free here, but if I were to run, I wouldn’t be able to find a way out.

The corridor ends, and we step into air that’s more open than before, onto a curved path with a left-hand railing. I set my palms on the railing to peer over the side.

“Welcome to Training Division,” Cadet Waller says.

The deck below us is a bit far, but not so far that I can’t make out details. It’s a wide-open space set up like a maze. Every compartment seems to be designated for a different activity.

In one corner, a group of people in gray and green—officials-in-training, maybe—throw knives at lit-up targets and wrestle each other on mats. In another compartment, the floor is a screen, and people walk across the screen directing small rectangular bots in some sort of battle scenario. In a third area, children sit wearing steel helmets inside glowing blue, see-through capsules, probably reciting statistics and chemical equations. I’ve seen pictures of capsules like these in school.

“Intelligence machines,” Oliver whispers, noticing them too.

The machines interact with their passengers, feeding knowledge straight into their brains as if they’re injecting a smart gene. Students here don’t have to memorize facts like we did. They sit through sessions on various subjects inside these machines, and when they’re finished, they remember everything.

“You’ll find facilities for youth education and career training in this division, which spans multiple decks.” Cadet Waller points to rows of identical holes in the wall far across from us, which must be windows into rooms. She gestures for us to follow her along the path.

“Today is the first day of your Extraction training,” she says as we step off the railing path into another corridor. “As Commander Charlie explained last night, the purpose of training is to make you useful Core citizens. You were each picked for a particular skill: half of you, for your intelligence; the other half, for your physical strength. But those aren’t the only skills we want you to cultivate.”

I glance at the other Extractions, categorizing them in my mind: the brawnier ones—though they still seem starved and skinnier than they should be—in the physical group; the skinnier, shorter people in the smart group. I’m willing to bet the Developers didn’t pick me for my physique.

“For the upcoming week,” Cadet Waller says, “each half will focus on the skill you were not picked for during your training sessions. We want all citizens to be well-rounded, no matter what working position you end up in.

“At the end of the week, your Promise score will be tested to determine whether you are ready to begin your work as a citizen. This is a score of your well-roundedness, which helps us identify your skill sets. For example, whether you’d be more useful as a scientist or as a soldier. Your score can even help us know how genetically advanced your offspring might be, depending on what sort of person you procreated with.”

A couple girls giggle at that.

“An overall Promise score can fall between zero and a hundred, though there are many layers to consider,” Cadet Waller says as we move through a pair of doors. “The average score in your group is forty-three. By the end of the week, you should all have scores of eighty or higher.”

I run my teeth over my bottom lip. Instructors have never told me my score, though it must’ve been somewhat high to get me down here, to the Core. But I can’t be sure I’m anywhere close to eighty.

We move through a set of sliding doors. “Sit wherever you like,” Cadet Waller says.

Rows of identical chairs fill the room, facing a wall with five evenly spaced doors. I sink into a chair between Oliver and Ariadne. The leather sticks to my legs.

“What happens if our score doesn’t hit eighty?” Oliver asks under his breath.

My eyes flit to Cadet Waller. She didn’t say, really. She said we
should
have scores of eighty or higher, but what does that mean? I’m afraid to ask.

“I don’t know,” I say. “But the Developers wouldn’t have picked us if they didn’t think we could raise our scores that high.”

“They make mistakes sometimes,” he says.

I think of Logan. Of Laila. Two people they should’ve saved. “Yes, I suppose they do,” I say quietly.

Cadet Waller clears her throat to get everyone’s attention again. “For today,” she says, “your training session will be a bit different from what I described earlier. We won’t be splitting you up. You will participate in something that’s available only to Core citizens. It sets us apart from those who reside in the outer sectors. It will, we hope, help you feel more like you’re one of us.”

She smiles before glancing down at her tablet and tapping the screen. “I will call you in groups of five. You’ll each enter your own door. Jude, Ariadne, Ron, Karen, and Stephen are first.”

Ariadne grips the armrests of her chair. She swallows and stands, not looking at me. The five doors slide open, and she moves through the second one on the left and is gone.

“I hope it won’t be like yesterday,” Oliver says. His face is a bit pale.

“I don’t think it will be,” I say, though
hope
is a safer word. I twist my hands in my lap “We’re safe now,” I add. I don’t know whether I’m saying it to convince him or myself.

He presses his mouth into a line and doesn’t reply.

*   *   *

Cadet Waller calls my name in the next group of five. I take a breath and push off my chair. Oliver watches me leave with a glossy look in his eyes.

Through one of the doors, I find myself alone at the end of a corridor. The hum of fluorescents grinds in my brain.

This will be fine, whatever it is. I’ll handle it. The first step to getting anywhere in the Core, before I can even think about gaining an audience with Commander Charlie and convincing him to make an exception for Logan, is doing well in training. Proving I can be a useful, obedient citizen.

Click. Chirp.

A panel in the wall in front of me slides to the left, revealing an empty, stark white chamber.

“Enter,” a sweet, computerized voice says.

I hold my breath and step inside. The panel slides shut behind me.

A metallic, antiseptic smell fills my nostrils. I scan the rounded chamber for a crack, a handle, a button. Nothing.

There’s a
whirwhirwhir
, and a green hue slides over my body, giving my skin a tingling sensation.

“Scanning for imperfections,” the sweet voice says.

I don’t know what that means, but it doesn’t give me a warm, fuzzy feeling inside.

“Scan complete.”

The green fades, and a crack appears out of nowhere in the wall in front of me, splitting open the chamber. Beyond lies a new room with the same blue fluorescent lights as the hallway behind me.

I take a small, cautious step forward.

Two figures step in front of me, blocking my view. They are almost identical. Both female, both with blue eyes and black curls, both wearing white surgical caps and gowns. My heartbeat stumbles. They’re nurses.

“Welcome,” Nurse One says with a smile. She slips her fingers around my wrist and pulls me into the room. “You’re Clementine, right? You have such lovely hair.”

The second nurse brushes my jawline with her thumb. I flinch. “Your skin would be nice without that nasty scar,” she says.

I don’t know what to say to that.

The room I’ve entered is small, with a blue hue and a domed shape to the ceiling, similar to my bedroom. Steel cabinets and a sink lean against the left wall. Silver medical instruments rest in containers on the sink counter, and a metal examination table sits straight ahead of me.

I swallow hard, fighting down the worry rising like bile in my throat.

My whole body tenses.

“You’re a bit quiet, eh?” Nurse One smiles wider. “No need to be shy!”

“Sorry,” I manage. “I just … Why am I here? What’s going on?”

“We’ll let Surgeon Pond explain,” the second nurse says. She shouts over her shoulder, “Sir!”

I clench my teeth. Needles and examination tables are only used for treating infections and Unstables on the Surface. But things are different here, so I shouldn’t be afraid.

There’s a click in the wall.

Nurse One spins to a slot like the one in my bedroom. She removes a see-through, green tablet. On the opposite wall, a door slides open, and a man in a white coat who must be Surgeon Pond steps into the room.