Extraction (22 page)

“Figured it out?” one of the science instructors says, climbing into the small space still available in my hub.

“I think so,” I say.

He twists one of the tubes to check that it’s secure. “Let’s just get your seat straps on.” He reaches behind me and slips the straps over my shoulders, clicking them into the locks on the side of my seat.

“Why do we need to be strapped in?” I ask.

“Just a safety precaution.” He smiles, and steps out of my hub. “Good luck.” He presses a small button on the side of the capsule, and the door slides shut, drowning out the noise in the room.

*   *   *

My heart beats fast in the silence. Which is strange because I’m not nervous, really. Or maybe I am. My fingers grip the sides of my chair.

A soft whir fills my ears. A thin visor slides out of my helmet, covering my eyes. Now I can’t see anything but black.

“Welcome to your Intelligence Session,” a computerized voice echoes through my ears. “Say ‘begin’ when you are ready to start.”

I take a breath. “Begin.”

“Solve the following equation,” the voice says. Small, translucent blue letters appear:

A touch of relief washes over me. Blip mathematics. Carry the numbers, solve for
. It takes me about five seconds to calculate.

“7,452,” I say.

The numbers disappear.

“What is the square root of 2,396,304?” the computer says.

“1,548.”

The computer asks me another question. Then another and another. I assume I must be getting them all right, since it doesn’t correct me.

“Are any nearby planets inhabited?”

“No, we’re the only planet in the Ranim Galaxy that supports life.”

“What is the rate at which bone density decreases in low g-force?”

“Bone density decreases by five percent per month without exercise, and one percent per month with exercise.”

“How long does it take for death to occur by acid corrosion?”

“Ten minutes.”

There’s a pause, and I panic. I’m sure that’s correct—instructors have always said it takes ten minutes for a person to die once they’ve been exposed to high levels of moonshine.

“Test complete,” the computer says.

I let out my breath.

“Final score: one hundred percent.”

My lips stretch into a grin.

The
whirwhirwhir
of the machine rises in my ears. “Calculating approximate Promise level.”

I stare at the darkness before my eyes, waiting for the number. They’ve never told me my score before. It could be anything—but it has to be somewhat high, right? Or Commander Charlie wouldn’t have let me come here.

A small, translucent blue number appears:

84

Every muscle in my body sags with relief. I already hit eighty. Of course I did. They picked me for this, and I’ve done well in every session so far. I beat the obstacle course, after all. I must be meant for citizenship.

Something cool touches the skin above my ears. A soft flow of air coming through the tubes attached to my helmet.

I lift a hand to touch one of the tubes. It’s made of plastic that feels smooth and cold. I wait for the computer to explain what’s happening, but it doesn’t.

The number 84 flashes and disappears on the visor screen.

My lips twist into a frown.

The cool air slowly fills my helmet. A tingly feeling rushes through my head after a few breaths. It starts in my ears and trickles down to my neck, and further. The air, I realize, is gas. And it’s filling my hub.

My vision blurs.

What … What’s going…?

My eyelids droop.

I’m floating. Gentle and light, at ease with everything in existence.

The Developers are perfect; they are everything. They give me everything, and I am perfect because of them.

Only because of them.

A rush of burn hits my head, exploding through my temple.

I gag and kick and scream and fumble for the helmet.

Choking; can’t breathe.

On fire.

Got to get this
off me.

But it won’t budge. No no no no no no no no.

The computer’s talking again. It’s saying something, but I can’t tell what because I’m trying to breathe and tears are streaming down my face and I’m shaking uncontrollably. Fire still rushes through my head, getting worse, and it needs to
stop
.

“Who would you save?” the computer says. I think it’s repeating itself.

I see there’s something in front of me that isn’t a visor screen. Some other part of the test—holograms of people, but they look sort of real.

I close my eyes and try to stop shaking. It feels like someone’s smashing my head in with a hammer, but I have to focus. I have to finish the test.

When I open my eyes again, wetness trickles down my cheeks. I stare at the two figures standing in front of me. Girls, both of them. Their eyes are wide, and they’re both thin. Hungry. Terrified. The one on the right wears the leather suit of a Core citizen. The girl on the left clutches her faded, torn dress to her chest. She’s from the Surface or one of the outer sectors. Her hair is blond and shoulder-length, and her eyes are green. She looks so much like Laila, I must be dreaming. Laila’s dead. She can’t be here. She’s gone.

“Who would you save?” the voice repeats.

“F-from what?”

“Death.”

I look from the Core girl to the girl who looks like Laila. How could I pick anyone but her? Core kids don’t need saving, anyway. They’re safe here.

“The S-Surface girl,” I say.

“Are you sure?” the computer says.

Breathe, swallow, breathe.

“Yes.”

There’s a pause. The hammer keeps pounding against my temple. Tears won’t stop trickling down my cheeks, and I’m gripping the sides of my seat so hard I’m going to break all my nails. Stop, stop, stop, I plead.

“Calculating final Promise score,” the voice says.

A number pops up on the visor:

84

I feel relief again, somewhere far in the back of my mind.

Then the number starts dropping. Beep, beep, beep. 76, 75, 74, 73—

No. No. No.

72, 71—

Please.

70, 69—

No, no, no, this is not okay.

63, 62, 61, 60, 59.

The beeping stops.

59.

My heart pounds all sorts of crazy rhythms, in my chest and in my fingertips and everywhere else in my body. It said to pick a person, but I chose wrong. I saved the Surface girl from home. I’m supposed to forget home because it’s not home anymore. I’m supposed to show loyalty to the Core, to Commander Charlie.

There’s a whir, and the helmet eases off my head. I shove it off the rest of the way with trembling hands, and unlatch the straps holding me down.

I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I can’t think clearly when my head’s like this.

It hits me that my hub is see-through; I can see into the other hubs in this aisle, the ones with Oliver and Ariadne inside. And someone could’ve seen me.
Please, please, no.

The door slides open, and I hear voices out in the room. Cadet Waller and the science instructors are making their way down the aisles. Other Extractions are climbing out of their machines. They don’t look like their heads are on fire. They’re smiling; they look like their tests went fine.

Their voices make my head throb even harder.

“Intelligence Session complete,” another voice says, echoing across the deck. “Average Promise Score: eighty-seven.”

I squeeze my eyes shut. I must have the lowest score. With an average like that, only one person could’ve gotten that low.

“Clementine,” Oliver says.

I open my eyes, breathing fast. He’s standing just outside, staring at me with a crooked smile and an odd look in his eyes.

“Are you gonna come out?” he asks.

I quickly wipe my eyes. “Yeah.” I push off my seat and grab the door frame to keep my legs from wobbling. Spots speckle my vision, and my face is so hot I’m sure I’m feverish. But I have to pretend I’m okay. I have to pretend everything was fine, that I didn’t mess up.

Even though someone’s going to find out eventually, if Cadet Waller doesn’t know already.

I swallow hard. “How’d you do?” I ask Oliver. He’s still standing there with that odd smile. Maybe it’s just because my head’s screwing up my sight, but his eyes seem hazier than usual. Like they’re looking right through me. Like they’re not seeing anything at all.

“I did well,” Oliver says.

He doesn’t stop smiling. My brows furrow—which makes my head hurt more. I clench my teeth to keep my eyes from watering.

“Hello,” Ariadne says, appearing beside me. There’s a layer of film over her eyes, and her gaze is unseeing. Just like Oliver’s.

“How did you do?” he asks her.

“Very well,” she replies, and smiles. “My Promise is seventy-eight. What’s yours?”

“Eighty-five.”

85. 59. My breath is shaky.

The two of them won’t stop smiling and staring at nothing.

I open my mouth to ask,
What’s wrong with you?
A cough comes out instead, then another. I double over.

The world spins. I lean on the hub so I won’t fall over, but I miss it somehow and land on my knees anyway—hard. Pain slices through my temples, and it takes everything in me not to cry out.

I hear the tap of boots on the ground. Cadet Waller or one of the other instructors might be coming over. I try to compose myself; I try to get back up on my own but it’s difficult when I’m shaking.

Ariadne and Oliver don’t help me. But Cadet Waller does.

“What happened?” she asks, lifting me back up to my feet. Her eyes are slightly narrowed.

“I’m fine,” I say. “I just slipped. Stupid shoes.”

“Your hand’s bleeding.”

I look down, and sure enough, it is. I must’ve cut it on the door frame of the hub, or maybe when I was inside trying to get my helmet off.

Cadet Waller touches my forehead and frowns. “You feel warm. I think you should go see a doctor. You might be getting sick.”

“Maybe,” I say, even though I don’t think that’s what this is. If anything, the gas inside the hub made me sick.

But Cadet Waller must not know my score yet.

“Here, Oliver, why don’t you take Clementine to the health ward,” she says, moving my hand and placing it in his.

“Okay,” he says automatically, stepping forward like he’s a robot. I don’t like him like this. It makes no sense, but I can’t figure it out right now. I can’t handle it.

“It’s all right,” I say, tugging my hand out of his grasp. “I know where it is; I can walk there myself.”

“Are you sure?” Cadet Waller says, frowning again.

I nod. “Really, I’m okay. I can walk. I just need to see a doctor, like you said.”

Cadet Waller observes me for a moment, searching my face for something. The shape of her eyes reminds me vaguely of the birds of prey I used to see pictures of in my science class back on the Surface.

I try to keep my muscles normal. I try to keep the pain out of my eyes.

“Go on, then,” she says.

I glance at Oliver and Ariadne again. They’re still standing in the exact same spot, still smiling. Like they’re waiting for instructions. What’s
wrong
with them? I want to snap them out of whatever trance they’re stuck in, but Cadet Waller is right here. And I’m supposed to pretend everything’s okay.

So I turn and walk away. I clench my fists and suck oxygen into my lungs as best I can.

I wait until I reach the hallway to let the tears fall uncontrollably.

18

In an empty elevator, I jab the button on the Core map for the health ward. The door slides shut, and the elevator speeds along to the left. I lean against the glass with my face in my hands, breathing too fast.

There’s definitely something wrong with me.

Maybe Cadet Waller is right—I just need to see a doctor, and she’ll give me medicine and my head will stop hurting and my body will return to its normal temperature. I’ll go back to normal.

But that doesn’t explain Ariadne and Oliver. Their emotionless eyes; the way their smiles didn’t go away. The fog did something to them too, just something different.