Infraction (21 page)

The way she says it makes me
curious.
The
colonist? Like they
knew one was here all along, but didn't know who?

She laughs. “You're confused? Wondering how we knew
you were here? There are indicators that add up, you know. You're
not nearly as sneaky as you've deluded yourself to be.” She starts
ticking off her fingers. “You never had a tracker. Your bone
density scans and blood draws revealed you've had exceptionally
good nutrition your entire life—very unusual for someone who has
been in a sanctioned city, let alone a nomad.”

So that's what those tests were for.

“
And most of all, you were too
sentimental. Ridiculous, actually.”

I don't understand her last clue. The fog over my
brain hasn't lifted and I'm two steps behind. I hate this feeling.
In all of our other meetings I've been on equal ground with her
because I knew something she didn't. Now I have nothing.

She rolls her eyes. “I'll show you.” She snaps her
fingers, and one of the soldiers lifts a pack off the ground.

My pack. The letter from Jessa.

I lower my head to the table. That letter. Why
didn't I get rid of it? Why did I keep it for so long? I've let too
many people use it against me.

“
You understand now.” The agent
reaches into the pack and removes the paper covered in plastic. She
fans herself with it. “You know, we've suspected that the colonists
were real for quite some time. We could never prove it, of course.
All of our military submarines were destroyed during the war, and
we haven't been able to build our fleet back up to explore the
ocean floor. But to have it confirmed like this will definitely
please certain officials back at the capital.”

She curls and uncurls the letter, and I want to rip
it from her hands and shred it into a million pieces. She doesn't
deserve to touch those words from Jessa. That piece of her is too
valuable for a place like this.

“
And you know what else?” Her hands
clench around the paper, and it crumples in her fist. “It would be
in your best interest to answer any questions we have about the
colonies.”

No. I promised Gaea, and I truly see
the reason for it now. It wasn't to protect the colonies from
people like Mary or Dave or any of the other inmates here who
despise the colonies because it's somewhere better they will never
see. It's to protect them from people like
her
, with her greedy eyes and cruel
smile.

She flicks her fingers to a soldier, and he steps
over and tightens the collar around my neck that will allow me to
speak.

“
Now then, Terra. Just a few
questions for today.”

I clamp my mouth closed, my body burning with rage.
I hope she can see it in my eyes; I wish that my gaze could burn
her to a crisp.

“
How many colonies are
there?”

I fold my arms and stare back at her. She laces her
fingers together and leans forward.

“
How many colonies are
there?”

I can speak with this collar, but it's not my voice,
and she will never have the pleasure of hearing any of this from
me.

“
You're going to be difficult about
it. That's not entirely unexpected, though it is still surprising
considering you left the colony for some reason. Surely you weren't
completely happy there? Some grievance you'd like to share with
us?”

She's being almost conversational. I know this won't
last forever, but I'll enjoy it while I can. I raise a hand,
examine my fingernails, and pick out a speck of dirt from my
thumbnail.

“
This will become very unpleasant
for you,” the agent says, tapping a few words onto her
tablet.

I ignore her and nip at a hangnail.

“
Soldier, take her back to her cell.
She doesn't get dinner tonight.”

I fight to keep my face calm. I'm so hungry, and she
knows it. And more than just the food, I have to tell everyone that
I don't have one more vial of serum or the keycard. There are so
few days left, and now that the secret's out about
Dr. Benedict, I doubt he'll give me the time I need to search
for it. This more than anything will crush me. I have so many
people depending on me.

The soldier rips the collar from my neck and drags
me to my feet. We're almost to the door when the agent clears her
throat.

“
I'll be seeing you very soon,
Worker 7456. And our next little chat will be a bit more
uncomfortable.”

I lie on my bunk and try my hardest to stare at the
vials of serum on my window ledge instead of listening to the pain
in my stomach, but the pain refuses to be ignored. When will Jane
come back? I need something to distract me. I roll on my side and
study the wall opposite me. Then I scrutinize the crack in the
ceiling. Then the fading light in the window. Where is Jane?

Finally, the cell door opens and Jane steps inside,
her face still as hideous as when I saw her earlier. When the door
closes, she rushes up the bunk to sit next to me.

What happened?

She shrugs. “I got in a fight.”

It's not like her to fight. My eyebrows knit
together, and I gently touch a bruise under her eye. She
winces.

“
It's nothing. I'll be fine. But
you—are you okay?” She's the one hurting, and she worries about
me.

I shake my head.
Hungry.

“
I figured. Why didn't they let you
have dinner?”

They know I'm a colonist.

Jane is silent for a long time. There are too many
implications in my words. The biggest one for her is that their
eyes will always be on me, and the escape that seemed like a
possibility just two days ago, now seems like the most improbable
thing in the world.

“
We'll still make it
work.”

How? We need a vial and the keycard.

Jane lips turn up, and it's the first
mischievousness I've seen from her. She tugs up her shirt hem and
takes out a vial of serum from her waistband.

How did you?

“
You're not the only one who can
snatch stuff while Dr. Benedict's back is turned.”

His name brings the bile to my throat. She sees the
look, and somehow she seems to guess most of what must have
happened.

“
You can't trust anyone here,
Terra.”

I know.
I laugh
bitterly.
Never much of a listener.

Jane puts a hand on my arm. “The vial wasn't the
best part.”

I raise my eyebrows as she reaches into her
waistband again. She pulls out the keycard.

“
There's an advantage to being the
weak, broken one. Dr. Benedict hardly ever gives me a second
glance.”

Was it a real fight?

“
What?”

You and another inmate.

She gives me an impish grin. “Not at
all. I had Madge rough me up a little, and then told the soldiers
it was someone else. Of course they sent me to the medical area.”
She rests her head on my shoulder. “But don't ever let Madge hit
you. It
hurts
.”

I laugh and surprise both of us when I reach over and
hug her. I flip the keycard over in my fingers, the pale metal
strip flashing in the dim light. Only five more days. I swallow
hard.

Five more days.

As promised, I'm summoned back to interrogation and
it's not pleasant. The agent and Dr. Benedict sit at the far
side of the table. There is no chair for me. I stand while their
eyes probe me. Dr. Benedict approaches me with the collar, and
I glare at him with everything I have. It's not enough—it's just a
look, and I'm sure he's gotten hundreds of similar looks—but to
show open contempt for him helps me feel better.

He laughs. “You know, Worker 7456, you didn't have to
trust me.”

I turn my head. He's right, I didn't, but his
betrayal still stings. I've been wrestling with this very idea
about trust. I've decided it may hurt more, but being willing to
trust people isn't necessarily a bad thing. If you trust no one,
then you're completely alone. After being separated from Jack and
left in solitary, I never want to be completely alone again.

Dr. Benedict fastens the collar around my neck.
The agent waves him back, and he sits by her.

“Now then. Let's resume where we left off yesterday,
shall we?” She pulls out her tablet, ready to tap my words there. I
don't know why she bothers—it's not like the watchers won't grab
every one of my words and store them for later use. Maybe the agent
just likes feeling more useful. It almost makes me smirk, knowing
that she might feel superfluous.

“How many colonies are there?”

Huh. She really expects me to answer. Does she think
I don't have people I love down there? Maybe she thinks everyone is
as inhuman as she is. I fold my arms and start counting the ceiling
tiles to myself.

“I promised this would become unpleasant.
Dr. Benedict?”

She has my attention now. Dr. Benedict stands
again. He does look a little harried, like the part he told me of
not wanting to follow their orders might be true. Not because of
some altruistic motive, but because he just doesn't like being
bossed around. He pulls a syringe from his pocket. It's filled with
a pale green fluid, and I clench my muscles as he approaches
me.

He chuckles. “Just like the tracker, Worker 7456.
It'll hurt less if you relax.”

I finally speak, only because the words will scorch
my throat if I hold them in any longer. “What do you care if it
hurts?”

“Touch
é
.”

He jabs the needle in. I thought the serum burned,
but it has nothing on the heat from this stuff. I gasp as it floods
through me and white spots dance in front of my eyes. I clutch the
sides of my pants, desperate for something to hang on to, something
to keep myself together and stop me from falling to the ground. I
can't give them the satisfaction of seeing that.

Dr. Benedict studies his watch, and after what
seems like an hour of agony, the searing pain eases and he nods to
the agent.

The agent smiles at me. “How many colonies are
there?”

Suddenly my brain is completely out of my control.
The words bubble in my throat before I can stop them.
“Fourteen.”

She taps on her tablet, and I squint my eyes and try
to focus. Whatever they gave me is taking my willpower away. I
can't let it. There's a small portion of my mind that's tapping
against the walls they've put up with that awful green liquid,
trying to burst through and reclaim me. It's such a small portion,
though, and it's so exhausting trying to fight back. My eyes
flutter closed for a moment.

“How many colonists are there?”

“I honestly don't know. In my colony there were three
thousand two hundred forty-two.”

The agent's eyebrows raise. “I had no idea there were
so many,” she whispers, her fingers racing across the tablet
screen.

What am I doing? Why am I offering up information she
didn't even ask for? That small part of me still in control
redoubles its efforts. Seeing her surprised like that calms me
somehow, makes me believe I can do this. She's not completely in
control, or she wouldn't have had to use the injection on me.

“What defenses do the colonies have?”

This is an important question, and that small part of
me knows it. It's put a crack in one of the walls, and part of me
is leaking out, shouting to the rest of my body to stop this at
once. I hesitate for a moment, my voice suddenly lost in the fight
between the drugs and my own conscience. The agent looks at me
expectantly. She thinks I'm not sure again or that I'm trying to
remember.

“I, uh . . .” The
uh
sounds so moronic in the robot voice that I
finally do laugh.

“
Take your time,” she says, and
shoots daggers at Dr. Benedict. She covers her mouth with her
hand to hide her whisper, but I can still hear her. “Is this
expected?”

“
The side effects of our truth
serums are never predictable.” He studies me over steepled hands.
“Always fascinating, though.”

“
I don't care about
fascinating
, Benedict. I care about
answers. Give her another dose.”

He frowns. “Overdosing has never been tested or
approved, even on inmates.”

“
I don't care.” She enunciates each
word, spitting them out at him.

He pushes back in his chair. “If this goes wrong,
the watchers will show that you were the one to destroy our only
evidence of the colonies.”

She hesitates for a moment, but then she sees I'm
watching. She raises her chin and scowls. She nods to
Dr. Benedict. “Do it.”

He shrugs. “It's your neck on the line.”

As he stalks toward me, another syringe glittering,
that small part of me screams and finally shatters the walls.

“
It won't work,” I say, more sure
about this than anything else.

He stops, puzzled at my words. “I don't think you
understand how truth serums work, Terra.” He clears his throat,
surprising all three of us with the use of my name. Old habits, I
guess.

“
And I don't think you understand
how
I
work.” The words flow fast and
hot. They don't sound like me—they never will—but I'm grateful
right now that I have a voice and they can hear the contempt in it.
“You think I was tortured or abused and that's how I lost my
tongue?”

The look in his eyes tells me that yes, that's
exactly what he thinks.

“
You're wrong.
I gave up
my tongue.
”