The Outcast Ones Read online

  But then the light comes on again and the computer continues as if nothing has happened.

  “Phase Three has begun: Memory and attention test.”

  I am surprised. They never prepared us for this part of the examination.

  “E518, which of today’s Legion commanders has a scar over his right eyebrow?”

  The question is a contradiction in terms, because we are all the same. In any case, we should be, but I know it is not true. There are tiny details if you look for them. I close my eyes and call up the image of the three Legion commanders on the podium. The oldest was in the middle. He had deeper wrinkles around his eyes than the others. On his left was the woman. She did not smile, but even if she had, she would not have dimples. I would have seen if she had a scar on her eyebrow. It must have been the man on the right. He was the only one I did not look at.

  “From my point of view, the man on my right,” I answer, and the cubicle door slides open. Surprised, I turn around and see that the other teens’ doors are also open. All the intelligence tests end at the same time.

  “Phase Four has begun.”

  Sweat runs down my back. Tiny drops form on my skull and run into my face. They catch in my eyebrows, but the longer I run, the wetter they become, until finally the first drop comes loose and runs into my eye. It burns, but I keep running.

  It began slowly and then the speed increased with every minute. The treadmill clock reads 20 minutes and 32 seconds. I cannot run any more, but I am not going to give up. Physical tests are not exactly my strength. We began with squash, but I was so afraid of the shooting electric ball that I was one of the first to fail. That will give me only a few points in defence and reaction. After endurance they will test attack ability, to discover the guards and soldiers among us. They wear blue and their designation is C. Only a few women make it into that department and I am certain I will not be one of them. So it is that much more important that I prove myself in endurance at least. Sufficient stamina is valuable.

  21 minutes, 1 second. The speed increases again. I am biting my teeth so hard that they grind. The girl next to me stumbles and falls. Her crash is so heavy that I feel its shaking beneath me. I look down at her. Her face is almost as red as her jumpsuit and she is holding her arm. Pain contorts her expression. I read E523 on her badge, but she is more than the numbers and letters that will only be valid for today—The small spot of pigmentation directly under her left eye registers itself in my mind. She will no longer be a stranger to me, I would recognise her anywhere. She returns my gaze, her lips pressed hard together. I see anger in her—she has failed and begrudges me that I am better than her. This is why all people in our world should be the same. But the performance tests prove that it is not so.

  My gaze slides from the girl to my other side. 22 minutes, 13 seconds. There is a boy. I know him. He is missing a corner of his right front tooth. He lost it when he was a Yellow, in a fight about an electric car. When the car smashed into his mouth, blood shot out of his lip. It scared us other children so much that we all began to cry. We thought he would die and so would the rest of us. Blood is a harbinger of war, and war means death. Since then I know him. I do not know if he remembers me too, or if I am just one among many girls for him. In any case he is not distracted by me looking at him. Stubbornly, he looks at the grey wall opposite, and runs.

  24 minutes, 6 seconds. My throat burns and it’s raw like sandpaper. It even hurts to swallow. My heart is beating in my neck and black dots begin to dance before my eyes. Beeeep...That’s the alarm signal from my pulse gauge. It shows 140 beats per minute. Under 120 would be optimal. If I don’t manage to reduce my pulse, I will be eliminated. I try to breathe gently through my nose. Beeeep...24 minutes, 20 seconds. Pulse: 145. My eyes wander over the other runners. I count 25, only three are women, including myself. Beeeep...24 minutes, 29 seconds. Pulse: 146. I want to be one of the last 20 at least. Beeeep...24 minutes, 32 seconds. Pulse: 144. 24 runners. The Legion commander is moving towards me. I must drop my pulse. Beeeep...24 minutes, 41 seconds. Pulse: 142. She is already preparing to speak, but the loud beeping does not return. My pulse gauge shows 139. Only one more and I would have been eliminated.

  22 runners. My legs feel like lead, so heavy that I might collapse at any moment. A protein tablet will not be enough to restore my muscles to good condition. 25 minutes, 12 seconds. The speed increases again. Beeeep...Pulse: 142. 21 runners. My vision goes black. I feel myself hit the ground and then everything goes still.

  The unpleasant smells of burning plastic and acrid cleansers rise into my nose. So sharp that my nose screws up and I open my eyes. Above me, I see the faces of the Legion commander wearing white, and a man wearing green. He retrieves the little bottle he was holding under my nose. His left hand holds my left wrist, which he carefully lets slide onto the floor.

  “She would never have given up. So her body took over for her,” he explains to the Legion commander.

  “How stupid. A person must know her limits,” she says with disgust, as if I were not here at all.

  “She is ambitious and strong-willed.” The man defends me but does not look at me.

  “Ambition leads to unrest and a will is there to be broken.” Her voice is colder than the floor tiles in my room at morning. Her nametag reads A470. I will remember it. She’s dangerous.

  The man in green nods and gives her a bottle with a light-green liquid in it. “This will invigorate her.”

  The woman accepts the drink. “Thank you, Doctor, you are no longer needed here.

  He leaves, and her light-blue eyes land like spear-points on me. Her cold hand pulls me to my feet. My belly feels empty and nauseous, and I am so weak that my legs barely carry my weight. I sense strongly that someone is looking at me. I turn around. E523 meets my gaze and I don’t know the meaning of the look in her eyes. Maybe she is happy that I failed. I keep looking around the room, but the treadmills are abandoned. The endurance tests are over.

  The white suit presses the bottle into my hand. “Drink this. You’ve held up the proceedings long enough!” She herds me with the others into the next room.

  Bright light falls on the soft sand of the Arena. The ceiling lights are so far away that it would be easy to think we are under an open sky—if we didn’t know better. Even though I have never left the safety zone, that is how I imagine the sky to be. Bright and free, without limits or flickering.

  Like in ancient Old Earth times, the Arena is round and has seats for an audience outside of the battleground, as well as a platform for the Legion commanders. There is no audience today except for the three dressed in white. Battles are only public during mating time. The next one is still a year away, so there’s no reason to waste a thought on it.

  The oldest commander steps forward.

  “I, A330, hereby open Phase 6 in the name of the Legion. This is your last test, your last chance to win points. Hand to hand combat is only for defence. We are the last survivors. Our top priority is to maintain order in the safety zone. Any enemy of order is an enemy of life and must be destroyed. Fight fair. Fight hard.”

  We bow before the commanders and step back against the wall, making a circle around the circular battle arena. The computer determines our ideal fighting partner from our previous results.

  “E515 against E572.”

  Both are boys. E515 is the one with a piece of his front tooth missing. I don’t know the other one. Like everyone else, they are wearing armoured sensor breastplates and elastic leg protectors. In their hands, they activate the laser pointers. The light dims automatically so that the red and green laser beams are easier to see. Front Tooth has red and his opponent, green.

  They take up fight positions and the start bell shrills so loud through the arena that it hurts my ears. The green laser fires immediately and only just misses Front Tooth’s upper arm—he did a perfect roll on the ground to escape. Sand falls from his black vest but the green shooter fires on him incessantly. Greenie is attacking very o
ffensively but E515 is more on the defensive. He has good endurance and is trying to make the most of this advantage. He hops from one place to another like a rubber ball, bending and stretching. E572 has more than enough to do, running after him.

  The clock shows 6:05 minutes. If both of them can endure ten minutes without either suffering a theoretically deadly injury, both will be given the same number of points—but only half of the possible points. If there is a winner, he gets all the points and the loser none. So the goal is to take out your opponent as quickly as possible. Even though Front Tooth is so agile, running away won’t get him a win.

  7:50 minutes. E572’s attacks are coming more slowly. Where he was firing every second to begin with, now he is missing by metres and needs longer to orientate himself afterwards. E515 is whooshing around him like a sprinter.

  After 8:15 minutes he fires his first red shot and...he hits! E515 has won. He gets all the points.

  More battles follow. Not many end in a draw, because compromise is not our goal. All or nothing, says the motto. The palms of my hands become inexplicably damp when my designation finally grates through he loudspeaker.

  “E523 against E518.”

  It’s the girl with the pigmentation under her left eye, the one who scowled at me so hard at the last test. She lost there, so her ambition to beat me now will be even greater. I test my laser pointer and a green beam shoots across the battleground. It can start.

  We take our positions and the start signal sounds. But unlike the first battle, neither of us attacks straight away. We circle, both wait for a reaction, but nothing happens. Her light-blue eyes latch onto mine. Not only our appearance seems identical, but our movements too, like a mirror image. Do I really look just like her? Maybe I even have a spot of pigmentation.

  The minutes go by without even one laser beam being fired.

  Unlike the other battles, the computer voice sounds again and announces: “Five minutes without the use of weapons. You have two minutes until you are disqualified. Defend yourselves!”

  This has never happened before. If neither of us attacks, neither will have any points. Defend yourselves! What should I defend myself against when no one is attacking me? Why should I attack her when she’s not doing anything to me? She’s only a girl like me. If she was a troublemaker, it would be easier for me to shoot her, but there is no reason. I know it’s only a simulation, but I can’t make myself fire the laser. She must be having similar issues, because there is no red shot either.

  For a moment I stop looking at her and my gaze swings to the digital display: 6:04 minutes.

  She stares at me. She must have seen how careless I am for these seconds, and yet she does not fire.

  These points will decide my future. Attack me! I beg silently with my eyes, but she does not react. 6:43 minutes. Only 17 seconds more and we will both be disqualified. This is against the rules. I can forget any career beginning with C or B or even the A of the Legion commanders. Forget it forever. 6:50 minutes. My hands flinch. The loudspeaker is now announcing the seconds: “51, 52, 53...” What should I do? Why won’t she attack me? “54, 55, 56...”

  E523 drops her defensive posture and stands opposite me with tight shoulders. Both her hands sink to her sides. For her, the fight is over. “57, 58, 59...” There is a gentle smile on her lips.

  I shoot.

  My green beam hits her square on the breast. Her face broadens, bewildered. Gone is the friendly smile. Anger shoots from her eyes.

  I won. The fight is over and I won all the points. Why can’t I be happy? Why do I feel like I lost?

  We go back to our places and she watches me from the other side of the arena. I drop my gaze.

  - -

  02. WE ARE ALL THE SAME

  Our eyes are fixed on the platform. Sweat beads on my forehead and it’s hard to breathe.

  This is the deciding moment.

  This is the result of my seven years of endured education.

  This is my future.

  A330 steps forward. “Phase 6 is complete,” he announces solemnly. As expected, we applaud. Our hands strike together and produce loud clapping that echoes from the walls and is increased by the empty seating. It’s like an earthquake. My stomach complains loudly. It is time for the next nutrition unit.

  “At this point I would like to point out to you again very clearly that there cannot be any errors in the system. In a moment I will read out your assignments. Some of you may be surprised if you expected a different result. This is because the system knows you better than you know yourself. People change over the course of their lives and the programmes take that into account. There are no wrong decisions and any task for the Legion is just as important as another.”

  He falls silent and rests his hand on his right ear. Now he is receiving our assignments digitally. All the Legion commanders wear a chip in their right ear, connecting them directly with the system and also with each other, so they can communicate without having to stand beside another commander.

  “E501. In the name of the Legion I designate you B501. From tomorrow you will receive a green suit and your assigned area will be in the laboratories of the safety zone. Be there punctually at 0730 hours.”

  Impressive! Not many make it directly into such a high group. My heart begins to beat hard. I want to be in Group B too. Maybe not necessarily in the laboratories, but rather in the sickbay.

  In our world there are no more sicknesses in the original sense. The safety zone keeps us safe, like its name says. There are no bacteria, no viruses or other germs. On the other hand, there are more mental illnesses. But they can all be healed so that the person can work again.

  E502, E503, E504, E505, E506, E507, E508, E509, E510, E511, E512, E513, E514...

  “E515. In the name of the Legion I designate you C515. From tomorrow you will receive a blue suit and your assigned area will be in the training rooms, to prepare for the dangers outside the safety zone. Be there punctually at 0730 hours.”

  Gulp. He is a guard. One of the only ones allowed to leave the safety zone. But no one fights over these roles, because it’s very dangerous and can only be done with special protective suits. Out there is chaos. There is no life, only death and decay. Everything outside the zone is contaminated with radiation. No living being could survive out there for longer than five minutes. Even within five minutes, the radiation would cause irreparable damage, causing death within four weeks. I really don’t envy him his assignment.

  E516, E517...My heart rate climbs.

  “E518. In the name of the Legion I designate you D518. From tomorrow you will receive a brown suit and your assigned area will be in nutrition distribution. Be there punctually at 0630 hours.”

  No! It can’t be true. The lowest group? That’s not fair! It’s impossible for my results to be so low. I shake my head, bewildered. No one notices. A330 continues, unswerving in his task.

  E519, E520, E521, E522...

  “E523. In the name of the Legion I designate you D523. From tomorrow you will receive a brown suit and your assigned area will be in nutrition distribution. Be there punctually at 0630 hours.”

  It can’t be! I was better than her in at least two tests. We can’t possibly be in the same group. Even during my teens I was always one of the best in educational training. I had some of the best interim results of anyone. When I was a small child, the Legion commander told me I had a big future. I’m sure she didn’t mean a future in nutrition distribution. The system makes no mistakes, but the result can’t be right. I don’t understand. Maybe there was a crash, and someone’s data was swapped with mine...

  E596, E597, E598, E599...

  All the assignments have been announced. The Legion commanders are already leaving, and the others are flowing towards the arena’s exits. Stop!

  I step forward and clear my throat. I call out with a loud voice. “I have a question!”

  Everything goes quiet. Every movement turns to stone. The Legion commanders turn on their heel
s. Their eyes bore into me like sharp needles. My throat goes dry.

  “Request permitted,” says A470, looking down at me, a frown twisting her face. “What is your question, D518?”

  I cough. Dammit, what’s going on with my throat? It’s as if a lump is sitting in my windpipe, blocking off the air. My eyes feel unusually damp.

  “Is it possible that my number was assigned wrong? Maybe there was—”

  The woman interrupts me energetically. “D518, before your performance test and also just now we said loud and clear that errors of any kind are completely impossible. Does that answer your question?”

  My cheeks grow hot. Everyone is staring at me. Now I’m standing here as if I’m totally dim-witted. Everyone will think it’s no wonder I ended up in nutrition distribution, if I can’t even listen.

  But it’s not like that at all! The discomfort inside me transforms into anger. The Legion commanders are deliberately letting me look like an idiot.

  “No,” I say clearly. “How can it be that I finished better in some tests than others, and still get a worse group?”

  “D518, there are no better or worse groups. Every task in the safety zone is equally important. We are all the same.”

  Unwilling, I shake my head. My eye slides over to D523. She juts her chin out at me, as if to say, Go on, make my day. Say you were better than me.

  When I don’t answer, A470 continues. “D518, do you think you are better?”

  My eyes grow wide with shock and I hurry to say no. “We are all the same.” I call it to memory and repeat it to myself like a proverb. No one is different. No one is better.

  I glance across those present. We are the same like identical twins. There are no visible differences, if you don’t look too closely.

  A470 narrows her eyes to slits and leans over the railing. “D518, if you are not happy with your assignment, maybe we should transfer you to G518.”

  No, no, no! My breathing becomes uncontrolled.

  “Please, no! I wasn’t thinking before I spoke. I’m sorry. Please...I only expected something different. It’s my mistake. Please don’t demote me.”