The Outcast Ones Page 3

  Group G is the worst that can happen to anyone. They might as well shoot you outright. G designates outcasts. Only people who refuse healing treatment in sickbay are given this designation. They are dangerous to themselves and to the whole Legion, so they are cast out of the safety zone. They die a horrible death.

  A470 is merciful and stands up straight again. “Fine. You understand. Now go!” She leaves the platform shoulder to shoulder with the other Legion commanders.

  When I turn around, D523 is looking at me thoughtfully. She must despise me. How stupid of me to speak to the Legion commander. Why can’t I just behave like everyone else? Maybe a visit to sickbay wouldn’t be such a bad idea. I just think too much.

  Leaving the arena, I meet the gaze of C515, but he looks away immediately. He wants nothing more to do with me. I’d be bad for his reputation. Strangely, this makes me sad. Somehow I liked him more than the others. Maybe because he wasn’t like everyone else.

  At 0600 hours precisely I open my eyes. The previous day and my assignment are like a bad idea, almost unreal. I slept as well as ever, because our sleep is controlled. There are small sensors in the beds that measure unrest from things like heart rate or sweat, and if necessary, gas is emitted to sedate us. It is important that our sleep is relaxing, so that we can reach full productivity.

  While I wait for my food ration, I look at my blurry mirror image in the metal wall. My eyes shine a soft blue, so pale that they can hardly be seen. Because the wall’s surface is rough, I have never seen my face clearly—only as a blob in beige and pink. There is no smooth surface in the entire safety zone, for our own protection. Still, I would like to know what I look like. I don’t know if my nose is big or small, or if my lips are narrow or full. I can’t recognise anything—I can only get an idea from the appearance of the other personnel. The differences are so minimal that some people don’t even notice them, but I memorise them. I use these tiny differences to identify people. For me they aren’t just letters and numbers, but hands, fingers, ears, mouths, eyes, eyebrows, wrinkles, dimples, pigmentations. The Legion commanders must know it. There must be more people like me, or they wouldn’t have asked about the scar in yesterday’s performance test.

  For the first time I wonder if they don’t want anyone to recognise the differences. After all, we all want to be as alike as possible. People who know we are not the same could be a risk. Maybe they see me as a risk and sent me to nutrition distribution for that reason.

  “Please remove your nutrition ration for today!” says the loudspeaker just then. I look down and see five cereal cubes, a vitamin tablet and a glass of water.

  At 0630 hours the door opens and I begin my first day as D518. The brown stripe on the wall tightens around me and I doubt I will ever grow to like the colour. Surreptitiously, I look at the other inhabitants in their identical brown suits.

  Every generation is here, the 500s like me, the 400s and 300s. I even see a few 200s. Only the 100s are gone. Shortly after my birth was their farewell. It must have been a great celebration, because many speak of it even now with excitement. In three more years will be the farewell for the 200s, when they reach their sixtieth year. That is the year when we say goodbye to the safety zone and to the Earth.

  Today, the Atrium shows a shower of rain over the wild North Sea. The wind whips against the tearing waves, spraying foam. It is an impressive performance, it sucks me in for several seconds. The sea resists the wind, does not let itself be pressed back, but proves its strength. Quickly I shake my head. Something’s wrong with me. Always these thoughts I shouldn’t be thinking, these thoughts that are wrong. Resistance is never right. Maybe it’s a good thing I was assigned to nutrition distribution—hopefully I won’t have to think much there.

  Across the grey hall I approach the big dining hall for communal meals. Those are rare, we only have them on special occasions like farewelling a generation, promotions, or the mating phase. Today is nothing like that.

  An older man waits for me at the door, D523 standing beside him. Her lips are strangely drawn, almost like a smile, but it doesn’t look friendly. Her right eyebrow quirks upwards as I introduce myself.

  “D518 reporting for duty.”

  “D375 welcomes D518,” he answers formally. Then his tight shoulders loosen a bit and he continues in a friendlier tone. “Good to have you here. Come with me and I’ll explain your tasks.”

  We move through the big hall towards a double door made of dark grey metal. It slides open by itself. Even from this you can see that our task isn’t exactly one of the important ones. Areas of higher value are locked with security codes. But apparently anyone can walk into nutrition distribution.

  Behind the door is a room full of tables and computers, not at all like I imagined it. I expected machines producing cereal cubes—instead I’m standing in front of at least twenty computer desks. Two in the second-last row are still empty, this is where D375 leads us.

  “Sit down,” he says, with a wave of his hand. My gaze rests on his eyes a moment longer, they are the same pale blue as everyone’s, but something is different: I look more closely and discover a small green spot in his left iris.

  “Is something wrong?” he asks me, but I shake my head quickly. D523 looks at me curiously. Did she notice my reaction?

  We sit in our assigned seats and log in to the computer using our fingerprints. As confirmation, we hear the familiar “Access permitted”, and the computers start up. A program opens up with many small windows, each with a description.

  “Each of us receives twenty designations per day, whose nutrition we must supply. The designations change every day, so we have to familiarise ourselves from scratch every day. The program gives an optimum supply level, but it’s our job to check that it’s correct.” D375 pauses.

  Checking a program for correctness? How is that possible? I thought the system didn’t make any mistakes.

  “Errors do not come from the program, but from users. When it’s time to distribute food, photographs of the personnel will appear where you see their designations. Your task is to check whether it’s really their own arm they are holding under the scanner.”

  My brow furrows. Why should anyone hold someone else’s arm under the scanner?

  “You look surprised, but it has really happened before. People get the strangest ideas to sneak more food. Especially before a fight they often want more protein capsules, to improve their performance.”

  D523 blows air out and speaks quietly, more to herself, but with a glance in my direction. “Sounds familiar to me.” There is contempt in her voice—she’s still angry with me, and rightfully so. I bite my lip and try to listen to what D375 is saying.

  “If you tap on one of the designations, you’ll see a sort of profile for that person.”

  He shows us on my computer. The profile for C482 opens up. Beside his designation is his assigned work area, in this case access control, which means he is deployed inside the safety zone.

  “C482 needs protein capsules every day, but as an example, he needs less cereal cubes than a C on outside duty.”

  We continue to read through his profile. For tomorrow he has a training session planned.

  “On days like that, he gets more vitamins in the evening, also magnesium, calcium and iron. Our program knows that, but you need to check it. Before the person receives his food, you must confirm the selection. So we also work in shifts. Today you have the evening shift. But soon you will also be assigned to the morning shift. Then your workday will begin at 2230 hours.”

  A friendly smile appears briefly on his face. “Do you have any more questions?”

  We both shake our heads. The green spot in his eye shines out at me.

  “Good, then look at your profiles for today and calculate their nutrition. The program will tell you if you make a mistake.”

  With these words he leaves us alone in front of the monitors. D523 continues to stare at me, but I decide to ignore her and turn to my screen. A pro
file for D592 opens up. It is a woman. She was assigned to the cleaning unit.

  “Impressive, how exemplary you are at doing your work. Guess you still think you’re better than the rest of us.”

  I stop. She is speaking to me for the first time. Her words are strange, quite different from the language of the leaders and commanders. So direct and without keeping to any formula. What does she want from me? I decide to approach an apology.

  “It was stupid of me to question the result. The system doesn’t make mistakes, so we both belong here just the same.”

  She leans towards me and continues quietly. “But you were better than me in two results. Shouldn’t that be rewarded?”

  Her question shakes my resolve. Why is the pointing out now that she was worse? I want to agree with her. But maybe that’s not her point?

  “Our results come from more than two tests. Maybe you were better in the others.”

  “Doubt it,” she says, and shrugs. Confused, I look at her, then let my gaze sweep the room, but nobody is taking any notice of us. All of them are deep in their work. We should get started, too. It would make a bad impression to make trouble right on the first day. But she’s making me curious.

  “How do you know?”

  “Did you answer the test questions?”

  What a strange question. Of course I did. I nod.

  She grins and shows her perfect teeth. “I didn’t.”

  Horrified, I stare at her. Why would she do that? But now she turns away and taps on the monitor as if our conversation never happened.

  A few days later our schedule is interrupted by an announcement. “Exactly 81 years ago today, the Third World War broke out and sent the world crashing to its end.”

  There is solemn silence until the computer’s tinny voice goes on. “On this occasion a documentary will be shown in the Arena. Please stop your work and go there immediately.”

  All the chairs are shoved back as one, and we march like robots towards the Arena. We do not doubt or question any orders—we simply follow them. The documentary we are seeing is certainly not going to be pretty. Even so, I am happy for the distraction from our everyday life that is planned to the smallest detail.

  C515 is standing in front of the Arena in his new blue suit. That’s good, because it means he hasn’t been deployed outside. Not yet, at least.

  When I pass him, I look at him. Our eyes meet for a moment. I’m so happy he is well that I give him a brief smile. His eyes widen in surprise, but then he nods at me politely.

  An elbow digs sharply into my side. Shocked, I spin around. D523 has this strange grin on her face again, that I’ve never seen on anyone else here.

  “You’ve got a crush on him!” she claims, and I have no idea what she’s talking about.

  “I...crushed what?”

  She groans, frustrated, and hits herself playfully in the head. “You think C515 is nice.”

  I am unknowing. What does she mean? “Of course he’s nice. He’s a guard. He protects us.”

  Now she’s shaking her head, throwing her arms up in the air, hopelessly. “Are you just playing dumb or is it for real? You like him more than other people, get it?”

  My eyes go wide with horror. What she is trying to hint at...is absolutely not permitted. We all know about emotional lives on the Old Earth. People had “relationships”, as they were called. It happened especially often between a man and a woman. But it only caused problems. They cheated each other, shouted at each other, beat each other, and even committed murder out of jealousy. Interpersonal relationships are troublesome factors and thus for us were discontinued and also prohibited. We are all the same, so we don’t have stronger feelings for anyone. Everyone is just as friendly or unfriendly to us. In any case, that’s how it should be.

  “D523, you should really let a doctor look at you. Someday you’ll do yourself harm with claims like that,” I answered her formally, earning a frown in answer. But it doesn’t matter, she should leave me alone. She’s always whispering things in my ear that I don’t want to hear, things I don’t even want to think about. It’s like she’s pouring water on a seed inside me, so that it will grow to a big strong plant. Bad enough that there’s even a sprout there, but I must know how to stop this tiny bud from growing into a weed.

  The Arena is full. Every seat is taken. In the middle, projectors have been set up to create the images in 3D. We have often seen presentations of this kind. Every time it’s like being there yourself.

  The lights go out and the brief Legion melody sounds. Before our eyes, the first images are coming together. We see the tops of trees in a forest. They look so real that some of the teenagers stretch out their hands, thinking they could really touch them. But their hands slip empty through the air.

  The camera zooms closer and now we recognise a group of men, probably soldiers, standing in a row. Their eyes are wide, their lips pressed together. They are trembling all over and sweat pours from their foreheads. We look into the eyes of a young man. He isn’t even old enough to be assigned a job, maybe just fifteen. His eyes aren’t like ours. Not pale blue, but rather a sort of grey, like the walls of the shared corridors, but far more lively. Specks of anthracite colour make them sparkle and remind me of the waves of the sea. But suddenly, all the life in his eyes goes out. A bullet hits him right in the forehead and tears it apart.

  A gasp escapes from D523 beside me. I look at her and see that she has thrown her hands over her eyes from fear, while in the centre of the arena, one man after another is shot. After ten deaths the scene ends and shows hundreds of naked bodies stacked up in the same forest. They are all dead. Shot down like targets.

  A woman runs through the streets of a desolate city. These are not the impressive skyscrapers from the pictures we see in the Atrium, but little houses whose plaster has begun to fall from the walls onto the cobblestones. Again and again the woman looks back, panicking. She cries out for help, but nobody comes. Finally she stumbles in a hole in the asphalt and falls full-length on the ground. She forces herself up again immediately, but it’s already too late. A man in uniform stands before her. His face is like stone. He presses a gun to her skull and forces her to take her clothes off. When she is naked and crying in front of him, she begs for her life. But the man unbuttons his grey military trousers and presses the woman up against the wall. I can’t stand to see what he does to her, and look away again.

  D523 has turned completely pale. She presses a hand to her breast, breathes deeply in and out, looking everywhere except the centre of the arena. The woman’s tortured screams echo in my ears and I’m sure I’ll never be able to forget.

  When the soldier is finished with her, he kills her with a shot in the stomach. But she doesn’t die immediately, rather suffering a slow death from her pain, lonely and abandoned. There’s nobody there who could give comfort, or hope for heaven.

  This documentary is pure torture. Every time I think it can’t get any worse, it gets even more violent. We see children abused, people burned alive, every kind of torture, countless corpses. The film lasts for two hours that feel like forever.

  At the end, one of the Legion commanders speaks to us. “The Third World War was an atrocity without equal. Man is his own worst enemy. Never again shall we let its like occur. Never again—abuse, torture, rape. Never again—murder.”

  His voice is so loud and full that it echoes from the walls of the arena. He’s right, and I nod, as do many others.

  “We are the Legion. Our order protects the last of life.”

  Enthusiastic, we begin to applaud. If I ever had any doubts, they are gone now. The Earth was a terrible place. A place without laws.

  03. THE KIDNAPPING

  Slowly I get used to my work. It’s not exactly exciting or eventful—probably even unnecessary. The program would distribute the food correctly even if I didn’t check it. Mistakes are impossible. Still, I am starting to see the positive side of my assignment. Here in nutrition distribution, every day I can b
ecome familiar with new inhabitants of the safety zone. People I would probably never meet otherwise. I learn things about them that they probably don’t even know. For example, B269 circles his left index finger around his right ring finger when he is waiting for his food. D375 thinks we won’t recognise the people whose food we have checked before, because there are so many people in the safety zone and you would have to be a genius to remember all the individuals and their designations.

  But that’s not true. These tiny peculiarities that make us different from one another—they help me. There’s a little girl, F701, who always taps on her lip while she waits. C515, on the other hand, always sucks his lower lip between his teeth, so that I can see his broken front tooth. I thought about D523’s accusation, but I didn’t come to any conclusion. It’s true that I’m always happy when C515 is assigned to my monitor. I like to watch him and it makes me happy to see him healthy. But I enjoy it just as much to watch F701 or B269. In general, I’m always happy to see someone I recognise.

  All this thinking has made it occur to me that I never saw D523 herself before the performance tests. I’m sure I would have remembered her. That spot of pigmentation under her left eye is certainly quite noticeable.

  We come from the same generation, the same as C515. A generation is made up of 99 people who grow up together. Our paths only separate after we are assigned to tasks. As small children we are divided into different educational groups, but then we meet again in training in our teens. I don’t recognise all of the 99, but D523 is so unique that I can’t have missed her. Even her way of speaking is strange. Her eyes are so lively, and wild like a storm on the sea, although they are the same pale blue as everyone else’s.

  I steal a furtive glance at her. She’s concentrating on the screen in front of her, tapping away. I can’t see what it is, so I carefully lean back a bit. Her camera shot shows a young man. The program suggests 10 cereal cubes, a vitamin tablet, a protein tablet, and a glass of water. But D523 changes the setting and adds an extra protein tablet and three iron rations.