Anomaly (19 page)
The notes wash over me, reach into the deepest part of my being. But what are they saying?
A knock on the door breaks my concentration.
John enters. As soon as I see him, the tears I have been holding back are released. I don’t try to stop them. I don’t think I could even if I tried.
John takes my violin and places it on the couch, then he holds my hands. His feel so soft, so old. Like they could break if I held on too hard.
“Tell me what it means,” I beg. There is no time for intellectual discussion now. No time for debate. No time to question the sanity of this man.
He leads me to the couch and we sit. He closes his eyes and begins to sing. His voice is soft, but the notes are sure. And the words water the dry places in my heart.
“Jesu, joy of man’s desiring,
Holy wisdom, love most bright;
Drawn by Thee, our souls aspiring
Soar to uncreated light.
Word of God, our flesh that fashioned,
With the fire of life impassioned,
Striving still to truth unknown,
Soaring, dying round Thy throne.
Through the way where hope is guiding,
Hark, what peaceful music rings;
Where the flock, in Thee confiding,
Drink of joy from deathless springs.”
We are both crying when he is done. “‘Drink of joy from deathless springs,’” I repeat.
“‘Jesu’ is Jesus—God’s Son,” John begins. “Jesus brings the salvation you have been longing for.”
Salvation
. The word sounds so primitive. A few days ago I would have scoffed at its use. But if John reflects the primitive and Dr. Loudin is the modern, I want to be primitive. “He is the joy of man’s desiring. He is the uncreated light.”
“The Designer made us with a longing for him. Yet we deaden that longing or ignore it. In recent years, we have ‘reasoned’ it away. But it is still there. And you, my dear, are proof of that.”
He says that as if I am not an anomaly, as if I am . . . special.
“God sent his Son, Jesus, into this world to save the world,” John says. “The world rejected him. They killed him.”
“I can identify with this Jesus.”
John smiles. “But he did not stay dead.”
I want to disregard this. But I know not to. As outrageous as this sounds, I know it is true. I feel its truth in me. “He lived?”
“He
lives
.” John wipes a tear from his eye. “He is not just God’s Son, he is God himself. God in the flesh. His death paid the penalty for our sins—for all the wrongs we have ever done. And his rising from the dead allows us to live forever with him.”
“Live forever?” I am overwhelmed with a hope like I have never experienced.
“Yes, in a place called heaven.” John’s face looks like it is lit from within. “A perfect place where there is no pain, no death, no tears.”
Those words hang in the air. I find my violin and lift it to my chin, closing my eyes. I play the song. And this time, I
understand. Cleansing tears pour down my face as I play. This Jesus is the joy of my heart’s desiring. He was speaking to me in the pod when I first played this music. He was speaking to me through John’s words and actions. He was speaking to me despite my doubts, despite my condescension, despite my feelings of superiority. He was speaking.
And now, finally, I answer. I pour my belief into each note. My song becomes a prayer. And I know I am ready. Death may come. I am not afraid. Because death is only the beginning.
C
ome with me.” Berk is in my room. He is gathering my belongings in a canvas sack.
“What?” I had fallen asleep on the couch, my violin cradled in my arms. He takes the violin and places it back in its case. He pulls me up.
“You are returning to Pod C.”
His tone doesn’t match his words. This should be wonderful. Why, then, does he seem so sad?
“I will explain on the way.”
“Does Dr. Loudin know?” Perhaps Berk is trying to hide me. But he must know there are no places to hide here.
“Of course.” I have never seen Berk like this. He is so angry. He won’t even look at me.
“Have I done something wrong?”
Berk stops and his shoulders slump. “No. You have done nothing wrong.”
“Then why are you so agitated?”
He has finished my packing and opens the door. “Let’s get out of here and then I’ll tell you.”
Something bad has happened. But I cannot imagine what would be worse than my annihilation. Although now, knowing about Jesus, even that doesn’t seem so awful. Nothing seems awful anymore.
I am almost out of breath as I rush to keep up with Berk’s long strides. We are out of the Scientists’ pod in minutes, on the walkway toward Pod C. Berk slows but he doesn’t speak. We pass Pod A before he stops. He turns toward the path that leads to the viewing panel. We go behind Pod B, past their greenhouse and their recreation field. Berk finds a spot in the grass and sets my bag and case down.
“I was able to talk Dr. Loudin out of annihilating you.”
I want to be relieved, but something in the way he is behaving cautions me, frightens me. “Why do you sound so upset then?”
“I’m not upset about that.” Berk’s jaw flexes. He is barely controlling his emotions. So unlike him. “But it comes at a cost.”
My stomach tightens. “What kind of cost?”
Berk closes his eyes. He sighs. “We should sit.”
I follow Berk as he lowers himself to the ground, his long legs stretched out in front of him. His eyes are far away. He is trying to determine how to tell me what is on his mind.
“I looked at Dr. Loudin’s charts. As I suspected, your intelligence levels are superior. Even more than what was intended for you. And your intelligence has actually improved since you’ve been here. I told Dr. Loudin that you are too valuable to eliminate. Your potential is too great.”
“And he agreed?”
Berk’s nod was slow. “He is very concerned about living conditions here. With the increase in population, the oxygen requirements have risen beyond what we are capable of producing.”
“Didn’t they prepare for that when they increased the population?” The first generation was barely halfway through their allotted life cycle. Surely they couldn’t have made such a simple error as this.
“To say it was a miscalculation seems like a gross understatement. But that’s exactly what it was.”
“And now?”
“He is eliminating people.” Berk raked a hand through his hair.
“But he is not eliminating me?”
“No.” Berk looks at me. There is such pain in his eyes.
“Just tell me.” I need to know what is causing this pain. “He is allowing me to live as, what, a project?”
“Kind of.”
“It’s all right, Berk.” I want to comfort him. “Things have changed. I am not afraid.”
“He is going to erase your memory.”
I am sure I heard wrong. He couldn’t have said that. “What?”
“He agreed with me that your intellect is valuable.” Berk swallows hard. It takes a moment for him to be able to continue.
“But your memory is not. He wants to eliminate what he sees as your flaws.”
“My flaws?”
“Your curiosity.” Berk looks at me. “Your feelings.”
“He wants to erase all of that?” Will I forget Berk? Will I forget Jesus? Can Dr. Loudin erase my faith? Who will I be if I do not have those things?
“But why are we going to Pod C?” I try to think of something else—anything but the fact that my memory, my essence, is going to be annihilated. “The Scientists removed me so I wouldn’t cause them unease. Wouldn’t seeing me, devoid of any memories, be difficult for them?”
Berk closes his eyes. “No.”
I grab Berk’s face with my hand. He won’t look at me. He can’t even speak. “Why, Berk? What has happened?”
“Pod C”—he speaks so quietly I can barely hear him—“has been eliminated.”
I
run. I don’t care that my lungs are burning and my legs are aching. I don’t care that people in the other pods might see me. I don’t care that cameras positioned who knows where will record this. I run because I need to see for myself that Pod C is empty.
Surely Berk is mistaken. Surely Dr. Loudin wouldn’t do something so terrible. Annihilation of any kind seems awful to me, but annihilation of a whole pod? Unthinkable. Cruel.
I run to the front entrance. The door is open. A gaping hole revealing nothing.
Nothing.
No one is here. Not even the furniture remains.
I look in every room. The group areas, the cubes, the kitchen, even the isolation chamber. I look out the back, to the recreation field and the greenhouse.
Nothing.
My legs refuse to keep moving. I will them to walk back to my cube. Where Rhen and I lived and talked and learned. It, too, is empty. Our sleeping platforms are gone. Our dressers are gone. Even the smell is different. Like someone has taken what used to be Pod C and replaced it with something else. Something other.
Berk comes in. He is out of breath. I realize I am too. I am panting, gasping for air.
“No.” I can barely speak. A thought enters my mind. “This isn’t real.”
“What?”
“This isn’t real.” My confidence grows. “This is another simulation.”
“Thalli.” Berk sounds sad.
I walk into the bathroom and look into the mirror. “Look at me, Dr. Loudin. I am not fooled. I know this isn’t happening. I know I am really sitting in a chair in your laboratory. Unplug me. Stop testing on me. Annihilate me, like I asked. I am done being your lab rat.”
My voice echoes in the small room. I stare into my own eyes, knowing that Dr. Loudin sees what I see. I want him to see that he has failed. That I will no longer be part of his ridiculous experiments.
Berk is behind me. He is looking at me, but I don’t look away. I will stare at my reflection until Dr. Loudin ends this. He will not win.
I don’t know how long I stand there. Minutes, hours. Berk has left and returned.
He places his hands on my shoulders and forces me to turn. “I wish you were right. I can’t tell you how much I wish you were right.”
“I am.” I pull away. This isn’t Berk. It is just some computer program that looks like him.
“This is real, Thalli.” Berk’s eyes are red-rimmed. “I am real.”
I look at him, at the vulnerability on his face, and I think for a moment that maybe he is real. But I don’t want him to be real because if he is real, then all this is real.
I need to ask him something that Dr. Loudin wouldn’t know. “Where did you take me on our picnic?”
“To the moon-viewing panel beside the water tanks.” He doesn’t even pause. The answer is immediate and correct. This is Berk.
“Then you are here with me,” I say, refusing to believe this is real. There has to be another explanation. “In the simulation. We’re both trapped. Think about how you found this out, your talk with Dr. Loudin. Are any pieces missing from the last time you saw me until now?”
Berk closes his eyes. “This isn’t a simulation.”
“How do you know?” I am yelling but I don’t care. “I didn’t think Progress was a simulation either. I could see it, smell it, touch it, even taste it. Do you think you know more than I do? That I am easy to fool but you’re not?”
“Of course not.” Berk stays rooted to his spot on the floor.
“Do you have proof?”
Berk sighs. “Yes.”
I blink. “You do?”
Berk nods. “I was hoping you were right. I’d give anything for this not to be real. So I checked something.”
“What?”
“Come here.” Berk takes my hand and we walk through the pod into the group chamber. “Remember when we were kids and we scraped our names under the couch?”
Of course I remember.
“It’s there.” Berk points to a spot on the now-bare floor.
I kneel down, hoping Berk is wrong. Praying Berk is wrong.
I trace his name with my fingers.
This is not a simulation.
M
y friends are gone. Eliminated. And why? Because the Scientists made a miscalculation. It is so unfair. So terrible.
I think of Rhen. My beautiful, logical friend. I can imagine her reaction when this news was delivered. Ever practical, she probably pulled on her blond ponytail and nodded, agreeing with the decision. “Better to eliminate a whole pod together than take a few people from each pod,” she would say. “That way no one will really have to know.”
Or did she fight? When faced with actual death, would her logic have failed her? Would she have used it to reason with her
killers? To explain that, with a little more research—aided, of course, by Pod C—a solution to the problem could be found?
Or did they drug them all, like they drugged me, making them unaware they were being eliminated? Did they all just walk peacefully outside? Like they were going to a moon viewing or on a field trip?
