Unworthy: Marked to die. Raised to survive. (18 page)

I have so many questions. What do I really know about my world? How much of the history I learned in school is true? The Isolation and the reasons for it; how much of all that was fabricated, and fed to us as a fairy story?

I wonder how much Bastian knows. As Firstborn, I realise already that he has a different picture of the political status of my country from mine. But what about the Festivals, and the germ spreading? A thought stops me in my tracks, then I have to hurry to catch up with Hayes while I mull it over. Bastian came back from his first visit to the City so upset, and was reluctant to enjoy the Festivals after that. Had he discovered the truth about their purpose?

What about my Grandfather? How much did he know? If he was Firstborn he might have known about the Festivals too, but he never discouraged me from attending them. I think back, trying to remember tiny details in nuances and conversations which would have seemed unimportant at the time. The way he spoke, you’d think he looked forward to them as much as I did. Perhaps my enthusiasm was simply a reflection of his own.

It feels like such an immense betrayal. The man I trusted above all others. What else had he been keeping from me for the last seventeen years?

Chapter Twenty-One

At the top of the hill Hayes calls a halt. We’re out in the open and have left the forest behind us. The darkness has a vastness to it, and I sense rather than see that we must be on the edge of the plains.

The sky above is dark, the stars pinpoints of light scattered across the sea of black. He gets a fire going on the ashes of an old one, and since we’ve seen so few people out here, I can’t help wondering if it’s a favourite spot of his.

I’m relieved he wants to stop; I’m so tired I feel like I’ve been walking through a haze. I wrap a blanket round myself and it’s not long before a dreamless sleep takes me.

When I wake, it’s still dark. The first thing I notice is the smell of cooked meat, and I’m so famished that I eat what Hayes passes me without really noticing what it is. Outside the ring of light cast by the flames, I can see nothing. From the void, a warm breeze rustles the tussock grasses.

After tending the fire, Hayes comes to sit near me. In its flickering light I see him gingerly stretch his wounded arm, and begin to peel the bandages back.

“How is it?” I ask.

“Healing well, thanks,” he answers. Almost as an afterthought, he adds, “How are you?”

I start to answer by reflex, but then pause, thinking. The honest answer is that I’m not sure. “I’m… alright. Physically, I mean. But I have a lot of questions.”

He doesn’t look at me while he applies a salve to the cuts, but says, “Okay, what do you want to know?”

I take a deep breath while I mentally flick through them. It’s like taking a tangled ball of wool and trying to tease out the loose end. I swallow. “The Isolation… what really happened?”

He blinks, as if surprised that I want to start with history, but he answers readily enough. “You will have been taught the truth in school; the Polis has never tried to hide how it came to be in a position of power. The Sweeping Sickness began to spread around the globe, so our military protected itself by declaring the Isolation. Any craft that attempted to land on our shores was destroyed, so the Sickness was never allowed to arrive here.”
I let out the breath I was holding. That at least I knew.

“Do you know whether many tried?”

“Actually, yes. By air and by sea, at least fifty-seven craft were neutralised.” Wow. The calm way he says this shocks me. He’s talking about the deaths of hundreds of people, all trying to flee from the blanket of death that was devastating the globe. Refugees.

I switch to something more personal, something I’ve privately denounced all my life. “What about the baby testing, and the marking? What is it for?”

Hayes takes a breath and lets it out. His eyes roam to the fire, as though he is preparing a long answer, then return to me. “In the first fifty years following the Isolation, there was anarchy. Law and order broke down, violence ruled and chaos reigned. As well as the deaths caused by panic, there were innumerable other deaths too. Even though the Sweeping Sickness never arrived, many died due to illness. There was no medical care or sanitation control. When the Polis was finally able to turn their attention to the rest of the country, they realised that they had been presented with an opportunity. The First Council decided to continue the work which nature had started. At first they chose to mark those who fell ill through natural causes. And later, when a semblance of order returned and the birth rate began to rise, they wanted to find a way of identifying the weaker ones early on. Hence the infant testing. The marking is an easy way to identify a person with a weaker immunity, who is basically seen as a waste of medical resources.”

“But when Elyssa mentioned my first exposure, she meant…”

“The nano-patch,” he shrugs simply, almost apologetically. “The germs that babies are given before their scrutiny. If immunity is low and an infection takes hold, symptoms will show within twenty-four hours.”

I stare at him, unmoving for a moment, while I try to process what he’s telling me. “You’re talking about… the vaccine,” I say slowly.

“The vaccine, yes,” he sighs.

They actively encouraged weak infants to die early on. As much as it appals me, I can’t deny that it makes sense. Survivors in a world decimated by disease, making their future generations stronger to resist it. Logical, reasonable… and deeply callous. My mouth is dry and I have to swallow before I can speak.

“It’s not life-giving. It doesn’t equip us for survival. The vaccine is
death
,” I whisper.

“Potentially,” he agrees. “The theory is that parents pass on their immunities to their children. And the first exposure - the
vaccine
- tests that. If it’s all gone well, the children show no symptoms, and the baby is safe and well. As you know, some children don’t pass the test. They are born with weak immune systems, and the first exposure is pretty much the end for them.”

“Within a week they die,” I finish flatly.

It’s a new version of the truth which I thought I knew. What I didn’t know was that the Polis were purposely injecting newborns with diseases.

“Not all, but as you know, after falling ill from the first exposure, survival is unlikely. The few who do survive are outcasts. They’ve been marked, which will always make them unattractive as a mate.”

I nod. He doesn’t have to spell this out for me; it’s clear as crystal. I’m marked so that I’m on my own. And therefore so much less likely to pass on the weaknesses I inherited.

“Why are you telling me all this?” I ask slowly. I have an uncomfortable thought forming.

“You asked. Don’t ask if you’re not prepared for an answer.” Direct. I guess I should have seen that coming.

“No, that’s not what I meant. I mean, all this isn’t common knowledge in the hubs. You must have Polis rules that keep you from allowing us to learn the truth. How come you’re telling me so much?”

He nods, understanding my intent. He winds a fresh bandage in place before answering.

“You’re right. Hubbites are to be kept in the dark at all cost. However, when I was given my orders, the General told me that if you asked me any questions, I was to answer with the truth.”

With most of the population believing in a rosier picture of their world, why would I be afforded this rare courtesy? Why would I be any different?

Hayes continues, “He said that you would need to be told sooner or later.”

“He said that?” I can feel a realisation creeping in. Much as I’d hardly fitted in at Greytown before, I’d certainly never fit in now.

“Those were his words,” he answers, busily packing the First Aid box away.

“I’m not going home, am I?” I whisper, but he simply looks at me steadily, as if to say,
what do you think?

When the sky begins to lighten, I can see that our stop is actually within view of the Polis. It is still many hours’ journey away, but the awareness that the military city is in sight gives me goosebumps. The seat of power for my country. A place where it was decided that hubbites could be secretly injected with killer germs, and where it is believed that the Unworthy should have had the decency to die at birth. I am both, and am heading straight for it.

Hayes is leaning into a tussock, the monitor in his hands. His eyes are not on it though. He looks out over the plains to the city, criss-crossing straight lines of roads and rows of tiny boxes reaching out towards us in a semi-circle, sliced off on the far side by the blue coastline.

I am going to put all my cards on the table. My options are becoming frighteningly slim, and all involve him in some way. I sit down next to him. “Captain Hayes,” I start.

“Alex,” he replies, not looking at me.

He’s side-tracked me. I blink and open my mouth but his name doesn’t form, so I try to get back to where I was. About to admit my fear. “I’m scared. Of going to the Polis.”

He doesn’t look at me. I know that having fears is considered weak to a Polisborn, but to admit them is downright shameful.

“What is it that scares you?” he asks carefully. It’s the kind of thing Grandad might have asked, and I don’t get the feeling that he’s judging me.

“It’s the not knowing, I think. The fact that I don’t know why I’ve been asked for, and what will happen when I get there.” He nods, so I add, “What I’ve learned about the Polis over the last few days doesn’t help me to feel any better about going there.”

“I’ll make contact with the General,” he says. “Maybe he can give us some more information about why you’ve been summoned.”

He positions himself on a rock, with the monitor on his knees. He motions me to stay out of sight, but I remain close by so that I can hear what’s going on.

Hayes gives a password - a jumble of letters and numbers that mean nothing to me - and after a short buzz, I hear a voice come through the monitor. “Captain Hayes, you have something to report?”

“Sir, I have located the hubbite, and we are nearing the city.”

“Good, what is your ETA?”

“Maybe another day. The perimeter… is that something you can assist us with, Sir?” I raise my eyebrows when he mentions another day. We’re looking down on the city from here.

“No, Captain. You are on your own, as I made clear from the start. Have you encountered any difficulties?”

Alex pauses before dismissing everything we have been through. “No, Sir. But it would be easier if you were able to call off the tracker.”

There is a short silence before the reply comes through. “I can’t do that, Captain. There are procedures which must be followed. Who was assigned?”

“Elyssa Greene, Sir. She is rather… determined… to disrupt my mission. Is she expendable?”

“Yes. But I would rather you left no trail. Avoid her, Captain. She is simply doing her job. She sounds as though she is doing it rather well.”

“She is,” Hayes’ mouth is in a tight line, his exasperation only just held in check. “I hope the horses are expendable also, Sir.”

“Yes, Captain. Everything is. Even you are expendable. Only the girl matters.”

There is a pause. I watch Hayes’ face as he processes this. I am more important to the Polis than he is.

“Permission to use Vicki, Sir?”

“Vicki?”

“Corporal (Sergeant, Lieutenant??) Victoria Watson, 42
nd
Division. If you can’t help us to get in….”

The monitor is quiet for a moment. “Tell her the bare minimum. There are many in the City who would be very interested in the girl.”

Hayes takes a deep breath.

“Sir, I need to know… why do you require her? What do you plan to do with her?”

The answer is sharp and to the point. “You
need
to know? Captain, must I remind you of your position? It is your duty to make sure she arrives here safely, nothing more, nothing less. You
need
to know no more than that.”

“Yes, Sir,” Hayes remains calm, looks me straight in the eye and sets his jaw. “Will she be safe in the City, Sir?”

There is a stony silence from the other end. “If that is all, Captain Hayes, this communication is at an end.”

Hayes deflates. “That is all, Sir.”

“All right then. I have one piece of advice for you, Captain. This is a job, a mission. Your impertinence is noted, but I will choose to overlook it due to the highly irregular nature of the task. However, the level of your involvement concerns me. Step back and deliver the package.”

With that, the link is broken and the screen goes blank.

Hayes puts it down, gingerly. I get the feeling he’s trying not to throw it. All his motions are slow and deliberate. He smooths the hair on his head and replaces his cap, letting out a deep breath.

“Who was that?” I ask.

He leans on his steepled fingers for a moment before answering me. “That was the man who gave me my orders. To find you. General Graham Hayes, highly decorated military strategist.”

“General Graham…
Hayes
,” I repeat, slowly.