Secret Value of Zero, The (2 page)

Most of the time, Meke didn’t feel sick. She didn't sniffle, cough, sneeze or shiver. In fact, she felt strong and steady. The sickness wormed somewhere deep and unseen in her. Yet, she couldn’t feel it, not until now.
 

She remembered when she came to the institution eight years ago. Doctor Ball had greeted her with a smile and a warm pat on her back. As she stood in front of the blank white box of the institution, Meke had been nonplussed and on the verge of tears. Only a few days prior, five men had burst into her and her mother’s apartment. In their somber gray uniforms they pointed at Meke, their lips moving in undecipherable sounds. Meke crouched in a corner, cowed by the way that the men shoved her mother. The squares shone from the men’s hands, outranking the triangles on Meke’s mother hand and the zero on Meke’s hands.
 

A man with dark eyebrows and scruffy chin pinned her mother on the wall, easily containing her thrashing body. Another man—Meke couldn’t remember his face—grabbed Meke around the waist and hauled her away. These alien hands had snapped Meke out of her frozen state, but it was too late. A ten-year-old girl was no match for a full-grown, trained Square.
 

“Don’t believe them!” her mother had signed, her arms and hands pushing past the man’s hold.
 

Meke had no idea what her mother had meant. Eight years later, she still wondered.

The man had dumped her into a truck, which immediately rumbled to life. Meke tried to scramble away, but there was always a hand pulling her back. Once Meke had given up on escape, she sat still with the truck bed vibrating under her, surrounded by strangers. Tears flowed wet and hot down her face, but nobody looked at her. Once her tears had run dry, Meke hugged herself and hoped that her mother was okay.

After several days of stop-and-go driving, her mouth fell open as she took in the new world around her: A simple white box with large windows nestled on the side of the mountain. The mountains towered over the building, their snowy peaks echoing the building’s whiteness. A man stood in front of the building, dwarfed by its size. That man called himself Doctor Ball.

Meke tore her eyes away from her surroundings and looked at Doctor Ball. She cringed as soon as she saw the stars on his hands. The only Star that she had met passed her by on the street and spat at her. The spittle had felt warn and humiliating on her cheek. Meke stared at the man, wide-eyed, waiting for an upraised hand or a look full of hatred.

“Meke, I’m so glad to see you. I’m Doctor Ball.” His hands and fingers fumbled, distorting the signs, but she understood him. His fingers resisted the foreign shapes as if he had just learned them. Her ten-year-old mind spent no time pondering this. Meke sighed at seeing someone—
anyone
—who knew her language. But she stopped herself. The words,
do not believe them
bounced around in her mind. Surely, her mother couldn’t be wrong. Yet, this man was being so kind.

“Why am I here?” Meke asked.

Doctor Ball’s eyes widened. “Did they not tell you?” He shook his head at the other men who had brought her, then sat on his heels, his face level with Meke’s face. “You’re sick. There’s a disease spreading in Prosperon. You tested positive and we brought you here to help you get better.”

Meke’s nose wrinkled. “I don’t feel sick,” she said.

Doctor Ball chuckled. “Of course you don’t! It’s a strange sickness—nobody feels it until it’s in its final stages.”

“What about my mom?” Meke held up her hand to her chin, the sign for mother.

“You don’t want her to get sick, do you?” Meke shook her head, her hair whipping her neck. “You have to stay away from her until you get better.”

Meke blinked, keeping her tears at bay. Doctor Ball’s eyes held only kindness and goodness. She remembered all these docs on television. They said that the Stars always spoke the truth, always had Prosperon’s best interest at heart.
 

“Will I get better?” Meke signed, trying to keep her breathing even.

The edges of Doctor Ball’s eyes crinkled as he smiled. “You will if you’re a good girl and cooperate.” He extended his hand to her. Meke stared at the hand before putting her trembling hand into his.
 

Later, she learned that this sickness only struck people like her—the Zeroes. She had thought it odd that a sickness would only prey upon Zeroes, but she was not a Star. It made a twisted kind of sense. According to Prosperon canon, the Zeroes were the weakest and least fit of them all, so they would be the first victims of any sickness spreading through the nation.
 

One day, a cure would come and Meke would be cured. Her hand shook a bit, but she inhaled. There was no point thinking about the sickness that she could not change. Just as there had been no point in thinking about the empty circles on her hands.
 

Eight years later, after cooperating and not complaining about the weekly treatments, Meke still hoped for a cure. She dreamed of the day that she would be able to go back into the world. But, with her recent hallucinations and rashes, that hope was fading away.
 

ARYA’S HEAD tilted up when Meke burst into the room and flopped into a chair that squeaked its protest. Arya’s delicate eyebrows went up and her lips curved up into a small smile. “Quite an entrance.”
 

A five-cornered pentagon shone on Arya’s hands. She was a Fiver, quite a few steps above Meke.
 

Meke sighed and stretched her arms, shaking off their weariness. “I’m just tired after the exercise session. I did one hundred pushups.” Meke was proud of it. She didn't care if Arya thought her silly. The pushups had taken her mind off everything, including these phantom vibrations in her head.

“Why would you want to do one hundred pushups?” Arya asked.
 

Fivers, Stars, Squares and Equis all thought that Zeroes couldn’t do anything, let alone do one hundred pushups. Meke took the small pleasure of proving them wrong whenever she could. Arya would never understand that.
 

“I needed to.” Meke didn’t want to say anything more.

Puzzlement flitted over Arya’s fine-boned, caramel-skinned face. Then Arya decided not to say anything and just nodded as if she understood. Despite Arya’s Fiver status, she was all right. Arya explained things more than she needed to. Whenever Meke had questions, Arya would answer them, never calling her stupid or a Zero.
 

Arya tapped the table with her palm, the vibrations making Meke glance up. “Well, let’s proceed to our lesson. Today, we’ll talk about the Occupation period,” Arya said.
 

Prosperon hadn’t always been Prosperon. It was a half of the shattered remains of a continent called North America, which had faced off with the Foreign Powers and lost. North America had paid the price for losing by enduring hordes of foreign soldiers during the Occupation. During the Occupation, the Foreign Powers controlled everything and split the country in half. One half became Prosperon; the other half became The States.
 

The two halves couldn’t have been more different. Prosperon adopted a smooth, efficient government that allocated resources based on the maximum expected return. The States fell into chaos, fragmenting into small factions fighting for control over small strips of land. Some people from The States tried to sneak into Prosperon, but the soldiers always got them. Nobody ever tried to sneak from Prosperon into The States.

Another reminder of the Occupation was the Foreign Power’s ban on modern weapons. Nobody, nor any government in either Prosperon or The States, could touch any weapon that used gunpowder or nuclear reactors. Prosperon and The States regressed to swords, daggers, axes and crossbows as their tools of war.
 

Arya’s hands halted mid-air as she explained how Prosperon had flourished where The States had floundered. Meke gave Arya a questioning stare and then understood when Arya took out a handheld from her pocket. Meke frowned. This handheld was different from the one that Arya usually used. This handheld looked worn and chipped around the edges. Hardly the kind of thing that a Prosperon employee used.
 

Arya raised the handheld to her mouth and started speaking. After a few moments, Arya was shaking her head as she spoke. Her forehead creased and the lines around her mouth deepened. Meke chewed on her lip, hoping that Arya would tell her what had happened.

Then Arya nodded and slowly put down the handheld. Her dark eyes flickered to Meke. “Meke, do you feel sick?” she asked.

Meke looked at her hands and legs. Her hands were as they always were: long, smooth and strong. Meke towered above most women, and met many men at eye-level. Even Arya was a head shorter than Meke. Usually Meke didn’t have a problem jogging two kilometers twice a week. “Well, no. I don’t really feel sick but I know I am.”

With a careful gaze, Arya’s eyes swept across Meke’s solid shoulders. “Don’t you think that’s odd?”

Meke frowned. “Well, sure, I guess. But Doctor Ball said that the sickness affects different people differently. I guess mine moves slowly.”

“What about Amelia? And Tino?”

Meke’s hands clenched.
 

Amelia and Tino had been Meke’s friends. Meke preferred not to remember their names, let alone their faces. Amelia, with her long red hair, had sauntered into Meke’s life when Meke was twelve. Amelia used the same language—the language of hands and expressions—as Meke. Their empty circles glittered in the dark as they chatted into the night. Each day, Amelia had grown grayer and paler, withering away. Her luxurious red hair turned into brittle orange straw. So much of her hair had fallen out that Meke could see patches of Amelia’s bare scalp. One day, Amelia stopped showing up. Doctor Ball had patted her back, “The sickness took her,” he said.

Tino had been the same story retold. He came to the institution when Meke had been fourteen. His tall, thin frame more than matched her own rapidly growing body. Their friendship had edged on something else, something more intense, a few kisses sneaked in here and there, when he disappeared. Doctor Ball had told her once again, that the sickness had taken him. After that, Meke had no more friends among the Zeroes. Even the deaf ones had been starved and sick when they came, so they didn’t last long. Meke couldn’t bear to watch them fade away so she looked away.

“What about them?” Meke scowled at Arya, trying to push away the memories.

Arya closed her eyes and inhaled. “They were fine before they came, weren’t they? This place isn’t a hospital for sick Zeroes. This place,” she glanced about, “is a deathtrap. These injections are experiments, not cures.”

“Experiments?” Meke understood the word well enough, but their meaning eluded her.

“Yes, experiments. You’re not sick. They’re experimenting on you for their own ends. That’s why you don’t feel sick except after the injections,” Arya said. “I’m sorry.”

The dots slowly connected in Meke’s mind. It was a begrudging, grinding process. “Doctor Ball lied to me?” The idea seemed outrageous. Meke shook her head. “No, it’s not possible. He’s kind to me, despite everything.”

Arya inclined her head toward Meke. “You don’t look sick, Meke. You never have. Do you think a sick person can do one hundred pushups? Don’t believe them. You’ll be safe with us.”

The phrase ricocheted in her overheating brain, her mother’s words.
Don’t believe them
.
 

An explosion of a prickling sensation entered her brain. Meke clutched her head.

Arya’s eyes flew to the door. “There’s someone there. I have to leave,” Arya grimaced. “I wish I had more time to explain this, but there isn’t.” Meke blinked. Everything was happening too fast. She needed time. “Some people are coming tonight. We’ll be ready to get you out and get you somewhere safe.” Arya rose, brushing any specks of dust that dared contaminate her dress. She looked down to Meke and sighed. “This is for the best, you know. We’ll get you away.”
 

Before Meke had a chance to ask who “we” was, Arya looked at the door. “They’re knocking now. I need to leave.” Arya left, her long dress swishing behind her.
 

Brody stood behind the open door, tapping his foot. The constant up-and-down motion snapped Meke out of her stupor.
 

She knew Arya. She trusted Arya. Still, this idea seemed too outrageous to leave unexplained. There were too many missing pieces. Why would they do this? Was it even true?
 

Meke realized that someone was lying to her: Arya or Doctor Ball.
 

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Meke walked up to Brody and reached for him, but he flinched before she touched him. “I need to go see Doctor Ball,” she formed the words carefully, a silent pantomime of speech.

Brody stared at her lips, his eyes uncomprehending. Meke clenched her fists. She couldn’t be sure if he genuinely didn’t understand or being purposefully obtuse. Some people didn’t want to understand others.

“Doctor Ball,” Meke repeated, feeling simple and stupid.
 

Understanding filled Brody’s face and he nodded. As they navigated the institution’s stairs and corridors, Meke’s thoughts followed the same haphazard path. She didn’t know which answer she wanted to hear. Whether a deadly sickness infested her body or her world had been a lie, she lost either way.
 

When they arrived at Doctor Ball’s office, Meke stood there, unsure of her next words. After a painful swallow, Meke wondered if she truly wanted to know the answer, whether the truth was better than lies. At least truth told you where you stood. Lies only helped you pretend.
 

With a large exhale, Meke walked into Doctor Ball’s office. He was sitting at his desk, sifting through pieces of paper. He looked up and blinked blearily. “Meke! What are you doing here?” His eyebrows furrowed. “Are you having more symptoms?”

Meke stood there momentarily, trying to find the words to begin. After staring at it for a few moments, she sat in the large examining room chair, feeling its familiar grooves and ridges. “Am I really sick?” she asked, drawing the question mark in the air.