Secret Value of Zero, The (9 page)

He tilted his head in puzzlement and then understood. “We will keep you safe here. I won't force anything onto either one of you. That would hardly be fitting.” He exhaled. “I, however, won't refuse any assistance you give our doctors.”

“Great. When can I leave?”

Sterling glanced at Arya, eyebrows furrowed. “Leave? I know that you don’t want to be involved, but I’m not sure if you understand the situation.” Sterling picked up a handheld. “There are soldiers after you. Not ordinary soldiers, but the Elite Forces.”

He handed her the thin screen.

---------- Begin Message ----------

TO: The First Commander of the Elite Special Forces of the Prosperon Army, Praveen Damore

FROM: The First Special Minister of Science and Technology, Prosperon, Lucio Donner

RE: Target

Praveen,

Please send out your best men and women to capture Meke Lichota, Genex subject #135. She carries vital state secrets. She must be captured before anything leaks out to the public. Cecil Savage, Genex subject #323, has also been captured. Retrieve him if possible.
 

Do not harm subject #135 in any way, she must be alive and unharmed after capture. I authorize you to take extraordinary measures.
 

---------- End Message ----------

A chill spread throughout her body. She returned the handheld to Sterling. She fought to keep her face still. She knew that the institution guards had been hunting them, but the Elite Forces? That was something else.
 

The Elite Forces were the best of the best. Every soldier had scored in the 99th percentile of fitness and at least 97th percentile for strategic skills. Guards and soldiers seemed like toddlers next to the Elite Forces.
 

“So, you see? I can’t let you go off and get captured by Damore’s people,” Sterling said. “Remember, reasonable freedom.”

“I can handle myself,” Meke said.
 

Sterling’s face stiffened. “It’s not all about you, Meke. You know the way here. If I let you roam around Prosperon, you could destroy the revolution. Not just destroy a revolution, but your actions could kill thousands, if not millions of people. What do you think they’ll use you for? I can promise it won’t be knitting.”

Meke stared at Sterling for a long time, willing herself not to sniffle. She never asked for this. All she had wanted, even before the institution, was to be left alone. She closed her eyes and sighed.

“So I’m a prisoner?” Meke asked.

“Of course not. We are protecting you. You are free to go as you please in this complex.” His arm swept the air in front of him. “The doctors would love to meet you. They’re very interested in your case.”

“No, no doctors.” Meke shook her head.

Sterling’s forehead creased. “But—” he sighed, “—okay. I hope you’ll reconsider.
” S
terling rubbed his eyes. “I’m sorry, but I’ll have to get back t work now. It was a pleasure meeting you and do think about it.”

Meke felt tight all over as she stood up and left. Despite all these words of equality and kindness, Sterling still wanted what she didn’t want to give—her strange new sense. It wasn’t even hers, not really. It was something foisted upon her.
 

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Arya pointed out Meke’s bed and things in the room. Before Meke got to the room, Arya had emptied the closet and drawers for her, but Meke had nothing to fill them with.
 

It had been a long negotiation to let Tooth stay in the room. Meke agreed to feed, bathe, and clean Tooth. True to her word, Meke bathed Tooth, but she emerged worse for the wear—her forearms full of scratches and bite marks—Tooth, on the other hand, emerged with glistening fur, albeit with a lowered tail.
 

Tooth decided to forgive Meke and curled up next to her, tucking his head in her lap. Arya peered at the cat. “Are you sure it’s proper to keep creatures like these in our living quarters?”

“Yes, people used to do it all the time.”

“Look what happened to them. These things are riddled with disease.”

Meke shrugged. “Not this cat. Tooth is sanitary.” Meke twirled a tuft of fur around her index finger. She had cleaned him well.

“Okay,” Arya said, but her eyes still looked doubtful. Meke supposed that Arya was like most people. They felt uneasy with things they didn’t understand.

Arya stood up. “Well, I need to go. I have a lot of things to catch up on. It has been almost seven years, after all,” she said, grimacing.

Meke blinked. Arya had become her tutor almost a year after she came to the institution. That meant that she had been pretending all that time. Meke wondered what that had been like, living a lie.
 

Arya paused and turned to face Meke. “Do you remember what Sterling said about the doctors?”

Meke had to think to remember. Sterling had said something about the doctors being interested in her case. These words hadn’t meant much to her at that time, but now these words meant far more. Sterling hadn’t said it outright, but Meke knew that he expected her to offer herself up to the doctors.
 

“I remember,” Meke said.

Arya sighed. “Well, Sterling won’t push this, since he wants to be equal and all, but please think about it. It would,” Arya looked up as if something above would save her, “help us, more than you think.”

“But—I can’t,” Meke shook her head.

“Why not?” It wasn’t a harsh accusation, but a simple question.

Meke held Tooth closer to her. The cat squirmed, but didn’t escape. “I just can’t. Not after what they did.”

Arya stared at the floor. “I suppose I understand. It’s just—well, it might make the difference for us.” She shook her head. “But you need time, I understand that.”

Arya walked out, closing the door behind her. Meke stared at the closed door, not sure if she needed time.
 

MEKE COULD feel the woman outside the room, but had no idea who she was. She glanced over to Arya’s bed, which was empty. The sight of the emptiness relieved Meke. Arya’s presence pressed upon her, demanding things that Meke didn't want to give.
 

She wondered if she could stay in the room all day. The idea comforted her; solitude meant safety.
 

The figure knocked on the door, seemingly oblivious to the fact that Meke couldn’t hear her. Meke could, however, see her knock.
 

With a sigh, Meke opened the door to reveal a round face framed by wavy golden-blond hair. Meke finally knew what a peaches and cream complexion looked like. The woman’s face was slightly too broad and her lips too wide for beauty, but her smile made you forget about classical proportions.

The woman extended her hand, a hand branded with a triangle, an Equi. The hand hung in the air as Meke stared at it. Meke regarded the hand, and decided on politeness rather than prickliness. The woman’s grip felt warm and gentle. The woman held out a small handheld screen to Meke.
 

Hello, my name is Gladys. I will be your guide around the Barracks today.
 

Surely, a guide was a euphemism—she was a guard. Although Meke had to admit that Gladys didn’t look like a guard. Gladys wore cheerful pastels, not the dreary black of the soldiers. She walked with a slow, swaying gait, not the soldier’s harsh and efficient stomps.
 

Still, appearances could deceive.
 

Gladys beamed at her, so Meke had to smile back, and clasped her hands with Meke’s and led her down the hallway. It didn’t seem to matter if Meke wanted to go or not. Gladys was determined to show her every millimeter of the place. Meke resigned herself to a fate as a reluctant tourist in a subterranean maze.
 

Gladys showed her the entire complex in matter of hours. Despite its size, there wasn’t much to see. The kitchen had bowls, cutting boards, a refrigerator and cooking pans, things that Meke had never seen before. Gladys grinned as Meke picked up a shiny utensil with wondering eyes.

They passed a large room filled with soil and odd lights. Gladys explained that the revolutionaries were trying to learn how to grow crops as their forebears had done. Meke saw reedy poles with green vines with small yellow-red bulbs hanging off the vines. Tomatoes.
 

Gladys lingered the longest at the nursery. Children of all ages, from newborn to sixteen, filled the room. The oldest ones sat back in chairs, looking bored as the youngest ones ran around. Two Equi women kept watch over the children, but their eyes couldn't be everywhere. A few slaps and shoves would happen as the women looked away.
 

The children arrived at the same place from many different paths. Some were children of the soldiers. Some were abandoned. Some were orphans of the revolution.
 

One child caught Meke’s eye. He bounced around the room, tugging at everyone’s sleeves, his cheek pink with excitement. A Zero shone from his hand, but he paid it no attention.

Who’s that?
Meke pointed at the brown-haired boy.

That’s Claude. He’s one of my favorites. He’s already ahead of me in reading and writing.

 
Gladys pressed the keys slowly, with the pink tip of her tongue sticking out as she searched for the key that she wanted. Meke had learned the keyboard easily. After one session, her thumbs flew across the keyboard.
 

Meke looked at Claude. He was carefully placing blocks atop one another, forming a wobbly tower.

He’s a Zero, why are you teaching him how to read and write?
Meke typed.
 

Zeroes weren’t allowed to learn how to read and write. Equis received the most rudimentary lessons in reading and writing, just enough for them to perform menial labor.
 

Gladys’ mouth moved as she read each word. Meke wondered why she did that.
 

But you can read and write too.

Meke frowned. She did know how to read and write, not just knew, but surrounded herself with words. She had mastered a language she was never supposed to know. Her mother had snuck books to her, risking imprisonment, and Meke’s reading skills had outstripped both of her parents’. Her mother’s nose would wrinkle as she looked at the books, but she gave them to Meke anyway. Doctor Ball continued the tradition of giving her books.

Gladys’ smile grew as she watched the children play but her eyes grew shiner. She would open her mouth every few minutes to scold a child for some misdeed. After a quick chastening, Gladys would explain things in such a way that the child ran off in glee, not despair.
 

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Days passed, each one the same as the one before it. Meke’s feet and hands twitched for something to do. The only thing that seemed possible was to do what Arya and Sterling wanted her to do: return to the doctor’s office. She couldn’t do that, but what else could she do?

Meke had to laugh. When she had dreamt of her time outside of the institution, she had imagined herself doing something great. Something that would make others forget that empty circle on her hands. Yet, here she sat, doing nothing.

Every time Gladys tapped on the screen, Meke gritted her teeth as the seconds ticked by. By the third day, Meke was on the verge of exploding. Meke wanted to grab the handheld and fling it somewhere as Gladys' short wavering fingers hovered over the keys. Immediately, guilt flooded her. Gladys had been nothing but kind to her, explaining and describing the Barracks for Meke, albeit slowly. Meke decided that something had to be done.

Gladys, do you want to learn sign language?
Meke asked.

Her warm hazel eyes lit up then dimmed.
Is it hard? I’m no good with language.
 

No, it’s easy
, Meke lied. Sign language, like any other language, took time and effort to learn. Still, this would occupy Meke, give her something to think about other than her uselessness.

Teaching proved harder than Meke had expected. Meke never taught anyone anything before. Still, it had the desired effect. Meke’s mind focused on teaching, not on the walls closing in on her. Meke decided to start simple: the alphabet. Each day, Meke forced Gladys to spell everything that she saw: t-a-b-l-e, p-l-a-t-e. Gladys’ fingers resisted the new shapes, but eventually they acquiesced. She would forget the differences between k’s and p’s, the m’s and n’s. But Gladys kept practicing.

Sometimes, some of the soldiers would sit, watching Gladys’ diligent efforts. Some even joined, although these soldiers were the exception, not the rule. Most soldiers either stared or avoided them completely. Meke forced herself to ignore them, but she couldn't. She could always feel them with her sense. Whenever someone laughed as they looked at her signing, Meke’s cheeks burned with humiliation and anger.
 

Sometimes Meke hated her language. This language forced her to display her brand to the world. To hide her zero would be silencing herself.
 

Gladys eventually graduated to signs. With halting progress, Gladys and Meke could carry out entire conversations, if halting and simple. Meke tried to quash her annoyance when she slowed her own signs to a near-standstill for Gladys’ watchful but uncomprehending eyes. Meke reminded herself that Gladys was a newborn to the world of signing as her fingers protested the dawdling pace. Sometimes her reminders worked, sometimes they didn’t.
 

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Sometimes when Gladys stayed at the nursery or the plant room, Meke wandered the Barracks. The nursery and plant room proved too tedious for Meke. She needed to move. No matter what route she took in the labyrinth, she ended up in the same place: the training room. She would stand at the door, watching.
 

Some soldiers threw daggers at targets on the wall. Others braced their crossbows on their shoulders and aimed. Some men and women faced each other, swords raised. They would lunge, jab, parry and thrust with their swords.