Idiosyncratic Page 3

  This city had the highest percentage of chance for a child to be adopted by a good family. Not that I had actual statistics or anything, but being on the Orphan Train for most of your life, you hear things.

  A lion meowed at us as we marched past, pressing its blush mane into the boys’ line. Their arms brushed against the docile animal. Its owner, an unclassifiable Federation employee, just gave them a dirty look as if he wanted them to break ranks for his lion.

  The high-rise towers stood over us like marvelous monuments. Some were so tall they merged into the next level of the city. They were exquisitely designed with sharp geometric infrastructures. Most were constructed with sleek metals and accented with gold and brass blooming across glass and chrome.

  We continued our parade down the main street toward the city square. The usual iron auction block came into view as we approached. We would be paraded out here every day at noon for a week. Then those who were not sold would get back on the train for the next city. The circuit took about a year to complete, a trip through all the different cities and towns with a month’s “rest” at the main headquarters, the Prison for Lost Children.

  “The moment you have all been waiting for, the Keeper of the Federation Orphanage Collection Four,” the chairman of this event announced.

  I’d met so many chairmen that I didn't bother trying to keep them straight. This man was a giant with a posh zoot suit. His short, inky hair was greased back in an arrogant quiff to give him several more centimeters of height.

  The mob of people turned their focus toward Door’is. She took confident strides up to the podium, not even shrinking away from the pill-shaped microphone when feedback hissed out as the operators adjusted the controls.

  “Good afternoon, Citizens of The Neo-North American Federation Nickleby Metropolis. We humbly welcome you to our mind-prints.” Door’is hesitated like she always did on the next line after reciting the common greeting. “I am Miss Door’is Dashwood, Keeper of the Federation Orphanage Collection Four.” Dashwood was a Federation-issued name and everyone knew it, which meant everyone knew she was an orphan who had never been adopted. “We have many bright and well-behaved children in need of respectable homes.” Her words were meticulously selected. She didn't want to lie, nor did she desire to hide the obligation of these prospective parents.

  I couldn’t blame the woman for trying, but everyone knew that children were at the mercy of whoever bought them. And the malicious sorts didn't listen to disclaimers. Poor Door’is, always fighting a losing battle, I thought. I didn’t know if I liked her or loathed her for it.

  “Brooc’lyn Knightley,” Door’is introduced as the little girl padded up the steps and onto the block. “She is five years old. Average intellect. Housebroken. Standard genetic makeup.”

  Those in the crowd kept their eyes closed, relying more on what they were picking up in the girl’s mind than whatever Door’is was telling them. It was quiet as people contemplated this poor girl who was belittled by descriptions also used for animals.

  However, there was a man at the edge of the mob who wasn’t closing his eyes. He wore a wrinkled white coat with an equally rumpled blue button-up. His blond hair was graying at his crown, and a bald spot had started to consume his widow’s peak.

  But it wasn’t the man’s open eyes alone that caught my attention. It was the peculiar pet perched on his shoulder that drew all my focus to him. A bunny sat silently, consuming this man’s whole shoulder with its grotesque body and disproportionate wings. It had patchy green fur with tiny stick-like arms and protruding sharp claws. One of its massive ears twitched toward me as if the beast knew I was thinking about it.

  “Ten tributes,” a woman yelled, kicking off the auction with a day’s wage.

  “BERN’E’DETTE DARCY.”

  Hattie took confident strides forward. Her hands were hitched on her hips as she practically posed on the block.

  “She is nine years old. Upper level intelligence. Housebroken. Green genetic makeup.”

  Green meant her parents had paid for the impurities to be filtered out of her DNA, which was probably the only reason the Federation agreed to their child in exchange for debt forgiveness. Auctions for green genetics usually ended in bidding wars—usually—but for some reason Hattie’s auctions were always quiet. For the three years she’d been with us, no one had ever bid on her.

  “Thank you, Bern’e’dette,” Door’is said as the throng stayed eerily quiet.

  Hattie spun and finished with a curtsy. Maybe that was why she never sold, because they sensed the rebel in her.

  “LES’ETTE TILNEY.”

  I took a gulp as I marched up to my spot on the block. No matter how many times I visited this city, it always took the crowd a few seconds to piece it together. Their faces all shifted to confused expressions, but when they opened their eyes, the confusion turned to repulsion.

  “She is nineteen years old. Below average intelligence. Black genetic makeup. But she’s housebroken.” Door’is reconfigured her speech just for me, tacking on my best trait at the end, which I conveniently shared with the pet lion we passed on our way to get here.

  It was quiet like it always was, with a few of the standard snide comments thrown in.

  “Defects like her should be eliminated!” a man jeered.

  “They aren’t a part of our society! No mind-print should equal no citizenship.”

  I kept silent as the insults rolled off me. Their words shouldn’t bother me. Their opinions don’t define me, I recited to myself, trying desperately to believe it.

  “Three tributes!”

  “What?”

  “Someone put money toward the defect?”

  “Oh, I-I have three tributes from Mister...?” Door’is asked, trying not to sound so surprised.

  “Doctor Upton,” the man at the edge of the crowd said. His lips twisted into an unnerving smirk, hinting that the center of this man’s attention was a dangerous place to be.

  “Why do you want to waste your money on a child with a black genetic makeup?” a woman chided him.

  “I like her hair,” Dr. Upton said with a shrug.

  I glanced down at my frizzy, dark brown hair, which hung almost to my hip. If I hacked this off, would he not want to buy me? Panic sat heavily on my chest.

  “Get a grip man,” the Chairman hissed at Dr. Upton, standing up from his seat with the spectators. “What do you see in that defect?”

  “Clearly, something you don’t,” Dr. Upton said.

  “Dr. Upton, your eccentrics have gone too far this time.”

  “I want to purchase the girl.”

  “Purchase! This is an adoption,” the Chairman retorted.

  “Oh, how honorable you all think you are. Whether I purchase the girl to be strapped down as my lab rat or diced up for my bunny’s breakfast is none of your concern.”

  “This man is not fit to take care of a child. His own wife hasn’t been seen in years!” a voice shouted from the crowd.

  Clearly this doctor was the source of many rumors, which the mob started to fire out, emboldened by the sheath the swarm of people gave them. I could only pick out a few of the accusations as they collided into one another.

  “No, his wife is being held captive,” a woman added.

  “He brought over his niece to help hide her.”

  “There must be some sort of regulation to stop him!” the faceless man shouted above all the rest.

  As the Chairman’s face twisted, I knew there wasn’t one. Of course there isn’t one!

  When the mob read his thoughts, they groaned with displeasure. This city didn’t want a defect roaming around, and I surely didn’t want to be this man’s servant, or worse, his experiment.

  “If there are no other bids...then Les’ette Tilney has been officially adopted,” Door’is said with sorrowful eyes.

  The crowd rumbled with outrage, but they were silenced by a shout.

  “NOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

  The word had tu
mbled from my own lips.

  |Six|

  I VAULTED OFF THE BLOCK, which meant desperation had officially driven me to lose my mind.

  I’m less than a year away from turning twenty! Why did I have to be sold now?

  That harsh reality forced the panic to pump faster through my veins. The crowd screamed as if I were a savage animal let loose to devour them.

  “Keep your eyes on her!” a woman yelled from the crowd.

  I pushed through the people, wondering what I was thinking. I slipped between a group of women who wore snoods, two-toned dresses, and ribbons wrapped around their curls, which apparently was a quintessential piece of fashion.

  “Get her!” the Chairman bellowed, his finger pointing me out to the Watchmen at the podium. The mob grabbed at me, but I jerked and twisted out of their grasp.

  “Les’ette!” Hattie screamed from her spot in the line.

  “Les’ette, stop this right now!” Door’is ordered, and for the first time I didn’t obey.

  I dashed toward a public elevator, trying to make it to another level of the city. I reached the iron capsule and searched for the button to trigger its door open. The shimmering emblem of the Federation with the initials NNAF stared back at me mockingly. This elevator was only for the men with the keys, the high-ranking officials authorized to access every floor of the city.

  I pushed off the iron, sprinting out into the street. An automobile honked as it rumbled to a halt, its golden grill mere centimeters from me. The vehicle’s horn blared at me as it hovered idly. I bolted toward the other side of the street.

  A ferocious, feral snarl ricocheted behind me. I glanced over my shoulder to see Dr. Upton’s bunny rocketing toward me. The creature rammed its body into my back, making me stumble. It chortled sadistically as its twiggy arms latched onto my calf. Its beady jade eyes were wide, eager for conquest. Using its tiny wings and clutching my leg, it tried to tip me off balance.

  “Ha ha ha ha,” it cackled.

  What the heck is wrong with this creature? I wondered. Are bunnies always this menacing?

  I hobbled along the sidewalk, trying to kick off the little monster. It finally detached, flying off into the distance. I spun around and knocked right into Dr. Upton. He went to grab me, but I dodged his fingers.

  “Ha ha ha ha!”

  Warm fur collided head-on with my face. I was forced backwards, falling almost in slow motion through the air. The next second my spine crashed into the concrete, forcing the breath from my lungs onto the creature that clung to my face. I gasped furry air and clawed at the miniature monster.

  “Vlady’mir,” Dr. Upton said firmly.

  The bunny wiggled a little, literally rubbing its victory in my face right before it fluttered off. I rolled onto my side, gulping the untainted air.

  Shoes thumped louder as the Chairman, two Watchmen, and Door’is ran over to me. The Chairman took staggered breaths before speaking.

  “Arrest her,” he barked.

  “No!” Door’is cried.

  I'd always thought Door’is had something to prove. I thought she kept us in line because we made her look bad. I thought we were a constant reminder of the hardship she had endured so very long ago, and if she had control over us, she had control over her past. I assumed all these theories because I didn’t care or want to know if they were true. Maybe none of them were, but what I did know for a fact was that Door’is was currently jumping in front of me.

  “Please! Don’t drag her off to the labor camp.” What I did know was that Door’is was pleading for me. “Sir—Dr. Upton, Les’ette has never done anything like this before. Please, finalize the adoption and spare her.” What I did know was that Door’is was begging for me.

  “This girl has misbehaved before.” Dr. Upton’s voice was low, boding evil. His eyes jumped from the bruises on my fingers to Door’is’ face. I hid my hands behind Door’is.

  “Uhhh,” I could hear the panic in her voice. “She just fears the dark unknown, Sir.” What I did know was Door’is was defending me.

  “The Orphan Train is responsible for many dark unknowns,” Dr. Upton guffawed. It was almost a calmer, Idiosyncratic version of Vlady’mir’s cackle. “Your children have plenty of reasons to fear. We”—he flashed a threating smile—“are the givers of those fears. We are the takers of the innocent.”

  Door’is’ hands gripped the sides of my skirt. I realized then that even if some or all of my theories about Door’is were true, it was foolish to think that she didn’t care for us orphans. I never wanted to believe the theory that Door’is was the Keeper of the Federation Orphanage Collection Four, because part of her actually cared about our own well-being.

  Door’is pulled me against her back, creating a physical barricade between Dr. Upton, the Watchmen, and me.

  “All of these children’s innocence has been shattered in one way or another. I hope those who adopt them will cherish the pieces that are left.” Door’is was not speaking as a Keeper, but as an orphan.

  Oh, Door’is, I thought. Why did you have to reveal your true nature now? Why did I have to know these horribly beautiful things about you now? I would hate her if I didn’t care for her so much. Why does my heart get attached to people I don't give it permission to? And why does it inform me of this in the most gut-wrenching ways?

  No, I don’t feel this way about her. I won’t miss her scolds. I won’t miss her demands. I won’t miss her.

  I pulled myself away from Door’is, pushed her hands off me, and dropped to my knees in front of Dr. Upton.

  “I beg your forgiveness. I don’t know what came over me. I will behave and maintain my manners like I have been trained to do. I welcome your adoption,” I said, looking down at the ground.

  “You’re playing games with me, young defect. You think because I can’t hear your mind, you can con me,” Dr. Upton growled.

  “No, Sir.”

  “Doctor Upton,” he corrected.

  “Doctor Upton.”

  He knelt down, grabbing a fistful of my hair, drawing my attention to his eyes. “You’d better not ever play any more games with me.”

  His grip tightened as he pulled a dagger from his boot and hit a button on its handle. Heat spared over my cheek as it radiated off the steel. “Don’t you ever think you are capable of deceiving me.”

  With two rough jerks, he lopped off my hair and tossed it to Vlady’mir. The vile bunny leapt at it, gobbling up my frizzy tendrils greedily.

  I gripped a few strands that stopped just below my earlobe. The tips, still hot from the power-driven dagger, were singed. My heart thrummed icy fright through me. I had a very dreadful feeling about him and whatever place I was to call my “home”.

  “Of course not,” I whispered.

  Dr. Upton’s lips curved into that creepy smile. He slid his gaze over to the Chairman.

  “I’ll take her.”

  The Chairman’s face was a mixture of fear of Dr. Upton and relief at knowing he’d keep me in line.

  “S-s-sold,” he stuttered.

  |Seven|

  THERE WERE NO TEARY goodbyes. No lingering hugs. No pleas or whispered regrets for a more just world. I wasn’t even brought back to the auction block where the two lines of children stood and dozens of conniving pairs of eyes waited. Like everything in my life, it was a quick and clean detachment. Dr. Upton removed three tributes from his coat pocket and signed the proper form. The Chairman conveniently had his tech-paper folded in his pocket. Just a few swipes to find the correct child and that was that.

  Dr. Upton didn’t lead me to an automobile like I’d expected, but to an elevator instead. The capsule opened, and I kept my eyes trained on the sky, fearing Door’is was watching. I observed the thin layer of green mist that collected on the steel ceiling. I didn’t want to glance at her one last time. I didn’t want to see anybody else I was leaving one last time. I was grateful detachment came so easily to me. I didn’t feel a pull to stay. I didn’t feel the pain of loss. All I felt
was...distance.

  The rumble of the closing door felt more final than seeing Dr. Upton sign his name with this finger and hand over my value in small, chrome coins. They were elegantly stamped with the Federation emblem and inscribed with the motto: Achieving our own greatness for the betterment of our future.

  From the corner of my eye, I saw Dr. Upton fiddle with a key at his side. Like the coins, it bore the Federation emblem. Dr. Upton worked for the government, which meant he wasn’t some physician who worked in a hospital helping ill patients. That would be far too noble, I thought. It meant he was a scientist who worked in laboratories.

  His earlier comment about making me a lab rat seemed more like a feasible threat. And the worst part of all of this was that he had every right to do it.

  The capsule was headed upward to an unknown destination for an uncertain future.

  Silly, silly girl, you’re traveling to your doom.

  |Eight|

  WHEN THE CAPSULE DOOR chugged open, I was greeted by a private section of an upper level. Iron spanned out from the door of the elevator. Patches of dirt, grass, and shrubbery were transplanted into the ground to make it appear more natural and less of what it really was: artificial.

  What I can only assume was his house, more like mansion, stood about 500 meters in the distance. I followed Dr. Upton as he strode toward the edifice. Half of it was constructed with wooden panels and large, domed roofs, and the other was brick and iron. A small hallway—rather an enclosed bridge made mostly of glass—divided the differing constructions.

  But beyond Dr. Upton’s house was a mismatched forest, almost jungle-like with all the maroon-colored vines. It was ominous and wild, clearly neglected. Or maybe this was where they allowed nontoxic nature to grow in order to be relocated elsewhere.

  We stepped through the threshold of the wooden side of the house, startling a young lady holding a broom. The girl, maybe a maid who couldn’t have been much older than me, clutched the copper handle harder. She pressed it tightly to her chest as she shifted her gaze toward the floor.