Defect - By Ryann Kerekes Page 0,3
me, I can’t bring myself to focus on what’s being said.
I lie still with my eyes closed, drawing shallow breaths. A man’s voice barks an order, and footsteps retreat into the distance.
I hear voices again, only this time it sounds like there are many more. I realize if they think I’m still asleep, they’ll talk freely in front of me. I keep my eyes closed and force myself to concentrate on the voices until they come into focus.
“She failed the mindscan.”
I wonder what it means to fail the mindscan. I had never heard it put that way before. Did it mean I was a Reject?
“Do it again,” an unfamiliar male voice says.
“We did sir, on the highest setting.” The woman speaks this time.
“Her brain activity never dropped. Her heart rate and breaths per minute increased only slightly, and even then, she was able to get them under control,” the man who stuck me with the needle says nervously.
Their eyes prick my skin. I remain perfectly still, afraid to do the wrong thing, afraid I somehow already have.
“She’s Britta Sterling’s daughter.” The words hang in the air. What does my mom have to do with this? Papers rustle, and I imagine it’s my file changing hands.
No one answers. My knees begin to shake, and my mouth goes completely dry. I feel a needle at my arm again, and I gasp when the rush of cool liquid hits my blood stream. If the first injection was to put me to sleep, this one is clearly designed to wake me up. My eyes blink open slowly against the light that seems to have grown brighter above me.
“Eve, can you hear me?” the woman asks.
I turn my head toward her voice and try to focus. Spots dance in front of my eyes. I try to speak, the word yes forming in my throat, but when I open my mouth, only a small moan escapes my lips. I feel like I’ve been out much longer than the few minutes it seemed.
My eyes adjust, and I scan the bodies standing over me. There are five people in the room now. The original woman and man who administered the scan are now joined by an older man in a crisp military uniform, a plump woman in a gray smock dress and a guy only a couple of years older than me, wearing camouflage pants tucked into boots and a T-shirt stretched tightly across his frame. I am being watched. The effect is daunting.
They all wait for me to do or say something. I keep my face completely composed and stare right back at them, unblinking. The woman takes my arm and pulls me up so I’m sitting on the edge of the table. I swing my legs over the side, and when I’m sure I’ll be steady on my feet, I drop down until my bare feet touch the floor. Now that I’m standing in front of them, I feel small, inconsequential. I can sense they’re deciding what to do with me. Determining my fate.
My gown gapes open in the front, showing everything – or lack thereof – but rather than pulling it closed, I stand there defiantly.
The older man in the military uniform – O’Donovan, as the badge on his chest says – looks me over the way a man looks at a woman. I fight the urge to shield myself and instead stare straight ahead. They can only take what you give them. And I will not give them the satisfaction of having any more power over me than they already do.
The plump lady steps forward. She opens the gown farther and pokes at my ribs. “Nothing to her, so you won’t want her, Will,” she says to the guy about my age. While the rest of their eyes harden and look me over for weaknesses, Will’s eyes are locked on mine, looking troubled. I watch him for too long, until the lady pokes a finger at me again. “You speak?”
I swallow and look away from Will. “I do.” I’m surprised by how composed my voice sounds. My insides are flipping around like fish trapped on the bottom of a boat. “Am I a Reject?” My voice rises despite my best attempt to keep calm, rational.
The woman who administered the test shifts her weight. “There are a tiny percentage of people whose mindscans don’t work properly. You are not a Reject, but you also cannot be declared as passing.”
“What happens now?”
She looks down, as though