ROLO OPENED THE DOOR TO Dr. Elliot’s office and shoved Martyr forward. “In you go, boy.”
Martyr fought to keep his balance as he entered the chilled lab.
Dr. Elliot, the only doctor on the Farm who conducted health examinations, looked up from his desk, a wide smile stretching across his narrow face. His small, dark eyes glittered over a long, oily nose. He stood and glided to the counter.
Martyr couldn’t help but stare every time Dr. Elliot walked, amazed he was able to move at all. The man looked like the stick figures Baby drew in art class: tall and very thin.
“You know the drill. Clothes off. Then up on the table.” Dr. Elliot always sounded like he was pinching his nose when he spoke. He opened an upper cupboard, clinking glass vials together as he searched for something. “Fasten him tight today, Rolo.”
As he did each time he visited Dr. Elliot for a check-up, Martyr removed his shirt and pants, draped them over a chair sitting beside the door, then lay back on the paper-covered exam table. Within seconds Rolo strapped his wrist into the restraint, pulling the buckles until they pinched. Martyr barely noticed the pain as he watched Dr. Elliot. Bad vials were kept in that cupboard. Things that made Jasons sick. What was the doctor looking for? This was to be an exam, not marks.
Rolo hooked the last restraint on Martyr’s leg and left. Once the door clicked shut, an eerie silence blanketed the lab. Dr. Elliot still busied himself at the cupboard.
Martyr swallowed. He shifted slightly and the hairs on his right calf pulled. He looked down and adjusted his leg as much as was possible within Rolo’s handiwork. When he straightened, Dr. Elliot stood over him. Martyr jolted, heart thudding in his chest.
Dr. Elliot’s wide smile returned. “And how are we feeling today?”
“Fine.”
“Eighteen days now.”
Two-and-a-half weeks until expiration. Martyr stared at his feet, which hung off the end of the table. He, like most boys in Section Five, had long ago grown too tall to fit on it comfortably.
“I’ve been thinking.” Dr. Elliot held Martyr’s left eye open with his thumb and shined a light into it, then did the same to his right eye. “What will happen to Baby when you’re not here to protect him?”
Martyr squeezed his hands into fists.
Dr. Elliot patted Martyr’s head, his rubber glove scratching against the prickly stubs of hair that would be shaved off tomorrow during the J:3s weekly grooming. “Don’t you worry about Baby,” Dr. Elliot said. “I promise to take good care of him.”
A wave of heat flashed over Martyr, and he clenched every muscle to remain calm. Dr. Elliot liked to taunt; he would not get the satisfaction of a reaction today.
As if nothing had occurred, Dr. Elliot commenced with his tests, scribbling information onto his chart after each step. Martyr had been through it hundreds of times over the years: Blood pressure, temperature, then a look in Martyr’s eyes, ears, and throat. Blood drawn from his arm. Poking and prodding all over his body. Listening to his heart and lungs.
At the end of the exam, Dr. Elliot would call Rolo to escort Martyr to the bathroom, where Martyr would have to urinate in a cup. Dr. Elliot claimed it was all to make sure he stayed healthy, but Martyr wondered if there was another reason.
Someone spoke in a raised voice just outside the closed door. “You know I’m worth more than that.” Dr. Max’s voice. Muffled, but angry. “Why not give me top clearance?”
“I see no reason to change things.” Dr. Kane, cool and calm.
“I’ve sacrificed more than the others. I deserve to be involved at Camp Ragnar.”
Martyr looked at Dr. Elliot, who stood motionless, staring at the closed door. What had Dr. Max sacrificed? And why was he so upset?
“You’re welcome to work at Gunnolf full time, Dr. Jordan,” Dr. Kane said. “I don’t know why you refuse. Your bedside manner with the surrogates is matchless.”
Martyr held his breath, straining to hear Dr. Max’s response, hoping his favorite doctor would not leave Jason Farms to work at any other facility.
“We’ve been over this,” Dr. Max said. “Deborah and I deserve more—”
“Then we have nothing further to discuss.” The door handle lowered, and the door opened a crack, increasing the volume of Dr. Kane’s voice. “Now if you’ll excuse me, Dr. Elliot is waiting.”
Dr. Max’s voice lowered. “At least let me see the shared consciousness data. Some of the specimens are mine. I’ve got a right to—”
“Good day, Dr. Jordan.”
The door to Dr. Elliot’s office opened completely, and Dr. Kane swept in, quickly shutting the door behind him. He studied Martyr. “How is he?”
“Perfect, as usual,” Dr. Elliot said. He glanced at the lab’s entrance. “Is there a problem I should know about?”
Dr. Kane followed Dr. Elliot’s gaze. “Dr. Jordan wants top clearance.”
“Why not give it? His expertise would be an asset to the project.”
“He never offers expertise, only asks questions. Demands to see the data and the formulas. He’s too ambitious.” Dr. Kane turned his eyes back on Martyr. “We’re on schedule?”
“Of course.” Dr. Elliot lowered his gangly body into the chair behind his desk and read from Martyr’s chart. “Friday the twenty-eighth. We’ll put him under, transport him to Gunnolf that night, and you can meet us there in the morning.”
Put him under. Transport him. They spoke of Martyr’s death as if it was a mundane routine, like sweeping the floor or making a bed. Martyr supposed it was that way for them. For people who had approval to go outside. But why couldn’t they wait until he left to talk about it?
“And how are you feeling?” Dr. Elliot asked Dr. Kane.
“Nauseous. I haven’t eaten yet today.”
Martyr scrutinized Dr. Kane’s appearance. His tall and muscular body seemed as forbidding as ever, but his pale face and red eyes ringed with creases hinted all was not well.
“You need to eat,” Dr. Elliot said, “whether you’re hungry or not.”
“I will.” Dr. Kane slumped onto the chair by the door, sitting on Martyr’s clothes. “I need to hire a personal assistant, but the idea of screening someone …”
“Two-and-a-half weeks and you’ll be good as new. You won’t need an assistant.”
Dr. Kane rubbed his face, sighed, then stood and walked to Martyr’s side, his commanding presence returning with each step. “Well, J:3:3, are you ready to serve your purpose?”
Martyr looked away from Dr. Kane’s bloodshot eyes. “Yes.” But his voice cracked, betraying his cowardice.
Dr. Kane patted Martyr’s shoulder. “It will be painless, I assure you.” He walked to the door and pulled it open. “Dr. Elliot, let me know if there are any complications.”
“Of course.”
When the door closed behind Dr. Kane, Dr. Elliot stood and walked to the opposite side of his desk. He perched on the front edge, crossed his ankles and arms, and fixed his beady eyes on Martyr. “You remind me of my older brother.”
Martyr glanced away and swallowed. Now things would get weird, like they often did in Dr. Elliot’s lab once the testing was complete. Martyr usually distracted his thoughts from Dr. Elliot’s ranting, but all he could think of today were the conversations he’d just overheard.
“Eighteen days now.”
“You’re welcome to work at Gunnolf full time, Dr. Jordan.”
“Friday the twenty-eighth. We’ll put him under, transport him to Gunnolf that night—”
“Richard did everything right.” Dr. Elliot puffed out a short breath. “I don’t think he ever got in trouble once, not even a lecture. It wasn’t normal.”
“I get into trouble,” Martyr said.
Dr. Elliot tipped back his head and chuckled, an almost silent, wheezing sound. “Only because you play the hero. If you simply minded your own business, you’d never get marks at all.”
But Martyr didn’t mind marks if it meant keeping Baby and Hummer from getting hurt. He glanced away from Dr. Elliot’s penetrating gaze and noticed a small vial sitting on the counter. A chill washed over him—the vial hadn’t been there when Martyr first entered. Dr. Elliot must have removed it from the cupboard while Rolo hooked Martyr’s restraints.
A smile swelled under Dr. Elliot’s greasy nose. “Always so sharp, you are.” He strode to the counter and held up the vial, which was filled with yellow fluid. “This is for an LD:50 test. Do you know what that means?”
“A lethal dose-fifty test determines the amount of substance required to kill fifty percent of the test subjects used in a study. I’ve been documenting the side effects of EEZ for the provider.”
Martyr worked to keep his panic at bay. The doctors often tested different vials on the Jasons as a consequence of misbehavior and a way to conduct the research necessary to save the lives of those who lived outside. But exams were not meant for marks. Surely Dr. Elliot wouldn’t do testing on him now, especially when Dr. Kane was concerned about Martyr’s health.
Yet Dr. Elliot often did things that Martyr did not understand.
The doctor poked a needle into the vial and filled the syringe. As he stepped toward Martyr, he tapped the barrel of the syringe with his index finger. “One cc of EEZ has been enough to make some of the boys ill for a week. I’m sure you’ve seen them in the bathroom, puking violently into the toilets after marks with me. I’ve been saving a larger dose for someone special: Baby.”
Martyr pulled against the restraints.
“I want you to have a small taste of what your little friend will experience once you’re dead. My farewell gift to you.”
Dr. Elliot clamped a hand down on Martyr’s forearm. The needle stung as it pierced his skin, and Martyr looked away while the yellow liquid emptied into his veins. He waited for the pain, but nothing seemed to be happening.
Dr. Elliot tossed the syringe onto the counter and pulled off his rubber gloves, then threw them into the trash can and pressed the intercom button on his phone. “Send Rolo up. I’m all done in here.”
It wasn’t until Rolo steered Martyr out into the hall that Martyr felt his chest itch, then his arms. He scratched, but the sensation did not abate. Martyr slowed to scratch harder, leaving long red marks on his arms.
Rolo prodded him in the back with his stick. “Keep moving. Into Dr. Goyer’s office.”
Martyr’s head snapped around. “Dr. Goyer?”
“You still have two marks to serve with him.” Rolo smacked his stick against his palm.
Martyr moved on, not wanting to be struck. As he walked, his heart suddenly thudded irregularly. His chest burned. He tensed and willed himself to reach Dr. Goyer’s office.
This day continued to get stranger. Marks were usually done daily until completed, so when a week had passed from the necktie incident and he’d not been escorted to Dr. Goyer’s lab, Martyr had assumed the doctor had decided not to work at the Farm, and that his marks had been forgotten.
But Dr. Goyer was sitting behind his desk when Rolo steered Martyr inside and strapped him to the exam table.
As soon as Rolo left, another burning throb singed Martyr’s insides. He gasped and clenched his muscles against the pain. His clammy back stuck to the thin paper sheet that lined the exam table and he shivered, wishing he could itch or fold his arms to hold himself together.
Dr. Goyer’s chubby face rested in one hand, elbow propped on his desk. “Hello, Martyr. How are you today?”
“I …” Martyr winced, gritting his teeth at the burn that now radiated through him like pronged fire.
Dr. Goyer straightened. “Are you all right?”
Fluid rose in Martyr’s throat and he gagged, trying to hold it back. His body shook, rustling the paper sheet beneath him.
Dr. Goyer leapt to his feet and scurried to the exam table. He laid his hand on Martyr’s head and frowned.
Martyr vomited. He twisted his head to the side to get the stuff out of his mouth. Dr. Goyer jumped back, then lunged forward and fumbled with the restraint buckle on Martyr’s left wrist. Once he freed both arms and helped Martyr to a sitting position, Dr. Goyer ran to open the cupboard under the sink. He returned with a plastic tub and sat it on Martyr’s lap.
“I’m calling Dr. Elliot.”
Martyr shook his head and began to speak, but Dr. Goyer had already turned away.
The doctor spoke into the intercom. “I need Dr. Elliot in here right away. Martyr is sick.”
But Martyr felt somewhat better now. All but the burning itch and the taste in his mouth had vanished. He swiped his wrist across his mouth and scraped his tongue with his teeth. “Could I have some water?”
“Of course.” Dr. Goyer scurried to the sink and returned with a tiny paper cup.
Martyr sucked the liquid into his mouth, swished it around, then spit into the tub Dr. Goyer had brought. He held out the cup. “More?”
As the word left his lips, the door burst open. Dr. Kane rushed in, followed by Dr. Elliot.
“What’s happened to him? Why is he loose?” Dr. Kane demanded.
Dr. Goyer removed the tub from Martyr’s lap. “He threw up and was practically convulsing. I didn’t want him to drown in his own vomit.”
Dr. Elliot pushed Dr. Goyer aside. “There’s a bug going around.” He grabbed Martyr’s head and tipped it back, shining his little light into Martyr’s eyes again.
Martyr wrenched away then grabbed Dr. Elliot’s throat. “If you give that to Baby, I’ll …” But there was nothing Martyr could do once he was dead, so he squeezed harder, pouring his hate and frustration into his hands.
“J:3:3, no!” Dr. Kane pulled at Martyr’s fingers. “Help me get him off!”
Dr. Goyer shoved the tub on the counter and pried at Martyr’s other hand until they managed to free Dr. Elliot.
Martyr breathed through his nose, fast and deep. “He gave me something called EEZ. He says he’s going to give a lot of it to Baby after I’m gone. Please, Dr. Goyer, you have to help Baby. Don’t let them kill him early. Baby wants to serve his purpose too. He has every right.”
Dr. Kane’s chest swelled. “You gave him what?”
“He doesn’t know what he’s saying,” Dr. Elliot said. “I took a routine blood sample, that’s all.”
“No! He said he wanted me to know what Baby would feel when he gave it to him. He said—” Another wave of nausea seized Martyr’s stomach and he retched into the tub.
When he looked up, Dr. Kane had rounded on Dr. Elliot. “Are you a fool? Why him? Why now?”
“I didn’t do anything to your precious candidate.”
“J:3:3 does not lie.”
Dr. Elliot pressed his thin lips together then shrugged. “I didn’t give him enough to do any damage.”
Dr. Kane’s face reddened. “This is insubordination. How could you be so rash? Do you see me? I’m barely standing, the pain is so fierce. I can’t afford the risk of your torturous hobbies.”
“Oh, be reasonable. Do you honestly think I would jeopardize the plan? I’ve already tested this sample on eleven subjects. I know my limits. The adverse drug reactions are strictly flu-like. No one’s suffered any permanent damage.”
“Don’t touch J:3:3 again without me there.”
Dr. Elliot held up both hands. “You’re the boss.” His long legs carried him from the lab in three smooth strides.
Dr. Kane ran a hand through his hair and blew out a long sigh.
Martyr trembled. He didn’t understand what had been said. Why should Dr. Kane’s health depend on Martyr’s heath? Perhaps Dr. Kane’s condition was what happened to the people who didn’t get the antidote. Dr. Kane must be in the next group to receive it.
Dr. Goyer’s forehead wrinkled, as if he, too, were suffering some ill side effect. “Dr. Elliot purposely gave Martyr an unapproved pharmaceutical? As a … hobby?”
“His identification is J:3:3, Dr. Goyer. Their numbers are on their sleeves and wrists if you can’t remember. Calling them by their numbers makes it easier not to become attached.”
Martyr had never heard it put quite like that.
“Right. Sorry.”
“I’ve explained our reasons for pharmaceutical testing. We all do it, and you will too. But Dr. Elliot, he … enjoys it.”
“I understand the need for testing. But he already knew the side effects and administered it maliciously, not as a scientist seeking a cure or test results.”
“I know what he did. That said, it doesn’t matter. What matters is that J:3:3 lives a healthy life for eighteen more days. That’s all I care about right now. Keep an eye on him until you leave today, then tell Erik to watch him tonight. If his condition worsens, call me immediately.”
With a final nod to Dr. Goyer, Dr. Kane left.
As Martyr watched Dr. Goyer cross the room, he was shocked that the doctors—especially Dr. Kane—had not remembered to re-hook his wrists to the exam table.
Dr. Goyer sat behind his desk and once again pressed the intercom button on his phone. “This is Dr. Goyer. Can I get one of the assistants in here? I need a mess cleaned up.”
“Right away, doctor.”
“Thanks.”
“What made you come back to the Farm?” Martyr asked.
“I always intended to come back, Mar—J:3:3. I simply lived far away and had to move, and that took a few days.”
“I’m glad you’re here.”
“You are? Why?”
“I like talking to you.” You’re one of the few doctors who see me as more than an experiment.
Dr. Goyer leaned back in his chair. “Well, we have the rest of the day to talk. Would you like that?”
Martyr winced as the burning itch surged. He nodded, unable to speak over the pain.
“You don’t like Dr. Elliot, I imagine.”
Martyr gritted out his words. “He’s a bad man. The things in his cupboard … Please”—he took a sharp breath—”keep him from hurting Baby when I’m gone.”
Dr. Goyer shifted in his chair. “When I met Dr. Kane last week, he seemed a different man. Now that I’m here, he’s not only deathly ill, but absentminded and moody. I’m afraid he hasn’t given me very efficient training, so I really can’t say what I’ll be permitted after your … your … expiration. I will do what I can for Baby, though.”
Martyr relaxed his posture. “Thank you. Hummer will also need someone. He and Baby are the two Section Fives who don’t speak.”
“I’ll make a note of that.”
“When Iron Man and I are gone, Fido will take over. He will be a horrible leader, worse than Iron Man because he’s ignorant and barely talks. Plus, Fido hates Baby. Maybe Baby could move into Section One? Do you think Dr. Kane would allow it?”
“I can ask him.”
An awkward silence stretched between them as Martyr struggled to find questions appropriate for a doctor—even someone like Dr. Goyer—to answer. Each thing that came into his head seemed somehow forbidden.
Finally, Dr. Goyer said, “Would you like some more water?”
“Thank you.”
Dr. Goyer got up and retrieved another tiny paper cup. He filled it and handed it to Martyr. “Do you have anything you’d like to do, you know, before you … expire? Any desires?”
Could the doctor sense his thoughts? “We aren’t allowed things we cannot normally have.”
“I know, but that doesn’t mean you can’t wish, right?”
Martyr hid a smile. His wishes never came true. But it was still fun to think about them.
“Well, then? I’d like to know what you want, besides keeping Baby and Hummer safe.”
“I want to see the sky.”
Dr. Max had taught them about sky in science class seven years ago, and Martyr had never forgotten. It was blue, but he was not sure what blue looked like. It was rumored Rolo’s eyes were blue, but if anyone asked, Rolo smacked them with his stick.
“We’re not allowed outside because of the toxic air, but since I’m going to expire anyway, I’d like to see the sky before I fulfill my purpose. Do you think I’d be infected if I went outside just long enough to see it?”
“I don’t really know.”
“If I knew Baby and Hummer would be safe and I could glimpse the sky for only a moment, I would die happy. It isn’t too much to dream for, is it?”
Dr. Goyer rubbed his face with both hands. “No. Not at all.”