The Green Ones

Episode 5, Part 4

“What now?” Olin steps in between Zorrah and me, taking our hands.

I desperately want to question Zorrah further. Centavo knew the drug would show up in Olin’s blood test, and he wanted its presence kept secret. But why? What is the drug? What had Izel done to the buds and leaves from my mother’s garden? Even more disturbing, what will the authorities do with us if One and Two fail to conceal the drug’s presence?

Olin squeezes my hand and focuses me on the moment.

I suppose he’s right. There will be time to pick Zorrah’s considerable brain later, assuming we don’t get detained in the next few hours. With effort, I shove the thought out of my mind and concentrate on our surroundings. “It looks like a gym or a training facility.”

Olin points toward the far wall. “What are those doors? The ones with registrant numbers above them.”

I shake my head. “Zorrah?”

She hesitates. “I’m not sure. This is supposedly when we would be interviewed, so I guess—”

“Those are the interview closets.” Olin finishes her sentence.

We cram into a small pocket of space as the gym continues to fill. The smell of human perspiration permeates everything. But living in Worker City means being accustomed to body odor.

Many of the people around us are focused on a large scoreboard mounted high up the wall. I watch it long enough to determine it’s flashing a short series of registrant numbers.

“When the numbers disappear from the scoreboard, they show up over one of the interview closets.”

I turn toward a strange voice speaking directly into my ear and am surprised by a smiling girl with an outstretched arm. She’s not quite as tall as me, but with broader shoulders and a fuller figure—the sort of build all the boys drool over. She seems familiar, although I can’t place her face.

Most shocking is the total lack of suspicion in her eyes. Of the hundreds of teenagers we have passed, all of them either ignoring us or sizing us up, she is the only one who has made an attempt to be friendly. I accept her greeting, and we lock forearms.

“Cera,” she offers.

“Calli.”

“Bluehair.” The girl nods. “I recognize you from the market.”

The mention of the market jogs my memory. “Wild game. You’re the hunters’ daughter.”

Cera nods.

“I didn’t know you were registering,” I say.

“My parents didn’t talk about it. I’m the oldest, so I think it hit ‘em pretty hard.”

We both nod for a long awkward moment. If she knows me from the market, she knows I don’t have parents anymore. Then again, none of us have parents anymore.

She turns her attention to the scoreboard. “My number’s still a hundred away.”

I follow her gaze. The board shows a series of numbers starting with 628.

“But they go pretty fast,” she ads. “Who are your friends?”

“Oh,” I slap my forehead, “I’m sorry.” Turning around, I find Zorrah and Olin smiling politely and waiting to be included. “This is my brother, Olin.”

“Of course.” Cera grips his forearm. “I should have recognized you.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Olin shrugs. “I don’t stand out much.”