Deliver Me

Acknowledgments

Chapter One

There were forty-eight of us. Forty-eight girls all dressed in identical gray jumpers. In a few minutes we were to be given our exams and by the end of the day, we’d know whether we graduated to the gray cotton slacks and blouses worn by workers, or, if we were lucky, the silken robes of the Carriers.

For sixteen years you have grown up together, the Grand Councilman said, addressing us. As a group you have learned and labored side by side, sacrificing your own needs for the betterment of the collective.

The Councilman gazed out at the group of us gathered under the domed roof of the Great Hall and paused. We must have looked familiar to him, four-dozen girls cut from the same mold.

I turned to my left where my best friend, Odessa, stood erect, her chin raised proudly towards the Councilman. Odessa and I shared our July birth month and so we were here together on selection day, ready to learn what future we would wear. Behind the Councilman, nine wooden mannequins, polished to a sheen after one hundred and seventy years of use, displayed the royal blue robes. Odessa’s eyes were trained on them with a look of pure concentration. The robes wouldn’t be passed out until the end of the day after we’d finished our exams and our scores had been tallied.

Maybe the robes had been set out as inspiration or encouragement, something for us to think about if the tests became too difficult, an actual embodiment of what our future would hold if we excelled in the next few hours. They were far more exquisite than I’d imagined. On a few occasions I’d seen the elegant, everyday robes that the Carriers wore, but I’d only heard stories of the selection robes. In person, even from twenty feet away, I could see how intricate they were, embroidered with small silver stitches in a pattern that reminded me of the morning glory that climbed the fence outside the dining hall.

Standing in front of the robes, the Grand Councilman looked gigantic: almost seven feet tall, barrel-chested, a behemoth of a man. If I stood next to him I might not even reach his shoulder.

You girls have exemplified the power of our Union, the Councilman went on. Today your lives will change. Only nine of you will be chosen to be Carriers, but all of you will labor to make our Union whole.

Odessa, I whispered, poking her in the ribs. Is that how you thought the Grand Councilman would look?

Odessa gave a small shake of her head, but I couldn’t tell whether she was motioning for me to be quiet or whether she was telling me that this wasn’t the way she’d imagined the Grand Councilman to look either.

As a girl under sixteen, I’d never seen a man up close before today. Of course I’d heard of them, learned about their heroics in history class and watched their messages on the projector during the State of the Union address. I’d even seen the guards from afar as they circled the outer walls separating the military compound and women’s compound.  But up until today I’d never been in the same room with one and I hadn’t imagined that they would look so different from us, as if they were another sort of creature entirely. 

What startled me most was how much I wanted to reach out and touch them: the firm muscles along their jaws, the pronounced ridge of their noses. The Councilman’s close cropped hair looked so different from the women’s long hair and I wondered how it would feel; soft like mine, or prickly and stiff like the bristles of a brush.

I nudged Odessa in the ribs again. What do you think the skin on his face feels like? It looks thick.

Shh, she hushed.

Sorry, Dess, I muttered.

I hadn’t had a chance to speak to her since we’d left our barracks early this morning. We’d been marched straight to the meeting hall and now all the worry and pent up energy rose up in me, simmering just below my ears with a low hiss.

Without shifting her gaze, Odessa reached down and grabbed my hand.

Testing will begin promptly, the Grand Councilman said. Your examiners will escort you through your assessments one by one. There will not be another opportunity to repeat your tests. You will have one chance and one chance only. This evening I will return to read your results at the selection ceremony. Good luck, and may the Union strengthen you.

The Grand Councilman gazed back over us one more time before stepping aside as a military officer took his place at the podium.

Line up by order of IM number, the officer said. Move quickly and quietly. Once you’re lined up, you are to remove your outer clothing leaving only your undergarments. Fold your clothes neatly and set them next to your place in line along with your personal effects. They will be returned to you after your physical exams.

We’d all been given a small brown sack before we left our barracks this morning to place our belongings in. And even though we didn’t have much, the few small things we did own were treasured. There was a great rustling and murmuring as the forty-eight of us shuffled into lines according to our numbers. Within minutes we had stripped down to our underwear and stood in columns of soft white skin. We didn’t have the luxury of private showers or dressing rooms in the barracks so I was used to being undressed around the other girls, our bodies as familiar to each other as the cots we slept in and the tables we ate on.

The line moved quickly and soon I stood at the front.

This way, an officer said, leading me down a hall and into an exam room.

The room wasn’t equipped with much: a sink, a scale and a table with a few doctors’ instruments. Against the wall, behind a solid oak table, a military officer sat ready to record my results. Suddenly, dressed only in my undergarments, I felt bare, exposed in a way I never had before and I tried to fight back the heat that rose up through my neck and spread across my cheeks.

Stand straight with you arms to your sides, one of the examiners ordered.

I stood stiff, trying not to shiver while my waist was measured and then the length of my legs from hip to heel, the span of my arms, the size of my hands and feet. The examiner called out the numbers in a terse voice and the officer scratched my tallies into a ledger. Between measurements he stared at me with cold eyes and every once in a while he jotted something down in the chart, perhaps taking into account some imperfection he’d spotted, my dark hair, my tall forehead.

With small silver calipers, the examiner measured the proportions of my face. She was precise, calculating the distance between my eyes, the length of my nose and the fullness of my lips.

I once read a few pages ripped from a book about the Greeks. Like our Union, they thought proportions were important. They called it the Grecian Ideal, a way to measure perfection with actual numbers, not the intangible idea of beauty, but something real and calculable.

One of my keepers let me read it one night before bed. The ripped pages had been passed down to her from a teacher she’d had when she was a girl and I’d liked them so much that she allowed me keep them for months, hidden beneath my cot. Sometimes Odessa and I would look at the pictures really early in the morning before anyone was up and I would imagine what it would be like to carve out my best friend’s image, the way the Greeks had made statues out of marble.

I thought about those stone people now.

…and then let it out slowly, the examiner said, looking at me sternly.

What?

Take a deep breath and then let it out slowly, she repeated.

Out of the corner of my eye I saw the officer scratch a note in my file.

I took a deep breath and released it slowly while the examiner moved a stethoscope over my back and across my chest. Suddenly, I was keenly aware of the feel of my heart pounding, worried its rapid thumping would detract from my score. A Carrier needed to be calm. A Carrier should control her emotions.

Step on the scale and then quickly get dressed, the examiner said, pointing to my clothes which had been placed in a small basket next to the table. They’re expecting you in exam room 14B and you’re already running a few minutes behind.

I turned away from them and quickly pulled on my blouse. My fingers trembled, struggling to button the front. The eyes of the officer pressed at my back making me trip over my feet as I stepped into my jumper.

The examiner tapped her foot impatiently. Move along, she said, pointing me across the hallway to the next exam room.

It was a long, thin room, probably thirty yards from the door to the far wall; more a corridor than a room, designed specifically for the agility exams and it occurred to me that there must have been a half a dozen of these rooms lined up in this part of the building, miniature gauntlets made to test our physical resolve. At the far end of the room there was an exercise bar for measuring pull-ups and next to it a table, where two officers sat ready to record my scores.

My head spun, my breath coming in short, shallow gasps. If I kept it up I wouldn’t make it through half of my agility tests. Taking a deep breath, I tried to think about Odessa. How was she faring? Better than I was, I hoped.

I needed to try harder. That was clear. I couldn’t just do well; I had to be spectacular. Odessa and I had dreamed about being Carriers together since we were four. But we weren’t the only ones. It was the same dream for every little girl in our Union, a trophy dangled before us from the day we learned to talk. We wanted to be prized. We wanted to be treated to a life of purpose and splendor. But Odessa and I wanted it more than anyone else.

You’re five minutes late, the agility examiner said as I closed the door behind me.

I’m sorry, I stammered.

Talking will only waste more time, she said. We’re going to start you off with sit-ups. She pointed to the floor. Get into position. You’ll have five minutes to execute as many as possible. Don’t let your shoulder blades touch the ground. If I see they do, the sit-up won’t be counted.

I nodded. We’d been practicing for the agility exams since we were twelve.

The examiner motioned to one of the officers to start the timer.

Go.

I started off strong, pacing myself by counting to two between each sit-up. My breath had slowed down and I felt strong. Inhale down. Exhale up. In school, three hours each day were dedicated to fitness and agility training. Sit-ups weren’t my strongest skill, but I usually managed to rank in the top twenty-five percent of the girls my age. It was all about concentration. If I could let the breathing take over, I was able to focus on something else: a picture I’d seen or a passage I’d read, then the time would slip by and before I knew it I’d be done.

The timer beeped.

One hundred and three, the examiner called out to the officers.

I moved on to pull-ups. My back and forehead were wet with sweat, but oddly I could still feel the places on the corners of my temples where the cold clasp of the calipers had pressed into my skin.

By the time I was finished with my pull-ups my arms were weak, about as solid as the oatmeal I’d eaten for breakfast, but we were finally moving on to the area I excelled in—sprints.

Your final test will be a timed run. You’ll have twenty minutes to complete as many lengths of the room as possible. If you get tired you may rest, but if you stop for longer than two minutes your test will be cut short.

I nodded, saving my breath.

My body wasn’t used to coming to a halt and changing direction in the middle of a run, but it adapted easily and after a dozen or so laps I’d found my pace. My lungs felt good, my breath open, and I actually enjoyed hearing the slap of my feet on the wooden floor. I wasn’t keeping track of the time or my number of laps. My body felt renewed, my arms had regained their energy and they pumped steadily at my sides. If I needed to, I could run for hours.

I raised my head towards the high ceiling, smiling for the first time all day. As I lowered my eyes they fell on the officers at their table. They frowned, taking note of my expression and turned to talk quietly to one another.

As quickly as my good mood had come, it disappeared. It was stupid of me to think that this run was anything but serious. If I messed up on this I wouldn’t have any chance of becoming a Carrier. For the remaining eight minutes I stared straight ahead of me, concentrating on pushing myself until my muscles burned. When the timer beeped I collapsed on the floor, panting.

The examiner handed me a small cup of water and a towel to wipe my forehead. For the first time her eyes showed a bit of compassion.

Well done, she said. I’m sorry you don’t have time to rest. We need to move you along. Follow me.

She escorted me into the final exam room. It was small and windowless with a large desk sitting squarely in the middle. As she turned to go, the examiner gave me a slight nod. Behind the desk a single military officer sat straight-backed and unsmiling. Like the other men I’d seen today he was dressed in a heavy gray uniform, the right shoulder decorated with six gold stars. 

He leaned forward as I walked in, resting his elbows against the table, his big-knuckled hands knotted in front of his face. Without smiling, he motioned for me to have a seat and flipped quickly through my file. Finally, satisfied with what he’d read, he leaned back in his chair and appraised me. His stare was intense, and although it felt inappropriate to match his gaze I couldn’t get myself to look away. His eyes were the same deep amber color as Odessa’s, but inside of them there was a tinge of cruelty, or anger that I couldn’t quite read. The look frightened me.

Finally, he cleared his throat and flipped my file to the first page.

G447-72? he asked, staring down at the folder in front of him.

I nodded.

The last exam you’ll be given today will be testing your knowledge of the Union’s history, as well your reasoning skills.

I nodded again, but didn’t speak. Perhaps I seemed stupid, but I wasn’t sure if he wanted me to respond and so I opted for silence.

The officer cleared his throat, Our Union is different from any other that has ever existed, he said, leaning forward to make sure he had my attention. We don’t leave our citizenship up to chance. The mark of a powerful nation is a population that is strong both physically and mentally. We can’t afford even one Carrier who will bring down that standard. You may be beautiful, and you may be able to run fast, but I’m here to evaluate your mental state. Are you psychologically fit enough to take on the challenge of carrying the future generations within your womb?

He stared at me as if he expected an answer, but I didn’t move.

Being a Carrier is a lifetime commitment. Are you prepared to serve your Union unwaveringly?

I thought about what it would mean to be chosen. Once selected, the nine of us would be moved into the Carrier residence. Our bodies would be pampered and nourished, preparing us to carry our first fetus. It would be our duty to deliver a total of ten babies, one every year until we turned twenty-six. It was a higher calling. 

Sir, I’ll serve our Union with all my body, I said. It was a stock comment, the kind of thing we were taught to say as little kids, but it seemed to satisfy him.

The officer narrowed his eyes at me and shuffled the papers in front of him. You’ll have thirty minutes to complete your written exam, after which time I’ll be administering the IQ test.

He slid a test packet and pencil across the table and started the timer.

You’re wasting time, he said, tapping his pencil against the table.

The thirty minutes felt dreadfully long. Most of the questions didn’t appear to have been written to test our knowledge of the Union’s history so much as to quote all the precepts we’d been taught over the years.

List the Union’s founding principles, it said.

1. The Union is bound together as one in likeness and solidarity.

2. True order can only be achieved through obedience.

3. Unity is the work of the collective. Selfishness is the work of the individual.

4. Diversity is the root of all evil.

With this doctrine may we all succeed in building a stronger Union. One people. One Union. One Future.

How many hours in the classroom had we spent reciting these principles?

Faith, loyalty and honor to the Union. Doubt not, and we shall accomplish all.

The words were practically hardwired into my brain. We chanted these words together every night before bedtime.

I flew through the verbal and spatial problems, marking the answers only seconds after reading the questions. The first few were simple analogies: ruthless is to mercy as insipid is to… flavor, eavesdrop is to conversation as trespass is to… property. Even the logic questions were fairly elementary. I’d anticipated a staggering jump in difficulty, but the questions were simple: Gail’s bunk has four roommates. The first is named April. The second May. The third June. What is the name of the fourth roommate? I giggled out loud at the answer spelled out in the question. How could anyone possibly get these wrong?

Quiet, the officer reminded me and I concentrated the remainder of the exam on keeping my face emotionless.

I closed the packet with three minutes to spare and passed it across the table

I’m glad to see the situation delights you so.

No, it’s not that, I stammered. One of the questions…

Silence please, he interrupted, You didn’t come here to socialize. Need I remind you that today is an important and sacred day, not one to be taken lightly?

My stomach flipped slightly at the officer’s sharp words.

I’m sorry, sir.

The officer ran a hand over his face and licked his lips before he went on. "Whereas the first part of your testing was designed to highlight your intelligence, this latter part will give us a look inside your psyche. I will begin by reading a word. You are to tell me the first word that pops into your mind.