not used to walking. I feel sorry for her, in a way.
But I feel more sorry for Bea because she’s not used to a lot of exercise either. I am because my father can afford it. “All right?” I ask, tapping her on the shoulder. She steps over a prostrate parking meter and nods. The rain has eased, but Bea still has the hood of her rain jacket up to protect her face from the scorching wind.
Bea doesn’t seem to notice me and turns toward Alina. “We’re basically prisoners?” she asks. I should, if I want to get anywhere with her, give Alina a chance to answer. I don’t.
“No way,” I say, even though I know firsthand about the corruption in the pod. There’s no guessing how far the Ministry would go to retain power. Yet I find myself defending them. “If my father knew, he’d do something to stop it. Maybe we should be going back to the pod to tell him. He knows the Pod Minister. You should be taking this to the top instead of running away.” Maude chuckles and Alina sniffs. Bea shrugs. They don’t buy it. And neither do I. “Why would they want to breathe in chemically manufactured air when they could breathe in the real stuff?” I try desperately.
“Breathe would be ruined. Everyone would leave and rebuild their lives. What would the directors and politicians do with themselves?” Alina says. “Their way of life depends on you being unable to survive without them. And to make sure you can’t ever leave, they pump the pod with more oxygen than is needed.”
“Well, that’s obviously not true. They charge for extra oxygen consumption. Oxygen is expensive,” I say.
“That’s right. It is. But they give us enough for free to get us hooked. Before The Switch, the earth’s air was twenty-one percent oxygen. In the pod they give us almost thirty percent. Why? So that when we come outside and have to suck in only six percent, we won’t be able to cope. But we can cope. We would cope if they only taught us how.”
“What about the other countries?” Bea asks. “Every country can’t be corrupt.”
“Coastline Division,” Maude wheezes. “I had a pal who was a member of that unit for a couple of years. Yes. Yes. Nice little number, that was.” She pauses, puts her hands on her knees, coughs, and continues. “They don’t want no one coming and they don’t want no one going. They caught a few tourists in a makeshift boat once. Trying to make their way to France, they was.” She picks her nose with one of her long black fingernails.
“They say Russia is managing to subsist on thin air,” Alina says. “They’ve trained many of their people to exist on lower levels so they can be free. The pods in Russia are almost empty.”
“No they ain’t. They have pods. Everyone has pods. Pods, pods everywhere. Breathe sold the oxygen formula to the whole world,” Maude snarls. For a moment Alina looks unsure but quickly restores her composure.
“The point is, it’s possible. Do you know why we keep having to be vaccinated? It has nothing to do with diseases. They’re lowering our levels of red blood cells, so we’ll need more oxygen. Everyone, even the poorest auxiliaries, will feel the need to buy more air. We have a nurse on the inside who injects people with a saline solution instead. I make sure I see her and no one else.”
“So that’s why you were so mad when Riley and Ferris pushed in,” I say.
“The nurse’s shift ended at one.”
“It’s beyond belief. I mean, I do believe you … I can’t believe it ,” I say.
“They’ll have absolute control until the trees take it back. With a little help from the Resistance. Here’s hoping we survive long enough to make a difference.” Alina looks straight at me when she says this. I don’t know what else I have to do to prove to her I’m not like all the other Premiums she’s ever met. “And talking about survival, take the batteries out of your pads or they’ll use them to track you,” Alina says.
Bea nods and pulls her
But I feel more sorry for Bea because she’s not used to a lot of exercise either. I am because my father can afford it. “All right?” I ask, tapping her on the shoulder. She steps over a prostrate parking meter and nods. The rain has eased, but Bea still has the hood of her rain jacket up to protect her face from the scorching wind.
Bea doesn’t seem to notice me and turns toward Alina. “We’re basically prisoners?” she asks. I should, if I want to get anywhere with her, give Alina a chance to answer. I don’t.
“No way,” I say, even though I know firsthand about the corruption in the pod. There’s no guessing how far the Ministry would go to retain power. Yet I find myself defending them. “If my father knew, he’d do something to stop it. Maybe we should be going back to the pod to tell him. He knows the Pod Minister. You should be taking this to the top instead of running away.” Maude chuckles and Alina sniffs. Bea shrugs. They don’t buy it. And neither do I. “Why would they want to breathe in chemically manufactured air when they could breathe in the real stuff?” I try desperately.
“Breathe would be ruined. Everyone would leave and rebuild their lives. What would the directors and politicians do with themselves?” Alina says. “Their way of life depends on you being unable to survive without them. And to make sure you can’t ever leave, they pump the pod with more oxygen than is needed.”
“Well, that’s obviously not true. They charge for extra oxygen consumption. Oxygen is expensive,” I say.
“That’s right. It is. But they give us enough for free to get us hooked. Before The Switch, the earth’s air was twenty-one percent oxygen. In the pod they give us almost thirty percent. Why? So that when we come outside and have to suck in only six percent, we won’t be able to cope. But we can cope. We would cope if they only taught us how.”
“What about the other countries?” Bea asks. “Every country can’t be corrupt.”
“Coastline Division,” Maude wheezes. “I had a pal who was a member of that unit for a couple of years. Yes. Yes. Nice little number, that was.” She pauses, puts her hands on her knees, coughs, and continues. “They don’t want no one coming and they don’t want no one going. They caught a few tourists in a makeshift boat once. Trying to make their way to France, they was.” She picks her nose with one of her long black fingernails.
“They say Russia is managing to subsist on thin air,” Alina says. “They’ve trained many of their people to exist on lower levels so they can be free. The pods in Russia are almost empty.”
“No they ain’t. They have pods. Everyone has pods. Pods, pods everywhere. Breathe sold the oxygen formula to the whole world,” Maude snarls. For a moment Alina looks unsure but quickly restores her composure.
“The point is, it’s possible. Do you know why we keep having to be vaccinated? It has nothing to do with diseases. They’re lowering our levels of red blood cells, so we’ll need more oxygen. Everyone, even the poorest auxiliaries, will feel the need to buy more air. We have a nurse on the inside who injects people with a saline solution instead. I make sure I see her and no one else.”
“So that’s why you were so mad when Riley and Ferris pushed in,” I say.
“The nurse’s shift ended at one.”
“It’s beyond belief. I mean, I do believe you … I can’t believe it ,” I say.
“They’ll have absolute control until the trees take it back. With a little help from the Resistance. Here’s hoping we survive long enough to make a difference.” Alina looks straight at me when she says this. I don’t know what else I have to do to prove to her I’m not like all the other Premiums she’s ever met. “And talking about survival, take the batteries out of your pads or they’ll use them to track you,” Alina says.
Bea nods and pulls her
Similar Books
