Starts With One: Chapter II

II
Jethro sat in silence at the table, eating as little as possible. He pushed the food around on the plate, and ignored the claws of hunger raking his stomach. Starving himself was not ideal, but it served two purposes. One, it helped drive the sleep away. Two, he had long ago figured out that the food and drink was either the cause, or at least helped, make the sleep come. He was pretty sure that it was laced with whatever substance made them sleepy, so he ate just enough to survive.
It still wasn’t enough. Food was rationed precisely to fit the exact needs of the generation. The ration system took into account height, weight, metabolism, physical demand from labor, and temperature of the environment. The calories, carbohydrates, proteins, sugars, and every single nutrient down to the last vitamin was measured to fit the needs of the generation. Therefore, there was never too little and never too much. So by consuming only a sixth of the portion, Jethro was receiving only a sixth of the nutrients he needed. But then again, he was also receiving only a sixth of the sedatives.
In the long run, Jethro considered it well worth it. As the weeks dragged on, his body grew thinner and thinner. He could no longer handle the heavy work as efficiently, and began to regularly throw off the rhythm of his unit. More than once he had retired to his pod, passing out before the gases that induced sleep even turned on.
This turned into quite a problem. He was drawing too much attention to himself. By then, he didn’t even look like the others. After weeks of living off less than a quarter of what the others ate, his features had lost what made him identical to the others. Though all of them weren’t really identical (many of them had at least a few distinguishing features), none of them looked like Jethro anymore.
His eyes were sunken, cheeks hollow, shoulders hunched, and muscles fading fast. When he bent over, each vertebra was countable through the material of his clothes.
So he began to pad his clothes with any extra material lying around that he could find. He didn’t quite know why he went to such lengths to hide his secret awakeness. It was thrilling and mortifying all at once, and he didn’t even know why. He just got the sense that what he was doing was deeply forbidden, though by who or what he didn’t know. He just knew that anyone who was different was taken away and never came back.
But Jethro was determined not to sink back into sleep. He would do what it took to remain awake, or at least awake enough for his mind to work. That was all he really lived for. The only purpose of his life as he saw it was to let his mind wander, taking him to different places and different things. He had soon discovered that he could mimic what he saw when he slept at night while he was awake, though to a lesser degree. So he took to moving about life in a constant state of delusion.
So when an overseer stopped before his worktable and pulled him aside, it was quite a while before Jethro was fully roused from his imaginings.
“7C-1173?”
No, it’s Jethro, he wanted to say. Instead he nodded his head.
“You are requested in Mr. Finley’s office.”
Again he nodded, making no attempt to move. In his head, he was musing to his alien friend that the overseer’s eyes looked a bit like pebbles, those little gray things that sometimes found their way into the factory after they received a shipment of new packages to be taken to wherever packages were taken.
“Now,” the overseer said, pushing him to the stairs. Jethro blinked, pushing his alien to the back of his mind for the time being. He was guided up the stairs, to the little door overlooking the whole factory. It was next to a huge mirror. Jethro paused for a moment in front of the mirror, finding that the scrawny person in front of him had stopped, too. Before he could figure out what was going on and why that person was copying him, the overseer shoved him through the door.
Stumbling inside, Jethro clutched the back of a green chair for support.
The office was furnished with overstuffed furniture and painted pure white to match the rest of the factory. A desk sat squarely in the middle of the room, its transparent surface revealing all of its contents. Behind it sat Mr. Finley.
“Thank you, 2B-1941. Return to your station,” Mr. Finley said in his warm old man-voice.
Jethro stared at the office. He had never seen it before. His eyes swept across the desk, the furniture, the hovering lamps, taking it all in silently.
“Sit down,” said Mr. Finely.
Jethro complied, sitting in the green chair he had grabbed for support. He sank into it, much to his surprise, causing him to jerk away. Realizing it was not trying to swallow him, he warily sat down again, more slowly this time.
“So, worker…” Mr. Finley shuffled through some papers, apparently searching for his name, “Worker 7C-1173. I have noticed your lack of appetite. Normally this is grounds for termination. Would you care to explain your reasons?”
Jethro’s stomach sank. Visibly, paling, his eyes flicked back and forth, looking everywhere but Mr. Finley. He was done for. Struggling not to panic, he forced himself to nod his head slowly.
“Yes, you would?”
He nodded his head again, still not quite sure how he would explain.
“All right then,” said Finley. “Carry on.”
Jethro froze, not knowing what to do.
“You can speak, can’t you?” Finley asked.
This question brought him to a halt. Could he? He had never tried. He always imagined he could. He spoke to the alien all the time. Wouldn’t it just be like taking to it, only in this life?
He opened his mouth and a coarse, cracking, screech came out. Horrified, he shut it quickly.
“Hmm,” said Mr. Finley thoughtfully. “You’ve never tried, have you?”
Sheepishly, Jethro shook his head.
“Then try again. I’ve got all day,” Finley said, sounding almost encouraging.
Hesitantly, Jethro nodded. He tried once again, wincing at the rough, incoherent noises that came out. Swallowing and attempting again, this time he remembered he could change the sound depending on how much he opened his mouth and where he put his tongue. He summoned memories of seeing other people talk around him, and tried to mimic their motions.
After an excruciating half an hour, he could manipulate his voice enough to be coherent. By the end, he realized that his voice was not as ugly as it was at first. He supposed it was just out of practice, because after a while it got smoother and slightly less erratic and cracking.
“I think we can understand each other now, 7C-1173. I believe you may carry on with your explanation.”
For a second, Jethro was so shocked he stopped practicing his speech. He had completely forgotten about making up an excuse for not eating. Quickly, before Mr. Finley grew suspicious, he cleared his throat. Because he didn’t know what else to do, he began to make unintelligible noises, pretending that he still couldn’t speak very well.
Mr. Finley frowned, but if Jethro wasn’t imaging things (which he admittedly was known to do) it seemed false, like he was pretending to be disappointed just as much as Jethro was pretending to be unable to speak.
“Interesting. You seem to have lost your ability to talk again.”
Jethro was silent, desperately hoping Mr. Finely would let him go but at the same time knowing that that was highly improbable.
Slowly, Mr. Finley reached across the desk. Jethro tensed, waiting for him to press the button to send the overseers back in to drag him to wherever the terminated workers went. Finley’s fingers hovered over the pad. Jethro held his breath.
Then Mr. Finley pushed the red button.
And nothing happened except the little red light on the pad blinked off. Jethro tried to control his shaking, waiting for the overseer to come back in and kill him. He didn’t know what the red light meant, but it seemed like an ominous metaphor for his life. Out in a blink.
But nothing happened.
“7C-1173, do you know what I just did?”
Jethro slowly shook his head.
“I just turned the surveillance off. That means that there are no cameras watching us, and no recorders listening to us. We’re alone now, okay?”
Jethro remained silent, unsure of what Finley meant. They had been alone before, hadn’t they?
“Do you know why it’s important that we’re alone?”
He still did not dare respond.
“It’s because the people who watch me, who watch you, don’t want you to feel like you do.”
Jethro jumped. How had he known? The sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach filled him, and he knew that he was as good as gone.
“Yes, I know you don’t feel like the others. You’re more alive, aren’t you? I think that’s wonderful, but the people who are watching us don’t. I am on your side. Remember that. Do you understand?”
Jethro still didn’t say anything, afraid to speak out. He was still registering what Mr. Finley had said.
“It’s good that you are cautious. But believe me, Matthew, I won’t let them get you.”
Before he could think, he asked, “What did you call me?”
Though his voice was slightly slurred and still scratchy from lack of use, Mr. Finley understood and smiled. “I’m sorry. I’ve noticed you for a while. In my mind I gave you a name. Matthew. Is that okay?”
Jethro shook his head. “My name is Jethro.”
For once, Mr. Finley looked a bit taken aback. “Excuse me?”
Realizing his mistake, Jethro fell silent again.
“Where did you hear that name?” inquired Mr. Finley.
Seeing that Mr. Finley was more curious than angry, Jethro hesitantly spoke up. “It was given to me.”
“By who?” asked Mr. Finley.
Even Jethro knew that ‘an alien in my head’ did not exactly sound mentally stable, and he had already said too much. All this time trying to hide his secret would be wasted if he were to tell it all to Mr. Finley. He didn’t know what Mr. Finley was talking about when he said things about people watching him and how he was on Jethro’s side, but he knew that he had done something wrong. In any case, he didn’t know the word to describe his alien (‘alien’ was not yet in his vocabulary) anyway.
“It seems that you won’t answer me. Very well. I just wanted you to come here today so I could tell you this: I have assigned you to a different job. You’ll be an overseer once you gain some more weight. In addition, you will stay in the overseers’ quarters and eat the overseers’ food. I think it will be more to your taste, if you know what I mean.”
Jethro did not know what he meant, and it must have registered on his face.
“I know you have discovered the sedatives in your food. My collection of overseers is composed of men similar to you in that they are more alive than the others. Their food is not tainted by the thing that makes you sleepy, so you may eat as much as you want.”
He just gave a quick nod, itching to get out of the office now that he realized that he would not be terminated.
“Are you satisfied with this arrangement?”
He nodded.
“Good. I’ll see you around…Jethro.”
With that, Finley flicked the red button, and the little red light came back on.
“Well, who would have known that you could fix these cameras, 7C-1173! You’ve more than proved your use, especially if these darn cameras keep acting up! I’ll see to it that you’re put with the overseers, and given twice the normal ration. Thank you. You may return to work now. An overseer will show you to your quarters following mealtime. You are dismissed.”
Jethro nodded, making sure to keep his face blank and eyes empty. He left the little office and sighed in relief, almost falling down the stairs. As he returned to work, new thoughts pervaded his mind. He was no longer solely driven by his rambling mind, but something else. This confrontation had brought it up, and Jethro knew that he could never do without it again.
He had found his will to live.
So even then he continued to think about the whole encounter. He decided he was not ready to trust Mr. Finley quite yet, and what he had said about people watching him and wanting to kill him scared Jethro. He began to get a feeling of what was going on. He realized why he had been hiding his secret. Because it was just that; a secret. According to Mr. Finley, if he wanted to be awake, and people wanted him terminated for it, then they were on opposite sides.
For the first time, Jethro realized that he had enemies. He had people that wanted him terminated. But he supposed he also had allies. If what Mr. Finley said was true, then Finley was an ally. And all of the other overseers, too. Even though Jethro was not quite ready to believe everything Finley said, he saw that some of what he had been told had to be true.
And what about those things that he had switched off? What had he called them, cameras? And the things that listened to him? So now he knew that not only did he have to hide it from his peers, but now everything he did and said would be known.
Where were these people anyway? Where were the people who watched him and listened to him? Were they in the factory? No, he didn’t think so. He had been to almost all areas and had never seen anyone but overseers and his generation and Mr. Finley. Maybe they were hiding.
Or maybe…there was more than the factory.
This thought made him stop for a moment. His heartbeat raced. He summoned his alien friend to tell it the news. Yes! He had been right all along! All of his imaginings were not just imaginings. They could exist. There were places outside the factory, and maybe they were out there.
Maybe his alien friend was out there.
Suddenly, Jethro’s world had expanded indefinitely. He wasn’t sure if it scared him or thrilled him, but just the thought of it made him shiver.