The Prize of Dysprosium

Chapter XIX: Wrutting Miracles

"Who's Whetü?" I ask.

Hannah makes a sound like a dog who's just been kicked. I've never heard her make any sound except for snarls before, and absolutely not wounded ones. But she keeps her attention on my knee and when she speaks, her voice is much less edgy than usual.

"Whetü," she says with the right pronunciation. "She was my daughter."

"Your daughter," I repeat and remember the many red crosses in Whetü's Middle School test and the stamp, DANGEROUS.

"Should I be surprised you know about her?" Hannah grunts.

"I found her old test scores," I say. "With my sister's. And somebody told me the rest."

"I see," Hannah says and pulls out a particular stinging splinter which has rooted itself in my bone. I wince. "Sit still," she says.

"You know," I continue. "You know about the test. It's why you volunteered to guard me, isn't it? I'm the only one else who knows."

"Every prostitute knows at least some secrets. And I used to be Thelonious' favourite," Hannah says with a smile that would make Alle Bronze proud – half devil half angel. Thelonious' favourite. I let her words go through all the different parts of my brain I'm sure are still working. Then I recall what Hera told me just a few nights ago in room 5. And for all those months he didn't touch me, relied on others to satisfy his desires I believe.

I look at Hannah, at this tiny Polynesian woman whom I don't particularly like, but whom I now share this weird bond with. We've both been Government favorites, both been subjected to all the atrocities of the White House. Maybe she knows about all the other secrets too; the twincest and the pedophilia and murders.

But she must have known about my sister too. I've talked about Grace often enough for her to guess that she was killed right after her Middle School test. Barooba took me in just after my fourteenth birthday for Christ's sake, Hannah must have known my twin sister was murdered by the Government.

"Do you hate me so much to ever tell me?" I ask and loathe how thin my voice sounds. Hannah sends me an annoyed glance.

"I don't hate you Noah," she says and digs her pinchers deep down into my skin which makes me cry out. "I find it annoying when you scream like a little hooder, but I don't hate you. I never told you because it wouldn't have mattered."

"It would have mattered to me," I say.

"No, it wouldn't," Hannah says. "You think it would, but you're kidding yourself."

"You're wrong," I say with my voice finally showing off some strength. "It would have mattered, because my sister wasn't the dangerous one. She switched our tests."

Hannah pauses mid-motion before looking up at me. "You don't say," she mutters and I nod with the slightest of movements. Hannah takes a breath and gets back to work. "The test is designed to detect a lot of different things," she says as if we're talking about the weather. "Spontaneity is one of them, ruthlessness is another and then there's always the dangerous individual thinking," she snickers as if she's just heard a racist joke and found it funny. "Coupled with a high IQ and you have yourself a real hazardous combo. It's also used to detect other stuff, like psychopathic tendencies such as lack of empathy and guilt, being unable to go for longer periods of time without gratification and having a hard time controlling one's own behavior. It's a great tool to detect future murderers, to define the career jobs you'll thrive in, to make life as easy and good for the people who aren't doomed to live out their lives in the lower class. Overall, given the history of America, we are happier than ever before because everybody knows where they belong without knowing they've been led there."