Free Stronger by Lani Woodland Page B

trimming the overgrown branches today, with a little bit of harvesting. When the classical music starts, signaling the beginning of our shift, I push my wheeled basket to Olivia.
    “You collect, today,” I tell her. “You’re still exhausted from the other night. I’ll do the pruning.”
    She puts her hand over her heart and bows. “Thank you.”
    The other Debs nod their heads or wave as I walk down the perfectly straight rows with the arm-length shears over my shoulder. The first empty ladder is perched in the branches of a lofty apple tree. I touch the round fruit as I climb, checking the ripeness. The tallest branch is pressing against the dark, colored glass of the greenhouse and needs to be trimmed. I can’t reach it from the ladder so I step out onto one of the limbs, careful to keep my suit from snagging on any twigs. I take a step and then another, but miss the next one when the piped-in music shuts off. My foot slips, sending a shower of bark to the ground as my arms encircle the branch above me. I press my face against the tree trunk, the mask digging into my skin.
    The music stutters back on for a moment before shutting off for good. More disturbing is the sudden silence. The scrubber fans have stopped, too. Hugging the tree with one hand, I check my wrist monitor again. The indicator still reads green.
    The silence in the greenhouse is eerie. It’s never supposed to be quiet. The lack of whirring fans means death.
    I shift my feet and find my balance again, trying no to think about the thirty foot drop below me. Don’t worry, Lex; those sharp, pointy branches should slow your fall.
    Keeping one hand on the trunk, I lean out and position the shear’s head around the branch. I pull the trigger and the pneumatic blade lops off the offending limb. My eyes follow it tumbling to the ground. Below me, a small group of Debs gather in a circle, checking their monitors and talking. I glance at my own. Orange. My foot skips rungs on the ladder as I clamber down, careless of the twigs snagging my suit, hoping I can get down and to the doors before my monitor reads red. Even our suits can’t help us much if the oxygen buildup reaches a level Red. Oxygen is dangerous for everyone. Even the Vals.
    The other workers have formed a huddle around the exit and I sprint to join them. Someone at the front is banging on the door, and I hear another girl failing to hide her sobs.
    A voice comes over the monitors. “Do not be afraid.” It’s an Orion speaking and the crowd suddenly calms. My electronic ear inserts do their job, and while I hear the voice, it doesn’t control me the way it does the others. “Return to your work.” As one, the group turns and walks clear of the doors, spreading out into the room. The identical steps and swing of their arms makes me shudder.
    “Wait!” I scream, but no one pauses. My own voice lacks the compelling power of an Orion.
    “Nothing is wrong. Keep working,” The soothing voice intones. I check my monitor. It’s bright red.
    Blasted stars! Nothing’s wrong, except the whole crew is about to die of oxygen poisoning!
    “Olivia!” I chase after my friend—perhaps my only friend—and grab her shoulder, turning her to face me. “We have to get out of here!”
    She blinks and nods, but before she can move, the voice returns. “Remain at your places. There is nothing to fear.”
    Olivia’s features go slack, her eyes dull. She turns away from me, walking back to her cart.
    I run back to the entrance, and hit the speaker with my hand, but the voice continues. “Everything will be—”
    Swinging my shears like a club, I smash the comms panel. The camera lens shatters, so no one will see us die, but the speaker I was aiming at shuts down. The melodic voice disappears, and the room is quiet once more, until the first scream erupts. Around the room, workers emerge from their stupors, and stumble back to the entrance, shouting and pounding on the door. This time, the crying girl