Only Human_The Themis Files by Sylvain Neuvel

Author:Sylvain Neuvel [Neuvel, Sylvain]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Random House Publishing Group
Published: 2018-05-01T04:00:00+00:00

FILE NO. 2138

PERSONAL JOURNAL ENTRY—EVA REYES

Location: Kaarina Work Camp, near Turku, Finland

There’s a way out. Everyone knows about it. There’s a tataarit kid—they call him Baba. I have no idea what his real name is. He goes out every single night for supplies. Cigarettes, mostly. One hundred percent markup, but Baba can get you anything. He’ll even bring you a receipt, so you know you’re only getting ripped off a hundred percent. The kid—he can’t be more than twelve—makes over two thousand dollars a week, or so he says. I get the feeling it’s Baba’s dad who pockets the money, but Baba likes to brag. He lives well, that’s for sure. New clothes. New phone. He’s cocky as hell. I like him a lot.

I asked if he could take me with him. He said no, of course. I’ve given up on things not being complicated. I tried threatening him, told him I’d tell the guards. He laughed. The guards get 20 percent, so does the chef. It turns out my way out of here is through the kitchen, and the chef is the man with the key. I offered to pay, but he asked to see the money. I really like that kid. I like him enough that I told him who I was. That made him smile. Then he asked for the shirt off my back. Literally. He thinks it will fetch a fortune online. “Genuine shirt from Eva Reyes, worn on alien planet.” We even took a picture he can use as a certificate of authenticity. I don’t know what it is, but there’s something about my clothes. Anyway, I hated that shirt. The Russians gave it to me. I might have forgotten to mention that part to Baba. Unfortunately, that priceless fashion item was my one shirt, and if I manage to leave this place, I’ll do it wearing a tee shirt from a metal band called Nightwish, courtesy of Baba himself. At least it’s black. He also gave me enough money for a bus to Turku and the ferry to Mariehamn though I’m supposed to pay him back. I’m not sure how. I didn’t ask.

I didn’t know if I was being played. It seemed so stupid. How could there be a way out of here, and no one uses it, except for one person who keeps coming back? But it’s true. I’ve seen it. I asked for “proof of life” before taking off my shirt. It’s not a secret hole in the floor, not a breach high up in the fence. There’s a door! A yokits door! They use it to bring food in, leads right outside. If they wanted to, every single person in here could be out by morning, provided they have money, or the right shirt. Anyone who can beat up a cook can get out! But they’re not. They’re all staying here. Basically, they don’t need the fence or the guards. They can just tell people to stay, and they stay. Stay! There, good boy!

I remember having that conversation with my dad.

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