by Lydia Hope
34 shook his head slowly.
Out of somewhere and at random, the Obu mowed a couple of aliens in his haste to jump up to Gemma, all excited grunts and lack of personal space. He took her hand and started rubbing his own forearm with it without her consent.
“Not you. Not now!” She snatched her hand away. “If you want to be useful, hold them off. Can you?”
The Obu mooed and tried to take possession of her hand again. The thing had an IQ of a potato.
“I’m taking Simon back,” Gemma snapped at 34.
“Not yet.”
“You don’t tell me what to do.”
Suddenly, 34 pushed in between her and the Obu, so close she could feel the heat of his large body. She could definitely smell his sweat.
“He can’t break out of his stasis. He’s as good as gone already,” he whispered in his clucking, choppy accent.
His words were like a bucket of cold water on Gemma’s senses. At the same time, the Tarai holding Simon’s hair reached with his other hand and grabbed him by his exposed throat, ready to crush the helpless Rix’s trachea. The Tarai’s hairy ears twitched, and the others began chanting their approval.
The protective feeling came from somewhere up high and filled Gemma to bursting. Without thinking, she whipped out her taser.
“Stand back,” she said through her clenched teeth. “All of you. Back!”
There were so many of them, large agitated males, most of whom could snap her in half with a flick of their wrist. Cold sweat exploded all over her back, and her taser slipped in her damp palm. She gripped it tighter and stuck it up and out at the Tarai.
“Let him go, or I swear I’ll put a charge right through ya. Do you understand?”
The Tarai’s proficiency with Gemma’s language might’ve been so-so, but the weapon thrust under his nose conveyed her message clearly enough. He shrunk back letting go of Simon’s throat but not his hair.
The frenzied chanting went out of tune.
Reluctant to abandon their murderous plan, the aliens milled around Simon and Gemma. Someone stepped on her foot, and she reacted out of surprise by sending a short zap at the offender.
He yelped and crashed on the ground, taking a few smaller-statured inmates down with him.
The Obu.
She hadn’t meant to hurt him, but as her luck had it, the incident communicated louder than words that she meant business. The tight crowd loosened.
“Let. Go.” She pointed her taser again at Tarai.
Slowly, he released Simon’s hair and took a step back holding his hands up in a universal sign of assent.
Gemma found the wheelchair’s handle by touch - her eyes were shifting madly between the aliens to keep them in her line of sight - and started walking backwards, pulling the heavy chair after her.
The inmates followed her with their eyes but made no attempt to approach. Even the Obu stood back, his ardor zapped out of him, so to speak.
Only when Gemma reached the guards did she put away her weapon.
“Nice job, lady. I couldn't have handled them better myself,” one said with admiration. The other nodded his head in approval.
“No thanks to you,” she spat.
“You didn’t even need us! Are you sure you don’t want to apply to be a guard?”
“I think I’ll pass.”
She forcefully shoved the chair over the protruding threshold nearly sending Simon into a tumble. They got into the elevator, and as it began its shuddering crawl up, the tremors started. Gemma covered her face with her hands and took in a deep breath. It didn’t help, and by the time they arrived on the third floor she was shaking hard, her hands barely able to form grips around the wheelchair handles.
And in the background, she could perceive an undercurrent of energy trying to pass through. It was weak and intermittent like low voltage electrical spasms that surged and spread without focus.
“It’s alright, Simon. We’re almost there.”
Had he perceived what had happened? He seemed agitated, if one could look agitated without moving or blinking.
She took him to his cell and carefully pushed him out of his chair onto the cot. From there, she helped him sit up straight, legs folded and back to the wall. Taking him out to the courtyard had proven a bad idea. The worst.
With shaking hands, she went to unbutton his coat to inspect his neck.
“Oh, Simon… I’m sorry.”
Deep bruises in the shape of the Tarai’s fingers marred the pure white column of his smooth throat. There were gouges where the sharp nails pierced the skin. Pale bluish blood had seeped out to smear the collar of his coat.
Gemma started crying.
“I’m so sorry, I should have never taken you out. They were awful. Vultures. Here, let me clean you up. Does it hurt? I hope only a little. Oh, I’m so sorry.”
The energy that was Simon flared, fluttered around her like a wounded bird wanting to take flight. Her distress seemed to be reaching him and plucking at his inner chords making them vibrate, all garbled up, inside his broken shell.
“What is it? Are you angry at me for taking you down? You should be. I’m angry at myself. It won’t happen again, I promise.”
She wiped her tears and cleaned his neck with the hem of the shirt she was wearing underneath her overcoat, her own shirt, the one she knew was clean because she washed it herself with good strong soap Aunt Herise sourced from God only knew where. She felt like using prison-issue anything to wipe his spilled blood would be a sign of detachment.
“Your cellmates are jerks, but that shouldn't stop us. We’ll figure out a way for you to go outside.”
She took one of his hands and rubbed the back of it, noting how his nail beds were empty of nails, the scars knotted and puckered. He’d suffered some awful treatment. He deserved nothing but compassion.
“While I’m here, you will never be alone.” She gently squeezed his hand.
His energy spiked again, and just before it subsided, his fingers curled around hers, and he slowly squeezed them back.
Chapter 8
Gemma arrived at OO’s office in time for the appointment she’d requested with him. An appointment was not considered time worked, and hers would be deducted from her pay, but she didn’t mind.
As she waited by the door, she wondered idly since when Simon’s well-being became important enough for her to willingly lose her precious money. But here she was, having worked up the nerve to push her agenda.
Sometime late last night, while helping Aunt Herise strain goat yogurt the family ate for breakfast, the solution to feed Simon had presented itself. The yogurt, with its excellent nutritional value, was easy to digest and even easier to swallow. It was exactly the food Simon needed. And she could go without breakfast now and then.
But how to deliver it to him? Any item brought in from the outside was considered contraband. Gemma had heard stories of how stuff got smuggled in. Busy minds knew no boundaries, and every body cavity held the potential to become a hiding place.
None of it seemed right nor safe to Gemma, and stashing contraband inside anus or vagina wouldn't work well for yogurt anyway. Not that she considered it, but still. Imagine tucking it in. Or taking it out.
She had pondered on her dilemma while mechanically helping Aunt Herise in the kitchen, and decided that if the yogurt couldn't come in, then Simon had to go out.
The door opened, and OO was standing there, polished glassed gleaming, looking at her. Assessing.
“Come in, helper McKinley.”
She followed him into his surprisingly cozy office. It was furnished with solid wood furniture, unpretentious but sturdy, the pieces well matched. A bronze statuette of a bespectacled lion decorating a shelf hinted at how OO regarded himself.
And the room was warm, something Gemma hadn’t experienced since September. She unbuttoned her scratchy, rough overcoat. Her body couldn't help but bask in the heat even if her core was freezing under the penetrating stare of the OO.
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He sat down behind his desk and indicated a chair for Gemma to lower herself into. She nodded in thanks and perched on the edge, tucking her feet under.
“You asked for an appointment with me,” he prompted in his customary mild tone.
“Yes, sir. I’d like to petition for special treatment for an inmate,” she dove right in.
The OO’s brows rose all the way up to his hairline. “A special treatment? You surprise me, McKinley.”
She gave an involuntary nervous laugh. To compose herself, she folded her hands in her lap in a serene and ladylike pose her mother, and later her ballet school mistresses, had drilled into her.
“I find that I feel strongly about the issue to ask your permission.” She smiled encouragingly at him and immediately realized her mistake.
OO cocked his head and his eyes sharpened, roamed over her face. Her poise, her smile, and possibly her islander accent, considered posh by many of the City’s general public, coalesced into a package that finally registered with him as female. He noticed her, Gemma, under the prison helper’s worn overcoat and scratched boots, and his attention spiked.
He leaned forward. “How special of a treatment are we talking about?” His words held a wealth of meaning.
“There was an incident in the courtyard yesterday.”
“So I heard.” His gaze was penetrating. It was making Gemma fidget.
“A disabled inmate was attacked by other inmates,” her throat got tight and dry, and her words came out breathless.
“Yes. As a result of your, helper McKinley, decision to take him outside.”
Striving for assertiveness, she uncrossed her legs and sat up straighter, putting her hands on the chair seat and pushing her body forward.
“I understand, sir. I was responsible. And I would like to make sure it never happens again.”
OO didn’t immediately respond, and with dismay, Gemma realized his eyes were glued to her breasts made more prominent by her change in position.
She cursed inwardly.
She’d lost a lot of weight since coming to live in the City, hunger her clinging companion. The woman she now saw in the mirror was painfully thin, the tight lithe muscles of her dancing days replaced by the frame trim to the point of gauntness, with only her arms and legs retaining basic definition thanks to the physical work she continued to perform daily.
But no matter how skinny she’d become, her breasts hadn’t seemed to have gotten the memo. Granted, they hadn’t grown bigger, but against the backdrop of her diminished frame her boobs now stuck out like some elite warlords’ burial mounds.
And OO had become very aware of that fact.
Slowly and casually, pretending she noticed nothing amiss, she adjusted her pose again, hunching and bowing her chest inward.
“Having learned my lesson, I am asking for your permission to take the disabled inmate outside the prison walls for walks,” she finished smoothly.
His eyes snapped to her face.
“And what makes you think it’s a reasonable request?”
“This is to protect a sick individual from unnecessary harm.”
“Wait.” His gaze slid again below her neck as if her breasts were magnets and his eyes two chunks of steel. Blinking fast in an obvious effort to concentrate, he adjusted his glasses and peered at Gemma with suspicion. “You work on what floor, again?”
“Third floor, sir.”
“That’s the alien floor. Are you asking me to let an alien go outside?”
“Yes, sir. He’s an alien.”
She waited, terrified that he was going to end the interview with a resounding no.
He smirked. “Missy, allowing those creatures any outside time is a huge concession as far as Warden Heis is concerned. The Earth laws don’t protect aliens.”
This was the argument Gemma came prepared to handle.
“But to maintain the Universal Treaty, we have to treat those who settle here peacefully in a humane way, don’t we?”
OO harrumphed but didn’t say no - small progress. She gave herself a mental pat on the back.
“This alien in cell 35, he’s disabled,” she continued to force her issue in deferential tones. “Wheelchair-bound. Taking him outside would be a mercy, and consistent with our prison policy of positive reinforcement. And because of his condition, he’s a very low flight risk. No risk at all, really.”
OO rose and made his way around his big desk to prop his hip on the corner of it, close to Gemma. He took off his glasses and started twirling them by the stem.
“How long do you propose his outings to be?”
“The same hour that is already given to the third floor. Sir.”
“He will need supervision.” His leg was swinging, his boot heel lightly hitting the leg of his desk in rhythmic bumps like a clock. “Do you expect me to assign a guard for only one inmate?”
He was going to refuse.
Gemma started panicking. She couldn't lose! Simon had to be taken outside so she could feed him yogurt.
Slowly, she straightened her back to its full extent. Her unbuttoned overcoat fell open, revealing her chest encased in a thin sweater. As if bewitched, OO zoomed in on that one part of her anatomy.
“I volunteer to personally supervise the outings, sir.”
“Do you, now?” he murmured. “It’s a lot of responsibility.”
Cringing on the inside, Gemma bowed her back to better display her assets. The twin Mounts Everest strained the knits of her sweater dangerously tight. OO’s mouth opened in awe.
“I understand, sir,” Gemma purred. “I am willing to take full responsibility for the outings.”
OO’s hand stopped twirling the glasses, and slowly he brought it forward. Gemma went completely still, her mind in turmoil. He wouldn’t dare… She wouldn't let him… It wasn’t worth the humiliation…
The backs of his fingers brushed over her left breast, across the nipple. Revulsion shot from where he touched her and exploded in a million violent goosebumps all over her skin. Her mind screamed at her to recoil, to slap his hand away, yet her body remained immobile, her hands frozen by her sides, not encouraging him but not refusing him either.
Bolder now, wearing an enraptured expression, OO cupped her breast, frankly fondling it.
Gemma wanted to puke. Her body strained to flee this chair and the warm office. She never wanted to be warm again, if this was what it took.
Yet she remained where she was morbidly curious at how far she would allow him to go.
The door opened after a perfunctory knock, and Warden Heis stepped inside the office. OO briefly closed his eyes as frustration and disappointment briefly contorted his features. He removed his hand from Gemma’s person, embarrassed not in the least at being caught in the act.
Gemma swiftly got to her feet.
“Good day, Warden.”
He nodded at her, obviously waiting for her to leave. She turned to OO.
“Thank you for hearing me out, sir. I will start with the outings tomorrow if it’s okay with you.”
He hesitated as if he wanted to argue but after a quick sideways glance at the warden pursed his lips. “The checkpoint guards will put him in a tracking device.”
And with that, Gemma was dismissed.
She spilled out of OO’s office forgetting the need to conceal her lame gait and ambled somewhere without purpose. Away. That was her only direction.
Finding herself on the staircase, she dropped down to sit on the bottom stair. She needed this brief respite to analyze what she had just learned, and it wasn’t the fact that OO was a creep who abused his female employees.
Her own actions had come as a complete surprise. She had used her body as a bargaining chip. And the reason that had kept her in that uncomfortable chair with the disgusting man’s hands greedily playing with her flesh had a name: Simon.
And despite her disgust with herself, at the back of her mind, a tiny bell of pure joy was ringing up a storm.
She’
d accomplished her mission.
Ruby accompanied Gemma to Simon’s cell to help put him in the wheelchair.
“Thanks, Ruby. It’s hard to get him in by myself. And Arlo already helped me before, so…”
Ruby leveled a glare at her. “So you feel like you owe him.”
“Well, he did help me.”
Ruby dismissed it. “What a bunch of crock. He’ll hold you to anything if you allow it. He says Bless you! when you sneeze - you’re forever in his debt. Don’t play his game.”
“You make it sound so… blunt.”
Ruby shook her head at her. “Here’s blunt for you. I don’t know how you’re handling it here at the prison. Ain’t cut out for this work.”
Gemma responded with a humorless chuckle. “It’s not like I have a lot of choices.”
“You’re young and pretty. Cultured. You need to find a man to marry. I can’t imagine it being hard for you to do. What are you wasting away here for? Waiting on a prince to come along? We’re short on them at the moment. Go, get yourself a real man to fuss over instead of playing dolls with them freaks.” Ruby pointed at the cot where Simon was vacantly inspecting the concrete wall imprinted by previous occupants with offensive words.
Gemma raised an eyebrow. “What about making your own way in the world?”
“Well, if you must. But this whole protecting and providing business is no joke. Remember, men are big and strong for a reason.”
“Sometimes men let you down.”
“Sometimes. So don’t let just any man snatch you. Be smart. Pick a good one. You can still play your bit part and work or whatnot. But don’t try to make it alone. You ain’t strong enough.”
Ruby’s words stung. “You underestimate me, Ruby. Whatever I didn’t learn growing up, I am catching on fast. I’ll be alright.” Gemma wasn’t sure of anything, but fake it till you make it.
“I thought so too after my husband died. And I make do, I guess. But it’s hard. And some days, it’s truly awful.”
Ruby’s face crumbled, and tears leaked out and ran down her sunken cheeks.
“Oh, Ruby. What’s wrong?” Gemma enveloped the older woman into a tight hug, sensing that Ruby didn’t fall apart very often.