Intermix Nation

by M. P. Attardo

  “No,” she argues belligerently. “I refuse to accept that.”

  “Why not?” asks Cander. “It sets the stage perfectly. The intermix orphan falls in love with the reformed Medi who ruined her life. It showcases the both of you in the best possible light. And it makes the rebellion seem like a dreamland … allowing people to hope for things they never imagined could exist.”

  “Because –”

  “Oh right,” he interrupts snidely, “because you don’t want to fuck over my little brother any more than you already have.”

  Nazirah sucks in her breath, repressing the urge to slam his face against the coffee table. “That was so uncalled for,” she says.

  “But entirely true!”

  “Cander, enough!” shouts Cameron.

  “No! It’s not enough! Cato should be home with us right now, not off gallivanting, risking his life with these foolish rebels!”

  “Foolish rebels?” Nazirah exclaims. “That’s all you think we are?”

  “Did I stutter?”

  “Foolish for what, exactly?” she asks, “For wanting the same rights as everyone else? For standing up to the Medis, in Eridian defense, for people too afraid to defend themselves?”

  “Don’t put words in my mouth!” he barks. “So much has been going on here lately, Nazirah. So much you don’t know.”

  “What do you mean?” she asks. “What’s been going on?”

  “I don’t know if you’ve noticed,” Cander says, “but Rafu has changed since you’ve been away. Intermix are restless, poverty has multiplied, violence is incredible. Life here is drastically deteriorating.”

  “I’ve seen it,” Nazirah says.

  “Seeing it doesn’t mean you understand it,” he says. “We barely get any resources from Mediah anymore. Our quotas have tripled. We’re forced to send them almost everything we catch, tons and tons of seafood daily. The Medis don’t even consume it all; the Chancellor throws most of it away. Mediah is punishing Eridies for housing the rebels. I’m worried this campaign is the final straw.”

  “Poor Cander,” she mocks. “You don’t get any resources from Mediah? Welcome to my life for the past eighteen years! And besides, this is a good thing! We need this unrest to fuel the rebellion!”

  “So that what?” he cries. “So that your brother can ship mine off to war? To certain death? It’s a suicide mission, Nazirah! You have no shot against the capital. Don’t delude yourself into thinking otherwise. Your intermix revolution ties a noose around Cato’s neck. And I want no part of it.”

  “It’s not an intermix revolution, Cander!” Nazirah screams. “It’s to the benefit of every territory-born as well! You should follow your little brother’s lead and stop acting like a spineless coward!”

  Cander slams his fist on the coffee table, making the glass rattle. “I am no coward!”

  “Could have fooled me!”

  “You think I don’t see the poverty around us?” he yells, infuriated. “I help extinguish Medi fires all the time in the slums! You think it doesn’t eat me up inside, watching human beings burn and die? You think I like being a pawn in their sick game? I’m just trying to protect my family, Nazirah! Because no one else will. Especially not my little brother. You’re the only thing Cato cares about. It’s always been that way. It’s always been all about Nazirah fucking Nation, and fuck anyone who dares get in the way!”

  “Nazzy!”

  A small voice cries from the top of the staircase, interrupting them. Cato’s seven-year-old sister bolts down the stairs and into Nazirah’s arms. Nazirah scoops her up into a hug. Nazirah fondly remembers the day Caria was born; she has always thought of her as a little sister.

  “Caria!” Nazirah wipes away a tear. “You’ve grown up! You’ve lost your front tooth!” Nazirah scoots over, making room for Caria on the couch.

  Caria sits down, bouncing happily, sticking her tongue in the empty gap. “Last week,” she says, grinning.

  Cameron tries to sound stern. “You’re supposed to be sleeping, sweetie.”

  “Daddy, please,” Caria says, rolling her eyes. “Nazzy, what are you doing here? Is Cato back?” She looks around the room excitedly. Cander and Cameron stiffen in their seats.

  “No Caria,” Nazirah says. “It’s only me. I’m … visiting.”

  “Oh,” Caria sighs, a bit put out. “Well, I’m happy to see you!”

  Nazirah smiles slightly. She looks at Cander, who nods. They make a silent pact not to argue in front of the smallest, most powerful Caal.

  Juliya comes out with a steaming mug of tea and some homemade cookies. She hands the plate to Nazirah and Caria eyes the cookies longingly. Nazirah happily shares them with her.

  “She’s got you wrapped around her little finger,” Cander says to Nazirah. Caria sticks her tongue out at him, fingers sticky with jam.

  Juliya adjusts her robe, sitting down on the armrest next to Cameron. She asks, “How did you get here? We were sure Nikolaus wouldn’t let you out of his sight.”

  Nazirah snorts. “Yeah, right.”

  “He’s okay with you wandering off?”

  “Niko isn’t on the campaign with us,” Nazirah says, unsure of how to proceed. “He’s staying at headquarters.” She bites into a large cookie, trying to avoid answering the question.

  “You didn’t sneak out, did you?” asks Juliya, concerned.

  “Sneak … no,” Nazirah says, chewing. “Walk … maybe.”

  “Girl hasn’t changed at all, Juliya,” Cameron chuckles. “Remember when she and Cato ransacked the house, making off with all the homebrewed tequilux we’d been saving for the family reunion?”

  Nazirah coughs up cookie crumbs, blushing furiously. “I don’t remember that,” she claims.

  Juliya looks bemused. “I do,” she says. Then, as only a mother can, Juliya broaches the subject everyone has been dancing around. “Speaking of Cato,” she says. “Is he well?”

  Nazirah sees the deep concern in her eyes, the worry she hides as she tries to remain strong for her family. Juliya and Riva are so alike it hurt. “He is,” Nazirah replies. “Really well, actually.”

  Nazirah proceeds to tell them everything about Cato. She tells them about how happy he is, how he feels like he’s finally found his place doing something meaningful in the world. How he lights up the rebel headquarters with his smile, how he is friends with everyone he meets. How he has been stationed for a few weeks in the Red West and how excited he was to go. His family listens, rapt, smiles and tears on every face.

  Juliya affectionately grabs Cameron’s hand. “That’s wonderful to hear,” she says, face shining.

  “He misses you.” Nazirah smiles. “Just this morning, he asked me to tell you he loves you.”

  Juliya sobs into Cameron’s shoulder, making Nazirah feel enormously uncomfortable. She stands up, ready to leave, wanting to give them privacy. They’ve lost a son, Nazirah realizes, and a brother. Because of her.

  Juliya sees the guilt on Nazirah’s face, rises to embrace her. “Nazirah,” she says firmly, like a mother would speak to her own child. “We are so incredibly proud of you, and of Cato. Please don’t think we hold anything against you. None of this is your fault.”

  But Nazirah doesn’t believe her, not for a second. She should have stopped Cato from coming with her. But she didn’t, because she wanted him for herself. Adamek is right. She is a selfish bitch.

  “I should probably get back,” she says. “Before anyone realizes I’m gone.”

  Juliya and Cameron share a concerned look. “Cander will walk you,” Juliya says. “You can’t roam these streets alone at night anymore.”

  “I’ll be fine,” Nazirah replies.

  “It’s not a suggestion,” Juliya says sharply.

  “Nazirah,” Cameron says, “with all the turmoil around here lately, some of the Eridian gangs have taken it upon themselves to … place blame.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “They’re lynching intermix,” Cander ans
wers abruptly. “They round up the beggars on the street every night and hang them in the square.”

  Nazirah inhales, clenching her fists. She looks away for a moment, collecting herself, before nodding silently. She pulls out Cato’s cap. Instead of putting it on, she gently fits it over Caria’s head. It falls into Caria’s eyes and she holds it up with one hand. “Something to remember Cato by,” Nazirah says. “While he’s away.”

  “Wait!” Caria shouts, remembering something. She bounds upstairs, banging loudly, and then storms back down again. She holds something small in her hand, thrusts it shyly to Nazirah. “This is for Cato … when you see him.”

  Nazirah gently takes the heart-shaped locket she knows contains a photo of Cato and Caria. “I’ll make sure he gets it,” she says.

  “Promise?”

  “Cross my heart.”

  “Take care, Nazirah,” Juliya says, tightly hugging her at the door. Nazirah imagines this particular hug is meant for someone else.

  Cander and Nazirah walk back in uncomfortable silence. They soon reach the entrance of the inn. Even though it’s late, there are a few stragglers drinking casually outside. Nazirah covers her face with her hand. Cander glances suspiciously around the tables. He wraps his hands around her waist, embracing Nazirah as if they were lovers.

  “Are we okay?” she asks him quietly.

  “Everyone here is drunk,” he whispers in her ear. “No one will recognize you. And if they do, they won’t remember it come tomorrow anyway.”

  “No,” she says, gesturing between the two of them. “Are we okay?”

  Cander sighs. “When have we ever been okay, Nazirah?”

  “Don’t hold anything back,” she snaps. She moves to leave, but he holds her waist more tightly.

  “Word on the street is you’re visiting the slums tomorrow.”

  “What of it?” she asks.

  “Be careful,” he says. “Once the Medis find out you’re here, and they will, it’s only a matter of time before they try to get to you. I may not care much for your brother, but I care for mine. And he cares about you. So don’t do anything stupid.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  Cander scans the crowd again, his eyes narrowing. “I’m serious, Nazirah,” he says. “Nikolaus has got this much right: you’re exactly the spark intermix are looking for to blow this whole thing wide open … and the Chancellor knows it.” He leans forward quickly, kissing her full on the mouth.

  “What are you doing?” she hisses, pulling away.

  He chuckles. “You need to become a much better liar than that,” he says. Cander winks and then walks away, leaving Nazirah stunned on the sidewalk.

  “Boys,” she mutters.

  Nazirah turns around and stops short, realizing whom Cander was really putting on a show for. Adamek stands a few feet away, unusually smoking a cigarette, watching her intently. Nazirah ignores him as she walks past. Seeing the Caals was exactly the fix Nazirah needed. And she won’t let him ruin her high.

  He thinks she’s a frigid prude?

  Nazirah will show Adamek Morgen exactly how frigid she can be.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Walking to the parked sedan the next afternoon, Nazirah is in considerably heightened spirits. Her late night visit to the Caals has renewed her focus and drive. She feels unusually optimistic, excited even, to visit the intermix slums.

  Nazirah opens the car door, expecting to be the last person there. To her surprise, Aldrik is unusually late. The sun is high in the afternoon sky and the car is sweltering. Nazirah smirks as she slides into the backseat. Adamek has undone his two top shirt buttons and rolled up the cuffs of his sleeves. This isn’t Krush anymore. Adamek clearly isn’t used to the muggy, humid heat of southern Eridies.

  Nazirah finds herself unwillingly drawn to the patch of skin shining through his unbuttoned shirt. It reminds her of him in the Iluxor. So much has happened in the last couple of days that Nazirah keeps pushing that memory to the back of her mind. She doesn’t want to think about it … how he has lost a mother too … how he has essentially orphaned himself … how he has no one to go to when the grief becomes overwhelming. She doesn’t want to know that he has no one at all.

  “See something you like?”

  Crap.

  She snaps her head up. Adamek’s eyebrow is raised questioningly. “Just wondering why you’re not wearing your pendant,” she replies, thinking quickly.

  Adamek looks down where it would normally be, shrugging lightly. “Forgot to put it on, I guess.”

  “You guess?” she scoffs. “You shouldn’t mess around! That amnesty pendant is the only thing protecting you from some angry rebel who decides he just might like killing you after all.”

  “Is that so?” Adamek asks, heavily scratched hands resting nonchalantly in his lap. “The only thing?”

  “I don’t know,” she says, retracting slightly.

  “Right.”

  “Whatever,” she snaps. “You still need to be more careful.”

  “Oh, honey,” he says, words calculated. “I didn’t realize you cared.”

  “I still don’t,” Nazirah says. “I just don’t want you dead. Not while you’re still useful to the rebels.”

  “You don’t want me dead?” Adamek asks emotionlessly. “Or you don’t want me dead at someone else’s hands?”

  Nazirah is stunned silent. Sure, she has imagined killing him, in various painful ways, for months now. But for him to say it out loud? To make that desire, that darkness inside of her, seem possible? Like she could really do it, if only she had the opportunity?

  It scares her.

  “That’s what I thought.”

  “How did your meeting with the fishermen go?” she asks, changing the subject.

  “I’d say very well,” he tells her, “considering what we bribed them with.”

  “Not everyone can be bought, you know,” Nazirah responds crossly. “Some people have morals.”

  “Morals have nothing to do with it.”

  “Morals have everything to do with it!”

  Adamek sighs. “Everyone can be bought, Nation. It’s just a matter of price.”

  “You’re talking about money?”

  “That’s not what I said.”

  Nazirah glances out the window, annoyed. “Where is Aldrik?” she asks.

  “Talking with your brother, I think.”

  “By the way,” she says, “do you know what he’s saying about us?”

  “Your brother?”

  “Aldrik.”

  Adamek shakes his head. “What’s he saying?”

  “Well, uh,” Nazirah mumbles, “you remember how I didn’t exactly answer Cander’s question yesterday?”

  Adamek’s eyes flash. “Vaguely.”

  “Apparently,” Nazirah continues, coughing nervously, “Aldrik’s telling everyone that my silence was actually because I … because we’re … together.”

  Adamek snorts in amusement. “That makes no sense at all.”

  “That’s what I said.”

  “I wouldn’t worry too much about it,” he tells her. “I doubt anyone will believe it.”

  “That’s not what Cander seems to think.”

  “Afraid word will get back to your little boyfriend in the Red West?” he asks.

  Nazirah hasn’t thought of that. What if Cato hears the rumors before Nazirah can explain how untrue they are? Nazirah knows he will go crazy. And the two of them don’t need any more strain on their friendship. “No,” she says stubbornly, refusing to let him get the last word.

  “Or are you afraid he’ll hear about your midnight trysts with his brother?”

  Aldrik appears by the inn’s entrance and Nazirah sighs in relief. “It’s not like that.”

  “Don’t you find it hypocritical,” Adamek continues, “that you wax poetic about how I spend all my time slutting myself around, and then you go and whore yourself out to the first willing guy? Not to mention jeopardizing the entire campa
ign in the process.”

  “I do not whore myself out,” she hisses.

  “Didn’t look that way to me.”

  “As you made it so abundantly clear last night,” Nazirah says angrily, “you know that isn’t true. And I could not care less what or who you do.”

  Lie.

  Aldrik shuffles into the front seat, revs the engine. Without a word, he begins driving, making the short journey to the slums.

  “You’re late,” Nazirah says.

  “The Commander can be very chatty when he wants. Morgen has probably already informed you, your highness, but our meeting today with the fishing contacts was successful. They’ve agreed to stop sending resources to Mediah and instead will be redistributing their food quotas to the rebels.”

  “I told her,” Adamek replies.

  “Good,” he says, smiling wickedly. “There’s also something else, concerning you two, that you should be aware of.”

  “We already know,” Nazirah answers.

  Aldrik quickly glances between them, noting their tension with delight. “Having a lover’s spat already, are we?”

  Nazirah only shoots him a scathing glare.

  “Holy hell, what is that?” Aldrik says as they pass by the town square. A makeshift gallows has been erected in the center. Nazirah gags as she sees bodies hanging in the sunlight, slowly rotting corpses. They are a few feet off the ground, hands bound behind them, heads lolled to the side. Seagulls and flies circle overhead. It’s haunting.

  They enter slum territory. Nazirah has never been in this part of Rafu, even though it’s close to where she grew up. Barefoot children wearing rags run alongside the car, fascinated. Nazirah feels ashamed to be driving into the slums, wishing they walked from the inn instead. She wants to yell out the window that she’s like them, can count the number of times she’s been in a car on one hand.

  The motor eventually dies and the three of them step outside. Nazirah looks through the hazy, blistering heat.

  Thousands of small huts line the narrow beach in neat rows as far as the eye can see. They are flimsy at best, constructed of driftwood and cardboard, tied together with some metal sheeting and tarpaulin. Hundreds of children sit lethargically in the sand. The children are all gangly limbs, bloated stomachs, and swollen heads. Some play. Many beg for food. Most just watch with hollow, hungry eyes that have seen too much. Old women, faces lined with deep crags, skin like leather, stare accusingly. Young men kick a ball around in the sand, yelling and shouting.