by R. D. Hale
'Oh my Goddess, Emmi, I'm so sorry! I should've stayed and helped. I could've–'
'Oscar, if you stayed, you'd be dead too.' I push the bony-faced nerd away from the bunk and shake my head.
'Hey, Emmi, think of what your brother has come through. If-if anyone can make it… Well, Arturo's the toughest, bravest person I've ever met,' Oscar says as the gang approach the bunk.
'You really think he can make it? You–'
'Arturo's my bloody hero. Of c-course he can make it. And if you tell him I said that when he wakes up, then I might just have to kill you!' Oscar says and laughter splutters from my lips, followed by a tear trickling down my cheek.
'You should've seen him and Ivor kicking the STG's arse. By the time they were done, the warehouse was filled with bodies, but Ivor was taken out by a grenade. Arturo went outside to save Myla, and that's when…' I lower my head and whisper: 'So what about you guys?'
'We heard g-gunfire. It was the worst sound I've ever heard in my life. We couldn't see you so we ran to the jungle hideout to seek the help of Dynah and her friends. A few of them went back to check things out, but everyone was gone. We didn't know what happened to you and Smig, if you were even al… It was a relief when he found us,' Oscar says.
'Well, I'm relieved too. Not everyone gets chased by the STG and lives to tell the tale. We're damn lucky. Well not lucky… You know…' I rub Oscar's trembling forearm.
'To be honest, I was pretty impressed with myself. I kept the gang together when everyone panicked.'
'Are you kidding me, Oscar? You were crying your eyes out. I came close to death, but I didn't cry. I swear, I felt a bullet whiz through my hair…' Bex pauses, looking sideways as footsteps hurry down the corridor. I turn my head to watch Turbo duck below the door-frame, looking tired and grubby, but heightened by optimism. Suddenly, I cannot breathe.
'The auto-surgeon's replaced as much of the damaged tissue as it can,' Turbo says as he approaches the bunk. 'The new parts seem to have bonded nicely with Arturo's body and we've given him a massive injection of nanites. It's a battle against time. The nanites will have to repair the remaining damage and restart Arturo's vital functions, primarily his brain, before the cell decay becomes irreversible. It's just a waiting game.'
A wave of emotion sweeps through me, and I do not even know what this emotion is, but I feel overwhelmed as tears pour down my cheeks.
'Hey, Emmi, don't cry. Your brother's chances just went from zero to fifty-fifty. That's pretty good progress for one day.' Turbo puts a hand on my shoulder. 'I have to go now. As soon as I have an update, I'll be back with good news.'
With hope now filling the room, I feel unbearably restless so I get to my feet as Turbo wanders off. I just need someone to say what I need to hear. That it has worked. That everything will be okay.
'Emmi, he's gonna make it. I can feel it. Arturo always makes it. He'd never leave us,' Bex says and I share her sense of belief, her faith. I know she is right.
'And when he wakes up, he's gonna get a piece of my mind for putting us through this,' I say and the two of us stare into each other's teary eyes, laughing. 'Like seriously, we need to beat the stupid out of him for his own good!'
As I half-watch a chick-flick on the holoscreen, the gang sit on used bunks and talk nonsense with Scoop and Oscar pestering Nelson about rebel life. Those two seem desperate to become the Rebellion's latest recruits, but Bex undermines their boasting at every opportunity, pointing out their cowardice and clumsiness. The pair get redder and redder in frustration as the girls, and Nelson, laugh.
'Hey, Emmi, is there any chance of getting some food in this place? I haven't eaten a thing today.' Bex rubs the skinny belly hidden under her black denim jacket.
'There's a canteen this way. Come on, I'll show you guys.' Nelson leads us into the canteen where I did not have breakfast earlier.
Now the mood has lightened, my hunger pangs return with a vengeance so I grab a tray and approach the service area. My mouth waters as I admire the many dishes bathed in orange light. 'I'll have that, that, that, and that… and, er, that,' I tell the pinnie-wearing droid to heap pretty much everything behind the steamed glass onto a plate.
'Sure thing, pretty lady,' the droid says with the campest voice I have ever heard, scooping food from containers. He is made from metal cylinders without paint, let alone skin, and has spaghetti arms and a cartoonish light-up face. The kind of thing a Level One kid would make in a science project.
I sit at a table with a mountain of potatoes, carrots, meat, and about ten other things I have never seen, let alone tasted.
Wolfing the food down, I soon realise my eyes are bigger than my belly, and I am struggling by the time I have eaten a quarter of my meal. Gravy splashes onto the checked cream/grey table as the gang share my enthusiasm. I look up to see Scoop and Smig with brown moustaches and they are already getting up for seconds.
'Wow, Armadillo tastes so good,' Smig mutters, approaching the service area.
'Ugh, that's not what I'm eating, is it?' I roll my eyes sideways.
'Sure looks like it,' Bex mumbles with a stuffed mouth, but I take another piece regardless. I cannot afford to be choosy and the urge to eat overcomes my bloatedness.
I stare at Dynah's all-black outfit which includes a stolen biker jacket belonging to Bex. Her innocent face does not suit the bad girl image she has adopted, and my funkier style would be a better match, but it would seem Bex is trying to create a clone of herself. The nerve.
'I see you've been dressing Dynah again.' I fix Bex's gaze, then turn to the supergirl, disappointed. 'Dynah, you must get your own wardrobe ASAP. You'll look so much better with a bit of colour.'
'Does this outfit not suit me?' Dynah says.
'You look great, Dynah, just the wrong kind'a great,' I say and Bex hisses, crossing her arms. 'When we get the chance, we'll raid a clothes shop. Can't be anything too fancy though. We can't risk the cameras seeing you. Maybe when the war breaks out, the designer outlets will get easier. Medio could become a looter's paradise.'
'Is there no better way to get clothes? The Rebellion seem happy to give them away,' Dynah says with the charming innocence I love her for.
'And that's fine if you wanna look like a boy too. We're bottom-levellers, Dynah, theft is what we do,' I say, feeling neither pride nor shame at those words. Perhaps I will persuade my brother to dip into his pocket when he wakes, as payback for this emotional trauma. Not that there is much chance of success. The only person who gets her hands on his money is Myla. He is wrapped around her little finger.
'Hey, Emmi, you should've seen the tr-tricks the guys were doing in the jungle.' Oscar looks to Rupert who is sitting opposite, chewing his food as eagerly as anyone. He is probably even less familiar with this cuisine than the gang, and this is five-star eating. 'Why don't you show her?'
Rupert puts his cutlery down with an unsightly grin, revealing food in his teeth. He holds out his hands and fire emerges between his bony fingers, causing Nelson to gasp. His reaction is perfectly understandable, even if he has heard talk of the telepaths' abilities. Seeing fire appear where there is nothing to burn is just plain weird. I do not think I will ever understand how this is possible so I shall just call it 'magic'.
A flame forms the shape of a little man, but I shrug my shoulders because I have seen this trick before. Rupert conjures another figure and another, and Dynah joins in the magic show.
Nelson's eyes widen as the sprites form a line between half-eaten meals on the glowing dinner table. He runs to the canteen door, shouting: 'Guys, come and check this out!'
Two more lads enter the canteen and gasp at the sight of a dozen flaming sprites running around the table. They jump onto plates, wiggling their backsides and leaving black footprints on pieces of food. One of them jumps into a drink and disappears in a puff of steam. Another jumps onto Scoop's head, singeing his messy hair so he slaps it away and burns his fingers. 'Ouch!' One by one, the sprites grow wings and fly around th
e canteen, leaving golden trails.
'Can we get some music and switch off the lights, please?' Rupert says and Nelson duly obliges, selecting trance music on the holoscreen, then flicking the light switch. The lack of windows makes the fiery display all the more vibrant.
The sprites hold hands and perform an aerial dance in the darkness as the gang clap along. Tiny embers linger in the air until they are scattered by acrobatic manoeuvres. Close encounters with shadowy faces reveal sparkly pupils following their flightpaths, hypnotised.
Flying in a circle, the sprites form a halo above the pinnie-wearing droid whose mouth forms a rectangular grin. 'Oh, so pretty!'
The entertainment comes to an abrupt end as Turbo runs into the canteen and everyone spins towards him. The sprites vanish into thin air as he pants, bending over, and in the dim light, I see a tear roll down his freckled cheek.
'What is it? What is it? Tell me.' I rise to my feet, trembling with disgust at our previous joyfulness.
'Arturo, he… he…'
'Oh no…' I cry.
'No… his… his brain is showing signs of neural activity. We think he's waking up. We've done it, Emmi.'
Collapsing to my knees, I sob in silence and a hand touches my shoulder, then someone wraps their arms around me from behind.
'He's gonna be okay, Emmi,' Bex whispers into my ear.
A Meeting with a Terrorist
Turbo leads me through a corridor not too long, yet longer than any I have walked. Every door is identical, apart from tiny signs above them, some containing unfamiliar words. The rebels we pass are drone-like, in a hurry to get from A to B, but I am walking almost backwards, somehow keeping up with my guide.
Turbo opens a door, taking me into a small, dusty room which contains my unconscious brother lying on a wheeled bed. His bare chest is covered in crimson circles where bullets tore through him, yet he is still breathing. Wires are attached to his flesh with round stickers and a ventilator mask covers his face. He lies motionless and seems a million miles away from recovery as the device attached to him bleeps away.
Bleep. Bleep. Bleep.
I take a seat at Arturo's bedside, and Turbo says, 'I'll give you two some time alone,' as he leaves, closing the door behind him.
I am unable to even look at my brother as I take deep breaths, feeling like I should say something, but I have no idea what. The silence continues until it feels weirdly awkward, like sitting with a vaguely familiar person, wanting to avoid small talk. I clear my throat in preparation to speak, but again I fall silent. Turning to his masked face, I quickly look away in disgust, and my eyes settle on a table of medical instruments.
'You better wake up,' I snap, pausing. 'You're my big brother. What were you thinking? You're not supposed to le… What would I do without you?
'We lost our parents, Arturo. Think of all the things we've come through. We raised ourselves, survived where grown men and women could not. We weren't supposed to fall like the rest of them. You always said you weren't interested in their fight. How did you let yourself get sucked into this?'
I glare at Arturo as though demanding him to wake up, and I hear a knock at the door, but I do not respond. Nevertheless, the door opens and a huge man with brown skin, a short frizzy beard, and a metal hand enters the room; his knuckles glinting in the lamp light. He looks just like the scumbags in Underworld, which incidentally is where my brother met him, inside one of those towns built in underground tube stations abandoned years ago.
'I take it you're Jardine,' I snarl as the visitor stands with his back against the door.
'That's correct, and you must be Emmi. How are you feeling?' Jardine says in a pathetically timid manner. I battle the urge to stand up and punch this terrorist scumbag in his bearded face.
'How do you think I'm feeling? Look at him. That's my brother lying there because of you.' I sneer.
'I know, I'm sorry. I let Arturo down. I let all of you down,' Jardine says, lowering his head.
'So is it true what Turbo says? Is he gonna make it?' I say.
'Right now, his chances of pulling through are as good as they can possibly be, given the circumstances, but there are no guarantees.'
'I swear to the Goddess, you'd better hope he makes it, or that robotic arm will not be enough to protect you,' I growl.
'You sound just like him. You have his spirit,' Jardine says.
'Don't even think of flattering me. Let's make this very clear, you and those San Terian bastards are welcome to continue killing each other, but we want no part of it. And when your supersoldier comes back from the dead, you can say goodbye to him, because we're leaving this city for good.'
'When Arturo comes back, I'll give you what you need – food, money, a place to stay. You'll need to keep away from populated areas to avoid the plague. We can hide you in the mountains until the danger settles. We owe you that… Oh, and if it's any consolation, I'm sorry.'
Jardine leaves the medical room and I wait alone at my brother's bedside, analysing his bright, wrinkled scars, wondering how they formed so quickly, why such medicine would not be available to all. Money is the obvious answer. My gaze follows wires to a green electronic display which I read again and again:
Cell decay: 19%
Neural activity: 7%
Blood pressure: 90/60
Heart rate: 45bpm
Occasionally, a visitor knocks at the door, bringing food and water, a blanket and clean clothes, unwanted chit-chat… Later, visitors collect my plates, check Arturo's vital signs, ask whether I am okay. I just shrug.
The room has no windows or clock so I have no indication whether morning is nigh. I go through a phase of drowsiness without sleeping and eventually the drowsiness fades again. And all the while, there is no change in my brother's condition. I am starting to fear he may be permanently locked in.
I dreamily reminisce about the amazing things we did together, the wonderful times we shared, the fantastic places we visited. That, of course, is a lie.
All of the happy memories are drugged out blurs. We only saw nice places from the outside looking in – peering through windows or forcefields into restricted areas that only Citizens can access, stores in the outer-hub where people buy fancy things like jewellery to show they are more special than others.
We wanted to be more special too, which probably explains why we are so competitive. We spent most of our time bickering, and I can barely say we got along, yet I would miss him terribly if he left me.
Yet another visitor knocks and I am too weak to respond, but the door opens without invitation. Jardine enters along with a flood of corridor light, closing the door and taking a bedside seat.
'It's been a long night,' Jardine says with bleary eyes. 'You must be exhausted.'
'No,' I whisper.
'We have someone on the way to examine Arturo. He should be here within minutes, and he thinks he knows why Arturo hasn't woken up. He's the best medical expert we've got. Why don't you come to the canteen to see your friends and let the doctor do his thing? If this treatment works, Arturo should come round within twenty four hours.'
Sighing, I get to my feet and plod to the darkened canteen where the gang are sitting, looking all-too-relaxed. Dynah and Rupert have attracted another audience as they perform their fire tricks again. I guess word has gotten around the base and everyone is demanding a demonstration, but this will wear the telepaths out. Their powers are energy draining.
A round of applause comes to an end as they notice me approaching. The fiery sprites fade as I flop onto a seat and Jardine flicks on the light switch, then sits two tables away, clearing his throat to attract all eyes.
'I owe you guys a full explanation. First of all, I'm sorry for what has happened to Arturo. We knew what we were doing was risky, but this was completely unanticipated. We should've been better prepared.
'For those who don't know, my name is Leo Jardine. That's not an alias – it's the name I was born with. I work for the Rebellion. We've been fi
ghting San Teria because their rule has gone beyond the point of indifference and is now hostile to our very existence. They want to exterminate anybody who is not of use to them.
'We needed to up our recruitment efforts because we're outnumbered and outgunned. We saw real potential in Arturo, Smig, and Myla. They're exceptional individuals. When we took them into our fold, we accepted a responsibility to them as they did to us. I would like to assure you that Arturo has always been more than just a soldier. He is part of our family, a child of Anatolia, as are all of you.
'It has been a matter of life and death for us bottom-levellers. The plague was only phase one, but we're fighting back and the Elites can be beaten. The fight will continue, but none of you will be asked to take part. We've called upon the best of our resources to bring Arturo back. And not for the first time.
'Arturo will pull through, I am confident of that. And when he does, we'll give you guys all the help you need, because you'll not be able to return home. I must warn you things may get even more dangerous. If they come for you again, you'll need to be ready.'
I stare at Jardine, scrunch my face, look away from him, sigh, and scowl at that bearded face again, but my scowl falls. In his steady eyes, I can see only sincerity, and I must appreciate he saved my brother twice. Arturo was fighting for a cause, he became part of something bigger, and I am beginning to understand his position, even if I would not have taken that path.
The Doctor's Report
Jardine leaves the canteen and his speech leaves me to ponder the fate of Myla who was taken away in the armoured transport. She must have seen everything and been completely unable to help, even though she was inches from the shooter. And now she must be terrified, devastated, in their custody. Her position is even worse than mine.
I had barely given Myla a second thought due to Arturo's critical condition. It dawns that even if we get Arturo back, Myla may be lost forever, and suddenly I feel broken again. When my brother was captured, the experience scarred him, changed his personality for the worse, made him even quieter, angrier. A workcamp is no place for anyone, let alone a teenage girl. Not that she is weak. Far from it.