Temper

by Beck Nicholas

  “Sir.” The man runs to the van and returns with a cloth that he uses to clean Davyd’s uniform without being asked.

  It’s all the demonstration I need. Davyd is well and truly in command here.

  “Bind them,” he orders the two closest officers. He yells for another to load the bike.

  The redhead approaches me warily before handing off his weapon to someone else and pulls out a metal cord from a pack I hadn’t noticed built into the suit.

  Rael has already been bound ankles and wrists but my officer hesitates.

  “She doesn’t bite,” Davyd says. “What are you waiting for?” He pauses until the officer is within arm’s reach before adding. “Actually, on the whole biting thing? I make no promises.”

  His eyes dart between Davyd and I. I can almost see his thoughts playing across his pale face. If he doesn’t move soon he’ll lose respect amongst the other officers but I’m an unknown quality.

  It would be funny if he wasn’t about to bind me hand and foot.

  He glares at a short, stocky gray-haired woman. “You want to hold her for me?”

  The woman shakes her head. “Orders are orders.”

  He takes another step closer. The scent of his fear is sweat and urine and soap that reminds me of the purple weeds that grow in the crags of the rocks in the mountains. Way too sweet for a male.

  I want to struggle. Every inch of me is begging my brain to let it go free. The prospect of the release of taking out my fury on however many I can get my hands on is so close I ache for it, but I can’t. I’m not afraid of their guns. But getting shot could be death, and death is failure.

  Killing one or two officers here in the middle of nowhere is nothing to the Company. Preventing us Lifers from killing each other would hurt them so much more.

  The need to fight clawing inside me makes my hands shake and knees tremble. Staying still as the officer reaches to clip the metal tie around my ankles is a battle. Watching and doing nothing as the join in the metal tie becomes shining fluid before resetting as one perfect whole, is as hard a thing as I’ve ever done.

  And the whole time the other way plays through my brain. The crunch as I kick him square in the nose, the give as his face makes way for my foot unable to occupy the same air, the squeal as I stand over him and line him up again.

  I sweat with it. This need for violence. And I hate it.

  So I stand unmoving. Because giving in to the rage inside me is not the answer. It takes me back to my argument with Mother about the training rooms. The big battles are won with words, not losses of temper. Not lashing out.

  I hold out my hands and look away as he binds them. I can feel Rael’s eyes on me. Is she wondering at my submission? Have I lost any respect she might have had for me?

  I can’t let myself think about it. Instead I focus on the vans, how they’re locked and unlocked as officers move around them, and the exact locations of windows and doors as well as the landmarks. I’m hoping I’ll be able to follow the directions and turns from the inside. The more information I have, the better I’ll be if there’s an opportunity to get away with Rael and continue my mission.

  The officers drive us toward the back of the middle van using the ends of their guns. Each prod between my shoulder blades is a reminder of the consequences of trying to escape. The binding around my ankles means I walk with short steps, watching the ground for dips or loose rocks.

  “Ouch,” Rael mutters at my side.

  I know turning my head to see her wacked with another blow by the short woman is a mistake. But the rock that twists beneath my foot as I do so sends me crashing to my knees. Sharp gravel edges bite through my jeans, and blood seeps into the material.

  “Get up,” is the snarl from behind. Redhead is all very brave now that I’m bound.

  I make a few half-hearted attempts to rise before settling back down. “Can’t. Maybe if you took this off.” I wave at my feet.

  “Not happening.”

  “Help her.” The order comes from Davyd.

  Redhead hesitates and then holds out one slender hand.

  I make him work for it. His cheeks redden as he tries to drag me to my feet, eventually hooking me under the armpit. My small victory doesn’t last long. When I’m on my feet his slim little hand lingers and then as he moves away brushes against the side of my breast.

  My insides contract. I check his face. He’s leering.

  “You little—” Wasting no more breath on words, I swing my linked hands. They work as a club, finding the creep’s nose. There’s a satisfying crack and tears spring from his eyes. He cries out, reeling back and clutching at his messed up face.

  Then there’s the barrel of a gun, and it’s only an inch from my temple. Blood is dripping from his nose, there’s hate in his eyes, and his finger is on the trigger.

  “Don’t.” Davyd steps between us. He’s looking at redhead. “Don’t even think about it.”

  “But she—”

  Davyd steps closer. “I saw what happened. All of it.”

  “What’s wrong with getting a feel of a bit of her? She’s my prisoner.”

  “No.” Davyd’s voice is quiet. “She’s my prisoner.”

  Redhead glares and drops his weapon. “Didn’t anyone ever teach you to share?”

  “No.” Davyd waves to a tall dark-skinned man who hurries to stand to attention in front of him. “Get them in the van.”

  “What am I supposed to do?” Redhead whines.

  “End van. Go,” Davyd orders without looking at him.

  He heads off to the last van in the line, but I can’t miss the death stare he gives me as he walks past.

  I flex my fingers, aching from where I smashed the creep. He deserved it and more but I shouldn’t have reacted. Now I need to be even more careful if I’m in his range again. Control is a work in progress.

  We’re placed in the back of the van. It’s windowless with a bench seat on either side and some rails to hold onto. Rael is on the other side from me, and I try to tell her with my eyes that I’ll get us out of this somehow but she’s staring down at her arm favoring the cut across the back of her wrist. It’s stopped bleeding but her dirty jeans are already stained with dark red drips and there’s some on her face where she’s wiped silent tears.

  Davyd climbs in. I’m sure he’ll check my bindings but he’s too busy barking orders at the other officers. “One travel in front and one behind. If they make a break for it, kill them.”

  The officer glances at Rael and I. “Don’t you want backup in here, sir?”

  Davyd’s lip curls. “No.”

  The doors close. I keep my smile hidden until it’s completely dark.

  Davyd has made his first mistake. He can order them to shoot on sight all he wants, but I don’t need to burst out the back of the van and flee across country. I’ll use him as a hostage and get away using the van.

  The whole thing vibrates as the unseen company driver starts the engine and then drives away from where we were caught.

  For a minute the rumble of the engine is the only sound in the dark space. I’m playing through the attack in my mind. I have time to think this through, but I’ll only have one chance to get it right.

  “Before you try to overpower me,” Davyd says, his voice low in my ear. “You should know this, all of it, is part of my plan to get us into New City.”

  Chapter Eight

  [Samuai]

  There’s no such thing as a simple visit to see Mother.

  Freshly showered, as per Kaih’s request, and with only the bandages under my hoodie to show for my day in the hospital, I approach Mother’s house with my steps dragging. Low clouds have gathered bringing an early darkness to the day and without the weak sunshine, the air’s icy. Small clouds of fog appear in front of me with every breath.

  Two Fishies stand at attention at either side of her front door. They puff out their chest and brandish weapons when I reach the fron
t step.

  The older one with slick gray hair and a freshly shaven jaw blocks my path. “Lady does not want to be disturbed.”

  “Do you know who I am?” I hate the echo of Davyd’s arrogance in my question but I’m in no mood for Mother’s dramatics.

  “No exceptions.”

  I ignore him and reach past to rap on the door. “Mother, open up.”

  He shoves me backwards. I stumble, the weakness from the fever persisting in my legs. I lunge for the railing but miss, landing square on my backside.

  Before I can give into the anger flaring inside me, the door bursts open, and Mother herself pushes her guard out of the way. “What have you done to my baby?”

  My cheeks burn. I don’t know what’s worse—being knocked over by a geriatric or being mollycoddled by Mother. I shoot the guard a glare and shake off Mother’s helping hand. “I’m fine.”

  I stand without help.

  Once we’re inside, she begins her grand hostess ritual, calling some unseen servant to bring tea and gesturing for me to sit.

  I do so, but only because my legs are trembling like the consistency of the apple jam Mother saves for special occasions. “What’s going on?”

  She sits opposite, hands folded neatly in her lap. “Whatever do you mean, Dear?”

  “The guards. Apparently you’re refusing to come out or let anyone in.”

  Her breath escapes in an undignified sniff through her nose. “Don’t take that tone with me. I’m not sure why you’re bothering to ask since you apparently know everything.”

  “Tell me.”

  “I can’t.” She pulls out a small square of material and dabs at her dry eyes. “The whole thing was simply ghastly.”

  “What? Happened?” I try to keep the frustration from my tone but without success.

  “If you’re going to speak to me like that you might as well leave.” This time she manages to squeeze out a tear.

  In no state to hide my annoyance, I seek calm by looking away from Mother and toward the window. Fine drops of water spatter on the glass, coming as if like magic out of the darkness to land on the pane before sliding out of sight. I breathe in and out. With every minute that passes, my hope of catching a few hours rest before sneaking back to the hospital fades.

  “Please tell me.” This time I keep my tone gentle.

  “If you must know …” She trails off, waiting.

  “Please.”

  “I was assaulted.” Her shoulders crumple, and she sobs in earnest, dry sniffs that should tug the heartstrings, but don’t.

  “Mother, this is me you’re talking to.”

  She peeks out from between her hands. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “I’ve seen the performances before, usually to drive Huckle out of our apartment when we were back on the ship. I know when you’re really upset.”

  Because I’ve seen it real.

  I can’t help it, in my head I picture her face the moment I walked back onto the ship after she and everyone else thought I was dead. There was pain. Real, and so deep my insides cramp at the memory.

  I push the image away, but it’s too late. It’s done what the fake drama couldn’t. I feel sorry for her. “Tell me what happened. This time without the tears.”

  She lifts her head and dabs some more at her cheeks. “There I was, walking all the way across the camp to order my requirements for the evening meal when some green robe accosted me. She informed me that I must now take my meals in the dining room from the set menu like everyone else.” She shakes her head. “Me.”

  “And?”

  “Well, of course I told her how ridiculous that is. She said something about Keane’s orders, and when I tried to move past her she stopped me. With her hands.”

  “Were you hurt?”

  “Well … No, but only through a stroke of extreme good fortune.”

  “You’re barricaded in here because …?”

  “I need to make a stand.”

  I squeeze my eyes closed. Being around Mother escalates my headache from nagging to pounding. I open them and try reason. “But you were at the meeting.”

  Her brows gather. “I do not see how that is relevant.”

  I blink. Can she really be so clueless? I never know with Mother if she’s as insular as she acts or if it’s all part of some master plan. “We have a situation,” I remind her. “Everyone’s on edge. Part of what we need to do as leaders in the community is settle arguments. Be peacemakers.”

  “You’re saying I should accept such an insult?”

  “I’m saying that people look up to you, especially Fishies.” She nods, her spine stiff. I’m getting somewhere at last. “You’re a role model and need to behave like one.”

  “I cannot be expected to eat with all those …”

  Luckily her voice trails off because I’m pretty sure whatever word she’d use to describe the other people in camp would be offensive.

  “What do you want me to do about it?”

  Her eyes light up. “You need to talk to Keane,” she says.

  She doesn’t know how right she is, but not about her petty injustices. Mother needs to get used to the fact things have changed since we left the ship. She’s managed to claim a house while the rest of us get by in tents, but not because she’s special, only too frustrating for anyone to want to deal with.

  If she doesn’t watch her attitude, she’ll get hurt. She drives me crazy, but I would stand in front of a battalion of Company officers for the woman. Others don’t take so kindly to her.

  But forcing her to comply will only make her more stubborn.

  “What do you want from Keane?” I ask.

  “If he,” her lip curls a little, “wants to give out orders he should do it in person. Not send out his lackeys to accost people.”

  It’s like the soft light in the corner has brightened ten-fold. I can see clearly now. Mother’s pissed that Keane’s in charge. I should have seen this coming. I lean forward as though sharing a confidence. “You know Keane eats with everyone else.”

  “So?”

  “It makes him popular with the people. They feel like they know him.”

  “I could do that,” she’s quick to reply.

  I shrug. “No, if it’s really important to you, I can try to find out about special treatment.”

  Her hand on my sleeve stops me. “Forget it. I can try mixing with the others. For the sake of peace, you understand.”

  “It’s a great sacrifice that I’m sure will be appreciated.” I pause meaningfully. “And admired.”

  She nods.

  A young Fishie knocks at the door. “Tea, my Lady?”

  “Yes,” she says. She shifts a pile of books to make space on the small table and offers the boy a regal nod. “You may serve.”

  I don’t know whether to quiz her about the reading material—I can’t remember her ever accessing the ship’s library on her personal screen—or point out that having servants at all is courting danger.

  I sip at the warm, sweetened blend of rosemary and mint and wait for the boy to leave the room. “You should send him home,” I say once we’re alone.

  Mother’s brows fly up. “Why?”

  “We’re not on the ship anymore.”

  “The boy was at a loose end. His mother sent him here because idle hands are the Company’s friend. Sending him away would cause offence and perhaps start one of those incidents you are so worried about.”

  The woman has an answer for everything.

  I lift my head to rub at my temples, and my sleeve falls back, showing the edge of the bandage.

  Mother pounces, gripping my hand and tugging it toward her. “What’s this?”

  “Infected scratches. I was in the hospital, you might have heard.”

  “Don’t be such a baby. I contacted the hospital and made sure you would be okay.”

  “A visit might have been nice.” I don’
t care, really. But she does the whole caring mother act and then doesn’t bother to see me when I need her.

  She sips at her tea. “I couldn’t.” For a second the mask she wears as Lady slips, and I see something a lot like pain. “Because I didn’t want to risk picking up something from all those sick people.” She finishes with an exaggerated shudder. “Now you’re here I can make sure you’re properly looked after.”

  I still my foot before it can tap my impatience on Mother’s soft, cream rug. “I’ve been cleared by the doctor. There’s no need to fuss.”

  “You can’t be alone so soon.”

  “I won’t be.”

  Her ears all but prick up. “Really? Who will you be with?”

  I take a breath to gather by thoughts. If Mother wants to know she’ll find out, and her asking questions will draw attention to my arrangement with Kaih more than simply telling her the truth. I hope. “Kaih,” I say before I can change my mind.

  “The clothes girl?”

  I nod.

  “Asher’s only been gone a day. And anyway there are more lovely and suitable girls who’d look after your needs.”

  “Mother!”

  She sniffs. “I don’t know where morality has gone in this camp. I do know you’d be better off under the care of your mother.”

  “Because it’s done so much for Huckle.”

  “You watch your mouth. Don’t think that you are past being put over my knee.”

  I close my eyes to block out the indignation purpling her cheeks. “It’s been a long day, Mother. I should probably go.”

  “You probably should.”

  I stand. I suspect she won’t forgive me for the Huckle comment anytime soon. “Thank you for the tea.”

  “Oh, now you’ve found some manners.”

  I stride to the door before I can say something else to get me into trouble.

  ***

  “Where are you going?” Kaih’s question is soft but bright. She’s awake and probably has been the whole time I thought I was being so clever and quiet.