I fight a laugh and exhale. Only the wind.
Back on my feet I stride through the tunnel. With the after affects of adrenaline pumping through me I feel more comfortable than any time since I woke.
Empty shop fronts suggest this was once a mall. Lettering on the windows is so faded I can’t tell what they sold. The light grows until I step out into a narrow alleyway between two tall buildings. Light streams through rubble on either side. The walls are blackened and I’m surprised gravel doesn’t tumble from them. I inhale dust and long-forgotten smoke with every breath. Something happened here. Something huge and deadly.
But not recently.
Brown and white moss grows in the corners of the fallen walls. Piles of bird droppings decorate the taller remnants of concrete and stone. The disaster that spared the garden behind me happened too long ago to have killed the boy or taken my memories. And my loss seems way too specific to be accidental. All I’m missing is me, but everything else remains.
There’s movement at the end of the alleyway. People maybe. Water. Food. Answers. I head in that direction, slowing to climb over a stack of crates and boxes overflowing from a large dumpster that blocks half the alley. Fumes rise like an invisible wall across the small space, thick and drenched with urine. Suspicious stains decorate the nearby walls and there’s a box of rotting food scraps dumped on top of the rest of the rubbish.
“Hey.”
I freeze. This time I’m not imagining the threat. The voice with the strange, thick accent is coming from a green-robed figure in the shadows of the bin. Shorter than me. High, young voice. Smooth jaw. His only weapon is a light baton swinging from his hands.
I can take him. Instinct gives me a confidence I have no right to feel considering the blank where my history should be.
“Hey,” I reply. I balance my weight on both feet and let my hands hang loose at my sides. Ready for action but not threatening.
“Name and business,” he says.
He’s talking like he owns the place. “Who’s asking?”
He steps closer, moving further into the light. “Name. And. Business.”
Of all the questions, I’m pretty sure he’s not going to like my answer. My amusement must show on my face because he lifts the baton, which upon closer examination looks like a plastic rod, and points it at me.
“I’ll use it.” The end shakes and his sleeves fall away, revealing slender brown hands. Young hands, like the dead boy’s.
The situation isn’t funny anymore. I hold my hands out, palms up. Classic supplication. “Look, Buddy. I’d tell you if I could.”
“I’m not your buddy.” His volume is rising. “You need to tell me.”
“Settle down. I can’t, really, I can’t.”
“You mean, you won’t. I’m not just a little kid. I’ll make you come with me.” His chin juts. “Then Keane will make you talk.”
“No.” I take half a step back. The kid says ‘Keane’ like it’s a god but no one can make me tell them something I don’t know. “I’m sorry.”
His chest puffs out and he flicks a switch on the end of the weapon. “If you don’t come with me peacefully, I’ll fire.”
Chapter Three
[Asher]
The door clicks closed and seals behind Davyd, leaving me alone with his comment’s echo. Samuai was worth the marking of my skin.
“You’re wrong,” I say. I know what Samuai and I shared. I know it was special and true and would have lasted.
But he’s no longer here. I’m talking to myself. And wasting precious seconds.
I slip out of the storage area and head for the Lifer sleeping quarters. My hope of passing through unnoticed ends when I see Kaih. Her blond, shaved-short hair and baggy clothes don’t detract from her blue-eyed beauty. Probably because it shines from within.
Lately, I avoid her innate goodness even though she is my closest childhood friend. She longs to help, to make up for what I’ve lost, and probably to tell me everything’s going to be okay. I can’t bear the lies. No matter how well intentioned.
“Asher?” It’s amazing how much sympathy and question she manages to load into my name. Underneath it is a hint of hurt.
Guilt at having to cut another conversation with her short slows my steps, and I muster a smile. “Sorry. I can’t stop. New orders.”
I don’t wait for the inevitable questions and see her lift her fingers to bite her nails. Something she only does when she’s upset.
Automatically, I duck, entering the Lifer’s sleeping space as the doors seal shut behind me. Here the ceiling is low enough I can brush it with my elbows bent. Several small screens on the walls show the countdown until estimated planet arrival. My gaze lingers on one flickering display. In a week another year will fall, making all us Lifers another year older and closer to serving out our sentences. Above, they celebrate the end of the year with a huge ball. Preparations are already underway. Down here, it will be another day.
The light from the regular banks above never feels bright enough to pierce the gloom, and the five steps between each Lifer’s bed and cupboard never feel far enough to pretend we have our own space.
As usual it’s mostly deserted. Some would still be in the galley, while others would have already returned to their assignments at the Farm or Manufacturing quarters. Those with free afternoons would be in the training rooms. Only those on night shift lie in their beds trying to get a few more hours sleep.
For their sake I am quiet, weaving easily between the beds to mine. It is a path I know because I have always slept right here. There’s nothing to make it stand out from the rest—that would be asking for attention from the Fishies who occasionally inspect down here.
I walk past the empty bed where my brother once slept without pause. The time for sitting there and replaying our last joke or last fight is gone. Now I need to honor him with truth and, if necessary, justice. I didn’t come down here to mourn.
In the bed next to mine lies the reason for my delay. I pad over and kneel beside her.
“Mother,” I say. Her breathing’s heavy, but with her back to me I’m not sure she sleeps. Her head, with its dark, close-cropped hair exactly the same shade as mine, doesn’t move. I touch her shoulder, feeling bone. She seems frailer in rest than she ever would in the training rooms. “Elex,” I try again, using her name.
She turns in a fluid motion. The soft overhead light glitters off her shining dark eyes. Was she crying? The thought cramps my belly and brings a lump to my throat, but then she’s pulling me into her arms in a warm but brief embrace.
“Asher, what are you doing here? Is something wrong?” The usual authority is back in her voice. The authority she hides when a Fishie or Naut is present.
I exhale relief. Mother is far too strong to let grief crush her. She survived my father’s loss nine years ago in the failed rebellion. Now she will not let what happened to Zed destroy everything she’s worked toward. There are far too many lives depending on her decisions.
The report on my brother’s death was short. It said there was a malfunction in the training room resulting in no oxygen for seventeen minutes. Zed and Samuai were fighting a practice bout. It was too late by the time they were discovered. Strangely, no one saw it happen. No one saw anything.
“I have a new placement,” I say softly.
She sits up and pats the bed next to her. “Tell me.”
Where we work is assigned by the Fishies and supervised by Neale, who graduated to the role of Staff Captain after my father’s death. However, it’s the unspoken rule amongst us that my mother be informed of any changes. It’s necessary for her to know where everyone is in case their post creates an opportunity to gather more information. Information on what happens in the quarters of the Officials and even more importantly, the thirteen Astronauts, who keep the spaceship on course for its final destination. This is where my father failed. He simply didn’t know enough. My mother will not make th
e same mistake.
I settle close to Mother. The confidence she radiates from her slender frame and her soft honey scent used to make me feel safe. Since Zed and Samuai were pronounced dead, there’s no such thing as safe, but the comfort still draws me. I fill my lungs, trying to recapture that feeling.
“I have been told to report to the Lady.”
“No. You can’t. I’ll tell Neale.” Her face hardens in a way I’ve never seen directed at me.
I don’t understand. It’s stupid but this makes the tears of grief harder to keep at bay than the pain of the needle. I was so sure she’d be eager for me to go. Now more than ever, we need information or we’ll never know what happened to Zed.
“The request came from above. It’s an opportunity to spend time on the upper levels. I thought you would be pleased.”
She must hear the confusion in my voice because her mouth softens a fraction. “Yes. You’re right. It could be important.”
I wait, but she says nothing more. “So I should go? Because Davyd is waiting.”
She’s silent for a long moment. Has she heard me? I can’t linger here when Davyd expects me. I don’t want to make a mistake so soon. Not when the post could give me the answers I need about those I’ve lost, as well as information for my people. Not when I want the chance to prove Davyd wrong about his brother.
“If the Lady,” her lip curls at the title, “needs someone so desperately, we could send Sela or Kaih.” She names my friend and another Lifer girl a little older than me. Both excel in the training rooms where we challenge each other or provide sparring partners for Fishies and Nauts.
“You don’t think I can handle it.”
She pats my knee. Placating. Condescending. “I’m surprised, that’s all. The other girls attend the meetings, they know the kind of information we need if our plans are to be successful.”
And I don’t.
Of course I support the idea of the rebellion, but I’m not interested in the chest-thumping we’re-gonna-kill-the-Fishies mob. There has to be a way we can coexist on the new planet that doesn’t involve more loss of life. It was a dream Samuai shared.
“I can gather information. I’m not stupid.”
Instead of rising to the argument in my voice, my mother remains steady. “Asher, it’s not that simple. You are not the first.”
“What?”
“To serve her.” Mother’s hands clench.
I hesitate. I didn’t know. “The other girl?”
“Never returned.”
Fear slides a lightning trail down my spine. More deaths in service to our forced masters. More reason to do everything I can to get the information I need.
“I might not seek the fight, but I’m no coward.”
“I know, but after what happened…”
The memory of Zed sits between us, heavy and painful. I know she’s hurting. I am too, and I need to do something about it. Zed would have expected it of me, his adored big sister. I stand. “Davyd said I was recommended specifically.”
“Davyd said?” There’s an edge to her voice as she parrots me.
My throat gets hot and I’m thankful for the dim light, I know what she’s getting at. While we never spoke of it directly, she knew about my feelings for Samuai and I’m certain she didn’t approve. She couldn’t be more wrong if she thinks I’m just going to transfer my affections to his brother.
“Do I report or do we miss the opportunity?”
She blinks at my rough tone. “Report.” Her hand brushes my arm and her voice lowers. “But be safe.”
I nod.
I change my slippers, feeling my mother’s gaze on me. It’s like her worry settles as an extra cloak across my shoulders. For the first time I’m not sure of her reasons. Does she fear for me as a mother who has lost her only son? Or as the leader of the Lifer rebellion who would wish for a better-trained gatherer of intelligence?
I can do this.
But I don’t say it aloud. As I’m about to exit the Lifer quarters, I glance over my shoulder. It should be too far to tell, but when I make out the shape of my mother standing by her bed, I know she’s still watching me.
As I wait for the lift, there’s a flutter of anticipation in my belly. I’m taking action at last. I put my mother and her unsettling reaction out of my mind.
He’s right where he said he would be, watching one of the sparring matches in the huge training room through the big windows by the lift. I cross quickly to meet him, resisting the urge to apologize for the time I’ve taken. My steps slow. I’ve avoided this place since Zed and Samuai died.
Davyd doesn’t look away from the fight as I approach. It doesn’t bother him that our brothers died in a fight like this one.
There’s a scuffle down the hall between two Lifers waiting to battle. The sounds of raised voices and fists on flesh send a few Fishies scurrying past us toward the upper levels. Fishies are now choosing to fight only amongst each other, scared of the pain their servants inflict. Except Davyd. He thrives on the battle.
This match is between two Lifers but I can’t make out their faces as they move in the blur of low gravity. It’s set up to mirror our destination planet. We are allowed to train here if none of our superiors have booked the room, and only hand to hand combat. Obstacles are allowed; however, these combatants created a dangerous looking game space. Collisions with the polymer constructs are inevitable. My stomach churns in time to the spinning of the two combatants.
I look away but can’t avoid hearing the crunch of impact. Game over.
“Ready?” As usual, Davyd seems unaffected by other people’s pain.
“Yes.”
I stare straight ahead as he presses his wrist against the blood scanner. Moments later the lift dings and the doors slide open. Access to this part of the five-level ship is strictly regulated. It takes seconds to ascend to the level above, but it’s taken me over sixteen years to get up here.
Davyd and I don’t speak on the short walk down the hall. Mostly, I’m trying not to obviously gape. My usual working shift rotates between the Farm, the sewing subsection of Manufacturing, and the minimal class time young Lifers are permitted.
This is my first time in this part of the ship and it might as well be another planet. It’s bright and open. The hint of brown in the wall color adds a sense of class and warmth I’ve never experienced in the sterile rooms below. It reminds me of the mansions in the Earth recordings we’re forced to watch periodically about before the Upheaval. I couldn’t reach the ceiling here if I was standing on Davyd’s shoulders. Airtight seals remain around the doors like we have in the lower levels. But there’s no lingering scent of animals or chemicals.
In fact, there’s a slightly sweet smell. Not exactly like the honey I associate with my mother, but something. I inhale deeply, trying to place where I smelled it before. It’s a little like the compound plants they feed the rabbits and the chickens but less earthy.
Whatever it is, I like it.
The hum, the buzzing of machines and pumps recycling water I’ve barely noticed because it’s existed in the background my whole life is gone. I strain to listen. No, the sound is not gone completely, instead muffled to whisper quiet.
The pressure to remember everything to report back to my mother drags my footsteps on the shiny floor. While cleaners are required to work on the ship’s upper levels on a regular basis, their access to the private quarters of the head Fishie and his Lady is intermittent.
Davyd halts at a set of double doors.
It’s all I can do to stop in time so I don’t smack into his chest. That faint smirk is there again when I look up. Can he guess why I was distracted? Or does he assume it’s general wonder at the life of my betters?
Focus. I need to do this better, heed the warning in my mother’s words. Too many people are relying on me. I need to do this for my brother’s memory.
Instead of blurting out a question or quip about Davyd near
ly causing a collision, I wait for him to speak.
He looks over his shoulders at the doors and then back to me. “The Lady is—” His pause is long. Loaded with something I can’t read. “She’s unwell. We are concerned. Do as she asks. Whatever it is.”
“Of course.”
“Don’t upset her. Don’t ask any questions.”
There’s tension in the set of his shoulders as he presses his arm against another wrist scanner that I didn’t notice in a small panel above the handle. The doors swish open.
My breath catches.
“Yes. It’s bright,” Davyd mutters.
Bright is an understatement. Every wall’s painted a hyper yellow and the color presses in on my eyes until it hurts to keep looking. The white of the furniture provides only a small relief. The chemical odor in the air suggests a recent painting.
Does Mother know already? Such an odd paint request would be news in Manufacturing, and the work detail should go up on the rosters, yet I’d not heard a whisper. It must be that the color scheme of the Lady’s rooms doesn’t matter to the rebellion. Or a Lifer didn’t do the work.
I glance at Davyd’s hands and they’re clean of yellow. Not him then. I can’t picture him with a paintbrush anyway.
The Lady herself bursts into the room from another door before I can step over the threshold. She wears a flowing green dress and I imagine a summer meadow from the Earth recordings. I’d mentally prepared for an invalid, or at least someone weighed down by mourning her son.
This blond-haired woman radiates energy and life in a whirlwind of movement and a wide, guileless smile.
“Asher, you’re here at last, come in.”
She knows my name? I take a wary step, keeping my head bowed. My gaze flicks to Davyd’s for direction on how I should greet his mother. He responds with the slightest of shrugs. I should have known he’d be less than helpful.
The Lady takes the decision out of my hands. She embraces me in a hug and squishes me. Shock stills me. Her soft body envelopes me, and I have to force myself not to step back to breathe. Up close she reeks of the scent I noticed in the hallway. What was pleasant is now overpowering.
Lifer Page 2