by Amy Cross
“Let's just get this over with,” I say firmly. “I have to get back to my sister. If I'm not home by tonight, she'll get scared.”
“You're not going to be home tonight,” he replies matter-of-factly.
“I have to be!”
“You recently amassed thirty-one thousand T-points,” he continues, looking down at his pad. “That's a lot for someone your age. Hell, it's almost two thousand for every year of your life. All for minor transgressions, obviously, but Jesus... That's a lot of minor transgressions. Every time you stole something to eat, the crime was recorded in our databases. Every time you lied to someone in authority, the database was updated. Did you think you were getting away with all those transgressions?”
“I never hurt anyone,” I reply, my voice trembling just a little.
“No? What about the stall-holder whose loaves you stole?”
“They were to feed my sister.”
“But you stole them,” he continues. “No-one needs to steal, Iris, not these days. There are support programs -”
“Did you ever try accessing one of them?” I ask, trying to keep my anger in check.
“I know they work.”
“You don't know anything,” I tell him. “They take more than they give.”
“Each stolen loaf counts for two hundred T-points,” he replies, “and there's certainly no arguing about that. Twelve loaves in total, so two thousand, four hundred points. And that's just the bread. Judging by the reports in this folder, you've embarked upon something of a crime spree over the past few months, Ms. Bloom. You have an impressively detailed criminal score.”
“I've never been picked up for anything in my life,” I reply, my voice trembling slightly.
“It doesn't matter whether you've been picked up. Minor crimes are recorded without the offender being notified. They only become relevant if the points score exceeds a certain threshold, or if some larger crime is committed. Everyone commits certain small criminal acts.”
“Says who?” I ask, shocked by the idea.
“Says experience,” he replies. “Lying, cheating, little thefts here and there, they all count for your record. If the police went out and notified everyone who'd been caught doing something wrong, they'd be overwhelmed. It's far more efficient to simply log these things and bring them up when they become relevant. Unfortunately, that's exactly what has happened in this case. Resolving it will -”
“Where's my sister?” I ask again, forcing myself to stay calm.
“I really have no idea.”
“She needs food! She'll be terrified without me!”
“Is there no-one else to look after her?”
“Our parents -” I catch myself just in time.
“Your parents what?”
I glance at the folder. “You know. It must be in there.”
He nod. “I do. Your parents were killed in a bombing, that's... I can't even begin to understand what that was like for you, to have your mother and father blown apart by some terrorist. Those so-called revolutionaries always pick such easy targets. Restaurants, parks... Your parents were caught up in the incident at the train station, I believe. It's crazy to think that was five years ago now.”
Feeling a shiver pass through my chest, I look down at my hands.
“I hope you're not using your parents' deaths as an excuse,” Logan continues. “There are government agencies that exist purely to provide for orphans, you only had to take your sister to a designated help station and they would have been happy to give both of you every assistance. I know there's a lot of anti-government propaganda out there, but the orphanages are very supportive. Your sister can be given good food, an education, a chance to socialize and normalize, plus she'd be able to plan for a future, maybe even one that lets her progress up the ladder. A surprisingly high percentage of officials started out in the orphanages.”
“They'd never have let us stay together and -”
I catch myself just in time. After all, criticizing a government agency is a crime worth fifty points.
“Fifty,” he mutters, making a note.
“I didn't finish the sentence!”
“The intent was clear.” He leans back in his chair and sighs. “Do you know how many points you get for murdering someone, Ms. Bloom?”
“I never murdered anyone. I couldn't do something like that.”
“But how many points would you have incurred if you had?”
“I don't know.”
“Guess.”
I stare at him for a moment. “A million?”
“Fifty thousand.”
“Is that all?”
“It's a lot,” he continues. “It's equivalent to a couple of hundred loaves of bread.”
“I never killed anyone,” I tell him, trying not to let the fear show in my eyes. Or my voice. Or the way I'm sitting.
“The law doesn't distinguish between the different reasons why a citizen earns their points,” he replies. “Points are points, and at the end of the day they're the be-all and end-all of the whole system, they're the method by which your punishment is determined. The points simply build up regardless, and I'm afraid you've got thirty-one thousand against your name. Sure, they were amassed through a legion of minor crimes... Thefts, muggings, unwise words, but in the eyes of the law it doesn't matter how you earned those points, merely that they're listed against your name. The punishments are clear. You will receive the punishment that befalls all those with your level of points. And your points total is a little under two thirds of a murder.”
“I didn't hurt anyone,” I point out again.
“The effects of your minor crimes rippled through society,” he says firmly, opening the file and turning to another page. “In the old days, a criminal such as yourself would be subjected to a trial, and a judge would have determined your punishment. Fortunately, we have fairer and more efficient systems in place these days, and we simply count up the points on your record and -”
“I have to look after my sister.”
“She'll be provided for.”
“Where is she?”
He glances at me. “She'll be picked up.”
“I want to see her.”
He shakes his head.
“I have to see her,” I continue, trying not to panic. “She'll be terrified.”
“You should have thought about that,” he replies, “before you decided to turn to a life of crime.”
“We were starving!” I tell him, unable to keep from raising my voice. I know the last thing I need is to earn any more points on my record, but I feel like this asshole doesn't understand what it's like for people who live outside the city. He just sees points on a page and makes a calculation. “Have you been out there lately?” I ask, leaning toward him across the desk. “Have you seen what it's like?”
“I saw a documentary just the other night -”
“But have you been there?” I ask, struggling to keep from grabbing him by the shoulders and pulling him closer. “Have you seen people starving in the streets? Have you seen children wandering alone, abandoned by their parents because no-one can afford to feed them?”
“None of that happens,” he says curtly. “Iris -”
“I live there,” I continue, leaning even closer. “We need food! We need water! We need help from the government!”
“Are you saying you don't get enough help already?” he asks, his eyes fixed on mine. “Are you criticizing government policy?”
I lean closer, until my face is almost against his. “I'm saying -”
Suddenly I feel a hand on my shoulder, and I realize the guard wants me to sit back down. I pause before complying, but I can see a hint of doubt in the interrogator's eyes. After a moment, the guard lets go of my shoulder and I hear him heading back to his position by the door, but I keep my eyes fixed on Logan. He has no idea what the world is really like, but I guess he'd rather believe the latest documentary he watched or the latest report that was left on his desk.
I shake my head.
“You'll be put to work,” he continues. “It'll be good for you.”
“I've seen people who come back from those colonies,” I tell him. “They're broken. I need to go and look after my sister.”
“She'll be helped,” he replies. “By better role models than you, I might add.”
“I can't go to one of those places,” I say firmly, struggling to hold back tears. “I can't be locked up! My sister needs me!”
“Then you shouldn't have turned to a life of crime,” he replies. “Just be grateful that we caught you so early. If we'd waited longer, you might have earned twice as many points, and then you'd be going away for a lot longer. If you'd amassed fifty thousand points, you'd have moved up to a whole new category.” He pauses. “This is an opportunity, Iris. Use it as one, become stronger -”
“Mercy,” I stammer, trying not to panic.
“I'm sorry?”
“I need mercy,” I continue, starting to feel a little breathless. “I need to talk to someone else, someone who'll listen -”
“There is no-one else,” he replies calmly. “You have a right to an interrogator to deal with your case, and I was assigned. And I've listened to you, truly I have. It's simply the case that nothing you say can mitigate the number of points on your record.”
“I need someone who'll help me,” I tell him, taking a deep breath as I start to feel my chest tightening with panic. “I need someone who'll understand why I did what I did.”
“It's not about understanding,” he replies. “Facts are facts.” He glances at the guard. “Take her away.”
“I want to see my sister!” I shout, as I feel the guard's hands on my shoulder again. “I promised I'd look after her.”
“Did you, indeed?” he asks, getting to his feet. “Well, it's always a shame when people break promises. Still, she'll be better off in the system, and don't worry...” He smiles as he slips his arms into his jacket's sleeves, “I'll make sure to handle her case personally. I know several excellent orphanages, she'll be quite -”
“No!” I hiss, getting to my feet but immediately feeling the guard's hand gripping my arm.
“Careful,” the interrogator says as he steps past me. “If you resist detention, that's ten thousand points. If you were to strike an officer, you'd be dangerously close to fifty thousand points, and then you'd be going away for a lot longer than six months.”
I turn and watch as he heads to the door. Every atom in my body is telling me to go after him and wring his neck, but I manage to hold back. I just have to pray that I can find a way to avoid the culk mines, and that Della will still be okay when I'm released.
Chapter Six
Asher
My trailing right foot snags the edge of a tree root, not enough to hold me back but just enough to put me off-balance. I turn in mid-air, trying to get my elbow around to break my fall, but I'm not quick enough.
I land hard against another set of roots, and I instantly feel the tell-tale snap of a rib on my left side. Rolling over, I let out a gasp of pain and then wait on my hands and knees, desperately trying to get my breath back.
I can hear him getting closer.
He's slowing now, but I can hear him pushing his way through the bushes.
Finally he stops.
I wait.
A moment later, he starts sniffing, which I think is his way of laughing. To be honest, I kind of expected a man of his size might give up the chase by now, but he kept with me for a couple of miles. I guess he must really be hungry.
Now I just have to be patient and stay calm.
This is going to be the hard part.
Turning, I watch as he steps over the mass of gnarled roots and comes closer, with a hunting knife already in his right hand. He stops just a few feet from me, bare naked and covered in scratches from our little encounter a moment ago. Framed against the cloudless blue sky, he almost looks impressive, like a mountain of meat and muscle. I bet he thought he'd be a real hero on the island, one of those people who gets ahead thanks to sheer strength of will.
“Please,” I whisper, shaking my head slowly, trying to sound as pathetic and helpless as possible, “don't do anything to me.”
He turns the knife around in his hand, as if he's contemplating where to stick it first.
“I can help you,” I stammer, turning and starting to crawl back from him. “Anything you want, I'll do it. Just name anything at all. Look at me, I can't fight back, I can't do anything so... Please, if you let me live, I'll be yours. I can even be your slave, if you want. I know I'm just some weak little wretch, but there must be something you want.”
He steps closer, and I can't help noticing that the fat bulge of skin between his legs is starting to throb a little, getting harder.
“Is that what you're after?” I ask, trying not to sound too disgusted. “You can have it. I told you, I'll give you anything, just so long as you don't hurt me.” I crawl back a little further, before stopping and kneeling in front of him. “Just tell me what you want and it's yours. I don't care about anything else, I don't need dignity or anything like that, I just want to live.” Staring up at him, I feel tears running down my cheeks. Damn, I'm good at this. “Please, you can do anything you want with me, but I'm begging you, let me live at the end of it. Let me -”
Before I can finish, he steps forward, towering over me with his naked, scarred body. I immediately pull back, shocked, before glancing over at the nearby treeline.
What the hell is taking her so long?
“You want something, huh?” I ask, looking back up at the guy's face. “Is that it?” Swallowing hard, I glance at the treeline again. “I guess I can't fight back,” I continue, raising my voice and speaking extra clearly. “After all, I'm completely helpless here!”
He simply stares at me, and finally I realize why he hasn't responded yet.
“Wait,” I continue with a frown, “do you speak English at all?”
He lets out a faint, guttural growl, and I realize I've got my answer.
“Oh great,” I mutter, staring at the glistening blade of his knife. “Okay,” I continue, pulling back slightly, “I suppose...” I glance toward the trees again. “I suppose I'll have to do what you want, then,” I say loudly, hoping she'll hear. “After all, I'm just a poor, defenseless thing out in the forest all alone, so I can't possibly fight back against such a powerful man.”
I wait.
Seriously?
What the hell is she doing? If she's taken off and left me here, I swear I'll track her down and make her pay.
Taking a deep breath, I see from the expression in the guy's eyes that he plans to use me and then kill me, and then God knows what he'll do with my corpse.
“Okay,” I say, forcing a smile even though I feel nauseous, “I guess -”
Suddenly a bamboo spike bursts out through his chest, causing him to stumble against me. I slip out of the way, grabbing his right hand in the process and biting his wrist until he drops the knife, which I manage to catch as I scramble to safety. Turning, I'm just in time to see Jude diving for cover between two nearby bushes, as the guy cries out in pain and swings a fist at her, with the spike still embedded in his back and poking out between his ribs.
“You missed his heart!” I shout. “What -”
Before I can finish, the guy lunges at me again, screaming something in a language I don't understand. I duck out of the way before thrusting the knife at him and digging the blade deep into his ribs. I give the handle a quick twist, hoping to cause as much damage as possible, before pulling the knife out and pushing him away. He stumbles back, clutching his side as blood flows out, and then I see a flash of movement behind him as Jude pulls the spike out from his chest. He starts to turn to her, and I take m
y chance to run at him and drive the blade into his neck before ripping it out through his throat. Blood sprays everywhere and I stumble for cover, feeling the ground shudder as he drops.
Turning, I see that although he's still twitching and flinching, he's essentially done for. It's just a matter of waiting for him to bleed out now.
“Are you okay?” Jude asks, pushing through a nearby bush and then stopping next to me. She stares wide-eyed at the guy as he flails in the mud like a dying fish.
“You took your time,” I mutter, glancing at her.
“I didn't want to risk getting it wrong,” she replies, before adding, with a faint smile: “I knew you'd be fine.”
“I got us another knife,” I point out, holding the blade up for her to admire. There's still plenty of blood smeared on the blade, but I know she won't mind that. “Do you think it'd be fittingly ironic for us to carve him up with his own weapon?”
She shrugs. “Whatever's fastest.”
Turning to look at the guy, I see that he's trying to crawl away. “Some people don't know when to give up,” I mutter. “Where exactly does he think he's going?”
“It's instinct,” she replies. “He's physically incapable of just waiting for us to finish him off. You and I would be exactly the same in his situation.”
“Speak for yourself,” I tell her, before stepping over to the guy and crouching next to his head. I lean down to look at his eyes, but they seem to have rolled back a little into the sockets. I'd like to say something witty and pithy, but nothing comes to mind so instead I simply slice the blade through his neck for a second time, and this time I manage to sever the other artery. There's not much blood to spray out, of course, and he lets out a faint, dry gasp before slumping down against the mud.
“Is he dead?” Jude asks cautiously, having still not dared come too close.
“I guess so,” I reply, stretching the guy's arm out and starting to cut at the flesh around his shoulder muscles. “He will be soon enough, anyway. Come on, let's get this meat off him while it's still fresh. I feel in a good mood to get some serious bartering done. I'm sure we can find someone who'' buy it.”