A very polished and pretty man and woman came on next, in bodysuits that resembled Star Trek uniforms – the man’s with a shiny codpiece and the woman’s with a coordinating shiny bustier. Ugh, was that fashionable somewhere? Okay, at least the hideously bland fatigues here were better than that.
“Are you tired of your drab, ordinary life?” the man asked. “Are you always being left behind - never good enough, smart enough, fast enough, or strong enough to reach your dreams?”
“Are you ready to become your fullest and best self?” the woman continued. “With one quick and easy in-office procedure, you’ll open doors for yourself that you never thought possible. Best of all, with our state-of-the-art technology, we have the best success rates on the planet.”
“So don’t trust your life conversion to anyone else,” the man said. “Isn’t it time you reached your full potential? Wholly endorsed by The Macawan Foundation. Become all that you can be.”
“Get an edge on life, in the Army!” I sang to myself at the end of the commercial.
“You’re singing along with the propaganda?” My mother asked incredulously from behind me, making me jump as she entered the sparse apartment.
BLIN popped up again beside the infomercial. “Greetings General.”
She ignored the hologram. “Veridian, don’t watch that drivel. It’s all government approved garbage. When I want to know what the government has to say, I put their news on summary mode.” As soon as she said the words, it switched from the special planetary overview that was starting to a few short sentences about each of the days’ news events. Which was totally not what I’d asked for.
“Kindreds demand more water for unnecessary projects from the already overtaxed global water system. Glass City electricity production held hostage until Kindred demands are met. The National Council vows to stand firm,” a bland newscaster reported.
“We will not cave to such unreasonable demands from the Kindreds while they try to tie our hands with threats to our electricity needs,” a woman in an expensive suit was shown saying. “We must stand strong in the face of these strong-arm tactics. Remember: we do not need their electricity as much as they need our water.”
My mother snorted. “And that is what I mean about drivel. They are the ones holding us hostage, and putting whole Kindreds at risk. The Kindreds have always had an agreement with the capital, Glass City, to exchange water for electricity from our solar arrays. Now they’re pressuring us for more energy, but they refuse to repair the pipelines, or to increase the water supply for increased crop production so we can grow and prosper too. They twist the facts to suit their own agendas.”
The news summary continued a few more minutes, unfortunately sounding very much like the nightly news back home. A building collapse had left two dead in someplace called “the lower reaches” of Glass City. A policewoman had been suspended for racial profiling, which had fired up the Afflicted rights protesters I’d seen at the port. The search was continuing for a runaway girl. A picture flashed briefly of a brooding teenager standing in front of a huge greenhouse dome.
“Now, when you want to see what really happened, you turn off this blasted BLIN contraption. BLIN off,” she repeated. The holographic man pouted and disappeared, “and switch to manual mode. Faarian Truth Seeker,” she commanded. A bare-bones newspaper site came up on screen. I reached over and stretched the link to make the tiny print larger. I sure liked the holo-TV better. This was like reading a foreign newspaper after watching life-size news in person.
“See, here’s that story about the building collapse in Glass City that they claimed killed two,” my mother said. “It looks like it really killed at least fifteen, and some suspect they were dead before the building collapsed. And some of the bodies are still missing. Something’s going on there,” she mused.
“And the so-called runaway girl is here, top story. She’s the latest in an unsettling wave of girls to disappear. I know her parents. They must be devastated,” she added. “Have to contact them and ask if there’s anything we can do,” she murmured to herself and cleared her throat before continuing.
“No one’s been able to figure out what’s going on, but witnesses have seen some of the girls get into vehicles with people in masks,” my mother said, filling me in. “The girls seem to go willingly and they send notes back to their families saying they’re fine and not to look for them, so they’re labeled runaways, but then who are the people in masks? Are the girls really runaways, or are they being coerced or blackmailed?” She shook her head angrily.
“No one seems to know or care because the government news insists that they’re all unconnected runaways or accidents. This girl was on her way home from school, barely a hundred miles from here, and she disappeared from the train without a trace. Foul play suspected.” The same picture was shown as on the holo-TV version. She scrolled down to reveal pages and pages of pictures of missing girls.
“But… but why would the government news want to hide what was really happening?” I asked skeptically.
“Good question. To make it look like they’ve got everything under control? To keep people feeling calm and safe?” She shook her head. “If you figure out the answer, you let me know.” She was quiet for a moment. “Veridian, I want you to promise me that if you see anyone in a mask, you’ll go the other way. Don’t go with them, no matter who they might threaten or what they might tell you. Fight them if you have to.”
I froze in my seat. “I thought you told Dad it was safe here.”
“It is safe here,” she snapped and took a deep breath. “No girl from our Kindred has ever been approached by these people as far as I know, and I don’t want you to be the first. The other girls have all gotten the same warning.”
I nodded and went back to sewing Meowman back together again. Don’t get in cars with strangers. Check. It seemed more likely that my mother’s newspaper website was wrong. The Faarian Truth Seeker seemed very much like a conspiracy site to me, and the holo-news certainly looked more professional and trustworthy. Anyway, it was almost bedtime and I was exhausted. She obviously didn’t spend much time in the apartment.
“Now,” she changed the subject, “you can sew, but you don’t know how to take care of a pair of boots?”
“They’re just going to get dirty again tomorrow,” I replied reasonably, not looking up from my attempts to avoid Frankenstein-like scars on Meowman’s furry neck. I think I needed a different needle for this.
She grunted with displeasure at my response. “I left you a boot kit for a reason, Veridian,” she said in a quiet voice that made me look up from what I was doing. Unfortunately, I wasn’t smart enough to take the warning in her voice.
“What good will shining them do, anyway? They’re plastic, not leather.” I looked at the ugly boots in the corner in disgust. They were totally gross, covered in dried blood and dirt, with bits of blue down here and there.
“They’re haratchi leather, impregnated with resin and treated with deterrent. Did you wonder why that little chick today didn’t go straight for your ankles? That’s why.” I looked at the tall, grungy boots again curiously. Really? They looked like dark blue plastic with a fake metallic sheen. Her voice changed from cold and displeased to the impersonal commanding tone of someone used to giving orders and having them followed.
“You will clean and shine those boots every evening when you return from patrol. Use the haratchi deterrent last and allow it to dry at least two hours before spit shining. Leave them outside your door so I can check them in the morning before I leave.” I bristled at her commanding tone and her assumption that I would blindly do whatever she said. She seemed to read my mind.
“Don’t argue. It’s not up for discussion. And don’t wander off on your own again. You’ve got a lot to learn about how things work here before you’ll be ready to be out on patrol by yourself.”
“But, Lyta and Otrere left me….”
“And did they tell you not to call for help when
you found that nest? Or to go ahead and pick up a haratchi chick?” She didn’t wait for me to answer. “I don’t care why you went off by yourself, Veridian. I’m telling you not to do it again, understood?”
“Fine!” I replied, unable to think of anything else to say. Geez, why was she talking to me like this? I wasn’t five, for cripes sake! And, you’d think she would try to be nice to me for a while at least.
I grabbed Meowman and my sewing supplies, jerked the boots off the floor, and stomped into my bedroom, slamming the door so that the new padlock banged against the frame. Dad had better email back soon.
Chapter 20: Military Hippie Market Day
The next morning I dressed, stuffing my wrist wraps in my pocket just in case, and went down to the clinic before breakfast to get my finger checked. I read and deleted a note from my mother about the boots on the way. “Unacceptable,” it read. “Did you even open the cleaning kit?”
“No,” I grumbled. I’d given them a couple of good whacks while holding them outside my window, much to the dismay of one of the men from the kitchen who’d been in the herb patch below. I hadn't looked before at what was down there. I waved an embarrassed apology at him and hurriedly ducked back inside while he yelled and shook his fist up at me, knocking debris out of his long hair.
After that, I took some pain pills and fell into a dead sleep, still clothed on top of the covers.
Aunt Penthe said my wound was healing well, but I should give it at least one more day, and got me and Thal assigned to market duty. Following a bowl of oatmeal mixed with what appeared to be leftover stew from dinner (which I scarfed down because I was starving) Thal stood up from the table and motioned to me to follow him.
The train station pavilion was still deserted when we got there, and the sight of all that open expanse of smooth flooring had given me an idea to put my goal in motion to stay in shape for gymnastics. I’d been feeling strangely adrift without my usual schedule of workouts, and my Pilates routine before breakfast hadn’t been enough.
I dumped the Kevlar mesh backpack that held my scy, platform, and water bottle from the day before into a corner and put on my wraps. The last thing I wanted was to break a wrist, and I had no intention of using my bite hand at all.
The floor was unforgiving under my tennis shoes as I took a few running steps into an aerial, then flipped into some whips. Nothing too fancy. I wasn’t used to practicing with shoes on. But, the space was fabulous. It kept going and going and I felt like I was flying again.
I loved this feeling, heart pounding, adrenaline rushing – like I could do anything! I quickly forgot everything: my frustration with my mother, my anger with the twins, even the ache in my hand as I flipped across the floor and back. Tiny soda bubbles of happiness fizzed through my veins, and I found myself laughing with relief. Now if only I had some mats.
“Wow,” Thal said, stunned and blinking when I came to a stop to stretch. “What was that?”
“You’ve never seen gymnastics before?”
“Uh-uh,” he shook his head. “Can everyone on Earth do that?”
“No, not many. It’s a sport. People who are really good compete in it, like at the Olympics.”
“What are the Olympics?”
“You’ve never heard of the Olympics either?” I shook my head ruefully this time. No. I guess he wouldn’t have. “It’s where people from all over the world compete against each other in a whole bunch of different sports.”
“Oh, you mean like Palladium?”
Now it was my turn to ask, “What’s Palladium?”
“It’s kind of a race where each team tries to get their ‘message’ to the General on their team first. Teams from all over compete. It’s great, you’ll see.”
“Huh.” I couldn’t really picture it, and honestly, it sounded kind of lame. “So, you’re sure you’ve never even heard of gymnastics here?” I asked, but I didn’t hold out much hope. Whenever Sensei or the Robot said the word gymnastics, it was always in English.
“I don’t think so,” he said slowly. “I guess there’s some new Earth fad in Glass City that the boys are into, but I think it’s some kind of dance. So, did you compete in this gym-nas-ticks?” he enunciated each syllable.
“Yes, but it was easier when I was younger, before I got so tall.”
He looked confused. “You’re not all that tall. So it’s a sport for short people?”
I laughed a little at that description. “I guess… yeah. It is. Some of the events women compete in are a little easier if you’re shorter. And tall people tend to get injured more easily. Like my favorite used to be the uneven bars, but…” I saw I was going to have to explain uneven bars. He actually seemed interested as I explained each of the events.
“So… you do this why?”
I had to think about that for a second. I’d been doing it so long, I didn’t think about why. “I guess to prove I can,” I finally said.
“So all those flips you did earlier, you can actually do those on a narrow platform?”
“Not all of them on beam, but some, yeah. Watch.” I picked out a straight line joining two slabs of marble flooring and showed him pieces of my last beam routine. “It’s better when it’s raised four feet off the ground and you can grip the sides of the beam,” I said when finished. “You can do different stuff. The dismount’s cooler too.”
He shook his head. “You know, Lyta can do a standing back flip. She thinks she’s so hot.” He rolled his eyes.
I picked a spot and threw the back flip with a full twist that was my signature move on beam.
“Wild,” he said, shaking his head. “You’re so going to have to show that to Lyta.”
I laughed. A slight humming sound registered from the stairs and someone cleared their throat. I looked up and was surprised to see Russ’s cousin John and his dad from my - flight - at the top of the stairs. It seemed odd to think of that fiasco like an airline flight, but I guess that’s what it was. Or maybe more of a cargo run with tag-alongs.
They came down the stairs and it struck me how tall they both were; taller than any man I’d met here at the Kindred. Taller than me, though at 5’9” I wasn’t all that tall here, as Thal had pointed out. I wondered how much they’d seen of my showing off. Oh well, not like I wasn’t used to having an audience.
John wore the same smirky half-smile as before and something else now. Appreciation, maybe? I felt my face stretch into a smile and gave him the same quick peace sign wave he’d given me. His smirk turned into a full grin. My memory had not been faulty. If anything, he was hotter than I’d remembered. Be cool, Sunny, be cool.
“Hello Mr. McCall, John,” Thal called out to them. “You’re welcome to set up anywhere you'd like. You’re the first ones here this morning.”
It occurred to me what a normal Earth name he had. John McCall. And Thal knew him, so they must come here often for market. His short, spiky hair reminded me of fir needles all over his head. I wondered if it felt as sharp as it looked. Besides that reporter, I hadn’t seen anyone else here with short hair like that, only John and his father. They picked a prime spot in the middle of the room and started setting up some sort of display from several hardcover boxes they carried.
My face felt suddenly hot as I realized I was still staring and I looked away, trying to find something else, anything else, to look at. I wished I knew what I was supposed to be doing here so I could go do it. I looked over at Thal, hoping for a job.
“Come on, let’s go check in with whoever’s on security detail today,” he said with laughing eyes, not bothering to introduce me. I was going to hear about this later. “Usually they come down here first, so they must be checking people in already.” I followed him upstairs and, as much as I tried, I couldn’t resist taking a quick peek over my shoulder at John and caught him doing the same. I jerked my head back to face forward just in time to avoid running into Thal. I groaned under my breath and heard a low-pitched laugh from across the room.
Thal l
ed me to the outer security door, equipped with bio-scanners and freight elevators for all the vendors arriving to set up. We both groaned when we saw Myrihn there, checking people in.
"Bad luck," Thal whispered. "The warriors are on a rotating schedule for market day."
“About time you two showed up,” Myrihn grumbled when she saw us. She ushered a woman with several large carts full of produce through the scanners. “Although, what good you’ll do me, I have no idea.” She shook her head, obviously not pleased to have us for assistants. “Just go help people set up and try not to get in anyone’s way, alright?” she said, dismissing us.
We got back to the train station in time for a wave of sellers and buyers to arrive all at once to set up and start haggling. It was bedlam, flea-market style. Thal explained that our job was to help Myrihn and try to keep some semblance of organized peace as vendors claimed and fought over the prime spots. And to report any major problems upstairs to Alten, my mother’s second in command. The cool marble pavilion was a refreshing place to hold a market with the blistering heat of the suns outside.
Some booths held familiar Saturday market staples: plant starts, pistachios, fruits and vegetables, etc. Bright banners and signs were strung around, flapping and blowing in the wind from the trains. Here and there, a card proclaimed “New Variety!” or other improved qualities to entice the steady stream of shoppers.
There was a display of honey, beeswax candles, and beauty products from a local beekeeper. The sticky excretions of bugs that liked to sting people, with a horrible aftertaste. Yeah, sign me up.
The jewelry stand was familiar too, but it was mostly men who flocked to it, trying on some kind of gold, head jewelry with various stone pendants that rested between their eyebrows. And then there was the table in the farthest corner full of bottles proclaiming haratchi deterrent, poisonous spider repellant, and beetle bait. That corner seemed to be your one-stop-shop for organic pesticides.
“Used to be, being Nico Katje’s friend would get me the best spot every time,” an old woman selling pesticides grumbled from behind her table as I walked past. I considered being a good little worker and stopping to see if there was anything I could do, but no. I kept my head down and kept walking.
The Faarian Chronicles: Exile Page 16