"I don't, sweetie." The woman shrugged. "Sometimes it opens, and one of you comes out. I make you look like one of us, teach you a little about living in Hadar, and send you on your way."
Rell glared at her. "Maybe we're supposed to wait here for instructions. Maybe you've been sending people away when you should be keeping them here!"
"I thought that once, too. In fact, I was sent here myself over thirty years ago. I was a young girl like you. Naive. Eager." The woman crossed her arms over her chest. The gesture accentuated her breasts.
Rell looked away. The woman displayed her gender so casually.
"When the woman who lived here before me died, I returned. I did what I could to help the others who were sent up. Just as I'll do for you." The woman stepped closer to Rell. She reached up, pushing an escaped lock of hair behind Rell's ear. "Eventually, you'll realize it's for the best. Life underground isn't good for anyone. It's much better up here. You can learn a trade. Work a job. Make friends. Have your own place to live. You can eat whatever you want. Do whatever you want. You can even travel in the stars if you join the military!"
Rell recoiled. "I want to go home."
"Do you, really? Back to the place where you're not allowed to make your own choices? Where you're forced to do as the ruling council commands? Where you spend your days and nights worshipping gods that don't exist? After some time up here, you won't miss it. You'll be so upset you'll want to go back down and rescue your friends.” Renata paused, her head cocked to the side. “You didn't have any friends, did you?"
Rell thought of the other silent acolytes. The only meaningful conversations she'd had were with her mother. The rest of the time was spent in prayer or worship or service to the Menelewen Dored. Rell's heart ached. It couldn't be true. They hadn't just abandoned her.
The council told her she'd been chosen to protect the Key from people coming to steal it.
Suddenly, it all made sense. Yes, she'd been sent aboveground. Obviously the Menelewen Dored expected her to assimilate to this culture. How could she complete her mission without learning to live like the grounders? It was the only way to protect the Key.
Rell bit back a triumphant smile. Instead she lowered her head, attempting to appear meek. "I’ll accept your help. Thank you."
“I’m Renata, by the way. You are?”
“Rell.”
"Good. Now, let's get started with your hair." Renata reached for a sharp knife on the counter. "No one aboveground has hair down to their ankles. Yours needs to be cut. Will you let me?"
Rell's hair had never been cut. It was a precious gift from the gods. She pulled her braid over her shoulder, clutching it protectively. The tip hung down to her knees.
"Up here, no one wears their hair past the middle of the back. Any longer is seen as a declaration of religious beliefs. If people find out you're from underground, talk will start. They'll begin wondering if the old religions are real. Then there'll be talk of the Key. That's the last thing we need during this war. I promise, it won't hurt when I cut your hair. Let me show you." Renata pulled a small lock of her hair to the side, slicing through it with the knife. "See. No pain."
Rell wasn't worried about the pain. At least not physical pain. She imagined the knife slicing through her hair and severing her connection to the gods. She squeezed the braid. It was so thick her fingers could barely touch her thumb on the other side. But if the Menelewen Dored had sent her here to protect the Key, then she had to make the sacrifice. They had said all transgressions would be forgiven. It was only her hair, not her soul.
"Okay." Rell let her braid drop.
"Sit." Renata motioned to the cushioned chair again.
Rell took a seat, this time settling into the plush pillows and letting her braid hang over the back of the chair. It felt wrong to be so pampered. Rell looked down at her white slippers, now brown and covered with mud.
"Hold still, Rell. I don't want to nick you." Renata held Rell's braid firmly. The knife sawed through her hair and strands dropped littering the floor with her brown hair. After the last chunk had been severed, Rell's chin fell forward.
"It feels strange, doesn't it?" Renata walked around the chair and handed Rell the long braid. "Your hair is so thick."
Rell hefted the braid in her hands. Her neck felt strangely cold. "Thank you."
"I'll get a bucket of water for you to clean yourself up. Be back soon." Renata patted Rell's shoulder, as she made her way to a door across the room. She pushed a button, and the door opened with a whoosh. Renata left, the door quickly closing behind her.
Rell brought the braid to her face, using it to wipe away the tears falling from her eyes. Her free hand swept over what was left on her head. It felt so foreign, as if it was someone else's hair. Someone else's life.
Rell closed her eyes, remembering the words the council had spoken: There are those who seek the Key. You have been chosen to protect it.
That was exactly what Rell would do. She would follow the orders given to her by the council. Perhaps others had been brought here, exiled as punishment for their apathy. She knew those acolytes existed. She'd seen it in their eyes. The cold, detached look of an unbeliever.
Rell wasn't one of them. She'd been trusted with a mission, one she would complete without fail.
She would destroy anyone who sought out the Key. She would protect the secrets of the Menelewen Dored until the day she died.
Chapter Five
In his room, Torsten holstered his gun on his hip, letting out a long sigh. He didn't want to go on the mission. Unfortunately, he had no choice. Refusal meant possible torture from his squadron until he stepped up to his assignment. Or was accidentally ejected from a ship. That happened a few years ago, and the accidental part was still under debate.
The Key. Torsten had studied it for years as a boy, obsessed. Some believed it was an ancient relic that would protect their planet from invaders. Others hypothesized the Key was a weapon. In the years since the tablets referring to the Key were discovered, most had dismissed it as a fairy tale.
After his parents died, he'd been forced to grow up and leave fantasy behind. The grounders had reason to believe in it—the Key gave them hope for a better future. They thought it would eventually help the military win the war against the dragzhi. But they were wrong.
Mystical objects couldn't defeat the aliens who battered them. It would take more than a religious relic to win the war—if it even existed.
A song played over the intercom, lilting and slow, letting Torsten know someone was outside his door. He tapped the wall and a screen came to life. Leila tapped one foot while playing with her ponytail. She glared up at the camera. "Let me in, Tor, we need to talk."
Torsten waved his hand over the screen, and the door slid open. Leila stalked in. The door slid shut behind her. Leila paced from one end of the room to another, her right index finger twirling the end of her ponytail. It spun like a tornado, around and around, until the tip of her finger became entangled.
"What are we going to do?" Leila ripped her finger from her ponytail and pulled out the hair tie, letting her hair fall around her shoulders. "Damn hair."
Another time Torsten might have laughed. Not today. "We're going on the mission. Together." He buttoned the top of his shirt, as if he were tightening a noose around his neck. Torsten’s uniform was complete. All he had to do was leave for the briefing room, and the mission would begin.
Leila poked his chest. "You're not prepared for this, Tor. I am. If you go..." The corners of her mouth pointed down.
"If something happens to me, you're the beneficiary. You can retire if you want. You can have any life you choose. You don't have to stay in the military." Torsten could almost picture his little sister having a great life. A husband. Children.
"Don't talk like that, Tor." Leila slumped down on a chair covered in silver fabric. She pulled her feet up to the seat, wrapped her arms around her legs, and rested her chin on her knees. She looked up at him with
sad eyes. "This wasn't how we were going to do it. We'd both serve. We'd both come out alive."
Torsten knelt on the floor next to the chair and rested a hand on Leila's shoulder. "I'm not dead, yet. Maybe I'll make it back from this mission."
Leila rolled her eyes. "We both know you can't shoot. You're not fast, so it'll be hard for you to dive out of the way of enemy fire. Tor, this is a death sentence."
"Maybe there won't be any enemy fire." Torsten stood, pulling down on his tunic. He'd grown too fast, and the quartermaster had yet to issue him a new uniform. The hem always rode up. It was too short in some places and too wide in others. It was as if he was wearing another defender’s uniform. "They're sending me with you as a scholar. It'll be your job to protect me."
Tears formed in the corners of Leila’s eyes. "How am I supposed to protect you when I couldn't protect our parents? I already failed once, Tor. I can't do it again. I can't be responsible for losing you, too."
Torsten reached for Leila's hands, pulling her out of the chair. She collapsed against him. He wrapped his arms around her heaving back as she wet his shirt with her tears. "It wasn't your fault, Lei." He hadn't called her that in years. She'd demanded he stop when she turned eleven, even though he had still allowed her to call him Tor. "You couldn't have saved them. You were just a little kid."
Torsten squeezed his eyes shut, refusing to remember that night. He and Leila had hidden under the bed, clutching hands, until it was over. His heart raced as he remembered the feet standing next to the bed. Torsten tortured himself for years, wondering if he could have stopped the intruders who’d killed his parents, but he now knew the truth: if he’d tried, there would have been four corpses instead of two. He and Leila survived only because the intruders didn’t know they were there.
Leila sniffled, then stepped back. She ran her fingers under her eyes, wiping away the tears and her smeared makeup. "Sometimes, I think about what would have happened if I was this age, instead of ten."
"Don't," Torsten said. He straightened his tunic again. "It doesn't do any good."
Leila nodded, holding her head high. "Then we'll face this together. And, you're right, I probably won't have to protect you. We'll end up drinking and playing dice with grounders for a while. In the meantime, the military will win back the space they lost to the dragzhi."
"I think that will be the case, too." Torsten led Leila to his door. "I'll meet you in the briefing room in twenty minutes. Go back to your room and clean up. Better yet, take all the makeup off. The commander won't appreciate it. You know you're not supposed to wear it in uniform."
Leila's eyes grew wide. "You don't know?"
"Know what?" Torsten asked.
"Mellok told me we'll likely be disguised as grounders. We need to fit in if we're to discover any of their secrets. I was practicing with makeup so I could look more like them. I might even be allowed to dye my hair. I'm thinking purple."
Torsten laughed. Leila had wanted purple hair since she knew how to talk. Their parents had said she could dye it when she turned twelve, but after they died and the kids joined the military, Leila had to keep her hair regulation length and her natural color. "I didn't know. I hope, for your sake Mellok is right."
"You could do with some new clothes, too, Tor. None of yours fit anymore." Leila tugged down on his tunic this time.
"I’ve been waiting until the commander notices and forces me to buy new ones." Uniforms came out of the defenders’ monthly stipends. Torsten had hidden away as much of his pay as he could without drawing suspicion. Most defenders spent all of their money, whether it was on entertainment or guns or clothes, but Torsten planned to serve his time and escape to a life of his own making as soon as possible. Then when Leila graduated, he'd give her some of his savings to help her get started. He would love it if she'd choose to move wherever he did, but he knew his little sister. She needed a far more exciting life than he did, and he would never keep her from it. As long as she was happy, he was, too.
Leila waved her hand over the screen. The door slid open while a simple tune played. "I'll see you soon, Tor." She stood on her tiptoes and kissed Torsten on the cheek. "I care about you. I just don't want to see you get hurt."
"I know, Lei. I know." He patted her on the head.
Leila swatted his hand. "Don't call me Lei. I told you, I'm too old."
"Of course you are. Now, go." Torsten shooed his sister down the hall. After she rounded the bend, he stepped back into his room, letting the door close behind him.
Chapter Six
Torsten sat at the table in the briefing room, folding his hands on the cold, metallic surface. His feet tapped out a muted tune, his knee bouncing in time. From the waist up, he was the picture of calm. His mouth was set in determination. His eyes gazed with mild curiosity at the others around him, as if it were simply another meeting.
Leila sat next to him, Mellok across from her. Andessa sat next to Mellok. They were silent. Cautious. In the mess hall the day before, they had appeared excited, but by now they'd all had time to think. They’d formed questions. Calculated risks. The honor of being chosen had worn off quickly when they contemplated the reality of what might happen.
The door opened. Commander Bartok stepped through, her assistant Matthe on her heels. Matthe carried a stack of files in his arms, which he passed to each of the defenders at the table.
The others opened theirs and began studying the contents. Torsten rested a hand on the brown envelope, hesitant to look inside. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Leila's mouth drop. She quickly recovered before anyone else could see.
The commander cleared her throat, drawing the defenders’ eyes to her face. "As you see, we have handwritten these documents. I expect you to read them while we are in here." Her eyes lingered on Torsten. "When the meeting is done, Matthe will collect the folders and destroy them. There will be no digi record of your mission. In fact, there will no longer be a record of any of you. When you leave for this mission, you should be prepared to return only if you are victorious. If you are not, then no one will be able to question why."
Torsten could only assume the others had no living relatives like Leila and himself. Otherwise, they would be missed. He also couldn't help but note the convenience. If they failed, the military kept the reparation. There would be no one to inherit it in the event of their deaths.
Torsten reluctantly opened the folder. The paper tickled his fingertips. He was so unused to the feel of it. No one used paper anymore. There weren’t enough resources on Phoenix to mass produce it like there was on Earth. Everything was kept in digi files. He thumbed through the first few pages. It was just biographies of the team members. Torsten knew everything he needed to about them already.
Mellok’s parents died in a flight training incident when Mellok was a baby. They'd lived their entire lives in the military; he was raised specifically for this life. Andessa's parents had been over fifty when they’d had her, and died a few years ago on a hike in the desert. Torsten closed his eyes, burning their faces into his memory. He skimmed Leila's page. No surprises there. He flipped the page with the pictures of his parents. He remembered all too well what they looked like.
It was his page that gave him pause.
Torsten was surprised to see many things listed he thought he'd kept secret. His days spent in the library and which materials he’d read, including the pieces he'd read multiple times. A warm blush crept up his neck. Great. His fellow team members already knew he was different, but now they had proof of just how much. Yes, Torsten had been chosen to lead the mission because of his knowledge of the Key. Still, it chafed to see this evidence of his oddness written in black and white.
Torsten lifted the corner of his bio, only to find there were no other papers below it.
He looked at Commander Bartok. "Where are our orders?"
"As soon as everyone is done with the biographies, I'll give the official briefing." She rested her elbows on the table, forming a triangle with
her fingertips and thumbs. Her expression was unreadable, and Torsten suddenly felt fear run its bony finger along his spine.
Something wasn't right. The disposable biographies. The lack of written orders.
"Are they on a digi file?" Torsten waited for a response. They didn't move.
"No." It was a simple answer conveying a very complicated meaning.
Torsten reached out, snatching the folders from each of the defenders. Only Leila was quick enough to slap a hand on hers and resist Torsten's pull.
"What are you doing?" Mellok stood and yanked his folder back from Torsten's grasp.
"There's nothing but bios in here. I've known all of you for the six years Leila and I have been here. I don't need to read these. Neither do you." Torsten waited, glaring at Leila. She patted Mellok's hand apologetically and then passed the folder to her brother. "Thanks."
Torsten pushed the folders back to Commander Bartok. "We need to know why we’re being sent on a ridiculous mission."
Commander Bartok blinked twice. A small smile twitched at the corners of her lips. It was the only indication Torsten was on to something. Relief coursed through him. For a brief moment he'd doubted his instincts.
Commander Bartok straightened out the messy pile of paperwork, tapped it once on the table and sat it back down, her hands folded on top of it. "I knew I chose the correct leader. The other defenders may tease you for your awkwardness, but you are very intelligent, Torsten."
Matthe stood behind the commander, his hands fidgeting with the buttons on his jacket.
"Tell us what's really going on," Torsten said. "I don't believe for one second the Key exists, much less that it can magically win the war against the dragzhi. And if you’ve been watching me as closely as that bio shows you have, then you know I know we’re not looking for the Key."
The other defenders gasped. Torsten ignored them.
Commander Bartok shook her head. "You know so little. All of you. We rescued you as young children. Your parents died, leaving you nothing. You owe the military your lives. We’ve given you everything: food, shelter, love. You owe us."
Galactic - Ten Book Space Opera Sci-Fi Boxset Page 28