Inherent Cost

by Alicia Cameron

  Jere hoped he hadn’t made a mistake by telling her in the clinic instead of waiting until they got back to the house, where she could have a screaming fit if she so desired. “I just... Kieran thinks she might have found your parents.”

  Jere stopped, watching as Isis stayed completely still, frozen, not daring to show even the slightest hint of emotion. If Wren had looked like this, Jere wouldn’t hesitate to probe a little through the mind connection, but Isis insisted upon maintaining as much privacy as possible. She had never been allowed to have such a thing before, so Jere maintained strict boundaries and respected her wishes. As he waited, he idly contemplated how difficult life must have been before it was possible to peek at the emotions of others.

  “I didn’t know you were looking,” Isis finally mumbled, crossing her arms and drawing back. It wasn’t clear whether she was upset that nobody told her, or that it had happened at all.

  “I know. I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want to get your hopes up. I didn’t even know at first—my sister and Kieran started it.”

  “And you agreed to let them spy on my family?”

  “I agreed that it was a good idea for them to continue looking,” Jere said gently. “I was hesitant at first, but I know you always say your parents still care about you. You’re right. When Kieran first told me about the reunification program, I knew it would be the chance to find out for sure if they were still out there, looking. I thought it would be a really good opportunity.”

  “To get rid of me,” Isis muttered, looking down at the floor.

  “No,” Jere said firmly. “After all this time, you still think I’m trying to get rid of you?”

  Isis shrugged.

  “If I wanted you gone, I’ve had plenty of better opportunities,” Jere teased, ducking down to catch her eye. The joke worked, if only slightly, because she granted him a slight smile. “I’ve told you I wouldn’t ever get rid of you, and I stand by that promise.”

  “So... so then why?” Isis looked up again, still curled in on herself.

  “Because you seem so convinced that they will want to see you. Wren told me he wouldn’t speak to me for weeks if I so much as considered looking for his family, and I believe him. But I thought you’d be happy to have the chance to see them again. And if the people Kieran found are really your parents, they would give anything for the chance to meet you again.”

  “Oh.” Isis was quiet for a moment. “Are they... I mean, did they look for me?”

  Jere could tell that she was trying hard not to seem too eager, but he couldn’t imagine being anything but eager at the prospect of seeing long-separated family members. “Isis, they’ve been looking for you since the day you were taken. They’re on all sorts of underground lists, they’ve moved multiple times in attempts to follow you, they’ve sold their house and quit their jobs—it’s all they’ve done since you were taken. They never gave up on you.”

  Isis sank to the floor, sitting and resting her head in her hands. She was silent.

  “Are you all right?” Jere asked. She was no longer as likely to scream and break things, but she had a tendency to hide away and hurt herself. The quiet, withdrawn attitude was even more worrisome to Jere than the angry outbursts.

  “I don’t know. This is just... fuck, it’s all I’ve ever wanted, and I keep waiting to wake up from a dream or have you tell me it’s all a joke, but if it’s real I don’t know what I’ll do. It’s too much.”

  Jere let her have a few moments to collect herself. She needed more time to process than most people he knew, but with her memory gift, she had more information in her brain to connect. Worse, she had half a lifetime of terrible, miserable experiences to reconcile. Sometimes she just needed space, and Jere had gotten very successful at waiting. Finally, she seemed to calm down, folding her arms over her knees and resting her head on them as she considered it all.

  “It’s not guaranteed yet. I mean, Kieran isn’t completely sure that they are who she thinks they are; they’ve changed identities a few times, but from the data on where you grew up and their names—”

  “I never told you their names!” Isis interrupted.

  “They had someone break into the records,” Jere admitted. “I guess it can be pretty easy if you know the right people. Besides, it might be a while before the organization establishes actual contact with them. They’re focusing on safety, both for the organization and for the families involved. And it seems your parents, if that is who they are, have gone undercover. We wouldn’t want to expose them.”

  Isis finally lifted her head. “What then? Can I meet them? Talk to them? Could they come here?”

  Jere shrugged. “Having them come here would be risky. Usually, a meeting is arranged somewhere else. If they were followed here it could alert people to their, and our, involvement with this organization. You could be at risk of being taken away and I’m not going to risk that. I guess sometimes letters work best.”

  “They’ll be excited that I finally learned how to read,” Isis observed.

  “I think they’ll be proud of you, regardless. They obviously care about you if they’re still looking for you after all this time.”

  “Yeah,” Isis nodded. “Does Wren know?”

  Jere nodded. “I told him last night. He thinks it’s a great idea.”

  Isis nodded, seemingly unbothered that she was the last to know. Jere shared everything with Wren. At least, almost everything. More often than not, Isis seemed content to sit back and let them make the “adult” decisions, as she described it. She embraced the role of careless teenager more often than not. Jere figured she deserved it; she had missed out on it for so many years.

  “I can’t wait to tell him about it! Doesn’t matter that he already knows, this time I get to tell him!” Isis grinned, suddenly looking happy instead of worried about the possibility.

  It was good to see her so excited. While she had a good life with him and Wren, not being hurt or abused, Jere often wondered if it was enough for her. He followed her into the house, smiling as he watched her gush on and on about the news to Wren and thank Kieran for her involvement. As usual, Wren was reserved, smiling gently and nodding at her as she rambled, but Jere could sense through the connection that Wren was happy for her. Kieran didn’t even try to hide her excitement.

  “Would you have wanted to know I was looking?” Jere asked.

  “Like I said last night, I’d kick your ass if you even considered it,” Wren replied, playful. “And not in a way you’d like, either.”

  Jere smiled at that. Wren was cute when he made threats. “Not even your brother?” he pressed. “You told me once that you’d like to see how he turned out.”

  “Only if he was a slave,” Wren answered, after considering it for a moment. “And only if we could help him. Otherwise, I’d rather pretend that he was free and happy and never have to worry about him again.”

  As far as the possibility of freedom, Jere rationalized that nothing was certain yet, so there was really no reason to tell Isis or Wren about it. It would only get their hopes up, and he doubted it was safe enough. Fifty to eighty percent success rate? That meant that twenty to fifty percent failed, and failure meant severe whipping and re-training at best. At worst, it could mean execution or repossession for the slave, and the right to own slaves stripped from the master. Mentioning it would be like teasing, a promise that he could never keep, and he didn’t want to put either of the people he cared about through that sort of false hope.

  At least, that was the main reason why he didn’t want to mention it.

  Chapter 8

  Influences

  Jere didn’t have to try to find a reason to keep the chance of freedom to himself. Kieran had only just left for the speed train station when Jere heard a knock at the door. Jere’s friend Paltrek was standing there looking hopeful, his slave next to him.

  “My father’s going to a fundraising campaign,” the wealthy socialite announced, raising an eyebrow at Jere hopefu
lly. “He says that Wysocka Enterprises needs to be better integrated into politics, and he’s dragging me into it!”

  Jere grinned. Paltrek lived with his extremely conservative father and older sister, both of whom treated free people and slaves like dirt, for the most part. But Paltrek benefitted from the arrangement, living a pampered life without having to do much work, and being guaranteed a lifetime of success.

  “Maybe there will be an open bar,” Jere suggested. “Or some suitable people to take home.”

  Paltrek scoffed. “I’m supposed to bring a guest. My father has reminded me that I’m still ‘disappointingly single,’ and told me to go make it look like I have respectable connections. He told me to stay away from the bar, too, but that’s not happening.”

  Jere realized that he was the respectable connection that Paltrek Wysocka, Senior, was referring to. The Wysocka family was wealthy and influential; it was a matter of course that they had established a good relationship with Hojer’s new doctor when he moved into town. Mr. Wysocka had been friends with the town’s previous doctor, but Jere and Paltrek were much closer in age and philosophy. Paltrek scorned his family’s image—if not their wealth—and accepted Jere’s liberal treatment of his slaves in a way his father never would have. Still, Mr. Wysocka knew that Jere held influence over the citizens of Hojer. Despite Jere’s views, Mr. Wysocka respected his business sense and healing abilities.

  “I’ll get some clothes together for you,” Wren’s voice sounded in his head. “You should go out. Have a little fun, show the community how involved and sociable you are.”

  Jere wanted to protest, but Paltrek was already going on about how he didn’t want to be stuck alone with his family. Jere didn’t blame him; Paltrek fit in with his family about as well as Jere fit in Hojer. Paltrek was one of his first and closest friends, one who had stood by him through his struggles adjusting to life in a slave state, through his fight with the Slave Agency last year. His relationship with Paltrek was refreshingly uncomplicated—they went out and had fun, they shared drinks, they shared problems. By the time Wren returned and handed him an outfit, Jere realized that his night was planned for him.

  Not long after, Jere was on a speed train, accompanying Paltrek on the short trip to Montrose, the next town over, where the fundraiser was being held. Dane was with them, kneeling at Paltrek’s feet. He had been looking at his master gratefully since Paltrek purchased the private car that would allow the slave to stay with them instead of traveling in the baggage section.

  “You don’t usually bring him out,” Jere commented. Paltrek had explained that he didn’t feel the need to drag his slave out in public to prove that he had one; he was wealthy enough already.

  Paltrek shrugged. “Things are tense at home. He’s scared shitless to be left there, even asked me if he could come with me today. Do you know how long it’s been since he’s made a request like that? I couldn’t turn him down.”

  Jere tried not to show his distaste. He had learned to tolerate Paltrek’s use of his slave, much like Paltrek tolerated Jere’s permissiveness with Wren and Isis. Dane always seemed willing, if not eager, and Jere knew that he had rubbed off on Paltrek somewhat; Dane was treated far more gently now than he had been when Jere and Paltrek had first met.

  Paltrek laughed at Jere’s poor attempt to conceal his disgust. “Delicate outlander sensibilities. One day you’ll get over that. You and lover-boy still getting along?”

  Jere blushed. “Perfectly, thank you.”

  “You guys make me sick,” Paltrek said, but he was smiling as he said it. He never missed an opportunity to hassle Jere about his relationship with Wren. In a way, it was almost comforting. Jere missed the playful teasing that happened between friends.

  “Anyway, thanks for coming with me. My sister’s insane, and my father is so into this political business that it’s annoying. With the elections coming up, everyone’s trying to get Wysocka Enterprises into their pockets, but he won’t commit to anyone either way. He’s playing them against each other, trying to find one he likes.”

  Jere nodded politely. “Does he know who or what he’s supporting?”

  “Whoever allows his business to grow the most effectively. I think tonight’s fundraiser will probably secure it. He’s been a fan of President Clemente since he was elected a few terms ago—that’s the party throwing the fundraiser tonight.”

  Jere nodded. He had never had a problem with Hojer’s president. The only reason he had gone out of his way to target the man’s family last year was because the president had ignored Jere’s requests to grant an exception to the state slave codes. Otherwise, he knew little about the politics of the state.

  The venue was only a short walk from the Montrose speed train station. Jere was pleased to see the lights and hear the music from inside. Hojer was usually dark and quiet at night; few people had the desire or money to pay for event lighting, not to mention hiring people with gifts to amplify the music and speeches loud enough to blare across a dance floor. Hojer had live bands and loudspeakers for special occasions, but the psychic fields interrupted most of the old technology that used to make sound amplification possible.

  By comparison, it looked like Montrose was doing well, but with closer to twenty thousand people, there were likely more resources and mind gifts to go around. The venue must have held at least a few hundred people, most dressed in their best clothes, many accompanied by slaves.

  Annika found them first, giving Jere the dirty look that she had been giving him since he had rejected her attempts to flirt with her years ago.

  “I see you finally made it,” she said, glaring at Paltrek. “Daddy’s been wondering where you are. I told him you probably had to go pick up some whore to keep you company.”

  “Nope. Unlike you, I actually have friends to bring to formal events. Looks like you’ve got Arae, though. She’s even conscious and clothed. Did Father tell you that you couldn’t take her out of the house looking like she did this morning?”

  Annika continued glaring, even as her slave cowered beside her. “If that horrible law passes, I’ll never be able to take my slave outside again! Did you know that one of the new laws would ban public beatings that break skin? They say it’s unsanitary. Like a little blood would destroy the world or something—it’s out-of-control slaves that are going to ruin our society!”

  Jere just shook his head. Medically, it could end the world, but there was no arguing with this woman. Arae was far from out of control; Jere thought she looked more lifeless and defeated every time he saw her. “It does provide some slaveowner protections.”

  “This SRA is horrible! It’s stealing the rights of law-abiding slaveowners. It’s my God-given right to do whatever the hell I want with my slaves, and if that includes beating them bloody, I’ll do it!”

  “When did you become religious?” Paltrek asked her.

  “It’s an expression, little brother,” Annika snapped. “I’m going to end up arrested if this stupid thing passes, or fined, not like that matters, but I can’t be arrested! I’m not some sort of criminal!”

  Paltrek rolled his eyes. “All you’d have to do is not torture your slave in public. It shouldn’t be that difficult.”

  Annika scowled enough that Jere felt his skin crawl. The feeling intensified when Annika backhanded Arae and sent her flying a few feet before the girl quietly crawled back to her. He couldn’t help but watch Dane, the way he cringed despite his attempts to hide it. Arae was his sister, and as much as Paltrek was laid-back and lenient, Annika was uptight and strict.

  “See what I mean?” Paltrek criticized. “You can’t even keep your hands off of her when she’s doing nothing.”

  Annika scowled. “I could feel through the mind connection that she doubted me. She knows better.”

  “Thank you for correcting me, mistress,” Arae mumbled, earning another kick.

  Jere was certain that Annika had some pretty significant mental problems that she loved to take out on her beate
n, starved slave. Jere was sickened by the display, but he didn’t know what to say. Fortunately, he didn’t have to say anything, because Mr. Wysocka came over, a deep frown on his face.

  “If your slave is so ill-mannered that you need to throw her around in public, I can have my assistant take her home and I will deal with her later,” he hissed.

  Annika turned bright red, and Jere couldn’t help feeling pleased by her unhappiness.

  “Doctor Peters,” Mr. Wysocka said, shaking Jere’s hand firmly. “I’m pleased to see you here. You’ll be one of the most valuable resources to our city in the future. Your medical care is superb.”

  “Thank you, sir,” Jere said.

  “Let’s go meet some people,” Mr. Wysocka suggested. “There are plenty of people wondering where the rest of my family is, and I’m sure they’d be interested to hear your take on the new laws and the health crisis.”

  Jere followed along. The fundraiser event benefitted some of the presidential candidates, President Clemente among them. Jere was introduced to a number of politicians and other public figures, all of whom looked at him with a mixture of interest in his healing capabilities and distrust of his upbringing in Sonova.

  A local governor of a neighboring town gave Jere a suspicious look. “It’s your kind that are pushing for that new SRA. Can’t leave well enough alone.”

  “I’m not formally taking a stance on the SRA,” Jere said carefully. “Of course I support the health reform; and as a slaveowner myself, I like that it would make searches and investigations more difficult. I’d rather have my rights at home than in public.”

  “Our rights should apply everywhere,” Annika cut in. “I should be able to do whatever I want with my property.”

  Mr. Wysocka glared pointedly at his daughter. “Nobody of any breeding should be airing their slaves’ issues in public, anyway. And I will admit that the slaves return in far better condition when they’ve been treated by a human healer. Doctor Peters here has not only healed my slaves, but has repaired work done by some veterinarians. I’m not sure if I’d say the same for all healers, but I’ve been much happier having my slaves seen by him.”