The Cage

by Megan Shepherd

  He paced to the center of the room mechanically, returning to his stoic state, seemingly unconcerned with how much he terrified her. She reminded herself that it was the Warden who had tried to kill her, not him. It didn’t make him any less of a monster, but maybe it meant he didn’t intend to hurt her—at least not yet.

  Her breath slowed a fraction. “Why keep me behind?”

  “It has been three days, and you have not slept adequately. By not sleeping you are disobeying Rule Two: maintain your health.” He tilted his head. “We are not as heartless as you imagine. We recognize that you, in particular, have certain fears—enclosed spaces, deep bodies of water—that prevent you from a restful slumber. I would like to help you. Tell me what you require to sleep.”

  “What I require?” Her throat felt dry. “To go home. For all of us to go home, and that girl in the cage too, while you’re at it.”

  “That is not possible.”

  “Why? Has something happened to Earth? Is that what you meant, about how humans always destroy their surroundings?” Her voice rose in pitch, but he didn’t answer. “We deserve to know where we are and if our families are okay!”

  His eyes stayed trained on her, just as hers stayed trained on him. It was a staring contest she was determined not to lose, even against someone who never blinked.

  “I want you to be happy here, Girl Two. I can bring you a different pillow. A nighttime snack, if you prefer.”

  She almost laughed, though it would sound hysterical. A pillow? Dessert? She hadn’t slept well after she was released from Bay Pines, either. She’d taken those long drives at night, listening to the radio. Only one thing had helped: Sadie, her old basset hound, who curled up protectively at the foot of the bed. Sadie had creaky joints and smelled like autumn leaves and couldn’t have protected her from an angry cat, but she had loved Cora unconditionally, in the way only a dog could.

  She pushed aside thoughts of Sadie. Sadie was her memory, not theirs.

  “Did you really expect me to sleep well, in a deranged zoo?”

  “Your species has a history of thriving in captivity. You even place your own people in captivity, a very primitive practice.”

  Cora steadied an untrusting gaze at him. Was he referring to her own time in juvie? If he thought she had thrived in captivity, he was wrong. That unwanted sensation itched in her mind, and she rubbed her eyes.

  The hard set to his jaw softened. “You misunderstand, Girl Two.”

  “My name is Cora.”

  “Just because humankind is a lesser species does not mean it has no intrinsic value. In fact, as stewards of the lesser species, we value you all the more because of your natural innocence. Your kind has not yet been corrupted by superior intellect. Your life here will be effortless. We will provide everything. All you must do is enjoy it.”

  “In exchange for what?” She shook her head wearily. “Nobody goes to all the trouble of abducting us from Earth and building an entire habitat out of the good of their hearts. Is that why you took kids, instead of adults—you thought we’d be too innocent to question your motives? I have news for you. I’m not that naive.”

  “We wish only for your safety and survival.”

  “The Warden nearly killed me. Was that for my survival?”

  Her words snapped in the air. The Caretaker was quiet, as though she had struck too deep—or too true. Even the girl in the cage stopped picking at her toes and paid attention. Cora took a shaky step forward.

  “You might want what’s best for us—you’re a Caretaker, after all. But I refuse to believe those researchers care about my safety. When I fell at their feet, they only watched like I was some experiment. And the Warden? He would have killed me without so much as a blink.” She stopped walking when she was close enough to feel the heat from his body, and she dropped her voice to a whisper. “Tell me why your kind really took us, and why those researchers keep manipulating us. Is it for your own amusement? Or are we test subjects for new drugs you don’t want to test on yourselves?” She swallowed, almost losing her resolve. “Or are you studying us because you want to see how humans will react when you attack Earth?”

  “Attack Earth?” For someone who suppressed his emotions in public, he sounded sincerely surprised—or else he was a good liar. “That is another endearing trait of your species. Your vivid imagination.”

  “Don’t mock me,” she said.

  His face grew serious once more. “We have no interest in your planet. We are not a terrestrial species, but an astral one. We have made our home among the stars for the last million rotations—thirty thousand human years. An ancient race known as the Gatherers took us from our planet of origin and elevated us to the realm of the stars, where we evolved into one of the intelligent species. Now it is our turn to elevate your species to the stars, just as the Gatherers once did for us. Perhaps in time you will also display signs of evolving toward intelligence.”

  “We are intelligent.”

  “Not in the way we mean. For us, the difference between the intelligent species and the lesser ones is perceptive abilities: Telepathy. Telekinesis.” He paused, as though gauging her reaction. She thought back to Lucky and the others . . . had they shown any signs of telepathy? Telekinesis? No. They’d all seemed as helpless as she was.

  When she didn’t react, he looked away, as if disappointed. “Your theories are not only incorrect, but they display signs of paranoia. No one intends to invade your planet. No one intends to use you as a test subject. No one is manipulating you.”

  “Yes they are! If you’ve been studying Earth for so long, then you know how we really dress. You know what we really eat. You know it’s unfair that I get more tokens whenever I solve a puzzle. You know the optical illusions mess with our heads. You’ve even matched us in random pairs using constellations—why constellations?” Her angry ramble ended short, as she raked her nails over the marks on her neck.

  “Every species with a home planet has created symbols out of the placement of stars. We use these symbols because they are soothing to you. And as to the pairings, they are not random. Our society is run by a program called the stock algorithm. It creates our law and determines our positions within the hierarchy. It selected your cohort because you all carry a high level of genetic diversity in your genes, and you also exhibit traits we find of particular value. You are all exemplary.”

  “Leon is the best humanity has to offer?”

  “Boy Three—Leon—is a paragon of physical stamina, in addition to being from an ethnic group with rare genetic traits.”

  Cora closed her eyes. The foggy cloud of insomnia settled back over her, so frustratingly heavy. They had been selected and paired together by some alien supercomputer. She and Lucky, out of all the kids in the world, had the best genetic compatibility. It wasn’t a particularly romantic notion. Did she only like that dimple in his left cheek because of a computer? Had he made her blush because the Kindred had designed it that way?

  “I don’t believe you. And I don’t understand why you’re covering for them. You’re supposed to take care of us. Why are you defending kidnappers?”

  The room was too quiet. As it was, Cora’s own breath was deafening.

  “I will try to bring you a dog,” the Caretaker said at last. “To help you sleep.”

  Sadie. He had read her thoughts about Sadie. He might as well have stripped her naked and stared into her soul.

  As if he sensed her anger, he folded his hands. “We are not the monsters you believe us to be, Cora.”

  She pointed a shaking finger at the girl in the cage. “Then prove it. Let that girl out of that cage. It’s cruel to keep her cooped up like that. If you won’t take her back to Earth, then let her stay in the environment with us.”

  The Caretaker’s mouth quirked in something like amusement. He exchanged a glance with the stringy-haired girl. “Have you seen enough?” he asked. “Are you ready to join them?”

  Cora’s head jerked around. Had the girl under
stood English this whole time? The girl gripped the cage bars with an impossibly thin hand, glaring at Cora with brown eyes shockingly lighter in shade than her skin.

  “I am ready,” the girl said.

  To Cora’s shock, she pushed the cage gate open. It hadn’t been locked.

  “She was not imprisoned,” the Caretaker said, reading Cora’s thoughts. “She requested the enclosure as protection from your group’s unpredictable emotional outbursts. She wanted to be certain she was safe among you.”

  Cora gaped as the girl climbed out of the cage, all long legs and long hair and eyes that seemed to slice through skin. Serassi had said she was there for observation, but it wasn’t her the Kindred were observing. The girl had been observing them. The dark scrap of fabric she wore was actually a leotard with thin straps and silk panels, beautiful and delicate, like a ballerina might wear. She picked at it like she was used to wearing something looser, or nothing at all.

  This had been the Kindred’s plan all along. Whoever the girl was, with her feral looks and her ballerina costume and her strange alliance with the Kindred, she had always been intended to join them.

  This was the girl with the heart-shaped scar’s replacement.

  This was the new Girl Three.

  The Caretaker dragged Cora over to the girl and grabbed ahold of her as well. The pressure began to build. The ballerina girl yawned, like she’d dematerialized a thousand times. Cora gritted her teeth as the pressure grew, and then they were back in the cage, standing on the boardwalk. Waves crashed gently behind them. The scent of roasting meats laced the air. The Caretaker let go. The new Girl Three slunk off toward the diner, sniffing the air. Had Cora made a mistake by assuming the girl was a victim like the rest of them? Rolf had said the Kindred would need a mole. Someone on the inside . . .

  Alone with the Caretaker, she crossed her arms over her chest.

  “Just stay away from us, Caretaker.” She took a shaky step toward the diner, but he grabbed her arm.

  “I have a name too,” he said. “It isn’t Caretaker.”

  She paused, squinting in the bright sunlight. Such a figure didn’t belong on a sunny boardwalk among toy shops and candy stores. He belonged in dreams. He belonged in nightmares.

  Why is he telling me this? she wondered. And more importantly, why do I care?

  But she did. Either from curiosity or some sick fascination, she cared.

  “Who are you?” she asked.

  “I am called Cassian. And I am not your enemy.” He stepped back. “Now return to your cohort and try to sleep.”

  He flickered, and was gone.

  Cora took a few shaky steps toward the diner, hand clutched over the patch of arm where he had touched her. Ahead, the new Girl Three waited by the cherry tree.

  Cora’s muscles ached, but sleep was the last thing that would come to her now.

  UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE

  HarperCollins Publishers

  ..................................................................

  20

  Leon

  LUNCH, ACCORDING TO THEIR captors, was tuna fish smothered in chocolate sauce. Each day the food got weirder—damned if he knew why—and the mismatch of flavors made his head ache, but all that poking and prodding had made him irritable, and when he got irritable, he got hungry.

  Cora appeared in the doorway.

  “Hey.” He kicked Lucky under the table. “Your girl’s alive.”

  Lucky shoved his chair back in such a rush that chocolate sauce sloshed on the table. Leon cursed.

  “I’m okay,” Cora said. “They kept me behind because I wasn’t sleeping well.” She jerked her chin toward the jukebox, which was playing that song that grated on Leon’s ears. “I found out they can read our minds. That’s how they know about my song. And that’s probably part of why we all have headaches. It’s going to make getting out of here more challenging—”

  Leon froze as another figure filled the doorway. It was the caged girl, with stringy hair and long limbs.

  “She’s . . . joining us,” Cora said.

  Leon grunted in surprise. The girl didn’t bother to introduce herself—maybe she didn’t speak English, or speak anything at all. She sauntered over to a table, pulled Rolf’s military jacket off the back of his chair, sniffed it a few times, then slid into it. It swallowed her small frame, and with the ballerina getup, she looked as mismatched as the cage itself. She plunked into Rolf’s chair and started shoveling his food into her mouth.

  Rolf started to object, but stopped. “Well. I wasn’t going to eat it anyway.” He fiddled with the leaves of a potted flower he’d brought in from outside.

  “Hey. Girl.” Leon barked in annoyance. “You talk or what?”

  Cora shot him a look. “Ease up. She’s probably been through a lot, Leon.”

  But to Leon’s surprise, the girl lifted her head. Chocolate sauce covered her mouth. A ratty braid hung in her face, making her look wild. She regarded Leon coldly as she pinched her arms with hands that were deeply scarred.

  Then she went back to her chocolate-covered tuna.

  “Maybe she’s deaf?” Nok suggested.

  “Maybe she’s a spy,” Rolf countered, blinking quickly, his hands buried in the flower. “I told you that every group of experiments has a control.”

  “They don’t need a spy.” Lucky hopped off one of the tables and jerked a thumb at the black window, where two shadowy figures lurked. “They already know everything we do, especially if they can read our minds. Besides, she’s one of us. Human.”

  Leon grunted. “You sure about that?”

  But the truth was, he knew with one look into her eyes that she was just as human as the rest of them; and just as screwed. He couldn’t stop stealing glances at the scars on her hands. He wondered who had hurt her—Kindred or human.

  “Seriously, kid, if you got a name, tell us,” he said. “Girl Three doesn’t have much of a ring.”

  Cora gave him a surprised look. “Leon, that was almost a nice thing to say.”

  “Don’t get used to it.”

  Ignoring them, the girl stood and drifted around the room, fingers dancing over the murky black window, leaving ghostly traces of moisture that evaporated as soon as they appeared. Her fingers kept tracing the same shape over and over. Letters, Leon realized. Rough, childlike, clunky.

  M-A-L-I.

  “Mali?” Cora sounded out the word. “That’s your name?”

  The girl gave a stiff nod, but her eyes hesitated, as though there was more to say but she didn’t know how.

  “Maybe she means Molly, like with a Y,” Nok suggested.

  Leon grunted. “Are you all blind or what? She means just what she wrote. Mali. The country. Look at her hair and skin. She’s telling you where she’s from, dorks.”

  Cora’s head swiveled back to the girl. “Is that true?”

  The girl’s fingers still danced on the window. “The Kindred know where I am from but not my name, so that is what they call me. I am young when they take me.” She spoke in a strange way that Leon had to struggle to piece together. Each word was so pronounced and distinctive and in the present tense, even if she was talking about the past. It was almost like a speech impediment a little cousin of his had, like her lips didn’t learn to form words right.

  “How young?” Cora asked gently.

  The girl held up four fingers. Leon’s head ached harder. The Kindred took tiny little kids? Those black-eyed bastards were seriously messed up.

  Cora kept her voice soft. “Are there more like you, who were taken as children? Are they in enclosures like this one?”

  Leon had to give it to Cora, she had a way with crazy feral humans. Left to him, he’d have shaken the answers out of the girl.

  The girl looked at her toes. She wiggled them as though bored. “No.” Nok sighed with relief, until the girl added, “The others are not nearly as fortunate.”

  Leon slammed a fist against the table a little too hard.
“There’s more than one of this screwy playground?”

  “There are nine other environments, each containing between two and twenty individuals, but they are much smaller. Several hundred humans live in the menageries, and a few thousand on the nature preserves. A few hundred more are kept by private owners . . . those are the worst of all.”

  For a moment, none of the captives spoke. Even Rolf’s hands, fiddling with the plant, had gone still. Lucky moved a little closer to Cora, like he feared their captors would come drag her away at any moment.

  Leon broke the silence.

  “Well, shit.”

  “What’s a menagerie?” Cora asked. So help him, she actually seemed curious.

  Mali steadied an unblinking stare on Cora. “You will see soon enough if you continue to resist the Kindred. There are thousands of humans who are not prime stock who will kill to be where you are. Humans who do not obey. Humans who have flaws. Humans who are taken by species other than the Kindred.”

  “Hang on,” Lucky said. “There are other species?”

  “Yes. Four are intelligent. The Kindred. The Mosca. The Axion. The Gatherers.”

  “What about humans?” Leon barked. “Don’t we count as intelligent?”

  “Not unless we’re psychic,” Cora interrupted. “Only the psychic races have any rights.”

  Mali picked at her fingernails, bored. “This is why the Mosca take us—we have no rights. Some are black market dealers. The Gatherers and the Axion believe parts of the human body contain chemicals. They trade human hair and knuckle bones and gall bladders and teeth. The right ventricle of the heart is their favorite. They powder it into a tea to stop pain in various parts of their bodies.” Spoken in her strangely flat tone, her words were even more ominous.

  Leon set down his tuna. They made tea out of kids’ body parts? What kind of super-evolved beings believed in black magic? Leon worked in the black market himself—he knew all about the things she was describing, only on Earth it was called the illegal wildlife trade. Rhino horns. Alligator skin. Bear gall bladders. They could fetch a fortune, especially in certain Asian and African countries, among discriminating clientele. And yet the difference was, humans weren’t goddamn animals.