Isobel stared onto the empty street below from her bedroom window. The neighbor's virtuality set blared the national anthem as cats emerged from the shadows to sit under the dimming street lights. Her hands tightened on the peeling window frame as Montgomery paced back and forth in the small, cluttered room, sidestepping the hoards of treasure she'd dragged home from the tunnels over the years.
"What do we do now?" he asked, falling onto the bed against the wall. The ornate brass frame creaked loudly, weighed down with layers of old quilts that Isobel had found in an abandoned central station storeroom.
"I don't know. I think we should sit tight for tonight, though. Promise me, Montgomery, that if they come get me, you take Ash. My parents will forget him. They even forget me most of the time," she said, taking off her coat and joining him on the bed.
Montgomery looked at Ash who was sitting at his feet. "I promise, if I don't get drafted first. How'd you get home from central, anyway?"
"I stopped off at the station and caught up with Admiral Vin. I thought you might be there. He suggested that I take the north tunnel home," she said, and grabbed a quilt off the bed, throwing it over her shoulders.
"The north tunnel? That was brave of you," he said, looking intently at the gash above her clavicle.
"Desperate times, Montgomery."
"You got this from the orbital?" he asked.
"I don't know. There's some medicine in the bathroom to clean it. Get it for me, would you? Oh, and a razor. Upper left cabinet door.
"Will do," Montgomery said, leaving the room and quietly closing the bedroom door behind him.
Ash nudged closer to Isobel and placed his head on her lap. She smiled down at him and rubbed his ears in a way she knew he loved. "I hate the thought of leaving you, but I don't think you'd like where I may be going." She smoothed his silvery mane back, resting her cheek on his head as she so often did. "Maybe we should leave," she whispered to him, but the idea was short lived. Nomads weren't the only savages inhabiting the frozen wastelands past Landgraevan's canopy.
Montgomery returned with an arsenal of medicine. "What's the razor for?" he asked, tossing the stainless steel blade along with the gauze and antiseptic ointments on the bed, and motioned for her to sit.
"I want to see if the exit tattoo is there, if the orbital managed to designate the degree of my guilt," she replied, tapping the base of her skull as she sat down on the bed. Ash retreated to the side of the room, settling down on his thick woolen blanket with a gravelly grunt.
"Oh, right. The imprinting." He took a wet cloth and carefully wiped the grime off the wound at her clavicle, then poured antiseptic into the open gash.
She grit her teeth and pulled away. "Ouch! Be careful."
Montgomery, still focused on his job, shrugged his shoulders in apology. He applied a thin strip of suture glue to the wound, held it together, then activated the bandaging gun. "There. That should do it," he said, proud of his work. He smiled down at her, his warm breath grazing her cheek.
Isobel gazed up at him and brushed the errant strands of brown hair from his dusty gray eyes. "I'm so happy I didn't lose you, Montgomery," she whispered.
"Well, it's not over yet," he said. "I actually thought I lost you tonight."
"Me too," she said, and standing, reached for the razor. "Time for the truth."
Montgomery took the razor and tested the sharp edge with his finger. Positioning himself behind her, he pulled the quilt down past her shoulders and gently pushed her head forward, exposing the nape of her neck. He angled the straight blade at the base of her cranium and dragged it upwards.
She shut her eyes, feeling the last vestige of her dignity stripped bare, and held her hands in tight fists at her side. Again and again, the razor slid up the nape of her neck, locks of long brown hair falling to the ground at her feet.
And then he stopped, an act which seemed somehow worse to her.
Isobel realized that she'd been holding her breath. She exhaled, turning to face him. "What do you see?" she asked, pulling the quilt up around the back of her head to cover the vulnerable, exposed strip.
"It's there. But I can't even make out the degree. Exit tattoos are usually dark," he said hopefully.
"That's something at least," she said, hand to the back of her neck, and startled as a cat fight broke out across the street. The national anthem blaring across the way turned to newscasters talking war, sirens keening in the distance.
"Landgraevan is preparing for another war, Montgomery, and they don't have the troops left to fight this one. There will be a draft. Maybe we should leave, take our chances in the barren lands," she said softly.
"Do you really think it'll come to that? The Ismaynians didn't even do this, and they don't have the power to fight back. Maybe it'll blow over, like these wars sometimes do. Besides, you're the one riding the thin red line. Even chipped, I can always hide," he said, staring at her imprinting.
"What does it look like anyway?" she asked, walking to the oval mirror hanging on the wall.
She'd found the mirror wrapped in a black velvet cloth in the same storeroom as the quilts, hidden among other ancient objects. The silver backing had crazed around the beveled edges, distorting the reflection. The hand carved wood frame depicted cicadas perched on gnarly oak branches, with fat acorns and spiky leaves, so intricately carved that the segmented eyes of the insects were clearly visible. The gilding had oxidized from gold to dark ochre over time, and grime had settled in the nooks and grooves, bringing out the detail into high relief.
"That's bad," she said, leaning in to study the deep puncture wounds. "I hope this looks better by tomorrow."
"It will. I've seen worse imprintings," Montgomery said, not entirely lying. He had seen worse imprinting marks. On dead people.
"On the dead," Isobel said.
A swift movement outside the window caught Isobel's attention. Gesturing for Montgomery to be silent, she walked to the other side of the room and peered outside.
A sensing drone hovered at the same floor of the opposite facing building, level with her room. The drone's infrared sensory device was on, indicating that it was gathering information on the residents inside. Random checks were a common enough occurrence in Landgraevan, a fact of life that had never really bothered her - until now.
"It's a sensing drone. Across the street, same level," she said.
"It probably wont stop here," he replied, joining her by the window.
"Let's hope so."
The stealthy, gunmetal gray disc stopped at the end of the street, switched sides, then turned and headed their way.
"Theoretically it should skip levels," Isobel offered.
"Theoretically," Montgomery replied.
"Theoretically then, what happens if we're wrong?" she asked.
"Then we're pretty factually screwed."
"Maybe we should wait this out on the roof then, so it doesn't have sensing parameters to work with," she suggested.
"Agreed."
"Good. Ash, come." She grabbed her coat and headed into the hall, tucking a quilt under her arm.
The virtuality set glared from the viewing room, her parents fixed on the constant hologram feed, immersed in the latest coverage of the Ismaynian conflict.
"It started," Isobel said as she closed the apartment door behind her.
"Yes. It has," he replied simply.
"I'm sorry, Montgomery. I didn't think it would start a war," she said softly.
"I know."
~
Emergent, Book One : Isobel Page 9