Tiera's Earth (Andromeda 9 Book 1)

by Ethan T. Marston

  “Don’t worry about me. I’m still alive, aren’t I?” He chuckled, then took a drink. “Besides, it’s just the extra calories I’m missing—what I don't get from my tattoos—and they put everything else you need in your juice. If you get reassessed when you’re sick, they even put medicine in it.” Berado finished off his juice, then pushed his tray away, and Tiera frowned. He had only eaten two or three bites of his food.

  Tiera ate the rest of her meal in relative silence, watching inmates enter the cafeteria as Berado told her who each one was, complete with so many stories and such personal commentary that Tiera wasn’t sure she should be listening. But just after she downed the last of her juice she had to interrupt him.

  “Then her toothbrush fell in the toilet! And they don’t replace those things lightly, you know, so she had to—”

  “Berado? You said that sometimes they put medicine into the juice, right?” Tiera asked, deciding she didn’t want to wait for the end of the toilet story.

  “If you’re sick, yeah,” he said without missing a beat.

  “Does that include regulators?”

  “Mood regulators? If you need them, sure.” Berado waved from across the room at the brunette woman whose toilet story he had just been sharing, and she waved back, then looked at Tiera suspiciously. “Why?”

  “I—” Tiera sighed. “They probably put regulators in mine, and I didn’t want to take them.”

  “I’m sorry,” Berado said with a frown. “You’ll have a hard time avoiding them though, unless you only drink from your cell’s sink from now on.”

  Tiera considered it for a moment, then shook her head, feeling defeated. “No, I guess I’ll try them out first. This is as good a place as any to figure out how they mess with me.” They probably can’t make my life much worse anyway. As Tiera stared at the white plastic cup in her hand, Berado started describing whoever it was he just noticed walking through the door.

  “Now that guy I don’t have any stories on quite yet. I mean, he’s only been here a couple weeks, but he’s pretty quiet on top of that. I did find out his name though, which is more than I can say about you. It’s Kert.”

  Tiera’s head snapped up, but with a steely determination she forced it back down, determined not to look at him. She could already feel the whirlpool of emotions that had engulfed her that morning begin to rise again, and she was determined to keep her head above the water this time. I can’t cry. Not here.

  “Are you okay?” Berado asked, but Tiera didn’t trust her voice enough to answer. She just kept her eyes on the cup in her hands. “I hope you are,” Berado continued, “because it looks like Kert wants to sit with us.”

  Tiera tried to breathe normally for the few seconds it took Kert to reach their table, but she wasn’t having a lot of success.

  “Do you mind if I sit here?” Kert asked, but he had already set his tray on their table and was moving to take a seat.

  “I’m not—okay, sure,” Berado said as he looked from Tiera to Kert, then watched Kert sit down. Tiera watched all this in her peripherals, but she still hadn’t looked up from her cup.

  After a long pause, probably spent waiting for Tiera to look up, Kert finally spoke. “Hello, Tiera. I . . . can’t say I’m happy to see you here.”

  “It’s your fault,” Tiera was surprised to hear herself say. She had wanted to ignore him, but she just felt so angry.

  “Berado, do you mind letting us chat alone for a few minutes? I heard Tancy wanted to ask you for your carrots on my way here—you could probably sit with her while you wait.” As Kert spoke, Tiera dropped her hands to her lap, balling them into fists. With every calm and collected word that came out of Kert’s mouth Tiera grew tenser and tenser.

  Berado looked at Tiera and started to answer, but she cut in before he could say anything, giving Kert her best glare. “Berado’s my friend. He can stay.”

  “I’m your friend?” Berado looked pleased with this new information, but Tiera didn’t respond. She just waited for Kert to stop frowning down at his hands and say something.

  “What happened?” Kert asked gently. “Why are you here?”

  Tiera clenched her jaw. “I’m here because of you, Kert. I’m here because you led me off my planet—out of my galaxy—and then put some secret into my head so that nobody would let me go back. If it weren’t for you, I’d still be on Earth—not in this God-forsaken prison.” Tiera’s voice was beginning to shake, and she knew if she wasn’t careful that tears would soon follow.

  His brow furrowed, Kert closed his eyes and waited a moment before speaking again. “If I hadn’t brought you here, Tiera,” he started, glancing briefly at the wall nearest them, “all of this would still be happening—you just wouldn’t know about it. And you’d be powerless to stop it.”

  “I’m powerless to stop it here, Kert. And not just because I’m in prison.” Tiera’s vision blurred with tears, but she kept going. “Parliament won’t listen—and they censored me before I could get my message out to the public. They won’t recognize the people of Earth as their own citizens so that they won’t break the law when they murder them all.”

  “Tiera, I—” Kert gave Tiera such a pitying look that she hated him even more. “Tiera, I’m sure that you’ll find another way to save Earth.” He looked at her so intently that it was uncomfortable, then repeated, “I’m sure.”

  “Here we go again,” Tiera grumbled, wiping her eyes with a sleeve. “When you broke into my apartment—”

  “Be care in what you say,” Kert interrupted Tiera in clear, if imperfect, English, surprising her so much that she completely lost her train of thought. “The walls have ears,” he continued. “We talk when you are happy. We talk away from ears.” With that, Kert picked up his tray and left, heading toward the far end of the cafeteria.

  Tiera wasn’t sure if hearing English for the first time in two months was more comforting or upsetting, but whichever it was she started crying again. I’m such a mess. What made Tiera feel worse is that she knew, deep down, that Kert was right about everything, but the world was just so much easier when you had somebody to blame. Or maybe it wasn’t.

  “Wow!” Berado’s voice made Tiera jump—he was sitting right next to her and she had forgotten he was there. “Tiera, right?”

  Tiera nodded, and he smiled.

  “Do you mind if I tell people about this?” he asked animatedly. “This would make such a great story!”

  Tiera had the sneaking suspicion that, whether or not she consented to it, Berado was about to tell everyone within the confines of this prison about what had just gone on between her and Kert. So, instead of answering, she just stood up and headed for the tray return, and Berado scampered after her.

  Chapter 19

  The door to the crafts room opened, causing a small gust of air to rush from the open window at Tiera’s right and through the room. She tried to suppress a shiver as it caressed her bare head. How do bald men manage? Tiera thought it was funny that they kept everyone here nearly bald—their hair was only a centimeter or so away from the height of Faroan fashion, after all—but that still wasn’t enough to keep her from missing her hair. Shorter is more convenient, though.

  Tiera looked up from the basket she was weaving to see who had just entered, and she wasn’t surprised at all to see Berado standing there, his green eyes alight with anticipation. Another one, huh?

  “Hi, Tiera! Frasson here was wondering if he could talk to you.” Berado stepped aside, and a burly man with blond hair shuffled into the room, looking embarrassed. His tattoos were a bright green, since he didn’t have much melanin in his skin to make them darker.

  Berado had been doing this for nearly two weeks now—almost the entirety of Tiera’s stay here at the prison. Ever since he started telling people about how she was from another galaxy, people were lining up to meet her, but none of them would approach her directly. Tiera had a feeling that was Berado’s fault.

  “Come on in,” Tiera said, setting her
half-finished basket between two of the steel bars that burrowed into the window sill. Her basket looked more like a bird’s nest at this point, its woody fibers sticking up all over the place. Still, it just felt good to be doing something—to be creating something.

  “Nice!” Berado said, and he and Frasson entered the room, empty except for Tiera and an old woman who sat painting in the corner. She didn’t seem to care about giving Tiera space as much as the others did, but then, judging by the unholy amount of red in her painting, she probably didn’t care so much about the rumor that Tiera had killed several members of Parliament before being thrown in here.

  Shifting on her low, pouf-like stool to face them, Tiera put her hands on her lap and asked, “What would you like to know?”

  Berado sat and, even though Berado had grabbed an extra stool for him, Frasson remained standing.

  “Is it—uh—true that you—well, killed—”

  “I only fought the police officers guarding Parliament, and I didn’t kill anybody, and I don’t know who keeps spreading that rumor.” Tiera looked pointedly at Berado, who just grinned sheepishly and shrugged.

  “Oh.” A nervous smile flickered on Frasson’s face. “And—uh.” Frasson finally sat down, and his feeble stool groaned in protest. “How did you do it?”

  “On my planet some of us learn martial arts. I just defended myself as the police came after me.”

  “‘Martial’ arts? What do you mean?”

  Tiera had been asked this question before. She had known that violence was illegal under Origin law, but she didn’t realize that it was also so rare that nobody ever learned to defend themselves here—at least, she didn’t realize it until every single prisoner she talked to wanted her to explain what martial arts were. “Martial arts,” Tiera said. “It’s the art of war, the art of fighting. The kind I know mostly deals with self-defense though.”

  “Wow!” Frasson leaned forward. “Can you show me?”

  “Sorry, I can’t,” Tiera said, shaking her head. “Last time one of the bots came out and grabbed me before I even got into a proper stance.”

  Berado looked away, embarrassed. He had been the first one to ask Tiera to demonstrate karate on her third day here. As soon as she had stepped into the open area of the library, a stony and vaguely human-shaped bot leapt out of the wall and grabbed her, then carried her back to her cell, where she spent the rest of her afternoon locked away as a man grilled her through the intercom. Even now, Berado still beat himself up for ever asking her to show him.

  “Oh, okay,” Frasson mumbled, looking disappointed for a moment before smiling at Tiera. “What’s it like, then? Your galaxy, I mean.”

  “Well,” Tiera began, “I’m only very familiar with one planet, but it’s a good one. The technology here is better, but there you can have however many kids you like—at least, in most countries you can. And—”

  “Countries?” Frasson squinted and tilted his head. “What do you mean?”

  “Well, different areas of the planet have different governments, which have different laws and ideologies.” Tiera wasn’t sure how to explain further. How do you explain countries to someone whose entire world is controlled by one government? Frasson just stared at Tiera, struggling to understand, until he asked another question.

  “Can you pick what job you want? Even if you’re poor?”

  “Of course.” Tiera frowned. “Can’t you do that here?”

  “Not unless you’re rich you can’t. On Fugon I was supposed to be a factory worker,” Frasson said with a smirk, leaning back and folding his muscled arms.

  “Oh. You were ‘supposed’ to be? Did you do something else?”

  “I started working nights instead, if you know what I mean.” Frasson flexed one peck and then the other through his tight prison shirt, then smiled what he probably thought was his most alluring smile.

  Tiera was pretty sure she knew what he meant. And she suddenly felt incredibly awkward, so she turned to Berado instead of responding. “Lunch is going to start soon, isn’t it?

  Frasson frowned, put out, but Berado perked up. “I think you’re right!” he said. “We’d better head downstairs before the line gets too big! We’ll talk to you later, Frasson.”

  Leaving the still sullen Frasson behind, Tiera and Berado hurried out of the room and down a wide-stepped staircase to the main floor. Tiera was glad that Berado helped her out of these awkward social situations, but unfortunately he was usually the one to cause those situations, so she didn’t really feel like thanking him.

  “What was wrong this time?” Berado asked, walking at Tiera’s side. His question was sincere, but adding “this time” embarrassed Tiera, since it reminded her of how often this happened.

  “Wasn’t he—I mean—did he not just kind of hit on me just then?” Tiera had always been terrible at knowing when people were flirting. Growing up, she had often wondered if something was wrong with her—until she realized she was demisexual. But she was pretty sure flirting had happened this time.

  “Do you not like it when people flirt with you?”

  “No! I mean,” Tiera tried to phrase it differently, but she couldn’t. “Just no.”

  Berado shrugged. “Okay. What are we going to do after lunch?”

  “I kind of wanted to walk to the beach. By myself,” Tiera tried to add that last part as gingerly as she could. She knew Berado always planned his afternoons around her, but frankly it was getting a bit overwhelming.

  “Are you sure that’s a good idea?” he asked.

  “Why wouldn’t it be?”

  “I mean, you aren’t going to try anything, are you?”

  Tiera stopped and turned to look at Berado. They had just turned the corner into cafeteria B’s hallway, and every so often an inmate or two would pass by them. “What would I try? It’s just a beach, and not even a decent one at that.”

  “Well,” Berado began awkwardly, “some people drown themselves I guess. Or maybe they try to swim to the continent, but that’s thousands of miles away, so it might as well be suicide.”

  “What?” At first Tiera felt surprise that Berado thought her capable of such a thing, but that was quickly overshadowed by her shock that the prisoners here were even allowed to commit suicide. “How? Don’t the bots stop them?”

  Berado laughed. He probably thought Tiera was joking—he had a weird sense of humor. “Why would they? We’re all criminals, aren’t we? And we cost the government money.”

  “But that’s . . . wrong, isn’t it?” Tiera wasn’t sure what to say. How could they just stand by and let something like that happen?

  “It may be wrong where you’re from. Here it’s just efficient.” Berado gave Tiera an innocent smile. “Come on—let’s eat!”

  “Okay,” Tiera ceded, still troubled. Just before they started walking again, Kert rounded the corner behind them and hurried past. He was headed to the cafeteria as well.

  “Hold on,” Tiera whispered to Berado, grabbing his wrist to stop him. “Let’s put a little distance between us and him.” Kert and Tiera hadn’t spoken since her first conscious day here, and Tiera wasn’t sure she wanted to change that quite yet.

  Once she thought the coast was clear, Tiera led the way into the cafeteria, and she and Berado placed their palms on the meal scanner, grabbed their lunch trays, and found a table that was as far away from Kert’s as they could manage.

  Today’s lunch was one of the weirdest Tiera had seen since she got to Andromeda: some sort of a small, green squash filled with a creamy soup, complete with a side of golden rice and pineapple slices. At least her apple juice seemed normal, but Tiera still frowned as she considered it. She had been drinking her regulator-filled juice every day, and, as much as she hated to admit it, the regulators made her anxiety more manageable. There were still certain situations she felt uncomfortable in, but her anxiety was less, and she definitely wasn’t crying at the drop of a hat anymore. The destruction of my galaxy isn’t really the drop of a hat though
.

  It’s not lost yet.

  The optimistic thought surprised her. Over the past couple of weeks, Tiera had all but stamped out any of the optimism she had left, but this time she let the thought stand—she even let it walk around for a bit on its wobbly little legs.

  But why now? Tiera wondered, still staring at her cup. Maybe the thought came because she just needed hope to survive, or maybe it was because Tiera was finally tired of wallowing. Or maybe it’s time I talked to Kert.

  After finishing her lunch, Tiera said goodbye to Berado and wound her way out of the large, central building of the prison. Since she arrived, Tiera learned that the prison’s administration was in the top couple floors of that perfectly circular building, but they never really came down—they just used the bots whenever they needed to step in. Tiera also learned that she wasn’t the only one who was unconscious when she got here; everyone was. And that meant that nobody knew how to get to the administrators’ floors, either. (Some doubted the floors even had anything on them, but others swore that they’d seen movement behind the windows up there.)

  Tiera stepped out onto the wide, cobblestone walkway that separated the central building from the open hallways of prison cells and waited. They usually opened the way to the beach sometime during lunch, but never exactly at the same time. Tiera guessed it was because they had to make sure nobody was in the way of the shifting gates.

  From above, Tiera figured the prison must look like some sort of wavy sun, since the prison cell hallways all extended away from the central building in the exact same curving line, and each hallway was spaced away from its neighbors by precisely its own width—that’s why the gate system worked.

  A low rumbling sound began to echo around the stony space Tiera waited in, and Tiera took a few steps toward the wall that separated the two open hallways she was facing. In this moment, every wall that blocked the space between the cell hallways began to shift counterclockwise, so that an opening the size of a doorway appeared to each hallway’s left, which meant the displaced portion of the wall partially covered the right side of each hallway as well.