by Eve Langlais
“But you’re talking about me,” Laura insisted.
“Talking for you since you’re obviously too stupid to stand up for yourself,” Nikki hotly retorted.
“Just because you didn’t like being a Madre doesn’t mean you need to talk other people out of it. I want this,” Laura said, yearning for the familiarity of a dome around her and not this confusing place.
The lack of windows pressed in on her. What if the ceilings collapsed? How did everyone breathe? How was it possible they existed? The people inhabiting this strange building appeared savage. Their hair wasn’t neatly tied back or shorn short. Their clothes were a motley assortment of fabrics and colors, the styles as varied as the faces. Fat and skinny. Young and old. Even some still young enough to be in the Creche. Others that should have been at the Academy. Deviant or marauder didn’t matter. They didn’t have schools. Or rules.
For a moment, she envied them. But then she looked around their hovel, one tremble away from being buried, with the foulest mouths to ever converse and the air a smoggy miasma that made her yearn for the recycled air of a dome. She missed the orderly nature of the Creche.
“I say if Laura wants to return, then let her. She’s been warned.” Axel didn’t try to convince her.
At all.
It bothered her more than it should have.
Nikki’s full lips twisted. Even utterly annoyed, she remained beautiful. And fierce. “She doesn’t believe me.”
“Which is her choice.”
There it was again, that suggestion she had a choice. Did she? What choices did she really have in the Creche? It probably wouldn’t be any different in another dome.
Why would she want to choose anything?
Nikki scowled with arms crossed over a bright blue blouse, low necked in the front, tied at the waist. She wore pants that molded to her shape and did nothing to hide the sheaths wrapped around her thighs. Gun, knife, knife. The hilt of another blade peeked from her boot. Even her forearms had daggers strapped to them. A stark reminder that they lived in the kind of world that needed her to go around heavily armed.
“I’m done.” Nikki flung up her hands and went to stalk off, only Axel stopped her.
“I need you to mind our guest for a bit while I handle a few things.”
“You’ve got to be kidding.” Nikki’s lips shriveled into a moue of annoyance. “I ain’t got time to babysit a dumb bitch.” She strode away.
“I don’t think she likes me,” Laura muttered.
“She likes very few people,” he admitted.
“Axel!” Someone yelled for him.
He glanced away, his profile so much bigger and rugged than anyone she’d ever known. It kept capturing her gaze. “What?”
“We need you to look at something.”
“Of course, they do.” The grumble was weary but good-natured. “I’ve got to take care of stuff. But I can’t have you wandering.” He retrieved a nearby hank of rope.
“Don’t tie me.” Laura tucked her hands behind her back. “I’m not going anywhere.”
“You say that now, but next thing I know, you’re stealing a gun and killing people.”
She blinked. “That’s a disturbing thing to say, and I assure you it would have never occurred to me.”
“Which is what a spy would say.”
“Me, a spy?”
“Are you? Vera is convinced you’re an Enclave agent.”
“That’s preposterous.”
His lips held the hint of a smile when he said, “Kind of what I was thinking, too. But just in case, we can’t have you escaping and spilling our secrets, now can we?” He held out a hand and waited.
It occurred to her to fight. Do as he said and grab for a weapon then make her escape. To where? Axel wouldn’t allow her to make it far. If she angered him, he might do worse than leave her tied in the dining area. At least if she remained here, she might have a chance to learn some things. Laura held out her wrists.
It took only a moment for him to secure just one of her hands then run a long tether to the table. He didn’t leave right away. He stared everywhere but at her.
“You should listen to Nikki. The Enclave isn’t kind to all its citizens.”
“It is to those who obey.” Follow the rules and there would be no sobbing for mercy.
“Are you always obedient?” he asked.
She eyed him. Thought about it before saying slowly, “I am now.”
“I have to wonder how much of the rebel is still in there.” He eyed her, a steady appraisal that ended in a wink before he departed.
Leaving her alone.
In a Rats’ camp. A term she wasn’t comfortable with. Calling them Rats from the ignorance of the dome was one thing. Amidst the Wastelanders, she realized that they were people, just like those living inside the dome.
What was most fascinating was how individual everyone seemed. It wasn’t just their faces and body types that set them apart. The hair ranged from short to long, some were intricate and fantastically colored, no one had the same style of coif. The clothing ranged from pants and shirts to robes, with mixtures of color, pattern, there was no uniformity, no rhyme or reason here. The skin ranged in shades and often sported complex tattoos.
Was this part of the choice Axel kept talking about?
She glanced down at her gown. The white was starting to show wear. In the domes, attire was regulated. Sawrs, for example, all had the loose gray slacks, almost like a skirt, but split in the middle. Loose blouses with a multi-pocket tunic over top. A cap held their tucked hair.
She’d heard the Enclave itself, the highest echelon in their society, wore shades of green.
The Madres were dressed in white like she was now. It made her stand out, a beacon of light in this place of chaotic color.
A few paid her no mind. Others snickered behind their hands or offered pitying looks.
Those burned most. She wasn’t the one to be pitied. They should be, for not being allowed to live in the domes where it was safe and clean—and strict and bland. In one respect, the Wastelanders had it better. She never recalled eating food with such interesting texture or taste.
Although she’d heard rumors of the cities serving feasts. Even seen impossible images of tables heavily laden. Obviously, some kind of fantasy. Then again…she cast a glance over her shoulder at the empty vats now scrubbed clean, waiting for the next meal. Was it wrong to wonder what it would be?
Axel, the gruff leader who’d declared himself her captor, had left, and despite keeping watch, she didn’t catch sight of him. But she did see many things that didn’t make sense.
Men and women conversing, even touching without any rebuke. Children running, chasing each other. Even a strange hairy beast that sauntered close to her, its long tail moving sinuously before it startled and bolted away.
The Creche didn’t keep any animals, although she had heard they were sometimes harvested for their meat. Was the furry thing for eating? Didn’t seem big enough to feed very many. Perhaps it had to grow.
“Dat’s Fwuffy,” a young voice lisped.
Laura turned to see a small child by her side. Female, she would wager, with fine features, hair pulled back in a braid and clutching a bundle of cloth.
“What is a Fluffy?” Laura asked.
“A cat.”
The word meant nothing. The Academy didn’t teach much about animals since it didn’t pertain to the domes they’d be assigned. “What’s it for?”
The child thought the question funny because she giggled as she clambered onto the bench beside Laura. “For wuving.” Said as nonchalantly as you could please.
“I’m sorry. What?”
“I think little miss Kylie means she loves Fluffy. Because that cat, while originally brought here to chase the rats, took a shine to this curious sprout.” The deep voice brought a shiver to her, and she didn’t need to look to know who it belonged to.
Kylie beamed at Axel. “Mama says Fluffy wuvs me. She sweeps with
me and purrs. Just like the big dogs wuv Axel.”
The lisped speech made no sense, and Laura’s nose wrinkled. “The big what?”
Axel gave the child an indulgent smile. “I’ll bet Fluffy is hungry. Run along and tell Benny I said to give you some cream to feed her.”
Kylie’s face lit brighter than any sun. “Ooh. She will wuv me more.” The child ran off, leaving the bundle of fabric behind.
Something about it struck Laura as odd, and she reached for it with the hand that wasn’t tied. Frowned at the sewn features. The yarn hair. “It’s been made to look like a person.”
“Most dolls do.”
“A doll.” She rolled the unfamiliar word. “What’s it for?”
“For enjoyment, comfort. What every toy is meant to do.”
“There are no toys in the Creche. Only lessons and work.”
“That seems a very dull childhood.” No mistaking the pity in his eyes.
Kylie chose that moment to return chubby fingers stretched. “I forgot Polly!” Which was the doll. Hugging the toy to her chest, Kylie scampered off again.
Glancing away, she remarked, “Do you steal children often?”
“Excuse me?”
“I’ve seen several around. Did you steal them on their way to the Creche?” Because she’d never heard of any children missing during the time she served.
“We haven’t stolen any.” A hint of indignation in the retort. “They’re here with their parents. As in mother and father. The people who made them.”
She had the feeling he was mocking her again. “Babies aren’t made by people. They’re grown.”
For some reason the mockery in his smile widened. “Grown. Is that seriously what you believe?”
“At the Academy they taught us about the ova that are fertilized and then grown in germinating fluids.”
“That might be how it’s done in the domes, but in the Wastelands, we have babies the way our ancestors did. By fucking and getting pregnant.”
The first part was vulgar, but the second… “Pregnant?” Her nose wrinkled.
“As in a man’s seed takes inside the woman, swelling her belly with the growing child until it is born.”
“Blasphemy,” she muttered, even as she remembered the ribald talk about the sawr who liked to sneak around and do obscene things. Her belly had swollen just before she got sent away.
“I assure you it’s quite true. Maybe you’ll be lucky and Sally will pop hers while you’re her and you can watch.”
Completely impossible of course. She’d seen the size of babies. No way those could come out of a woman short of killing her.
“How long must I stay here?” she asked.
“As long as it takes to get a reply to our offer.”
The offer being Laura herself. Nikki had been so offended by the idea of trading Laura back to the Enclave. Yet Laura could have sobbed in relief when she heard she would be here only temporarily.
A woman approached, slim with the blackest hair hanging in a straight sheen almost to her waist. Her skin was a dark tan compared to Laura, her brows thick and her lips full. A beautiful woman.
“What is it, Zara?”
“We have news.”
“Of?” he asked.
Zara’s gaze slid to Laura then away. “About that thing you asked me about.”
He rose abruptly.
“Is this about me? Did you get a reply about my purchase?” Laura demanded.
He didn’t reply. Never once looked back.
Yet Laura found herself staring long after he’d left. Odd how he was the only one who evoked a quickening of her pulse. The only one who made her nervous. She rubbed her throbbing temple and scowled. It kept pulsing on and off.
The doctor must have been told she was palpating it because he came around and checked on her. In the light of day, she eyed him more carefully, noting the third arm projecting from his ribs had only three thick fingers. He only used them to touch her bruise. Everything else he used his two normal hands for.
Oliander wasn’t the only oddity in the place. Eyes that glowed. More pointed ears. Even someone with a tail. Deviants all over. Yet, at the same time, much less monstrous than expected.
As the doctor examined her, he asked questions. “Did the Creche give you any drugs recently?”
She shook her head.
“What about vitamins?”
More negative.
“No needles either,” he said more musingly.
“They did have me imbibe a special beverage,” she offered.
“Did it have an odd taste? When did you drink it?”
“Why does it matter?”
“It’s nothing. Don’t worry about it,” the doctor brusquely replied. “You seem fine, just probably dehydrated still. Drink plenty.”
“How can I be sure the source isn’t contaminated?” she asked. This morning, she’d been too hungry and off-kilter to question the food and drink. But now she wondered if she might have already tainted herself.
“I told you before, you can’t catch the Deviant gene,” he remarked as he packed his things in a bag. “You’re either born with it, or not.”
“I wasn’t implying—”
He halted and eyed her, sternly. “Yes, you were. You fear becoming like me. Or one of the others.” He swept the third arm as if to draw attention to it. “Yet who decides what’s normal or not? Perhaps before the Fall we would have been deemed unacceptable. Culled out of existence. But the world has changed. The Deviant gene is what ensures we change with it.”
The rebuke stung, but it also made her wonder. “If being Deviant happens from birth, then why have I heard of adults catching it?”
“According to some scientists, everyone has the so-called Deviant gene. But not all can activate it.”
“Blasphemy!
“Is it? How do you know for sure?”
The words stuck with her long after he left. She couldn’t help thinking of Horatio, how she’d pushed him with no hands. The monster he’d conjured.
Real or imagined? Did his odd magic make him a Deviant? Surely the Creche with all its testing would have known?
“Such a serious face. Then again, I can see why you might appear sad. All tied up with nowhere to go.” The lighthearted statement came from a tall man, his dark hair shorn short, his features rugged and attractive. He sat down beside her and held out a hand. “We never were properly introduced this morning. Name’s Gunner.”
Did he expect her to shake it? “I know.” She kept her hands in her lap.
“And you’re Laura. Pretty name for a pretty woman.”
Did he flirt? She felt her expression tighten. “What do you want?”
“To get to know you. We barely got a chance to chat when we met earlier. Tell me about yourself, Laura.”
Rather than reply, she clamped her lips shut.
“What are your hobbies? Are you dating anyone? What’s the last movie you saw?”
The nonsensical questions had her shaking her head. “Why would you ask me those things? All of them are forbidden.”
“Seriously?” he exclaimed. “I thought that was a joke. I mean you hear stories of the satellite domes treating folks like slaves, but damn.”
“We are not slaves,” she said through stiff lips.
“If you say so. I’m Gunner, as you know. Best-looking guy around. Nicest, too.”
“Ha, you wish,” someone shouted.
“Nice to everyone but you, Casey!” He grinned. “She actually loves me. Everyone does.”
“Will you help me return to a dome?”
“You want to leave?”
She nodded.
“Why?” He stared intently at her.
“Because the only safety is inside a dome.”
“No, it’s not. Domes go down all the time. Storms being the main culprit. Sometimes it’s the land itself that decided to take it back. But in many cases, it’s a lack of thriving. People don’t do well in a forced ecosystem. Whe
n it’s not the food that runs out, it’s illness ripping through.”
She frowned. “That’s not true.”
“How would you know? Way I hear it, you don’t know much.”
The insult stung. “I know enough.”
“If you’re a spy, you’re overdoing it.”
“I’m not a spy,” she huffed.
“Better hope not because we’ve got no sympathy for them.” His gaze turned from pleasant to cold. Was everyone in this place murderous?
He might have said more, but a familiar voice bellowed, “Gunner! Leave the prisoner alone and come give me a hand.”
She looked over to see Axel glaring in their direction. Could feel his ire. She wished she had the nerve to give him a rude gesture.
Gunner didn’t look affected at all. He grinned. “Guess I’d better go make the boss happy. See you later.”
The man left before she could reply. Axel continued to stare until Gunner reached him. Only then did he turn and give her his back.
“He ain’t got any weak spots if that’s why you’re looking.”
The feminine drawl had her spinning on the seat to see the woman who’d accosted her the night before.
“You!”
“Yes, me.” The dark-skinned woman winked. “Miss me?”
“You attacked me.”
“Because you were screaming.”
“What else should I have been doing?”
“You tell me. Spy.” She spat the accusation.
Laura eyed the woman and her scowl—and laughed.
“Not sure why you’re so amused.”
“The idea I’m a spy is ludicrous,” Laura said.
“Not really. How come you were hiding in the truck?”
“I wasn’t hiding. The Creche placed me there for transport.”
“That’s not a proper passenger truck. They were smuggling you out. Why?” The woman hammered her.
“I don’t know. I was told I was leaving. I didn’t have a choice.” The words slipped out of her mouth, and she froze.
Choice. She’d not had any when it came to leaving the place she called home.
“There must be a reason why they chose you. You’re old.”
“So I keep hearing,” she muttered.
“Do you have magic?” the woman asked.