by Lisa Jade
“I might be a petty thief, but I’ve saved half the people here. A few years ago, when disease ravaged Four, we asked you and the Council for help – do you remember that? You laughed and left us here to die. I stole what we needed to keep this place alive. I was captured, sure, but the Branding on my chest is a goddamn medal of honour.”
She tilts her head at me.
“And this one? Only the daughter of the Fourth Level Angel, Angela Hart. Second citizen on Four to apply for the Companion Scheme, to explore the universe. She’ll be rubbing shoulders with Pyre’s elite in just a few months. Soon, she’ll have gone further and learned more than any of you could dream of.”
Their eyes turn to me now, and I can see their eyes widen as they pick up on the tiny, almost imperceptible traces of Angela’s face in mine.
For a brief moment, it seems like it might have worked. That they’re going to let us go.
But then, the Operator’s face changes. Anger and shock gives way to a sly smile, and as his eyes trace the lines of my body, I can almost hear the sick thoughts running through his head.
“Very well,” he eventually says, “we won’t execute her. This one.”
He waves at me, and Cherise’s knees almost buckle from relief. We’d both been ready to stand together, but if one of us can be spared, she thinks it’s worth it. I don’t. I can see the vile glimmer in his eye as he beckons the others nearer, muttering something in a low voice. One or two scurry away.
“You want to go to Orithyia, huh?”
I don’t answer. He’s planning something – and whatever it is, it’s worse than a simple execution. He doesn’t want to kill me. No. I’m the example.
“Hey, come on. I just agreed to spare your life. The least you can do is say thank you.”
I grit my teeth, biting back on the retort.
“Say thank you,” he repeats, his voice hard. I step back, opening my mouth then drawing it shut again. What can I say that won’t just make things worse?
“T-thank you,” I snarl. His eyebrows raise.
“That doesn’t sound very sincere. I was going to be nice, but if you’re going to be like that…”
Cherise yelps.
“No, no – she means it. She really does. Just let her go, okay?”
He raises a hand and she falls silent.
“My dear, you misunderstand. Your friend has admitted to a crime. Even if she’s spared capital punishment, we can’t allow a known criminal to go unpunished. You understand that, surely.”
And suddenly he’s got me, one huge hand locking around my wrist and twisting it behind my back. The other Operator takes my left arm and pulls it towards him, stretching it out and turning my palm up to the heavens. A rough-skinned finger grazes the skin of my forearm and suddenly, I smell smoke. A moment later, an Operator steps forward. Her hand clutches a long iron bar with a strange crosshatch pattern at the end – which is glowing white-hot.
It can’t be.
“Apologies, Miss,” the Operator whispers in my ear, “but criminals don’t go to space.”
Cherise is shouting now. She clicked a split second before me; and already, there’s desperation in her voice. I stare at the glowing metal and start to quake.
A Brand. I’m going to be Branded.
It’s a punishment reserved for only the worst of criminals. A crosshatch mark scorched into the arm, or the chest, or even the face – burnt so far down that it even scars the bone underneath. I hear it’s the worst pain a person can experience without dying.
Not only that – but Branded people aren’t allowed to leave their Level, let alone the planet.
And just like that, the terror kicks in. I fight their hold on me with all my strength, unsure of what I would do if I broke free but certain that I need to get away. The movement is instinctual; a Branding is a pain beyond anything I can imagine, and the fear of that is enough to destroy any semblance of dignity I still had.
“No, no, no… look I’m sorry, just please…”
Hands tighten around me, holding me fast.
“Please! Don’t!”
My cries fall upon deaf ears, though, and both men simply turn to the Brander. She’s a plump woman with a face I might normally consider kindly. She seems like someone you might be able to reason with, given half a chance. But her expression is twisted, and her hand is curled tightly around the Brand, and she steps forward with a sense of vicious purpose.
This can’t be happening. They’re not law enforcement – they can’t do this. But then I think about Cherise. She was caught a few years ago, and Branded on her chest. I remember hearing the screams. I remember Dad telling me how it nearly killed her.
“Quinn!”
My eyes snap towards Cherise. She’s still standing at the edge. Any colour has drained from her face. I swallow hard. Why is she worried for me? They’re still going to kill her.
“It’s okay,” I hear myself say, “I’m not scared.”
My words are feeble at best, a pathetic attempt to calm us both down. She doesn’t buy it. I can only imagine that she’s recalling her own Branding - the sensation of skin and flesh being burnt away. I draw my face into something that vaguely resembles a smile and flash it her way. I hope she doesn’t see through it. I crane my neck to look at the Operator still holding me.
“Please. Let her go.”
“We’ve been through this. Now hold still, or we’ll be forced to do this twice.”
“I’ll do anything,” I plead, “throw me off, I don’t care. Just…”
Cherise cries out.
“Quinn, listen to me!”
I meet her eyes and for a moment, the world stops. The sizzle of the metal, the grunting breath in my ear, even the small gasps of horror from those who are still watching. It all fades out, until I only hear her voice.
“Remember to breathe, Quinn. Just breathe.”
I open my mouth to respond, but it’s too late. A heavy arm locks itself around my neck. I don’t have chance to move before the Brand is pressed against my forearm.
Agony. In an instant my head is filled with the stench of burning flesh, and the sound of my own screams. Have I ever screamed like this before? So loud that my throat feels like it’s ripping open from the effort. I writhe against their grip, but they tighten their hold. I can’t move. My eyes snap open for a split second, catching sight of melted skin – and I pull them shut again. I can’t stand to look. Can’t stand to see it.
And just when I think it might be over, they push harder. Of course; the Brand has to reach the bone. The screams burst out again and I realise I’ve already forgotten Cherise’s advice. I try to breathe, but I can’t. I have no control.
My knees give way but the Operator holds me upright, one hand wrapping itself in my hair to keep my head up. To make sure I can see it, smell it, hear it. Light flashes before my eyes. Am I awake? Asleep? Can unconscious people scream?
Dimly, I hear my name being shouted. Cherise, maybe. Perhaps it’s Alice. Maybe someone called my Dad. Heck, maybe I’m dying, and it’s in my head. Nothing would surprise me. One more flash of light, and a single, momentary glimpse of Cherise’s face. She’s afraid. They’re going to kill her. I need to stop them.
But I can’t. The pain is too much. Numbness consumes my body and my vision fades to nothing - and as they allow me to drop to the ground, I welcome the peace that washes over me.
Five
Muffled voices. Familiar yet unidentifiable. People speak in another room, it seems; in hurried whispers, like they’re hoping not to be overheard.
It takes an immense effort to open my eyes and when I do, there are several seconds where the world is distorted. Slowly, details come clear. The wood panelling, the large window to my right, the scratchy standard-issue bedclothes. I’m in Dad’s room on the ground floor, tucked into his bed.
The voices are coming from the other side of the closed door. Finally, I recognise one as Dad.
“Thank you for coming again, Doctor.”<
br />
“Not at all,” someone replies, “I’m sorry there’s not much else I can do right now. But if you keep giving her those painkillers, and clean the wound like I explained, your daughter should make a full recovery in a few weeks.”
“Weeks,” Dad chokes, “it… it’s just a burn. How did it do so much damage?”
I glance down. My left arm is out of the blanket, propped up on a pillow – and from elbow to wrist, it’s wrapped in thick bandage. My stomach drops.
So that wasn’t some terrible nightmare, then. That was real.
Somehow, I feel numb to it. Maybe it’s because of the multitude of drugs stacked up on the bedside table. Maybe I’m still half asleep. Maybe I won’t feel anything ever again.
“A burn that bad can be life threatening,” the doctor explains, “the immediate problem is the body going into shock, which can be fatal in itself. She’s lucky you were nearby to rush her home. How did you know where she was?”
Dad lets out an exasperated sigh.
“I heard her screaming half a mile away.”
“That must have been hard. But I must say, you handled the situation perfectly. Quinn is fortunate to have a father like you. Do you know exactly how it happened?”
Dad makes a small noise of disbelief.
“I’ve heard it from enough people to know. I should have been there. Should have protected her better.”
“You’re protecting her right now. Remember, those drugs are very strong. For the first few days, she’ll likely be confused and unable to move around easily. You’ll have to take care of her until then.”
“I understand. Will you come back?”
“Every day until she’s better.”
“Thank you,” Dad says softly, “you can pass me the bill whenever. I might need some time to scrape the money up, but…”
He trails off, clearly waved into silence by the Doctor.
“Please. I wouldn’t dream of charging you for this.”
“But…”
“After everything your family has been through, I won’t make things any harder. Especially since the worst is yet to come. Since she’s not woken yet, it’s hard to tell – I assume she knows that a Brand forbids space travel?”
“I think so. I hope so. She’ll be heartbroken.”
The doctor sighs.
“The similarities are incredible, don’t you think? She’s so much like Angela.”
“Really? Everyone always says she’s the spit of me.”
“Physically, yes. But her personality is as fierce as her mother’s. It’s just a shame that she’ll be unable to accomplish her goals.”
“There might still be a way,” Dad says, but his voice betrays him. He knows there’s no way.
“We both know the truth. It’s not going to happen. No doubt she’ll be upset, but this could be better in the long run.”
“How do you figure?”
“At least now, she won’t fly off on the Neptune and never come home.”
With that the door opens and closes, and for a long moment I wonder if I’m alone in the house. But then a quiet voice pipes up.
“I’ll make some tea,” Alice says softly.
“Thank you,” says Dad, “I’m just going to check on Quinn once more…”
“The Doctor just saw her. She’s doing okay. And she’s been asleep for two days, so she won’t have woken up in the five minutes since you last checked on her, either. Just let her sleep.”
Dad takes a long breath at the bedroom door, but then he turns away. There’s an air of defeat in the sound of his feet pacing away.
“You’re right. Let her rest.”
I take advantage of the quiet to turn my focus to my body. Feeling is returning now, just a little at a time. My head is heavy, my eyes swollen. I take a deep breath and wince at the pain in my throat. I must have screamed so loudly that I injured myself. My limbs are like lead. Even breathing hurts a little.
I take full inventory of my body, tracking the twinges and aches – but I can’t bring myself to look at my arm.
I know there’s nothing I can do. The damage is done. But I can’t force myself to acknowledge it. It’s like my mind has put up a wall around the limb, and I simply don’t have the energy to scale it.
The moment I acknowledge it, it’ll become real.
The kettle whistles in the other room and I hear the clutter of cups.
“Decaf, right?” Alice asks. Her voice is still a little weak and hushed, like she’s frightened that Dad might snap at her if she says the wrong thing.
“No, I need the caffeine.”
“You need to get some sleep. It’s been two days and you’ve not slept a wink.”
A dull thump, like someone stamping a foot.
“Damnit, Alice. I can’t sleep right now. I need to be here for when she wakes.”
“Do you really think there’s anything we can do?” she asks, “once she realises…”
“She already knows about the Branding. That won’t be a surprise to her.”
“Not that.”
“Then what?”
A clatter from the kitchen, followed by the sound of something ceramic shattering. A long moment of silence. Then, gentle sobs. Dad’s steps hurry across the room.
“Alice. Are you alright?”
More silence; I know he’s wrapping her in a protective embrace.
“Did you cut yourself on the broken pieces?”
“N-no. That’s not it. I just realised something.”
“What?”
“Quinn blacked out before they… before they killed Cherise.”
My heart races. Alice hiccups from the other room.
“She has no idea. When she finds out what happened…”
“I understand. Cherise was a friend of you girls, wasn’t she? I knew her mother.”
“No, you don’t get it. I’ve been asking around, trying to figure out what happened. Cherise was caught stealing something for Quinn. That’s why she was punished.”
Dad makes a small noise that I can’t quite identify.
“I see. I’ve heard similar rumours.”
“Do you understand now? Quinn hasn’t just lost her dream, Dad. She’s the reason Cherise was murdered.”
I wait until the house is silent and the streets are dark before sitting up.
The motion takes immense effort and more than once I’m forced to pause, taking a deep breath to calm myself. Once I’m upright, the world spins. I’m not sure if I slept too long or if it’s the drugs the doctor mentioned, but I shake it off as best I can.
I stare down at my own hands, gently furling and unfurling my fingers. Strange. Even this is painful. The fingers on my left hand seem purple and swollen, the nails sunk into the flesh. My eyes linger on the bandages for a moment.
Do I dare look? To finally acknowledge it?
I still feel numb. Drunk, high – like my body and brain aren’t quite in sync. As I peel away the bandages, though, I can feel it. Tiny twinges of pain as my bitten-down nails scrape the next layer of bandage. A small, building heat coming off the skin itself. It’s been two days; how can it still be hot?
I drop the final strip of bandage and promptly bite back on the vomit. My arm is destroyed. The Brand has formed a perfect crosshatch of burns across the skin, so deep that I can see the bone in places. And the skin itself; burnt and melted, some parts scorched black and others pale and loose, like it’s starting to peel away.
It should be agony. That’s what I’m thinking even as I take a finger and gently touch the scar. I slap a hand over my mouth to stop the yelp from slipping out. Yep. Agony. In a moment I’m back in the centre of the Level, strong arms holding me still, the sound of screams and stench of burning flesh filling my head.
And beyond that – beyond the memories of pain – I see her.
Cherise had stood silent while I burned. And then she had died.
How did they do it, I wonder? Did they throw her straight into the ocean, or did they as
sault her first? Neither option would surprise me. Maybe they removed the Brand from my skin and used it on her. They’re sick enough to try it.
I take a long, deep breath. Did it hurt? I vaguely remember Dad telling Alice about it. Something about the air pressure, or the cold. Maybe it was the lack of oxygen. For whatever reason, a person is unconscious long before they hit the icy waves. A terrible death, yes – but not as painful as it could be.
Knowing her, she took it in stride. She was probably proud that she was able to save me from the same fate. It’s just like her to risk her ass for someone else. And that’s noble; but she could have thrown her life away for any number of better reasons.
Still, she knew what she was doing. Stealing the lens for me. Attempting to refuse my help. Spending her last, precious moments comforting me, rather than trying to save herself. Selfless, that’s the word. Selfless to a fault.
Have I already missed the funeral? Has the rest of Four already visited the shaft and placed wreaths of flowers around it, hanging their heads in sorrow and singing sad songs into the sunset? That’s the tradition - and I missed it.
Tears prick the back of my eyes. I didn’t even get to say goodbye.
And suddenly I’m standing, my legs unsteady and prickling with pain. I’m dressed in one of Alice’s nightgowns, and it’s far too long. The bottom drags on the floor and I trip, ignoring the way the world spins around me. I’m sure that will go away once I’m out in the cold night air.
Walking is difficult at best. Even with my unfocussed eyes, I can see that the house is a wreck. The books that once sat on the dinner table have been tossed to the floor. Dad must have carried me back – did he place me on the table? Rolls of bandage litter the kitchen. Even the ceramic shards from Alice’s accident earlier remain on the floor – like nobody could be bothered to clean it up.
The house is quiet. Alice must have convinced Dad to sleep. I can only imagine that he must be in my room, since I was in his. It must have been easier than carrying me up the stairs.
I pause at the bottom of the steps and stare into the darkness. If I strain my ears, I can almost convince myself that I can hear their breathing as they sleep. It would be nice if they were having pleasant dreams, after all I’ve put them through.