Creator, forgive me, he thought.
Chapter 11
Desmond awoke to Sienna retching and shivering over the edge of her bed. She had managed to grab the one rubbish bin in the room, and there wasn't much in her stomach. But her body was rejecting everything there was, her eyes tearing up in pain as she fought against the convulsions.
He sprung up at once, touching her arm to tell her he was there, and nudging the rubbish bin closer.
“I can't— I can't—” she was gasping for air, and without the bond, he had no help to figure out what she couldn't do. He reached for the blanket, pulling it over her shoulders to keep her warm.
“Hush,” he said, sitting down beside her and rubbing her back. “You need to relax. It won't hurt as much.”
“Blue…” she said, trying to meet his eyes.
“Blue. The blue pills?” he asked, and then paused. “Sienna, you don't need those. Just relax and I'll get you some water in a moment.”
Her blue pills were a powerful mix of electrolytes and chemicals, meant to re-hydrate her in extreme measures. Desmond did not consider one bout of vomiting extreme measures, and instead reached for his water bottle.
“Nathaniel always…”
“Nathaniel is on the ship and I am here for you,” he pointed out. “I need you to try water first, and if it doesn't work, we'll move on.”
He would never accuse his former Tiro of neglect. That wasn't the case. But he was starting to see why she and Nathaniel had so many sleepless nights if he panicked and pampered her at every turn. There were legitimate times she was ill, of course, and they had both had many nights in the hard plastic chairs on the med bay.
But this was not one of those times, and Sienna soon sank back.
“Was it dinner?” Desmond asked and she nodded.
“Yes. I thought we were fine.”
“There was quite a delay on that.” He glanced at the clock as she sipped back water. “Better?”
“Yes,” she said, trying not to gulp it down. “I'm sorry.”
“What are you sorry for?” He raised an eyebrow. “If anything, I was waiting.”
“But I shouldn't have done it.”
“That, Sienna, is up to you,” he said as he rose. “You need to get some rest.”
Her eyes went wide.
“But Nathaniel always sits up, in case…”
Of course, he did, Desmond thought.
“We're in the same room, little one,” he said. “I'll hear if anything goes wrong. But your body is fighting and it needs rest, all right? I'm right here.”
She reluctantly accepted this fate, and after washing out her mouth, lay down. Desmond resisted the urge to blast Nathaniel through his bond or the com link
She needed to learn to be self-sufficient, to be strong, to understand that she was stronger than she had been treated to be.
Dawn came before either of them were ready. Desmond felt the sunlight shine into their room, peeking through the ripped curtains. The wind had died down, and the makeshift job he had done fixing the crack in the window had held up. He sat up, blinking as he tried to wake up without complaining.
I'm getting too old for this he thought, as he glanced over at the other bed. She was still sleeping, and he figured he could let her have another few minutes, given that it was still partially dark outside.
He grabbed the com link from the bedside table, and quietly closed the bathroom door behind him, hoping it would block out the sound.
“Nathaniel,” he dialed in the frequency.
It took a moment and then another, but eventually, his former Tiro with a perchance to sleep until noon answered.
“Maestro?” came the sleep laden voice. “Everything all right?”
“I see you've gotten power up and running,” Desmond said. “To charge the com link”
“Aye,” Nathaniel replied. “Power and heat and narrowly avoided being scrap metal. Listen, Maestro, about last night…”
“Now is not the time to talk about it,” Desmond replied. “Both of us were hotheaded last night.”
“Is she all right then?” Nathaniel asked.
“She's fine,” Desmond said. “We have a lead for ship parts today, and the storm is dying down. But our lead comes with some interesting baggage.”
“Oh?” Nathaniel said, rolling over. Eliza was still asleep beside him, and he briefly contemplated going into the other room, as not to wake her. But then, the bed was so warm, he was pretty sure he'd never leave.
Desmond briefly went over the children they had found, and Nathaniel sat up a bit more.
“The school is not for the rich,” he said, in defiance “What a ridiculous notion.”
“I think some people see the elegance of witches and assume it's about money,” Desmond replied. “Which is obviously not the case. They don't know there is another way. And if they are happy enough, I will not interfere. But our job is to educate…”
“Educate…” Nathaniel said. “But not steal away. If there are no families, the children get to speak for themselves.”
“I'm aware,” Desmond replied. “But I still think they need to know of the life out there.”
“So you're going to tell them?”
“If I can,” Desmond said. “Obviously, getting Eliza out of here comes first. You are safe?”
“For now,” Nathaniel answered. “Can't last forever on makeshift power.”
“We're working on it,” Desmond tried to assure him.
“Did you tell her yet?”
There was a silence on the other end, and Nathaniel sat up more.
“Did you tell her?”
“No,” Desmond said. “We haven't discussed it yet.”
“But you are decided?”
Sienna shifted in the other room, and Desmond knew his time was up. “I'll speak to you later, Nathaniel,” he said, ending the call.
Sienna didn't hate morning like her younger Maestro did. Taking after Desmond, she often awoke at dawn, unless she was extremely sleep deprived.
In this case, she didn't feel horrible, despite her night, and reached for water to suck it down. She didn't reject water as badly as other things, and she found her thirst quenched quickly, a good sign.
“Are you talking to Nathaniel?” she asked, as Desmond entered the sleeping area.
“I was,” he said. “He's fine. But it's almost full dawn and we need to be downstairs soon. Can you get ready quickly?”
“Are we checking out?” she asked him, eyeing the items she had basically thrown on the floor. “Should I pack?”
“It's the best idea,” he said, although he had a feeling that they would not be leaving tonight. With the discovery of these children, this mission was turning into much more than a buying excursion
They were out the door within ten minutes, and down the stairs into the small lobby. Sure enough, the children were all waiting, yawning, but ready to go.
“Hi,” said one of the children who Desmond played jacks with yesterday. “You are coming with us?”
“I'd like to meet your Pedro,” Desmond replied. “He seems like a nice person.”
“Desmond.” Sienna leaned into him, and he turned to her in alarm. He knew that lean well, and it usually ended badly.
“Sit.” He pointed to a broken down chair. In a mess of children, though, there was no way it went unnoticed. They gathered around her, squeaking in alarm.
“What is it?”
“What's wrong?”
“What's happening?”
Desmond desperately wished for the bond then, so he could find out in peace. But he knew it was off-limits, and so he had to rely on his voice.
“Talk to me,” he said, as she went pale.
“Just…dizzy,” she said.
“We can fix it!” One of the children raced forward, magic on his fingertips. Desmond was quick to grab his small wrist gently.
“Don't,” he said. “You'll make her sicker.”
“That's not how magi
c works,” the boy replied. “Silly.”
“For her, it is,” Desmond answered. “So it's best if you don't. She's allergic to magic.”
That brought the conversation to a standstill. The boy looked up at Sienna with wide eyes.
“Aren't you a witch, though?”
“Hey, let go,” came a sudden voice from behind them. Desmond glanced up to a see a tall, dark and imposing figure standing behind him.
“You must be Pedro,” Desmond said, and the dark alien raised one of his four eyebrows.
“Yes?”
“We've been waiting to meet you,” he let go of the boy's wrist and rose. “My name is Desmond, and this is Sienna. Forgive her for not rising, she's not well at the moment.”
“And you are opposed to magical healing?” Pedro asked. “You're not one of those sorts, are you?”
“We are not,” Desmond assured him. “Please, allow me to start over. We're witches ourselves and we've been stranded here by a broken ship. When we met your…workers, we had to meet you.”
Sienna was surprised at the amount of information Desmond gave to the workhouse boss, but she figured that he must have a reason for it. If this was the amount of information that was needed to form trust, she figured it was all right.
“Why?” Pedro asked. “So you can steal them away?”
“No,” Desmond said. “Not if they don't want to go.”
“Ai,” Sienna doubled over. She didn't want to interrupt the conversation, but her head throbbed. She was about to tell Desmond that she wasn't going to be able to go with him, when Pedro spoke up.
“You think you're allergic to magic?”
“I—” She glanced to Desmond, who placed a gentle arm on her shoulder.
“She has the acridid gene,” he said. “Have you heard of it?”
Pedro's face softened at that. “Yes,” he said. “I have.”
Sienna picked up on something in his voice, and through her pain, managed a full sentence.
“You know someone with it?”
Pedro glanced to the children, who were eagerly awaiting his departure. “If you can make it,” he said. “You should come with us.”
No other information was offered, but Sienna's interest was piqued.
She had never met another person with the gene. They died young, unable to control their powers with the defects that raged in them. It was only thanks to her Maestros choices that she survived at all.
She reached out for Desmond, who carefully supported her as she rose.
“Let's go,” she said, her eyes a bit brighter than they were a moment ago.
Pedro clapped his hands, alerting the children that it was time to go. They gathered around him excitedly, and then followed him out in a large group.
Now that the door was open, she could see the storm had died down. It wasn't exactly warm out, but it wasn't cold, either. Sienna didn't fear her digits were going to fall off as they slowly walked.
“How is it possible?” she asked Desmond. “They must be very young.”
“How is it possible that he has this many magical beings that have gone under our radar?” Desmond asked back. “This place is full of mystery.”
“You have a plan?” Sienna asked.
“I always have a plan,” he answered. “For now, just focus on getting there.”
She set her jaw, watching the path ahead of her. She wasn't sure she was going to make it there, depending on how far it was, but she would try. To meet someone else who endured what she went through was a thought that moved her feet, despite the hardship. She hadn't realized how alone she felt, until that very moment.
Chapter 12
The workhouse was larger than either of them had pictured.
“What is it that you make?” Desmond asked, as they walked. Sienna had managed to get a handle on her pain, although she was still lingering quite close.
“Ship parts,” Pedro said and Sienna's eyes widened.
“Really?”
“Really,” the alien replied. “Of all types. I imagine I can help you, if you are who you say you are.”
Desmond flicked his wrist, displaying a stream of white magic.
“What can we do?” he asked, and Pedro nodded.
“I see.”
He opened the door to the large building, and the children flooded in.
“Why do you use children?” Desmond asked. “With magic? I'm not criticizing, please, I'm just curious.”
“These children are orphans,” Pedro said. “Families destroyed by war, by illness, by poverty. I cannot afford to set up a place for them without a return. We all must make a living. But none of them are forced here. We've gamified most of the process so they don't feel like they are working, and magical ability makes the work go must faster than machines, so it's two birds with one stone. They love coming here. They love working. Their quarters weren't safe during such a storm, so I put them up in the hotel, which will hurt profits, but I do take care of them.”
“And they…must stay?”
“Do you think I'm a monster?” Pedro raised an eyebrow. “They stay because they want to. But if they want to leave, I make sure they have another place to go, a plan. I'm not just going to let children wander off into the galaxy.”
“Hmm,” Desmond replied, as he looked around the workhouse. Sure enough, everything was gamified, as Pedro had said. There were giant screens, targets, points, and it seemed, even prizes. This was not at all what he thought it was. The children were excitedly tying on protective gear, large grins on their faces.
“And as for you,” Pedro said, to Sienna. “Come with me, up the stairs, if you can.”
He pointed to a large office that overlooked the workhouse floor. Sienna carefully gripped the railing, following him up the metal staircase. Pedro opened the door to the office, a casual smile on his face.
“Davine,” he said, as a light skinned, white eyed alien turned toward them, from typing on a tablet. “There's someone I'd like you to meet.”
Sienna could see the signs at once, the damage the gene tried to do. The alien had magic, certainly, but it was suppressed, and she was alive. She was a Cratian species, which meant her age was counted on her arms, in rings. Each ring represented ten years, and Sienna quickly calculated that the alien was almost a hundred.
How could that be? These gene killed. It destroyed in a matter of months sometimes.
“I'll leave you to it,” Pedro said, grabbing a binder and heading down to the floor.
Sienna paused, looking to Desmond, who understood her confusion.
“I'm sorry for bursting in,” Desmond picked up the conversation. “Pedro has brought us to you because he says that you suffer from the acridid gene, the same as Sienna. We are witches, trained and…operating.”
The alien's brow furrowed but she smiled, pointing to a few spare chairs. “Please, have a seat,” she said. “How wonderful.”
“I'm sorry for my shock.” Sienna said. “Have you survived as long as I think you have?”
“About a hundred human years?” Davine asked, with a smile. “Yes. And how old are you?”
“Not even twenty,” Sienna answered. “How? How have you done it?”
Davine leaned back in her chair.
“Oh, my dear. You've had a rough time at it, haven't you?”
“We've had extensive management plans,” Desmond said. “She is better now than she was, functional most days.”
Davine flickered her gaze to Desmond. “Are you her father?”
“Her Maestro,” he replied. “One of two. As you can imagine, this is a special case.”
“That's right, you said you were operating witches. Although the magic must make you so sick.” Davine turned back to Sienna.
“It did, when I used it.”
“And now you've stopped?”
“Suppressed it,” she said. Davine crossed two of her six arms.
“Chemically?”
“Yes,” Sienna said. “And you?”
/> “I stopped breathing oxygen,” Davine said, and Sienna's jaw fell open.
“I'm sorry?”
“Here,” the alien put her hand on her chest. “It was Pedro's invention, long ago. It's a converted part, actually. Are you knowledgeable in ship parts?”
“I am,” Sienna answered.
“The oxygen diverter, the calibrator,” Davine said “He re purposed one from a one-man scooter to work in the opposite fashion, replacing my lungs. Everything that comes in is converted to chemical, non-breathable components in most species. Except for us...”
“It's gold,” Sienna said, glancing at the hint of scarring peeking out from the top of her shirt.
“No oxygen, no natural process, no attacks,” Davine replied.
“How long ago did you do that?”
“About fifty years,” Davine answered. “And no problems ever since.”
Sienna turned to Desmond, who was doing calculations in his head.
“That is quite the advanced process,” he said. “I'm impressed.”
“So was I,” she replied. “But then, when Pedro wants to help, he finds away.”
“I'm humanoid,” Sienna replied. “It maybe wouldn't…”
“It maybe wouldn't work,” Davine confirmed. “You are correct. But what's the alternative for your life expectancy?”
“I—” Sienna didn't have an answer to that question, and the alien smiled.
“This is heavy conversation for the moment. Perhaps we can talk about it later?”
“Yes.” Sienna glanced to Desmond, and he wondered what was spinning her young mind. Was she already planning such an intense operation? Would it even work on her?
And would it give her the freedom she needed to move away from the witch lifestyle?
None of these questions could be answered right there, but Sienna had hoped she would find out when they walked out of the office and went to look for Pedro.
Both of them tried not to stare, but watching the children use their magic in such ways was memorizing
“They should be in school,” Desmond said. “Being trained.”
“You want to tell them,” she said. “You want to take them with you?”
“Certainly not all of them,” Desmond replied. “Especially with Eliza's quest under way. But we could find a way, if they wanted. They have to want to come, since there are no parents involved.”
The Aberrants Box Set (Books 1-5) Page 102