Firstlife

by Gena Showalter

  "How do you know about her baggage?"

  "Uh, perhaps I misspoke. I mean, who doesn't have baggage, right?"

  True. We all arrive with a couple carry-ons.

  We pass through the commons, where our classes usually take place. There's no escaping high school, even here. There are plush leather couches and three different circles of chairs--which makes sense. (1) Thought, (2) word and (3) deed, the sum total of human capability.

  Around the corner and through a wide set of double doors is the cafeteria. A colorless, utilitarian room with a sea of tables and benches that have been bolted down. The male inmates are already seated, eating from trays.

  As Bow and I take our place at the end of the buffet line, I narrow my focus to the nitty-gritty. The number of inmates in the room: one hundred females versus ninety-seven males. It's uneven. I don't like uneven. The scales should always be balanced.

  There are twenty guards--ten males, ten females--one "good guy" for every ten "bad guys." Despite the fact that outside these walls there's a Laborer from both Troika and Myriad for every one hundred humans, there are no Laborers here.

  "Are you mathing?" Bow asks. "You look like you're mathing. Well, here's an equation I think you'll like. There are roughly two billion people in the world, and twenty million Laborers. With those kind of odds, I never should have been assigned to stay in your room."

  "Are you hinting life is a zero-sum game? You won, and I lost."

  She snorts. "You basically won the lottery, and you know it."

  "Or, your guardian paid extra to pair you with an Unsigned, preferably one with a Myriad background." Which is actually counterproductive to Dr. Vans's goal in my case. But when has the man ever resisted a bonus?

  "Hey, look at you! Pretty and smart."

  "And hungry," I grumble.

  As we edge our way to the front of the line, multiple conversations take place around us.

  "--too bad. I called dibs."

  "--did you hide them? Tell me!"

  "--don't allow Myriad scum near me."

  How many of these kids are pro-Myriad? How many are pro-Troika? How many are Unsigned?

  Bow clearly hasn't gotten the memo. Talking about the Everlife is forbidden. Well, only with each other. Dr. Vans's way of avoiding a riot inside these walls, I guess.

  I deduced Sloan is Unsigned, which wasn't exactly hard to do considering she's said "I'd rather be a queen in Many Ends than a drone in the realms" countless times.

  Okay, not countless. Twenty-three.

  "We're going to be spending a lot of time together," Bow tells me. "Let's get to know each other better."

  "No, thanks."

  She persists. "How were you introduced to the realms?"

  "The usual way." Since public schools aren't allowed to lean one way or the other, only private schools, children are told stories by biased parents. Also, different facilities offer virtual tours but, depending on who's running them, the tours are always skewed.

  My aunt Lina is my dad's crazy twin sister who, I've been told, suffers from polyfused disorder, meaning the older spirit (supposedly) Fused to hers is strong enough to gain control of her body. When she isn't acting like a giggly ten-year-old who speaks in the past tense, she works for A Look Beyond, a tour company owned by Myriad.

  I've seen night-kissed castles overflowing with orchid gardens. Bustling cityscapes with stone and metal skyscrapers intermixed with nightclubs and spas, everything connected by sleek silver bridges and tunnels illuminated by wrought-iron, dragon-shaped lamps. Vibrant white-sand beaches with a moonlit view of ruby, sapphire and emerald coral.

  A bit of high-tech flare topped with old-world charm.

  There's something for everyone, Aunt Lina likes to say on her sane days. On her insane days? The light bled into the darkness and the darkness died... I didn't want to die.

  On the other hand, Troika's version of Myriad is frightening. Darkness pervades. Darkness so thick it oozes over your skin like motor oil. There's field after field of dead trees, the limbs gnarled, the bark dripping crimson--bleeding. Any birds able to survive the lack of sunlight cry rather than squawk. The city is overcrowded, everyone packed as tight as pickles in a jar, and the beaches resemble life-size litter boxes.

  Myriad's version of Troika is no better. Apocalyptic wastelands scorched by an unforgiving sun.

  As a child, I was desperate to avoid Troika...until I heard my Troikan Laborer's description: dappled sunlight falling over intricate gardens, wildflowers and rainbows. A thriving metropolis both fantastical and futuristic, with palatial country estates and chrome-and-glass buildings in a variety of shapes and sizes.

  "You might want to stop mentioning the realms," I finally say. "It'll get you punished."

  She pushes out a breath. "Fine. I'll talk about something else. Something fascinating. Like the food. I'm pretty sure it's going to look the same coming out as it does going in."

  She isn't wrong. "If you want a change of menu, the bugs in our room are always an option. Side note. Spiders taste like shrimp and cockroaches taste like greasy chicken."

  "Okay, I now want to gag and hug you at the same time." She thinks for a moment, releases a dreamy sigh. "Maybe I'll have dessert snuck in."

  "Good luck with that." Others have tried. Others have failed. "You'll be caught and--"

  "Punished. Yeah, yeah. I know."

  We're both given a tray. As we search for a table, a group of boys gives Bow a once-over. Snickers abound.

  I stiffen, but Bow winks at them as we claim the empty table to their right.

  "I think I heard the guards say her name's Bow," one of them says, not even trying to be quiet.

  "It fits--unlike her uniform. Fatty Bow Batty," another mutters, spurring outright laughter from his friends.

  Bow ignores them and stirs her slop as if she hasn't a care. She's short and big-boned, a little plain, but she's a person with feelings.

  I find myself snapping, "Integrity matters more than size, dreg." A derogatory name for someone neither realm wants.

  He blows me a kiss. "Why don't you come sit on my lap, Nutter? I'll show you just how sizable I am."

  Innuendos are always on the menu at Prynne, and I usually overlook them. Today, my fingers tighten around my spoon. We aren't given forks or knives, ever. Not that it matters. I can do bad, bad things with a spoon.

  I glare at him and say, "Do you like having a tongue?"

  He sticks his out and wags it at me.

  I don't want to fight him--I'm too sore--but I will. If I lose, I lose, but at least I'll leave an impression.

  Bow pats my hand. "Forget about him, Sperm Bank. He doesn't yet understand the outside is a shell for all of us. My beauty is on the inside, where it never fades."

  She can't be this nice. She just can't be.

  The boys return to their conversation, whispering among themselves, pretending what almost happened didn't almost happen.

  "Plus," Bow adds, "he isn't even close to my type."

  "Which is?"

  She wiggles her brows. "Female."

  Ah. Got it.

  We lapse into silence. I remain aware of the people around us, always on alert, as I clean my tray. Gotta stay as strong as possible. Bow merely picks at the meal. One day soon, hunger will get the better of her and she'll be thankful for the slop.

  One of the boys is trying to snag a bite off his friend's tray as we stand.

  "Touch my food and die." The friend's snarl is pure menace.

  "Here. You can have mine," Bow says.

  The boy scowls at her. "Mind your own business, cow."

  Trust no one. Question everything.

  She shrugs, unaffected. "Your loss."

  I'm not sure where to lump her in my mental files. Too good to be true? The real deal? Worth emulating? Or to be disregarded?

  As we file out of the cafeteria, I'm sent to the commons for early morning therapy of the mind--have to get my day started right, I mentally sneer--and Bow i
s sent to the gym for early morning therapy of the body.

  Sloan shoves another girl out of the way to claim the chair next to me. "You need to put your roommate on a shorter leash."

  Going to pretend we didn't threaten each other? Fine.

  "I'm not her keeper," I say. Her actions, her consequences.

  "Don't be stupid," Sloan snaps. "In this place, your roomie should be your best friend. She's the one who's going to watch your back when yours is bruised." With a smirk, she presses on my shoulder, drawing a hiss from me. "Like now."

  I bat her arm away, which only makes my pain worse. "I don't need your advice." Trust no one...

  "Obviously you do. Word is, Vans will be gone tonight. Two guards have decided there's no better time to retaliate against you for choking their friend."

  I stiffen. The choking incident happened four months ago, and the memory still haunts me. The guard in question snuck into my room. He thought I should earn his goodwill. I thought differently.

  He left in a body bag.

  I didn't enjoy killing him, even in self-defense, but I also didn't feel more than a few twinges of remorse. I've endured one too many beatings, or maybe I've witnessed one too many murders. Kids killing other kids. Guards killing kids. Vans killing James. We're desensitized fast. Here, it's survival of the fittest.

  Guess Myriad and I agree on something. Might Equals Right.

  "Thanks for the warning," I say, my stomach beginning to churn. I'm not ready for another battle. Not one of this magnitude. I'm not strong enough.

  Doesn't matter. I have to find a way.

  She scowls at me. "I didn't do it for you. The more prepared you are, the better your chances of killing two more of Vans's men."

  Bloodthirsty girl. As always. "Also the better my chances of spending another thirty days in the pit, giving you a chance to strike at Bow without my interference, eh." The pit is a frigid hole in the basement where the only source of water is a rusty tap, and a bucket is the only piece of furniture.

  "Hey. It's a small price to pay."

  "Of course you'd think so. You've never spent any time down there."

  "Not for lack of trying!"

  I can't argue with that. I've often wondered why she's singular to Vans. Is she sleeping with him?

  I've heard rumors about girls earning special privileges with their bodies. I've also heard about girls being threatened with harsher punishments if they refuse. Even the thought fills me with rage.

  From time to time, a guard has propositioned me. I said no, flat out, every time. I've never had sex and my first time won't be a freaking business transaction. In my old life, some of my friends had often hit-it-and-quit-it, and it hadn't taken me long to notice most grumbled with disappointment while only a rare few sighed dreamily.

  The loss of my virginity is a memory I'm going to carry into my Secondlife and dang it, I'm going to be one of the ones who sighs dreamily.

  "You boning the boss?" I ask her.

  Color blooms in her cheeks. Embarrassment? Shame? Both? She jumps up and snarls at me. "Oh, go to Many Ends, dreg!"

  "And leave these luxurious accommodations? Nah."

  She flounces off and chooses a new seat.

  I remain on a razor's edge of calm through therapy...my different classes...lunch...and finally dinner. No one strikes at me, but all the guards are a little too nice. They smile every time I pass. They ask if I need help with anything.

  That night, after Bow and I are locked in our cell, our lights out, I rush to cover the camera with a sheet--just in case--and gather my stash of shivs made from spoons and toothbrushes, hidden behind a stone in the wall.

  No one tells me to remove the sheet, a sign in and of itself. The guards don't want anyone to record what's going to happen, and they can blame me for the lack of feed, maybe even claim I hurt myself in an attempt to incriminate them. Not that they'd get into trouble for hurting me.

  "What's going on?" Bow demands.

  I explain the situation. She waves a hand through the air, unconcerned.

  "You won't need those," she says. "I've got this. You can sit back and simply enjoy the show."

  As if.

  I move to the side of the door, taking a sentry position. With a sigh, Bow does the same.

  One hour ticks into another, but I remain in place. I've done this kind of vigil before, during the realm riots that occurred in my front yard.

  My dad is a senator in the House of Myriad, responsible for ensuring Myriad-friendly laws are passed and Troika-friendly laws aren't.

  Sometimes when a hot-button issue arose--like Myriad's desire to supersede the human government--Troikan protesters congregated on our lawn, threw rotten food at our doors and windows and screamed vitriol. I just had to wait for it to end.

  The stress is the biggest obstacle. My limbs shake. My stomach twists. Sweat drips down my spine. At least I'm not cowering.

  I'll never cower again.

  "You sure they're coming tonight?" Bow asks, as blase as ever.

  "Yes. No. I don't know." Sloan could have lied to me. Her version of payback, I suppose. Although keeping us frazzled tonight so we're useless tomorrow isn't exactly her MO. She likes to use shivs of her own.

  Finally the doors slide open. I tense, ready to strike. Four men wearing black masks march into the room.

  They know where we're hiding. The two men in front swing their arms to deliver a brutal punch. One to each of us.

  I'm slower than usual, so I fail to duck in time. I take a fist to the center of the chest, my heart skipping a beat...then another...before leaping into a too-fast rhythm. Bow manages to duck just fine, grab her guy by the arm and, using her elbow as a hammer, break his radius. As he howls with pain, she kicks out her leg, nailing my guy in the torso, causing him to double over.

  I act quickly, slamming my knee into his nose. He goes down as another guy dives on me, knocking me down. Upon impact, agony consumes me. I can barely breathe, my lungs flattened, stars winking behind my eyelids.

  Get up! I have to win this.

  I try without success. Meanwhile, I hear a rustle of clothing, the crunch of other bones breaking...another howl of pain. Dragging sounds. A feminine grunt.

  A shadow falls over me. I hold out my hands to ward off--

  "It's okay," Bow says. "It's just me."

  Relieved, I sag against the cold, hard floor.

  "The men are out for the count and now in the hall."

  Good, that's good. Guess she had this, after all.

  Maybe I can trust her a little?

  No, no. Must resist the urge. Despite what Sloan said--despite Bow's actions--no good can come from an alliance. We're too different, and with Bow's support of Troika, she'll turn on me soon enough.

  "I guess we're even," I manage to say. I had her back with Sloan, and she had mine with the guards. I got the better end of the deal, but that's not a me problem.

  "Wow. You are one tough Nutter to crack. And that's not a compliment."

  "I used to be nice," I tell her. My version of an apology, I suppose. "I was even shy."

  I don't miss the girl I used to be; she's a stranger in so many ways. She was scared and weak.

  With a strength that baffles me, Bow picks me up and carries me to my bed. She gently lays me across the mattress, saying, "What you need is--"

  "Do not say light."

  "Fine. A distraction from your troubles. Want to make out a little?" There's a teasing note in her tone. "This would be a pity session, nothing more. You may be female, but you're still not my type. You're way too mouthy. Oh! I know! I can teach you better uses for your--"

  "Shut. Up," I say, trying not to laugh. Laughing will only make the hurt worse.

  "Is that a soft no?"

  "Hard no. I'm currently in a relationship."

  She arches a brow. "You have a boyfriend?"

  "No." Miss you so much, James. "I'm dating myself."

  Bow snorts. "You want my advice? Break up with her. She's no
good for you."

  "Hey!"

  "Well, it's true. Right now her priorities are seriously screwed up."

  *

  The next six days are surprisingly good. Well, as good as can be expected in a place as vile as Prynne.

  The four guards were culled from the pack. Dr. Vans says they just up and disappeared, but that can't be true. He never punishes his men. I think the bastards are recovering in the medical ward. I just don't know why Bow and I haven't been punished.

  I mean, we've been fed three squares every day, we haven't been singled out during any of our classes, and Sloan hasn't attacked us.

  It's the little things.

  My biggest complaint? Most of Bow's conversations begin with "If you sign with Troika, you'll..."

  Discover the true meaning of joy.

  Know peace for the first time.

  Have access to the best advisors in the world.

  Make friends who will always have your back.

  Pick one. Pick all. Gimme. But too bad for her, Myriad makes the same promises.

  I place my newest blood mark on the calendar and straighten with ease. My back is on the mend, my range of motion almost normal.

  "Tell me something," Bow says as she ties her boots. I'm surprised she's lucid. She spent the entire night threatening the wall. Go away. I'm going to kill you. Oh, yeah? Well, I can definitely hurt you. "Have you met with a new ML lately? A boy? Maybe kinda sorta...handsome." She gags, as if the word tastes foul. "Maybe he pulled you aside in secret."

  ML--Myriad Laborer. "No. Why?"

  She hikes a shoulder in a faux-casual shrug. "I know Myriad's MO. When a teenage girl refuses to do their bidding, they send a boy they think she'll like. One who's supposed to rev her engine."

  "My engine is set to idle, remember? Maybe permanently." After James... No. Just no.

  "Hey. Don't say I didn't warn you."

  My parents would never agree to...

  Oh, who am I kidding? They so would.

  "I guess it's better than the alternative." She stands, stretches her arms over her head and arches her back. "If Myriad ever considers you a lost cause, there's a good chance they'll send someone to kill you."

  Same with Troika. There have always been whispers about Laborers who poison the Unsigned to prevent a pledge to the other realm. "One, I'm not close to signing, period. And two, if I die here, Dr. Vans won't get a bonus."

  The pro? The greedy bastard would take a bullet to save me. The con? It's just a matter of time before he ramps my torture to the next level.