The liberation broadcast blinked to black, then the Owl filled the screen — Levi, the Owl. Zane had given him a video background of the footage captured through Omar’s eyes just before he was liberated as he got stunned in the back of the truck and taken out on a stretcher.
“This is not an error,” Levi’s distorted voice said. “The Messenger Owl has truth to deliver to the people of the Safe Lands. Truth brings freedom. Listen well. Liberations are not peaceful. You are taken to a facility where you are strip-searched before being taken into the unknown. This ColorCast you were watching is a tool for the Safe Lands Guild to tell lies. The Messenger Owl speaks the truth. There are not nine lives, but only one. Make yours count.”
And behind Levi, the video through Omar’s eyes continued to roll as he was set on the strange exam table and the enforcers started to undress him. The footage faded to black just as Levi stopped talking.
Zane tapped back to the liberation ceremony where Finley Gray was talking.
“On this, the first day of September,” Finley Gray said, “there are still fourteen people in the Safe Lands who will be celebrating their liberation in what remains of 2088. If you know one of them, take the time to enjoy them while they’re here. For it won’t be long until they head into the next life.”
“From us to you, Happy Liberation Day, Safe Landers,” Luella Flynn said. “We’ll see you next month. And as always, find pleasure in life.”
Zane muted the volume as the broadcast went to commercial.
“That was outstanding,” Jordan said. “What you did with the contacts video . . .”
“It looked really good,” Levi said. “Surely it made Renzor mad.”
“Well, it’s all we had,” Zane said. “I can use it again with different words, but you’re going to have to find something just as good to keep people watching.”
“Don’t we have what Mason’s eyes saw?”
“Lhogan isn’t answering my taps. So I only have what was on my screen at the time, which was Omar’s.”
“I’ll find something to show them,” Levi said. “We must have missed Rewl. Bender was a natural, and they put him on.”
“As a warning,” Zane said. “And because he was alive when they recorded this. Rewl is a dead ghost that no one will miss.”
Which was what they’d all be if they got themselves killed.
“Levi!” Shaylinn jumped up and ran toward him as he entered his underground house. Her face was tear-streaked. “The liberation ceremony was on. We watched it on my Wyndo. They showed Omar and Mason and Bender and Kendall.”
Levi looked around the living room. Everyone was sitting on the couches, staring at a portable Wyndo that was propped up on the coffee table. “All of you watched it?”
“I thought they might have said something about the Owl,” Trevon said, “but then the Owl came on! That means wherever Omar is, he’s okay!”
Levi bit his cheek. Should he tell the kids that he was Omar’s Owl now? No, he couldn’t take away their hope. “Listen, I don’t want any of you watching the ColorCast. There’s not supposed to be any technology down here unless Zane has modified it. It could be dangerous.”
“I’m sorry,” Shaylinn said. “I didn’t know I was supposed to give it back.”
“Ruston didn’t say, but you need to be responsible with it, and showing the children the ColorCast wasn’t a responsible thing to do.”
Tears pooled in Shaylinn’s eyes. “I wanted to see Omar.”
“I understand,” Levi said. What else could he say? “But I don’t want anyone watching any more Safe Lands TV. Including you.” He snatched up the Wyndo from the coffee table. “I’ll just hold on to this and see what Ruston says. He may not want us having them down here. I know his wife wouldn’t!”
“But how will I research people to send messages to?”
“Shaylinn, take a break from sending messages for a while, will you? Focus on helping Eliza teach these kids.”
“Okay.” But her voice sounded so desperately sad that Levi felt like a jerk. Still, he carried the Wyndo into his room and tossed it on the bed. He needed to keep his people from indulging in Safe Lands entertainment. The more they liked this place, the harder it would be to leave when the time came, which, Levi hoped, would be very soon.
CHAPTER
14
That Friday night, Omar climbed into his bunk and pretended to be sick. He didn’t want to go to Fajro, but he was too chicken to just up and quit.
Pretending wasn’t all that difficult. He’d earned a second vial of brown sugar from Rain last Wednesday for talking with Cacia. So he’d let himself finish off his first as a reward for a job well done. But that had only increased his craving, and he hadn’t loaded his new vial yet in fear he’d down the whole thing. Instead he’d spent all his credits on a level two of grass, which he’d nursed for the past two days and was almost gone. The aches and trembling had returned as his body cried out for the sugar.
Kurwin peeked over the side of Omar’s bunk. “Did you already vape your whole vial from last weekend?”
Omar answered with a pathetic moan.
“You can’t just skip. Rain isn’t going to like it. Prav either.”
Prav? What did he have to do with it? Omar wanted to ask. Instead he waited, praying Kurwin would leave and give Rain the message that Omar was ill.
“You better not make a habit of it.” And Kurwin left.
Omar stayed in bed, taking little puffs of grass and letting it calm his nerves. He didn’t dare leave the room in case someone saw him out. He was exhausted anyway, so going to bed early was probably for the best.
He lay there savoring each breath of grass and thinking about Shaylinn, wondering where she was, how she was doing, if her belly had grown yet, if the babies were okay, if they were boys or girls or one of each.
He fell asleep with those thoughts lingering in his mind, thoughts of Shaylinn and children and a life he’d never live.
“Get up, you shell!”
Something struck Omar’s face. He rolled onto his side and opened his eyes. Prav was leaning over one side of his bed, hand raised to strike again.
“Don’t!” Omar said, shrinking against the safety bars on the far side of his bunk.
“Don’t you tell me don’t, you lazy juicer.” Prav settled both hands on the safety bar, holding himself up. “I don’t care if you’re puking your guts out. Tonight, you come to Fajro. No excuses.”
“Okay!
” Prav gave him one last glare before jumping back to the floor. Omar watched him walk into the bathroom. Walls, that guy was intense.
Omar’s SimAlarm buzzed, telling him he had ten minutes to be up and out of the residence. No time to shower. He’d slept in his jumpsuit, so he climbed down and shoved his feet into his boots.
“You shouldn’t have skipped,” Kurwin whispered. “I told you Prav wouldn’t like it.”
“Why should he care?”
“Because he brought you to Rain. He stuck his neck out for you, and she’s invested in you. If you turn out to be worthless, she gets mad at Prav for wasting her time.”
“Oh.” Omar didn’t want to be anywhere near Prav right now. “See you later then.” And he darted out the door and into the hallway. His stomach roiled with hunger. Credits were applied each morning for the previous day’s work, so Omar jogged down to the cafeteria and went through the line for two dry pancakes and a banana. He ate them on his walk to the pens.
It looked like he was going to have to go to Fajro tonight. That, or deal with Prav. Neither option sounded very pleasant.
When Omar entered Fajro that night, he was surprised to find it crowded. He stood in the doorway, paralyzed, uncertain if he should stay or run. Maybe if he stayed out past curfew the enforcers would take him into custody. Maybe they’d give him a mercy vape.
“Omar, come.”
He jerked out of his daydream and his gaze fell on Rain. She was wearing purple tonight, and once again her lipstick di
dn’t match. That suddenly annoyed him. Why couldn’t she see how the shades clashed?
“Come.”
Omar stepped deeper into Fajro, following her, not knowing what else to do. He didn’t want to be here, but he didn’t know how to leave, either.
She held aside the beaded curtain and his steps slowed. Go back there? Already? He glanced back to the table where he and Kurwin always sat and drank. It was filled with people he didn’t know. Customers.
It was busy tonight.
He ducked under the doorway and Rain let the beads fall shut. They clicked against each other and the doorframe, oddly sounding like rain on a window.
“She’s waiting for you,” Rain said, nodding across the room.
Omar followed her gesture to a booth where Cacia sat. Omar sighed as weight melted away from his heart. Another night of talking? No problem.
He walked over to the booth and sat down. “Cacia.”
“Hay-o, you.” She grinned and bounced in her seat. Omar didn’t like her flirty tone. She hadn’t been like that on Wednesday. “I’m feeling better tonight, thanks to you.”
“That’s good.”
“So I thought tonight we could go out. There’s this dance club I like called the Dexx. Then we can go back to my place.”
Omar tried to keep his face calm, but he felt his eyes swell. He hoped she hadn’t noticed. “Uh, I haven’t been feeling well. I’d hate for you to catch something.”
She narrowed her eyes. “I’m not that old, you know.”
“Old? I never said you were old.”
“I know an excuse when I hear one. Well, guess what, raven boy? I paid for you, and I paid for the whole night.”
Oh, walls. Omar’s stomach turned to stone. He gritted his teeth. “My mistake. Dancing it is.” He got up and strode away, pushing through the beads. He stopped at the counter and ordered a beer. The barkeep had just pushed it toward him when Cacia appeared at his side with Rain.
Omar picked up the beer and took a big gulp. He held the glass at his stomach and looked at the women. “What? I need a beer before I dance, okay?”
Rain raised one eyebrow, then glanced at Cacia. “He’ll behave.”
Behave. As if this woman owned him. She may as well get a collar and leash.
He finished his beer and left the glass on the counter. “So where are we going?” he asked Cacia.
“I told you. The Dexx. It’s on the classy side of Cibelo.”
Omar went with Cacia to the club. It was dark, with red lights shining down from the ceiling onto a packed crowd, the silhouettes of waving arms and bobbing heads all facing the stage where a live band was playing.
Cacia took his hand and pulled him along the back of the crowd. “The dancing is over here.”
He plodded along after her, but his attention was on the stage. There were four in the band. Two men and two women, all in their mid-fifties, perhaps? They had chartreuse-and-violet FloArt tattoos that glowed like light under their skin. The three who were standing played guitars, though these guitars looked nothing like the one Uncle Ethan used to play in Glenrock. These were thin glass and looked like toys. The fourth band member — a woman — was sitting down at a GlassTop, tapping her hands on the surface in the rhythm of the percussion. They all must have had some sort of amplified SimSpeak, as their voices rang out from all sides of the club.
Cacia stopped suddenly and started to dance — at least that’s what Omar suspected she was trying to do. He tried not to laugh at her obvious lack of rhythm. She wiggled and kicked and shook her arms, but it looked more like she was trying to shake out an itch than dance.
She looked happy, though. Maybe if he could keep her here long enough, she’d forget about going back to her apartment.
So Omar tried to enjoy himself. And there were moments — brief ones — where he completely forgot that he’d sold himself for brown sugar. Like when he thought about Shaylinn or when the band played a slow song and the man’s voice seemed to carry him into a dream.
But then Cacia said she wanted a drink, grabbed his arm, and dragged him toward the exit.
“But the bar is that way,” Omar yelled.
“I have drinks at my place,” she said. “We’re running out of time.”
Right. Because Omar had a curfew. If he wasn’t back at a certain time, Cacia would have to pay more.
Omar followed her, dumbly, a slave to his stupidity. Would he never make the right choice?
Her apartment was small — all in one room. But it was clean and she didn’t have to share it with anyone. Not like Omar did, anyway. Or poor Mason.
She gave Omar a bottle of beer from her fridge and urged him to sit on the couch. They sat side by side, drinking their beers.
Omar stared straight ahead. He wanted to leave, but how could he? What were his options? Stay with her and get paid with a vial of brown sugar, or leave and get beat up by Prav — and get no brown sugar.
There had to be another way.
She took the beer from his hand and set it with hers on a table beside the couch. Then she turned back to him. “Kiss me.”
To be fair, she wasn’t ugly, not like some of the women he’d seen Prav leave Fajro with. Maybe if he didn’t think about what he was doing . . . Or he could pretend she were someone else. Shaylinn?
No, not Shaylinn. Someone who didn’t matter. Red or Belbeline. If he pretended he was with one of them, perhaps he could get through this.
He closed his eyes and pressed his lips against hers. She grabbed his head, his neck, his shoulders. Her hands were clammy and bonelike, and he recoiled at her touch.
Lord, help me, please. I’m sorry I got myself into this.
Cacia pulled away from him and groaned like he was the most disappointing date she’d ever had. “Don’t just sit there. Do something. Why are you such a prude?”
He stood up. “I’m going to leave.”
“What? Why? You can’t.” “I’m sorry, Cacia. You’re a nice person, but I just can’t do this. Besides, I like someone else.”
“You like someone else?” Her tone dripped with disbelief. “I paid good credits for you. I own you for another forty-five minutes.”
“Nobody owns me.” Omar walked to the door and opened it. “I’m sure Rain will give you a refund.” And then have Prav turn Omar’s face into a pile of guts worthy of the incinerator.
He slipped out into the hallway and quickly shut the door behind him. He grinned, which was stupid, because now he was in trouble.
The door to Cacia’s apartment opened and Omar jogged down the hall.
“Get back here!” she yelled after him.
But he slipped down the stairwell and out of sight. He didn’t slow down. He had no desire to have her chase after him and make a scene.
What now? He headed across Cibelo on his way to the strikers’ residence. But going back would only put him in Prav’s path. He wandered around, trying to decide what to do. Maybe he should just go back and tell Rain he quit? Take his beating and be done with it.
He found himself outside the Get Out Now Diner, but he didn’t recognize anyone inside. He wondered if any of them were rebels. The thought made him think of the RC. If he missed curfew, they’d take him there, right? He’d have a private cell and maybe even a mercy vape.
He never thought he’d actually look forward to spending a night in prison. But right now, prison looked pretty good.
He entered a club and watched people dance, knowing it was close to curfew. He sat at the bar, but he didn’t want to spend what little credits he had on anything, so he went back to the dance floor rather than have to deal with dirty looks from the barkeep.
He wished he had his PV. He’d left it in his pillowcase so he wouldn’t be tempted to finish it, saving his meager puffs for when he was lying in bed each night. But he was wound up now from stress and fear and the not knowing what was going to happen when he didn’t go back to his bunk.
His SimAlarm pulsed with the ten-minute warning. Ten m
inutes and he’d break curfew. Thankfully he wasn’t wearing an orange jumpsuit, so he wouldn’t stand out as a striker to the reputables if he were out late. But where should he go?
He decided on a bench at the end of a narrow street of shops. Most were closed as they weren’t the kinds of shops that got a lot of shoppers at this time of night. A cleaner, a cosmetics store, and a messenger’s office. If he was someplace secluded when he got stunned, he wouldn’t make a scene.
He thought of Shaylinn and wondered if she was still sending her messages. He suddenly ached with indignation at his lot in life. Sure, he’d done it to himself. But he’d been trying to fix his life and now he was here. And Shay was there. It was probably for the best. He’d hurt her enough. He hated the idea of her raising the babies on her own, but maybe Nodin would marry her. Or Yivan. They were decent-enough fellows.
The SimAlarm went off then, delivering as much current as any SimScanner or stunner could. Hid body seized, and he fell onto his side on the bench. Little grunts came out of his throat, though he wasn’t trying to make any noise. He closed his eyes and pictured Shay’s burnt-umber eyes until he passed out.
“Hey! What’s the problem here, shell? You OD?”
Omar opened his eyes and found an enforcer looking down on him. He jumped, slid on the bench a little, and pushed himself up. He could move. What time was it? How long had he been here?
The enforcer held out a SimScanner and Omar heard it beep. “Omar Strong. He’s a striker.”
“Where’s your jumpsuit, striker? Those are awful nice clothes.”
“You got a girl buying you nice things? Or are you a streetman?”
“Can’t you talk?” the other said. “Stand up. We need to search you.”
Omar pushed up on shaky legs. The weakness hadn’t fully faded yet.
The enforcer patted Omar’s body, running his hands along Omar’s back, sides, hips, pockets, and legs. “No PV. No vials either. Shame, I was looking to help myself to some treats tonight, striker boy.”
“He can still buy us something,” the other enforcer said.
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