Renegade

by J. A. Souders

  The Enforcer advances, and the room becomes quiet again as chills race up and down my spine.

  “Mother handles the death certificates—”

  “Then Mother is wrong!” the man says, and steps forward, tears streaming down his cheeks.

  “Hold your tongue, Citizen!” I shout, but immediately I regret it. The Daughter of the People must never lose her calm.

  The Enforcer is watching me closely, obviously waiting to see how I handle the situation, and I can’t help but feel I’m not measuring up to whatever she expects from me. And that she’s delighting in that fact. That makes me more nervous than I want to admit, and I swallow the lump in my throat.

  I gesture for the man to step closer. “You will have to speak with Mother, then, if that is what you believe.” The Guard moves toward the man, but the Enforcer beats him to it.

  When she steps closer, unlike the respectful Citizens, she first meets my eyes before bowing her head. There is no life in those cold blue eyes, or in the unmoving set of her mouth.

  “I’ll escort him, Miss. Your Guard is needed here, with you.” Her voice is quiet and breathy, and shouldn’t be any more frightening than the ladybugs in my garden, but it makes my skin crawl. I nod and she grabs the man.

  “No,” he whispers, and there is a strange understanding in his eyes, but he doesn’t fight as the young Enforcer pulls him toward the door on my right, then disappears with him.

  I glance around, trying to determine if another Enforcer has replaced the one that just left, but it’s useless. I’ll never be able to see her.

  The room remains quiet as I rub my arms to remove the chill from my skin. I’ll have to ask Mother later what happened. The Guard next to me leans down. “Are you all right, Miss Evelyn?”

  “Yes, I…” I straighten my shoulders and force my hands to rest in my lap. “I’m quite well. Bring me a soy chai latte.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  He turns and is halfway to the door before I remember to say, “Iced.”

  “Yes, Miss.”

  I focus on the next person in line. “Next?”

  * * *

  Mother and I sip our afternoon tea in her sitting room. We enjoy having tea together. It is really the only time we have to recount our days to each other and just talk. Just us girls. I smile when I see she’s using my favorite tea set: the gold-rimmed china with the large English tea roses on the side. Flowers from my gardens sit on the table between us.

  Today, only two Maids are in the room with us, waiting patiently to serve us whatever our hearts desire. Two Guards stand by the door, but they aren’t the same ones that were in the gardens earlier. It is unusual for me not to have the same Guards. I may not know their names, but it is slightly disturbing not to recognize a familiar face. My life revolves around familiarity.

  Mother sits across from me, her attention completely focused on her tea. Her wheat blond hair gleams in the light of the overhead crystal chandelier. It amazes me, as it always does, how beautiful she is. She is the epitome of excellent culture and breeding. What every lady should strive to be. What I strive to be.

  Today she wears a bloodred dress suit that enhances her small curvy body, but not enough to tempt the men around her. A lady should be like a flower under glass, beautiful yet untouchable.

  It’s quiet. Pleasantly so, and I stare over her shoulder to the window behind her. The outside lights make the water a gorgeous blue and a school of colorful fish swims by. Very faintly I can hear the low moaning of a whale.

  “Evelyn,” Mother says, tapping her nails on the tabletop to draw my attention back to her. I love the pink marble of the table. It reminds me of my roses.

  “Yes, Mother?” I say.

  “Do you have your speech prepared for Festival?”

  “Yes, Mother. I submitted it to your assistant this morning for your approval.”

  She nods and takes another sip of her tea as I spin the metal disc in my hand.

  “Mother?”

  She looks over at me and lifts an eyebrow. I hold my hand out to her, with the metal disc in the center of it. “Do you know what this is? Ti—” I cut myself off, not wanting to get Timothy into trouble. “I found this. When I was in Three yesterday, checking on the mining. Remember? I don’t know what it is, but it has the most unusual markings on it.” Her beautiful peaches-and-cream face pales, and the dusting of freckles across her nose and cheeks stand out clearly against it. She plucks the disc from my palm and studies it carefully, but I continue. “On this side, it looks like that’s one of the birds from the Surface. And the other has some kind of head on it. Is it from the Surface?”

  She nods slowly. “Yes, I’m afraid it is.”

  I bite back a smile, trying not to show how excited I am about it. “And the words? ‘In God We Trust.’ What do they mean? What is it, Mother?”

  “It is death, Evelyn.” She looks from the disc to me. Her eyes bore into mine; their gray striations standing out against the sapphire blue. “This little disc—they call it a coin—is half responsible for starting every war there has ever been on the Surface. And that saying? It’s the other half. You must never touch this thing again, Evelyn. I won’t have you corrupted by its power.”

  Despite her warnings, I’m still curious. How could such a tiny little metal object be responsible for so much destruction?

  She narrows her eyes at me and folds her hand over the coin. “This curiosity you have with the Surface is unhealthy, Evelyn. I must insist that it cease. Immediately.”

  I sigh, but bow my head. “Yes, Mother.”

  “And to make sure of it, I’m going to have your little fountain dredged for any more Surface contraband.”

  No! Not my collection!

  I look up sharply, but her face is dark and I know better than to argue. “Yes, Mother.”

  She watches me for several minutes before she takes another sip of tea.

  “By the way, Evelyn, I heard a disturbing rumor this morning as I was taking my morning constitutional.” She lifts the delicate teacup to her mouth, but pauses. “Do you know to which rumor I am referring?”

  Rumors are not uncommon among the Maids. If there is ever anything you wish to know, the Maids are sure to know it. They were unusually quiet this morning after my time with Timothy. But this couldn’t be about him. Mother approved of him.

  “No, Mother.”

  She places her cup in its saucer and purses her lips. They are the same color as her dress. “I’m surprised. Since this rumor mostly revolves around you and a particular Third you’re fond of.”

  So this is about Timothy. Though that doesn’t explain what rumor would be so important Mother would concern herself with it, or why she would talk to me about it.

  “Still don’t know?” Her eyes are hard and cold.

  “No, Mother.” I suppress a shiver. I don’t like that look. It reminds me of one of the sharks that sometimes swims outside my gardens.

  “According to the incessant mutterings of the Maids, he touched you this morning. In plain view of the Guards and an Enforcer.”

  “Touched me?” I think back to the garden. “Oh, no, Mother. He didn’t touch me. A thorn stuck my finger and he bandaged it for me.” I smile and sip my tea, pleased with myself for remembering. Today is better than yesterday. And yesterday was better than the day before.

  “The Guards report this to be true,” she says, her lips still pursed, “but they also say he didn’t let go right away.”

  “It was an accident. He asked if I was okay and, when I said yes, we both realized he was still touching me. It won’t happen again.”

  Mother’s face turns hard and she nods. “You’re right. It will not happen again. Guards!” She claps her hands with the command, causing me to jump in my seat and slosh tea out of the cup.

  My eyes widen when two Guards enter, carrying Timothy between them. His face is bruised and bloody. A black eye is already forming and his slack jaw reveals several teeth are missing. I barely
realize when my teacup slips from my limp fingers and shatters on the marble. Two more Guards are suddenly at my side, holding me down.

  “What’s happened?”

  Mother clicks her tongue. “Evelyn, Evelyn, Evelyn. I thought I taught you better than that. Touching before coupling is an impropriety. Punishable under the law.”

  I swallow hard as she continues to stare at me, then close my eyes. She is right. I must resign myself to it. The law is the law, after all. It is what keeps us safe. Keeps us from being like the Surface Dwellers. “Very well, Mother. What is our punishment?”

  “Oh, no, my child. You are not being punished. It isn’t your fault. It was he who touched you. He who tried to defile your innocence. His punishment is death.”

  My eyes fly open. “What? No! It was an accident. This was my fault, not his! Please, Mother—” I’m cut off when she slaps my face. Hard. Rage tears through me in a sudden jolt, but fades as quickly as it came, leaving only panic. I stare aghast at her as I curl my fingers into my palm.

  “You do not talk back to me. Ever.” She straightens the skirt of her dress, then her hair. She makes a gesture with her hand and an Enforcer—Veronica—steps from the shadows. She holds a Colt .45 equipped with a silencer in her gloved hand.

  Before I can blink, she pulls the trigger. Once. Twice. Two bullets rip into Timothy’s chest, hitting both lungs. He collapses to his knees as the Enforcer steps back into the shadows. Her face is completely blank—there’s not even a spark of emotion in her eyes—and the Guards let him fall.

  The Guards on me have held me tight, but I haven’t even moved; my body is still frozen in shock. When they finally release me, I run straight to Timothy’s side. I don’t care if Mother punishes me. He’s dying and it’s my fault. Because of my carelessness. Because I hadn’t remembered until it was too late.

  He gasps for breath and blood pours from his mouth just as quickly as it comes from his wounds.

  He looks up and into my eyes. “I’m sorry,” he gasps out before his eyes close. “I thought I would be different. I thought I could”—he coughs, splattering blood across my chest—“save you.”

  I try to stop the flow of blood, but it seeps over my hands.

  “No,” I whisper. His breath shudders out one last time before his chest becomes still. I turn to Mother. “How could you? I’d chosen him. He’s the one I wanted.” My voice cracks with each word.

  Mother walks over and places a hand on my shoulder. I think she’ll say she’s sorry, but instead she says, “Now this is a pity. His genetics were … promising.”

  Her words only barely reach my ears. She walks away, her heels clicking on the marble.

  A Guard steps over and something cool presses on the skin of my arm. I look over in time to see him inject something into me. Immediately the room spins and I collapse onto Timothy.

  No!

  His blood warms my cheeks as darkness swoops over me like a shroud.

  CHAPTER TWO

  The War has corrupted the Surface Dwellers. They have been consumed with hate and violence, and should be considered extremely dangerous. Any Surface Dweller who attempts to break into Elysium should be shot on sight.

  —ENFORCER STATUTE 104A.1

  My life is just about perfect.

  Every morning Mother has the Maids wake me at precisely ten. Then it’s time for a light breakfast followed by a mandatory visit with my Therapist. It’s nice to have someone to talk with.

  After, I am free to do as I wish until it’s time to perform one of the duties Mother has requested of me. This morning I sit in my garden, quietly doing my cross-stitching. The garden is so peaceful in the morning, especially when the sea life outside the glass dome passes by.

  The Surface could never compare. Not that I’ve ever seen the Surface. It is forbidden, even for me.

  Which is fine. My life is just about perfect.

  The scent of roses, gardenias, lilies, and countless other flowers fill the air. Compared to the rest of the facility, the sunlamps make the air here feel sultry. Between that and the continual buzzing from the bees pollinating my lovely flowers, I often find myself falling asleep. Wind chimes tinkle in the current from the oxygen recyclers.

  The sound reminds me of something, someone, just at the far reaches of my memory. Absently, my fingers reach up to play with the charm around my neck.

  The pendant to recover what is lost.

  I stare at the chimes for a long time. They twist and sway in the slight breeze, the silver and purple of the metal glinting like knives in the light. For some reason, my heart races. I can’t stop myself from reaching out to touch the cold, smooth metal. Without warning, a flash of memory—pain and blood—causes me to jerk my hand from the chimes, but I continue to watch them spin. I touch a hand to my temple as a tremendous sense of loss sweeps through me.

  Tears sting my eyes, but I blink them back. I don’t know why I should react this way to wind chimes.

  Mother steps up next to me. “Is there a problem, Evelyn?” She watches me carefully, as if I am a snake and might strike out and bite her.

  An odd feeling of guilt pulls at me. “No. I thought I knew something about the wind chimes.”

  Her eyes narrow. “Really? And what would that be?”

  Don’t tell her, a voice whispers in my head. I glance over at her and slowly say, “I don’t know.”

  Her face softens. “It is nothing, my child.” She runs her own finger down a chime. “These have been in the gardens since your father had it constructed for you. However, if they bother you, I can have them removed. I found the most talented metal Artist today. I would be more than happy to have him commission something for you to replace these old things.”

  “No, that’s all right.” While they carry a hint of sadness and guilt, I find I don’t want her to take them away.

  “Are you sure? How about a new dress? The Dressmaker reports she has made a lovely purple silk she thinks will look exquisite on you.”

  “A dress would be wonderful, Mother.”

  “Very well. I’ll make an appointment for her to come after lunch so she can measure you.” She glances around the garden and her nose wrinkles. “I don’t understand why you want to play in the dirt, Evelyn. Such a messy business. You should spend more time playing your violin. It’s really the only thing you do well.” She lifts a blue silk-covered shoulder. It isn’t quite a shrug, because ladies don’t do that, but the gesture is meant to be the same. “Your Therapist will be here at noon. Please make sure you are ready for him.”

  Inwardly, I sigh. I always feel so peculiar after seeing him.

  No. That’s not true. It’s nice to have someone to talk with.

  “Yes, Mother, of course.”

  She smiles and pats my cheek before clicking away. I stand where I am, unsure of what I was doing before she came. The corners of my lips lift when I remember. I was gathering Egyptian lilies for the Healers and Scientists.

  I slip out of my kitten heels and into the water. It is shin deep—only a few centimeters below the skirt of my dress—and warm as bathwater. I hum while I collect the delicate flowers, taking care to make sure the hem of my skirt does not get wet, and think that my best friend, Macie, will be pleased with this latest bunch. They are quite a bit larger than the last batch.

  A low moaning pulls me from my thoughts and I walk swiftly to the windows that separate my gardens from the millions of liters of seawater that is the Atlantic Ocean.

  Because my garden juts off the side of the buildings that make up our underwater city, I have an almost three hundred and sixty-degree view of the ocean. Even the ceiling is made of the thick glass. As often as I am in my gardens, it never fails to amaze me how clear and undistorted the water looks.

  A blue whale passes by the window, and from the pattern of the scars by his eye, I’m pretty sure I’ve seen this particular one before. The thought pleases me. I touch a hand to the cool glass and his eye fixes right on me. He moans again, and it’s as
if he’s talking to me.

  He’s large, considering how small I am in comparison, but he’s small for a blue whale—maybe only twenty meters or so—and from research, I know he’s probably only a few years old, probably just reaching sexual maturity. He’s gorgeous, with his blue gray mottled skin and pale, ridged underbelly. I hope he’ll sing for me today. The songs always sound sad, but they’re lovely.

  Then he rolls, showing off another of his pod. Since it’s slightly larger and appears to be flirting with him, I wonder if she’s his mate. She comes close enough to the glass that I’m sure, if the glass didn’t separate us, I could touch her.

  Her large eye studies me carefully for a long time, and I stand there, watching her back. Though she can’t really smile, I can see it in her eye. She makes a loud moaning sound and the first whale joins in her song.

  It always amazes me when they come to visit. I’m not sure why exactly, since fish life is abundant where we are. It’s rare not to glance out the window and see schools of brightly colored fish. Or a manta ray. Sharks. Jellyfish. Our city sits in a trench, our buildings dug into the walls. All except Sector Three—I have to press a hand to my stomach when the thought of Three causes flutters there—which is settled on the trench floor because we use the geothermal energy from the lava tubes to power our facility.

  The warmer water attracts plenty of pretty things. The water is mostly blue, and highlighted because of the outside lights that shine during the daylight hours, but if I tilt my head just right, I can detect a hint of orange closer to the bottom. It’s strangely intriguing.

  For almost an hour, I watch out the window until my friends bid me adieu with a flick of their tails as they disappear into the blue.

  No sooner are they gone than running footsteps sound behind me, quickly followed by the alarms from the DNA cameras. It’s unusual to hear, and I immediately tense, spinning to face the door directly across from me. It’s not so much the alarms—they’re easy to set off, though they make my ears hurt with their high-pitched screech—but the running. Sometimes the Maids will walk a bit faster if they are behind in their duties, but running is almost unheard of.