Redux

by A. L. Davroe

There’s a murmur now, a wave of outrage.

  “Even more, with the dead and missing Aristocrats from the dome,” she adds.

  “No one cares!”

  “Yeah, they’re just Aristocrats!”

  “I care!” she screams, and she’s like a demon, her expression is so fierce. This shuts everyone up again. “Do you know why?” Clairen continues, scowling. “Because someone has sold us out. Someone has given away an entry point. And that’s not okay.” Her eyes search again, as if that will ferret out the traitor. She glances down to where her closer administrators are gathered. “Bring her up.”

  Aaron and Mac slowly climb the steps of the dais. Between them, they hold a young woman about my size and shape. She wriggles and I can hear her screaming behind the gag tied around her mouth. As they move more squarely to present her to the crowd, I notice something about her thrashing body that makes me grab Quent’s wrist. She’s missing a leg. They drop her unceremoniously to the floor. With her arms tied behind her back, she tries her best to struggle to balance on her one leg and her stub.

  Clairen steps to the side of the girl and grabs a fistful of the girl’s hair, wrenching her upright so that everyone can see her face. Broad cheek bones, black hair, black eyes, surprisingly well dressed for a Disfavored. She’s got strange tattoos on her neck. “This girl is one of the cannibals,” Clairen announces.

  There’s more murmuring.

  “Considering how hard those with her fought my unit? I’m gonna say she’s important to the bastards.” Clairen tosses the girl’s head away so that the momentum of it knocks her back onto the ground. A moment later, Clairen’s gun is drawn and sighted on the girl. “Come forward, or I’ll kill her.”

  Everyone remains still and quiet. I feel Quentin’s arms come around me, realize I’m shaking. He presses his face into my hair.

  Searching more, Clairen snarls. “You don’t believe me?”

  Bam.

  I scream and flinch. The girl screams and flinches. Someone screams, “No!”

  And the next thing I know, Faulk is struggling forward, arms outstretched. “Don’t! Don’t kill her!”

  The group parts and he’s climbing onto the stage, grabbing the girl into his arms. I realize that Clairen hasn’t shot her, that she only shot the floor, a bluff to draw him out. Mac and Aaron and a few others are on the stage now, drawing the two apart.

  “No! Stormy!” Faulk is shouting, trying to struggle out of Mac and another man’s grasp. “Don’t hurt her. Promise you won’t hurt her.”

  The girl named Stormy is dragged off the stage; so is Faulk. And then it’s very quiet and still. I’m gasping. Quentin’s arms are tight around me, and my heart pounds against him. He gives me a kiss on the temple. “Come on, we have work to do.”

  Numb, I draw away and walk toward where Clairen and the others are talking in a tight circle. “Where’s Zane and my mother?” Quent asks.

  “They’re out searching for you,” Clairen says, eyes showing her surprise. “We’d almost given up hope and thought you’d been snatched like the rest.”

  “We got delayed,” I explain.

  Clairen examines my face. “Not without incident, it seems.”

  “You’re aware that the others have been captured then?” Quent asks.

  She nods. “Aaron came back and reported after he got separated from Faulk.” She says “Faulk” like it’s a swear word, and I suppose it is now. “Ugh, I can’t believe I trusted him.”

  “We all did,” Mac reasons. “It’s best to just let it go. Can’t be helped now.”

  “Oh,” she huffs, “it can be plenty helped.” She shakes a fist like she intends to use it.

  Mac rolls his eyes. “I doubt violence will be necessary. We have something he’s keen on keeping safe.”

  “There’s nothing he could know that I care to keep him alive for.” She turns away.

  “Don’t be hasty, Claire,” Mac warns.

  She flashes him the one-fingered hand signal. “Mind your own business, old man. He’s my subordinate, I’ll deal with him any way I like.”

  “Actually,” I say, stepping up to follow her as she walks away, “would you mind if I talk to him before you kill him?”

  I hear a number of people following us, and I assume Quent is among them.

  Her face contorts. “What could you possibly want to ask that rat-faced motherfucker?”

  “A lot, actually. No one has ever returned from the cannibals’ camp, right?” I glance back and Quent nods to double verify. “That’s why you don’t know anything about them? Why you can’t ever save the people they snatch?”

  She remains quiet, waiting for me to continue as we walk down the canvas corridor.

  “He has. And you’re in a position to get answers.”

  She stops, turns on me. “I don’t need answers. The answer is that once people go to the cannibals they die with the cannibals. That’s all I need to know. That’s the only truth.”

  I stare up at her for a long moment, glance to the side to see how far back Quent, Delaney, and Aaron are, then lower my voice accordingly. “They took someone from you, didn’t they.” It’s not a question, it’s a statement.

  Her brow twitches and she looks away.

  “Well,” I say quietly. “They’ve taken someone from me, too. And I have to try and get that someone back. You may not want answers, but I do. Those answers are knowledge I can use. And knowledge in my hands is power.” I make a fist in emphasis and lift my chin. “I need all the power I can get, Clairen, and I’m asking for you to help me.”

  For the expanse of a number of breaths, Clairen examines me. Then she smiles a little. “You might be short, but you’re exactly like how you are in the game. It’s kind of creepy.”

  I lower my fist and let out a nervous breath. “Yeah, you’re telling me.”

  “All right,” she finally says. “I’ll let you talk to him.”

  “Thank you.”

  She turns and I follow again. “Don’t thank me, there’s no point. You can find out everything you want from him, it’s not gonna make a difference. The cannibals are powerful.”

  “I know.”

  Her eyes slide sideways. “I sense a scheme. What are you planning, Ellani Drexel?”

  I shrug and play innocent. I’m not pulling the lynch pin until I’m certain all of this is going to work how I theorize. “Nothing.”

  “Don’t go putting yourself in unnecessary danger. We need you.”

  As I smile at her, I sense a bit of mischief in my expression. “Oh, I know. I’m counting on it.”

  Her expression grows uneasy and she glances back at Quentin. “Is she always like this?”

  Quent says, “I think she learned it from me,” and there’s no apology in his voice.

  Delaney and Aaron chuckle at that.

  “You’re as bad as your brother,” she mutters.

  We walk for a few more minutes in what I’m feeling is satisfied silence, when suddenly we pass a room, and I recognize the people in it. I stop, backpedal. “Gus? Delia?”

  Delia looks up from unbuckling a taser from her hip and gives me a wide-eyed stare through twin black eyes and a swollen nose. It’s Gus who comes forward, grabs me into a big, asphyxiating hug. “Elle.” I hug him back, feeling awkward and fully aware of Delia’s expression becoming a scowl.

  “It’s good to see you made it out. I knew you would.” I hear Quent say behind me. Gus’s body grows tense and he pulls away. As he draws away, I see the full extent of the damage the cannibal attack wrought on his body. His face is split open in a couple of places, revealing his robotic interior, and his dominant hand has been stripped at the knuckles. Obviously he beat someone quite well, and his expression says he’s ready to start in on Quent.

  I step forward and hold up my hands, but he’s too fast.

  Before I know what’s happening, Gus hits Quent. Hard. So hard he stumbles back and hits the wall.

  Delaney, Aaron, and Clairen move to intervene, but Q
uent holds up the hand that’s not cradling his face. “No. It’s fine.”

  Gus remains still as Quent straightens, rolls a shoulder, and pulls his hand away. His skin is stripped clean of his cheek mod, hanging ragged. “I suppose I deserved that,” he says, examining the blood on his hand.

  His only response is a stony glare from Gus.

  “I suppose I owe you an explanation.”

  Gus’s eyes narrow. “Too late for that. Cam and Sid did it for you.”

  Quent lowers his hand. “They made it out, too, then?”

  A chin lowering from Gus.

  “They’re with Zane and Kit,” Clairen provides, voice uneasy, as if she’s still not sure whether Gus is gonna attack Quent or not.

  “Sorry,” Delaney adds, “I guess I forgot to tell you that Aaron found some survivors.”

  Gus’s head twitches. “They’re not dead. I’ve told you that. The cannibals took them alive.” His voice is agitated and it’s clear he’s argued this point a number of times, that he’s just as annoyed by the Disfavored knack for writing people off as dead as soon as the cannibals take them.

  “Some of them,” I correct. Gus glances at me, like he’s only remembering I’m there right now. He stares at me for a long moment and it’s clear that there’s a confused war of emotion within him.

  I stare back, wondering how much he must have figured out. How much Cam and Sid told him.

  His gaze finally breaks away, swings around the room, then back to Quent. “I need to talk to you.”

  Quent nods. “I’m sure you do.”

  “Alone.”

  “Of course.” Quent glances at Clairen, and, making a face like this is all rather stupid and taking up her time, she lets out a big sigh, slumps, and leads them into another room. A moment later, Clairen comes out alone and zips up the door.

  She rejoins us and we stand awkwardly as muffled baritone voices begin talking in the room beyond.

  I glance at the others who seem unsure if they should stay or continue on. “We’ll catch up,” I say, dismissing them. “This might take a while.”

  Clairen nods to the others and they hurry away. “We’ll be waiting.”

  Delia is watching the room, inching toward it. I do the same. We both stop a fair distance from the opening, a few paces from each other. She, like me, probably wants to give them some privacy but still wants to be within reach. This is a big moment, emotional, and I doubt either is going to come out with a smile on his face.

  We eye each other uneasily as the discussion in the room beyond escalates from Gus’s elevated voice to elevated growls of rage. In a similar tone, Quentin’s voice joins his, just as agitated. I can’t hear what either is saying. They’re deep enough in that the words are garbled, but the emotion and heat are evidence enough the conversation isn’t going well.

  Long minutes tick by, their voices eventually lower.

  I feel myself taking a few steps closer, wanting to hear how Quentin is explaining himself to Gus, but Delia’s words pull me back. “Did you know?”

  For once, her voice isn’t laced with venom, and her face holds no hate. She’s just tired and vulnerable. It occurs to me how very much she must love him and how this discovery is affecting her as well.

  Slumping my shoulders, I focus on her. “Of course not.”

  She looks away, her bald brows knit so that they pucker over the bulbous implant in her face. I hate that thing, hate how it makes her even more of a stranger to me. I have no idea how to talk to her anymore. “I should have guessed it.” Her voice is wavering and I sense she’s going to cry.

  “Oh, Dee. You couldn’t have known that.”

  “But I always sensed something about him was off. I think he did, too.” Her eyes search the ground. “At least now we know.”

  “I hope this doesn’t change things between you two. He’s still the same Gus.” If it was me in her place, I’d love him even if he wasn’t real. I learned from a young age to love and appreciate Meems; Gus isn’t that different. But Delia’s closer to the Aristocratic way of thinking than ever, so maybe she won’t.

  Head whipping up, she scowls at me. “I’m not like that, and I’m disgusted you’d ever think that about me.”

  I avoid her glare as I admit, “I don’t know what to think of you anymore.”

  She examines her feet and gnaws her lip. “I read your letters,” she finally whispers.

  I cock my head, but she’s still staring at her feet. “How’d you do that?”

  “Gus did it for me. He rewired it into a light-stick.”

  “Huh, that’s smart.”

  “Yeah. He’s really smart.”

  I want to say, “I know,” but I don’t. Not really. “Quent, too,” I say instead.

  “It’s weird, how this all ended up. With us. With the game and what your uncle did. I don’t know if I understand it all. But I at least think I get where you were coming from.”

  “I’m so sorry, Dee. You have to believe that.”

  She closes her eyes and a tear escapes down her cheek. “It’s just hard. There’s a lot of pain.”

  The emotion in her voice makes my heart ache. I touch my chips, drawing strength from them. “Not that it’s any use, but if you want to talk…I-I’ve lost my parents, too. But I’ve never lost a sister. I mean, I lost you when Simon locked me up. But you were alive at least.”

  She takes a deep breath, lets it out. “It’s not the first time I’ve had to deal with losing my sister. You knew I was alive, but to me…to me, you were dead, and I had to deal with that all over again with Nina. I think I was mad because you were actually alive, and all that pain and suffering I went through had been senseless and cruel punishment.”

  “I never wanted you to go through that.”

  “Didn’t make it hurt or feel like betrayal any less. Especially when Gus suddenly came at me with these notions of being in love with you.”

  “But you realize now that he’s not, right?”

  “I read your letters. It’s not as though his feelings wouldn’t be returned if he told you about them.”

  “I—” I rub my forehead. “I do have feelings for the boy who played Gus in the game, but that was Quent. I love Quent, not Gus. And Gus loves you, not me. And yes,” I continue, seeing she’s going to argue, “Gus has residual feelings for me, but they’re not his feelings, they’re Quent’s. I’m aware that doesn’t change it. I wish I could somehow fix all of this for you.”

  “You can’t. I have to convince him to forget memories that aren’t even real. Anyway,” she eventually breathes. “I lost one sister, and I got another one back. For that, at least, I’m grateful. Especially since it seems like I get to keep Gus, too.” She finally shoots me a sidelong glance and smirks. “And hey, you finally got Quentin.”

  I smile back at her then look away. Despite that small triumph, it’s a hollow victory. One that came at too high a cost. “I planted that virus so that I could see him again.”

  “Yeah.” Her voice is strained. “Though, I’m not sure I’d do anything different if it came to me and Gus.”

  “Is this worth it? Love?”

  She’s quiet for a heartbeat. “I suppose that depends what you do with it. If a million people died so that you could reunite with the boy you loved, then you two had better save two million in return. Nina was worth that much, don’t you think?”

  “No,” I whisper, creating a fist around the chips in my pocket. “Nina was worth a hundred million.” I take a breath. “Dee?”

  “Hm?”

  “We have to save the others.”

  “Yes.”

  “I have a plan.”

  Delia’s eyes light up, but we’re interrupted by the sound of the door unzipping. We’ve been so busy talking I didn’t realize the room behind me had gone silent and now Gus is opening the door in sharp, clipped motions. I take a step toward him, wanting to comfort him in some way. “Gus?”

  But he doesn’t even look at me. He brushes right past me,
goes to Delia. Right into her opening arms and kisses her hard. I close my mouth, lower my chin, and close my eyes in internal satisfaction. This is how it should be and it feels right.

  Gus grasps her hand and tugs her in a particular direction. “Come on, we’re leaving.”

  Delia glances back at me, eyes wide, but speaks to him. “Where?”

  “Anywhere but here. If I don’t get out of here now, I’m going to kill him. Come with me.”

  Delia turns her attention back to him. “Okay.” They begin walking away.

  “Gus,” I call out.

  He pauses, looks a little confused for a second. It’s clear it’s hard for him to shake his memories. “What,” he growls, not turning toward me.

  “Don’t go far. I need you.” Then, realizing what this sounds like, I add, “I need you both. So does Quent. Don’t leave us again. Either of you. Please.”

  He doesn’t respond, just keeps walking. And Delia goes with him, but she looks back and nods at me, and I know I’ll be able to find them later. Because we have work to do.

  When they’re both gone, I enter the room Gus came from. Quent is sitting on a crate, arms braced on both his knees and head hung between his shoulders. I get to my knees before him and press my forehead to his hair. His hands lift, gently cup my jaw, his thumb brushes my cheek.

  “He’s really pissed at me.”

  I grasp his ankle. “Do you blame him?”

  “No.” Then he says, “I’m still not sorry.”

  I smile, though I know he can’t see it, and think of the passionate way Gus loves my best friend. “Deep down? I don’t think he is, either.”

  chapter twenty-two

  Post-American Date: 7/8/232

  Longitudinal Timestamp: 2:03 a.m.

  Location: Rebel Base, Kairos

  When Clairen lets me into the room Faulk is being detained in, he’s lying on a cot staring at the ceiling. His hands aren’t bound, but there’s an iron shackle on his ankle and he’s connected to a massive stone in the middle of the room.

  I glance at Quentin and Clairen, who are both standing at the plastic observation window by the door. I’d asked to be alone to talk to him.

  “Faulk?”