FERTS

by Grace Hudson

  “Will you please stand for the FERTS Requital.” The Officers stood, cider mugs held high in the air.

  “Esteemed Officers, Fighters of Epsilon, menial Internees. We now send our gratitude to Pinnacle Officer Wilcox and FERTS, for our daily provision and protection from those who would seek to strike against our Vassals, our Fighters and our Internees.”

  “We send our gratitude to Pinnacle Officer Wilcox and FERTS,” came the enthusiastic reply.

  “As you know we have a Beth for ALL occasions.” His voice boomed throughout the hall arena as some of the attending Officers laughed. Sharp, barking sounds rang out from behind 201, as she spied the fighting creatures in their crates. One of the dogs snarled, a thin stream of drool escaping over its unnaturally sharpened teeth. From what she had heard from her fellow menial Internees, the fighting creatures were fodder in between fights, enough to keep the Officers occupied while the new Fighters prepared for their next challenge.

  “And we know how you all love to watch the blue eyed ones cry, so without further ado, she’s bad, she’s a master with the spatha, a first-timer tonight, our very own Beth 259232!”

  No.

  201 looked up just in time to see 232, dressed in full Fighter regalia, stepping deftly between the wires and into the ring. The shavings puffed up under her feet, sparkling as they fell like rain under the heavy lights. Her feet, sheathed in leather criss-cross bindings, her leather skirt, short and barely able to conceal anything important. Her breastplate, also leather, was bound tightly around her torso, muscles standing out in stark relief, catching the light with her dark brown hair, tied loosely in a plait that hung down her back, swishing from side to side. Her wide blue eyes appeared to twinkle underneath the lights, a thin sheen of sweat covering her face. 201 had never seen her look so powerful, so strong, yet so vulnerable. The Fighter's attendants handed over a shield and sword between the wires, the shield catching for a moment on the barbs as she fastened them both in position, glancing around the ring for signs of what was to come.

  “And the challenger… You know her, I know her.” More cheers and whistles from the crowd. “She’s the meanest one, the biggest, the best, the red head, she’s fiery, she’s feisty, and she wants blood. It’s Beth 259299!”

  The crowd roared with appreciation, splashes from the Officers’ cider mugs spraying over 201’s shoulders. She shivered, brushing off the droplets. As she raised her eyes to the ring, she caught 299’s eye. She was tall, much taller than most of the Internees 201 had ever seen. Her broad back rippled with muscles, her leather armour ridiculously small on her huge frame. 299’s hair fanned out high and proud around her head, glowing bright red under the lights, her dark green eyes momentarily fixed on 201, snarling her features into a smirk. A prickle of fear ran through 201. She looked over at 232, who was standing her ground, eyes fixed on 299, chin raised.

  Get out 232. Getoutgetoutgetout!

  201 could not stop the torrent of words running through her mind. 232 caught her eye and faltered, just for a brief moment. 201 tried to steel her features into a supportive nod. She tried to convey a message of support, something to let 232 know she was not alone.

  Ok. It’s ok. You can do this.

  Judging by 232’s reaction, it seemed to have the desired effect.

  299 bent down in a practised manner, gripping the gleaming scimitar and shield provided by the Fighter attendants. She twirled the scimitar, its curved blade flashing along with the white of her teeth as she gnashed at 232.

  232, to her credit, did not flinch. She had been trained well, knew not to be intimidated by the posturing of her formidable opponent.

  “It begins!” the Games Operator called to the crowd, two menial Internees sounding out the gongs for the fight to commence.

  299 roared, squaring her shoulders and circling 232. 232 stood firm, eyes darting left and right, gripping her sword tightly.

  In a flash the scimitar swung, seemingly out of nowhere, glancing 232’s arm in a thin jagged line, blood flicking deftly from the blade. 232 flinched, looking up at 299’s broad smiling features. 299 winked and blew her a kiss.

  “That was nothing, whelp.”

  A scar. No chance of promotion now. No going back to Omega, not anymore.

  232 faked to the right, then swung her sword to the left but it was too slow, merely scraping against 299’s thigh, drawing a trickle of blood. 299 smiled, a hungry smile full of teeth, and brought her hand to her thigh, sweeping it up into her mouth and licking her finger, raising an eyebrow. The crowd reached a crescendo, cheering her on.

  232 took the chance while 299 was playing up to the crowd to kick her leg out, knocking 299 off balance. 299 went down hard with a curse as 232 loomed over her, ready to strike. But then something unexpected happened. 232’s sword was coming down on 299 towards her midsection, but 299’s scimitar flicked upwards, under 232’s arm. The crowd screamed and roared as 232’s arm fell to the floor in a puff of shavings, blood sticking to the wisps of wood dust, spattering in a star shaped pattern, rivulets running under the shavings to the floor below.

  Before she knew it, 201 was at the Fighter’s block with 232’s slumped form, her trembling hands passing the water container to the Fighter’s attendants.

  “232! 232! Look at me.” 201 was frantic, shouting her friend’s name. 232 looked up with a dazed expression, her eyes clouded. A slow smile took over her face as she reached out her right arm to touch 201’s face.

  “201.” She sighed, running a finger down 201’s nose. “You have been good to me. I will remember you.”

  “I’m sorry, I’m sorry… 232…”

  “Shh. I know, I know. I must finish the fight.” She stumbled to her feet, the flesh of her left shoulder flapping alarmingly as she turned to face the ring.

  “It continues!” The menial attendants rang out the gongs as 299 rose to her full height, scimitar twirling in a slow, rhythmic figure eight.

  232 stood to address the crowd, chin jutted out in defiance. She spoke with a quiet strength, her voice reverberating throughout the hall arena. “One day, there will be no FERTS, no games. One day, I believe we, all of us, will be free.” She caught 201’s eye, gaze holding for a moment, features softening as she spoke without words, mouth curving in a hopeful smile. The crowd fell silent, confused murmurs drifting into the ring. She raised her sword above her head and with a cry, lunged to face 299’s swirling scimitar. 232 caught 299’s side with the sword, earning a cry from her opponent. Another swipe left a nasty gash on 299’s thigh. Her third swipe, aimed at 299’s chest fell short as the scimitar flew towards 232, swiping and swirling.

  232’s head fell to the floor with a heavy crash. Her eyes still open, stared into 201’s. Her body teetered for a moment, shuddering to its knees and flopping backwards into a cloud of shavings. Frozen in place, the screams of the crowd and the money changing hands, the shouts for more drink, the lights flashing and the gongs signalling the end of the fight, 201 stared into the face of her friend. Her eyes seemed to soften once more, her hard edges disappearing into a quiet, contented smile.

  – 19 –

  201 shivered through the night, the maddeningly soothing music jarring her nerves. She flung off the covers, scrubbing her face clean of tears as she paced, muttering to herself. The seduction manual lay in its fallen position on the floor, pages splayed obscenely, mocking her.

  She felt the energy building up within her, heart racing. She felt the need to do something, anything to burn off the discomfort. She could not sneak off to the exercise room, the weights were too tempting. She needed to be sharp, and she needed to be ready. She didn’t quite know when she would need this, just that she must be perpetually ready. She narrowed her thoughts to constructing a training regime.

  First she went through a series of stretches, making sure to maintain and increase flexibility in her arms, legs, without neglecting her ankles, wrists and back. She stretched and folded herself on the floor, raising on her toes, arms outstretched
, only to drop back on the floor and do it all again. She ran drills, gripping the door frame between her bedchamber and the bathroom, hoisting herself into the air and back down again until her vision blurred with sweat. She jogged the perimeter of her bedchamber until her legs grew weary. She flung open the door to the bathroom, heading into the shower, forgoing the regulation bathing to just wash herself and be out of there in the quickest amount of time possible. She dried off and wrapped on her robe, sinking into her bed, hoping that she was too exhausted to cry. She was wrong. The sobs hacked out of her as she curled her fist in the sheets, slamming her hand on the bed in frustration.

  Finally the tears slowed to a trickle and she sank into the bed, breathing shakily.

  201 tried desperately to settle, the tears merging into the channels already forged on her cheeks.

  Every time she closed her eyes, 232’s eyes stared back at her, a halo of shavings surrounding her, dancing and falling under lights.

  – 20 –

  That night the unwelcome intrusion of dreams came once more to 201.

  She was still, trapped upright in a room, stone, with no windows, no light. Her body was pressed against others, so tightly that she could not read their insignia. The room was mostly silent, which disturbed 201 most of all. A tiny cry started up from a short distance behind her, thin and piercing, smothered by a deeper voice, whispering soothing sounds.

  There are little ones here.

  201 tried to move, but found she could not dislodge her arms, nor could she move her legs. She turned her head to the side, twisting it around, straining to see, but there was only a flat, inky blackness on all sides. She felt the insistent press of the bodies around her, all trying to wriggle free, to change direction, to escape. She breathed the scent of the others, the sharp tang of sweat and fear rising up to her face, swirling around her, settling in her hair.

  Suddenly the air seemed to suck out of the room, chilling 201’s arms and neck.

  A clunking sound echoed off the stone walls, and the dull whoosh of a fire springing to life. It sounded much like the boilers 201 had frequently heard near the Games Ring, the main source of heat for that region of Epsilon Circuit.

  Before she could react, a roar exploded directly behind her, illuminating a row of tightly packed heads and shoulders, casting distorted shadows on the wall. She strained her neck, twisting sharply to witness fire flowing like water, billowing and creeping in clouds over the screaming figures behind her, blanketing its way towards 201.

  201 froze, neck bent at an unnatural angle, mesmerized by the undulation of the flames, bright orange, red, with flecks of yellow, flowing, covering, consuming everything in its path. The wailing grew louder, figures flailing, arms pushing and struggling to break free, hair igniting and evaporating instantaneously. 201 cried out as she felt her flesh heat up, her hair inhaled by the flames, eyes and brains boiling within her skull. She crumpled to the ground, the stench of burning hair and flesh rising and settling on the sticky, blackened mess.

  She was moving. 201 was revived by the scent of trees, earth and the coolness of the night air. Another, darker scent tainted the landscape, a cloying, sickening waft of something sour, like spilled cider and blood from the floor of the Games Circuit.

  “Why do we have to do it this night?” asked an Officer, voice petulant.

  “Because we lost the bet, so push that cart and we’ll be finished and back drinking cider before you know it.”

  “Can’t we just leave them here? What’s the difference?”

  “Because Pinnacle Officer Wilcox says they go in the pit. So they go in the pit. Now stop talking and keep pushing, only three more lots to go.”

  She felt herself tilt and fall, knocking against a layer of bones and charred flesh, the hollow sound reverberating in her consciousness.

  Another load landed on top of her, crushing her further into the pit. Trapped in tightly filled blackness, she could see nothing more, the rhythmic sounds of bone clomping against bone filling the open air above.

  – 21 –

  That morning at line check, 201 looked to 232’s usual place in the line of Internees, finding a gap in the procession. Squinting ahead, eyes swollen, she shuffled through with the rest of the Epsilon fellows, seating herself between two Internees that seemed vaguely familiar. They ignored her, rapidly demolishing their rations, making the odd comment or polite exchange about Fighter selection, training and the like.

  201 contemplated her rations, hands shaking slightly as she gripped her utensil in one hand. A swift wave of unsteadiness hit her and she swayed, trying desperately to stay upright. The faces before her swam into her peripheral vision, warping and twisting. She looked to her left, watching the row of faces change from symmetrical to slanted, sagging, dough-like. Eyes fell from sockets, smiles grew impossibly wide, flesh eating away at the edges of mouths until only teeth and ragged flesh remained. Skin paled to yellow, waxen tones until they became grey, mottled, porous. Bodies, toned and muscular were stripped by tiny insects, uniforms dissolving into holes, shreds, until only strands were left hanging from bones, bleached white, piled one upon the other, devoid of blood and flesh and life. The voices murmured around her, swirling and dancing, strange people talking of familiar things, forced enthusiasm and dull bravado resolutely in place to mask the truth. And it was that truth, that unbearable feeling of real, that made her say it aloud.

  “You’re all going to die.”

  277, shot her a look. 277 was a Fighter with light brown hair, handy with a zulfiqar, if 201 recalled correctly. “You say something, 201?”

  201 smiled ruefully, eyes glazed over. She leaned in towards 277.

  “You. Are. All. Going. To. Die.” She smiled, leaning back on the ration bench, swinging her legs playfully. 277 gaped at her.

  “Don’t you feel it? Can’t you see? You’re all dead already. You just don’t know it yet.”

  Tears prickled the edges of her eyes as she fixed her watery glare on 277. “And you’re next. Your zulfiqar won’t save you this time.”

  277 pushed her ration tray to the side, rising above 201, ready to strike. The other Internees backed off, clearing a space around them.

  201 looked up at her, nodding acceptingly. She stood to her full height, opening her jumpsuit, peeling it down her shoulders. She stood, half covered, baring her chest to 277, arms outstretched.

  “Do what you will. If you’re dead already then I am dead along with you. Doesn’t it feel good, to know you are now, at the end, unbroken after all?”

  277 stepped back, turning to her fellow Epsilon Internees for support.

  “Leave her, 277. She’s clearly senseless.”

  201 laughed, a breathy, hoarse sound. “That is where you are wrong, 263. I have too much of my senses, too much sensation, there is just too much light…”

  Officer Harold appeared at her side, hurriedly covering her with a robe. “Come 201, you are causing a fuss. You don’t want to do this, they’ll send you to Zeta.”

  “Officer Harold, you understand, don’t you?” She looked at him imploringly as he clutched the fabric around her shoulders. “We’re all dead. We’re just waiting for the call.”

  A sharp jab in her side shocked her from her haze. The shot began to take effect, lurching her from alert to uncontrollably drowsy.

  “Harold, why did you… what am I doing here?”

  “Back to rations, all of you. 201 has just got herself a hold of some cider. It’s clearly against regulations and she must be disciplined. Come now 201. Back to your chambers.”

  201 dragged her feet through the ration hall and back to her chamber, Harold taking most of her weight as she swayed, drowsy from the exertion.

  “Why did you tell them that? I know I must not touch the cider in the Epsilon ring.”

  “Are you trying to get yourself thrown on the scrapheap? What did you think you were doing?”

  “Just… telling everyone the truth. I’m dead, they’re dead, what does it matter no
w? We’re all just piles of bones in a pit. They crunch you know, when they break, it sounds like twigs and the dry leaves outside. Did you know, they make a hollow sound when they hit together, when they shift as another falls above. It’s a hollow sound, but the sound of… something. It’s like something I know, I’ve heard somewhere before, like a wooden log hollowed out by time. It’s… beautiful.”

  Officer Harold stared at her, face pale with shock. “How did you…” He shuffled her through the door to her chamber. “You must not speak of this, any of this. Or… I do not know what your punishment will be. There will be no more talk, not like this, not ever again. Do you understand?”

  201 swayed, a grin tickling the edges of her mouth.

  “Do you understand!” he roared in her face, pushing her towards the bed. She fell gracelessly, a tangle of limbs, face squashed into the silk coverings. “So, go. Sleep now. Stay asleep for all I care. Just shut that big mouth, I’m warning you.”

  The door sucked shut, ruffling the hair over her eyes with a cool gust.

  – 22 –

  That night, 201 dreamed of a room, far grander than any chambers she had ever seen. The floor was made from wood, a large fire flickering in the far corner of the room. She found herself on a bed, dressed in what appeared to be a Beta jumpsuit. She could only see her legs and arms as she glanced around the room, catching the eye of what appeared to be a Resident Citizen, a Vendee. She knew his name was Yuri, however she could not ascertain anything else from his presence.

  “Lie down.” Yuri ordered. She felt herself recline on the bed, legs outstretched in what appeared to be a regulation seduction pose.

  “I am displeased with the way you cleaned the floors today. There is still dirt in the corners.”

  “Forgive me, Resident Citizen Yuri.” Her voice sounded strange to her ears, disembodied, lilting, somewhat higher in pitch than usual.