by Grace Hudson
“Do… do you think he’ll come back?” Rafaella shook her head, arm tightly wound around Caltha’s shoulder, stroking her arm in a soothing rhythm.
“No. I think we scared him off. I think it was a he, anyway. Wes always told me that bears don’t like to be startled, they don’t like noise. And we made a whole lot of noise.”
Caltha chuckled softly, shuffling closer to the fire to get warm.
“You were pretty brave today, you know. That took some guts to try something as crazy as what you did.” Rafaella scuffed at the top of Caltha’s head.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. You scared me as much as the bear, I think.”
“Really? You got scared?”
“Yeah, Cal, I got scared. It was a pretty big bear.”
“But you shot the gun though. Scared him off.”
“Yeah. I think we make a good team. Look how small we are compared to the size of that bear. And we scared him off.”
“Yeah. We showed him!”
“Let’s not get cocky, though. We were lucky too.”
Caltha made a face at the remains of their overcooked meal.
“It’s just mush. Can’t believe I ate that.”
“Yeah, if the bear came looking for some nice food, he’d be pretty disappointed. Unless he really likes the taste of squishy cattail roots.”
Caltha chuckled and pulled the blankets up around her shoulders and shuffled down to rest.
“Raf?”
“Don’t worry Cal. I’ll stay awake. I’ve got your stick and my gun. He’s not going to come back, but I’ll keep watch anyway. Now get some sleep.”
Rafaella gripped the stick, propping herself up in a seated position, eyes trained in the bear’s last known direction. The gun lay in her satchel, handle pointing out, propped on a rock within easy reach. She listened to the snapping and creaking of the larger sticks as they slowly disintegrated into coals, inhaling deeply the scent of fragrant leaves, willing her heartbeat to return to its normal rhythm.
“Thanks, Raf,” Caltha murmured, drifting off into sleep, head pressed against Rafaella’s arm.
– 41 –
Rafaella and Caltha followed the stream, the rushing water the only familiar feature in the rapidly changing landscape. Caltha’s ankle was now strong enough to fully hold her weight, though ever since the bear incident she had kept her walking stick with her for good luck.
The plains had given way to rocky escarpments and caves. They passed waterfalls, surrounded by mosses and miles of greenery. Signs of previous habitation were all around, flattened timber, rusted-out trucks, charred remains of what once must have been houses and halls. It was difficult to determine whether this area had once been a township, or if it had been a rural backwater. When they reached a valley, they saw it, nestled between two large cliff faces angled sharply towards each other.
“Raf! Oh, wow! Raf! Come look!” Caltha ran ahead, arms outstretched.
“Cal, wait!” But Rafaella was too late to stop her. She rushed to catch up, hoping that their arrival had not disturbed any unwelcome wildlife. Or worse.
Caltha stood in the middle of the camp, spinning around with glee. Her feet kicked up the leaves that had gathered in huge drifts against every ramshackle feature left standing.
“How is this still here?” Rafaella mused. The dilapidated cabins were dotted around the overgrown winding path, breaking out from a central point. Rafaella headed for the largest cabin, tucked away to the left of the main path.
The main cabin was made entirely from wood, the beams discolored and slightly rotted in sections, small holes poking through the front walls. The left side of the cabin nestled towards the waterfall was partially covered in a thick green moss. The roof was covered in red ceramic tiles, some cracked in fragments and littered around the sides of the cabin.
Caltha sneaked up behind Rafaella, tickling her ribs.
“Haha! Shelter, Raf, shelter!”
Rafaella tussled Caltha into a headlock, ruffling her hair.
“Better than a blanket on wet grass, I guess.”
They circled the cabin, observing the windows on either side. They were outward opening, fashioned from wood, rusted hinges most likely stuck in their shut position. Fastened to the right of the front entrance was an intricately carved plank of wood, partially covered by moss and dirt. Rafaella scraped her hand across the sign, digging through the muck to reveal the letters beneath.
“A..ke…che..ta.” Caltha sounded out the syllables, trying to fit them together.
“Akecheta,” Rafaella said, brushing the dirt from her fingers.
“What does it mean?”
“I have no idea.”
“Then how did you know how to say it then?” Caltha challenged.
“I don’t know. I guess I’m just good at reading words.”
“I want to know what it means!” Caltha groaned, covering her eyes in frustration. “I hate not knowing what stuff means!”
Rafaella put a hand on Caltha’s shoulder, bending down to match her height.
“I hate not knowing too. You know what we can do? We can make it mean whatever we want.”
“Like what? I don’t get it.”
“Well, this place is called Akecheta. And since nobody is here, they’re our cabins now.”
“Yeah…so?”
“So, Akecheta meant something to whoever stayed here before. But now we’re here, and it’s ours, it can mean something else to us.”
“Do you mean like… A..ke..che..ta, that word, however you say it, can mean us? Like Cal and Raf’s place?”
“Raf and Cal’s place,” Rafaella said, shaking her head.
“Ugh. Sometimes I think I’m the big one…” Caltha muttered. “Okay, Ak.e..cheta is our place. Us!”
“Yeah, us!” Rafaella put her arm around Caltha, giving her a playful squeeze. Caltha wriggled out of her grip, giving her a shove towards the door.
“Come on, Raf!”
“Okay, you ready?” Rafaella looked over at Caltha, who was bouncing on her toes, trying desperately to keep still. Rafaella opened the front door, forcing the hinges inward as they groaned in protest.
“Yaaay! Oh…” Caltha’s forward charge stopped abruptly in what had possibly at one time been the living room. The wood on the inside was caked with dust, but it seemed in much better condition than the outside, a light pine, laquered heavily for protection. The floor was filthy. Dust covered the floor in layers, leaves and twigs scattered throughout. Aside from the promising tone of the wood panels, the inside of the cabin was gloomy, curtains hung in mottled shreds, barely held together in one piece. The roof was snaked with cobwebs, with some nasty looking inhabitants lurking in the corners. The only budding possibilities Rafaella could see was a large fireplace, caked with soot, dust and yet more cobwebs, and an old, cast iron stove with four round iron plates and a hinge opening to an oven.
“Well, it’s…”
“Yeah, Cal. I know.” She pulled out a broom from the corner of the living room, caked with cobwebs and dust. She sneezed violently, handing the broom to Caltha, who promptly set off a chain of sneezing between them from which neither could seem to stop.
They rushed outside, dusting themselves off and sneezing in all directions.
Rafaella repeatedly hit the broom on a short post near the front door, sending more clouds of dust bursting through the air.
“Stop it!” Caltha spluttered, waving her arms. “Can’t breathe!”
“Sorry. Just a few more.” She continued to bat the broom across the post, until the clouds dwindled to a few specks. Rafaella crouched, coughing, wiping her nose on her sleeve.
“Gimme that,” Caltha said, huffing. Grabbing the broom and turning on her heel, she stomped back into the cabin.
– 42 –
201’s transfer from Epsilon to Omega Circuit was swift. Her new Omega chambers, however, were identical to her former Epsilon chambers. Nonetheless, she was faintly relieved to be away from the fi
ghting ring for now.
She bathed herself in regulation order. She soaped each section, each segment of her body scrubbed until her body felt stripped, raw. She lathered the regulation facial cleanser and cleansed in order, from the top of her face to the bottom, then working her way up again. Fumbling with the shampoo dispenser, she twisted one way, then the other until a large stream missed her hands and flew down the drain. She muttered to herself, attempting to scoop the last remnants from the bottom of the shower. She would not be supplied a refill until the month was ending. She decided against the second application of shampoo, then applied conditioner, waiting the regulation minutes for the moisture to sink in. She soaped again, pushing the image of Morton’s sweaty face out of her consciousness.
He’s not here. He can’t get to me here. I’m in Omega now, he’s back in Epsilon. He’s not here. He can’t get to me here.
She repeated the phrase over and over until she could almost believe it.
“Line check!”
The call came just as she was fastening her deep blue jumpsuit, the only visible reminder that she was an Omega now, no longer an Epsilon Internee.
No longer a Fighter.
Her door sucked open, letting in a gust of sterile air. Her hair tickled her shoulders, barely dry.
“Internees of Omega. We shall 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.”
201 mouthed the words once more, a practised smile fixed in place.
“The following Internees are to present to the testing rooms: 210, 219, 291, 276. All other Internees report to ration room.”
201 followed the line to the Omega ration room, stark and white, much like all the other rooms. The large polished metal tables ran nearly the full length of the room, each Internee seated tightly side by side. For a moment she caught herself looking down the line of Internees for 232 before she remembered. The ration Officers placed each tray at each end of the table, each Internee dutifully passing the trays along until they met in the middle. 201 passed tray after tray until her own settled before her.
The tray was also fashioned from polished metal. She saw a blurry reflection of her own face below and scowled.
“201 will never qualify as a Vassal looking like that.” 201 turned to see 242 smirking at her, full lips pouting, careful not to frown and cause a crease in her flawless, translucent skin. She tossed her auburn hair over her shoulder and shrugged, nodding at 256, a blonde haired, blue eyed specimen. 256 giggled, turning her head to the side.
“I know, 242. I know,” She said, tittering to herself. “Oh, look, she’s even got a line there. Is that a line?” 242 pursed her plump lips together, a smirk tugging at the corners.
“It’s called a bicep. Vassals aren’t supposed to have them.” A muffled gasp came from across the table as other Omegas began to take notice. “I heard she came from Epsilon, with all those low AR rated muscle-bound Fighters.” 242 looked straight at 201, scrutinizing her from the waist up.
“Maybe she should go back there,” 276 piped up. A smattering of giggles welled up from another group of Omegas to her left.
201 shifted in her seat, smoothing her uniform. She stared down at the ration in the middle of her tray, a single pure white, square shaped piece of protein that tasted faintly of the flowers that grew outside her window, many floors below. She pushed it around her tray, then sat back on the bench. Her fellow Omegas shrugged and talked amongst themselves, discussing grooming techniques and seduction tips with frenzied enthusiasm.
“Did you know, that if you use your lips, just on the outside of the ear…”
“That’s nothing, I know if you kneel, just before his release, it…”
“Did Officer Pietro choose you? He chose me last week. I was so excited to try out the new…”
“Wait, what?” Five perfectly groomed heads turned towards 201.
“What do you want?” 244 narrowed her eyes slightly, though not enough to cause a crease.
“You said Officer Pietro chose you. What does that mean?”
244 rolled her eyes, fluffing her light blonde locks. “Yes, of course, he chose me. Why, don’t you know?” A round of giggles erupted around her. “Of course you don’t, what Officer would ever choose you? You don’t even do any of the right seduction techniques! And, you’re a 24Y.” She added, flicking at 201’s insignia. “Nearly over limit.” 244 made a tsking noise, swishing her hair to the side and absently smoothing it down with a finely manicured hand. She looked up, studying 201, her face softening into a grin.
“Oh, this should be fun.” She sat closer to 201, nudging her to the side.
“Pay attention to what I am about to say. When an Officer chooses you, it means that they desire you. It is the greatest compliment a prospective Vassal can receive.”
201 looked up at her, confused.
“I don’t expect you to understand, it probably won’t happen for you now, but for us…” she flicked her hair thoughtfully “…prospective Vassals, it is a chance to use all the techniques we have learned in preparation for our Vendees. When you are chosen and an Officer signals for you to disrobe…”
201 looked down at the ground, scuffing her foot under the table.
“It did happen,” She muttered. “Officer Morton. He told me to strip.”
“There, you see! There is still hope for the almost over limits. You must be so proud, knowing that an Officer desired you, chose you to be his.”
“No.”
“No?” 244 looked horrified. She laughed nervously, looking back at her fellow Omegas who had gone quiet, straining to listen without looking too closely.
“No, I do not feel so proud, knowing that repulsive, sweaty beast chose me. It hurt, and now I feel… empty. Not proud.”
“But… I don’t understand. Didn’t you try anything they taught you? You really missed a chance at practising the seduction techniques? Didn’t you even try? Not once?” 244 shook her head.
“No. Was I supposed to?”
“Yes, silly. That’s why the Officers choose the ones they most desire. You missed an important chance to learn everything that is important to a Vassal. No wonder you have not yet been sold to a Vendee.” She pushed 201’s shoulder playfully. “And no wonder you are nearly over limit.”
A tear slipped from 201’s eye, rolling from the corner to her temple as she hung her head.
“Don’t be sad. You missed a chance, but there will be others. Don’t worry.”
201 shook her head at 244’s misguided words of comfort, opening her mouth to speak but failing in the attempt. Another smattering of tears fell directly to the floor as 201 rested her head on her hand, hiding her face from curious eyes.
“Come on, the presentation is starting. You might want to pay extra attention this time.” 244 nudged her forward as the Omegas made their way to the presentation room. “And wipe these off. You look frightful.”
– 43 –
The presentation room was decked out in varying shades of blue, the familiar FERTS logo adorning each wall. The metal lettering stood out in stark relief to the plush blue wall covering, the white and red rounded shape abstractly representing the Vassal’s birthing organs. Behind the logo were the letters XX, faintly outlined in a lighter metal. 201 sank into the seat next to 244, earning a glare from 244’s usual seatmates. 244 patted her arm reassuringly, then nudged her as the lights dimmed and the screen became illuminated.
“Watch. You have to pay attention if you wish to be a Vassal.”
The screen came to life, opening on a scene in a beautiful field, much more beautiful than the dark forest surrounding FERTS. The field was filled with small trees and flowers. So many joyful Vassals, birthers, she corrected herself, were sitting in this field, playing with their Sires. All Sires were dressed in the fashion of Resident
Citizens, the ill-fitting dark tunics flapping about their tiny bodies.
“The Vassals are fulfilled, complete,” the voice-over droned.
One of the Sires tripped and fell, the dutiful birther Vassal hurrying to pick him up with an indulgent smile.
“See the pride in their eyes as they tend to their Sires.”
“A Sire is the most important gift you can give to your Vendee. A Sire is a future money lender, a lawyer, a judge. Perhaps a teacher, a doctor, a Sire can be most anything. A Sire is the future of all Resident Citizens to come. The future of a Sire is bright and bountiful.”
201 shifted in her chair, scratching at a stray eyelash. 244 nudged her firmly and pointed to the screen.
“This is the future for all birthing Vassals: Alpha Field.” A cooing of gasps sounded throughout the room. 201 watched as 244’s eyes grew wide with excitement. The film became grainy, displaying a field that seemed to stretch on forever, dotted with beautiful residences, large and pleasing to the eye.
“Alpha Field is the reward for all birthing Vassals who have fulfilled their duty and provided their Vendee, their distinguished Resident Citizen with a Sire legacy.”
“As we all know, only a Resident Citizen, a fully grown Sire can own property, but in Alpha Field your property will be as close to your own as is permitted. Your time in Alpha Field will be restful and full of pleasing activities,” the voice droned on. “All birthing Vassals will be provided with the best of wondrous experiences, the height of fine living.” More excited chattering broke out amongst the Omegas, rising and falling with renewed enthusiasm.
201 squinted her eyes, still blurry from tears. She watched the birthing Vassals, gracefully walking their Sires, stopping to engage in animated conversation. She studied the insignias on their pure white jumpsuits. 259266, one of them read. 25Y. The next read 25Y, the next read 19Y.
“Where are all those over 25Y?” she muttered. “Surely there is one that is 26Y, 27Y or even more.”
“Shh,” 244 said, snapping back. “This is important. We need to be silent and watch.”
The voice droned on, showing bountiful foods, places to play, to engage socially, to partake in recreation. The Sires scurried amongst the legs of the slender birthing Vassals, their swan-like necks bent in adoring reverence.