Captives

by Jill Williamson

  Omar fought back another desire to laugh but failed, chuckling deeply.

  Mia turned her gaze to where Omar sat, which made him laugh harder for some reason. “What’s the matter with him?”

  “First time trying a vaporizer.”

  “Oh.”

  Was that it? The vaporizer was the reason he felt silly?

  “Well … enjoy your night,” Mia said. “Bye, Omar.”

  Omar watched her go, giggling at how she wobbled on a pair of very high-heeled shoes.

  “I think you’ve had enough.” Belbeline snatched the vaporizer from Omar’s fingers.

  “Hey!”

  “I’m just glad I only got you a two.” She tucked his vaporizer into her purse and took a long drink from her frog-filled glass. “Let’s go dance.” She bounced up and pulled Omar by his hand.

  He stumbled after her, out of the dark room and down the stairs.

  “These stairs are steep. I wonder if people ever fall down them.” He concentrated on the last two, feeling proud to have made it. “How do you walk in those shoes?”

  “Carefully. But it’s worth it—I feel gorgeous in high heels.”

  “You’re mad gorgeous.”

  Belbeline giggled. The thumping music grew louder as they neared the dance floor. Then, as if missing a few minutes of his life, Omar and Belbeline were back in the mass of writhing bodies.

  The night went by in erratic time. Some moments lingered in Omar’s mind: dancing with Belbeline and eating something called an orange. Others were a rush of images: meeting up with Belbeline’s friends, swimming in an indoor pool with his clothes on, kissing someone—not Belbeline —more dancing, drinking, and vaping. Like a child, Omar felt like he could do whatever he wanted forever and ever and ever.

  Omar awoke on the floor of a strange apartment, clutching his vaporizer to his chest and shivering violently. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, his clothing was damp, and his socks and shoes were gone. He pushed up to his feet and almost puked. Breathing through his nose to keep the nausea at bay, he brought the vaporizer to his mouth, then thought better of it, worried it might make him feel worse.

  Where was he? Soft music played nearby. Across the room, a man danced alone in front of a mirror. A soft snore lowered Omar’s gaze to where a couple lay in each other’s arms, sleeping on the length of the sofa. The rest of the apartment looked empty.

  Through an opening in a wall of fluttering curtains, a swimming pool glowed, the lights beneath its surface making it look bright and electric. Omar walked outside, but the slightest movement made his head throb. A cool breeze gripped him, his moist clothing making the chill worse than it likely was. The pool was on the roof of the building. How did they keep it from accidentally flooding the rooms below?

  The stars were dim overhead, muted by the city lights. Only two rooftops away, a vehicle passed through the sky. A second, more careful look proved that it was actually driving along the top of the wall that divided the Highlands from the Midlands. On the Midlands side, an image of two dancers hung on the side of a building, their sweaty bodies knotted together, caught in an intimate moment that looked vaguely familiar.

  Why would people allow themselves to be photographed while they were doing that? They’d probably had too many stimulants and couldn’t remember what they’d done. The thought sent a shock of panic through Omar. Had he done anything like that last night? He recalled the task director’s warning. Surely he’d remember being held that way. And he hadn’t vaped anything really strong, right?

  He spotted one of his shoes on the edge of the pool and picked it up. It was full of water, which he dumped out onto the deck. It took him much longer to locate his other shoe, eventually locating it on a chair with his balled-up socks. He tucked his socks into the dry shoe and looked for Bel. He couldn’t find her and figured it was time he left the apartment.

  It was even colder in the hallway and elevator. The air-conditioning, he supposed, ran constantly. Omar shuddered, goose bumps appearing on his forearms. He tried to use his vaporizer, but it merely tasted like ashes. The cylinder was warm, though, and he pressed it against his cheek.

  The elevator stopped in the lobby. He walked toward the exit, and a doorman opened the door for him. “Good evening, sir.”

  “Can you call me a taxi?” Omar asked, trembling.

  “Of course, sir.”

  “Thanks.” Omar started toward a bench, then turned back and asked the doorman, “Is there somewhere to get this checked?” He held up his vaporizer.

  “The bar is through that doorway, sir.”

  Omar wove his way into the bar and collapsed onto one of the stools.

  A somewhat kind-looking man walked over and leaned his elbows on the counter. “How can I help you?”

  “I, uh, was wondering if my vaporizer is broken. Nothing’s coming out.”

  “Your first time, eh? It’s just empty. You want me to fill it?”

  The marijuana had been fun at first, but Omar didn’t like not remembering where he’d been or what he’d been doing. Maybe he could vape something else. “Yeah.”

  “What’s your juice?”

  Juice? Was that the same as stim? “Can I have beer?”

  The barkeep sighed. “I can get you a beer to drink or alcohol to vape.”

  “Oh. I want to vape it.”

  “Alcohol then. What level?”

  “How many are there?”

  The barkeep laughed. “Ten, shell.”

  “Let’s go with a five, then,” Omar said, feeling mature.

  “Any flavor? Color?”

  “Sapphire. No flavor.”

  “I got blue.” The barkeep slid a SimTag pad toward Omar.

  Omar tapped his fist against it, and a few minutes later was sitting on a bench outside what turned out to be the Django Building, waiting for his cab, eager to see if his vaporizer could help him get a little warmer on the inside.

  The first puff burned the back of his throat and made him cough. His second breath was more careful. The stream of hot vapor hit his tongue, and he held it in his mouth a moment before breathing it into his lungs. At least it didn’t burn the back of his throat this time, and it definitely warmed his insides.

  The taxi arrived and carried him to the Snowcrest Building. Not too long after, he entered his apartment. The carpet was inviting under his bare feet. He’d barely closed the door when his doorbell rang. He opened the door, and Belbeline walked inside.

  “Magnificent Fortune!” She grabbed him in a hug. “You’re freezing! What happened to you?”

  He took a quick puff and blew a cloud of blue vapor into her face, then chuckled at her surprised expression.

  She snatched the PV from his hand. “You refilled this. When?”

  “It was empty. Give it back.” He pried it out of her fingers.

  “You have to be careful, Omar. You can make yourself sick vaping too much grass. Too much anything. No more tonight, okay? I don’t want you getting liberated before your time.”

  “I’ll be careful.” He felt clever to have filled his PV with alcohol. “How’d you know I was back?”

  “I asked Artie to tap me when you came in. I thought you left me!” She slapped his arm.

  “I woke up in some strange apartment, on the floor behind the couch.”

  Belbeline started to laugh, but it trailed off as her eyes went wide, looking past his arm. “Is that me?” She pointed to where his easel was set up in the kitchen.

  Omar’s cheeks burned. “Uh … yeah. I couldn’t stop thinking about your hair.”

  She walked into the kitchen and stared at the canvas. “You really are an artist.”

  Omar joined her. “It’s not done.” He suddenly felt heavy and exposed and wanted to cover the canvas. “I’m sorry. I should have asked first. Are you mad?”

  She turned those gorgeous eyes back to him. “I’m not mad. I want you to paint me again.”

  The heaviness fell away. “Really?”

&nbs
p; She ran into his living room and crawled onto his couch. She twisted and turned and settled onto her side, shaking back her hair and making his breath catch. “How’s this?”

  A thrill bounced through him. She wanted him to paint her now? “Okay.” He lifted his painting of Bel’s face off the easel and leaned it against the wall, then put up a fresh canvas.

  CHAPTER

  24

  Mason woke up at five thirty and showered. He didn’t have to go to the SC until ten thirty, which gave him several hours of free time. Perhaps this morning would be a good time to explore a little. Take another look at the harem before Levi made contact and wanted to plan a rescue.

  He again read the card Levi had sent him. Despite the silly message, which featured a cartoon of a pile of body parts—”I’m falling apart without you”—Levi had written only, “Write me back. L,” and his address in the Midlands. Mason would have to pick up some cards at the G.I.N. after his shift. Not much was open at this hour.

  He took a taxi to the Snowcrest and walked across the street. The harem took up several blocks in the center of the Highlands and was surrounded by a fence topped with coils of barbed wire. Were the fences meant to keep people out, or the women in? Mason walked the perimeter, taking note of the entrances and the locations of each yellow camera.

  The drop-off zone in front was in public view, but the loading docks in back might be a possibility. They all let out onto Snowmass Road, but an alley that cut between the Axtel and the Whetstone buildings connected the harem’s loading docks to Emmons Road. If the women were somehow able to get to the loading dock, they could easily be picked up. Still, a bright yellow camera looked down on the loading dock.

  The cameras were a problem.

  Mason walked toward City Hall, just people-watching at this point. The skin colors and piercings, the bizarre hairstyles, the clothing, the extremely well-endowed women … So much rested on personal appearance here. He passed a group of women who were sitting on a bench and blowing different color vapors into the air and giggling.

  He stopped and turned back. “Excuse me,” he said. “I’m conducting a little experiment. I wondered if you ladies would mind telling me what substance each of you are vaping.”

  “Grass,” they said together.

  “Thank you.” Mason continued along his path to City Hall, asking the same question of anyone using a vaporizer. The majority answered that they were vaping a combination of caffeine and alcohol or grass, which Mason figured out was marijuana. After being in Jack’s Peak, he’d recognize that smell anywhere. Mason thought several were vaping candy, until he asked some follow-up questions. It turned out that in most cases, candy just meant flavor. The other fluffy-sounding answers were much more daring substances: brown sugar was heroin, golden ice was methamphetamine, and white cocoa was cocaine.

  Mason knew a bit about narcotics from the book Addiction Medicine his mother had on her shelf in the sick house. It had intrigued him because of the thick layer of dust covering it. He’d asked his mother why she kept an obsolete book that she never read. “Knowledge is never obsolete,” she had answered.

  So Mason understood the damage that the habitual use of stimulants could impose upon many organs in the body that were already burdened by the thin plague. Surely, Ciddah would know that such substances were harmful to pregnancy.

  But what if she didn’t?

  Perhaps he could use this observation to his advantage. He had visited the History Center once and been unable to find much medical knowledge at all. Perhaps a medic with a higher rank would be permitted to see more. He would simply have to take Ciddah with him.

  He sighed. Time to see Lawten again.

  “I have some theories I want to talk to you about. I think it might prevent miscarriages.”

  Ciddah looked up from the CompuChart on her desk. “Don’t you knock anymore?”

  Her angry tone deflated Mason’s confidence. “When I knock, you don’t let me in.”

  She swept three little black plastic rectangles into her top drawer and slammed it shut. “Fine.” She shook out her hair, fluttered her eyelashes, and—finally—made eye contact. “What are your theories, O brilliant outsider man?”

  Mason flushed at her insult but stuck to his plan. He needed her help. “Only if you come to the History Center and read the files with me. The task director said you could join me.”

  Ciddah swelled with a deep breath, smiling wider than Mason had seen yet. “When did you ask him?”

  “I just came from his office. I had to wait an hour to get in to see him.”

  Ciddah snorted, and it turned into a silent laugh. “An hour is amazing. Some people wait months to see Lawten. Some never get in.”

  “Oh. Well, he didn’t mind about you coming with me to the HC. Said it was fine. See?” He handed her the letter the task director’s receptionist had given him.

  The paper trembled in Ciddah’s hand. “Why would he agree to this?”

  “Because I can be very convincing.” Mason bared his cheesiest smile. “He really thinks I might be able to help. And I have a theory I wanted to—”

  “Well, I don’t.” She crumpled the paper and threw it toward the trash. It bounced off the rim and onto the floor. “How could you possibly know more than Safe Lands medics? You were raised in the woods by rabbits or something.” She twisted a strand of her hair. “There’s no way …”

  There she went, being cruel again. Something had upset her, but what? “That’s pretty narrow-minded for someone who calls me narrow-minded.”

  She softened a little. “Fine. I can do it on Friday, but then you have to give me your theory. And it had better be amazing, Mason. Because if it’s not … I won’t waste more time explaining things to you.”

  He grinned, electrified by the idea of seeing her outside the SC. “Thank you, Ciddah.”

  “You can leave my office now,” she said without casting even a glance his way.

  Not wanting to push his luck, Mason stepped out into the hallway and shut the door. He didn’t understand Ciddah’s rolling hills of emotions—he was just glad she’d agreed to come along. With her help, he should be able to find the medical data in the History Center.

  “Here’s the information for the one in the waiting room,” Rimola said, jerking Mason out of his thoughts. She handed him a CompuChart and walked back out to her desk.

  Mason read the patient’s name. “Shaylinn Zachary?”

  “Mason?” Shaylinn’s voice came from the waiting room.

  Mason walked out past Rimola’s desk and saw Shaylinn sitting in the waiting room. She looked different, older. They’d done something to her hair. Or maybe it was the clothes.

  “Mason!” Shaylinn squealed and jumped up waving both hands.

  “Does she know why she’s here?” Mason asked Rimola.

  “Said she was here because of her summons.”

  Mason’s stomach twisted into a knot. “Why was she summoned?” He found the answer on the chart the moment Rimola answered, “ETP.”

  Embryo Transfer Procedure. “No!” The task director general had promised.

  “Something wrong?” Rimola asked.

  “Everything.” Mason strode to the elevator and hit the button.

  “Mason?” Shaylinn asked. “Are you okay?”

  He squeezed his hands into fists and hit them against the sides of his legs. Where was the elevator? “I’ll be right back.” He opened the door to the stairwell and ran all the way to the tenth floor.

  The task director general’s receptionist was talking to someone on her GlassTop. Mason walked right past her.

  “Excuse me!” she yelled, then said to her GlassTop, “Can you hold, please?”

  Mason pushed open the door to the task director’s office and went inside.

  “Sir!” The receptionist chased him inside. “You can’t come in here without an appointment.”

  “Clearly that is a false statement.”

  The task director sat at his de
sk across from a man in an enforcer’s uniform.

  “We had a deal,” Mason said, ignoring the enforcer and hoping he didn’t have any weapons nearby. “You said the Glenrock women wouldn’t be made into surrogates until I had a chance to look for a cure. You said a month.”

  The task director’s flaking face became animated, fixing into a smile that revealed a row of shiny, small teeth further dwarfed by his massive nose. He looked at the enforcer. “My apologies for the interruption, Colonel Stimel.”

  “Would you like me to remove him?” the colonel asked.

  “This will only take a moment. Then, depending upon his reaction, perhaps I will require your assistance.” The task director fixed his eyes on Mason. “Mr. Elias, I allowed you to postpone your donations for a month while you searched for a cure. But I don’t need your donation to start procedures on the women. As we discussed, I have an uninfected donor in Omar Strong.”

  Once again, Omar had sabotaged things. But was this arrangement really what they’d agreed on? Mason tried to recall the exact wording of their conversation, certain he’d bought everyone some time. “You intend to make all the women carry Omar’s children?” Not that he could even call Shaylinn a woman. The girl was only fourteen.

  “Omar’s donations will provide us with as many children as I deem prudent. But if you are concerned about the similar DNA, never fear. I’ve recently located another uninfected male donor.”

  “From where?” Mason asked.

  “Wyoming, where Kendall Collin came from. He has been tested and has already made donations. Now all the females from Glenrock can be scheduled for surrogacy without delay, and you are free to conduct your research. And you are also free to leave my office.”

  Mason suddenly felt unable to move.

  “Mr. Elias, that wasn’t a suggestion.”

  CHAPTER

  25

  Shaylinn sat on the exam table, wearing another thin white gown and swinging her legs. This room looked just like the first one she had awakened in. The door, the cupboard, the strange screen were all in the same place. Behind the exam table was a counter and sink with a mirror above it.