by Calinda B
He nods. His nod conveys total confidence.
The general nods. His conveys utmost confidence in Thras.
The call is brought to an end.
Thras turns his attention to me. “So, Miss Borren. What is it that has you in such a twist, standing before me as if you’re about to be executed?”
“Well, it’s my brother,” I say, rubbing the crap out of my palm. I’m certain the chip with the S-Co and all the details of my person will pop out the other side any second.
“Is he in trouble?” Thras says. He folds his hands in front of him on the gleaming desk.
“No, he’s, uh…” I take a deep breath.
“Miss Borren, please sit down. You’re even making me tense.” Thras gives me a warm smile.
I pull the Smuntine chair in front of his desk and perch on it, sitting like there’s a steel bar in my spine. “I think he’d be an asset to your strategy team. He’s good at it.”
Smiling blandly, he says, “You know the rules and structure here on the Complex.”
“Come on, everything’s changing. It’s like we’re in the beginning of another war and you know what that does to rules and structure—it demolishes it. He was one of the most skilled on the battlefield. They put him in charge of strategic planning and covert warfare.”
Thras’ eyebrows raise. He drums his fingers on the rigid glass surface and purses his lips. “That wasn’t in his records. It must have been redacted.”
“It must have been. He was given honors and awards for his service,” I say.
“Well, then. I’ll consider it. If they scrubbed his records…” He pauses, stroking his chin. “That must be why he was placed in the lower levels. Someone must have wanted to keep him out of the way.”
“It was probably Paki,” I blurt.
Thras’ eyes widen for a split second. “Why do you think this?”
“Because he had it out for me from the start—both of us, but I took the brunt. From the second I arrived. You saw for yourself when he wanted to place a monitoring device on my ankle. I did nothing to warrant such behavior, nothing.” I’m practically hovering in my seat. “And then, he’s the one who…”
Almost raped me.
“I know, Sahki,” Thras says gently.
“What do you know?” I ask, confused. He can’t know about the near-rape, can he?
“You were caught stealing food for you and your brother.” He presses his palms flat on the desk, as if the very thought is reprehensible.
I lean forward in my chair. “I had to do it! Reve’s injury made it impossible for him to do what needed to be done. He took care of us after the war. But the pain wouldn’t go away. Why do you think I want to give him the love-child medicine of SV and Snow Hemp?” I’m ready to leap on top of the desk to plead my case. I picture Reve, urging me to take deep, slow breaths. I do so to steady myself.
Thras has never exhibited signs of what I’d call compassion. But in this moment, I swear he’s trying on the sentiment. It makes me uncomfortable to be regarded with such tenderness.
“Paki was sent away to planet Creda. Someone beat him up—badly. They have superior medical facilities than the Complex. I hear he’s come out of his coma. If he makes it, he’ll be sent back to the Complex.” He eyes me cautiously.
My hands clench into fists. Tremors rip through my body. “If he returns, I’m going to kill the son of a bitch,” I say, through gritted teeth. The phrase hangs in the air for a second. My eyes lock with Thras. I don’t have a clue what he’s thinking, feeling, wondering, or seeing, but I sense a curious exchange happening between us.
“I’ll help you,” he says.
“You will?” For the first time ever, I sense the coldness of a killer emanating from Thras. It makes me shiver.
“Yes. He doesn’t deserve to live,” Thras says simply.
“No, he doesn’t,” I agree, my insides racing with emotion, struggling to comprehend what’s going on here.
Changing tack, he cocks his head and studies me for a second. “Would you do me the honor of dining with me in two cycles of the sun?”
I pause. “What? Where did this come from?”
“I’ve made a decision. There’s something I’d like to share with you but not in this environment.” He waves his hand through the air. “I’d prefer a more intimate setting.”
A wash of confusion settles over me.
“All right,” I say, unable to meet his eyes.
Thras inhales deeply and lets it out in a slow stream. “Good. I’ll choose a place and let you know after the debate tomorrow.”
“Oh, right! Tomorrow’s the big debate,” I say.
“Yes, it is. And we’re in for the fight of our lives, Miss Borren. I’m glad you’re by my side.” He smiles broadly, making his gorgeous face light up.
For a second, I’m completely smitten with the man, my dream love a mere figment of my imagination. I blink stupidly and then say, “Will there be anything else?”
He sobers and says, “I certainly hope so, Miss Borren. But I guess that’s up to you.”
Chapter 22
This is the turning point. Tonight’s debate will reveal who is the worthiest candidate to win this election. Trapped in a white-walled Uni-amphitheater, with mega-Meta energy battering my insides, I’m desperate to flee. But my role as Thras’ assistant requires otherwise. Same as in the mock debates, I’m responsible for timing my boss’ answers, giving a signal when he’s ten seconds out. My eyes are glued to my Uni-timer.
There are thousands of black, white and gray clad onlookers in the stadium seating, all eager to participate in the mental blood-letting. Others are viewing via the news-feed, broadcast throughout the Complex.
I imagine everyone is watching. It’s no doubt the most exciting event we’ve seen since we arrived.
Thras and Talon stand onstage behind polished lecterns.
Thras’ team, including me, is seated at a translucite table facing him. The Eleven were allowed to “volunteer” to assist at the debate. I was the only one “chosen.” It was a dumb idea, but Thras seemed to think it would serve as cover for me being witnessed on the broadcast. In my mind, it only serves as more preferential treatment by my boss. But, I’m getting used to being a shunned outcast. It makes my time with my dream lover all the more precious—he takes me as I am.
Talon’s team, a thirsty-looking bunch projecting all kinds of smarmy emotion, is directly opposite us.
I have to keep imagining my white-flowing faucet cleansing me in the few seconds I have between rounds.
Talon Wiesner’s a big man, weighing in at about eighteen stones. Although human through and through, his skin is the color of molten Smuntine and oxidized copper—a garish orangish-red. His hair matches. And his overall appearance is one of bloated excess.
He waggles his finger at Thras, using his podium as a shield of sorts. “I’m a wealthy man, Blüthe. None richer. I’ve made my fortune on planets smaller than this. Think I don’t know how to squash conflict or manage a team of dissenters? Child’s play, I assure you,” he boasts.
“Stick to the questions,” the moderator says, a brutish looking shifter named Val Duke. His face turns a shimmering gold, green and orange.
I stare at him, my fingers clutching the timepiece.
His skin returns to a more normal appearance.
I resume my timekeeping task.
“As for Metas, we’re going to tame every beast on the Complex. The vamps will learn to suckle mother’s milk—from Lorn boars—after I extract their fangs with pliers, one by one.” He rubs his hands together gleefully. “The werewolves will pull sleds on distant planets. I’ll put their abilities to good use. We’ll cleanse this whole planet of the weird, the strange, and the just plain ugly. Only the color white shall remain.” Talon cackles at his own assertions and then sweeps his hand around him expansively at the brilliant white walls.
The crowd hoots and jeers.
“We haven’t asked a question yet,
Mr. Wiesner,” Val says, pounding his gavel on the table before him. He dabs at his sweaty brow with a handkerchief.
I squint at the moderator. The back of his uniform is tearing. Are those wings sprouting from his back?
“How do you account for the fact that you’ve done nothing to stop the rogue Metas who are draining our good citizens dry? Is it your plan to do nothing? Furthermore, is this the kind of leader you want, good citizens?” Talon says to the crowd. His face is bright with exertion.
A Meta shouts, “We’re all good citizens, caught in the crossfire of political bullshit!”
Humans and Metas alike roar, hiss, boo, and cheer.
“Wait for the question,” Val splutters, hammering his gavel on the table again.
Thras turns the inquiry around, his face void of emotion, his mannerism relaxed. “Sir, we’ve picked up the slack where you have failed. I heard you had been appointed head of security. You were quoted as saying ‘we’re exploring means with which to eradicate the Meta responsible for the human energy sap.’ Meanwhile, you’ve been seen slipping into the night with female Metas. Returning from said encounters looking extremely disheveled. Shall I show you the images we’ve taken? The holograms are incredibly vivid. Is this how you conduct exploration? Further, does your wife condone such behavior?”
More catcalls erupt from the audience. Fists pump and wave in the air.
“Leave my wife out of this debate,” Talon roars, clutching the edge of his silvery stand.
“You’re doing a good job of that, sir. I suspect your marriage is failing as miserably as your security measures are,” Thras says. “You who claims to champion the humans. Tsk tsk.”
Onlookers erupt in hoots and claps.
Talon grins. “I’m hot, what can I say? My wife begs me to take other lovers. She needs a break sometimes.”
“Both of you! That’s enough,” Val roars. He hammers his gavel without effect. Without warning, he leaps onto the table and a strange metamorphosis takes place. Right before our eyes, our moderator shifts into his dragon self, a huge, winged, fire-breathing creature with glistening green, orange, and gold scales, He’s nearly the size of a jetter.
The table shatters from his massive weight.
People scream. Chairs topple as the audience struggles to get out of the way of this teeming winged giant.
My fingers stay glued to the timepiece as I race toward an exit.
He throws back his head and lets out a stream of fire. It scorches the metal ceiling, making it dance and crackle with orange heat for a few terrifying seconds.
A few humans shriek. Metas yell. And then, everyone falls quiet.
If they’re like me, they’re afraid to make a move or even breathe.
Thras looks on, impassive.
Wide-eyed, face whiter than a few minutes ago, Talon appears like he’s going to wet himself.
I would laugh at him, but every hair on my body stands at attention. I’ve never witnessed a shifter shift. Reve had told me it was a hideous sight, and I’d have to agree.
Before I can catch my breath, Val transforms back to his human-looking appearance. “We shall have order in this debate, or I’ll torch the lot of you. Am I understood?”
No one answers. We all understand perfectly well—the threat of being burnt to death is effective crowd control and damaging to the unification cause. There’s no way we can unsee what we’ve just seen.
“Someone clean up this mess. And get me another table.” Val turns his attention toward the stage. “And you, good sirs…will you accord yourself as the rules of the debate demand?”
Talon grumbles his assent.
Thras agrees.
And so it continues. As time marches on, I find myself completely immersed in the drama unfolding. In one instance, it’s clear Thras is the favorite. He’s a smooth, convincing orator, promising unity.
In the next, Talon is pulling the lead among the humans with divisive comments like, “when I’m elected, I’ll make sure every human gets the piece of the pie they deserve. First, a Meta piece. Then, another Meta piece. And then they can fuck their human lovers and cleanse themselves of the Meta filth they just screwed. And the Metas can all go back to the hell they came from.”
Thoughts of my lover beckon to me, like he’s standing before me, stimulating my every cell. At moments like this, it’s pure hell to pull myself back into the debate. I want to slip into my dreams and never return.
At times, the debate nearly turns into a free for all. I expect the audience to get to their feet and start pummeling the crap out of their neighbor. Either that, or storm the stage hefting the two candidates in the air, shouting, “We’ll be victorious!”
I can barely keep up with the emotion assaulting my system.
Thras must sense my discontent, because he breaks free of the discussion, glancing at me at one point, his eyes conveying concern.
“Don’t worry,” I mouth. “I’m okay.”
He nods and gets back to defending his position.
Finally, the debate ends.
I doubt if anyone will get any sleep tonight. We’ll all be mainlining caffeine in the morning. But overall, it was a great convention.
As I prepare to head for my suite, striding away from the stadium, Thras calls out to me.
“Great job, Miss Borren.”
I whirl in the direction of his voice.
“Thank you,” I say, suddenly feeling exhaustion over take me.
Thras strides in my direction, his footsteps sure and full of vigor. When he stands before me, he says, “Superb debate. Excellent. Thank you for keeping me on track.”
He beams at me.
“I didn’t really do anything, except wave my hand at you,” I say, returning his grin.
“You did so much more than that. With you by my side, I felt supported…stable…grounded. We make a good team.” He leans forward slightly and looks like he wants to throw his arms around me.
My eyebrows knit in puzzlement.
He leans back and checks himself. “I so appreciate you being my assistant. We do good work together.”
I shrug. “This is what you hired me for, I guess.”
“Yes,” he says. “This and so much more.” His face grows somber. “It looked like it was too much for you at times. Was it?”
“No. I managed. I get…” I start to tell him how sensitive I am, but swallow that thought. “It was a lot to keep track of the time.” I force a smile. “There was so much going on around me.”
I wave my hand in the air as if we’re still sitting in the arena.
“I see.” He hesitates, looking unsure what to say next. “We’re still on for dinner tomorrow night, right?” He seems eager…almost anxious.
“Of course,” I say, wondering if I should pat his arm. “I’m looking forward to it.”
“Great debate, Blüthe,” a voice calls from behind us.
We both turn to see General Tso lumbering in our direction.
“Thank you, general,” Thras says.
The general joins us. “The population seems mixed. I told you, Talon fights dirty. Those who can’t think for themselves are eager to believe his lies.”
“Do you believe so?” Thras asks. “I was so caught up in the debate, I didn’t take time to read the audience.”
“They’re torn,” General Tso says. “On the one hand, they want unity as much as the next. On the other, they’re all weary of war and blame the other for their hardship. This election could go either way, I’m afraid.”
“But I speak the truth,” Thras reasons.
“Since when did the truth call an election?” General Tso states, and they both share an uneasy laugh. “As for truth, the moderator may have severely damaged the cause, what with his shifter antics.” He shakes his head. “Next time I think we insist on a human moderator. Let him make a fool of himself when he tries to reign in Talon. People will see we all have our breaking points, Metas and humans alike.”
This time the
laugh they share is genuine.
With their attention focused on one another, I decide to slip away. I scurry to my apartment where I wash up and crawl into bed. Within minutes, I fall into a restless sleep.
I can’t find the pond. There are too many emotions and fears. People of every kind are fraught with anxiety. I wander through a corridor streaked with red—seeds of violence. I stumble through yellow fears and streaming clouds of orange survival energy. Finally, I’m ready to give up on everything.
Then my mother appears.
I blink, unwilling to believe my eyes. My hand flies to my breastbone, the fingers spread wide. “Mom? Is that really you?” This could be some kind of trick.
“It’s really me.”
I want to believe her yet I hesitate.
“Do you still have the locket? Out of the mud?” she says.
No one could know that but me and Reve. I race into her arms and embrace her. “How did you find me?” I say, through sobs. “Reve and I—we’re not doing well. It’s awful here. I hate it. Metas everywhere. I’m falling in love with one of them but I can’t let him in.” The words stream from my mouth in an outpouring of emotion. “There’s violence and conflict everywhere! It’s as bad as the war. And I miss you, Mom. I feel so alone.”
She smooths my hair, cooing into my ear as if I’m a baby. Then she says, “Shh, Sakhi. When violence surrounds you, there’s only one thing left.”
I push away from her to look into her beautiful brown eyes. “What is it? Tell me. I’ll do anything.”
“Listen to the still small voice in your heart. You can’t always hear it over the shouts of your stronger emotions. But it’s there. You know what to do.” She smiles at me.
“I know what to do?” It comes out as a question.
“You do, Sakhi, love. Follow your heart.” She fades like an apparition.
“Wait!” I yell. Then, I remember the one thing that will mean more to me than getting her back—finding her murderer. “Who murdered you?”