Morgan was idly examining the locking mechanism of the bracelet on her wrist when a uniformed police officer shoved the curtain door aside roughly.
“I suppose you’re wondering how much trouble you’re in, and plotting on how you can avoid it?” He said without preamble or introduction.
“No. Wondering how long it will take you to do your job and verify my identification. I’m also debating on whether or not you’ll apologize. It is unlikely.”
“You think I haven’t seen this bravado before? I’ve lost count of people who think they’re smarter or tougher than I am, that can get away with anything because the law can’t touch you. I’ve even seen it in punks younger than you.”
“You treat everyone who is attacked in the street this way?”
He shrugged noncommittally.
“You live in Little Kamagasaki town. How often do you really think I run into victims of a crime that weren’t doing something illegal themselves, in Kamatown?” He ducked outside the curtain again, pulling a chair into the room which he sat in heavily. “So, what’s your story about the arm? Who did you cross?”
“I don’t live in Kamagasaki Town, little or otherwise. My apartment is in the Bo District.”
“What possible advantage do you think it gives you to pretend you don’t know that nickname?”
“I’m new here. Or do you not notice the accent?”
“So you say. I do notice you haven’t answered my question. The arm?”
Morgan sighed. “Yesterday. . . or was it the day before? How long was I unconscious?”
“Today is the 4th.”
“The day before yesterday then. I went to the Obon Festival with a friend I met at school. She walked me home then headed back to her place. I decided to walk her home, given the neighborhood, and went to catch up. When I got there she was being robbed by three men. I helped her get away from them. Yesterday after I was returning from school the same three men attacked me from behind. I tried to get away and one of them stomped on my arm. Next thing I knew I was waking up here, chained to my bed.”
“Where do you go to school?”
“The Isa Mechanical College.”
“That’s a school for working adults. Yesterday was also a holiday. Try again.”
Morgan grunted. “I am a working adult. I work there as a janitor. Assuming they haven’t fired me for not showing up today. I also do my studying there because I don’t have access to the network from my apartment.”
“Okay then. What is the name of your friend?”
“Gertrude. Gertrude. . . Something?”
“You do seem to have a problem with last names, don’t you?”
“I’ve only known her a short while. The festival was the first time we’d gone anywhere together.” Morgan chuckled. “I did meet another of her friends while I was there. Hard to forget. Emily Davenport. She’s in charge of some place called Novan.”
Morgan could have anticipated several responses to this statement. The policeman laughing uproariously was not one of them.
“You’re claiming to have met the Iron Colonel?” He finally said once he had stopped laughing. “The most decorated officer in Albion’s military? The woman who held back twenty thousand rebels for three days with a single battalion? That Emily Davenport?”
“I didn’t realize she’s famous. Yes, I did meet her, yesterday morning at a gathering at Gertrude’s house. It was for the holiday. Gertrude’s husband served with her.”
“Okay fine. I’ll humor you. It’s so farfetched to be entertaining at least. Where did you say you meet her?”
“At Gertrude’s home.”
“And where is that?”
Morgan thought for a moment. She’d been a bit riled up when she left and not paying attention to her surroundings. It was also close enough to the school that she hadn’t needed to check where she was to get there, navigating automatically.
“I don’t have the exact address. It is close to the school. A bit southwest.”
“You don’t remember. Color me surprised. How did you get there then?”
“Gertrude led me.”
“Led you? What, blindfolded?”
“Sort of. Before we got away from the robbers she used something on one of them. Pepper spray I think she called it. I was standing close enough to him that I got splashed with it. Until she got it off my face and eyes at her home I couldn’t see anything.”
“Funny that you didn’t mention that before.”
“It didn’t matter before.”
“So you say.”
“Look. Just contact the refugee center and verify my identity. Or contact the school and check to see if I work there. Then you can check my classmates and ask the only Gertrude there. She can verify all of this.”
“I’m not in the habit of wasting other people’s time. I know from experience,” he paused to give Morgan a hard look, “how aggravating it is to have others waste your own.
“So three guys attacked you. I’ll assume – for the moment – that that is true. What did they look like?”
Morgan described them as best as she was able, their style of dress, and so on.
“And what did you do to them?”
“I told you already, I stopped them robbing my friend.”
“So you said. Attacking someone in retaliation over a lost score is rather disproportionate. Especially in the open like that, even in Kamatown. You claimed one got hit with pepper spray. What else happened when you ‘got away?’”
“I came up behind them. I hit one in the kidneys and the groin, then punched another in the face. Before they could hit me back, Gertrude got the spray out.”
This seemed to actually get his attention. He sat up a bit more in the chair.
“You’re telling me you attacked three Kamatown thugs, and got away, without them laying a finger on you?”
“Yes.”
“Either you’re stupid or you think I am.”
“At this point I’m starting to wonder.”
“Where are you from then, if not around here? You aren’t high class, but if you aren’t lying you are way too naïve for the likes of Kamatown. Especially if the list of old injuries I saw is accurate.” As he said this he looked at Morgan’s bare arms and the scars visible there.
“I don’t suppose you’ll take ‘none of your business’ as an answer?”
“It rather is. Besides, you suggested I call the refugee center, didn’t you? You don’t think they won’t tell me? Assuming, of course, you’re not lying to me.”
Morgan grunted again. “I’m from Hillman. A little mining town, with long shifts crawling through the tunnels fixing things, since I was eight Earth years old. The local cops would have fit right in here; from what I’ve seen. They were a bunch of bullies too.”
The cop just sat there for a minute, looking at her.
“You know. I might believe you.”
“So how about you take this off?” Morgan held up her left arm, much steadier this time.
“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. The doctors here are positive you’re at most ten years old, local. Certainly not a legal adult. So either you are lying to me and you’ve run away from home or something, in which case you should fess up, there are laws protecting abuse victims, or you lied on your refugee forms, and you’re stuck here until someone from the foster system gets here.”
“Absolutely not. I have a life. School. Jobs. Jobs I might lose because you bunch of Tinnys are keeping me here against my will. My birthdate is clearly labeled on my identification, which is not fake.”
The cop shrugged. “That isn’t something that is my problem, one way or the other. Catching the men who nearly killed you? That is my job.”
“Great. Sure. Catch them. Just go verify my story so I can get out of here.”
“Whatever. I’ll be back later with some pictures to go through with you. Local thugs we’ve arrested before. Your description will narrow it down a bunch. Don’t go anywhere in the meant
ime.” He chuckled at his crass joke. “If you decide to stop lying to me and tell me the whole truth, ask the nurse to contact Detective MacGregor.”
Morgan said nothing as he left, not wanting to antagonize him further. She did, however, employ a few of the ruder hand gestures she’d learned since arriving on Zion.
Morgan lay there, pondering her options.
Two options. Try and escape, or not.
She was pretty sure she could get the bracelet off. The inner locking mechanism wasn’t especially complicated. She could repurpose some of the medical equipment within reach to finesse the lock, but then what?
She didn’t have clothes, and she didn’t have her identification. She could leave without her things, but then she couldn’t even get back into her apartment, and tracking her down afterwards would be exceedingly simple.
So she’d have to escape and sneak about until she could find her things. Of course, that would tremendously increase her chances of getting caught, but that brought her back to the option of doing nothing.
If she just stayed here eventually they would shuffle her off to some family or government institution.
At the moment they hadn’t proven anything. That was Morgan’s best chance. Legally she was still twelve, still an adult registered for classes with jobs and money, however little. The longer she stayed the more likely that status would be changed, especially if the official from the foster system showed first.
Okay. If she tried to escape and was caught, was she any worse off? Not really. If she escaped and they came after her, what would happen then? A fine maybe? Accuse her of trying to get out of paying the hospital bill? She could counter that by saying they intentionally made the bill larger by not letting her go, when clearly a broken limb didn’t require actually staying in the hospital. It was flimsy, but better than nothing.
If she escaped and managed to avoid them, she could get on with it. She had slightly just under two years of classes left before graduation, and then she could get a job and be safely off planet.
There was no risk free option, so Morgan picked the one she had the most control over and started trying to pick the lock.
***
Morgan may have been overly optimistic about the ease of opening the bracelet. Morgan had assumed it was something the hospital used on dangerous patients, but she was starting to think it was a police tool primarily, given how resistant it was to her fiddling. Then again, she was trying to work on the lock holding a makeshift tool in the arm that was immobilized by a cast. The cast extended partway down her hand, so she couldn’t rotate her wrist, and only sort of move her fingers.
It had been hours since the policeman had left. Aside from another adventure in getting to the bathroom she had done nothing but pick at the lock, with no visible results.
Well, besides the scratches on the metal around the keyhole, anyway.
Occasionally people walked by past the curtain, giving Morgan a frantic few moments as she hid her makeshift tool, but neglect seemed the norm in this hospital.
Given the fact that Morgan hadn’t eaten since the previous morning at Gertrude’s, she would have welcomed an interruption if meant she could get some food.
That had been the most surprising thing about living among people who lived under ‘normal’ gravity; they simply didn’t need as much food as someone from Hillman did. Logically it made sense; they had less muscle mass on average and used less energy for everything from breathing to walking.
Of course Morgan needed less food here than she had before, but she still needed noticeably more than most, especially for her size.
Which was all a roundabout way of saying she was starving in addition to being sore over most of her body, itchy under the cast on her arm, and generally angry at the government here acting like a bunch of Tinnys.
Grunting in frustration Morgan gave her makeshift tool a rougher shove into the keyhole, which, given her general luck over the last day or two, of course snapped off in the hole. . . and clicked the lock open.
Good luck and bad, that was all she seemed to be having. She quite thoroughly wished she could have no luck, at least for a while.
Shaking her head, Morgan pulled the bracelet off her wrist along with the cuff beneath it. Idly rubbing her wrist, she realized she now actually had to figure out how to find her things – and clothes – instead of just planning on doing it.
Her deliberations were cut short by the sound of approaching steps and raised voices.
Quickly Morgan put the cuff and bracelet back on, tucking her arm against the side of her blanket covered leg so the bracelet hanging open wouldn’t be visible.
As the steps got closer Morgan was able to make out some of the words.
“You . . . come back . . .,” someone said. It wasn’t the policeman or the hospital staff she’d talked to, which didn’t really narrow it down much. If she was in the hospital just outside the Bo district it had to have hundreds of staff, after all.
“You . . . . . . stop us? Try.” Wait. That sounded almost like Emily. It was hard to be sure, she hadn’t talked with her all that much. . .
“Shall we. . . . . . false imprisonment?” That one was definitely Gertrude. That they were here for anything besides Morgan strained credulity, but so did them being here for her.
Despite Morgan’s skepticism the curtain was pulled back and it was indeed Gertrude and Emily in the hallway, dressed similarly to what they had worn the day before, along with some unknown woman in the same white coat ugly green getup the earlier man had been in.
“You don’t look so bad for someone who ‘couldn’t possibly be moved.’” Gertrude said with a sad smile as they walked in. As happened so often when talking with Gertrude, Morgan had no idea what she meant.
“Was that supposed to make sense?” was about the most coherent thing Morgan could think to ask, given the circumstances.
“She also sounds quite lucid, for someone on a massive dose of painkillers,” Emily added, arching one eyebrow up and somehow making the simple expression menacing.
“I’m not on any painkillers. What are you talking about and why are you here?”
“We’re here to bust you out, dear,” Gertrude replied with a bit happier smile. “It wasn’t easy finding you; you’re listed as ‘Jane Doe’ in the database.”
“How could you possibly get Jane Doe from Morgan?”
“Oh, you can’t. They seem to think you’re not who you say you are,” Emily answered, glancing at the hospital woman. “Why they think that, and why they think it advisable to lie to me, well, that I can’t say.”
“Jane Doe is customary in cases where we do not know someone’s legal name. The only identification she had was obviously forged, poorly at that as it lacked even a last name. This child is not to leave until the Bureau of Child Development can verify the facts of her case. That is standard procedure.”
“Child?” Emily stepped closer to the other woman, uncomfortably close in Morgan’s opinion, though the doctor didn’t back up or otherwise visibly react. “Because you made it so difficult to locate this young woman I had to make substantial inquiries into her background in my efforts to find her. Whatever you might think you know, this woman is an adult, legally, morally, and emotionally. She also, legally, has no last name, because the planet she comes from doesn’t use them, instead assigning their slaves numbers. We are leaving immediately, with Morgan. If you wish to do anything about it you can take it up with the Albion Consulate in Ein. Now, where are her things?”
By this point Emily’s nose was practically bumping into the shorter woman’s forehead.
“You can’t intimidate me. My duty is to ensure the wellbeing of my patients, and this child should not be living on her own.”
“Who are you, exactly?” Morgan interjected.
“I am Doctor Emar. Your doctor, in fact.”
“Really? I’ve never seen you before. In fact, I haven’t seen anyone besides a pushy police officer in quite a few hours.”
Morgan’s statement was lent further credence by her stomach choosing that moment to rumble quite loudly. “No one has told me what is going on, given me any food or medicine since I woke up, and certainly no one has bothered to listen to me and actually check my identification.”
“Doctor,” Emily put a lot of venom into the word. “You have three choices. My recommendation is for you get Morgan’s things, without further argument. The second thing you could do is explain why you have handcuffed the victim of a crime to her bed like a criminal. The third starts with you trying to do anything else, then quickly turns into me forcing you to take me to Morgan’s things.”
“I can call security.”
Emily sighed. “You can, but that brings us back to option three, followed by a diplomatic incident. Do try to keep up.”
“You and what army?” Emar said, actually managing a small smirk. The way she said made Morgan think it was some sort of old saying, though not one Morgan had heard before. Emily’s initial response was another smile, one so cold Morgan felt a momentary need to flinch back, even though it wasn’t directed at her.
“Why, my army. Surely you’ve heard of it? The Novan Nomads?”
“They’re on Albion.” Emar was less sure of herself now, backing up a half step.
“Oh, most of them, to be sure. All of the active duty ones, as well. Do you really think I need more than a handful of them to take care of you. . . and this place?” The ‘this place’ was nearly an afterthought of the question, an unstated threat about who Emily would hold principally responsible.
“I will lodge a protest over this,” Emar said, but she was beat and she knew it. She was already stepping towards the door, her shoulders slumping.
“Boris,” Emily called out into the hallway.
“Yes, Lady Novan?”
“Go with the good doctor and retrieve Morgan’s things. If she gives you any grief or tries to involve security be so kind as to let the others know.”
“Of course milady.”
Morgan went to speak once Emar had left, a thousand questions to ask, but Emily held up her hand.
“We’ll talk once we’re out of here. Hopefully the doctor thinks I forgot to make her unchain you first, and she’ll be planning on getting security here before they return.” Emily pulled a small key from the cuff of her sleeve. “Hold out your hand and I’ll have this off of you momentarily.”
The Long Black (The Black Chronicles Book 1) Page 14