Caste (The Corporation)

by RaeLynn Fry

  “What?” he asks with a self-conscious shrug.

  “That was...”

  “Yeah, well, I like to stay in shape.” He scratches the back of his head and stands. I move to reposition the cover, but he stops me. “Leave it. Just in case.”

  “I thought you said that wouldn't be an issue?” My heartbeat quickens.

  “I tend to attract unscheduled events.”

  “I can’t imagine why.”

  He starts through the darkness, confident as he places his steps, as if he knows exactly where everything is. Which I don't. I bump into something solid.

  “Ouch!” I say with venom, rubbing at my knee.

  “Careful,” he says without looking back.

  “Careful,” I mumble to myself, limping slightly after my leader. “The building’s too big. How are we supposed to know where to go or where to start looking?”

  “Seventy-fifth floor,” he says, not missing a beat. He opens a steel door, and I follow, jogging up a set of stairs.

  “The very top? That's where Akin Hughes’ office is.”

  “Exactly. I guarantee you he’s going to have what we need.”

  “How do you know?” We stop on a landing after three flights.

  Ethan opens another heavy door that takes us to a utility room of sorts. “Because he’s the President. Try to keep up, Karis. Besides, I've been there before.” He walks a little deeper in and stops in front of another pair of steel doors.

  I can't help that my mouth falls open. “You've been inside Akin's office?”

  “I told you I only print truth in my newsletters. Where do you think I get it from?” He shrugs it off like it's no big deal. “Help me with this, will ya?” He buries his fingers in the crack where the doors come together and begins to strain as he pulls.

  I join him, my hands right below his, and put strain on the opposite door. Fighting us with all its mechanical strength, the steel finally budges, and, with a groan, slides along its runners. We manage to coax an opening about three feet wide, big enough for us to squeeze through. Something in my memory surfaces. I remember hearing about these. Big, steel, mechanical boxes that carried groups of people up and down from one floor to the other. They were called elevators.

  I peer through the opening, expecting to see the inside of an elevator, but find an empty shaft instead, dark and sterile, cables dangling like exposed sinews. There’s a platform in the corner of the shaft a few feet above us. And I can make out another one a few floors above that. They must have been for maintenance work or something. Even though I can’t see it, I know the floor to the shaft is seven stories below through the darkness, lower than the sewers. It used to be what was called a parking garage.

  “There's no elevator,” I say.

  “I know. That’s why we're using it.”

  I balk at him. “Excuse me?” I look into the empty shaft, then back at Ethan.

  “It's the easiest way, Karis. There won't be any Guards, and there aren't any cameras. This shaft hasn’t been used for years. Doubting everything I tell you to do is only costing us time.”

  My cheeks burn at his scolding. I feel him waiting for me. “Fine,” I say a little tightly.

  “Good. Now,” he moves next to me, his shirt brushing my arm. “There's a ladder on the opposite side of the shaft. See it?” He shines the beam of the flashlight on the metal rungs.

  It's half as wide as me and about six feet away. “Um, Ethan?” I hate to do this after his mini lecture, but I can't see how this is going to work.

  “You're going to have to jump and grab onto one of the two steel cables hanging in the center. You'll be able to get to the ladder from there.” I see him look down at me as I stare, disbelieving, at the cables. Then I look up at him.

  “I can go first,” he offers. “Show you how to do it.”

  “I can do it.”

  “Then what's wrong?”

  I shake my head and ease myself between the doors. “I don't know why I expected you to find us an easier or less dangerous way up.” I dry off my palms and crack my knuckles again. Bending at the knees, I bounce on the balls of my feet, trying to generate the courage I'm currently in short supply of.

  “Honestly, I can go first, show you how.”

  I beat him away without looking and take a lungful of oxygen. Before I complete the breath, I spring from the ledge and stretch my arms out in front of me.

  For a split instant, I'm sailing through the air, a slight breeze brushing back my hair. Then my arc starts to drop off. I reach out with my fingers for the wires, but there's nothing to grab. My heart plummets as I start to drop. I scream.

  “Karis!”

  I'm trying to stay focused but my mind reels. I reach out blindly for the cables but find nothing but emptiness. Wind rushes against my ears, whipping and tangling my hair. I had no idea it would be this fast. I'm going to collide with the concrete floor eighty-five feet down in a matter of seconds. My arms are still waving wildly in the space around me when one of my hands smacks hard against a cable. It stings, but I ignore it, fumbling in midair as I continue to plummet.

  Finally, my fingers wrap around one of the cables. I bring my other hand up and try to stop myself, but I'm dropping too fast. My grip is too sudden. The hold jerks my body and my arms, tearing like a hot fire at the sockets. I hit the taught wires with a metallic twang, sliding down, but holding my grip as tight as I can.

  The friction eats at my palms as I slow, creating a bloody fire. Warm blood puddles in my palms and trickles down my forearms. I bite my lip to keep from screaming again.

  Finally, I stop, dangling from the steel cables. My arms are tired and my hands are raw, but somehow, I manage to hang on. In front of me, a few feet away, I see the narrow ladder bolted to the wall. I’m trying so hard not to cry from the pain, but my eyes burn with tears.

  “Karis!” Ethan yells. I hear the panic in his voice, something I've never heard before.

  “I'm alright, Ethan,” I pant. “I'm fine.” I slow my breathing and think through the pain to what I have to do next. I strain and reach my foot out, tapping the ladder with my toe. The movement between the cables and my hands is so sharp, I almost let go.

  I push a little harder, getting a better position with my foot. Taking a deep breath, I launch myself from the wire, pushing down through my toes that are on the ladder. I cling to the rungs like the lifeline they are. Trying to forget what I've just done, I take a couple more breaths and start the long climb to where Ethan’s waiting, two stories above.

  I have to hook my elbows around the rungs as I climb because my hands are a bloody mess. I refuse to look at them. Looking at them makes this all too real.

  When I reach Ethan, he stares at me with wide eyes, his skin pale. “Are you okay? What happened?”

  “I'm fine,” I say.

  “No you're not, your bleeding. Show me your hands.”

  I stretch out an arm, uncurling my fist with a cringe as the skin pulls apart. I can’t even open it all the way. I try not to shrink back from my own hand as I look at my palms. The soft flesh is torn away, revealing dark, meaty muscle underneath. There's blood and shredded flaps where the braided steel ate at my skin.

  “Karis,” Ethan says tenderly. He takes the hem of his shirt and rips off two strips. Putting them in a pocket, he jumps for the cable, swinging to a spot below me on the ladder in one clean movement. “Keep still,” he instructs.

  He climbs up until he's behind me, holding me firm between his body and the wall. My back rises and falls with the movements of his breath, and I lean against him. He uses his weight to keep me steady as he brings his left hand up to the wrung next to my head.

  “What are you doing?” I ask. “Trying to kill yourself?”

  “Give me your hand.”

  “No, Ethan, this is too dangerous—”

  “Give me. Your hand.”

  I obey.

  “I can't wash it, this will have to do for now. You can always go home.”


  “Just wrap my hands.”

  I hold the end of the fabric strip in place with my thumb. He wraps it tightly, tucking the other end behind the bandage. He repeats the process on the other hand.

  “You okay?” he asks, his words brushing my ear.

  I nod.

  “Think you can climb?” His breath is hot on my neck, and I shiver.

  “Up seventy-five floors? I don't have a choice, do I?”

  “That's my girl.”

  The climb’s slow going, and we keep a steady pace, conserving our energy. I slip only once, my foot not getting a good enough grip on the ladder. Ethan's hands are there in less than a second, steadying me enough so I can climb again. We reach the top of the shaft after what feels like a lifetime, my hands completely numb.

  “What now?” I ask through gasps of breath.

  Ethan climbs carefully past me. He reaches up and removes a small square grate, letting it fall seventy-five stories below us to the basement. "The vents," he says, disappearing into the hole.

  “Of course,” I say to myself. “The vents.” With a sigh, I climb up after him.

  ७

  The air vent is tight, noisy, and hot. “How do you know Akin won't be in his office?” Even though I whisper, it’s as abrasive as if I had yelled.

  “No one's in the offices this late. They're dedicated, but not that much. Especially not Akin.” We crawl a little

  farther before we stop again. “Here we are.” Ethan removes another meshed grate and sets it aside, slipping feet first through the opening. I hear him land below me with a light thud. “Your turn,” he calls up.

  I slide forward on my belly and peek over the edge into the dim room below. It's dark, but everything has been so far, so my eyes don't need to adjust very much. Ethan stands directly below the opening, his arms fully extended towards me.

  “Drop, I'll catch you,” he says.

  I maneuver my body so I can scoot backwards on my stomach, and drop my legs through first, ignoring the pain in my palms. I feel his hands grab onto my calves, strong. As I lower myself, his hands travel up, keeping me steady as I go. When I'm hanging from the ceiling and his hands are at my waist, he steps away.

  “What are you doing?” I ask in a slight panic.

  “Maybe I should let you hang around.” His fingers are at his chin, debating.

  “Ha ha, very funny. Now get me down.”

  He comes over and slides his hands up my waist to my ribcage, where he pauses. “Are you sure? Hanging there will improve your upper body strength. And that’s one of your weaker areas.”

  “I'll show you one of my weaker areas.” I kick my legs in the air, trying to hit him, creasing my forehead in a scowl. “This isn’t a game, Ethan. Get me down!”

  His laugh is soft. “Fine. But only because you hurt your hands.” His fingers tighten, and I release my grip as he lowers me down. We stand nose to nose, and for the fraction of an instant, I forget why we’re here.

  Then I snap out of it. “You're a jerk sometimes, you know that?”

  He looks like I've offended him, but I know differently. We stand there, staring at each other, until it's too much for me to handle. I push away and turn to the edge of the room.

  The length of the outside wall is nothing but windows stretching ten feet high. I stand up against the cool glass, looking out over both cities. The room swims, and a cold sweat flushes over my cheeks. I glance down at my wrist, pulling the sleeve over my fractured Mark.

  Corporation Tower is designed in such a way, that when I stand at the windows, it seems as if I'm standing on air with Dahn sprawled out beneath me.

  The city is dark, with a few sparks of light in the park and apartments. My eyes reach out beyond the wall to Neech. Lights blaze in the industrial section where the factories sit. The people I grew up with are still working well into the night while those in the Inner City sleep in their fluffy beds.

  “Beautiful, isn't it?” I don't hear Ethan come up behind me, his hand on the small of my back.

  “To see this every day, it's overwhelming,” I say.

  “We should get going.”

  “Right.” I turn from the window.

  Akin Hughes doesn't have an office; he has a suite. There's a couch and coffee table in one corner with a small kitchen tucked behind it. A large, subdued rug in blacks and grays sprawls in the middle of the room, a massive black desk anchoring one end. Generic, emotionless photos with thick, black frames hang on the grey walls. They aren’t of anything warm—odd angles of buildings, a bridge, trees—removed and cold, but tasteful.

  “What am I looking for?

  “Start with the desk,” Ethan instructs. “I'll go for the hutch.” He hurries to the door and turns the lock before beginning his search.

  The desk is black wood with feet in the shape of a lion’s paw. There's a slab of thick glass on the surface pressed over a large desk calendar. A heavy paperweight and sharp letter opener line up next to a green glass desk lamp and a jar holding three pens. That's it. Only four things on the desk's surface. It's impeccable.

  I glance over at Ethan and make sure he’s not looking at me. When his back is turned, I snatch a black pen from the holder and slip it under the desk. I look back up at Ethan before continuing. I have to do something to make my Mark less noticeable. As carefully and as quickly as I can, I begin to fill in the faded lines. When I’ve finished, I go back to searching the desk. My Mark doesn’t look nearly as pitiful now.

  I tug at the top center drawer. Locked. I pulled open the side drawers, four in all, all empty. There has to be something in the center drawer. I pick up the letter opener and jam the tip into the silver lock, scraping it against the surface of the drawer trying to force it open.

  “What are you doing?” Ethan looks over at me from the couch. He's moved on from the hutch and is scouring under the cushions.

  “Trying. To open. The drawer,” I say through gritted teeth.

  “Sounds like success is not within your grasp.”

  “Just keep your attention on what you're doing.” I let out a grunt when the letter opener slips.

  “Try putting the slim metal between the drawer and desk.” He turns back around and continues his search, tossing cushions and pillows aside.

  I shift my glance in his direction to make sure he isn't watching and then wedge the letter opener in the crack and wiggle it around. I press down on it and hear a pop.

  “Victory!” Ethan says without looking up.

  I slide the drawer open. Jackpot. In the bowels of the drawer are strewn piles of papers, as if they were swept from the desktop into the drawer in a hurry. I pull out a stack and lay it on the surface, not sure what I should be looking for.

  “Anything good?” Ethan asks, coming to my side.

  “Maybe,” I say, half interested in his question.

  He reaches into the drawer and pulls out a handful to examine. A flash of color in his stack catches my eye. Bright green in the top corner. I tug it from the pile.

  “Hey, you have your own,” he says.

  “Shhh.” I look over the sheet. It's a circle with a lotus flower in the center. Around the edges are a series of familiar symbols. I run my finger over them, tugging at my brain, trying to remember why they’re familiar. Why is it so hard to remember? The faulty tattoo is taking more and more of my memories. I look at the symbols again, and something far away slides into place. Our Marks. The symbols are identical.

  “What is it?” Ethan asks.

  “I think it’s something that has to do with our Marks.” I hand it over to him to investigate.

  “I think you're right, but it's different.” He paws through both piles, gathering papers as he goes, ending in the desk drawer. He skips quickly through the stack he's accumulated, his eyes wide.

  “What? What is it?” I ask, trying to take some of his papers away. I only manage to loosen a couple of sheets from his hands, I stare at them. The section I have consists of instructions for a Jatis tatto
o. “They're instructions for giving a Mark.”

  “Not just any Mark,” Ethan says, a shadow over his eyes. “A faulty one.”

  I gasp. “Why would Akin have this?” Then I remember what he told me about making my Black Market Mark easy to get.

  Ethan digs through more papers. He finds something that piques his interest. He holds up a photograph. I stare into the dark brown eyes of the man in the picture, and I'm taken back to the table in the dark kitchen in the Black Market, the pain of the tattoo stinging my skin.

  “That's the man who gave me my Black Market tattoo.”

  “You're sure?”

  “I'd never forget his face.”

  “Bak Amul. Damn it. He's an employee of the Corporation.”

  “Doing what? Why is he in Neech giving Black Market tattoos?”

  "I think the Corporation is sponsoring more than the occasional Neech Candidate. Look, there's a list with his photo.”

  “A list of what?”

  “Names, dates, titles. Karis Singh, early fall, Corp Admin.” His eyes shoot up to mine, questioning.

  “Give me that.” I snatch the paper away, my eyes racing across the text. “You have nothing to worry about. I feel fine.” I run my finger over Kavin's name. Spring, Military Guard. But what jumps out at me even more is the absence of Ethan's name. I hand that paper back. “How far back do the records go?”

  He shuffles through the papers. “Looks about six months or so.”

  “This is how the Corporation knew about Kavin. And all the others. They had a spy. We were all set up.” I was doomed from the beginning. That’s how Akin knew I’d be here. How he knew about my Mark.

  “Anything else in there?" Ethan asks.

  I rifle through the drawer again, pulling out the last of the papers. “A lot more,” I say with a dry mouth.

  “What?”

  “Reports mostly, steel and lumber production. This must be what Stephen was talking about. Resources are being increased in those areas, but there's no increase in product.”

  “Where's it going?”

  I shrug. I'd like to know the same thing. “It's caught the interest of the Corporation, though.”

  “What's this?” Ethan slips a piece of paper from the stack. “A list of castes?” It has the date of the next Jatis along with a list of all the candidates. Next to their names is an occupation.