Bliss

by Lisa Henry

  “We?” Rory asked “The ARR?”

  “Yes, and we’re as ready as we can be,” she said. “But, Rory, three years ago we were just a group of students who met up in a Restitutional Law tutorial. Whatever you hear about the ARR, we’re not . . . powerful.”

  “You’re a bunch of lunatics, according to Cal Mitchell.”

  Alexandra smiled slightly. “But what we have got is two ex-rezzies we’ve illegally removed the chip from, and a lab tech who used to work at the induction center. We’ve got statements ready to be released as soon as the media is ready to listen. You’ve just got to get them to that point. You’re credible. You’re an insider. It won’t just be a conspiracy theory anymore once it comes from your mouth.”

  “I hope so.”

  A shadow crossed her face. “And after this, we’ll get Aaron back too.”

  Rory reached out and brushed his fingers over the back of her hand. “We?”

  She smiled slightly at that. “Me. I’ll get him back. And Tate too.”

  “I don’t want Tate back. I want Tate freed.” Even if the thought of watching him walk away forever made his heart sting. At least Alexandra knew what she was fighting for. Who she was fighting for. Rory didn’t know Tate at all.

  Only that he deserved his freedom, and that was what mattered.

  All that mattered.

  He knew, logically, that it was true. But that didn’t make it hurt any less.

  “Don’t tell Mr. Mitchell any of this,” Alexandra warned him. “Just save it for the trial. He already thinks you’re crazy. He’s . . . he’s like most people here. The system works, so they don’t question it. It doesn’t impact them, so they don’t look at it.”

  “It’s supposed to be perfect,” he said.

  “Maybe it was, in the beginning. I don’t know.” She shrugged. “How do you tell? If you can’t trust what the government says now, how can you trust anything they’ve ever said? And when someone talks about the government, how can you even tell if they’re a part of it or if they’re a victim too? God, the rezzies . . . Nobody defends the chip like a rezzy. Until we take it out.” She shuddered.

  “What happens when it’s out?” Rory asked, his mouth suddenly dry.

  “It depends,” Alexandra murmured. “Depends what their sponsors did. What they thought they could get away with. Make no mistake, most of the sponsors are as ignorant of the chip as the general population is.” She was silent for a moment. “As for the rezzies, nightmares are common. Self-harm isn’t unusual, either. Some of them really hate themselves. Some of them still feel like they’re trapped. And some of them are trapped. You take away the ability for a person to articulate what they’re feeling, and sometimes they don’t get it back.”

  Rory rubbed his temples. “But what about the rezzies who were released? Why didn’t they ever say anything?”

  The look she gave him was almost pitying. “Oh, Rory, you don’t actually think they ever turn off the chip, do you? And risk having them speak out? They just change the chip’s programming after the seven years is up. They’re not slaves, anymore, but they’re still silenced for the rest of their lives.”

  “Shit.” Rory shivered.

  Alexandra turned her hand over and linked her fingers through his. “But you’ll be okay. This is going to work, Rory. They won’t get a chip in you. You did the right thing.”

  If only that were true.

  The things he’d done to Tate . . . Would Tate want to harm himself, or worse? Rory just had to hope that Tate would turn his hate outward instead. Punish Rory instead of himself. As much as that thought hurt him, it was the best-case scenario now.

  And to think Rory had been falling in love.

  Well, none of that mattered now. All that mattered was Tate—how Tate felt, what Tate wanted—and that was assuming Rory would be able to free either of them. That this wasn’t some lost cause, that he wouldn’t wind up a rezzy himself before long. A prisoner. A slave.

  “You’re going to be okay,” Alexandra repeated, squeezing his hand, trying to comfort him, to give him the strength he so desperately needed.

  But Rory had a feeling she didn’t even believe it herself.

  t was late when Rory was awoken by the sound of the cell door sliding open. He’d been dozing on the narrow bench, not really sleeping, just imagining seeing all those shocked faces in court when he spoke, and trying to figure out what he could say. What if Cal Mitchell was right and people really did think the ARR was made up of thugs and conspiracy theorists? Well, the ARR was Rory’s only hope now, so he had to be sure that people heard what he said and didn’t just dismiss it as the ravings of a criminal lunatic.

  He sat up when the door opened and found himself squinting at the three men.

  “Rory James?” one of them asked.

  “Yes.” A knot of fear tightened in his stomach.

  “Come with us, please.”

  Rory didn’t move. “Where?”

  One of the men stepped forward. He was large and wearing some sort of white uniform. “All defendants need to have a medical check before court appearances.”

  Rory curled his hands into fists. “Why is that?”

  The big man shrugged, a knowing smile splitting his face.

  “No,” Rory said. “I need to talk to my lawyer. I need him here, right now!”

  “It’s standard procedure, Mr. James,” the man said. “It’s all been signed off on.”

  “Not by me,” Rory said. God. If they took him away to some medical facility, what then? They’d put a piece of metal in his brain, and he’d be as malleable and as desperate to please as Tate had ever been. He’d be lost. He kept his voice steady, afraid that if he slid into panic they’d just drag him out of the cell. “I didn’t sign anything. I want to talk to my lawyer about this.”

  “You’re an inmate, Mr. James. We don’t need your permission.”

  “I haven’t been convicted of anything,” Rory said, his voice wavering despite his best efforts. “I’m entitled to the presumption of innocence.”

  “Sure you are,” the man said. “But it’s a requirement of the court that you undergo a medical check before trial. Standard procedure, like I said.”

  There was nothing in Beulah that was fucking standard.

  Especially not with Lowell pulling the strings. He should have known the man wouldn’t give him the chance to testify freely.

  He had to tell the truth. He had to appeal to the guy’s compassion, since taking a stance on principle obviously wasn’t working. “Look, I don’t know how to say this exactly, but I think you might be making a mistake, taking me to that clinic. I think somebody’s trying to make sure I don’t make it to trial.”

  “Oh no,” the man said. He turned his head and grinned at the others. “Mr. Lowell definitely wants you to go to trial. He’s looking forward to what you say on the stand.”

  Whatever tiny amount of hope Rory had been clinging to drained out of him. They were with Lowell. Not just unaware of his corruption, but with him. Had they been involved in ensnaring Aaron? And what about Tate? Rory felt a sudden rush of reckless urgency. If they had the job Rory thought they did, if they knew what Rory thought they did, then . . .

  These men knew Tate. Must have spoken to him before they put the chip in, even if it had only been a few hostile words in a cell like this one.

  “Tate,” he said, and the man looked at him curiously. “What’s he like?”

  “That’s an odd question.”

  Rory shrugged. “What else have we got to talk about?”

  The man chuckled. “Sure. Tate? Tate Patterson? He was angry. Angrier than you, anyhow.” He showed Rory his hands. “Stand up for me now.”

  Angry. Rory had never seen Tate angry. Rory had seen Tate frightened and frustrated and breathless with lust, but he’d never seen him angry. Such a natural human emotion, stripped by the chip.

  Rory rose slowly to his feet, the blood roaring in his skull. He wondered if he could fight them,
but they were bigger than him. They outnumbered him. It wasn’t a fight he could win.

  God. How long until he didn’t know himself? How long until he was lost in the same terrible place as Tate and Aaron? He wanted to scream and fight, and wondered if Tate and Aaron had. Pointless, but it was fight or flight, wasn’t it? Two choices hardwired into him, into all people since the beginning of time, and he could do neither. All that adrenaline coursing through him, every nerve spiking, and he just had to stand there and fucking take it.

  Maybe Alexandra would work out what happened. Maybe all hope wasn’t lost just yet.

  Rory wished he could believe that. Wished he could pin all his hopes on a girl he didn’t really know and the invisible group she was a part of. What was the ARR anyway? Were they really ready, like she’d said? Or were they just like the groups Rory had been a part of when he was at university: full of big ideas and bravado but nothing of substance?

  The man put a hand on Rory’s shoulder and smiled again. Something in the curve of his mouth was almost sympathetic. “It’s not so bad, you’ll see. You’ll be happy.”

  “Yeah,” Rory said, his voice cracking. He saw Tate, face contorted with pain moments before he had collapsed in the shower. He saw Aaron, eyes vacant, with blood running out of his nose. “Of course I will.”

  They’re always happy.

  We, now.

  We’re always happy.

  The courtroom was full. Tate, waiting outside with Aaron, caught glimpses of the packed benches every time the large doors opened and then swung closed again. There were always people going in and out. Each time the doors opened he heard Mr. Lowell speaking in a loud and confident voice. He couldn’t see the stand though. Couldn’t see Rory.

  Tate had been buzzing with a strange energy all morning. He was nervous—not about lying because that was what his master demanded of him, but about seeing Rory again. He’d missed him. He wondered if Rory would smile at him across the courtroom when it was time to go in and answer questions. Maybe Tate could go in now.

  No. No, he had to wait for Mr. Lowell’s orders.

  He drummed his fingers on the edge of his seat, then picked at a thread in the sleeve of his shirt. These clothes itched. He’d gotten used to being naked. Used to seeing no one but his master and Aaron. Cut off from the world, living in a haze of sex and service.

  Strange to be back out in public, under the eyes of all these people. Smiling at them pleasantly, bearing their gazes, watching them try not to react when they saw the cuffs around his wrists marking him as a rezzy. Cuffs that his too-short shirtsleeves didn’t quite cover. Lowell had planned it that way, he knew.

  Whatever Rory said, Tate would be there to happily oppose him. Defend the system and his master. It was unthinkable to do otherwise. And it made him happy to think that soon Rory would be his friend again. Soon they would live together again.

  Aaron looked up sharply, catching Tate’s attention, as a middle-aged man and a young woman walked past them. The young woman was carrying a stack of folders.

  “Alex!”

  The young woman stopped, looked at him, and then kept walking.

  Aaron’s face fell, and then he shook his head and settled back into his seat. Tate patted his shoulder. “Maybe she’s nervous about the trial,” he said weakly, suddenly worried about what reaction he’d get from Rory. Even the people they loved and cared for most flinched away when they knew the truth.

  But not their master. Their master would never let them go, would never reject their neediness.

  “She’s, um, she’s on the defense,” Aaron said in a small voice. “And we’re with Mr. Lowell. So that’s why she didn’t talk to me, I guess.”

  “Will Rory be able to talk to us?” Tate asked, worry gnawing at him.

  “After,” Aaron said. “When he’s with us, he will.”

  With us. Yes. That was what Tate wanted most of all. Rory, on his knees beside Tate, nipples pierced and ass heavy with a plug. Maybe Lowell would have them play together. Just once in a while. It would be enough. It would have to be.

  And at the same time, Tate dreaded it. Dreaded Rory losing his freedom, having to serve like this, having to hurt when Lowell wanted to hurt him. It was the injustice of it that worried him. He looked up at the words on the wall: Rehabilitation through Restitution. Except Rory hadn’t done anything wrong. He might find the same happiness in servitude that Tate did, but wasn’t there a principle at stake?

  Somewhere, there was.

  Tate closed his eyes briefly.

  Well, principles were nothing really. The consolation prize of the losing argument. Yeah, well, it’s the principle of the thing! The winner never had to say that.

  And anyway, thinking about it was making his head hurt.

  This would be over soon, and then they’d be happy. All of them.

  Rory sat in the dock with his trembling hands in his lap. He wasn’t sure why they were shaking, but they hadn’t stopped all day. Maybe nothing more than an aftereffect from his surgery. The anesthetic or something. He wasn’t nervous. He knew what he had to do here.

  He had to be good.

  There was a strange sort of itch in the back of his skull. Rory wasn’t even sure if it was physical. It felt more like the feeling he got when he couldn’t remember where he’d put his keys and retracing all his steps didn’t help. Not quite like he’d forgotten something, but that he’d forgotten its importance. As though he knew his keys were missing, but he couldn’t think why he needed them. Something about the trial rankled, but Rory couldn’t pin it down.

  But no, the only important thing was to be good. To make people happy, yes, that was important. The bandaged cut on his thigh stung, reminding him. How amazing it had felt to be good, to be obedient.

  He looked out across the courtroom. He knew some of the faces here. Zac was sitting at the prosecutors’ table while Ruth asked Mr. Lowell questions. Mr. Lowell, sitting comfortably in the witness stand, gave his answers clearly.

  Alexandra was sitting across the aisle from them, taking notes while Mr. Mitchell listened.

  Rory listened carefully to Mr. Lowell as he spoke. Accounts linked to other accounts and passwords and data trails, and everything that led straight back to Rory. Rory could feel their condemnation, but it didn’t make him angry. It only made him want to earn their forgiveness.

  “Thank you, Justice Lowell,” Ruth said at last, and Mr. Lowell stepped down from the witness stand.

  “Shall we take a break?” the presiding judge said. “Five minutes?”

  Rory watched as Mr. Lowell sat down at the prosecutors’ table with Zac and Ruth. It warmed him a little when Mr. Lowell flashed him a friendly smile. Once this trial was over, he knew, Mr. Lowell would be his sponsor. He would live with Mr. Lowell and repay his debt to society. It was good to know that Mr. Lowell was ready to forgive him and help him grow. That was what that smile said, and it calmed some of the anxiety gnawing at Rory’s stomach.

  Alexandra rose and approached him. “Are you holding up okay?”

  “I’m okay.” He was. He absolutely was. All he needed was for this trial to be over so he could go home and get on with his life. He wished he’d taken the plea bargain and saved everyone the trouble of being here today.

  “Okay.” She lowered her voice. “Lowell is going to cross-examine you himself. Whatever he says, don’t let him trip you up. This is your only chance, remember.”

  Rory flexed his shaking hands. “Yes, I know.”

  His only chance to prove himself worthy of forgiveness. To show how sorry he was. How much better he wanted to do. He glanced over at the prosecutors’ desk again. Lowell had risen from his chair and was walking toward the doors. He didn’t go through them, though. Only opened them a crack and said something. Then, before the doors could swing shut again, someone pushed them open.

  Tate. Tate, wearing clothes, with Aaron trailing behind him. Rory’s heart clenched.

  “Tate,” Rory whispered, and he felt a stre
ak of wetness down each cheek.

  Alexandra glanced over at them, then frowned at Rory. “Just keep it together, okay?”

  Rory drew his gaze back with difficulty. “I will.”

  Her frown deepened. She opened her mouth to say something, but then the justice banged his gavel and she had to take her seat again.

  Rory couldn’t keep his eyes off Tate. The way he was sitting, he looked uncomfortable. He looked . . . sad. It made Rory ache in a way his crimes and his failure to please didn’t. The feeling was purer, somehow. Like he could still throw himself to his knees at Lowell’s feet, begging, but the thing he wanted most of all was to gather Tate into his arms and kiss him and never stop apologizing to him.

  So much to be sorry for.

  That itch again, at the back of his skull, that threatened to tip over the edge into pain if Rory didn’t somehow stop it. Didn’t concentrate on what was important. The itch was almost enough to distract him from Mr. Lowell standing and approaching. Almost enough to make him miss the first question.

  “Why did you do it, Rory?”

  Oh. Not the question of a prosecutor or a justice at all. Lowell’s voice was low and full of regret. It was the question of a friend betrayed.

  But Rory still stared at Tate over Lowell’s shoulder, at Tate’s huge dark eyes, full of worry and compassion, and the answer came to him.

  I didn’t do it. I’ve been framed.

  But what came out of his mouth was, “I was tired of working for money. Tired of working, working, working. I just wanted what I was owed.”

  The guard. Lowell’s man. He’d told Rory to say that, and now he had.