Lifer

by Beck Nicholas

  “Maybe,” says Keane. “I’ve known Eliza for a long time.”

  It’s a warning. I wouldn’t want to make accusations without proof. “I need my memories.”

  “Yes.” He stands and looks down at me as though he’s come to a decision. “I think I can help you out.”

  It can’t be that simple. “But?”

  “I’ve heard of the process where the ‘me’ is taken out of people’s memories. We’ve suspected it’s been happening to green robes who’ve gone into the Company’s New City and never returned.”

  “Can you reverse it?”

  His mouth curves but it’s more of a grimace than a smile. “We’ve been working on something, but it’s hard to find a willing test subject.”

  Me. He’s talking about me trying some untested theoretical process. What do I have to lose? My life. Two days of memories.

  My gaze goes to Megs. I don’t want to lose her. I’ve known her for only hours but the thought of wiping from my mind this time with her, the game, even the dash through the streets is scary. Almost sad. It’s all I know.

  Finding the answers was never going to be easy. “What are the risks?”

  Keane’s arms cross. “Brain damage. Death.”

  No.

  The instant denial in my brain is all about self-preservation. My head drops into my hands. It’s heavier than ever with the weight of the decision I have to make. Either I hope that I somehow remember on my own, or risk everything to find answers. The pounding in my head makes logic painful.

  “I need to think,” I say.

  Keane nods. “What do you remember apart from Company propaganda about aliens? The garden where you woke and first saw Eliza, that was just before Janic confronted you?”

  “A few minutes.”

  “Then what?”

  “The game bar, where I met Megs.”

  She looks up at last. “Blank was a natural. When I bumped into him after my shift I suggested he come to the warehouse.” Her nose wrinkles. “He thanked me by kicking my butt.”

  Keane’s expression doesn’t change. Maybe he’s heard this from someone else who was there. “Then after the raid you brought Janic here.”

  “Yes.” But there’s something he doesn’t know. “I wasn’t alone when I woke in the garden. I found a dead boy in the pond.” The nagging guilt expands in my belly.

  “Dead by your hand?” Keane barks the question.

  “No. I don’t know.”

  A pulse ticks in his jaw. “That seems to be your answer for everything.”

  I rub at the pounding in my temples. “What do you want me to say?”

  “I want you to say you’ll let us do the procedure.” He exhales through gritted teeth. “But I won’t force you. Before you decide you need to see the world you’ve woken into.” Keane points to the skylight. “But that won’t happen until morning.”

  “Finally some answers.” Answers, not about me, but the green robes and the Company. I’m too amped up to sleep but at the same time I’m weary. The aftermath of the adrenaline rush from the fight I guess. While my mind’s racing, my body’s glad for the prospect of a few hours rest. “The last time I tried sleeping in this place I nearly died.”

  Keane rubs at his jaw. “You have a point.”

  “I’ll stay with him,” Megs says.

  “Does that work for you?” he asks me.

  Does it ever. “Yes.”

  He stands. “That’s that then. See you in the morning.”

  When the door closes behind Keane I’m not sure where to look. I sneak a glance Megs’ way and the full intensity of her gaze is on me. When she focuses on me, it’s like I’m the only one in her world. It’s a strangely familiar feeling and the nagging guilt makes me shift on the bed. “You don’t have to stay.”

  “I want to.” She pauses, twirls a lock of long purple hair between slender fingers. “I promised you’d be safe here.”

  I catch her fingers and still them, reveling in the spark it starts beneath my skin. “It’s not your fault.”

  “But—”

  The brush of my fingers on her soft lips cuts off whatever she was about to say. “You can’t take the blame for the actions of some crazy woman.”

  She exhales in a long sigh and then flashes a cheeky grin. “Okay, but your leg must be burning.”

  “It is.”

  In a graceful movement she rises and crosses the room to pick up the small tube I left on the table. “This the stuff?”

  “Yeah, but I could’ve got it.”

  She returns and kneels beside me on the bed. “Let me.”

  I nod and settle back on the bed, bracing myself for contact. Dread of any touch on my burn wars with me wanting her closer. The wanting wins. My eyes close.

  Careful fingers move the edges of the material away from the wound. “Wait.”

  I stifle a groan. My eyes fly open. Does she know what she’s doing to me? I’m sure that’s a smirk on those pink lips. “Why?”

  She points at my leg. “It needs to be cleaned first.” She picks up a towel and a bottle of water. “You might want to move off the bed.”

  “What about my jeans?”

  “You should probably remove them.”

  “What if I’m not wearing anything underneath?”

  She shoves the water at me and turns her back. “Be quick about it.”

  I’m quick, but I grin at her uniquely-Megs mixture of daring and shyness. The water on my wound’s icy and burning all at the same time and not as bad as I expected. It’s begun to heal already, thanks to the balm. When my jeans are back on and I’m sitting once more, I put her out of her misery. “I’m decent.”

  She settles again beside me and opens the tube. Waiting for her touch is delicious torture. Most of all I’m hoping I don’t show any pain. I tense, waiting for contact. It comes with instant cool relief. I stifle a moan of pleasure as her fingers rub the cream into the wound in firm, confident circles. The sparks from her touch make my every nerve-ending leap to attention.

  She shows no sign touching me has any effect on her. Her eyes are lowered, her lashes dark against her pale skin. Her lips are pressed together in concentration.

  The pain’s forgotten. All I think about are those lips leaning close, making contact. The need to know if she kisses with the skill that she flies and the spark when she speaks. It’s like a game I can’t resist playing.

  She looks up, catching me staring.

  I don’t look away.

  “How does it feel?” she whispers.

  “Good”

  I guess whether she wants to kiss me too but I wait too long. She stands, shaking her head. “I don’t even know you.” The words are softly spoken but I get the message loud and clear. I should have just kissed her.

  She turns off the overhead light, leaving us in almost total darkness. My pulse’s accelerated but in a different way from the last time a female silhouette approached the bed. She pauses at the edge, suddenly awkward after the intimacy of before. “Sleep time, I guess.”

  I wriggle sideways in case she’s about to suggest one of us spends the last few hours of the night on the floor.

  “There’s plenty of room for two.” She doesn’t move. “You’re safe with me.”

  Unfortunately. Because I’m too dopey to make a move.

  There’s a flash of white teeth as she smiles. She sits beside me and leans back against the wall so that our shoulders are almost touching. “I think I could kick your butt if needed.”

  “Like in the warehouse?”

  She chuckles. “Beginner’s luck.”

  We share a blanket and the warmth from her body wraps around me in a poor imitation of the embrace I crave. I settle back against the pillow, the wall hard and unforgiving against my spine. It’s worth it not to be alone. In the morning Keane will want my decision.

  I’m not sure I really have a choice.

  There is always a ch
oice.

  The memory of a girl’s voice trickles into my brain. It disappears before I lock it down.

  “What do you think I should do?” I murmur the question to Megs, unsure whether she’s still awake.

  She turns to face me in the dark. Our breaths mingle. My eyes have adjusted to the darkness and I see the lines on her brow. She bites at her lower lip. “I don’t think I’m the one you should be asking.”

  Her voice lowers, the rage in it snakes between us. “Answers about what happened to you might help in our fight against the Company. And might help me get revenge for what they’ve done to my brother and my parents.”

  Insane that I didn’t think she had parents. Maybe I have parents and other family who want to avenge me with the passion in this girl’s voice. I feel no sympathy for these people I don’t remember and it’s easier to feel for Megs. “What happened to them?”

  “Killed by a Q.” Her head bows to touch her knees. “The Company of course. Toby says they looked into joining the rebellion because a friend of theirs disappeared mysteriously. They were killed before they could decide. I was only five and Janic wasn’t even walking. Someone left us at the door of the old headquarters and we’ve been with the rebellion ever since.”

  Where I expect to hear pain, her voice lacks any emotion. She could be talking about the weather. But her shoulders? Her shoulders shake with tiny, jerky movements. This time I don’t think. I reach out and slide my arm around her, pulling her close to my side. I ignore the flash of guilt in my mind. I’m not thinking about kissing Megs, I just want to take some of her pain away.

  She holds herself stiff. The knowledge I could be a Company spy rears between us. Without my memory I can make no promises, but I know one thing.

  “I don’t want to be Company.”

  She relaxes and leans into my side.

  Chapter Eleven

  [Asher]

  The next two days pass in a haze of waiting. Waiting for Davyd to take me to the Control Room. Waiting for Huckle to say something about the listening device. Waiting for Lady’s next mad idea.

  For a whole morning I paint a strip of green along the bottom of the wall to ‘make it more meadow-like.’ The work’s hard but rewarding and I make good progress until she changes her mind on the color. I’m not even halfway through.

  Each night, under Samuai’s watchful, dead gaze, I hardly sleep. When I do, it’s broken with nightmares of him and Zed being cremated alive.

  Serving Lady is lonely. It involves long stretches of boredom while she thinks, plans, or sits for hours staring at the pictures of her dead son. She collapses again and I note how the panel intercom works when I use it to contact Davyd. The pink pill does its trick before he arrives. Afterwards it’s like the fit never happened.

  While I wait for something to do, I think. Where do the pills come from? How are the flowers fresh every day? What is happening in the levels below? When will I get to see the Control Room?

  On the third day, Huckle’s waiting when I enter the kitchen. Usually it’s just Lady and me because Davyd’s avoided me since our fight in the training rooms. I don’t know where Huckle usually eats. His sticky, expectant grin when I push open the door turns my anticipation at the sweet scent of pancakes to faint nausea.

  He leans toward me. “You’ll visit your mother on the Farm level today.”

  Good morning to you too.

  “Yes, sir.” The reason behind the visit dampens my happiness at the prospect of seeing Mother. It’s only been two days but I miss her more than I imagined. Her strength is contagious. Despite not always agreeing with my decisions, she’s always been a wonderful sounding board to help reach them. She asks the right questions.

  The patience I’ve required in the last few days has been good for something. It helps me keep all my curious questions unasked in front of the head Fishie. I perch on the edge of my seat—strange that I think of it as mine so quickly—and wait for Huckle to tell me more.

  Lady bustles around the kitchen, stopping to pour her tea just so, bringing stacks of pancakes to the table from the food drawer. She allows me to clean up but insists serving the food is part of her role as hostess. Who am I to argue?

  But we’re not usually observed “May I help you Lady?” I put deference in my tone.

  Out of the corner of my eye, Huckle nods approvingly.

  Lady’s smile is warm. “By eating a decent amount. I don’t want you fading away.” She piles a huge serving on my plate.

  “Thank you.”

  Under Huckle’s watchful gaze, I force myself to eat. The Lifers on the levels below would enjoy the light, sweet, and delicious fare in front of me instead of the slop we get at breakfast. Zed would’ve loved even a single bite. Today, it might as well be made of shavings from the wooden table.

  While I chew, Huckle scratches his nose.

  I’m nearly done when he speaks again. “They’re worried by your absence. Neale has delayed further rebellion meetings until they ascertain whether you are well.”

  I don’t show my relief. Mother understood everything I attempted to tell her. That she convinced Neale to be distracted from his duties long enough to play the part of leader is a small miracle in itself. They deliberately planned this to force the Fishies to let me visit. “Of course I’m well.”

  He pats my leg. “I know.”

  Does his hand linger? I fight a shudder, scoff the last bite, and jump to my feet to clear dishes. I feel rather than see his slimy presence cross to the door. “Remember what will happen if you tell anyone about the device.”

  How could I forget? Lives depend on it.

  He leaves the room. A light hand rests on my shoulder. Lady’s painted fingers dig in to just this side of painful. “Be careful.”

  I’m not sure whether she’s warning me about her husband’s wandering hands, the trip to the lower levels, or finding out about Samuai and Zed. Really, it doesn’t matter.

  “I will.”

  ***

  The day drags, but finally Davyd calls for me to accompany him to the first of the lower levels. I wait for him in the entry room. The bright yellow of the walls no longer hurts my brain, and I still love the flowers.

  Lady’s in her private suite and Davyd’s nowhere to be seen. My feet take me toward the table and the vase. The yellow petals are so vibrant and the smell so sweet. All day I’ve been thinking about my old life and old friends. Kaih would love these and I owe her so much.

  I don’t stop to think. As soon as I take one I regret it. If I’m caught…Davyd strides in before I put it back.

  “Ready?” he snarls.

  I nod, hoping my nervous sweat isn’t visible.

  We walk together. He won’t allow me out of Lady’s quarters without him scanning me out. Sometimes it’s like an inescapable straightjacket of luxury, but I picture my brother and Samuai and it’s bearable.

  The elevator doors slide open on the shared level. “I’ll meet you here. Be on time,” he says.

  “You don’t want to come?” I ask sweetly. He doesn’t, it’s all over his face. The smells, the heat, the damp of the Farm level are so far removed from his pristine existence. When I planted the listening device, he had to be glued to my side. Now, he escorts me as far as the elevator.

  “I have better things to do.” His gaze flicks to the training room.

  Memories of our fight make my heart drum a faster beat. I don’t think I gasp or hesitate but the way he grins I think he knows the anger he brought out in me, the way he drove me to lose control and fight to win.

  I smile. “Looking for someone who’ll go easier on you?”

  “I don’t need to hear my opponent cry mercy to know when I’ve won.”

  Being the one to look away first feels like losing, but I can’t stand the knowledge in his gaze. My clasped hands make a good focus, and when the elevator opens, I get in.

  “Thirty minutes,” he calls out. “Don’t be late.”<
br />
  I hold my head a little higher when the elevator’s doors close and I’m finally alone. The isolation of sleeping in Samuai’s bed is different. Made worse by being surrounded by his family. At least on the Lifer levels my thoughts are my own as long as I’m not working. Thirty whole minutes of freedom before I have to meet Davyd and return to the upper level. I’m going to use them.

  The Farm level’s two floors below.

  The door opens on a small hallway. The solid white walls here were built only two years ago when those above complained the smell drifted to the upper levels through the elevator shaft. It required the destruction of two farm buildings but the Fishies didn’t care.

  Following protocol, I wait for the doors to close before sliding open the first and then the second heavy door leading to the farm.

  Animal poop, fertilizer, and beneath it all, one of my favorite smells—soil—hits me first. Father always said Zed and I were made to be farmers. From the time we could talk we’d beg to leave the care center where an older Lifer looked after the ship’s children and go with our parents to the farm.

  Here, there’s warmth, damp, and relaxed activity. Nothing happens quickly. The timescale of crop production and animal maturity are lightning compared to back on Earth, but still happen over weeks and months. While the components of the Pelican were being built and sent into space to be put together in pieces like a massive 3D puzzle, scientists designed a self-sufficient farming system to feed the travelers in the available cramped space.

  To get to the tanks where Mother works her shift, I need to cross the wheat belt. It was one of my favorite parts of Farm visits when I was a child. The compact fields perch on a huge conveyer belt at about head height, moving the crop through the conditions required for optimum growth and eventually through the stationary harvester.

  Paths across the moving belt divide the fields to allow access to the rest of the farm. It only takes a few minutes to go around but Zed and I used to cut across. Now, I walk along the edge of the belt to a set of stationary stairs. At the top, I wait for the belt of wheat to move past, the golden plants wobbling gently. A path approaches. When it aligns, I take a breath and step on. The belt moves slowly but enough to make the ground unstable beneath my feet. With the memory of my brother’s dares, I run along the path, determined to get to the other side before it aligns with a matching set of stairs on the other side.