arbitrate (daynight)

by Thomason, Megan

  We arrive at the Mid-East Continent Camp shortly after a hole collapsed. We help dig out the dead—a family of four. The daughters were four and six and remind me of my sister Leila at the same age.

  The worst of the worst is at our last stop—the hottest and grungiest of the bunch—the South East Continent Camp. A hungry mob had beaten the driver of a horse and wagon supply transport to death, so as to kill the horse and eat the meat. Their act created a short-term boon in food, but prevented new supplies from getting to the camp. We didn’t see the event happen, but the horse carcass remains, an ugly reminder of it. No one has the energy or strength to haul it out of the camp.

  To add insult to starvation and injury, a meager supply drop arrives from the SCI. In it, there is an ominous message.

  “WE HAVE CAPTURED SEVERAL PIRATING CREWS, WHICH ARE IN STRICT VIOLATION OF THE TEMPORARY PEACE AGREEMENT BETWEEN THE SCI-CONTROLLED THERAN CITIES AND THE EXILERS. BECAUSE OF THESE VIOLATIONS, ALL SUPPLY DROPS TO EXILER CAMPS WILL CEASE, AND THE PEACE AGREEMENT IS NULL AND VOID.”

  Jax, Joshua, Bailey, Adam, and I stand in the camp at the med-tent. No one speaks. Even Adam and Bailey backed off the extreme public displays of affection after seeing the camp conditions. We listen to the Camp Commander as he gives us the breakdown of camp deaths in the last week. One-hundred forty. Illness, heat exhaustion, dehydration, murder, infection from injury, and suicide. The latest supplies won’t even last a week. Gads help them.

  I lean over to Jax and whisper harshly. “I can’t fix this. Can you?”

  “Neither a man nor a crowd nor a nation can be trusted to act humanely or to think sanely under the influence of a great fear.”

  —Bertrand Russell

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Kira

  I must know it’s not real on some level, but my panicked brain, racing heart, excruciating pain, and shallow breathing disagree. I’m strapped to a hard, reclining board, seated at the head of a conveyor belt. My feet are chained to stirrups, my knees bent, legs spread apart. My hands have been cuffed above my head.

  A nurse urges me to push and push and push and push and push, in a never-ending cycle. As each baby makes its jarring entry into the world, the nurse cuts the cord and sends it down the conveyor belt, assembly line style. I can scarcely take a breath between contractions. I’m hyperventilating and so lightheaded that I can’t think straight. Boy. Boy. Girl. Boy. Girl. Girl. Girl. Boy. Boy. Girl. Boy. Boy. Girl. Boy. Girl. Girl. Girl. I lose count. They leave me so fast that I can’t take in their features to determine who each baby’s father is.

  Along the assembly line, the babies are placed in Moses baskets. Essential supplies are added to an adjacent bundle, such as diapers, clothes, and bottles. At the end of the belt is an orderly line of smiling couples awaiting their precious packages. When each couple reaches the front of the line, one grabs the baby in the basket, the other grabs the bundle, and then they board one of dozens of trams going to destinations unknown.

  I scream, “He’s mine. She’s mine. You can’t have them,” between grunts and pushes. I strain against my restraints, blood pooling around my wrists and ankles.

  A woman with bright-green eyes approaches and says, “Hush, child. At least they are alive. If you behave, you can keep the last couple babies. If you can’t, I’m afraid we’ll take those too. If you’re really bad…we will kill them all.”

  My screams turn to sobs.

  There is no comfort. No absolution. No glorious scent of vanilla to distract me.

  The daymare finally recedes, and I wake up in a pool of my own sweat on the floor, curled in a fetal position, tears soaking my face. I can feel the bruises forming on my body from thrashing around and falling out of bed. The coppery, sickening smell of blood is in the air from hitting my head on the nightstand. The clock reads 1330 hours. Middle of the day. I’ll never get back to sleep now. Despite my best efforts of trying not to think about it,…the stark fact is I will never see the dozens of my babies Brad and Vienna Darcton implanted in my friends.

  This is the first time I’ve had this particular day terror, but I expect it won’t be the last. It has staying power. If Jax had been here…would I have blissfully returned to sleep without remembering? I’d give anything to erase the memory. Why has he forsaken me? How many days have I struggled through on my own, the day terrors worse than ever? A week? Two? More? No wonder I’ve had to see my therapist nightly. I know Jax is busy. I know the Exilers are facing extinction, and the Arbiters are trying to intervene, trying to save them. I’m a horribly selfish person—because right now, I only want him to save me.

  The only person I can turn to is my therapist, but that’s not the same as having friends and loved ones who are invested in you. I have no friends anymore and don’t know where my family is. The fathers of my children? Ethan is not speaking to me—for not telling him about Evvie. And Blake’s focusing all his energy on helping my absent savior, Jax.

  I pull myself up and lumber into the bathroom, stripping myself of my daygown on the way. The shower feels soothing to my aching muscles but stings the cuts as the water peels the blood from my skin. The pain is real. The dream was not. Unfortunately, reality is worse.

  When I step out of the shower, I look at my dripping wet form in the mirror. I’m shocked to see how many bruises and cuts I have. It looks like someone tried to beat me to death. Despite my startlingly awful outward appearance, I know the truth. What’s inside…the mental bruising and scarring…hurts so much more.

  Dressing takes energy and effort. I settle on a loose tank top and short shorts, as the fabric irritates my untreated injuries. It’s not like there’s anyone here to impress, so I rub some lotion on my sore face and throw my hair back into a ponytail. The babies are sound asleep and likely won’t be awake for a few hours. I wish I were back in San Diego and could turn on the TV and watch an inane movie. Or read a trashy novel. Something, anything to help me escape my demons.

  After pacing the playroom for what seems like an eternity, I decide to go out to the kitchen and make myself some tea and perhaps eat something to settle my upset stomach. Horrible thoughts are swirling through my head, so I try to replace them with positive affirmations per my therapist’s recommendations.

  I have no one. I have my babies.

  I’m no longer worthy of love. I can’t control if I get love, but I can give it freely.

  My life will always suck. At least I’m alive and have my memories—even if they cause me pain.

  There is no hope.

  I get stuck on that last one because I can’t seem to latch on to a single hopeful thought that I have any confidence will come to pass. Will my children grow up to be healthy and happy? Will I ever be able to have a loving, committed relationship? Will I ever get out of my luxurious, underground prison and see Earth again? Will the SCI fail, and will the hope for all of humanity be restored?

  I can’t see it. I can’t see it. I can’t see it.

  How many hours until I can see my therapist? Does she rise before the sun sets? Maybe I should submit to her recommendation to try some medications to help. Is there a pill to eliminate despair?

  I hear voices all around me but push them away. Stop. Stop. Stop.

  In a daze, I pull out a mug and tea bag and then fill the mug with hot water from the tap. Typically I add sugar, but nothing will sweeten my sour mood. I take a sip and turn around to see four shocked faces staring at me.

  “What happened to you?” Ethan booms, reflecting the expressions of Jax, Blake, and Joshua. I scan their faces and settle on Jax.

  Shrugging, I answer. “Day terror. I must have been thrashing around and fell out of bed… I think I hit the nightstand on the way down. I don’t know.” My piercing gaze remains focused on Jax, so that I can watch him absorb the between-the-lines accusation and wince.

  “Are you okay?” Blake asks.

  I don’t answer. Instead I glance down at my watch to see it is 1500 hours. I must have been in the shower for a long t
ime. Still, it remains middle of the day, and I don’t understand why they are all up and here.

  Jax speaks up. “We’re preparing for an early evening meeting with Brad. We will insist the SCI provide a safe city for the Exilers to be transported to and reside.” I don’t care. I don’t forgive him. He was here. He knew I was suffering and did not help me. He steps towards me and puts his hand on my arm. I jerk back, spilling tea and burning myself. What’s one more injury? I let the hot water absorb into my shirt.

  “Don’t touch me. Don’t pretend you care now.” My words are so sharp and directed at all three of my babies’ fathers that Ethan and Blake take a step back. They’ve all forsaken me in their own way.

  Jax, looking unaffected, leans forward. He’s careful not to make contact and whispers in my ear. “I don’t have to pretend, love, but we’re not going to have the conversation now or here…in this company.” Once his message has been delivered, he too backs off.

  They all appear frozen. Ethan has suddenly remembered that he isn’t speaking to me. Blake looks like he’d rather be anywhere but here. I give them my best death glare. Just try to approach me. Of all people, Joshua is the one who breaks the silence.

  “For Gads sakes…you guys are complete idiots.” He rummages through the cupboards until he finds a first aid kit and some hydrogen peroxide. “Can I? I know I was heavy on the innuendos the last time I was here, but I was just trying to get under Ethan’s skin. I didn’t mean any of it.” I nod. Joshua lifts me onto the counter and tends to my wounds, humming a tune about guys being tools the entire time. The baby daddies, each happy that someone else stepped up, so they don’t have to incur my wrath, return to the kitchen table to continue their discussion about the upcoming meeting and plight of the Exilers.

  “It seems, Kira dear, like you are short on friends and long on suitors. I’d be happy to try to even out the scales if you ever need a listening ear.”

  I manage a weak smile. “I would be honored to have you as a friend, thank you. But I think your mind reading skills are a little off. There has been no ‘suiting’…only avoidance and anger.”

  His eyes sparkle a bit as he continues to clean and bandage me. “Ah, so you’ve been encountering the good ’ol barrier between love and hate? Don’t forget, it’s in the form of a rather thin line.”

  “I’m broken, inside and out. No one in their right mind would pursue me.” I sigh.

  He shakes his head. “If you had the strength to pick yourself up, shower, and make tea you aren’t broken. Your foundation may be shaky. There may be faults. But you aren’t broken. And what doesn’t break you, makes you stronger, right? Pretty soon you’ll be a giant.”

  “That’ll just make my fall all the harder. Just ask Goliath.”

  He pulls my chin up so that I can meet his gaze. His eyes are such a light color of blue that they’re nearly transparent. “We all fall. Every one of us. We fall, and we fail, and we flail, and we flounder. We do right by someone and end up hurting someone else. We get beat up and we do our share of beating. We screw up more than we succeed. That’s life, babe. But those successes? They’re so bright and beautiful that they swallow the darkness—every blot, stain, and mar on our souls. Take your babies for instance…has your love for them overcome how they came about? Would you wish them out of existence to take away the pain of why they are here?”

  “Never,” I quickly respond. He’s right. I no longer care that my babies are the product of lab rape, or that they have three different fathers. I love them so deeply that I can’t imagine them not being.

  Joshua kisses me on the forehead, and I hear some grunts in the background. I guess they are paying attention to more than their pre-meeting antics. “Exactly. Had you never joined the SCI as a Recruit, come to Thera, or gone through the hellish last year—you wouldn’t have your babies. So…do you see?”

  I give him a real smile this time. “Thank you, Joshua. You are awfully smart and are going to make a most excellent friend.”

  He winks at me and helps me down from the counter. “I’m just the blind leading the blind. And now, I’m going to go join the other sightless and see if we can pull a miracle out of the proverbial hat.”

  The boys all look surprised when I pull up a chair and join them. My tea’s long cold, but I still sip it and nibble on a piece of toast. I listen as they discuss the different potential outcomes for the Exiler camps, methods of mass evacuation, and the ticking time bombs that exist even without Brad’s threats.

  Joshua’s words calmed me more than he will ever know, but the images from my day terror continue to hound me, particularly as I hear the death rates of infants within the camps. I suddenly realize why my dream was so unsettling, and a question percolates on my tongue. I wait for a lull in the conversation before I finally blurt out, “Do any of you know what happened to my other babies?”

  Are they alive? Are they in danger? Are they treated well? Will Brad and Vienna hesitate to threaten them to control me?

  I don’t give voice to all my thoughts. I’m not sure I can handle the answers.

  Eight and a half months prior: Import/Export City, Thera

  Vienna Darcton required me to complete a six-week Daynighter “internship” after Jax got me out of Education City. I’d meet with six Daynighters in six separate cities to see the diversity of governmental structures and Daynighter roles. My evening sickness had finally subsided, and I was moderately excited to see some new Theran cities, in hopes the trip would take my mind off my madness.

  We started in Import/Export City, and it was not only the major hub for Daynighter activity but was spectacular. Built deep in the East Continent, it had manmade Venice-like canals, charming multi-colored residences, and businesses along the waterways. A wide river extended all the way from the city to the East Sea, allowing large ships to get in and out—ships built on Earth that came in by way of the Bermuda Triangle.

  “Don’t be fooled by its beauty,” Jax told me as we stood between the two water portals, one with ships leaving to Earth, and one with ships coming from Earth. “This is a highly dangerous place for you.”

  “No one knows me here, Jax. And besides, I’m dressed for the part. I blend.” I had on a loose fitting navy skirt to accommodate my baby bump, a blue and white striped jersey, and a red scarf—the official Daynighter uniform for the region. There had been previous attempts on my life, but Jax intervened on my behalf every time. I felt safe with him.

  Jax pushed my long ringlets away from my face. My hair fell nearly to my waist in the back. “Trust me, love. You don’t blend. You’re like a beacon…for trouble.”

  Trouble found me all right—on night six of our stay. I’d been studying with the U. S. Secretary of Transportation, a Daynighter and staunch SCI frontman. Not only did he hold the prestigious cabinet position back on Earth, but he determined what was brought into Thera and what wasn’t.

  On that particular night, my schedule dictated a City tour by motorboat to show off the various sectors and industries supported here. We boarded the boat with our tour guide around 1930 hours, just prior to the start of the busy work night. The waterways were jammed with people movers and water taxis shuttling people to work. A sea of navy, white, and blue.

  The breeze created by the boat movement made the temperature bearable, and I enjoyed seeing the sights and people watching. A man with bright-red hair read his tablet and ignored the girl next to him, who desperately tried to get his attention. Three friends laughed as they threw things into the water from their people mover. A rude woman shoved her way to the back of the boat to get a better view, almost toppling a waif of a girl overboard.

  To avoid congestion, our driver snaked us along the edge of the waterway. I smelled fresh coffee and croissants being served at an outdoor café. I drooled a little bit at the thought of pastries, and Jax chuckled and pulled a bag out and dangled it in front of me. “Donuts?” I hugged him and then ravaged the treats. As I was licking the remnants of my heavenly breakfast o
ff my fingers, another boat pulled up alongside us. A woman with sleek, dark hair and dark eyes, and wearing all black, stared right at me and winked.

  She whispered something to the broad, dark-haired man with her. From her body language, I could tell they were close. I didn’t want to stare but watched them out of the corner of my eye as they seemed to be watching us. A glint of metal caught my eye, and when I got a good look at what it was, I screamed “gun” and pulled Jax to the floor of the boat.

  Shots were fired. Jax yelled at the driver to “get us the hell out of here.” The tour guide jumped ship, presumably to swim the short distance to shore. A bullet hit our driver in the shoulder. Jax dragged me over and had me sit under the wheel, gripping his leg in case we had to make a fast exit. He took over driving. I removed my scarf and used it to put pressure on the driver’s wound. He had a pulse, albeit weak.

  Jax drove at highly dangerous speeds, weaving in and out of oncoming traffic. Cutting sharply to the left, Jax narrowly missed hitting a people mover. If I’d been standing, I could have held out my arm and touched those at the back of it. I saw horror on their faces as they watched a second boat careen out of control towards them, spinning and missing them but hitting another smaller boat. We sped away from the scene, not knowing the fate of either. Jax weaved the boat through the city’s narrow canals until we arrived at a high security building containing the city’s exit portal.

  “I’ll worry about retrieving our belongings later. Move.” He admonished a guard to take over the care of the driver and call for a medic. “There have been too many attempts, in too many cities, to believe that Militant Exilers are after you. Those folks were SCI for sure. I just don’t know who in the SCI hired them. I don’t think Vienna’s behind it. She wants your babies born safely. Someone clearly doesn’t.”