Outcasts

by Jill Williamson

  Besides her paleness and a few flaky patches of skin, she did not appear to be ill. Those violet-colored eyes focused on Mason, and she squealed a third time. “Look at you!” She pressed her hand over her heart. “Well, just look at you. What a raven fellow you are. Ohh!” She took both Mason’s hands in hers and squeezed, as if they were two little girls about to spin. “Ohh, my. Just precious. Precious! Come in, dear boy.” She pulled him inside and kissed both his cheeks as well. “Such a dear boy.”

  “How are you, Losira?” Ciddah asked.

  “Ohh, I’m fine, fine,” she said, possibly incapable of not repeating herself. “Well, you took the train? Was it nice?”

  When Losira spoke, she hummed the last word of every sentence. Train had been pronounced traaaiiinnnn? with the lilt of the question at the end. Then “Was it niiiiiccce?”

  Mason realized his mouth was gaping and he closed it. “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Ohh!” She pursed her lips, eyes sparkling as if she were holding back a teasing rebuke. “Ma’am. Ohh-kay,” she said to Ciddah. “He must think I’m an Ancient.”

  “I’m sorry.” Mason had forgotten the form of address ma’am was offensive here.

  Losira grabbed his arm and squeezed. “Ohh, I’m just teasing you. Well, I am old. Three more years, and I’ll be liberated. We might as well be honest about that, right?” She grinned like it was all very exciting.

  The woman was bewildering, but Mason couldn’t help but like her.

  “Ohh-kay, come in and see Droe. He’s been talking about you both all day.”

  “What’s he been saying?” Ciddah asked.

  “He is delighted to meet the outsider medic and ask him what he knows about teeth.”

  “Teeth?” Mason asked.

  “Droe permatasks as a dentist,” Losira said.

  “Please explain permatask,” Mason said, unfamiliar with the term.

  “It’s when you have enough training to remain in one field,” Ciddah said. “Sometimes it costs the Safe Lands more to train someone else than to keep you in the task, so you get to stay. I permatask as a medic. They could always move me, but no matter where, I’d still task as a medic.”

  “Do you know much about teeth?” Losira asked.

  “I know a little,” Mason said, though he doubted it would interest someone tasked as a dentist.

  “Ohh, Droe will be so excited. So excited.” She rubbed her hands together as if the anticipation was too much to contain.

  Droe and Losira’s house was tiny and spotless and thankfully not pink inside, but shades of beige and black. Pictures on the walls flashed pictures of Losira and a man in different locations throughout the Safe Lands. They did look happy. They’d entered into a narrow kitchen, and Losira led them past a staircase to a sitting room in the back.

  A man stood up from a wingback chair. While he was tall and big boned, his muscles had atrophied to the point where his flaking skin sagged in places. He had a square face and thick black hair and a mustache. No — the mustache was SimArt. Odd. “This the medic?” His voice was hoarse, and he coughed — a barking cough, deep and phlegmy. It sounded like he had a respiratory infection.

  “Droe” — which sounded like Drohhhhh — “This. Is Mason. Ohh, isn’t he raven? So raven.” Losira all but pinched his cheeks in her introduction. She didn’t seem to be afflicted with the same illness Droe had. She walked over to her husband and stood beside him, beaming at Mason.

  “I don’t know much about what’s raven these days,” Droe rasped, and the skin under his chin jiggled when he spoke. “What do you know about teeth, young man?”

  Mason was about to ask Droe to be more specific, but Losira said, “Well, have a seat. Sit, sit,” and motioned Mason to sit on the end of the sofa, which was closest to Droe’s armchair.

  Mason sat. Droe sat back down as well. Ciddah sat beside Mason, and Losira sat on a footstool beside Droe’s chair. Everyone sitting. And looking at Mason. Right; Droe had asked about teeth.

  “I know we need teeth to eat,” Mason said. “And they also help our speech.”

  “Quite true, that,” Droe said, nodding. “Ciddah said you’re an outsider.” He paused through a lingering cough. “What kind of dentistry was offered in your community?”

  “My mother was the village doctor, which is like a medic. She did everything for the people and animals, including dentistry, though the men handled any problems that arose with calving.”

  “Calving? What does that have to do with teeth?” Droe asked. “I’ve never heard that term.”

  Mason fought back a smile. “Calving is when a cow gives birth.”

  “Oh, cows. Of course.” Droe frowned, likely unable to find any reference for animal husbandry in his sheltered mind.

  “Mason was his mother’s apprentice,” Ciddah said.

  This seemed just the thing to bring Droe back into the conversation. “So you were the dentist’s assistant?”

  “You could say that, yes.”

  He coughed and hacked for so long that Mason wanted to get him some water. Mason glanced at Losira, who was rubbing Droe’s back. When the man finally gathered his breath again, he asked, “What would you do for gingivitis?”

  The question was so odd, Mason struggled to keep a straight face. “I’d encourage the patient to brush in painstaking detail twice a day, floss after every meal, rinse his mouth with salt water, drink lots of chamomile tea, and eat plenty of raw apples.”

  Droe’s eyes lit up. “Apples. Delightful. And what about a cavity? What then?”

  “We had a few drills that we’ve scavenged from Old dental offices. Mother would drill out the rot, then melt down Old jewelry — gold or silver only — and once the metal was cool but still soft enough to mold, she’d push it into the hole. She did fairly well. Extractions were rare because — “ Droe had begun coughing again during Mason’s answer, and the man’s face was so red, Mason stood. “Could I get you some water?”

  “He’ll be fine.” Losira winked at Mason and rubbed Droe’s back again.

  Ciddah took Mason’s hand and pulled him back to the couch. She whispered in his ear, “He doesn’t like us making a fuss over him. Just keep talking.”

  Droe’s cough was winding down now, so Mason got back to his answer. “Like I said, extractions were rare because, well, once children heard a man getting his tooth pulled, they remembered to brush.”

  Droe honked a noisy laugh. “Quite so, I’d imagine.” A little cough. “No sedatives, then?”

  “Droe,” Losira said, “you’re not going to talk to him all day about dentistry, are you?”

  He waved at his lifer, but kept his eyes on Mason. “Just this final question and I’ll refrain, I promise.” He took a shaky breath, as if fighting off the urge to cough again. “Sedatives, go on.”

  Mason glanced at Ciddah and they exchanged a quick smile. “We used alcohol. Mother also had a sleep tonic, but it never kept anyone unconscious through an extraction or drilling.”

  Droe’s eyebrows furrowed as he seemed to think this over. “Unpleasant for your patients, I’d suspect.”

  “Very, I’m afraid. But better than leaving it to get worse.”

  “True, that. True.” Droe leaned back in his chair as if conceding the end of this round of conversation.

  “Ohh-kay,” Losira said, clasping her hands together and beaming. “Well, tell us all about you, Mason.”

  He faltered. What should he tell them? That he was a prisoner in this place and wanted to leave? “I’m tasking as a medic in the SC. I live in the Highlands, for now. I’m a vegetarian.”

  “Outsiders don’t eat meat, huh? Probably because of all the worms in it.” Droe looked to Losira and added, “Wild animals get worms.”

  Whaaat …? Best to let that one go. “I have two brothers,” Mason added, in hopes of steering the conversation away from worms in wild game. “An older and a younger. Levi and Omar.”

  “Ohh, how nice that you all applied for revealing,” Losira said. �
��Droe and I gave three babies to the Safe Lands, but only Ciddah has found us so far. Do they look like you, your brothers?”

  It was likely no use to correct Losira’s assumption that life in his village was the same as it was here, so Mason merely said, “Somewhat.”

  “They do all look similar,” Ciddah added. “And while I did see the other two probably at their worst, I think Mason is handsomest of the three.”

  Losira squealed. Mason looked at his shoes.

  “Femmes,” Droe said to Mason, then to Ciddah, “Can’t you see you’re embarrassing the man?”

  The awkward fun continued until Losira served dinner. She had made vegetarian spaghetti, which Mason appreciated. Throughout the meal, Droe continued to ask questions about “outsider life.” Droe and Losira were like an old married couple, though they were not yet forty years old.

  “Droe,” Ciddah said, “tell Mason your theory about Richark Lonn.”

  Droe grinned, which stretched his SimArt mustache wide over his top lip. “Yes, well, I can do that.” He paused for a heavy cough, which was the first big one he’d had since they’d sat down to eat. “You see now, everyone thinks Lonn went into hiding after Martana’s death. Not true, that. Lonn was doing research, got himself caught and fired. He was going to have to retake his task test, despite his being a permatask medic. They probably would have made him a dentist. Ha!” He slapped the tabletop, which made the skin on his neck and arms jiggle. “Joking, of course. But Lonn’s motivations for researching above his level were based on more than his sweet femme’s death, of that I’m certain.”

  Lonn was researching above his level? Like Mason and Ciddah had been trying to do? Mason wondered if there was a way to discover what Lonn had been looking for. “Is there no way to find out what he was researching?”

  “Well, now … If I were going to look into it, which I’m not, I’d study his life.” He coughed. “I’d bet there’s plenty about him in the History Center, if you could get permission to go in.”

  “We have permission, Droe,” Ciddah said. “But our clearance isn’t very high.”

  “Wouldn’t need much clearance to read biographies, I shouldn’t think.”

  “I suppose that’s true,” Ciddah said. “Mason, we should go read biographies.”

  Mason didn’t know how reading a biography would tell them what they wanted to know, but he supposed it was worth a try.

  “And,” Droe said, “if you have an enforcer friend who could look up the arrest reports on Lonn, I’d bet you’d find something in that too.” A slight smile curled Droe’s lips, as if he’d offered them some clues and wanted to see if they could solve his challenge.

  Mason wished the man would simply come out and say whatever was on his mind. They were days away from their scheduled attempt to free the children. He didn’t have time to play scavenger hunt with Ciddah’s father unless it was important. But maybe it was. Maybe all this time, Mason had been looking for answers in the wrong place, starting big looking for a cure when he should have started small looking for a clue.

  “I’ll see if I can find an enforcer to help,” Mason said. “Thank you, sir.”

  “Oh, it was nothing, that.” Droe sat back in his chair, looking proud of himself. “Say, did your mother ever extract a tooth from a cow?”

  On the train back to the Highlands, Ciddah sat beside Mason — snuggled, was a better word — sitting right up beside him with her head resting on his shoulder. He rather liked how it felt as though she was leaning on him for support.

  Outside the train windows, the Midlands flashed by. “I liked your parents,” he said, looking down on the top on her head.

  “Donors,” Ciddah said.

  Mason smiled, thinking that even though Droe and Losira hadn’t raised Ciddah, they had indeed parented her from the moment they’d met. “I liked them.”

  She sat up and faced him. “Ever since I met them, I’ve wanted what they have, but I’ve never found a man willing to be a lifer. Until I met you.”

  Mason wanted to clarify that he had no intention of ever being anyone’s lifer and again explain his views on marriage, but he held his tongue. “I’m glad you sought them out. I think it gave them a lot of closure from their pain of giving up their children.”

  “Maybe.” Ciddah sighed and looked out the train window. “Love is dangerous, Mason. It exposes you, makes you vulnerable. It’s something they can use against you.”

  Mason still couldn’t believe Lawten had altered her parents’ meds and threatened premature liberation. Losira seemed to have bounced back from any infections, but Droe’s cough concerned Mason. He kissed the top of her head. “I hope we can help them move before Lawten does anything else to them.”

  She looked up and smiled, so he kissed her lips.

  He probably shouldn’t kiss her. It only made him want to be with her more. He should ask her about the boarding school. Find out if she could help them. But he didn’t want to ruin this moment.

  When had his mission for information morphed into a real relationship? Had he given up trying to resist her? If so, what did that mean for his future? Would he ask her to come with him to Glenrock? Leave her parents? Perhaps Droe and Losira would be willing to leave the Safe Lands, and Mason could ask Ciddah to come to Glenrock. The village would have a female doctor and a dentist, and Mason would have a wife who loved him. Everyone would be happy.

  But what about Papa Eli’s warning never to marry a Safe Lander? What about the thin plague?

  Why were complex relationships so easy to work out in your mind? The imagination was a dangerous thing, tricking you into thinking all was well, that those red flags were really little white ones, to go right ahead and pursue the relationship that was so very wrong for you, that everything would work out fine in the end. And by the time you realized you’d been a fool, that your imagination had tricked you, it would be too late. You would have allowed the girl to imprint herself on your very heart with soul ties so strong that nothing could ever cut them.

  Mason and Ciddah’s relationship had become symbiotic. It wasn’t that they couldn’t live without one another. Of course they could.

  The issue was that neither one wanted to.

  CHAPTER

  20

  What is the matter with you?” Levi pulled the covers off Omar, and the chilled air gripped his half-naked body. “You’ve missed two meetings this week. Get up and get dressed so we can talk.” Levi walked to the window in Omar’s bedroom, turned his back to Omar, and looked out on the street.

  Omar sighed as loudly as he could. His head pounded so hard he wondered if Levi had stabbed a knife into his brain to wake him. He swung his legs off the side of the bed and pulled on the pants he’d worn yesterday. His vaporizer caught his gaze, cradled in a wrinkle of his bed sheets. He grabbed it and vaped a long drag, hoping it would ease his throbbing skull.

  Levi glanced back and showed his irritation with a scowl. “I thought the Owl was all you needed for a high, Omar?”

  Omar dropped his PV to the bed sheets again. “Leave me alone.”

  “It’s the vapo stick, isn’t it? That’s the real problem. That’s why I can’t depend on you.”

  Omar hated that Levi wouldn’t bother to get the terms right in this place. He could quote The Princess Bride word for word with Jemma, but he couldn’t bother to learn that vaporizers or PVs weren’t called vapo sticks.

  And it wasn’t the vapers at all. It was the fact that Omar had become nocturnal in his life as the Owl. He had to sleep sometime. If it was during a rebel meeting or two, so be it. It wasn’t like they could make any real plans until Mason heard back from Penny, anyway. They were just talking circles around circles.

  Levi walked over to the bed and sat on the end of it. “Get rid of the thing. Or give it to me.”

  Omar grabbed his PV in case Levi tried to take it. He pulled the covers back up over him and kept his hand with the PV hidden. “I’d just buy another one. I hurt without it.” His head was s
till throbbing.

  “Toughen up, brother. Don’t be a sissy.”

  Sissy. The word burned Omar from the inside. Levi had always been a younger version of their father, but the likeness lately was truly horrifying. “You don’t understand.”

  Levi stood and started pacing at the foot of the bed. “I understand that you refuse to tell yourself no. Be a man. Stop juicing up like a flaker. Mason said you almost died once. Is that what you want? You want to die?”

  Omar thought hard about it. “Sometimes.”

  The lines of anger on Levi’s face softened. “Why would you say that?”

  Omar hadn’t meant to say it out loud. There were just too many problems in his life and they’d all piled up on top of him. And now this mess with Shay and Kendall. He didn’t know what to do. How to fix it. Kendall had come by twice since the kiss. She liked him. But he didn’t want her to like him. He wanted her to go away. Why couldn’t he just say so? He wanted to be with Shay, but he couldn’t. He wasn’t good enough for her.

  Was he avoiding giving Kendall an answer so that he’d have her in case Shay gave up on him for good?

  “Hey! Answer me.” Levi was standing beside him now, at the side of his bed. “Why would you say that?”

  Walls, he was freaking out. “I’m not going to kill myself, brother. Relax. But I’m tired. I want to be good, but I’m not. I want to be worthy, but I’m not. No matter what I do, it’s never good enough for anyone. Never for Father, never for you.” And now Shay. “It’s my fault we’re here, that so many are dead. And I can’t fix it. Even when I try to do good, something always stops me.”

  “Like what?”

  “Red. Kendall. Shay. The PV. The Owl. My own fears of never being you.”

  Levi sighed into a defeated slouch. “You don’t have to be like me. Omar, I forgave you for what happened to Glenrock.”

  Sure. “You said you did, but you still treat me like you don’t.”