by Tania Hutley
“Hey,” he says. “You’ll be able to use the vReal properly now.”
“Oh. Yeah.” I should be glad, but every minute spent in the vReal is one I don’t get to spend in my Skin.
“Did I say the wrong thing?” He drags his hand through his already-messy hair.
“No. You’re right, and it’s a good thing. I have a lot of work to do in the vReal.”
He hesitates, and when I see him looking at the bad side of my face, I turn away.
“They’re not going to do your scars, are they?” he asks.
“Doctor Gregory said they weren’t.”
He moves toward me, his hand lifted, reaching for my face. I flinch away and his hand pauses. When he reaches out again, I keep still and let his gentle touch brush my scarred cheek. He traces his fingers ever so lightly over the ridges of my ruined skin.
My breath freezes in my lungs.
“Tell me how you got your scars?” His voice is as soft as his fingers on my skin.
I shake my head, the tiniest movement. I can’t breathe, let alone talk. My stomach’s getting jittery. He’s too close. Part of me wants to take off, run away. The other part... I don’t know.
He frowns as though he can hear the clamor in my head. His eyes are a deep soft brown but I’m sure I can see a glint of gold in them, a hint of tiger. He must see how confused I am, because after a moment he sighs and drops his hand away.
“I know you don’t trust me yet, Rayne. And that’s okay.” He smiles, but his eyes look sad. “I hate whatever it is that hurt you. I wish our world were different.”
Without his touch, my lungs unfreeze and I can draw a shuddering breath. “Your world is different.”
“You’re right.” He sighs and sits down on the edge of his bed. “Did I tell you about the night I spent in an Old Triton jail?”
“What?” I should probably sit next to him, but instead I lean my shoulder against the wall and link my fingers in front of me.
He puts his hands behind him and leans back, angling his head up at me. “At a big gamer’s tournament, I started hanging out with a couple of floaters who’d done some work for the Fist. They did small stuff, like digi-bombing on b-Net and virtual tagging, but they knew some sinkers who were real Fist members. They introduced me, and long story short, I went out with them one night to paint Fist slogans on the sides of buildings.” He gives a tight, lopsided smile. “I thought it’d be fun.”
“No way.” I can’t imagine Cale sneaking around Old Triton after dark. He’s lucky he made it out alive.
“Yeah, well.” He puts on an Old Triton accent. “I went spraying with two sinkers. Only some stompers snatched us.”
I’m not sure I’ll ever get used to hearing him use Old Triton slang. “What happened?”
“I spent the night in a holding cell.” The accent disappears. “On a freezing concrete floor without so much as a blanket. But in the morning, they growled at me not to do it again, then let me out safe and sound.” His tone’s light, but his back’s gone stiff and he’s looking down at his knees, not meeting my eyes. “It wasn’t until later that I found out what happened to the two guys who were caught with me. When they got out, they were covered with bruises. Both had their hands broken.” His gaze comes up to mine, his expression dark. “You know what happens in Old Triton when an injury stops you from being able to work?”
“Better than you do.” No work means no food, and they won’t let you sleep in a shelter. A stinking mattress on a dirty floor is a privilege only working grunts get. Beggars have to survive any way they can.
“I told everyone what happened. The Fist even broadcast it on Sub Zero, but like all their broadcasts, it was ignored. Old Tritoners are used to it, and New Tritoners don’t care.”
“Did you really think they would?” Of course there are different rules for floaters and sinkers. Does he think any sinker doesn’t know that?
At this time of day I’d usually be finishing shift. Right now, I should be walking out of the hot factory into the cold outside air, starting a weary trudge to the shelter. My sweaty clothes would go clammy and my joints always ached like I was a hundred years old.
I shiver.
Old Triton’s the last thing I want to think about. Ma is still trapped there, and I can’t do a damn thing to help her, or any other sinker. And if I’m forced to go back, I won’t be able to get into a shelter. Definitely not something I want to dwell on.
“I want to do something about it. That’s the reason I came here. But…” He breaks off and I can tell he’s thinking about his saber-toothed tiger. Instead of finishing his sentence, he stands up. “Sorry, Rayne, I don’t mean to drag you down. It’s being tired that makes me gloomy.” He shakes his head. “We should be celebrating your good news.”
“I’m going to have two eyes again.” My smile comes back at the thought. “Can you believe it? No more ugly cybernetics.”
“Just don’t get anything else done.” His mouth twists. “I’m sick of everybody looking perfect. Everyone in New Triton wants to be the same. I hate it.”
“But you’re tweaked, aren’t you?”
“I wish I wasn’t.” He only stood up a minute ago, but he sits again, his body heavy, as though he can’t find a comfortable place to exist in. “For my sixteenth birthday my parents gave me the works. I don’t mind the nano-bots they injected to keep all my insides working like they should. That actually makes sense. But at the same time, my nose was straightened and shaped.” He runs one finger down its length. “My jaw line was adjusted. Eyebrows, of course, and cheeks. They even lifted one ear because it wasn’t quite even with the other side, can you believe it?” He snorts. “I’m just glad they didn’t decide to give me any stupid fashion things, like Aza’s eyes.”
If he’s looking for sympathy, he won’t get it from me. I’d change places with him in a heartbeat. “I’d love to look like everyone else.”
He frowns at me, his expression puzzled. “That’s the last thing I’d want. You’re beautiful.”
My stomach twists. Nobody would call me beautiful unless they were really saying the opposite. Normally when I hear something nasty about my face, I can brush it off. But this backhanded insult disguised as a compliment?
I hadn’t expected to hear anything like it from Cale. That makes it hurt even more.
“Yeah?” My voice is bitter as I turn away and fumble for the pad to open the door. “I know what I look like. I don’t need reminding.”
“What? Rayne, you really are beautiful.”
“Shut the hell up, Cale.” The door finally opens.
“Rayne, wait!”
I tear down the hall. My human body doesn’t move so slowly after all.
“Rayne!”
“Leave me alone, Cale.” I fling the words over my shoulder. Then I’m in my room, my chest heaving like I’ve run a huge distance instead of just down the hall.
Damn him! I felt so good a second ago and now he’s ruined it.
My hand goes to my face, to the scarred hollow where my cheek should be. I wish they were tweaking my scars, so I’d never have to hear anyone taunt me again. But hell, it’s no good wishing. I’m having my eye replaced and that’s enough. More than enough. It’s wonderful.
Falling onto my bed, I bury my face in the sheets.
I don’t care how I look. Sharks go for the pretty ones first. It’s better for a sinker like me to be ugly.
When I look up a long time later, it’s dark outside. Cale has usually knocked on my door by now, collecting me for training.
Will he leave me behind tonight? I can’t get into the hallway next to the training room without his electronic stick. If he does come, will I go with him? Can I face him?
Yeah, no question. Once I’m the leopard I can face anything.
I hear slow footsteps. I lie rigid, listening as they stop outside my door. There’s a long silence. Too long. I jump up and tear the door open before I hear a knock.
Cale is biting his lip,
looking worried. “Rayne, I hope you don’t—”
“Stop.” I hold up my hand. “Let’s not talk about it, okay?”
“But, I—”
“Let’s just train.”
I push past him and lead the way. Thankfully he doesn’t try to talk again. When I transfer into my Skin, it’s a such a relief that my throat closes up and my claws tighten into the floor like nobody’s ever going to drag me out of my Skin again. Everything’s so much simpler now. I’m not afraid of anything when I’m the leopard.
When I look at tiger Cale, I can feel his concern for me like a warmth coming off him. It’s in the way his ears twitch toward me when I move, the smoky undercurrent through his fresh scent, the way his tail flicks to tell me how worried he is that he’s upset me. There’s no malice in Cale the tiger. If only I was so sure of it when he’s Cale the man.
He lopes over and brings his face close. I let him gently touch my nose with his. His scent fills me up, like he’s part of me. His soft heartbeat is in my ears, his breath is in my lungs.
“Rayne,” he murmurs.
“It’s okay,” I answer. And it really is. We don’t need words when we’re in our Skins. I’m beautiful when I’m the leopard. That must be what he meant, I just didn’t get it. A misunderstanding, that’s all.
“Come on, I’ll race you to the top of the never-wall.” I wheel away and then I’m running so fast in my magnificent, wonderful Skin that my laughter’s whipped away behind me.
When it’s almost dawn and time to transfer back into our human bodies, Cale turns to me. “Good luck for the operation, Rayne,” he says. “I’m going to miss training with you tomorrow night.”
My heart twists as I realize what he means. “Oh yeah, I won’t be able to train. I hadn’t thought about that. I’ll have to go a whole day and night in my human body.”
His whiskers droop. “You’re not going to miss me? I guess you’ll be far too busy missing your Skin.”
“Oh.” I can tell he’s disappointed by the way his eyes drop and the subtle change in his scent. “I’m sorry.”
“That’s okay. I know how you feel. I’ve fallen in love with being a tiger, and it’s easy to see that being the leopard means even more to you.” He tilts his head and his golden eyes catch the moonlight. “It’s a little worrying how quickly our Skins have become so important to us.”
“Scary,” I agree.
Maybe he knows I’m lying.
Later, back in my room, I stand at the window to watch the pink and red warmth of dawn grow across the sky.
Needing my leopard isn’t what scares me. What’s scary is how I lived before I came here, every day barely managing to survive. I hated it so much I was willing to risk everything to escape it, but I had no idea how incredible life could be until I became the leopard. I lift Rayne’s band and press it against my forehead, closing my eyes as I silently thank her. Her death gave me life. A life I never dreamed existed.
I look around at the bedroom I don’t have to share with anyone. My soft, comfortable bed, my clean sheets and my private bathroom.
Outside, the sun’s appearing above the scrapers, so bright and close up here in New Triton. The pink dawn reflects in a thousand windows and floods my room with light. It’s stunning. Even so, it seems hazy and diluted compared to how I’d see it with leopard eyes. In my Skin I’d be able to smell the dawn like fresh cooked breakfast, like clean, crisp sheets or the taste of joy on my tongue.
As great as it is, I’d trade this room in a heartbeat for my Skin. I’d do anything, work all day and night, never see another dawn. There’s not I thing I wouldn’t give if it meant I got to be the leopard forever.
Chapter Twenty
A couple of hours later, I’m in a cab on my way to the hospital. Strange that on the last day I have to put up with my glitchy cybernetic eye, everything looks sharper than normal. Smells seem stronger too. And the smallest noise makes me jump.
Must be because I’m hyped up, both excited and nervous about the operation. In spite of my nerves, my stomach’s grumbling. I wasn’t allowed breakfast before the surgery, so I’m starving, especially after spending all night training.
This time, I get directed straight to an exam room to see a doctor. “Do you know what’s going to happen today, Rayne?” he asks.
“You’re going to take out my cybernetic eye and put in the one you’ve grown?”
“That’s right. Because the eye is cultivated from your own cells, we can knit its receptors to the ones in your damaged eye socket. We’re going to use the latest accelerated growth techniques to do this, inserting blank cells between them, then stimulating those cells so they form a bridge between the eye and what’s already there.” He cocks his head to the side, looking at me doubtfully. “Do you understand?”
With his tone telling me he’s sure I have no clue what’s he’s talking about, there’s only one answer I can give him. “Every word,” I say.
“Well. You’ll find your new eye is a vast improvement on your cybernetic one.”
“Thanks, Doc.”
A nurse gives me a gown to change into, then puts me on a gurney to wheel me into the operating theatre. At least I’ll get some sleep today. When they stick a mask over my face and I start to drift off, I realize I should have taken a look in the mirror this morning to drink in the ugliness of my old eye. After this, it’ll be gone forever. The thought sends me to sleep even faster.
I wake in a recovery room, dry-mouthed, feeling woozy and sick. I don’t feel like I’ve been asleep, but like a slice of my life is missing, as though while I was knocked out I didn’t exist. I’ve no idea how long I was out for. A nurse angles up the top of my bed, then puts a drop of liquid on my tongue that clears my head and makes the sickness go away. When my hand goes up to my face, it hits a thick bandage.
“Does it hurt?” asks the nurse.
“No.”
“Good. Don’t touch it.”
I doze until a meal arrives. When I’ve eaten I get up to use the bathroom, and stare into the mirror at the dressing that covers half my face. What’s underneath? Fingering the white adhesive pad, I tug at the bottom edge where it’s stuck onto my scarred cheek. I’m dying to see my new eye, but I don’t dare pull off the bandage.
Night’s falling and the ward’s getting dark. When I get back in bed I find I’m sleepy again. Each time I close my good eye, my brain automatically searches for my leopard, trying to transfer into it. Its absence is a hole in my mind, an aching emptiness I long to dive into. At least when I next wake up it’ll be morning and time to go back to the Morelle scraper. I’ll get to go back to being the leopard. I can’t wait.
The surgeon comes back the next morning. I’m hoping he’ll take off the bandage so I can see what’s underneath. Instead he runs a scanner over my face and says, “Any pain?” in an absent voice, as though he’s forgotten who I am.
“No.”
“It’s important to keep the eye still and dark, to allow maximum healing in the early stages. Come back in two days and we’ll remove the dressing.”
“Okay.”
“We repaired the nerves around the eye to ensure a full range of movement.” He stares at the scanner with a puzzled frown, as though he’s never seen it before. Then he shakes his head. “The nurse will check you out. No physical exercise for the next twenty-four hours. Avoid jolting it or bending forward.”
As soon as I get back to the Morelle scraper, I head straight to my room and into the bathroom. I turn off the light and leave the door open a crack, so it’s gloomy inside but not completely dark. I know I’m not supposed to, but I need to see it.
In front of the mirror, I stop and stare. My face looks different. Below the white bandage, my scars are still there, but my mouth is straight. It doesn’t droop on that side.
The doctor said they fixed the nerves around my eye. Did they fix the nerves in my cheek so they hold up my mouth? No more drool? No more ugly sagging?
I drag in a breath.
No. I can’t afford to hope.
If I let myself believe it, I won’t be able to bear it if my mouth droops again once all their medication has worn off. I’ll check again tomorrow. If my mouth still looks straight then, maybe I’ll allow myself to celebrate.
I use my fingernail to get under the sticky edge of the dressing that finishes below the hollow in my cheek, then pull upward. The dressing tugs at my scarred skin, not wanting to come away. Working the dressing up, I drag it off my closed eyelid. My cheek doesn’t look any different, my scars as ugly as ever. But beneath that closed lid...
No, I can’t look underneath. Opening my eye might damage it.
But my closed eyelid looks the same as before. Could there really be a new eye under there? What if I open it and my cold black cybernetic eye is staring back at me?
I have to check. I need to know.
Slowly I ease my eyelid open just enough to see a sliver of white. There really is an eye under there. A real eye. No more black metal, no glitching circuits.
My vision blurs with tears as I gently press the dressing back down, but I furiously wipe them away. Don’t cry. If my new eye has tear ducts, crying so soon might damage them.
Heading to the training room, I walk above the ground, not on it. My whole body’s singing and there’s a big stupid grin on my face.
I can’t wait to get into my Skin, but Doctor Gregory shakes her head.
“You’re not to train today, Rayne.”
“What?” I look over to my leopard waiting for me. So close! “But when I’m the leopard, my real body’s lying in the chair, resting.”
“Not today. You can train again tomorrow.”
“The contest’s only a few days away. I need all the training I can get.”
“Sorry, Rayne. Go and have something to eat, then lie down for a while. Take it easy.”
Maybe now’s the time to ask Doctor Gregory to go over the details of the contest? I’ve been training so much, I haven’t come up with a plan yet. I’m not even sure what I’m supposed to do when I get to the top of the tower. Does just beating the others up there mean I win?
