Wash

by Naomi Fraser

  “I didn’t realise things were this bad,” I say, tight-lipped.

  “Tori, you’re hurting my hand,” May complains, tugging her fingers free.

  I sigh. “Sorry, bub. Stay close.”

  The Medical Centre has a maze of corridors and is set on massive grounds half a day’s travel from Flioqe. Giant sandstone columns mark the entryway as they do on the inside.

  After the early meetings with scientists and engineers, filling wells and talking with town planners, I asked for a press release to go out to all the residents, inviting them to attend a day of healing. The most appropriate place was the Medical Centre, a recent addition to an old, run-down place of worship.

  Back home, worship isn’t done within walls, but with my hands deep in rich soil, the sun hot on my back, and Astrakhan kneeling beside me, helping me plant vegetables. He’d tell me about the universe with never-failing logic. It’s a simple thing, to plant new life and help it grow, but no matter where I am, the act always feels like a miracle.

  I smile, holding the memory like a kernel of happiness inside, because the truth is, Flioqe’s citizens don’t have a place of worship any more than they have a proper hospital.

  After healing the hospital’s patients by order of priority, I sip a cup of cooling coffee in the staffroom, watching the guards lock the gates on the security screens. People climb over the bars anyway and slither down the other side. From the nervous statements by reporters standing at the steps, the crowd has gotten too large. Some citizens have walked, but most have driven or flown by hovercraft. The location hasn’t diminished numbers, and a line of guards with full-body shields border the entrance.

  Some people lie on the bottom of the stairs and a line of people in wheelchairs spreads off on the left allowing for easy access through the crowd. People clap their hands, chanting in the still heat. Mothers sit on the ground, light shawls covering children in their laps. Young men have their arms raised in the air, so it looks like a constant wave of eager hands. Other people are sitting down in a huddle, obviously too tired and sick to move.

  Purpose makes me roll back my shoulders, and I step closer to the screen. My heart skips.

  “Not what you were expecting?” the director asks, hands deep in his coat pockets, and his smile strains as he rolls the tension from his neck. “Who knows how long before they storm the Centre.” He pauses. “Hundreds are arriving every minute. Some might be fly-ins from other planets.”

  “On the contrary, it’s exactly what I expect.” I set down my cup and then twine my fingers through May’s. The residue from her half-eaten, strawberry lollypop coats my hand in a sticky mess. “I’m glad to see them. They all need to be healed. This is what I do.”

  “No one is unworthy, none more special than the other,” Astrakhan said to me on more than one occasion. “If you don’t use your skills, who will?”

  Yet, the more I heal, the more I realise it’s not my job, but my joy.

  “Are you ready?” the director asks.

  “Yes.” All my senses spin into hyper-drive, and my mouth dries. Moisture forms in the palms of my hands with my eagerness. I smile at the people who run the understaffed and overcrowded Medical Centre. “Thank you for being so wonderful to us today. I will definitely be back to help. If you need me for an emergency, contact the headquarters.”

  The minister and his assistant James aren’t in attendance, unlike all the other early breakfast meetings I’ve had with engineers. Two head doctors in white coats follow on my right as I walk toward the hospital entry. At least twenty guards surround us. The staff worry about the crowd getting out of control. The closer we get to the front of the hospital, the louder the chants become.

  “Water healer! Water healer!”

  I see the monochrome colours of dark grey, bright white, and black rather than three-dimensional bodies.

  Fierce heat pools around me the instant I step outside in the sun, and I wave to the crowd, amid thunderous applause and cheers.

  I can’t see their clothes, only see their x-ray bodies in different stages of illness. Then my brain switches all of it to background noise because an itch prickles under my skin. I close my eyes, focusing on the feeling and honing in on the person. I don’t notice I’m dragging my nails against my skin until I point, and a sharp heat burns my flesh.

  “You,” I say to a man holding a small boy. “Bring him here please.”

  The man rushes through the people, climbing the steps while the guards hold the others at bay. My sight returns to normal, and the sunlight glints off their shields and guns. Tears stream down the man’s face, and he’s saying something to me, but I can’t decipher the dialect.

  May hides behind my robes, and I touch the boy’s clammy forehead. Reality slips away. There. Inside his brain is a tumour. This one’s going to hurt. I release his head, crack my knuckles and gesture for the man to enter into a cooler part of the entry while remote news drones hover in the air, recording the event.

  My sight keeps flashing in and out due to everyone’s thirst and illness, so I hold up a hand to the crowd, motioning for silence. Everyone quietens, as if they’re holding their collective breath. Heat seeps into my pores, and I cradle the boy’s head in my hands, flushing his cells with water. Immediately, he opens his eyes and screams.

  The sound tears at my heart, echoes around the entry, but I dig my fingers into his hair, forcing the tumour to dissolve. “Hold him steady,” I order the father who then grips the boy’s legs like he never intends to let go.

  The boy coughs, screams and coughs some more. Then a strange calmness overtakes his body, and he sighs. A huge smile wreathes his face. In my hands, the blue contains a yellowish, white liquid. I show his father, and he lifts his boy up, hugging him tight and then nods to me before jogging back down the stairs to be enveloped by the crowd.

  The medical director hands me a towel, but I shake my head, lifting my hands into the air. Two whorls of water sweep from my elbows to my fingertips, and then the liquid vanishes. Clear droplets evaporate. I search for the next person amongst the thousands of x-ray bodies surrounding me. Someone’s heart beats far slower than the rest.

  I descend the stairs, pointing to a woman who lies flat on the ground. “You’re next.”

  The slow drizzle of rain helps cool the citizens while I heal, but my neck aches by the middle of the day. I twine my long hair into a loose knot and rub my nape. I haven’t been sleeping well—whether it’s from the pillows in my suite or because I can’t forget the memory of Marcus, I don’t know. When I stop for a few minutes to massage my nape, the medical director appears at my side.

  “Do you want to take a break?” he asks. “The nurses have lunch ready for you and your sister.”

  I look up at him and nod. “Thank you.” Washing my hands is an easy task, and May follows me across the vast foyer when I hear a familiar voice call out, “Victoria, wait.” The name startles me, because in this place it seems I am no longer Tori to anyone else but May. Here, I am the water healer.

  Constance and April wave behind a guard, however it’s April who pushes through with a sharp elbow and a kick to the guard’s leg. I grin, nodding at the guard’s long-suffering expression. “It’s fine. Let them in please.”

  He shifts to the side, allowing Constance and April to slip through but then so does Marcus and Casey.

  My heartbeat thrums.

  Marcus is here.

  I ask the director to wait and meet the crew in a small alcove. My blood soars with unbidden memories, and like a fool, I’m smiling up at Marcus until he eases in front of April, a tight frown on his face.

  He widens his stance. “Victoria,” he says, his dark blue gaze roaming over my face. “Still at the headquarters?”

  I nod, silent, while an icy feeling spreads through my stomach, and my heart drops at his expression.

  He turns to view the horde of people at the entryway. “There are lots of people gathered, so I won’t keep you long. No doubt you’re busy
, though you don’t look like you’re sleeping. You’re not an easy woman to reach, you know.”

  I almost grind my teeth at the injustice of the statement, but cold water coils from my shoulders, down my spine, circling my hips and dripping onto my quivering leg muscles. “Is there something you wanted?”

  As though they’ve been waiting for it, the crew steps forward in unison, and a small smile plays on April’s mouth. At my frown, she coughs and seems fascinated with the brickwork. What is going on?

  Marcus’s piercing gaze drops to my wrists, and his lips press together as he crosses his muscled arms. “As a matter of fact, there is. You’ve taken off the bracelets,” he says, in a gruff tone. “Not a wise decision. I could have told you what I needed to without coming here.”

  “They’re only off while I heal.” My pulse speeds up. “I don’t know how much water they can resist.” I reach into my pocket and take out the bracelets in a plastic container. “See, I . . . still have them.” A spear of doubt pushes its way into my heart. “I just don’t want to . . . um . . . wreck them when my guard is down. Anyway, I don’t see how I’m the hard one to contact.” I close my eyes briefly, wishing to not be so obvious, but I shrug and say in a nonchalant tone, “I’ve tried calling you.”

  “You sent me a live call?” His brow lowers. “What the hell? I never got any. That still doesn’t explain why you haven’t seen fit to answer mine in the last—”

  “You didn’t contact me at all, Marcus.” The pain of the statement leaks into my voice, and I fight the urge to turn away, run even. “Not once. Stop lying.” I take a deep breath, remembering I can’t need him. It’s better to cut my losses now, no matter how much it hurts. Unshed tears burn my eyes. “So what can I help you—?”

  “Is that right?” His eyes narrow and eyebrows arch. He holds out a fist and jerks back the brown sleeve. A couple of twists, and the bracelet slips off his right wrist. “Guess again, beautiful.”

  I accept the bracelet from his fingers since he obviously wants me to have it, though I’m hesitant.

  “Go on,” he urges, a muscle twitching in his jaw. “Check the outgoing since our arrival.”

  I press the menu button and scroll through the call log, something I’m so familiar with from constantly checking my incoming calls. My name keeps coming up over and over again. At least eighteen times in the first two days, then less on the third and fourth. Something hard drops to the bottom of my stomach. I peek up at him, noticing his pupils growing fat and black, and the blue lighter. His face looks steely and vulnerable at the same time.

  “So I’ll ask again, why haven’t you answered?”

  My legs shake. “I never got your calls,” I insist. “Please believe me. May will tell you. Why wouldn’t I answer?”

  His gaze swerves down to my sister. “Maybelle?”

  She pulls another lollypop out of her mouth long enough to say, “Tori called you the first night. But you never answered, and she was mad. She couldn’t sleep then and woke me up. She likes you.” May pulls her hand from mine to hide her giggles.

  My eyes squeeze shut, and I wish for a giant, black hole to swallow me up.

  When I open my eyes, a slight smile curves his lips. “Is that so?”

  I frown at him, and a bittersweet certainty floods my veins. This is the moment to either show him how I feel or protect my heart. Which do I choose? How do I decide? I can’t tell him everything, but the pain in my heart the last few days tells me it’s worth a bit of faith.

  “I needed to hear your voice,” I say in a wavering tone and then swallow. “Everything was so strange.” I open the container and hand over one of my bracelets.

  Marcus looks ready to grab the device, but Casey calls out to him in a concerned voice. Marcus orders, “Hold that thought, Victoria. I’ll be back. Don’t move.”

  “Jeez, Casey has the worst timing,” Constance mutters. “Let me have a look at that. It must be your settings. Did you hear the alarm?”

  “Yes.” I place the device in her palm. “But the hologram would just shrink into nothing.”

  “Mm . . .” She scrolls down the interface for outgoing calls, humming under her breath. Her face twists in obvious confusion. “You’re right. You’ve called him numerous times.” She rubs her forehead. “But it doesn’t make sense. He should have gotten the calls.”

  “Yeah, the last few days would have been so much better then.” April crowds in closer to look at the bracelets. “Is it possible the signal could be blocked?” Her dark gaze switches from Constance to me. “Like technological interference?”

  I shake my head. “There’s nothing like that in the headquarters, it’s old tech . . .” A sudden thought halts my tongue. The walls, I frown, tilting my head. The sensors in the walls. James’s reaction to my bracelets. Put the two together . . .

  Constance stares at me. “What is it? You know something, don’t you?”

  “There are sensors in the walls of my suite. Oh, sweet universe,” I choke out. My throat feels on fire, and I can’t seem to breathe. “They’ve been recording everything I’ve said in there for the last four days,” I whisper, running a hand through my hair. “Is it possible? Can sensors block a signal?”

  Constance nods, realisation dawning in her gaze. “If they’re all around your room, they can be programmed to deny access.” She swears and scratches her cheek. “Why didn’t you come to see us instead on board the ship? You have your own hovercraft, so the reports said. You could have just visited us.”

  I’m slow to admit my vulnerabilities. “I do have transport. It’s just that I thought . . . I tried calling . . .”

  “And when you got no answer . . .” Constance tilts her head. “I see. You thought you’d push us away before we did the same to you. Save you from getting hurt. All the while, Cap’n has been in a right mood.”

  “He has?” I ask tentatively.

  Constance snorts. “Couldn’t you tell?”

  “I was thinking of putting us all outta our misery,” April confirms, though she smiles. “Seriously, Sarah, Constance, and I could’ve taken charge of the ship. We had it all planned out.”

  Constance laughs.

  “Everyone else has left,” I say defensively, looking away.

  “I understand. Abandonment issues. You lost your mother in the same way. Don’t worry, Victoria. We’ll get it sorted out,” Constance says. “But the Cap’n does have information to share. We couldn’t think of any other way to see you since they won’t let us into the headquarters.”

  The feeling inside of me tastes a lot like terror. It wants to close in, shut down and protect at all costs. Another sensation wants to open up. It’s a new feeling, but I feel it whenever I’m near Liberty’s crew. “I can’t stay there now. Not if they’re listening in and blocking the signal. The minister’s assistant didn’t like me wearing the bracelets at dinner the first night.”

  “Is he here now?” April asks, looking around. “Point him out. I’m in the perfect mood for someone like that.”

  I grin. “No. He flew back to the capital.”

  “They’ll use the national security gambit,” Constance warns. “They won’t want to let you go because they’ll lose power,” she says, hands on her hips, her gaze surveying the foyer, the guards and the crowd that’s getting noisier.

  My stomach rumbles, and my neck still aches. “Spying is against our code of conduct.” Blue flares out over my head, drenching my official clothes and leaving a puddle on the ground. “Oh, great.”

  “Never mind—”

  A sudden scream goes up from the crowd, and people rush the barrier of guards. Five men stream into the Medical Centre. April shields me, pointing her gun at the entry, but I want to tell her not to bother and go protect May. My little sister isn’t by my side, in fact, she’s standing frozen in the path of the oncoming men.

  “May, move,” I shout at the top of my lungs, running for her, but just as the first person knocks her off her feet, Marcus catches her, lifting
her high into his arms and away from the crowd. The guards block the people, getting them under control again.

  Before I know it, I’m at her side, my hands on her face, and she opens her fear-filled eyes. A red graze marks her cheekbone. “They hit you,” I choke out. “Hold still.” I touch her cheek to heal the wound. “It’s too dangerous for you here. You can’t leave my side.”

  “Let me take her,” Marcus offers, his blue gaze meeting mine. “You have work to do. The reporters aren’t filming this. No one else will know she’s with us on board the Liberty.” He looks toward the huge stone pillar blocking the drone’s view.

  “Marcus . . . I don’t know what to say.”

  “Yes. That’s what you say.” A sheen of sweat glistens on his forehead, though the words sound remarkably like an order. “She won’t come to any harm.”

  I smile. “You saved her again. I don’t know what I’d do if you hadn’t.” This close, I can feel the heat radiating off his body, and the warm scent of his skin makes me want to touch him. “I didn’t realise I’d let her go back there.”

  The medical director appears by my side, and Marcus nods in hello and says, “I’m taking care of Victoria’s sister. You got a problem with that, you take it up with us after today.”

  Shocked, I look at the director, but he smiles and says, “That’s fine by me, Captain Collins. More than fine.”

  “No one else is going to know she’s with us,” Marcus says.

  “Of course not,” the Director says mildly.

  Casey, April, and Constance stand around us, and April says, “She’ll be safe with us until you come for her, Victoria. Nothing will happen.”

  A sweet sensation of trust flows through me, and I just can’t deny how much these people mean to me. “I know that.”

  “Good. When you’re done here, come up to the ship.” Marcus adjusts May onto his shoulder. He pulls out the gun on his left hip and grins. “We have something important to discuss.”

  Chapter Seventeen