by Davyne DeSye
“Yep. That’s how I tell the women from the men. Like you, I don’t much go for men,” she answers. “But you know that.”
“Yes. I know that.” Still uncertain. Still waiting for something. His hand moves to his pants pocket, perhaps to fiddle with his cigarettes.
“You too tired now, or are you still up for some fun?” Jan asks. “Got any energy left for dancing?” Jan still smiles, and as I approach Bell, over his shoulder I see her wink at him. Her eyes stay on Bell.
“I, uh…” Bell starts, clearly nervous, and darts another glance over his shoulder. I’m mere feet from him. His eyes widen, and he backs against the wall, eyes moving back to Jan once before he returns his eyes to mine. He gives a small huff before saying, “Samuel.” He’s not smiling.
“Michael Bellamy,” I answer.
Neither of us speak, and in my peripheral vision I can see Jan’s teeth as she continues to smile at Bell, this time with chin lowered, looking at him from under her brows, her grin now feral.
“Why,” I say. It is a steady word that doesn’t sound like a question.
“Listen, Mate, I didn’t–” he starts, but Jan interrupts.
“Cut the shit, asshole,” she says through clenched teeth. Her fists are tight balls that rise between them. Bell doesn’t look at her. Something about him seems to deflate as he watches my face.
“Look, Mate,” Bell starts, and this time I interrupt.
“I’m not your mate,” I say, biting off the last word. “I’m not your pal, I’m not your chum and most especially, I am not your friend.” I clamp down hard on the anger that threatens to rise, to cloud my thinking. I need information, despite an unreasoning desire to lift my own fists, to smash his face into the wall. In my mind, I see the proud young boy dropping to the floor of the queen’s audience room, blood spurting from the new opening in his throat.
Jan bends and picks up a broken piece of two-by-two from the ground beside the wall and hands it to me, wide of Bell’s reach. He shuffles from foot to foot and puts his hands in his pants pockets, giving neither of us a reason to use the stick. I hold the stick in front of me, right hand closed around the base like a bat, left hand palm up, holding the other end.
“Why,” I say again.
I see desperation in his eyes.
“They give me anything I want, Ma—,” he corrects himself and finishes, “man.” His eyes flick away from me, back. “We don’t have shit, we’re hungry, and they give me anything I want.” He takes two quick breaths, and says, “You don’t know what it’s like. You and Khara” – he spits her name and I hear the anger, the disgust – “have masters. You eat well. You sleep well. You have all the credit you want. The rest of us are hungry, tired, used, and used up.” Now his tone is pleading. “I’m no different from you,” he whines.
His eyes move to my neck where my collar used to rest, and then back to my face. My face must betray my anger, because he closes his mouth with a small clack of his teeth, and his Adam’s apple bobs.
“Look, I don’t have to give them much. Just a tidbit here and there. They don’t know much,” he says. His eyes dart to Jan as she takes a step toward him and then backwards again, fighting with herself. “Just a tidbit here and there,” he repeats.
“Like me?” I ask. “I’m a Tid. Bit?” I bite the word off in two chunks.
“I . . . .” Bell pulls his hands from his pockets, holds them out toward me, palms facing me, warding me off.
“They promised I’d be okay, Samuel,” he says. He’s quieter now. “They promised I’d be one of the humans they keep.”
“You stupid shit,” Jan murmurs and shakes her head.
“Humans are going out anyway, you know it, they know it,” Bell continues, “I just wanted to be one of the humans they keep.”
We’ve all done things – horrible, stupid things – to stay alive, but this doesn’t lessen my anger at him. I haven’t betrayed a human for my own life.
This thought is followed by the vision of the shining boy who died in my stead just yesterday, and the breath goes out of me as I realize I have traded a life for my own.
It’s not the same, a voice says inside of me. It wasn’t the same. The voice begs for me to admit this. I can think of nothing to say to Bell. I look down at my hands wrapped around the two-by-two and wonder if Bell and I are any different.
Bell fumbles in his pocket, pulls out a pack of cigarettes. He puts the pack to his mouth, pulls out a cigarette with his teeth. He pushes the pack toward Jan and then me, shaking it until a group of three pops forward. “Cigarette?” he says around the one in his mouth.
Neither Jan nor I move. My eyes are locked on Bell’s. I am deflated by the vision of the dead boy and the cigarettes his senseless death bought Bell.
I clear my throat. “What do they know?” I ask.
“Got a lighter here . . . ,” Bell mumbles, as his hand moves back to his pocket.
I look up the alley at a slight noise and hear a snick of metal from Bell. Just as I register that the snick is not the sound of a lighter, but of something far more dangerous, Jan screams, “No!” and feel a burst of pain in my ribs.
I strike out with the stick in my hand. A jarring tremor travels up my arm as it hits the wall behind Bell before connecting with Bell’s shoulder. The blunted blow doesn’t do much, if any, harm to Bell. Jan advances as a blur of flailing arms and legs, heavy boots kicking and crunching, fists raining down on Bell’s head as he tries to recover from ducking away from my abortive blow.
I raise the stick again, and Bell, still hunched over, twists toward me and lunges at my stomach with the knife. The moon glitters on my blood on the wet blade as it moves toward my abdomen. I can’t bring down the stick fast enough to avert being stabbed again.
There is a confusion of limbs and sounds, bone on bone, wood on bone, hoarse yelling, and then I’m lying on the ground, knife buried to the handle into my upper thigh, my own hands wrapped around the handle. Close behind me Bell yells, “Oh shit, no!” and then silence, followed by the sound of a body hitting the pavement of the alley.
“Samuel!” It’s Jan. Her hands turn my head upward toward her face. “Are you okay? Where are you hurt?”
I gesture with my eyes downward. I am afraid of the sound I’ll make if I unclench my teeth.
“Jesus!” she says as her eyes find the knife in my thigh, and she scrambles down toward it. “Eli, shirt!” she yells, and I’m confused until I hear a grunting sound behind me, and the sound of cloth ripping.
I know what Jan’s going to do, but before I can react in any way, her hands close on the knife handle over mine, and there’s a searing pain as she pulls it out. I moan through clenched teeth as Eli and Jan wrap and bandage my leg with his shirt.
“It’d help if you’d stop rolling from side to side,” Jan says, tone sharp, but she’s smiling. She lifts my shirt where it is sticky with blood, examines my ribs, and then says, “You’ll live. Lucky bastard.”
With a heave, Eli has me to my feet, and between the two of them, we all move down the alley toward shelter. I don’t spare much attention to the human-sized bundle we leave behind in the alley other than to notice the limbs don’t lie right, but more like those of a broken doll. It’s a dark, fallen figure with wide open, glistening eyes.
***
At one of our hidden shelters, my wounds are cleaned, the hole in my leg and the slice in my ribs are stitched, and I’m bandaged again. Jan and Eli receive my instructions around the grunts I release during these ministrations. They leave before the final bandages are in place. I am dead with exhaustion. I have to sleep.
Rex snores in his sleep. It’s loud and resonant. I wouldn’t believe such a sound could emanate from so slight a young body if I didn’t hear it for myself. The hidden room is dark and our cots are pressed close to each other. There’s no escaping the sound. The stifling warmth of the closed room would, in all likelihood, keep me from sleeping even without the pain from my wounds and Rex’s snoring. My
thoughts scramble between our need for a change in plans, Bell’s betrayal, and self-disgust at my own betrayal of Khara. Stupid, stupid. I question my ability to lead this local rebellion, and add to my guilt over the boy and guilt over Khara, the guilt that so many have trusted me without good cause. My stupidity has endangered everyone.
You can’t quit now. The thought reproaches me from some part of my mind that is not swirling between Bell and Khara, Khara and Bell.
Bell. He knew more about our organization and plans than any other, although, thankfully, not everything. We don’t have the time or the resources to move our weapons and equipment caches, and much may be compromised. How much of what he knew did he tell?
We have no time left. We have to attack now even though we’re not ready. Bell knew this, but we will have no other opportunity. Now or never. Now or die.
My thoughts race the minutes until morning, our last day of planning. With our new plan, D-day is little more than twenty-four hours away. It’ll be before the planned general attacks in the other cities, but maybe this will help.
Sometime after dawn, Rex rolls onto his stomach and the snoring stops long enough for sleep to find me. I dream of Khara, as usual, but this time when I wake, it’s not with anger over the fact.
***
Sunlight enters our hidden kitchen from the single high window and gleams off the coffee-colored skin stretched across Eli’s massive bare shoulders. His head is bandaged. He’s bent over a steaming cup of tea. Jan holds her plate at chin level, fingering eggs into her mouth like a shovel. She looks up and grins at me around a greasy mouthful. She has a black eye.
“So, what happened last night?” I ask. I limp to the table, trying to ignore the pain.
“Bell’s dead,” Jan blurts. She still grins. “The slimy bastard is dead.”
“I saw. How?” I ask. I grunt my thanks as Jan passes me a plate of eggs and a spoon.
“Eli bashed him as he went for you, or that knife would’ve been in your stomach instead of your leg.”
I bow to Eli in thanks, and say, “Go on.”
“Meanwhile, you bashed Eli with that stick” – I grimace as I realize where Eli got the head wound – “and I went after Bell. I wanted to take him apart, piece by piece, taking my time, but Eli just broke his neck.” Jan grimaces in mock disappointment at Eli, and then laughs with delight.
I look to Eli, who still examines his tea, and then back to Jan.
Jan bumps Eli’s arm with her shoulder, but doesn’t budge the mountain of a man. “Don’t mind Eli. He’s just upset with my bloody-mindedness.”
Eli raises his head to meet my eyes. “He’s dead. It had to be done,” he says. But I can see he says this more to console his own gentle soul than to convince me.
Jan chatters through my breakfast about the benefits of being jobless – I am thankful Tamerak mentioned the upcoming purge so I could get those humans who were willing to heed the warning out of the factory – and jokes with Eli in an obvious attempt to improve his humor.
They’re getting ready to leave the kitchen for their various cell meetings when a knock sounds signaling one of our people is coming in.
Diane and Tanner enter both breathing hard.
“We saw Khara!” Diane announces. “She was in the garden with Nestra yesterday!”
I feel myself flush with excitement and guilt.
“Yeah, we, like, tried to go after her, but she was really booking it,” Tanner adds. “You know, we couldn’t yell and run after her or anything.” He tosses me an apologetic smile.
Diane continues where Tanner leaves off. “We thought we’d go back today, try to talk to her. If we can catch up with her, she can make the final planning meeting tonight.”
“If she’s interested in coming,” I murmur.
“Khara’s okay, man. I mean, she’s cool. She’ll get it. She’s all for humans. She’s always tried to help, right?” Tanner’s sincerity is charming, but I imagine Khara’s feelings of betrayal will keep her from being very excited about facing me again.
Tanner glances from Eli to Jan to me as if just noticing all the bandages, and then says, “Dudes, you guys alright?”
Jan chuckles and I nod.
Diane raises herself to tiptoes to kiss Tanner’s cheek, then nods at me with a wide smile. “Khara? Okay?” she asks. I nod in return, and Diane pulls Tanner from the room by his hand. My excitement at the thought of seeing Khara again is mirrored in Diane’s ecstatic rush to be on her way.
“Going to be a good day,” Jan says, as she claps both Eli and I on the back. One small tough woman between two large men, just one of the guys for a moment of quiet. Then they’re off to their meetings, sneaking away in different directions.
CHAPTER 42
QUEEN TAL
“Come,” I say, with irritation. I stand erect before the computer that monitors the various aspects of my monarchy: my decrees, my communication with the various seats on the planet, my less than honest communication with the home planet.
This solitary command is directed toward a high-ranking brother from the crèche who cowers, body thrown open in the doorway, outstretched limbs trembling.
“I bring a report, Majesty,” he says, voice too loud – probably in an effort to avoid sounding timorous through quivering mandibles. His obvious discomfiture brings a brief pulse of pleasure to me.
“So I might assume, dolt,” I answer in gentler tones, pinching my mandibles into a fierce smile. The effectiveness of my smile is confirmed by the brother’s increased trembling. I focus all my lenses on the brother, not to see him better, but to intimidate him further – if such a thing were possible. The waft of his colorful fear glazes over me and I draw my mandibles into a bloodthirsty leer as my antennae dance through the scent.
“The final brothers for this city will be ready in mere d… days,” he stammers, and again throws his head back, limbs outward.
“How many d… d… days?” I mock. I must take small pleasures where I can, since I do not permit humans into my office, and thus have no one to toy with.
“No more than five,” answers the brother, and while he does not stammer this time, his words warble through shaking mandibles.
“And the final shipment for the few remaining cities . . . ,” I ask, excitement raising the volume of my voice.
“Gone already, Majesty,” the brother answers with haste. He attempts a small smile which makes him look as though he is going to regurgitate his last meal.
“Yessss,” I hiss with satisfaction. The humans will be exterminated long before any visitors from the home planet will check the status of this colony. By then, the human relics left on planet will be transformed by our people, and the visitors will join with me in expressing regret at the ages-old mysterious disappearance of what was a once-intelligent race from the planet. Meanwhile, I have had my fun.
I sweep my left arms toward the brother, snapping my pincers in dismissal. My enjoyment at the thought of the end of the soft, repulsive humans is so complete that I do not even take the pleasure of watching the brother cringe and grovel out of my presence.
“Majesty?” The word is a shaking whisper.
Anger flares as I realize the toady remains despite my dismissal. I roar as I fling the monitor aside on its tracks and storm toward him, pincers reaching to tear at him.
“Dev’ro!” shrieks the brother, as he falls to his knees and bends his head backward.
I manage to check my anger and bloodlust as I thrust a pincer to the brother’s throat and roar again.
“Dev’ro . . . ,” whispers the brother, with the screechy, grating sound that comes of speaking with head thrust backward.
“Dev’ro . . . ?” I answer. My own pincers shake with my need to relieve my fury and annihilate this creature.
The brother raises his head, lenses glittering as he close-focuses on my face. “Dev’ro tells me the new Shame Receptor is ready.”
Considering how close this brother knows he is to death, his
voice is remarkably steady.
“Ah,” I say, again smiling. My pincer stays a moment at the brother’s throat as I contemplate the pleasure of disposing of Nestra. Then I lower my arms, spin, and move back to my monitor to order the summoning of Nestra. I do not notice when the brother slips away.
***
“I did as you commanded.” The escort stands at attention in the entrance to my bedchamber. I lie among the cushions, eating slowly, luxuriously, from a tray held by a brother, my palpus undulating over the food. The anticipation of scattering pieces of Nestra from one side of the room to the other brings me a level of pleasure I have not been able to attain of late.
“Then why is Nestra not with you?” I ask, quite reasonably, I think. I will save my lashing anger for Nestra, not waste it on this brother.
“Nestra was in the garden,” the escort answers.
Despite my determination, my anger toward the brother rises. “I gave you specific instructions and permission to enter the garden for this task,” I answer. I force myself to remain lying among the cushions, rather than rising to squall at the escort.
“She was with humans,” the escort answers. “She was . . . sharing, Majesty, with humans.”
I leap from the bed-pit almost before the escort can finish speaking. He does not flinch away when I roar into his face, which startles me. He does not reek of fear. He is either completely loyal or extremely dull-witted.
After a moment of towering over the small escort, I turn away, and walk back toward the tray of food, still being held as I left it. I extrude my palpus and slurp at the tray. I turn back to the escort.
“Were you seen?” I ask.
“No, Majesty,” the escort answers.
“Hmmm. Take me to Nestra. Bring several guards,” I say as I stride toward the stalwart escort. He bows backward as I pass him, and then follows, scenting the air almost not at all.
Perhaps he knows the pleasure soon to be etched across my features will not likely be from any pain I have directed at him. I chuckle to myself as the escort gathers several guards into my wake.
