The nurse was not a high-order Wraith. Most of the nurses had some training, but by definition they weren't good enough for service. Instead, they were assigned to the Cells. The cap would be safe with me. If any of the other girls observed my indiscretion they would not tell.
Wraiths didn't speak openly unless directly asked.
I kept the stolen cap plastered to the underside of my cot for over a year. I got better and better at jumping. I slipped out at night, into the center of the corridor and would stare down the hall to the Cell. I would find a pocket, directly in the center, leading to the Cell control, and hide there. Sometimes I would sit for an hour or more and watch the nurses. With my gray suit, and skin cap on, they never saw even a hint of my presence. I learned to keep my breathing and heart rate in tune with my sleeping state. If they were to check the control panel for my vitals, it would tell them that I was sleeping. All of the information they needed was right in front of them. But I watched them. Studied them. I watched the intricate revolving pattern of red beams that scanned the main hallway leading to the exit. They called the security system the Snowflake. Something about it never being the same, the highest technology. Unpassable.
Perfection.
Of course, only fools believed in perfection. Only lunatics tried to achieve it. That's what The Bishop said.
Their security was far from perfect.
CHAPTER FOUR
82 had her first blood on a Wednesday. Ceremony always followed right after the blood day. When a girl received her first blood she was to inform one of the Cell nurses. Usually they could tell from the vital signs and, more often than not, would arrive before being called. Her ceremony would be on Thursday, when she would be elevated to Triàge et Révision des Infirmités Génétiques, 'sorting and reconditioning of genetic anomalies' — an advancement if you will. Once Wraiths passed through TRIG they left the Cell forever. Their training continued in an adjoining building. The Chancery. After the Chancery they would be placed with a highborn family. On the outside.
I knew I would miss 82. I was 11 and didn't expect my blood for at least another year. But that morning, as the nurses cleaned 82's cot, they told me, "You'll have your ceremony tonight after 82. Isn't that exciting? Such an honor for one so young. You will go to TRIG."
I nodded. "Yes."
"You have garden time in one hour."
My eyes widened ever so slightly in question — enough of a gesture for her poorly trained eyes to register.
Her expression softened for a fraction of a second. "There's extra garden time on your Ceremony day."
I nodded again and she turned on her heel and left. The soft soles of her slippers made barely a whisper along the white tiled floor.
Later, as I sat alone in a secluded corner of the garden, I watched The Bishop quietly talk with each girl who would attend her ceremony that day. He gave each one of them a small dark square. I spied, invaded their privacy — as the girl's faces registered the smallest flickers of surprise and something else, something I couldn't quite figure out, as they placed the squares in their mouths. One girl actually closed her eyes. I'd never seen a Wraith deliberately close her eyes for that long before. At least not while she was awake.
Well, maybe one other time.
When he saw me his eyes widened .5 millimeters in response before his careful mask slipped back into place. He walked over to me and sat down.
"What are you doing here, 11?"
My given identifier. A signal for caution.
"I am to have my ceremony tonight. I will go to TRIG."
He removed his hand from the inside of his robe and held out one of the same dark squares. I looked down at his hand.
"Take it. Put it in your mouth quickly."
I obeyed. I placed the square inside my mouth.
He turned to face me and blinked once, slowly and deliberately.
One slow blink. Danger. Mortal Danger.
My heart monitor bleeped.
"It's okay. They'll think it's from the chocolate I just gave you. Take a moment and calm yourself."
I steadied my breathing and tried to focus on the square that melted against my tongue. It was sweet. I tasted sweet once before on a protein cube laced with Goulard's Powder. This was sweet too, but so different. This felt smooth on my tongue. If he hadn't blinked when I put it in my mouth I might have actually enjoyed it.
"It is… unprecedented. What is it?" I asked sitting still beside him.
"It's called chocolate." His nostrils flared. Escape.
"It tastes good. Pleasurable." I ran my right hand along my thigh one half of an inch and tapped my pinky finger once. When?
"How does it make you feel?" I thought it a strange question. We were never expected to respond emotionally to stimuli. He briefly touched his palms together in front of him. Tonight.
"I feel a warmth. Low, in my stomach I think. What is this feeling called?"
"Happiness, Ma Petite, "he whispered.
I sucked the chocolate around in my mouth. It was soothing. Calming. I knew I had to go. I'd been training for it. I had my exoderm, my cap, my training. I could be invisible. I knew how to kill in hundreds of silent ways. I would succeed.
"Will I see you tonight at the ceremony?" I asked.
"Yes. You will see me." He looked directly at me. "I do not expect to see you."
He blinked slowly again but followed it with a second blink and a tiny bead of moisture gathered at the corner of his eye.
This I did not understand. I reached up without thinking and collected the droplet on my index finger. I held it carefully and stared at the tiny transparent orb. "What is this?"
He stood up. "That is love."
Then he walked away from me without looking back.
I dropped my hand into my lap and stared down at the small drop on my finger as I savored the last swallow of chocolate. I didn't want to let go of the tear. I didn't want to let go of him.
I surreptitiously canted my head, scanning to each side. My peripheral vision was superior as well. The other girls were absorbed in their own pleasurable moments.
I brought my finger up to my lips and touched it with my tongue. The taste was subtle and unexpected and salty.
Happiness was sweet.
Love was salty.
CHAPTER FIVE
82 went to TRIG before me. I sat alone in the holding room for hours until she came back to collect her belongings before transferring to the Chancery. The Bishop led her into the room, acknowledging me with a brief nod, then stepped back out and closed the door. No tells. No warnings. I didn't know what to do. So I waited.
82 sat down next to me on the gray bench seat and stared at her hands. I watched as a thin stream of spittle fell out of her slack lips. It formed a little pool on her right hand. She didn't wipe it away. She did nothing. I waited for the soft warning to beep on her suit but no sound emerged.
I knew it wasn't polite to engage in conversation when she hadn't offered any cues that she wished to interact with me, but suddenly I was alarmed — calmly of course.
"82." I whispered.
She stared unblinking at her hands.
"82, what happened?" Urgency hovered just under my voice.
Still nothing. More saliva dripped out of her mouth.
I gently placed my hand on her forearm.
She screamed.
I spoke reflexive words of apology, but she launched her body at me. We spilled to the floor, a tangle of narrow, gray-covered legs and arms. Her blonde hair fell forward over her face, forming a veil around my head. My view constrained to just her face and the small drops of spit that sprayed down at me.
"Don't you do it!" She yelled over and over.
Her hands wrapped like claws around my neck. I pulled at them with my own, allowing my blood pressure to rise in the hope that someone would come for us. I didn't want to hurt her.
"You'll change!" She cried.
Her wails took on a breathy wheeze and her lips pulled b
ack over her teeth.
I was about to curl my legs up over, around her head, and launch her off of me when The Bishop and a nurse rushed in. He grabbed 82 around the waist to lift her off of me while the nurse went to her hands that were still wrapped around my throat, strangling me.
After a moment of struggle, the nurse finally slapped her with an injector and 82 went limp. They brought in a float-litter, strapped her in place and carted her out. As they left, I could hear her mumbling, "They change you … They swirl and they melt." Tiny spit bubbles formed at the corners of her mouth as she spoke.
The nurse strapped a blindfold securely in place. A Wraith's ultimate undoing. Without her sight, unable to see the pockets, 82 might as well be chained in a cage of steel.
The Bishop had me placed in a solitary containment cell. The door closed. Locked. There's only one thing Wraiths hate more than not being able to see and that's small confined spaces. I had to be able to see somewhere else to travel.
There was a small chair. I pushed it over to the door. Luckily, The Bishop had put me in a room with a slit window above the door. It was made from something thick and indestructible, but I could see through it. I peered out.
I watched him talk to the nurse, the one with light brown hair. The door was soundproof, but I could read their lips so well that it was as good as standing next to them. I couldn't see the nurse very well with her back turned to me. Then The Bishop placed his hands on her shoulders and slowly, deliberately, pulled her body to him — a hug I thought — but then he turned her slightly so her back was pressed against him and he whispered in her ear.
I could their see both of their mouths.
Bishop: "You need to recalibrate. Don't use TRIG on her until you check the system. Something's wrong."
Nurse: "I checked it. Everything was fine. I don't know what happened."
Bishop: "Neither do I, but do you want to explain two consecutive smoke-outs to the Consiglio?"
Nurse, obviously agitated: "You know it happens sometimes. The process has risks. There are casualties."
Bishop: "I know that. But not her – not 11."
Nurse: Lips pursed and angry. "That's all you care about – the Prodigy? The brat? Do I have to remind you that I'm the one who helped you? It was me who changed your map so they wouldn't see and – "
Bishop: relaxing his face muscles, clearly using his training. "I know, I know. I'm sorry. I owe you everything. You can do her tomorrow after we recalibrate. Okay? Just wait until I'm not here. Please."
Nurse: "Where are you going tomorrow?"
Bishop: "I just won't be here."
He placed his hands on her forearms again and leaned in to her ear. "Let me make it up to you."
I couldn't see the nurse's full expression but that neck artery thumped so forcefully under her ear lobe that I swore I could hear it. Her eyes closed and a smile, genuine, full and forbidden in the Templum, spread across her face. She rose up on her toes and pressed her body against his. "Where?"
Bishop: "Let me take her back to her room. The cell will be empty…" He smiled but it looked unnatural on his face. I tried to understand what made his smile different then I realized that his eyes were hard. Usually they were soft with a faint sparkle.
The nurse turned to nuzzle her cheek against his chest. Submission? Accord? The expression on her face seemed so contradictory; simultaneously serene and excited. Then she glanced in my direction. I dropped below the window before she saw me, jumped off the chair, and pushed it away from the door.
The Bishop entered seconds later. He took my arm and said, a bit too loudly, "Now, now… Don't be afraid and don't try to run. I've got you."
He gently pulled me from the room and led me back to Corridor B. I dared not look up to question him. His fingers remained clasped around my forearm. I knew he would not hurt me, but I had never been touched, so deliberately, for such an extended period of time. I concentrated so hard on keeping my pulse even that it took me a few seconds to realize that he was tapping his finger against the inside of my wrist.
Then I remembered the sheets he slipped me once about Morse code. It was an ancient, primitive code — childish. It only took me an hour to learn it all. I hadn't practiced it much since I was three, but that's what it was.
TRIG RM HIDDEN MSG. MAP. USE PCKTS. BOX 4 U 1480 LIFT SEED WAY. CUTTER.
My exit plan.
CHAPTER SIX
He tapped the entire message so quickly I couldn't be sure I had it all, but there was no way to ask. We arrived at my room and he pushed me inside. I listened for the click of the lock and heard nothing.
The other girls in our corridor had already been cleared to the Chancery. I was alone and wasted no time. As soon as he was gone I grabbed my skull cap and pulled it on tight, way down low over my eyebrows. I stared at the gray wall and adjusted my iris colors to match their tone. Then I slipped out of the room and back down the hall. I made no sound. I settled my breathing to mimic relaxation — blood pressure low; heart rate steady.
I retraced our steps to the room marked T.R.I.G. The Bishop and the nurse were in the confinement cell I had just vacated. The door was ajar ever so slightly and, despite the obvious risk, I couldn't help myself. I peeked in for just the briefest second and saw his hands on her body. Over her breasts. I had no idea what he intended to do to her. She squirmed, but didn't resist in any way I had ever studied.
Instead of pushing him away, she groped him closer, her white fingers digging into the blackness of his robed shoulders. Then she reached up and tore his red skull cap off. Short, spiky raven hair, just like mine, pricked up from his scalp. Involuntarily I gasped. I caught myself, controlling my breathing. I didn't know if he heard me, but his arm reached out and the light in the cell went off. He would know that my eyes could adjust within less than 100 milliseconds, but it was a very clear signal that he didn't want an audience.
I moved silently in my gray stocking feet to the room marked, TRIG. I worried I would need to find a pocket in order to slip under the door. I didn't know if my skills were up to that yet. But this door was unlocked as well. The Bishop was taking enormous risks. For me.
I slipped into the room. A massive chair mounted in the center with a metallic and plastic helmet-like contraption suspended above it, filled the confines of the room. All around, on shelves, were small cages of baby chicks, chocolates, flowers, grass, bugs, stacks of photos and other items. I recognized them all from my sessions with the Bishop, but I couldn't waste time trying to understand what their presence meant.
I ran over to the computer and began my hacking protocols. Finding pockets in code was much easier than finding them in spacetime, and the Bishop left breadcrumbs the size of small mountains for me to follow. I was inside within thirty-eight seconds. I didn't know how much time I had so I mentally tracked each passing second as my eyes skimmed documents as quickly as the system could flash them up on the screen.
Questions formed in my head as quickly as I uncovered answers.
… The Mandate of St. Nicolo…
… Primitive procreation is hereby outlawed within the domain of the Order. All impregnations will henceforth be supervised. Within the first 750 hours of fertilization, embryos will be genetically mapped. Mothers blessed with fetuses displaying desirable markers will be placed in the Virgin Creche for the duration of gestation. These Blessed Mothers will be given hormonal and genetic therapies to advance desirable traits of their fetuses and to ensure the proper gender. Any sign of gender ambiguity will be cause for termination. The Virgin Creche must bear only daughters.
… The common term for the Daughters of the Creche was 'Wraiths'. They were carefully trained, taught to see the invisible, to hear the inaudible. Taught to entertain, seduce and enthrall. Wraiths can kill or manipulate in a thousand subtle ways. Highborn families paid dearly for the boon of their services and the highest of them would sometimes buy a Wraith's contract outright, forever consigning her to servitude.
A document The
Bishop flagged in a sub channel as '
One of the most skilled wraiths to date, Subject 2, escaped the Creche. New security protocols established.
…Wraith 2 recovered and determined to be impregnated by primitive means. Fetus naturally selected female gender assignment. Key fetal markers, rank among the highest measured.
… Unanimously voted that the fetus shall be allowed to come to full term.
… Bidding closed at 3000kg. Purchasing family documentation has hereby been sealed with highest possible clearance. Subject 11 will be surrendered to the client family at age fifteen.
I paused for three seconds to get my racing heart under control.
… Standard contract term of ten years. At twenty-five, Wraith will be returned to the Order for containment and evaluation. Wraiths of high genetic potential must be thoroughly documented.
… Father listed as unknown. Mother deceased of natural causes during childbirth.
I had only moments remaining. My pulse threatened elevation. Calm is all.
… TRIG program initiated following the escape of Subject 2.
… At a subject's first menstruation, reproductive maturity, subject genome is to be purged of all emotional and sexual motivation sequences.
Words swam on the page — sexual lobotomy, desire de-programming, emotional neutralization — safest and best thing for the Wraith and males in the household that have contact with them. Before the Wraiths are delivered to their family they will also undergo a full hysterectomy. They would make absolutely certain there were no more incidents of unauthorized Wraith reproduction.
As I read, I felt a rise in my gut, distinctly similar to the way I felt the day we tested the poisoned protein cubes.
The Wraith's Story (BRIGAND Book 1) Page 2
