by Mara, Devi
"Alright! All of you pay attention, now!"
The trainer's voice jerked her attention from the corridor. She turned with the rest of the group to face him. He covered them all with the same no-nonsense look.
"By now, you all should know what happens when you don't follow the rules. Two of your classmates were unlucky enough to demonstrate in the staircase. I hope this has served as a warning and lesson to you all." He paused to sweep them with another look. When no one spoke, he turned to look down the length of room.
Sarah followed his gaze. A stone bench cut the room in half, empty except for a pile of what looked like metal chains. She frowned and looked back at the trainer who had moved from his place by the door. He strolled casually toward the bench. Just short of the restraints, he spun on his heel to face the class. Their eyes met.
"Handler Mackenzie."
She froze, feeling the attention of the group fall upon her. She licked her lips and stepped forward.
"Sir?"
"Come here!" Robinson barked. His gaze left her to glance down the hallway. "You will be our first lucky handler. As the only day handler, it’s fitting, I think."
Muscles tense, she forced herself forward, tuning out the cold, the scrape of the rough work suit, and the quiet murmurs of her training group. She stopped in front of him and straightened her spine.
"Sir?"
He looked at her, his smile cool. "Recite the definition of the Dem Classification System, Handler Mackenzie."
Sarah dropped her gaze. Staring hard at the floor, she searched her mind for the answer. It was just on the edge of her memory. Chapter one, the beginning of the book. She wiped her damp palms on her suit.
"Anytime, Handler Mackenzie!"
She flinched at his sharp tone, but the jolt seemed to shake the information free. She looked up at him. "The Dem Classification System is a color coding system created to indicate violence level among the Dem population."
"That's a very precise definition, Handler Mackenzie." He turned away from her to look down at the bench again. "Explain how the DCS works."
Sarah stared at him, wondering at his motives. She paused long enough that he looked at her again.
"Was there something about that order you didn't understand?" His eyes narrowed.
"No, Sir," she said quickly. Her eyes widened when he took a step toward her.
"Then, I suggest you answer the damn question, Mackenzie." He looked down at her, jaw visibly clenched. "Now."
"Yes, sir," she said quickly. "The colors are red, orange, yellow, green, and blue."
"That's real helpful, Mackenzie," he interrupted, voice almost hateful. "That's really going to be useful. Much more useful than say, what the different colors mean."
She shrunk back from his glare. "Of course, sir. I mean, no, sir." She tripped over her words, flicking her gaze to her classmates. None of them met her eyes.
"Alright, I can see this is too hard for you, Mackenzie. I'll make it easy. What does blue mean?"
Sarah did not look up to see what expression went with the condescending words. "Blue is the lowest of the levels and means the Dem has not been violent in at least five centuries."
"Green?" he barked.
Sarah kept her head down. "Green is the second lowest level. It means the Dem has not been violent in at least a century." She looked up quickly to see if she should continue.
"Go on," her trainer ordered, stepping away and giving her some space.
She let out a quiet sigh, watching him carefully. "Yellow is the third lowest level. It means the Dem has not been violent in at least fifty years." When he did not look at her, she continued. "Orange is the second highest level. It means the Dem has not been violent in at least ten years."
"And Red?" he asked offhandedly, busy with the chains. She watched him rearrange the stack until wrist and ankle restraints were separated from the rest.
"Red," she said quietly, watching as he lay a chest harness next to the restraints, "is the highest level. It means the Dem has not been violent in at least a year."
"Explain why there is no color for Dems who have been violent in the past year." He finished sorting and laid the connecting chain beside the rest.
Sarah stared at him blankly. "I…" She looked at her classmates. All of them looked equally confused. "Sir?"
He straightened and tucked his hands in his pockets. "A new level has recently been added." He looked at the closest cell. "Black." He turned around and his gaze landed on her. "Handler Mackenzie will be the first to experience a Dem with a DCS of black."
"What is a DCS of black, sir?" she whispered, following his gaze to the first cell.
"Violent in the past year or violent on a regular basis. In this Dem's case, both." He turned to face the class and the look in his eyes was enough to make her shiver. "Handler Mackenzie will be demonstrating proper Dem handling technique."
Sarah stared at him. When his expression hardened, she took a step forward. "Yes, sir."
"What is the first step, Handler Mackenzie?" He stared at her expectantly.
Her eyes moved to the panel on the wall next to the cell. "Observation, sir."
"Do it, then." He stepped aside to give her a clear path.
"Yes, sir." She walked toward the cell. She had to do this. For herself. For her family. She forced herself not to move faster when she passed him, her muscles tense, and her body poised for flight. His gaze was a cold weight. Each step toward the cell was a struggle, until she stood just a handwidth from the barrier.
Her breath hit the shield on every exhale, a small crackle across the field of energy. The cell appeared pitch black through the Dark Screen. Her eyes strayed to the glass panel just to the right.
"Take off the DS, Handler Mackenzie."
Sarah twitched at the sound of the trainer's voice from just behind her. She looked over her shoulder. The class stood against the wall across from the cell. All of them stared at her expectantly. She looked at her trainer.
"Yes, sir." With courage she did not feel, she touched a glowing square at the bottom left of the panel and the cell flooded with light.
"Handler Mackenzie, start observing."
His words seemed distant and fuzzy. Most of her attention focused on the inside of the cell and the Dem who was less than two feet from her, staring with obvious irritation.
"I said, observe!"
Sarah flinched at Robinson's words. She watched the Dem's gaze move past her and darken. His mouth opened and he said something, but the Sound Screen was still engaged. She moved to turn it off.
"Leave it," her trainer ordered. "Do your observations. We don't have all day."
Sarah dropped her hand from the wall panel. "Yes, sir." She stepped back to stand in front of the cell bars.
The Dem's dark gaze moved over her classmates, before landing on her again. His eyes narrowed. She watched his lips move, as he came closer to the bars. She tensed.
"Mackenzie!"
She flinched. Again, the Dem's gaze flicked past her. She swallowed hard and forced herself to calm. "Dem is tall," she said softly. She heard a derisive snort from behind her.
"Everyone is tall compared to you, Handler Mackenzie. I want a better observation."
Sarah's gaze moved to the panel on the wall, where the Dem's vital statistics were listed. She narrowed her eyes to read the small print. "Dem is six feet, seven inches tall." Her eyes flicked to the imposing figure who had fastened his gaze on her, as if he could hear her.
"And?" her trainer questioned impatiently.
"Dem is of the mesomorph body type," she continued hurriedly. Her eyes skimmed the loose suit that could not hide the broadness of his shoulders. "Hair is dark blond, eyes are green." She looked away from the Dem's narrowed gaze.
"And?"
Sarah looked at the Dem, frantically searching for what she had missed. "And…" she looked at the panel on the wall. Suddenly, she realized what she had missed. "Dem is called Farran." She looked over her shoulder
.
Her trainer nodded. "Do the second step of the technique," he told her, before turning to face the rest of the class. "I hope all of you have watched Handler Mackenzie. You will be expected to do the same."
"Yes, sir," the class chorused behind her.
"Handler Mackenzie."
"Yes, sir," she said quickly.
"I expect you to follow the schedule for the day." He gave the cell a quick glance and walked toward the door.
Sarah stared in confusion, as the class followed the trainer from the corridor. When the last of her classmates had passed through the doorway, she turned to face the cell. Her eyes swept over the Dem's face, avoiding his eyes. A straight nose, thin lips, and a strong jaw below high cheekbones. It was a pleasing face, she thought. Almost beautiful in its ruggedness, but as the lips twisted into a mocking smile, her eyes rose.
The Dem stared at her. His mouth moved slowly, forming words through the sharp smile. Sarah tipped her head in confusion. She watched him look toward where the panel was imbedded in the wall.
"Oh!" She hurried to the panel and tapped the glowing square at the bottom center of the screen. Immediately, the Sound Screen dropped. She stepped back to look into the cell. "Can you hear me?" She tucked her hands into her pockets.
The Dem leaned against the bars. He stared at her silently, pupils dilated until they nearly swallowed the green of his irises. He followed her every movement.
"Dem, can you hear me?" She took a step closer to him. When he stayed silent, she frowned. "Maybe, I did it wrong." She turned to look at the panel in confusion. "Maybe…" she pressed the only remaining square. The Containment Screen fell. "Can you hear me, Dem?"
Still, he did not answer.
She wondered at the look on his face. She took a step forward. "I am going to open the cell so you can hear me, Dem." She shook her head at herself. "Never mind. You can't hear me."
She glanced at the restraints on the bench. The panel held the schedule for the day, and it made it obvious she was already late. She bit her lip. After a quick look at the Dem, she walked over to retrieve the restraints.
They were lighter than they looked. Certainly not as heavy as an Earth metal. She draped them across her left arm and approached the panel. She saw the Dem from the corner of her eye. He had not moved from his position.
The panel purred almost the moment her hand touched the glass. A loud click made her jump. Her eyes quickly moved to the door of the cell and she let out a breath. The bolt had disengaged. She let out a nervous laugh.
"Dem, can you hear me?" She stepped to the door and gasped.
"Yes, human. I hear you." The Dem pulled open the door and reached for her. "Rule one. Do not disengage the locks when the prisoner is not restrained." His tone was full of dark amusement.
Sarah stared at him with wide eyes, too terrified to move. His fingers circled her arms. He jerked her forward and a choked gasp left her throat, as her toes skimmed the floor before it fell away. Her mind raced, but she forced herself still as he lifted her until they were eye to eye.
"Name?" he demanded.
"Sarah Mackenzie." She swallowed hard. She would be like the ones who had fallen, her remains something to be cleaned from the floor.
"Age?"
She tried not to tense when he brought his face to her neck and inhaled deeply.
"Twenty-two." The lie tried to stick in her throat.
He pulled back and gave her a dark look. "Try again."
"Eighteen," she whispered, tensing when his lips pulled back from his teeth in a shark smile.
"A lie, Sarah? How nice that you are not as innocent as you look." His smile faded. "Pick up the restraints. I have a schedule."
When he put her down, her knees wobbled, threatening to give out on her. He could grab her, shake her, kill her. She stared up at him, waiting for the violence to begin. Prepared to stand strong. He stepped back.
Chapter Two
The Loudest Silence
Sarah knelt to get the restraints. As she gathered them into her arms, she looked up at the Dem. His gaze fastened on her with a singular focus, the green of his eyes shifting to black. She imagined she saw something menacing move within the darkness. Something like the wolfish shapes in the shadows of the stairwell. She paused.
"Dem?" she questioned, not moving from her crouch.
"Farran." His eyes narrowed and he tipped his head to the side, still staring at her with his dark eyes.
Something about his expression reminded her of a predator watching prey.
She cleared her throat awkwardly. When he did not move toward her, she stood.
"Farran," she repeated slowly. She wondered at the barely there smile that passed across his face. "I need to put these on you."
His gaze dropped to the restraints in her hands. Again, something dark glittered in his eyes. It vanished quickly. "Of course." He stepped toward her and held out his arms.
"Thank you," she said softly, fastening her gaze on his wrists to avoid his eyes.
She quickly clamped the lightweight metal cuff on his left wrist. Her gaze flicked to his for a moment, taking in his blank face. She looked back down and closed the cuff around his right wrist. The scent of something spicy floated in the air between them, just a hint of fragrance, and she leaned forward in search of its origin. He shifted his weight and she froze.
"You are very jumpy," he said.
She looked up as far as his chest and mumbled, "I'm sorry." Her apology seemed to annoy him.
His head turned away from her. "Simply an observation."
"I'm sorry," she repeated, chancing a look at his face. She clamped her mouth shut when he sent her a dark look. "I have to put on your ankle restraints," she told him unnecessarily.
He did not reply. His gaze stayed focused on the bars of the cell, as she knelt to fasten a cuff on his left ankle. The cold of the air and the stone floor seeped through her suit. She shivered, forcing her hands not to shake. She could do this. She had to do this. She felt the moment his eyes fell on her, a prickle of awareness on the back of her neck. She bit her lip and tried to ignore the uneasy tightening in her stomach. She fastened the cuff around his right ankle.
He shifted minutely, and she paused.
"Is it too tight? Are you uncomfortable?" When there was no reply, she tipped her head back to look at him. Her heart skipped a beat.
"Am I uncomfortable?" The question was whispered, filled with cold fury. His jaw visibly clenched.
She stood slowly and took a step back. "I'm sorry." She kept her gaze on him, unable to look away.
He took a step toward her, teasing the edge of her personal space. "You are sorry," he repeated back. He tipped his head in an almost curious manner.
Her mind screamed in alarm. She backed up until she felt the hard press of bars against her back. It was a small pain, but it focused her. She flinched when he took a step toward her, closing the distance between them.
He leaned forward. "Stop apologizing," he whispered fiercely, his breath warm on her face.
She gave him a quick nod. "I'm sor-" she broke off. For a moment, they stared at each other.
"Finish the restraints," he said quietly, still inches from her. "And do not speak."
She gave him a jerky nod. He stared at her a moment longer, before straightening. His gaze immediately moved to the bars of the cell. Sarah dropped to her knees to attach the connecting chain to the ankle restraints. When she stood, he was watching her again.
"Your uncle mentioned you a handful of times," he said thoughtfully.
She looked at him in surprise.
"Though, he said your brother was the first born." He tipped his head to peer down at her. "How odd that you are here."
Sarah opened her mouth, then quickly closed it. She draped the connecting chain over her arm and picked up the chest harness.
"I see you have inherited your grandfather’s auburn hair," he commented casually, a strange contrast to his earlier anger. He raised his ar
ms away from his sides.
He knew so much about her, but she knew nothing about him. She stepped closer. He did not move, as she leaned in to wrap the chain around his waist, cheek brushing his suit. The spicy scent was far stronger with her face so close to him. She swallowed hard and stepped away as soon as the task was done.
"It is my understanding, your brother took after your father. Dark hair, dark eyes." He leaned forward. "Yet, you have green eyes. I must assume this came from your mother's line."
Sarah blinked at his sudden proximity. When his gaze dropped to the harness in her hands, she nodded. She draped the chain over his left shoulder. He turned away from her, as she crossed it across his back and fastened it to the right side of the waist chain.
"I have seen countless members of your family line," he said murmured.
She stayed silent, fastening the second chain to the back of the one at his waist. She rose onto her toes, and slipped the chain over his right shoulder. When he did not turn to face her, she walked around to stand in front of him. He looked down at her.
"You are the first female handler." Something about his tone made her look up at him.
She opened her mouth, and his eyes narrowed.
"It is very curious."
Sarah slid her gaze away from his strange expression. She quickly crossed the two chains across his chest and fastened them to the waist chain. The harness formed an "X" across his chest. In the center, a small panel held a hand print. She glanced up at him.
"Finish it."
She pressed her palm to the panel. His body jerked, as if every muscle had tensed at the same time. She felt a current flow from the panel, crackling along the metal. The chains around his chest snapped tight and gouged into his flesh. His wrist restraints shrank, nearly melding with his tan skin. A thin line of red appeared, as the edges cut into him. She tore her gaze away from the blood before it dripped to the floor.
The lines of fury slowly faded from his face and his eyes dropped to her. "You may speak."
She blinked at him. "You are on kitchen duty, today."
