by Jessica Dall
“Why not just make men full-fledged servants then?” Dahlia looked at her.
“And have them fight each other in the halls of our villas?” Audrey took over with a frown. “No thank you. It’s better not to let them see each other except in the camps where they can’t do any real damage. It’s why we leave them there after all.”
* * * *
That evening, Dahlia stood just outside her room, enjoying the last rays of sunset coming over the villa wall before finally pressing her keycard to her door. She stepped inside, pausing on the threshold. She looked at the man sitting on the edge of her bed for a moment before turning to shut the door. “Any reason you’re still here?”
“You didn’t send me back this morning.” Ben didn’t look up from the book in his lap. “That would be the main reason.”
“Oh.” Dahlia set her bag down in the corner by the door. “I didn’t know I had to do that.”
“Didn’t read the manual?” Ben turned the page.
“I didn’t know you came with one,” she snapped, pausing when he didn’t respond. Or look up. She sighed. “What are you reading?”
He raised his head. “That’s cute. You think I can read?”
She frowned. “You can’t?”
“Literacy isn’t one of the necessary skills to learn at camp. I believe, according to your spokespeople, it’s actually damaging to our—oh now, how did they put it—primitive brains. Reading takes blood away from the small parts of the brain we have that allow for impulse control. Let us read and who knows what will happen.”
Dahlia nodded, not sure of the etiquette for the situation. If there was any. “What are you looking at then?”
He looked at her for a long moment and then lifted the cover.
She moved a little closer, stooping to see and then frowned. “I’m sure there must be nicer pictures to look at than the ones in my old anatomy texts.”
“It’s interesting.” Ben shrugged. “Can’t say I’ve ever seen inside a human... well, never this completely and not without very, very different circumstances.”
She studied him for a long moment. “I’m not sure I want to know.”
“Well.” Ben seemed to consider. “They try to keep weapons out of the camps, but that’s not always possible.”
“Weapons?” Dahlia repeated.
“You know.” He shook his head. “Guns, knives... shivs?”
She frowned. “I’m afraid I only got knife from those. Shiv?”
“It’s a weapon made out of found materials...” he started and then paused. “Come on now, you have to know what a gun is. All the guards carry them.”
“Guards?” she repeated.
He looked at her as though he were attempting to judge if she had some mental defect. “You have to know what a guard is.”
“Yes, I know what a guard is,” Dahlia said, over enunciating the words. “I was questioning what guards.”
“The ones at the camps.”
“Oh, you mean the lesbians” she said. “Well, I can’t say I’ve seen one of them, at least not after they’re scanned and assigned, so I don’t happen to know what they carry at the camps. Or anywhere else for that matter.”
“You seriously have never seen a gun before.”
“I’ll assume so since I still have no idea what you’re going on about.” Dahlia eyed him, suspicious.
“Weapons,” he stressed. “Things you use to fight someone. Or protect yourself.”
“Protect yourself from what?”
He seemed to struggle for an answer. “Well, other people who have weapons.”
“Sounds awful,” she said. “It’s understandable how that would make someone weep.”
“No, not weep-on. Weapon. WEH, WEH-pon. Doesn’t even have the same etymology as far as I know.”
“You know etymology?” She raised an eyebrow.
He paused a moment. “I just know it means the history of words. I think that’s the right word for what I meant.”
“Yeah, it was. I was just surprised you knew it.”
“Well, believe it or not, I have a pretty well-versed vocabulary.”
“Apparently so,” she said. “Funny etymology is on the list to teach you when reading isn’t on there at all, though.”
He frowned. “We have our own verbal histories. We don’t have to read a word to learn it.”
Dahlia waved her hand, shooing away the comment. “So, you have these weep... weh-pons at the camp.”
“People manage to sneak them in every now and again.”
Her nose crinkled. “Sounds awful. They teach you how to hurt people, but not how to read?”
“Well, sweetheart...” Ben shut the book and placed it next to him on the bed. “I don’t think you want us to start learning anything else. Your whole society is sort of based on making us seem as animalistic as possible. You’d think if you didn’t dehumanize us, one or two of you might have a little more compassion for our plight.”
She studied him before shaking her head. “You really do talk a lot of nonsense.”
“I don’t know what they tell you about the camps, but until you see them, you aren’t in any position to comment about what I’m saying being ‘nonsense’ or not.”
“You’d have to bring back pictures.” She pressed the keypad on the wall. “I’m not allowed anywhere near the place.”
“That doesn’t raise any red flags for you?”
“Should it?” She brought up the national news from the pad.
“What are you doing?” he scanned the page that seemed to be floating on the window.
“Checking for any big news I should know.” Dahlia shrugged, not looking at him.
“You get news on your window?”
“General information is hooked up to the interweb, and the interweb can be broadcast through the glass, something about plasma or electrons or something. I’m not a physicist. I don’t really know all the science behind it.”
“So you get all the information you need right there.”
“Keeps us up on things,” she said.
Ben was silent for a moment. “So why do you have papers around?”
Dahlia shrugged. “Private documents, backup copies, all that jazz. Not everything can be sent en masse or even into our private inboxes. Harder to hack into a piece of paper.”
“So you don’t fight each other, but you’re more than willing to spy on each other.”
“Some are,” she said.
“You get paper and electronic mail.”
“Males?” Dahlia frowned.
“Electronic letters,” Ben specified. “Mail.”
“What do letters have to do with men?”
Ben paused, opened his mouth, shut it again. “What?”
“Why do I feel like I’ve fallen into some bad comedy routine?”
“When did I say anything about men?” Ben asked.
“Male is the adjective version of men, if I’m not mistaken.” She crossed her arms, pressing the pad again so the window turned smoky again. “A male child? Male affectations?”
“No.” He sighed. “You’re impossible to talk to. Not male: M-A-L-E, mail: M-A-I-L.”
Dahlia shook her head. “Sorry, I’ve only heard of the first one.”
“Well, how do you get letters sent to you?”
“Sent?”
“I put the letter in the...” he prompted.
“Post,” she added.
“There you go.” He hit his legs with his hands. “Means the same thing.”
“Post and mail?” Dahlia frowned. “The second mail, not male, male—”
“Right,” Ben cut her off.
“All right.” She nodded, lost. “So what was the original question?”
“I don’t even remember at this point.” Ben shook his head. “The window thing’s fascinating though.”
“Why’s that?”
“Well, we don’t have anything like it at the camps,” he said. “Besides, you’re the first perso
n I’ve ever had willing to explain it to me. Most women don’t spend a whole lot of time talking to me about, well, anything.”
Dahlia looked him over. “Do you get picked a lot then?”
“More than the average, I think,” Ben said. “You chose me.”
She shrugged. “You were as good as any.”
Ben snorted. “Glad I mean so much to you.”
“Why would you mean something to me? You’re just a man. And I’ve known you for less than twenty-four hours now.”
“I thought it was supposed to be in your nature to be compassionate.”
“I wouldn’t harm you, just as I wouldn’t hurt anything that could feel pain. That doesn’t mean I’m constantly crippled with compassion.”
“I suppose the lack of sadistic tendencies should be heartening.”
She raised an eyebrow.
“Sadism, liking to kill small animals, all that fun stuff.”
“Uh-huh.” She surveyed him, not sure where all this would lead.
“I mean,” he continued, “for all your talk of peace and love, some of you girls are sincerely messed up.”
She continued to stare at him.
He turned his right arm to show her the underside of his wrist.
She looked at the round mark that was slightly paler than his skin, faintly scaly. “A burn scar?”
“Know what sadomasochism is?”
Dahlia shook her head, her eyebrows knotting a bit.
“Look it up sometime.” He rubbed his wrist self-consciously.
“Well.” She considered. “Masochism is enjoying being in pain, right?”
“And sado comes from sadism. Enjoying causing people pain.”
“So... you got that because you’re a masochist?”
“Hardly.” Ben shook his head.
Dahlia sighed. “Well, I’m lost.”
“Some people, some women, get their thrills from causing people pain.”
“Some... someone burned you? On purpose?”
He gave her a humorless smile. “Now you’re getting it.”
“But you don’t like getting burned.”
“Well, it’s not like I have a whole lot of say in the matter.”
“You’d think you’d have at least some say in someone hurting you. Did they tie you down?”
He frowned. “Why do you want to know?”
“Well, you said it. You’ve got a good ten centimeters on me, and I’m guessing twenty-five kilograms or so. I’m pretty sure if I were trying to hurt you, you’d be able to stop me.”
“Most of us are physically bigger and stronger than you. You think you’ve left us to our own devices?”
Dahlia frowned. “What do you mean?”
He pulled the collar of his shirt down to show a thin raised line below his collarbone to the right of his neck. “Compliance chip.”
“Compliance chip?” she repeated, mystified.
“We do something wrong it sends a disabling shock. It’s why I couldn’t leave your room if I wanted.”
“I’ve never heard of a compliance chip.” Dahlia shook her head.
“Well, you jab me here and I’m going to go down.” Ben ran his thumb over the scar before letting his collar go. “It’s a very handy thing for you, incapacitates us if we get uppity, tracks where we are, has all our information... I thought they covered all that before you turned twenty.”
“I never really paid attention.” Dahlia leaned against the wall, staying as far away from him as she could in the small room.
“Apparently.”
“Well, you know everything, so there was no need for me to waste my time.” She gathered her courage to move to the bed, pulling his shirt collar down and studying the scar. “How does it work?”
“I don’t know,” he said, tensing but not pulling back. “You’re the doctor.”
“Do you know how big the chip is?”
“Does it matter?”
“If it’s got any size to it at all, it’s brilliant craftsmanship. There’s the axillary vessels right there, you nick one of those and you... well, it isn’t good. Then the nerves. You could do a lot of damage putting a chip in there.”
“Maybe that’s the point.” Ben shrugged with his left shoulder, letting her study the scar.
She ran her fingers over it lightly. “Does it hurt when you get hit there?”
“I said it does.”
“You said it was incapacitating. That could be painless. You never know.”
“It hurts,” he said.
She nodded. “So, I’m assuming you wouldn’t want me to test it out.”
“Yeah, I’d prefer it if you didn’t.” He watched her, wary.
She pulled the collar to the side looking at his shoulder, frowning for a second before pulling him to stand. She paused, pulling up the hem of the shirt just enough to show his navel and looked up at him. “Do you mind?”
He frowned at the question, and then shook his head. “Go ahead.”
With great care, she pulled the shirt off, touching a long scar from his left hipbone to his side, stopping just under his ribs. “That doesn’t look like it was fun.”
“Well, that one’s from the camp,” he said.
“Yeah?” She felt for his rib bone and placed her other hand on the end of the scar, looking at the space between them.
“Well, there are turf wars.” Ben shrugged. “Most of the time it’s unarmed. Every once in a while...”
“Did it hit your rib?” She didn’t attempt to understand what he was saying.
“What?”
“I take it this was a knife cut? It looks like a thick, very unskilled, version of a scalpel cut.”
“Yeah, it was,” he said. “I suppose it might have hit my rib. He lost grip on the handle at some point.”
“You’re lucky your ribs did their job then.” Dahlia dropped her hands. “If the blade had gone farther or deeper, he could have seriously injured you.”
“Yeah, I was in the med center for almost a month after that one. We have some pretty shitty health care there.”
She nodded, moving to the curving scar on his right shoulder that rose starkly from the skin like something had forced the skin to grow over it oddly. “This one?”
“Also from the camp,” Ben said, crossing his arm over his chest to rest his hand on it.
“You have fights a lot then?” She handed him his shirt.
“Things have been pretty calm lately.” He slipped the shirt over his head and fixed the collar. “I mean, I’m twenty-four and I have two major scars from the camp. That’s not bad.”
“I’m twenty,” she said, “and I only have one scar.”
“Yeah?” He smiled.
“On my ankle.” She sat down holding up her ankle to show him the inside of it. “I was still in Silver and mucking about at school. Cut myself wide open on a piece of sheet metal Service hadn’t moved.”
“Impressive,” he said. “It must have been some cut.”
“Needed stitches,” she said. “There was so much blood. Nicked a vein I think, I mean, there’s only tributary veins so it wasn’t that serious, but at age six it was still pretty scary. They were impressed I didn’t pass out.”
“You’re a doctor. You have to be used to blood.”
“I’m not a surgeon,” she said. “At six I wasn’t versed in medicine.”
“You survived,” he said.
She frowned, pulling her leg back. “Was still scary.”
“Sorry.” He shook his head. “I didn’t mean to be insulting. I suppose I have a skewed view of things. One of the older men in my barrack, soon after I got moved to the adult camp, got his neck sliced. Blood was all over the place. It wasn’t the last time either. I’m sort of used to it.”
Her eyes widened. “That’s horrific.”
“It’s why we end up forming ‘family’ groups. Less likely to be killed in your sleep when you have people looking out for you.”
“Oh my...” Dahlia gaped. �
�You... don’t the guards do something?”
“More of us than them.” Ben shrugged. “They don’t want to risk their necks getting involved in camp warfare. Anyway, you all want us to kill off each other. Save you the trouble.”
Dahlia frowned. “That’s an awful thing to say.”
“Well it’s the truth.” Ben gazed down at her. “With your breeding program you don’t need nearly as many of us as you once did, especially with your zero population growth thing. If we end up dying, well, it’s one less malcontent you have to deal with. Only time we see a doctor is if they can’t hide the fact that we’re going to die without them. Or they want to make sure we aren’t going to make any of you sick.”
“No checkups?”
“I don’t think you care enough.”
“Sit.” She stood again.
“What?”
“I’m going to give you a physical.” She picked up the bag by the door.
“Why?”
“Down.” She pointed at the mattress.
He gave up and sat down.
“Put this under your tongue.”
“Thermometer?” He looked at it.
“Indeed,” she said, holding it to his mouth.
“Don’t they go in the ear?”
“Quicker that way.” Dahlia shrugged. “Less accurate, but quicker. Under your tongue.”
He did as instructed, watching as she grabbed some sort of tablet, her stethoscope, and a blood pressure cuff.
“I mean, it’s probably a moot point anyway.” She pressed something on the tablet, “If you had a fever you probably wouldn’t be here, but it’s med school 101 that you have to do all the basics first. Besides, I don’t do enough clinic hours to do all this a lot. So it’s letting me brush up. I’m more specialized than a GP.”
“GP?” he mumbled, keeping the thermometer under his tongue.
“General practitioner,” she said, pulling the thermometer out when it beeped. “They’re the people who do colds and checkups most the time.”
“Should I be worried about what you’re doing to me then?”
“I don’t do it often, but I know how to do clinic hours.” Dahlia looked at the readout and typed something into the pad. “I specialized as an immunologist. I may mainly deal with homeopathics, but we all get the same basic medical training.”
“Temperature fine, Doc?”
