by Lisa Jade
“So you’re the mysterious newcomer. Welcome to the Atrium.”
“The Atrium?”
“That’s what we call this big space,” Pan chuckles from behind me.
Nate looks me up and down, then laughs. The sound is deafeningly loud, but nobody looks around at the noise. Clearly, everyone’s used to it.
“You really are the spitting image. The similarities are uncanny.”
I smile politely in return, but I don’t get it. Sure, both Jay and I are blonde and stocky, but that’s where the similarities end.
“Really?” says Pan, “I don’t see it. She doesn’t look all that much like Jay.”
“Not Jay. Alix.”
He pats me hard on the shoulder, and I’m honestly a little surprised my feet haven’t sunk into the floor under his immense weight.
“I’m sorry, but who’s Alix?”
Pan seems momentarily alarmed, but Nate doesn’t seem to notice.
“Your… Jay’s mother. You’re so similar.”
He waves one of his oversized hands at a small photo frame on his desk. I scoop it up and squint at the figures in the picture. A wispy-looking man with a twisted grin embraces a dainty, blonde woman. Behind them, the city. These are supposed to be my parents?
“I’m sorry, I don’t see it.”
The woman in the photo is pretty and long-limbed, with sparkling eyes and a brilliant smile. Her expression doesn’t exactly scream rebel leader – but then, neither does the man’s. He looks slightly goofy, actually. Like he told a lot of bad jokes.
Nate winks.
“It’s there. You’ll see it eventually.”
I can’t help but roll my eyes in response.
“So, what do you do around here?”
“Whatever they need me to do. I tinker around with ideas a lot. I’m not a computer genius like Jensen, and my people skills are admittedly a little lacking.”
He stares as though expecting me to deny it. When I don’t, he heaves a sigh.
“Not one for small talk, I see.”
“No, not really.”
He laughs again, then turns to Pan.
“So what’s she going to do while she’s here? I imagine the same rules apply to her.”
“Rules?” I ask.
“Yep. Everyone has a role to play here, missy. There are no free rides.”
Suddenly, my heart sinks. I don’t think I have any skills suitable to service people like this. I can’t even read all that easily, much less use a computer. But Pan just smirks.
“It’s alright. We’ll figure something out.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yep. But for now, how about you and I help out with dinner? There are lots of people to feed here, and nobody ever wants to cook. Hop into the shower, then we’ll throw something together.”
“All I heard was ‘shower’, so yes.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
I had no idea that one human being could smell so bad. It’s shocking to me now, as I pluck my dirty clothes up off the floor of the shower room. They stink to high heaven, weeks of sweat and dirt built up to an unbelievable stench. At least my body is clean now.
Idly, I run a hand through my hair. It’s lighter than I thought, a soft gold instead of murky brass. What’s more, it now smells like flowers. It’s been a long time since I’ve smelled of anything even remotely nice. We have showers at the Mill – but a few minutes standing under icy water can’t compare to soap.
Pan’s left me some clean clothes. I recognise them instantly as men’s, but that doesn’t bother me one bit. It’s pretty clear the women here aren’t built like me. They’re tall and soft and curved – and me? I’m stocky and muscled and burnt brown from the sun. I pull the clothes on, pleased at the feeling of clean, warm material. Grey trousers, black t-shirt. Unremarkable in every sense of the word, and yet I feel a thousand times better. Pan stares as I step out of the shower room.
“Oh, wow. You’ve actually got a face under all that muck.”
“You seem surprised.”
“Don’t take it personally! I’m just impressed. You’re prettier than I would have guessed.”
She smiles warmly at her own compliment, but though I reply in kind, I don’t really care. ‘Pretty’ simply isn’t a factor.
This time as we walk through the tunnels, the glances are different. People no longer regard me as an unwashed, scary-looking stranger. There’s still that hesitation there, that fear of who I might be and what I might do, but clean skin and a pleasant smell seem to help a lot. The kitchen here is similar to the Mill’s. Instinct takes over as I pick up a knife and start chopping away at the nearest stack of vegetables. If Pan’s irritated at that, she doesn’t say anything. Instead she just pulls up next to me and joins in. Atlas settles on a work surface, carefully filming my hands. Watching for any signs of disobedience.
“So, what do you think of the place?”
“Everyone seems nice,” I say, “it’s less scary than I thought it would be.”
In truth, it’s not. I’ve been cautious of everyone I’ve come across; the only difference is that I’ve been able to weigh up my chances of winning a one to one fight. Luckily I’m bigger than most people here, and I’m quietly pleased to have such a distinct advantage.
“Everyone’s in a good mood,” she tells me, “It’s such an exciting time.”
“It is?”
“Seriously? Noah, sometimes I think you forget how important this is. If you’re Ada, the whole cause will take a turn for the better. We might finally be able to end this.”
“I get that. I do. But that doesn’t really have anything to do with me, does it?”
“Why do you think that?”
“I’m happy for you if Ada turns out to be alive. Even if she’s me. But be realistic. There’s nothing special about me. I just don’t want you all to get your hopes up, thinking I can do something amazing when I can’t. I’m just a Millchild, remember?”
She falls silent at that, and we work in silence. Aha. There’s nothing she can say back to that. What I’m saying is true. It doesn’t matter if Ada is me or not, not really. It matters that she’s alive. But whether she’s me? Irrelevant.
“I don’t expect anything amazing from you, Noah.”
I pause at that, arm half-stretched towards the nearest potato.
“Good. You shouldn’t. I’m a Farm worker, and that’s all I’m good for.”
“But that’s wrong. Expecting a miracle isn’t fair, I know. But I can’t stand to hear you say that all you’re good for is working on a farm.”
“Why not?” I snort, “it’s true.”
She slams the knife down, suddenly angry.
“It is not. You’re more than what they turned you into, Noah.”
I can’t hold back my laughter. I feel like an ass. She’s trying to be encouraging and kind, trying to support me through a weak moment. But this isn’t a weak moment. I’m not down on myself. I’m realistic. There’s no underestimation going on here. I just know my limit.
She stamps her foot.
“Hey!”
“I’m sorry. But you’re wrong. If you need someone to trawl through mud or chop wood or carry something heavy, I’m your girl.”
“You should expect more of yourself. Until last night, I had no idea how the Guards treated Mill workers. I had no clue you were slaves.”
“Slaves is a bit harsh.”
“But true. And what’s worse, they raise you that way. So it’s all you ever know, and you never look for a bigger purpose.”
I scowl. A bigger purpose? Bigger purposes are for city folk. Like being able to find yourself and build your talents, or find love. They’re luxuries – and she’s talking about them like anyone can have them at a moment’s notice.
“I don’t need your pity, Pan, and I don’t need you to save me either.”
She winces at that.
“I didn’t mean it like that. I just…”
“It’s fine.”
“So do I.”
And I do. It’s fine. I wasn’t really hurt by Pan’s words – just irritated.
She glances at my hands, then gasps.
“How have you cut so much already?”
I stare at the pile of potatoes next to me. Whoops. Too much.
“Sorry. Guess I’m used to cooking for a lot more people.”
“No, it’s fine. Very efficient.”
Her smile’s still a little sheepish, but I ignore it.
People come for dinner in droves, and it’s to my great relief that Pan takes over. I don’t want to be faced with the stares, the mutters, the barely concealed glares. Instead I hide myself away – though in my little hiding spot behind a large, battered freezer, I can still hear everything.
Everyone’s curious. Some, it seems, don’t know about me yet. They ask who the stranger from earlier was. Others seem to know everything and delve straight in with the most prying questions. Still others seem to have already come up with their own theories about who I am and what I want from them.
Pan doesn’t try to dispel them. She just shrugs the questions off. Like they’re not even worth answering. As the tenth person proclaims me to be a murderous traitor, though, I can’t listen anymore. I turn away.
Standing alone in the cramped, hot kitchen, I can finally breathe. I’ve never been used to alone time – it’s practically non-existent back home. It’s a luxury to have time alone with your thoughts. After a few moments, I sigh. Apparently, my thoughts aren’t all that interesting. Still, it’s nice. The relative quiet of the room around me is oddly comforting after the long, chaotic day. Atlas beeps quietly next to me, alerting me of my decreasing heart rate. Apparently, I’m finally starting to calm down.
I feel like I’ve not thought clearly since getting here. One minute I was completing a task, eager to get home. The next, I’m backing up an inner city protest group on the off-chance I might be related to one of them. If I’d been able to think clearly, I’d have run the first chance I got. Now, it’s too late. This chaos is going to carry on, and I just have to deal with it.
Something cold touches my arm and I jump; but it’s just Pan, pressing a plate into my hands.
“Here. Dinner time.”
I stare at the strange pile of food she’s given me and scowl. It doesn’t look like anything I’ve seen before. It doesn’t even resemble the food Darus offered up on the boat. I’ve half a mind to pass it up – but then my stomach snarls and I pluck it from her grip.
“Thanks.”
The food’s good. Really good. As I pick at a slab of some kind of meat, I feel my mood lift.
“This is amazing.”
“This is pretty awful compared to what you can get on the surface. What do they feed you at the Mill?”
“We make do with what we can get,” I reply, eager not to give her any more ammo for pitying me, “but I can see now why you city folk are so demanding.”
“Demanding?”
“Yeah. Everything has to be farmed to a really high standard, you know, because that’s the expectation. It’s a lot more work, sure, but this more than makes up for it.”
I swallow the mouthful of food, ignoring her incredulous expression. I suppose it sounds ridiculous. Years of back-breaking labour aren’t wiped out by one good meal. But I never really minded doing the work in the first place.
“Is it dark yet?” I ask. Today’s been eventful, but I’m still buzzing with energy. Back home I’d still be working until the floodlights came on, so the thought of trying to sleep so early is unpleasant.
“Yeah. Why, are you tired?”
“Not really.”
“Then how about we watch some sparring tonight? They always do it on Tuesdays.”
Sparring? I open my mouth to ask what that is, but pause. When we stepped into the Atrium earlier, there had been people fighting down below. But it was a kind of structured, measured fighting. More like practice than a genuine, no-holds-barred fight.
I shrug.
“Sure. Sounds good.”
The stranger leans down and barges towards his opponent, embedding his shoulder in the taller man’s gut. He stumbles back from the blow and scowls, somehow remaining on his feet. There’s a surprising grace in his movement as the taller man circles the shorter then ducks to the ground, sweeping his legs out from under him.
The crowd around me groans and cheers as he hits the floor.
“Yeah!” cries Pan from beside me, “Well done!”
But then the fight is over, and they’re shaking hands. Both are a little bruised, a little worse for wear – but they exchange broad smiles and wrap their arms around one another. I’d been wrong in my previous judgement. It’s organised and friendly, sure. But it’s still a no-holds-barred beat down. It strikes me as odd that neither of them seem bothered by the scrapes they’ve received, nor angered by the fight itself. Camaraderie. I think that’s what it is. I toy with the word, turning it over on my head. It’s a good word. I like it.
Nate steps into the clearing now, clapping his hands.
“Good job, fellas. Now, who’s next?”
Nobody steps forward, though several crack jokes on who they think should step in next. Pan glances at me, her eyebrows wiggling.
“I think you should give it a go.”
“Are you crazy?!”
“It’s just a bit of fun. It’s not often that we get into serious fist fights, but it’s always good to know how to hold your own. Give it a try.”
With that she grabs my shoulders and shoves me unceremoniously into the middle of the ring. The reaction is immediate. A sudden hush falls across those around me, and I can feel a dozen or more sets of eyes casting cursory glances my way. Silent judgement hits me from all directions.
Nate doesn’t seem to notice.
“You want in on this?” he grins, “are you sure?”
“I-I don’t want to…”
“It doesn’t hurt to try. Nelson, come up here.”
Someone steps from the crowd. He’s a younger man with a mass of orange-red curls and a face that I might find amusing, if not for the distinct muscles flexing under his skin. I swallow hard.
“Um… how am I supposed to…”
“Just have a go. Your main objective is to not get pinned. And try to land a blow, somehow. If you knock him to the floor, you win.”
Nelson takes my hand in his, seemingly proud at being picked to fight me. I wonder if that’s because he knows who I might be, or if he’s one of the few who believe me to be a traitor. I take the chance to size him up. He’s taller than me, but even with his toned arms, he lacks my bulk. His expression is hopeful, a pleasant smile playing on those peculiar-looking features.
“Okay, then. Guess we’re doing this.”
As Nate shouts to start and Nelson takes a step towards me, my body freezes. All of a sudden, without any warning, I’m terrified. Nelson isn’t huge – he seems strong, sure, but he’s not unstoppable. I fought off several attackers in the alleyway without issue. It’s not fear of fighting that keeps me rooted to the spot.
It’s the face that floats ahead of me, breaking through my vision. Kane.
He fought Wirrow that day. I remember how his hand had curled into a fist at his side. How he’d aimed at the Guard’s jaw. I remember being horrified – and I remember the terror I felt upon seeing the repercussions.
But that’s not now. I’m not going to get thrown into the Mines for this. Right?
His first blow lands on my shoulder. Pain flits through me and I stumble back a little, still hesitant. He’s circling me now, finding weaknesses. The second blow hits my back.
“Noah?”
Pan’s voice breaks through the crowd. She can see me. See that I’m scared. That I don’t want to fight. There’s shame dripping from her every word.
I don’t want her to think I’m weak. I’m not weak.
Nelson lunges forward for a third blow, but this time I’m
expecting it. I twist out of his way and hunch down, lifting my fists in front of me. The crowd reacts somehow but I can’t tell if it’s cheering or booing or something in between. There’s a strange ringing pressing in on my ears. Adrenaline coursing hot through my limbs.
When he hits again, I block his punch with my arm. He seems surprised at that; but the pain is negligible. I whip around and hit him so hard I swear I could feel bones creaking under my hand.
A moment later, he crumples to the ground. One hand reaches his jaw, nursing it – and my stomach drops. Did I hurt him?
I jump back, raising both hands in surrender.
“I-I’m sorry. I didn’t mean…”
“Noah!”
Pan’s coming this way. As she nears I instinctively flinch – the Guards would have my head for this. I’d be thrown in the mines, or at the very least lashed a few times for my insolence. But when my eyes slip open again, her face is awash with sympathy. Oh. Right. This isn’t the Mill.
Nelson’s standing now, and my hand is in his again. He’s smiling, even though the side of his face is pink and swollen. There’s a graze on his cheek and the start of a nasty bruise close to his eye, but he doesn’t seem angry. In fact, there’s something akin to pride on his face.
“Good job,” he says, “you might be slow to react, but you hit like a bulldozer.”
“A-are you okay?” I choke. Even as I ask it I can feel my shoulder aching from his blows, but the pain is practically non-existent. Nothing seems to hurt much anymore.
“I’m fine, it’s just my ego that’s bruised. My mistake for underestimating a newcomer, huh?”
He laughs and I laugh too, even though it’s awkward and I don’t really get the joke. I can’t blame him for underestimating me. I’m not like him.
Pan hooks an arm over my shoulder, and her chest swells with pride. She’s clearly pleased with me. Maybe they consider this a rite of passage or something. Those around me seem to think alike, too. The glares are now replaced by smiles. Even Atlas twirls delightedly overhead. Everyone’s pleased that I won a fight.
