She hardly spares me a glance as she tosses me a towel. “Change.”
Wow. What if I had a massive heart attack? I doubt she’d even bat an eyelash. When I’m done changing back into the welcome baggy robe the woman makes a few notes on her tablet and then points to the floor. “Follow the red line.”
The red line on the floor leads to yet another desk, occupied by more white attired women. The routine is so tedious I seriously entertain the idea of just walking on by, if only to see what would happen. Instead I stop. “Hi.”
The woman straightens her awful grey wig and frowns. “Number?”
“Two-twenty-three.”
She scans her tablet and then holds out her hand. “Wrist.”
With a sigh, I oblige. This time a blue tag is affixed. “Since I didn’t drop dead does this mean I passed the test?” I can’t resist asking with a cheeky grin.
The woman scowls, apparently lacking a sense of humor. “Follow the red line.”
“Follow the red line,” I mimic under my breath with a roll of my eyes and turn away. Are these people selected based on their lack of personality?
The red line takes me to yet another waiting room. This place sucks. I’ve no idea why I glance behind me as the protest enters my mind. It’s not as if I said it out loud, so no one can hear. At least, I don’t think the Emperor’s minions can read minds yet. Knowing the routine, I sit in an empty seat and wait, for what I have no idea. After a few minutes I’m called into another room. When I enter I spy a man in a grey suit sitting behind a desk.
He looks up from the tablet he’s studying. “Two-twenty-three?”
With a nod, I take a seat in the chair opposite the desk.
“It says here you have a 98% average in your education pod.”
Is he asking, or merely stating a fact?
“Your father works in tofu production. It’s a little surprising to have a daughter with such intelligence in a simple job.”
Again, is it a question, or a statement? One can only wonder.
“Do you have any interests or talents?”
“I draw.”
He lifts a brow. “What kind of drawing do you do?”
“I like to draw animals and flowers.”
“How do you know of these things?”
Uh oh. Just how much can I admit to knowing? “I remember some things, others I ...” A glance at the black circle in the ceiling with the blinking red light makes me consider my words carefully. “Make up,” I lie.
“I see.” The look he gives clearly says he doesn’t believe my claim. “I am going to assign you your training schedule.” He lifts his tablet device off the desk and punches a bunch of numbers in it.
“Training for what?”
“To be a concubine, of course.”
A heavy weight settles in the pit of my stomach. “Why do I need training to get pregnant?”
He pushes a green button on the device. “You want to be found appealing to the officials who will be choosing just the right person to take into their homes and raise their children. You must be compatible with them and be able to function in elite society.”
I’m silent for a moment, digesting the info. Are the officials’ lives so different from the rest of us? “So, you’re entering me into some kind of barbaric finishing school?”
The corner of his mouth quirks into a semblance of a grin. “You might call it that. Do you dance?”
“No.”
His brow furrows as he enters something into his tablet. After a couple beeps, the machine is quiet. He scans the info on it. I crank my neck to see what he has written but he catches me and turns it off. “Report to—”
“To the desk and then follow the red line,” I finish for him.
“Yes., However, you might want to keep your comments to yourself in the future, Two-twenty-three.”
I stalk from the room. I’ve had just about enough of this game. In a fit of temper, I stomp past the desk and follow the line out the door. What are they going to do, shoot me?
“Stop!”
I ignore the command and keep walking. “Report to the desk. Hold out your wrist. Follow the red line. As if I have no mind of my own...”
“I said stop!”
A hand grasps my arm and yanks me to a halt. Looking up, I glare into the green eyes of an enforcer. “Wrist,” he demands.
With a sigh, I hold it up.
He scans the tags on my bracelet. “Number Two-twenty-three, you are not cleared to leave the assignment area.”
Fury rises in my breast hot, heavy and volatile. Even though I know I should choke it down, I open my mouth and my frustration spews out. “I have a name, you know. We all have names. We are not numbers, we’re human beings! My name is Ocean Delaney, you hear me? Ocean!” I shake off the startled enforcer’s hand. “You have a name, don’t you? Or are you called by a number too? Huh?”
He blinks at the force of my unexpected verbal assault and backs up a step. Clearly he’s never dealt with a defiant citizen before. “Uh, no. My name ... is Brian.”
Furious I stare him down, hands on my hips. “Well, Brian, maybe if you address me by name and ask me nicely, I’ll do as you ask.” As soon as I say it the hairs on the back of my neck prickle. I spin around in time to see another guard who’s walked up behind lift his Taser. A jolt of pure energy races through my body. My vision blurs. My breath flees my chest. One by one my limbs stiffen. In a frozen haze, I slump to the floor. Vaguely I register being carried, each step jarring my stiff neck. I want to ask why they’ve done it and where they are taking me, but my tongue refuses to comply. Flashes of greenish light flicker in and out of my line of muted vision. Then it’s bright, too bright. The white light makes me moan and I close my eyes to block it out. My arms and feet move. Is it some kind of involuntary movement from the shock? As hard as I try to focus my thoughts and move them, nothing happens. I’m so tired. I could sleep for a moment. No, have to stay awake. Just a little nap won’t hurt. Maybe I’m dreaming...
* * *
I shift on the hard cot. My arms and legs met resistance. The dull ache in my neck puzzles me. Maybe I slept on it funny. When I force my eyes open an intrusive white light from a long florescent bulb above blinds me. Blinking, I adjust to it.
“You’re awake, I see.”
Turning my head, I focus on the deep baritone. A fuzzy figure swims into view and then clears to reveal the man in the brown suit. I try to sit up, but can’t move. Following the length of my arm I find the restraint fastened around my wrist. “Why am I tied?”
“Restrained. It is procedure to restrain any violent patient.”
Really. Who knew a girl could scare two full grown enforcers... Frowning, I look around. The room is long and narrow. Cots form an orderly line on either side and a glass viewing window takes up the opposite wall. “Patient? I’m not a violent patient. Where am I?”
He moves his chair closer. “You’re in the sick ward.”
“I’m not sick.” I jerk on the restraints.
“That is a matter for me to determine.”
I’m not in the mood for more of his mind games and glare at him. “Untie me.”
His lips twist into a small smile. “Not until we talk.”
“There is nothing to talk about.”
He glances at the tablet in his lap. “Really? Hum ... raving and ranting at an enforcer, refusing to go to the check station and attempting to leave the facility. I’d say we have a little to discuss.”
The exaggerated sigh I heave gets no response. “Look, I was just frustrated and fed up with everything. I’m fine now.”
“Are you?”
“Yes.”
“I will be the one to determine that.” He removes a navigation stick from behind his ear and taps the tablet screen. “Let’s start by discussing how you feel about being here, Two-twenty-three.”
With a snort, I look up at the ceiling. “I am not a number and I refuse to talk to you as long as you refer to me as one.
”
He’s silent for a moment and then he chuckles; at least, I think the odd sound issued from his lips is a chuckle. “Alright, Ocean Delaney, how do you feel about being here?”
I ponder him for a moment. Is he mocking me, or finally being civilized? “I hate it. What’s your name?”
“I’m not at liberty to divulge that.”
“You can’t tell me your name?”
He shrugs. “I could, but it’s not required in this situation.”
“Then I’m not talking to you.” Closing my eyes, I purse my lips. Let’s see how he likes the silent treatment.
His sigh is more reminiscent of a groan. “Stubbornness won’t be seen as a good quality in a concubine, Ocean.”
“I don’t care.” I keep my eyes closed. I’m pleased I’m pricking his ire. It’s satisfying to unleash some of my hostility and frustration on him, even if it isn’t approved of.
“It will be a long night tied to the bed if you refuse to talk.”
Opening my eyes I scowl at him. “And?”
“Tisk, tisk, tisk.” He crosses his arms and leans back in his chair. “What are we going to do with you? How about a compromise?”
I regard him in silence for a moment, but if nothing else I’m curious about what he has in mind. “What kind of compromise?”
“I will let you out of the restraints and call you by your given name. In return you will talk honestly and openly with me.” With an arch of his brow, he locks gazes with me.
The last thing I want to do is talk to him, but I do want to be freed from the uncomfortable cuffs, and he is willing to use my name. Do I really have much choice given the circumstances? “All right, but you have to tell me your name.”
He smiles, a perfect set of teeth gleaming between his full lips. It’s the first real smile I’ve seen since arriving at the medical facility. “My name is Dr. White.”
The irony of it all is just too much and my laughter echoes in the empty room. “Dr. White? Dr. White, the psychiatrist with white teeth, who works in the white medical facility of the white cement city.”
Leaning forward, he unbuckles the restraints on my wrists. “I’m a psychologist actually.” He moves down to undo the ones on my ankles.
“What’s the difference?” Rubbing my chaffed wrists I sit up.
“Not a whole lot.” With a grin, he undoes the last restraint and then leans back in his chair again.
Swinging my legs over the edge of the bed I gently massage my sore neck. Damn, those Tasers hurt.
“Would you like a glass of water?”
When I nod he pours a glass from the pitcher on the metal tray next to him and hands it over. The moisture sliding down my dry throat is heaven and I gulp it down. Sure, it’s not real lady like, but I’m desperate to rid myself of the metallic film which coats my tongue as a result of being shocked into submission. When finished I hand the glass back.
He raises the pitcher. “More?”
After running my tongue over my chapped lips, I shake my head and settle my hands in my lap.
He sets it back down and crosses his legs. “So Ocean, what caused your little outburst this afternoon?”
“I already told you. I was frustrated.”
“About?”
“What do you mean about?” I snap. When he raises an eyebrow I rub a hand across my face and collect myself. “I don’t want to be here. I want to go home, to my parents and ...” I bite off the rest of the sentence afraid to mention Sol.
“And?” he prompts with his navigation stick raised to enter my response into the tablet.
“And my brother. Why does this surprise anyone? Why should we be happy to be rounded up like cattle and forced to be raped by a stranger?”
“Rounded up like cattle? Interesting analogy.” He frowns. “What do you know of cattle?”
Why are we talking about cattle? I shrug. “I remember them.”
“What else do you remember?”
A quick scan of the ceiling reveals the cameras there with their red lights blinking. “I’d rather not say.”
He follows my gaze and then nods. “I see. It seems you and I are going to need more than just one follow-up session, Ocean Delaney.”
Chapter Eight
The gym where I had my jog on the treadmill the day before is being used as a makeshift ballroom for our first class. It still looks like a gym with black lines on the varnished floor. My nostrils wrinkle at the mild odor of body sweat. Unfortunately, it still smells like one. One by one we’re paired with another girl. Out of the corner of my mouth I whisper to Ashley, “Are we supposed to dance with each other?”
“How will we decide who leads?” Ashley snickers. “The only boys allowed in the medical centre are doctors, enforcers and instructors.”
A tall woman in a glittering red gown enters the room followed by a short man dressed in a black suit with a tie matching her dress. The woman claps her hands with a big smile. At least someone is glad to be here. “Let’s get started, ladies.” She extends her hand to the man. “I am Natasha and this is my husband Leonardo. We will attempt to teach you all to dance.”
Her beady little eyes scan the crowd and come to rest on me. Her lips turn down. It seems I’m already known as a trouble maker. What can I say, news travels fast in the hubs. “Some of you will never learn to be graceful dancers; however, I will endeavour to at least make you acceptable ones.”
Give it your best shot lady, is all I can think as I take Ashley’s hand. Natasha’s eyes narrow as if she’s heard or suspects my thoughts, and then turns her attention to demonstrating the steps to a simple waltz. At first I fumble through the movements, but once soft classical music is added I find the steps becoming sure and fluid. By the time the buzzer rings to signal the lunch break, I’m actually having fun. Who knew dancing could be enjoyable?
As I wait to be served dinner that evening I take careful stock of the dining room. There are even less girls here than the day before. Only thirty-three remain of the hundreds rounded up the first day at the subway station. Of course, almost half of the girls have been made slaves due to the colour of their skin. It seems impossible that so many girls are eliminated due to medical, or psychiatric issues.
When Danika heads my way with a lunch tray I crack a smile, but then quickly hide my glee. It wouldn’t do to let the enforcers suspect how much I look forward to seeing my friend each day. Since my outburst the first day and refusal to adhere to the rules the day before, it stands to reason I’m being kept under close scrutiny.
“Hey,” I whisper when Danika stops beside me.
She smiles. “Hi. I’ve some news.” Leaning over, she makes a show of removing the lid from my tray to cover our conversation. “I hear they are moving everyone at the end of the week to the Emperor’s compound.”
“No.” Dismay has me squishing my napkin into a ball in my fist.
“Don’t worry, some of the slaves are to go too. We’re being trained as maids.” Danika ducks her head as an enforcer strolls down the row toward us. “Bye.”
There are so many more questions I want to ask her and so many things I want to tell her, yet they will have to wait. All I can do is hope she ends up with me, wherever it is I end up.
Ashley elbows me after the enforcer passes. “What did your friend say?”
“They are moving us at the end of the week.”
The red head across from us leans forward. “Where and why?”
I make sure no one is paying attention before lowering my voice to answer. “They’re moving us to the Emperor’s compound. I’ve no idea why, though.”
Ashley’s eyes bug out. “We are to meet the Emperor?”
Is she actually excited to meet the man who has so cruelly planned our fates? “Maybe, I don’t know.”
* * *
After lunch I enter the psychiatry waiting room and pass through the scanner. When it beeps and the light turns green, I take a seat to wait. The room is almost empty today with just three girl
s waiting to be seen. Before long the door to Mr. White’s office opens and a woman with a tablet motions. “Two-twenty-three.”
With a grimace, I enter the room and shut the door. The only ones who refer to me by name are Ashley and the psychologist, though the later only in the privacy of his office. I’m so sick of being a number.
Mr. White looks up from the tablet he’s typing on and smiles. “Hello, Ocean, have a seat.” He waves to the chair opposite his desk and taps a couple more buttons. “So, how are you today?”
“Fine.”
He chuckles. “Just fine?”
Crossing my arms, I fix him with a bored look, exaggerated of course. “Isn’t that what you want me to say?”
“No.” He leans back and fixes me with that deep look I hate, the one that says he can play the game better than me with less effort. “Come on now, Ocean. We have a deal, remember? You are to be open and honest with me, and in exchange I am to call you by your given name. I have fulfilled my end of the bargain.”
It appears he’s pretty serious about our silly bargain. “Isn’t hiding our true personalities and emotions what this facility is all about?”
“How so?”
Oh come on now, Mr. Shrink, you can do better than such a shallow question. “Aren’t we being trained to be subservient whores?” His fleeting look of disgust takes me by surprise. At least I’m not the only one who thinks this concubine idea is abhorrent. Correction, at least us concubines aren’t the only ones.
“Do you feel like a whore, Ocean?”
“No.” Not yet.
“Then why would you say that?”
Okay, the time for word games is over. “That is exactly what the Emperor intends to use us for, isn’t it?”
“You are being asked to give yourself for the survival and good of the citizens of Imram. It is an honour to be selected, Ocean.”
Bastard. How dare he spout the Emperor’s propaganda and expect me to swallow it? “No, we are being forced to prostitute ourselves for the pleasure of Imram’s officials.”
The Emperor's Concubine Page 6
