Captives

by Jill Williamson

  He kept to the shadow of the wall and quickly found the area where they’d caught him. Crickets were singing. He could hear the distant murmur of voices but saw no people. He kicked every bush he came to, peeked underneath trees, and had almost given up when he tripped over the barrel of his rifle.

  He shoved the pack and rifle in the trash bag and carried it to his truck. Then he drove to the Snowcrest and parked in the lot that faced the harem. The garden fence was well lit. He considered using his rifle to shoot out some streetlamps but couldn’t risk anyone coming to investigate the noise while he was hiding the two-way radios. Better to just come at the gardens from the other side.

  The darkest location seemed to be on the far end where the fence met the back of a building called the Whetstone. Levi drove to the Whetstone lot and looked in his pack. He’d give the windups to Jemma and Mason; Jordan could have a solar one. He shoved two windups and a pair of wire cutters into a trash bag and darted along the back of the building.

  When he reached the fence, he was on the far right of where he’d talked to Jemma. It would be easy to hide the radios in the bushes here, but he couldn’t risk her missing them. So he threaded his way through the trees that hid the fence, slowly making his way to the other side.

  When he reached the general location of where he’d spoken to Jemma, he cut through enough links in the chain fence so he could push the radios through and tuck them into the lower branches of a bush on the other side. Then he cut some wires by the next bush over and tied the length of trash bags to a branch. The black plastic draped all the way to the grass, then blew in the gentle breeze. Not exactly colorful, but less obvious was better.

  By the time he’d mended the fence and drove back to the Midlands, it was almost ten o’clock. Apparently Midlanders could leave the Highlands at any house, just not enter. He parked his truck and started across the parking lot toward the front doors of the Larkspur, carrying his trash bag-covered rifle and backpack.

  A car pulled in front of him. The window slid down and Red said, “Get in.”

  Levi desperately wanted to take his stuff into his apartment, but he couldn’t afford to ignore Bender. He got in the passenger’s side, holding the trash bag with his backpack and rifle on his lap. Red pulled out onto the street.

  “Where are we going?” he asked.

  “Nowhere.” Red turned left out of the lot. “Heard you saw your lifer today.”

  “Yeah.” Levi smiled at his fresh memory of Jemma.

  “Still floating for her, then?”

  Levi didn’t know what “floating” meant but wasn’t about to let Red know that. “I’ve known Jemma all my life. She and I, we … I don’t really know how to explain. It’s like we’re a match. We help each other be better people.”

  Red drove past the G.I.N. and turned left before Café Eat. “Better than who?”

  “Better than how we are alone.”

  Red grunted. “Sounds boring. Like you let a computer match you up or something.”

  “There are no computers where we’re from.”

  “Well, being with the same person forever doesn’t sound fun to me.”

  Why was he talking about this with Red? Why was she so nosy? “Where I’m from, if a man marries a woman, he stays with her his entire life. No matter what. They’re a team. And they never give up on each other. Even when it’s hard.”

  “Sounds like unnecessary trouble.” She drove into a left turn lane and stopped to wait for the light. “But it’s your life, shell. I just think you’d be wise to shop around.”

  “That would only destroy what we have.” The guilt from his night with Kosowe was heavy enough. He didn’t need any more of that.

  Red turned at the light and turned right again at the next one. She was circling back to the Larkspur. Good. “Listen, Bender says to tell you that hanging around the harem and talking to surrogates is against the law. He says you do that again, he isn’t going to help you.”

  “It won’t happen again because we’re going to get her out.”

  Red rolled her eyes. “You’re so strange. Bender also said to tell you that he’s going to rescue your boys on Saturday—that medic and your angry friend. That’s the earliest he could coordinate it with their task schedules.”

  “Saturday will be fine.” Saturday was well before Jemma was scheduled for her procedure.

  Red pulled the car into the Larkspur’s parking lot. She powered off the vehicle and scooted to the middle of the seat, roughly pushing Levi’s trash bag aside before placing her hand on his knee. The smell of her perfume pulled his gaze to her lips.

  “What do you want to do now?” she asked.

  Red’s hand was sliding higher up his thigh. He looked down and seized her wrist. He wasn’t going to make a mistake like this again.

  He tapped his fist against the doorplate, and the door glided open. Seconds later he’d grabbed his stuff and slid out of the car.

  “I’m going to go to bed. Alone.”

  CHAPTER

  27

  A knock woke Omar. His head throbbed between his ears, and he grabbed a pillow to muffle out the noise.

  The knock sounded again, sharper. He should sit up. Go deal with whoever that was.

  “Just a minute!” a woman’s voice said. Belbeline.

  He opened one eye. He was at Bel’s apartment. In her bedroom. The realization of his weakness brought on a sudden panic, and he searched the ceiling for bright yellow cameras, wondering if the task director knew he was here. Again. Or that he’d failed. Again.

  He didn’t care. He was going to marry Belbeline anyway. And she couldn’t possibly have the thin plague. She was too pretty. Too soft.

  Muted voices carried from the far side of the apartment. He squinted at the bedside table. Yes. His vaporizer was there. He reached for it, but his arm didn’t obey. It felt like it was encased in steel.

  What time was it, anyway?

  Must. Move. He propped himself up onto one elbow and peered at the open bedroom door. The voices became clearer.

  “Left you five messages, Bel-bel, and—Who painted that?” A man’s voice. Deep.

  “You’re not my task director, Ollie,” Belbeline said. “I don’t have to report to you.”

  “And those! Whose shoes are those?”

  Belbeline clicked her tongue. “I don’t know. People come over a lot. I can’t keep track of who leaves their stuff here.”

  “You’re not alone.”

  It’s wasn’t a question. It was a realization. And it didn’t sound happy. Omar raised his eyebrows and looked around the dark room, wondering where he might hide.

  Wait. Why should he hide? Belbeline was his girlfriend. And he was an enforcer. He should storm out there and confront this jerk who was hassling her. He threw off the covers, but the cold air clapped around him, and the throbbing in his head intensified. He grabbed his vaporizer and burrowed back under the covers. One deep breath later, his head cleared.

  Until the lights flashed on. Omar shut his eyes and pulled the covers over his head.

  “That who I think it is?” the man’s voice said.

  The blankets were pulled away, leaving Omar cold and half naked on the bed. He strained to see the large, hairy man who loomed above the bed.

  General Otley! What?

  Omar could only stare, his PV pinched between his thumb and two fingers. Soon the cylinder was at his mouth, and he took another long drag. The stims were helping him wake, but his brain felt foggy, loose. Or maybe his brain was fine, and this was more of a communication problem between his brain and limbs.

  Otley grabbed Omar’s ankle and pulled him off the end of the bed. Omar’s back hit the floor first, then his head. Otley held his ankle in the air and shook it, glaring down. “Those are my pajamas, little rat.”

  Omar looked himself over. He was shirtless, wearing the black satin pajama pants Bel had given him. No wonder they were so big. He looked to Bel, and his voice came out raspy, the blood rushing to hi
s head. “You said these were a present.”

  Otley threw Omar’s leg down and kicked him, his heavy boot like a hammer to Omar’s ribs. The blow flipped him onto his stomach. “This ends now, rat. Don’t even look at Bel-bel again.”

  Omar crawled around the side of the bed, wanting only to get away from that boot.

  “Don’t be a prude, Ollie,” Bel said. “I can see who I want.”

  “And I can task who I want.”

  “I’m not going back to that club.”

  “Keep away from the shell, and you won’t have to.” Otley strode out of the bedroom.

  Bel followed. “You don’t own me, Ollie. Why do you have to be such a fun-downer?”

  “I’m the enforcer general. All part of my image. And I’m taking this painting.”

  The front door slammed, shaking the windows. Omar’s stomach throbbed. He still clutched his PV in his fist, so he took another long drag and pulled the blanket over himself, curling into a ball on the floor. Some of the pain ebbed away, but the ache still held him in a fist. This can’t be real. It just can’t.

  Bel’s footsteps pounded into the bedroom. “He’s so controlling. You’d think an enforcer would know all about a person’s rights, but no … Omar?”

  “Here,” Omar said from the floor.

  Bel’s steps pattered this time. She knelt at his side and pushed her hand back over his hair. “Oh, trigger, I’m sorry. Are you hurt?”

  Just his pride. “These are really my task director’s pajamas?”

  Bel rolled her eyes. “What’s it matter? They fit, don’t they?”

  “Not really.” Omar took another drag, desperate to float again. “And are you and my boss …? Did you …? With him?”

  Belbeline sat back on her heels. “Did I what? Spit it out, Omar.”

  He took a quick puff on his vaporizer for courage and sat up. “If I’d known you were involved with Otley —my task director—I never would’ve pursued you.”

  She raised her eyebrows and laughed. “You pursued me, did you?”

  “Looking for a wife. I’ve got to be a better choice than Otley.”

  She cackled now, the expression of amusement on her face like a knife to Omar’s bruised torso. “I see now why you never paired up in your outsider village.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “You’re delusional, Omar. I picked you up. I showed you how to have a good time. If it wasn’t for me, you’d still be standing at the elevator staring at your knuckles.”

  That wasn’t how it happened. “I had a good time before I met you.”

  “With who?”

  “Charlz and Skottie. We went to the Paradise Saloon and the Ginger Oak Club.”

  Belbeline stood up and sat on the edge of her bed. “Those are tasked clubs, Omar. Those girls are credited to play with men.”

  Omar shook his head. “No, they’re not.”

  “Look, Omar. It’s been a party, okay? But we need to take a break.”

  Omar’s head became light, but not in the way he’d hoped. “I thought you liked me.”

  “I do like you. But it’s been two days, and you’re already way too gummy.”

  He felt insignificant lying on the floor while she was on the bed. Though it hurt his head and the growing ache in his side, he forced himself to sit up, to stand. “You like Otley better?”

  She pulled her curls back from her face and twisted them. “It’s not like that. Ollie does me favors, I do him favors. People say he’s going to be the next task director general, and I can’t afford to cut that tie.”

  She wanted Otley for his position of power. Things here weren’t that much different from Glenrock after all. “Then how could you have betrayed him?”

  Bel stood up and paced to the door. “Omar, you’re so caught up in the Old ways. Relationships aren’t exclusive here. We have fun. We pair up. We see someone else we like the looks of, we play with them. Ollie gets that. He does the same. He’ll get over his little jealous phase, and then maybe you and I can pair up again.”

  “You’re really leaving me?” Omar hated the sound of his voice. The hint of a whine. He gritted his teeth. Be strong, he reminded himself. You are Omar Strong now, not some sniffing little kid.

  Bel sighed. “Why are you making this into a big deal?”

  “Because it is a big deal! I want to marry you.” At her blank look, he said, “Be a lifer.”

  Her laughter came so fierce and fast that she snorted. She held her hand in front of her mouth until she stopped, and her hair untwisted and fell loose around her face again. “I’m not going to fight over this. If you can’t accept it, fine. I won’t tap you again.”

  How could she dismiss him so easily? “Just like that?”

  “Just like that,” she said, walking out the door. “Go home, but leave the pajamas.”

  After his shift, Omar went straight to the Regal Lounge, which was a theater club in the Highlands. A woman holding a tray of shots greeted him. He took two of the little glasses and made his way to a table in front. He shrugged out of his enforcer’s jacket. Time to relax.

  A man and woman were in the middle of the stage, singing about some kind of disagreement. The man had wanted the woman to dance exclusively for his cabaret, but the woman liked to work many clubs. Sounded familiar.

  The song shifted into a big dance number, and a half-dozen dancers filed out onto the stage wearing skimpy, sequined outfits and doing high kicks. Omar swallowed his first shot and studied the women. One caught his eye.

  Mia.

  Elbows on the table, he held his face in his hands, watching her through his fingers. From the look on her face, she was enjoying herself. See? The people of Glenrock liked living here. But watching Mia made him feel ill. The way they had dressed her …

  Relationships aren’t exclusive here, Bel had said. Is that what Mia would discover? Would she fall for some entertainer, then be cast aside when he became interested in someone else? Is that what Omar was supposed to do? Look for someone else?

  He didn’t want anyone else. He wanted Belbeline.

  The Regal Lounge had a hitroom, so Omar went upstairs and set his PV on the counter. The barkeep was speaking with a blonde woman at the far end of the bar. She had skin that glittered like gold.

  “Brown sugar four, plain,” the woman said.

  The barkeep took her PV and paused in front of Omar. “Know what you want?”

  “I’ll have the same,” Omar said, tossing his jacket on the stool on his left. “And a black velvet.”

  The barkeep set a SimTag pad on the counter, and Omar tapped his fist.

  The woman got up and moved to the stool on Omar’s right. “You a sweet tooth for brown sugar too, baby face?”

  “Naw,” Omar said, clueless as to what she was referring to. “But it turns out I need to try some new things.”

  The woman traced her sparkling gold finger up along the lines of his SimArt tattoo. “What kinds of things?”

  He glanced at her and met a set of eyes that were golden brown. “All things.”

  Omar and the woman, whose name turned out to be Lexanna, relocated to a set of pillowy chairs, reclining on either side of a small table where the barkeep set their PVs.

  When Lexanna leaned over and kissed him, he wanted to cry. He didn’t know this woman, and he didn’t want to know her. He pretended she was Bel for a few minutes, but that just made him feel pathetic. Plus, she was getting gold glitter all over his uniform. He broke away and inhaled a long drag on his PV. Nausea gripped him. He held his breath and let his head fall back on the chair. What in all the lands was brown sugar, anyway? And why would anyone want to feel sick like —

  A sudden rush of velvety euphoria sent tingles swirling over Omar’s body, a powerful, yet completely peaceful feeling. He was sitting on the top of a hill in a white haze. He could see the silhouettes of people around him, and while they were unrecognizable, he knew it was Levi, Belbeline, and his father. They swam through the haze on the to
p of that hill, trying to reach one another but not really caring if they ever did. In fact, nothing mattered at all now. This was a safe place. Like being inside one of his paintings.

  Lexanna spoke, but Omar didn’t comprehend her words. Or maybe he did but forgot what she’d said. All he wanted to do was be on that hill.

  The feeling faded a bit, so Omar took another long breath through his vaporizer. His stomach clenched against the nausea, but this time he waited for it to pass, waiting for …

  Euphoria drenched him again. He closed his eyes, doubting he could have kept them open even if he’d wanted to. He was standing on the roof of a building, the wind blowing hard against him. He leaned into it until he was parallel to the ground, the wind so strong it held him there.

  Strong.

  But he wasn’t on a roof. He was in the hitroom of the Regal Lounge with Lexanna. His body felt hot, melting almost, from the inside out. He felt his head droop until his chin nearly touched his chest. He must look asleep. And maybe he was, nodding in and out of sleep. It was a nice feeling. No guilt. No loneliness.

  Until Lexanna started talking again, pulling on his arms, slapping him. He kept his eyes closed, wishing she’d go away, wanting to tell her to leave him alone.

  There was a man’s voice and the sensation of standing. Someone shook his arms. Bright lights. Movement. More people he didn’t recognize, looking at him, talking to him.

  Mason?

  Omar awoke in a white room under glaring lights. He was wearing a white dress. Something beeped. His arm itched. A small needle was taped just below the inside of his elbow. It had a hose attached to it that ran up to a bag of liquid hanging on a stand.

  Was this the medical center?

  His mouth was dry; his lips felt cracked; his body hurt all over, a dull, heavy ache in his nerves. He scanned the room for his vaporizer but didn’t see it. A quick taste would ease his discomfort. Why had they taken it away? He needed it.