“I lied.” Ciddah sniffled. “It was awful.” Another sniffle. “Kendall was completely out of control. The birth went fine, but not what happened afterward. Lawten had promised she could hold the child, but in light of her attempted escape, he said there was no way he could allow that to happen. But she was awake when the baby came and —” She broke into another long sob.
Mason stared at her face as it transformed before him. Her tears washed a stream of black from her eyes, down her cheeks. He handed her a wet cloth to clean her face, and the eye makeup smeared with cream-colored liquid, becoming gray goo. All this time, the smoothness of her skin had been painted on. In the clean streaks on her cheeks, Mason could see her real skin, cracked, transparent. He’d always known—in his head, at least—that she was infected, but her perfect appearance had made it seem possible that she really was just a healthy young woman.
To see hints of her true face … he wanted to hold her. But he also wanted to push her out into the hall and shut the door. No, he wanted to wash away the paint and see what she really looked like.
He didn’t know what he wanted.
Ciddah went on, oblivious to her exposure. “Kendall … I’ve never seen anyone fight off sedation.” She sniffled. “We had to give her three doses before she calmed down.”
“It’s a terrible crime,” Mason said, thinking of the thin plague that made Ciddah hide behind so much paint, thinking of Kendall mourning the loss of her child.
“I know!” Ciddah choked in a few calming breaths. “Jemma and Shaylinn and Naomi. Their twisted priorities robbed Kendall of her chance to hold the child.”
Mason set his jaw. “I wasn’t talking about that, Ciddah.” He walked into the living room to put some space between them. “A woman’s child was taken. It’s the worst crime I can imagine—the greatest evil.”
Ciddah stomped toward him, her face a glistening mess. “Don’t you dare call me evil, Mason Elias.” She shoved his chest with both hands. “I did my job.” She shoved him again. “I can’t help that you don’t understand.”
When she came at him again, he caught her wrists and held them. “I understand. You’re only doing what you’ve been taught is right. But, Ciddah.” He pulled her hands against his chest. “What if you were taught wrong? Ignorance is no excuse for evil.”
Her bottom lip trembled. “Again you call me evil.”
“Not you, Ciddah.”
She tried to pull away, but Mason held tightly.
“I thought you were starting to understand,” she said. “I thought tasking in the SC was helping you see that our ways aren’t so bad.” But then she moaned, a soft sound like a distant wasp that slowly grew into jagged sobs. It reminded him of his aunt last spring, who’d wailed after her child came stillborn. He wrapped his arms around Ciddah and held her close, wondering what she was mourning the loss of.
CHAPTER
32
A messenger brought me this,” Omar said, holding up a gold envelope so the task director general’s receptionist could see it. “It said to come at nine this morning.”
“Have a seat. I’ll let him know you’re here.”
Omar sat and patted his chest pocket, comforted by the feel of his new vaporizer. He’d vaped in the elevator, but he was so nervous he wanted another puff. Why had he been summoned? He bet the woman doctor Mason tasked for had told Renzor that Omar had gotten infected. Some angel.
Twenty minutes passed before the receptionist sent him in. He knocked on the door out of respect. Or maybe it was guilt. Trying to suck up to the big task man.
“Enter.” Kruse’s voice.
Omar took a deep breath and entered the office, stopping before the task director’s desk. Kruse stood in his usual place by the task director’s side.
Omar sat, annoyed at how soft the chairs were, as if comforting his backside was going to make this any less painful. “You wanted to see me, sir?”
“Mr. Strong, General Otley is unhappy with your recent behavior, as am I.”
Omar swallowed. “It was an accident, sir. I didn’t know brown sugar could kill me.”
“A captain should possess more common sense than to ingest high doses of stimulants, especially when in uniform and committed to weekly donations.”
“I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”
“It’s too late for apologies, Mr. Strong. You disobeyed my orders and have contracted the plague. You’re useless to us now. General Otley wants you out of the enforcers, and I have no reason to disagree.”
Tears wouldn’t help matters, so Omar clenched his teeth to fight them off. “You’re demoting me?”
“Discharging, actually. Report to the Registration Department to turn in your enforcer badge and personal ID for reassignment.”
“That’s not fair!” Omar yelled, the pitch of his voice that of a swindled child. “Otley’s just mad at me because of Belbeline.”
“You failed us. That’s all that matters.”
“But you still have all the women in the harem. Because of me.”
“You were compensated for those women. It is not my fault that you threw it all away. Good day, Omar Strong.”
While sitting in the Registration Department, Omar looked over his task list:
Construction: Painter
Enhancement: SimArt designer
Entertainment: Makeup artist
Communication: Graphic illustrator
Entertainment: Set designer
The only task Omar knew was SimArt designer. “What’s a makeup artist do?”
“Makeup for programs on the ColorCast,” Dallin said from behind his desk. He’d changed his hair from the black and yellow stripes to dark red. “But you aren’t there yet. Painting in construction is hard physical labor. You paint walls inside and out. If I were you, I’d do your six there, then try to get into enhancement. Or do six in entertainment and try to get an extension. I wish I could work in entertainment.”
“Couldn’t you just retest and cheat? Say you’re interested in entertainment?”
“You have to be careful cheating. It can anger Fortune and the task directors. Some get away with it, but if you fail your task, you can get discharged. And if you get discharged three times, you get an X.” Dallin looked Omar directly in the eye. “So I also suggest you don’t pair up with any more of Otley’s flames.”
Omar was convinced his new task was the worst possible assignment one could draw. His task director, Radcliff, a short, wiry man with brown skin, put him on a paint crew. Omar had worked six hours straight, painting the walls of some apartment blue over green. Omar wanted to ask, Why? But he’d had his fill of disciplinary action. Besides, it was all he could do not to beat in the wall with his fist.
When he made himself stop thinking about Radcliff, Belbeline’s face kept appearing before him. He’d painted her eyes on the wall then painted over them three times now. Why didn’t she want him anymore? No women wanted him. What was wrong with him, anyway?
“Hey, Strong!” Radcliff yelled. “I think you got that spot, all right? Keep moving.”
Omar kicked his paint tray down a few feet and started on the next section.
Belbeline.
When Omar got off for the day, he met Charlz and Skottie in the hitroom of a Highlands club called the Savoy. Once they settled in at a table on a balcony overlooking the dark dance floor below, he told the guys about the brown sugar, his discharge, and Belbeline.
“Forget that prude!” Skottie said as he stroked his mustache. “Why do you want to make a fashion of her? Get you some stims, and we’ll find you a new flame.”
“There’s Yedra,” Charlz said. “She’s gratifiable. And Janique. One of my favorites who’s always willing. Know what? Forget you. Janique’s mine tonight.” Charlz got up from the table and headed for the stairs.
Omar watched Charlz approach the tangle of swaying bodies that were mostly wearing red and black. Mimics. Belbeline wasn’t a mimic.
“Janique does fill the need,” Skottie said. �
��Wish I’d seen her first.”
“You’ve paired up with her too?” Omar asked, a little surprised at that coincidence.
“We’ve all pretty much paired up at least once, except with our same numbers. There are a few femmes I haven’t been with. Highbrows. Entertainers.” He slapped the table, and the beer in Omar’s glass swelled over the side of his glass. “I paired up with Luella Flynn back in boarding school. She won’t even look at me today, the prude.”
Omar pointed at a blonde woman with spiky hair. Venita, Belbeline’s friend. “Her?”
“Venita, sure. She’s deluxo. Great legs.”
Omar pointed to another woman, short and round with curly black hair.
“That’s Camella. You’ve met her. Tasked in massage? Now she tasks in surveillance? Covers the RC? I took you up where she works, remember? She’s a favorite of mine.”
“Belbeline tasks in massage,” Omar said.
“Enough!” Skottie called the barkeep and handed him Omar’s PV. “Fill it with brown sugar—”
“No!” Omar said. “I can’t—”
“A one. Plain,” Skottie said as he raised one eyebrow at Omar. “A one won’t hurt nobody, and you need a hit of something.”
Omar’s heart felt heavy, like it held the weight of all his poor decisions. All of the dead in Glenrock, everything he’d done living here. He did want that feeling again. That free, happy, light feeling that nothing mattered. He pressed his fist against the barkeep’s SimPad and watched him walk away, knowing he was making a mistake yet not really caring.
His gaze flitted down to the dance floor where Charlz was dancing with Janique and Venita. Did pairing up with different women bring pleasure in life? Was Omar a prude for wanting only one? Would this heaviness in his heart double and triple and quadruple until he needed a hit of brown sugar at level ten to make it go away?
Skottie and Charlz lived that way, but they didn’t look depressed. And Omar already had the thin plague, thanks to Belbeline. He may as well see if he could find this elusive pleasure everyone else seemed to already have. When the barkeep returned, Omar took a long drag from his PV and headed for the dance floor.
CHAPTER
33
An enforcer opened the door to Shaylinn’s cell. “Let’s go, femme.” Shaylinn stepped out into the narrow hallway that separated the two rows of jail cells from one another. Naomi already stood beside a second enforcer, the X after her number a sobering reminder that they were property of the Safe Lands. Shaylinn’s X had been there when she’d awakened that morning.
“What about my sister?” Shaylinn asked.
The enforcer motioned for Shaylinn to walk toward the exit. “Just you two today.”
Shaylinn turned and looked past the enforcer to Jemma’s cell, which was at the very end of the row. “Jemma!”
“It’s okay, Shay,” Jemma said. “Go with them. Don’t worry about me.”
Shaylinn’s heart swelled within her chest. “I don’t want to leave you here.”
“And I don’t want to stun you, but I will if you don’t move along,” the enforcer said.
Shaylinn inched toward the exit. “I love you, Jemma!”
“I love you too, Shay!”
The enforcer pushed Shaylinn’s shoulder, and she barely caught her balance. “Let’s go, femme. Today!”
The enforcers took Shaylinn and Naomi to the lobby where Matron was waiting. Her black pantsuit with a bright green scarf almost made her look more severe than normal. “I’m very disappointed in you girls,” she said.
“What about Jemma?” Shaylinn asked. “Why does she have to stay?”
“Jemma can sit there until summoned to the Surrogacy Center,” Matron said. “You two are far too precious to breathe the same air as the vermin who inhabit the RC.”
Shaylinn glanced at Naomi, who shrugged. What makes me so special all of a sudden?
The thought sent a chill over Shaylinn. “I’m pregnant, aren’t I?”
Matron smiled. “Get your things from the enforcer, girls, and let’s go. Luella Flynn is meeting us at the SC, and I don’t want to keep her waiting.”
For Shaylinn, the day passed by in a blur, starting with a trip to the SC for confirmation and prenatal prescriptions, three interviews with Luella Flynn, a shopping trip with Tyra, and ending with a coaching session on the proper foods to eat each day.
By the time Matron dismissed her, Shaylinn was exhausted. She entered the Blue Diamond Suite and found Mia watching TV in the living room. “Where’s Naomi?”
“In her room,” Mia said. “Congratulations, by the way.”
The word made Shaylinn queasy. Nothing would be the same without Jemma and Kendall here. She realized this place had never been close to being a home; all the comforts had been a distraction. Shaylinn started down the hallway wanting nothing more than the peace of sleep.
“I saw Levi,” Mia said.
Shaylinn turned back. “Where?”
“At a club Saturday night while you guys were sneaking out.”
Shaylinn narrowed her eyes.
“He wasn’t alone, either. He was dancing with someone. It was pretty wild.”
“You just think you saw him.” Night after night, she’d tolerated Mia’s stories of the dancing and the fancy drinks she’d tried at the places Rand had taken her. She believed Mia’s story of seeing Omar, though it had nearly broken her heart, but Mia had to be lying about Levi. “Levi would never go to such a place. He’s not like that.”
“Such a place? The Savoy is wonderful. Stop judging these people because they live differently than we used to. And I know what I saw. I saw Levi dancing badly with some gorgeous Safe Lands national.”
“Mia, we’re prisoners here. And there’s nothing more dangerous than an enemy claiming to be your friend. These people mean to use us and throw us away!”
Mia tipped back her head and moaned. “Shaylinn …”
“Ever since we got here, you’ve loved everything they’ve placed in front of you. But your turn is coming. And I know you think being pregnant will be amazing, and you might be stronger than me, but no one is strong enough to survive this place.”
Mia looked back to the TV. “You try and help a person …”
“My thoughts exactly,” Shaylinn said as she went to her room.
Shaylinn cried, and it felt good. She lay in bed, burrowed under her covers. Forget stupid Omar calling her an ugly crybaby. Forget Mia and her obsession with Rand. Omar and Mia could just stay here forever with these horrible people.
“Jack … it to … uttercup, come in.”
Levi? Shaylinn sat up and wiped her eyes. She looked around her room, and leapt out of bed once she spotted her pillowcase by the door. She dumped the pillowcase out. Her Wyndo snapped into three pieces, but the wind-up radio bounced over by the dresser.
She picked up the radio and pressed the talk button. “This is Shaylinn.”
A bit of static, then, “You need … it.”
She held the speaker to her lips. “What?”
“Wind, wind … ind!”
Oh, wind it. Shaylinn grabbed the handle and cranked it in circles until her arm was sore. Then she tried again. “Levi? Is that you?”
“Copy, yes. Hello, Shaylinn. Is Jemma there?”
“No. She’s in the prison.”
“I was afraid of that. How long you think they’ll keep her there?”
“Matron said until her appointment.”
Everything seemed terribly quiet while Shaylinn waited for Levi to reply. He was probably upset. Jemma’s appointment was scheduled days after Levi’s planned rescue.
He finally responded. “Ten-four, Shaylinn. I’m going to need someone to help get our people out of there. Can you help me?”
“Yes.” Shaylinn would do anything to get away from this place.
“Good girl.”
CHAPTER
34
Announcements for the Lonn Liberation were playing more frequently on the ColorCas
t. Mason spent almost every spare moment talking with Levi, Jordan, and Shaylinn on the radio, and soon a detailed plan was made, all the way down to a secret knock.
But Mason still had to work out some sort of alibi that would keep the enforcers from suspecting his involvement in the escape. Ciddah was his only hope. They hadn’t spoken much since her visit to his apartment last Sunday morning. Perhaps she was embarrassed about having literally fallen apart in his presence, or perhaps he’d finally driven her too far away with his beliefs. He didn’t know. But he waited all day for an opportunity to broach the subject.
It came that afternoon. He finished cleaning exam room four, and when he walked into the hallway, Ciddah was standing outside her office reading a CompuChart.
“You going to watch the liberation?” he asked.
She looked up from the CompuChart, met his gaze, and smiled. “Of course.”
“I’ve never seen one,” Mason said, hoping his voice sounded casual.
Her smile faded, and her eyes grew distant and cold. But she said, “Would you like to watch it at my apartment?”
There it was, the moment he’d been hoping for. Yet something felt wrong: the look in Ciddah’s eyes. The coldness. Could she somehow know what he and Levi were planning? She’d invited him awfully fast. Mason pushed away his paranoia and tried to keep his smile small, not wanting to appear eager. “Sure. If you don’t mind explaining every little thing to an outsider.”
“I’d be honored.” Her expression faltered, and for the briefest moment an authentic, shy smile appeared. But it vanished just as quickly. Perhaps he’d imagined it.
He wished he hadn’t. He wished for a world without disease and prisoners and lies and theft. A world where he could spend each day trying to coax such a smile from this lovely girl. A world where she wasn’t the enemy and he wasn’t the captive.
On the day of the liberation, Mason arrived early to Ciddah’s apartment. She answered the door in a short peach-colored dress that had one sleeve and a crooked hem. Mason had never seen her wear anything but scrubs. He couldn’t stop staring.
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