Since they lived in the same building, their apartments were almost identical. Ciddah’s walls were brown rather than blue, and she’d decorated with a food theme, specifically baked goods: cookie-shaped pillows on the sofa, framed pictures of cakes and pies, curtains over the windows with tiny cinnamon rolls on them, and decorative bowls filled with wax pastries.
The place even smelled like vanilla and cinnamon—of course—and of sautéed onions and something else sweet.
“Sit wherever you like,” Ciddah said as she went back to the kitchen. She turned on the faucet and scrubbed a dish. “I was just cleaning up. I hope you’re hungry, because I made us a feast.”
He glanced at a steaming pan on the stovetop as he sat down on her sofa. “You did?”
“I did.” She gave him a real smile then. It distracted him a moment before reality caused him to sink back against the cookie pillows. If Ciddah made dinner, he couldn’t volunteer to fetch it from the Blue Bell Diner—which had been his plan to slip away just long enough to free the women. Dessert maybe? That cupcake place?
Ciddah banged around in the kitchen, opening and closing cupboards, checking whatever was cooking in the oven. “I hope you’ll extend a little mercy my way, Mason. I’m not a bad cook, but I’d never tried to roast beets before. I think I should’ve peeled them after they were cooked.” She held up her hands, the palms of which were stained dark pink.
So preoccupied with the crisis in his agenda, Mason’s laugh came out forced. “Shanna was the dye expert in Glenrock. I think she had us all help her with red and purple at some point.”
Ciddah crouched out of sight behind the island counter. “Did you all help each other with tasks?”
“Whenever someone needed help, they’d ask.”
Ciddah carried two plates into the living room and set them on the table before the couch. There was a thick steak, a sautéed red and green vegetable dish that Mason guessed was part beets, and a thick slice of brown bread topped with a hunk of melting butter. She sank beside him on the sofa, so close their arms rubbed together.
How could he tell her that he didn’t eat meat? “This … looks amazing, Ciddah. Thank you. Did you bake the bread yourself?”
She touched her finger to the butter on her slice of bread and swirled the lump over the surface. “Baking is my favorite, especially anything that’s kneaded. It’s relaxing.” She picked up her bread and bit into it.
Mason did the same. It was excellent. “Do people live in the lowlands, where the animals are?”
“I’ve never heard of anyone living there. I think it’s just farmland.”
“People must be tasked there, right?”
“Sure.” She shrugged one shoulder. “But everyone I know is a medic.”
“Except Lawten,” Mason said.
She stiffened beside him. “He was a level twenty medic in the SC when I did my first internship. He got me into the program.”
“Oh.” Ciddah and Lawten had known each other for years then.
“It’s starting! Wyndo: increase volume: twenty-three.” The volume came on.
Mason hadn’t known he could set voice commands for his Wyndo. He tried a bite of the roasted beet salad and found it quite good. “Mmm, this is—”
“Shh!”
On screen, Finley Gray and Luella Flynn were standing in the center of a packed auditorium, and were dressed to match, as always: Finley in a white suite with a silver vest and Luella in a silver gown that glistened like it was made of glitter. Tomorrow the Highlands would be coated in white and silver mimics.
“So many celebrity nationals have shown up for this historic event,” Luella said. “I’m simply thrilled.”
“I’m still in awe over Lawten Renzor’s suit!” Finley whistled.
An image of Lawten in a satin blue-and-black-printed suit flashed on the screen.
“He looks amazing,” Luella said. “He’ll be inspiring his own mimics with that look.”
“Walls! I hope so.” Finley chuckled. “You know, I might even be one of them.”
“Well, we’re almost there, Safe Landers,” Luella said, gazing into the camera so that it seemed like she was looking right at Mason. “Only five minutes until show time. Stay tuned.”
The Colorcast went to a bit about silver glitter Roller Paint. Apparently the trends weren’t so random after all.
“You’re not eating your steak,” Ciddah said.
Mason glanced at her and winced. “I’m a vegetarian.”
Her eyes widened. “Oh.”
They stared at each other a moment, then Mason said, “The beets and bread are really good.”
Ciddah’s cheeks turned pink. “Well, there’s more, so have as much as you want.”
The program started again. The screen displayed pictures of the dozen or so Safe Lands nationals who Finley claimed were going to be liberated today.
“Wait,” Mason said, “I thought this was just for Lonn. Who are these other —” His words fell away as he recognized some of the portraits. Five were older women from Glenrock, including his own mother, Tamera.
Mason stood up so fast he knocked his plate to the floor. He stepped forward. Stopped. Walked to the door. Turned back.
Ciddah set her plate on the sofa and stood. “Mason, what’s wrong?”
What could he do? He’d left the radio in the van. Even if he ran down there, Levi probably had no way of contacting Bender at the moment.
“Mason?”
Could he just sit here and watch them kill his mother? Maybe Bender would free everyone who was being liberated tonight. But what if he didn’t? “Liberation is death?”
“I don’t know; I think so.”
“Ciddah, please! Tell me what exactly is going to happen to these people. It’s important.”
She wrung her hands. “Liberation is a mystery. That’s part of its splendor. We don’t know what happens, only that it’s wonderful.”
“Basing your death on hearsay is illogical. Who says it’s wonderful? Has someone been liberated and returned to tell the tale?”
“No, but—”
“Then how do any of you know it’s wonderful?”
“Mason, please sit down. You’re frightening me.”
He glanced back to the screen. His mother’s picture was displayed alone. She’d been a number nine at thirty-nine years old, so Luella led a chanting prayer to Fortune to have mercy on her as she entered the tenth life.
“That’s so sad,” Ciddah said. “Entering Bliss before age forty. Did you know her?”
“Yeah.” Mason prayed he could expose liberation for whatever it truly was, that his mother was still alive, and that he could hold himself together in front of Ciddah. The other women were counting on him. He knelt and started to pick up his food that now covered the floor. His hands were shaking.
“Let me help you.” Ciddah ran into the kitchen and returned with some napkins. When the mess was cleaned up, Mason sat back down on the couch.
The last national highlighted was Richark Lonn. Majestic music played as pictures of Lonn flashed and text listed facts about his life. Born in 2037, he excelled in mathematics and science. After graduation, he’d entered medic training, was the fastest national to reach a level twenty at age twenty-three. He’d maintained a steady relationship with Martana Kirst that had started in boarding school. She and Lonn had gifted the Safe Lands with eight children. Most of the pictures had both she and Lonn in them.
Luella Flynn’s voice spoke over the montage of images. “Martana was liberated suddenly in 2068 in a complication with her tenth pregnancy.”
“That’s not exactly true,” Ciddah said.
“How do you know?” Mason asked.
“It’s kind of an urban legend amongst medics. They say that Martana did miscarry the tenth child, but she didn’t die from it. She killed herself afterward.”
“That’s terrible!”
“She and Lonn made seven babies together in a span of twelve years. She wanted to be
done, but the Guild said no. She was still strong, and they wanted to keep her as part of the harem. She completed one surrogacy term—baby number eight—then had a ninth child by Lonn. At that point, she was on meds for depression. When she didn’t conceive again on her own, she was conscripted for surrogacy, but when she lost that tenth baby, it was too much. She took her own life. And that’s why Lonn started the Black Army—so they say.”
“Because really, the Safe Lands killed her,” Mason said.
Ciddah leaned back against the couch. “That’s a strange way to put it.”
“If I were the man who loved her, I’d see it that way. She wanted the pain to stop, and the Safe Lands refused. What you saw Kendall go through, Martana suffered that nine times. I told you, Ciddah, a mother and her child have a bond. To be kept apart from your child nine times … I can’t imagine how she must have suffered. Lonn too.”
“You think a donor suffers as well?”
“Lonn was more than a donor in a closet in City Hall. He loved Martana. And he knew those babies were his. Of course he suffered.”
Applause brought Mason’s attention back to the ColorCast. The history montage had ended. Lonn stepped out onto the stage to a thunderous reception, but Lonn was not smiling. He walked to the center of the stage, where Luella Flynn sat on a sofa, and sat down beside her.
“You have a special message you want to share tonight, don’t you, Richark?”
“I do.” He looked into the camera. “A revealing is a wonderful experience. If you’ve ever wondered who your donors were, fill out a revealing waiver today. And if you learn that I’m your donor, I love you very much.”
“Love is so special, Lonn,” Luella said. “Isn’t liberation a wonderful time to communicate peacefully with all the Safe Lands?”
Lonn chuckled. But they cut away without letting his reply be heard.
Mason glanced at Ciddah. Tears streaked down her cheeks from eyes so suddenly bloodshot they looked more red than white. “You think Lonn and Martana are your parents?” Mason asked.
She laughed. “No!” She tried to laugh again, but it came out more like a gasp. “You’re so dim.”
“How can you be so sure? The ages fit.”
“Because my donors live in the Midlands. In the Prospector.”
Mason swallowed; she’d never mentioned anything so personal before. “How long have you known?”
“I applied for a revealing on my fourteenth birthday. Found out who my donors were that same day. Met them the day after that.”
“They had both filled out waivers?”
“The day I was born.”
“And they were together? Lifers?”
She nodded and smiled. “They’re a lot like Lonn and Martana were. According to my donors, I have three siblings out there. But none of them have come looking.”
“That’s exciting, isn’t it? Knowing your parents. Knowing you have family.”
“Some days. Some days it’s only depressing.” She used her fork to move her beets around her plate, then jumped up suddenly and walked to her Wyndo screen. She picked up a small black object from the top of the screen then put it back. Her shoulders rose and fell in a deep breath, and she returned to the couch, eyes glossy with tears.
Mason wanted to ask what that was all about, but the look on her face made him wait.
“I have to admit,” Ciddah finally said, “when I found out my donors knew each other, that I was a product of love, not donations and schedules, I was so overcome with joy. Does that sound stupid?”
“Not at all. It’s natural to love one person, to create life together, to help it mature to the point when it’s ready to love and produce its own life. Family is a good thing.” Most of the time.
“I believe you.”
Knowing how difficult it must have been for Ciddah to admit that, Mason’s heart cracked. He could feel her nesting inside. He refocused his gaze so he could see their reflection in the Wyndo screen, sitting side by side on the sofa.
He pictured himself standing at a crossroad. One way, the road ran smooth and straight. Mason discovered the cure for the thin plague, cured the entire Safe Lands population, and changed the confining laws of this place. He married Ciddah, started a family, and they grew old together.
The other road was rocky with steep twists and turns. Mason found no cure and was forced to make donations. He filled out revealing waivers each time in hopes of meeting any children who might result. The Safe Lands remained a controlling place, stealing women for surrogacy from all corners of the world and wresting babies from their mothers’ arms. Mason continued to work as a medic and after ten years reached level twenty. He pledged his life to Ciddah, and he contracted the thin plague. She continued to miscarry, and that hardship haunted their relationship until they were liberated together when Ciddah turned forty.
“My father knew Lonn,” Ciddah said, jerking Mason from his daydream. “The first time my mother was conscripted for surrogacy, my father got involved with the Black Army. It was pretty new back then, so no one really thought of it as a rebellion against the Safe Lands.”
“Your father’s a rebel, and he told you?”
“He’s not a rebel anymore. He was warning me that fighting back isn’t worth it. That the Safe Lands will always win.”
Lawten clearly was good at controlling the people through fear—he could even weaken a father’s resolve. “That’s a pretty negative outlook.”
“Not when you’ve seen what he has. My father was there when Arris died.”
Mason looked at Ciddah, unable to remember that name. “Who?”
“I forget sometimes you are so new and haven’t heard all our history. Arris and Lonn started the Black Army together. Arris had a memoriam liberation because he was killed. They all were—around twenty of them. My father was the only one left alive. The enforcers told him to make sure the rebels knew what happened to traitors, and if any of them told a word of the deaths, they’d all die with bad fortune.”
“But I don’t understand. I’ve never seen any reports of death on Finley and Flynn’s show. In fact, I’ve never seen any reports of crime.”
“People do die here. And there are bar fights, overdoses, heart attacks, and murder. And when death happens, there’s a memoriam liberation. But only the positive parts of life are shown on the ColorCast. You won’t hear any mention of Lonn’s three Xs or the Black Army in this liberation ceremony, unless Lonn says something. But violators never do. It’s strange. I wonder what stops them.”
Lonn’s voice came loud and clear through the Wyndo screen. He stood at a podium before a huge crowd and spoke into a mounted microphone. “I lived my life the best I could. I learned, I loved, I played, but I also questioned. If we accept everything in life without question, we forfeit the chance to reach our potential. The Safe Lands can be a better place if you insist on it.”
The camera focused on Luella Flynn. “Some ways you can make a difference, Safe Landers? Retest in tasking to see if you’re serving in the right area. Adopt a pet from Pet Squad. Or join Safe Watch, an organization committed to keeping our city safe.”
It seemed to Mason that Luella had turned what Lonn had said into something else. “Sounds like Lonn still thinks people should fight back.”
Ciddah grunted a response, staring at the screen, her arms folded.
“You still think I should make a donation?” Mason asked.
She didn’t move. “Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because the Safe Lands could only be benefitted by having more nationals like you.”
He felt himself blush. “Well, uh, thank you, Ciddah. But I’m going to keep on questioning, like Lonn said. Find a cure instead. Won’t that be better for every—”
A shrill siren rang out. Mason clapped his hands over his ears. What was that?
“Oh no!” Ciddah ran to the kitchen and opened the oven. Smoke billowed up to the ceiling. She screeched and jumped back.
Mason grabbed a
potholder, pulled the pan from the oven, and dumped it into the sink. Ciddah flipped on the faucet, then turned back to the oven and switched it off. She stared at him with wide eyes as she used a towel to fan the air until the noise stopped.
“Oh!” Ciddah frowned, looking into the sink.
“What was it?” Mason asked.
“A cake.”
He chuckled. “I think it’s done.”
She swung at his chest, but he caught her fist in his hand. She tried to pull free, but he held tight. Something about her smile and the way her eyes sparkled made him glance at her lips. He could kiss her. See what it was like. Or he could be smart.
He released her hand and glanced at the clock. It was ten minutes before he needed to leave. Close enough. “How about I run and get some cupcakes from BabyKakes?”
“You’ll miss the rest of the speech!”
“I’m kind of missing it already.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t apologize. I’ll be quick, okay?” He glanced in the sink. “You like chocolate?”
She swatted him again. “It was a spice cake.”
He raised his eyebrows at the black lump. “If you say so. Be right back.” He darted out the door before she could say another word.
Mason had parked the minibus in the Westwall’s uncovered lot. He started it and shakily steered onto Gothic Road. It had been years since he’d driven a vehicle, and he’d certainly never handled something this large. A horn honked, and a car sped around him. He pressed the accelerator harder to try to keep up with the rest of traffic. To make matters worse, the roads were wet from the rain.
He eventually parked in the alley between the Highland Harem and the Noble Gardens. Once the power went out, he’d circle around to the alley that led to the loading dock where the women were supposed to meet him—if Shaylinn managed to get them out. He should’ve driven slower. Hopefully, no one would ask why he’d parked here. Everyone was likely watching Lonn’s liberation anyway.
He reached back to the first passenger’s seat, grabbed his two-way radio, and pressed the talk button. “Eagle Eyes to Jackrabbit, you got your ears on?”
The answer came instantly. “This is Jackrabbit, go ahead.”
Captives Page 34
