by Calinda B
I stand stiffly, expectant, chewing on my lip. I study his plain, chiseled features, looking for clues.
“Here what, sir?” he says in a rough, thickly accented voice.
“Here what, sir?” I ask.
“Your room. One-ninety-two.” He proceeds to show me how to open the door with the palm of his hand. Before he leaves he tells me, “All guards can access any room. You’re the only citizen who can open it, so you’re somewhat safe from intruders.”
Somewhat safe. I nod, palm the door open, and proceed to scurry into the somewhat safety of my room, alone at last.
The door briskly slides shut, corralling me inside my mousetrap of a room. It seems one slim step above a prison cell, but at least its free from unwanted energy.
White walls. A concrete floor. A kitchen kind of space is against one wall. A small door to what looks like the loo is opposite where I’m standing.
A compact bed sits in the corner of the main room. There’s a table with two chairs. Along another wall rests a sofa looking more functional than comfortable. Everything is white, gray or muted pastels.
A cutout in the wall next to the bed reveals a sparse array of gray, white, and black clothes. I wander toward them and finger the rough, drab cloth. These will be hell to wear all day. My skin is sensitive, and I’m sure they’ll scratch and itch.
Next, I saunter toward my bed and rest my worn, dark green satchel on top. I dump the contents out and study them. They’re my sole belongings. There’s a snarl of hair ties with long, dark brown hair tangled in them. A favorite shirt. A small colorful stone I found in the front yard on Wreston. It’s nothing, really. Odds and ends of an unfulfilled life.
Spying something trapped in the folds of my bag, I fumble for it.
“My necklace!” I exclaim to myself.
It’s a teensy-weensy circular disc made of Earth-silver, barely four centimeters wide. It hangs from a spider web-like filament chain. I don’t know how the guard who took mom’s hairbrush missed it.
A smile darts across my face as I lift the tiny circle and squint at it. It’s been in my family for centuries, handed down for generations. My mom gave it to me the day before she was taken from us by some crazed murderer.
The tarnished back is etched with the words “Out of the mud comes….”
I can’t read the rest of it. I can barely make out any of the words at this point. On the other side is some scribble of a symbol but it’s nearly gone, worn from time.
“What comes out of the mud?” I had asked my mom when she handed me the locket. We sat in our small kitchen, overlooking a tree-lined walkway. I was a confused, mixed-up teen at the time.
She had smiled but she remained silent, her eyes holding secrets. She raised her tea to her lips and sipped.
“What? Is this some mystery I have to figure out? I don’t have time for mysteries, Mom. In case you hadn’t noticed, there’s a war going on,” I said to her with a huff.
“It’s the perfect time to figure out a mystery,” she said. “When the world is in upheaval…”
And then, the next day, she was gone, her body criss-crossed with slashes from some sick fuck’s blade. Nothing had really been the same since.
I sigh, clutching the necklace to my chest.
A buzzing alert echoes through my room. I jump, dropping the necklace onto the bed.
“Citizen 29143. Reve Borren. Citizen 29143. Reve Borren,” a droning autobot intones.
I race across the room in a few short steps, staring at the silver door, searching for the way to open it.
“Are you in there, Sakhi?” Reve shouts.
“Yes! How do you open this thing?” I shout back.
“Place your palm anywhere along the door. When you opened it, it memorized your hand print.”
I press my palm along the silvery surface and, sure enough, the panels of the door part.
Reve stands before me, appearing relaxed and calm. “Hey, sis. Citizen 29143 reporting for duty.”
I smile. “How do you know all this stuff? I’m going to have to gain access to your online world.”
“Shhh,” he says, as he looks right and left. He zips across the threshold and the door closes behind him, trapping us both. He hugs me and leans in close to my ear, nuzzling me affectionately. “Not so loud. I’m not supposed to have a com device,” he says in a barely audible voice.
I squeeze him back and whisper, “How did you get it in here?”
He leans back and shakes his head, his lips curving into mirth.
My eyes narrow. “You didn’t…” I begin. Before we had left for the jetter, he had taken a long time in the loo back on Wreston, and I mean a long time.
He grins.
“Ew, Reve. That’s gross,” I say, picturing him shoving his small communication device into a bodily orifice. I hope he wrapped it in something.
He winks and then his shrewd gaze sweeps my room. “Say, this looks familiar. Oh, right, they all look the same.” He sneers. “You get settled?” he asks loudly, looking at my belongings scattered on the bed. He cups his hands around his ears, indicating someone could be listening to us.
“You’re so paranoid,” I say.
“You’re so naive,” he retorts. “Did you? Get settled?”
“Sort of. I barely started,” I say, indicating my tiny pile of comfort.
He glances across the room. “Have you checked out the WD?” He gestures toward the small door near the couch.
My forehead furrows. “The WD?”
“Waste Disposal. The place that stinks with Uni-chem sanitize solution. The loo. Make sure and check it out. It’s a trip. Sucks your shit, wipes your bum, leaves you fresh as a flower. Sends said excrement to Uni-Shit Negative-One, where I’ll put it to good use. Oh—did I call it Uni-Shit? My bad. It’s Uni-Shit-Station Negative-One.”
My stomach does its usual guilt squeeze flip flop.
“Reve…” I begin.
“Don’t worry about it. It’s a job. I’ve done worse.” His face takes on the appearance of granite.
“What could be worse than…?” I start to say.
“Working in everyone’s shit?” His gaze slides to his wounded thigh. His jaw stiffens. He steps toward the bed and lifts the silver necklace.
“This,” he says, looping the chain around his index finger and swinging the disc back and forth. “How’d you get it past the guards?”
I shrug. “No idea.”
“You can’t wear it, you know. You’ll never be allowed to keep it,” he says. “No personal anything is allowed here. I’m sure they drilled that into your head at the intake desk.”
“I know,” I say, reaching for it.
“What do you think arises from mud?” he says, grinning. “Shit. This Complex. Violence and stupid agreements. Those things rise from mud.”
“Give it back.” I reach for it. “I’m sure it has a better meaning.”
He snatches it back.
“You planning something I don’t know about?” he asks.
“Like what?” I ask, my hand darting for the silver.
“Like showing you’ve got some cohones for once. Being courageous. Doing something you’re not supposed to do like hold onto this piece of silver because it’s yours, for fuck’s sake, and risk being caught. Ooh, what an act of defiance.” He swings the silver into his palm and curls his fingers around it. “Or maybe,” he says, eyes glinting, “you’re going to overthrow the government.”
He smiles.
“Right. Not likely. Not here. Not me.” My heart clenches.
“Yeah. Not you,” Reve says. “You always struggle with morality.”
He says “morality” like it’s a disgusting, dirty word.
“We both know the reason you got caught stealing is because you hesitated. We were starving, for God’s sake, and you were worried about the morality of stealing from someone who ‘worked hard’ for produce. Never mind that the worker who actually picked the fruit, transported the fruit only got a m
at to sleep on and a few coins for his labor. You’ve always lacked the ability to question the status quo. You’re incapable of righteous boldness, sis.”
I feel like he’s just slugged me in the gut. He knows I’m a wimp. I hate to displease anyone or buck the rules. But still it stings to hear Reve affirm my lack of courage.
“You’re probably right,” I say, grabbing the necklace while he’s distracted. I push past him and shove it under my pillow. “At least we’re not at war or living on the streets or recovering from mom’s murder.”
“This again? I don’t want to go there, okay?” Reve regards me with pleading eyes.
“Why not?” I say, my defenses flaring. “You never want to talk about it.”
“What’s to talk about?” Reve says in a too loud voice. “She was drained by some Meta fuck and slashed to death.” His hand flies in front of his neck. The whites of his eyes flash and his face reddens. “If she’d lived, she’d have been a complete vegetable. An imbecile. The asshole who murdered her took her mind, raped her, claiming her dignity. At least he finished her off.”
I stop and stare at him. “What did you say? At least he finished her off?” I’m about to go rule-breaking psycho and lunge at his throat but he runs his hand across his face, looking sheepish.
“Forget about it. Sorry I blew up. I’m stressed. We’re in enemy territory here. And just because I don’t talk about shit doesn’t mean I don’t think about it. We could be living next door to mom’s murderer.”
The thought chills me.
“If we ever find that fucker…” His face grows red.
“I know,” I say, heat rising in my face, too. “We’ll kill the son of a bitch.”
His eyebrows rise. “Bold talk coming from my shy sister.”
I shrug.
He crosses the room and puts his arm around me. “I’m not going to let anything happen to you, okay?” he says. He smooths my hair back.
“Okay.” I stare at him somberly. “But you can’t save me from what I see when I sleep. I’m worried at what I’ll see here in this disgusting place when I dream tonight. You know, me sensing everyone’s everything,” I say, a wan smile forming. “I’m like an unwilling voyeur.”
A mischievous look crosses his face. “Have you ever seen someone having sex?” he asks, his face lighting up. “Not you. If it’s you, I don’t want to hear about it.”
“Shut up,” I say, pushing him away.
“Have you?” he laughs.
“I see everything. I see people craving food, scanning their news-coms, longing for a new job, and yes, screwing the shit out of someone besides their mate. I witness what they want, not what they have. I see what’s behind the facade. I hate it. Now shut up! You always try to distract me.” My arms fold over my chest.
His eyes twinkle. “Did it work?”
A tiny smile peeks through my mood. “A little, yeah.”
“Good. Dad was killed in the war. Mom died. You started having freaky dreams. I became an asshole,” he says, adding a derisive chuckle.
“No, you didn’t,” I say, not sure I believe my protest.
“Yes, sis,” he says, “I did. But arguing about it…”
“We’re not arguing. We’re clearing the air.”
He gives me a lame squeeze, probably trying to get me to feel better so we can move on. “Arguing about it, not talking about it, whatever, won’t help things. It happened. We’re here. Here is what we need to focus on.”
I gamely nod my head but inside I’m both seething and freaked out. Being around all these monsters and weirdos has got to affect my night-time sojourns. Most people get to escape reality when they fall asleep. Not me. I’ll be tripping through the unconscious minds of the masses. It’s like wading through a mental stew-swamp, night after night. The doctors Reve took me to called it a “psychic awakening.” I call it becoming a psycho.
In typical “let’s distract my sister” mode, Reve grabs my hand. “Let’s go eat. I’m famished. There’s a cafeteria on level sixteen for our district’s use. And then we need to get to work.”
His lips press flat.
My gaze slides toward the door like a snake-pit is on the other side. “Nah, I’ll fix you something here.”
When I step outside this room, I’ll be faced with the challenge of co-existing with Metas. And that’s something I’d rather not deal with right now. I need this final hour to shore up some strength. And then maybe, if I get lucky, when I fall asleep tonight I’ll go somewhere far away from the Complex. Somewhere safe. I sigh. Fat chance. I’ll probably get to watch a vampire munch the crap out of a woman’s neck, before screwing her senseless. Lucky me. At this moment, I’d rather be taking my chances on the streets of Wreston, trying to steal food.
Chapter 4
When I arrive at the stark white and gray outbuilding of Uni-Bosk Twenty-Three, it’s evident the place is crawling with Metas. I sense their chaotic, strange energy like bees buzzing and humming along my skin, their tiny legs stimulating every nerve. There’s the erotic terror oozing from the vampires, captured in their cells when they took another’s blood. The disembodied chaos of the incubus. The werewolves, hung over with blood-lust from last night’s moon call before heading to this sorry place.
So much for this stupid implant.
Brushing my arms to free myself of the disturbing sensation, I look around for some indication of what we’re supposed to do, where we’re supposed to be. Already, I can tell the Complex abides on a “need to know” basis.
We all look ridiculous in our black and gray uniforms. It’s like a convention of surgical nurses, all sporting the same loose-fitting pants and shirts. Gray top. Black bottoms. Black shoes. The only color comes from our skin, eyes, and hair. It’s a wonder they don’t insist we dye our tresses black or shave our heads. I purse my lips into a tight knot.
“Hey,” a musical voice chimes to my left.
My head whips around. Next to me stands a Meta female. Her energy is light, cheery, almost fun. I let out a long, slow breath.
“Are you talking to me?” I say.
“Sure am.” She smiles, and her nut brown skin seems to radiate warmth. “I’m Naazira Lighthawk, from planet Pinao. Or, rather, citizen 40981.” She giggles. “And, no, I’m not a criminal. Everyone assumes everyone else is a criminal here.” She rolls her green, gold, and blue-flecked eyes, and then extends her hand to me.
Her eyes remind me of sunlight sparkling through the leaves of trees. Her pointed, cat-like ears poke through a tumble of green and gold curly locks. I take a second to marvel at her smooth skin, the color of a forest floor. She’s a Meta. And, she’s far too pretty. But I could sure use an ally.
“Sakhi Borren,” I say, taking her proffered hand. “From planet Wreston. So, why are you here, then?”
Her smooth shoulders rise and fall. “Your kind and my kind used to co-exist on planet Earth before your people destroyed the planet in a nuclear holocaust and we all had to flee. The clan said we needed to participate in the Complex experiment. Galya Clan. I’m an elf, in case you wondered.”
Her face wrinkles into one of the friendliest smiles I’ve ever seen.
“We did?” This comes as startling news. There’s no recorded history of peaceful coexistence between Humans and Metas on Earth, or anywhere, for that matter.
“Yep. Do you know much about Earth?” she says.
I shake my head. “Not really. Only what they taught us in upper level education history,” I say. “About us escaping Earth when a nuclear holocaust wiped the planet of natural resources in 3910. Let’s see,” I say, trying to remember. “We traveled for forty years, discovered the Seldova solar system in 3910. Fought with…” I catch myself, realizing I’m talking to a Meta. “You know, we all fought. You won. Now we’re here.” I shrug but inside I’m seething.
Her kind could have been fighting against my brother. They could have killed my dad or murdered mom.
“I know,” she says, flashing a sympathetic smil
e. “It sucked. Our clan—we stayed out of it.”
“You did?” I say, surprised.
“Well, yeah,” she says, glancing out of the corner of her eye. “A war with the name of Project Extinction could mean no good outcome. For anyone.” She shakes her head. “I think my clan wanted me here as an asset. I’m a linguist, as well as a historian. I’ve mastered fae, Strigoi, Dryad, Dhampir…”
She keeps rattling off the various languages she’s mastered, but I stop listening when a tall figure strides in the room.
Naazira’s head pivots, to see what caught my attention.
Every head turns as if drawn by a magnet. All the frenetic energy falls into the exquisite void of Thrasyllus Blüthe. He moves to the front of the room with the power and grace of a wildcat.
He’s wearing a black uniform with an orange U-logo. Three gleaming red pins are pinned to his sleeve. His hair is combed back, framing his gorgeous features. And, as I suspected, his eyes are clearly distinct—one green, clear and bright; one dark as nightfall, staring from the depths.
Once again, I marvel at his lack of an energetic signature. He comes across as completely blank, void of emotion of any kind.
“Isn’t he dreamy?” Naazira says.
“Huh? What?” I turn to face her, blinking.
“Him. I know you feel it, too. He’s to die for. I’d violate race relations and Complex ordinances to have him for the night. I’d show him a thing or two about elven lust.” She winks.
My face flames with heat.
“He’s a war hero, you know. My clan elder told me some of the stories about how he fought valiantly in the name of peace.”
I scoff. “Fought in the name of peace?”
“You know. Fought for a cause.” Again her slender shoulder rises and falls, like a sigh.
I turn back in his direction. He’s looking straight at me.
A few others crane to see what he’s staring at…or rather whom. Meta and Human eyes grow flinty, tossing gaze grenades in my direction. One of them leans toward another and points as she whispers in her companion’s ear.
The heat in my face grows even hotter. I let my eyes linger on his for the briefest of seconds, my insides tingling. Then my gaze plummets to the floor.
