Courage Is the Price

by Lynn E. O'Connacht

  No cars are coming up behind her; no one is calling for her yet. Rue doesn’t check the time. She doesn’t want to know how long it took her to get here, how much time she has before she needs to be home again. She has to get to the gate. Now. She cannot wait any longer. Rue sets off again. This time, she tries not to throw her entire being into the run, but to temper herself, to save her strength. It does not help much and she still has to pause to rest several times.

  She hops back onto the driveway. The gate leading onto the street is translucent, but Rue can just make out the energy lines that indicate it’s active. Anyone passing by will see her. It’d create a whole galaxy of trouble if someone saw her walking on the grass. It might not be so bad if she were caught by staff, by someone of the family, but by strangers? It would be illegal. Mrs Krombel would never forgive herself.

  But Rue is not caught. She reaches the gate. She almost turns back. She has never been in town entirely on her own before, not even only with Ghost. And she is not used to running so much. She’s already exhausted and feeling miserable. She’s lost the sense of Ghost again too. For a few moments, Rue wonders if she should try to find the glow again here beside the gates and postpone leaving. It is so tempting to stay home. Rue wants so desperately to run back, all the way back, and claim that she’s ill. It doesn’t feel like a lie. And she’s never been outside on her own before. Not truly alone. She’s alone now. All on her own.

  Squeezing her eyes shut tight until the desire to cry passes, Rue enters the command for the gate to open. Everyone of her family knows the override code to leave without alerting the monitors. Rue is not supposed to, but Ghost determined to find out once and told her. Surely the loud noise in her ears is only her nerves. She can do this.

  Rue is half-way back to the first-last tree before she realises that she’s bolted and stops. She can do this. She has to do this. The gate has lowered itself to allow passage. There is only Rue, standing who knows how many paces away. One step at a time. She only has to take one step at a time. She can take one step at a time. The gate will remain open until it detects something passing through.

  The wind picks up suddenly, sets Rue’s curls fluttering into her face and it makes the leaves behind her rustle ominously. With a squeak, Rue bolts she knows not where, fending off assailants she cannot see that are bent on dragging her back to the house. When she finally stops and pushes the hair from her face, dragging a hand through it to untangle the knots, she is almost on the opposite side of the street. Amaranth and Mrs Krombel would have a fit. Why didn’t she think to put her hair into a bun? The gate has closed behind her. From this side, the energy lines show as a stark, warning black web. Rue is trembling and it takes all her strength to walk the rest of the way to the other side of the road. She sags on the warm pavement. Smooth stone. Real stone. An illusion to distract the rich from their homelessness, allow them to think they have a habitable planet after all. Rue knows she should move, but she has lost her courage and her direction. Her legs are folded demurely to one side, one hand resting on the stone. She should move, but.

  A stab through her mind has her on her feet so fast she is reeling with it. The pain sinks down all the way into her heart, a long rend of dull throbbing pain. Something is very, very wrong with her friend and that pain was strong enough for Rue to know in which direction to go. She is going as fast as her body will let her. Rue tries to scream through the link with Ghost that she’s coming, but she has no idea if her friend will notice. She’s coming. She fears that she’ll be of no use when she gets there — if she gets there — but she is coming.

  11

  RUE IS NOT RUNNING. She is only walking as fast as she can. It does not appear to be helping her side, or even her legs. She’s never been aware of them so strongly, It hurts. But the pace allows her to keep going without frequent pauses and the pain is something she is determined to shove aside. Her head feels like it is trying to split open and her temples are throbbing. She can only hope that it isn’t adding to whatever pain her friend is feeling right now, but she only does so when her brain has time to scramble the feeling together between the stabbing in her soul.

  Rue has walked, run, sprinted, trotted, and even marched her way through the streets, and managed to get lost around the fourth or fifth turn she’s taken. She knows she’s lost, but she’s kept going anyway. She knows where to go. It is just a matter of trying to follow it with houses in her way. Calling for transportation would be an option. Possibly. Rue isn’t quite sure how that works, how to call someone other than one of the family’s drivers and she is certainly not calling any of them. She has never needed to know how to hail public transport or how to find it, and she wouldn’t know how to pay for it either. Not to mention that Amaranth would find out what she’s been spending her allowance on and there is no telling what the woman would do to make Rue’s life miserable.

  She isn’t worried, not exactly, because she’s too busy worrying about the pain and her friend. The dull glow in her mind is not fading further, but Rue has been having trouble concentrating. Perhaps her head hurts too much for her to focus. She has no idea what time it is, whether anyone has noticed she is missing yet, whether anyone has begun to look for her.

  Up until now, as she leans against a dirt-encrusted metal wall, Rue has not given much thought to what her actions would do to her family’s reputation, to hers. She doesn’t mind what happens to her own reputation much. If people will look ill on her, it only means that she’ll have fewer social events to attend. It will mean less effort to stifle her panic, bury it under veneer, because she will have to do less of it. But her parents… She has not given much thought to them, to her father. Amaranth will despise her and would probably disinherit her if she were not their only child. Her father’s business, though. That could be affected. That would affect her too. She would not care about the money except that she has seen the way her school treats Priti.

  Priti, who is walking out of a door opposite the building where Rue is standing and who stops dead in her tracks. Stares. Rue stares back. She has no idea how far she’s wandered into the lower class districts, but now she wonders how she missed entering at all. If her legs agreed to carry her just one step further, she would bolt, afraid of having been seen by someone she knows. Afraid of running into something else familiar, however remotely, while in utterly strange surroundings. And, truthfully, the thought of how Priti might bargain with what she’s seen this holiday next year... Libby would love it, make Rue’s life even more miserable. She is certain Libby would find a way.

  In the end, it is Priti who comes over to ask whether Rue really is Rue. She finds that her voice has deserted her entirely and comes out only with a little squeak that may or may not be a ‘yes’. Not even she’s sure.

  They are both quiet then. Rue doesn’t know what to say and Priti does not appear to know either. The dusty street is empty. Ghost would undoubtedly be wandering around trying to discover why. Rue is only glad no one is there to see her imminent demise. There is no more glow in her mind, her head hurts so much she can barely think, and her throat is utterly parched. Her stomach rumbles, but she manages to croak out ‘I’m lost’ at Priti, who is carrying two paper bags under her arms and who is scratching at her ankle with her other foot. Rue flinches at the thought of Priti laughing at her. Little posh girl gone slumming. People used to do that on Old Earth. Amaranth lectured against it for no particular reason once.

  Rue’s cheeks grow hot with embarrassment, but Priti has only smiled gently. “I need to get the groceries home first.”

  “First?” Rue blurts out, does not understand, though it was possibly the easiest word.

  “Then I’ll help you get somewhere you recognise.”

  Rue is staring again. She knows it; she does not care. Priti cocks her head a little to the side and there are dimples in her cheeks. Nothing else registers in Rue’s brain. She is trying to gather her thoughts, but the idea of a stranger helping her is so alien it has short-circuited
her mind. Or so it feels.

  She does not know what to say and, when Priti turns and walks away, she does not know what she is supposed to do. She tries to call out, to ask Priti (does this make Priti a friend?) what is happening, but nothing at all comes out because an ocean of panic is streaming into her throat ready to drown her. Rue doesn’t wish to be alone, be left alone. Is she to wait by the building for Priti to return? Is she to follow? How can she follow; she’s feeling so faint. Her head is pounding and her vision may be blurring and Rue does not know why or how and will she be stranded here, blinded entirely, waiting for a girl who may decide not to return or who may get lost herself?

  But, cutting through the snatching of air and the pain and tension, is a weight on her shoulder and a voice. “Are you coming?”

  The words barely register with Rue, but she manages to wipe at her eyes. Though her vision is still a little unsteady, the tears have cleared. Priti is standing before her, a head taller and nibbling her lower lip. The bags, a distant part of Rue notes, are on the ground and a heavy hand is on her shoulder. Rue clenches her fists and hunches her shoulders. People do not touch her often and it adds just one more unsettled feeling into her heart. Priti had no right. No right. How much more can she take, Rue wonders, but Priti is staring at her and asking if she’s all right and, voice trembling as much as the rest of her body, she manages “I’m fine.”

  Priti twitches her eyebrows at that, but makes no comment. Instead, she only moves to pick up the groceries. “Follow me.”

  Rue does. They do not talk much. Priti makes some comments here and there, but for the most part they walk in silence. Now and again, someone passes them by. There are no hovercars here and still no people. The streets are narrower. The buildings are all a dull eggshell-white and they are packed closely together. There isn’t a single park to be seen. Only several-storey tall buildings looming over her. Rue is thankful for the silence. It allows her to calm her stomach and quiet her heart. She feels like how she imagines a rabbit running from a predator would feel. Neither are on the station, extinct long before space colonisation began.

  The headache is worse. It has stopped throbbing on its own, but it stabs at her with every step she takes anyway. Rue cannot decide whether this is better or worse, a good sign or a bad one. She does not know how long they’ve been walking or how Priti knows her way around the streets. The school grounds all have signs that tell you where to go. Here there are none. Priti must have made as many turns as Rue did getting here, but eventually they walk up to a dull, dust-brown door and stop. Priti offers Rue one of the bags and, puzzled, Rue takes it. It smells of food and she’s opened it to find freshly baked bread before the door has even chimed to announce that it’s recognised Priti’s entry signature.

  The bread is already halfway towards Rue’s mouth when Priti snatches it with her free hand and a shout. Rue flinches and starts to cry in earnest, trembling all over and feeling feverish. She barely registers the boy coming to take the bags from them, though she registers his bare feet and, just like that, she notices that her own slippers are in tatters. They were never meant for outdoor walking the way Rue has been doing. The sound from her throat is somewhere between a sob and a scream. Showing one’s feet is taboo, in Rue’s circles. It is not done. It is unbecoming of a proper lady. Though Rue has never cared to understand why such restrictions exist — no one at school observes the taboo in the showers — she cares enough for it to feel like a fresh stab to her heart. It is too much. Too much.

  Someone touching her back propels her to fly forward through the doorway and trip over her own feet. The hall is so narrow she cannot even stretch out both her arms. Rue is only distantly aware of anything, of the fuss people are making. She is led to a chair. There are chairs in Priti’s home. The surprise is startling enough to jolt Rue into awareness. Poor people never have chairs, she’s been taught. Even with the synth materials, the resources are too scarce on their makeshift world.

  Water. Rue finds a cup of water pressed to her mouth. It tastes sandy and dirty and it has white bits swirling in it that make her gag, but she drinks it anyway. She’s too thirsty. Rue would have drunk it all immediately, but she is not in control of the cup. Voices are encouraging her to breathe. Follow the breaths. In and out. In and out. In and out. When she realises that the water is gone, Rue rests her head on her knees. Keep following the breaths. In and out. In and out.

  12

  EVENTUALLY, RUE FEELS able to breathe again. She does not look up. Does not need to to feel eyes boring into her back and into her brain. Watching her. Judging her. Please gods let Priti not be judging her. Rue would die of mortification. If anyone understands how Rue feels, surely it is Priti. But she doesn’t dare look. Just in case.

  “Better?” someone asks, cutting through the fears, a little. It is not Priti’s low voice, filled with clouds and dreams, but someone else’s. Rue nods, then remembers that her head is resting on her knees and rasps out an answer. Her voice is hoarse.

  “I got lost.” She tries to wrap herself into a small ball the way the kitten that Amaranth had when Rue was little used to do. But she is not a kitten and, anyway, she is sitting on a chair much smaller than those in her own home. Trying to curl up merely results in almost falling off and feeling more hands against her to keep her from hurting herself by accident. Rue makes herself as small as she can anyway.

  If Ghost were here, this might be bearable. Her friend would do something to make Rue want to laugh, to relax just a little. But her friend is not here and there is only the faintest glow in Rue’s mind where Ghost used to be.

  Rue isn’t sure how she got so lost and so far from where she wanted to go, but it does not matter. She is alone, and she is in a tiny house with people she does not know, has never met, and no one knows where she is or how to find her. Not that she’s afraid of Priti or her family, not exactly, but she is. Rue is afraid and telling herself that she’s being silly only makes her heart race faster. If there was nothing to fear, nothing at all, she would not be assuring herself that there was nothing to fear. Right? Ghost would laugh at that, but there is nothing. Only a sense of soft and gentle concern from the people crowding her. “I’m sorry, what?”

  “I said I’ll get you back home.”

  Rue looks up at that, staring right into Priti’s face. She’s never noticed this before — why would she? — but Priti smells of roses and her eyes are moss-green. There are mosses in the garden at home. Or there had been, when Rue had not yet learned it was forbidden to walk on the grass. Priti is smiling, all crooked teeth but genuine.

  “Thank you,” Rue manages. She digs her nails into her skin, hoping that Priti won’t notice the way she’s clenching her fists. Her stomach is fluttering nervously. Someone behind her is so close she can almost feel their breath on her neck. Rue doesn’t know why her heart is hammering in her throat, or why her stomach feels like heaving. Ghost would know. Her friend is much better at relationships.

  Priti pulls back a little, settling into a chair opposite Rue’s and drops a pair of shoes on the ground. They’ve moved aside the table. Maybe it feels crowded because they’ve moved the table and not because there are too many people too close.

  “Put those on,” Priti says. With some effort, Rue drags her eyes down to the shoes. Any moment now someone is going to yell at her. Priti has dropped a pair of brown boots. No one is yelling yet. They’re men’s shoes, muddy and well-worn and surely far too big for Rue’s own feet. Someone moves behind her, she’s sure of it and she tenses, not daring to look. Nothing happens. Slowly, Rue straightens and stares at Priti.

  “It’s a long walk.”

  Rue blinks.

  “Your shoes are ruined. Do you want to hike home barefoot?” There is no edge to Priti’s voice, though Rue was expecting one. Amaranth would be furious. Rue doesn’t know how to respond to the tone. Ghost would have known, perhaps have given her some caustic reply she could use moments too late, but her friend isn’t here. After what fee
ls like an eternity, Rue shakes her head. No, she does not want to hike home barefoot. She’ll probably get blisters and be unable to walk tomorrow.

  And yet. They’re men’s working boots, far too large for her feet. And they’re dirty. Rue has never, not ever, put on anything that was dirty before. She has been grimy before, of course. She does sports at the Academy and when she was little she’d play outside, climbing trees (and being scolded for it, once so severely she refused to acknowledge Ghost’s existence for a week), so of course she’s worn less than perfect clothes before. Amaranth might have hated it and her father might have hated the waste, but Rue had made them dirty. They’d been clean clothes to start with. They hadn’t, ever, been worn by someone else either. People have germs. What if Rue catches something from the boots? Can she catch something? She doesn’t want that, but she doesn’t want blisters either. What if the boots give her something horrible? Medicine still doesn’t have all the answers. What if she loses a foot? Both feet? Rue’d have to hide forever. Her mother would never risk such a deficiency being discovered.

  Actually, that thought is quite appealing. Rue would never have to deal with society again because society does not wish to deal with anyone less than gilded perfection. Her friend would encourage her to live dangerously. And she does not want blisters.

  Grimacing despite herself, Rue takes off her tattered slippers and pulls the boots on as quickly as she can. She’s surprised to discover they almost, sort of, fit. Someone has clearly stuffed them with something soft that molds itself, more or less, to the shape of her foot. Rue does not wish to know what it is. The boots aren’t comfortable. They’re tough and enclosing and she can barely move her ankles as the synth-leather cuts into her flesh every time she flexes. Rue gets up, intent on walking straight home and being rid of the awful things, but Priti’s hands push her back down.