City of Light

by J J Hane

  That was also the last time that the Archangel had been used for anything but a power source. Abishai’s father was the one who called for the strike, after everyone else was dead. There were no bodies to recover.

  The group home I lived in was the size of a city block, occupied by a dozen families and situated close to the wall. A series of large communal spaces occupied much of the first floor, including a kitchen, bathrooms, and living rooms. The second floor held apartments for each family, including the Moore’s. Despite having lived with them for as long as I could remember, I never really thought of it as my home. It was just the place I stayed when I wasn’t busy, which was a little more often than I would have preferred.

  When I entered the apartment, I found Mr. Moore sitting on the sofa, reading something on the flexible little screen he held. He glanced up at me, his eyes narrowing in concern.

  “Everything okay, Raphael?” he asked.

  “I’m fine,” I assured him, mumbling a little. Mr. Moore had very little patience for mumbling. It didn’t make him angry, nothing seemed to actually anger him, but it always earned a slight frown.

  “You look tired,” he said after a brief pause. “You should clean up and get some rest. You’re a growing boy. When I was your age, I would have slept all the time if I could have.”

  “Yes, sir,” I replied hastily into the pause between breaths. He sounded like he was about to start in on one of his stories of his childhood again. Maybe it isn’t very nice to say, but I was too tired for that.

  I begrudgingly took a quick shower before heading into my room and falling into bed.

  Sleep was difficult that night. My dreams were filled with nightmares of fleeing from an unseen attacker, people all around me dying from invisible bullets. At one point, I dreamt that I was kneeling over the girl, trying to stop the blood from pouring out of her face. She looked up at me, helpless as she died despite everything I did.

  Chapter 3

  I woke up with a start, my blanket bunched up on the floor, sweat soaking my chest. The clock on the wall said it was just before five in the morning. Groaning, I flopped back onto the bed, hoping to get some more sleep.

  After staring at the ceiling for a few minutes, I gave up. I rolled to my feet, dressed, and headed to the kitchen. No one else was awake that early, so I helped myself to a quick breakfast before going outside.

  The sky was still dark, the city lights dim. Morning birds were calling, and in the distance I could hear maglev busses humming along, transporting a few early risers to work. My street was quiet, though it would not stay that way for long. Harvesters were already at work in the fields, bringing in the crops before thieves or cold could claim them. Soon, others would be waking up, heading out to work or school. I had plenty of time before that, so I decided to check on the girl.

  I headed out to the main western road, hitching a ride on a bus toward the towers in the city center. It only took about ten minutes for me to get to the medical facility that I figured was most likely to have taken in the wounded young woman.

  Like the security outposts, the medical facility was always brightly lit, although there was something warmer about the lights, more welcoming. Going through the wide double-doors that served as the front entrance, I found a single elderly woman working at the big desk against the wall. She looked up with a pleasant smile.

  “What can I do for you, young man?” she asked, her tone that familiar unintentional condescension that apparently becomes more common the older you get.

  “I’m looking for someone,” I replied, trying to smile sweetly at her. It always worked for Abishai, though I had never had much luck with it.

  The woman nodded, still smiling at me. “Of course, dear. Who is it that you’re trying to find? I’m sure I can help you.”

  “There was a young woman brought in from the tribes last night. She was hurt pretty bad, I think. Is she here?”

  The smile froze on the elderly woman’s face. Her tone switched from condescension to severe disapproval. “Now why would a young man like you want to be looking for some savage girl? I’m sure you have better things to be doing with your time…”

  I tried to keep the look of surprised annoyance off my face. “Because I was there when she got hurt. I just want to make sure she’s doing okay.”

  The secretary straightened indignantly in her chair. “We have the finest facility this old world has ever seen. I’m sure the doctors have taken good care of her. We’ll be getting her back out into the wilds where a… girl like her belongs.”

  Something in the way she said it gave me the impression that the old woman would have gotten along just fine with Officer Mac.

  “She might be uncomfortable being surrounded by strangers,” I pointed out, working to keep my voice level.

  The old lady looked as though she had never thought of such a thing. She also looked as though she did not put much stock or concern into the idea of the outlander girl having such advanced things as emotions. Finally, she seemed to be out of complaints.

  “The young lady is in room 113.” She gave me a pointed look. “It’s the one with the guard outside.”

  I strode briskly away toward the appropriate wing, not even saying thank you. What can I say? I can be a bit of a rebel.

  I found the right room in a moment, thanks to the severe MSF guard standing at the door like a gargoyle. She was a short woman, her blond hair pulled back into a tight bun. Although she was leaning casually against the wall, she held a stunner in one hand, her head tilted so that her ear was pointed at the door. The guard straightened when she saw me coming. I slowed my steps, a little intimidated. I’d never done anything to justify getting in trouble with the MSF, partly because I was intrinsically terrified of getting in trouble with the MSF.

  Pushing away the low-level anxiety, I approached the guard. “Excuse me,” I said, though I already had her attention. I tried not to cringe as she eyed me. “Is this the outlander’s room?”

  “It is,” the guard confirmed. She supplied no further information.

  “Okay. Um, I was there when she was found. I was wondering if I could check on her before I get to class?”

  “That a question or a statement?” the guard asked. I paused, uncertain how to respond. She gave a quiet laugh.

  “Fine,” she said. “You can go check on her. I don’t think she’s awake yet. They had a lot to do for her.”

  I mumbled thanks, then slipped into the room as the guard pushed the door open for me.

  Inside, the room was very much like those I had seen in old pictures and movies from before the collapse of civilization. The lights were dimmed, giving the faux wood floors and cabinetry a darker hue than they would usually have. Grey pre-dawn light seeped through the windows running along the exterior wall. Several machines, too complicated for me to understand, were placed with care around the single bed in the center.

  On the bed lay the young woman from the previous night. Her rough clothing was gone, replaced by a simple hospital gown worn beneath a soft white blanket. Her dark brown hair framed her peacefully sleeping face. I was surprised by how beautiful she was. Even sleeping, her lightly bronzed features were set in a stubborn mold. She looked surprisingly healthy. The way a lot of people talked about the tribes, I had always expected the outlanders to be emaciated from starvation.

  A little twinge of guilt twisted in my stomach. How long had I put up with other kids making fun of me because I hadn’t been born in the City, and there I was thinking the same kinds of stereotypes.

  I stood there awkwardly for a minute, not sure how to proceed. To be honest, I didn’t have any idea what I was doing. Checking on the girl had seemed like a good idea, but she was asleep and I had no clue what to say to her even if she was awake. I was thinking about that, trying to come up with something clever or profound, when her voice startled a small yelp out of my throat.

  “Are you just going to stare at me?” she asked, eyes still closed. When she opened them, he
r brown irises were so dark they looked almost black in the dim light. Her mouth twitched up at the corners for a second when she saw me startle. “What do you want?”

  Her tone was not friendly, but not overtly hostile either. More like she was trying to decide whether I was faintly amusing or annoying enough to bludgeon with the heavy chair by her bed. Still, it would have been weird to just walk away, as I was tempted to do.

  “I came to see if you’re alright,” I said hastily, finally regaining my voice while fighting back the obnoxious stereotypes I had faced most of my life. She cocked an eyebrow at me. “Um. Are you?”

  Sitting up straight, the girl studied me for a moment. At last, she shrugged. “I guess so. I’ve been asleep for most of the night.”

  “Oh. Good.” I hesitated, not sure what to say.

  She looked down at herself, picked at the gown as if trying to remember where it came from. Her eyes widened in surprise at something, then narrowed in suspicion. She pulled the gown back, frowning down through the collar. I felt my face begin to heat.

  “What did they do to me?” she demanded, meeting my eyes again. Though not angry, her tone was edged with steel.

  “They treated your injuries,” I replied quickly. “Probably any radiation poisoning or anything other, well, diseases you might have had.”

  She scowled at me. “Diseases?”

  Maybe not the best way to start a conversation with a young lady… “Just, you know, if you were sick. Or something.”

  “Fine. What else did they do?” Her tone was aggressive, but there was something else. Awe, maybe? “What happened to the scar?”

  “Scar?”

  She gave me a look that told me exactly what she thought of my intellect. It was not much. “I got shot, didn’t I? Where’s the wound? What did they do to me?”

  “Oh. Well, it probably wasn’t much for them to handle here. There aren’t really any scars here, if you go to a med center for treatment. It’s a pretty simple procedure. Are you upset?”

  The girl looked angry, though why she should be angry about not having a scar was beyond me.

  “They didn’t ask…” she said, quiet fury burning through her words.

  I didn’t know what to say to that, so I just stayed silent.

  She took a deep breath, closing her eyes, slowly opening them again before speaking. “What’s your name?”

  “What?”

  “Your name. What is it? You have a name, right?”

  “Of course I have a name,” I shot back. “It’s Raphael Peregrine. My friends call me Raph.”

  “Peregrine? Like the bird?”

  “No.”

  She looked like she didn’t quite believe me, but I didn’t really want to explain. “Well, Raphael: where are my clothes?”

  I pointed to the tall cabinet against the far wall. “Probably in there.”

  She eyed the cabinet suspiciously. I walked over to it, pulling it open. Sure enough, her clothing, all sturdy browns and blacks, were folded neatly in a stack on the shelf. I brought them to her, setting them on her blanketed lap. She watched me the whole way with the same posture I’ve seen cats use when a mouse is going by.

  She wasn’t tall, but she looked strong, and I suspected that a hard life outside the Martyrion had made her tougher than most people I’d met. I would not have said this to Ab, but I was a little intimidated by her. At the same time, I was drawn to her. There was something about her… She had a vitality, a liveliness to her that was a physical force. More than that, she represented a connection to the tribes. My people whom I had never known.

  She quickly searched through her clothes. “Where is my knife?” she demanded.

  “Gee, I don’t know,” I replied, annoyance with her attitude getting the better of me. “I find it hard to believe they took a weapon away from a belligerent patient.”

  Her eyes snapped up to mine. I could practically see her brain calculating, trying to figure me out. While she was studying me, I found myself staring back at her, mostly unthinking. She had been pretty when sleeping, or at least pretending to sleep. Awake, alive, she was gorgeous.

  “Serenity,” she said.

  “I’m sorry?”

  “Don’t be. It’s my name. Serenity.”

  “That’s a nice name.” That’s a nice name? Really? I was definitely not going to impress her with my quick wit. Fortunately, she seemed to find my awkwardness amusing. She laughed lightly, a beautiful, musical sound.

  “I think I like you, Raph,” she told me, her mind evidently made up. “I’m going to get dressed now. Then you are going to show me around the infamous City of Light.”

  “The what?” I asked blankly.

  “The Martyrion?” Her face scrunched up a little as she studied me. “Are you okay? You seem a little… off.”

  My face flushed. “I’m fine. I just- I mean, we don’t call it that.”

  “Sure. Fancy words. Okay, Raph. You can show me around the Martyrion. How’s that sound?”

  “I don’t know if that’s such a good idea,” I told her. “There’s a guard outside, probably there to make sure you don’t get into trouble. Not to mention the fact that we don’t know if the doctors have finished treating you. You did get shot last night. I think you’re supposed to rest or something.”

  Serenity poked at her shoulder, abdomen, legs. “No bullet wounds here,” she said. “Looks like I’m good to go.”

  She threw the blanket off, hopping down to the cold floor. The hospital gown she wore reached just below her knees, showing off her strong calves and bare feet. Serenity quirked an eyebrow at me. I cleared my throat.

  “I’ll just turn around now,” I said casually, suiting actions to words. I waited, keeping my eyes firmly fixed on the wall, listening to the sound of rustling fabric. She seemed to be taking her time getting dressed.

  A loud crack startled me, but I was careful not to turn around, just in case. “Serenity?” I asked. No response. “Serenity?”

  Cautiously, I turned my head, looking out of the corner of my vision to avoid impolitely staring at her. Still no reply. Finally, I turned fully around. My heart stopped.

  The latch on one of the big windows was broken, the window cracked open just wide enough for the young woman to slip through. I was alone in the room.

  “Oh. Crap.”

  Glancing back toward the door, I thought maybe I should go get the guard. Unfortunately, Martyrion security was unlikely to be overly hospitable to an escaped outlander. The best she could hope for would be another hit from a stunner, something that I’d heard was extremely painful. They might even just shoot her.

  It took me only a second or two to decide. I darted to the window, leapt onto the counter that ran its length, and squeezed through the gap. The medical building was long. An instinctive response from a time when pandemics were common and thousands died from disease every day, it had been built to provide care for a large portion of the city simultaneously. I caught a glimpse of brown hair disappearing around the farthest corner, in the direction of the city center. Not a moment to lose, I broke into an all-out sprint, charging down the length of the building.

  When I came around the corner, I had gained on her just enough to see her take another side street, keeping away from the thoroughfare. Cold October air sliced into my lungs as I chased after the girl. She was fast, but she was also shorter.

  After several minutes of pounding through the deserted alleys of the city, I finally closed the gap between us. She had not yet looked back, unaware that I was following her. Sliding to a halt at the edge of one of the taller buildings, she peeked around the corner, looking out at the main street. Gritting my teeth, I poured the last bit of energy into reaching her.

  I slammed into the wall behind her, grabbing her arm and pulling her back out of sight. At first, I thought I had pulled too hard, knocking her off balance. An instant later, I realized the truth. She spun with the force of my pull, ramming her balled fist into my face with enough force to
bounce my head off the wall behind me, causing me to lose my balance. Pain exploded through my skull, but I somehow managed to maintain my grip on her arm as I fell, dragging her down with me. She let out a grunt of pain as her knees hit the pavement.

  “Would you stop?” I hissed at her, trying not to draw too much attention to us. “I’m not trying to hurt you!”

  She tried to pull away, but I twisted my body, keeping her off balance while I kicked her legs out from under her. A huff of breath escaped her lungs when she fell again. She dug her nails into my arm.

  “Let me go,” she practically growled, “or I swear I’ll break every bone in your body.”

  “I’m trying to help you!” I snarled back, angry now. “If they find out you’re running around the city, you could get hurt!”

  “You’re the one who’s going to get hurt!”

  “They will shoot you!”

  “Only if they catch me,” she replied, finally pulling her arm away, rolling to her feet.

  I stood with much less grace. “If I could catch you, then I’m sure the MSF will catch you.”

  She eyed me, rubbing her elbow where she had hit it in her fall.

  “Why did you even run in the first place?” I demanded, taking advantage of her brief silence.

  “Because I don’t want to be stuck here as a prisoner, obviously.” Serenity brushed her hair out of her face, setting her jaw in stubbornness.

  I stumbled over my words, a rapidly forming splitting headache and good old-fashioned frustration with her overwhelming me. “You weren’t a prisoner,” I finally spluttered. “You were a patient in a medical facility!”

  “If I wasn’t a prisoner, why was there an armed guard outside?”

  I threw up my hands in a gesture that took in our surroundings. I practically shouted “Because you outlanders are unpredictable!”

  Wrong move. Her eyes narrowed, her fists balled, and her balance shifted slightly.

  “We are unpredictable?” she asked, her voice low, rising with each sentence. “We’re not the ones who call down fire from the sky to destroy entire villages whenever it suits us. We’re not the ones that hold medical supplies hostage in exchange for hard labor. We are not the ones who let children die from starvation and disease just because they don’t live behind the high and mighty walls of this self-righteous city!”