by Celie Wells
Jason must be beyond livid. My family, Ugg, my mother, would be clinically inconsolable. My father and brother, all our family friends. The thought of all those angry and worried people. My stomach soured and I became queasy and hot.
I sat still and breathed shallow, trying to keep myself from throwing up. Sweat beads formed on my face and neck. Blue pulled my hair into a plastic band from the cheese packs and dabbed my wrists with a damp cloth cookie wrapping.
“You tried, you tried to tell them to let us go so many times. Give yourself a rest. Take what they have to offer. We need food and sleep. Tomorrow we will see what happens next. Okay.” Blue was right, passive and cowardly, but she was right. There was nothing I could change about my situation tonight.
After a half-hour, one of the older women led us to an enormous beige tent at the community's edge. The tent contained an open bedroom area with several neatly decorated cots and a long bathroom section with white metal tubs and a row of real water showers.
Clean towels and frilly nightclothes sat prominently on each decorated bed alongside an assortment of fruit candies and herbed soaps artfully shaped into hearts and stars. Each clan assembled one of the beds in anticipation of a female occupant.
“The Miss Conception beauty pageant must begin with good night sleep,” I remarked sarcastically to the room. None of my fellow captives found my observation funny.
We wandered around the beds in silence, inspecting the lavishly decorated displays.
“Blue, look four of us and four beds. They knew how many of us were captured even before we arrived.”
Blue looked at me with wide eyes. “They had help. Or, maybe they were able to get word to the compound while we were traveling.”
“Probably, a communicator, but how can anyone secure a digital account without a citizen number?” Blue shook her head at me slowly.
The exhaustion in her eyes matched the looks on the faces of my fellow captives. I wasn't going to get any help out of the three of them tonight.
After we showered and changed into clean clothes, we dragged our four beds together at one end of the room and tried to fall asleep. Proximity and numbers were our only defense. It wouldn't help in a real encounter, but the arrangement of the beds and the false sense of safety allowed me to let the exhaustion of the day take me under.
VILLA DE PARIS
“Beryl, thank you for coming to see me today.” Priscilla Eaton was not one known for thanking anyone for anything. My grandmother was one of her oldest friends and arranged a meeting to discuss education credits and my breeding rights. All I knew about her was that she was widowed some time ago, a water heiress with no remaining family.
I met Priscilla at the entry salon of her gargantuan estate. The prevailing rumors say she keeps thirty full-time staff working on constant repairs and upgrades to the sprawling property.
“Of course, Mrs. Eaton, thank you for agreeing to speak with me again. I felt our first meeting went well, but I didn't expect to receive a second invitation to visit with you so soon,” I confessed.
“This business with your sister's abduction is appalling. Eaton provisions and arms have been sent to the Tilley-Fuller armory. This type of terrorism cannot be allowed to fester in the world unchecked. These people must be stopped,” she groused.
“Thank you, with all the families involved I can't imagine it will take long to find the girls and bring them home. “As I spoke the words out loud, I knew they were lies. The old seabed is uncharted, and few have traveled west from our continent. No real need to map the unforgiving terrain existed until now.
“I know I mentioned scheduled several interviews, but I say that in all my business dealings. I don't want to get anyone's hopes up unjustly. With your clarified lineage, the breeding rights you hold are quite valuable. Are you sure you want to align with house Eaton? I don't want to mislead you, we have wealth, but we are a relatively small house. Situations, like we have today with your sister, remind me of how small a family we really are,” Priscilla explained.
“My grandmother spoke very highly of you, Mrs. Eaton. She considered you a good friend. I would be honored to accept her advice and provide your family with an heir,” I explained just as I rehearsed many times in my mirror at home.
“Constance was a sister to me. After my Thomas died, rumors surfaced that I was having an affair with Edgar. These lies were fanned by ignorant hags. Your grandmother ignored the gossip. Eventually, it was suggested that I was their third, a scandalous concept at that time, but a rumor as well.
“They were always loyal friends to me. Constance came to see me when she decided on her passing date. I tried to convince her to stay here with me, but she would not let Edgar go alone. She explained your needs to me and thought we might be able to help each other.”
“I don't seem to be getting anywhere on my own, working, and with my family's help, I've only managed to secure two years of university credits.”
“Yes, I have a similarly difficult issue. I am running out of time, and I have a delicate problem to solve. I want to show you a secret, and then we can discuss our arrangement further.”
“Of course,” I agreed. Priscilla took my hand and led me into the first chamber of the estate.
“We call this next room, Ville De Paris.” Ancient paintings of pastoral outdoor life lined the walls. Each work of art hung encased in a thick, clear box. We walked by two overly protective members of her house staff on the way through the room. Priscilla gave them both women reassuring touch as she led me further into the massive home.
The themed room was brightly lit with new solar shield windows and full canopy of tall trees and ferns. Green was the overwhelming theme. The chairs and tapestries were varying shades of the color green. The next interior chamber was well lit but less elaborately decorated. A spacious room with several defined sitting areas but it lacked the color and whimsy of the green entry.
We continued towards the center of the estate through several neatly appointed rooms until we reached a set of long hallways. It looked empty to the right, but the left hall was busy with hurried staff and opening and closing doors in a steady flow of activity.
“Well, this is it.” Priscilla took a deep breath and nodded to a woman guarding the busy hallway entrance. We entered a spacious bedroom filled with medical equipment and a sleeping middle-aged man. “This is my only son, William Joseph Eaton.”
I wasn't sure what I was supposed to say, or how I was expected to react. The young man was shirtless and wearing thick compression pants hooked to muscle stimulators. His chest and stomach were marked by scattered scars that had long since healed. Some of the marks looked surgical, while others looked like battle wounds.
Filtered sunlight poured into the room. The far wall was lined with planter boxes of fresh herbs. Warm mint and rosemary floated in the air with occasional hints of bleach. The linens were crisp white, and every surface looked meticulously maintained. Happy sounding instrumental music played just loud enough to serve as white noise, overcoming the bulk of the whirring and beeping sounds from the medical devices.
“How long has William been this way, Mrs. Eaton?” I asked in an effort to compose myself.
“Priscilla, please, Mrs. Eaton was widowed so long ago, I barely connect with the name,” she explained.
“Of course, Priscilla,” I copied, smiling.
“William has been bedridden for five years now. He was brought back from the European continent like this. Protector path did this to him, but it was his choice. He wanted to follow the Protectors out into the wasteful world to secure the peoples’ water.” Priscilla was nostalgic in her explanation. The pain her social standing kept her from expressing openly escaped in her shaky voice.
“I am so sorry. Do the doctors expect he will improve?”
“By law, his condition requires the family to stop advanced medical services after ninety days. I have not followed that law. As a result, I can’t retain an actual physician, but I do have a
full staff trained to care for him.”
“I see. This must be a difficult matter for you to share with—anyone.” I walked the length of the bed. Each caretaker I passed cringed at my presence.
“Connie and Edgar helped me with my son when I couldn't trust anyone else. I feel I can trust you, Beryl. I won't live forever and as far as anyone knows—I am alone. Soon I will need to choose my day of passing, but I can't leave my William like this.”
“What is it you need me to do, Priscilla? How can I help you?”
“I would like you to marry my son, posthumously, of course. The world believes he is long dead. I also want a grandchild before I die and a binding promise that you will continue my son's care once I am gone. The entirety of my estate will fall to you and your child. You will have all the financial resources you could possibly need.”
“Priscilla, that is quite an offer,” I confessed.
“It requires you to use one of your marriage rights and one of your breeding rights, but it also requires you to break the law for the rest of his life. I have been willing to do this for my son, but I can't imagine anyone else would.”
“Can I take a few days to think this over. With Kar missing and my grandparent's recent ceremony, my family’s in bad shape. I don't want to add any more to the situation.”
“I'm delighted you would consider helping us, Beryl. You must understand, you cannot discuss the full truth with anyone, even your parents. This farse only works because everyone here is loyal to the Eaton family and doesn't speak of William in the present tense.”
“Of course, I do understand Priscilla, thank you for this opportunity. Can we meet again in a few days? I will have my answer for you then.”
“Yes, that is agreeable. I read to William every day at this time. Would you like to join us? I have a car standing by to take you home whenever you are ready.”
“I would love to, thank you. Sadly, there is nothing I can do to help find my sister. It's a truly helpless feeling.” Priscilla snapped her fingers, and a second reclining chair was placed by William's bedside.
“I understand helplessness all too well. I pray your sister is found quickly.” I thanked the man that brought the chair and sat silently, observing Priscilla's daily ritual.
William looked healthy and tanned like he was just sleeping. Several nurses lingered around the bed monitoring his status and recording their findings in meticulously kept logs. My grandmother volunteered me for quite the assignment.
I didn't want to break laws that I generally agreed with, but this man looked alive. How could anyone deny him care? Priscilla seemed so desperate to keep her adult son stay safe.
Disappearing into such opulence while my family struggled to find Karine, was a selfish escape. There was nothing I could do but wait for news of her return or the unthinkable discovery of her body.
My uselessness, when my sister needs help the most, brought on a shameful numbness that I can barely describe in words. I understand now what breaks people into tiny pieces that never quite fit back together again.
Tea and little shortbread cookies were brought to me by a grateful looking woman from the household staff. Priscilla chose an old-world novel to read from. There were dragons and elves, and I found myself comfortable and lost in the melody of her motherly voice.
I contemplated the situation at length while I listened to the story. It was the sort of story my older brother would have read until late into the evening hours as a teen.
Hess never cared for the popular shows on television like my mother and I did. Hess liked his books and his quiet spaces. I wonder if William is the same or if I will ever know anything more about the sleeping man on the bed but what I conjure in my mind.
DREAMS
The tent room was empty when I woke. Looking outside, it seemed to be early afternoon. The shadows cast by the height of the sea walls changed the sunlight to a subtle glow rather than the bright torch I lived under.
The bed Blue slept on had been made. Stacks of clothing were laid out neatly across the pink and purple quilt. This mess wasn't a dream, or wild fantasy caused by a whack to the head as I hoped. My feet were swollen and bruised in the shape of my boot laces. I had never walked so far in one day before. After hobbling to the bathroom and taking a quick shower, I returned to the bedroom to find an older lady dressed in denim and burgundy velvet. She sat at a small table with a cloth-covered basket in her lap.
“Hello,” I asked, toweling the water from my hair.
“Good morning, well afternoon, I suppose. I thought you might like something to eat. Maybe some company.” The lady looked a bit apprehensive and kept a tight grip on her basket. “I'm Violet.” A well-manicured hand poked out from under her shawl, and a silver bangle slid out from under her long sleeve and came to an abrupt stop at the end of her wrist.
I ignored the gesture in favor of keeping my towel secure. “I'm Karine. Where are the other abductees?”
“How funny you are. Um, the girls are with their prospective families. I was hoping to take you out to see the camp and meet the people.”
“I'm not interested in meeting people. I only want to leave before the airstrikes begin,” I explained coldly.
“Yes, I'm aware of your fears. Blue, tells me you are engaged to a young man of some influence. We have a few young men here with real promise of becoming our next leaders. I can introduce you to them.”
“I'm not interested in trading up. I was taken by force. I'm not here by choice. I don't think you all understand what is going to happen if I'm not returned.” Violet rose from her chair and placed the basket on the table.
“A lifetime ago, I lived in old San Francisco. In one of the reeducation centers. I understand more than you know about what happens up top.” Violet seemed wistful about her past. I felt a sliver of hope.
“Wonderful, so you can help me get back. Old Frisco is five stops from Midtown, but once...” Violet put her hand on my arm and shook her head.
“I won't help you leave. But I can help you find a reason to stay.” Violet was an automaton, just like all the rest I met so far. I plopped on the bed and stared at the basket of food.
“These will look great on you. I'm a seamstress, reclaimed, and repurposed fabrics are my passion. I made these pants, oh yes, and this purple blouse over here. Francis, my partner wife, made all the undergarments in these piles. She is a master with stretch fabrics.” A little mountain of soft, frilly garments was being assembled near my damp thigh.
Food, clothing, shelter, weapons, and surveillance of my surroundings, my Tiny Scouts training ran through my brain. Diff was in the pack with me back then. He wouldn't eat the crust off his sandwiches, and I wouldn't eat my dehydrated plums, so we swapped at treat time. I could see him kneeling in the dirt and yelling at my captors. I shook the dark image out of my mind.
Take what is offered by your situation—Adapt and survive—Resist and die. Mr. McNeilly was a strange old man in retrospect, but my old scout master would be proud of me today. I let his calm words replace the screaming in my mind.
I took in a quiet, deep breath. “Thank you, Violet. These pieces all look lovely.” I scooped up the clothing and walked behind the bathroom door, leaving it a bit open behind me, Violet turned away shyly and grabbed a pinch of muffin from the basket.
“I hope you will be happy here once you meet our people,” she yelled. “Noah and his family want to visit with you during dinner, before the pairing, but I asked to speak with you first. Noah mentioned you have been told some odd things about us, lowlanders, or Reds. Whatever they call us topside these days.
“Red is the common term used. What is this pairing you mentioned?” I asked from across the long room.
“You select a family to join, and then they accept you and pledge to provide for you. It's one of the few group ceremonies we have.”
“I see.” I finished dressing and walked back towards the food.
“There's a lot to consider like an apprenticeship
and religious persuasion, family size, and marriage possibilities. The larger families are fun, more people to rely on, but you can lose yourself in a big group. I like the middle-sized families, like my family, the Prowe's.”
“You mentioned a partner wife?” I asked, never having heard the term before.
“Fran is our husband's third wife. I'm his second. We help run the household with our eight children. Franny lived topside too at one time. Probably why we clicked the first time we met. Our husband is living with our new wife and their young son. He stays with us three nights a week just for the peace and quiet, I think.”
“So, we are fresh meat for a bunch of old perverted geezers.” I tossed my damp towel on the end of the bed.
“No, no. You can choose any of the families looking for new people, but several young men in our camp need wives. They have made more than a few runs topside to bring back women to save.”
“From the asteroid, the comet that’s headed our way?” I remarked.
“Yes, it all makes perfect sense, doesn't it? One of the things we would like to document is your lineage. To make sure you aren't related to any of the families here by blood. Could you tell me the name of your parents and grandparents?”
“Sure, what could it hurt? My mother is Rose Lancer, my father is Jimmy Lancer, and my grandparents on my mother's side were Constance and Edgar Moon. The State adopted my father. His parents were killed when he was a toddler. Not much is known about them.”
“What about your age and any of your special interests. Like what life path did you choose?” Violet asked as she quickly wrote down my previous responses.
“I'm almost sixteen. My birthday would have been at the end of next week. I was hoping to follow the domestic path. My testing requirements are almost done.”
“Sweetie, the asteroid isn't expected for at least another twenty months—plenty of time for several birthdays.”
