by Brindi Quinn
“And our third place girl-” His lingering peepers were back.
Tide was sure that no one would recognize her as Nero’s daughter. She was beyond-a-doubt sure, because even though she’d been written of in the paper, her photograph had never, ever been printed; Nero had made certain of that. In addition: aside from Y, her father’s lawyer, and a handful of other people, Tide didn’t exactly interact with the population. She was . . . secluded. That was why there was no way the stranger – or anyone else for that matter – would recognize her. To them, she was just another street-dweller.
But none of that mattered. Those geezerly eyes made her uneasy, regardless of how unfeasible it was that they’d distinguish something.
“Yes, our third one – our newcomer, at that – is a lovely little thing with black hair. She’s got quite a bit of fight in her, from what I’ve gathered; although her expression is lacking. Are you in there? Knock knock, girly!”
He waved a wrinkled hand in front of Tide’s face. Tide looked at him groggily. She was ‘in there’, and she wanted to tell him so – to let him know that she existed – but she couldn’t get herself to respond. Lucky for Tide, there was someone that could.
The young girl didn’t know Number One. She was quite sure of that. But even though she didn’t know him, that didn’t stop the stranger from leaning over, cupping her ear, and whispering,
“You’re alive, aren’t you?”
And the words were magic. Or something. Just like that, they pushed the fog away from her mind. They pushed the RED away from her thoughts. Tide looked at Number One. He was older than her . . . maybe. Or at least he looked that way. His eyes were large. His hair was silky.
Tide’s cheeks blushed. “A-alive?” she said. “Of course.”
The judge was watching with amusement. He let out a loud laugh that echoed, amplified, throughout the dome.
“Yeah,” said Tide again. “Er- sorry . . . I don’t know what came ove-”
“Shock. Adrenaline. This is your first time, huh?” said Sports Top. Her accent was thick. So were her curls.
“First time?” said Tide, blinking. “Yeah. Yeah, it is.”
“Me?” said Sports Top. “It’s my fourth try. I was all numb like you my first go, too. Never made it into the top three before, though.”
Tide looked to Number One.
“My third,” he said. “And it’s also my third time into the top three.”
“Huh?” Tide shook her head. She didn’t get it. “You mean you’ve made it before? Then why are you-”
“Yes,” said the judge. Then he covered his microphone so as to speak discreetly. “And this had better not be the third time he turns us down! Dimwit kid. Gets a rush just from the test, I think. Nevertheless, the crowd loves him, so I suppose it’s not all that bad.”
Tide let herself stare at Number One rudely. “You mean he-?”
“That’s right,” said Sports Top. “He always gets chosen, but he never wants to earn his rights. Makes a mockery outta the rest of us.”
“Seriously?! Why would you do something like tha-”
“Now, now,” said Number One. “Let’s hurry this right along. The fans are getting anxious.”
Tide wanted to press the issue, but the boy’s shrug-off caught the judge’s attention, and before Tide could get in another word –
“All righty, then!” The old-timer’s voice was amplified once more. “It seems the contestants have had time to recover! So . . . ON WITH IT!”
The crowd cheered.
“May I have the envelopes?”
Tide didn’t take her eyes off of Number One. She tried, but she couldn’t keep them off. And he couldn’t take his eyes off of her either. Tide didn’t like it. The Second she’d seen earlier hadn’t creeped her out. But Number One did. He definitely did.
“Aaaand that lacking expression is back, ladies and gentlemen. Perhaps our third placer doesn’t want to hand in her-”
“Right!” Tide threw the envelope at the judge before he could tease her further.
The judge took the three envelopes and turned his back to the finalists. “Ooo-hoo!” he said. “Surprising results indeed! I think it’s completely clear who our victorious pair is! Now then, shall I show off the photographs?”
The crowed cheered louder than ever before.
“I said, SHALL I SHOW OFF THE PHOTOGRAPHS?!”
The dome erupted with ravenous, fanatical cries. Y shrank into her seat.
“You’ve got this, Tide,” she muttered. “I mean, you’d better. We went waaaay out of city limits to get that shot, so you’d better win, you hear? You’d better win!”
Tide, of course, could not hear her any of her friend’s muttered encouragement. Nonetheless, she straightened and waited for the results.
“You asked for it, ladies and gentlemen, so heeeeeere it comes!” With his back turned to the contestants, the geezer handed off the three photos to be loaded onto the dome’s large projector screen.
Number One stepped beside Tide. “You know,” he said under his breath. “I’m anxious to see your photograph.”
“Why?” said Tide. She wrinkled her forehead at him. But then a thought crossed her mind. A terrible, terrible thought. “Wait, you don’t know-!” Heaven forbid anyone should recognize her as Nero’s daughter! But that was impossible. It had to be.
Creepy Number One let out a chuckle. “I’m curious to see, girl, because I know your secret,” he whispered.
“Eh!?” Nero’s daughter feared the worst. She fought to remain calm. “W-what secret?”
“Relax. You’re from a privileged family or something, right? THAT I can tell from your fancy climbing mitts. No, I don’t really care where you’re from. That’s not the secret I’m talking about.”
Tide didn’t know how to respond. What other secrets were there? But she wouldn’t get a chance to find out. Just then, the crowd let out a series of wild hoots, signaling that the photographs were being put up. Enlarged for all to see were three coming-into-focus scenes:
Sports Top scaling the side of one of the tallest buildings in the nearby Minpolis ruins; Number One hanging by one hand over the edge of a vast cavernous drop in the St. Laran Mines; and Tide. Tide’s photo was last to fully show, and it was something that aroused not a hoot or holler, but a clamor of hushed, disbelieving discussions.
The judge turned to Tide and raised his furry brows. He stared at her a moment, loitering eyes at full force, before starting into his commentated charade once more. “Well, well! I’ve never seen anything like it, folks, but it seems our newcomer’s the big winner this time! Can you believe this little thing actually climbed the top of the Gustway Peak? Neither can I, but here it is in one hundred percent genuine photographic proof! I’m sure you all know, but the Gustway Peak makes our dome’s heap look like a grassy knoll! It’s the largest scrap mountain in our region, and it’s the first time a newbie’s successfully presented it to the Weighted Dome as part of their rights trial! Way to go, newcomer!”
The crowd didn’t know how to take it. They didn’t whistle or cry or cheer. A few of them clapped, but most of them remained silent. Most of them studied the projector screen with scrutinizing eyes. Most of them couldn’t accept it. Neither could Tide.
“I . . . did . . . it?” she said.
“Yes! Yes! Yes!” Y rooted to herself.
Sports Top’s jaw was loose. Her eyes were wide. “Holy sh-”
“Interesting,” said Number One. “Now I’m REALLY glad I stabbed that chick.”
“Huh?” Tide slowly drew her eyes to him. “Why did you-”
“Now, now, would you get on with announcing the second winner, Judgey?” interrupted Number One. “I haven’t got all day.”
The geezer, who’d been looking at Tide again, shook his head in an attempt to reach clarity. Even he was starting to realize just how over-the-top his stare was. “All right, folks!” he said. “Our second winner was a tough call! Both photographs were equally great, I�
��m sure you agree! My decision, however, is . . . Wait for it . . . Wait for it . . .”
“Crimeny!” said Sports Top. “Would you get on with it?!”
“It’s ooooooour ash-haired stabby gent! Now, after seeing his photograph, I’m sure several of you may recognize him. It’s his third time in the top three, BUT will it be his third time to turn us down? Or will it be third time’s the charm?”
The judge held his mic to Number One’s down-turned mouth.
“I’ll do it.”
“WHAT?!” Sports Top let out a shriek. “Seriously? THIS time you decide to do it?! Just when I finally had a chance?! Of all of the dirty-”
“Shut up. I’m sure you’ll make it next time.”
“There you have it folks! Miss Mountain and Mr. Stabby are this Sunday’s winning pair! The two new hunters will now return to ground level to complete their registration. Please refrain from groping, hugging, stampeding, and basically touch of any kind. I’m sure our winners are tuckered out! Join us next time right here in the Weighted . . .”
The commentating geezer continued to ramble, but Tide wasn’t listening. She’d done it. On that Sunday, she’d overcome the fogginess within her and conquered the Weighted Dome. She was an official huntress. She was a winner.
But she was in shock.
“Well congrats, partner.” Number One’s smile of corruption was back in full force. He reached out a hand to shake hers.
“To you too,” said Tide.
“Stupid! Stupid muttonhead boy! This is the ultimate mockery!” Sports Top was in an angry frenzy, but Number One wasn’t paying her any mind.
“Come on, partner,” he said to Tide. “I don’t intend to waste time. I’d like to get orders for our first mark today, if possible.”
“Today? Already?!”
“That’s how I roll, girl.”
And before Tide could protest, Number One grabbed her elbow and tugged her back out onto the plank bridge, which was slowly transforming into a stairway down to floor-level. The crowd finally recognized its cheering role and welcomed the new pair of hunters with a wild round of fevered applause.
“Whoo-hoo!” screamed Y. “Go, TIDE!”
But Tide still couldn’t hear her.
“What’s your deal?” Tide yanked her arm away from her forceful partner.
“Why don’t you concentrate on the fact that you’ve just earned your huntress license and stop worrying about me?”
It was true. Tide had been in shock, but the realization that she was a huntress was dawning on her, and no matter how delayed it was, an elated feeling began to fill the corners of her stomach, the rest of her body responded by shivering, and suddenly she wanted to shout.
“That’s better,” said Number One.
Tide held in her delayed excitement and followed Number One down the long metal stairway. The blood scouters had given up former duties to take station at the edges of the spectators’ viewing area in an attempt to keep the crazed fans back. A few wild ones managed to get through, but were tackled before they could reach the victorious pair. Sports Top sulked a ways behind.
Tide and Number One were escorted by a free blood scouter to the registration table. There, Tide filled out the form. She couldn’t use her real full name, of course, but most hunters went by aliases anyways. She and Y had already discussed what her call sign would be.
Ink Tide. She scribbled the words.
“Ink, huh?” said Number One. He was spying over her shoulder. “Guess it fits.”
“What about you?” snapped Tide, feeling violated.
“What do you want to call me? You are, after all, the one who’ll be using my hunter’s name most. I’d prefer you used my real name, though, should we happen to get intimate.”
“INTIMATE?!”
The pencil in Tide’s hand snapped in two.
“Let’s just go with ‘Jobe’. How does that sound to you, girl?”
With a hot face Tide dropped the snapped pencil and glared at Number One. He wrote the new name anyway.
Jobe Chuck.
“Tide’s your real name, right?” he said.
“What?! How did you-”
“It’s okay. I just guessed and figured I’d follow the same pattern. My real name’s here.” He pointed to the ‘Chuck’ part of his callsign.
“Chuck?”
“Charles, actually.”
“Oh. Charles.”
“Hate it, though. A real antique of a name. Guess it was like my great-great-great-grandfather’s or something.”
“I’ve never heard it before,” said Tide.
“Just call me Jobe, okay?”
The princess had negative vibes for him. She didn’t like him for the crypticness he’d displayed. Nor did she appreciate his assumptions of intimacy. Just because they were partners all of sudden, that didn’t give him the right to . . . Plus, all of that talk about a secret without elaborating further . . . It was just frustrating!
Attempting to hold in those frustrations, Tide swallowed before answering, “Sure.”
There was silence. Awful, awkward silence while the clerk filed their forms. That silence followed the new pair even after they’d been awarded their certificates of rights. It followed through the back hall of the dome and almost through the dome’s side door. It would have ended that way, had Jobe not broken it at the last moment:
“Wait!”
“What?!” lashed Tide.
“Whoa! Easy, girl. What’s with that reaction? We’ve got to get our first mark, remember?”
“Today? You were serious about that? Look, I’ve got to meet my friend-”
“Hey! I didn’t say we had to go after it today. I’d just like to get it, that’s all. Plus, we’ve got to set up some sort of communication system, you know. You got a fax machine, or . . .?”
“Arrrgh! Fine!”
Turning on heel, Tide stomped after Jobe, hoping that Y would wait for her just a little longer. The plan had been to meet up on the next block over, but with that whooped up crowd . . . There was a chance she’d get sick of waiting. It was all right. It was now past noon. Tide wouldn’t blame Y for wanting to calm that raging sea of touchiness with a sandwich.
Tide and Jobe made their way to the small garage-like attachment at the dome’s side. It was there that hunting pairs were given marks, and it was there that completed marks were exchanged for goods. Tide, of course, had no need for the goods that the marks office offered. No, her reason for hunting was something far different. It was for the thrill, for the escape, and for the certain benefits that came along with the title. Hunters were given access to sectioned-off portions of the old city. They were given free roam over the ruins and mines no matter what time of the night. That was what Tide needed. That was why . . .
“Zone much?”
“Huh?” Tide shook her head.
She and Jobe were at the marks window. The lady there was another geezer. In fact, the entirety of the Weighted Dome seemed to be run by those types.
The lady geezer had way too much lipstick on and smelled sort of like copper, but she was pleasant enough, better than that obnoxious judge, at least. She gave them a simple task. Something nice and easy for a newbie pair.
“Seriously?” said Jobe, scowling at the brown slip of paper in his hand.
Tide studied it. “We’re to collect eggs?”
“Yeah, guess so. Boring old eggs? So we don’t even get to kill anything?”
“Well, it makes sense,” said Tide. “If the Weighted Dome supplies the underground market, they’d have us bring them things that the street-dwellers need.”
“People need meat. People need bone. Hell, people need fur, don’t they?! Whatever. I’m out of here. Wait for my fax. Just to warn you, it’ll be sooner than later. Let’s get this bull crap task out of the way so that we can move on to something good.”
Jobe began to march his way back to the side door.
“Wait!” This time Tide was the one to call out.
“Uh . . . about that ‘secret’. What were you . . . You were just messing with me, right?”
For the final time that day, the corrupt smile made its appearance. “If it makes you feel better, girl, let’s just leave it at that.”
“Leave it at what?!”
“Secrets aren’t meant to be shared, are they?”
“But-!”
But it was no use. Jobe trotted through the door, leaving Tide alone with the last of the straggling crowd and blood scouters.
“Moron,” she muttered to no one, for she believed there to be no one within earshot. But what Tide didn’t know was that there was one who was watching her from the shadows, in the same way he’d been the entire trial.
“Congratulations, newcomer,” said a voice that Tide didn’t recognize from a mouth Tide didn’t know.
Tide whirled around. “Huh? Who-?”
“Your new partner’s a loon. Sorry, couldn’t help but state the obvious.”
The shadowed observer stepped into view, and Tide’s eyes grew wide as they fixated themselves on a color. That one color made its way back into the front of her mind. Her eyes locked on to it and her mouth moved.
“Red.”
Chapter 3: The Red Tattoo
There was never a doubt in her mind that he’d been created. There was never a doubt in her mind that he’d been born. The only doubt came when trying to decipher the right kind of feelings to have towards him . . . towards someone like him.
The mouth and voice belonged to a tall teenage boy. His hair was sandy and mussed. His demeanor was confident and loose.
“A real loon,” he said again, taking a step closer. “Don’t you think so? Boy do I feel bad for you, getting paired up with someone like him.”
Nero’s daughter knew that the situation was taboo; that her father’s lawyer would never approve; and that she had to turn away, take her eyes from the space below the boy’s ear, and escape the encounter somehow, but she couldn’t. All she could do was stare and mumble a single hypnotized word:
“Red.”
