by Tanya Ross
Will chuckled and playfully slapped him on the back. “You know it, bud!” He smiled, feeling the warmth of the camaraderie and long history with his schoolmate. He still felt honored to know him. Weeford’s skin was the color of a ripe fig, his hair black as Will’s Plauditorium uniform. His seven-foot height dwarfed anyone in the city. That’s why his nickname, “Wee,” was such a joke.
Samkhat individuals like Wee were especially valued, admired for their bravery in overcoming adversity and misfortune. Most of the Samkhat came from places where their race and backgrounds caused them more hardships than anyone else, especially during the final world war, when many were victims of genocide. Now here, he was safe and secure, a chemical engineer for the city.
“Just about ready to sit down to dinner. I’m happy to share.” Wee pointed to a plate of food on the table. “Got some fresh rations delivered today, but I know you’ll be slummin’ it a little, your being a Level Twelve and all.” Wee grinned. “Level Four food will leave you wishing you grabbed dinner on the way here.”
He headed to the kitchen where dishes clattered, and a door slammed. He returned with another plate and silverware. Wee scooped some of the dinner from his own plate onto the new one, pushing it across a tiny white and pink laminate table. “Snag a chair.”
Will relaxed into the leather chair, which was more comfortable than attractive. Its rosy color was designed to inspire warm and comforting feelings, but those emotions were far from his mind. “It’s been a challenging day, Wee,” he admitted. “I’m exhausted.”
“You’re not letting it drain your points, are you? That’s not the Will I know…What’s goin’ on?” Wee began eating with gusto, wasting little time with proper manners.
“Well…there’s this girl…”
“A girl. Really, Will? She better be piping fine for you to be risking your Alt points. And, what’s her Status? You can’t just be with anyone.”
Will looked at Wee, not surprised at all about his reaction. Confessions were new territory. “Yeah…she’s beautiful all right. And,” he blushed, “she’s only a Level Eight.” He saw Wee throw his arms in the air in frustration.
“What’re you gettin’ into, Will? A Level Eight? How long has this been a ‘thing’?”
“Not long. I just met her, and we hit it off. I know she’s too low for me, but I can’t think about that. She’s perfect, Wee.”
“Yeah. Perfect for somebody else. How you gonna keep this big Status gap under wraps? Someone’s gonna intervene, you know that. And, she’s okay with you being a Level Twelve? C’mon. She’s gonna be in trouble, too.”
“I need to be careful—you’re right. But I might not even have to worry. Here’s the thing. I thought we had an extraordinary connection, one worth going out on a limb for, but something happened today. Now there’s a strain between us.”
“Okay, so spill it. What’d she do— no—what’d you do for this to become a fiasco? And who is she anyway?” Wee delivered an oversized bite to stuff his cheeks full.
Will spent the next fifteen minutes explaining how he met Ember and how she made him feel glowing hot from the inside. He explained how he’d be willing to sacrifice everything for her, how he was investigating her mother’s passing, the break-in, and the unusual fainting spell he had witnessed today, finally leading to the suspicious looks Ember had given him before saying goodbye at the Plauditorium.
“So, this ring, Will. Even knowing about it, won’t you be at risk with City Hall and with your job at the Plauditorium?” Wee’s dark eyes regarded him soulfully.
With anyone else, Will would never have confided the loss of the ring, but he would stake his life on Wee’s loyalty to the secret.
“Yeah, but it’s worth it. She needs help, and I want to be the one who figures it all out.” Will picked through his food, the noodles, crisp beef, and spinach leaves a real disappointment.
“But she might think you took the ring?” Wee tapped his fork restlessly on his plastic plate several times, the noise like a nail gun to Will’s heart.
“That’s what I think, but I’m not dwelling on it. I can’t. But I need to convince her. I had nothing to do with the ring’s disappearance. How can I make her sure of me again?”
“You gotta find the ring, that’s all. In the meantime, set your mind at ease. Two weeks ago, you didn’t even know she existed. Just get back in that zone. Let your detective skills do the rest. I’ll help you do whatever you need—as long as it won’t affect my Status. A man’s gotta live, right?”
21
Xander’s Gang
“Gonna find my castle where I am KING!” Xander yelled out loud to the sky at large, trying his best to stomp heavy footprints into the dust.
As he strolled down the god-forsaken “street,” he marveled at the crude scenery. Burned out trees resembled giant, goblin specters, their shadows deepening the gloom that pervaded empty pathways. Dried leaves scuttled by, for some reason in a hurry to get where they were going. Another wounded building defied gravity, but it rose up proudly on the left, nevertheless. Multi-storied, its oxidized front door was no longer attached to the structure, but resting on its hinges, sideways, a ballerina on point. Might as well check this out for a residence…at least it’s central. He ducked his head inside the open door but couldn’t resist the urge to topple the door on edge, sending it crashing over with a slight touch of his toe.
Entering the edifice, Xander was struck by the deep cold of concrete and the earthy smell of moss and neglect. It appeared to be some type of old-fashioned office building, its single cubicle compartments in various stages of degrada-tion. There are possibilities here…a booth here, a nook there…could be a pretty good apartment… He looked around with approval, already imagining what could be not only his home, but also a place where he could gather others. He rubbed his hands together both in gleeful anticipation and in defiance of the crisp chill radiating from the walls.
A clink, like steel on mortar, broke the silence. The clatter dissected his thoughts and he turned, trying to make out the source of the noise. Xander hadn’t seen anyone inhabiting the building, but it was vast. It was possible that it already had occupants.
“Hel-loooooo! Anybody here?” Xander called. He turned about, listening.
A shuffle. A muted voice. “Yeah. Up top.”
Xander looked up to find a man probably in his forties with matted auburn hair, an uneven beard, and hazel eyes sitting on a cross beam about fifty feet from where he stood. He held a metal rod in front of his torso, as if to protect himself.
The top stories were visible through massive holes above Xander’s head. He wondered if there was any place where the ceiling was actually intact.
“Hey…there. You surprised me. You live here?”
“Yep. Been here ten years. Got a spot up high where I can see out. Quite a view, too.”
“Great. I’m lookin’ to settle. Anyone else in the building?” Xander sauntered over to where he could gaze up through the rafters.
“There’s just Bixby on the third floor in the corner, and then me. That’s it. I’m Jasper.”
“Xander.”
“Well, help yourself—you find an open space, it’s yours.”
“I’m decidin’ I like it down here just fine. I think I’ll take it!” Xander laughed.
“Well, welcome then. Just don’t do too much exploring on your own. It’s a dangerous place out here.”
“Nothing that I can’t handle, Jasper.” Xander wondered why the guy didn’t want to come down. It was hard looking up and yelling back and forth.
“Yeah? Well, there are people around that aren’t too friendly. It isn’t Tranquility, ya know? And most buildings are unstable. You got lucky with this one.”
“Doesn’t sound too bad. Sounds like it’s just the challenge I need.”
“Then there’s the Greelox.”
“Greelox? What’s that?” Xander asked.
“They’re cats. Giant cats—about ten times the s
ize of a panther. Cats you don’t want to run into. Body and markings of a tiger but sinewy. Spikes across their backs. Big teeth. Claws. Genetic experiments gone wrong. Aggressive and cunning. Aren’t tons of ‘em, but we’ve all seen one on the prowl at one time or another.”
“Thanks for the warning, pal. Another reason why only the brave come here, right?” In truth, Xander’s boldness began to evaporate. “And I smell smoke. Where’s that coming from?”
“Out east. You don’t want to go out there either. If you do, you’re gonna be shot. Transport vans from Tranquility do their business there.”
“Business? What kind of business would any Tranks have out here?”
“You don’t know? Story is they burn bodies out there.”
Two weeks after settling into his new home, Xander felt more satisfied than he’d expected. He had built basic but sturdy furniture. His bed frame, constructed from the front door, supported a hole-pocked mattress he found under a beam about a mile out from Base. He learned how to make tools, hunt for food, and cook just about anything over an outdoor fire. Animal skins he sewed together himself with sinew kept him warm at night, along with the fire he built in his brick-lined fire pit.
Soon after putting his first piece of furniture in his new “apartment,” he met Bixby, the other inhabitant of his building, a reclusive fifteen-year-old who reminded Xander of a scarecrow, his golden hair stiff as straw, his body angular. With an icy-blue stare and adolescent whiskers, he was hardly Mr. Personality.
Bixby had some tumbled-down stairs that led up to his living quarters. It wasn’t the day they met, but Xander’s first trip up to Bixby’s place made him wonder how long it would be until the stairs would completely crumble. Each climb up or down shed tiny pieces of concrete off the edges of various steps. An iron railing meant to support the structure stood a good two feet from the stairway and bent at a weird angle halfway up. Xander was thankful after the first time he’d made it up and down without anything falling apart. After that, he told Bixby to come down to his place. He had too much at stake to risk dying on a dilapidated staircase.
“The kid”—that’s what came to mind when Xander thought about Bixby, even though the guy was only two years younger than he. Quiet and nervous, he made a point of keeping to himself.
Each day going forward, Xander initiated conversation with Bixby every time the guy came through the building, catching him before he trekked up to his area. Xander was curious; he wanted to find out what made this odd guy tick. One day, he blurted out, “How’d you end up here, Bixby?”
To his surprise, Bixby turned and walked over to Xander, who was lying on his lumpy mattress. “Had a mental illness. Got sent out for damaging property,” he said quietly.
Xander gave a low whistle. “You do okay out here?”
“Yep. Nobody cares what I do here. And if I wanna bash somethin’ up, it’s no big deal.”
Xander smiled. “You just bash away. I’ll plan to call on you for protection, then.” Interesting to discover what kind of people made up the REM population. A mentally ill basher. He could maybe use somebody like that.
The next day with not much to do, and no other people to talk to, Xander headed back to Base 1 and visited Graham. The guy who handed Xander the clipboard when he first discovered the camp could be a good connection. Graham certainly would know everyone in Camp.
“Graham Cracker!” Xander called out as he entered the primitive “lobby.” “’Member me?” In the gloom, Graham was still playing a solitary Mandala, just like he was the first time Xander met him.
Graham sat on a stool, its seat shredded, two legs supported by a board slanted up underneath. He looked up from his game. “Yeah. ‘Course. How’s it goin’?”
“I’m gettin’ settled. But wondered if you’d take me on tour? Show me the ropes around here?”
Graham pushed a group of pebbles off the board and stood up. “Hmmm. ‘kay. Gotta cook dinner first.”
Xander laughed. Graham’s squeaky voice was hilarious. Graham turned away, walked over to an area in the corner, and picked up a rat by the tail. It was dead, its beady eyes glassy, its tiny feet curled up. “You hungry?”
Xander winced about having to eat rat, but he didn’t hesitate. He hadn’t had food for over a day. Food was scarce. Too scarce. “You sharing?”
“Not much here. But, yeah. I’ll share. Seein’ how you’re new and all.”
Xander helped Graham pile up some rocks and sticks that Graham had gathered sometime earlier. With some friction, the fire was lit, and the rat roasted on a short metal rod, rusted on both ends, but long enough to do the job. Graham held the rat over the fire, patiently turning it around as the fire licked it until the smell of cooked meat made Xander’s mouth water.
Graham said, looking at him intently. “Do ya ever wish you weren’t here?”
“Here? Like dead?” Xander threw a small rock into the fire.
“Naw. Outside.”
Xander gave him a wry smile. “It’s tough. Tougher than I thought. But, no. Tranquility…I couldn’t deal. But…my parents. My whole life I’ve been a disappointment to them.”
“Yeah? Mine too. Before I got sent out, Magnus sent word to ‘em. Told ‘em I was the definition of ‘failure.’ Magistrate’s last words to me when I went tunnel-bound broke me. He said my mom cried so much they had to put her at Solace. Got no idea how she’s doin’ now.”
“That’s rough, Graham. I don’t know about my folks. Far as I know, they weren’t told ahead of time. Sciolist came and got me. But they were prob’ly glad.”
“Doubt it. Parents love their kid.”
“Yep,” he said, his throat tight. “Guess they did. Tried to raise me right. But I didn’t listen. I…even stole fabric from my mom that she needed for her clients.”
Graham raised his eyebrows. “Dang. What the heck for?”
“Wanted to make clothes. Got to make an impression.” Xander stood up and straightened his REM clothes, grabbing the fabric to gather it in front of him. He paraded like a model back and forth by the fire. He had the strut down perfectly.
Graham laughed. “So what’d your mom do?”
Xander plopped back down. “Just talked to me. Tried to make me sorry. I wasn’t… I was always rogue. In school, I got in trouble constantly, not just for my lame Alt points. When I was fourteen, the school told my folks to send me to Panglossian Academy.”
“I heard about that place. Never went.” He wiped his forehead in a “whew” motion.
“Be glad. It sucked so bad. Talk about a brain wash. Each day up at 6. Hot yoga. Exercise half the day. Classes on how to raise Alt points. Memorizing the Accords. I hated every minute of it. So, I left.” He grinned.
“You walked out?”
“Broke out. We were keyed in. Went back home, but my parents struggled with their Alts when I was around. So, I made myself scarce—wasn’t home much. Then the real counseling started. Purging. Winslow. The rest is history.”
“Your parents mighta loved you if they paid for that place. It’s in the upper price bracket.”
“Strange way to show love. I never forgave them for it. Told ‘em one time that they’d made me worse, sendin’ me there.”
As they tore off pieces of rodent, the two guys compared their pasts. By the time they’d finished the meal, what little there was, they’d shared more than food. They joked about girls being fun, but how they were the biggest mystery to understand. Graham gave Xander advice about ways to survive The Outside, including finding whatever he could to eat. They made wisecracks, laughed, and argued over who’d get the last piece of rat. Eating what little was there, even as they ate slowly, took no time at all, but the time slipped away into an hour, and then two. Xander had made a friend. Finally, someone understood him.
Xander pushed himself up from his squat by the fire. “So, Cracker…how ‘bout that tour?”
“Not much to see, but I’m game.” Graham stood from his sitting position in the dirt, dusting off th
e dirt on his already filthy clothes.
“Great.” He made a grand sweeping gesture toward the door. “Ready when you are.”
That day, Xander met about thirty-five people in the camp. People here were not too trusting, but he could relate to that. Most REMs were men, like himself, but four fairly young women would make his nights a little warmer, he hoped. Within moments, Xander had disarmed and charmed them with compliments and promises.
As the days went on, he worked hard to build rapport with the REMs. He’d listen to their complaints. He’d offer to help fix something up or hunt. He visited the “apartments” of each REM and hung out. REMs found his sense of humor and sarcasm attractive; he was a lot like them.
The key was to win over one at a time, then encourage groups. His sense of humor and problem-solving began to make him popular. Then, he gathered them together, a few at a time, and he would perform skits for them. He acted out all the parts of stories he remembered from school or books.
He wanted to get his new friends thinking about being a group that depended on each other, not just random individuals roaming around, doing as little as possible. When he’d gathered most of the camp together, he told a story. This will get these REMs thinking. He stood up in front of his building on a concrete pad, cracked in the middle. He towered above them as they sat around, waiting to be entertained.
“This story’s about the body,” Xander announced before starting.
“Whose body?” a middle-aged REM yelled out. The group laughed.
“Not mine, I hope,” a girl, Iris, said, a serious look on her face.
“Nobody’s body. I mean, it’s everybody’s. Just listen…” Xander said. “One day parts of the body complained. ‘We’re doing all the work while the belly gets all of the food.’” Xander made his voice whiny and pointed to his stomach. The group laughed. They were warming up.
