The woman had her own hair done up intricately, piled on her head so smoothly it gleamed in the light. She had also marked up her face with a bit of dark powder, making her eyes exotic.
“Oh my word,” exclaimed the woman, “those are just exquisite.” Sarrin’s eyes flared wide, her body stiff, as the woman reached a hand around her back and encouraged her forward. “Forgive me dear, I’m being so rude. Please, come in, take a seat.” The woman was the server at the cafe. And she was already showing her to a table. “You must tell me where you got your contacts,” said the server.
“What?”
“Your contacts.” The woman pointed at her own eyes. They were an iridescent green — they reminded her of Kieran, only not the same. Her eyes had a strange, uncomfortable quality about them, highlighted as they were by the kohl: the pupils were fixed, artificial, the result of coloured lenses. “It’s okay, dear,” the woman assured when Sarrin didn’t answer, “They give us these grey clothes, but you and I both know it was the Gods who gave us beauty, after all. Why not celebrate it?” She laughed, pulling a tablet out of the back pocket of her coveralls. “What will it be today?”
Sarrin caught sight of Grant watching her from the street, and knew she had lingered too long.
“Uh, nothing.” Sarrin stood to leave. “I have to go. Sorry.”
“Oh.”
Sarrin felt the need to explain, holding her empty hands out to the sides. “Out of credits.”
The woman broke into a knowing smile. “I see. Fashion doesn’t come cheap. I had to save for my own facial treatment for months. Don’t worry though, us fashionistas need to stick together.” She winked, pulling back the inside of her lapel, revealing a flash of colour. Enough to have her arrested for treason. “I’ll be right back.”
Too stunned to move, Sarrin stared at the woman’s retreating form and then at the dark, empty hall she’d disappeared down. Almost immediately, the woman returned, waving for Sarrin to follow her to the back of the cafe.
Sarrin cast a weary eye to the street, to where Grant stood watching her. He wouldn’t be happy, but she followed the woman all the same. They passed through a hidden door and up a narrow stair, emerging into a tiny, cramped living quarters above the cafe.
“It’s so nice to meet someone of a similar mind, you know. ‘Don’t heed the superficial,’ ‘We’re meant to be serving the Gods,’ and all that. But, I can’t help myself.” She made Sarrin sit at her little kitchen table while she washed a fruit and sliced a piece of bread for her. “You understand, don’t you?”
Sarrin didn’t.
Kieran had once told her the first rule of observing, of gaining information from people, was to get them to like you. First, smile, he had said. So she did, pressing her face into an approximation of the shape Kieran had once teased her into.
The woman smiled back, handing Sarrin the bread and fruit. “I just have to show you something.” She went to the far side of the room, into what was the sleeping area, and reached for her tall wardrobe. "It's dangerous, but I just knew I could trust you." She flung the wardrobe open. There were flecks of colour in every shade imaginable. Long ropes of it, small circles and squares, dangling jangly things that tinkled as the doors settled. There was even a UEC uniform, dyed purple.
The woman ran her fingers lovingly over every bobble. “One day, I’ll be brave enough to wear some of it.”
Sarrin stared, the question slipping out as barely a breath. “Why?” Why so blatantly defy the Speakers? Why set yourself apart? Why ask for them to hunt you?
The woman shrugged. “Before he disappeared, the Poet told us to be who we were. Individuals.”
Sarrin's mouth dropped open.
“Not in so many words, I suppose. But when he speaks, I hear him. I hear what he’s really saying.” She smoothed the pieces lovingly and shut the wardrobe. “He always fills my head with these cracked ideas. Only, from him they don’t seem so cracked, you know.”
Sarrin snapped her mouth closed again, heart pounding in her chest.
The woman laid back on her bed, wrapping a pillow in her arms. It was grey, but there were faint designs in coloured thread covering the entire thing. Colour was for the Gods. Even the Artist Laureate was forbidden to put colour in his work unless he was illustrating the Speakers or the Gods themselves.
“But when you walked in, I just knew. You almost look like him.” The woman sighed again. “Halud is — I mean, the Poet Laureate is always telling us to do what feels right. To follow our hearts. I had to show you this.”
Her pulse pounded so loudly in her ears, she could barely hear herself think, had to rely on instinct to know if the words she spoke came out loud. “Do you know Halud?”
The woman blushed. “Oh, no, no. I just love hearing him speak.” She sat up, brushing the pillow carefully as she put it back, entirely grey side facing out. “I wish he would come back,” the woman continued. “He’s disappeared for such a long time again. What are we supposed to do without him?”
“How long has he been gone?” she asked, rising to her feet.
The woman sighed. “It’s been three weeks since I’ve heard him speak. They play the recordings on the newscasts, but it’s not the same. We want to hear the words of the Gods, of Halud.”
Sarrin frowned. This woman thought Halud spoke the words of the Gods.
“I have an idea,” the woman said suddenly, jumping to her feet. “There’s a party tonight — well, not a party, but several of us are going to walk through the same place at the same time, each of us wearing a fleck of blue. I think it’s really going to be something.”
“Blue?” Sarrin blurted, as though that was the most shocking thing the woman had said.
“Yes. For Halud. Many of us are wearing the colour to show our support. Do you have some?” The woman turned into her bright wardrobe, fussing through the colours that hung there. “It can’t be too much to draw attention, just enough for someone who’s looking to see.”
“I’ve seen others wearing blue,” Sarrin said, stilling as the woman reached for her cloak and tied the smallest blue thread into the fabric. “Are they… rebels?”
“No, no, dear.” The woman’s eyes crinkled. “Those dangerous rebels disappeared years ago. We are simply people of fashion waiting for our beloved Poet to speak. Nothing so dramatic as the rebels.”
And in her simpleness, Sarrin knew the woman had no interest in anything more than fashion. But still, they were rebels to wear a flash of blue and organize a type of rally, no matter how quiet it may seem.
“I need to get back down to the cafe, dear.” The woman had a hand on Sarrin’s shoulder before she realized it, and turned her to the stairs. “I hope I’ll see you tonight.”
* * *
Sarrin pulled the hood down covering her face as much as she could while still being able to see. Grant trailed her, three steps behind. The words of his earlier protests still rung in her ears: They don’t know where Halud is. You’re going to trust this woman you just met? Anything could happen tonight, Sarrin. It’s a protest; we’re going to join a protest. The UECs will come. Still, she led them through the streets.
Two of the three suns had set, leaving a subdued glow that cast long shadows as they approached the intersection the woman in the cafe had whispered in her ear. In the open square where several streets came together, folk bustled back and forth. They kept their heads down, their feet on a steady, set path as though they were about their regular business, but their eyes danced furtively, the very corners of their lips turning up. Flecks of blue flickered around them.
This was the party. Dozens of folk streamed past. A woman pretended to stumble, a man helping her up. A third joined them. Quick words were exchanged between tight lips.
Sarrin took a deep breath and plunged into the crowd. It was a long shot, but if the people were willing to rebel even in such a small way, maybe there were people willing to do more. Maybe there was someone who knew something about Halud.
T
he group of three departed from their almost-certainly-coordinated accidental meeting, and Sarrin paused.
Grant pressed in to her shoulder, and she ducked away. “There’s too many people here,” he said.
“Someone might know about Halud,” she whispered back.
“They’re all folk, followers.”
She shrugged. “The blue means they’re followers of Halud.”
“We’re drawing too much attention,” he said. “This whole place — this many folk out this close to curfew. We have to go.”
“You can go,” she said, stepping away. “I have to find Halud.”
“Sarrin.” A hand landed on her arm, staying her. “Kieran said to trust you, that you knew what you were doing, even when things went…wonky. But this is cracked. Surely you can see what a bad idea this is.”
She turned to respond, but something caught her attention, like a hand snapping her gaze across the square.
“Sarrin?" Grant seemed far away.
A young woman, a fleck of blue in the sleeve of her coat, scurried through the crowd pushing a grey pram in front of her.
“Sarrin?” Grant called more urgently, as she felt herself take a step towards the mother and baby.
The woman paused, peering into the pram. She reached in, and pulled out the mewling infant, lifting it to her for comfort. But the baby’s eyes cut across the square, meeting Sarrin’s across the distance and the throng of people. Crystal blue eyes, pale and burning and completely inhuman. A perfect reflection of Sarrin’s own.
Only when the mother shifted the baby, putting it back into the pram, did Sarrin start to breathe again.
“Sarrin?”
“It’s an Augment,” she breathed.
“What?” Grant stepped in close, following her gaze.
“The child.”
“That’s impossible. Xenoralia hasn’t been seen in twenty years.”
“I know what I saw.” What she didn’t know was how, or why. Or what would happen to the child.
A shrill voice called out from close behind, making Sarrin jump. “Oh, there you are! I wondered if you’d come.” The woman from the cafe reached out, fingering Sarrin’s cloak where she had woven in the tiniest blue thread. “And this” — she laid a hand on Grant’s chest — “must be your lover. Oh my, what an attractive pair.”
“We should keep moving,” Grant said into her ear.
“Oh yes, dear, you’re absolutely right.” But the woman didn’t move. She reached for Sarrin’s hood, pulling it down. “You shouldn’t hide such a pretty face. You’ve healed marvellously. We mustn’t be afraid to let our beauty show!” She reached next for Sarrin’s hair, but Grant caught her wrist in mid-air.
He flashed Sarrin a warning look. The woman didn’t seem bothered by her eye colour, but the barcode at the back of Sarrin’s neck would be a dead giveaway. He was right: too risky.
The woman snatched her hand back and glared at Grant.
Sarrin pressed her lips together. What was it Kieran had said — be friendly, find common ground. But how could she ask her for more information about Halud, or if she knew anyone who might know.
A hand on her shoulder roughly pulled her away before she could find a single word to use, the woman disappearing behind a stream of folk as Grant tugged her back.
She twisted away from him, finding her footing far too slowly. An edge of grey surrounded her vision.
“Don't get upset. She was drawing too much attention to herself.” Grant brushed a hand through his sandy hair. “This is a bad idea. Did you see what she was wearing? We don’t need that kind of attention.”
The folk parted around them, throwing them curious glances. “We’re already drawing attention.”
Glancing around him, Grant nodded, dropping his voice. “Put your hood back up.”
Sarrin frowned, but covered her face once more. “She didn’t know.”
Grant stepped into the crowd, blending in with their pace and direction. “What’s gotten into you? What if someone had seen your eyes? Or the code on your neck?”
She frowned, crossing her arms as she followed him. “But they didn’t.”
“Alex is right there. We’ll get him and Luca and then go. I don’t like this place.”
“There might be someone who knows where Halud is.”
“Maybe. But what are you going to do? Shout it out across the entire square? ‘Hey, has anyone seen my brother, the traitorous Poet?’”
Her step faltered.
“Sorry.” He led them to a sheltered alcove where one building jutted up against the next.
She drove her toe into the dusty, grey ground. “There are too many emotions here. Too many people. They all feel heady and reckless.”
“You used to give me a hard time for being too reckless.”
When she looked up, he was smiling. It reminded her of the countless days and weeks they had spent together — the missions, months spent hiding, finding food, shelter. They survived the war leaning on each other, more than anyone, Sarrin had trusted him.
“We used to be so close.” His hand came up to her shoulder, and she flinched away. “You’ve changed.”
Facing into the crowd, she said, “We all changed.”
“Ever since I came aboard, you’ve wanted nothing to do with me.”
Her shoulders drew up at the accusation. Didn’t he see it was too painful?
“There aren’t many of us left, Sarrin.” He stepped in close, his voice dropping low. “We’re fighting to survive. Fighting something bigger than us. We have to be able to trust each other, otherwise we’re not going to be efficient. There’s a higher risk of error. You remember.”
She closed her eyes. The lessons of Evangecore were good ones, despite the circumstances. Always stick together. Always protect the squadron. They were stronger together.
“We should go,” she said, stepping back into the crowd and letting herself be carried away by the current.
“I didn’t kill her.”
Amelia. Sarrin stopped, the person behind narrowly side-stepping to avoid bumping into her. “I know. I—.”
Grant grabbed her elbow, pulling her to the wall. “Get down!”
Grey clad soldiers streamed into the square. The smooth currents of the folk with their little flecks of blue turned frantic.
Mechanical whirring bombarded her ears — surveillance drones. Overhead, the soft whomp-whomps of a hovercraft descended on the square.
Grant grabbed her arm, pulling her to the side of the building where he began to climb. Across the square, she saw Alex and Luca doing the same.
Half-way up, a high pitched scream stopped Sarrin, her foot on a ledge, her fingers dug into the tiniest crack in the facade. She turned to the sound.
The woman from the cafe screamed again, her carefully collected ribbons of colour flashed in the sea of grey as the soldiers surrounded her. She shrieked on the ground as an electrified baton scorched her skin.
“Sarrin.” Grant’s voice broke her concentration, stopped the monster from drawing its diagram, showing her how to leap down and save the woman. “There’s nothing you can do. There’s too many of them.”
There was always something they could do -- another of Evangecore's idioms -- but as she let the monster play out the scenarios, each of them ended in a swarm and her capture. She was strong and fast, but even if she escaped the square, the surveillance drones or the hovercraft would follow.
Grant was right, they had to get out of the square. She closed her heart to the shrieking, shouting below, swallowing heavily as she turned back to the wall. A glint of silver caught her eye, and a high pitched buzz met her ears, muffled by the hood of her cloak.
She spun quickly, face to face with a grey surveillance drone. Her arm reached out, laser fast, and smashed the machine into the wall, its pieces tumbling to the ground below. But was it fast enough?
“Were you seen?” Grant shouted as he helped her onto the roof.
She didn’t answer.<
br />
He grabbed her shoulder, sending an electric shock through her. “Were you seen?”
“I don’t know,” she shouted back, surprising herself with the outburst as much as him.
“Gods.” He spun away, tapping his five fingers to his chest absently as he scanned the airspace around him. “They’re not following at least. Let's go.”
She pumped her arms, accelerating quickly, the building flying by as she jumped from one roof to the next. Somewhere behind her, she knew Grant was doing the same. Hopefully Alex and Luca were somewhere safe, making their way back to Gal's rooftop hideout.
It was a foolish mistake. She'd gotten caught up in the excitement of the crowd, and hadn't been paying attention. She cursed the hood that kept her from hearing the machine. She pressed her five fingers to her chest as she ran, praying she had smashed it before the drone could transmit the last second where it had looked directly into her face.
* * *
Gal stared across the grey skyline, studying the lines traced onto one of the buildings, seemingly at random, seemingly artistic. Seemingly benign. From this angle, he didn’t mind the lines. From this angle, they didn’t make him feel so doomed. Almost, for a minute, he relaxed, enjoying the purple-grey night of his home world, a place he hadn't seen in years. At least he could thank Cordelia for the small gift of seeing it again, even if he was pretty sure he would die here.
Augments scrambled over the edge of the roof, shouting and panting. The girl, Luca, laid down, gasping for breath. Whatever had happened, they had come back in a hurry, fast enough to tax even their super-human systems.
He groaned. It was after curfew already. Even if they hadn’t been Augments, it would be trouble if they were seen.
“They were just doing what they thought was right, Gal,” said Aaron.
“I know,” he muttered. But it was still cracked for them to go into the city, all of them blue-eyed and marked up the way they were. He squinted, searching the sky, but nothing followed them. Maybe it would be all right.
Grant stood on the parapet, also scanning the sky, and ran a pale hand over his open mouth. “I don’t see anything."
Sarrin, on the roof beside him, pushed down her hood. She looked up for a minute before nodding.
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