Lifer (22 page)

“Are you comfortable?” Charley asks when they’re done.

“Does it matter?” They don’t respond and I regret the childish outburst as soon as it leaves my lips. “Let’s get this over.”

At Keane’s signal, Charley prepares an anesthetic patch. I tense, bracing for the sting as it hits the side of my neck. Then everything above my shoulders is numb.

“Can you feel this?” Charley presses a needle behind my ear.

“Yes. But it doesn’t hurt.” My words are slurred. It’s hard to control my mouth with the anesthetic.

“Good. We’ll give it a minute or two to make sure it’s working and then we’ll begin.”

Over the next few minutes she tests my whole head using the needle trick. My heart rate escalates with every passing second. Drool pools at the corner of my mouth and I clench my useless hands.

The saliva builds and spills over my numb lip, dribbling down my jaw.

“Huwy up,” I manage.

I try to swallow but gag on the liquid in my mouth. Charley frowns and wipes at my chin with a cloth. When I’m cleaned up, she flicks a switch and the probe points tingle. At first it doesn’t hurt but then there’s pressure. Lots of pressure.

My eyes squeeze shut and a moan escapes from deep in my throat. I put everything into keeping my eyes open despite the overwhelming need to let them close. I want to see what they’re doing, like somehow that gives me control.

The low hum of the machine disappears beneath a rushing in my ears. I strain to hear what’s happening around me. Charley’s eyes widen and the faint lines around her mouth become crevasses as she studies the small screen.

“I don’t know,” she says to Keane.

Or at least I think she does. It’s hard to read lips with my eyes squinting. Not the words I want someone messing with probes in my brain to say.

A pulse ticks in Keane’s jaw. “Begin the procedure.”

Every breath I take feels rusty, and the beating of my heart becomes the clamoring of my memories trying to break free.

Still, Charley stares at the screen. “He’s not responding as I hoped.”

I can’t move my eyes fast enough to catch Keane’s response but I know what it must be. He hasn’t gone this far to stop now. I think tears run down my face but I’m not meaning to cry. The pressure on my head is just so, so…

My eyes give up the fight and squeeze shut.

And pressure becomes pain.

I scream but make no sound.

I arch against the straps and feel them snap one by one.

My bladder gives way.

And my head. My head explodes on a wave of black, icy light that sweeps everything in front of it. I sit in a pool of my own piss with the stench of memories I wish I’d left unfound.

“I am Samuai.”

[Asher]

Kaih keeps her promise, sending my dress up in the kitchen drawer late afternoon on the day of the ball. However, I’m so busy dealing with one of Lady’s attacks I don’t get to open it until five minutes after I’m supposed to be ready to leave the apartment.

“Hurry up, Asher dear,” Lady calls from the front door.

“Leave her here.” Huckle’s words slither under the door.

I freeze, straining to listen.

“You promised.” I know that tone; Lady’s on the edge of losing control.

But her husband doesn’t read her as well. “Lifers don’t belong at the ball, except to serve,” he says.

“She will serve me.” The words are almost a screech.

“Like the last girl?”

My stomach contracts. The servant Mother warned me about.

“I couldn’t save her.” Lady sounds almost sad.

“Maston won’t approve.” Now there’s panic in Huckle’s voice. Did he hope he could placate her by agreeing and then she’d forget when the day arrived?

There’s a long silence. What’s happening? I move closer to the door. Then I hear it, Lady laughing, genuinely, all tension gone. “Maston will say nothing.”

How can she be so sure? Does it have something to do with Davyd being so close to the head Naut?

“We’re leaving, Lifer.” This time it’s Davyd calling. I picture him standing, impatient, at his mother’s side.

Nerves dampen my hands as I hurry to open the plastic sheath encasing the material. If it doesn’t fit I’ll be attending in my Lifer uniform. Or not at all. I banish the wishful thought of curling up here and hoping it all goes away. How I look is irrelevant. Tonight’s about the Control Room. Nothing more.

I will succeed. Or I will die trying.

This time the packaging tears open beneath my fingers. It frees the lightest, silkiest white material I’ve ever seen. It floats in my hands, gossamer like. I take a deep breath before stripping my Lifer uniform, and pulling the dress over my head. Careful, so I don’t tear Kaih’s creation.

The fabric’s nothing more than a whisper against my skin. A single, thin strap loops around my neck and supports the whole thing. It falls over my body in waves, hugging my breasts and my hips, flaring out to brush the floor.

I stare at the girl in the mirror. Her shaved head and lean figure mark her as Lifer but beyond that she has nothing in common with me. Somehow, Kaih’s made me almost beautiful. A hundred images of Samuai reflect back from the walls behind me. He never saw me like this: fresh, clean, wearing a dress.

My gaze fixes on one of his warm smiles, I twirl on bare feet. “What do you think?” I whisper into the dead silence.

I hold my breath for a heartbeat but of course there’s no answer. Samuai’s been gone for weeks. And Davyd waits.

He and Lady stand by the door leading out of the apartment, talking softly. Huckle’s nowhere to be seen. Suddenly shy, I pause in the doorway, waiting for them to look up.

Lady sees me first; her powdered face cracks into a big smile. “You look so lovely,” she cries. She crosses the room to envelop me in a squishy hug.

But the whole time I’m waiting for Davyd. Waiting for him to look at me. Waiting for him to comment. He does neither, pressing his wrist to the scanner to open the door and lead us down the hall.

It isn’t disappointment that makes my eyes burn and my hands shake because I didn’t dress to impress him. I know he didn’t dress to impress me but his plain charcoal suit fits his broad shoulders so perfectly I struggle to look away. The gray of his shirt reflects the ice of his eyes and, although he’s not bothered with a tie, he’s anything but casual.

My feet drag as we approach an area of the ship I’ve only heard about. The Commander’s Lounge belongs to Maston, the head Naut, and he will play host for the evening. The hallway’s deserted but neither Lady nor Davyd seems concerned that we’re late.

Davyd scans his wrist and the doors open with a soft swish. I smooth my hands down the sides of my dress. Nervous fingers encounter something strange. Small pockets hidden in the folds of the material. If only I’d known before we left the apartment. Maybe I could’ve carried a weapon instead of relying on my wits. And Davyd.

I brace for stares at the least. No Lifers but me are allowed inside tonight; even the serving will be done by low-level Fishies and the Nauts’ special servants.

Inside, Fishies stand on plush carpet, clumped in groups around candlelit high tables. The flickering flames that are the centerpiece of each one are reflected a hundred times in the sparkles affixed to every second female’s dress and many of the men’s ties. The effect is a kaleidoscope of color.

I expected a quiet formal affair, but the noise is so loud and the conversations so self-absorbed that not one person looks up when we enter, and my fears of being the center of attention evaporate on my exhaled breath.

As we move into the room, the air thickens with a dozen different perfumes. Flowers scents like Lady’s but sweeter, thicker somehow. Other scents of rich foods and heavy sauces. Spice and sour. Each one’s stronger than the last. By the time we reach the bar and Huckle, the stuff coats my throat. I’m not sure it’s any better than the unwashed stench of the Lifer quarters.

I think of the celebration below and miss my mother and my friends more than ever. But I can’t wish myself down there. Not after all I’ve done to be here tonight.

When I think of the Control Room, my gaze seeks Davyd’s but he isn’t looking my way. He speaks to his mother in a low voice and then gestures to the person working behind the bar. I take the opportunity to appreciate the simplicity of his suit compared to the lime green Huckle chose and some of the other ridiculous color combinations.

“You look lovely.” It’s Huckle. He’s standing so close to me that his rancid breath hits my face.

I stifle a shudder. “Thank you.”

There’s no evidence in his demeanor of the stress I overheard earlier. His red face shines and his eyes are hazy, like he’s not quite seeing me. He rests a heavy arm across Davyd’s shoulders. “You could have made more of an effort though. What will Maston think?”

Davyd’s lip curls and he shrugs the arm away. “You won’t remember what I’m wearing come morning at the rate you’re sucking down tubes.”

That explains it. I’ve heard the Lifers who set up the room for the ball talk about the tubes we’re not permitted to touch. Then I see them for myself, hundreds of small black vials filled with clear liquid are stacked behind the bar along with other drinks.

“Want one?” Huckle asks, pointing a stubby finger in their direction.

“No, thank you.” I need to keep my head clear.

As it is I’m struggling to keep everything about the setup and the crowd straight in my head to report to Mother.

“Another for me then,” says Huckle so loud that those Fishies closest to us turn.

Each of them grins wide with the same hazy look in their eyes. They don’t look twice at me. If only Mother knew. Tonight’s the perfect night to make an attempt for control of the ship. Most of the Lifers’ opposition is out of their mind on whatever drug fills the black vials.

Davyd hands over the tube and Huckle’s damp arm slips around me as he throws his head back and gulps loudly. He reeks of the clear liquid, bitter and sour combining to make my eyes water and distaste crawl a slimy trail over my skin.

“We know it’s planned for tonight,” he says conversationally.

“What?” I hope he’s too intoxicated to notice my flinch.

Has Davyd betrayed me already? When I look to him for answers, he’s disappeared into the crowd. Leaving me alone to face Huckle. Huckle who seems far too jovial for a man who’s uncovered my plans to break into the Control Room.

“Neale attempted to kidnap my wife and hold her hostage.” I stare at him dumbly until he adds, “The rebellion will be thwarted thanks to the listening device you planted.”

I think of Kaih, looking so excited. Is this what she meant by telling me to prepare? Then Huckle’s words sink in. If this is Neale’s plan, then it’s a setup by Mother, but why?

He waits for a response. I adopt an earnest expression. “I’m glad I could help.”

“Of course you are.”

I’m curious but don’t want to ask the wrong questions and make him suspicious. “Lady seems safe enough.”

“Now,” he says with heavy emphasis. “Their attempt won’t happen until she retires to our quarters later.”

“What do you mean won’t happen? Surely you locked up those planning such a thing.”

“Better to catch them in the act. Then it’s a death sentence.”

I don’t have to fake my gasp of horror. What’s my mother doing? An attempt on Lady would never work, particularly when the Fishies know in advance. A diversion, then. But why?

Lifers will throw away their lives tonight. But what will we gain from it?

I’m so caught up guessing my mother’s true purpose that I don’t notice Huckle’s fat fingers slipping down my arm and lingering near my chest until Davyd drags Huckle’s arm away.

“Hands off the help.” His stony voice reflects the ice in his eyes. A faint pulse throbbing in his throat betrays his anger. Is it in my defense? I imagine he’s come to my rescue like one of the knights in the recordings of old Earth stories they play in the recreation areas.

“Want a piece for youshself?” Huckle sprays saliva with every word.

Davyd’s right hand curls into a fist. But only briefly. He relaxes, and even chuckles, like the idea of him wanting me is laughable. “No, Father, but I don’t want to see a man of your esteem have your reputation lowered on such a night.”

Father. The title sounds foreign coming out of Davyd’s mouth. I don’t think I’ve ever heard of him refer to Huckle that way. Again, I’m struck by how little either of Lady’s sons resembles her husband.

“You’re right,” Huckle agrees. His chest puffs out and he moves toward the bar, immediately calling for another black vial.

“Thank you,” I say.

Davyd shrugs it off. “I just didn’t want him making a fool of himself.”

It was stupid of me to think he might have any other aim. I hope the confusion in my brain doesn’t show on my face. The noise in here has increased since we arrived. Every few seconds there’s a squeal of laugher and I wince. The tension of being here, of what’s to come, of trying to work out why Mother plans to sacrifice Lifers tonight, of what the diversion is really for, it all compounds to make my head throb.

I must focus on getting to the Remote Device and finding out what happened to Zed and Samuai.

I glance around the room, appearing interested but not too interested in my betters. I would pick most of them for Fishies; they have that soft look about them. The only people I’ve never seen before, even in passing, are the men behind the bar, and they don’t look special enough in their brown t-shirts and matching trousers to be Nauts.

“Where are our fine leaders this evening?” I ask Davyd.

“One of them would have opened the party, but they have better things to do than watch this crowd drink themselves blind.”

He speaks so surely, like he thinks of himself as better than everyone here. Like he thinks of himself as a Naut.

“Like what?” I ask.

He ignores my question. “I think you’re blushing.” His palm grazes against the skin at the top of my bare shoulder. The contact’s so light—he could be brushing away a crumb—except I haven’t eaten anything here and his words are full of suggestion. “Are you thinking naughty thoughts?” he asks. He’s trying to distract me.