The Color of Rain (24 page)

“Which girls?” Johnny steps forward and takes my chin. He examines every angle of my face.

“I don't know their names.” I can feel his rage growing through the glints in his eyes. “I didn't see them. They put a pillow over my face,” I add in a hurry. “I couldn't breathe for a few minutes. It was just some hazing.”

“And I suppose this was another one of those times when the security feed was down, Ben? Another
hiccup
?”

“I didn't catch it on the feed,” he says. “They were careful. Besides, I told you we could have the system checked over once we reach the Edge. I know someone who—”

“Lights!” Johnny commands across the Family Room, cutting Ben off. The light level rises to full brightness, and I have to shield my eyes until they adjust. Johnny flings back the curtains as he
charges to the center of the room.

“Follow him,” Ben whispers.

“What have you done?” I murmur. “He'll kill those girls.”

“We have no choice. Our plans are too important.”

“Wake!” Johnny yells from the front of the room. “Get up here!” From every secret nook, sleepy-eyed girls stumble forward, creating a group of startled and frightened faces. I stand at the back, trying to breathe air that has become useless in my lungs.

“Some of you attacked my Rain. My
red tag
. The leader will step forward.”

No one moves. My eyes dart to Amanda's short hair. She wears nothing but a light green dressing gown.

“Step forward or you'll all be yellow tagged before dawn,” he commands. Amanda shuffles through the shaking mass of girls. Her bare feet and calves remind me of a small girl, and it no longer matters that she half suffocated me. She was acting for her missing friends; she did no less than what I would have done.

Johnny's hand closes around the back of her neck, and he leads her toward the door without even glancing at her face. “The rest of you get back to sleep,” he barks. “Lights out!”

The room falls dark so fast that I swear I'm falling with it. I feel the scatter of the frightened girls and hear a few whimpers in the aftermath of the slamming door.

Ben's hand closes on my shoulder. “We didn't have a choice,” he says into my ear.

“Don't touch me.” I shove him away and curl up on my mat. Johnny will kill her. I'm certain. Maybe the airlock. Maybe he'll choke her in the hall. Or a knife.

I remember the great crimson puddle spreading out beneath the Touched man and then the spray and smears of Walker's blood all over the empty pool. I shake hard, gripping my shoulders and letting my fingernails sink into my cold skin.

A river of red runs from one end of the cosmos to the other, and it's darker than the Void, and carnal, and all over me. I pull at my bracelet until I've bruised my wrist, not caring if it shocks me. And when it won't budge, I yank on my hair.

Maybe Amanda was right about me. I am red—the color of the devil.

The signature of blood.

During the last hours of the night, I wander down to Samson's engine room to check the population chart—that screen full of people dots—for Amanda's tag. I can't seem to think about anything else.

The last person I want to see is Ben, but he's there, climbing a rope that ascends far out of sight in the ceilingless place. His pants sway with the loose bottom of the rope as his arms work to carry him higher.

“Try not to fall!” I yell. “Would suck if you got yourself killed instead of someone else!”

Ben glances down, and I can't stand the oblivious look on his face. I turn to leave, but he leaps down, hitting the metal floor with a loud clop from his boots. “Wait.” He blocks the door. “I have to talk to you.”

“I'm still in, if that's what you're worried about.” I try to
shoulder past him, but he holds his arms out. “I just don't want to look at you right now.”

“Hear me out.”

“You sold out Amanda.
You
got her killed.”

“Samson!” he yells into the ceiling guts of the engine room. “Get down here and tell her what I told you!”

Samson rappels on his little seat to a level just above our heads. His eyes are covered with his fogged goggles, and his beard is flecked with something ashy.

“‘Reck'd or unreck'd, duly with love returns,'” he sings at the sight of me with a wide-mouthed smile. The words bang up through the room with echoes that reach into me. “Hello there, Rain Runner. A pleasure to see your face this late, although I don't know if I agree with your decision to wander these unlucky halls.”

“Don't waste your breath, Sam. I've already given her that lecture.” Ben crosses so that he's right under the greasy old man. “Tell her what I just told you. She's not likely to believe me.”

“She can read it herself.” Samson pulls a piece of paper from the breast pocket of his flight suit. He lets it flutter down to the floor, and I stoop to grab it.

“Samson has agreed to send that transmission in the event that we—” Ben clears his throat. “Disappear.”

I unfold the note:

               
TO TITAN SHIP HOLMES. ATTN: K. RYAN. MELEE LAUNCHED PASSENGERLESS WITH BEACON. LIVING CARGO TO THE EDGE. BEN RYAN DEAD.

I read the message several times. The last three words thunder through me in a way that makes me need to sit down.
Ben Ryan dead?
It's too reminiscent of the awkward line from the warning posters on Earth City. “Do not sorrow,” I whisper and lean against the edge of Samson's table. “What in hell is this, Ben?”

I take in the mess of his hair, struggling with the sudden sensation that the words in my hand are a terrible prediction. A given—Ben will die.

“I've rigged
Melee
to launch itself through
Imreas's
side when we reach the other end of the Static Pass. My ship's made of a harder metal and should cause a good deal of damage to
Imreas
, although we'll be too dead to know. It might even slow Johnny down enough for him to be caught.

“Samson will send that transmission,” he continues, “and my uncle, Keven, will recover
Melee
. Maybe not right away, but your brother will be rescued. They'll see him to the Edge and someone will help him.” He looks up into the deep shadows of the engine rigging. “Keven will have to go back to tell my mother what happened to me.”

I hold the note out by two fingers. “This is . . .” Depressing? Horrible?

The opposite of the hope I need to get through all this?

He takes the piece of paper. “It's a little insurance. I owe you that much for helping me. Not like this plan will necessarily work, but it's something.”

“It's something,” I repeat. Ben passes the note up to Samson.

The old man takes the paper and presses it inside his pocket. “So you two really mean to go through with it? Thought I'd seen
it all in the Void, but you pair are brand new.” He pulls his goggles off his forehead revealing a circle of pink skin around brown eyes.
Silvery
brown.

“You're Mec!” I exclaim. “Why didn't you say so before?”

“Because then people either quiver with fear or expect too damn much. And you two are just a couple of teens. Don't forget that while you're off saving civilization and upholding the moral code or whatever.” He yanks his goggles back over his eyes. “Don't forget to enjoy yourselves where you can.”

I manage a small laugh. “Sure thing, Dad.”

The title was meant to be a joke, but saying
Dad
sends a terrible shock through me. What would my father think of all this? What would he say to his daughter who is now little more than a prostitute? A prostitute who's in the habit of getting her peers killed?

Samson presses a button that recalls his seat up into the engine rigging. “
Reck'd or unreck'd
. . .,” he sings as he goes.

“You'd think he'd help us,” I say.

“He does in his own way. He's a decent soul, but he's been in the Void too long.” I can feel his stare, but I won't look at it. “Samson may not agree with Johnny's ways, but he isn't about to interfere with them.”

“You think all Runners are like that?”

“All the ones I've encountered,” he says.

“What about these K-Force? You said they'd hardly prioritize a rescue mission for you. What makes you think that they'll pick up Walker in
Melee
?”

“Because
Melee
is a Void-capable vessel. She's valuable.”

“Everything is ranked by a depraved value system in this universe, isn't it? Human life should mean more.”

Ben shrugs. “Depends on the human. I can tell you that Johnny gets forty credits a head for the Touched.”

“Forty!” The number is both sickeningly low and much higher than I expected. “And what about Amanda? How much was she worth?” Ben looks away, and I turn out of the engine room. He stomps in pursuit. “Did you even bother to check the population chart to see if she's still alive?”

“I did.” His steps slow until I know that he's given up on trying to catch me.

I swing around. “And?”

“And she's gone.” His forehead creases with a frown. “Don't try to shame me, Rain. Remember how long I've been on this ship. Remember that I've lost friends as well.” He gets in my face, and I can't help but look at the split in his bottom lip where Johnny punched him. “Our plan is too important for this!”

“I know that!” I press my face right under his, but his words beat mine.

“So if I have to choose between one person and the lives of hundreds of sick people, I'm going to make the easy decision. And if I have to choose between one of Johnny's sickly obedient girls and you, I'm going to pick you every time.” He wavers after his outburst, and I feel a little blown by such a passionate admission. He squeezes his eyes like he regrets his words but doesn't lean out of our standoff.

My hands slip up his arms, and I clutch his shirt like I need to find some way to hold on to him.
Ben Ryan dead
.

“This is too important,” he says without opening his eyes. “Right?”

I squeeze the soft fabric. I could almost press myself to him. Let him feel and see and know the real me beneath all my terrible deeds.

Almost.

E
ntra is a wonder.

The planet's forest surface swirls with emerald and jade colors even from the upper atmosphere where
Imreas
is parked. I press myself to the hover cab window as we leave the docking bay, only to be half blinded by the brilliance of two orange suns.

Johnny touches a button, causing a shade screen to drop over the windows and mute the new world to a tolerable, but less vivid, hue. Ben sits across from me, his eyes shielded behind his hair, and Samson's ratty head is haloed by light in the driver's seat. Despite their silence, I can't help feeling surrounded by secret friends. Samson might not go out of his way to help us, but he's on our side. I can tell.

Johnny's fingers slide from my knee to my thigh, under the hem of the crimson dress he presented to me just this morning.

Here I am, obedient. And the color of blood from head to knee.

I refuse to look at Ben, not wanting to know if he's watching. Glaring. In the days since our tryst in the secret wall space, I've taken to rethinking the hell out of that moment. Of course it
doesn't mean anything; it can't. But that doesn't mean I can't go over it in my head and just pull the pieces of those hours apart, savoring them. I feel myself run warm as I remember the low husk to Ben's voice when he said,
You can lean on me
.

Johnny pushes my hair behind my ear. “You look perfect. We'll go straight to the hotel,” he commands.

I begin to respond, but my voice is rough. “All right,” I say, unable to keep myself from glancing in Ben's direction, but he's looking out the window, only the hint of a clenched muscle along his jaw.