The Renegades (The Superiors) (15 page)

“Forever?”

“Or
until removed.”

“So
why don’t you take them out?”

Draven
shrugged his top shoulder. “I can’t reach them.”

“Well,
why don’t you have someone else do it?”

“A
doctor would have me arrested.”

“Then
let me do it.”

“I
couldn’t.”

“Why
not? You’ve done lots of things for me.”

“Perhaps
another time. You need rest.”

“I
want to. I mean it. They bleed when you carry something on your back, which is
always, and don’t tell me they don’t hurt, because I’ve seen them, and I’ve
seen your face when you undress.”

He
looked at her a long minute. “It’s not a pleasant sight.”

“You
think I’ve never seen anything unpleasant? My arm turned black and oozed for a
month, and you could smell it from two houses down.”

“I
know. I sucked it out.”

Cali
sat up. “You did?”

“Yes.”

“How?
Why?”

“The
doctor said you’d die, and I thought it might help.”

Cali
lay down again and rearranged the blanket before speaking. “Did it?” she asked.

He
paused, wrestling with the ugly memory of that night. “Yes.”

“I
don’t remember that,” she said. “But Master…if you sucked that stuff out of my
arm, at least I can take a little piece of wood out of your skin. I don’t mind.
There’s no point in hurting when I can help you.”

“Another
time.” He rose to feed the fire, and stood warming himself near the new blaze. Cali arose also, and went into the woods a bit. The scent of her urine drifted from that
direction. She returned, approaching from behind. Though he sensed her position,
he stood motionless, waiting. For a moment, he wondered if she had broken a tree
limb and meant to kill him. Perhaps he should have been terrified, but he was
only a bit frightened. Equal to the fear, a thrill of exhilaration filled him.

Death.
The end to his endless life, at last.

Chapter 27

Cali stood behind Draven for a minute, wondering what she should do, what he’d allow her to
do, and if he’d get mad if she disobeyed him. She rested her fingertips on the
small of his back and waited for his reaction. When she touched his skin, he
drew a shuddering breath. Then he stood still, not even breathing. His skin,
usually cool to the touch, now had a heavier depth of cold that never ended,
one that seemed unnatural even in the cold night.

Cali moved her hands to Draven’s hips and nudged him to one side. At first, she wasn’t
sure he’d move, but he let her turn him. Up close, in the firelight, she saw
for the first time the awful state of his back. Burrowing bugs would have been
preferable. Splinters littered his skin, some with drops of dried blood around
the entry point, some bristling from the skin like hair, all disgusting looking.
She didn’t ask how he’d gotten a thousand splinters in such a strange place. If
she spoke, he might change his mind.

Looking
at the speckled landscape of his skin made her a little queasy, but it was the
least she could do. He’d sucked out the bites Master had left unhealed on her
dozens of times. Besides, usually she felt like a useless burden. She didn’t
carry the baby she had insisted Draven go back for, she didn’t get food for
herself or the baby, and so far, she hadn’t done such a good job of feeding
Draven, either. He didn’t even like the baby, and he carried it the whole time,
without eating, without complaining. Tired and sore and selfish, Cali hadn’t
even offered. But she could help him with this. It cost her nothing to get some
splinters out, and it cost him something to keep them, maybe a lot.

She
touched him again, and this time he didn’t move or react. A black speck in a
circle of dried blood marked each splinter, and though she half expected them
to feel hot like the unhealed bites on her, they were cold like the rest of
him.

“Can
we sit?” she asked, quiet so he might not notice her too much.

He
sat, drew his knees to his chest and rested his forehead on them. The whole
time she worked, he didn’t make a sound or draw a breath. Maybe he could hold
his breath for hours. All her life, she’d heard stories about what Superiors
could do, but she didn’t believe most of them. To her, Superiors looked the
same as humans, so she figured they probably were a lot like them, and humans
had made up the stories. But now she might rethink that theory.

Before
her escape, just a week ago, she’d only seen Superiors doing things humans
could do. She knew they were much stronger, but other than that, they didn’t
seem all that superior. But Draven could do things no human could do, no matter
how strong. He could jump off buildings and land on his feet without getting
hurt, and jump onto buildings, and jump across impossible distances. Maybe
Superiors didn’t want humans to know they could do those things because they
didn’t want to scare their food. Or maybe they had a completely different
reason, one she’d never figure out. Supposedly they were smart, so maybe they
had a good reason for hiding what they could do. All she knew was that they hid
these amazing abilities from humans, but Draven had shown her. He had shared
his secrets, broken the code of his people, maybe even broken laws, by showing
and telling her not only his strengths but his weaknesses, even how to defeat
him. A swell of warmth and gratitude welled up in her, and she forgot her
disgust and began to work with more gentle determination.

First,
she pulled the bristling splinters, starting with the easiest ones. As she
worked, she began noticing a pattern, rough circular shapes of different sizes,
usually intersecting, with splinters around them. In her exhaustion, she could
see the circles themselves, a pattern stamped on his back. She blinked hard,
sure she had imagined it. But when she pressed his hip so he’d turn a little,
the light hit him at a different angle, and she saw that she hadn’t imagined
it. He had circular scars all over his skin.

“What
happened to you?” she whispered in a kind of horrified awe. She ran the palm of
her hand lightly over his back.

He
sucked in a breath, the first one since she’d started taking out splinters.
“Thank you,” he said, and he unfolded his legs and stood in one fluid movement.
“I imagine that will be enough for now. We both need rest.”

He
offered her a hand, but she paused before taking it. She had so many questions.
But she let them go for the moment and slipped her hand into his. He didn’t let
her hand go or step back after he pulled her to her feet. He wasn’t a tall man,
and their faces weren’t far apart when they stood toe to toe. “I wish to thank
you in some way, but I don’t know what you’d like,” he said.

“Okay,
well…goodnight?” Being so near him made her nervous sometimes, the way he
looked at her so intense and hungry.

“Goodnight,”
he said, and after another moment, he let her hand go. She knew he could suck
her blood any time he wanted, but sometimes she had an irrational fear that one
of them wouldn’t stop. They’d suck every bit of it from her until she shriveled
up like an old melon.

She
crawled under the blanket next to Leo, shivering with cold. Draven didn’t go to
bed, though. He went and got wood and prodded the fire until it blazed hotter,
and then he sat on the other side, staring into the fire with those eyes that
reflected the light and looked black with glowing centers. Cali watched him watching
the fire.

When
she woke, he was covering the remnants of the fire with dirt and rocks. She
wondered if he ever slept or ate anymore, and if he really was fine, or if he
was just too stubborn to admit weakness to a human.

Chapter 28

Meyer
Kidd’s whole day had turned to rubbish. His brilliant idea hadn’t panned out. A
turbine with a picture on it—
your
picture—would sell millions, he just
knew it. Every person in the world, or at least the flat parts of the world,
could have their own picture on a turbine in their own backyard. It was
perfect. The most beloved image on earth for each individual. The problem was,
the turbines didn’t have enough blades, and so far it looked impossible to make
even the ones with extra blades show a person’s face.

He’d
been sure it would top even the best seller in his company. Pretty-bines and
furr-bines and glitter-bines sold well, but none would compare to this. And now,
his partners told him it couldn’t be done. He’d have to think on it a while,
let it marinate while he worked on other projects. Maybe he’d come back to it.
He wouldn’t give up just yet. After all, if he had been the type to give up, he
would have died hundreds of years ago, with all the other children old enough
to know what had happened during the Time of the Takeover.

He
saw a car behind his, a nice one. A Second’s car, maybe an Enforcer’s. Let them
follow if they liked. They would never find anything on him. They just liked to
use their heavy, intimidating cars to shadow him, make him paranoid. That would
never work with him. He’d never cared much about cars—he didn’t even drive one.

“Let’s
pop by Ginger Tolemy’s farm,” he told his driver over the intercom.

He
got out of the car at Ginger’s and took a deep breath of the dry night air.
Colder this time of year. Soon he’d head to the mountains for his vacation.
Months of skiing and sitting at the hearth, relaxing and cooking up new ideas
for inventions. What could top that? He’d have to bring a sap this year. Maybe
two. Yes, he decided, he would definitely need two. Maybe even three. One of
them a baby. Then he’d invite that jealous wanker Byron over, and he’d bring in
his saps and share, out of the generousness of his heart. He’d love to see the
look on Byron’s face when he showed off his perfect little sap family who
hadn’t escaped, a mother and father and baby.

He
laughed when the Enforcer who had been tailing him cruised by. Let him watch. Meyer
had been doing this for years, and no one had ever gotten close. Sure, a few
Enforcers had gotten suspicious—one after Herman disappeared, and now Byron.
But they weren’t smart enough. They couldn’t guess the extent. And Meyer would
never go to jail. He had money, and money bought everything. In the worst-case
scenario, Meyer could get nabbed for something and have to withdraw his
involvement for a while. But he’d never quit entirely.

Meyer
thanked his driver and the man nodded. He wasn’t too fond of the new driver.
Maybe he’d look around for another one soon. Lots of Thirds would love to drive
a nice car and get paid for taking Meyer to all his engagements. But he’d think
about that later. He had more pressing—and enjoyable—things on his mind just
then.

He
popped into Ginger’s office first thing. When she stood up from behind her desk,
he got the full advantage of her beauty. Ginger could turn men’s heads around
so far and so fast you’d think their necks would snap. To the best of Meyer’s
knowledge, none had yet.

“Hello,
Meyer,” Ginger said, holding out her arms. Sometimes even Ginger, who had known
him for years, forgot he was a man. But unlike other Seconds, she could
condescend without incurring his ire.

“Hello,
lovely Ginger,” he said, stepping into her arms. He let his head rest on her
breasts while she hugged him. Although he was glad he’d evolved before sex
interested him, he still appreciated her particular set of attributes. He’d
seen how sex distracted people from more important matters in life, but he
would have happily let himself be distracted by sex if he had a woman like
Ginger. As it happened, no man had held onto Ginger for as long as he had held
her friendship. But then, she had strange tastes when it came to those things.

“How
nice of you to stop by,” Ginger said in her sugary yet authoritative voice.
Ginger dressed just like that teacher at every school that every boy had a
crush on—today she wore classic black heels, a tailored charcoal skirt that hit
just above the knee with a slit that showed the barest hint of thigh, and a
pink blouse open just one button too low to be prim. She hadn’t been a teacher
before the Evolution, though. She’d been a lingerie model.

“Always
a pleasure,” Meyer said, kissing her hand.

She
laughed and mussed his hair, a gesture that infuriated him almost beyond reason
when anyone else did it.

“I
have a box in the car for you, some old stuff I thought your saps might use,”
he said.

“Of
course. I’ll have one of the sapiens go out and get it. Stay and visit with me
for a minute.” She turned on her screen and found one of her favorites. “Hi, Jay,
would you be a dear and run out to Meyer’s car and get the box from the back?
Thank you.” Ginger always thanked her helpers in a sing-songy voice that Meyer
particularly adored.

“Any
new sales today?” he asked, which was code for
Is anyone else around
?
Meyer loved the secrecy and codes as much as he loved getting away with
something.

“Not
today, but I had a visitor,” Ginger said.
No one’s here now but it’s not
safe to talk
.

“That’s
too bad,” Meyer said. “Did you get the items I sent over the other day? None of
the food had spoiled, had it?”
Did the saps get here okay?

“Oh,
no, but something got into one of the boxes in the sapien quarters and they had
to throw it out.”
Yes but one of them got sick and died.

“Oh,
no. Who found it?”

“Little
Larry.”

“Oh,
him. That’s too bad. I hate to see good food go to waste.”

“Oh,
here’s your box. I’d love to walk you out, but I’ve really got to get these
files updated. You know I like my records thorough. Would you like Jay to walk
you down?” Ginger always had saps do the work around her farm. Of course, she
could have hired a few Thirds, but sap labor cost less—nothing, in fact. Jay, a
pretty blonde boy maybe a handful of years older than Meyer’s human years,
stood holding the box he’d taken from Meyer’s car.

“No,
thank you. I know the way,” Meyer said.

“Go
on back. Let me know if you see one that catches your eye. You’d be my first sale
today.”

“Then
I better look extra hard,” Meyer said, standing. He gave a little bow before
leaving the office. Taking up the box, he followed Jay through the door that
led to the sapiens’ shanties. Meyer left Jay, turned left and walked along the
row of houses, all constructed of mud and tin and old tires and siding and
other scraps of rubbish. After a quick bite to eat, he went to the building
that held Ginger’s offices and home. Normally he got right to it, but he’d been
paranoid lately with all the Enforcers he’d seen lurking.

He
followed his nose until he sought out the girl he’d sent here last week, the
little girl who giggled. “Come visit with me,” he said. “I have a present for
you.”

After
leaving her shelter, he went into a shanty built against the wall of the
office, and then another. Inside this one, he pulled away the tin and siding and
a brick of mud and opened a door in the wall. The giggly girl went in before
him. Before following her inside, he took three bags from the box and brought
them along. He moved in front of the sap and made his way down the dark hall. When
they came to another door, he opened it and switched on a light. A supply
closet greeted them. Meyer went inside, pushed up the ceiling and boosted Emuleen
through. He hefted the bags up and leapt up after them.

Together
they walked down a hallway that Meyer knew lay somewhere close to Ginger’s
office. At the end, he lifted yet another door, and they dropped back down to
the ground level. They had entered the room with no door. At least not one in
the walls. From the outside, it was simply an extra part of the building that
surrounded a storeroom. Without seeing the floor plans, no one would ever
notice that the square area was much larger than the storeroom built into it.

Meyer
laughed in delight, as he did every time he thought of Ginger’s clever genius.
He opened the bags before pushing them into one end of the L-shaped room. “How
are you?” he asked Emuleen. “I heard Larry died.”

“He
did,” she said, looking quite sad. “The parents he got were real mean, I guess.
They were only thirteen, both of them, and they didn’t have no kids of their
own yet. I don’t think they took real good care of him.”

“How
dreadful,” Meyer said. “But see here. I need a sapien to accompany me on my vacation.
Now, you know I wish I could take you. You’re my favorite.” He hugged Emuleen,
who giggled when he tickled her. “Do you know of a young mother and father with
a baby, a family who live here all the time?” he asked.

“Ummmmm….”
The girl put a finger on her lip and rolled her eyes up in thought. She really
was dreadfully adorable. He couldn’t remember what sapien parents she derived
from, but he quite fancied the little sap. “Yes,” she said at last. “I don’t
know their names. But they have two kids, a girl who’s five just like me, and
we play together. Her name’s Orange.”

“They
have another sapling?” he asked, glancing at the door that had dropped down
from the ceiling. The saplings had begun to arrive, spilling through in an
animated, chatty bunch.

“Yeah,
a baby,” Emuleen said.

Meyer
got busy hugging the seven little ones he hadn’t seen for several weeks. “I’m
sorry I couldn’t come earlier,” he said. “I might have gotten in trouble. You
know my job is very dangerous.”

Of
the saps arriving, he’d known some of them for most of their lives, others only
a few years. One of the little ones asked if he was a spy. He laughed. “No, I’m
just very important. And very important men are often hated for their
importance. Other people are jealous because I’m so rich and so smart and so
young. And of course because I’m so handsome,” he said, posing dramatically.
Some of the saps laughed. A few of the older ones came to get hugs.

“Now,
is this everyone?” he asked, looking around. “Where’s Lima?”

“She’s
sick,” one of the older ones said.

“She’s
pregnant,” another one said.

“Okay,
well, why don’t you all have a seat. Today I brought you an extra special
treat.” He liked how they all leaned forward at the same time, like a tiny wave
of excitement they couldn’t quite contain had gone through the room. “But you
can’t see them yet.”

“Awww,”
they all said. He smiled.

“First,
I’m going to read to you. I know some of you little ones won’t understand, but
just look at the pictures. You older ones, you know what to do if the little
ones get loud.” He looked at the older saps, some old enough to have their own
little ones. They all nodded.

“Well
then. This book is called...
Ferdinand
,” he said, turning it around
dramatically. He read the book, and even the little ones watched and didn’t
make too much noise. When Meyer finished, he leaned over to a little girl in
the front row. She was sixish, he thought, one of the Hensons’ spawn.

“I
have a very special gift for you,” he said, holding the book out to her. “Would
you like to keep this and read about Ferdinand again by yourself?”

She
nodded solemnly and accepted the book.

“Now,
there are three conditions,” he said, taking back the book. “First, you have to
leave it in this room. And second, you have to put your name in it so everyone
knows it’s yours. Can you do that for me?” The girl, Jame he thought, nodded.
“And you can’t tell anyone. That’s the most important part. Remember, if you
tell anyone I’ll be executed. Do you remember what executed is?” Jame’s eyes
widened and she nodded.

“Good.
Did everyone else hear that? Because I brought books for all of you, too.”

He
rose and pulled the first bag around. “Now, hold up your hand if you want a
book? Oh, everyone does? Hm, I don’t know. I’m not sure I brought that many.”
He handed out the ragged books one at a time until he’d emptied the first bag.
“I’m all out,” he said, shaking his head. “Oh no. Whatever shall I do? Not
everyone got a book. That’s not fair. Maybe I’ll have to take them back.”

“What
about the other bags?” Emuleen asked, giggling.

“What
other bags? Oh, these? I completely forgot. Thank goodness you reminded me.”
The saplings all giggled and carried on about his silliness as he handed out
the rest of the books, matching the age level as best he could with the number
of words in the books. Most of them were rubbish, but finding paper books
wasn’t easy.

He
handed out stubby pencils and watched the saps put their names on the books in
chunky childlike writing, the older ones helping the younger ones when they had
finished.

Meyer
stood. “Now, just because it’s your book doesn’t mean you’re the only one who
gets to read it. Remember how last year I had only one book for four of you?
When you finish a book, trade with a friend. But the one with your name is your
own personal property. Yours. So keep them nice.”

“The
pages are coming out of mine,” a boy said.

“It
can’t be helped. That’s all the more reason to treat these books with great
care. They are treasures. And they are your own. No one will ever take them
from you. They belong to you. Like nothing else in the whole world.”

Meyer
looked down at a little girl who clung to his leg. “What, you want me to read
to you again?” he asked.

“Read
me this?” she asked, waving her book around.

Meyer
sat on the floor this time instead of the single chair, and he read to the girl
and the others who crawled into his lap, asking him to read their books
afterwards. When he got tired of talking, he sat with some of the older ones
and asked them to read to him. As he looked over his happy, enthralled kingdom,
he couldn’t help but smile. True, they were just cattle, but they worshipped
him as their king. Their beloved ruler, benefactor, teacher, and provider. They
all needed him and depended on him. They loved him. And best of all, they owed
him.