Captives (14 page)

“Well, Hay-o, Mr. Elias,” the man said, walking toward him. “My name is Kruse.” He extended his hand, and Mason shook it. “Come meet the task director general, Lawten Renzor.”

The man behind the desk was slender, with a hunched posture and a large nose that was flaking badly. His dark and protruding eyes instantly unsettled Mason. They seemed too eager, too knowing.

“This is Mason Elias, the smart one.” Kruse winked at Mason.

Kruse’s behavior startled Mason, but he forced himself to stay focused on the task director. This man ruled the Safe Lands. That
murderer Otley answered to him. If his people were to have any chance, Mason needed to find some way of negotiating with this man. “It’s nice to meet you, sir.”

The task director nodded his head in greeting, then motioned for Mason to sit. Mason sank onto a red leather chair.

“Your test results show you to be a clever young man, Mr. Elias,” the task director said.

“Thank you, sir.”

“He’s so polite!” Kruse said. “Let him task for me. I could use an assistant who doesn’t complain.”

With no reaction to Kruse at all, the task director said, “I’d like to place you as a medic.”

“I don’t know enough to be a full doctor.” Working with the medical staff, though, might give him access to something valuable.

“Which is why you’ll task as an assistant to a lower-level lead medic. In six months, when you rotate, we could also place you in low-level research. Would you like that?”

Mason had no plans to be within the compound by the time the next rotation came around. “What kind of research?”

“Medical, of course.”

The word sent a thrill through Mason. Of course he’d love to study medical research. But he reminded himself his priority was helping the people of Glenrock.

“That said, while your test results were impressive, I have two concerns,” the task director said. “First, your education. You learned from outsiders and may not understand our medical procedures. This, however, can be taught. My second concern is honesty. You’re smart enough to know what the donation cup was for and either pretended not to know when you filled it or thought you could lie to us. Now,
I’d
be the fool if I placed a dishonest man in a sensitive position, don’t you agree?”

Well, Mason had figured he’d be caught at some point. “You would, sir.”

“Then why should I allow you to task as a medic and not send you to sweep the streets?”

Mason took a deep breath—if the task director wanted honesty, he would have it. “Because I’m not a violent man. I’ve only ever wanted to save lives. I’m also a cautious man. And you asked me to do something I didn’t fully understand, and fulfill a role I hadn’t agreed to take on. I learned many things while I was in my village, and have plenty of common sense, but the culture of Glenrock is very different. Until I grasp an adequate understanding of your ways, don’t expect me to conform. I’m willing to learn, but not willing to be forced.”

Lawten’s dark eyes stared back. “It’s quite simple. Male nationals are required to leave a donation once a month. What will it take for you to comply?”

All male nationals?
“Explain why I must do this, why it’s so important.” The answer had a deeper meaning for Mason as well; he couldn’t very well come up with an alternative solution unless he understood the problem.

The task director chuckled, a wheezing sound that made the folds of skin on his neck twitch. “You want full disclosure, is that it?”

“I think it’s only fair.”

The task director turned to Kruse. “Place him in his fifth option, as a level two medic under Ciddah Rourke. And schedule a meeting with Ciddah so I can explain.” He turned to Mason. “Ms. Rourke is a Level Nine Medic in the Surrogacy Center. They deal mostly with reproductive appointments, so you’ll have access to our process, which should answer most of your questions. And since they’re located in City Hall, they also arrange private medical appointments for people in my office, so you will also get to do regular first aid, see how simple procedures differ from those in your village. Ask whatever questions you like, though I suggest you watch your tone. And I’ll make sure Ciddah knows you’ve been given permission to look into how things operate in the facility.”

Having that much free rein in the Surrogacy Center was more than Mason had dared hope for, though he wished the task director would have answered his questions outright. But the fact that he had not been taken to the Rehabilitation Center—whatever that was—with Jordan told him that he had value here—value he could use.

“Thank you,” Mason said. “I appreciate your giving me this chance to learn.”

“I’ll be watching you, Mr. Elias. Don’t give me reason to doubt your sincerity.”

Mason entered the Surrogacy Center’s reception area and, as he had been doing all day, approached a desk. Unlike the other buildings he’d seen, the floors, walls, and ceiling here were sterile white.

An full-figured woman with pale yellow skin and spiky black hair sat behind the desk. She was tapping on her GlassTop while talking to herself. “Will Friday the second work?”

Mason stopped before the desk. Unable to stop himself, he asked, “Excuse me. How do you make your skin yellow?”

The woman looked up, and her eyes bulged. She held up a finger. “Great. You’re all set then.” She tapped on the image of a keypad on her desk, made it disappear, then looked up at Mason. “
Hay-o, Valentine.
How can I help you?”

“Um, you could answer my question about your skin.” Mason could feel himself getting warm. Of all the things to ask her, and he had to ask twice. He should instead ask who she’d been speaking to.

“Oh, it’s Roller Paint. I’ve been doing yellow along with Luella Flynn. Kind of getting tired of it, though. She’s coming in here today, you know. Filming another check-up with Kendall Collin. It’s getting close to Kendall’s delivery.” She looked him up and down.

Mason frowned, understanding little of her answer. “I’m here to task with Ciddah Rourke. The task director general sent me. Are you Miss Rourke?”

The woman cackled, her mouth so wide Mason could see the back of her throat. “I’m Rimola. I task in reception. I’m
so
glad you’re here. Not only are you yummy to look at, now I won’t have to rotate to a task where I need to take vitals or stock the rooms with—You’re going to be here every week for six months, right?”

Mason fumbled for the sheet of paper Dallin had given him. “I suspect that is the Registration Department’s intention for me.” Though Mason planned to be back in Glenrock long before then.

Rimola gasped. “Are you an outsider?”

“I’m not from the Safe Lands, no.”

She reached out. “Can I shake your hand?”

Mason extended his arm, and Rimola pulled him toward her, rubbing her thumb over the back of his hand. “Fortune be praised, you’re soft! I heard all outsiders were rough and leathery.”

Mason pulled free and stepped back from the desk. “Miss Rimola, I … well … Please let Ciddah Rourke know that I’ve arrived.” He walked to the farthest chair from the desk and sat down.

Rimola tapped and rubbed her fingers over her GlassTop and hummed and sighed and spoke to someone through what must be an ear device, though Mason could see none.

He tried to ignore her. He spent the time focusing on ways he could use this opportunity to help his people, even praying at one point that God would show him what to do. This position could bring him closer to the information he sought.

“Mason Elias?”

Halfway between Rimola’s desk and where Mason sat stood an angel. This girl was achingly pretty, more so than even Mia. She had long, golden hair, creamy skin, rosy cheeks, and huge, electric-blue eyes. Once Mason was able to take his eyes from her face, he noticed she was wearing scrubs, like nurses and doctors of Old. They were solid purple, and while most people likely drowned in such baggy clothes, this woman made them look like a fancy dress.

He stood to greet her. She was short and curvy and perfect. He shook the thought away.

“I’m Ciddah Rourke. You can call me Ciddah.” She stuck out her hand, and he took it, pleased for an invitation to touch such a lovely woman. Suddenly he wasn’t quite as offended with Rimola for her actions—he was now tempted to do the same. “Why don’t you come on back, Mason, and I’ll give you a tour. Luella Flynn is coming in
today, so we won’t have much time.” She pulled her hand free and walked back toward the reception desk.

Mason followed, kicking himself for having held on to her hand for so long. He needed to focus. He didn’t have time to be drooling over any woman, especially a Safe Lands national.

Ciddah showed him the exam rooms, the supply room, and the restrooms. Everything was white and gray and spotless, with the exception of the yellow security cameras in the hallway and reception area. Next, Ciddah led him to her office. It too was white and gray, though portraits of bright flowers hung on the walls, the images changing every few seconds to different flowers. But the place looked like a dog had chased a squirrel through it. Mason could barely see a desk and three chairs under a mess of scattered papers and stacks of handheld computer screens. Wads of paper lay on the floor around the trashcan. The only thing he didn’t see within the office was a security camera.

Ciddah whisked a stack of papers off one of the chairs in front of her desk. “Take a seat.”

Mason sat on the edge of the chair, and resisted the urge to straighten the stack of handheld computers on the glass desk in front of him.

Ciddah lifted one of the computers off the stack and handed it to Mason. It was about six by eight inches and quite light. She stood beside him and looked down as he held it. “This is a CompuChart,” she said. “Any data you input under a national’s ID goes straight to his or her file on the grid. That way, you have each patient’s history at your fingertips.”

Mason studied the screen. “Convenient.”

“Yes, well, you start by inputting a national’s ID. I’ll use mine as an example.” Ciddah set her hand on his shoulder and reached over him with her other arm; he was extremely aware of her side brushing against his. She smelled like vanilla and cinnamon. She set her fist against the glass, and the screen flashed to a new page.

Across the top, the screen said
N
AM
E:
Ciddah Rourke; DOB: 5–2–2069; AGE: 19

“The ID will bring up the national’s information and histories:
medical, obstetrical, gynecological, genetic, social, allergies, medications and—”

“Luella Flynn is here.” Rimola’s voice called from somewhere on Ciddah’s desk.

Ciddah sighed and moved a pile of papers, revealing a small black speaker. She pressed a button. “Show them to exam room three. I’ll be right there.” She took the CompuChart from Mason. “Thank Fortune there won’t be many more of these silly visits. Luella—she’s famous, in case you don’t already know—has been coming in almost constantly to film the ColorCast specials on Kendall’s pregnancy. The nationals have a fascination with our queens. Once Kendall delivers, they’ll start focusing on Naomi, since she’ll deliver next, but I’ve arranged it so you’ll replace me as the medical consultant for those little spectacles.”

“Replace you? But I don’t know how to—”

“Don’t worry. I’ll make sure you know what to say. I just abhor being on the ColorCast. And Safe Landers will love that our new queen wants her friend as her medic.”

Mason could not be Naomi’s medic. Jordan would never approve. And Mason didn’t understand what Ciddah had meant about ColorCast until they reached exam room four.

Bright lights spilled out the door, and he shielded his eyes when he followed Ciddah into the sweltering room. Powerful bulbs and a camera were focused on the exam table where a young pregnant girl lay, looking bored and hot.

A woman stood by the exam table. She had short, spiral burgundy curls clipped with a sparkly flower, and she wore a burgundy pants suit.

“How’s the lighting, Byran?” the cameraman asked, though Mason saw no other men.

“Luella?” Ciddah called from the doorway. “We’re here.”

“Hay-o!” Luella sang. “Make way for the medics!”

The cameraman stepped aside so that Ciddah and Mason could squeeze into the end of the room, which felt more like an oven than the doorway had.

“We’re live in sixty!” the cameraman said.

“You’re Mason, is that right?” Luella asked.

Mason nodded, captivated by the thickness of the makeup on Luella’s face.

“Well, speak, Valentine, so we can get your voice on the boom.

Have you met Kendall?”

“No,” Mason said.

Luella fixed Mason with a glare. “Speak more than that!”

“Sorry. No, I have not met Kendall. Hello, Kendall,” Mason said.

Kendall giggled. “Hello, Mason.”

“Marvelous! Byran? We’ll need to do makeup and wardrobe on Mason in the future. He’s looking a little drab.” She turned to Mason. “But you’ve got a face viewers will love, trigger. Kendall’s shows bring in seventy-two percent female viewers.”

Luella touched her ear and said, “Will do.” She took hold of Mason’s arm and pulled him around the end of the exam table. “Byran wants you on Ciddah’s left, just behind the foot of the table … that’s right. How we sound, Byran?”