Captives (43 page)

“Mr. Strong, General Otley is unhappy with your recent behavior, as am I.”

Omar swallowed. “It was an accident, sir. I didn’t know brown sugar could kill me.”

“A captain should possess more common sense than to ingest high doses of stimulants, especially when in uniform and committed to weekly donations.”

“I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”

“It’s too late for apologies, Mr. Strong. You disobeyed my orders and have contracted the plague. You’re useless to us now. General Otley wants you out of the enforcers, and I have no reason to disagree.”

Tears wouldn’t help matters, so Omar clenched his teeth to fight them off. “You’re demoting me?”

“Discharging, actually. Report to the Registration Department to turn in your enforcer badge and personal ID for reassignment.”

“That’s not fair!” Omar yelled, the pitch of his voice that of a swindled child. “Otley’s just mad at me because of Belbeline.”

“You failed us. That’s all that matters.”

“But you still have all the women in the harem. Because of me.”

“You were compensated for those women. It is not my fault that you threw it all away. Good day, Omar Strong.”

While sitting in the Registration Department, Omar looked over his task list:

The only task Omar knew was SimArt designer. “What’s a makeup artist do?”

“Makeup for programs on the ColorCast,” Dallin said from behind
his desk. He’d changed his hair from the black and yellow stripes to dark red. “But you aren’t there yet. Painting in construction is hard physical labor. You paint walls inside and out. If I were you, I’d do your six there, then try to get into enhancement. Or do six in entertainment and try to get an extension. I wish I could work in entertainment.”

“Couldn’t you just retest and cheat? Say you’re interested in entertainment?”

“You have to be careful cheating. It can anger Fortune and the task directors. Some get away with it, but if you fail your task, you can get discharged. And if you get discharged three times, you get an X.” Dallin looked Omar directly in the eye. “So I also suggest you don’t pair up with any more of Otley’s flames.”

Omar was convinced his new task was the worst possible assignment one could draw. His task director, Radcliff, a short, wiry man with brown skin, put him on a paint crew. Omar had worked six hours straight, painting the walls of some apartment blue over green. Omar wanted to ask,
Why?
But he’d had his fill of disciplinary action. Besides, it was all he could do not to beat in the wall with his fist.

When he made himself stop thinking about Radcliff, Belbeline’s face kept appearing before him. He’d painted her eyes on the wall then painted over them three times now. Why didn’t she want him anymore? No women wanted him. What was wrong with him, anyway?

“Hey, Strong!” Radcliff yelled. “I think you got that spot, all right? Keep moving.”

Omar kicked his paint tray down a few feet and started on the next section.

Belbeline.

When Omar got off for the day, he met Charlz and Skottie in the hitroom of a Highlands club called the Savoy. Once they settled in at a
table on a balcony overlooking the dark dance floor below, he told the guys about the brown sugar, his discharge, and Belbeline.

“Forget that prude!” Skottie said as he stroked his mustache. “Why do you want to make a fashion of her? Get you some stims, and we’ll find you a new flame.”

“There’s Yedra,” Charlz said. “She’s gratifiable. And Janique. One of my favorites who’s always willing. Know what? Forget you. Janique’s mine tonight.” Charlz got up from the table and headed for the stairs.

Omar watched Charlz approach the tangle of swaying bodies that were mostly wearing red and black. Mimics. Belbeline wasn’t a mimic.

“Janique
does
fill the need,” Skottie said. “Wish I’d seen her first.”

“You’ve paired up with her too?” Omar asked, a little surprised at that coincidence.

“We’ve all pretty much paired up at least once, except with our same numbers. There are a few femmes I haven’t been with. Highbrows. Entertainers.” He slapped the table, and the beer in Omar’s glass swelled over the side of his glass. “I paired up with Luella Flynn back in boarding school. She won’t even look at me today, the prude.”

Omar pointed at a blonde woman with spiky hair. Venita, Belbeline’s friend. “Her?”

“Venita, sure. She’s deluxo. Great legs.”

Omar pointed to another woman, short and round with curly black hair.

“That’s Camella. You’ve met her. Tasked in massage? Now she tasks in surveillance? Covers the RC? I took you up where she works, remember? She’s a favorite of mine.”

“Belbeline tasks in massage,” Omar said.

“Enough!” Skottie called the barkeep and handed him Omar’s PV. “Fill it with brown sugar—”

“No!” Omar said. “I can’t—”

“A
one.
Plain,” Skottie said as he raised one eyebrow at Omar. “A one won’t hurt nobody, and you need a hit of something.”

Omar’s heart felt heavy, like it held the weight of all his poor decisions. All of the dead in Glenrock, everything he’d done living here.
He
did
want that feeling again. That free, happy, light feeling that nothing mattered. He pressed his fist against the barkeep’s SimPad and watched him walk away, knowing he was making a mistake yet not really caring.

His gaze flitted down to the dance floor where Charlz was dancing with Janique and Venita. Did pairing up with different women bring pleasure in life? Was Omar a prude for wanting only one? Would this heaviness in his heart double and triple and quadruple until he needed a hit of brown sugar at level ten to make it go away?

Skottie and Charlz lived that way, but they didn’t look depressed. And Omar already had the thin plague, thanks to Belbeline. He may as well see if he could find this elusive pleasure everyone else seemed to already have. When the barkeep returned, Omar took a long drag from his PV and headed for the dance floor.

A
n enforcer opened the door to Shaylinn’s cell. “Let’s go, femme.” Shaylinn stepped out into the narrow hallway that separated the two rows of jail cells from one another. Naomi already stood beside a second enforcer, the X after her number a sobering reminder that they were property of the Safe Lands. Shaylinn’s X had been there when she’d awakened that morning.

“What about my sister?” Shaylinn asked.

The enforcer motioned for Shaylinn to walk toward the exit. “Just you two today.”

Shaylinn turned and looked past the enforcer to Jemma’s cell, which was at the very end of the row. “Jemma!”

“It’s okay, Shay,” Jemma said. “Go with them. Don’t worry about me.”

Shaylinn’s heart swelled within her chest. “I don’t want to leave you here.”

“And I don’t want to stun you, but I will if you don’t move along,” the enforcer said.

Shaylinn inched toward the exit. “I love you, Jemma!”

“I love you too, Shay!”

The enforcer pushed Shaylinn’s shoulder, and she barely caught her balance. “Let’s go, femme. Today!”

The enforcers took Shaylinn and Naomi to the lobby where Matron was waiting. Her black pantsuit with a bright green scarf almost made her look more severe than normal. “I’m very disappointed in you girls,” she said.

“What about Jemma?” Shaylinn asked. “Why does she have to stay?”

“Jemma can sit there until summoned to the Surrogacy Center,” Matron said. “You two are far too precious to breathe the same air as the vermin who inhabit the RC.”

Shaylinn glanced at Naomi, who shrugged.
What makes me so special all of a sudden?

The thought sent a chill over Shaylinn. “I’m pregnant, aren’t I?”

Matron smiled. “Get your things from the enforcer, girls, and let’s go. Luella Flynn is meeting us at the SC, and I don’t want to keep her waiting.”

For Shaylinn, the day passed by in a blur, starting with a trip to the SC for confirmation and prenatal prescriptions, three interviews with Luella Flynn, a shopping trip with Tyra, and ending with a coaching session on the proper foods to eat each day.

By the time Matron dismissed her, Shaylinn was exhausted. She entered the Blue Diamond Suite and found Mia watching TV in the living room. “Where’s Naomi?”

“In her room,” Mia said. “Congratulations, by the way.”

The word made Shaylinn queasy. Nothing would be the same without Jemma and Kendall here. She realized this place had never been close to being a home; all the comforts had been a distraction. Shaylinn started down the hallway wanting nothing more than the peace of sleep.

“I saw Levi,” Mia said.

Shaylinn turned back. “Where?”

“At a club Saturday night while you guys were sneaking out.”

Shaylinn narrowed her eyes.

“He wasn’t alone, either. He was dancing with someone. It was pretty wild.”

“You just think you saw him.” Night after night, she’d tolerated Mia’s stories of the dancing and the fancy drinks she’d tried at the places Rand had taken her. She believed Mia’s story of seeing Omar, though it had nearly broken her heart, but Mia had to be lying about Levi. “Levi would never go to such a place. He’s not like that.”

“
Such a place?
The Savoy is wonderful. Stop judging these people because they live differently than we used to. And I know what I saw. I saw Levi dancing
badly
with some gorgeous Safe Lands national.”

“Mia, we’re prisoners here. And there’s nothing more dangerous than an enemy claiming to be your friend. These people mean to use us and throw us away!”

Mia tipped back her head and moaned. “
Shaylinn
…”

“Ever since we got here, you’ve loved everything they’ve placed in front of you. But your turn is coming. And I know you think being pregnant will be amazing, and you might be stronger than me, but no one is strong enough to survive this place.”

Mia looked back to the TV. “You try and help a person …”

“My thoughts exactly,” Shaylinn said as she went to her room.

Shaylinn cried, and it felt good. She lay in bed, burrowed under her covers. Forget stupid Omar calling her an ugly crybaby. Forget Mia and her obsession with Rand. Omar and Mia could just stay here forever with these horrible people.

“Jack … it to … uttercup, come in.”

Levi?
Shaylinn sat up and wiped her eyes. She looked around her room, and leapt out of bed once she spotted her pillowcase by the door. She dumped the pillowcase out. Her Wyndo snapped into three pieces, but the wind-up radio bounced over by the dresser.

She picked up the radio and pressed the talk button. “This is Shaylinn.”

A bit of static, then, “You need … it.”

She held the speaker to her lips. “What?”

“Wind, wind … ind!”

Oh,
wind it.
Shaylinn grabbed the handle and cranked it in circles until her arm was sore. Then she tried again. “Levi? Is that you?”

“Copy, yes. Hello, Shaylinn. Is Jemma there?”

“No. She’s in the prison.”

“I was afraid of that. How long you think they’ll keep her there?”