Read Unworthy: Marked to die. Raised to survive. Online
Authors: Joanne Armstrong
“What will happen to you?”
“The truth?” He is keeping the conversation light, and I cling to his levity just as I clung to his embrace when we first entered the cell.
“No sugar-coating.” I look him straight in the eye.
“The General was very clear about that. It will depend on how much he wants to bend the rules for me, but he is always true to his word.”
“What did he say?”
“He said he’d have me branded a deserter if I was discovered out of the City.”
“You’re not out of the City,” I point out.
“Exactly. It depends on how much he wants me alive.”
It takes a moment for this to truly sink in. “It can’t be that bad. You’re his son…”
“Oh believe me, it’s that bad,” he interjects.
“Maybe he just doesn’t know how to show his affection for you…” my voice peters out at the expression on his face, and I know I’m grasping at straws. His own father sent him on a solitary mission likely to result in death or exile. Even now, one word from the General would exonerate his son, but Alex seems pretty sure that he’d not intervene. What kind of a man would treat his son like this?
“We’re in the Polis now, Arcadia. There are things that matter here way more than love or family.”
I change tack. “Alright, think as a soldier then. From his point of view, I mean,” I add, realising my mistake when I see him raise an eyebrow.
Did I just forget that he’s a soldier?
“What would make you more valuable to him alive?”
“Information, usefulness, purpose,” he sighs. “It doesn’t matter, Arcadia. There is nothing we can do now. Your fate rests in the hands of the ranking officer of this post, mine with my father. Please - don’t worry about me. I just want to switch off for a second; not to think about it.”
I know exactly what he means. It’s very tempting to shut the world out and let tomorrow look after itself. I feel the restriction of the small narrow cell, the extent of my realm of control. Outside the concrete walls, outside the metal door, my fate is being decided and I have no way to alter it. This thought threatens to wash over me, the feeling of panic once again rising and constricting my throat, but instead I close my eyes and take a slow controlled breath. I focus on the tiny cupboard space as it would appear on Alex’s monitor, with two shapes of warm human life close together as though joined.
In the here and now, I’m alright. It’s what is to come that makes me want to panic.
“How long will it take to read the samples?”
“Mine will be easy. There will be all sorts of information on file for me. Yours, I’d imagine, will take longer. They will have to run it against many different databases to make sure they have no match for you.”
“But how
long
?”
He has my fingers in his, and is gently rubbing the back of my hand with his thumb. “The truth is I don’t know why it’s taken this long. The longest test I’ve seen took less than ten minutes.”
Ten minutes… it’s been at least half an hour. What’s taking so long?
I’ve been dozing. The faint sound of a rhythmic thudding outside the cell makes me jerk my head up. Footsteps. They keep moving, and the sound recedes.
I’m on the floor of the cell, leaning against Alex’s chest, his arms round me like a warm shield. He sits with his back against the wall and one knee bent behind me.
“They’ve gone,” he murmurs. My shoulders relax again, and I want to burrow back into the warm space under his chin which felt so secure. I brush my fingertips over the hollow of his throat where the T-shirt ends and inhale the scent of him.
“Are you sniffing me?” he asks. I can hear, rather than see, his smile. He gently pushes me away. “Come on, I smell like sweat and horse and no bath.” He rubs his jaw roughly and grimaces. He hates the week-long growth.
“There’s nothing wrong with sweat and horse. I smell like sweat and horse.”
He pretends to sniff me near my ear. “Yes you do,” he says, in mock surprise. I feel his breath on my neck when he speaks and a tingle runs through my skin. “So you need a bath too.”
I swallow. The thought of a bath has taken my thoughts in a new direction, and I have to remind myself that I’m unlikely to see another sunset, much less have the chance to wash.
I feel him lean his head back against the wall above me, and although his arms still hold me, I sense a change in his mood, a slight distancing. Perhaps that was a little too much for either of us.
“When you were feverish by the river, you said some things,” I begin, moving us onto less rocky ground. “You said that you were a tracker.”
He doesn’t move, but I feel his shoulders stiffen slightly. “I was a tracker,” he repeats.
He continues to stare up at the ceiling, where the bulb flickers. I move back from him, releasing his arms from the protective embrace. I run my hands down his arm until my fingers find his wrist. I wrap my hands around it like a cuff.
“It’s not something I’m proud of,” he says quietly.
“What would make you want to… do that?” I ask, dropping the wrist but lacing my fingers with his. Our tenuous link is still so new, and it seems strengthened by contact.
He takes a deep breath. “It was years ago. I graduated basic training and was put into the tracking section. Yu know what happens, and, well, I did my job. Afterwards all I felt was guilt. Deep, festering guilt at what I had done. And when I received the next assignment, the next one to track down, I knew I couldn’t do it. So,” he shrugs. “I saw only one way out.” I look away, feeling his confusion and his pain, and he adds defensively, “I know it was stupid, and selfish. I was in a bad place.”
“I’m not judging you,” I say, amazed he could think it. “I’m not blaming you. I just wish you hadn’t been put in such a desperate position. How did you… survive?”
“My mother found me bleeding all over the bathroom floor. Stitched me up. And I woke up alive. She told me that it had never happened, and no-one would ever know. The main thing was not embarrassing the family; especially my father. But that I’d need to be reprimanded, so she made up some story about me sneaking out of the barracks to visit some Firstborn girl.”
“She had you
punished
?”
“She was right to. What I tried to do… it was the coward’s way. But she also made sure I didn’t have to track again. I think she knew that I’d disappear for good if I was made to.”
I slowly shake my head at him, eyes filling with compassion. I can visualize the Captain Alex Hayes who turned up at my pod, but this image is at odds with the man I now see. I realise that the person I met five days ago is a façade; a very strong one, built by years of submission and training. And this version I’m sitting with now, warming me with his honesty and his physicality… this one is a whole new Alex. He’s a bundle of contradictions.
I get the feeling that he’s still disturbed by the vulnerability revealed when he tried to take his own life. Although the scars on his wrists are well mended, I realise that there is more to his healing than the visible marks. The way his parents dealt with the incident is far from resolved.
“Some scars are worn on the inside,” I say quietly, and he finally tips his head forward to meet my gaze. His jaw is tense, his eyes full of pain. He blinks in acknowledgement, but I can also see that he’s greatly uncomfortable with the topic.
“So, this Firstborn girl you were meant to have been seeing…” I say, tipping my head to the side and smiling at him.
The tension is released and he also smiles. “You do realise this was nearly three years ago? And that she was non-existent - a figment of my mother’s creative imagination?”
“But you were punished for seeing her? Because she was Firstborn?”
He nods. “My mother wanted me beaten but obviously didn’t want my father to know what I’d actually done, so she chose something he’d be absolutely livid about, without quite the same dishonour.”
“What was the punishment?”
“Public whipping. My father got to deliver the blows, and to choose the number. He was pretty fired up; I don’t think I’d ever seen him lose his cool before.”
What is it with the Polis and whipping?
I shudder at the thought, and an image of the criss-crossing scars on his back returns to my mind. “Is there a law against Polisborn and Firstborn relationships? In the hub the soldiers only showed a passing interest in us, but I thought it was just because they disliked us so much.”
“They can’t marry, that’s against the law. Some Polisborn have Firstborn as special companions, and it’s pretty much ignored. But the General finds it a repulsive idea and he’s never made a secret of that. My mother taught us from very young never to look at a Firstborn like that, ever. It would never be acceptable in our house.”
“So this,” I lift my hand, where an Unworthy hubbite and a Polisborn’s fingers are intertwined, “might be rather unpopular?”
He scoffs, a lopsided smile playing on his lips. “That reminds me,” he says, his fingers going to one of the small pockets on the outside of his pants. He brings out a piece of charcoal, and pushes the sleeve of the jacket up my arm so that the mark is clearly exposed. I watch curiously as he adds two extra lines to the black cross.
When he lets go of my hand and I can pull it back to look at, I see that it’s no longer a cross, but two capital letter As, joined at the apex.
The cell may be tiny and may be cramped, but right now I would be happy to stay here forever.
The clang of the bolt shooting back on the other side of the door startles us both, and brings us back to the present.
Alex is on his feet at once and takes my hand to help me up. My muscles feel cold and sore, and a stone has lodged itself in the pit of my stomach. My knees start to tremble and a sound escapes my throat as I glimpse the colours of the Polis uniform over Alex’s shoulder. I press myself against his back and our fingers find each other.
“No,” I breathe into his neck. I’m not ready for this. They could have left us for weeks in this cell and I’d still not be ready.
“This way, Sir.” The female soldier who stripped me of my bag is at the door.
Without looking at me, Alex stands straighter, and steps through the doorway, releasing my fingers. I steady myself on the concrete of the rough wall.
“You too, Ma’am,” the Polisborn says to me.
Ma’am
, I think. That’s different. What’s happened?
I step into the dim corridor and see my confusion reflected in Alex’s eyes before he turns to the soldier. “Where are we going?”
“If you’d follow me, Sir,” she replies curtly. It’s clear we will receive no answers here.
Alex glowers, but falls in behind her. I can tell he’s not used to being kept in the dark by a corporal.
We follow her back down the passageway and up to ground level, then along another corridor and up a flight of stairs. This part of the building is obviously used for administration. Our guide stops outside a door and knocks smartly. She opens it and steps back so that we can enter.
Alex takes three strides into the room. His expression is cold and hard as steel. I’ve seen it before, many times. Captain Alex Hayes is back, with all his tightly reined anger and remoteness, but between us, he gives my hand a squeeze. The brick wall may have returned, but I’m on his side of it.
The man behind the desk pushes back his chair and rises. His face is blotchy and I can see beads of sweat standing out on his forehead. He sketches a salute at Alex, which is returned coolly.
“Captain Hayes.”
“Lieutenant.”
“I - ah - wish to formally apologise for how you have been treated. It has been a regrettable necessity.” His eyes flit from Alex’s face to mine, and back again.
If Alex is surprised by this complete turnabout in attitude, he doesn’t show it. “Well, Lieutenant, it’s good to know that you take your duties seriously at this post.”
The officer seems relieved, and is quick to pick up on the lifeline that Alex has thrown him. “My unit were simply doing their job, Sir,” he nods nervously. “They couldn’t have known you were undercover. I hope they weren’t too - ah -”
“They performed their duties with admirable enthusiasm.”
The CO mops his brow with a handkerchief in a shaking hand. He may have been expecting more trouble from Captain Hayes, and I wonder if my cellmate has a reputation. I decide that I don’t want to know. I just want to get out of this place and find somewhere safe.
Alex is obviously thinking the same thing. He says, “Your apology is acceptable, but as I’m sure you can appreciate, we have been detained here long enough. We must return to our mission.”
I try to look professional and fearless. I’m not; I’m terrified. I have no idea what they think they have found out about me and about Alex’s mission, but I can only imagine that Vicki relented and has worked some magic at her end.
“Yes, yes, of course,” the Lieutenant is keen to accommodate. “Transport and an escort have been arranged to take you directly to your destination.”
Our destination?
What has Vicki done? If Alex is as puzzled as I am, he doesn’t show it. “That is unnecessary, Lieutenant, but I thank you for your offer.”