42 Stand by for Visitor #3
She remained that way when her next meal arrived, slotted through a hole in the wall.
A silver tray bearing some kind of whitish bread stuffed with meats and cheeses, a bottle of water, and a bowl of grapes.
Death-row prisoners on Expan ate better than the rich on X72.
Temmi didn’t touch any of the food, though.
Doing so seemed wrong. Felt like giving in.
Before long, or perhaps after a minor eternity, sleep stole her away from the cruelty of her aching body.
Only to deposit her into an even crueler dreamscape.
Spie Expani, backlit by a blinding sun, taking Temmi’s hand and tugging her along a path lined with daffodils and birdsong.
A place that wasn’t Expan or X72. Where are we going?
Temmi asked, grinning, heart buoyant, mind entirely carefree.
A mental state Temmi had never experienced in the waking world.
You’ll see , Spie laughed back, pausing to spin Temmi into her chest. Dipping her shallowly and kissing her on the mouth.
A long, drawn-out pull of a kiss, like drowning in sweet wine.
Spie tasted like warm sunlight and wild hope. Endless possibility.
Temmi stopped caring about where they were going, because no destination could ever compare to this one: Spie lifting Temmi to her feet, fingers trailing up the back of her neck, tangling in her hair.
Spie’s lips as soft as the dawn. The teasing warmth of her gently violet eyes, mischievous and self-assured and always just a little bit sad.
A sadness only Temmi was privileged enough to be shown.
Breathing around Spie Ex pani was like inhaling a narcotic.
Like Temmi was breathing in more than simple oxygen and nitrogen and argon, breathing in an element unique to Spie alone, one that had formed a covalent bond with Temmi’s heart, causing the organ to pound erratically, turning her every breath into its own universe.
A universe where Temmi could believe in something as impossible as love.
She jerked awake to the mechanical whine of wall panels shifting to deliver another meal.
Her final meal. Fat fingers of brownish meat, something congealed and yellow, a slice of dark bread.
She rolled deliberately away. When she inhaled, she had to grit her teeth against the sensation of glass shards embedded in her lungs. Her mind was a vicious thing.
She would’ve remained on the floor if not for an urgent pressure in her bladder.
Damn biology ruining her dramatic depressive moment.
She shoved herself into a sitting position and rubbed at her swollen eyes.
Everything ached. Muscles, bones, lungs.
Perhaps spending her last night alive on a cold, hard floor had been a rather stupid idea.
The cell had no privacy, so she had to relieve herself in full view of the two cameras. As she finished, a robotic voice crackled over the speaker, commanding her to insert her hands and feet into the wall restraints to prepare for transport.
Transport. Great. The precursor to execution. Her death cruelly broadcast for her family to see. She zipped up her prison jumpsuit and stuck her hands into the sanitizing dispenser beside the toilet. Cold disinfectant misted her skin.
The speaker’s robotic voice cut through her cell again. “ Stand by for transport, inmate 844591. Place hands and feet in wall restraints .”
The way she saw it, she had two choices. She could go willingly, or she could be an ass about it. She knew which one would make Ollie proud.
With what was probably a somewhat-maniacal grin, she walked slowly and unhurriedly across her cell and threw herself onto her thin prison cot.
The speaker’s voice rang out a third time.
She pressed her hands over her ears, folding the soft cartilage in half and squeezing her skull hard enough to block out the command.
From outside her body, she’d look like a person tortured: lines of tension contorting her curled body, ears red and raw from how hard she was pressing them, eyes squeezed tight in obvious discomfort, jaw clenched.
But that was the price of silence, sometimes.
The price of peace. Her cell vanished. The blaring speaker, the savory scent of meat, the hard antiseptic glare of her see-through walls.
She carved out a precious, fleeting silence. A silence like a held breath or final goodbye: impossible to hold on to.
Into that silence she smiled. Not because of any actual joy but because of a deranged sort of comfort.
The world finally made sense again. And she’d always appreciated when things made sense.
She understood now that she’d been played.
That she’d never had any hope of saving her family, let alone reforming X72.
That her dreams had always been impossible.
Would always be impossible. She understood now what Spie had been telling her all along: that the empire would never have allowed someone like Temmi to win Love Galaxy .
That no matter how well she played the game, it never would have made any difference.
She understood now that to fix what was broken would require a whole new game, one that, soon, she wouldn’t be alive to play. If they were going to execute her as an anti-humanist agent, then she might as well become one. In her mind, if nowhere else.
The blare of the speaker sent cracks through her cocoon of silence. The robotic voice grew in intensity and volume. “ STAND BY FOR TRANSPORT, INMATE 844591. PLACE HANDS AND FEET IN WALL RESTRAINTS .”
Temmi inhaled deeply and relaxed her hands from her ears; they felt red and hot and primed for war.
She sat up and stared at the blinking camera light above her. “Fucking make me.”