Chapter 18
Panicked, Nia whipped around again and stared at the blond man in confusion.
“These interviews are kept confidential,” he said, answering her unspoken question. His palette lay on the table in front of him, and he gestured to the free seat.
Stomach twisting in knots, she walked forward a step at a time and settled herself in the cold chair.
His face blank, he glanced at his palette. “Have you been given appropriate food and clothing?”
“Yes.”
“Have you been mistreated in any way by your warder?”
Nia’s face flamed thinking of what had happened between them only days before, but Mace had walked away and stayed away ever since. “No,” she said.
The man squinted at her before continuing. “Are you satisfied with your living arrangements?”
She straightened, confusion replacing her wariness. “I can choose to live somewhere else?”
“There’s the common holding where captives live. You may or may not be assigned manual labor.” His expression changed, brow wrinkling. “Probably not since you’ve already established yourself as a doctor.”
“If that’s where captives live, why am I in Mace’s quarters?”
The man shifted in his chair, eyes darting to the side. “Commander Mace invoked the old laws.”
“Old laws?” she asked with a shake of her head, not understanding.
The man cleared his throat, his eyes fixed to his palette. “Tellusians have come a long way with regard to captive rights over the last century. There’s the Take and Keep law, where the warrior keeps his spoils of war. He kept you.”
“He kept me,” she repeated.
The man nodded, mouth tight as he met her eyes.
“And this doesn’t happen often?”
He shook his head slowly.
Nia’s face warmed all the way past her forehead. There was more here than the man was telling her, but from the set of his jaw, he wasn’t inviting more questions.
He glanced at his palette. “Are you satisfied with your living arrangements?”
She stared at him. What would happen if she lied? What would happen if she said she’d been abused?
But Mace had said she was safe with him.
For some reason, she believed him.
When she’d arrived, something had transpired between this man and her warder. Mace had secured protection for her, hidden her lineage. If she moved to common holding, what sounded like communal living, would the person in charge find out about her identity and sell her off for ransom?
The devil you know.
She had access to the terminal for reading, she had privacy, and Mace left her alone.
“I’ll stay,” she said after a long, tense minute.
“Very well.” He made a note on the palette. “Have you been given a chance to earn a wage?”
“Yes. I mean, I think so. I haven’t been given any money, though.”
“I’ll be in charge of that today. Yes, here it is,” he said reading his palette. “You’ve earned yourself a fair amount of creds. A lot of captives refuse to work.” He tapped the palette and her bonds beeped. On the inside of her wrist, an amount appeared. “The bonds work as a cred exchange too.”
Her eyes widened. She wasn’t sure how CORE and Tellusian currency compared, but if they were remotely similar, it surpassed what she’d made on Elara Five in a week. Not enough to buy a ship, but definitely enough to live on and have some tucked away for an emergency.
Enough to pay off the debt of a state-of-the-art prosthetic? Hopefully.
“That wraps it up, do you have any questions?”
Nia’s brain ran amok with them, but most she didn’t think safe to ask this man. His apathetic and formal demeanor, so much like the CORE, should have put her at ease, but instead it only made her anxious.
She cleared her throat. “What is the language everyone is speaking here?”
“Tellusian.”
She shook her head. Like everyone else educated through the CORE’s education program, she’s learned all the languages of the system, including Common. There was nothing called Tellusian. “I don’t understand it.” Her cheeks burned at the obvious statement.
His smile wasn’t kind. “That’s the point.” He glanced at his palette, his expression dismissive. “Any other questions?”
Her hands clenched in her lap, she shook her head.
“Very well.” He stood. “Good day to you.” Palette tucked under his arm, he exited the way he’d come, leaving her alone.
She stood, feeling trapped, when the other door slid open, revealing Mace. An uncharacteristically hesitant expression pinched his face. “You chose to stay with me.”
She lifted her chin. “Unless you want me to go.”
His eyes narrowed a fraction, penetrating, until she couldn’t stand it anymore. She dropped her head and saw the cred amount on the inside of her wrist.
“Take them,” she said, lifting her arm toward him.
His head jerked. “What?”
“My creds.”
He shook his head, frown increasing in strength. “I’m not taking your money.”
“Yes. You will. For Kilian’s prosthetic.”
He shook his head again.
“I will not be indebted to you,” she ground out between clenched teeth. She already was, for whatever he’d arranged with the processor, despite the circumstances that brought her here.
Mace stared at her a long while, then said, “We can talk later.” Touching the control to bind her wrists, he gestured for her to proceed him out.
The return journey to his quarters took them on a similar path as the first day: too many people, too much noise. Mace led the way, and the crowd parted for him. Nia followed, staring at his spine. He didn’t look back once to see if she kept up.
What would happen if she turned around and walked in the other direction?
Before she could muster the courage and energy to test out the thought, they arrived at his quarters.
As soon as she stepped inside, her wrists separated.
“Did the processor inform you of your day off tomorrow?”
She spun around. “What?” First, she was paid, and now she got the day off?
“Mandatory,” he said with a nod.
She squinted at the room. “I have to stay here all day?” She’d rather be in the med bay than go stir crazy, no matter how well-stocked their libraries.
But he shook his head. “You’ll need to stay in Section C, but you have six hours of free time. Your bonds would let you know if you cross the boundary line.”
She understood Section C to be quite large, so the prospect of being confined within its limits didn’t bother her. “What about my patients?” Kilian was supposed to return for a follow-up.
“Anyone coming into family medicine would be informed it’s your day off.”
Her next thought splashed cold water on her newly acquired good mood. “Do you need to stay with me the entire time?” The words came out garbled.
He hesitated. “Someone has to at this point. I could assign an enforcer if you’d rather another.”
“No.” The word came out fast. “I mean, as long as it’s not too much trouble.” She winced. Stars above, she didn’t want him to babysit her. He probably had duties as a commander.
“It’s fine.”
She shook her head. It was anything but fine, but a day off…she couldn’t refuse.
The liberating thought of a bit of freedom kept her up half the night. By the time the morning hour rolled around, Nia was both exhausted and wired on anticipation. With automatic movements, she smoothed the covers of the bed, trying not to notice the coldness of the unused half.
The sound of the door opening made her turn around. Mace stood there wearing his dark blue uniform, his arms hanging loose at his sides. Her stomach flipped pleasantly. She hated herself for it.
“Have you eaten?” he asked, stepping inside.
She nodded.
“Then you’re ready to go?”
Nodding again, she moved toward him. He reached for the controls of his vambrace. Instead of her bonds snapping together, the light on them turned blue. Meeting his inscrutable gaze, she raised her eyebrows.
“You have six hours. You’ll remember?”
Her heart raced in anticipation. “Yes.”
She stepped out into the corridor, shoulders tensing at the thought of being shocked, but nothing happened. Exhaling a slow breath, she cast one last glance at Mace over her shoulder and hurried toward the lift. A couple passed her by with a baby in their arms. Someone coughed behind a closed door.
She stopped in front of the lift. Instead of waiting for Mace to call it to them, she pressed the control panel like she’d seen him do.
It worked! The door slid open as Mace stopped beside her. She schooled her pleased expression and looked up at him.
“Don’t fret,” he said, stepping onto the lift beside her. “You’ll have space.” He touched the control panel inside.
It hadn’t been what she was thinking at all, but now he said it, she worried he’d be hovering for her whole day off.
They rode the lift upward, then the door slid open on the ground floor of the atrium. She stepped off and felt the heat of Mace following against her spine. For a moment, the amount of people pressed in on her, her chest squeezing tight. Too many. It always seemed the case with Tellusians. Too much. Too many.
The crowd thinned, people leaving, sitting, carrying things in their arms. Her eyes darted around, taking it all in. She took another step forward, throwing Mace a glance over her shoulder, but he was gone. Frowning, she turned around fully. He hadn’t been lying when he’d said she would have space.
With tentative steps, Nia walked forward, between the tables. Being on the ground level was so much different than watching from above. Music played from somewhere, the rhythm hitting her deep in her abdomen, but she couldn’t tell where it came from. Every table had at least one person at it, groups of gray and brown clad workers at several.
A group of warriors sat to the one side, their voices loud. She wasn’t sure if they were happy or angry at each other from all the shoulder slapping and guffaws.
Standing on the other side of the wide space, a woman and a man spoke animatedly in Tellusian, waving their hands furiously between them. No one else seemed concerned by the display of…affection?
Skin. Everywhere. Nia pulled at the hem of her shirt. Why did some of these people bother getting dressed at all?
It was then she realized there were captives mingling among the Tellusians, bonds on their wrists. She scanned faces, looking for someone familiar, someone from Elara Five, but no one stood out. One laughed at something a Tellusian said.
How could they sit there so calmly? How could they act happy? Anger swept through her body, making her warm. The urge to storm over there and demand answers almost overwhelmed her, but she held herself back. Shame followed her anger. Wasn’t she as guilty of integrating herself over the past days? Hadn’t she had inappropriate thoughts about her warder? Nia averted her gaze, indecision freezing her to the spot.
Viewers peppered the perimeter. Advertisements and public announcements flashed. A section of screens showed some sort of brutal and bloody game, making her wince. One viewer in particular caught her eye: a CORE newsreel. Three translations scrolled along the bottom. Chancellor Feering was making a speech. Members of the ruling class stood behind with stoic expressions, including the Xus and Mullers.
Nia swallowed the tight lump in her throat. She couldn’t tear her eyes away from the familiar faces until the news story changed to another.
A hard knot of nausea settled in the bottom of her belly. Pressing a hand against her stomach, Nia distracted herself by walking the outer edge of the area, where shops lined the perimeter: children’s toys, items made from what looked like natural materials—wood? really?—a salon, a tech exchange, and food vendors with sizzling confections. She strolled by a wide, curving staircase winding its way to the second level before her feet stopped in front of a weapons manufacturer.
Chest squeezing, Nia watched a warrior test the sight of a gun about the length of her arm. Seemingly pleased with its construction, he purchased the item through his vambrace cred exchange. She’d healed injuries made from those sorts of weapons, ones that would slice a limb off like a laser scalpel on steroids.
Her eyes were drawn to the neat row of knives in front of the guns. So many blades. Nia couldn’t pull her gaze away. In the infancy of her profession, surgeons used knives to cut into their patients, a crude way of healing to be sure, but these knives weren’t meant for anything so noble. These blades were meant to kill, some serrated, other double-edged. Here’s a pretty.
Quick movements out of the corner of her eye had Nia turning. An enforcer moved toward her, the woman’s hand on her gun, eyes on Nia’s face. Another came at her from the side, his expression fierce, an intricate blue tattoo climbing his throat.
Panic set in. Nia turned back to the weapon’s vendor who was also staring at her, a frown puckering his brow. She’d done something wrong. I shouldn’t have stopped here. But for some reason, her feet wouldn’t move. Her limbs began to shake.
And the enforcers kept getting closer.