daynight (35 page)

The spread looks tame, but every morsel of food and drink contains Theranberry. And for those who want the quickest hits, raw berries and powder have been provided. I sip my water and listen to Briella justify the portrait of Tristan she had Bailey paint on her stomach with Theranberry juice. Bailey has no future as a Theran artist, but she still offers to paint me in some rather private and sensitive areas that I want her nowhere near. When in her teebed state she lifts up her tube top to show the ‘work’ she did on her breasts, I try to leave. Not that they aren’t attractive, but I’ve seen them before and the girl could be renamed Pandora. I don’t want in her box.

“Not so fast, Cowboy,” Bailey says, grabbing me and yanking me into the bathroom. “I need to talk to you.” She pushes me hard and fast against the cupboard and presses herself against me. She’s got on 5 inch stilettos, so we’re eye to eye. I’ll give her two minutes, I think. I don’t trust her and haven’t since our relationship ended.
 

“It’s not going to happen, Bailey. Sober up,” I say.

“No matter what you say, Blake, I know you find me attractive,” she whispers in my ear. “You’ve been quite responsive to me for weeks now.”

“You know I’m with Kira,” I say. Unfortunately, I can’t tell her the whole host of reasons her devoid-of-warmth personality trumps her gorgeous body or I’d be Exiled.

“I don’t see Kira here. Haven’t seen her for a long while. I heard she’s otherwise occupied with a
very
attractive guy,” she responds without so much as a glance away.
 

I glare at Bailey. “I trust
Kira
. You, not so much,” I say.

“Why do you act like you hate me, Blake? I can’t think of a single thing I’ve done
here
to piss you off so much. I’ve been nothing but friendly.” Yeah, like the freaking neighborhood welcome wagon.
 

“I’m not getting your game, Bailey,” I lie. I’m totally getting her game. The sultry look, licking those plump lips, a wardrobe ‘malfunction’ that has her breasts spilling out of her tube top, and the grinding against my hips in a way that I’m having trouble ignoring. Brain understands ‘vindictive tramp’; body not so much.

“Sure you do, Blake,” she says as she stares at my lips, which gets me staring at hers. Before I know it, her lips are pressed against mine and she’s parted my lips with her tongue. Like riding a bike, the muscle memory comes back and I’m helpless to resist. She’s surely talented at this, but there’s a reason I don’t want this, if I could only remember what it is. It occurs to me. I hate her. Really hate her. And then there’s Kira. My ‘girlfriend’ who’s off with Ethan the freaking Abercrombie-model intern. I told Kira I’m falling in love with her and she can’t stand guys that cheat. Not that I am cheating. Bailey kissed me. Crap. I’m kissing back and wanting more. Wherewithal regained, I push Bailey back.

The only thing I can bring myself to say is “No.”

She smirks as she licks her lips, roughly gropes my pelvic area, and whispers, “You’re saying no, but I can tell you’re not really feeling it.”

“I’m out of here. Don’t touch me again,” I say a bit more half-heartedly than I should have.
 

“We’re not through, Blake. Not even close. We’ve got more in common than you think and I’ll be seeing you sooner rather than later,” she says.

I practically run towards the other end of the house and figure that Bailey won’t be able to catch me while teebed up.

What I see happening in the rest of the party makes my encounter with Bailey look tame. Guys are slurping TB from girls’ bellybuttons. Licking TB powder from lips. Chewing up berries and sharing the slop like a mother bird does with her babies. The ‘sizzler,’ where they allow the TB juice to boil on their skin out in the courtyard and whiff in the fumes disturbs me greatly. And then there’s the random making out with multiple people to see who’s most teebed and will put out more.

I’m contemplating how disgusting they all are when Tristan slaps me on the back atop one of my grafts.
 

“Holy crap, Tristan. Don’t slap me on my skin graft—or anywhere,” I say.

“Sorry, dude,” he says. “Didn’t know they’d put cow skin on you.”

“Huh?” I say.

“You said skin calf right?” he says.

“No. Graft,” I say. No lights on upstairs this morn. “Never mind. Don’t worry about it.”

Time for me to leave, I think. I’m getting nothing out of this party other than new images to add to all the other disturbing ones in my nightmares. I make my way to the front door, when a host of men in official looking uniforms burst in, led by Brad Darcton.

“Blake,” he says, narrowing his eyes at me. In an accusing tone he adds, “I’m surprised to see you here.”

“Mr. Darcton,” I respond. “Just doing my job as a Recruit and attempting to mix with these folks. I can assure you I have done nothing of concern.” I wave my water bottle at him.

“Go home, then. We’re moving their party to headquarters,” he says. Holy crap. What’s he going to do to them? Mass execution? Appearing to read my thoughts he explains, “They’ll be fine. We’ve figured out a… creative… way to deal with their complete disregard of the Canon.”

“I do believe I will head home, then. I could use the rest,” I say, being truthful. I am so tired that I can barely keep my eyes open. “The only circumstance I’d like changed is for Kira to come back.”

“Patience, Blake. And thanks for giving your Handler the heads-up on the party,” he says with a wink, before shooing me out the door. Great, whatever life-changing circumstances he has in store for them will be on my conscience. I just hope it isn’t Exile. These kids would be zero help to my father’s cause.

I watch from my balcony as the gaggle of drunk teens are escorted off—at least a hundred of them—in the blaring hot sun. They can barely walk, much less adhere to the strict instructions being yelled by the security detail. Once the kids have been ushered through the door that leads to the train, I see another half dozen men carrying evidence in carefully labeled bags. SCI Security is well trained to carry out raids. I’ve seen it happen before. But this raid has been far more civilized than the one I remember.

My fifth birthnight was rapidly approaching
and the summer heat was deadly. I remember begging my father for more water. Leila cried around the clock. Collectively, our band of Exilers became pretty sluggish, lacking the energy to do even the most basic tasks. However, desperation had driven the men to help the Interceptors forage for food. Only women and children remained in the camps and no one had thought to stand watch as we slept during the day. That must be why we didn’t see them coming.

A large team of security detail from Garden City showed up toting shotguns and whips. Threatening to kill, the men went cave to cave and poured out water supplies, trashed food, and stole supplies. They ripped apart the soft brush we used for bedding. Destroyed fire pits. And burned excess clothing. It was chaos and everyone started to scatter. We feared for our lives.
 

A few gunshots brought us into line. The men corralled our group together at the bottom of the canyon, by pushing and shoving us down the hill, guns pointed at our backs. I carried Leila and my feet struggled to keep up with the fast pace of the unfamiliar men. Several times I’d fallen and been kicked by heavy black boots. Leila wailed and wailed. They insisted I shut her up or they’d do it for me. Thankfully, Doc’s Cleave made her way to us and took Leila from me and calmed her down.

What the men did next still gives me chilling nightmares. A half dozen kept their barrels trained on us, while the rest troweled a ditch around us, a couple inches deep. The process took less than twenty minutes with their tools. Then they poured some sort of powder into the ditch and lit it on fire. Ringed with hot flames, exposed to the searing hot sun, we were powerless to escape. Laughing, they’d gone on their merry way, toting large bags of our life-sustaining supplies back towards Garden City.

One of the more resourceful women figured out that we could extinguish the flames by scraping the hard soil with our fingernails and pushing it into the ditch. Once we’d cleared a path out of the ring, Doc’s Cleave led the children back up the canyon to the caves, while the other women stayed to put out the rest of the fire. A single spark could have set the entire canyon ablaze. Any remaining supplies would have been destroyed and we’d have all died from burns or smoke inhalation. They weren’t willing to risk it.

Hours later, the ladies trudged up the canyon, blistered from the sun, hands bleeding from their toil. They discovered what we had already. The supplies kept in our caves were gone or burned. But, our meager reserve, camouflaged by boulders in a nearby cave, remained undiscovered. So, resources were rationed and we’d subsisted on sips of water and crumbs of food for a full week until the men returned with more.

I find it interesting that the security detail didn’t kill us. Perhaps they rationalized that they weren’t responsible for our deaths if they left us to dehydrate, starve, or burn rather than put bullets in our heads. And, after all, they’d just been ‘retrieving goods stolen from the good citizens of Garden City,’ or at least that’s what they said.
 

Yes, whatever Brad Darcton has in store for the delinquent Garden City high schoolers, it will pale in comparison to the Ten’s treatment of the Exilers.

“What the—?” I say out loud
as I approach the common area at school on foot. Did I miss my invite to some sort of date function? Most nights the girls group together and gossip while the guys play basketball, football or board the canyons. But tonight… it’s a whole different scene.

All I see are couples splattered about. Holding hands. Kissing. Laughing. Talking. Staring dreamily into each other’s eyes.
 

I walk over to Briella and Tristan, who are sprawled out atop a picnic table looking at the obscured stars.

“What happened after the party? Why has everyone paired off?” I ask in a loud voice.

“Oh hey, dude,” Tristan says. “Keep your voice down. My head’s pounding.” Really? Shocker. Don’t do TB. Just say no.

“Last I saw, you guys were being carted off by security. Where’d they take you?” I say, this time quieter.

“Oh yeah. We went to the SCI headquarters. It’s all a little fuzzy. But that Darcton dude from the Ten. He Cleaved us,” Tristan says.

“You and Bri?” I ask, looking at each of them. Briella smiles at Tristan. Tristan opens his mouth first to respond.

“Yeah, first he Cleaved us. And then, he Cleaved all of them,” Tristan says, sitting up enough to wave his arms towards the rest the couples.

“Seriously? The Ten Cleaved all of you?” I ask. “No. Freaking. Way.”
 

“Way,” he says. “Well, except for Bailey who apparently managed to get herself Exiled. She wandered into a high security clearance area at HQ. So I guess you won’t have to worry about her pawing you any more.”

“I’m so confused about how this all went down,” I say. I know the powers that be are listening in, so I’ve got to be careful what I ask. Bailey Exiled? What was she doing in a classified area of headquarters? I always thought there was something off with her after her 50s housewife comment. And all the Second Chancers were Cleaved? I’m teeb-free and I’m still tripping.

Tristan’s all too happy to share his warped memories. “Mr. Darcton seemed a little tweaked about our party. Apparently TB’s illegal or something. But instead of Exiling us the Ten decided to give us the ‘opportunity’ to become all responsible by Cleaving us. Which is pretty much the most awesome punishment ever.” Kira may be the only one who can appreciate the brilliance of Brad Darcton’s punishment for the partying Second Chancers. And she’s not even here to gloat.
 

“Wow,” I say.
 

“Wow is right. Wait, how come you didn’t come with us to HQ?” he says. Let’s see. How
do
I explain that? I look at my shoes and then back at Tristan.

“I was just leaving when the security guys arrived. When they saw I was sober, they told me to go home,” I say. “I guess I missed out. How’d they do the Cleaving?” I doubt Tristan, Bri and the others got the full Cleaving treatment, given their inebriated state. Typically, physical tests and questionnaires proceed the pairings, to insure good Cleaving matches. Following the official pairing, the SCI provides a ceremony and grand dinner celebration.

“They just called off names by pairs and then had us sign some paperwork to make it all legit,” Tristan says. “Then they sent us home to consummate the Cleaving. Which we did several times.” Given how hopped up on TB he was, I’m surprised he could perform or remember.
 

As if narrating a documentary, Tristan starts to detail the consummation for me. My eyes go wide and I scan for an excuse to escape. Briella pretend slices her throat to try to get him to stop. Too much information. I see Ted Rosenberg and pretend like I have something urgent to discuss with him.

Ted confirms Tristan’s story. The Ten had the Garden City High sixteen-and-ups mass-Cleaved at SCI headquarters overday. Every single bone-headed kid who attended that party, with the exception of Bailey and me, has been Cleaved to their ‘perfect’ mate. Given there wasn’t an exactly equal number of girls and boys at the shindig, a few others got whisked off to HQ from their homes to join the party by afternoon.
 

“What does this mean for Kira and me?” I ask. “Are we going to keep working with them now that they’re Cleaved? Cause I’m not so sure I want to listen to all that Cleaving talk.”

“For now, yes, it’s business as usual. I realize as the only unCleaveds of your age range that it will be awkward, but it was awkward anyway, right?” he chuckles. I nod. “The Ten will be reviewing the program, and will adjust it as necessary. I’ll let you know if your duties change.”

I think what he meant to say is he’ll let me know
when
things change. The Ten’s likely still hoping Kira and I will Cleave—assuming they ever bring her back. Or, they’ll move us elsewhere—to another city. I shudder at the thought. Having two singles amongst dozens of Cleaveds just isn’t going to fly for long. The dynamic would be too awkward. They’ll be saddling the couples with kids before long and then what would we have to talk about? Our mythical labies?