No Light (2 page)

             
Sarah nodded at his gruff words. She rolled her shoulders and pressed her hand to the scanner, spreading her fingers to force them to fit the much larger print. The small bones of her hand screamed, but the scanner let out a pleased purr. She glanced at him, again.

             
"Good," Robinson said curtly. His gaze moved from her hand to her face. Something unnamed moved between them, a slight hardening in his eyes. It tightened the knot in her stomach. He turned and walked toward the front of the group.

             
Sarah waited until he was out of sight, before she allowed herself to rub her hand. It continued to ache, as the class started to move down the hallway. The walls seemed to get cooler as they moved closer to the Main Hall, leaking the cold of the surrounding soil. Then, the walls fell away and they were in a massive chamber.

             
"Welcome to the Main Hall. As you can see, most of the Dems are in their cells between morning shift and day shift."

             
Sarah vaguely heard the trainer's words, her eyes wandering the huge space. The high ceiling soared overhead, tall enough to fit the city courthouse, and the space far larger than city hall. But the room, the stone furniture, and plain stone walls barely registered. Most of her attention was on the handful of Dems who milled around the room.

             
All of them so similar, with minor variations in hair color and skin color, but the same impressive height and muscular build. As if they came from a race of warriors. Terrifying and dangerous, in their rough beauty. The lethal grace of a predator within the body of a man.

             
One of them sat at a table, his head down. Even from across the room, it was possible to see the wide restraints on his wrists. He watched them intently. The eyes did not lie. No mere man had eyes so watchful, so full of darkness. Every word, every twitch, collected and catalogued inside the perfectly unending memory of a Dem. She shivered.

             
Suddenly, the Dem at the table rose in one fluid movement. Going from sitting to standing between one heartbeat and the next. The tension rose in the room, but the Dem did not make any move toward them.

             
He turned his head away, a dismissal of their presence. She watched him roll his shoulders, stretching his neck and back in a feline arch, as a thin man walked up behind the Dem. He stopped a couple yards behind the much larger male and spoke.

             
From her place by the door, it was impossible to make out his words. The Dem jerked his head around to look at the man, his spine straightening. In one quick movement, he whirled around and stalked toward the man. Sarah held her breath, tense even when she was not in immediate danger. Aggression rolled off the Dem, seeming to fill every fiber of his being. He towered over the human handler.

             
Sarah watched in amazement, as the human spoke and all of the tension drained out of the Dem. The man pointed over his shoulder. Her gaze followed his gesture to a doorway. A large sign labeled it as the door to Corridor Two. The Dem raised his chin, but allowed the human to lead him from the room.

             
"That was proper etiquette for dealing with the Dems. I'm glad you all got to see that first hand. A firm tone and unflinching commands. Any questions?"

             
Sarah looked around the room at the other Dems, her mind filled with questions. Each one seemed massive and immovable. She looked back at her trainer to see him staring at her.

             
"I hope you’re all up to the task." He turned away and led them across the room.

             
As they passed the first security door and the walls of Corridor One closed around them, the atmosphere changed. It felt charged, like the very air was filled with electric currents. The static feeling tickled her skin through the suit.

             
"That feeling you are experiencing is normal," she heard the trainer announce.

             
"What is it?" one of her classmates questioned.

             
It was impossible to see who in the claustrophobic space. The question went unanswered. She felt the moment the corridor widened, more than she saw it. The electric crackle in the air increased, but the wider space seemed to make it easier to breathe.

             
"Time for you to get your first look at a Dem up close."

             
As the trainer spoke the words, another sealed door blocked the way. The class shuffled into a single file line. Sarah found herself sandwiched between two tall boys. The one in front, a blond with a ruddy complexion, and the one behind, a brunet who was almost too pale.

             
She turned her head to look at the boy as the line moved forward. His freckles stood out in harsh relief. She gave him a tentative smile. After a moment, he gave her a quick nod. She turned around when it was obvious he would not look at her again.

             
The line moved quickly. She watched the blond straighten his spine and walk to the scanner. Without any hesitation, he placed his palm against the glass. Sarah's gaze flicked from him to the trainer. The older man watched closely. When the scanner let out a quiet whir, a pleased looked crossed his face. He stepped aside, to let the boy pass through the doorway.

             
The metal door slid closed behind the blond. Sarah looked away to see the trainer watching her with an unreadable expression. She swallowed hard and stepped up to the scanner. Again, she pressed her hand to the handprint. Unlike the first time, the scanner immediately purred.

             
She glanced at Robinson, but he stayed silent. He did not smile. His dark gaze was heavy on her, as she hurried through the doorway. The air was cooler on the other side. She imagined she could see her breath hanging in the air before her face. She looked around, moving to stand among her classmates. No one spoke.

             
More of the boys joined the huddle, the closeness of the bodies bringing a small amount of warmth. She looked down the long corridor. Ten feet wide, it seemed to stretch on forever. But from the manual, she knew it only held seventeen cells. Seventeen Dems. A rustle of fabric drew her attention from the long, stone hallway. She looked over her shoulder.

             
The brunet who had stood behind her in the line, shivered violently. When he noticed her gaze, he quickly looked away. She watched him eye the cells. Every few seconds, he licked his lips nervously. His jittery behavior made her look around at her other classmates.

             
She noticed twitches and flinches she had missed before. Her eyes widened in realization. Her classmates were terrified. An instinctual fear, like the terror a rabbit feels toward a fox. She looked toward the cells. The silence took on a maliciousness it had not held before.

             
"Alright! All of you pay attention, now!"

             
The trainer's voice jerked her attention from the corridor. She turned with the rest of the group to face him. He covered them all with the same no-nonsense look.

             
"By now, you all should know what happens when you don't follow the rules. Two of your classmates were unlucky enough to demonstrate in the staircase. I hope this has served as a warning and lesson to you all." He paused to sweep them with another look. When no one spoke, he turned to look down the length of room.

             
Sarah followed his gaze. A stone bench cut the room in half, empty except for a pile of what looked like metal chains. She frowned and looked back at the trainer who had moved from his place by the door. He strolled casually toward the bench. Just short of the restraints, he spun on his heel to face the class. Their eyes met.

             
"Handler Mackenzie."

             
She froze, feeling the attention of the group fall upon her. She licked her lips and stepped forward.

             
"Sir?"

             
"Come here!" Robinson barked. His gaze left her to glance down the hallway. "You will be our first lucky handler. As the only day handler, it’s fitting, I think."

             
Muscles tense, she forced herself forward, tuning out the cold, the scrape of the rough work suit, and the quiet murmurs of her training group. She stopped in front of him and straightened her spine.

             
"Sir?"

             
He looked at her, his smile cool. "Recite the definition of the Dem Classification System, Handler Mackenzie."

             
Sarah dropped her gaze. Staring hard at the floor, she searched her mind for the answer. It was just on the edge of her memory. Chapter one, the beginning of the book. She wiped her damp palms on her suit.

             
"Anytime, Handler Mackenzie!"

             
She flinched at his sharp tone, but the jolt seemed to shake the information free. She looked up at him. "The Dem Classification System is a color coding system created to indicate violence level among the Dem population."

             
"That's a very precise definition, Handler Mackenzie." He turned away from her to look down at the bench again. "Explain how the DCS works."

             
Sarah stared at him, wondering at his motives. She paused long enough that he looked at her again.

             
"Was there something about that order you didn't understand?" His eyes narrowed.

             
"No, Sir," she said quickly. Her eyes widened when he took a step toward her.

             
"Then, I suggest you answer the damn question, Mackenzie." He looked down at her, jaw visibly clenched. "Now."

             
"Yes, sir," she said quickly. "The colors are red, orange, yellow, green, and blue."

             
"That's real helpful, Mackenzie," he interrupted, voice almost hateful. "That's really going to be useful. Much more useful than say, what the different colors mean."

             
She shrunk back from his glare. "Of course, sir. I mean, no, sir." She tripped over her words, flicking her gaze to her classmates. None of them met her eyes.

             
"Alright, I can see this is too hard for you, Mackenzie. I'll make it easy. What does blue mean?"

             
Sarah did not look up to see what expression went with the condescending words. "Blue is the lowest of the levels and means the Dem has not been violent in at least five centuries."

             
"Green?" he barked.

             
Sarah kept her head down. "Green is the second lowest level. It means the Dem has not been violent in at least a century." She looked up quickly to see if she should continue.

             
"Go on," her trainer ordered, stepping away and giving her some space.

             
She let out a quiet sigh, watching him carefully. "Yellow is the third lowest level. It means the Dem has not been violent in at least fifty years." When he did not look at her, she continued. "Orange is the second highest level. It means the Dem has not been violent in at least ten years."

             
"And Red?" he asked offhandedly, busy with the chains. She watched him rearrange the stack until wrist and ankle restraints were separated from the rest.

             
"Red," she said quietly, watching as he lay a chest harness next to the restraints, "is the highest level. It means the Dem has not been violent in at least a year."

             
"Explain why there is no color for Dems who have been violent in the past year." He finished sorting and laid the connecting chain beside the rest.

             
Sarah stared at him blankly. "I…" She looked at her classmates. All of them looked equally confused. "Sir?"

             
He straightened and tucked his hands in his pockets. "A new level has recently been added." He looked at the closest cell. "Black." He turned around and his gaze landed on her. "Handler Mackenzie will be the first to experience a Dem with a DCS of black."

             
"What is a DCS of black, sir?" she whispered, following his gaze to the first cell.

             
"Violent in the past year or violent on a regular basis. In this Dem's case, both." He turned to face the class and the look in his eyes was enough to make her shiver. "Handler Mackenzie will be demonstrating proper Dem handling technique."

             
Sarah stared at him. When his expression hardened, she took a step forward. "Yes, sir."

             
"What is the first step, Handler Mackenzie?" He stared at her expectantly.