Sedition (3 page)

I took my brother’s place as a Demoted slave when we were younger, and I never let him have any suspicion that I was going to do it.

I first started thinking about my plan during our final year in high school, at the Dine ‘n’ Shine Café, inconveniently located in the red district an e-rail ride away from school. I had ditched Civic Compliance again, half on principle. I had made it my mission to show only minimal “compliance” to the bullshit propaganda they told us about how the Demoted system works, how it’s vital for national safety and public health. The pictures of the fourth world war were supposed to make us buy into it, but they just made me nauseous. I knew they wouldn’t fail me for skipping class; kids like me didn’t get failed.

My twin brother Abriel, on the other hand, wasn’t so fortunate. Our parents had noticed the differences between us early on in life, the way I learned faster, understood better, and was more curious. They had us both tested, and while my results were outstanding, my brother was “below average.” Unfortunately, “average” would be the cutoff for the Assessment that is taken at the end of high school, and the cutoff went higher and higher every year, the problem intensified by the desperate effort of parents. Nobody wanted to see their kid get Demoted.

The Dine ‘n’ Shine wasn’t exactly known for its cleanliness or properly functioning robo-clerks, but it was my favorite place to go to escape the watchful eyes of parents and teachers. I was certain that nobody would catch me, and even more certain that they would never have mentioned it if they did. I people watched, grinning at the line of skeevy men who frequented the place and making lewd gestures at them because I knew I could get away with it. I enjoyed the challenge and the taboo, sneaking there least once a week. Most of the patrons came for the “shine,” street slang for “getting your dick sucked.” I never visited the back part of the café, because underage kids were forbidden, and such a violation could get you taken away, maybe even Demoted.

The only humans who worked at the Dine ‘n’ Shine were in the back room, on their knees, for hours a day. Demoted humans. The fate that I was trying so hard to keep my brother from suffering.

My pleasant, polite little brother would likely have been Demoted just because he wouldn’t do well on the Assessment. And I shouldn’t have been Demoted, even though I told my teachers off and skipped class and hung out in a combination fast food joint and whorehouse. I couldn’t let it happen, and I couldn’t involve him in my plans. Unlike everything else that we shared, this project was just mine. I had to keep him in the dark to keep him safe.

Despite my higher intellect, my hacking skills, and my refusal to do anything but research the Assessment for the last two months of school, I never came up with anything to get him out of it. Abriel told me it was okay if he was Demoted, but it wasn’t okay, I couldn’t let it happen to him. By the day before the Assessment, I had devised a terrible plan. If I had let Abriel know, he would have gone to any length to stop me, just like I went to every length to keep him safe.

The test started at exactly ten, and we were informed that it would continue until exactly noon. Bathroom breaks, snacks, drinks, leaving the room, and talking were strictly prohibited. Abriel and I went in together; we were seated alphabetically.

I took my test when it was handed to me, smiled at the examiner who frowned in return, and forced myself not to wince as I popped the “blister” I had created on my pinky finger that morning. Clear liquid came out, just a few drops, but it was enough to dissolve the ink from the space where my name and ID code had been pre-printed. I fingered the second blister, waiting for its time to come.

I began by painstakingly writing my brother’s name on the top of my sheet. I had practiced for weeks, until I could draw the font perfectly. That taken care of, I got to work on the test. It was harder than I had predicted, because not only did I have to make it good enough to ensure that Abriel wasn’t Demoted, I had to make it bad enough that anyone would believe he did it. I wasn’t willing to risk having anyone figure out that Abriel didn’t complete his Assessment. Altering an Assessment is a huge crime, a Demoted crime, and that was what I was trying to prevent in the first place. I worked hard to make mistakes that would look innocent, and I made sure that Abriel and I were always on the same problem. I figured the statistics in my head for how many to get right and wrong. Math had always been my specialty.

There were about forty minutes left of the Assessment when I finished enough problems to ensure that Abriel could blind guess the last few questions and still not be Demoted. I put phase two of my plan in action.

I started by squirming in my seat. I held my stomach, squirming even more, making sure my chair rocked.

The proctor snapped at me, breaking the silence for all forty of us in the room. “Is there going to be a problem?”

“My stomach hurts,” I whined. It really did, thanks to the concoction I mixed up and forced myself to drink earlier.

My stomach churned even more at the thought, and I prepared myself for complete and utter embarrassment. I thought of Dante’s
Inferno
as I prepared to make a trumpet of my ass, and it saddened me for a moment that most of my classmates wouldn’t even get that reference.

I farted, loud and mortifying and obvious. The simple, juvenile act was too outrageous to be faked. It wasn’t classy, it wasn’t sophisticated, and it definitely wasn’t my top choice, but it was so stupid that it was one of the few things that weren’t expressly forbidden during the Assessment. I did it again, resisting the urge to crawl under the table and hide.

The immaturity of the high school students, the sound of someone having gas, and the anxiety in the room combined to bring forth a chorus of laughter. I began giggling as well, covering my mouth with my hands to hide while making sure the rest of the sounds I made were loud and clear.

“Mister Gabbamonte, if you don’t stop that right now….”

“I’m sorry, miss,” I managed not to laugh as I said it. “I get an upset stomach when I’m this anxious!”

Phase three went into effect when Abriel flipped to a new page in his Assessment. I stepped up my dramatics and tried to fan the “smell” away with my hand, then my test booklet. Everyone was watching me, including Abriel, whose test booklet sat completely empty on a new page.

When the proctor finally had enough and walked over to where I sat, I dropped the test booklet, watching it flutter to the floor under Abriel’s chair. I jumped up to get it, my over exaggerated movements knocking his over in the chaos. I grabbed Abriel’s test booklet, flipped it facedown, and grabbed the one I had been working on before the proctor snatched it from my hand.

“Give me that! You could get Demoted for so much as
touching
another student’s Assessment!” she snapped, glancing at the name. She looked at my brother. “Abriel, this one is yours.” I sat, and she picked up the test booklet Abriel had been working on and dropped it on my desk without bothering to look at it. Our Assessments had been switched.

I sat quietly for a few minutes, regaining my composure, then I started working on the problems where Abriel left off. I glanced at some of his answers, and they were bad. Really bad. I had hoped that I could salvage it, to boost the score with the remaining problems or change some answers, but I realized it was futile. I broke the “blister” on my other finger, dissolved the ink spelling out my brother’s name and ID, and replaced them carefully with mine.

Billions of dollars of research go into the Assessment, and the security technology gets more sophisticated every year. Eventually, the test designers did away with the technology all together. The simplicity provided a level of protection that continued development never did, but I took it a step further. I found the loophole. Abriel never had any idea that anything was happening.

Chapter 3
Balancing Act

I’m helping my master sort some papers and I must come across one he doesn’t want me to see, because he smacks my hand away hard enough to bring tears to my eyes, the red spots where his knuckles impact developing into bruises before the day is over.

He doesn’t say anything about it when it happens; he doesn’t so much as apologize, or tell me to leave, or anything. He just sits there fuming as I gather up my injured hand and injured pride. We continue business as usual.

That night, he’s different again, trailing careful kisses over the dark spots and whispering in my ear how sorry he is that he marked me. He promises that he won’t do it again, that he won’t lash out and lose his temper when I’m not trying to do anything wrong, and I believe him. I know I shouldn’t, but he has no reason to lie to me. I can’t leave him, I can’t tell him no; he has every right to beat me whether I’m provoking him or not. The fact that he says he’ll make an effort is enough to convince me that he’s serious. He seems like he’s promising it for his own benefit more than mine, and I know that he holds himself to very high standards.

Besides, he makes it very clear that he won’t do it again if I’m not
trying
to do anything wrong—clearly, his previous threats and punishments still stand, and I find an odd sort of comfort in that familiarity. Both of us seem to fight to keep things as they are, and I wouldn’t change it for anything. I have to pretend to be two people to be content with him, but I’ll do it, and so will he.

I go poking and prodding around, a little, but I can’t make heads or tails out of what is left in sight. Oliver Torenze worries me; Cashiel makes it sound like they have a history, but I can’t figure it out just from glancing surreptitiously through papers and files. When I ask, he just tells me not to be concerned about it.

Still, I pay more attention to Torenze now, especially when we go out. We attend more events with that crowd, now, the crowd we were with at the auction where I first met Torenze. I start to learn the difference between my master’s usual business associates and this crowd, and while there is some overlap, there seems to be something different that I can’t quite figure out, and I dare not ask. Torenze shows up often, and while my master doesn’t seem as thrown as he was that first time, he always seems wary. I feel like Torenze’s eyes are on me all the time, appraising me. He’s cordial enough, but he makes cutting comments here and there, catty things, trying to bait my master. I can tell he’s bothered, especially when Torenze hints that he’s interested in me.

I ask him about it one night.

“Sascha, he’s just lusting over you,” he points out. “Anyone in their right mind would be.”

I smile at his joke, and at his hands working across my body. I try to put the brief look of alarm on my master’s face out of my mind, pretending I didn’t see his eyes widen or feel his body tense before he buried the reaction. He’ll get irritable if I push the issue. I remind myself that I’m more fortunate than other slaves, far more fortunate than I’ve ever been. I’m taken care of, treated well, and I trust him not to hurt me. I should be able to trust him to deal with Torenze, but it’s hard to completely stop thinking about something.

It isn’t long after that strange party that Cash tells me that we’re attending another event, an opening for something important with wealthy, influential people and connections. He hints that this one is more important than the others we’ve attended, and that I should treat it as such.

It’s tiring to pretend to care what’s happening at these things anymore; I’m just a slave here, arm candy, a pet to be teased and toyed with, except my master never lets anyone tease or toy with me. Maybe it’s more accurate to say that I resent it, because these events are the only place where he really treats me like a slave, anymore. I accept it, though, just like I accept the third personality he seems to adopt at these events. Cashiel seems tense about this particular event, so I do my best to make things go smoothly. He makes some sort of grudging comment of appreciation when he finds an outfit laid out for him. I wonder if the balancing act is difficult for him as well.

I’m surprised when we arrive and I realize the opening is connected to the deal that Cashiel made with Torenze at the slave auction, the first time I met him. I think of how my master hinted that he was important, dangerous even, and I think of the way he watches me. The thought of spending a whole night at an event that he’s hosting makes my stomach churn and I press closer to my master, almost touching him. He raises an eyebrow in my direction, but takes my upper arm in his hand, squeezing it just long enough that I know he can tell I’m uncomfortable.

We go through the night as ordinarily as possible, although I can tell that my master remains tense. He doesn’t let me away from his side. We blend in; most of the other attendees have slaves on their arms as well, and just as many have chosen conservative attire. The fashion site I was reading the other day clearly advised that half-naked slaves were passé except at the most flamboyant of events, like the Peace Day Celebration, or maybe a bachelor party.

I can’t believe I read slave fashion sites.

I wish we could avoid Torenze, but it is his opening, and we are sort of privileged guests. We’re going to have to come into contact with him at some point. When we do, I expect more friendliness and less petty competition.

At least, that’s what it starts out as. Casual digs about who has the better hov-car, whose house is located in the better district. If they weren’t both preposterously wealthy businessmen, I’d say they sounded like high school students bickering; regardless of the wealth and status, that is what they sound like. It escalates to thinly veiled comments on social decorum, reputation, business acumen. I don’t understand the majority of the references that Torenze is making, but I can tell that the other people joining in the conversation are getting a good laugh at my master’s expense.

Cashiel takes it in stride, too much, as far as I’m concerned, letting the insults roll off his shoulders and trying politely to change the subject to something else. I find myself growing more and more irritated, more irritated than Cash is, even. It’s unsettling to realize that I’m actually starting to like this man standing next to me, and it’s more unsettling to hear him insulted.