Shattered Lives, page 6
part #2 of Rymellan Series
*****
Jayne felt sick and averted her eyes from the monitor. Was that what it had been like for her parents? What had she hoped to accomplish by watching? Did she think it would help her to understand? If she didn’t understand after thirteen years, she wouldn’t understand by watching the procession for a criminal who’d had nothing to do with the Incident—which, curiously, the Preeminent Ruler hadn’t mentioned. Jayne could have taken the omission as a sign that this recent crime would displace the Incident from the notorious position it held in the minds of Rymellans, but she knew better. What this man had done, while terrible, didn’t compare to what they’d done. This one would eventually blow over.
She’d seen enough, and was about to turn off the monitor when she heard the crunch of a footfall on gravel. Orange flashed in the corner of her eye.
Oh no.
“Well, what have we here?” a female voice said off to Jayne’s right. “An Adams watching the execution procession for a criminal who committed a Chosen Violation. I guess it brings back fond family memories for you, right Jayne?”
Jayne remained silent and kept her eyes on the monitor. Of all the military who could have walked through the clearing, why did it have to be this lieutenant? Everyone who patrolled E6 treated her like dirt, but this one was the worst. Not long ago, this lieutenant had struck her with a level three violation for speaking up, not back, when the lieutenant had insulted her. That had cost her almost a full month’s living allowance. If Carol hadn’t bailed her out, she would have starved.
“I’ve heard they don’t die right away when they’re executed,” the lieutenant said.
“What happens to them?” a male voice asked. Great, there were two of them.
“They jerk around, like this.”
A burst of laughter followed the lieutenant’s words. Now that they’d had their laugh, maybe they’d leave her alone. She turned off the monitor and turned toward her sketchbook.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” the lieutenant said.
Jayne froze.
“Where do you think you’re going? Article 553 is in effect. You do not walk away from military right now, Jayne. And I think you, especially, should watch the rest of the procession. Don’t you agree, Tim?”
“Definitely.”
“Keep an eye out.” Jayne winced when the lieutenant grabbed her arm and twisted it behind her back. “Turn the monitor back on,” the lieutenant barked.
Jayne managed to tap the button with her free hand.
“Now watch!” the lieutenant shouted into Jayne’s ear, making it ring.
“You’re violating Article 822,” Jayne managed to gasp.
“What did you say?” The lieutenant jerked Jayne’s arm up. Pain shot through her back; she cried out and sank to her knees.
“Cheryl, be careful,” Tim said. “Don’t break her arm. We don’t need the hassle.”
Cheryl snorted. “What hassle? Obviously I would have been acting in self-defence when she attacked me.”
“Hey, wait a minute,” Tim said slowly. “We’re just having a bit of fun here, not trying to have her executed.”
“Why not?” Cheryl said. “We’d get medals for bringing her in. Though I’d miss not having her around to play with.” She grabbed Jayne’s hair and pulled her head back. “If I transferred to another sector, would you miss me?” she asked, pouting. “I bet you would.” Her pout turned into a sneer. “Now get up!”
Jayne struggled to her feet. When her head neared the top of the podium, Cheryl pushed it forward, smashing Jayne’s chin against the podium’s edge. Her teeth snapped together. Cheryl giggled. “Oops. You’ll get a nasty bruise there. And here I thought you couldn’t get any uglier. Oh look, it’s the executioner.” She pointed at the screen. “See, that’s a true Rymellan, right there. And there’s Thompson, right next to her. Another true Rymellan. I bet they’d love to get their hands on a freak like you, Jayne. See, they protect Rymellans. They don’t protect freaks.”
“Maybe we should beep them, see what they’re doing after the procession,” Tim said.
Jayne couldn’t breathe. The thought of being in the presence of Finney and Thompson terrified her. She turned away from the monitor. Cheryl slapped the side of her head. “Keep watching!”
Gulping back the bile that rose in her throat, Jayne watched.
*****
Through the flowers that still showered the procession, Lesley glimpsed the entrance to the crematorium. The drummers had almost reached it. They beat on their drums five times in rapid succession, then the drums fell silent.
The procession stopped. Everyone stood quietly while the military carried the body through the gates. Once they’d disappeared from view, Laura turned to face the procession and thrust her right fist into the air. The crowd roared its approval and, as the floral storm resumed, it spontaneously broke into the Song of Rymel.
Lesley started to sing along but faltered. Was Mo here? She quickly recovered and resumed singing, but her mind remained on Mo. Was Mo all right? Was she proud of her? All the feelings Lesley had locked away suddenly started to surface. She desperately fought for control; she couldn’t break down here, in front of a crowd and live on the monitors. Focus on the words. Sing. Smile and sing. She did, and wept inside.
*****
Surprised, Jayne watched Thompson’s face. For a moment it had almost looked as if she was going to cry, something Jayne would not expect of an Interior officer. They were all cold, calculating, and single-minded. Then again, if they were going to get emotional, an execution procession would be just the place, wouldn’t it?
Another stab of pain. Her arm throbbed and her neck felt stiff. Suddenly the lieutenant released her arm and shoved her roughly to one side. Unprepared for the move, Jayne stumbled and fell. Everything burned. She gripped the podium, slowly hefted herself to her feet, and faced her tormentors.
“I certainly enjoyed that, did you?” Cheryl said cheerfully. “It’s important that we spend time getting to know those who live in our sector, so I’m so glad we were able to spend the last little while together.” Tim laughed; Jayne gritted her teeth. “Now get your ugly face out of here and stay home. If I run into you again, I might not treat you as nicely.”
Relieved, Jayne turned off the monitor and bent to retrieve her sketchbook. She started to walk away, her eyes downcast.
“Wait a minute,” Cheryl said.
Jayne held her breath.
“What’s that you’re carrying? Your sketchbook? I should take a look at it, make sure nothing’s in it that violates any articles.”
No, please, not her drawings! Jayne held the book against her chest. She’d get over the rest of the abuse, but handing over her sketchbook would be giving them a part of herself.
Cheryl beckoned for the sketchbook. “Give me the book, now! Unless you’d rather receive a level four strike?”
Jayne reluctantly held it out, mortified to see it trembling in her fingers.
“I think she’s going to cry,” Cheryl said to Tim, watching Jayne.
Tim glanced at Jayne. “Let’s just go, we’ve had our fun. Give her the book back.” He reached for the sketchbook.
Cheryl pulled it away from him. “No, I want to look.” She flipped through the pages. “Oh look, a leaf,” she said in a high-pitched voice. “And here’s another leaf. And isn’t that cute—another leaf.” Flip. “And another.” Flip. “And yet another.” She snorted and shook her head. “Just think, we’ve had a true genius living in the sector all this time and we didn’t even know it. A leaf artist. Imagine.” She grinned. “I don’t know why you waste your time doing this, Jayne. You really stink at it.”
Hot tears stung Jayne’s eyes. She bit her lip—hard.
Cheryl smiled smugly and threw the sketchbook on the ground. “Pick that up or I’ll strike you for littering. And then get out of my sight. I’ve had enough of you for one day.”
Jayne swallowed and picked up the sketchbook. She turned and slowly walked away, expecting them to call her back again. When they didn’t, she quickened her pace and eventually risked a look over her shoulder. They were nowhere in sight. She broke into a run and raced toward her sanctuary.
*****
Mo followed the flow as everyone left the auditorium, but unlike those around her, she wasn’t pumping her fist in the air, cheering, or babbling on about the procession. If she heard one more person excitedly say that Finney and Thompson had attended this Military Academy, she’d scream. Cool air washed over her as she passed through the auditorium’s front doors.
“Woo!” Ann shouted, making her jump. “Chalk one up for the Way!” She ruffled Mo’s hair.
“Don’t do that,” Mo snapped, covering her head with her hands.
“Come on, Mo, you haven’t cracked a smile all—oh!” She grabbed Mo’s arm, pulled her off to the side of the path, and waved at someone in the crowd. An officer waved back and maneuvered his way over to them. He smiled at Ann.
“Hey there,” Ann simpered, her voice suddenly an octave higher. She turned to Mo. “This is Ensign Paul Bennett. And this is Lieutenant Commander Mo Middleton.”
“Pleased to meet you, Lieutenant Commander,” he said, still staring at Ann.
Mo mumbled a hello.
“I met Paul at the track this morning,” Ann said. “We, uh, bumped into each other when we were jogging.” They grinned at each other like idiots. “What did you think of the procession?” she asked him.
“Thought it was great! And guess what? Thompson and Finney went to this Military Academy!”
Mo dug her fingernails into her palms.
“I know Thompson,” Ann said breathlessly, placing her hand on her chest.
Bennett’s eyes widened. “Really?”
“Yeah, she used to be a pilot. Well, she still is, but only supply. We were in the same year and flew together for a while on the Falcon and 72.”
“Wow!”
“But that’s nothing compared to Mo, here. She—”
“Ann!” Mo barked.
“Uh, she knows her, too.”
“Oh,” Bennett said, barely glancing at Mo. “So you want to do something?”
“Sure! Uh . . .” Ann’s eyes slid to Mo.
“I’ll talk to you later.” Mo forced a smile. “Have fun.”
“Yeah,” Ann said, already walking away with Bennett.
As she wandered away, Mo wondered why she’d bothered saying anything; they wouldn’t have noticed if she’d left at the beginning of their conversation. What to do now? There was no point beeping Papa or Neil or anyone else in her family. With 553 still in effect, by the time they arranged to meet somewhere away from the estate and everyone managed to make it there, it would practically be time for them to leave. She wouldn’t be good company anyway. Might as well go back to her room.
When she reached the faculty residence, she slumped on the bench outside and thought about the procession. She’d been okay until the end. Up to that point, Les’s appearances on the screen had been frequent but brief—mainly shots of her marching next to Finney, and with all the flowers, sometimes all Mo had made out were their cloaks. But then the close-up of Les’s face as everyone sang the Song of Rymel, when Les had almost cried . . . She’d almost cried—cried!—in front of everyone. Yesterday Mo had been upset that Les had looked fine; now she was upset that Les obviously wasn’t fine.
Les’s struggle to maintain her composure had endeared her to those in the auditorium, who’d all moaned in sympathy, interpreting Les’s emotional display as evidence of her devotion to the Way and pride in a job well done. But Mo knew better. Les was devoted to the Way and would be pleased at how efficiently Interior had handled the Chosen Violation, but she would never cry or even come close to crying in front of a crowd. Yet she had!
Mo curled her hand around her comm unit. She wanted to beep Les so badly. Les’s distress may have had nothing to do with their separation—in a way, Mo hoped it didn’t. She’d hoped Les hadn’t moved on, but now she realized how selfish that was. She loved Les and wanted her to be happy. And she wanted to talk to her, and be with her, and have daughters with her. Argamon!
“Mo!” Ross called, coming up the path. Mo stood and started to salute, but Ross waved the gesture away. “I told you not to do that. I know I’m a commander now, but you don’t report to me and I hate ceremony unless it’s absolutely necessary. I’m not Commander Dunlop,” she said, referring to an uptight commander on the Falcon.
Mo dropped her hand. “Sorry.”
“Did you watch the procession?”
“Yeah, in one of the auditoriums.”
“I’m all keyed up after seeing it,” Ross said.
“Me too,” Mo said, knowing she sounded as keyed up as a sleeping baby. The Way had triumphed, a cause for celebration. Everyone would be out partying, as Ann and Bennett probably were. If Les hadn’t been at the centre of it all, Mo might not feel so deflated. She wouldn’t be as jubilant as everyone else, but maybe she would have beeped Papa or Neil. Maybe she would have tried.
Ross studied her. “With everything cancelled, I’m at a loose end. We added a new combat sim last week that’s rather challenging on the highest level. Want to give it a whirl?”
“You want to fly a sim with me?” Mo asked, surprised.
“We haven’t flown together for years. And I’ll admit that I do have an ulterior motive. I want to pick your brain about some new additions we’re considering to the curriculum. Though we might not be able to talk much while we’re flying. I wasn’t exaggerating when I said it’s a challenging sim. We can talk over supper afterward.” Ross started to stroll away and motioned for Mo to accompany her. “Come on.”
Mo followed her without argument. Ross had an ulterior motive all right, one that had nothing to do with the curriculum. It wasn’t what she’d said; it was what she hadn’t said about the procession, especially those in it. Mo was fortunate—she had people around her who cared. Did Les?
*****
Jayne stumbled into her apartment and made a beeline for the bathroom, tossing her sketchbook onto the sofa as she passed. She reached to open the medicine cabinet, then stopped and stared in dismay at her reflection in the mirror. Her chin, already throbbing, had turned an angry red. Good thing she wouldn’t be going out for a few days, not after what had just happened. Her hand shook as she drew a bottle of painkillers from the medicine cabinet, struggled to remove the cap, and tipped several pills into her hand.
After gulping down a couple with a glass of water, she returned to the living room and eyed the sketchbook. She’d been making real progress on capturing the detail in leaves, but the sketchbook would only remind her of an encounter she’d rather forget. Blinking back tears, she ripped it to shreds. The recycling chute in the apartment’s small kitchen sucked the pieces from her hands. Now she was down to one empty sketchbook. That new pair of shoes she was saving for would probably have to wait.
She sank onto the sofa in the living room with a sigh. How stupid to go outside, today of all days. She should have listened to her gut and stayed indoors. The Incident had created a different set of rules for her; pushing them was as risky as pushing the Law. Flaming military, swaggering around in their orange cloaks doing whatever they pleased.
No, she couldn’t blame them. Running into her during an execution procession for a Chosen Violation had been too appealing an opportunity for her tormentors to resist. Since she’d created the situation by leaving her apartment, she had only herself to blame. It had been her fault. It always was.
*****
Mo grabbed her comm unit from the night table and squinted at the time—09:27. She set it back down, rolled onto her side, and pulled the blanket over her head. The creaking floors and hurried footsteps in the corridor were getting to her. She should get up, but for what? When she’d beeped Papa last night, he’d said he’d be tied up in meetings all day, so their plans were still on hold. She could beep Kary, see if she wanted to meet for lunch or an early supper. But truth be told, Mo wasn’t in the mood to socialize.
Spending time with Ross had distracted her for a bit, but then she’d had plenty of time to brood on her own. And, oh yeah, to hear Les’s name dropped in every flaming conversation she happened to overhear. Yesterday had been one long reminder that she no longer shared Les’s special moments. What a day to remember for Les, but Mo hadn’t been a part of it; she hadn’t been there to cheer her on and to embrace her afterward and tell her how proud she was. No, she’d sat in an auditorium, like a stranger whose only connection to Les was a familiarity with her image on a screen. At least this time another woman hadn’t screeched Les’s name from the sidelines, but that would change. She and Les weren’t Chosens. They’d never be together again. This drudgery known as her life wasn’t a temporary state of being. She had years of this to look forward to, while pretending she cared about some woman she’d rather not meet in the first place.
Les was clearly on the way up. Her appearances on the monitors would only increase, especially since she apparently hadn’t given two thoughts about how Mo would feel about it. Mo pulled the blanket off her face and balled it in her hands. She’d hear about every one of Les’s career milestones and imagine the celebrations afterward, while her own milestones took place in obscurity. It wasn’t fair!
Not only that, she’d overestimated her importance to Les. Had she honestly believed that Les would pine for the rest of her life, instead of striving to honour the Tradition by embracing her Chosen and her family? This was Les, right? Les had almost cried at the procession because she was proud of her role in capturing the criminal. Argamon, next time they printed a new edition of What It Means to be Rymellan for the Indoctrination Academies, they should put Les’s image on the front cover! Yeah, Mo had been kidding herself all this time. Les would eventually view her as nothing more than a footnote, someone she’d bided her time with before Joining.
