The Reflective Dissent, page 6




“You're not speaking like a Three, Beth,” Jeb says softly.
The backs of her eyelids burn, her throat tightening further. “No,” she concedes in a whisper.
“Daughter,” Gunnar calls softly.
The emotion in his voice is insistent velvet against her, and Beth bites the inside of her cheek to rein in her chaotic emotions.
She slowly turns her face in his direction.
“What are these Threes like? What chances do we have against them?”
Beth grips the bars, her eyes scanning their surroundings more closely for a second time. She is so attuned to anything that holds reflective properties that sensing them is not uncommon. Her eyes sweep back to Gunnar.
“I—without anything to reflect from—I can't jump.” She indicates the floor beneath with a palm. “If this were true recycled material, there'd be a chance it would retain granite from its manufacture.”
“It doesn't have any because we need that stone for other stuff, like houses. Not cement. Wasteful,” Jacky sings in the background.
Beth's hands tighten on the bars. “Those small flakes are reflective.”
“What are we going to do?” Maddie asks quietly.
I'm not sure.
Beth switches to Three speech. “We'll see what they're going to do with us. With Ryan in the mix, anything can happen. He's an unpredictable male.”
“He's not a real Reflective. He's a dissenter,” Jeb growls from the floor.
“True, Merrick,” Slade agrees.
Gunnar waves their words away. “We already understand what Ryan is. I heard about the illegal games of Reflectives pitted against one another for blood sport.” His flat black gaze moves to Beth. “Let's come up with some kind of plan. Something for now.”
“The plan is, we kick these guysʼ asses and get the hell out of dodge.”
Beth almost smiles. Almost.
“We need to get out of here, that much is true. Then we need to jump to One and try to reacquire Rachett.”
Slade tilts his head, and a fine strand of ebony hair falls forward, gently curving around his jaw. “Beth, I told you—”
“—I don't care. Merrick and I can't leave him there. If Ratchett's dead, so be it, but the least we can do is exhaust that he might not be.”
“Dangerous,” Jacky comments in a bald voice, leaning against the bars, his arms folded.
Beth turns, her humor gone. “Yes. Everything we do is dangerous. It is our lives.”
“But not ours, Jasper. Me and Mad”—he jerks a thumb at Maddie— “we just want to stay here and figure it out. I mean, once we kick their asses.”
Thirteen cycles, Beth reminds herself.
“Jacky, you will never be safe here. Your parents and home are no more.” She plows forward, regardless of the numb expression overtaking his face. Some words must be said, no matter how horrible to utter. “Jeb and I—Reflective Merrick,” she pauses, dipping her chin. I will not hide. She scrapes the insides of herself for fortitude. Raising her eyes, she meets his. “We will do what we can to provide a home of some kind for you both on Papilio.”
“Pfft!” Jacky kicks a bar. “What Papilio? The effed mess of Reflective women whores and Reflectives that don't know how to put shit back together?”
“Jacky,” Maddie begins, “they're trying—”
“Nah. I get it, Mad.” Jacky's eyes stare at Beth, then move to Merrick as he cranes his neck backward to meet Jacky's infuriated gaze. “You guys are doing your best, but I'm thinking my best might be better. Maybe I just avoid all of ya, and then I won't be like—collateral damage or some shit.”
Beth blinks. She hates what the youngling says, but from his perspective, it might be very true. Maybe he and Maddie are safer without being around Reflectives.
Her eyes sweep the holding cells, finding no weakness in construction—nothing to jump from. Her attention shifts to a vaulted ceiling, all dulled metal. Open-ceiling rafters with pulse-on lighting in LED shine softly down at them. Enough for illumination but not enough to see very well by.
Who is she to say that they will protect him and Maddie when they're currently imprisoned by his own people?
“You're an ungrateful youngling,” Slade comments.
Jacky tilts his head back, his eyes like bright slivers of emeralds on Slade. “Yeah, you just figured that? Well, news flash, fangface, I dig Merrick and Jasper. I know a lot of shit that's come down isn't their fault. Those are the facts, man. But”—he points at Slade—“shit still came down, and we're covered in it.”
“Jacky's right,” Jeb concedes quietly.
Jacky chuckles. “Now I know crap's bad if Merrick agrees with anything I say.”
Jeb snorts. “Yes, now is definitely not the time for optimism.”
“This solves nothing. My kindred blood is held prisoner, and I can't defend her.” Gunnar wraps his strong hands around the bars, his naturally gray flesh bleeding to white from the tension. He and Maddie stare at each other.
Jacky mimes fangs with his fingers inside his open mouth. “And do some blood suck, huh?”
Gunnar glares at Jacky.
Maddie giggles, and Gunnar frowns.
“You Bloodling dudes are seriously without humor. Not a good trait.”
The door opens, and the group collectively stiffens, moving back to the center of their cells.
Jeb whistles in a frequency a Three couldn't detect; twenty-five thousand hertz.
Beth strides back to the part of her cell nearest him.
“Remember what I said. They expect less from you.” Using their native Latin is a risk. Jeb was beaten with the stock of a gun for speaking it before.
Of course, Ryan understands Latin perfectly, but he's not the man who walks through the door.
“Hello, folks.” He smiles, and Beth backs away from the bars, keeping her arms loose and at her sides.
A Three male, one of about forty-three cycles, strolls casually between the cells. He wears a white lab coat and stands nearly six feet. Beth hisses an inhale when she senses his IQ.
Jeb and she make eye contact. One hundred eighty. Scientist.
She smiles reassuringly at Jeb. This Three cannot fight. He doesn't carry himself as though he is familiar with his body's limitations. That gives the Reflectives an immediate advantage.
“I'm Carl Lindstrom, and I'm in charge of this study.”
“I'm an American. I have rights,” Jacky fires back.
Lindstrom gives Jacky his sharp attention. “Not here. You're under what our loophole-filled government coins as need.” With curved fingertips, he makes quotes around the last word.
“Bullshit. My parents and house are gone. I'm nothing special. I'm not needed for dick, Einstein.”
His face wrinkles in distaste. “You don't have paranormal talent. Yet.” He runs a finger down his pulse device. “Jackson Caldera.” Lindstrom lifts his face, smiling happily.
Jacky raises his middle finger. “Sit and spin, douche.”
“Ah yes, the poetry of our foul youth.” His eyes narrow on Jacky, who scowls defiantly back.
Lindstrom returns his attention to her and Jeb. “You've been sloppy, getting caught with your collective underwear down.” He makes a tsk-tsk noise. “Lance had mentioned that Reflective Merrick had some innate timepiece, and its function is some kind of biological directive to become aware of the perfect mate?” Lindstrom belly laughs, giving a small shake of his head. “As you might already be aware, I am a scientist, and as such, I hold little faith in anything that is not tangible. So without further ado, myself and Lance Ryan will begin the fun.” He rubs his hands together as though he's a caricature of an evil villain.
“What are you talking about?” Beth speaks for the first time.
“The experimentation, of course. We finally have the Bloodlings and Reflectives? Excellent.” His smile broadens. “If the males resist full cooperation with my tests, I will harm the women.”
“And you will die,” Slade states blandly, an unhealthy sheen coating his skin. At least his many bullet wounds have closed.
“With great slowness,” Gunnar adds.
Beth sighs. The Bloodlings are very focused but not always the best strategists when females are threatened.
“Very well,” Lindstrom replies. “I'm counting on that kind of intensity.” His eyes glitter mercilessly on Jeb.
“We begin with you.”
Beth grips the rails, pressing her face between the bars so tightly it stretches the skin of her face taut. “We have Directives of The Cause, Carl Lindstrom.”
He turns his head, inspecting her as though she were an interesting bug. “That may be. However, your code of ethics is not nearly as entertaining as seeing what kind of damage Reflective Merrick can heal. And that is only the proverbial tip of the learning iceberg.”
Beth stares at him for a full minute.
He finally drops his eyes, and Beth knows she'll break the sixth directive first:
Take life only in defense of another.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Merrick
A smugly repulsive Lance Ryan strolls in after the scientist's self-congratulatory spiel.
Jeb tenses.
There's nothing he can do short of sawing off his hands—for now. He stays where he lies.
Jeb's eyes slowly drift over his immediate surroundings for the hundredth time. There is not a flake of reflection, grain of sand—nothing. Every surface is dull and without shine. He's certain Beth has made the same perusal.
“Don't bother,” Ryan says in Three lingo with a dismissive sneer. “I have thoroughly vetted the area, and it's without reflection.”
Jeb lifts his head off the cell's quartz floor and watches Ryan's catlike walk as he moves with graceful purpose from one cell to the next.
His lips flatten as Ryan pauses in front of Maddie and Jacky's cell. Jacky slowly lifts his middle finger in a well-established Three gesture of crudity that Jeb recalls roughly means get fucked or something along those lines.
Ryan's laugh bursts from between his lips. “You're ballsy for a Three. You know I could crush you, yet you continue to defy at every turn.”
Jacky shrugs, raising his arm a bit higher while maintaining the stiff middle finger.
Ryan's attention shifts to Madeline, and she shrinks against the bars. “You didn't hurt me before,” she says in a subdued voice.
Gunnar growls, shaking the bars that hold him.
Ryan nods slowly. “That's true.” He shifts his gaze to Gunnar, bestowing a cruel smile on the Bloodling.
Maddie comes away from the bars, moving closer to Ryan. “Then let me and Jacky go. I don't want the others hurt, but...” Maddie bites her lip and doesn't continue.
Jeb shuts his eyes. He can almost predict, word for word, how the debauched Reflective will answer. And he does not disappoint.
“Somehow, you evaded our notice for the five years you were in Papilio.”
Jeb twists his aching neck around to watch the exchange. He can do nothing, yet he can't look away, can’t hide the scene unfolding from his sight.
“Do not touch her, hopper,” Gunnar warns. His voice is smooth. It would be difficult to hear the threat if one was not expressly listening for it.
Jeb always is.
Ryan's smile is tight. “Fuck off, as the Threes would say.”
“I will bleed you dry—again.” The sides of his lips twitch. “The only place you will hop will be inside your own grave.”
Ryan pivots, facing Gunnar.
The males regard each other, neither blinking.
“You are a great warrior on One. You might be again. If you play your cards right, Bloodling.”
Gunnar frowns.
Jeb scowls. This was not what he expected, and he quickly translates the Three slang: Gunnar must cooperate, and the potential for freedom awaits.
Ryan slowly turns to face Maddie again. “How?”
She swallows. “I saw what the Reflectives were doing to the women, and I didn't, I won't be used like that.” Her reply is more an evasion than answer.
Ryan stares at Maddie, the silence swelling until he bellows, “How?” The veins stand out on his forehead, pulsing with anger.
Maddie jumps, quickly shaking her head as she clasps her hands tightly together. “I'm not going to say.” Jacky stands, coming to her side. Though he offers no protection, he has a lion's heart.
Jeb's shoulders ease, his neck screaming for him to rest his head on the hard floor. That would have been terrible had Ryan gone to Beth's domicile and found Maddie sequestered.
“Fine. Avoid my question of your secret hiding place. But you will not go anywhere. You will answer my questions—and you will become my mate.”
The collective inhales, Jeb’s included, howl like wind in the room.
“She is my kindred blood, hopper.”
Ryan snaps his head in Gunnar's direction. His eyes are angry razors of azure hate. “Excellent. Let's duel. That's customary on One.” Ryan lifts a shoulder, bracing his arms together with his fingers curled around his massive biceps.
Gunnar gives a curt nod then adds, “Without reflection, hopper.”
“You may call me Ryan or Reflective. But hopper is a little... I don't know”—his eyebrows slowly rise—“like ringing the dinner bell for your own extermination.”
“He's not a bug, dickbag,” Jacky says, an eyebrow cocked.
Ryan whirls, his hand sliding between the bars and snatching Jacky's arm before two blinks of an eye.
Maddie lurches forward to help, and Beth screams the boy's name.
He yanks Jacky forward, Jacky's face smacking into the bars like tenderized meat.
Jeb hears the snap of bone and the youngling's bellow.
He can just make out Jacky's sag with his peripheral vision as the boy slides down the bars, and Maddie grabs him from behind.
Ryan makes an elaborate show of releasing him by throwing up his hands, and Jacky falls backward, moaning.
“Now that was satisfying,” Ryan says.
“You are without honor,” Slade remarks, looking from the boy to the Reflective with clear disgust.
“Sadly for you, yes. Now, let's move forward.”
“No!” Maddie cries from the ground where she holds Jacky. “You can't leave him like this. He'll die.”
Ryan appears to study the spot where a jagged bone juts out of Jacky’s upper arm. “He'll live. But I don't give a shit either way.” A flutter appears in his jaw. “I know that he needed to be taught a long-overdue lesson, and it worked beautifully. He's now in too much pain to be an irritant.”
“Been,” Jacky gasps, “holdinʼ out on ya”—he chokes, gritting his teeth—“dickhead.”
Jeb jerks his body further, trying in vain to see better.
“I hate you now,” Maddie admits in a voice gone low with hate. Her cheeks shine with tears. “You hurt the only family I've got left.”
Ryan smiles, ignoring Jacky. “I will be your family. No one else will matter once we're mated. Especially this sad excuse of a youngling.” His eyes slide to Gunnar. “Or a washed-up Bloodling.”
Gunnar's fingers curl the bar, and Jeb swears he can hear them creak from the pressure.
Jacky smiles, and Jeb's shock washes over him. Ryan would not wait until his timepiece disintegrated? He would take a young woman, barely more than a youngling, for a life partner just because he can? Of course, Ryan is capable of all things vile. That much is proven. Jeb knows through tough, recent experience that once a soul mate is located, one is helpless against the pull. Ryan would be a horrible mate to anyone. Possibly even his destined one.
“Scratch your ass, monkey boy,” Jacky says tersely, breathing through his pain and shattering Jeb's train of thought.
Jeb's jaw drops. What in Principle's name is he up to? Does Jacky want to suffer more abuse? Because he's damn sure Ryan will mete it.
For a moment, Ryan looks confused. Then, amazingly, he complies.
Jeb blinks, certain he's seeing a mirage. But no. Ryan reaches around and begins clawing at his right buttocks.
A laugh bursts out from someone, but Ryan doesn't notice. He's busy doing what Jacky said.
Amazing.
“Lift me up, Mad.”
Maddie jerks Jacky up by the armpits, and they heave backward together. The Three is small enough with the age regression that occurred that she doesn't have to work too much, but the boy seems to be breathing through his anguish.
Lindstrom apparently recovers from his shock and begins running to Ryan.
Jacky casts a sardonic glance toward the scientist, his lips twisting. “Trip over your own feet, Carl.”
Midstride, the scientist makes a deliberate twisting motion with one foot and belts forward, catching himself with his palms from a bruising landing at the last minute.
“Manipulator,” Maddie says quietly, almost to herself.
Jacky adjusts his position, his skin beginning to pale from shock. “Yup. I could feel the compulsion to tell these asshats what to do and bam—look at how good that shit turned out.”
Ryan's expression is pained. However, he keeps scratching.
Jeb's lips quirk.
Jacky snorts then groans. “This fucking hurts, but it's been great to see Ryan digging a hole to China through his pants. Nicccce.”
“Jacky.” Beth's voice reaches Jeb, and she flicks her eyes to him as their eyes meet then return to Jacky. “I know you're hurting, but can you, like, free us?”
Jacky stares at her, and Jeb holds his breath. Thirteen cycles is terribly immature to make tough decisions. Especially when the boy's personality is mixed into the equation—and the broken arm.
“Duh. I never wanted to not help out, I just don't want to hang with any of you danger magnets anymore. Shortens the lifespan.”
“Reflective Ryan,” Jacky smirks, obviously gaining control of his mischievous glee, “stop itching your ass and pulse all these cells open and free my friends.”
“No,” Ryan says, still working over his posterior, a scowl firmly affixed to his face.
Jacky's face screws up in a look of pinched concentration. “Do it.”
Ryan's face ripples in agony, and he slaps his hands over his head, obviously trying to shake off the compulsion. With jerky, robotic movements, he moves to the first cell that holds Jeb.