Prophet of the Badlands (The Awakened Book 1) (58 page)

At the far end of a long hallway, a right turn opened into a huge white-tiled room full of toilets separated by flimsy partitions. A bright orange plastic curtain blocked off the rear corner, near a metal bench and a row of small metal cubby holes with doors.

Anna stopped at the bench and let go of Althea’s arm. She pulled back the crinkling curtain to reveal a three-foot-wide clear cylinder connecting from the ceiling to a thick metal disc bedecked with blinking lights, small panels, and vent slats. One side of the tube had a narrow, curved hatch.

“I don’t like it here,” whined Althea.

“Oh, rubbish. Come on then, peel yourself out of those ‘orrible rags and let’s get you cleaned up. I bet you’re pretty under all that dirt.”

A place with no stink made Althea more aware she did. The lack of a bathtub made her suspicious, and she stood her ground. “No. I want to go home.”

The white-haired woman radiated a twinge of guilt, but kept it off her face. “Come on, mite. Don’t make this unpleasant. It’s for your own good. Those filthy things are not healthy.”

“I don’t get sick,” said Althea, with more petulance than she intended.

Overhead lights faltered, as if a decrepit bathroom in an abandoned power station wasn’t creepy enough when it was well-lit.

“Althea…” Anna reached for her.

“Okay!” She yelped and jumped back.

Anna took the battered tank top and skirt, pinching them with two fingers at arm’s length, and dropped them on the bench before prodding her towards the cylinder with cold fingertips to the back. Althea stepped up inside, whimpering.

The hatch closed in the tube behind her. To her left, a metal panel at chin level flashed with blinking lights. Althea glared at her naked reflection in the tube. This was new; since she’d made her skirt, no one who had kidnapped her had ever taken it before putting her in a cage. It felt a little too much like being put in a harem.

She liked these people even less.

Anna hovered at the gap in the curtain, tapping her foot expectantly. After five minutes of silence, Althea spun around wearing an expression midway between pleading and cross. “How long are you going to keep me in here?”

The woman gazed at the ceiling. “Oh, for fu―fudge’s sake. Haven’t you ever used an autoshower?”

Althea crossed her arms. “No.”

“Shall I assume you’ve not a clue what a bath is then?”

“I know what a bath is.” She pushed at the hatch, which didn’t budge. “This is a cage, not a bath.”

“Righto. Well, think of this as a bath while standing up. The machine does all the work; all you have to do is stand there. I’ll walk you through how to work the controls.”

“I don’t like this!” Althea banged on the door. “Karina washes my hair when I have bath. Let me out! I don’t want this bath.”

Anna showed no reaction to her tantrum aside from pointing at the control panel inside the tube behind her. After another minute of glaring, Althea pouted at the flashing symbols that turned her chest green with reflected light. Words blinked below each one, and an animated wheel in the corner formed a sliding scale from red to blue.

“Right then, hit the one labeled full wash, set the temp to preference and―”

Althea glanced back over her shoulder. “Will you just do it for me? I can’t read.”

“Oh, heavens.” Pixie sighed. “How am I supposed to do that?”

“We can both fit in here.”

“I’d recommend against that.” Archon’s voice echoed from out of sight by the door. “Having a shower with that one can be… uncomfortable.”

Pixie blushed. “I um… sometimes have a bad reaction to water.” With a weak smile, she made a little spark dance between her fingers.

“You’ve
no
idea.” Archon’s voice carried a hint of remembered pain.

“Oh.” Althea sulked at the panel.

“Touch your finger to the third square in the second row, temp looks fine. All you have to do is stand there and try to stay calm.”

“What will it do to me?”

Pixie grumbled. “Warm water, soap, hot air… Nothing bad.”

Althea did not sense any deceit, and poked the screen as instructed. She jumped when the disc under her feet rattled and whirred, making machine noises. A pronounced
click
came from the hatch, sounding much like a locking bolt. In a panic, she threw herself into the cylinder, slapping at it and screaming, “Let me out! You tricked me. It’s a cage.”

She continued wailing until warm water sprayed on her from above. Pixie leaned against a column in an attempt not to fall over from laughing at her reaction. Althea bristled at being mocked; it was not fair.

A metal ring slid down out of the ceiling inside the tube, spinning about and spraying her from all sides with cascading waves of hot water. She moved away from the edge as the rotating jets doused her from head to toe and then back up. Gagging and sputtering, she tried to find a way to turn where she didn’t feel as though she would drown.

Althea looked at the floor, watching dirt-smeared water swirl about, devoured by a small grating in front of her toes. She accepted that Pixie had not lied; this was only a strange kind of bath. Drops of water fell from her nose, offering the juvenile distraction of trying to adjust how she stood so they would fall right into the little square holes without touching the drain.

The machine came to life again, the ring spinning in the opposite direction and spraying her with white foam. Remembering Karina’s warning about soap, she closed her eyes and clung to the hand railing, waiting for it to end. After the suds, more warm water left her dripping. Her fingers tightened around the bar, hating every ounce of this thing that made her feel like an object being cleaned rather than a person. Her longing for the loving caress of Karina’s fingers through her hair leaked down her face. She much preferred it to the clinical automation of this tube. This machine was proof of the city’s evil; there was no love. No wonder everyone who lived here was so heartless.

Images filled her mind. The shower vanished and she stood in the farm fields of Querq, stomach-deep in tickling wheat, a short distance from Karina. Her sister’s gaze was downcast and her face joyless. Althea raised a hand and called to her, but got no reaction.

“Karina.” Althea screamed, finding an invisible wall in her way. “I’m alive.”

Karina stopped working and looked up, craning her head with a joyous glint in her eye as though she had heard something on the wind. Seeing nothing, her head pitched forward and tears came. The sight of her made Althea cry as well. Every ounce of emotion in her heart projected the desire to tell Karina she was okay and trying to get home. Her sister lifted her gaze to the clouds again, smiling through her sorrow. Karina dropped the farm tool and ran off. The field faded back to white-painted walls, and Althea found herself staring at droplets of water on the inside of the tube where she curled on the floor.

She stared at the ring as it came out of the ground on its way up into the roof. Fury welled within her, a nascent thing she had not often called upon. As cruel as these people were being to her, what they did to Karina brought rage. Archon was too powerful for her; sneaking away would be her only chance.

“Okay, it’s done. Let me out.” She stood, kicking the door, but Pixie had gone.

Scratching at the tube wall, she could find no way to open it. Before she could escalate to screaming and banging, the entire tube shuddered and whirred as mechanical things below her sent noise and vibration throughout. She spun about as the cylinder filled with hot fast-moving air, a tornado in a bottle.

When the torrent subsided, she was dry. Seconds later, the same
click
came from the door and it popped open. Althea leapt out of the thing before it could change its mind and close again, and ran to where she had left her things. Her clothes were gone, replaced by a plain white dress, an impractically small pair of pants, and two floppy strips of pink cloth set atop simple, white flat shoes. The agate pendant was all that remained of her old things. A shadow dwelled on the floor at the far side of the room; someone, probably Pixie, guarded the door. Althea held up the tiny pants, wondering who would bother with them. They were so small they offered neither warmth nor protection. She tossed them aside and chose the dress instead.

Althea pulled the garment on over her head, having seen Karina wear similar things all the time. The material stopped at her knees, and felt as soft as the nightgown. Running, climbing, and swimming would be harder, but possible. Wearing such a modern garment brought weight to the worry she would never see home again.

Head down, she trudged out into the hallway and found Pixie waiting. The woman sighed at her and shook her head, seized her by the wrist, and dragged her off at a brisk walk.

Althea kept up, alternating her gaze from the floor ahead of her to the woman at her right. “Why are you jealous?”

Pixie stopped. “What? Jealous? Of you?”

She nodded. “Yes. I can feel it.”

The woman glanced away and resumed walking. “You’re still small enough to have a decent life.”

Althea winced as the hand around her arm tightened. “Someone hurt you, but you’re not all bad; not like him.”

“You’ve no idea what my life’s been like, I―” The flat stare from Althea stopped her voice in her throat. “Oh, well. I suppose being kept as a slave in the Badlands is just as miserable. How could you even want to go back there?”

“Querq is big and safe. I’m not a slave there. I have a real family. I have to do chores and help and everything. They miss me.” Althea wiped a lone tear off her cheek. “Love is not where you are, but who you are with.”

Pixie stood for a moment in silence. Althea felt guilt, shame, anger, and despair swirling about in a tangle. Momentary hope faded as the woman discarded all the emotions other than annoyance and dragged her along, more brusquely this time.

Her hair brushed back straight, Althea padded without a sound into a cavernous room dominated by a long, silver table surrounded by chairs. Pixie’s fingers in her back nudged her forward, closer to Archon who sat at the far end, lit by the glow of a number of holographic screens behind him. The interior was somewhat posh, far removed from the crumbling decay outside. Some distance away from the table, a handful of young people sat at consoles, making little dots move around the floating slabs of light. Their space was dark, and their faces took on the color of whatever showed on their terminal.

“Well, well.” Archon looked her up and down, smiling. “That is quite a bit of an improvement. You’re rather pretty, actually.”

Pixie tugged at the dress, adjusting its fit. “She wouldn’t let me brush her hair, and she’s apparently petrified of socks.” She suppressed a giggle.

Althea winced at the pressing spots in her back as they guided her to a chair.

Archon chuckled at her lack of shoes. “Our stone-age darling will acclimate to the modern world soon enough. I would rather get her started on her training and education. Her primitivism is amusing in a quaint sort of way.”

“Well then, p’raps we should get ‘er some animal furs and a spear?” Pixie continued to giggle, and sat in the next chair. “It was hard enough getting her to use the shower. She can’t read. She even asked me how to free the little man from my NetMini.” Having lost the ability to speak due to her laughter, she held up the device, pointing at the head reading a news broadcast.

Althea glared, knowing Pixie mocked her. “Can I have my skirt back?” She looked at the woman, figuring her odds better.

“Sorry, luv. I tried to wash it, but it fell to bits.”

“But I made it…” She was not going to cry in front of them.

Archon rolled his eyes, blocking the gesture from her with his hand. “Truly a magnificent job you did. Eat.”

Another woman with skin the color of fresh snow and lemon-blonde hair down to her knees walked around and set a plastic plate in front of her. Althea gasped. The whole of the woman’s eyes were jet black and gleamed like gems. Clad in a tight leather skirt and sweater, both white, she carried the hint of familiarity, a presence exploding into recognition at the sound of a voice that came without moving lips.

“Hello, little one.” The placid calm of Aurora, the flesh-creature swept over her mind.

Althea leaned away, casting a wary look at the food. Three wooden sticks impaled chunks of meat coated in a brownish-red seasoning, next to a pile of rice.

“We tried to get something as familiar as possible to what you were used to.” Archon gestured at the plate. “Teriyaki chicken. It’s better than desert lizard, rat, or whatever the devil else you eat out there.”

Althea sniffed the offering. In her current mood, hunger was a distant thought, but the smell of food that had not been in the trash for days coaxed it out. She took a handful of rice and stuffed it into her mouth, losing a fair amount in the process.

Archon looked amused, but she felt his disdain. Pixie thought it cute. Aurora circled the table and sat, putting her feet up. Apparently, she disliked shoes, too.

He watched her eat with her hands, shaking his head. “The cretins have done some damage; you have a lot of work ahead of you. Althea, you are very special. It is an honor to have you here.”