The Bleeding Crowd (2 page)

The knock at the door made her jump, but she
grabbed her keycard and stuck it in her back pocket, leaving the
rest of her things behind in the room. The two couriers who
collected Dahlia smiled and made polite conversation. She did her
best to smile back and pretend her stomach wasn’t trying to worm
its way out of her body. Apparently, she managed to do a pretty
good job of it or the couriers were just used to vaguely nervous
women, because they didn’t seem to notice.

Though all the villas were beautiful, filled
with marble and art from the newest artists, the government
pavilion was something else. Like most of the town, it was
primarily classical with a bit of romanticism thrown in just for
good measure. It would be far too masculine to have just straight
lines and columns.

Invisible speakers pumped light instrumental
music into the hallways, making echoing steps on the marble sound
less menacing.

They let her off on the third floor, nodded
to an older woman in the hallway, one of the county magistrates
based on the indigo she was wearing, and pressed the button to go
down.

She didn’t move toward the woman.

“Dahlia.” The magistrate smiled. “You must be
excited.”

She pressed her lips together before talking.
“In all honestly, no, ma’am, I’m not.”

“Nervous then?” the magistrate asked, not
waiting for an answer. “Don’t let yourself get worked up. There’s
nothing to it.”

Giving her a quick smile, Dahlia let the
woman lead her into a side room just off the third floor hallway.
The room didn’t appear to be anything special, just another oak
door like any of the others on the hall. Inside, it was small. Just
big enough for three to four people. Maybe five if you were really
comfortable with each other.

The magistrate motioned her to a small
loveseat against the wall across from a window that didn’t seem to
look onto anything, leaving just a large black rectangle cut in the
wall. She waited until Dahlia had taken a seat before opening a
control pad hidden by the right armrest.

“When I leave the room, the light will lower
here and other lights will turn on in the room behind the window.
You don’t have to worry. It’s a one-way mirror so they won’t be
able to see you. The pad will have their stats, all you have to do
is click the one you want, and then you’re done.”

Dahlia offered a terse smile, eliciting an
annoyingly understanding smile from the magistrate.

“Take your time.”

The door closed before Dahlia’s leg started
tapping nervously. She had never been able to control it. Whenever
she got nervous, her leg would start up. It gave her away to just
about anyone who knew her. She crossed her legs at the knee,
consciously taking a deep breath and wrapping her hands around her
knee to stop it from shaking.

The light slowly dimmed until it was just
high enough to keep the room from being pitch black. Behind the
window, the light clicked on, not a gradual lightening like normal,
but a harsh light flicking on before her eyes could adjust. A line
of five people—five
men—
filed in and the pad on the armrest
lit up. Five ovals took form:

1. Peter. Age: 16. Height: 160cm

2. John. Age: 27. Height: 179cm

3. Simon. Age: 19. Height: 192cm

4. David. Age: 30. Height: 174cm

5. Benjamin. Age: 24. Height: 184cm

Dahlia studied the names for a long moment,
looking in between the pad and the window at the men, a number on
the glass glowed in front of each man, just so there was no
confusion about which man was which. The shortest, youngest man
looked terrified. The third in line looked happy. However, the rest
of them looked rather uninterested. She threw out the two who
looked too involved and studied the last three. Finally, she sighed
and just went for the closest in age. It was as good a criterion as
any. She pressed five and the light turned off. Her stomach
flipped, feeling as if she had just compromised some moral value
she couldn’t identify. Like when she was in school and didn’t
correct her teacher for not marking a question wrong.

Maybe that wasn’t a moral value. She didn’t
often consider herself plagued with overreaching morals.

The lights in her room slowly rose to full
power again and the magistrate opened the door.

* * * *

Dahlia somehow sat through the rest of the
drawn out ceremony without rolling her eyes, fidgeting much, or
even running out the door as soon as they said she was free to
go.

She opened the small metal fence to her villa
and moved into the courtyard, smiling at the service workers who
were once again trying to figure out exactly why the fountain
wasn’t running. As long as she had lived in the villa, that
fountain had never worked for more than a week at a time. There
wasn’t even any water in it now. Too much standing water was a
health hazard. Last thing they needed was some pandemic to break
out. Or for her to get sick for that matter.

Still, they never stopped trying to make it
work. It was sort of a comforting constant.

She pressed her keycard to her door and it
slid open. The lights came on automatically. The man started,
spinning around from where he was at the desk.

Dahlia frowned, pushing the button for the
door to shut it behind her before looking at him again. “Should I
even ask what you’re doing?”

He looked at her and then glanced back at the
desk.

She waited another moment. “Do you speak
English?”

He twisted to face her. “Of course I speak
English. What else does anyone speak around here?”

“I’m sorry.” She held her hands up before
catching herself and crossing her arms. She didn’t need to
apologize to him. “I didn’t know, so I thought I’d ask. Again,
since you obviously understand me, what do you think you’re
doing?”

He paused for a long moment, studying her,
before pointing to the landscape over her desk. “I was just looking
at the picture you have on the wall. I didn’t have anything else to
do while I was waiting.”

“I didn’t think it was that interesting.” She
glanced at the picture, then back at the man.

“We don’t have much art where I’m from, if
you can imagine.” He met her eyes.

She studied him. “I didn’t know you all could
appreciate art.”

“We aren’t monkeys,” he said. “Even if we
were
on a lower mental level than you, as your lot seems to
think, even Neanderthals could appreciate art. I’d like to think
we’re at
least
on the same level as them.”

“Neanderthals?” Dahlia frowned.

“Primitive man,” he said.

“Primitive woman, you mean?”

“Or primitive man,” he returned.

She blinked once, looked him over, making
sure her face was unreadable.

He waited for a long moment. Neither spoke.
He finally released a breath. “Do you want me to know your name,
or...?”

She waited for him to lead off before
choosing to speak. “Dahlia.”

“Pretty,” he said in a way that Dahlia
couldn’t quite tell if it was meant to be sarcastic or not. “I’m
Ben, by the way, if you care.”

“Benjamin.” Dahlia nodded. “I saw.”

“Ben,” he repeated with a little more
emphasis.

She didn’t argue, moving to her closet and
undoing her braid absentmindedly. “How long is this supposed to
take?”

“What?” Ben raised an eyebrow.

“All this.” She waved her hand, motioning at
him dismissively. “I’m trying to figure out how much longer I have
to pretend to be awake. Really, I’m ready to just get in bed and
catch up on some TV. But no, I’m twenty now, I have to deal with
this crap.”

He smiled. “So this is your first
rotation?”

Dahlia stiffened. “What’s it to you?”

He shrugged, looking her over. “You’re a
doctor?”

Dahlia’s eyebrows furrowed slightly before
she coached her expression back to unreadable. “What?”

“That’s what your clothes color coding means,
right?” Ben motioned at her shirt. “Green means doctor?”

“Oh.” Dahlia looked at her shirt and the
tension in her voice lowered. “Yeah. Yes. Yes, I am. I deal mostly
with homeopathics.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Homeo-what now?”

“Homeopathics,” she repeated. “Herbal
remedies, noninvasive healing...”

“Ah,” Ben said. “Witch doctor shit.”

Dahlia paused and crossed her arms. “Medicine
that works even without cutting people open. I don’t know what
‘witch doctors’ you’re familiar with, but—”

“Meant no offence.” The corners of Ben’s
mouth twitched as though he was fighting down a smile.

She studied him, face stony. “Right.”

Ben stared right back, watching as she pulled
her shirt over her head and tossed it into a chute. “So...”

She glanced at him, “So?”

He hooked his thumbs into his waistband and
shrugged, “So, you want me on the bed then, or what?”

“Why would I want that?”

“Didn’t they explain the mechanics to you?”
Ben smirked before obviously thinking better of it.

“No, I get the mechanics, thank you,” Dahlia
said. “I just don’t want you here at all, so why would I want you
on my bed?”

Ben sighed. “Please don’t tell me you’re one
of the devoutly misanthropic.”

Dahlia raised her eyebrows. “Big word.”

“I’m male, not mentally retarded,” he
said.

Dahlia looked back at her closet. “And here I
thought they were synonymous.”

Ben crossed his arms. “You’re a bit of a
bitch, you know that?”

She turned her head to the side. “You really
think pissing me off is the best option you have right now?”

“What are you going to do? Beat me? Because
I’m pretty sure I could take it... and the whole thing would be
detrimental to your whole ‘women as peacemakers’ image. They would
have to kick you out of the club.”

“I would never beat someone.” Dahlia frowned.
“I don’t know how you settle your differences with people, but we
don’t use corporal punishment here.”

He scoffed. “Right. Well, it’s probably for
the best. I’ve got about half a foot on you anyway.”

She glanced at his feet, and then back up to
his face. “What?”

“Oh right, you’re metric,” he said, slowing
the words down and over-enunciating. “It’s probably for the best.
I’ve got about fifteen centimeters on you.”

“Ten.” She shook her head, ignoring his
condescension. “Exactly ten from your stats.”

He waved his hand as if dismissing the entire
argument.

She glanced down again for a second before
her curiosity got the best of her. “What were you saying? Half a
foot?”

“It’s a measurement,” he said.

“You measure things with your feet?”

“No.” He sighed. “Well, originally it was
based on feet, but it was a standardized unit of measurement before
you all took power.”

She continued to look at him, holding her
nightshirt without trying to change any further.

“Aren’t you taught any history before
2200?”

“Most classes are before 22:00.” Dahlia
studied him, puzzled. “I don’t know any that late, actually.”

“No.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Not
the time. The year 2200.”

“The year 2200 hasn’t happened yet.”

He released a slow breath. “On the old
calendar.”

She frowned. “You mean pro pacis? There’s not
a whole lot to study there. We focus on O.S.V.”

“I’ve never understood your calendar.” Ben
shook his head. “You kept the months and then just made the year
start in March. Does that make sense?”

She looked at him for a long time and then
undid her jeans and stepped out of them. “So, once again, how much
longer would this thing generally take? I’ve had a long day.”

“How long for what?”

“This thing.”

“For me?” He smiled

She undid her bra and pulled her nightshirt
on. “Have I hit on some strange machismo thing?”

He shrugged. “You don’t know how long ‘this
thing’ should take?”

“Well, I know how long it would take with
just me,” she said. “I’ve never had to factor in another
person.”

He smiled to himself. “Ah, so you don’t need
me here at all.”

“I’ve been trying to explain that to people
all week,” Dahlia said, moving to the end of the bed and sitting
with her legs under her.

Ben nodded, not saying anything.

Dahlia released a breath, staring back at the
man and feeling awkward. He was attractive, she supposed, not that
she had a lot of experience in judging male attractiveness. He
looked symmetrical and square jawed with all his limbs. She didn’t
know what else she was really supposed to be looking for in an
“attractive” man. His hair, recently cut, seemed to be somewhere
between light brown and dark blonde. Someone probably groomed the
men before sending them over. It was hard to believe they would
keep themselves looking like that by their own means.

“Didn’t get to study me long enough behind
your mirror-window?” Ben crossed his arms

“Hmm?” She emerged from her thoughts.

“Generally, you guys get all your
scrutinizing out before you get in the same room with us.”

“I was distracted,” Dahlia said.

He snorted. “Now that’s something you
generally don’t hear.”

She continued staring at him.

He sighed. “What?”

“You look very...” She fumbled for the word.
“Clean.”

His eyebrows furrowed. “Thank you?”

“I suppose I just expected something more...”
She paused again. “Primal, I suppose would be the word.”

“We don’t spend our time rolling around in
mud, if that’s what you thought,” he responded.

“Are the clothes new?”

“What?”

“The shirt at least.” Dahlia motioned with
her chin. “The pants look older.”

“How could you possibly know that?”

“The dye isn’t faded.”

He just looked at her.

She felt her face redden, fought it with
every rational bone in her being. She would not let him make her
feel embarrassed. “I’m a doctor. I’m paid to pick up on little
things.”