Page 4 of Origin (Deridia #13)

She wouldn’t sit with him at supper.

She’d told him that beforehand, all sheepish looks and promises that it was for his benefit, and he’d understand soon enough.

He’d argued. Perhaps he should care more about what the others thought, but at the moment he hadn’t room for one more worry.

“Make room,” she told him when he’d complained, with brow furrowed and nothing resembling an appetite. She’d even nudged him with her shoulder, trying to force some levity into her admonition. “They won’t like you any better for taking up with me.”

“So?”

She huffed. “It might not matter to you now, but it will. You’ve got to find your place here. You’re strong. People will respect you. They’ll respect you less if they see you with me.”

He wanted to know why. Wanted her to better explain why she seemed to be treated with something near to contempt. Or perhaps it was mistrust.

A spy, she’d said. A snitch.

But she wouldn’t budge. And he worried if she pushed too hard, she would want nothing else to do with him, so he’d nodded and opened the door.

They weren’t late, she’d assured him. They ate in shifts. Turnover happened quickly, so hopefully he didn’t mind a few crumbs left on the tables when he took his turn.

Was he supposed to mind?

The tables were arranged in long rows. The seats were not assigned, but also... were. He couldn’t quite make sense of her point. Something about habits and routines, and it was best try not to throw off anyone’s, even by accident.

Which meant knowing them. Which he didn’t.

Women seemed to congregate together toward the back. Hana wasn’t with them. She was situated closest to the door, with the benches empty a good four-shoulder widths.

A few guards moved about the edges of the room before coming to stand behind Hana.

He was in the mess line, too far to hear what they said to her. She turned her head and offered her smiles, just as she’d done to him. But he liked to think these were more strained, especially as the conversation went on longer.

The other inmates kept their attention carefully away from them. He was likely meant to do the same.

“Next!” The voice was impatient, so he must have missed the first few attempts to grab his attention. He would have missed that one too if he hadn’t been nudged a little too hard by the one behind him.

“Some of us worked today,” came a mutter.

Ellion turned.

Hana had said something about confrontations. Avoiding them was best. Then she’d said something about how he could handle himself better than she could, so maybe they wouldn’t be so bad for him.

Then corrected herself.

“No. Best avoid them. But don’t look too passive, either, or they’ll walk all over you.”

“Right,” he’d answered, trying to keep some of the sarcasm from his voice. “Avoid any scuffles, but don’t be passive about it, and certainly don’t get knocked in the head or else the rest of my memory will fall out.”

It earned a chuckle from her, although his frustration was perfectly sincere. “Precisely.”

Ellion looked at the mutterer. He’d obviously haphazardly washed, his hair still damp, his eyes darting about now that he was under scrutiny. Young. Too young.

Ellion took a step and was met with a flinch.

But he’d moved slightly to the side rather than toward him. “Go ahead,” Ellion instructed.

The younger man—boy?—looked as if Ellion had a third eye, but scurried past and did as he was told.

“You going to let me go, too?” A woman this time. Tired and worn, eyeing Ellion up and down. Something in him said to let her, but he thought of Hana and her rules. Not that she called them that. Friendly suggestions would be more her way of thinking.

“Not today,” Ellion shook his head, trying to be polite, yet firm.

She snorted.

But he kept the line moving and tried to keep his eyes from Hana. The crew that had subdued him onboard the ship had not been gentle. Would they hurt her? She had said little about the guards other than to do as they said and don’t fight back. Or fight at all. She’d been very clear on that point.

He wasn’t even aware of what was on his tray until he’d come to the end of the line. He couldn’t say he recognised any of it. It was food—the sound of scraping plates and muffled chewing throughout the hall made that clear enough. But if it was like any dishes he’d known before, or something alien and strange, grown in this new world, he couldn’t begin to say.

He glanced at the spot Hana had told him to sit. Quiet. The men there seemed more intent on eating than bothering one another. There was plenty of space for him to sit on the bench without bumping elbows.

A few of the guards went on another loop about the room, but two remained near Hana. She was back at her meal. Head down. Troubling no one.

She knew better than he did.

She’d lived here longer. Had a wealth of experience he lacked.

He should go sit down.

“Move along,” came a robotic sound in his ear. He jumped at it, fighting down the urge to forget his tray and rub at the offending sound.

There was a guard nodding at him, palps fluttering and the noises it made not at all like the ones echoing in his own ear.

An implant?

“Find a seat or I will find one for you.”

Ellion nodded, more than certain the offer was not generously given.

He moved back toward the door. Watched Hana’s head pop up as he took a seat. Not across from her. There was plenty of space between them. The man he sat beside took one last bite of his tray before grunting and moving off to deposit it back with the kitchen staff.

“What are you doing?” Hana hissed, eyeing the rest of the table. “What is the point of my advice if you will not take it?”

He picked up the lone utensil and pushed the food about. Most of it was lacking in texture. It puddled. Did he like puddled food? He took a scoop of something green and brought it to his lips. Wondered at it. Slightly bitter. Slightly unpleasant.

“Not true,” Ellion argued without turning his head. “I took it. I’m not with you. Near, I’ll grant you.”

He was rewarded with a glare from Hana and surreptitious looks from the remaining men at the table. He nodded to them, bringing his utensil back to the greyish puddle and allowing a diminutive amount to apply itself.

Less bitter, but bland. Thicker too, which was not necessarily an improvement.

“That,” she began, her voice louder than she’d meant it, because she glanced around sharply before turning her ire to her plate. Took a deep breath. Then another. “That’s not the same, and you know it.” She said the words quietly. So quietly he had to squint at her lips to understand them at all, but they cut more deeply than he realised.

This was backfiring. Horribly.

He could fix it. Pick up his tray and head back to where she’d instructed. He hadn’t intended to make her feel dismissed. To ignore her advice. But he could make his own choices, surely?

He cast a quick glance at the guard hovering over her shoulder.

Or maybe not.

He didn’t know what to make of this place. Not yet. A prison, she’d said. Or not quite. They were prisoners. Before. Were they still? Or were they something else? Their sentence was much the same. This was their home, and the people surrounding them were not friends and comrades. Every stare was prickly. Everyone was on edge. The tension in the room was so thick, even in his addled state, he could sense it.

Or maybe it was all in his own head. Projecting. What was really just between Hana and... him.

The guard moved off.

Her shoulders relaxed, if only marginally. He couldn’t help but notice that her rations were different. He’d no idea if they were better, but each portion didn’t puddle. She merely picked at it, although for each third pass with her utensil around each item, she forced a bite.

“I’m sorry,” Ellion settled on at last. Another of their neighbours had finished, and he wondered just how long they had before they’d be expected to move along.

“You can’t think you know better,” she muttered, finally raising her eyes to look at him. “I’m trying to look out for you.”

He wished he was sitting next to her, so her whisper was not such a strain to understand. That he could murmur his responses. To explain himself properly. To give more than a mouthed apology and a shrug of his shoulders when she was clearly upset with him.

“I don’t,” he assured her, letting his eyes flicker to meet hers. “I just... needed to be here.”

It was a simple truth, but real all the same. He wanted to be better. Not just in his head, but in his behaviour. But he... wasn’t.

Something in her softened as she regarded him, slipping peeks in his direction in between bites of her meal.

His appetite would return, surely. Likely tonight when he tried to sleep, his stomach would remember what it was to be empty and he would regret the meagre attempts he’d made at his tray. But for now, each bite was a chore, the flavours doing nothing to recommend the puddles.

Another inmate left the table. Then another.

He resisted the urge to shift further down toward Hana, but he could not pretend he wasn’t relieved at a bit more privacy.

He wanted to ask why her food was different, but he held back his curiosity. “Is this the usual fare?” he asked, picking up the edge of his tray and leaning it slightly in her direction so she might see better. “Is it good?”

She snorted a laugh, shaking her head. “You can decide that for yourself by eating properly,” she insisted, nodding toward him. “They keep track of the ones that don’t finish,” she explained as gently as she could. “You’re expected to maintain good health.”

He hummed, making a greater effort to actually finish one of the puddles. “I would venture to say it is not good,” he decided.

Another smirk. “Tell that to the hands that grew it.” A sharp look upward. “Or don’t, actually. I was only kidding.”

“Couldn’t tell,” he teased. “I might have roamed these aisles insulting everyone I could.”

She sat up a little straighter, which rather defeated the purpose of appearing as if they were not in conversation, most especially when she turned her head to look at him fully. “I wasn’t insulting you,” she insisted, her eyes wide and earnest. “I didn’t think... you aren’t stupid. I just want you to know that I know that.”

Her cheeks were flushed, and she quickly ducked her head again.

He might be, for all he knew. Utterly lacking in all intelligence.

But it warmed him to think that while he might doubt himself, she didn’t. At least, not in that regard.

“And I wasn’t ignoring your advice by sitting here,” he insisted. Because this was important. “I value your help. Truly. Maybe more than I should.”

His words pleased her. And he could only truly tell by how much she tried to hide it.

And failed miserably.

“There’s nothing wrong with wanting a friend,” Hana assured him. Eyes warm. Smile nervous. “Keeping one is harder.” Her eyes darted away. Her shoulders fell.

She looked so alone, even amid all those people.

A sound, shrill and short, cut through the murmuring of the room.

“Warning bell,” Hana explained, nodding to his plate. “Finish up. Next shift will be here soon.”

Flavour and texture mattered little when bites were large and little care was taken—or even necessary—for chewing. Spoon and swallow. Repeat until the food itself had been reduced to streaks across the tray, mingling into even more unappealing colours.

Hana rose first, and she did not even glance at him as she passed him to return her tray. But he followed anyway. Dropped it off. Gave a nod to the workers in the back just as she had done.

It was a small accomplishment, but one that pleased him more than was reasonable. She wasn’t angry with him any longer. He’d eaten. There was no brawl.

The first of the suns was setting. A blessing for his head, to be sure. He did not have to squint so hard.

Which only made it easier to see the guard coming toward him.

Do as he was told. But what about the rest of it? Should he lower his head? Keep it high? He hadn’t thought to ask after those particulars. He took a breath. Marginally lowered his head and kept an even pace. It would order him to stop, surely. Movement suggested purpose. Loitering was a problem.

Which he wasn’t. Or at least, didn’t want to be.

And of course, that meant he was focused ahead rather than behind. So the shoulder that knocked against his was unexpected, staggering him slightly.

Which meant going into the path of the guard.

Who swivelled its body, black eyes focused entirely on Ellion. “Are you incapable of maintaining balance? Or do you wish to instigate a confrontation?”

The voice in his ear was just as disconcerting as it had been the first time. A rumble, a vibration. Unnatural.

The guard took another step forward, and he was half-aware of the chuckling of whoever had knocked him.

“Definitely not a confrontation,” Ellion assured him, easing his hands outward to show he meant no harm. “The balance part I’ll work on.”

A strange clicking that the translator couldn’t spit into his ear. Its palps flared, and its abdomen opened just enough for two much smaller appendages to slip free. So pale they were nearly translucent as they fluttered.

“Are you attempting to initiate sarcasm?” the guard pressed, holding its club a little more firmly.

Instinct told Ellion to hold his ground. To hold eye contact until the other backed down.

But a guard wouldn’t do that, surely. It would simply bludgeon him.

To death?

Would that be so bad?

It was a dark, morbid thought. A flash of something unwelcome—that curdled in his stomach and sent a clammy feeling across his skin.

He hadn’t been, but now the urge was suddenly there. To toss back in his most biting tone that he was attempting to go to his bunk, so if the other might be the one to step aside so he could return to his business, that would be much appreciated.

He could almost feel the club against his cheekbone. The sudden impact, the bloom of paint that radiated from cracked bone.

But the guard hadn’t moved.

Hadn’t struck him. Yet.

So what did that mean? That Ellion’s imagination was vivid, or that he’d experienced such pain before?

He had little time to think about it, not when the guard seemed to make up his mind that he didn’t need an answer after all.

Ellion took a hasty step backward, his eyes catching Hana’s some fifty paces away.

She was watching them both with wide eyes, and she was doing little to conceal her concern for their altercation.

He didn’t want her involved.

The thought was fervent, pressing against the rest of everything else. Drowning it out. Pushing aside thought of pride or whatever instincts proved antagonistic.

“It won’t happen again,” Ellion offered with a bowed head and a hand to his chest. The movements were slow and stilted, but he hoped they were genuine enough to diffuse the situation.

A cuff.

Not enough to shatter bone, but enough to tell him just how strong these creatures were, if that gesture was given with restraint.

“See that it doesn’t.”

The guard moved on.

Hana stood frozen for another moment, and he rubbed at the back of his head where the guard clipped him.

There were too many milling about. She wouldn’t come close. Or if it she did, she’d prattle on about keeping her distance for his own good, and then want to know every bit of what he’d done to provoke an interaction when she’d specifically told him not to.

Maybe it was for the best she stayed where she was.

The thought was not a gentle one, tinged with bitterness that was most decidedly misplaced.

He took a breath. Then another.

Made his hand lower. No blood. He was fine.

Saw her waffling, wanting to come closer. Not daring to actually do it.

He decided for her. He didn’t go to her. Didn’t bother. Just shrugged his shoulders and mouthed he was fine, and watched her try to believe him.

Others were filing into their dorms. Perhaps there was some form of recreation Hana hadn’t mentioned to him. Something to pass the time.

To keep sane.

He’d investigate it later.

For now, he followed the rest into the dorms. Most on the ground floor, he recognised, fewer making the turn up to the second with him.

Which was just fine.

People were talking down below. The voices mingling into a low rumble that crept up through the floorboards. He sat down on his bed with a sigh, rubbing at his head and wishing there was quiet. Or better still, that he was outside. Alone.

Or not alone. If the not-alone was named Hana.

He groaned. Kicked off his boots.

Then remembered it would be a sorry day come morning if he had no boots at all.

He opened the trunk. Tucked his boots inside. Locked it all up and hid the key back beneath his sleeve.

It was too warm to venture beneath the bedding. Too close and stifling.

He wasn’t going back out. He wasn’t. Because his boots were off, and if he just stayed still long enough, exhaustion would take hold and he’d sleep.

Which was what he needed most. He kept pushing down the aches that plagued him. He needed rest for tomorrow. Work would start. Day shift. Hana didn’t know his assignment, so she couldn’t prepare him for the many roles that made up the camp, but presumably it would be hard work. He looked at his hands again. What did they know how to do?

Fight.

He closed his eyes. Did that make him bad? He’d injured someone. Who was trying to rob him, yes, but he hadn’t needed thought. Intention.

His body knew what to do, even if his mind was locked away.

Another breath. He focused on the tension in his mouth. His eyes. Forced the muscles to relax. Then his shoulders. His hands.

He could do this. Would do this. He would adapt. Adjust.

So what if he had no memories to fill the empty spaces in his head? It’s not like they would help much here, regardless. Perhaps it was even a benefit. No family to mourn, no memories of other prisons to plague his sleep.

No knowledge of what crime he’d committed to earn him a lifetime of labour.

It was an advantage.

Another breath.

Footsteps came as others made it to their bunks. A few voices. Laughter.

Then quiet.

The second sun had set while he wasn’t paying attention. The windows were shuttered, and it was so black it was almost frightening.

Then the heavy footfalls that scraped against the wood, not at all like the boots he’d heard before. A guard then.

He waited for light, for a steady beam of blue-white to settle over him as they performed their checks, but there was nothing. Just the pacing down the floor. Over to the other side. Back. Down the stairs.

Could they see in the dark?

He turned to his side, settling his back against the firm wall of the cupboard.

Started back at the top. Mouth. Eyes. Hands.

By the time he reached his legs, he was asleep.

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