Page 5 of Origin (Deridia #13)

He expected to wake up to a shrill alarm. Maybe even the butt of a guard’s club, accusing him of oversleeping.

“Ellion,” a voice hissed in his ear.

Not pushing at him. Not touching at all. But leaning over him.

His eyes flew open, and he shoved backward, and despite his harried state, he caught sight of enough of her to keep from lashing out—verbally or otherwise.

“Hana?” he grumbled, rubbing at his face and trying to make sense of her presence. “Am I dreaming?” That was it. Had to be.

“Why would you be dreaming about me?” she asked, a hint of impatience in her voice.

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “What are you doing here, then?”

She huffed out a breath, and he expected her to step back into the hall between beds, but she didn’t. “Nobody got me up my first morning,” she explained, her voice a whisper, but perfectly audible in the quiet of the room. “I missed breakfast. Almost missed work, except a guard came. That’s not what I want for you.”

He sat up. Evidently sleep had not fixed all his ails. His head still throbbed, his shoulder ached. But... he knew her.

Remembered her.

The relief nearly crushed him.

He wouldn’t start each day over, lost and confused. He could build on this. Could learn and understand.

His excitement nearly had him reaching for her, but he remembered himself before he could do more than get to the edge of his cupboard.

“I remember you,” he murmured, just low enough for her to hear.

She stared at him for a moment, then her smile broke out. “That’s wonderful,” she encouraged, even going so far as to reach out and pat his shoulder. “I’m happy for you.”

Which might have sounded patronising by anyone else, but she made it seem genuine.

“Come on,” Hana urged, when he seemed ready to focus on her actual purpose. “Get your stuff.” She nodded to his trunk and then slipped out again.

Would she wait for him? Talk with him again? Probably not. She’d accomplished her goal. He was up. He would eat and wash and be ready to work.

Which was fine. Had to be fine.

He opened the trunk and took the time to actually peruse his belongings. He recognised some of it. Others he didn’t. There was a pack that seemed to be for his personal care, so he took that. Decided against changing into fresh clothes—better to leave those for after a workday.

She wasn’t directly outside the dormitory, but she wasn’t far from it, either.

“You waiting on me?” he asked, ensuring there was enough warmth in his tone so she couldn’t mistake it for a chastisement.

“Course not,” she disagreed. “Just enjoying a morning constitutional.”

He turned his head, not knowing in the least what she’d just said. “A what?”

She glanced up at the morning sky—just the first hint of the second sun coming over the horizon. Cool. A hint of mist about the edges of the world. One might even mistake it for pretty.

“You know, a morning walk. When it’s quiet, and the day is new and it’s...” she glanced at him, then ducked her head.

“Go on,” he urged when it became clear she’d embarrassed herself and didn’t intend to finish.

“It’s nice,” she finished, shrugging her shoulders.

“I’m surprised the guards allow it,” he admitted.

She hummed a little. “There’s more freedom than you think. They watch us. Get us to where we’re required to go. Remind us we’re not just colonists in those adverts. You’ll get the hang of it soon enough. Find little moments when you feel normal.”

He wanted that to be true. Badly. “At the moment, I’m more interested in knowing what these are for.” He held up the pouch and watched her eyes light up. A helper. That’s what she was. Thrived on it.

“Oh. Right. They won’t look familiar, will they? Did you have an ortho-brite at home? I did.” A wistful sort of sigh. “I miss it.” Home, or that other thing she mentioned?

It cost him something to let her take the pouch from him, to open it and pull out the curious object in question. Some instinct that said not to trust her. To hoard his things and not let them be taken so easily.

“Oral health is important,” Hana continued, holding up one of the objects from the bag. “Not mechanical, unfortunately. Start with this, then...” she rifled through the bag some more. “Hold one of these in your mouth until it dissolves. Spic and span.” She put everything back in the bag and held it out to him. “Got it?”

No. “Yes,” he agreed, because he liked the way her eyes lit up when she’d managed to teach him something.

“Well, off you go. Got a full...” she squinted up at the suns, and how that gave her any sense of time at all, he couldn’t say. “Quarter-hour to yourself.”

“Generous,” he mumbled, and she gave a great show of looking hurt. But her eyes twinkled, and it set him at ease.

“Hey, you’d still be sleeping, if not for me. You get what you get.”

He snorted, shaking his head. “Then you have my thanks.” He didn’t look back as he made his way into the wash-house. But he wanted to.

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Turned out he’d retained more of her instructions than he thought. She might have warned him about just how those little pellets might taste, and just how odd a sensation when they dissolved in his mouth and filled it with an acrid sort of fluid. It took everything in him not to spit it back into the sink.

He’d expected open rows, but there were more cupboards—these with full doors. No locks, so he kept to the ones already opened lest he intrude by accident. That was a confrontation that would surely end in blows, and rightfully so.

A sink. Some sort of shower he couldn’t begin to imagine how to turn on, but he could hear water running plainly from next door, so he was confident they were functional.

That was an adventure for later.

For now, he settled on a quick wash of as much skin as he dared uncover at once, making full use of the sink.

Which meant dripping. He should have brought a cloth so he could mop it up, but whatever stone was used to fashion the floor and sink absorbed it quickly.

Puddles were reserved for mess trays, then.

His mouth was decidedly fresher than it had been, and he went to the building beside to use the lavatory. Then back to his bunk to stow away his hygiene products.

By the time he’d finished, there was a stream of people entering the mess hall, and he followed, telling himself not to look for her. To consider sitting where she’d instructed the day before.

There were more people in the hall than before. Perhaps it took longer to eat, or simply there was a quicker overlap between shifts. The line was nearly to the door, and it took him an awkward moment of holding it open before he could enter far enough for it to close behind him.

It didn’t last long, a burst of brisk morning air flooding in as another came. And another.

And really, there was nowhere else to look, so that made it all right.

Except her spot was empty.

And she wasn’t in line. Did they only share the supper shift?

A breath. Another. And he was grateful for the open door, because it was far warmer than he was used to with so many bodies pressed close together.

He turned his attention to the line. He would be prompt. Wouldn’t grow distracted and overwhelmed and forget his task.

He wanted no enemies here, and keeping hungry people from their food was probably the best way to go about earning some.

Ellion tried to pay more attention. The metal tray in his hand was smooth and cool beneath his fingers. The line of food was set on tables, the contents doled out by inmates rather than guards. Which meant kitchen work was a possibility. Did he know how to cook? Hana had mentioned grown food. Farming, then. Not everything was a matter of standing in front of a replicator.

He paused, his breath short in his throat. He’d done that, hadn’t he? The concept was there, real and... not a memory. Not quite. But he knew replicators existed. That he’d had one. Or... used one. And that’s more than he’d had even the day before.

Some of the line tried to wheedle with the servers. More portions of that. They’d taken less of the other, see? So it was fair. Come on, they knew it was better. Just this once.

A guard would pass and the whispers would stop, and the portion was just the same as all the others.

“Thank you,” he murmured to each, earning a few looks. Even a scowl.

“That won’t get you any second scoops,” the man behind him commented with a snort.

He would not argue about it, but he continued as he went down the line. Five sections. Until the tray itself was... not exactly full, but all the contents were leeching together, so it might as well have been.

“Doesn’t hurt to be polite,” Ellion commented at the end.

The man shook his head. Older. Skin deeply tanned from the suns. “Newbies.”

He reached out to take something from Ellion’s tray, but he pivoted sharply. “Polite,” Ellion reiterated. “Not stupid.”

A flash of teeth, more snarl than smile, but he muttered something close to a relent before he moved off to his not-assigned seat.

Which meant Ellion needing to finish with the line. Make a choice.

The grumbling caught his attention first. It was an indistinct murmur at first, then a few curses more loudly given.

The spitting, he did not expect.

Nor did he think he’d see Hana—not in the line, but coming out from a door to the kitchen, her tray in hand.

Not like the others. He’d known that. Seen it the night before.

But she’d already been seated by the time he’d entered, so he’d missed... all of this. Shouldn’t they be used to it by now? It couldn’t possibly cause such a ruckus every time she sat to take her meal.

She kept her head down. Shoulders slightly hunched. There was no smile peeking at the corner of her lips, no wistful looks as she took in her surroundings.

This was endured. However often, known only to her, and those determined to abuse her.

She didn’t want him near her. Because of this. Wanted him on the other side of the hall, where he could eat quietly, could earn the silent respect of his peers. Build a comfortable life for himself while she...

The people quieted as the guards made another loop about the room. They sat. Started to eat. Time was short, and they couldn’t waste it by hassling her for too long.

He was a newbie. Didn’t know how... any world worked, let alone this one.

Was he supposed to care?

Probably.

He walked.

Sat.

Not to the side this time.

Directly across from her.

And when her head popped up, it wasn’t in welcome, but he’d expected that. “Ellion,” she murmured, eyes darting about.

“Explain my meal, please,” Ellion insisted, lest she feel the need to give one of her lectures again.

His choice did not go unnoticed. The whispers about him made that more than clear. His senses were high, waiting for any to approach, but he tried to keep his expression gentle as he pushed his tray slightly forward.

Distracting her.

She swallowed. Finally, looked down where he was directing her. “Dip that,” she pointed, didn’t touch. “Into the gravy. Those are chunks of meat, usually spiced and ground. We don’t keep our own herds, so it’s part of the drop-offs.” She glanced around, still nervous. Tense.

Waiting.

“They’re talking about it, though. For... expansion. We’re supposed to be self-sufficient by the end of the decade.”

He hummed. Brought the tray back toward him. Began to eat. It was better than the night before. More flavour. Or at least, different.

“How’s yours?” Ellion asked, nodding to her portion. Did she have to work also? Or was her place to stay here, mingling amongst the population, doing the guards’ bidding?

“Fine,” Hana muttered, picking at it. Took a breath. “I don’t think you know what you’re doing,” she complained.

“What I want,” Ellion answered. His tone was firm. Sure. He might not fully grasp the consequences, but it did not change that he’d rather make his way here, however pleased him best.

Which meant sitting here.

With her.

Deciding that he preferred breakfast to supper if they were always going to be like this. That he liked the flakiness of the bread. Liked how it mopped up the gravy, negating the need for the utensil at all. Even the water was fortified with something sweet on his tongue. The aftertaste wasn’t quite as nice, but he liked the initial taste.

“But—” she started, and it was rude to interject. Even he knew that. But she was going to keep worrying about this. That much was plain to see.

“Hana,” he started, taking a breath and hoping for patience he didn’t think he possessed. “I want to eat my breakfast. I want to do it in this seat. And if anything, I’d like to hear about the different jobs I might be collected for as soon as my food is gone.”

She opened her mouth. Closed it again.

“Fine,” she repeated, although she was sitting a little straighter, and didn’t look quite so fearful. Which was something. “There’s the farming level. Hard work. Your back will be sore, and you won’t be able to bend your fingers afterward unless you’re used to that sort of labour. No tractors. No bots. Just men and women with a couple of trowels.”

She was annoyed with him. Or worried. He couldn’t quite make out the difference. There was a bite to her words, and she was spitting out the words rather than glowing with her opportunity to teach him.

“Not your favourite position, I take it.”

Her mouth twisted. She ate another bite. “It’s good work. Honest. You get to be outside, which sound nice until it’s summer, and the heat is blistering and you remember it’s even hotter in the bunks because you’re on the second level.”

“Is it summer now?”

That gave her pause, and some of the ire seeped out of her. Her shoulders weren’t as taut, her mouth wasn’t set into a firm line of annoyance. “Just ended,” she answered, not nearly as curt. “Count yourself lucky.” She glanced at him. Then looked sorry, because she seemed to remember the rest of it, and no, he wasn’t. Not at all.

“Oh, I will,” Ellion agreed, and it was his turn to give a smile. A little cheeky, and it made her roll her eyes, but more of her annoyance seeped out and he counted it a win, no matter how small. “Luckiest man here, I reckon.”

Her mouth twitched.

“You say that, and then they’ll put you on plumbing. Get to muck out the latrines when the pipes don’t work for the second time in a week.” He took another sip of his drink. Savoured the first flavour. Grimaced at the end.

“Then it sounds as if you could use new plumbers.”

Her attention drifted, presumably to the people in question, but they seemed far enough away for her to be satisfied not to chide him for his quip.

“There are worse assignments,” Hana hedged, although there was a glimmer in her eye that said in other circumstances she would have laughed. “You get to keep close. If... if you like being here, that is.”

He tilted his head. Tried to figure out why she looked flustered about it. “Do you?”

Hana hid behind her cup, shrugging her shoulders. “It’s enough.” She paused. Peeked at him. “Skills are rewarded here.”

He swallowed back his grimace. “Wish I had some, then.”

“Ellion,” Hana sighed, her hand sliding across the table before she seemed to realise what she was doing. She jerked it back, tucking her hands in her lap instead. “I’m sure you do. And they’ll know your... limitations. Or even better, they’ll know your records. Maybe it’ll all come back as you get going.”

“Yeah,” he agreed, with no conviction. “Maybe.”

Her smile was sympathetic, which only made his stomach tighten oddly. And he stared at her a little too long, because she flushed and tucked her hair behind her ear. She opened her mouth, and he waited to hear more of the many jobs that made up the works here, but the shriek of the warning bell cut her off.

The guards left their posts at the perimeter of the room and began moving through the room, nudging a select few with the ends of their weapons.

They came for him soon enough, and he moved with the nudge, saving himself a bruise in the process. “Outside for assignment,” the instructions buzzed in his ear, and he fought down the wince. He’d grow used to it. Eventually.

He nodded, because the guard was waiting for an acknowledgement. He glanced at Hana as he moved off, picking out the next inmate. “Leave the tray? Or head out?”

She nodded downward. “Tray. But be quick about it.”

He did as she said, passing his tray to the kitchen staff, and briefly wondered if he’d soon be amongst them. But he wouldn’t dally. Wanted to prove he could listen.

Not to the guards, although that should matter to him.

But to Hana.

Who looked up at him from her seat, and whispered a, “Good luck,” as he passed.

As if luck had decided his new role. Luck, which had brought him here, had made his pod malfunction.

He pointed to his chest as he ducked out the door and found her still watching. “Luckiest man,” he mouthed back.

Hana rolled her eyes.

But she chuckled as she waved him off.

And that was far more satisfying than it should have been.

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