Lifer
Beck Nicholas
Chapter
One
[Asher]
I
mark my body for Samuai.
My
right hand is steady as I press the slim needle into my skin. It
glints under the soft overhead light of the storage locker, the only
place to hide on Starship Pelican. Row upon row of shelving fills the
room. Back here I’m hidden from the door.
It’s
been seventeen days since Samuai passed. Seventeen days of neutral
expressions and stinging eyes, waiting for the chance to be alone and
pay my respects to the dead Official boy in true Lifer fashion. With
blood.
The
body of the needle is wrapped in thread I stole from my spare
uniform. The blue thread acts as the ink reservoir. It’s soaked
with a dye I made from crushed feed pellets and argobenzene,
both swiped from farm level. The pungent fumes sting my eyes and make
it even harder to keep the tears at bay. But I will. There will be no
disrespect in this marking.
My
slipper drops to the floor with the softest of thuds as I shake my
foot. I raise it to rest on a cold metal shelf. Samuai always held my
hand when we met in secret, but I can’t bear to examine those
memories now. The pain of him being gone is still so fresh.
The
first break of skin at my ankle hurts a little. Not much, since the
needle is nano-designed for single molecule sharpness, and it’s not
as though I haven’t done this before. Recently. The tattoo for my
brother circles my ankle, completed days ago, a match for the one for
my father. My memorial for Samuai had to wait for privacy. The blue
spreads out into my skin like liquid on a cloth. The dot is tiny. I
add another and another, each time accepting the momentary pain as a
tribute to Samuai. Soon I’ve finished the first swirling line.
“Are
you mourning my brother or yours?”
My
hand jerks at the familiar voice, driving the needle deep into the
delicate skin over my Achilles. Davyd’s voice. How did he get in
here so quietly? I wince, clamping down on a cry of pain. No tears
though. Nothing will make me disrespect Samuai. I remove the needle
from my flesh and school my features into a neutral expression before
I turn and stand to attention.
“Davyd,”
I say by way of greeting. Despite my preparation my throat thickens.
My
response to him is stupid because he looks nothing like Samuai. Where
Samuai radiated warmth from his spiky dark hair hinting of honey and
his deep, golden brown eyes, there is only ice in his brother.
Ice-chiseled cheekbones, tousled blond hair, the slight cleft in his
chin, and his gray eyes. Eyes that see far too much.
But
he’s dressed like Samuai used to dress. The same white t-shirt and
black pants. It’s the uniform of Officials, or Fishies, as they’re
known below. He’s a little broader in the shoulders than his older
brother was—to even think of Samuai in the past tense is agony—and
he’s not quite as tall. I only have to look up a little to meet his
gaze. I do so without speaking.
I
shouldn’t be here, but I’m not going to start apologizing for
where I am or his reference to my forbidden relationship with his
brother, until I know what he wants.
“Is
that supposed to happen?” He points at my foot, where blood drips,
forming a tiny puddle on the hard, shiny floor.
His
face is expressionless, as usual, but I can hear the conceit in his
voice. I can imagine what the son of a Fishie thinks of our Lifer
traditions.
Today,
I don’t care. Even if his scorn makes my stomach tighten and cheeks
flame, I won’t
care. Not about anything Davyd has to say.
“It’s
none of your business.”
One
fine brow arches. Superior, knowing.
He
doesn’t have to say the words. The awareness of just how wrong I am
zaps between us. Given our relative stations on this journey—he’s
destined to be a Fishie in charge of managing the ship’s
population, and me to serve my inherited sentence—whatever I do is
his business, if he chooses to make it so. He’s in authority even
though we’re almost the same age.
In
order to gain permission to breed, Lifers allowed the injection of
nanobots into their children. These prototype bots in our cells give
our masters the power to switch us off using a special Remote Device
until our sentence is served. At any time we can be shut down. I’m
not sure how exactly, only that each of us has a unique code and the
device can turn those particular bots against us. It’s an unseen
but constant threat.
I
keep my face blank and my posture subservient, but my fingers tighten
around the needle in my hand. How I long to slap the smooth skin of
his cheek.
For
a second, neither of us speaks.
“Your
brother or mine?” he asks again. Softly this time. So low, the
question is almost intimate in the dim light.
I
inhale deeply, welcoming the harsh fumes from my makeshift ink. The
burning in my lungs gives me a focus so the ever-present emotional
pain can’t cripple me. My brother and my boyfriend were taken on
the same day, and I’m unable to properly mourn either thanks to the
demands of servitude.
I
can’t let it cripple me. Not if I want to find out what really
happened to Zed and Samuai.
“Does
it matter?” I ask. Rather than refuse him again, I twist the
question around. He would never admit to having interest in the
goings-on of a mere Lifer.
“No.”
His voice is hard. Uncaring. He folds his arms. “But it’s against
ship law to deface property.”
It
takes a heartbeat, and then I realize I’m
the property he’s talking about. My toes curl because my fists
can’t. I see from the flick of his eyes to my feet that he’s
noticed. Of course he has. There’s nothing Davyd doesn’t notice.
It’s
true though. The marks we Lifers make on our bodies are not formally
allowed. It is a price we pay for the agreement signed in DNA by our
parents and our grandparents. They agreed to a lifetime of servitude,
and their sentence is passed down through the generations for the
chance at a new life on a new planet. I am the last in the chain, and
my sentence will continue for twelve years after landing.
We
Lifers belong to those above us, body and soul, but no Fishie or
Naut—the astronauts who pilot the ship—has ever tried to stop the
ritual. In return we are not blatant. We mark feet, torsos, and
thighs. Places hidden by our plain blue clothing.
If
the son of the head Fishie reports me, it will go on my record no
matter how minor the charge, and possibly add months to my sentence.
A sentence I serve for my grandparents’ crimes back on Earth after
the Upheaval. Like others, their crime was no more than refusal to
hand over their vehicle and property when both were declared a
government resource.
I
swallow convulsively.
I
don’t want that kind of notice. Not when we’re expected to land
in my lifetime. Not when I hoped to find answers to the questions
that haunt me.
The
first lesson a Lifer child learns is control around their superiors.
I won’t allow mine to fail me now.
“Did
you want something? Sir?”
If
there’s a faint pause before the honorific, well, I’m only human.
He
lets it pass. “The Lady requires extra help at this time. You have
been recommended.”
“Me?”
His
lips twist. “I was equally surprised. Attend her now.”
The
Lady is the wife of the senior Official on board the Pelican, and
both Samuai and Davyd’s mother. She’s a mysterious figure who is
never seen in the shared area of the ship. I imagine she’s hurting
for her dead child. Sympathy stirs within me. I’ve seen the strain
my own mother tries to hide since Zed died, and I don’t think
having a higher rank would make the burden any easier to bear.
It’s
within Davyd’s scope as both Fishie-in-training and son of the
ship’s Lady to be the one to inform me of my new placement, but I
can’t help looking for something deeper in his words. There should
be a kinship between us, having both lost a brother so recently, but
Samuai’s death hasn’t affected Davyd at all.
“Who
recommended me?”
He
shrugs. “Now. Lifer.”
I
nod and move to tidy up, ignoring the persistent pain in my ankle
where the needle went too deep. My defiance only stretches so far.
Not acting on a direct request would be stupidity. I will finish my
memorial for Samuai, but not with his brother waiting. It’s typical
that Davyd doesn’t use my name. I can’t remember him or his
Fishie friends ever doing so.
It
was something that stood out about Samuai from when we were
youngsters and met in the training room. It was the only place on the
ship us Lifers are close to equal. I was paired to fight with him to
first blood, and he shocked me by asking my name. “Asher,” Samuai
had repeated, like he tasted something sweet on his tongue, “I like
it.”
In
my heart there’s an echo of the warmth I felt that day, but the
memory hurts. It hurts that I’ll never see him again, that he’ll
never live out the dreams we shared in our secret meetings. Dreams of
a shared future and changes to a system that makes Lifers less than
human.
When
I’ve gathered the small inkpot and put on my slippers, I notice a
smear of blood on the slipper material from where I slipped earlier.
It’s the opportunity I need to let my change in status be known
below.
“Umm.”
I clear my throat. Please
let the stories I’ve heard of the Lady be true.
“What?”
asks Davyd from where he waits by the door, presumably to escort me
to his mother. The intensity of his gaze makes me quake inside. It’s
all I can do not to lift my hand to check my top is correctly
buttoned and my hair hasn’t grown beyond the fuzz a Lifer is
allowed.
“My
foot attire isn’t suitable to serve the Lady.” I point to the
faint smudge of brown seeping into my footwear. It is said by those
cleaners who are permitted into the Fishie sleeping quarters that the
Lady insists her apartment be kept spotless. She’s unlikely to be
pleased with me reporting for duty in bloodstained slippers.
Davyd’s
jaw tenses. Maybe I’ve pushed him too far with this delay. I hold
my breath.
But
then his annoyance is gone and his face is the usual smooth mask.
“Change. I will be waiting at the lift between the training hall
and study rooms.”
He
doesn’t need to tell me to hurry.
He
opens the door leading out into the hallway and I expect him to
stride through and not look back. Again he surprises me. He turns.
His face is in shadow. The brighter light behind him shines on his
tousled blond hair, which gives him a hint of the angelic.
“Assuming
it’s my brother you’re mourning,” his voice is deep and for the
first time there’s a slight melting of the ice. “You should know.
… He wasn’t worth your pain.”
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