Simoom Rising

Chapter Thirteen

WAVE Orbiting Station
Now

HARMONY

The next morning, when the guards came to get me for interrogation, I refused to leave my cell. I hadn't slept good—my hip hurt. But more than that, I could feel Vestra struggling with something. She tossed and turned with it all night long. I stopped myself from reaching out with my mind to ask. I was afraid I had overwhelmed her. So I asked the guards for a doctor. I told them I was in terrible pain. It wasn't a lie.

The doctor took her time coming. So I sat in my cell and worried about what Vestra was worried about. She was anxious—our stomachs were upset—but about what, I don't know. Too many voices and feelings were bumping inside me. Travis, in his cell one floor below, was finally asleep. He had had a bad night—being locked up rips you up inside—and he's been in that cell for close to a year now. I try to keep my boy distracted when I can; we play word games mind to mind; tell jokes, I tell him stories. It's hard. He's depressed. Omari, four cells left of me, was pacing, waiting for the guards to take him to his interrogation room. He thinks the sec officers interrogating him are idiots, and really wants someone smart to talk to. And three cell blocks over, Mancy pokes at me constantly. I try to ignore him—and most times I'm able to block him out. But sometimes it's like he's roaring in my ear or has reached out his hands and shaken me. This morning, I can feel him in my bones like a shiver. He's in a nostalgic mood. Do you remember us Annie? What we felt like together?

"I do," I whispered. "Though I wish I didn't."

***

Pit District, Simoom
Two years ago

When Mancy got pissed off with Omari or Sharise, which was lots, he'd go to his shack above ground, and love-sick dolt that I was, I'd trail after him. We'd end up in bed, of course. I loved the feel of his long legs wrapped over mine. I liked the weight—liked how he held me to the thin mat he called his bed. All the time in the Pit, I felt like I was cracking into millions of pieces. I pictured me—my head, my body and everything else—crushed, turning into the dust and being sucked out through the rusted seal around the Plexiglas porthole in Mancy's shack. He had stuffed the holes with rags, but nothing could stop the dust from coming in and going out.

I never understood why Mancy didn't sleep in the bunker, away from a lot of the dust, like the rest of us on the council.

I hate hiding underground like a fucking mole. He told me once—his thought thrusting clear into me; it tasted sour.

I felt his sand-paper face on mine; both our heads were under the blankets—to keep out as much dust as we could. I smelled the rotgut on his breath.

Where'd you get the booze?

He chuckled. I've got my sources.

His hands found my breasts. I squirmed—on the edge between wanting to and not wanting to. I can't. I gotta go. I told Sharise I'd help her give out rations.

Shut up. He caged me with his body and his thoughts grew sweet on my tongue.

WAVE Orbiting Station
Now

DORIC

I woke up feeling crappy—like I had a hang-over—though I hadn't drunk that much at the Officers Club last night. My ear com on the bedside table buzzed loudly.

Grabbing it, I barked: "What?"

"Good morning to you too, Girlie."

I shook my head. "Sorry, what's up, Mac?"