The Day Earth Died

17. Loverboy's Honesty

The next morning, our dorm accommodated a new occupant. Cygne's brother, Neith.

I sat cross-legged on the cold floor as we played a simple card game before breakfast. Cygne, on my right, nestled her face in her hands, stomach down, feet dangling up. Amell, across me, was seated just like I was. Neith, facing Cygne, rose a knee up and tucked the other leg under, letting his upper body tilt forward for balance and his arm rest on his knee. As we took turns playing, Neith decided the moment was best to discuss our childhood:

"I never thought I'd meet you again, Mal. It's so good to see you."

"Likewise." I curtly smiled. Being nice was probably the best way to avoid making someone else cry. Up people are sensitive, they have all their lives to think about their feelings, I belittled, convinced I had them all figured out.

Neith laughed heartily. He grinned.

"Are you trying to spare my feelings here? I am well aware you don't remember me, nor in any way wish you would. I appreciate the concern though."

"Neith, don't start..." Cygne pleaded.

"I won't. So, how's Elizabeth?"

Dead.

"Good. She's good."

"Why would you lie about that?" he asked, almost offended by my answer.

What does he mean? Does he know? Is he just playing with me? Or purposely getting on my nerves because I made his sister cry? I looked at Cygne. She didn't seem much happy with his behaviour. No, that's not it. I can see it in his eyes that he doesn't know as much as I do.

"What? I'm not."

"You are."

"I am not."

"You—"

"I won!" Amell declared and Cygne clapped, both obviously trying to get us to stop quarrelling.

I shot a glare at Neith—I didn't like him talking about mum as if he knew better than I did. He ignored me and patted Amell's shoulder with a: "Well played, pal." Then, an alarm went off, officially marking the beginning of breakfast.

∗ ∗ ∗

"This is stupid," I bleated with a glower.

"Shh, it's art," Amell replied, already an ardent enthusiast of theatre after the first half of a line.

After working our shift cleaning the breakfast dishes, we had decided to check out the auditorium. On a scene, two performers drew swords at each other while reciting some odd, remarkably hard-to-understand dialogue. At least a hundred seats were placed in rows in the dark room dedicated to these types of performances. Over us, perched on an open loge, governors watched the performance.

"Ridiculous," I grumbled.

Apparently, the, expectedly, rewarding part of this trip was the broad entertainment accessibility. Like plays from the Old World, which an awful lot of high-class officers seemed to be aware of. Seems the people are the only ones missing a briefing on (what used to be) our planet's history.

Cygne, who sat next to Amell, enjoyed theatre just as much as the latter. Neith sat too far for me to see him, not that I wanted to. Subtlety, I glanced up to the lodge and examined the scene. Governor Yin and his sons weren't there. Only 3 governors attended the play. And I didn't know any of them. I excused myself, scooted out of the row and dashed out the front doors. The corridor I arrived in was empty—its lights delightfully subdued and its velvety carpet gliding against my boots as I walked.

I propped my back into the nearest corner and took a smartphone out of my pocket. It was a gift from Noel. It contained "everything one needs to know about the governors and their relatives," or so she claimed. I scrolled through it and was able to identify the governors present at the performance. Governor Pagé, governor Vargas and governor Wester. I brought the phone to my ear and listened to it read the first file out to me, seriously considering learning to read.

"Mireille Pagé.
Descendant of the French people.
Representative of Old World's Europe.
34 years old, no offspring, unmarried.
Historian."

That's it? Helpful much. At least I had managed to get a good look at her in the auditorium. She was the closest to the railing, nearly leaning on it. Theatre didn't seem to leave her cold at all. Even from afar, I felt how august her present was. And it was all too noticeable that Vargas paid no attention to the play at all. He observed Pagé as she slowly brushed her fingers through her flat chestnut hair, immersed in the performance. I swiped on the screen of the phone to listen to governor Vargas' file.

"Dion Vargas.
Descendant of the Costa Rican people.
Representative of Old World's Central America.
28 years old, no known offspring, unmarried.
Martial artist."

A martial artist, huh? I was still unsure about what "had to be done" as Noel said. I wanted to kill them, to slice their throats open, to trample on their skull and feel it crush under my boot, sure. But was it fair? Who truly deserved it? Everyone? No one? Had they all participated equally in mass murder? Did some disagree? Maybe now wasn't the time to think about fairness. Maybe just finishing them all off was the right thing to do. It probably was. No more people like them, that should be what Noel wanted. But even so, they were too shielded for someone like me to decimate all of them one by one. Had it been only for me, I would have let myself die off somewhere. Now I was entrusted with this ridiculous task of saving everyone and—

"Spying on governors now, are we?" Neith asked, coming out of the auditorium.

I sprang up, startled. I inhaled deeply to recover from the surprise and collected myself.

"No," I said.

"You really are lying to me again," he grumbled, inching closer and closer to me until I was trapped in the corner.

"What do you want, Neith? I don't even know you." Neith set his hands on the wall, on both sides of my head, and towered over me.

"But I know you."

"Listen, I don't know what your deal is, talking about my mum and watching over me like it's any of your business, but I don't want to fight with you. If this is about me making your sister cry, I—"

"Why do you pretend your mom's not sick?"

"What?" I tugged at the hem of my shirt, eyes bored into his.

"Her legs. What she had was degenerative, I'm certain. Can she still walk without any support?"

"Why do you even care?"

"Because I like you, Malory, a lot. You were my reason to be when we moved, and later the reason I wanted to make the world a better place, a fair place." He smiled.

What world? It's no more, I felt like bellowing at him.

"I don't need any of this right now," I said, pushing and struggling to escape the corner.

"I knew you'd react that way. I just wanted to let you know as soon as possible, in case you suddenly vanished from my life again."

I glared at him, waiting to be released. Neith laughed—an honest laugh—and poked my cheek softly with his index, amused.

"You're loved, you cynical thing," he said and went back inside, leaving me there, irritated.

Liking me? Loving me? No way. We're in the aftermath of world destruction that almost no one knows of, love is a liability—any type of affection is a liability. If Neith knew he had lost everything, would he still find this former liking for me relevant?

I shivered the whole thing off, ready to pretend it never occurred. Though it did remind me of something. I was watched here. Every hour, every minute, every second. On a wall, across the corridor, a few meters away from me, was a camera. And a bit further, another one. They were camouflaged as lights but Noel had shown me which type of "lights" were recording me. Being filmed wasn't an issue—it actually could be an alibi to some extent—as long as no suspicious behaviours were detected. And what I was about to do now was most likely questionable, more questionable than just scrolling on a smartphone and listening to text-to-speech quiet enough for cameras to not pick it up.