2050: A Time of Courage

Chapter 15: Shemik

I stand with my back pressed against the brick wall of a building, shifting nervously from one foot to the other as I glance to the door.

It's nearly sunset, and this avenue in the midst of London is eerily silent.

I wish he would hurry. It feels as though I have already been standing here for hours, a throwing knife in one hand as I anticipate the arrival of an Inhumane.

Being out after dark terrifies me.

My gaze finds its way to the small glass box in front of the building, studying a multitude of newspapers housed inside. The date is visible on the front page of each paper, the words "November 13, 2048" staring back at me. The admiral's birthday was last week, I remember. He's forty-nine now, forty-four years older than me if I added correctly.

I wonder if I'll ever turn forty-nine.

My gaze returns to the sky, watching the sun disappearing in the distance as I wait patiently for the admiral to emerge from this building. Rose and Dimitri are probably beginning to worry by now, and if we aren't back at our living space in the next fifteen minutes Milena may decide to come looking for us.

I begin to pace, boots scarcely making a sound as they follow the same path over and over. It never takes this long to bargain at the market. I'm tempted to follow the admiral inside, but I'm the lookout for a reason. If someone or something poses a threat, I have to be ready to take care of it, warn the admiral, or both.

"Hello?"

I flinch, spinning around to face the speaker and tightening my grip on the knife in my hand.

I find myself face-to-face with a boy, his deep brown eyes meeting the blue of my own as he stares at me. There are flecks of gold in his gaze, I notice, and at first I can't make myself look away.

"Do you ... Do you have any money?" he speaks quietly, but I still notice the accent. Like me, he's not from England.

If I were to guess, I would say that he is Italian.

He's desperate, the look on his face and his apprehension at my answer tell me as much.

I'm the fifth person he's asked, and he can't bear the thought of sleeping on the street again.

"No." I say simply. I've never had money of my own, even when I lived in Poland.

The boy keeps staring. He's convinced himself I'm lying, that I'm somehow above him.

I can't help the scowl that comes across my face, can't restrain myself from snapping at him in a way that's rare for me.

"Why would I do that? If I had money, would I be standing outside of this market? No one comes here if they can avoid it. You have to be crazy to trade weapons for food, but here we are doing exactly that."

He opens his mouth, closes it.

"H-How did you-" he is struggling to find a way to ask his question.

He meets my stare again, a small smile crossing his face as he speaks.

"Did you just ... Can you see what I'm thinking? No, that can't be. ... Y-You have one too. A talent." he looks away, one hand going to his mouth as though he just said something he shouldn't have. He regrets it deeply, eyes on his shoes as he waits for my reaction.

I'm frozen in place, unable to move or to form the words that will send him on his way.

My head moves of its own accord, and I feel myself nodding.

"I read minds." I finally tell him, "That's my talent."

"I can understand any language." he looks around, as if he's making sure that no one else has entered earshot, "I can speak them all, too."