Caged

6 - Complications

After escaping the groaning other Members asking how we got out, grasping into space to try to find us, Atlas and I are taken into a building through the back entrance.  Two workers in all black besides a streak of green in their hair walk one in front of us, one behind us.

We snake through unfamiliar halls and doorways that lead to different passages.  I begin to feel dizzy and wonder how these workers can possibly navigate their way through this place without using a map.

“You were really smart back there,” I say suddenly, surprising myself.

Atlas smiles crookedly, not in a mischievous way, but coyly.  “Thanks.  You were very cooperative.”

When we walk into a heavily secured room, I expect to see the two others who have successfully escaped the vinare.  Instead I find a lavish brown desk, one you’d find in an old picture book from centuries ago.  It has intricate carvings in its wood and neatly stacked papers and books with cream-colored pages on its smooth surface.  Behind the desk is a chair spun so the sitter isn’t facing us.

The room smells faintly of lavender and peonies, and the flowers are arranged together in a crystal vase on the desk.  The scent reminds me of the time I went to Hearted with my family to visit an old relative I’d never met.  Peonies thrived in the sunny weather, while in Ecritica, they wouldn’t stand a chance.  The rosy smell wafting around me makes me feel far from home.

My jaw drops when the chair spins.  The soft face and gray hair I’ve seen on the wall of every classroom, the pages of history books, on the TV when there’s important news to be shared.  Mr. Medium, the ruler of Regere.

“Good morning,” Medium says, his voice full of unexpected warmth.  If I didn’t know any better, I’d peg him as a cheery old man who spends his days tending to his garden and spoiling his grandchildren.  “Do take a seat.”

I hadn’t noticed there are two metal chairs in front of the desk, and Atlas and I slide into them quickly.  My arms and legs ache from being squeezed so tight, so I don’t have the energy to try to be stubborn, nor the will.  This is Medium, not just some Green worker.  I can’t take my slight anger over the awkward situation I just experienced out on him of all people.  I have to take a couple deep breaths and repeat this through my head a couple times to get the word across to the rest of my body.  My hands finally stop shaking.

Time feels like it’s been slowed down.  Mr. Medium takes his time with his words, like syrup oozing down a plate.

“You’re a clever boy,” Medium says to Atlas.  “We could hear your explanation  of the vinare through the microphone on Miss Carter’s jacket.  Now tell me, why were you not wearing one yourself?  Or anything from your closet here?”

Atlas clears his throat, but doesn’t waste another second.  “I did, sir, but Miss Carter was cold and I gave her my jacket.”

Atlas calling me “Miss Carter” sounds like a different language in my mind.  It’s too formal.  If he feels the same way, Atlas doesn’t leave any inkling on his face.  He’s calm, calmer than he probably should be, being that he’s being interrogated by someone who could legally have him executed if he looked at him the wrong way.

“I see.”  Mr. Medium nods, swaying his rolling chair.  I can tell that if he were standing up and talking to us, he would be pacing.  “Well, I’ll let you two in on a little secret,” he says as if he’s going to tell us a story he’s excited about.  “We have microphones, eh . . . sewn into the neckline of the shirts, to capture every word spoken by you Members.  In case you haven’t noticed the cameras and the need for publicity training by Blue, this Task will be a little public.  Now, we’re not airing every word you say on television, no.”  He shakes his head like the thought outrages him.  “We’re not airing anything on television.  Not any footage we get of you, not any recording of your conversations.  This is not one of those reality television shows we’re crafting.  No, we’re just interested in who you are.  We want to get to know you.  You’re all assigned a person who listens in.  But don’t worry, everything is completely confidential.  It’ll all make sense soon enough.”