The Tides That Bind Us [AfroFuturism]

Collateral Damage

Two years ago, Zaharah had planned to submit her work to the National Art Gallery. They had a section there, dedicated to young artists trying to get their names out there. She'd planned and brainstormed, bounced ideas off her family at dinner. Then the accident happened, and that plan went up in literal ad proverbial flames along with her old life.

With her new life in Denden came new plans. More ambitious plans. Move to the mainland. Get a job. Find a decent place for her and Jade. And that plan was being crushed under the heel of the Director. She was being crushed. And the crushing weight of it reminded her of her sister Raquelle—the person who, were she alive and with Zaharah—would smack her over the head and tell her to get her shit together. "Oh, someone's got you under their heel, then bite off their foot." Or something like that.

Quelle was their older sister, the middle child with middle child syndrome. Slow to patience and quick to wrath. A former Special Defence Force Marine, rum enthusiast and all-around badass. The Makana had asked her to join their ranks a few times; she responded by sending them an anatomically correct wood carving of her hand flipping the bird.

Zaharah and Jade had idolised her when they were kids, hung onto her every word, even the derogatory ones. "Deverauxs do not let anyone walk all over them," she'd say.

Then why am I letting the Director walk all over me? Zaharah wondered. Because she was big and scary and powerful. A giant stepping on all the ants.

Not this ant. This ant would escape the giant's earth-trembling strides and big ugly feet. Zaharah yanked her phone from the desk and shot a text to Dr Will. It was time for a power move. She pulled out the hoodie and leggings she'd stowed beneath her pillow and swapped them with her pyjamas. The glowing desk clock read 2:30 am.

With haste, she could get to the lab by three. Zaharah took her key card and phone from the desk, and tiptoed around the maze of suitcases, textbooks, and shoes to the door. As she laid her hand on the panel, a beep came from behind her. She turned with a finger on her lips.

Skorpi looked up from his charging pad, green eyes glowing in the dark. He beeped again. Longer. Whinier.

"Okay. Okay," Zaharah whispered. She reached over and grabbed him by his stinger. "Just be quiet." She hazarded a glance at Jade—a shadowy heap atop her bed that rose and with long breaths. The person Zaharah was doing all this for.

Jade had begrudgingly packed her things with some help from Markus, then spent the rest of the day whining about the move to her gamer friends over a few rounds of CoD. Dinner had been quiet, even Markus didn't seem himself.

All the more reason for Zaharah to get them out of here. She took light, measured steps out of the room. The glow of the TVs standby light and her memory were all she had to guide her through the dark maze of furniture. She made it as far as the couch before the lights switched on. Shit. Skorpi released a screaming beep and dived into her hood.

"Zaharah," Markus said from behind her.

She turned, but kept her eyes down. "Okay I know this looks bad but I can explain." The hem of his robe came into her line of sight. "I just need to go meet Dr Cyan by the clinic."

"At least look me in the face if you're going to lie to me."

She did. "I'm not—"

"I don't want to hear it." He sat down in the armchair and rubbed his face. It was then Zaharah noticed the thin blue ring around his irises. Androids couldn't cry, or express negative emotions in the same way humans did—another thing science hadn't quite cracked. So their feelings came through their eyes.

Zaharah hadn't seen the blue ring around Markus' eyes since the time Jade ate some rancid food at school, got food poisoning and had to spend a few days in the clinic on fluids.