Mending clothes might be a waste of my talents but I sit there content with the mind-soothing work and decide to make conversation. No doubt without my presence this would be a fountain of gossip.

  “So, how long has this been home of the Cai Clan?”

  “Two generations, maybe,” the thirty-something answers proudly.

  “Impressive,” I admit.

  “Not if the Fey had their way,” the teen to my left pipes up.

  “The Fey?”

  “Another Clan,” she explains. “They cause all sorts of trouble because we've got the best land but all their fight has won them is the loss of many a member. They make up most of our— uh...” Her voice chokes up all awkward at remembering my place in her Clan.

  “Isn't that dangerous?” I prod the conversation sparing her the silence of her stumble. “Won't they just band together and attack from within?”

  “Nah,” the girl dismisses breezily. “Guards take action first, ask questions later when it comes to them. Besides, they like it here way too much. They get regular food, shelter, water. What's not to love?”

  “For some loyalty goes deeper than comfort,” I warn.

  Unease tightens her face and her gaze drops down to the sweater she's sewing back into form.

  “So what's my role here?” I push.

  “You do whatever Dwyer or the Clan tells you to do,” the old woman who gave me my task answers sharply.

  “Oh I wouldn't dream of doing otherwise,” I grin. “But so long as it seems this is a long-term arrangement, am I allowed to know anyone's name?”

  “I'm Clara,” the girl to my left volunteers with a giggle. She then shares the name of every member in the circle, much to their discomfort. The thirty-something is called Marina and the old crow in charge is Khala.

  I wait a moment but no one asks my name. I'm not altogether surprised but I decide to keep the chatter going a bit longer. “So what's my name?”

  Clara stumbles in her stitching. “Your name?” she repeats.

  “Doesn't everyone need a name?” I reason. “Or am I just Captive? But then how would you differentiate between captives? Perhaps my name is The Handsome Captive? The Amazing Captive? The Most Spectacular and Useful Captive?”

  Marina snorts. “You wish,” she mutters.

  “Well?” I nudge Clara with my elbow. “What's my name?”

  “Uh, we just never really seem to use names for captives,” she admits uncomfortably.

  “Interesting,” I muse. “Well, that seems tedious to me. My name's Bones.”

  “Is it really?” she asks me softly.

  “It's one of my names but it's the one I love most.”

  This admission pleases her and I return to my own work satisfied with the small headway I've made on my first day integrated with the Cai.

  Hours slip by and as the sun passes its peak the others begin putting aside their work eager for lunch. I finish the tear on a pant leg before doing the same. Standing I stretch my aching bones as my stomach roars desperately.

  “Wait,” Khala orders as she shuffles over to my basket. “Let's see how you've been doing.” She rifles through the folded garments inspecting my work and with each one her frown deepens. “Fine. But you don't follow us. You eat with the others.”

  Amusement mingles with frustration as I watch her go. A soft hand on my arm startles me and I turn to see the old woman, Rebecca, who sat on my right.

  “You did good work,” she insists gently. “Best stitcher out of all of us.”

  “Thank you,” I smile and this time I let warmth enter my eyes.

  “I bet you wish you could've stitched your own wounds,” she teases looking at the Cai's sloppy handiwork.

  I shrug. “So long as I don't bleed to death I'll take what I can get.”

  She holds my arm a moment longer, peering into my eyes with her matching brown ones. “I have a good feeling about you.”

  “Let's hope you're not wrong.” I leave her to her thoughts while I head towards the tower that is Dwyer waiting a few paces away.

  “You eat over here,” he informs me with not a hint of care in his inflection.

  Together we march over to a smaller gathering. Maybe ten or so people, men and women wearing the same brand and cuffs as I am.

  “Hey, they get shirts, why don't I?”

  “And deny us the view?” one of the female captives teases while walking past to the line for food.

  I look down at myself curiously but surely the crusted blood and gashes can't be preferable to the mountainous view around us. But I suppose my dashing smile does out-dazzle the sun. Following the others I shuffle forwards waiting my turn for a bowl of meat and mushy grain. Choosing a seat within earshot but with enough distance to remain cautious I eat my rations (not bad, actually) and absorb the banter around me. I don't trust Clara's opinion of the captives' happy surrender and I'm not sure yet which team to stand behind. Even within the group of captives there seem to be interesting dynamics I can't quite put my finger on.

  For now they ignore me and I ignore them. Many come from the Fey Clan and eat their meal as friends. Only five were picked up on the road. Six, including myself. No one is readily sitting by my side or asking my name and I chew my food understanding that once again I am other. No one knows who I am and no one much cares, but I don't mind. I'll take this as an opportunity to decide for myself who I am and where I go. Captive or not I shall begin as I mean to go on.

  The Cai don't know who they just let waltz into their midst...

  CHAPTER

  16

  ~Rochester Alliance~

  8 Years Ago

  An elbow knocks my own and I'm shaken out of my thoughts. Turning away from the large glass window beside our table I face the others.

  “You're always staring out windows,” Theta remarks with a soft smile.

  I shrug, picking up my fork even though my appetite hasn't quite returned since my last round with Dr. Xi's training. “There's a lot to see out there.”

  Rho laughs through a mouthful of mushy peas. “Nothing out there but ants.”

  A zing of anger curves my mouth. “They aren't ants,” I chastise. “They're people.”

  “Of course they are,” Theta says apologizing even though she's the nicest of us all. “But why do they interest you so much?”

  I bite my lip. There are a million answers to her question. “Don't you ever wonder what it would be like to live in the city?”

  “We are in the city,” Rho grunts.

  “Not really. We're stuck behind glass walls a dozen stories above anyone else. But the people down there can go anywhere, they can do anything. Like see a movie, or play with dogs in a park, or play a guitar on the street, or train an android to cook anything you could ever wish to taste, or–”

  Rho cuts me off with a whine. “We get it.”

  “Well don't you ever think about that?” I push curiously.

  Theta thinks for a moment before answering. “No, not really.”

  “Why not?”

  She swallows her bite of pudding. “We are on different paths,” she says simply. “Their lives are not meant to be ours and wishing otherwise does nothing but cause pain and distract from our purpose.”

  “Our purpose?” I repeat incredulous. “What exactly is our purpose?”

  Theta's brow furrows in confusion. “To develop our powers.”

  “Why?”

  “Because they are gifts and must learn to use them responsibly. Then we can be a wonderful contribution to society. We were designed to serve.”

  “For who?”

  “Everyone,” Theta stammers taken aback by my brusque questioning.

  “Everyone includes us,” I point out angrily.

  She gives me a pitying smile. “We are born for a greater destiny, Alpha. With great responsibility comes sacrifice and I couldn't be happier to do it when I know the world will prosper for it.”

  “It's an honor,” Rho chimes in proudly. Theta nods with faithful agreement.

  Carefully I push aside my tray and release my crushing grip on my fork. “It is not an honor,” I bite out, “to be caged in comfort only to remain separate from all that's worth living for. It is not an honor to be torn from our families and tortured in the name of science, our childhoods forsaken as collateral. It is not an honor to be a number called to serve a world that will never know or care for you. It may be many things, some of them even good, but it is not an honor.”

  I stand determined to leave these fools I call friends but bump into someone waiting behind me.

  “Stolen from our families?” a voice laughs. I turn and see Tau's cruelly amused face staring into mine. “How can you not know?”

  “Don't,” Theta warns.

  Tau ignores her. “No, he should know.”

  “Know what?” I growl between my teeth.

  “That we have no families. We're the product of Dr. Xi, anonymous donors, and multi-billion dollar lab equipment. No one fell in love, no one prayed for you, no one wanted you. Most importantly, no one misses you. You're government property, Alpha. Get used to it and quit annoying us with your if only's.”

  I can feel a burn at the back of my nose and my eyes go dry. I shove Tau roughly out of my way and storm out of the cafeteria towards my private quarters. Most of us live in dorms with four beds a space, but Dr. Xi eventually let me have my own room. He said I'd earned it. I'd made the most progress and I'd been there the longest. I don't care how I got the room, I'm just grateful for a door that locks the others out as I crumple onto my bed and cry.

  Once my sobs subside I stand and stare at my reflection in the dark window, for once ignoring the bright colorful lights of the city below. I stare at the face with red teary eyes and skin as white as snow. No family. No one wondering where I am, if I'm happy or safe. A part of my heart cracks. No one is coming for me, not ever. And even if I managed to escape I'd have nowhere to go.

  A tumultuous storm of anger and heartbreak threatens to pull me under when my breath hitches and images capture my senses. Two people, a man and a woman, arrive by the underground train right to this very building. They're dressed in unusual clothes and their faces look ready for a fight but no fear reaches me. Instead I feel relief and in that moment I know they're here for me.

  The vision is brief and unclear, a part of me understands that it's an indication of how uncertain or distant the event remains. But just when I felt ready to succumb to the bars of my cage hope rekindles inside me and suddenly I'm ready to double my efforts in my training. Because people are coming, they're coming to break me free, and I've got to be ready.

  Tau was wrong. I do have family. And they're coming.

  CHAPTER

  17

  “Get up,” the chirpy morning bird named Dwyer wakes me.

  With a moan I stretch before eyeing Dwyer from my corner in the prison hut. Gesturing towards my arm currently pinned under an arm-sized iron staple I complain, “Is this really necessary?”

  He walks over, his large frame stooped by the low roof, and places a crowbar in the tight space between iron and skin. Prying it up he grumbles, “You don't come from a Clan, so you might not have the honor of a Clansman. You're a foreign stranger who admitted to having been on the run from Rangers. Can't trust you yet. Not even with the other captives.”

  I hold in the yelp of pain that comes with the crowbar digging into my flesh as the iron staple pulls free. “Since when does anyone really trust the Rangers to be the good guys?” I ask with cynicism in my voice. Rubbing my forearm I crouch onto my feet and follow Dwyer outside where we can both stand to our full heights at last.

  “We have an accord,” is all he says.

  “Oh, you have an accord,” I sass. “Oh well then so long as you have an accord.”

  He doesn't deign to rise to my taunt but leads me to the sewing circle. After spending the entire day with a needle and thread yesterday I don't look forward to enduring a repeat.

  “If you have this so-called accord with the Rangers then shouldn't you be returning me to them? Or does your accord not include an extradition policy?”

  Dwyer glances at me from the side. “Khala would wreak hell if the Elders sent you back. Said you stitch twice as fast and four-times straighter than the rest. Guess being a doctor comes in handy after all.”

  I look at him in surprise. Khala? The cranky crow actually bragged about me? What a world.

  Seating myself on the same stump from yesterday I tear into a piece of flatbread Dwyer handed me while rummaging through my basket to see what work waits for me. The others are still waking or eating breakfast in the lodge house but I get the honor of not wasting daylight. Hurrah.

  I've only just begun to close a hole in a jacket when the sound of a child's tears shuffles up from behind. Turning I see a little girl clutching something tight to her chest while trying to stifle her crying.

  “What have you got there?” I ask gently, nodding towards the bundle in her arms.

  “Can you help me?” she asks softly. Holding out her bundle I see that it's a ragdoll. I don't know whether she's aware that I'm a captive or not, or maybe she just cares about her doll more than her fear, but she stands not a foot away pleading with her eyes.

  Carefully I pick up the mess of cloth and stuffing. “What's its name?”

  “Annie,” she sniffles.

  “That's a pretty name. Definitely a good name for a doll,” I commend her. “What happened to her?”

  “One of the boys gave it to a puppy to play with,” she moans.

  “Well, I don't know if you're aware but I'm actually a doctor.”

  Her eyes go wide as only a child's can. “Really?”

  “Yup, so your doll is in the best of hands. I'll get right to work, but I'll need your help.”

  “Okay,” she nods seriously, her tears forgotten on her cheeks.

  “For this operation to work I'm going to need that boy's pillow and a knife. Can you get those for me?”

  Without an answer she takes off running. I rummage through a few of the other sewing baskets before finding the right colors of thread. In my own I find a shirt that I decide would have better use as hair.

  The little girl returns out of breath clutching a pillow practically her same size. She hands it to me and pulls a sheathed knife from her waistband.

  “Excellent,” I grin. “Now what's your name?”

  “Dollar,” she smiles shyly.

  “My name's Bones.”

  Dollar lets out a giggle. “Dr. Bones!”

  I let out a laugh of my own. “No one's ever called me that before but it is pretty perfect, huh?”

  She watches rapt with attention as I use the knife to cut up the shirt and braid strips into pigtails. When I slice open a corner of the pillow and steal some of the cotton stuffing she's clutching both hands to her mouth to hold in her delight. Then while she returns the slightly limp pillow to its bed I choose my first thread and begin sewing the doll back to life.

  As I work the rest of the circle fills up but no one comments on either Dollar's presence or our project. But I do notice the uncanny way they keep one eye on us at all times.

  “There,” I smile rather pleased with myself. “The patient has made a full recovery.”

  Squeezing the doll in a suffocating hug she bounces happily. “She's even better than before the doggie ate her!”

  I watch contentedly as she dashes off to show her friends or parents that Annie is fixed.

  “Back to work,” Khala nudges me.

  And I do. I let my mind wander and roam as I toss back the thread I'd borrowed and resume stitching up clothing.

  The next day Dollar returns with a couple of friends and after seeing how open she is with me they shed their doubts and climb all over me while I try to sew. Between garments I take a break to swing them upside-down or run around the circle with them riding on my shoulders and arms. I gotta say, they make for a tough workout.

  Amusingly the Cai don't seem to know what to make of us. The kids are always kept away from the captives and the captives have no interest in them either. But each day Dollar returns with a few more friends and each day the adults try to shoo them away. And it works. At least, it does until they're out of sight then they come crawling out of their hiding places asking me to carry them or play.

  I'm not unaware of Khala's distaste for the racket in her circle caused by the kids so I work extra quick and extra careful to make up for it. There really weren't many kids at Sanctuary but I find I like them. Their presence is certainly preferable to that of the adults and they work as a buffer to keep any trouble away.

  “Tell us a story,” Dollar begs while perched on my shoulders watching over the top of my head as I mend yet another pair of jeans.

  “About what?” I ask.

  “About you!”

  “Me? I don't think anyone cares about hearing my story.” I glance up but none of the other workers pay me any noticeable attention.

  “We wanna hear about Dr. Bones!” she demands with a thump on my head and some of the other kids playing in the grass nearby pipe up in agreement.

  I pinch my mouth together in thought. “Alright. But it gets a bit scary at times so just tell me to stop or to skip over a part and I will, okay?”

  I can feel her nod against my temple. And with that I decide to begin. Seeing no need or desire to fill it with details I begin sharing about how I grew up in the Rochester Alliance, I was placed in an experimental research lab under Dr. Xi where I was held until two strangers came to rescue me and brought me across the border into the Southern Coalition where we rode hard in search of Sanctuary.

  “No such place,” Maria grunts.

  Most of the others still pretend to ignore me but I could tell they were even softening their breathing to not miss a word I spilled. “There is,” I assure her. “Well hidden but they're there. And that's where I lived for about seven years. I helped take care of the horses, learned to shoot, and became a doctor's apprentice.”

 

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