I say nothing. What can I say to the woman—it has to be her—who is now my new commanding officer and mentor? I am late: the one thing I tried to avoid.
"Well?" demands the woman.
"What do you want me to say?" The words are out of my mouth before I realize that I have said them. This is not the time for a sarcastic response, but my pride, and mouth, gets me into trouble more often than not.
"Is that an attitude you are giving me?" The woman arches an eyebrow.
"No, commander," I reply. "I save my bad attitude for when I am in a foul mood." I bite my tongue. What is it with me today? This is the day, of all days, that I am supposed to make a good impression and demonstrate that I am the perfect recruit, willing to follow orders, and in control of my emotions, yet, here I am talking back to my commanding officer as though I am her equal.
I brace myself for her punishment. As my superior, she has the authority to punish me should I step out of line, and my rude remarks fall into the category of being way out of line. To my surprise, she steps aside and allows me through the door, which slides shut, releasing a soft thud as it seals.
The entranceway matches the dilapidated state of the exterior of the building with paint chips on the floor, that a plebeian girl tries in vain to sweep up. Dulled paint, that must have been a bright white at one point, has yellowed and in the fluorescent lights it looks like urine—smells like it too. The faded green rug cushions my boots, as I walk farther into the hallway, taking quick side glances into the two rooms it veers into.
"What makes you think that I am the commander?" asks the woman, her voice sharp and tight.
I turn back around and face her. Is this a test? "Who else would you be?"
"I could just as easily be one of the other arbiters that is stationed here."
"Unlikely," I reply.
The woman glares at me.
"Ma'am," I add as an afterthought. What is it with me today? I never would have spoken with such disrespect to Molers, but I also know that Molers would kill me if I did. The woman continues to stare at me and I realize that she wants me to explain how I came to my conclusions.
"You answered the door before I had a chance to ring the bell, so you were obviously waiting for me," I begin, "and the only reason you would have to await my arrival is if you are the one whom I am to report to. No other arbiter here would care if I was late or not because I am not their responsibility. You speak with authority, with the demeanor of one used to issuing orders and getting her way, and your demand to know why I am late without asking directly, means that you expect me to offer an explanation for my tardiness and beg for forgiveness."
"Very astute."
The lighter tone in her voice tells me that I have pleased her, or passed some sort of test. I do not care which, just so long as she does not punish me for my rudeness earlier.
"I am Commander Vye. You were to be here thirty seconds ago." She taps the band on her wrist, which is similar to my own. Every citizen of Arel gets one. Not only is it an identification band, but it also serves as a timepiece and by the way she is holding hers, I can tell that she was timing me, counting down the seconds until I was scheduled to arrive. "You will address me as Commander or ma'am. Formality will be maintained here. There are seventy-five other arbiters in this house, and four other arbiter houses in the eastern sector with the same number, all which report to me."
We walk through the hall, stepping over the pile of paint chips that have just been swept up, scattering them across the floor again and I notice that the plebeian's face scrunches up in irritation, but she refuses to say anything. I give her no more than a passing glance. Her kind are everywhere and it is their duty and privilege to serve us.
"The dining area is through this room and near the kitchen," continues Commander Vye. "In this area is what we call our recreational center. There are books to read if you wish."
I peruse the titles, silver words against fake, brown leather, and they are all ones approved by the council; nothing else is allowed. I pull one off the shelf—ripples form where my fingers touch the sides, waving across the holographic binding—and open it. Words appear on the page, and the screen changes its color, taking on the appearance of actual writing on paper. Books are not made from paper anymore as it is considered wasteful. Instead, they are all digital, and each book is a computer that, once opened, will display the title which had been loaded onto it.
Rumor has it that some of the older citizens complained about the inhumanness of these digital books, so the council compromised, issuing that these readers be made to look like actual leather-bound volumes, designed to hold a single book, and when opened, the screen would change to look like paper. It satisfied the part of the populace who missed what they called paperbacks, and they do add a bit of hominess to the room; though I am surprised that Commander Vye allows it, considering the abrupt manner in which she greeted me. As arbiters, we are not encouraged to like comfort or luxury.
I put the book back in its place and turn my attention to an ornate chair, one I have never seen before, and touch the engraved spirals that run up the sides of the back until they meet, forming a curled peak. The silky smooth wood caresses my fingers and the glossiness of the velvety materiel, which make up the cushions, look as though it can't be real. Losing my sense, and forgetting where I am and that I am being watched, I run my hand over it, back and forth, amazed that when I rub it in one direction, it feels rough, but when I go in the other direction, it is smoother than the wood. This chair does not belong in a room that has splotches of mold weaving their way along the molding that covers the edges of the wood floor.
"Aren't these items considered luxuries?" I ask.
"They are, but you will find that sometimes people perform better when they earn rewards."
That sounds reasonable. Sometimes, at the arbiter training compound, recruits were offered a reward for finishing first which, in most cases, consisted of being allowed an extra meal or an extra hour of sleep.
Commander Vye walks through another room, a short hallway, and through a third room before stopping. "This door goes outside to the main part of the grounds. Over there are a set of stairs that lead to the second and third floors. The main stairwell you saw when you entered the building. And that right there"—she points at another door, concealed in the shadows, it's gray color making it look as though it is nothing more than a smudge on the already dirty paint—"leads to the basement which is the plebeians' quarters."
I hear rustling and look up into the blank face of another plebeian as he scrubs the walls.
Commander Vye stalks off again and I follow her through more doorways, until we enter the entranceway for a second time where the servant I had seen when I first entered the building continues to sweep up paint chips. "Sheila, will take your bag."
I look at the plebeian girl—she avoids my eyes—and hug my duffel closer to me. "I can carry it."
"You've been lugging it around since you left the compound."
"An arbiter carries their own possessions. Failure to do so shows weakness and weakness—"
"Go prepare her room," Commander Vye tells the servant, cutting me off and stops me from repeating the mantra I have been taught since the moment I could first speak.
The plebeian sweeps the final paint chips into the dustpan, dumps them in a trashcan, and puts the broom and dustpan away, before hurrying up the stairs without a word.
"This way," says Commander Vye.
She walks around the wide base of the carpeted wood steps (I cannot tell if the carpet has always been this brown or turned that way from years of grime) and to an oval doorway that leads to a small office nestled beneath the stairwell. Three square windows line the far wall, spilling sunlight onto a metal desk with its pens in a neat line on the left and a stack of forms on the right. A rag has been shoved under one of the legs, no doubt in an attempt to stop the desk from wobbling. Commander Vye walks behind the desk and sits in the chair, pressing a button that turns off the flickering screen, and in that split second, I notice that my face and recruitment record is on it.
"So, tell me why you are late."
I recognize the order for what it is and stand, feet shoulder width apart, arms behind my back, and my duffel still hanging from my shoulder, preparing to explain why I was tardy. "I witnessed a transgression after disembarking the shuttle."
"Transgression?"
"Yes, ma'am."
"Explain."
"A man struck two citizens of Arel."
"And your course of action?"
"In accordance with Arelian law, I cited the man for striking two citizens, and asked him to go to the information both where he would be processed. He tried to strike me, so I put him down and placed him in a containment box, adding the charge of striking an arbiter to his citation. The two citizens involved have been cited as well and are aware of their duty to report to the Ministry of Justice and the punishment involved if they fail to do so."
Commander Vye punches another button on her desk and the monitor screen appears, showing her my first act as an arbiter. "Yes, it says here 'five infractions: causing a disturbance in Arel, striking another citizen of Arel, attempting to strike an arbiter, resisting detainment, and for striking his wife who is a citizen of Arel.' Does that sound about right?"
"Yes, ma'am."
"But that should not have prevented you from being late."
Not prevented me? By the time I had finished detaining the man, I only had ten minutes, at most, to get here, and she has to know that it is not enough time. She is testing me, and if I answer wrong, I may be punished. Newly commissioned arbiters who failed to report to their first assignment on time have been known to disappear, never to be seen again. Some say they are sent beyond the wall, a fate worse than death, but another rumor is that they are sent to the crematoriums. Either prospect is dismal and I do not wish to be sent to either of those places. I will have to try harder if I am to serve Arel and prove my worth.
"Lieutenant Renal says that he detained you this morning," Commander Vye continues.
I am being baited. Of course he has contacted her and told her of our altercation, failure to do so would result in him being punished, but the way Commander Vye informs me of her knowledge, means that she is setting me up. This is another test—a measure of my commitment and quick wit. She wants to see me frightened, but I refuse to let her.
"An arbiter stopped me on the moving walkway. I was running and must have given him the impression that I was running from something."
"And why would he get that impression?"
"Because I caused a scene and he did not see my uniform. He released me when he realized that I am an arbiter."
"True."
This woman's snobbish attitude angers me and I do not understand the change in her behavior. One minute she is showing me around what is to be my new home for the next year, if not the rest of my life, and the next minute she treats me like a plebeian. I clench my teeth to keep from opening my mouth like I did the time Molers played the same trick on me. He enjoys toying with others and catching them in traps. It is his way of testing your emotional responses and whether you have learned to control them, something I do not always succeed at. It was two years ago and he had lined all the recruits up in the courtyard to demand who had been stealing from the kitchens. We all knew that no one had been, such an action is foolish and results in severe punishment, but Molers was adamant that someone had.
He walked down the line, holding a green apple in his hand and asked us one by one if we had stolen it. When he reached me, unlike the others, I stared him in the eyes, refusing to avert my gaze or acknowledge his superiority. The entire incident was a hoax.
"Do you know who stole this?" Molers had asked me.
"Yes," I had replied in a strong voice, sounding more confident than I felt.
Molers had smiled, one of the few times I had ever seen him do such a thing, but his grin was not one of warmth or friendliness, but one of gloating as he reveled in his own sense of superiority. "Really?"
I could tell by the sound of his voice that he thought he had broken me; something he enjoyed most was breaking people's spirits.
"Tell me who."
This was when I made a fatal mistake, showing Molers up. "You did," I had replied. "Thirty minutes ago I saw you enter into the kitchens and leave with that apple. You are the thief."
The next thing I remembered was a searing, burning pain engulfing my left cheek when Molers backhanded me, and warm blood oozing form a cut that formed in the center of the welt he had given me. Instead of hunkering to the ground, like I had seen so many in the past do, I straightened my back and glanced at Trevors who shifted in his stance with a mixture of worry and pleasure on his face, but his concern came through the most. The only person Trevors hates more than me is Molers, and during that lineup in the courtyard, I had challenged the one man he fears most.
Molers had struck me four more times until a higher ranking officer stopped him, reminding him that it was his duty to train recruits, not murder them. I managed to walk away from there, though another recruit had to help me because of the dizziness I felt after taking five blows to the face. For a week after that, neither Trevors, nor Grelyn, harassed me and I believe that it was because of my standing up to the man that had almost beaten Trevors to death. Though, after my face healed and I was cleared for duty by the senior doctor in the medical wing, they went back to their usual taunts.
A low cough rips me away from my memories and back into the room with Commander Vye glaring at me with her sharp brown eyes, waiting for a response and I decide to chuck caution aside as it is nothing more than a hindrance in this instance. "If you wish me to say something, then I suggest you ask me a question," I tell her. "Otherwise, let's cut the game and you tell me why you have really brought me here."
"You have some balls on you," Commander Vye says.
Here it comes: my punishment.
"That's good."
What? Is she congratulating me? I was late in reporting for duty. I just challenged her authority. I have committed infractions, one that most high ranking officers punish, and she is praising me?
"As you know, the eastern sector is not the most affluent in Arel. We are the first to be attacked, and have suffered many over the years, which is why many of the buildings here seem to be in a state of constant disrepair. The people here are rougher and more prone to aggression, making our job as arbiters more difficult. I have seen too many get killed because they did not have the right temperament, or the pair of stones you seem to possess and, Molers has warned me about your brazenness. You will need that attitude of yours—"
I let out a small puff of air through my nose when she says that, but Molers' action does not surprise me.
"—if you wish to survive here. However, keep it in check. I am your superior and chosen to be your mentor for the next year. I will not tolerate disobedience or failure and you will receive far worse than ten lashes—I will send you outside the wall myself if you cross me. Is that understood?"
The hawk-like gaze she gives me is my warning, my one and only warning to not fail her again. With everything that has happened since the shower room this morning, I had forgotten about the lashes on my back... until now as the very mention of them brings the throbbing pain between my shoulders to the forefront of my mind.
"Yes, ma'am," I say, my tone even and unreadable.
"Good. Tomorrow, you will explore the wall. It is best to get the worst part of this assignment over with first. After that, you will be assigned your duties and will patrol the streets of the eastern sector, monitoring and keeping the peace as is expected of you. When I see fit, you will be introduced to other areas of this sector such as the maternity ward, medical compounds, factories, shopping centers, and there will be trips to the plebeian zone of this sector as well as they must always be controlled.
"Your duties will be rotated and you will not have the same ones each day and there will be times when you are asked to perform menial tasks such as cleaning—we cannot allow you to become too accustomed to luxuries—and there will be times when you are assigned to patrol the outside perimeter of the wall or visit the outposts we have out there. If attacked, you will be among the first to respond.
"Breakfast is served at zero-six-hundred hours. If you are late, you will not eat. You are on your own for lunch, in which case you can either eat here, or if you are on patrol, there are diners where you may grab a quick meal. I will have a list of them sent to your room. Here is your ration card."
Commander Vye picks up a disk, no bigger than the round tip of a ballpoint pen, and presses it into my wristband where it melts into the metal. "On the first of each month, a stipend will be reloaded onto that. It is up to you to make your rations last until the next period. Any questions?"
"No, ma'am."
"You're dismissed. Take your bag to your room; it's number five on the second floor. You have fifteen minutes to eat your lunch and report back here where another arbiter will be waiting to show you around."
I salute the commander and walk out of the room, hurrying to the stairwell, taking the steps three at a time, and jog down the hallway to room five. The room has no lock and the faded green door slides open the moment I step in front of it. I glance around. A single bed, just big enough for one person, with a pillow and folded sheets and blanket on top of it, rests against the wall to my right. A small closet is next to it where I will hang my extra uniforms and on the wall opposite the closet, is a desk with a single lamp framed by the window which provides the only light in the room.
I place my bag on the bed, knocking the navy-blue blanket onto the floor and stroll to the window, looking out onto the atrium below with its built in gymnasium equipment. I watch as two men circle on a mat and wrestle with one another, no doubt continuing their training so as to remain in physical shape and their toned, well-shaped muscles prove that they have succeeded. The wall looms ahead of me and I get a good look at it from the window: our only protection from what lies outside it. Sometimes, I wonder if the wall is meant more to keep people in instead of keeping invaders out.
A harsh cough jerks me from my reverie and I realize that I have wasted precious time that I could have used to scrounge up some lunch, but it looks as though I will not be eating until dinner and what little nourishment the two eggs Faya had given me this morning has worn off.
I straighten my jacket and hurry out of the room, stomping down the hallway and down the stairs, shoving the plebeian girl, who still sweeps up paint chips, out of my way when I reach the bottom step. A low thud tells me that my actions have caused her to bang her head into the wall, but I ignore it, making no apology as I hurry to stand in front of Commander Vye, who waits for me in the entrance with another arbiter: the same one who had chastised me earlier while I was on the walkway.
"Noni, this is Lieutenant Renal. It is my understanding that you have already met."
I keep my face emotionless. Commander Vye knows we have already met and I find her false assumptions annoying, but I keep my mouth shut. I have been too forward as it is and must remain in control to prove to her that I am fit to be an arbiter of Arel, and perhaps I can get a transfer out of here to a more favorable post, such as the business or manor districts.
"He will be escorting you around the eastern sector today and showing you some of the patrol routes that you will be expected to keep under control. The two of you will report back by fifteen-hundred hours."
"Yes, ma'am," says Lieutenant Renal.
Before I pass through the door with him, Commander Vye hands me a belt.
"Put this on."
I strap it around my waist, noting that it has a holster which has a semiautomatic hand gun fastened in it, a palm-sized flashlight, zip ties, and a baton that folded up into a stick the length of your index finger.
"These are your protection in this city," Commander Vye tells me as I fiddle with the baton. "You are to keep them with you at all times when you leave this facility and they should remain within your possession at all times. Failure to do so will result in disciplinary action. Is that understood?"
"Yes, ma'am."
"Dismissed."
I follow Lieutenant Renal out the door and down the winding walkway to the gate which leads to the bustling street I had taken to get to the manor. A trolley jingles its bells as it speeds past, but I pay no attention to it. I must show that nothing intimidates me and I am curious as to why Lieutenant Renal was kind to me earlier, but now acts as though that exchange between us this morning never happened. Ten minutes tick by as we walk down the street, heading to a more shrouded area of the eastern sector where the streets are narrower, dirtier, and more crowded. I keep my eyes peeled for any suspicious activity, watching all the people that stroll past while keeping their distance from us, and the plebeians who keep their eyes focused on the ground.
Having tired of the silence, I worked up the courage to ask a question. "Where are we going?"
"Questioning a superior officer now, are you?"
I press my lips together, fearing that my luck has run out and that I have overstepped my bounds, but when Lieutenant Renal faces me, his mouth is upturned into a sly grin and I relax my tense muscles.
"You needn't be so frightened of me."
"I am not frightened, Lieutenant," I quip. How dare he imply that I am letting my fear get the better of me. Fear is not allowed.
The bemused look on Lieutenant Renal's face betrays his thoughts and I know that he doesn't believe me. I just do not want to make another mistake.
"It's okay to be a little on edge," he says. "This is your fist day outside the training compound and your first time being expected to perform your duties. I know it is intimidating. We all go through it."
He points at another arbiter who looks to be my age before continuing. "Bren over there came to us last year and he was off to a rockier start than you."
I watch as the man strolls down the sidewalk, whistling to himself, something I have never seen someone do before, while smiling at those who pass by him. His cheerful mood is off-putting when compared to the reactions I received this morning from any who saw my uniform.
"Are you sure that he is an arbiter?" I ask.
Lieutenant Renal chuckles. "I've wondered that myself a time or two. He is a different sort of character, but don't let his cheery demeanor fool you. Though he is pleasant to most whom he meets, when it comes time for it, he is all business. I watched him put three strong men in the same containment box once. Word got around, and ever since, people just mind their behavior around him."
A yellow ball rolls up to the man referred to as Bren and taps the tip of his steel-toed boot, followed by a girl and a boy. They stop when he scoops up the ball, glances at it, and hands it to them, patting the girl in the space between the two buns on her black head. Both children smile and run back to their teacher who jogs up and escorts them back to the other children standing outside, tossing balls back and forth during the physical education period. Their yellow uniforms mark them as future teachers and, a part of me envies them, as teachers are not expected to follow such rigorous guidelines like arbiters. I shake such thoughts aside. It is not my place to question, but to serve. I must remember that.
"Where are you taking me, Lieutenant—"
"You can call me Renal when we are not at the manor or near the commander."
"Renal," I repeat, thinking it strange to address a commanding officer by his first name.
"I am taking you to a place where you can get something to eat while you are on duty. It isn't a fancy place, not that any here are, but it serves decent food."
I follow Renal as we walk down the dingy streets, past citizens hurrying along, some with their plebeian, making certain not to look us in the eyes, which is strange because we are all citizens. Their behavior reminds me of this morning and how the majority of those I had run into diverted their path so as to avoid me. After strolling down another block or two, we arrive at a building, tucked between two taller ones with the Arelian insignia on its sign, except instead of two spears and guns crossing one another, forming the shape of an x, his sign has two knives and forks doing the same. I stare at it a moment, perplexed as to why someone would do such a thing, remembering a rumor about someone else who had a similar sign, but his had two quills forming the x and it had been torn down by a squad of arbiters, and he was arrested. The more I think about it, the more I realize that the sign had been the least of his offenses, since he was accused of spreading ideals contrary to the Arelian system of government.
Renal glances at me, wondering why I have stopped, and I pick up my feet and hurry after him, straightening the bottom of my jacket for the umpteenth time. We enter the small establishment and the banging of cast iron frying pans, and the sizzle of frying bacon, chicken, and beef grilling over an open flame serenade my ears with their enticing song, while my mouth waters from the tantalizing smells reaching far into my nose, beckoning me to sit down a spell and indulge. A mulatto woman places a loaf of bread, which has just come out of the oven, on the counter beside me, and its aroma reminds me that the two eggs I ate in a hurry are not enough to survive on. Something wet rolls down the side of my chin as my parted lips allow a small amount of spit to escape. I wipe it, hoping that no one notices, but a winking smile from Renal tells me that he has, and was expecting it.
Renal strolls to an empty table in the far corner, and sits in a metal chair with his back to the wall, facing the entranceway. From his vantage point, he watches everything; every patron who enters passes under his observant gaze which remains vigilant, despite his clear interest in the fresh-cooked food. I take the chair across from him and watch as his eyes roam the vicinity, but his face remains amiable, never portraying an ounce of ire.
The buoyant crowd ignores us as people continue their private conversations, unconcerned that two arbiters are in the room with them. My eyes roam over them, studying their jubilant faces as they talk and eat without a care, astonished that they do not care that Renal and I are here, considering the reactions I received from people this morning. As I wonder why no one in the building seems concerned that we are here, a man gallops up to us, carrying a tray brimming with two glasses of blueberry juice and a plate overflowing with scrambled eggs, buttered toast, and avocado halves wrapped in crisp bacon. I watch as he hurries up to us, dancing around the mishmash of tables and chairs with the occasional foot sticking out, not spilling a drop of the beverages he carries or losing his balance. He reaches us and bends down, holding the tray low as he moves the drinks and plate of food to the table, setting it in front of Renal.
"Haven't seen you in a while," he says, allowing the now empty tray to hang by his apron, and I note the grease and sauce stains that litter it.
"That might be because I haven't been here," says Renal, his tone light.
"You're not running out on me and eating somewhere else, are you?"
"Perhaps I am. There is a nice little place further in the district that serves an apple cobbler which makes yours seem... paltry in comparison."
I watch the two of them banter, my eyes flicking from one to the other, as their brows furrow and each struggles to maintain a serious face, before the man lets out a guffaw that shakes the entire establishment.
"Renal, my friend, you know how to hit me where it hurts."
"Not too hard, I hope," Renal replies.
The man claps Renal on the shoulder and gives it a tight squeeze in friendship before both of them turn to me, noticing the confused look that covers my face.
"And who is this?" asks the man.
"Sigal, I want you to meet Noni, our newest arbiter in the eastern region," Renal introduces me.
I smile and stretch out my right hand to shake his, only to have it swept up in two watermelon-sized monstrosities that squeeze it until it goes numb as he gives it a vigorous shake that bounces me out of my chair.
"A pleasure to meet you," he says, releasing my hand. I jiggle it a little, trying to get the feeling to return to my fingers, while also trying to not draw attention to it.
"Likewise," I mumble.
"You look like you need sustenance," Sigal says to me.
As though to add credence to his words, my stomach growls loud enough to be heard over the laughing crowd and I glance over as the same mulatto woman places another steaming loaf of bread on the counter, unwrapping it from her towel, and its herbed aroma sets my stomach into another series of covetous growls.
Sigal chuckles and places one of the glasses of blueberry juice in front of me. "Drink up. It is our house special. You won't find a place that serves anything like it."
I sip the beverage as Sigal tromps off. It is semi-sweet with a hint of nutmeg, giving it a pleasant favor. I take another drink and realize that Renal watches me, and I put the glass down.
"Oh, go ahead and help yourself," he says, "Sigal would be insulted if you didn't drain half your glass in one gulp."
"We do not have anything like this at the compound," I say, taking another sip of the juice.
"I'm not surprised. They keep everyone on a strict diet there to keep you from getting soft. You are expected to maintain that diet out here, but there is no reason why you can't indulge in a few things. Sigal's place here is a good one. He knows the arbiter's diet restrictions better than most, and keeps his menu in line with it, but has a way of making the food taste more palatable. I think you will find this to be a great place to catch a meal."
The door opens and two more arbiters walk in, settling down at the counter where the same woman serves them huge slices of bread, with steak and eggs, accompanied by a bowl of fruit. They thank her, and scoop egg into their mouths.
"We were never allowed bread, except at dinner," I say.
Renal snorts. "Just don't eat any at the manor. Not that it will be too difficult, as Commander Vye never allows it to be served."
His statement about Commander Vye does not surprise me as I picture her and her disciplined manner doing pull ups in the manor's outdoor gymnasium, living off a bowl of boiled beans, which was always the training compound's standby meal when they thought that the recruits were getting too used to savory food.
"There do not seem to be any plebeians around," I say, curious as to why they are absent here when I have seen them everywhere I go.
"Sigal does not use them."
"Why?" My question sounds harsher than I mean it to, but Renal takes no offense to it as he must have been expecting it.
"He prefers to cook the food himself," replies Renal, "saying that it is the only way for him to know that it is prepared properly. His wife bakes the bread and some of the treats that are sold here."
"The mulatto woman."
A sharp glare from Renal tells me that I have pushed it too far, and I avert my eyes.
"Her parentage is something she had no control over. She was born of a plebeian woman who had entertained her master."
Entertained. He might as well just say that she was raped. It wasn't common—or so we're told—as most of us dark-skinned found thoughts of sexual relations with the fair-skinned abhorrent, but some people are unable to contain their desires and kept a few sex slaves to satisfy their needs and the needs of those like them. They are usually shunned by the rest of Arelian society, but are allowed to remain because of the services they provide.
"She would have been doomed to a life of drudgery if it hadn't been for Sigal," says Renal.
"How—"
"Papers can be forged, for the right price and if you know the right people," Renal leans over the table and whispers to me. "We do not speak of it here. She can pass as Arelian and Sigal adores her. And there is no harm in them serving good food to the people here."
"And their children?" I ask, watching as Sigal bumps her elbow, on purpose, while she ices a cake and she turns around, swiping a spoonful of frosting on his nose. All arbiters know that the water serving Arel has been fortified with certain compounds to prevent unwanted births, but sometimes the sterilization technique fails and unregistered children are born, which means they are to be registered the moment the pregnancy is discovered and given an approved identity.
"They have none. Do you remember when you turned thirteen?"
I nod. That was the day I was given my hysterectomy to prevent me from ever becoming pregnant as arbiters are not allowed to have children.
"Sigal's wife was given the same treatment on her thirteenth birthday."
I lean back in my seat. The policy regarding children is complicated in Arel. Maternity wards are set up where women, through invitro fertilization, where the embryo has been given certain traits to make them well-suited for the profession chosen for them, bear children on a regular basis and those infants are taken from them and sent to their assignments. But not all children of Arel are born in such a manner. To keep the populace happy, some families are allowed to have their own children and keep them, but they are only allowed one child and that child will work in the same profession and sector as its parents, the exception being the noble class: the council members, policy makers, and of course, our two presidents.
A plate is placed in front of me filled with Salisbury steak, coated in a sausage gravy, a thick slice of buttered bread, a fruit salad, and... beans. I pick up my fork as Renal winks at me with a smirk on his face, guessing what I thought of the last item on my plate, but Sigal stands next to me with his arms crossed, waiting for me to sample his entre. I could not let him down. I scoop up a forkful of beans—might as well get eating them over with—and place it in my mouth. My taste buds quiver from the overwhelming flavor that the beans hold. I shove another forkful of them in my mouth, savoring the texture and the smoky, sweet and sour flavor that they possess, followed by a huge bite of the bread, its herbed texture providing a nice accompaniment to the beans.
"Ha-ha! I knew she'd like it." Sigal claps Renal on the back and they both share a laugh, while a bit of icing remains on the bridge of his nose. "I can always tell the newly commissioned from those that have been here a while because you all have the same reaction. They don't feed you like that at the training facility."
He leaves us and Renal and I continue to eat our food until it is gone, relishing every bit of it. "We better be getting back," says Renal as he checks his wristband for the time, while I sop up the last bit of sausage gravy with the last bite of my bread and cram it into my mouth, glancing at the cake that Sigal's wife had placed on the counter moments before.
"Come on." Renal taps a corner of the table and a scanner appears. He holds his bracelet before it, allowing it to be scanned and a portion of his allowed rations to be deducted. I do the same and a number appears on my band, informing me of how many rations I have left for the month.
I follow Renal out of the building, but before we got out the door, Sigal runs up to us to say good-bye and shoves a small package into my hands.
"I noticed you eying it," he says to me with a wink, while Renal frowns. "You both come back anytime. My door is always open."
"Will do, Sigal," says Renal. "The food was excellent, as always."
We step outside and Renal leans close, whispering, "You better eat that quick before someone sees you."
I open the small package and find a sliver of lemon cake in there. Glancing around to make sure no one sees me, except for Renal who already knows that I have it, I eat my cake in two bites as we head back to the manor.