P R E V I O U S L Y
"Your brother is alive."
Kepler-168F, Oppidium (Sector 1)
Etta Parker
IF ELIJAH'S sudden appearance had anything to do with a conspiracy, Etta wouldn't find answers in Ivy's office. A leader such as Ivy would not risk losing her reign to carelessness.
"A bargain with Bellum? For Elijah? You must be willing to make a big trade," Etta mused, easing herself out of the chair. She lingered at the desk, tapping her fingertips against the wood.
"Yes," Ivy responded abruptly. Staring down at the unevenness of her nails, Ivy refused to make eye contact with Etta.
Interesting. Usually, Ivy's gaze would be more than a little intimidating - but today? Nothing of that sort. Something was certainly up. Etta was intent on finding out what.
"Well then," Etta said.
Making her way to the door, Etta's boots clicked against the floorboards. She was sure that Ivy was harbouring secrets against her, but didn't think she'd be able to pry them out of the older woman. Perhaps Henri would know, or even Griffin. Both wouldn't be nearly as hard to crack.
The door creaked as Etta pulled it towards her.
"Where do you think you're going?" Ivy's tone was enough to stop Etta in her tracks.
"Do I need to ask permission to leave?" Etta snapped in response. Immediately regretting her choice of words but too proud to apologise, Etta settled for cursing under her breath. She wouldn't gain anything by being rude to the leader of Oppidium. Ivy would just send Etta to Damnationium, for the third time.
"Don't test me, Etta. You leave when I tell you to. Close the door and sit down. That's an order."
Digging her fingers into the armrest, Etta's knuckles glowed a translucent pink. She maintained eye contact with Ivy as she lowered herself into the seat, finding amusement in how Ivy squirmed underneath her glare.
"You turned twenty-five last month. Correct?" Ivy spoke matter-of-factly.
Shuffling her files, Ivy placed Etta's on the top. The file itself worn, with pages falling out the sides - records of misdemeanours reported by Etta's superiors amongst medical bills and information regarding her situation on Earth.
"Yeah. You forgot," Etta said, somewhat bitterly. "I never got my supply cards."
"I didn't forget. You spend all your supply cards on cigarettes. I'm not financing your addiction," Ivy replied with some semblance of annoyance.
She picked at a strip of hanging skin on her thumb, tearing it with her teeth. Blood pooled in the wound. Ivy scrunched her nose, displeased.
"You don't get to choose how I spend my money," Etta folded her arms. Her biceps flexed underneath the fabric of her t-shirt, threatening to tear. She made a mental note to put in a request for a new shirt - for one that actually fit.
"Yes, I do," Ivy said. "You're owned by the state."
Nodding at the chain which poked out of Etta's t-shirt, Ivy's gaze lingered on the Oppidium emblem: two circles, linked. The symbol was said to represent unity - and most importantly - peace. Etta thought that it was ironic. Oppideians, despite being the Athenians of Ancient Greece, were far from peaceful people.
"That's bullshit and you know it."
Inhaling gently, Ivy pinched the bridge of her nose.
"You know how I feel about cursing," she sighed through closed lips.
"And you know how I feel about coming here and you still summoned me. Why?"
Spilling with violent contempt, Etta's tone was venomous enough for Ivy to break eye contact. She set down her pen, reaching for the glass on her desk. The glass, rim stained with coffee, was otherwise empty. She huffed; opening her mouth to call for Henri to fill her glass no doubt, before thinking better of it.
Leaning forwards, Ivy's elbows pressed into the files on her desk as she spoke.
"I have exempted you from the law for as long as I have been able, but I cannot make excuses any longer. You are expected to marry next season."
"I won't do it."
The words flew from Etta's mouth before she could contain them. Her fist clenched; pressed into the crevice of the couch in fear that she would swing at one of her few superiors.
Simply put, Etta had no interest in marriage nor motherhood. That life was not, and never had been, for her. She'd much rather lead a charge into battle than nurse a babe on her hip.
"You have to," Ivy reminded Etta gently. "You're one of the Chosen. Your path was set out for you the moment you were given that mark."
Etta's fingers traced the scarred tissue on her shoulder. A flame - or that's what it was supposed to be. Some said the mark came from the gods; one that blessed those bestowed with the honour of bearing it. Others called it propaganda by The Council. Etta believed the latter. A godly mark should not have to be burnt into flesh by mortal hands.
Etta hadn't wanted any part in the Chosen. She'd just wanted to survive.
"Who then? Who am I to marry?" Etta hissed. Leaning forwards, Etta's gaze, black as the abyss of space, bored into Ivy's skull.
"That's classified information."
Etta paused, confused.
"You intend to keep my husband's identity a secret from me?"
"Yes. All you must know is your path lies in Bellum."
Bellum: the military state. Those who lived there were subject to the gruelling reign of Flynn Murphy, one of the twenty-five Chosen.
The people from Bellum treated their appearance as a status symbol. They detailed their bodies with piercings and tattoos, tallying their kills on their skin. Etta thought it was pointless. Barbaric, even. She had no business there.
Etta didn't remember much about Flynn, though she'd trained with him in preparation for the trials back on Earth. He'd beaten her in the last trial - hand-to-hand combat. It had been brutal. Etta bore a scar in the back of her head where Flynn had hit her over the head with a plank of wood he'd pulled free from the platform. Up until that moment, Etta had always thought of herself as unbeatable.
Jumping to her feet, Etta's chair clattered to the ground behind her.
"What?" Etta struggled to keep her shout contained.
"You heard me."
"You're sending me away?"
Ivy sighed. Setting down her notepad, her elbows rested against loose papers as she leant forwards.
"It's not my decision, Etta. I tried to keep you from marriage. God knows you deserve it," Ivy said.
Then, Ivy added softly - so softly that Etta feared she'd imagined it.
"For what your father did."
Etta's father had disappeared when she was a child, no older than ten. He'd been murdered. They'd been told it was an accident. Etta didn't believe that. It was no secret that her father sold illicit drugs.
Etta had watched as her father's body was pulled from the river. Ivy had the wrong person. Her father had nothing to do with anything.
And yet, she remembered a comment from a member of The Council.
It's a shame you don't share your father's vision.
It couldn't be a coincidence.
Did her father have something to do with The Council?
Mumbling an excuse, Etta scrambled towards the door.
This couldn't be happening.
Elijah was supposed to be dead. Etta's father had been murdered.
People didn't come back from the dead. If her father was alive, why hadn't he come to protect her? She'd had to fend for herself. What sort of parent stood idly as their child was forced to kill other children to survive?
Ivy called out to Etta, a desperate plea in her tone, but it was no use. Etta's thoughts dissolved her; controlling each of her movements mechanically, like a puppet master putting on a show.
Agonising over the meeting, Etta tried to relish in the cold air as she wandered back towards the riots. The walk would have normally set her mind at ease, but it did nothing to calm the whirlwind of thoughts now.
There was shouting in the distance.
Casting her thoughts aside, Etta pushed her way through the dispersing crowd and into the soldier's quarters. No other soldier could be seen. It was likely that the off-duty soldiers had been spread out amongst the watchtowers to control the riots. Some might have even been told to travel to Bellum for backup. Etta wouldn't be surprised. The hanging of a young child always resulted in some push-back, no matter the reason why.
"You're back earlier than we thought," Griffin remarked, not unkindly.
Griffin leant his shoulder against the wooden doorframe, unruly tendrils of brown hair dancing across his brow and resting at the hollow of his collarbone. He had piercing yellow eyes, proof that he had been one of The Council's superhuman experiments. Etta pitied him. Just like the Chosen, Griffin had been subject to treatment no human should have to endure.
"You knew?" Etta scoffed.
"I knew enough. Ivy said you wouldn't be pleased."
"Not pleased?" Etta said. "She wants me to marry!"
Griffin's teasing grin faltered. He crossed the room between them, footsteps skimming the floorboards silently. Rubbing his thumbs into the knots of Etta's shoulders, she sighed, loosening her muscles and leaning against his broad figure.
"It doesn't make sense. I thought they were content with my path as a soldier."
"Something has changed."
"You feel it too?"
"Ivy doesn't speak freely around me anymore," Griffin's voice, always monotone, held some ripples of annoyance.
"That woman knows more than she would have us admit," Etta replied. She turned around to face Griffin, burying her face into the crook of his neck. "What happens to us?"
Friends with benefits, Etta and Griffin had been seeing each other on and off since he'd arrived on Kepler-168F. They'd bonded over their loss - of love, of their humanity. Neither of them would admit that there was anything other than physical attraction, though Etta's heart lurched whenever she saw him with another woman.
"You get married."
Griffin had been married twice. Neither had lasted. His first marriage had been when he was little more than a boy, back on Earth. He'd eloped at sixteen, marrying a boy with curly red hair and a scar above his eye. The Council demanded them as soldiers. They'd refused.
When The Council found them, they tortured Griffin's husband. Griffin had submitted to The Council in exchange for his husband's freedom. He'd been tested on - genetically altered The Council didn't hold up their end of the bargain. His husband had been slaughtered for food.
Griffin's second marriage had been ordered by Ivy. A space-born botanist called Christia, she and Griffin had never seen humanity through the same lenses. Still, they'd married without complaint and had a daughter together: Addison. Griffin had been happy - smiled, even.
Then, the forest took everything from him. As the darkness settled, Christia and Addison were plucked from the treeline as a tribute for the creatures in the dark. They'd been picking shrooms - a staple in the flooding months. No one saw them again.
Months later, Griffin found Addison's shoes on patrol. He'd spiralled since then.
"So, that's it?" Etta scoffed. "We're over?"
Griffin shrugged away from Etta's iron grip.
"What would you rather me do?" He hissed.
"We can fight this!" Etta replied.
"No," Griffin responded dully. "That's never worked. We've always been pawns, not heroes."
Etta whirled around, fury flaring.
Griffin was already gone.
Etta ran her fingers through her hair, letting out a ragged sigh. That hadn't gone well.
A siren; piercing and constant.
The hanging had begun.
Hurridly reaching for her knife, the tent flap billowed behind Etta as she stalked towards the platform.
Ivy was making a mistake in executing the boy. It would do no good, and it certainly didn't serve any purpose. Ivy thought it would stop people from breaking the law, but she was really igniting a rebellion. Etta would know. The rebellion's mark was inked onto her hip bone. They called themselves Motus Es.
Those remaining of the crowd pressed against the metal fence. Barbed wire dug into people's skin as they tried to scale their barrier, attempting to force their way past the swarms of armed soldiers. Etta stepped aside as a woman flung herself over the fence. She barely made it three steps before a soldier thrust their sword into her side.
Etta scrunched up her face in displeasure, averting her eyes from the violence. Slaughtering soldiers was one thing, murdering innocents was another. Etta didn't like to hear their cries of pain.
The boy was knelt at the platform, shaking with silent sobs. He was alone. His sister, a brief acquaintance of Etta's, was dying in the hospital in Bellum. The boy had been trying to steal medicine. He'd been trying to save her.
"This isn't right," Etta muttered to her commander. "He's barely ten rotations old. You should be letting him go with service work, not this."
Walker glared at Etta.
"I didn't take you for someone to shy away from bloodshed."
"I only call for it when it's necessary."
Walker snorted.
"That man from earlier? Hera couldn't save him. He's lying in the morgue."
Etta bit off a smart reply as the rope was tugged taut around the boy's neck.
The boy's hands went to his neck. He pulled on the rope with desperation reserved only for life or death situations, but it was no use.
People always fought death in the end. Etta had seen it countless times. The boy wouldn't win the fight. He'd suffocate before too long.
Etta's fingers twitched with the urge to cut the boy down as he began to gurgle.
They would only tie him up again. She couldn't, not when they'd just prolong his suffering.
The sister would never know of her brother's fate. She'd die in the hospital, wondering why he never came back to visit her.
Etta thought of Elijah; the boy she'd last seen swaddled in moth-bitten blankets. She knew that feeling - to lose someone suddenly and without reason.
Turning on her heels, Etta marched from the hanging. She couldn't be there. Not when she was getting emotionally involved.
The people screamed insults along the fence. Those closest to the fence rattled their fists against the chain metal, pressing forwards even as their hands became bloody from the barbed wire. Soldiers pushed them back, barking orders with desperate insistence, but the wave ensured.
Etta's nails, bitten to the nubs, pierced her wrists as she fought to block the noise out. Rounding the corner to the soldier's quarters, Etta slid down against the wall beside the door. What was with her lately? Surrounded by death and destruction since childhood, Etta had never been rattled by acts of human violence - not until recently.
Etta had visited Hera's apartment last double moon in desperation for some answers. Consulting an old medical journal from Earth, Hera believed that Etta was suffering from delayed-onset PTSD. Even so, she was unwilling to provide an official prognosis - not wanting to report the diagnosis to Ivy if Etta was merely going through a rough patch.
The cold metal of Etta's knife dug into her thigh. Fishing it out, she twirled it between her index finger and thumb. Walker wouldn't notice if she left the hanging for a while - just to clear her head. He'd be too busy coordinating damage control. She'd be back before he noticed she was gone.
Mind made up, Etta stood.