Broken (7 page)

 Still, he of all people should know better. How many deaths came from carelessness?

Michael gambled on a version of the truth. "His mother gave him to me. Right before she died. I promised to care for him."

Andrew nodded thoughtfully. "A big task for someone so young. How old are you?"

"Eighteen," Michael lied.

"A big task indeed. Look, let me show you to your rooms. Er. What’s your friend’s name?"

"She calls herself ‘Broken,’ " said Michael. "I don’t know her real name."

"Oh. Well! I’ll call her ‘B,’ perhaps. Come on, B, wake up. Let me show you a room where you can sleep more comfortably."

Broken stirred and stood. It was a miracle. She followed after them, still mostly asleep.

* * *

The house, which Andrew sometimes called the “
rhizhandl”
, was arranged as a square of rooms built around a glassed-in inner courtyard. A hallway ran around the edge of the courtyard. The private rooms of each member of the
rhi
and the common areas, like the kitchen and the living room, were on the other side of the hallway from the courtyard, on the outer side of the house. Andrew explained that each
rhin
got his or her own room, and that very few of them ever slept together at night, because of the Räton concept of
zha
, or personal space. He launched into an impromptu lecture on
zha
and its relation to the
rhi
and house construction, which delayed them from reaching their first destination for at least five minutes.

"Here we are," he said at last. This hallway was opposite the courtyard from the communal rooms, and had four rooms in it. Andrew opened one of the doors. "I can’t give you a key," he explained. "Just for safety. Your safety. Of course! So. Who wants this one?"

Broken barged in and collapsed on the bed. She was asleep before she hit the pillow.

"This one’s hers," Michael said, unnecessarily.

"Ah, um, yes. I see! Good night, B! We’ll call you for dinner." He closed the door quietly. "Let me show you to your room, Mike. Is Mike all right, can I call you Mike?"
Michael shrugged. "Sure." He hated the nickname, but figured he ought to put up with it out of politeness. He was an uninvited guest, after all, and a fugitive, no less.

"I had this house built in 2096, when I came back from Sydney," he said, gesturing at various bits of odd statuary and architectural flourishes. "I loved the Räton style so much, I had to build an homage to it. Doesn’t it make more sense than our own fractured way of living? Four to a house, maybe five? And that includes children! Ha! So lonely." He sighed. "We had children here before the government took them away. I miss them so. Having your little Ian here will be wonderful for us, even for a only few days."

He turned the corner and led Michael into a newer wing of the house. "When we had children, we had to expand the house," he explained. "They’re all gone…but we’re keeping their rooms just the way they were, just in case. You never know! Right?"

"Right," Michael said.

"Right," repeated Andrew emphatically. "Here. It’s a bit lonely back here, but Monica will be next door to you. Knock on the wall if you need anything. All right? I’ll let you get settled."

"Hey," said Michael. "Where will Ian be?"

"Jane will take care of him. She’s really good with babies. If that’s okay, of course." A shadow passed across his jovial features. "It would be very good for her to have him for a while. Something she needs. Unless you wanted him back right away?"

"No, that’s fine," Michael assured him. A vacation from baby poop! That he could live with.

"All right. Dinner in an hour. You’ll be able to smell it." Andrew left Michael alone in the small, rectangular room. He hadn’t really been alone in days.

There was a bed next to a large window, which overlooked a neglected garden and an empty pool. Some children’s toys were scattered here and there in the courtyard. What was it Andrew said? The government had apparently taken the children who had lived here away. Michael wondered why. Had the adults done something, committed some crime…? Or was it because of the unusual living arrangements? Could be either.

There was no mirror in the room. He thanked whatever gods tormented him that they’d spared him that, at least. His own room, back  home, had featured a full-length mirror attached to the wall opposite his bed. He covered it up whenever he could, but the covering never stayed up for long. He often woke up and instantly saw ten different versions of his own demise. Getting ready for school after that usually seemed moot.

He heard voices in the hallway nearby. One was Andrew. The other he didn’t recognize. The voices stopped. The door of the room next to his shut, and fast-paced Räton-inspired pop music bled through the walls. This wasn’t the scary hardcore music the Black Bands and their buddies listened to—this was softer, more lilting and much more peaceful. Virtually nobody admitted listening to it anymore.

That had to be Monica. Michael wondered what the rest of this
rhi
would be like. What kind of people defied society and lived like Rätons these days? Strange ones, he decided. Or ones with a death wish.

—Fire.

—Fire. Fire
.

He shuddered, picturing the room in flames. How long? How much time…? Could they be saved? Would it even happen?

The music from next door stopped. A knock on his door followed. A girl, not too much older than him, stood in the hallway. She had dyed black hair, freckles, green eyes, and a sort of lopsided smile. She wore nothing but shades of purple.

"I’m Monica," she said. "Nice to meet you. Andrew said you were staying with us."

"Yeah," he said, smiling. "Nice, uh, to meet you." He tried to push
fire
out of his mind. Control, control!

"Can I come in?"

"Um, sure." He let her pass into “his” room.

"Oh, how weird!" she exclaimed. "This room was so different when John lived here. He had all these shelves over there, they were so neat."

"Who was John?" asked Michael.

Monica's expression turned sour. "One of us. A
rhin
. He left last year, after the election. He said he couldn’t stay in the Confederation anymore, so he went to Räta. We haven’t heard from him in a while, but he got there safe. I still kind of miss him. He was nuts, but he had a good sense of humor."

He may have been wise, Michael thought. Once a man who vowed that anyone who followed Räton culture was a traitor was elected president of the Confederation…well, life could get complicated. He wondered why the rest hadn’t gone with him.

Monica sat on the bed. "Lyddie is cooking tonight. Have you met her?" Michael nodded. "She can be demanding, but she’s okay, really. Don’t let her get to you. Hey, I’m glad you’re letting Jane take care of the baby. That’s going to be really good for her."

"Andrew said that, too," Michael said. "How come? What happened?"

Deep sadness shadowed Monica's cherubic face.  "Our kids. Jane bore all three of them. Lyddie isn’t fertile, and Janeane and I don’t want to get pregnant. Jane’s been really depressed ever since they were taken."

"Ah," said Michael. That made sense. Time to change the subject. "So. Uh. How long have you been here?"

"Only eighteen months or so. I’m the youngest. It’s a nice setup, don’t you think? We used to have so many more people. All the rooms were full when I joined. It’s kind of sad, but at least there’s lots of room now. I was the only one left in the back hallway since they took Violet and John left. Fred used to say he’d move back here with me…but he never did. Too lazy. You’ll meet Fred tomorrow morning; he works a late shift."

"Why’d you decide to join a, uh,
rhi
, if you don’t mind my asking?"

Monica smiled crookedly again. "Andrew was a professor of mine at City College. After he got laid off, I felt bad for him, so I came out here to visit. I fell in love with it. I’d always loved his lectures about Räton culture…Anyway, they let me stay a few days, then offered me a place in the family a little later.”

 
Creepy
, Michael thought, against his will. He quashed the image..

 Monica continued: “I’ve always been glad they took me in… even now, when things aren’t so good." She flopped over and lay on the bed. "Andrew’s been so sad lately. Maybe having new people around will cheer him up."

"Maybe," Michael said. Monica was acting like they were planning to stay. He didn't dissuade her.

"So how did
you
come here? Kind of a strange place to end up."

"Broken knew Jane from before, I guess."

Monica sat up, interested. "No way! Really? No one knows
anything
about Jane, especially what she used to do. Is ‘Broken’ the one Andrew calls ‘B’?"

"Yes. I’m not sure why."

"Oh, he likes to give people nicknames. You’ll see. So, got any stories about Jane from before? What did she do? What was she like?"
Michael shrugged. "No idea. I didn’t know her; Broken did. She doesn’t talk much about the past, either."

"Is she really a bum? Lyddie said she was."

"She is," Michael confirmed. "But she wasn’t, once."

* * *

Dinner came, and the entire
rhi
, plus Michael, crowded into the kitchen to eat. "Rätons don’t have a separate room for dining," explained Andrew, though Michael hadn’t asked. "That’s why the house doesn’t have one. In fact, they often eat alone. But we like to be together at dinner, so we are."

"Ah," said Michael. The food looked edible, at any rate. Whatever it was Lydia was slathering onto their plates, it sure had lots of sauce.

"Is your, ah, friend joining us?" Andrew asked.

"Couldn’t wake her. She’ll be out for leftovers," Michael said, helping himself to a roll.

"Well, then. Everyone, this is Mike. He and his friend B are going to be joining us for awhile. They have a baby that Jane is taking care of." He beamed proudly. "Mike is a political dissident. An anti-Reformist
artist
."

There were grunts of assent all around the table.

"Mike, you’ve met Lyddie, Jane, and my
Lyasti—
that’s Monica." Each one of them nodded in turn.

"My nickname means 'little student,’ " Monica explained to him.

—
Fire…

 "Let me introduce Shawn, who’s on your left." Shawn nodded. He was of medium height, with sandy bro

wn hair and a surly expression. He was probably in his thirties, Michael guessed.

—
Fire…!

"Over here is Janeane. "

"Hello." Janeane said. She was a tiny, dark-skinned woman with a smooth, shaved head and bright, expressive eyes. Michael couldn't look away from them.

—
Waves lapped against the shore. The sea rose and fell in the distance. The tide came in and went out. The world turned, and everything was quiet, calm, peaceful...

—Endless sea.

—Peace…

What?
Michael blinked, clearing his vision.

 The corners of Janeane's mouth quirked up as she studied him through half-lidded eyes. He resolved to look into her a little more closely.

"Fred isn’t here. He works a night shift; he’s a security guard down at the electronics outlet. But he’s a nice guy, he’ll stop in and say hi before he goes to bed." Andrew beamed again. "Let me just say how wonderful it is to have new people in the house, our
rhizhandi
. It is especially joyous for me to have a baby here, even if it is only temporary."

"Agreed," murmured Janeane. Her voice was soft, rich and low. Michael immediately hoped she’d speak again.

"Hear, hear," Monica added, glancing at Jane. Ian was bouncing and gurgling on her lap. Jane smiled down at him and made little nonsense noises. Michael noticed that she hadn’t eaten a bite during the meal.

He felt an overwhelming urge to leap up on the table and beg them to leave the house any way they could, as fast as they could. He wanted desperately to tell them about
fire
and the approaching mob. But why would they believe him? Only Broken seemed to believe him when he talked about his visions.
Cassandra.

Shawn didn’t say anything to Michael throughout the meal, which was just as well. Michael got the impression that Shawn didn’t like him much. Janeane chatted idly with everyone as they ate, and asked Michael a string of questions about where he was from, what he had done to be on the run, how he got started as an artist, and on and on. Michael made up a number of stories he hoped he could remember later. He tried to keep it as simple as possible.

He could hear Joe’s voice:
Complicated lies never hold up.
Joe had always been full of practical advice.

Lydia seemed more interested in Andrew’s day than in Michael, Broken, or Ian. It turned out that Andrew worked in a store in Queens, selling jewelry. So much for the professor. His day hadn’t gone well, and Lydia spent some time comforting him. Meanwhile, Monica and Janeane talked about Janeane’s job at the Colonization Authority, which had a processing station in Newark. She was, from what little Michael could tell, a bureaucrat of some minor importance. Monica was apparently unemployed, as were Lydia and Jane. He had no idea what Shawn did.