Degrees of Wrong (5 page)

Ebony stared ahead completely engrossed, so I studied her without fear of being noticed. Her straight, almost-white hair was pulled into a ponytail, and her bangs pointed down to her large blue eyes. The dark of the cabin accentuated her pale skin.

Mid assessment, she turned in my direction, startling and embarrassing me. Eyeballing me like a watchful mother, she seemed to ascertain I’d calmed down—somewhat. “My name is Ebony,” she said.

It seemed like a moot point to tell her I already knew her name, that it was partly the reason a certain cleft-chinned princess had my father’s laptop. But apparently not everyone present knew her name. The conversation up front stopped short as the tension of eavesdropping saturated the air.

She shrugged in either oblivion or apathy—I couldn’t tell which. “My mother was
mistaken
as to the time of conception and had already signed the birth certificate before the cesarean section. She was as surprised as anyone.”

I heard a few hushed snickers but kept my eyes focused on hers—it was my duty not to laugh, since it was me she’d addressed. Then
she
laughed. “I thought for sure that’d get a rise out of you. But you’re all somber and serious, like you’ve been kidnapped.”

I sighed with the irony.

“Are—are you okay?” she asked. I realized I hadn’t spoken a solitary word since I’d left the dock. Judging by the amount of trouble I was already in, it seemed like a good game plan.

“Yes,” I answered.

“You’re nervous, aren’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Are you a new recruit?”

“Yes.”

Ebony had a gift for asking redundant questions. She’d witnessed my confrontation with Captain Marek firsthand—she could already see that protocol wasn’t my specialty.

“Do you want me to stop asking you questions?”

“No.”
Yes.

“What’s your name?”

“Elyse.” No doubt she knew this already. No doubt all these eavesdroppers knew it. Scrambling for a subject other than me, I took a stab at redundant questions myself. “So, you weren’t kidding then? Ebony is your real name?”

“Yes it really is.” She laughed. “And that’s the real story. It’s fun to make up different explanations, though. You’d be surprised what people will believe. The albino story is my favorite.”

I liked Ebony Grace. Even if her first name defined irony, her last name defined her personality. Composed, hospitable, pleasant—qualities I wished were contagious. Hopefully I’d have the opportunity to get to know her better once we boarded the
Bellator
. The
Bellator
. The lump returned to my throat when I thought of the name of my new home.

Ebony was distracted again, struggling to sit straighter to see over the heads in front of us. “I think we’re almost there.”

I tried to peer ahead as well, but I’d secured my seat belt a little more responsibly and couldn’t rise up at all. I leaned to the side, looking past the conductor to the illuminated, muddy bottom. The sea floor ahead disappeared, dropping off a cliff into a darker void. I fought back the unreasonable fear that we would plummet to our deaths.

This is just a shelf on the ocean floor
, I told myself as we approached the precipice.
We’ll just keep moving through the water, that’s all.
Still, I held my breath, letting it out in a gust when we left the shallow water. A small, ridiculous part of me felt the cliff was symbolic.

As we descended farther, the pit of my stomach experienced the sensation of falling, real or imagined. And then I saw it. The massive
Bellator
illuminated the deep waters of the ocean, its tiny, lighted windows punctuating the multilevel vessel, creating an outline of this enormous submerged liner. It was shaped liked a giant fish without a tail, the front of it large and rounded, the body tapering down to the tailless tip. What I assumed was the control center glowed at the front, representing the open and well-lit eye of the fish. The physics of such a design were sound, a perfect imitation of nature. The
Bellator
displayed the same capability to remain immobile amid the ocean currents, its form so still it looked like a permanent resident here instead of an alien presence.

“There it is,” Ebony breathed in awe, her expression echoing my own sentiments.

The immense size of the thing left me breathless, diminishing what little confidence I’d accumulated since parting with sunlight—and with Captain Marek. But I didn’t actually part with him, did I? After all, this was his ship, his territory. And it looked every bit as powerful, every bit as intimidating, as the man who directed it. Lucky for me, that meant the mighty
Bellator
was big enough that I’d probably never have to face him again, never have to look him in the eyes and know that I could recite all the bones in the human body, spout off the element chart, but I couldn’t remember my own name when I found myself in his capable arms. What if I started to forget my training too? I was supposed to be part of the medical staff on the ship. Could he be so distracting that I’d amputate the wrong leg or attempt a hysterectomy on a man?
Worse than that, would my research suffer?

I shook my head.
Let it go, idiot. You didn’t get much sleep and even less breakfast. Who would function normally under those circumstances?
I cringed at the answer: Any good doctor would. It was part of the job to focus no matter the circumstances, to shut out the rest of the world and concentrate on the task at hand.

But this wasn’t about being a good physician. I reacted to Captain Marek as a woman, not as a doctor, which had never happened before. For all his charm and effort, Blue Eyes couldn’t knock off my doctor hat, not even when he offered me his best deal-sealing smile and asked me on a date. But I was in my natural element—a medical emergency on my island. Captain Marek made me forget my name by catching me when I fell—at a time when I was emotional, vulnerable,
kidnapped
, for God’s sake. It didn’t mean he could undermine my ability as a doctor. Besides, I didn’t even
like
the man. He was about as compassionate as the flu. And like the flu, I’d get over him and his feverish touch.
Right?

Doubt churned in my stomach as I remembered how I felt pressed against him. I was thankful the dark masked my blush as Ebony nudged me to look ahead of us.

Grateful for a distraction, I complied. The flu, compassion and feverish touches lost my attention as we drew closer. I realized the windows I’d just deemed tiny were in fact as big as the transport pod propelling me toward them—we were like a minnow flanking a whale. We gravitated toward the belly of the huge fish where an illuminated line of pods formed at its center, presumably to drop off its precious, foolish cargo.

We waited in line as pod after pod disappeared up into the belly, each reappearing after dispensing its passengers. We moved closer to the undercarriage of the
Bellator
, awaiting our turn to be devoured. Many times I glanced around our pod to see if any of my peers had come to their senses, but they all seemed eager for their fate. I knew I couldn’t escape to the crushing pressure of ocean around us, but maybe if one or more of them would help me overthrow the conductor…

Too soon, the pod in front of ours moved next in line. I watched in terrified curiosity as a door above it opened, spilling white light into the surrounding darkness. All heads in the victim pod’s cabin looked up in expectation. Without warning, they were sucked up into the belly of the beast, light disappearing with them. More frantic now, I darted glances around the cabin, looking for a willing accomplice. And found none.

After several torturous minutes, the pod re-entered the water without its passengers, as if the
Bellator
had eaten them and spit out the pod as bones. I tried to swallow and—good grief, had I grown an Adam’s apple? I clutched my neck to make sure the lump wasn’t actually protruding.

In my nervous fit, I didn’t realize we were under the door until it opened, pouring light into the cabin. And, like a group of trained seals, we all looked up. I tried to look away—just to see if I could—but couldn’t tear my eyes from the white nothingness. In the next instant we catapulted up, swallowed whole.

Somebody screamed. Might have been me. Another rash of snickers broke out, and I clamped my mouth shut.

The pod rested on the cage-like floor of a lighted white room, and although we were still immersed in water, it was draining quickly. Within seconds, we were able to step out onto dry vents. While the other passengers retrieved their duffel bags from the rear of the pod, I waited alone, hugging myself like a lost child.

The conductor ushered us through the only door in the room, out into a long hallway where we lined up, side by side. The walls were painted a very soothing—and very fitting—ocean blue instead of the customary, morbid black. The hallway extended without apparent end in either direction, with bright white lights embedded into the ceiling every few feet. Smiling, Ebony took the place beside me. I resolved to thank her later for her kindness.

Little-Man silenced us with “Atten-hut!”

As unique as his fingerprints, Lt. Horan’s gait on the squeaky hallway floors announced his presence. He strode up to me wearing a mirror-shattering grin. “There you are, Worm! Did you miss me?” he screamed in my face. Without taking his eyes off me, he yelled, “The rest of you are dismissed. Go get processed, find your quarters and stay there.”

I wanted to think Ebony brushed against me on purpose, to reassure me, not because Lt. Horan was practically foaming at the mouth. But the hall seemed to vomit cadets. After a few minutes of shuffling, nudging and duck-and-cover, the lieutenant and I faced each other alone.

“Did you bring your toothbrush, Morgan?” His voice was a sickening sweet.

“No,” I replied, grateful for it.

“That’s okay. Every new cadet is issued a complimentary toothbrush. I’ll get you one.”

I followed him against my better judgment, to what I knew would be a bathroom where I would use the toothbrush to clean it. “That’s not very original, Lt. Pretty Princess,” I muttered as he beckoned me inside the long, reeking room—obviously the men’s. Still, relief washed over me. As a doctor, it would take a lot more than some excrement and poorly aimed urine to ruin my day.

“Why change a perfectly adequate tradition?” He smiled, but I could tell by the crookedness that he was out of practice. “Get to work.” He handed me the toothbrush and waved me forth, as if to shoo me.

I liked him better when he yelled. To accommodate his falsely pleasant tone, I stuck my tongue out at him—I owed this man nothing. At least I got him to scowl again before he left, instead of smiling like one of those creepy circus clowns who scare children.

When I was sure he was gone, I cleaned enough space on the floor to sit and plopped down, flinging the defiled toothbrush as far away from me as I could. Drawing my knees to my chest, I wrapped my arms around them, putting my head down. As I drifted off to sleep, I acknowledged that a nap would do me considerable good. I told myself the slight headache percolating was probably from stress and lack of sleep—not a near-concussion from swan-diving into a certain captain’s rock-hard chest. Either way, an escape to oblivion was exactly what I needed.

But the peace of oblivion shattered as the gore of yesterday resurfaced, the nightmare so real I could smell the smoke.

After ascertaining what I already knew—that the children were dead—I left the field and headed toward the sound of gunfire. Terrified to the point of weeping, I pressed on, despite my sense of self-preservation pleading with me to turn around. The closer I got to the village, the more victims I found, either dead or dying. The living begged for me to kill them. Legs, hands, arms, feet. Limbs of all sizes, all ages, were scattered with the bodies, some in piles where groups of people had been the targets, some lying in solitude next to the poor souls who died alone.

It was then that I realized I wouldn’t be saving anyone today. Not one of these gentle, kind people stood a chance against guns meant to bring down buildings. Awash with desperation, emboldened by a new purpose, I flung open my kit and began administering morphine to any breathing being I found—I couldn’t prevent death itself, but I could make it as painless as possible. Judging body weight by sight, I gave each their measure of relief. Acceptable degree of wrong.

The tragic imbalance of supply and demand left me breathless, but I continued on, oblivious to the heaving sounds of artillery around me. Men, women and children swirled and staggered to their escape in varying degrees of panic and confusion. It reminded me of sheep being herded, though I’d never seen it done before. Many of them urged me to run too, but I remained at my task.

I happened upon a black-clad soldier lying on his back, gripping his stomach. He wasn’t one of the massive warriors I’d seen earlier. Blood poured from between his fingers, and he stared up at me in horror, his body writhing in pain. Without hesitation, I knelt and injected him twice, granting him peace. It wouldn’t be long before that amount took effect, and I hoped his last memory was of the kind act, instead of the need for it.

As I rose to press forward, he grabbed my arm and pulled me to the ground. Startled and unsure of his intent, I fought to break free. Even in his condition, he was easily stronger than me, pulling me closer until my face was inches from his. “Thank you,” he whispered.

Stunned beyond speech, I nodded. His head fell back and his hand on my arm went limp. I caught it before it flung to the dirt, laying it gently beside him in a last measure of dignity.