Renegade (The Elysium Chronicles #1)(7)
He’s large, considering how small I am in comparison, but he’s small for a blue whale—maybe only twenty meters or so—and from research, I know he’s probably only a few years old, probably just reaching sexual maturity. He’s gorgeous, with his blue gray mottled skin and pale, ridged underbelly. I hope he’ll sing for me today. The songs always sound sad, but they’re lovely.
Then he rolls, showing off another of his pod. Since it’s slightly larger and appears to be flirting with him, I wonder if she’s his mate. She comes close enough to the glass that I’m sure, if the glass didn’t separate us, I could touch her.
Her large eye studies me carefully for a long time, and I stand there, watching her back. Though she can’t really smile, I can see it in her eye. She makes a loud moaning sound and the first whale joins in her song.
It always amazes me when they come to visit. I’m not sure why exactly, since fish life is abundant where we are. It’s rare not to glance out the window and see schools of brightly colored fish. Or a manta ray. Sharks. Jellyfish. Our city sits in a trench, our buildings dug into the walls. All except Sector Three—I have to press a hand to my stomach when the thought of Three causes flutters there—which is settled on the trench floor because we use the geothermal energy from the lava tubes to power our facility.
The warmer water attracts plenty of pretty things. The water is mostly blue, and highlighted because of the outside lights that shine during the daylight hours, but if I tilt my head just right, I can detect a hint of orange closer to the bottom. It’s strangely intriguing.
For almost an hour, I watch out the window until my friends bid me adieu with a flick of their tails as they disappear into the blue.
No sooner are they gone than running footsteps sound behind me, quickly followed by the alarms from the DNA cameras. It’s unusual to hear, and I immediately tense, spinning to face the door directly across from me. It’s not so much the alarms—they’re easy to set off, though they make my ears hurt with their high-pitched screech—but the running. Sometimes the Maids will walk a bit faster if they are behind in their duties, but running is almost unheard of.
I peer around the hemlock bush that blocks my view, and my eyes widen when a very dirty boy around my age runs through the doors leading into my gardens. He slides to a halt just inside the doors, looks in all directions, and then darts off to my left.
Within seconds, Guards rush in and head straight for my own two Guards, who’ve barely paid attention to me since I got here. They confer quietly for a moment before one turns to me.
“Miss Evelyn. You must go back to your room right away. There is a Surface Dweller running around.”
I wonder how they have missed the fact that one just ran through the door.
Normally I would agree to their request—it’s just easier to do what they ask and it’s usually only a minor inconvenience—but the boy looked more scared than anything. Not savage, as I’d always been taught. I wonder if he’s a Surface Dweller at all. Maybe the DNA alarms are just malfunctioning. But even if he is … I’ve never met a Surface Dweller before.
I fight the urge to turn my head in his direction. “I am safe here,” I say, straightening my shoulders and lifting my head. “There is only one way in and one way out.” I make sure my voice is loud and clear so the young man can hear me, wherever he’s hiding. “I wish to continue my gardening duties. I won’t be long.”
The Guards exchange a look. They probably want to argue with me, but the last time one did so, Mother did not take kindly to it. After a long moment, they nod and go to watch over the doors.
I pretend to walk my gardens with nothing on my mind other than removing dead heads of the flowers I pass, but I’m really looking for the boy and keeping an eye out for Enforcers. They aren’t usually in my gardens, but I don’t want to take any chances.
I hum softly under my breath, hoping I appear normal to anyone watching. They’re used to me acting oddly, but I wonder how closely they’re watching me.
Never did I expect my … condition to be of use to me.
When I finally find him, he’s hiding underneath the table used for cuttings. He’s holding my shears in one hand and glaring at me. Inwardly I tense; he is an armed Surface Dweller after all, but I refuse to show how nervous he makes me.
He’s shaking, but I now doubt it is from fear. He doesn’t look afraid. He looks sick. His skin is pale and pasty. His hair is stringy and partially covers his eyes, which are bloodshot.
But he’s strong. The lines of his chest are visible through his shirt, which—along with his pants—is torn and, although covered in mud, clings to his skin. There’s a spray of something red across the front. It’s dark, and I think I smell something rusty.
A memory pushes its way front and center.
He’s dying and it’s my fault because of my carelessness.
He gasps for breath and blood pours from his mouth just as quickly as it comes from his wounds.
With a gasp, I cross my arms over my chest, hugging myself and shaking the memory from my head. I’ll work on figuring that one out later. Right now I need to figure out what to do with the Surface Dweller in front of me.
I kneel, careful not to get too close. He’s quite obviously a Surface Dweller and therefore unpredictable.
“Hello,” I say softly. “I won’t hurt you.”