Estranged

The Call

“Alright,” Gringe replied, already turning towards the table. “Mirabelle, can you draw up footage of the incident?” The lights overhead dimmed. The centre of the roundtable came to life with a hum, projecting a holographic account of the event.

Jebba only had view of Gringe’s back as they watched. Broad and defined, it bunched up, slightly straining when the video showed Haylen jetting off with Liya. “Did she ask for anything?” Gringe questioned without turning back to them.

“She asked for her brother, Halon,” Jebba replied, “yet it did not seem as if he was the object of her mission.”

Gringe nodded absently. “And anything from Wilda?”

Both she and Germaine answered in the negative.

“Give me some time to think it over. Wilda will surely have a demand. It’s only a matter of time before—”

“People of Doranne!” Wilda Damij’s voice suddenly blared from each of their respective MiraLinks. Something about the sudden transmission gnawed at Jebba, but she would worry about it later. For now, she held out her wrist in front of her as the sleek, black wristband of her MiraLink projected a holographic video of Wilda in her office, behind a desk.

The de facto leader of the Seven continued her address, her eyes piercing, her voice cold, “For as long as ours, and indeed all of Level 3’s, history stretches, we have been abandoned, shunned, castigated as criminals and the lowliest of the low by those who live in the other Levels. While they languish in comfort and luxury they have accrued for themselves at our expense. Glorified thieves!

Despite them though, we have lived and continued to survive—however tenuously. But this is too much still for them. It is not enough that we are denied everything. We must only exist at their whim. Now they come for RoseField, our sole refuge against them. They think themselves unassailable, but they do not know just how ruthless they have made us. RoseField will not fall. Doranne will not fall.

If perhaps the District Head and his army think that my words are empty, then they are all welcome to the execution of Aliyah, District Head Gringe’s trusted aide and former ward of Jebba Synthë—who has been found to have betrayed her people in allying with the enemy. The location is here, in my sector of RoseField. The time is high noon.

I bid all of Doranne goodnight.”

Their MiraLinks went silent as the transmission ended, as were Jebba, Germaine, and Gringe. Waves of emotions—panic, anxiety, morbid fear, impending doom, utter despair—racked through Jebba, her heart thundering in her chest like it would beat itself to death.

“Jebba.”

That single call sliced straight through her emotional spiral. She looked up at Gringe in answer to his call.

The District Head’s face was unnervingly calm, even his eyes seemed unmoving. “It’s not over,” he said. Right on cue, his MiraLink began to beep. “Accept, Mira.”

Once again, the MiraLink projected an image—the exact same one as before: Wilda sat behind a desk, a preening smirk across her face.

“Mister Gringe. I hope this call finds you well.”

“Get to it, Wilda.” Gringe’s voice could have cut stone.

Wilda chuckled. “Are you pissed?” She glanced up at someone who was out of view of her transmission. “I think he’s pissed. Don’t you?” she asked the unseeable person.

She faced Gringe once more, noting his lack of any reaction. “Absolutely no fun. You’ve got two options if you don’t want your aide dead. Vacate your men from RoseField before noon tomorrow,” her eyes flashed with a challenge, “Or release Halon to us.”

Jebba cursed silently to herself. She knew. Wilda knew that Halon was most likely dead.

“That is only one option,” Gringe answered, “and I suspect you know that.”

“For all your self-righteousness, District Head, turns out you are no more than a murderer. Makes you think, doesn’t it?” Wilda waited for a response from Gringe, seemingly satisfied when he had nothing but silence for her. “There’s my terms. If you fail to adhere to them, however, you’ll find that I’m more than eager to tumble in the mud with you. Goodnight, District Head.”

The call ended. Gringe’s MiraLink went idle.

And it immediately struck Jebba what had bothered her initially about Wilda’s transmission. “There was no prior notice.”

Gringe furrowed his brows. “What?”

“Wilda’s first transmission, there was no notice. It was live—and broadcast forcibly to everyone across Doranne in possession of a MiraLink, I’m sure. Shouldn’t that level of access to Mirabelle only be reserved for higher-ups?”

“Hmm,” Gringe muttered, his face taking on a contemplative look. After half a minute, his face lit up. Something had just dawned on the District Head. “I’ll have a course of action by dawn. We’ll meet again then.”

Jebba wanted to push but decided not to. “In that case, sleep well then, District Head.”

Gringe chuckled sardonically, already exiting the room. “I fear there’ll be little to none of that tonight. But thanks.”

***

Pain shot through Aliyah’s head as her eyes opened. She tried to blink away her bleary vision, but all that did was induce more pain. So she stopped, squashing her instinct to instantly examine her surroundings, and simply waited. In a minute or two by her guess, her vision cleared somewhat, as did the stabbing headaches. She saw more clearly now. She was in a room. Harsh white light shone from fluorescent tubes overhead. A single door stood closed—and locked, she would bet—in the far wall. She lay in a small bed, her arms on top of her body, bound in cuffs.

She was not in a room; she was in a cell.

At once she began to replay the last events she could remember before passing out and waking up here: standing atop the headquarters building with Aunt Jebba and Germaine; being flung away as Haylen had attacked; Germaine defeated; Aunt Jebba knocked unconscious; Haylen seizing her…that was as much as she could remember.