Estranged

Numb

She felt no pain anywhere else. Her headaches had settled to an ignorable level. She swung her feet to the ground, sitting up and reassessing her condition. Her vision swayed for a bit but soon steadied itself. The inside of her mouth felt dry and a nasty pang clawed through her stomach. She wondered how long had passed since that evening; how Gringe’s attack on the Irrhyian sector had fared; whether Germaine and Aunt Jebba were alright; where in hell she was. In short, she needed answers.

She rose and walked to the door. The instant she lifted her fist to bang on it, it slid open, revealing her captor, who carried a bowl of soup and a bottle of water on a tray.

“Get back in,” Haylen ordered, staring Aliyah down.

Aliyah had no misconceptions that Haylen would stop her from crossing an inch outside the room, even with the tray of food in her hands. She conceded, returning to her bed. If anything, she needed the food. She did not have it in her just yet to be difficult.

Some answers though, she would get. “So, where are we?” she asked as she sat on the edge of the bed, receiving the tray from Haylen.

“Where do you think?”

“Damij Sector.”

“Correct,” Haylen replied. She stepped back, standing a few feet away with her thick arms behind her back.

Aliyah could not be sure, but she did not sense any hostility coming off Wilda’s personal guard; only unbreaking focus on serving her one duty—which was to watch over Aliyah. Aliyah pondered her next question as she dug into the somewhat bland soup that had a morsel of meat in it.

“What does she want with me?” she tried.

Haylen had not taken her eyes off Aliyah for a second since she had entered the room. And she did not now. Yet she ignored Aliyah’s question, looking at the young aide in telling silence.

Aliyah bit the inside of her cheek, getting the memo. Haylen answered the first one, but she would not answer all questions. Aliyah needed to be smarter with the next one. She dwelled longer than the previous time, but she finally landed on the question she would ask. It was a gamble, but she had a feeling it was the right one.

“Why do you serve her?”

Haylen blinked, as much a display of utter shock as she could manage. She remained silent this time as well, but more as if she was ruminating on a response than a refusal to entertain the question altogether.

Aliyah waited patiently.

Haylen replied, her eyes burning with a mix of emotions, “She gave my brother and me a chance when no one else would. And she treated us more fairly than anyone ever has. If I didn’t serve her, I’d serve no one and have no life.”

Haylen’s answer changed Aliyah’s outlook on her instantly, because she understood. She understood completely. For the most part of her life, what Haylen had just described was what she had felt towards her Aunt Jebba.

And perhaps Haylen saw that understanding in Aliyah’s expression. Her eyes flitted away from Aliyah’s and she shifted on her feet. Finally, she asked back, “Why do you serve him? I’ve gone through your record. You were like a daughter to Lady Synthë, almost something of an heir to her even. Then for some reason you left. Only to pop back up by the District Head’s side. It makes no sense.”

Aliyah took a deep breath. Her immediate instinct was to lie, or at least obscure the truth in some way. But she recognized that this dialogue between her and Haylen had become two-way now; an exchange. And if she took, she had to give. “It was when Wilda had just acquired the control she has now, and she was looking to assert it. She imposed her demands on the rest of the Seven. It didn’t sit right with me, Wilda’s ways of doing things. It was wrong—still is.” Haylen showed no reaction. Aliyah continued, “And so I left. Do you know of the Culling?”

Haylen nodded. “Upon his appointment, the District Head underwent a rigorous screening process in which anyone with links to any of the Seven were given a choice—leave the Ministry, or live by its rules.”

“And do you know why it was so successful?”

“We’ve always wondered. We were never able to get any more intel past that.”

“Exactly. That was also part of the Culling’s efficacy. You see, Gringe went through every individual working in the ministry like a fine comb. Thousands of employees. And he asked them, to leave the Ministry, or swear unwavering loyalty to it, to live and uphold its rules. Those who chose to leave were asked to exit the room, after which they were arrested and carted off to cells.

“Those who swore loyalty to the Ministry were then asked to give up critical information regarding the Seven. The definition of critical information is any piece of intel that would jeopardize their standing with any of the Seven they were tied to.”

“Hmmm,” Haylen murmured. “Essentially, in order to prove their loyalties they had to betray the Seven.”

“The ones who failed to give up any critical information were carted off to the cells. Those who provided false information were carted off to the cells. And to those who did give up information, Gringe swore his loyalty. He swore to treat them justly, to compensate them for honest work done—none of the shady s**t the Seven had been strong-arming them into doing. He swore to right the wrongs of the district, to topple the Seven, to restart RoseField, to clean the streets, to make us the first truly self-sustainable District in Level 3. And that if in two years he had not accomplished any of that by their measure, they were free to leave his side, return to the Seven even if they so wished.