ARC10

Chapter 19.2

As soon as the meeting ends, both rush out of the room. Dean used to stay for a while, but now he vanishes faster than Simon's old fried chick'n'bits special on Wednesday nights.

I never thought I'd miss the Kitchen Sink as much as I do now.

When the meeting ends at noon, I reel at how voluminous my freedom feels. Without Simon, Dean, Kai, or the Sink to consume my time, there's little left for me.

But I've found ways to wait out my days.

I drag myself past the Sink's old site on my way to Agriculture on Level 2. I linger over the remnants of my past for a little while longer. The steel doors remain shut tight. The red painted letters slant like drunkards. The place exudes a residual smell of cooking grease and charred aluminum. It's not what I remember, but it's still close enough that I brush my fingers to scrape off some of the good memories to take with me while I work.

Keep moving. There's nothing here anymore.

The air in Ag smacks with heavy humidity. The pounding and groaning of water rushing through heavy mills greets me as I slide through the entrance. I ignore the scowls as I approach the man at the front desk.

"Again, Lorn?" he asks, still focusing on his PAHLM.

"Yep. Give me some work."

I wonder if he realizes I can see his eyes rolling despite his downturned head. He builds his strength in an inhale, folding his hands in front of him and putting on the "business face." "Listen, Captain. You know we love having you here in Ag. Really, we do."

I raise an eyebrow. I have an inkling that this talk was sometime in the making. I'm a Reaper. I deal in violence and destruction. I have no place here.

"You're a Reaper—a damn good one, for sure—don't you want to go do Reaper things?"

"No, I'm good here."

His fingers tighten together. "The thing is . . . I didn't want to be this blunt, but you're making people uncomfortable."

I stretch over the counter. He backs away as I inch closer.

"When I'm down here, I make people uncomfortable?"

"Very."

"So when I'm risking my neck, running around the Topside, killing Invaders, and protecting our Scavs so you can have this nice desk welded and all your great Ag tools made for you. I'm making them uncomfortable, too?"

He blanches. "Well, no, but—"

"So let me get this right. Topside in the face of death . . . they're comfortable. Working quietly in the dirt . . . they're uncomf—"

"Okay, fine. Go in. Here's your apron."

My hands submerge in the dirt—right up to the elbow. The gloves do nothing for me as I squeeze the moist loam through my fingers. Some of the damp crumbs slide down my arm where they are held captive in the tips of the gloves. Looking over, I see them sneering at me, watching my oafish technique and commenting with their eyes.

They can fuck off.

Taking the little sapling from its seedling snatched fresh from the aquaponics room, I plop it in the hole and cover it with the fertilizer mix.

I like to give my trees a stern lecture before I leave them for the night. "You will grow, do you hear me?"

It leans precariously to the left.

"And in a few months, I will take you to a new home."

It tilts farther to the side.

"And I will plant you there, and things will be just fine."

I find it only a bit sad that my only conversation partners have been vegetation lately.

Warm sunlight bouncing off the mirrors hits the skin on the back of my neck. Cracking my neck, I smile at a woman passing my row. She pretends she doesn't see me.

With all this sunshine in here, I thought I'd be happier.

When the mirrors reflect the night, I slowly gather my things, take my time heading out and saying goodbye to the people who are willing to acknowledge the Reaper in sheep's clothing. They whisper, asking each other what I think I'm doing here. This is not where I belong.

I expect this shit.

Traffic on the Rotunda is bearable this time of night. People mill between levels, finding friends and visiting partners. They return home to sit on a couch with disintegrating seams to wait for the next day to come.

"Nika!"

My head snaps up. I have to fight the urge to frown.

With a woman at his side, Dean saunters over.

And not just any woman, but probably the most beautiful woman that's ever existed on the planet Earth. As much as I want to hate her, I can't.

"Captain," she says, nodding. She and Dean tower above the crowds of the URE. She's a svelte goddess among smoldering tree stumps. Her skin shines smooth as glass and the color of breakfast tea.

"Jiang. Freyer. It's good to see you. Where're you off to?" Do I really want to know?

Dean hesitates before answering. "Just back to my pod." That phrase sits in the air and curdles. He scrambles for justification. "I wanted to show Connie some of Dad's orchids."

I wonder if they can hear my heart shattering through the openings in my ears. Because to me, it's deafening.

"Oh, yeah, your dad's flowers. Don't let him bore you to death, Connie. If he does, come find me, and we can go practice shooting stuff." What am I doing?

Dean's mouth hangs open, his brow furrowed.

"I mean, if you guys aren't going to be having sex or anything." Abort. Abort now.

Connie attempts to respond, but I walk away before she even utters the first syllable.

Maybe I'll walk out of the URE and let the Invaders have me. That might be less torture  than whatever this is.

Just to pass the time before being forced into my empty pod for another lonely night, I meander by the old site of the Sink again. Out of nothing better to do, I place my PAHLM gently against the door scanner. I wait for the old familiar swoosh of the well-oiled doors to allow me entrance.