I close my eyes for a moment, fighting despair. What good is seeing the future if you can’t get out of its way?
When I open my eyes again, I meet Trey’s as he slouches next to me on his side of the wall. His eyes ask me questions. The first is: What happened to you? I shrug, and then cringe; my bruised ribs ache, making me not want to breathe. He motions for me to take off my jacket. He rises from the floor, waiting for me to do the same. Getting to my feet, I face him again. I gingerly peel off my black jacket and lay it upon the slab. I almost don’t want to look as I grasp the hem of my white top, inching it up my left side. My shirt is stiff, because it has ribbing sewn into it that pushes everything up and in, a fact that probably helped protect my ribs to a certain extent but now causes me to pause and wince, holding my breath for a second with my elbow pointed up. Finally exposing my ribs, I glance at them; they’re the color of midnight.
Trey’s reaction is pragmatic, except when his hands ball into fists. He gestures that I should wet my jacket with cold water to use it as a compress. Following his advice, I dampen the jacket and take it with me to the cot against our adjoining wall. Lying down on the metal slablike cot, I face him. He sits right next to me again against the floor, since his cot is located on his far wall.
With a lift of his chin in the direction of the hand clutching my side, his eyes ask, How did that happen to your ribs?
I point over my shoulder to Giffen stretched out on the floor in the next cell.
He nods his head in Giffen’s direction with a raise of his eyebrow.
I shake my head and say, “He’s like me.” I point to myself. “He has gifts.” I point to my hair and say, “He’s part Alameeda.”
Trey’s eyes open wider in surprise. He lifts both hands, palms up. What gifts?
I sigh, trying to think of a way to describe telekinesis without using words. I take the balled-up compress in my hand and rest it on my mattress, between us. I stare at it, pointing from my eyes to the compress and back again. Without looking away from the compress, I lift it up by sliding the flat of my hand underneath it, pretending I’m really levitating it with my mind.
When I look over at Trey, he mouths the word in English: telekinesis. I nod vehemently before I wince again in pain. Then I say aloud, “I think he’ll try to kill me when he wakes up. He’s gonna have to get in line, though. Minister Telek would like that honor, unless Kyon gets to me first.”
I can tell right away that Trey didn’t understand the last bit I said about Telek and Kyon. He knows English well enough, but still, reading my lips is not easy. He shakes his head and studies my mouth, waiting for me to restate what I just said. Instead, I point to the picture I just drew on the wall and say, “Kyon.”
Trey gets to his feet and starts pacing back and forth in front of me. He makes a stabbing gesture to his chest, and then points at the drawing.
I sit up on my cot. “I know! I did stab him,” I reply with the same sort of frustration, “but he’s still coming. In a few hours he’ll be healed by a priestess—they’re like a menagerie of misfit toys at his beck and call—and they have a space station! Did you know they have a space station? Please tell me you guys have a space station too!”
It’s clear that Trey didn’t catch what I said, but he seems to accept the fact that Kyon will be responsible for the attack.
Trey points up to the ceiling, mouthing the words, What happened?
“Oh, you want to know how my interview went with Minister Telek?” I tap my chin with my finger. “Hmm, how do I put this? Not good.” I look away from him for a second before I look back and say sheepishly, “I poisoned him.”
Trey gives me the did-I-hear-that-right expression and mouths the words, You poisoned him?
I nod my head.
He looks confused as he asks silently, How?
I point to my brain. “Remember when we were running—” I use my two fingers to show running “—through the Forest of O?”
Trey nods.
“Remember when I—” I point to myself, and then pantomime picking a flower “—picked a znou and put it behind my ear?”
Trey nods again.
“Well.” I pantomime pulling the flower from behind my ear and plucking petals from it. “He had znous in his office, so I took the petals.” I pantomime picking up a kafcan pot and pouring some kafcan into a cup. I pretend to take a sip from the cup before dropping the petals into the cup and holding the imaginary cup out to Trey. “I poisoned his kafcan with those flowers.” Understanding crosses his face, but he doesn’t seem upset with the fact that I just tried to kill a minister of his house. He looks impressed by it.
Telek killed Minister Vallen? Trey asks me by mouthing the words, but I know he’s just affirming what he’s known since the pyramid-shaped Automated Fugitive Apprehender came crashing through his window this morning.
I nod. “He’s going to say that we did it.” I gesture to him, and then to myself.
Telek’s not dead? Trey mouths.
I shake my head no. “This is so bad, Trey,” I whisper, looking around my cell, my eyes filling up with tears. I choke them back. The last thing he needs is for me to cry. “I didn’t kill him. I know I should’ve, but I—”
A hiss sounds from above my head. Startled, I look up, noticing small holes forming in the ceiling. The first few drops of cold water that land on me feel good. I hold up my hand as the water rains down harder, wetting everything in the room. I get to my feet again, standing in the center of my cell. I glance at Trey who has a grim expression from his dry cell.
Water runs in streams over my face and drips from my chin. It soaks my white shirt, turning it translucent. I pull on my wet, black jacket. Soon my black pants are soaked as well. My body temperature drops, causing me to shiver violently. From my perch on my cot, I watch water collect on the floor. The grate in the center of the cell must be plugged. It doesn’t take me long to figure out what’s happening. It’s psychological warfare. They’re not going to interrogate me right away, but that doesn’t mean they can’t start the torture.
At first, I’m just cold, but after a few hours, the drops of water are needles piercing me. I crawl under my bunk to get some relief, but soon the water is too cold to sit in. Trembling, I rise up from under the cot, glancing at Trey. His face is rigid with anger. He uses his fingers, pointing to his eyes in a look-at-me gesture. He starts doing jumping jacks. I follow his lead, although I can only raise my right arm above my head. Every movement is painful to my ribs, but it’s better than freezing to death. In no time, I’m warm enough to stop shivering.
I give Trey a small smile to reassure him that I’m okay. Abruptly, the water turns to mist, losing some of its ferocity. I sigh in relief as my smile broadens, but only for a moment. The small holes in the ceiling disappear as they widen to become several large holes. A moment later, cold water pours from them, turning into a deluge. The standing water that was at my ankles lifts to my knees. Moving to the cot attached to the wall, I stand upon it, but within minutes the level rises to its edge then spills over it, lapping at my feet.