Donor 23 by Cate Beatty

didn’t want to say, but he couldn’t lie to her. “He looked like the ‘sun had been bright in his eyes’ last night.”
    It was a kinder way of saying a person had been drinking heavily the night before. Her father had many nights like that since they executed Joan’s mother eight months ago. Sometimes Joan wondered if her father knew the truth. Maybe that was why he drank.
    Changing the subject, Reck asked her with concern, “Hey, what’s up with tomorrow? Not another donation?” He tenderly grasped her hand.
    Reck clearly cared for Joan. He always worried about her donations. The threat of donations was a mystery to him, as he never faced the possibility. His benefactor cut him loose and made him a solus at a young age. Luckily for him, he was strong and healthy and able to make a good living working in the sewers. So although he had no benefactor who needed him, he wasn’t a burden to the Alliance. And now that he had a high marriage rating, the System even deemed him useful to the Alliance.
    Joan shrugged, “Just the usual.” She squeezed his hand—he was special to her, not exactly as she was to him—but she had her objectives, and she struggled with that. He pulled her hand to his lips and kissed it. She gently removed her hand from his grasp and stroked his cheek. Kaleb loudly cleared his throat, reminding them of his presence.
    Appreciatively, but with genuine hesitation, she withdrew her hand. “So, tonight?”
    Kaleb demurred, saying, “We can’t. We have a meeting to go to.”
    Joan looked at them, and she understood. The two of them attended “meetings” often. She suspected they were underground meetings. Joan knew of an underground movement among the donors but had nothing to do with them. Troublemakers and criminals the Alliance called them. Joan had her goals clear in her mind, and she was going to stick with them. Thankfully, neither Kaleb nor Reck ever pressed her to join the underground. Because she wouldn’t have.

6
    J oan unpacked the groceries as her father walked in. Staffan Lion limped toward the kitchen. His tall frame hunched over slightly, making him appear shorter. He had dark brown hair, receding on the sides, and brown eyes. Joan didn’t look like him. As her father always said, with a smile, she luckily favored her mother. It was silly self-deprecation because Staffan Lion had been, and still was, a handsome man.
    He had never been called upon to donate an organ, but he often had to use a cane to walk. One day while he was working in the sewers, a metal beam in a tunnel collapsed, breaking his back. Fortunately for him, his unknown benefactor had paid for his medical treatment. Joan worried why that happened, concerned a major donation might be in the offing. Although two years had passed, the concern still nagged at her.
What if it happened? He was all she had.
Every day shewaited to hear his footsteps in the hallway coming home from work. She comprehended how it worked. It could happen at any time. He would just disappear. A snatcher van would slowly leave the ghetto.
    “Hey, Dad,” Joan called out.
    “Sweetie,” he replied.
    He came in, and she reached to give him a hug.
    “Careful,” he warned. “Had to go down in the tunnels today. Stink a little. How’s your day?”
    Joan didn’t care, and she hugged him anyway.
    “Wait till you hear. You’ll never guess whom I met,” she said excitedly.
    As she told him the story about her encounter with the Governor, Staffan sighed and poured himself a drink.
    That evening, Joan tossed and turned in her sleep. She awoke and through the darkness sensed the photo of Gates staring at her from across the room, just as it did eight months ago when Nox interrogated her.
    “I swear, sir, Colonel Nox, sir—”
    “It’s Captain,” he said soothingly.
    “Captain, sir, I swear, I don’t know anything.”
    The Master Manipulator continued talking—softy, gently, monotonously. She lost track of what he said—stuff about the