a kind of determined resolve. "I can handle it."
"You mean...?" I gestured. "You saw your mother's show?" I had hoped that she might have been spared witnessing the event.
Without meeting my gaze, she nodded. "I sneaked out of my room. Pretty cruel, wasn't it?" She went on, with a forced gaiety which I guessed belied her true feelings, "Did you see how she portrayed me, Mr Benedict? I've known all along that she would rather I'd gone instead of my father — I can live with that. But to portray me as ugly as she did... there was no reason for that."
"I'm sorry," I said, inadequately.
She stared out at the waves, silver crested in the starlight. "And in front of all those people," she said almost wistfully. "That was the worst thing of all. I can put up with her hatred in private — but in public like that it just makes both of us look small."
I wondered then if she had heard the applause.
A silence came between us. I was suddenly afraid that she might regret sharing her pain with a perfect stranger and decide to leave, so I said the first thing that came into my head.
"How old are you, Fire?"
She had to think about it. "Nineteen standard."
I shrugged. "So what's keeping you here? Why don't you get out, if you don't like the way your mother's treating you?"
"Is that an offer, Mr Benedict? Shall we elope? We could go to Earth. I'd like nothing more."
I smiled. "I can't see why you just don't pack your bags and move to another island."
"Listen, I know you mean well, but you don't know the half of it. I'm sick and I need my treatment and it's expensive and only Tamara can afford it, okay? If it wasn't for Tamara and fats up there, I'd be dead."
"I had no idea... I'm sorry."
She turned on me. "Hey, don't you think I want to escape? I'm sometimes tempted to leave and to hell with the consequences. I often think a month or two of freedom, away from Tamara, would be worth dying for. But I always chicken out, stay here and take the abuse."
I attempted to lighten the tone of the conversation. "What do you do here? Do you work?"
She sighed. "I run after Tamara. I'm her secretary, housemaid, cook. I make sure she has all the right materials to hand. I've done all this since I was ten."
"Can't you get out a bit, explore the islands?"
She seemed to shrink into herself. "Tamara wouldn't like that," she said in a small voice.
I wanted to tell her, to hell with what Tamara would or wouldn't like. Then I reminded myself that she had had almost twenty years of this conditioning, was subservient beyond the point where mere verbal coaxing would stir thoughts of rebellion.
I was aware that she was looking at me.
I was shocked by what she said next.
"How long have you been taking frost, Mr Benedict?"
I stared at her. "How do you know—?"
She smiled. "Tamara was dependent, once. I recognise the signs. Pale skin, the eyes. You look like you take a lot."
I was momentarily non-plussed. I had discussed my use of the drug with no one before now. "A little," I said.
"Are you hooked?"
I hesitated. "Habituated, let's say. I could stop tomorrow."
"That's what Tamara said—"
"Then how did she get off it?"
"Her surgeon weaned her off. Then he Altered her. She doesn't need the stuff now. Her metabolism manufactures a different drug which gives her a safer, permanent high."
She paused, then said, "Who supplies you, Mr Benedict?"
"No one. I gather it and prepare it myself."
"From Brightside?" There was surprise in her tone.
"It grows wild out there," I began.
"So... you get lots of the stuff?"
I shrugged, uneasy at her questions. "A fair amount."
She was watching me closely. "Mr Benedict... I don't suppose you'd consider getting me some frost, would you?"
"I don't know..."
"Why not? You said I ought to get away from here. I can't
do it physically, so what's wrong with the alternative? We could meet here, same time tomorrow. You could stay with me while I take it, make sure I do nothing stupid. I'd pay you for it."
"I
"You mean...?" I gestured. "You saw your mother's show?" I had hoped that she might have been spared witnessing the event.
Without meeting my gaze, she nodded. "I sneaked out of my room. Pretty cruel, wasn't it?" She went on, with a forced gaiety which I guessed belied her true feelings, "Did you see how she portrayed me, Mr Benedict? I've known all along that she would rather I'd gone instead of my father — I can live with that. But to portray me as ugly as she did... there was no reason for that."
"I'm sorry," I said, inadequately.
She stared out at the waves, silver crested in the starlight. "And in front of all those people," she said almost wistfully. "That was the worst thing of all. I can put up with her hatred in private — but in public like that it just makes both of us look small."
I wondered then if she had heard the applause.
A silence came between us. I was suddenly afraid that she might regret sharing her pain with a perfect stranger and decide to leave, so I said the first thing that came into my head.
"How old are you, Fire?"
She had to think about it. "Nineteen standard."
I shrugged. "So what's keeping you here? Why don't you get out, if you don't like the way your mother's treating you?"
"Is that an offer, Mr Benedict? Shall we elope? We could go to Earth. I'd like nothing more."
I smiled. "I can't see why you just don't pack your bags and move to another island."
"Listen, I know you mean well, but you don't know the half of it. I'm sick and I need my treatment and it's expensive and only Tamara can afford it, okay? If it wasn't for Tamara and fats up there, I'd be dead."
"I had no idea... I'm sorry."
She turned on me. "Hey, don't you think I want to escape? I'm sometimes tempted to leave and to hell with the consequences. I often think a month or two of freedom, away from Tamara, would be worth dying for. But I always chicken out, stay here and take the abuse."
I attempted to lighten the tone of the conversation. "What do you do here? Do you work?"
She sighed. "I run after Tamara. I'm her secretary, housemaid, cook. I make sure she has all the right materials to hand. I've done all this since I was ten."
"Can't you get out a bit, explore the islands?"
She seemed to shrink into herself. "Tamara wouldn't like that," she said in a small voice.
I wanted to tell her, to hell with what Tamara would or wouldn't like. Then I reminded myself that she had had almost twenty years of this conditioning, was subservient beyond the point where mere verbal coaxing would stir thoughts of rebellion.
I was aware that she was looking at me.
I was shocked by what she said next.
"How long have you been taking frost, Mr Benedict?"
I stared at her. "How do you know—?"
She smiled. "Tamara was dependent, once. I recognise the signs. Pale skin, the eyes. You look like you take a lot."
I was momentarily non-plussed. I had discussed my use of the drug with no one before now. "A little," I said.
"Are you hooked?"
I hesitated. "Habituated, let's say. I could stop tomorrow."
"That's what Tamara said—"
"Then how did she get off it?"
"Her surgeon weaned her off. Then he Altered her. She doesn't need the stuff now. Her metabolism manufactures a different drug which gives her a safer, permanent high."
She paused, then said, "Who supplies you, Mr Benedict?"
"No one. I gather it and prepare it myself."
"From Brightside?" There was surprise in her tone.
"It grows wild out there," I began.
"So... you get lots of the stuff?"
I shrugged, uneasy at her questions. "A fair amount."
She was watching me closely. "Mr Benedict... I don't suppose you'd consider getting me some frost, would you?"
"I don't know..."
"Why not? You said I ought to get away from here. I can't
do it physically, so what's wrong with the alternative? We could meet here, same time tomorrow. You could stay with me while I take it, make sure I do nothing stupid. I'd pay you for it."
"I
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