A Girl Called Badger

TWELVE



Wilson dreamed he and Badger were back at the underground lake. Only this time, he couldn’t keep his head out of the water or move his arms or legs. The black lake poured into his mouth and he kept spitting it out.

Hold on

The water was sulfurous and thick. He twisted his head and coughed to keep it out.

Hold my hand

The darkness seeped into his nose and ears and through the corners of his eyes. He held his breath as the water closed over his head.

Don’t let go

Cold water stung his face and Wilson opened his eyes.

His face and the wooden slats against his cheek were wet. He lay sideways, on the floor of a room packed with old objects. Candlelight glowed on ancient calendars hanging around the room. On the faded squares of paper were images of beautiful women, animals, and flying transports.

Badger knelt across the room, tied with braided rope. Her arms were bound above and behind her head and the loops crossed her neck. Thick cables of hemp circled her knees and calves and linked her wrists to her ankles. Purple bruises covered the right side of her face.

Wilson tried to lift his head from the puddle but couldn’t. Ropes bound his arms and legs behind his back. When he tried to free his hands the rope around his neck tightened. He relaxed and could breathe again.

“Easy there,” a voice said in English.

The floor creaked and a young man stepped into the light. He had dark, cropped hair and pale skin.

“You can’t escape. It gets tighter as you struggle.”

The man spoke with sibilant, overstressed consonants. That and the way he flicked his tongue across his lips reminded Wilson of a range lizard.

“Why?” Wilson asked hoarsely.

“I have to be cautious, because you’re both extremely dangerous. Between the two of you a dozen men are dead. Well, I say men, but they weren’t really. They were well-trained and valuable, however.” The man walked to Badger, who spat in his direction. “This young lady was gracious enough to need ten men to hold her down. She killed two in the struggle.”

“I’m sorry,” said Wilson.

“Apology accepted.”

“No, I’m sorry that eight survived.”

“Appalling,” said the man. “I’m used to bloody language like that from savages but not from an English speaker. Not from someone who can read.” He grabbed a wooden chair and sat between Wilson and Badger. “All I want to do ... is talk.”

“Untie us.”

“That would be rash.”

“Why?”

The man yawned. “I’m certain you find it entertaining, but I don’t like to repeat myself.”

“You’re part of the Circle,” said Wilson.

“Correct.” The man lifted a silver necklace and symbol from his green shirt. “It’s a growing organization. We’re always looking for new members.”

“Looking for more slaves,” said Badger.

“I don’t like that word––we call them workers,” said the man. He spread his hands. “It’s a matter of perspective.”

“I’m sure the slaves agree,” said Wilson.

“You’re making a simple attempt at humor, but it’s actually true. Food, shelter, and medical care are provided free to everyone. And those who give a higher quality of effort are rewarded. We value good workers and provide them a chance for advancement and success.”

“One thing you didn’t give them was choice,” said Wilson.

“Choice. Freedom. Independence.” The man shook his head. “How many people in your revolting village ever leave? Most of you semi-literates and tribals stay in the same filthy huts your entire life, grubbing roots from the ground and eating rats. If you survive the diseases of childhood you’re cut down in petty tribal warfare or from wild animals. You’re surrounded by the machines of your dead fathers, ignorant and dangerous like a monkey with a chainsaw.” He bent over Wilson. “The Circle has begun the next age of humanity, and you throw ‘slavery’ in my face. Words like that are delusional relics from the past. We give our workers more safety, education, and years of life than they had before.”

“Ask them if they’re happy,” said Wilson.

“Let me change the subject,” said the man. “My name is Darius. The men tell me your name is Will. The young lady has refused to give me her name.”

“You won’t live long enough for it to matter,” said Badger.

Darius wrinkled his nose. “More boring bravado.”

“Where did you learn English?” asked Wilson.

“This is my interview. Stop asking questions or I pull bits off the girl, probably the ones you like.”

Wilson watched him and said nothing.

“Good,” said Darius. “Where’s your village?”

“It’s to the west.”

“That’s no secret. Be more specific.” With one hand Darius clacked a pair of pliers.

Wilson knew he had to say something credible, but he didn’t want to reveal anything about Station or the valley. “It’s called David. It’s on old 24,” he said.

Darius smiled. “Interesting. Your leaders have always refused a contract. Now it’s my turn to ask this question: How do you know English?”

“Everyone speaks it there.”

“Do you have machines hidden in the village?”

“We can forge weapons and work with leather, cloth, and wood,” said Wilson.

“Do you have machines?”

“Only those we make ourselves.”

“A lie. Why were these papers found on your person?” Darius held up the SWORD manual. “And these books?” He waved at the top of the table.

“It’s a hobby,” said Wilson.

Darius stepped in front of Badger, pliers in hand.

“Stop,” said Wilson. “You’re right––the village has machines left from the old days. They’re not working and we were searching for a way to fix them.”

“My scouts followed you through Springs to that old base. You have very specific knowledge on a locked room there.”

“The books at my village mentioned it,” said Wilson. “I thought we might find parts.”

“What kind of machines are you trying to fix?”

“Medical machines.”

“Good.” Darius stared at Wilson. “Circle scouts will travel to David and give them one last chance for membership. If they accept, a contract will be drawn up. We’ll provide weapons and medical supplies and the village will provide us with workers. The number and frequency will be spelled out in the contract. If you can spell, that is.” He chuckled then cleared his throat. “Another benefit is that other tribals who are part of our Circle will stop attacking your village. At least, not when anyone is watching. All we want is peace and safe trading between all members. However, if your people refuse the contract the village will be razed. At that point we’ll just take what we want.”

“Your men will die,” said Badger.

Darius smiled. “That’s why you’ll go with them,” he said. “And even if they’re killed, we’ll send more. The contract language will become harsher at that point.”

“They’ll die too,” she said.

“What an impolite and bloody-minded young lady. You’d be quite the spectacle where I’m from.” Darius cleared his throat. “Both of you speak English and claim some part of civilization but you act like homicidal maniacs. We bring order and technology into this lawless place and all the tribals welcome it. You’re deluded to think you can escape the march of progress.”

“More a trail of tears than a march of progress,” muttered Wilson.

Darius sighed and took Wilson’s pistol from the table.

“I only need one of you as a hostage. I think my scouts will be happier with the young lady.”

He aimed down the barrel at Wilson and fired. The bullet hit Wilson like a sledgehammer and he slid across the floor. Badger screamed. Burning fire, then numbness spread across Wilson’s stomach. He focused on breathing and watched Badger struggle against the ropes. She choked from the bonds around her neck.

“Kira ... don’t ...”

He tried to say more but his eyes wouldn’t stay open.