Emigration, Julie Steimle [readict TXT] 📗

“Live with vultures become a vulture; live with crows, become a crow.”—Laotian Proverb—

Working in the Alpha District had its disadvantages. The biggest disadvantage was that the Alpha District worked with the People’s Military more than any other district in the Surface Patrol did. Zormna had just received a call to go to the small central docking bay that the People’s Military owned to answer questions the People’s Military had, and Anzer Zormna Clendar grabbed the nearest Anzer to accompany her. It was under Alea Arden’s orders that she play along with the P.M.s—at least for now. Alea Arden himself was working hard to convince the Kevin to break ties with the People’s Military, but so far he had very little luck. The Kevin, Zormna figured, still feared the government and the P.M.s’ influence within it. Zormna was of Alea Arden’s mind herself, feeling that ties with the People’s Military should be broken as soon as possible.

When Zormna arrived at the uppercity hall in full helmet and uniform just outside the emigration bay, she noticed crowds of people climb out of taxis taking the barest of necessities and memorabilia with them. Just watching them, she shook her head and parked her scooter. She didn’t bother to take off her helmet. Zormna directed her partner to come with her so they could make their trip quick. Her partner nodded back to Zormna, knowing exactly how she felt.

They marched into the small but serviceable hall where they watched people line up in rows to pass security inspection. The hall was no bigger than one of their district entrances and it contained three shiny black shuttles shaped not unlike Parthan vans, except a little longer. Each shuttle was loading with wealthy uppercity High Class as well as a few other classes of Arrassians that had saved up their money to leave Arras. Zormna shook her head at the sight.

She saw no point in leaving Arras. Partha, as far as she knew, was a primitive world full of wars and violence. There was a lack of order there, people living in squalor in most of the continents, not to mention the low technology the people had. And that they did with their technology seemed more of an abuse rather than a use of it. Besides, she knew her heart belonged to her home world. There was no way she would willingly leave.

“There you are,” the People’s Military officer in charge said, looking at the two helmeted Surface Patrol officers. Glancing first at the helmets, he made a face. “You’re not staying?”

“I’m in a rush,” Zormna said.

The P.M. shrugged then passed over a vis-pad. “Here’s the list. These individuals have just escaped from ISIC and might try to sneak off to the surface.”

Zormna looked at the pad with a nod. Pressing the view button for a quick peek, she watched the faces of individuals flash along side their personal information. A number of them were Guard and Servant Class men and women, though most were of the classless sort from the undercity. She could feel a slight twist in her gut that said it was a terrible idea to catch these poor souls again for the People’s Military. Zormna knew that if she hadn’t been taken to the Surface Patrol as a child she would have probably ended up among them.

Sighing, Zormna looked up with a glance at the lines of emigrants that were having their identicards collected. They all seemed eager to leave, clutching their one bag of low-tech belongings in their hands. She was sure those on the list the P.M. just handed her wished they could afford the trip. Zormna shook her head again.

“Ok, we’ll bring this to Alea Arden,” Zormna said, inserting a data card into the vis-pad data slot to save the data for Patrol use.

The People’s Military officer nodded. He then took the vis-pad from her hands to run through the faces, stopping on a few of them for a longer peek. “They wanted me to makes sure some of these were caught specifically by you, Anzer Zormna.”

Zormna scowled. “I don’t go searching for people, Dural.”

The P.M. nodded with a minor smirk. “I know, but they said specifically that you don’t lose people when you have an eye out for them.”

“That’s hardly accurate,” Zormna said, blushing a little in her helmet. “I don’t keep an eye out for anyone.”

“Look at these anyway,” the Dural said, holding up the vis-pad for her to see the screen clearly.

The pictures flashed on the screen. Zormna read the names casually: Orrlar Aflov, Eergvin Dolvar, Asdrov Eddrin, Ka’rren Seemas, Strens Ba’ran and Jafarr Zeldar. Zormna halted on the last name, blinking at the face on the screen. Her arms shivered.

“These escaped out of ISIC?” Zormna asked, staring at Jafarr’s face.

“No. These individuals are at large, said to be the ones that probably broke the people out of ISIC.” He looked at Zormna but could not read her expression anything through her helmet.

Zormna lifted her head and gazed at the crowd that was gathering on the shuttles. These people were so desperate to go to Partha. So was that boy. He had tried to escape twice through the Surface Patrol though he never made it through because she had been around. He might have escaped had she not been there. He might have been free and safe on Partha. Hmm. Free. That shiver ran through her again.

She shook her head and was about to finish saving the data in the vis-pad when something in the room caught her eye. Someone in a green maintenance suit and hat climbed onto a shuttle looking like he was going to perform some last minute repairs, only Zormna knew that face. She almost laughed. The audacity of that boy trying to escape right under the noses of the P.M.s…it was him.

Pushing away from the People’s Military officer, Zormna marched across the docking bay, parting the line that waited for inspection to go onto a shuttle. The people stepped back, watching her helmeted figure as she passed through to where Zormna could still see the young man moving around inside, not suspecting that he was spotted. People were loading in around him, though they looked up when she climbed inside.

He looked up when her boots clomped on the door edge, turning to stare directly at her, his fathomless eyes assessing his situation immediately.

“Don’t move,” Zormna said, lifting up her pistol to show she meant business. 

He seemed to contemplate the order, tilting his head slightly before sighing and lifting his hands.

“Now, come forward slowly,” Zormna said taking a step back onto the floor.

His shoulders hunched a little as his mouth flattened in a line while he took slow, docile steps towards the shuttle opening. But his dark eyes flickered to the bay, taking it in as if memorizing all the exits. Zormna tightened her grip on her pistol.

Faster than she could fire, he swiped the pistol aside then lunged over Zormna’s shoulder in a dive. Following him, Zormna grabbed his leg, jerking him down to the ground. She whipped around.

But he did not drop face first into the floor. He blocked the actual blow with the palms of his hands, pressing off of it; then he rolled over and kicked at her shins with his free foot to make her let go. Zormna’s hand slipped, both of them bracing her legs.

He sprang up.

The P.M.s on duty cocked their weapons, shoving aside the lines of emigrants as that boy scrambled for the exit.

But Zormna got up and dived after him, pouncing onto his back. He crashed to the floor with a heavy thud, the wind blowing out of his chest—and yet he still fought back. His hands were free, pushing off the ground, trying to shove her off, but Zormna grabbed one to bend into a brace. Twisting from her grip, he wrestled out, thrusting away from the floor again. She grabbed his arm a second time, but he pulled that out with an elbow towards her throat. With added force in her frustration, Zormna slammed his faced into the stone floor and placed pressure on his neck with her arm, kneeling hard on his spine, temporarily paralyzing him. Using that one second, she pulled his arms back in a better brace, pinning him down.

“Here’s your man,” Zormna shouted to the watching People’s Military officer.

The other P.M.s in the room gaped as they walked toward her and the struggling young rebel.

“The Zormna Clendar,” one P.M. whispered to another.

The other nodded and understood. So did Jafarr Zeldar, the man she had pinned.

Jafarr let out groan in his throat, cringing as his muscles pinched, his face pressed against the floor without any strength to move it.

The P.M. with the vis-pad jogged over with Zormna’s partner, both gaping as Zormna strained to maintain her hold. The P.M. looked at his vis-pad then back at the flattened face of the young man on the floor, his green hat now askew so that his midnight hair stuck out, though his black eyebrows should have been a dead giveaway.

“Cuff him,” the Dural ordered.

Three P.M.s rushed over with binder cuffs, reaching to the wrists Zormna held down, clasping one on each. Jafarr gritted his teeth as they latched his wrists together, glaring at the leg of the Surface Patrol officer that was still sitting on him. They heaved him off the floor, Zormna hopping back to release her weight. She sighed, taking another step back.

Their captive’s dark stare fixed on Zormna as she dusted off her uniform. She hardly looked up at him, done another day’s duty. But now that she was all sweaty, Zormna removed her helmet, shaking out her blond curls, pulling a few from her damp cheeks. She glanced up once at him when the People’s Military officers started to drag him off to ISIC. Frowning, she followed.

Yanking on the back of one officer’s uniform, with a side-glance at Jafarr, Zormna said, “You’d better bring an armed escort. That guy has escaped twice in transport, and I’d hate it if you lost him again after all that work.”

Giving the Kevin’s Zormna a glance, the P.M. nodded slightly. “Not to worry. We’ll get him in ISIC.”

But Jafarr smirked at the P.M. when he said that, and Zormna saw it. Her eyes narrowed.

“Well, you’d better,” she said again, then pulled her helmet back on.

Zormna walked back to her partner and grabbed the data card that contained the vis-pad list of people. She looked back at where the Durals were now forcing Jafarr to march down the corridor, his chin up as if ready to take on a fight.

 He is in the uppercity, Zormna thought. They were just a block or so from the Internal Security Incarceration Compound. He would make it there this time. Third time is the charm. Striding out the hall, Zormna climbed astride her flight scooter with a nod to her partner. She also climbed onto her scooter and soon they flew off into the uppercity, glad to be going.

But first—Zormna insisted that they ride past the gates of ISIC to watch the P.M.s admit Jafarr. The boy glanced back at her once, his eyes narrowing into a scowl yet he nodded to the gatekeeper as if he knew him on a first-name basis. And though Zormna felt a definite sense of relief that at last that particular problem had been solved, something in her chest it tightened up and she looked back once more, hoping he would be ok.