Chapter One

Or, the prelude.

Johana.

Johana, wake up.

A bright white room. White sheets on a white bed, white walls with white tiles. Cold fluorescent lights and the smell of blood and chemicals. A white gown over her pale skin. A horrific pain on her face, arms, and- and between her- she couldn’t think it. Cold, professional men, like doctors. Pansa. Their steel limbs and metallic skulls marked them as the oppressive ruling class Johana had grown to hate. But instead of judging her, calling her names, striking at her, they bandaged terrible wounds on her arm and wrapped her face in a comforting cloth. One of them slipped a needle into her wrist and nodded to another. They pressed a button on a machine, and the world grew warm, dark, and painless. Johana’s eyes blinked closed as one of them pulled out a measuring tape.

Johana, wake up.

Shaking her head, Johana looked for the sound of the voice. A different Pansa, a middle aged man. Scars all over his face, the sort that money could fix, but from his hulking stature and dark colored fine clothes, he clearly had money. Two dark horns adorned his deep violet plates, an angry red slit where eyes would sit on a normal person- the eyes of a Kicsik, as the Pansa would say. Johana could feel his anger from where she sat. When he spoke, she felt compelled to listen. His voice grated, like scraping iron over asphalt.

“Johana. Please calm down,” he said, his heavy gauntlet resting on her arm. She noticed it wasn’t restrained. “Someone has done something terrible to you.” The white room, the pain between her legs, things were beginning to make more sense. A hospital.

Johana said, “What happened?” The man looked askance.

“Your master was killed by a terrorist.”

The accident. The Master, dead in the driver’s seat. Her Nurse pulling her sister’s body from the flaming wreck. Dark men with guns, executioners, coming closer and grabbing at her. And then nothing. Johana remembered now. She clenched the sheets of her bed.

“You were… attacked. Your body will need time to recover.” Her stomach dropped out as the man squeezed her hand gently. “The scarring will likely be significant.” Nobody would take damaged goods like her. Tears welled up in Johana’s eyes. A Kicsik without a master. A girl without her purity. There was no place for her in society. She’d end up as a street w***e, or dead. She turned to look at the Pansa, whose gaze met hers steadily. Tears were rolling down her cheeks as the gravity of her situation began to sink in.

“Don’t lose faith, little one.” He said many things after that, probably explanations of injuries and treatments, but Johana didn’t hear them. She was too distraught, torn apart by the back and forth emotional whiplash. He seemed to notice her confusion. “I apologize for my rudeness. You can call me Celist.” His gauntlet lifted from her hand and extended in a universal gesture of greeting. Johana took it, his cold hand wrapping entirely around hers.

“I won’t ever marry or be bought or nothing,” Johana said in lieu of a proper response. Her voice was strained and weak, the stress of her situation far too much for someone so young.

“I know. That’s why I’m here.” She had been wondering. “I work with the government. The men who attacked you are- were- anti-Kicsik extremists.” Celist’s voice took on a strange tone here, somehow angrier. Johana could hear him trying to mask it with the same politeness as before, but the energy was unmistakable. “I am a member of a special group who works to maintain stability and peace. We’d like to extend you an offer of employment. Full healthcare, room and board, and a regular pay stipend.” Johana looked at him, unsure what most of that meant. She hadn’t finished middle school yet, so she didn’t know all the words of the adult world. Catching on, he chuckled, and rephrased it.

“A group of bad men attacked you, and we want to hire you to help us deal with them. In exchange, we’ll take care of you. Of course, you’ll be working hard, and it may be unpleasant at times, but…” Celist left the alternatives play out in Johana’s mind. She gripped the sheets again, for an entirely different reason. The tears kept rolling down her face, but her eyes hardened, her expression serious. She met his gaze, blurry as her vision was.

“When can I start?”

Johana woke up to a mirror left beside her bed. She picked it up with her trembling left hand. Her wounds had healed, burn scars covering the right side of her body. Mercifully, her head had been spared the worst of it, the burns relegated to her shoulder, abdomen, and upper thigh. The calico-patterned hair and ears she took so much pride in were preserved, as were her shining green eyes. But she got sick when she thought too hard about what the horrible men had done to her, and horrific bruising marred her face.

A Pansa in a dark suit, similar to Celist’s but not quite as nice, was there when she woke up. He asked her how she was feeling. There was a lot of pain still. But she could walk, and if she didn’t think about what happened, it wasn’t too bad. So he told her they would be moving into the facility- Headquarters, they called it. Johana followed him, shakily getting out of the bed. Her hospital gown was loose and airy in the worst of ways, but the man had assured her there would be clothes at Headquarters. Johana didn’t see why she couldn’t put them on here, but she complied and stumbled after him.

How long had she been out? Arms and legs weak. Head spinning. The sort of stuff she had heard happened to workers who got injured for months or years, not a girl who’d supposedly been out for a day or so. But she made it through the tile hallways in her little slippers, to the front door. The bright light of the sun shone through the window, brighter than Johana remembered. The man in the dark suit turned to her.

“You ready, miss?” Johana nodded, and he opened the door. The bright light assailed her sensitive eyes, and she squinted, covering her face with a hand. Eventually she lowered it, looking through slitted eyes at the world. Gentle blue-green grass, towering and strangely conical trees with red and green leaves in equal measure, rolling purplish clouds in an orange-tinted blue sky. A brilliant blue sun, tiny but providing enough light for her to see by. In other words, outdoors. She followed the man to a black vehicle, slick and clean, with heavy tires and plenty of seating. Very expensive, in other words. They got in, and the vehicle whisked her away. It wasn’t too long of a drive, but enough for Johana to catch some sleep. It was plagued with nightmares and she kept waking up.

Johana didn’t see Celist again after that first conversation, instead learning the name of her big, silver-plated, single-horned, blue-eyed escort: Ztraceny.

“But everyone calls me Trace,” he explained pleasantly. “Hey, we’re pulling up to Headquarters now.” They were. It was a big, official-looking building in the middle of nowhere, down a gravel road. Marble columns and neoclassical architecture, with a grand entrance. Curiously despite the obvious money invested it wasn’t a very tall building, most of its size being width. Three stories. At every entrance were more Pansa in black suits, these ones more obviously armed than Trace. “We’ll be going in the back entrance, which is the only place you’re allowed to use.”

It was much smaller than the front, a simple black door, wooden with a brass knob. Trace stepped out of the vehicle, coming around and opening Johana’s door so he could help her out. He smiled pleasantly, or as pleasantly as a Pansa could smile. Johana took his hand, saving once of hers for attempting to keep the gown modest, and stepped out of the vehicle. Together, they walked through the door.

Headquarters had hardwood floors, clean off-white walls, and homely lamps. Not exactly what Johana had been expecting prior to that point. Trace took her first to a receptionist.

“Sorry, kiddo,” he said. “We can’t give you anything until you fill out some paperwork, so wrap this up and we’ll get you into something real.” Trace seemed embarrassed, but Johana nodded to him regardless. Reaching into some files, Trace explained what they were for: an agreement not to talk about her job. An agreement not to break things for no reason. An agreement not to steal from the government. And so on, so forth. All very adult concerns, Johnana felt, but she decided against complaining and signed her name. As soon as the last piece of paper was signed, Trace dropped it into a folder and stamped it. Curiously, he refrained from labeling it and instead tucked it under his arm.

“Alright, let’s get you some clothes.” Once again, Johana was following him through the halls, passing portraits of various Pansa. Curiously, there was even one of a young Kicsik, probably not much older than Johana herself. A girl with antlers and big floppy ears. Johana wondered who she was, but they were past her before long, arriving at a locker of sorts. Trace pointed to an unmarked locker, explaining that it was hers, and withdrew from it an assortment of clothes. Clean undergarments, including long white stockings. A prim and proper little combination of skirt, top, and a raincoat that she decided probably ought to stay in the locker. Boots, curiously, tough and practical-looking. Johana waited for him to leave, then changed into them. They were soft and comfortable, far better than what she’d had before. It was honestly surprising how much care she received from this group.

What did she mean to them? Why were they doing all this for her? Johana wasn’t well versed in the world, but she knew this was very unusual. Hopefully they would explain, in time. She stepped out of the locker after a few minutes (finding the boots difficult to lace) and Trace nodded in approval, taking the old gown from her.

“We’re gonna head to your room now,” he explained, “where you’ll meet your roommate. She’s a nice girl, so I think you’ll get along quite well.” They walked a fairly short distance before the doors stopped having labels like “locker” and started being called things like “201.” They came to a halt in front of 211, where Trace opened the door and invited Johana in, excusing himself immediately after. Johana glanced over her shoulder as he left, then took stock of her new quarters.

Her room was small, with two dressers, two end tables, and two beds. Johana spotted a few personal effects on the left table. A photo frame, facing the head of the bed. A pack of cigarettes. A stuffed animal, some clothes hastily shoved into the drawers, and a gun.

Black and polished, it sat squarely in the middle of the end table. It was smallish, but still heavy-looking, with blocky features and a big-looking hole in the front. Maybe that meant it was high caliber. Johana stared at it, barely even registering the other girl. Johana had never seen one in person, not even in her accident. It was sort of shocking to her rather naive sensibilities.

“Hi. Are you my roommate? They said I’d be getting one,” the girl said. She was Johana’s age, with dog-like ears, dark hair, and a tan that suggested outdoor work. Her eyes were a startling shade of blue. “I’m Stene.”

“Johana,” Johana introduced. She continued to stare at the gun. After a moment, realizing Johana was not looking at her, Stene followed her gaze, confused before realizing what the problem was. Hastily, she grabbed the firearm, removed the magazine, cleared the chamber, and shoved the whole ensemble into the drawer of the end table. So it was loaded, Johana idly realized. The whole thing seemed surreal. What was a girl her age doing with a pistol? Stene smiled sheepishly, pulling on her long, dog-like ears. Johana noticed she had very dark hair and tan skin. Completely different to Johana’s own pale blonde. Her ears flipped back nervously, and Johana strangled a hiss in her throat.

“Sorry about that,” Stene said. “I guess you haven’t been to orientation yet. You’ll understand later. Maybe for now we could, uh, do a tour of Headquarters.” Johana nervously glanced around the room, but nodded in agreement. She wasn’t too sure what was going on. Stene was very nonchalant about the whole thing, but the girl’s calm attitude was a little infectious. Being anxious was harder when everyone around her was very calm and professional, and despite her youth, Stene wasn’t a break in that pattern.

She took Johana to a library, filled with books Johana doubted she’d be able to read. There was a shower room (no stalls, much to Johana’s concern), a cafeteria where they’d eat three meals a day, and training rooms. The doors to the training rooms were iron, heavy and protected. They intimidated Johana in a way nothing but the gun had so far.

“Training rooms?” Johana asked. “What, like classrooms?”

“Not really,” Stene said with a laugh, scratching at one of her ears. “You’ll see whenever you join us.” Johana looked at her funny, but decided against pressing her for information. There’d be time later- and eventually, like Stene said, she’d learn exactly what it was all about.

The tour finished up at a meeting hall, locked double doors promising something interesting behind them. They were carved and decorated with various images Johana was having a little trouble deciphering, something to come back to if she ever got the time.

“This is where Celist holds Monday meetings,” Stene explained. Her voice sounded a little wistful, or lost. “You’ll meet everyone here tomorrow. He’ll properly introduce you and walk you through what we do here.” Meeting Celist was at least something Johana looked forward to. The man who saved her life had been nowhere since that first conversation.

She replied, “So Celist talks to us once a week?”

“Then, and when we get a new mission,” Stene said.

“Mission?” Johana cocked her head. The question earned her a weird look from Stene, and then a sad understanding washed over her face.

“Ah. Celist didn’t tell you.” Stene sighed. “He’s been getting… well. Anyways, I guess it’s my job to then. We do spy work here, pretty much. Like in the movies, you know?”

Spy work. Johana laughed aloud, saying, “Alright, guess Celist will tell me later.”

“I’m serious,” Stene said. She was, it was painted on her face, grave sincerity and the weight of someone far older than eleven coloring her voice darkly. Johana stopped laughing. She coughed, feeling the situation and remembering Celist’s words from the hospital. Things were beginning to click together for her. 

“Sorry,” she said. Spy work. Somehow none of this seemed real. She didn’t really understand what a kid like herself could offer a place like this. Stene said something else and took her back to their room, then said she had somewhere to be and left. Johana didn’t say much besides noncommittal noises during that time. She was thinking. Celist had recruited her, randomly, from the wreck of a flaming car for spy work. Spies were supposed to be illegal, and who would they even spy on? There was no war, there were no neighbors that weren’t already assimilated into the Empire. The whole planet had been explored decades ago, the neighboring star systems more recently.

Of course, someone had tried to kill her, so there had to be something going on. Johana’s Master, Nurse, and sisters, all dead. She didn’t want to think about it. But luckily, it seemed like she might have a chance to get back at them, to maybe make a difference. Stop it from happening to other girls, maybe. There was no way for Johana to know how any of this worked.

Deciding to worry about that later, since Celist would explain it, Johana explored her room a little. She opened the drawers of her dresser, finding neat and practical clothes inside. All her size. Very efficient, considering she had just gotten here. The end table was empty, and the bed was very neatly made. Little black shoes were tucked under the bed next to a bottle of polish, a brush, and a cloth. Her bed was opposite Stene’s, with a window at the heads of the beds and a door by the feet. Cramped, and not the sort of place one would usually spend a lot of time. Hopefully they’d be keeping her busy, then.

Stene returned not long after she ran out of things to do. “Johana, would you like to come with me? Dinner will be served soon.” Johana dusted off her skirt, straightened her button-up, and adjusted the ribbon at her collar.

“Sure,” she said, turning to face Stene with a smile. The taller girl walked her out of the room. “What’s for dinner?”

“Tonight,” Stene said, “we’re having kyselo. It’s a traditional Kicsik dish, and we eat one every Sunday.”

“I never had that before,” Johana said, not even aware that traditional Kicsik dishes existed. As far as she knew, everyone had always just eaten whatever the Pansa provided for them. Stene smiled at her.

“You’ll like it. Sourdough soup, with mushrooms, potatoes, and eggs,” she said pleasantly. That did sound delightful, although perhaps Johana was just hungry. The last time she recalled eating was before the accident, though she must have eaten something at the hospital.

Together, the two girls went to the cafeteria. It was bustling with activity, contrary to what Johana would have expected. Even more surprising were the residents. Everyone was a girl her age, a chimera Kicsik like herself and Stene. A girl with antlers refused beef tripe from a girl with wolf-like ears sticking out of her head. Johana met the eyes of a girl attempting to steal an extra portion of bread by taking it from the person ahead of her in line with her monkey tail. Johana glanced nervously, unsure what to do, or where to go. Stene pointed out where the line for food began, and Johana followed her into it.

It seemed like there was a fair amount of choice in what one ate, but given that Johana didn’t recognize anything besides the bread, she elected to just get exactly what Stene got, exactly as she got it. They filled a bowl with a brown soup, potatoes and mushrooms visible inside. An egg was split over the top. The smell was hearty and the soup was thick. A slice of bread alongside it. She and Stene sat down at an unoccupied table, and Johana noticed that most people had formed pairs instead of the cliques she had grown used to at the Master’s.

Seeing her looking, Stene commented, “We usually work in pairs here. I didn’t have a partner until you showed up, so we’ll probably work together.”

“That would be nice,” Johana agreed. Stene smiled at her, and they began to eat. There wasn’t much conversation after that, as the food was good and Johana was very hungry. They went back to the room, and Stene laid down. Johana felt her eyes droop, like a food coma or something.

“Good night, Johana,” she yawned. Johana said the same. She sat down on the bed, looked out at the stars, and wondered at how tired she was. Maybe her wounds hadn’t finished healing or something. She didn’t remember doing much today, or at least not anything worthy of being this tired. But sleep called her name regardless, and she rested her head on the pillow. Across from her, she could see that Stene was already fast asleep. The light in the hall was turned off, presumably by one of the Pansa caretakers she had seen earlier, and the room became dark. There was very little sound, no vehicles on the road or loud animals like frogs. Just the quiet chirping of distant crickets, the murmur of the wind through trees, and the occasional call of an owl into the night.

Persuaded by her ever-increasing exhaustion, Johana went to sleep. She dreamt of fire and loud noises.

Reviews

[J.P. Paradise]

I'm not really into sci-fi but this has something to keep me interested. I am curious to see how Johana develops. Will there be any psychological impact due to the trauma she has suffered? I don't think we know how old she is at this stage (do we?) but I am guessing early to mid-teens? Or perhaps a little older? How will these experiences shape her emotionally as she grows? Lots of potential here.

[doot]

Thank you. To be honest, I'm not crazy about sci-fi, but this setting was created by a couple friends of mine and I decided to take it and run with it. Glad you're interested! I have been putting in a lot of hours on this one.