1. Wrenlee

1

WRENLEE

" D id you hear about those girls who were kidnapped?" Ayla asks.

Her voice echoes off the stone walls.

"No," Iris says. "What about them?"

Ayla leans over the table, lowering her voice and looking conspiratorial. She places one hand next to her mouth as if she's shielding from lip readers. It's a ridiculous affectation and I have to suppress a laugh.

Even so, we all lean in closer. Six girls, which is all that remains of our socialite core who once ruled the generation ship as if it was our playground. All of us, in our time, were wild and beloved by the tabloids. What we chose to wear, where we were seen, and every action we made was fodder for the masses. Love us or hate us, we were the elite.

All of that is gone. Destroyed years ago when the generation ship, that we were never supposed to leave, crashed into this desert hell. Yet we all cling to it, as if any of it matters. Part of me wants to rail against the expectations. To scream at the sycophants and their incessant need to know everything about my life and doings.

But that's only part of me. A small, noisy part, that has always chafed at the demands of my socialite status. A pang of loss is so sudden and so strong that I audibly gasp. The girls gathered around the table dart glances in my direction, then ignore it. Another of the unspoken rules that form our gilded cage. Nothing serious or bad can happen to one of us. We are, after all, the chosen ones of the ship.

Besides, they know that sound and they know the cause. Every one of us has made it or a similar one. A brief moment when our fa?ade almost slips. When it's not quite as firmly in place as it's supposed to be. A singular instant when things suddenly get too real.

Reality isn't supposed to affect us. We are above it, or so the masses cast us, and we tend to buy into it too. Except that's a lie. It does hurt us every bit as much as anyone. We are just better trained at hiding it. Conditioned to keep our carefully constructed masks in place. Emotions? We only show the ones that will garner the best effect at the moment, which is most often very far from what we feel.

Your boyfriend betrayed you? Shock, surprise, and dismay, except behind that we all knew it would happen. It's all part of the game we were born and bred to play. That's the thing that most often turns over and over in my head. All of this, all our lives, this little group of former socialites who call me a friend is merely an accident of birth.

Born into the right family. That's it. Wasn't like anything we did created our station. None of it is from our own labor or toil. Everything was handed to us on a silver platter, or it was before the crash. Even since then, we've barely changed. Work duties rarely apply to us and those we do take on are always the least labor intensive.

"I heard that they are," she lowers her voice even further, "starting a rebellion."

"No," Valentina gasps, her eyes widening and mouth forming a perfect o-shape.

I suppress a snicker. It's inappropriate and stupid, but then the absurdity of all of us has been on my mind too much lately. Ever since Sek'su and his deep, rumbling voice and those eyes . Which I can never act on, but damn, he preys on my mind a lot.

"I heard that some of them are being raped, so how can they possibly start a rebellion?" Emery throws in.

Emery always goes for the dramatic. The more over the top, the more likely she is to pass it on as if it's solid gold truth. I roll my eyes and ignore her. There's no point in calling her out on it because it will accomplish nothing. Saylor, though, has no such compunctions.

"You are full of it," Saylor says, shaking her head. "They're finding mates, sure. But what do you expect from people like that. "

The word ‘that', the way she uses it, emphasizes it just so, puts so much disdain into it that it makes my blood boil. The group of socialites, that I am obstinately a member of, decided that interspecies breeding was beneath us. I was very much a part of that, probably the prime one, but now…

In truth, the entire idea was a holdover from the ship. On the ship, our bloodlines were considered too "pure" to marry below our station. Even getting caught sleeping with someone of the wrong standing was a scandal that every tabloid would cover with great relish.

That mindset, much like the entire idea of socialites at all, has carried over to the planet. I never thought to question it before and god knows I am as guilty as anyone of wielding the sharp knife of social shame so deftly as to leave an opponent's reputation in shreds. And not once did I ever feel a pang of regret for it. Until now. Now I can't quit thinking about Sek'su. Even though I know it's impossible.

"It's sad," Iris says, shaking her head. "It's not as if there aren't plenty of eligible human men around."

A round of nods and murmurs of agreement greet her statement, from everyone but me. I frown because Sek'su is dancing through my imagination and filling my head and body with all kinds of dirty thoughts. Those eyes . The way he looked at me, but more than anything the way he made me feel. Lighter, airy, as if gravity no longer had a hold on me. My heart was racing, my throat dry, and I couldn't force myself to blink or look away.

"I don't know," I say, my voice is barely a whisper, but it stops the ongoing conversation as they all stop and stare.

"Wren…" Valentina says.

Saylor places her palm on my forehead.

"You're a bit hot," she observes. "Maybe you're not feeling well. We should take you to lie down."

The others look at one another as if trying to decide what the right action is and hoping one of them has it because individually they're lost on their own.

"Right," Iris says.

"Of course," Emery agrees. "You know, they've been working you too hard. You should have a lie-down. I'll cover for you."

Emery has a smile that makes it clear she's loving this, despite its apparent friendly appearance. She's always been jealous of me. I look at each of them in turn with a rising sense of revulsion. I want to tell them off, tell them where they can go. The veneer of polite society that we've all carefully cultivated and strained to keep in place is warping beyond all recognition. I'm sick of it. I want out. I don't want to play this game any longer.

But if I do, what then? Who am I without it?

That thought hits like a lightning bolt. The reverberations of its strike are more than I can comprehend. I'm suddenly lost. Empty, and I realize I have no idea who I am if not this illusion I've woven to be me. I've spent my entire life being this… fa?ade, but not once have I looked deeper.

"Yeah," I say. "Saylor is right. I'm going to lie down. I'll see you all for dinner."

I move to stand, and an actual wave of dizziness comes over me as if on cue. I have to grab onto the table to keep from collapsing. The buzz of conversation in the dining hall stops and I know they're all looking at me. Looking and judging.

Anger surges and I almost turn to tell and yell, but as I begin to move Saylor grabs my arms and pulls me along with her. I weave as we leave the area because of the dizziness, but I'm sure the tabloid reporters will cover how I was intoxicated at breakfast. Damn them all.