Elite

Ink spilled across the sky marking an end to the reign of the merciless sun. Ever since the last Technology War, the days were brutal, but the nights brought on a cold that even the warmest fires could not thaw. Sylvie’s skin was thankful for the relief brought on by the chill, but she suspected the damage to her tender flesh was already done.

The remainder of the day had gone by in a tense silence, unsaid words all the while brewing just below the surface. While she knew they would come out eventually, Sylvie was fully aware it was neither the time nor the place. Instead, she had stretched her legs out in front of her and watched the sky twinkle more brightly than she had ever seen before.

The great lights of New Eden blotted out the sky at night, so Sylvie had rarely been able to watch as the clouds gave chase to the full orb of the moon. It was oddly calming and before she knew it, she had drifted off into a most unexpected sleep.

Her rest, though, did not last.

Sylvie was soon jostled awake as the bevy of vehicles rumbled to a turbulent stop. A chorus of commanding shouts shattered the stillness of the night and set Sylvie back on her guard. She had no idea how much time she had lost or how far they had gone, but it looked like they were stopping for the night—whatever was left of it.

Sylvie peered out at the makeshift camp that was rising up in front of her and found that for the moment, she had been left on her own. Immediately, the urge to run away took hold of her, but she soon realized she had no idea where she would even go. There was no sign of New Eden as far as she could see. That, combined with the surplus of unknowns hidden in the darkness, kept Sylvie firmly in her seat. After all, if and when her father came for her, he would most likely look with the Rebels first.

Smug with her restraint, Sylvie did not fight when Jack returned for her. She docilely let him lead her to a small fire at the edge of their little encampment. The trucks that had brought the group this far had been positioned in a circle. In the middle, the Rebel families had erected tents and other provisional shelters and were now preparing meals over their own little flames. She could feel their eyes on her as she knelt down on a thin blanket Jack had provided for her, but she refused to return their stares.

Let them look, she thought.

There certainly wasn’t anything better to do than to gain their notice. Besides, like Bianca, Sylvie had always been a fan of attention. Even if it was from a bunch of Rebels.

Jack threw himself onto the pallet across from her and draped his arm across his face. Unlike the other little hearths peppered across the camp, the one in front of Sylvie was bare of any cooking means and her stomach growled at it in protest. Earlier that day she had refused Jack’s offer of some form of dried meat and now she was kicking herself for her arrogance.

She had almost gathered up the nerve to ask if he had any left when a shadow fell over her. Sylvie looked up to find herself staring at a beautiful young girl. She was lithe, but strong and Sylvie could see despite the baggy clothing that her body swelled in all the right places. Her hair, which gleamed like spun gold in the firelight, fell over her face that was sun-kissed and shining. Her unobscured eye was a brilliant emerald and it sparkled as she smiled with a set of pearly white teeth.

“Hello,” she said in a voice as sweet as the picture she made offering Sylvie a small muslin covered dish. “I brought you something to eat.” Sylvie eyed the girl and her offering suspiciously trying to sort out if her efforts were as genuine as they appeared. There was no telling what surprise awaited her under the opaque cloth, but hunger and curiosity spoke much louder than doubt.

Warily Sylvie lifted the warm porcelain from the girl’s hands, saving her thanks for after she knew exactly what she was getting. Pulling back the shroud, Sylvie found a bowl of hearty stew. Soft coils of steam filled her senses with promises of its rich, decadent flavor. Her stomach groaned again, now in candid appreciation and Sylvie herself was inclined to agree.

“Thank you,” she said, taking the spoon that rested inside the bowl and greedily lifting its contents to her mouth. The earthiness of the vegetables married with a succulent meat Sylvie could not quite place. Her refined pallet was flooded with the kind of gratitude only hunger could provide.

“Got any of that for me?” called Jack’s muffled voice. He had not moved from his lounged position or bothered to remove his arm from where it lay across his features, but somehow he had still managed to witness their entire exchange.

“You know where it is,” the pretty girl said. She rose to her feet and dusted off her hands.

“Oh come on, Jules,” Jack whined. “Please bring me some of your delicious stew. I worked really hard today.” Jack uncovered his face to reveal a pouty bottom lip and a pair of puppy dog eyes. Sylvie rolled her own, but not before she saw a wild blush explode across Jules’s face. She lifted her hand to cover a bashful smile that Sylvie suspected had taken control of her full lips.

“Fine,” Jules said, from behind her hand. “But you owe me.” She wagged her finger at him in mock scolding.

“I promise I am good for it,” he flirted back. And in case his words were not enough to drive home his point, Jack flashed a bright smile complete with a teasing wink. Jules blushed again, this time in full view of her little audience, but the giggle that trailed after her as she flitted away said she didn’t care.

Minutes later, she returned with another bowl of her luscious soup and though her hunger was sated, Sylvie found herself a little jealous that she had no more to taste. Not that she would ever say so. Admitting that anything associated with the Rebels was remotely acceptable was so beneath Sylvie that she was sure she would drown if she tried to reach its depths.

“Dinner is served,” Jules said and knelt down next to Jack, placing the bowl in his waiting hands.

“Smells good enough to eat,” Jack said, taking a deep whiff of the hearty aroma. He smacked his lips appreciatively drawing another titter of laughter from his admirer.

Sylvie watched as Jules ran a nervous hand through her flaxen hair, pulling back the side and ticking it behind her ear. It was then that she noticed a large purple birthmark that covered the left side of Jules’s face, chin to cheekbone. It was blotchy, asymmetrical, and completely out of place among her otherwise perfect features. She kept it turned away from Jack as the two of them completed their exchange and before she rose to leave, she was careful to return her hair to its place—hiding her mark from the world.

Sylvie said nothing until she was certain the girl was out of earshot and then turned her attention back to Jack. “Is she your girlfriend?” Sylvie asked. She watched his face intently, sure that there would be as much there to read as Jack would say aloud.

“Oh Jules?” Jack laughed, setting his already empty bowl to the side. “No, she is just a friend.” He absently picked up a stick from somewhere in the shadows and breaking it, tossed the pieces into the dying fire between them. His actions were composed and unaffected—the only visible emotion Sylvie could detect was the slightest hint of amusement still playing around his lips.

“Why is that funny?” she asked, tilting her head to the side in question. From what she had seen of the Rebel population so far, Jules was, in her opinion, the most promising looking specimen. Jack should be so lucky.

“Why is that your business?” Jack said, halting in his stick burning just long enough to give her an intense look. “Why do you care?”

His directness ruffled her and for just a moment, she was left unsure of what to say. Why did she care? He was right. A love affair between two Rebels was, in fact, none of her concern, but she could not quite quash the curiosity to know more.

“Just curious,” Sylvie said flippantly. She drew a long strand of her black hair over her shoulder and spun it absently around one of her fingers. She considered letting the matter go, but if she was being honest, she had never been so good at that before. “She likes you, you know?”

Sylvie watched as her words rubbed Jack like a piece of old dry sandpaper; he even seemed to cringe slightly as if he had actually felt the sensation. She had hit a nerve and she liked it. Smiling to herself, Sylvie watched Jack fight the internal battle over what to say all the while gleaning little victories from his uncertainty. He had made her question herself—it was nice to see the favor returned.

“She’s just a kid,” Jack said, finally finding his words. “A sweet kid, but just a kid.” He dusted off his hands as if to say he was finished with the topic and laid back, crossing his arms behind his head.

“It’s the birthmark, isn’t it?” Sylvie asked, leaving subtly far behind. “You know where I live that could be erased just like that.” She snapped her fingers, illustrating her point. “Jules would be practically perfect then.”

“What makes you think I care about the birthmark?” Jack said and lifted himself up onto his elbows. He wrinkled his nose disapprovingly and shook his head. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“It’s ugly?” Sylvie challenged, even though her question was no question at all.

“I don’t find it ugly,” Jack said, without hesitation. “It is part of who she is. The part that makes her real. Makes her human.” Sylvie could not believe what she was hearing. In a world where absolute perfection was easily accomplished, here was someone welcoming a flaw.

And a considerable one at that.

“You mean to tell me if you could erase that defect, you would choose not to? I am pretty sure that Jules would disagree.” Sylvie recalled the careful way the girl had kept the mark from Jack’s sight and she knew she was not wrong.

“You may be right,” Jack said, shrugging his shoulders. “In fact, you probably are. But I don’t see it that way.” Sylvie waited for him to explain, to flesh out the lunacy on his own. But when he did not volunteer any more, she knew she had to ask.

“Then how do you see it?” she pried.

“Well—” Jack said, drawing the word out. It was as if explaining himself had not occurred to him before and he had to dig deep down for the answer. “Our lives are precious only because we are certain of our deaths,” he said, slowly. “I guess I see beauty the same way. Flaws, especially unique ones, enhance it—make it special somehow.”

Sylvie considered his words and even tried to picture herself with some abnormality that would add to her charm, but just the idea made her wince. As she rolled over to go to sleep, Sylvie felt sure that no matter how nice the concept, Jack was wrong.

Perfection would always be preferable.