The Green Ones

Episode 3, Part 6

“It’s so nice having company. I didn’t know if you’d make it tonight, after all that’s happened.” A girl’s voice escapes into the tunnel along with the rush of air. The partially-opened hatch blocks my view of the voice’s owner.

“Nonsense. You should know a few piddly attacks on the perimeter wouldn’t keep me away.” Centavo strides into the room, his arms open wide, until he too disappears behind the metal door.

Stepping forward and craning my neck, I’m baffled by what I see. A tiny girl, possibly thirteen, has her arms wrapped around Centavo’s neck. They’re hugging. Not knowing what else to do, I gawk and wait to be noticed.

Over Centavo’s shoulder, the girl spots me. Squeaking, she jumps backward. “You kept your word!”

Centavo mocks offense. “You sound surprised.”

“Well, not surprised. It’s just—”

“You didn’t think you were worth it,” Centavo shakes his head. “I will not always be here to remind you of your extreme value, and not just to me. You are special, Zorrah. You cheat the world by not believing this.”

“I know, I know. I’m sorry.”

“Do not apologize to me. I am one of the few lucky enough to call you friend.”

Wondering if I was supposed to wait in the tunnel, my attention drifts about the room. Lit by fluorescent lights, the space is as cramped as the records room we passed through. Instead of files, the shelves are cluttered with completely alien electronic and mechanical garbage. Strangest of all is the presence of a solitary young girl.

“Speaking of, let me introduce the two of you. Zorrah,” Centavo steps out of the way, “meet Calli Bluehair.”

I wince. Centavo’s use of my acquired name still stings. Self-conscious about the ragged bald spot on the back of my head, I step forward wearing a strained smile.

The tiny girl stares at the floor as she reaches across to embrace my forearm. “It’s really nice to meet you.” We lock forearms for only a second. “Uncle Centavo has told me about the beautiful clothing you dye. It must be so rewarding to—” she gasps and shrinks away.

I glance at Centavo with a raised brow. I’m about to question him about the title ‘Uncle’ when Zorrah continues in a whimper.

“Your braid? I’m so sorry.” She looks to Centavo, “I didn’t know.”

“You couldn’t have. It just happened.” He rests a hand on each of our shoulders. “And obviously, it was not part of the plan.”

“Wait a minute,” I pull away. “Plan? What plan? And when did you have time to tell her about me?”

Zorrah retreats to a work station littered with blinking lights.

Centavo sighs. “Yesterday morning at my apartment, if you will recall, I mentioned my eagerness to meet you.”

I nod, half of my attention on the old man, the other half on Zorrah’s desk.

“That was very much the truth in more ways than one. It has long been my plan to introduce you to Zorrah. Both of you will be registering for the academy in three days time. Zorrah, while supremely talented in many discreet ways, is not blessed with your fortitude. I believe a relationship between the two of you will be mutually beneficial.”

Suspicious of multiple parts of his explanation, the one that strikes me as least plausible is Zorrah’s age. “Masa Academy?”

“Is there another?”