The First Escape - Julie Steimle (top 10 most read books in the world txt) 📗

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Jafarr flushed and jerked down his arm, hissing at Alzdar under his breath. “I’m not a helpless Tarrn.”

However, the expression on Tegorii’s face changed. He stepped back into the shop and brought out a pressure clamp. Without a word, he pulled Jafarr’s cuffed wrists forward then quickly crushed the mechanical binder off of each arm. The cuffs practically shattered into little pieces of chips and metal. Then without a second thought, the man stuffed the cuffs into his pocket as he put the pressure clamp back inside the shop.

“Now get out you no good kids.” He shouted at them, pushing Alzdar and Dzhon out the door. Jafarr, quickly followed, but the man placed a hand on his head, holding him back. “Be careful and stay out of trouble.”

Without another word, Tegorii walked back into the shop.

Jafarr watched for a moment then turned towards his friends. “Well? What do we do now?”

Alzdar looked at Dzhon, and Dzhon gave Jafarr a don’t-be-stupid look. “Come on, Jafarr. It’s your birthday! Let’s go celebrate!”

The three boys hurried to the Surface Gate.

 

Happy Birthday

 

The boys laughed over the glasses of tsilk, joking about things that had nothing to do with anything, watching people come and go from Sandi’s, commenting on where they might have come from and what they’d be going to. Jafarr pretended to have a good time, but even Alzdar could see that he was still worried. He tensed up every time a Surface Patrol officer entered the eatery.

“They’re not searching for you, Jafarr,” Alzdar whispered to him. “You’re not on their records.”

Jafarr nodded, though not at all reassured.

“You said you got away before they could hand you to the P.M.s, right?” Alzdar continued.

With a nod, Jafarr clenched his teeth. “I know. I know. They don’t keep records on us. I know this. I just…”

But he could not finish.

“You just what?” the voice of Dural Korad broke in.

Jafarr placed his head on the table and sighed. It definitely was not his day.

Sauntering closer to the three boys, Dural Korad gazed over them with a sigh, tisk-tisking as he shook his head. “I see you are still hanging around him, even after your little fiasco.”

Dzhon scowled. “Do you mind? It’s his birthday.”

“Oh really?” the P.M. said in a highly pleased and amused voice. “Happy Birthday.”

Jafarr took a breath as he said, “Thanks.”

“Not much of a birthday, Zeldar?” the Dural asked.

Sitting up, Jafarr peered at the crisp-suited People’s Military officer. “No. Not much of one at all—thank you.”

Dural Korad sauntered around the table, observing the boys’ private party while groups standing around their table hushed with their eyes watching the officer carefully. A good number of the crowd had been there during the last incident and they waited for a reprise, already recognizing both Jafarr’s unique physique and that of the white haired P.M. who stared at the glasses of tsilk and the kalger.

“I see you are celebrating with the usual,” he said. “No special treat today? How old are you anyway?”

“It’s my half year, sir. I’m fifteen Parthan years today.” Jafarr cast him an exhausted gaze, too tired to argue and too tired to play along.

The P.M. nodded as if that answered everything. “I see,” pausing. “Fifteen Parthan years, huh. Fifteen.”

Alzdar looked at Jafarr, and Jafarr glanced back exchanging a what’s-he-after look with an I-haven’t-a-clue expression. Dzhon just sat there with his mind going over possible scenarios until something dreadful occurred to him. He immediately stared down at his food, sneaking glanced at his friend Jafarr, bating his breath.

“Let’s go,” Dzhon whispered into Jafarr’s ear.

Jafarr agreed and was about to leave but the P.M. came to his conclusion at that moment.

“An intelligent boy like you and not an adult at fifteen? That is awfully strange,” he said.

Not waiting for Dural Korad to finish his idea, Jafarr motioned for Alzdar to follow. Dzhon was already inching towards the door. Without a word, Jafarr walked to the entrance of Sandi’s with his friends. The P.M. practically skipped to the door to block his way.

“So hasty. Why are you leaving so soon, Jafarr?” Dural Korad’s simpering voice broke the strange hush that had fallen on the bar.

Jafarr stepped to the left to get around the P.M..

Dural Korad grabbed his arm with his usual warning glare as his voice still oozed in his slick way. “I said, why are you leaving so soon on your birthday?”

Fighting his heavy breathing Jafarr lifted his eyes to the P.M.. “I have to get home or my father will be worried.”

The P.M. let go, letting out a smug laugh. “Go home then, boy. Go home.”

Jafarr did not like the sound of the man’s laugh. He continued to walk out of the social bar with Alzdar and Dzhon closely at his back, following.

Though they hurriedly exited into the Surface Gate crowd, in the middle of the throng they could see the other P.M. that often traveled with Dural Korad, Dural Mezela, standing next to two P.M. issue flight scooters. Dural Korad followed them out of the social bar into the open commerce hall, smirking as he watched them go.

“Hey, Zeldar! I stopped by your father’s work today,” he called out.

It startled Jafarr, but he managed to keep walking.

“He wasn’t in!” the P.M. kept on yelling.

Jafarr closed his eyes and tried to contain himself as he continued to go.

“It’d be a shame if he was sick…or injured,” the man continued.

He almost stumbled, but Jafarr continued to walk, not looking back. When the P.M. could see that his calls were not received, or at least seemed not to be, he huffed in disgust and marched over to his partner. Jafarr and his friends kept walking toward the transit hall as if nothing could touch them. Alzdar stayed close to Jafarr’s side, occasionally exchanging looks with Dzhon who was just as uncomfortable, though they said nothing. They walked mostly to make distance between the P.M.s and them, which worked fine for the most part until Dural Korad zoomed on over on his flight scooter, hovering briefly alongside to give Jafarr his last bit of advice before taking off to ISIC.

“Out live your parents, Jafarr. Out live them.” Korad gave a pert nod then flew off.

Jafarr stopped. He clenched his fists, heaving breaths that erupted in anger once the P.M. was gone. And though he tried to walk on to the metro station he could only get as far as the wall.

“Urgh!” Jafarr punched the wall like a hammer with his fist. He punched it again and then kicked it. Turning, he stomped away though he looked ready to cry.

The crowds walked around him, catching glimpses of the boys though keeping far enough away, as if what they were was infectious. Biting back the tears, Jafarr looked up at the ceiling. The metal reflected his warped angry image back at him. He closed his eyes and turned his head to the floor.

“Jafarr,” Dzhon ventured to talk to him, going close to his side.

But Jafarr’s eyes snapped open. Briskly marching to the transit hall, he said, “I have to get home.”

Alzdar nodded, and Dzhon joined him, following.

The ride back seemed to take forever. The crowds seemed denser, more obnoxious—more in the way than usual. Jafarr rushed from the metro as soon as he reached his stop. His friends followed right behind, trying to keep up with his mad pace as he ran down the stone steps from the transit hall then he rushed out into his cold cavern tunnel to the stairwell that led to his apartment floor, bolting up that as if it were not so many floors high. Both Dzhon and Alzdar were gasping for air just trying to keep up. When they reached the 32nd floor, Dzhon wanted to collapse on the landing immediately, but Alzdar jerked on his arm to keep going. Jafarr was thirty paces ahead of them, punching in the code to his door.

It beeped open. Jafarr immediately rushed in.

“Dad!” he called, hastily checking the front room, his father’s room, the kitchen, then the bathroom. His voice echoed within the hollow apartment and into the open hall as he ran into his own room. “Dad!”

He found his father sitting on his own bed. His father was clenching a picture of him and his mother together when he was young. Tears streaked down his father’s face. Jamenth Zeldar looked up when he saw Jafarr enter the room. Without even thinking or caring that it didn’t look manly, Jafarr threw himself into his father’s arms and held him tight. His father dropped the pictures, clasping his son even tighter with a grip that would never let go.

Alzdar and Dzhon ran into the room, stopping instantly at the doorway. Dzhon flopped against the wall, with an enormous sigh, seriously exhausted. Alzdar leaned on the doorjamb, shaking his head while catching his breath. It was ok. Things were ok—for now anyway.

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Publication Date: 02-28-2018

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