Two straight lines of unwanted waifs stood at
military attention by their cots. Matron L. R. Rus’ heels clicked as she
marched down the rows, inspecting hospital corners, checking under the beds for
debris, ordering hands held out so she could verify the children were properly
scrubbed.
The last cot stood alone, the blankets folded at the
end of the bed where the orderly placed them the night before. The cot’s
tow-headed owner was missing.
Again.
Matron Rus scowled. “Justice Saber Rus, get out here
this instant!” Not expecting much, she checked under the bed. Nothing. A twinge
of clan pride kept her from screaming. He was a Rus, even if he was unwanted,
the very least he could do for the clan was be intelligent.
She eyed his footlocker. With practiced ease she
overrode his lock code and looked in side. Shredded uniforms and a shredded
gray bag.
Furious, she turned to the boy across the aisle.
“Where is Justice?”
“He left last night, ma’am.”
She scrolled through her mental list of names trying
to place the dark-haired child. Yes, Virtuous Shield Pantros, another unwanted.
Age six, large for his age and clan. Probably not a full Pantros. “Why, Mister
Shield, did you not inform anyone when Justice left?”
“We were told not to make any noise, ma’am.” His
dark brown eyes slid upward, watching her.
“You didn’t consider the consequences of allowing
him to wander away?”
“I did, ma’am. But I can’t break the rules, ma’am,”
he said with infuriating calm.
Matron Rus smiled. “Rebellion by obedience, how very
charming. Unit!” she bellowed. “Move out to the cafeteria. You will be fed when
Mister Saber joins you.”
The children marched out.
With a sigh, Matron Rus collected the sad gray
duffel and dropped it in the carbon recycler. It was always the first thing he
destroyed when he threw a tantrum.
She opened the hall closet looking for a
replacement.
“Matron Laura?”
“Yes?”
Terssa Camlin Fisher stepped around the corner.
“Unit Five just arrived in the kitchen and the little Rondros Pantros girl told
me they were waiting for Justice. Where is he?”
“A very good question, Miss Camlin. He’s run off
again.”
Terssa sighed. “The poor dear. He was so upset when
the claims list came in yesterday and he wasn’t on it.”
“He’ll never be on the claims list. He’s been here
for six years and his name has never been listed.”
“Little Erinna Sandol Rus was listed this year, and
she’s nearly nine.”
“Erinna’s mother brought her to the crèche. The
enforcers found Justice wrapped in a bag in a trash can.” She slammed the
closet door in frustration. “Children found in trash cans are not later claimed
by their ecstatic family. Now, where are the gray duffels?”
“W-We’re out. I can put in an order for more.”
Matron Rus grumbled and opened the closet again. “No
matter. If the boy didn’t shred his things every time he was upset, he wouldn’t
need a new bag.” She pulled out a bright navy blue bag meant for the children
two years younger than Justice. Each year group had their own color, a simple strategy to help the children find
their things. Writing names on the inside was the other part of the strategy,
and the major sticking point for the little Rus boy.
“I’m going to wait for Justice. Keep an eye on the
other children. They’ll have to sleep in the cafeteria tonight. I don’t want
one of his cohorts smuggling him food.”
“Yes, Matron.”
She returned to the room lost in thought. If I
were a six year old boy, where would I hide?
Fan-shaped leaves rapping the windowsill drew her
attention. The Aral mountains rose in the distance. Thick copses of pine, snow
in high summer, and bitter cold tarns. Yes. That would tempt a boy away as the
frost cleared from the grass.
Matron Rus took a seat on the boy’s footlocker and
waited.
Early morning light brightened to noon. Noon warmth
faded into early evening. Cold wind rushed down from the mountain heights. As
the supper bell rang she saw one shadow moving in the lengthening shadows.
Over the window sill two white ears appeared. A
furry white face with distinctive black stripes followed. Ice blue eyes glared.
Whiskers twitched.
Matron Rus stood up and brushed imaginary dust off
her skirt. “Well, Mister Saber? Have you finally decided to grace the house
with your presence?” She heard his stomach growl.
The little, white tiger cub slunk over the
windowsill, green burrs clinging to him. Blood matted the fur on his left leg.
“Playing rough were we, Mister Saber?”
Justice sat down in front of her and deliberately
licked his paw as if to say she had no control over him.
“Stand up, Mister Saber. I demand an accounting.”
The pale blue eyes narrowed. The cub straightened,
shoulders arching back. He sat tall and kept growing taller. Stretching and
flowing out of the form of a white tiger and into that of a chubby-cheeked
blond boy with dark tan skin and ice blue eyes.
The burrs fell to the floor with a papery whisper.
“Give me your hand,” the matron ordered. He held out
his left hand for inspection. “Neatly done. Why didn’t you shift the injury
away before you came in?”
“ Didn’t wanna,” the boy whispered, his voice
rasping.
“Hmmmm. Turn.” She inspected him head to toe as he
pivoted. “No other signs of injury.” Although his ribs were showing. “How many
times a week are you shifting?”
He shrugged. “Lots.”
“You need to eat more if you are changing forms on a
regular basis, Justice. If you are shifting more than once or twice a week, I
need to know.” Her heart bled for the pathetic little boy. Unwanted. Unheeded.
And, may the ancestors forgive her, so unlovable. Prickly as an urchin. There
were days she suspected the boy didn’t want to be loved.
He glared at the ground, nose scrunched and lips
pursed.
So much for the nice approach. “Mister Saber, I
asked you a question. I expect an answer. How often are you shifting?”
“Lots!” he wailed. The cub’s bottom lip jutted out
in a pout.
“Daily?”
“What’s that mean?”
“Do you shift every day?”
A nod.
“More than once a day?”
Another nod.
Matron Rus sighed. “I expect you’re hungry.”
No response.
“Mister Rus, are you hungry?”
He shook his head. “I ate something.”
“What?”
“I dunno. It hopped.”
She blinked. “A rabbit? You ate one of the school
rabbits?”
“Not a rabbit!” Justice said, sounding insulted. “It
was black, and kinda crunchy. And small.”
“A locust?”
“Do they look like giant grasshoppers?”
“Yes.”
He nodded. “It tasted funny.”
“You need more than a bug for dinner. Get dressed
and I’ll take you down to eat.”
The cub nodded, looking eager, a small smile
dimpling his cheeks.
She held out his blue duffel. “Your new bag.”
The smile vanished.
“Justice,” Matron Rus warned. “Every child at the
crèche has their own bag. With name in it.”
“It’s no’ my name,” he muttered.
“Your name is Justice Saber Rus. You will write it
in the bag, and then you may eat dinner.”
He took the bag between thumb and forefinger - and
dropped it on the floor.
Turning, the cub went to his locker and pulled out
his clothes. He dressed slowly, with a furrowed brow of concentration. He
turned to her, jaw set in a defiant line. “My name is not Justice Saber Rus.”
“Yes, it is.”
“That is your name for me,” he said. “It’s not my
real name. My real name is what my family calls me.”
Matron Rus closed her eyes. Would telling him the
truth crush him? “Justice, the crèche is your family. We raised you. We named
you. We’re here for you.”
“But you aren’t my real family,” the cub persisted.
“We’re as real a family as you’ll ever know.”
Pale blue eyes narrowed. Justice growled.
“You are not here because I enjoy these arguments,
Mister Saber. No one in the crèche is holding you hostage. We welcomed you in
your infancy and gave you a home.”
“Because no one else wants me,” he whispered.
She sighed and sat on the foot locker, holding out a
placating hand. “Not everyone can keep a child. There are times- “
“When it’s okay to wrap a baby in a bag and put them
in the trash?”
He’d been listening.
“No, Justice, there is never a time when that is
acceptable.”
Justice nodded. “I was stolen. A bad man took me
from my real family, and threw me away. When my real family finds me I’ll have
a mommy and a daddy. And sisters. And cousins.”
As fanciful delusions went it wasn’t half bad. “No
one stole you, Justice.”
“Yes they did! My real family wants me! They have a
real name for me!”
Matron Rus stood and pulled a pen from her pocket.
“We’re not arguing this. You are here. This is your life. Until such a time
that your family arrives to rescue you, your name is Justice Saber Rus. Write
it in the bag, and you may eat.”
“No.” He crossed his arms.
She held the pen out, adamant. “Write. Or you will
go hungry.”
Justice stood in front of her, bag at his feet, and
glared.
The sun set.
Night crawled past.
Terssa Camlin Fisher snuck into the room to get
someone’s stuffed doll so the rest of the unit could sleep downstairs. And
still the cub glared.
As dawn light filtered through the trees, fat tears
rolled down the cub’s cheeks. He grabbed the pen and sat.
Another hour passed with Justice staring at the bag.
“Write your name,” Matron Rus ordered as the
breakfast bell rang.
Shaking with rage, he opened the bag. She watched
the tears fall as he scowled at the white tag.
Justice sniffed.
He opened the pen, leaned forward, and scribbled.
Dropping it all, he stormed out of the room.
Matron Rus waited until she heard his feet running
to breakfast before she bent down to inspect the bag. Only one word was
inscribed on the tag:
NO
She folded the duffel and put it in Justice’s foot
locker. Forty years as a crèche matron taught her patience. And that,
sometimes, to force a small bend would break the child. Justice could find his
bag now. If he didn’t shred it then they were taking the first step toward
healthy adulthood.
And, who knew? Maybe some day the boy named No would
find his real family.
