Chapter 3

The raft ride to the Fort took several hours. Though she had done very little to exert herself at Cottonwood Cove, a deep exhaustion settled in her bones. She curled up on the raft and slept most of the ride.

It was late in the afternoon when the raft docked. She shot up, looking at the menacing structure of the Legion camp. It stirred a nervous anxiety within her stomach, and she cursed her idleness at Cottonwood. She should have worked harder to try to escape instead of numbly accepting her fate as a slave.

The Cursor impatiently prodded her off the raft. "You are to work as a healer with Siri."

Siri worked near the top of Fortification Hill. The arena sat across from her tent, and Caesar's tent was within sight.

Siri herself was a dark, thin woman originally from Arizona. Her manner was brusque, and her head was perpetually bent to the ground.

"What's your name?" Siri asked her.

She shrugged. "I don't have a name."

"Then what do they call you?"

She thought a long moment, considering. "Courier Six."

Siri nodded. "You were a courier. I hear that's dangerous work. Come, Courier. I will show you how to make healing powder."

She already knew how to make healing powder and apparently better than Siri did. She showed the seasoned healer how to use her ingredients more efficiently. Siri thanked her profusely, hoping the Legion didn't discover how she was wasting their resources.

Crafting healing powder wasn't particularly difficult work, but then she learned there was more to a job of a healer. Siri explained the Legion didn't subscribe to the use of chemicals or drugs. Stimpaks and alcohol, other addictive substances were banned. The Legion required the use of a skillful healer.

"Sometimes, there is a lot of blood. So much red. You have to get used to it."

She could have never imagined herself getting used to the sight of blood, but she nodded all the same, chewing her lip and continuing her work. Despite Siri's hunched manner, Siri insisted on speaking to her.

"You are young and pretty," Siri observed. She detected a note of envy from the woman. "You are very lucky most of the men aren't here."

She looked back up at Siri, keeping her face blank.

"Tie your hair back. It makes you an easy target."

She took Siri's advice, pulling it back into a braid and noticing Siri's own shaved head. "Where are most of the men?"

"Not here. They'll be back soon."

After Siri's remark, she warily eyed the legionnaires around her. Outside of her warnings, Siri took little pity of her, sending her on deliveries for the rest of the evening. One delivery even took her to Caesar's tent. As she handed a soporific to Commander Lucius, she took the opportunity to look around, but Caesar wasn't on his throne or around nearby.

"Did you need anything else?" Lucius asked sharply, breaking her momentary reverie.

Startled, she shook her head and ran past the praetorians and out of the tent.

Nightfall brought a new weariness to her limbs. She gratefully fell on her itchy cot that evening next to Siri. She quickly fell into a comatose slumber.

And just as quickly, it was interrupted by a piercing cry. She started, blinked, and realized it was the wailing of an infant. Some of the slaves groaned in response, muttering darkly as they tried to go back to sleep.

"What is that?" she asked in a hushed voice.

Siri was still awake. "One of the newer slaves. Carla and her baby."

"Carla?" she repeated, daring herself to wonder if it was the same Carla of Boone's fame.

Siri had little empathy. "That baby will go on and on all night."

Nobody moved to help the mother with her wailing infant, so she stood up and followed the noise. It came from another tent, and Carla sat hunched in the very corner, rocking her bundle back and forth. It was a task just reaching her without stepping on anyone. She crouched in front of Carla.

"What's wrong?" she whispered.

Carla glanced up at her, her voice a broken whisper. "He's so hungry. I can't produce enough milk for him to eat, so I try to put him to sleep. But the desert is so cold at night." A wind rustled the frame of the tent to prove her words. Carla continued furiously bouncing the infant.

She chewed her lip, thinking hard. She absently pulled at her shawl, and suddenly her answer was revealed to her. With a tinge of reluctance, she unwound it from her neck and handed it over. "Here. He'll be warmer."

Carla's eyes went wide with her gratitude. She quickly wrapped it around the baby. "You are so generous. I've never seen such kindness here at the camp, even from the other slaves."

Her smile felt more like a wince. "This is my first day on the Hill. Perhaps they'll burn it out of me yet."

She stayed a while longer and watched as the shawl slowly worked its magic and the baby quieted. She gazed at its flabby face with rapt interest. She knew from its size that it was not very old.

"What's its name?" she asked.

Carla couldn't resist the fond smile that floated to her face. "Craig, after his father."

She had no doubt now. Here was Craig Boone's family.