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“Sorry,” William said. “Won't be too much of that, I promise.”
“Die!”
He smirked and dropped the cloth back over the exterior, leaving her in darkness.
She should have killed him as soon as she knew he was stalking her. She should have run a spear through his body and left him for the wild cats. But killing was not in her nature. She rarely killed forest animals, only when she truly craved protein. On those rare occasions, she was sure to give thanks to the animal and to use every part of it. Waste not, want not, her mother used to say. It was a pre-city term, from the days when people lived wherever they pleased without the protection of the domes. Back in those days, there were little towns and small cities and none of them were walled off from nature. Everybody breathed unfiltered air. Everybody drank water from reservoirs open to the elements. Sarah very much enjoyed it when her mother had told her stories of the olden days. They sounded so quaint, so free.
Sarah was free, but her primitive life was not like the one those people had led. If she were to fall ill or hurt herself, that would be the end of her. That was her weakness, her downfall. It was that which the hunter had exploited. A touch of the fever had distracted her and she'd wandered into his trap just as neatly as any wood pigeon.
The crate began to sway and roll. In the darkness, she felt herself being drawn out of the world she'd come to love and into a realm of the unknown.
“What've you got there, William?” A neatly uniformed clerk was waiting at the final gate. He knew William by name, for William was one of the very few citizens who regularly went from Albion to the wilds and back. The post at the gate was a lonely one at times, and the clerk often liked to make conversation. Usually, William was happy to oblige him, but this day he did not have time for it.
“My newest project,” William patted the crate proudly. The soft sound caused a fresh burst of angry shouting from inside. “She's a little temperamental.”
“Sounds like you have your work cut out for you.” The clerk stamped his card, updated the database, and waved him through.
Albion rose in glorious white marble trammeled with diamond blue veins, conduits which carried power to the city in an organic grid. William hailed a transporter, a simple platform which rode on electromagnetic fields. He pushed the crate onto it, set the destination, then sat atop the metal box as they were whisked into the air and thence across the city. The skies were full of dancing platforms, narrow ovals sliding with smooth precision up, down, around one another.
The journey took exactly 9.9 minutes from the central terminal to the crested villa which William called home. It was on the upper steppes of the city, a three-story abode commanding a view of the wild lands from its upper balconies.
He pushed the crate under the ornate arch which marked the gate of his private compound, and thence into the vestibule of his home. It took a moment or two to activate the forcefield which would keep his unwilling guest in and any curious neighbors out. A purple haze delineated the areas of control, making it easy to stay away from if one wanted to avoid an unpleasant shock.
“I'm going to let you out,” he said, addressing the crate. “Stay away from the purple parts, they'll give you a nasty shock if you try to breach them. If you're thinking of being destructive, think again. Break anything and you'll be back in the crate before you know it. I'm going to open the door now. Come out nice and slow.”
He waited for a response. There was none. Worried that she might be somehow harmed, he opened the crate. She flew out, fingers clawed, face contorted with primal rage. He caught her before she could scratch his eyes out, but he was off balance and her momentum took them both over backward. She tumbled over his head and hit the force field. There was a sound like a cross between a gun shot and the sound of an electric bug catcher and she emitted a loud yelp, scampering away from the purple wall at full speed.
“I told you,” he said, rising to his feet. “You'll only hurt yourself if you misbehave.”
“Let me go!” She shrieked the words, clasping at her arm with her hand. The arm must have been exposed to the field for a second or more. It probably hurt like hell, might even have been burned.
“I need to attend to that arm,” he said. “Come on. I have something that will soothe the pain.”
He strode into his home, past the expensive furniture and unique works of art, through to the bathing chamber. He did not look over his shoulder to see if she followed, he simply acted as though she would. There could be no hesitation in dealing with a wildling. They were instinctive people, they sensed weakness, insecurity, and doubt within seconds and immediately took advantage.
