by K A Riley
I catch my reflection in one of the slowly-turning pieces of mirror on the inelegant wind chime hanging to our left. Sigh. There I am. Long, brown hair. Big, almond-shaped eyes that look like my mother’s. Olive skin that somehow manages to turn pink at the slightest hint of self-consciousness. A pointy nose that I never much liked. Lips that are neither full nor thin, as if they can’t quite make up their mind.
A year or so ago, Rain told me how pretty I was. I was shocked at the compliment. I replied that I didn’t have time to worry about whether I was attractive or not. But the truth is that sometimes I want to think about something other than the devastation of the last several years. It feels good to be superficial, to dwell on stuff that shouldn’t matter.
Because the truth is that everything else in my life matters so much that it hurts.
I pull my eyes away from my reflection, convinced that Card’s gone insane. “Besides, Render’s not judging you,” I tell him, quickly changing the subject away from my looks. “He’s storing your face in his memory banks. His internal hard drive.” It was my father who taught me about ravens’ intellect, their ability to recognize a face and to pass their knowledge down from generation to generation. Dad had learned it, he said, from some old documentary on television—back when people could watch what they wanted instead of the government-legislated programs on the viz-screens.
Cardyn blows out a rapid, unconvinced puff of air, like I’ve just told him pigs can now fly and sing opera at the same time. “That’s ridiculous, Kress. Okay. He’s a pretty smart bird. I’ll give you that. But he’s not some supercomputer genius.”
“Isn’t he?” I ask. I look up at Render, who cocks his head to the side, questioning.
Ravens have incredible memories. If a person wrongs them, they hold a grudge for their entire life. About a year ago, a straggler wandered into the Valta and tried to steal some food from the town’s supply shack. When I caught him in the act just outside the shack, he grabbed me. “You’re a pretty young thing, aren’t you?” he said, licking his foul lips as I tried to yank myself away. Not only did Render attack him from above, forcing him to release me from his grip, but when the man tried to return three months later, the raven issued a series of preemptive dive-bombing maneuvers that resulted in some bloody wounds to the would-be thief and guaranteed he would never come near the Valta again.
It also turned Render into the town hero. Ever since then, the Neos rush up to me practically on a daily basis and ask about him. Swarming around me like hungry kittens, they ask if they can feed him or pet him. Somehow, I’ve become pseudo-famous by association, but the fact is, he’s the star.
And I’m pretty sure I know why he’s taking stock of Card’s features now.
After tomorrow, he’ll never lay eyes on Card’s face again.
Or mine, for that matter.
I thrust the thought out of my mind and issue a long, sharp whistle, followed by two short ones. “Hey, Render—seek my right shoulder!” I call out.
The onyx-black bird lifts off, circling over my head once before landing exactly where I told him to. He’s a large bird, close to six pounds, with shaggy feathers on his neck and an almost purple sheen to his black wings. I have to shift my head to the side to give him room on my narrow shoulder and upper arm.
“Oh, come on,” Card replies, clearly unimpressed. “He had a fifty-fifty shot at getting that right.”
“So, then, you’re admitting that he understands what a shoulder is,” I reply, pleased to be able to claim a small victory. Card opens his mouth to spew a retort but closes it again, defeated.
Reaching into a plastic pocket in my small canvas messenger bag, I draw out a fat, wriggling caterpillar and feed it to Render, who gobbles it up with a snap of his sharp black beak. “Good boy,” I tell him.
Cardyn yanks his shoulders up in a hard shrug. “I guess it’s impressive. But what’s the point? Why bother training him at all? He’s just a bird, and it’s not like he can come with us tomorrow when the Recruiters show up.” As he speaks, he reaches out without seeming to realize what he’s doing and strokes a finger over the top of Render’s smooth, feathered head. I’ve always known he has a soft spot for the raven. All the Sixteens do. He’s been a sort of mascot for years now, a constant companion, albeit one with a few seriously mischievous habits. He’s been known to steal jewelry—rings, necklaces—not to mention that he likes to pull apart abandoned wool sweaters, apparently just for kicks.
“I was sort of hoping the Recruiters would let me bring him with me,” I reply. I know it’s an impossible wish, but I’ve been holding onto it all the same, more for my sake than for his. Ever since my brother got recruited and our father disappeared, Render is the only family I have. In fact, he’s more than family. He and I are connected in ways that no one but me knows about, and I’ve never been more acutely aware of our strange bond than I am right now.
I glance down, peeling back the sleeve of my jacket for a second to peer at the design of black bands and curves that decorate my forearm. The tattoos, as I like to call them, link me to the raven’s mind, to his emotions, even to his vision. At first, the connection was just a vague fog in the back of my mind. Recently, though, it’s gotten stronger, more detailed. More important.
Render is literally part of me, and having him torn away is what I’ve dreaded most about Recruitment Day. The worst part of all is knowing it will hurt him even more than it’ll hurt me. His species bonds for life. I was the first person, the first anything, he saw after he was born in the big room Dad set up as a lab in the high school. Back then, Render used to snuggle up against my neck and fall asleep in the evenings while I read by candlelight. He cried the first time I shut him outside for the night.
The fact is, I’m the only other true member of Render’s Conspiracy, the name for a group of ravens. Without me, he has no one. Although the Neos and Juvens would gladly take care of him when I’m gone, because he imprinted on me so early, our bond is exclusive. He’s not likely to connect like this with anyone else over the course of his lifetime.
“I hate to say it, Kress, but there’s no way they’ll let you keep him,” Card says as if he’s been reading my mind. “We don’t know what the facilities are like, but I can’t imagine they’re set up to accommodate a bird.”
“He’s not just a bird. He’s my drone,” I protest, though I know perfectly well that Card’s right. I’ve known all along that my chances of being allowed to bring Render with me were slim to none, but I haven’t wanted to face it. Hearing the words from Card’s mouth send a sharp jolt of pain to my heart, a shot of reality punching me hard in the chest. “I guess I thought my training methods might impress the Recruiters. Render’s amazing at surveillance. You know how good he is at keeping an eye out—he’s better than any guard dog. He could be taught to recognize enemy uniforms and call out warnings. Who knows? Maybe they’d even let me take him on missions.”
Card gives me an Are you kidding me right now roll of his eyes, which only serves to push me into defense mode.
“He can go where no human can, not to mention do things no drone can do,” I insist, realizing as I’m speaking that this is the same argument I might end up desperately trying to use tomorrow while the Recruiters shove me into the back of a truck. “He should come with us.”
From his perch on my shoulder, Render lets out a loud, vibrating kraa as if to announce his agreement.
Card pulls his hand away from the raven and raises an eyebrow. “Maybe you’re right about him being good at surveillance,” he says as Render launches himself from my shoulder with a flutter of feathers and a thunderous beating of his powerful wings. He soars above us in a big loop before landing on the roof of the school. “But I’m not sure it’s a good idea to tell the Recruiters too much about him, Kress.”
“What do you mean?”
“We don’t know much about them. From what we’ve heard, they need us for our skills, but they want us for our obedience.”
“So?”
“So you may not want them thinking you’re too independent or too smart. Karmine says armies don’t like autonomous soldiers—even ones with smart-as-hell birds.”
“Karmine doesn’t know everything,” I mutter. “He may read a lot of books, but it’s not like they talk about the protocol of having birds in the military.”
“Well, you never know.” Card looks away for a moment, like he’s having trouble putting his thoughts into words. “The thing is, I can just see you prancing up to the Recruiters tomorrow and asking, ‘Can my bird come with me?’ You know as well as I do what’ll happen then.”
I stare at the ground and swallow hard, determined not to let Card see the tears that have just begun welling in my eyes.
He’s right. I know he is. A few years ago, a Recruit named Marcy tried to smuggle her cat onto the truck. She got caught right away and ended up with a black eye. Her cat ended up getting shot at by one of the Recruiters. It skittered into the woods, and we never saw it again. I can only imagine what they’d do to a threatening-looking bird.
But I’m not exactly in the mood to face the truth at the moment.
“Look, Kress, I just don’t want any strikes against you on the first day,” Card adds softly. “I don’t want anything to happen to you.”
“Aw. You’re worried about me,” I say, pushing away my emotions and plastering on a fake grin as I lift my face to look at Cardyn again. “That’s sweet.” I give him a playful shove, which is about the most intimate I’m ever willing to get with him or anyone. To say I’ve kept to myself since my father and brother disappeared is putting it mildly.
Card returns my gesture, pushing my shoulder with his fingers like he’s itching for a low-key brawl. “Screw that! It’s me I’m worried about. If the Recruiters find out I’m best friends with someone who owns a super-powered bird…well, there’s no telling what they might do to me.”
I pull my eyes up to the roof, where Render is strutting proudly, surveying his territory. “He’s hardly super-powered. Besides, I don’t own him. No one can really own an animal. How many times do I have to tell you that?” I’m trying to sound offended, but my lips betray me by twitching into a smile.
“As many times as it takes before it sinks into my big, ugly head.”
“Oh, come on. Your head’s not that big.”
“Oh, so you’re saying it’s ugly?”
I duck low when Card play-punches at me, but the sparring ends there when I shoot him a look he always refers to as the glare of death.
I lean down and yank a long piece of brown grass out of the ground. When I’ve straightened up, I take a deep breath, preparing myself to make a confession. “To be honest, I was hoping to have a shot at Special Ops. I guess I was thinking Render could help me get there if they give me a chance to show what he can do.”
Card’s jaw drops open. “You really think you’d have a shot at the most secret and sought-after division in the military?”
He’s right. Special Ops is legendary. They say that only the highest-level Recruits are admitted for the classified missions they assign. Intelligence, spying, all the good stuff. The only problem is that no one ever hears from the Special Ops soldiers once they’ve been deployed.
So the legend ends with silence and secrecy.
But I’m certain of two things:
One, it’s Special Ops that will win the war we’ve been fighting all these years.
And two: I want to be part of it.
“Why wouldn’t I have a shot?” I ask with a frown.
“I didn’t mean it like that. Look, you’ve got more going for you than most of us in the Valta. All this stuff you do with Render…” Card leans in close and whispers, “and the secret tech-training your dad taught you makes you extra-worthy.”
The truth is, I haven’t let Card in on everything my dad taught me about tech. I haven’t told him about just how integrated my existence is with Render’s or about the true nature of the pattern of black bars, dots, and curves on my forearms that I explain away as leftover marks from one of Dad’s failed experiments. I promised my father never to divulge the full extent of the secret to anyone, and I’ve kept my word all these years.
“Of course, some people still say Special Ops doesn’t even really exist.”
“Yeah, yeah,” I reply with an exasperated sigh. “I know all the rumors. About how they just made up a Special Ops division to inspire Recruits to excel in the other three military deployments, like it’s some kind of twisted test to push them to the limits. All I know is what Micah told me when he was here—that some of his year’s Recruits got taken away for Special Ops training. He seemed to think it was very real. Told me they were the most talented of the bunch—the really smart ones, the most gifted.”
My brother, who’s five years older than I am, was recruited along with all the other new Seventeens in his class. As far as I know, he’s the only Recruit who’s ever made it back to the Valta to tell anyone about the world beyond the mountains and about the ongoing war raging down below. One day, he came out of nowhere and startled me while I was doing a training session with Render in a small clearing deep in the woods about a quarter mile down the mountain. At first I was euphoric to see him, but I quickly realized that my big brother—my role model and my hero—was red-eyed, rail-thin, and barely coherent. He disregarded my joy at seeing him, shrugged off my attempt at a hug, and started rambling rapid-fire about Special Ops and the war. I asked him about some of the other Recruits who’d gone with him, but all he’d wanted to talk about were tests and training…and about how no one should ever have to see what he’s seen.
After that, he clammed up and dropped to his knees, tears streaking down his haggard cheeks. I was just putting my hand on his shoulder to comfort him when six soldiers thundered into the clearing, knocked me aside, and dragged Micah off like they were hunters with a fresh kill. I shouted after them and even tried to chase them down, but one of the men whipped around and shot me with some kind of dart that knocked me out before I hit the ground.
When I woke up, Render was perched on a branch above me, his head tilted to the side as if to ask if I was okay.
Micah was long gone. I stayed in the woods for hours, my shoulders shaking with sobs. I’d lost my brother all over again. Render stayed with me, watching over me the entire time. Occasionally he flew down and tucked his head into the crook of my arm. When I finally managed to pull myself together, it was more for his sake than mine. I knew he could feel my pain, and I hated the thought of him suffering because of it.
That was three years ago, and I haven’t heard from Micah since. I can only hope he’s still alive.
“Did he say anything else?” Cardyn asks.
“Nothing more than what I’ve already told you and the others. He wasn’t himself. He mostly rambled on about the Eastern Order and how the Executives had all these new special military training plans for us to fight them. He seemed really excited, like he thought we were on the verge of winning the war, but…he was scared, too. Like he knew something, but he couldn’t say what. The last thing he said was about how Special Ops was the best-kept secret in the military. He did say it’s really hard to get in.”
“Well, in that case you’re in for sure,” Card tells me, his tone oddly sincere. “Besides, it sounds secret, and secret things are usually the most fun.”
A shudder claws its way down my spine. “I’m not so sure that’s true, Card,” I tell him, casting my gaze toward the distant mountain peaks. “Everything in the outside world is secret now, and something tells me it’s not so great. Some days I want to know what’s out there, but other days I’m not sure I want to know any of it. We may have it hard in here, but whatever’s down the road and beyond the mountains may be a lot worse. The war’s still raging.”
“Oh, come on,” Card protests. “You’ve seen the broadcasts. We’re winning.”
“I’m not so sure about that,” I tell Card, though I can’t offer him a real r
eason for my skepticism.
“The Execs are rebuilding the cities that were bombed out,” he protests. “Stronger and better than before. If the reports about those Arcology things are true, we’ll be living it up high in the sky before you know it.”
I roll my eyes. I’ve seen the same broadcasts about the Arcologies—self-contained, massive skyscrapers that contain entire cities within their walls. But I’ll believe it when I see it. “They may be rebuilding giant buildings in the cities, but they sure as hell haven’t gotten around to fixing anything here in the Valta or opening up the roads, have they?”
Card opens his mouth and shuts it again when he realizes he doesn’t have a leg to stand on. “Okay, you have a point there.”
There can’t be more than four or five buildings still standing fully upright in our town, and we have to rig what we can just to survive the wild weather patterns that constantly whip through here and change practically by the hour.
The Casters make a lot of noise about how great things are going on the outside. I’ll believe it when I find myself living somewhere other than our rat-infested, hollowed out husk of a school building.
Card’s right about one thing, though. The Casters are good at making things look sunny out there in the world. Day in and day out, we hear how the Eastern Order has been pushed back another few miles. How the grid is protected. That soon, law and order will be restored to our great nation, and we’ll all be free again. We’ve heard it all ten thousand times. As my dad used to say, it’s like a broken record.
The thing is, no one has come to liberate us. No one’s reunited us with our families. We still don’t have access to the Internet, television, or even old-fashioned phone lines.
Not to mention that there are only two ways to get out of town: Hiking through the dead forest and over the jagged mountains to nowhere. Or, of course, getting recruited.
Then again, most of us aren’t in a huge hurry to leave. We may have to scrounge for food, but at least we haven’t been targeted in a while.