Recruitment

by K A Riley

For a few seconds, Card kicks at the sand. I can’t quite tell if he’s still feeling awkward, or if he’s just nervous about what tomorrow will bring. “The meat smells good, doesn’t it?” he asks, pulling us out of an uncomfortable silence. “I heard the town hero caught a big one.”

  My eyes scan the crowd until they land on Brohn, standing over on the far side of the fire with his little sister, Wisp, who’s practically attached to his hip. She’s had that nickname for as long as I can remember. Even though she’s thirteen now and officially one of the Juvens, she’s only the size of most Neos. Thin as a twig, she looks like a gentle breeze might blow her over.

  Tonight, she’s clinging to her brother like a lifeline, as though she’s terrified he’ll disappear. I can’t help but feel sympathetic. I was in her position a few years back, when the Recruiters came for Micah. Knowing I’d lose him was awful. But at least I got to say goodbye, and she will, too.

  Wisp will turn fourteen tomorrow, which means she has three more years before the Recruiters come for her. That’s three more years of trying to survive here while we’re off trying to find a way to end the war once and for all. With any luck, she’ll never be recruited.

  Right now, though, I don’t think she cares too much about any of that. It looks to me like all she can think about is her big brother, who’s standing over her like a protective sentinel. All six-foot-two of him. For all the girls in town who have a thing for Brohn, I’ve always suspected that only one is remotely important to him, and that’s Wisp.

  So a bolt of shock hits me when he leaves her by the fire and starts to make his way over to the part of the beach where Card and I are sitting.

  “Hey, Kress!” he calls out, holding up a hand in greeting. I swallow hard, fighting off the urge to look around like I’m trying to make sure he’s actually talking to me. It’s not like Brohn and I have ever sat around for any length of time and had a meaningful conversation. At most, we exchange the usual greetings about the weather and what food we’ve managed to collect for the other kids. Occasionally, he’ll ask how Render’s doing. But he’s never actually approached me to socialize.

  As Brohn strides over, a torch in his right hand, Card stands up, his body suddenly tense. “I’m gonna go hang out by the fire for a bit,” he mumbles, “and see what the others are up to.”

  “You don’t have to—” I start to say, but he’s already gone, his head tucked down into the collar of his beat-up old jean jacket as he plods past Brohn, who gives him an unrequited nod.

  Brohn buries the end of his torch in the sand, far enough from the patches of dry grass so it won’t start any forest fires. The woods are dense but mostly dead, which is great for gathering building material or making weapons and tools, but terrible for how easily one act of carelessness could burn them—and us—down. We’ve had some close calls in the past, and through every crisis, Brohn was out there on the front lines, cleaning up after somebody else’s stupidity. To be honest, I’m not sure how this town will function after he’s gone. It’s no wonder Wisp looks so distraught. She’s losing a brother and a savior.

  As I stare at the flickering flame on his torch, Brohn plants himself in Card’s former spot next to me.

  “Hey,” I say, trying to sound casual, like I’m not remotely excited that the most interesting guy in town has singled me out for a one-on-one chat. “How are things?”

  He shrugs and reaches down to the sand to grab a long twig, which he proceeds to snap absently into tiny pieces. “Fine, I guess. Why did Card take off like that?”

  “I don’t know. He probably just wants to check things out.”

  Brohn snickers. “He’s not my biggest fan, is he?”

  “He likes you just fine.”

  “I’m not so sure. Anyhow, it doesn’t matter. I don’t have time to care about who likes me and who doesn’t. I’ve spent the last year trying to make sure everyone’s okay, that Wisp and the others will be able to look after themselves for the next year. And now…”

  “And now?”

  Brohn turns to look at me, his eyes alive with the reflections of the distant flame. “That’s the big question, isn’t it?” he says. “Nobody knows. We don’t know where we’ll be sleeping tomorrow night, you and I. We have no control over anything in our lives anymore, as of tomorrow morning. After the transport trucks takes us to…wherever, we don’t really even know if we’ll ever see each other again.”

  It’s so strange to think that for the past ten years, I’ve slept in the same building as Brohn. For a long time, his room in the school was just down the hall from the one Dad, Micah, and I shared up until our father’s disappearance. But for the last year, most of the Sixteens have slept on rows of cots in the big gymnasium, despite the fact that there are still holes in its roof thanks to residual damage from the Eastern Order’s lethal drone strikes.

  The current sleeping arrangement is a tradition started by the Sixteens of the 2035 Cohort. It’s supposed to be a kind of bonding thing for each Cohort, a way to become a team in our final year as we prepare for Recruitment. I spend the occasional night in my Cohort’s company, but most of the time I use the excuse that I want to stay upstairs in the room that holds memories of my family.

  Over the last year, I’ve managed to stay as far away from Brohn and most of the others as possible, and they haven’t particularly made any effort to get close to me. But now, for some reason, the thought of separation from Brohn has begun to feel almost as acute as being separated from Render. I suppose it’s a matter of comfort. Brohn’s presence, however lacking it’s been in intimacy, has always soothed me and made me feel safe. I always knew that as long as he was around, I’d be okay.

  If we get split up tomorrow, I’ll no longer have the promise of a strong ally nearby.

  “The unknown makes me nervous,” I confess.

  “Me too,” Brohn says, his voice gentle and even. “Always has.”

  A lump forms in my throat as I realize that by this time tomorrow, our entire world will be overflowing with unknowns.

  “They say we’re winning the war,” I add, my words intended to reassure us both. “Maybe it’ll be over soon.”

  “Maybe. But unfortunately, probably not by tomorrow morning.”

  We both chuckle, and I feel myself blush when we share a brief moment of eye contact.

  “Still,” he says, “the Casters keep saying things are going well for our side.” Now Brohn’s got a crooked smile on his lips—a trademark that’s been known to charm some of the girls. The expression gives him the look of someone who’s got every thought in the world churning through his mind at once. “So we must totally be winning,” he adds. “For now, at least.”

  “For now, at least,” I repeat.

  The four words long ago became a mantra for those of us in the Valta. It’s the reply to every greeting, every piece of small talk.

  “The weather’s nice.”

  For now, at least.

  “Doing well?”

  For now, at least.

  “No Recruiters are banging down the door today.”

  For now…at least.

  Everything in our world is temporary. We know how vulnerable we are, that we’re just playing a waiting game until life gets very complicated very fast.

  Brohn gestures toward a ceramic jug that’s sitting on a stump several feet away. “Oh, hey, I made strawberry juice. You want some?”

  A grin spreads its way across my lips. “You killed a deer and strawberries? Impressive.”

  Laughing, he takes my reply as a yes and strides over to grab it, handing it to me when he’s back. I take a swig from the jug, and the sweet juice slides down my throat like liquid candy.

  “So, listen. How are you really doing with all this?” he asks as we shift around on the log like two people who aren’t sure if it’s okay for any of their body parts to touch.

  “I’m…good,” I say. I don’t want to reveal my concerns about tomorrow. “I mean, I’m not totally good.” I swallow har
d with the realization that I’m about to divulge something personal. “Okay, I’m kind of terrified.”

  “We all are,” Brohn says without hesitation. “Even the ones who pretend they’re not.”

  I shake my head, and my hair tumbles down over my shoulders as it escapes its knot. I push it back self-consciously, but Brohn reaches out and draws a wavy strand down in front of my shoulder. “You always wear your hair up,” he says, his eyes on mine. “It’s really nice down.”

  “I...thanks,” I say, staring for a moment at his lips.

  Wait—what am I doing?

  “It gets in my way when it’s down,” I add in an attempt to sound casual and hide the fact that I’m feeling completely flustered.

  “Sure, that’s why you don’t do it,” he says with a renewed crooked grin.

  “What are you trying to say?”

  “I’m saying I think you don’t want the world knowing how pretty you are, Kress.”

  Okay, what’s going on today? First Card, now Brohn? Apparently being faced with your own mortality makes young men say insane things.

  Not that I’m complaining about Brohn’s compliment.

  I pull my eyes away from his and stare into the distance. “Do you care?” I ask.

  “About what?”

  “Whether or not people think you’re handsome.”

  He shakes his head. “Not most people,” he says in a cryptic way. “Present company excepted, however.”

  I can’t help smiling. “You know you’re good-looking, Mr. Hotshot. You hardly need to worry about my opinion.”

  “I didn’t say I was worried.”

  I narrow my eyes at him before letting out a laugh. “What I wouldn’t give for your confidence,” I say.

  “Seriously? Little miss mysterious bird trainer is telling me she’s not confident? You and Render are the talk of this town. Everyone thinks you’re amazing.”

  “Yeah, well, I won’t have Render anymore as of tomorrow,” I tell him through an awful tightness in my throat. “Which means you’ll realize pretty quickly that I’m not all that great.”

  “I doubt that. You seem to be the only person around here who doesn’t know you’re pretty cool.”

  “I…don’t think about it that much,” I tell him.

  “I know. That’s what makes you so attractive,” he replies.

  “I really don’t know how to respond to that,” I say, my body leaning a little toward his.

  He nods silently. “Well, you are. You’re mysterious—you and that bird of yours. I’ve never known what’s going in your head, but I’ve always wondered. That makes you…I don’t know, alluring.”

  “Well, if you want to know what’s going on in my head,” I tell him, pulling my eyes away, “right now I’m scared that we’ll be separated.” My voice has gone thin with some emotion I’ve never quite encountered. “I mean…all of us. I feel like we’re some kind of weird, dysfunctional family, and even though we might not be that close, it feels strange to think of suddenly being alone. I’ve already lost one family. I don’t want to lose another one.”

  “Which is why you’ve avoided getting close to any of us,” he observes.

  “You’ve noticed that, huh?”

  He nods, a smirk stretching his lips. “I can’t help but notice. Most of the other girls are around all the time. But you…you keep to yourself. It’s like you don’t need anyone.”

  If he only knew the truth. I need everyone. I’m scared out of my mind about tomorrow. I’m devastated. I haven’t been comforted by anyone in years, and part of me craves it like a thirsty person craves water.

  But saying it out loud would make me feel weak. And I can’t afford to be weak right now.

  “Tell me something about your dad,” Brohn says in a gentle tone, kindly changing the subject. “He seemed like a good guy, from what I knew of him.”

  The thought of my father makes me smile. It’s been six years since I last saw him. In that time, I’ve talked with Card a million times about my family, but never once with Brohn. “Dad used to be a geneticist,” I say. “That was his thing back when we lived out east. But when the Execs tried to recruit him for a bunch of the government’s techno-human development programs, he said no. That’s when he and my mother packed me and Micah up and moved us to the Valta.”

  “But he didn’t work as a geneticist here, did he? There aren’t facilities for that kind of thing.”

  “No. He was a more like a tinkerer. He was always building things or showing me the ins and outs of code and micro-circuitry. We used to forage in the old stores that had been bombed out or looted, on the off chance there might still be some decent scraps. I would have been really little back then—only about six or seven. I remember scurrying along behind him, trying desperately to keep up with his long strides. We managed to recover copper wire, fiber optic cable, you name it.”

  I clam up, realizing I’ve just said way too much. I shouldn’t be telling Brohn any of this. I always promised my father not to talk to anyone about our projects—especially the most secret one of all: Render.

  He was the last project my father and I worked on together. Dad called the experiment TOBI, which stands for Trans-species Organic Bio-tech Integration. My father built certain surveillance capabilities into the raven’s body, gave him knowledge and skills no other animal has—including a direct link to me.

  But the connection between us goes beyond micro-circuitry. The implants function beyond a visual level. Sometimes I can feel what Render feels: hunger, fear, pain, loss. I’ve even felt the freedom of flight when he takes off over the trees.

  I peer up into the tree limbs above us, wondering where he is right now. I know perfectly well that with one tap of my inner wrist, I could figure it out. But I’m not about to give away that particular secret to Brohn.

  “So, wire and cables, huh?” Brohn says with one of his perfect crooked grins. “Should I even ask what you and your dad did with those?”

  “Probably not,” I reply with a chuckle. I’m relieved to realize how laid back he is about it all. He’s probably got his own secrets, anyhow. Everyone does. Even in a place this small. Especially in a place this small.

  It’s the only way to maintain any semblance of sanity.

  “My dad and I never got a chance to say goodbye,” I add quietly. “I still think about that every day.”

  “I’m sorry.” Brohn moves his hand toward mine then pulls it back, like he’s realized it’s a bad idea to touch me.

  “One night,” I continue, trying to put his gesture out of my mind, “I was lying on the sleeping pad in our room while Dad played around with some old electronics in his lab just down the hall. The next morning when I got up, he and a bunch of the other adults were gone. No one saw anything. At least, if they did, they didn’t talk about it.”

  “I remember that night,” Brohn says. “We were Neos. We would have been…what? Ten years old?”

  “Eleven.”

  “Right,” he says. “Still…so young to lose, you know…”

  “What happened to your parents?” I ask, realizing I’ve been selfishly behaving like I’m the only one who’s lost family. Brohn and Wisp have been on their own as long as I can remember, but I’ve never actually sat down and talked with either of them about it.

  “I lost both my parents a few years before that in the first sweep. I barely remember them. Shadows mostly. I’ve always wondered how they were taken so quietly. For months I couldn’t sleep. I was convinced that someone was going to come for us, too.”

  “You were right. They are. Tomorrow.”

  “True.”

  “I can only hope my dad’s somewhere peaceful and quiet,” I say with a sigh. “Toward the end, he seemed tired all the time. Part of me feels like he gave so much to me that he lost some pretty important parts of himself. He taught me everything I know, how to read, to write, and how to build…stuff.” I avoid telling Brohn about the time my father let me help him with Render’s ocular im
plants, or how he taught me to create a solar-powered EMT pulse-emitter small enough to fit into my palm.

  “Maybe he knew he wasn’t going to be around forever, and he wanted to give you every tool at his disposal,” Brohn says, his voice soft and sympathetic. I’m not sure if it’s my imagination or if he’s leaning in a little closer now. Part of me wants to push my shoulder in his direction, to feel the warmth from his body, if only so I can remind myself that we’re both still alive.

  “What about you?” I ask, my body going rigid as I order myself to keep my distance. “How are you doing with all this?”

  “Me? I’m doing okay. But I’d be lying if I said I’m not worried about Wisp,” he says with a sigh. “I worry about you, too.” For another long moment we stare into each other’s eyes. This time it’s him who pulls his gaze away. “I worry about all of us Sixteens. Life’s about to change a lot for the seven of us.”

  “Eight,” I correct him. “There are eight of us who are turning seventeen this year.”

  “Right. I forget about Amaranthine. I guess I figured the Recruiters would…”

  Brohn trails off. There’s no polite way to describe the people the Recruiters skip and leave behind, discarding those of us who are too odd or undesirable to train. The kids who don’t see the world the way the rest of us do.

  Most of the new Seventeens get recruited, but a few have been rejected over the years, all of whom are young adults now. They usually live out in the thin strip of woods on the edge of town, or else hide out in their own small rooms at the school. Some of them lurch around town, talking nonsense to invisible people and getting in the way of the visible ones. Sometimes they disappear in the middle of the night, never to be seen or heard from again.

  “Nothing’s ever predictable around here, is it?” I say, breaking the awkward silence. “We live in the most boring place on earth, but we never know what’s going to happen.”

  “Except for President Krug’s weekly addresses.” Brohn reaches down, picks up a little stone, and tosses it toward the crusted-over black riverbed. It skitters across the lumpy earth and lands somewhere in the dark with a thunk.