Recruitment

by K A Riley

  “We followed the rules,” Brohn says. “You promised us water.” It’s a statement of fact, but coming from him, it sounds more like an order. Hiller raises an eyebrow. She seems skeptical but nods to Granden and Trench, who walk back into the hall and return seconds later with pitchers of crystal-clear water.

  Before they even hit the table, we’ve got the pitchers in our hands. The mood around the table shifts immediately, like a deflated balloon suddenly filled with helium. Instead of feeling wiped out and ready for death, I’m suddenly light and tight, like I can handle anything else Hiller and her gang want to throw my way.

  “It’s time for the Agora,” Hiller announces, gesturing for us to get up and follow her out of the room.

  My feeling of renewed confidence takes a hit when I try to stand and realize my legs don’t want to cooperate. I’m relieved when I realize that we’re all going through the same transition, groaning to our feet and rubbing life back into our tired limbs.

  As he takes his first steps toward the door, Terk thanks everyone for the help and apologizes for needing it.

  “Nothing to be sorry for, Big Guy,” Brohn says with a friendly clap on Terk’s burly shoulder. “Needing help isn’t weakness. Weakness is not helping someone who needs it.”

  Out of the corner of my eye, I notice Granden nodding his approval.

  8

  Once we’re out in the large, high-ceilinged hall, we suck in air like we drank down the water, with big, greedy gulps. It’s true that we didn’t know what to expect after Recruitment. What I definitely didn’t expect was to have my lungs empty, my head spinning, and my muscles in tight knots this early in the game.

  Before we get a chance to gather ourselves, Granden and Trench order us into a line. In her white lab coat and slim khaki pants, Hiller positions herself in front of the doorway like she’s royalty appearing before her loyal subjects.

  “I’m very pleased to inform you that you’ve all passed the Orientation Test and can move on.”

  “More like disorientation test,” Cardyn whispers to me through the side of his mouth.

  I nudge him to be quiet.

  “Yesterday, you were Sixteens,” Hiller proclaims. “Today, you’re Seventeens. You’re Recruits. What you do with this honor is entirely up to you. But if you succeed, you will serve President Krug and join in the fight against the Eastern Order, who have invaded our nation and slaughtered our children in the name of a false, violent, and unforgiving god. With your help, we will take back our world and return things to the way they were.”

  Karmine pumps his fist and high-fives Kella. Rain nods silently. Terk manages a weak but genuine smile. Amaranthine is busy looking intently at her feet, and Brohn stares straight ahead, refusing to react on impulse. He doesn’t need military training. He’s already the most self-controlled and disciplined person I know.

  As for me, my head’s still a bit foggy from the treadmill and sensory deprivation torture, but I manage to focus just enough to hear Hiller announce that she’ll be the one coordinating our psych and reflex training inside the Cubes.

  “At the moment, we’re in Alpha Cube,” she says. “From here, Granden and Trench will be taking the lead in the Agora. After a two-week training session, you’ll graduate to the Beta Cube for another psych evaluation.” Her voice echoes in the wide, empty hall as she explains the next few weeks and prepares to escort us outside. “You’ll see your scores reflected on the viz-screen in the Silo, which is where you’ll find your living and sleeping quarters. Don’t get too comfortable, though. There are more mental training protocols to go in the other Cubes. But right now, it’s time to introduce you to the Agora.”

  Card inches his hand up. “What exactly is an ‘Agora’?”

  “I’m about to show you,” Hiller replies. “Come with me.” She pivots, and the black door slides open in front of her. She leads us outside, down a caged-off walkway, through a chain-link fence, under a turret with an armed guard, and out to an enormous, manicured field. The grass stretches out in a clean, expansive octagon at least three times as big as our soccer field behind the school back home. Unlike ours, though, this field’s octagonal perimeter is lined on all eight sides with a high chain-link fence with coils of razor wire along the top.

  I’ve seen fences like this. We all have. Back in the Valta when we were first quarantined, they used them to keep us safe from the Order. I was just a Neo at the time, but I remember hearing about the early Sixteens who tested the fences out, or even tried to escape. A boy named Stance had to be treated for horrific burns from the electrified fence way down the mountain at the foot of the road. I watched a few of the Sixteens carry him back up to town, where some of the remaining adults applied some kind of cream to his hands and arms.

  He died the next day.

  They buried him in what was left of the bombed-out cemetery next to the pile of bricks and wood that used to be our church.

  The fences that run around the perimeter of the Agora remind me of the prison that our town turned into. The difference is that these fences are punctuated at each of the eight corners with tall turrets, like watchtowers. At the top of the turret to our left, peering down at us from behind a metal guardrail, is a familiar face: Chucker, the huge Recruiter who looked like he was going to kill us all before we even got out of the transport truck.

  He’s got to be fifty feet away and twenty feet in the air, but I can practically feel his scowl searing deep holes into my forehead. He’s still cradling his huge gun like it’s a newborn baby.

  To our right is another watchtower. From behind the railing of his station, Kellerson, a pistol in his hand, gives us a big, friendly wave. Scanning the entire Agora, I can see that each of the other six corners has an identical turret, each with an armed guard monitoring the large, open space. One of the guards looks like he might be one of the men who led that team into the Valta to check for stragglers. I didn’t think we’d see any of those Recruiters again, but in a weird way, it’s comforting. At least it’s proof that people around here don’t necessarily just appear and then vanish.

  Which means there’s hope that we’ll be able to stick around.

  For now, at least.

  Between each of the eight massive cubes and stretching out for miles beyond them, we can see a dense black forest of dead and dying trees. Some of their gnarled limbs are still reaching toward the sky, looming up even higher than the black Cubes. Others are cracked in half or leaning at every precarious and crisscrossed angle imaginable. Clearly, this place was once attacked, just like the Valta. The earth beyond the buildings is cratered in the same way that our town was. The angled trees have the same charred look to them, black, scarred, and hanging on to whatever shreds of life they can.

  But unlike the Valta, the air here is thick and hazy. Instead of rolling white clouds and thin, breathable air, a red fog hangs around like an annoying swarm of insects.

  “The Cubes are where I’ll train your minds,” Hiller announces nonchalantly. “But the Agora is where my partners here will train your bodies. As you can see, there are Recruiters stationed at each of the eight watch-points. That’s for your own protection. As you can imagine, we can’t risk having the Order find this place.”

  She’s trying to be reassuring, but there’s no doubt in my mind that those stations are designed to keep us in just as much as they might be designed to keep the Order out.

  “Does our training include weapons instruction?” Karmine asks. He’s practically licking his lips just thinking about it.

  “That it does,” Hiller says. “We’ll be monitoring you from up there.” With a nod of her head, she directs our gaze straight up. Fifty or so feet up in the air, at an even level with the top floor of the Cubes and hovering above the Agora, is a massive, gleaming silver ring. It rotates slowly, its surface polished to a mirror shine.

  It seems to defy gravity, suspended in the air. An enormous, slowly-revolving chrome donut. Nothing seems to power it, and as far as we can see,
nothing is holding it up.

  “That’s the O.A.H. The Observation and Assessment Halo,” Hiller explains. “We call it the Halo, although technically, it’s a Torus.”

  “A what?” Cardyn asks in a voice that reminds me that he’s still a kid in a lot of ways. We all are.

  Hiller laughs. “A torus is basically a ring. In this case, a huge hollow tube. It’s suspended above us by a controlled magnetic wave vortex. That’s where the science and tech offices of our training are located.”

  “Is that kind of the place where you’ll be spying on us?” Terk asks with a nervous tremble.

  “Not ‘kind of,’” Hiller says evenly. “That’s exactly where we’ll be spying on you. The Halo gives us an overhead, 360-degree, 24-7 view of your training in the Agora. The so-called ‘Biscuit’ we implanted under your shoulder blades links us to your vital signs and lets us know how you’re standing up to the mental and physical rigors you’ve only just started to experience. As I said, it also lets us keep track of you at all times.” Hiller points up, a strangely proud look on her face. “It’s from up there that you’ll be assessed for one of your military deployments, and it’s from there that we’ll determine if you have what it takes to help us win this war.”

  “How do you even get up there?” Cardyn asks. It’s a good question. I don’t see a set of stairs, a pulley-rig, an elevator, or anything.

  Hiller gives him an approving nod and praises him for his inquisitiveness. “There are retractable sky-bridges that run from the top floor of each Cube across to the Halo. But that needn’t concern you at the moment. For now, your top priority needs to be focusing on your assessments. Based on your performance in the Alpha Cube, you’ve each been assigned a grade.” She taps the comm-link on her wrist, and a holo-display appears beside her showing a series of names and numbers.

  She steps to the side as we rush up to see our scores.

  I can’t speak for the others, but I’m weirdly excited. We’re the last Cohort from our town that ever attended a proper school. Valta Elementary. But that was only until we were six. After that, of course, our “proper” school became just one of the many casualties of the drone attacks.

  The idea of classes and studying had always appealed to me, though. My brother used to come home with tales of his prowess on the basketball court, or about how some kid got in trouble for this or that grave sin.

  I always thought Micah was kind of spoiled for complaining about homework. He made it sound like a punishment, but it sounded more like a gift to me. Of course, he was more interested in being popular than in grades and learning. I wouldn’t have liked being the center of attention like he was, but I did fantasize in my young mind about having assignments to take home and work on in the quiet of my bedroom.

  Hiller explains the assessment chart to us as eight pairs of eyes lock on its contents. “You’ll see your score broken down by potential deployment,” she tells us. “This will give you and us an idea of which area of service suits you best.”

  Before she leaves, Hiller points over to the next black building in the octagonal field. It has the letter “Β” stamped on its face above the door. “I’ll rendezvous with you in two weeks at the Beta Cube. Meanwhile, Granden and Trench will take it from here.”

  With that, she heads back under the guard tower, through the fenced-in entryway, and into the Alpha Cube, where the black door glides shut behind her.

  “Time to get to work,” Granden says.

  Trench steps in front of him, a giant grin stretching his lips wide. “More like time to get to play!”

  He tells us to stand back as he pulls a small black device from a holster in his belt. He taps in a code with his thumb, and before our eyes, a panel in the grass slides back, and a large rectangular box rises up out of the ground. It looks like Trench has just summoned a coffin from the underworld, and we all take a cautious second step back. I can’t speak for the other Recruits, but after our experiences with the treadmill and water tests, I’m not ready to trust anyone or anything.

  Trench laughs at our reaction and tells us not to worry. “Trust me. We’ll have a lot more fun out here than you’ll have in the Cube tests with that mind-bender, Hiller.” He taps another few keys on his little black controller. The segmented top of the large container rolls back on round metallic hinges.

  Inside are clips of ammo and neat rows of handguns and rifles in assorted shapes and sizes. Most of the weapons are sleek and silver or glossy-black. Some have scopes, laser sights, or other stuck-on attachments. A few of the pistols are gold-plated. There’s a bunch of old wooden-stocked rifles that are chipped and dented like they’ve been backed over by a truck. One of the weapons is in three pieces and packed into a half-block of foam.

  Combined, there must be at least fifty assorted guns and rifles laid out in the display in front of us.

  “That’s a lot of fire-power,” Card says.

  I nod agreement. “Shouldn’t these guns be used by the soldiers who are out there fighting the Order?”

  Trench shakes his head. “Don’t worry about it. These are decommissioned. Some have already been used in the war. Others are just old. Anyway, they’re not combat-ready anymore, just for training purposes now. Most are retrofitted to fire flat-headed wadcutters or alloy pellets.”

  “That doesn’t mean they can’t still hurt you. Or even kill,” Granden adds as a caution. “Your training will include how to protect yourselves, as much as it will be about how to kill the Order.”

  I shoot another glance at the weapons. Other than apparently being decommissioned, the only thing they have in common is that every one of them was designed for one purpose: to kill.

  The realization hits me with a violent force.

  I’ve lived in a world at war since I was six years old. I was one of the first Neos. I grew older, outlived my mother, and for all I know, my father and brother. I’ve survived air strikes and drone attacks. And now, as part of the most recent Cohort of Seventeens, I’ve been recruited specifically to help save our nation from an army of ruthless invaders.

  So why should the sight of a couple dozen weapons chill my soul?

  “Are you okay?” a voice asks from behind me. I turn around to meet Brohn’s eyes. The anger that had settled into him for so many hours seems to have been replaced by something calmer, like he’s returned to his reassuring leader mode at last.

  I shake my head. “You’ll think I’m an idiot.”

  “No I won’t. What’s going on?” He reaches out like he’s going to put a hand on my shoulder, but he pulls back, like he did on the beach at Final Fest. I wish he wouldn’t. For the first time in a long time, I need the reassurance of someone’s touch. I need to feel calm, or at least vaguely human.

  “The guns,” I say, pulling my gaze over to the weapons. “They’re freaking me out. Maybe it’s because we’re closer to the front lines now, or maybe it’s because we’re about to head into battle, instead of waiting for it to come to us.”

  “Or maybe it’s because they remind you that our enemy has weapons of their own,” Brohn says softly, taking a step toward me. “It’s hard to avoid thinking about it, Kress. It’s on my mind, too.”

  I nod, chewing on my lip. “Some girl from the Order could be out there right now, getting trained how to kill me. I don’t like thinking about it.”

  “Just…do yourself a favor,” he says, looking over his shoulder toward Granden and Trench. “Try to find a way to play the game, even if you’re not into it. The last thing you want is to let on that this isn’t the place for you.”

  “You think they’ll kick me out,” I say. It’s not a question.

  “Let’s just say that I think we need to be careful,” Brohn mutters softly. I’m biting my lip again, shifting my weight uncomfortably. “Hey,” he adds, slipping his fingers under my chin and lifting my face so my eyes meet his again, “it’s going to be okay. You’re one of the strongest people I know.”

  “I’m pretty sure you’re mista
king me for someone else,” I counter, but a strange warmth is filling me, reinvigorating my insides. Maybe, just maybe…he’s right.

  He looks around for a second, pulls his hand away and says quietly, “Listen, I’ve been wanting to ask you—how are you doing without Render?”

  “Seriously?” I ask. “You had to say good-bye to your sister today, and you’re asking about how I’m feeling?”

  “Well, yeah. I mean, I get that sometimes we have to leave pets behind, but I know he was more to you than a pet. You’ve never really talked about him much, but I saw your eyes this morning, Kress. You looked…I don’t know. You looked like I felt when they pulled Wisp away from me.”

  “I’m okay,” I reply, trying to maintain control over my trembling voice. “But you’re right, it’s hard. I’m worried about—”

  “Get over here, Recruits!” Trench calls out. I slam my mouth shut, afraid of being reprimanded for disobedience.

  As we make our way over, Brohn grins at me and repeats, “Remember to play the game. For me, if not for yourself.”

  I nod and throw him a withering smile.

  Apparently, most of my fellow Recruits don’t share my reservations about digging into a trunk full of guns. When Trench invites us to have a closer look, they charge forward. I join them, trying to follow Brohn’s advice and look excited about the new toys.

  “Now this is more like it!” Kella exclaims with a squeal of genuine glee. She pushes past me with Karmine hot on her heels. Except for Amaranthine, the others are quick to join them. Our exhaustion has been replaced by adrenaline, and now it’s like we’re all little kids, scrambling and jostling over each other for a peek at some rare, exotic animal.

  Granden and Trench stand beaming on the other side of the long display case. They’re clearly proud of their collection of weapons and seem genuinely happy to see joy on the faces before them.