Recruitment

by K A Riley

  “The others are not your concern. We know you and Cardyn are close. We know he knew about your raven. That makes the two of you complicit, so now you need to choose. I’ve told you your options. Cardyn has the exact same ones. You have five minutes, starting now. I’ll be back to receive your answer.”

  Without another word, Hiller leaves the room. The door disappears again, and I’m left alone with the small aluminum desk, the writing stylus, the sensor projection pad, my thoughts, and absolutely no way out.

  My head is a chaotic mess. I wish I could press pause on the world for two minutes, so I could catch my breath and pretend I’m a regular human being for a change. But the world isn’t listening, and the clock’s ticking.

  What were the choices again? She threw everything at me so fast. Even at my best and most focused, there’s no way I could have retained it all.

  “I need to see the options written out,” I mutter to myself.

  Grabbing the stylus, I start scrawling on the sensor pad. The words hover before me, glowing faintly gray in the air above the table. I start by jotting down Hiller’s four rules, but they’re too long and hard to remember, so I wave my hand over the screen like I used to see Dad do on a similar piece of equipment back home before we lost power.

  My hovering notes disappear.

  Think like Dad, I tell myself. Think visually.

  I haven’t used tech like this since I was six, but it comes back to me in a rush, along with what Dad called my “natural ability to think like a techno-organism.” When I was little, I thought it was an insult. Only later, after my bond with Render started to solidify, did I start to see it as my father’s greatest compliment.

  I quickly sketch out a diagram of Hiller’s dilemma:

  Some quick taps to a tool palette on the projection pad allow me to color-code it. I feel myself blushing, embarrassed at my meticulous nature, even if no one’s around to make note of it.

  Finally, I can see all my choices laid out for me. Okay, so Cardyn and I each have two options, which end up as four pairs of numbers. For each pair, Cardyn’s payoffs are on the left and mine are on the right.

  It’s confusing at first, and suddenly I wish I were as good at puzzles as Rain is. She’d have this figured out in two seconds. Back in the Valta, she was queen of games and puzzles, even as a Neo. When she was five years old, she taught herself how to play chess from a book and an old set in her uncle’s basement. She tried to teach the rest of us years later, but no one other than Karmine and Kella ever really took to it.

  When the Sixteens from that year found a half-burned copy of a book called Mind-Benders in the rubble of the local library, Rain easily solved what puzzles she could salvage and then spent the next three months creating her own brain-teasers, then making everyone else—even the Sixteens and Juvens—feel dumb when they couldn’t figure them out.

  At first, Hiller’s dilemma seems like an easy choice. All Card and I have to do is both stay silent, and we’ll each get a pretty mild penalty of one-hundred points.

  But then those “five-hundreds” catch my eye, and I see the problem. If I refuse to cooperate, but Cardyn decides to be honest, he’ll avoid any penalty, while I’ll be stuck with a five-hundred-point deduction and probably be out of the running for Special Ops.

  Unfortunately, Cardyn is the most honest person in the world. He’d also hate to see me suffer.

  So, does he hold true to his values of honesty and confess, or does he stay silent and refuse to cooperate, so I won’t have to suffer quite so much?

  Do I do the same? If I’m honest and confess, but Card decides to look out for me by staying silent, I get no penalty, but Card gets nailed with a five-hundred-point deduction and will definitely hate me for the rest of our lives.

  My mind is swirling almost as much as when Rain tried to teach me chess. She told me every move relied on the one before. That I had to try to anticipate dozens, maybe hundreds, of possible responses. Back then, I didn’t toss the board over and throw the pieces at her, but now I kind of wish I had.

  Things designed to turn your brain into a churning tapioca vortex should be banned on principle alone.

  Honesty or loyalty.

  That’s what it comes down to. I can protect myself at the expense of my friend. Or, I can help my friend and hurt myself.

  What is Cardyn thinking right now? What will he do? And how will what he thinks I’ll do affect whatever he decides to do?

  This is exactly why chess made my head hurt.

  After analyzing the choices and staring for a full minute at my beautiful full-color rendering of the problem, I make my decision and sit back in my chair as the sound of footsteps approaches from the other side of the door.

  “So?” Hiller asks as the door slides open and she steps into the room. “We have Cardyn’s answer. What’s yours?”

  “I’ll tell you,” I say, swallowing hard past the lump in my throat. “Listen carefully.”

  I stare right into her mean little eyes, cross my arms, and clamp my mouth shut.

  Hiller looks tense for a second, like she’s expecting me either to talk or leap out of my seat and attack her. When she realizes that she has my answer—silence—her shoulders slump and her face relaxes. “Then I take it you’re willing to risk losing five-hundred points just to protect someone—even a friend—who might be right across the hall admitting that your bird was, in fact, a distraction?”

  I feel a quiver in my lip, but I clench my jaw to stop it in its tracks. There’s no way I’m giving her the satisfaction of knowing how scared I am.

  Hiller squints daggers at me. “And you’re prepared to accept full punishment while Cardyn goes back to training, and very possibly earns enough points to qualify for Special Ops. While you’re left with what? Combat duty and its high mortality rate?”

  I still don’t answer.

  “I’m giving you a chance here, Kress. An opportunity to change your mind for the sake of your friend and, frankly, for your own sake.”

  I answer her with a snarky stare that oozes a confidence I’m nowhere close to feeling.

  “Very well,” Hiller sighs. “But remember this: you have to live with your decision.”

  “I understand.”

  “Okay, then. Come with me.”

  I stand and follow Hiller out of the room, down a series of hallways, and finally back to the conference room with its four islands of tables. Brohn and Rain are back to sitting across from each other at one table. So, Hiller and her people decided to pair them together. I try to push away the ugly feeling of envy that’s surging its way through my chest. I’m not the only one who sees how close the two of them have become.

  Terk and Amaranthine are sitting together at another table. Karmine and Kella are at their own. Only Card is sitting by himself, so I slip into the empty seat opposite him.

  Hiller leaves, closing the door behind her.

  As we start discussing what just happened, we realize that each pair of us just had the same experience. The same scenario. The same choices. Amaranthine, as usual, doesn’t talk. But Terk is a total chatterbox.

  “At first, I didn’t understand the rules,” he says. “I thought we were going to get court-martialed or lashed or killed or something. I didn’t want to get Manthy in trouble, but I didn’t want to get in trouble either. And then I remembered what you said, Kress. About us being a Conspiracy. That means we’re a team, with a common enemy.”

  “Enemy?” Karmine asks.

  Terk gives him a vigorous nod. “Yes. But it’s not the Processor or the Recruiters or the Trainers. And it’s definitely not Manthy.”

  “So who’s the enemy?” Karmine asks, clearly intrigued by Terk’s rambling thought process.

  “Fear,” Terk says after a pause. He folds his hands behind his head, leans back, and smiles broadly enough to split his face.

  “Fear?”

  “Yes. Fear of getting the worst punishment possible. Isn’t that everyone’s fear? So I tried to get pas
t that and do what was best for Manthy, no matter how scared I was about what she might be doing or thinking, or what punishments either of us might get.”

  Brohn gets up and walks over to stand behind him, laying his hands on Terk’s enormous shoulders. “You did good, Big Guy. Real good.”

  Terk’s proud smile somehow gets even bigger, and we all have a good laugh over his description of what turned out to be the way we were all thinking.

  I watch as Brohn weaves through the jumble of desks and chairs to get back to his seat.

  “This is ridiculous,” he says, staring at the four desks’ linear layout. “We can’t talk like this. Let’s move the desks into the middle of the room—just like our cots are arranged in the Silo.”

  We each grab a chair, slide it up to the new circular cluster of desks, and sit down facing each other to finish our conversation.

  “This is better,” Rain sighs.

  Kella agrees. “No sense shouting around at one another when can just be face to face.”

  “Besides,” Card observes cheerfully, “we’re obviously better together than apart.”

  I find myself occasionally looking at Brohn as the discussion shifts to the two Cubes we’ve seen so far. But he’s focused, his eyes on his hands as he speculates about what we might experience next out in the Agora.

  “I’m hoping it’s more gun training,” Karmine says.

  “Me too,” Kella agrees.

  “Not me,” I tell them, pulling my eyes away from Brohn. “I’d be happy not to get shot at, for a change.”

  After a while, Hiller returns to the room. She steps in and takes one long look around, her mouth open. But she doesn’t say anything about our new circular arrangement of desks and chairs. Instead, she tells us that the Beta Cube challenge is over. “You have all agreed in your respective pairs to remain silent. Without cooperation from any of you, we have no choice but to penalize each of you the one-hundred points, as promised.”

  She means it to sound like some sort of harsh disciplinary action, but I don’t care. I’d rather take a one-hundred-point penalty for Cardyn’s sake than get no penalty for my own sake. I won’t be intimidated into doing what’s best for myself at the expense of my friend. I look around the room, and I can guarantee that my fellow Seventeens are each thinking the exact same thing.

  Once all of us have made it clear that we’ve accepted our fate, Hiller escorts us out of the room, down another series of halls, and out of the building to the Agora.

  Out in the open air, we all walk together through the Agora and over to the Silo, where Trench is waiting for us. He taps a code into his Catalyst, and the Capsule Pads appear from underground to deliver us down into our barracks.

  With all of us mentally wiped out, everyone seems to fall asleep within five minutes. That is, everyone except me. I’ve got too many things on my mind to drift off peacefully.

  As quietly as I can, I swing my feet around and tip-toe into the Shower Room. Squatting down in one of the shower stalls with my back to the cold concrete wall, I tap a pattern onto my forearm implant and concentrate.

  A moment later, even though I’m deep underground, I begin to see the outside through Render’s eyes. He’s full from picking at a deer carcass he found in the blackened woods, and now he’s perched in a dying tree that leans up against the Beta Cube. It’s not quite night-time, but the air is growing gray as the last threads of the day’s light start to fade.

  Things are blurry at first. The sounds of the world above crash against my eardrums in thick, thunderous waves, reminding me how strong our connection has grown since we both left the Valta. I recoil and clench my hands into tight fists at my sides.

  As things begin to focus, I can suddenly make out the forms of Hiller, Granden, and Trench, standing near the door of the Beta Cube.

  They’re talking, but at first it doesn’t sound like any language I’ve ever heard. It’s mostly just gibberish; a mixture of caw-ing and grumbling. But after a minute or two, I begin to identify words, then full sentences. The language is choppy, the words crunching together, but I find that I can make most of it out.

  Hiller’s voice is mechanical, like an angry robot who’s trying to sound like a happy flight attendant. “This is the first time in my experience with Recruits that no one has broken. No one defected—not one of them. It’s not uncommon for someone to sacrifice themselves for the other person, even if they know the penalty will be real and severe. But for everyone to risk the possibility of getting the worst punishment? That’s unheard of.”

  “Maybe it’s just a coincidence,” Granden offers. “Or maybe luck.”

  “Maybe they’re masochists,” Trench offers. “Or geniuses.”

  Hiller shakes her head. “There’s no such thing as one hundred percent cooperation in the real world. It’s like they suddenly have some kind of group mind.”

  Trench answers her, his voice full of static and brittle in my head, like someone walking on dead leaves. “But that’s good, isn’t it? I mean, we want them to think like a team.”

  What happens next is crystal clear.

  With a sharp thwak that makes me flinch, Hiller smacks Trench hard across the face. “No, you idiot!” she says. “That’s the opposite of what we want.”

  My connection disappears a few seconds later, and I’m almost glad. I feel like I’ve just had a weird nightmare that doesn’t entirely make sense. I try to tell myself it wasn’t real, or that I just misheard what Hiller was saying.

  As I get into bed and press my head into my thin pillow, I promise myself not to tell anyone about it. At least not for now. I need to figure some things out first, especially the part about being able to see and hear so much more detail through Render than I ever could before.

  13

  In the morning, we wake up to eight sets of white martial arts uniforms hanging on pegs along the perimeter of our barracks. The pegs are next to our lockers, our names displayed above each, so it doesn’t take a genius to figure out who belongs to which uniform. Besides, Terk’s locker is next to mine, and his pants alone are the size of a sleeping bag, so I’m not too worried about grabbing the wrong clothes.

  I slip into the white pants and white canvas jacket assigned to me, pushing thoughts of last night’s strange events away from my mind. Fortunately, Karmine provides a distraction by offering to show us all how to tie the long black belts around our waists.

  “Just one of the many practical skills one can pick up from doing a little combat reading,” he boasts.

  “Great,” I reply sarcastically. “Knowing how to tie a belt should come in real handy against the Order.”

  “You joke,” Karmine says, pointing with his thumb to the world up above, “but we’ve got to impress Hiller and her bunch before we even get a shot at the Order. Every point counts. And no way am I getting Combat deployment. Granden says those guys don’t usually even last as long as your team did yesterday.”

  I give him the dual reaction of a shrug and a smirk before he moves on to help Kella tie her belt. I hate to say it, but he’s right. I should be more focused on what I can do to earn the points I’ll need to make Special Ops. Otherwise, I’m going to wind up on the front lines with no skills, no friends, and eventually, no life. Literally. If what I heard last night was true—if Hiller wants us to think like individuals—that means she’ll reward independent thinking. I need to prove I’m up to the task.

  Now that we’re all dressed and looking like an eight-person team of black-belted ghosts, we stand on the Capsule Pads and wait to be lifted up. Once we’re in place, the clear pods close up around us and whoosh us up to the surface. We step out of the Capsules, which seal up behind us and whoosh back down. This is becoming a familiar routine.

  Train until our bodies ache.

  Drop down into the Silo.

  Sleep.

  Return to the surface for more training.

  Repeat.

  For the two weeks before Hiller’s test in the Beta Cube, we were
greeted by weapons, target ranges, and combat simulations. We’ve learned how to handle a wide variety of guns and occasionally got to practice with some old-style cross-bows, as well as some of the more high-tech volters, stun-guns, and other non-lethal weapons.

  Trench and Granden have even given us lessons in the inner workings of nuclear, hydrogen, and neutron bombs—not that we’re likely ever to use them. Through it all, we’ve been overseen, assessed, and graded. The updated grades always show up on the viz-screen down in our barracks. Karmine, Brohn, and Kella continue to jockey for position at the top of the list. No surprise there. Kella has better vision than any of us and can track moving targets as well as Render can. Karmine is obsessed with weapons and keeps hoping out loud that we’ll get to handle even more.

  Brohn is amazing at everything.

  Meanwhile, I’m nowhere near the top.

  When we step out of our Capsules this time, the Agora has been converted into a field of mats, blocking-dummies, and heavy punching bags suspended on thick metal stands throughout the wide, open space. There are training stations scattered all around. An old-style boxing ring sits off in one corner. There’s also a smaller ring of some kind, surrounded by a steel cage.

  Another area houses a bunch of wooden stands, maybe six feet tall, with smaller wooden spokes sticking out like arms from their cylindrical bodies. Everything’s changed. Even Granden and Trench are dressed differently than before. Instead of the drab military camouflage outfits they’ve been wearing, both are dressed exactly like us, in white, loose-fitting jacket-and-pants combinations that Trench describes as “keikogi.” The only difference is that their belts are red instead of black.

  Everything else in the Processor remains the same. The guards are still posted up in their turrets. The huge black buildings still glisten around the eight sides of the octagonal Agora. The Halo still rotates silently overhead, casting its shadow over all of us down below.