Stateless (Stateless #1)

by Meli Raine

  Sharp eyes meet mine. “And so far, you're the only one who figured that out. Good work.”

  “Kina understood it long before I did.”

  "And she used it to her strategic advantage. Who did she hand the capsule to?"

  "What?"

  "Who did she hand the capsule to? It didn't magically find its way into Jason's mouth."

  "Kina did it."

  Surprise finally registers, his eyes widening slightly. "How did Kina get it in his mouth?"

  "By using her brain. I don't understand this pervasive bias that everyone here has against her. Why do you all underestimate her?”

  “Why do you have a need to put her on some kind of pedestal, Callum? Have we overestimated you?"

  "What are you talking about?"

  A flick of the wrist and he dismisses everything I'm saying.

  "Glen told us how besotted you are with the two of them, that you have some sort of twin-cest fantasy."

  "What?"

  “You've kissed them both, correct?”

  Damn it.

  “Have you slept with them both? One at a time, or,” a conspirator's laugh comes out of him, “both at the same time?”

  As I let seconds pass, formulating an answer, his nonchalant gesture is more disgusting than his words. "I wouldn't blame you. You wouldn't be the first man–" he thinks for a moment, "–or woman, here at the compound, to have it cross their mind. We may be working toward detachment but we are human, like it or not."

  His hard stare makes it clear he doesn't like it in me.

  "First of all, no, and second of all, what does any of this have to do with Kina, or with me?"

  "It has everything to do with you and Kina. Obviously, you've fallen in love with her and you're irrational about her abilities."

  I start sputtering and can't stop. “What? That is the most ridiculous thing I have ever heard."

  "Is it? Isn't it true? Can you look me in the eye and tell me that you have no feelings for her?" His gaze darts to my wrist. "Can you tell me that the chip won't detect a change in heartbeat right now? That you don't have adrenaline or cortisol shooting through you like a fire hydrant? Tell me, Callum," he says, moving close like a predator. "Tell me you completely deny any feelings for her."

  "The only feelings that I have for Kina are feelings of lost opportunity on your part, on the entire leadership's part. You're all blinded by something or someone. Is it Glen?"

  "Now you're obsessed with Glen?"

  "I'm not obsessed with anyone. I am obsessed with The Mission." Fury makes my neck turn tight. The words are hard to get out of my mouth. My jaw works around them as if there's a boulder resting on the back of my tongue.

  “The Mission.”

  "Yes. And keeping Kina here is a huge mistake."

  "Says you? Says the man who has never left this compound in his entire life? You think you have better judgment than the entire leadership of this project?"

  "That's all we are to you. We're just a project, aren't we? But you're a part of the project, too, Romeo. We are all just pawns in some enormous game. I'm about to go out into the world and learn about this society that you have done nothing but revile in classrooms and in Woods."

  “Have at it, son.”

  Son makes me nearly punch him.

  I'm breathing so hard. It feels like there's a steam engine in my chest. "And you're keeping behind the single smartest person in our class. Why?"

  "You really do need to leave." His words slice through my neck. "We were warned that this might happen as the project matured."

  "What might happen?"

  "There might be men like you."

  "Men like me? What does that mean?"

  "There's only room for one king in a pride."

  "What the hell is that supposed to mean, Romeo?"

  "It means Glen was right."

  "About what?"

  "She said it was better for you to leave tonight then to wait until morning. Your bags have already been packed."

  "No, I haven't packed yet."

  "They've been packed for you." He interrupts me, leaning forward. "Everything you think, Callum, goes nine layers deeper than you will ever comprehend. There's no action, no decision, no desire at your plane of existence that isn't understood in ways that you cannot fathom.

  "You need to remember that orders are issued from the top down and–make no mistake–you are at the bottom. The opportunity that is being handed to you, and that is going to start in the next five minutes when that car outside flashes its lights, is one that few can access. I didn't have this opportunity. I came into the project too old, and too early in its existence. You, though..."

  His eyes appraise me like I'm a robot, a machine he's assessing for its value, "You, on the other hand, are a different breed. Don't screw it up."

  Smith and Sally enter the room suddenly, bookends on either side of me. As Smith sticks his hand in his right pants pocket, his gun is revealed.

  The message couldn't be clearer.

  Headlights blink in the distance. The flash sends panic raging through me.

  "I need to see Kina before I leave."

  I turn to Romeo, making my face blank, forcing my shoulders down, unclenching my fists. I present myself as a neutral being, a vessel for the great mission on which I'm about to embark.

  "Sir..." I say, working as hard as I can to keep all traces of cynicism out of my voice, “may I say goodbye to her?"

  "No."

  "Sir?"

  "I said no."

  "I'll ask one more time, sir... I killed Jason last night as he was attempting to kill her." Our eyes meet in a mutual understanding of my lie. "She's weak. She also may need a little debriefing, if you know what I mean."

  Sally and Smith give each other uncomfortable looks.

  "Fine, two minutes. That's it."

  Two minutes aren't enough, I think to myself.

  But two minutes have to be a lifetime.

  Chapter 15

  Kina

  I'm running outside toward the car Glen's climbing into just as Callum comes out of the main office building at a jog, face set with determination.

  He's running to me.

  Men in suits are putting backpacks into the trunk. I press my hand against the closed window. Inside, Glen ignores me.

  I'm making an emotional spectacle of myself. In the morning, I'll regret this. Punishment is coming.

  Right now, I don't care.

  “Two minutes,” Callum says in a breathless voice.

  “What?”

  “I have to get in the car with Glen. We're leaving. I have two minutes.”

  “Two?”

  “Yes. Look. I'm–” He’s nervous and visibly pumped up. Even when he was killing Jason last night, he wasn't like this.

  So full of feeling.

  All eyes are on us, but I don't care. I reach for his arm and pull him closer, looking up. “I wish it were different,”

  “Me, too.” Pain radiates from his eyes. “I tried in there, Kina. I really did.”

  “I know. Glen told me.”

  He jolts. “She did?”

  “She, uh...”

  “Listen. Don't trust anyone.”

  “Funny. She said that, too.”

  “She's right.”

  “What about you? Can't I trust you?”

  “Yes. Always. No matter what happens going forward. No matter where you are, reach out to me. I'll always be there for you. Do you believe me?”

  “Yes.”

  The air between us is charged. Fighting the energy that drags me to him is like resisting a riptide.

  We have to, though.

  A traditional goodbye, the kind in the movies we make fun of, would ruin us both. It would show that we're disloyal to the cause.

  Instead, we use our eyes.

  And somehow, our hearts, which come online like secret devices. Then we hear a tap tap tap and my hand drops from his arm. Turning, I see Smith in the passenger's seat, Sall
y at the wheel.

  And the back of Glen's head in the backseat.

  “It's time,” I say. “I wish I were going, too.”

  “Yes,” he says simply.

  A presence behind me is confirmed by Callum's gaze shifting over my shoulder.

  “Angelica,” he says with a formal nod.

  “You're delaying the plane,” she says. “There are thunderstorms in the Midwest. You need to go.”

  Midwest.

  I have a clue.

  “Good luck,” I tell him. He nods.

  Angelica makes a snide sound. Callum catches my eyes. A thousand years pass between us in one look.

  No, I want to scream.

  No!

  My nose tingles with the effort to hold back tears, the familiar tang in the back of my throat threatening to betray me. Angelica steps back and I follow her, more from muscle training than conscious thought.

  The car door slams. Sally puts it in reverse, then into drive, and before I know it, my entire world is disappearing in the dark, two red pinpoints of tail lights dragging my heart with them.

  “You're the one who needs the luck,” Angelica says in a surprisingly pleasant voice.

  “What?”

  “You've been assigned my old job.”

  “Your old job?”

  “Remember the photo of the cribs that we showed you in class?”

  “Yes.”

  “Congratulations, Kina. You've been chosen to work in the nursery. I got my start there sixteen years ago. Demonstrate your ongoing good work with the babies and you, too, could move up to become a trainer.”

  My mouth goes numb. “The babies? My assignment is to be a babysitter?”

  “It's the best work we could determine for you.”

  “That's it? That's all I'm to do? No training, no classes, no college? Not even trade school?”

  “Oh, that's not your only assignment.” A haunted look flits across her face, so quick it's like a shadow of a fast-moving object.

  “What else?”

  “You've been chosen for a very special assignment here at the compound. Also one that I once had.”

  “What's that?”

  “You have the honor of being a different kind of trainer.”

  Fear seizes my belly, twisting it until I come close to breaking in two.

  Before she says the words, I know.

  Oh, God, I know.

  I look toward the tail lights of the car, certain I can still see the tiny red dots, squinting to find them.

  Please.

  Please, no.

  But I know what she's about to say.

  The words are a formality.

  She says them anyway.

  “You, Kina, are the new training body. Welcome to your mission.”

  Chapter 16

  Nine years later

  The babies sense it before anyone else.

  They always do.

  Like cats, they are primed to detect distress, to feel disturbance, to notice, take it in, and respond.

  The babies know, but they can't act. Helpless, all they can do is react to the change. I sense it in them. It's my job to sense their emotional states.

  Here at the compound, the older children are trained to eliminate their emotions, ruthlessly instructed to make certain they have no connections to anyone. They are at a different level than the babies. Until they reach the age of four, we nurture and love the little ones. This is my job. It promotes their brain development.

  It serves a higher purpose.

  Just like me.

  A flurry of activity outside the building draws my attention. I look out the window to see black car after black car, speeding down the dark, paved road that leads to the main administration building. Five years ago, they paved all of the roads, installed new cameras, and added drone coverage to our compound. I recognize the license tags on these cars.

  They're designed not to be recognized.

  But when you live in such a small, enclosed world, you take in all the data that you can find. I have analyzed and categorized every part of this compound that I'm given access to, including all of the information coming in right now.

  The emotions of the babies, who stir in their cribs and start to fuss, and the billowing dust at the edges of the paved roads as the cars pull in, groups of people pouring out of them and crowding into the lone leadership building, make me sure of one thing.

  Something is wrong.

  Something is very, very wrong.

  “Take over for me,” I tell Philippa, a nineteen-year-old who is in her first year as my assistant. Shock fills her features. I've never done this before.

  I'm out the door, running to the cafeteria, before she can even react.

  It's nap time, so the babies are all asleep, though Thomas is teething and likely fussy, and Ashton has reached the terrible twenty-two-month-old stage and keeps tearing off his diaper. Thoughts of the mundane run automatically through my mind as I sprint, grateful for the morning five-mile run that keeps me in shape.

  Whispers fill the cavernous cafeteria as I enter, workers clustered in twos and threes, all of them startled by my sudden entrance.

  “Janice!” I call out, a familiar pinched look on her face making my heart sink. Like me, she was kept here, though her role is to manage the perimeter of the fence. Ground crews are outside twelve hours a day, five days a week, year round.

  She is deeply tanned, her naturally dark skin turned to a rich bronze.

  “You heard?” she whispers, hands shaking as she holds a cup of coffee.

  “No. Just saw the cars.”

  “It's Romeo.”

  “Romeo?”

  “He's dead.”

  “Dead?” The word feels like a hair caught on my tongue. I want to find the end of it and pull it out, flick it away.

  Worried eyes meet mine. She nods.

  “What does this mean for–”

  The double doors to the cafeteria burst open, a group of men entering, two women behind them.

  In the lead is the last man I ever expected to see again.

  “Callum.” The name rushes out of my mouth like it's been waiting nine years to be said. Janice gapes at me. The force of time thrusts the word out, the rapid rate of information change too much, too fast. We live a slower life here. A methodical life.

  Time crawls, like the babies I'm in charge of.

  “What is he doing here?” Janice asks unnecessarily.

  I'm staring at him overtly, watching his profile as he stops, Angelica rushing to his side. Her hair is short now, but the glasses are the same, just updated slightly in shape. Tortoise shell rims, though, oversized and owl-like.

  Furious whispering takes place between them, with finger pointing and red-cheeked ire.

  And then Callum looks directly at me.

  Anger is replaced with astonishment.

  Kina? he mouths.

  I nod.

  Eyes widening, he swallows hard, Angelica's terse words a pantomime for me. I can't hear anything they're saying but I can read all the nonverbal cues I need.

  I take a halting step forward, then another, then I am racing. Toward him. For nine years, I have burned with the need to know how he is, what he is, who he's become.

  And now he's here.

  Talking to him isn't just a need. It's a biological imperative.

  One of the janitors picks that exact moment to drag a large recycling bin past me, bisecting the room, forcing me to stop and wait. By the time the path is clear, Callum and the people surrounding him are out the door and halfway down the hallway.

  “You can't follow them!” Janice hisses behind me. She is pale and terrified. “They'll punish you.”

  “Punish? We're not trainees, Janice. Worst case, I get yelled at.”

  “They can do worse than yell,” she says in a low, violent voice.

  Never the same since the masturbation incident years ago, Janice lives in a constant state of vigilant terror. I am just as vigilant,
but less terrified.

  Much less when I know Callum is here.

  “I don't care,” I declare, taking off down the hall, searching for the group. Sound allows me to find them, eight people in a large conference room, the wall-sized television screen turned on.

  The image on the screen is me.

  No, of course it isn’t. It’s my sister.

  Standing in the shadow of the president of the United States as he fields questions from reporters.

  “Glen!” I gasp.

  Everyone looks at me.

  Angelica's hairline slides back as her face takes on a highly pissed-off expression, lips tight, jaw tighter.

  “Get out,” she orders.

  “No. She stays,” Callum snaps, voice filled with an authority that he possessed nine years ago but no one respected. This time, though, it's clear he expects to be obeyed.

  She frowns, but nods.

  Callum gestures to a seat next to him.

  “We're deconstructing what happened. Romeo is dead,” he explains, as if it's perfectly natural for him to be here after nine years gone.

  All I see are the red pinpricks of the car's tail lights when he left.

  Nine years.

  One third of our lives.

  So much has happened.

  “I heard. How were you involved?” I ask. Murmurs start in the room. I can tell some of the leaders who didn't grow up in our class are wondering what on Earth the nursery director is doing in here.

  In such an important meeting.

  “I was right down the hall when it happened. On lookout.”

  “You clearly didn't do your job,” Smith snaps. “And now you're here in hiding, in case you were recognized.”

  “How would anyone recognize you?” I ask Callum.

  His hand moves like a knife cutting a rope, finger digging into the thick cords of muscle at his neck. “I don't know.”

  But I do.

  It's his birthmark. The one on his neck, like red wine soaked into silk.

  Like blood gone wrong. It's as if Callum's veins overflow, the extra needing to find its way out. It tried, but the skin is a fence, a forcefield, a barrier too strong to break. The port-wine stain announces itself, big and irregular, so utterly imperfect and human.

  If Callum didn't have it, he'd be ten times more prized.