Stateless (Stateless #1)

by Meli Raine

  “You know nothing more about McDuff?”

  “Was I supposed to? Sir, I wasn't given orders to research him, but I will now–”

  “No!” Simultaneously, they blurt out the same word.

  I stare at them, first Svetnu, then Josephs.

  “You lay low. Any activity, especially online, could tip people off. Stay here at the compound for a few weeks. Let the dust settle,” Josephs orders.

  His eyes drift to the muted television. I follow his gaze. Vice President Alicia Ludame is behind a podium, addressing a crowd about the horrors of domestic terrorism and anarchists. Anarchists like us. She doesn't name Stateless, of course. There are other groups we easily pin violence on. They are our cover.

  Some of them know it.

  Some of them don't.

  “I need this like I need a fucking cyanide capsule shoved up my ass,” Josephs grouses.

  No one laughs.

  It's not meant to be funny.

  “You,” Svetnu says to me, “will write a full summary. Give your electronics and weapons for decon. Stay in the guest quarters. Train the computer team here on new techniques you've learned. Evaluate the new classes. Don't be a hermit, but don't overexpose yourself. Understand?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “And you're promoted.”

  “Sir?”

  “Someone needs to lead the field teams. It won't be Romeo anymore.”

  What he's saying sinks in slowly. Too slowly. I should be able to connect the dots faster.

  “I'm taking Romeo's position?”

  “Yes.”

  “In The Field or in training here at the compound?”

  “Both.”

  That means I stay while Kina's here.

  “Yes, sir. Thank you.”

  That's a reward better than any promotion.

  Chapter 18

  Kina

  One advantage to being the nursery director is that I have my own private quarters. The haven comes in handy as I walk back in the cool, deep night, my bed suddenly strange, enveloping me in a tangle of sheets that feels foreign as I process the last few hours.

  My sanctuary suddenly feels like anything but.

  It's a tiny one-bedroom suite, attached to where the children sleep. I'm expected to awaken when they do and take whatever measures are necessary to train them properly. My orders are to touch them as little as possible when they are disobedient.

  I break those orders under cover of darkness. Soothing a terrified child with a hug is one of the best feelings.

  And feelings matter, I've learned. No matter what our trainers taught us.

  My mission is strange in the context of Stateless. I don't mean the larger Mission that the Stateless Project is trying to accomplish. I mean my mission, my job, my role here at the compound for nine years, day in and day out, through sleepless nights and sunny days.

  I've cared for the children.

  Here, I am the closest thing to a mother that they have. There are ten-year-olds walking around on the cusp of early puberty who still look to me for comfort.

  They're not supposed to. They know this. All of us know this.

  We can't help it, though.

  I'm under a directive to spend the first four years of their lives teaching them how to emotionally connect. Researchers for Stateless compiled all the studies: Brain function and cognitive abilities improve when the emotional centers of the brain are activated through nurturing and attachment.

  Therefore, because data don't lie, I have an imperative to be loving.

  In regular society, parents do this out of instinct. We are drawn evolutionarily to connect with our progeny. None of these children came out of my body, though. In fact, the Stateless doctors make sure that doesn't happen until they decree it. I have an implant for birth control.

  I got it the day after Callum and Glen left.

  That's because of my other role, but I'm not thinking about that right now.

  I'm in my apartment, lying awake in my bed. The babies are asleep, all of them blissfully unaware of the distress caused by my emotional state. If they were awake, they would know. They would feel it without words, without image, without comprehension. It would be a vibration inside them disconnecting the norm of intimacy between us.

  That disconnect is what I've experienced for the last nine years without my twin.

  Without Callum.

  He re-entered the orbit of my life today in a way that wasn't calculated. No leader planned for this. To see Glen on television, standing next to the president of the United States, filled me with an all-consuming joy and then a dread I can't name. She's made it that high in nine years.

  She's made it to the highest office of the land.

  The level of infiltration is extraordinary. This must mean that The Mission is getting closer and closer to full success. My sister breathes in the powerful breath of men and women who hold the fate of billions in their decisions.

  Meanwhile, I'm in charge of eleven children under the age of four.

  I wipe bottoms and spoonfeed mashed bananas. I clean noses. I soothe hurt feelings. I make eye contact. I smile. I teach language and fine motor skills. I frown to show disapproval for negative behaviors. I adapt these children to their surroundings and when they aren't adaptable, I work even harder.

  But that's it. That's all that I am. Glen is out there. Glen serves as an aide to the president of the United States and Callum just worked an operation to help.

  Romeo tried to kill a woman who is the illegitimate daughter of the president of the United States. Everyone knows who Jane Borokov is. But why did he try to kill her? Why her?

  And most importantly — why did he fail?

  What would my life have been like if I’d been allowed to leave? What could I have accomplished in The Field? A hollow sense of loss grows inside, spreading, dilating the empty space, filling me in a paradoxical way that makes an ache climb into my throat.

  Callum is right here at the compound. Just a few buildings away. His explanation of what happened with Romeo was so confusing–and yet the puzzle pieces went click, click, click.

  Nine years ago, a group of our classmates ambushed me and Callum and Glen in the woods. During The Test, the goal was to kill me. Romeo gave me a cyanide pill as my only weapon. Then I used it successfully to kill Jason.

  Now Callum's telling me that Romeo died by his own hand with a cyanide pill.

  For nine years, I built compartments in my mind, sequestering the emotion that I felt about my sister and about Callum into a sealed box that I pushed into the furthest corner of an attic with a padlock on the door.

  And I threw away the key.

  All of the longing that I felt for their presence went into the babies. I was grateful in the end for my assignment. I could have been Janice, who is a groundskeeper now. I could have been Mark, who handles food service and works in the kitchen. I could have been sent out into the world to act as an escort to powerful men who find deep pleasure in a woman's pain.

  Or a delivery driver, or even a maid in high-priced homes, where finding kompromat is far more important than killing toilet germs.

  Those are some of the roles that my classmates have taken on. Nine years ago, those roles sounded better than my fate, but the babies saved me.

  And here we are, with Callum back at the compound.

  Maybe it's time for him to save me.

  I pluck at the thin sheet that covers my body. It feels like sandpaper. I pull it off my legs, restless, turning to my left. I rearrange the pillow up under my neck, bunching it until I realize there is no comfortable position. I sit up, feet on the floor, and before I realize what I'm doing, I throw on a sweatshirt and yoga pants, heedless of what I must look like.

  I slip my feet into clogs. I pause only when my hand touches the doorknob.

  The babies won't wake up.

  Out the door, to the right, Callum is four buildings away.

  Nine years ago, I let the red pinpoints of tail li
ghts disappear, taking him and Glen away from me. I'm not going to let that happen again. I'm not going to let four buildings decide my fate.

  The chill of the outside air makes my nipples tighten, my throat spasm, but I gently, slowly close the door without making a sound. Even my breath is muted–but not held.

  I know how to make myself small. Being invisible isn't hard when your goal is to reduce your pain. I've had nine years of being small. Now it's time to go and find the man who was my connection to the big, big world.

  The guards are accustomed to seeing me outside, even at odd hours of the night, because of the babies. Once again, they help me. It's 2:00 a.m. and no one blinks. As I turn toward the cafeteria, in their mind, I'm getting milk or some small thing for one of the children. I cut through the cafeteria and find the hallway that leads to the elevator to the underground level.

  I suspect I know exactly where Callum is. The guest apartments are hidden. That's their entire purpose–to hide people.

  When the elevator opens, I see that there are two possibilities. A light shines under one of the doors. The other has a soft glow, the kind that a small alarm clock or electronic device might project.

  I take a chance on the door with the light on. Knowing Callum, if he hasn’t changed, he's still up. I tap once, lightly.

  The door flies open. He's standing there shirtless, grey jersey knit pajama pants on, feet bare.

  He doesn't say my name. He doesn't say a word. He just grabs my arm, pulls me in, and shuts the door with the same quiet I used to shut mine a few moments ago.

  We stare at each other, breathing hard, chests rising and falling like engines revving.

  “I had to come,” I tell him.

  “I know. I thought you would be down here with me.”

  “What?”

  “Down here, in the temporary quarters, while you're here.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “What do you mean, Kina? You're here for a visit. Some sort of sequence of meetings, right?”

  “Which meetings?” I’m deeply confused, the same confusion reflecting back to me from his eyes. “What are you talking about?”

  “What are you talking about?” he demands, voice taut. It's clear that he expects to be listened to. Callum has a way of holding himself that demands his authority be respected. “What, exactly, is your assignment?”

  I reach for his hand. He lets me hold it. My eyes are drawn to the bare skin of his broad chest, thick pecs defined, a smattering of golden blonde hair dusting his torso. My throat tightens, breath held, as my eyes graze over the thickening trail at his navel.

  “You don't know?” I choke out, averting my eyes.

  “I was told you're on assignment in The Field. Not a university-trained position, but...” Brow going down, he gives me an intense look, one that turns to alarm as I make eye contact. “They lied to me, didn't they?”

  “Yes.”

  “What do you do, then? What is your role?”

  “Put on a shirt.” I look at his feet. “And shoes.”

  “What?”

  “I'm going to show you, Callum.”

  “Show me what?”

  “Exactly what my role is for Stateless. How I serve the cause.”

  Chapter 19

  Callum

  “You don't need to show me anything, Kina. Just tell me.”

  “It's easier to show you.”

  “This doesn't make sense.”

  “Get dressed. It will once you see.” She turns away, modest. The corners of my mouth twitch with a smile. Haven't seen a modest woman in a long time.

  I put on a button-down shirt and change out of my pajama bottoms into something more professional. Socks and leather shoes, too. The promotion I've been given means I need to carry myself with more authority than usual. Clothes do make a difference.

  The second I leave this room, all eyes will be on me.

  Svetnu's decision will be known, if it isn't already.

  The challenges will begin.

  For all I know, Kina is one of them.

  We slip out into the hallway, Kina holding my hand, then letting it go quickly. The cameras will monitor everything we do. The camera feed is normally only watched when someone transgresses–otherwise, no one cares–but these are special circumstances.

  Still, for now, it's a machine that monitors us, not people. People are only invoked when we do something wrong and then the record is combed over and used. No one is so careful that they can ever be spotless. Only a machine could accomplish that.

  None of us are robots, no matter how hard the leadership has tried.

  That said, there's a reason I developed the chip blocker. I pat my pocket. There are two inside, along with a special stabilizer that keeps it in place on the wrist. I hope her only chip is the one in the wrist.

  We go down the hallway, up in the small elevator, and through the eerily silent cafeteria. The glow of emergency lights near the kitchen refrigerator is all that lights our path.

  A bright red, glowing exit sign above the main doors makes me stop. Once we go out there, we'll be spotted. Whatever she's about to show me is public.

  “Kina,” I hiss. She needs to stop. She doesn't.

  Instead, she opens the doors and walks with straight shoulders, tight spine, and an economy of movement that makes it clear she's walked these steps thousands of times. The path curves to the left and her body naturally follows it before she even enters into its space.

  Growing up here will do that to your body. Growing up anywhere will do that to your body. We're primed to adapt to our environment. I take the moment to actually watch her, a reprieve from the stressed headspace I've been in all day.

  A welcome respite.

  My only respite.

  She's thinner than she was when I left nine years ago, but more muscular. There's a no-nonsense feeling to her, as if she's nothing but a series of angles, all put together to resemble a human being. All her softness is in her eyes.

  Her mind is as sharp as it was the day I left. Stateless made a huge mistake not sending her on the same assignment as Glen and me.

  What other mistakes has Stateless made?

  She takes me down to a building that I recognize instantly. The nursery. I have no real memory of it because, as I was told, I came here at age four. Why would I be warehoused with the babies?

  She slips through a door using her fingerprint, which means she has security access here.

  I do, too. It occurs to me Romeo had unlimited access to every part of the compound. I will as well.

  Unlimited access to what? How many secrets are about to be revealed to me?

  We go down a small flight of stairs to a hallway. She presses one finger against her lips in a gesture that's unnecessary, and quietly opens the door to an apartment. The living room is small, about the size of my own back in Pittsburgh. There's a comfortable-looking couch with colorful throw pillows. A circular wooden table near an efficiency kitchen. Two chairs. No appliances on the counters save for a coffee machine. The room smells like bleach and lavender.

  One framed photo sits on a table. It is of Kina and Glen, together outdoors, unsmiling but arms around each other's shoulders. They are about fifteen in the picture. I should know.

  I took it.

  Nothing extra is in this room. No paintings. No clutter. It's simply the basic furniture. Two books rest on an end table. Both are history manuals that I recognize instantly. They're issued by Stateless. True history, not the crap we were taught at the university I attended.

  She motions for me to sit down. I comply. As she pulls out the other chair at the tiny kitchen table, she angles it toward me.

  Kina sits down, looks at me and says, “This is my assignment.”

  “This?”

  “Yes, Callum. This.”

  “What do you mean, this is your assignment?”

  “The night you left, Angelica told me as you were driving away that because I was so good with the babies, my job w
as to stay here and to help in the nursery. I have the same assignment that she once had. Assignments.” Spreading her hands in a gesture designed to make me look around, she says, “Welcome to my home for the last nine years.”

  The information strikes me dumb for a moment.

  I recover fast. “I was told that you were sent out into The Field, Kina.”

  “We were both told lots of things.”

  “This–” I motion to the small area. “–this has been your life for nine years?”

  She nods.

  “You've never left?”

  She shakes her head.

  I'm reeling. My brain spins in anger and fury.

  “This is it. This is all that you do.”

  “Yes.” Big eyes meet mine and then she says, “You never came back.”

  “No, I never did.” I stumble through the words. “I was not allowed to.”

  “What did you do?” she asks. “Where did you go?”

  “They sent me to a Big Ten university. I earned a degree in electrical engineering.” The words come out as if I'm saying them from a script. Thank God I have a script inside me because if I didn't, I think I would just stare at her, mute. “Then I did a, um, a program in advanced robotics, and by the time I was done, I had security clearance for a cybersecurity position. That's what I do now.”

  “Do you like living in Pittsburgh?”

  “Like? What does The Mission have to do with liking something?”

  It's as if I've struck her.

  Cold eyes meet mine.

  “If I didn't like what I do, Callum, I couldn't have survived the last nine years. You had your mission. I had mine.”

  “It's been one hell of a mission, too. We've all contributed. We're everywhere now, Kina. Since Glen and I left, Stateless has found its way into the highest levels of governments around the globe. Dictatorships. Communist regimes, chaotic socialist governments, Western democracies. We have Social Democrats and Republicans and Green Party candidates in elected positions. Caliphates and kingdoms. It’s glorious.” Pride makes me speak too much, stumbling over my words like a fumbling fool.

  Or maybe it's the horror of learning she's never left this compound. Not once.