I’ll never forget the day he gave mine to me. It was a Sunday afternoon in early autumn, and I had gone to his house for our usual study session. I couldn’t figure out why his parents and brothers wouldn’t leave, even though we had spread our books across the kitchen table. When Will asked me to get up and retrieve a textbook from the pantry cupboard, I thought he’d lost his mind. I may have even told him so. But he turned those blue eyes on me and asked again with a big fat please. I rolled my eyes and got up from the table.
I spotted those bright pink shoes as soon as I opened the door, and my eyeballs nearly fell out of their sockets. My shriek set everyone in the room to laughing. I had to try them on then and there. And I nearly toppled Will from his chair with a flying tackle of gratitude. We didn’t get any studying done that afternoon, but we ran five miles.
I still have that pair of trainers at home. They’re broken down and worn out, but they mean too much to throw them away. I sort of wish now that I’d brought them with me.
After all the miles I’ve run training for the Military Exam, cross country practice proves ridiculously easy. Markay’s breathing comes too hard to continue our conversation, so I pretend the pace is more challenging than it is. As we circle, we pass another half dozen Greencoats stationed throughout the school grounds.
Afterward, Ethan is waiting for me. We board an autopod and he asks, “How was practice?”
“Uneventful.”
I tell him my time and mileage and he laughs out loud. “You’re probably right to not draw attention to yourself. You and I can find someplace to work in a real run later. First, let’s go over the case.”
He clicks on his holoband. “While you’ve been dawdling, I’ve done some research on this fellow, Lincoln. He’s got quite a record. He’s also got a thing for Melrose, as well as an attitude.”
“You think he could be a suspect?” I ask. “I can hardly imagine a student would be part of a trafficking ring.”
“Maybe that’s not what we’re up against. Maybe the entire thing is about caste.”
“But some of the missing girls were Lowers,” I protest.
“Only two. You saw what happened today. You’ve seen the malice they carry toward the rest of us.”
I want to point out the reasons behind their behavior, but I can guess the arguments he’ll use to refute me. So I say nothing at all.
When we arrive back at the apartment, Ethan checks in with Willoughby for any updates while I hit the shower. His comment about caste has unsettled me. It marks an attitude as much as an observation. A more subtle form of arrogance.
I think he has forgotten I am only pretending to be an Upper.
***
Over the next couple days, I keep my eye on the denim-clad minority, but not because I suspect them in the kidnappings. Linc has been expelled for a weapons violation. Leaderless, the Lowers cause no further trouble. And reports from Willoughby that the kidnappings have spread into two other cities, both of which had corresponding radiation readings, have made Ethan’s caste theory seem unlikely. We are dealing with something much bigger than schoolyard gangs. No, I keep a watch because I am hoping to speak with Jewel.
My opportunity comes Wednesday afternoon in the library. I’ve learned who she is, a copper-toned girl with henna-dyed hair. I see her working alone in a corner. I have no idea what I’m going to say to her, but I’m compelled to start a conversation anyway.
“Hi,” I say, dropping into a seat beside her.
“Who are you?” she asks with suspicion, taking in my bright Upper-style clothing. She wears denim jeans and a denim jacket over a faded yellow shirt. Her kinky hair has been hacked short, with long red twists that hang over one eye. Dark makeup makes her eyes look unnaturally large.
“I’m Jack Potts. I’m new here. You’re Jewel, right?”
She scorns the hand I offer.
I tuck it back in my lap. “Well, someone told me your name.”
“What do you want?”
“Nothing. Just to introduce myself and say hello. Be friendly.”
Jewel just stares at me, her eyebrows drawn together like she can’t quite fathom what she’s looking at. “I’ve got work to do.” She begins gathering her things.
“Wait,” I say. “I…want to ask you…about where you’re from. What it’s like there.”
“It’s a real picnic,” she drawls. “What do you care?”
“As a matter of fact, I do care. And I admire your dedication in studying for the Exam.” Shining on the written portion is her only shot. She’s too thin to pass Military. Not without a change of diet and some serious training. But here in the city, there’s a chance she might land some kind of employment other than the unskilled, often dangerous labor offered to Lowers. “Do you have family?”
Her face grows darker. “That’s none of your business.”
“I’m sorry. I—”
“Look, why don’t you take your prissy Upper self back to your prissy Upper apartment and leave me alone.”
“I’m not…” My voice trails away. I can’t tell her who I am. “I’m just trying to understand.”
“Well, save your pity.” Her face turns acid as she grabs her holopad and moves away. “I have studying to do.”
That didn’t go well, I think as Jewel parks herself at another table across the room. She has totally misunderstood my intentions. But I can hardly blame her for her animosity. If someone looking like I do now had plunked down next to me in 56, I would have been suspicious too. And probably just as angry.
***
Ethan and I get in several evening runs because team practices don’t get much more challenging. In fact, we only run three on Thursday due to the meet scheduled for Friday, leaving Markay plenty of time to make it to her Galaxy Quest club.
“We’ll be running on home turf tomorrow, ladies,” Coach tells us as we finish up. “Eat a healthy dinner, get plenty of rest, and I’ll see you tomorrow.”
The team exits the locker room and I follow them toward the front doors. Ethan has a holoconference with Willoughby this afternoon, so he’s left me to find my own way home. I’m contemplating my first solo autopod ride when Markay grabs my arm and draws me away from the other girls. “Come to club with me tonight.”
“What?” My mind has already skipped far ahead.
“Galaxy Quest. Come play it with us.”
“Markay, I’m not a gamer.”
“You’ll love it. I promise.”
“I don’t really have any intere—”
“Please?” she pleads. “Just try it once.”
I can see how much this means to her. I sigh. “Oh, all right.” If it doesn’t take too long, Ethan won’t even miss me.
She squeals with delight and drags me out the door and down the sidewalk to a modest house around the corner from school. She lets herself in the back door and down a narrow stairway to a room in which all the furniture has been shoved against the walls. Eight boys wearing miscellaneous pieces of game gear are lounging on the bunched-up chairs. I’ve met two of them during the course of the week, a freckly redhead with big teeth named Lysander, and our host, Pax Blakely, a kid with Asian features who’s in my sixth-hour class.
“Look at that,” someone calls as we enter. “Markay actually found another girl to drag in.”
“The club is going downhill now,” Pax jokes.
“Are you kidding me?” Emerson says. “The company in this room just got about three hundred percent classier.”
I grin at him. “Hey, Emerson.”
“Hey, Jack. How was practice?”
“Short.”
“So, Markay put the pressure on, did she?” Pax asks me. He has a quick wit and dark hair as long as mine. “It didn’t take too long for you to fold. This is what, your third day here?”
“Fourth,” I answer.
“She was an easy target,” Markay tells Pax. “She’s nice.”
“I’m nice,” Pax says in mock indignation. He turns to the gu
y next to him, one I haven’t met. “Aren’t I nice?”
“You’re very nice.”
“Lysander?”
“Entirely respectable.”
“Eli?”
“A perfect gentleman.”
Pax grins. “See, Markay?”
“You’re all crazy.” Markay goes to a box sitting on one of the desks and returns with two game helmets, gloves, and what looks like two pairs of coveralls.
“Ever game before, Jack?” Pax asks as she fits the helmet on my head.
“Never.”
“She’s all yours, Markay,” he says. “I finally have a respectable trade going on Zeebo and don’t want to lose points now.”
“See?” Markay says to me. “Not nice.”
“Maybe a little sketchy,” Lysander calls out.
“A complete reprobate,” Emerson agrees.
I giggle.
“So,” Pax says, “are we going to start this game before my feelings get hurt?”
Introductions are made all around, but I already feel completely at ease. Then helmets and holobands are synced through a central game console.
“This is your game pad,” Emerson says, laying a circular mat with a four-foot diameter at my feet. “When it’s activated, hover technology will actually lift you off the floor. You’ll feel like you’re really walking, and the holoware will translate your movements into the virtual world, but the pad will keep you within the circle of the ring so we’re not all running into each other in here.”
A couple of the guys laugh at the amazement on my face. “I won’t lose my balance and fall off, will I?”
“It’ll hold you in place,” he says. “Trust the game.”
Markay holds up a pair of coveralls. “Compression suit. Once it’s on, pull this tab and the fabric will shrink down to your body size. It contains sensory holoware, so you’ll be able to feel the game. Same with the gloves. The microwaves given off by your helmet will fool your brain into feeling heat, pain, wind, and other sensations. It won’t actually jack into your brain—those outfits are way more expensive—but it’s a pretty fair simulation.”
“Wow. This sounds like a pricey pastime,” I say.
“Depends who you know.” Pax shrugs. “I’ve got a guy who gives me a price break in exchange for camouflaging his system.”
“Camouflaging?”
“Hiding his game host holoware.”
“Hiding it from what?”
“From Governor Macron’s net czars.” He looks at me like that should be a given, but I don’t have a clue what he’s talking about. Probably my settlement upbringing again.
“It’s illegal to form game clans larger than ten,” Emerson explains. “But a game like Galaxy Quest is infinitely better if you plug in with at least a hundred players.”
“Hold on. This is illegal?”
“Nah. There’s only eight of us.” Pax grins and presses a button on the game console. “Now it’s illegal.”
“Don’t worry,” Markay tells me. “Pax camouflaged the site himself. No one’s going to find us unless they’ve been invited.”
The rest of the pads are spread on the floor, someone shuts off the lights, and the game begins. An entire world suddenly appears beyond the shield of my helmet, as realistic as the one outside the windows. I reach out in astonishment and touch a tree, clearly an oak, and feel the solid bulk of wood against my hand.
“It takes a little while to adjust to the illusion,” Markay says beside me. “I’ve linked you into my game. We’re on my home planet, Wyndl. I’m about six paces behind you. Turn around. Can you see me? I’m waving.”
I turn in place, and the entire world rotates. I see Markay, her head helmetless. I wave back.
“Walk toward me,” she says. “Get used to the feel of the pad.”
I walk right up to her and reach out a palm. She slaps it hard enough to sting and then laughs at my startled expression. “I’m still several feet away. We’re only this close in the game.”
“I’m still on my pad? It feels so real!”
“It’s supposed to.”
“Where are the others?”
“They’re on their own ships or planets. You won’t see them until we come into contact in the virtual world, which we have to do to gain points. Do you see a screen at your bottom left?”
“Yes.”
“Reach out and maximize it.”
A flick of my hand and the screen opens before my face.
“That’s our dashboard. Scroll through the weapons and click on one.”
I do, and instantly my gloves become weighted, as if I am holding the sword I chose. I raise my hands, and in my vision, I am.
“Sensory holoware in action. Any movement you make will translate, whether you’re swinging the sword, hoeing a plot of land, or pounding the pavement in an all-out sprint.”
“Amazing!”
“It is. Are you ready to play?”
“Sure.”
“Okay, follow me. We’re going for a ride.” She leads me across a dusty, weed-filled yard toward a hangar and we step inside. The sound of our movement echoes off the high ceiling. In the center of the vacuous space sits a streamlined aircraft. “Hop in,” Markay tells me.
I laugh. “Hop in? Like, let’s take a spin around the block? Markay, it’s an airplane.”
“A spacecraft, actually. Come on. I won’t kill you. It’s virtual.”
I shake my head. It’s so easy to forget. “You’re flying?”
She grins. “I’ll show you around my capital city, then we’re going on a raiding mission over to Zorax, on the far end of the Capturn Galaxy.”
We climb into the cockpit. I strap in, and even though I’m suspended above a game pad, I feel like I’m really reclining in the copilot’s seat. The engine rumbles to life, and every vibration finds its way into my suit. I am completely baffled by the panel of controls before us, but Markay has no such hesitation. She eases the craft off the ground and out the hangar door. Soon we’re soaring above emerald fields and luminous waterways toward the soaring spires of buildings in the distance.
I relax. “So, what’s the point of the game?” I ask. “Is there a final objective?”
“There’s not much point in playing if someone can’t win, right? It’s all about creating civilizations and empires, gaining economic and military power over your opponents, and defeating—”
I hold up my hand. “Never mind. I just want to enjoy the ride.”
TWELVE
That evening after dinner, Ethan and I crash on the couch and he fills me in on his discussion with Willoughby. The only difference from the original reports is that more boys are disappearing along with the girls. Over a hundred and fifty cases combined. When he’s done, I ask, “Is there any good news?”
He shakes his head. “Have you gotten to know any of the Lowers at school?”
“You still think they’re behind this?”
He sighs. “I don’t know what to think. Nothing’s adding up in a way that makes sense.”
“I’ve only gotten to know them by name. They spurn all attempts at friendliness.” I had tried again to speak with Jewel. I sat by her at lunch and tried to strike up another conversation only to have her move away again.
“Keep trying.”
I fidget with the cloth covering the arm of the couch. “I just don’t understand how so many people can go missing without any evidence. It’s like they’ve vanished into thin air.”
He looks at me keenly. “It’s happened before.”
“You mean the Provocation?” I gape. “You think it’s happening again?”
He shrugs.
“No,” I say with finality. “It can’t be. We’re talking about scores of people, not thousands.”
“How many will there be if we can’t stop it?” He looks as discouraged as I’ve ever seen him.
“We will stop it. We just have to stay here and keep at it until something breaks.”
He presses his lips
together and agrees with a short nod.
“Markay has really taken to me,” I say encouragingly. “She’s got friends in every quarter. I get to know a few more people every day.”
“Then stick with her,” he says. “And I’ll keep working the boys. But not one of them strikes me with any suspicion except Linc.”
“And he’s gone.”
“But his friends aren’t.”
Back to the Lowers. We’re going in circles, around and around with nothing substantial. “I think I could break into the Lowers if I could tell them who I really am.” I almost wish I could. I feel such a strong pull toward them.
“No way. You can’t risk our cover. We’d be finished here.”
He’s right, of course.
My head tilts slightly as I think. “Do people understand the scale of what’s happening?”
“No. Governor Macron has the press under her control. She won’t allow anything to leak out that might cause alarm.”
“But the lockdowns at school, the increased security. How can they not realize?”
“Without an effective means of communication, people only know what’s happening within their own sphere of influence.”
“It seems deceitful to keep them in the dark.” And it strikes me as terribly high-handed.
“Do you want a public panic?”
“I want people to know the truth so they can be prepared for it.”
“I’m not sure if people want the truth. They want safety.”
“You sound like the governor.” The corner of my lip pulls downward. “But what if safety is an illusion?”
“People can be very content with illusions.”
I think about this for a minute. “Not the Lowers. Not me. We live without a security net every day. We’d rather know the truth so we can survive it.”
“Then you’re different from most people, Jack. Everyone I know prefers the illusion.”
“No, Ethan. Not most people.” I’m growing impatient with his willful blindness, his belief that all the world is Upper. “Lowers outnumber the sum of all other castes five to one. You’re so immersed in high-caste culture that it’s become a blinder to reality. Most people do not live like this. And most Lowers are far more intuitive than you give them credit for.”
Recompense (Recompense, book 1) Page 14