Rebels of Eden

by Joey Graceffa

  Of course, until we manage to interfere with the mind control, the Greenshirts might well do the same thing.

  “The Greenshirts are behind them. I’ve never seen so many!”

  “How many are there?” Lachlan asks.

  “Hundreds!” I didn’t know there were so many in all of Eden. And this is just one segment of this circle. They are expanding from the Center in all directions. “They must have been recruiting a lot more.”

  “There are thousands of rebels,” Ash says. “Maybe they can . . .”

  “We don’t have many guns, Ash,” Lachlan says grimly. “And too many civilians. You know that. If we don’t succeed, the rebellion dies.”

  I watch in terrible fascination as the army approaches. The men march like machines, looking even more frightening than the securitybots, because I expect them to show humanity. I’ve seen and talked to Greenshirts, and though I’ve always been afraid of what they would do if they knew what I was, most of them have just been ordinary people, doing a job they thought was important.

  Now this army of ordinary men and women in their green uniforms are marching out to slaughter children, to kill people who just want their freedom.

  When they get near, I climb silently down. We can hear the sound of them marching by—just bootsteps, no talking, no singing. It is unnatural.

  Crossing to the other side, I watch them until they cross to the next circle. It’s time for us to move.

  “There were so many,” I marvel. “There can’t be a lot of them left in or near the Center.”

  “I hope you’re right,” Lark says. “The way I go in, there’s a security station, but there’s usually just one guard. He likes me. Says my hair reminds him of his granddaughter.”

  We step out of my house with great trepidation. I feel like a deer entering a clearing, where a wolf pack might be waiting to charge me. But nothing happens.

  We try to look normal, natural. Like kids heading to school. I’m sure we look stiff and weird, but there’s no one to see. The streets are still deserted, and there isn’t a single Greenshirt or securitybot to be seen.

  One little cleanbot scuttles across the street in front of us, sweeping up detritus left in the wake of the army. It is the only activity we see all the way to the Center.

  It’s eerie. It feels like a trap.

  “I almost wish they would attack,” Lachlan says. “It’s harder pretending to be casual, smiling like I belong here, than it is to fight. For me, anyway.”

  Mira, too, looks on edge, her fighter’s body yearning for some activity.

  We cross through the main Center gates without being challenged.

  “This is just weird,” Lark says as we walk across the open grounds, which are dominated by a statue of Aaron Al-Baz.

  “All the guards, all the soldiers, are on the march,” Ash says.

  “And she’s not at all afraid of attack?” Flame wonders.

  “She thinks she’s in complete control,” I say. “She thinks she’s won. What does she expect us to do, once we were routed, Mom captured? Why, run back to the rebels, of course. She’d never imagine we’d still be here. She’d never dream we’d dare attack. She feels perfectly safe.”

  “If she’s even here,” Lachlan says. “She might be leading the troops.”

  “Put herself in danger?” I ask. “I don’t think so.”

  “Maybe we can just waltz in and do all this without any opposition,” Mira says.

  “Dream on,” Flame mutters as we push open the back staff door and see a security checkpoint with a desk, and an empty chair.

  As soon as I enter through the door, I hear a faint buzzing in my ears. Or . . . is it a vibration in my body? I don’t know. If I was in Harmonia, I’d think it was a mosquito, a barely perceptible sound, a stir in the air, just at the periphery of my awareness.

  I hate this place, Yarrow says, sounding small and frightened even in the safety of my head.

  The Center is sterile, stark white, polished and shining. A pure, clean place where terrible things happen.

  “The guard’s not here,” Lark says.

  “This is crazy.” I’m so suspicious. Is this a test? How could it be possible that, even in the middle of a war, we find this place undefended?

  I hear a toilet flush, and immediately a portly, elderly Greenshirt emerges from the bathroom. Flame hunkers behind Carnelian so the guard can only see her youthful figure, and not get a good look at her face. Will the trick hold? Maybe, as long as the guard doesn’t look too closely.

  “Oh, Lark m’dear. What have we here? Enemy spies?” He sounds suspicious, and I see Lachlan’s hand reach for his gun.

  I touch his fingers with mine, stopping him. The old guard is just joking.

  Lark laughs. “Same as always, Jasper. Bringing in the youth of today, the leaders of tomorrow, to take all your jobs.” She raises her hand in a fist above her head. “Crush the old order!” She giggles, and Jasper gives a hearty laugh.

  “Oh, we’re in trouble now, missy!”

  “You know it, Jasper. I’m going to have Chief Ellena’s job before long. Better tell her to watch her back.”

  She winks at him, and he chuckles. It is obviously a familiar kind of banter.

  “Okay then. That’s the Chief’s lookout. I’ll just check your friends’ IDs and you can get on with your job of taking over Eden from us old-timers.”

  I feel a shiver of panic run through me, though I manage to keep my cool. The fake identification attached to out temporary lenses can hold up to an Oaks scan, or a street corner camera, but I think that a more sophisticated Center system will see through our deception.

  We’re going to have to fight, and I really don’t want to have to kill this jolly old man.

  What’s more, if the fighting starts this soon, we’ll raise the alarm. Even if there are hardly any Greenshirts and guards here, there must be someone. We have to get to the Center’s control room before anyone is the wiser. And then, rescue my mother.

  Jasper takes out a handheld scanner and approaches Lark. She leans in . . . then jerks her head back abruptly, a little sneer on her face.

  “Jasper, I didn’t hear the water running. I know you aren’t about to scan us without washing your hands after you used the bathroom.”

  The old guard flushes the bright scarlet of a poppy flower and stammers awkward apologies. All at once their relationship has shifted. The easy camaraderie is gone. Lark draws herself up regally and makes it clear that she is an elite, rich and privileged, and he is no more than a servant, an underling. The jokes are over. He is beneath her.

  Cringing like a beaten animal, he slinks away. As soon as we hear the water running Lark gives a shrill laugh and beckons us down the hallway.

  “Oh, that just killed me to do that to Jasper,” she whispers to us as we pass unchecked through the gate. “But he’ll be way too embarrassed to call us back now. Oh, poor old Jasper!”

  The fact that this upsets her is promising. She’s still the original Lark, kind and considerate. I wonder how long it will last. Maybe forever, Flame said. Or she could revert to her nasty state at any moment.

  As uncomfortable as it was for her, it is a boon to us. We sail through, and though we pass some people—scientists, bureaucrats—they assume we’ve already been vetted and don’t question our presence. There aren’t many people, though. Are they all involved in the attack, or are we just getting lucky? Maybe there’s a meeting somewhere.

  We move down the echoing, stark white halls, led by Lark for the first part, then Lachlan takes over. The faint buzzing in my head continues and I try to ignore it. I’m last of the group. My very feet seem reluctant to go any deeper into this building where I was tortured.

  “What was that?” I gasp, alarmed, whirling to look behind me.

  “What’s wrong?” Lark asks.

  I could have sworn I heard a whisper from just behind me. But there’s nothing there. I shake my head. “Nerves,” I say.

  “It�
��s right up ahead,” Lachlan tells us a moment later. “Are you ready?”

  We all have weapons, small, easily concealable guns. The lethal kinds. Since this was originally just supposed to be a quick infiltration of Oaks, I voted we all have stun guns. It was Lachlan who insisted on real, deadly weapons, just in case. We don’t want to use them, he said. But if we have to, it is going to be serious—our lives or theirs.

  He’s been proven right. If we’d just had stun guns, Chief Ellena would have won. And we can be sure that if anyone opens fire on us in here they’ll be using real weapons.

  Lark is the only one without a gun. I argued that she’s in as much danger as we are. Flame reasonably pointed out that there is a very good chance that at any moment Lark might point the gun at us instead of our enemies. Even Lark agreed to be unarmed.

  I take a deep breath, and Yarrow seems to as well.

  “We go in hard,” Lachlan says. “No hesitation, no mercy. Go!”

  He flings the door open and charges in, aiming his gun, a grim look on his face. We follow close behind him. I’ve steeled myself for blood, for slick red against the stark white.

  Inside there’s a filing cabinet, a rolling table. A cleanbot whirs softly in the far corner, sweeping up dust. It swivels when we storm in, but since we aren’t garbage it ignores us. There are no people.

  When you’re geared up for fighting and death, a lone cleanbot is kind of an anticlimax. All that adrenaline and nothing to do with it makes me feel shaky.

  “It’s not here,” Lachlan says. “It’s supposed to be here.”

  He consults the hand-drawn map, confers with Lark.

  “It was here,” Flame says. She points out places where the data storage blocks must have been, the power connectors and cooling systems of a significant control center. “She must have had it moved to a bigger room, once she started upgrading the system. She needed more output, more power.”

  “What are we going to do?” Angel asks.

  Lark is biting her lip, deep in thought. “I haven’t been all over this place, but there is one room, I remember I was there for a physical about a month ago. It was a big place with treadmills and medical devices, but it was in disarray. Stuff out of place, empty spaces. I thought at the time they were upgrading it, but maybe they were emptying it to relocate this control room there. It was definitely bigger.”

  “It would have to be not only big, but set up to use vast amounts of power, to store vast amounts of data,” Flame muses. “A medical room might take a lot of work to retrofit.”

  “Yarrow remembers something, too,” I say before I even realize she’s taking over. “When I thought . . . when Yarrow thought that the Chief was her mother, she went with her once to her private office. It was next to the prison wing—a huge room.”

  “It would take more than just space,” Flame reminds me.

  “She told me, bragging, that it was the most technologically advanced room in all of Eden. She said she had big plans for it, but when I was there it just had her desk and files. But I remember it was set up with extensive data access points, and I think it could have housed what we’re looking for.”

  “We need to split up and check both,” Lachlan says. “If we don’t find it soon, we’ll get caught. Flame, which do you think is more likely?”

  She considers. “If I were the Chief, I’d want to execute my evil plan in the comfort of my own office. It’s in the center of the Center, right under the dome, as far from the vexing populace as possible.”

  “And the most heavily guarded area,” I say.

  “Usually,” Ash reminds me.

  “So I’d guess there,” Flame concludes.

  “Then half of us check one room, half the other,” Lachlan says. “Flame, you and I will go to the Chief’s office, and . . .”

  “I’ll go,” Carnelian says. It’s the most dangerous of the two options.

  “No, you need to be in the other group,” Flame says. “Carnelian is the only one besides me who has any real tech knowledge. I explained to him how to shut down the mind control, once we use the seed to activate the access. Carnelian knows what to look for. You others would just see a big room with wires and think you hit the jackpot.”

  “I’ll go with Carnelian to the medical room,” I volunteer.

  “I should go to the Chief’s office,” Mira says.

  “No, I want you near me,” Carnelian says.

  She pats his cheek. “I know, sweetie, but with all modesty, I’m the best fighter here.”

  I see Flame raise her eyebrows in surprise.

  “Seriously, she is,” I say. “You have no idea.”

  “And here I thought all you wild-living outsiders were useless,” Flame says wryly. “Okay then, Mira’s with us.”

  “And I’m with Rowan,” Lark says immediately, looking at Lachlan, challenging him to object. Lachlan only raises his eyebrows.

  “I’ll go with Lachlan and Flame,” Ash volunteers, and though I’m desperately afraid for him, I beam with pride. Not too long ago he was a shy, quiet boy. His only close friend was Lark. Physically, he was always weaker than me. Born with lung trouble, he has chronic asthma and other breathing difficulties, which can be set off by stress. But since going to the Underground, and then joining the rebels—and maybe since falling in love with Angel—his health seems to have miraculously improved. He is stronger, more purposeful.

  I still feel the need to protect him, but when I look at this boy who suddenly seems more like a man I think maybe I don’t have to anymore.

  “I’ll join them, too,” Angel says softly, and I know that if there is any protecting to do, she’ll be as fierce as I ever could be. I’m glad my brother found that kind of love. Strange that it took torture, imprisonment, and a bikking civil war to bring them together.

  “But there’s only one seed,” Carnelian says. “If the medial room is the new control center . . .”

  “You come and get us,” Flame says. “We’ll take the seed to the most likely place. If you check the med center and it’s not there, hurry back to us.”

  “Hurry to us either way,” Lachlan says. “And be prepared for a firefight. Come to help us hold the place while Flame works, or cover our escape. We’ve been uncannily lucky so far, but our luck is bound to run out soon. There’s no way the Chief’s office is unguarded.”

  We listen at the door until we’re sure the hallway is clear, then we split up. The cleanbot gives a contented little hum as we leave it to its labors. I want so much to hug the others, to give them a real goodbye just in case. But it will only slow us down. And I don’t need more emotion right now. I make do with a farewell smile at Ash, who winks back at me in return and sets his school cap at a rakish angle. Lachlan doesn’t even look back. He’s utterly intent on the task ahead of him.

  Carnelian, Lark, and I walk as casually as we can toward the medical wing. I want to sneak and creep, but when I look a little furtive as we pass a trio of medical students, Lark gives me a pinch of reminder. Then she starts talking loudly about what a bore it is to volunteer at the Center, but how much it will help our careers later. She nods offhand to the medical students. As we pass, I see them roll their eyes at the privileged, elite young people who will have everything in life handed to them, even top-notch Center jobs.

  I sigh with relief when they’ve passed. Soon we come to the former medical center.

  Or rather, the current medical center. It is abuzz with activity—people on treadmills with wires on their chests, other people sliding into scanning machines, lab techs checking samples, and bots gliding from station to station. All the equipment looks shiny and new.

  “It was only being renovated after all,” Lark says.

  “We have to get back to the others!” I say, and we hurry out. But when I lead the way around a corner, I see several Greenshirts hurrying down the corridor. I duck back, and we have to hide in an empty office until they pass. It is several minutes before we are safe enough to emerge and seek the others. O
nce we do, I run, and the others follow.

  I run, because running is the easiest thing for me. I run, because I want more than anything to run away from this place of pain and torment, of indignities that reach right into a person’s brain and strip them of their most precious thing, their self.

  But instead I run toward the danger, deeper into this treacherous pit. I run to the lair of my worst enemy, the person who killed my identity, who stole my parents. The woman who is taking away the freedom of millions.

  We are in the heart of the Center now. The green faceted dome is above is, tingeing the bright white walls and floor an algae hue. There are no guards outside Chief Ellena’s door. That’s lucky, I think as I fling the door open.

  That’s because all the guards are inside. Ten of them, along with Chief Ellena. Mira, Lachlan, Angel, Ash, and Flame lie on the ground, on their bellies with their hands clasped behind their heads. They were waiting for us. They knew we were here. Could Lark have . . . ? No, she’s herself again. I trust her. There must have been a scan that we missed, something. Or bad luck.

  It looks like our team was ambushed as soon as they entered the room. In that short time we were apart, everything went to hell. The Greenshirts keep their guns pointed at the prisoners.

  Chief Ellena raises hers to point it at me.

  I don’t dare reach for the gun at my hip. If I do, I know the Greenshirts will open fire on all of us.

  Then I feel Lark’s fingers brush against my flank. No, you beautiful, heroic girl, I want to scream. Don’t try it. She’s behind me, where the Chief can’t quite see what she’s doing. Under cover of my body, she’s slipping my gun out of its holster. If she can shoot the Chief, maybe we can rush the Greenshirts, and . . .

  I feel the cold gun muzzle against my temple.

  “Poor, stupid Rowan,” Lark says as she presses the gun to my head. “Always ready to believe the best about people. A few tears and kisses and I had you totally convinced.”

  She steps away from me, toward the Chief, pointing the gun at my face now. She looks at me, a smile quirking her own face as she tells the Chief, “I’m pretty mad at you for abandoning me back there at Oaks, but I don’t hold a grudge. Look, I brought you a present.”