by Tarah Benner
Food engineers drift between the rows in their neon yellow suits, carefully adjusting the plastic tubes carrying water and fertilizer to the plants.
It’s an intricate system: Manufacturing grows, cleans, and processes the food that’s sent to the canteen, and Waste Management rejuvenates any unused organic material for fertilizer. They’re used to having an audience of lower-ed children and early risers out for their morning walk, so they don’t pay us any attention as we huff past.
When Eli doubles back toward the stairs, I seriously consider pushing him down a few flights. But then he heads back toward the lower levels on his own.
He stops on the ground level and waits for the rest of us to catch up. Bear looks like a hot mess with sweat rolling down his temples, and Lenny’s face is the same color as her hair. The other girl looks like a paper doll that could blow away any second, but she’s wearing a faraway look — so different from Lenny’s contemptuous scowl.
“Get some breakfast,” says Eli in a clipped voice. He’s not even breathing hard. “I still expect you at oh-eight hundred.”
He stalks off toward the canteen, and Lenny limps up behind me, singing a murderous tune under her breath.
“I don’t know but I’ve been told; Eli Parker is mighty cold.”
Her angry expression makes me let out a snort of laughter. Spiky Hair breaks into a hazy grin, and even Bear smiles. The other girl is still lost in her own world.
As the five of us shuffle toward the canteen, I can’t help wonder what’s wrong with each of them. They didn’t score a forty-six, but there has to be some genetic defect that landed them in here. That knowledge causes an uncomfortable pang in my gut, and I feel a little guilty for knowing what I know and not being able to tell them the truth.
I catch Sawyer leaving the to-go line, and she waves shyly, eyeing the sweaty horde of cadets around me. My heart contracts a little at the sight of her, and I desperately want to catch up to her and spill about what an ass Eli is. It’s so strange to be eating breakfast without her, but I know she must be busy now with the long hours med interns work.
The food today is even more disappointing than yesterday. It’s the grossest kind of algae, beets, and a cold block of protein. The blonde finds us an empty table, and when I join her, she’s engrossed in an image on her interface.
At first, I’m not sure she notices me, so I clear my throat and clank my silverware to announce my arrival.
“I’m Kindra, by the way,” she says, still not making eye contact through the shield of blue light around her face.
“Harper.”
“I know,” she says dreamily. “Harper Riley, Systems track.”
“Not anymore,” I mutter.
She frowns. “You shouldn’t give up what you love just because you’re here now.”
I raise an eyebrow, utterly bewildered by this strange girl.
“Haven’t you?”
She lets out a soft, musical laugh and shakes her head. “No. I don’t think I could if I wanted to.” She sighs. “Say . . . when were you born?”
“Sorry?”
Kindra moves her hand, and I see the reverse image on her interface rotate. “What day were you born?”
“April second.”
“What time?”
“Uh . . . I don’t know.”
“Find out for me.”
That strikes me as odd. “Why?”
“She’s reading your birth chart,” sighs Lenny, sliding onto the bench beside me and digging into her beets.
“My what?”
“It’s an astrological picture of the day you were born,” says Kindra, the image reflecting off her wide, orb-like eyes.
“Oh,” I say, trying not to be rude. “I’m an orphan. I don’t know my time of birth.” I exchange an awkward glance with Lenny. “I never asked.”
“Lucky you,” Lenny murmurs. “She, uh, read my chart yesterday.”
I nod slowly, a little weirded out.
“Won’t the medical ward have your birth records?”
I shift uncomfortably, wishing I could extract myself from this conversation. “I wasn’t born in the compound.”
“It’s all right,” says Kindra, switching off her interface. “I can still get some insights from the date.” She gives me a small smile. “We’ll talk later.”
Lenny makes a little choking noise around her food, and I realize she’s trying not to laugh.
“Where did you learn to do this?” I ask. I’ve never heard of anyone practicing astrology in the compound. Most people are empiricists to the core.
“My grandmother. She does some readings and palmistry in the commissary, but most of that stuff is only for show.”
“Good to know,” mutters Lenny under her breath.
“So your family is EnComm?”
Kindra nods, not seeming at all put out by the fact that she was bumped down to tier three.
“What did they say about . . . you know . . . your bid?”
“Oh, they were expecting some kind of upset,” she says in a bright voice. “We weren’t sure what, but it was in the stars.”
“I think that’s nice,” says Bear, his voice barely audible. His head is bent low over his bowl, glaring at the meager portion, but I can see the dark look in his eyes.
Kindra smiles at him, and Lenny’s eyebrows are so high they’re in danger of disappearing into her hairline.
The rest of them nod and respond politely as Kindra babbles about their birth charts, and I can’t help thinking that I couldn’t have picked a more absurd group of people if I tried.
Kindra is soft-spoken and serene, and the spiky-haired boy named Blaze laughs and jokes easily, completely unruffled by Eli’s morning power trip. Bear is sad and broody, and Lenny is a snarky little firecracker. I like her the best.
I finish my food quickly, and Lenny and I head back down to the training center. I’m not looking forward to seeing Eli again so soon, but I really want to get away from Kindra and her birth charts.
“That one’s got a few screws loose, doesn’t she?” says Lenny as we head down the stairs.
“Yeah. You could say that.”
Though I know she meant well, I’m a little unnerved by Kindra asking about my birth. Most days, I can avoid any mention of the bizarre way I came into this world. Celdon’s the only other Fringe baby I know, and I don’t broadcast the fact that I’m First Gen.
According to my guardian in the Institute, I spent my first two weeks in the compound under a plastic bubble in the medical ward for observation. I wasn’t even with my parents when they died. Even though I can’t remember them, the thought of being alone while they were getting sicker and sicker makes me sad.
Most of the time, I like to pretend that my life began the day Celdon and I met in the Institute. At least that way, I can pretend I know who my family is.
When we reach the training center, it’s already buzzing with other new recruits. They look lost like us — desperately striking up conversations and trying to make friends. The only difference is that they’re still fresh and full of energy. They didn’t have to go on a crazy run through the compound at the crack of dawn.
Kindra, Bear, and Blaze join us a few minutes later. Then Eli strides in, listening intently to something another lieutenant is saying.
When he sees us all waiting on the line, he claps his hands together. “All right! Good morning. I hope you’re all limbered up after our run.”
Silence.
A few of the other lieutenants still haven’t arrived. Most of their cadets are talking and laughing, but a few are watching Eli with apprehension from the other side of the room.
“Why didn’t they have to run this morning?” Lenny asks, a serious edge to her voice.
“You’re out of line, Horwitz,” Eli warns.
Her scowl deepens.
“You shouldn’t worry about what the other cadets are doing. Maybe they’re in better shape than you . . . maybe their direct commands are nicer than
me . . . or maybe their direct commands just don’t care if they survive.”
Irritation flickers in the pit of my stomach. This “you’re all going to die” routine is getting old — especially now that I know that I probably am going to die before I hit thirty.
“Can we get on with it, then?” I snap before I can stop myself.
Eli rounds on me. “You got something to say, Harvard?”
“Just getting a little sick of this life-and-death crap.”
I know mouthing off is a bad move, and when Eli’s eyes darken, I know I’ve pushed my luck too far. “Congratulations, Harvard. You just earned everyone two laps around the track.”
Bear and Lenny groan, and I mentally slap myself for opening my mouth.
“Go! Last one back does twice as many push-ups.”
Before I can think — before I give in to the urge to put my fist through Eli’s face — I sprint toward the metal stairs in the corner.
The “track” is actually a grated metal gangway suspended ten feet in the air along the edge of the training center.
Blaze is already two paces ahead, springing along like an insect, and Lenny is right on my heels. I can hear her huffing by the time we clear the top of the stairs, but my legs are thrumming with nervous energy.
The whole track shakes as we run, and I worry it won’t support all our weight. All I can hear is the bang of my feet on metal, and all I can think is don’t be last. I will not give Eli the satisfaction.
After one lap, my lungs are burning, and there’s a knife lodged in the side of my abdomen. I ignore it. My legs don’t need to consult my lungs or my brain. They move on their own.
Lenny has disappeared. She’s twenty yards behind me clinging to the railing, but Blaze is still hotfooting it a few paces ahead. He’s so tall and skinny; I’m not even sure how he stands upright.
Halfway into the second lap, I start wishing I’d visited the rec center more often. My chest is on fire, and my legs are jelly.
Blaze is already taking the stairs two at a time, as though he has rubber bands where his joints should be.
“Let’s go, Harvard!” Eli belts from the ground. “Get your ass down here!”
I nearly trip over my own feet careening down the shaky stairs and fly over to where Blaze is standing on the tape line.
“Give me twenty.”
Hating Eli, I drop down to the filthy mat and will my toddler-sized biceps to hold me off the ground.
“Jesus Christ, Harvard. Stop. Just stop. That’s pathetic.”
I don’t stop. I let myself drop back down until my chin touches the mat and push myself back up.
Lenny and Kindra arrive panting, and Bear is still nowhere in sight.
“You two!” Eli snaps. “Over there.”
My arms are shaking — refusing to hold my weight — but I don’t stop. I can’t even breathe, but I realize I don’t need to. My body keeps moving.
Blaze is already finished, that son of a bitch.
There’s a small earthquake as Bear shuffles over, heaving as though he’s going to die. I finish my push-ups and stagger to my feet, sweating and panting but feeling gratified. I’m not the weakest one here.
Eli lets out a sigh, and I try not to roll my eyes. He’s such an asshole he’s become ridiculous to me.
“Congratulations, Adams. You get to live.” He rounds on me. “Harvard. Those push-ups were so weak I’m not really sure how you pull yourself out of bed in the morning. The rest of you . . . give me forty.”
Nobody grumbles. No one argues. Their willpower is already so shot that all three of them drop down to attempt forty push-ups when I know they can’t be capable of more than ten.
Kindra looks as though she still has no idea how she got here. Bear looks embarrassed, defeated, and hopelessly sad. Lenny, on the other hand, is a flaming ball of red-hot fury.
After the push-ups, there’s more running. After the running, we do sit-ups, planks, and up-downs. My body is a tight cord of pain.
On the second set of planks, I feel a boot on the small of my back. Eli pushes down, and my whole body shakes.
I refuse to look up. I will not give him the satisfaction.
I bite down, gritting my teeth so the poisonous words I long to hurl at him won’t escape. The boot lifts.
“Two more laps!” he yells. “Then you can go to lunch.”
I nearly fall over when I try to stand. My legs are jelly. My arms are hanging limp and useless at my sides. My back feels as though Eli took a sledgehammer to it.
As I pull myself up the rickety metal stairs to the track, I realize Lenny, Kindra, and Bear are still on the mat. Bear’s shoulders are quaking in his plank, and Kindra has collapsed in on herself. Lenny is retching in the corner of the gym.
Blaze appears at my elbow, drenched in sweat. “Come on,” he says in his slow voice. “If he sees us looking, he won’t let us leave.”
He slips ahead of me, and I follow him at a jog. I don’t even feel my lungs or the stitch in my side anymore. I’m entirely numb — my body is destroyed.
By the time we finish our lap, we’ve already wasted ten precious minutes of our lunch hour. I shuffle over cautiously to Lenny, who’s still propped against the cinderblock wall, trying not to vomit.
“Leave her, Harvard!” barks Eli. “We don’t waste food on quitters.”
“She needs to eat,” I say, fighting to keep my voice even.
“She’ll learn. If she wants to eat, she has to earn it.”
He’s standing right in front of me now, those dark blue eyes boring into mine. I feel the rage humming in my chest — the cumulative effect of learning how I ended up in Recon, being short on sleep, and annoyance at Eli’s sadistic training methods.
“Get the hell out of here before I revoke your canteen privileges, too.”
I walk away — mostly because I don’t think I can do another push-up — and hear him yelling at Bear.
I don’t turn around. I know it’s cowardly, but in that moment, I just want to get away from him.
I barely notice my feet carrying me up the stairs. I’m so lost in the anger consuming my every thought.
When I get to the canteen, a group of Systems recruits are standing in the entryway, waiting for their friends. They’re laughing and joking, looking as cool and pristine as models in their crisp white blazers. The girls are shiny and clean, their makeup impeccable, not a hair out of place.
As I approach, their voices falter. Their eyes follow me across the foyer, identical looks of disgust written all over their pretty faces.
I know I must look like hell. My hair is falling out of its ponytail and sticking to my sweaty neck. My black tank top is completely soaked. I ditched my gray overshirt hours ago.
One of the guys is standing right in the middle of the entryway, blocking it with his tall frame. He has a mess of chocolate curls obscuring half his face and a handsome smirk. I elbow past him, not bothering to be polite, and catch the name on his ID badge: Jacob Morsey.
That’s unfortunate.
I suddenly have the strange impulse to turn and apologize — even though he has no idea what Celdon and I did. But then I hear him mutter something nasty under his breath about Recon girls and laugh. I’m genuinely shocked by his creative innuendo, which is rare.
Then the others burst into snickers — a terrible, grating sound that wears on my composure and drowns out the gentle din of chatter from the canteen.
I stop and turn to see Jacob Morsey standing there in his stupid white blazer: shiny teeth, pretty face, perfect genetics. He’s an entitled asshole, and yet he just spent his morning behind the computer that should have been mine. He thinks it’s pure skills and smarts that landed him there, when it’s really just an accident of birth.
The hatred is building inside me at an uncontrollable rate. I try to push it down, but I’ve already reached my breaking point. I’m run down and defeated from Eli’s demands.
Before I know what I’m doing, I’m striding t
oward Jacob Morsey. He takes a step back, but not fast enough. When I get within two feet of him, my fist swings out of its own accord and crashes into his face. He staggers back, knocking into his friends. I hit him harder than I meant to, and his eyes are tearing up.
A few EnComm people standing in the mess line look around in interest, and pretty soon, everyone is staring.
Jacob is groaning and holding his nose. I see a trickle of blood escape between his fingers and dribble all over the front of his blazer. The girl nearest him is looking at me with pure horror. Jacob’s male friends are jabbering angrily, their voices rising in disbelief.
I see them closing in, their bodies slow to react to the fury I’ve been suppressing for the last twenty-four hours.
I need to get out of here.
I stagger backward, nearly tripping over my own feet, horrified at my loss of self-control. I turn to leave but catch a sharp pair of blue eyes watching me from the to-go line.
Eli is leaning against the wall, looking annoyingly amused.
eleven
Harper
I don’t even realize my knuckles are scraped up until I’m standing back on the tape line in the training center. I must have grazed the asshole’s teeth.
My blood is still boiling, though I have no idea why. I’ve heard the things people say about Recon before, of course. Even I looked down on them, but I’d never anticipated open contempt.
More than anything, I’m confused by my own outburst. Since when did I go around punching people in the canteen? I’ve hit people before, sure, but only when I had no other choice.
I was out of control this time — a threat to public safety. Control should lock me up and throw away the key.
Lenny, Kindra, and Bear are the last to arrive. They look okay, which makes me think Eli let them go eat after all.
Finally Eli walks in, looking smug as can be.
“Well, look who it is,” he says, a dangerous smirk playing on his lips. “How you feeling, slugger?”
I realize he’s staring at me, and so is everyone else. I don’t say anything, though I can feel Eli’s eyes burning a hole through me. He looks happier than I’ve ever seen him, as though my display in the canteen was just the reaction he’d been probing for.