Recon

by Tarah Benner

  More cries and yells drift from the wreckage. A few people are stumbling from the mounds of twisted steel and broken walls, bleeding and covered in dust.

  My eyes search desperately for a familiar blond head in the rubble, but Paxton pulls me backward.

  “Where are you taking me?” I scream. “We have to help them! I have to see if Celdon’s all right.”

  Paxton ignores me and stabs the button for the megalift, utterly oblivious to the helpless, injured people crying for their loved ones. Nothing happens.

  “Damn!” he mutters. “The lift’s out.”

  He tugs me back toward the stairwell, and I feel the tears spilling down my cheeks. I don’t even care that Paxton can see. Celdon can’t be dead. My brain won’t accept it.

  I’m sure I’m going to have permanent scars on my wrists from fighting against the handcuffs to return to Celdon’s tunnel, but it’s completely useless. Paxton wants to be praised for bringing me in; he doesn’t care what really happened or who was killed in the explosion.

  I kick and scream and drag my feet all the way down the emergency stairwell, but Paxton manages to yank me down to the Control station.

  Though Control is a tier-two section, it’s almost as crummy as Recon. The walls are a dull yellow color, and all the plaques along the tunnel are coated in a thick blanket of dust.

  Controllers are running everywhere, speaking into their interfaces and putting on helmets to venture into the wreckage.

  As soon as we turn down the east tunnel, I can smell the sweat, urine, and unwashed bodies crammed together in the cages. My stomach clenches automatically as Paxton drags me toward the ungodly stench.

  I try not to look at the vacant faces of the burnouts from Neverland, but their haunting eyes follow me down the tunnel as Paxton frog-marches me to the cage at the end.

  He swipes his access card, and the door opens with a clang. Paxton shoves me roughly inside, and I barely have time to duck to avoid cracking my head on the low ceiling. With my hands cuffed behind me, I hit the filthy concrete shoulder-first, and a wave of pain shoots up my right side.

  “Enjoy it here while you can,” says Paxton. “From what I hear, they’ve got much worse in mind for you.”

  The look in his cold eyes is enough to send a jolt of fear through me. Then he slams the door shut with a bang, leaving me all alone.

  fifteen

  Harper

  I don’t know how long I’ve been lying on the filthy concrete in my cage. There’s a heavy knot of dread coiled deep down in the pit of my stomach. Part of it has to do with imagining what Control does to suspected terrorists, and part of it is the terrible, sinking feeling that Celdon is dead.

  I don’t know if they’ve had me here for minutes or hours. The cage lights don’t change the way they do in the rest of the compound, so I can’t judge the time. I can’t even think.

  Moans and whispers drift down the tunnel from the other prisoners, and I crush my hands against my ears to block out the sounds of suffering. They don’t know what happened in the upper tunnels. They’re trapped here in their own personal hell.

  Eventually, Paxton reappears from the shadows and yanks me out of the cage. At first I think he might release me, but instead of heading back out into the foyer, he leads me down a dim, dirty tunnel.

  There are a few offices, an evidence locker, and several unmarked steel doors with tiny safety-glass windows.

  Before I can process what’s about to happen, he shoves me headfirst into a small, windowless room and slams the door.

  There are two controllers standing in the corner. One is the portly captain with a heavy scowl and a uniform that strains across his generous midsection. The other man is tall, muscular, and completely silent.

  All the walls are bare, apart from a dirty, distorted mirror. I know it’s one-way glass. I can feel the prickle of eyes watching me from the other side.

  “Cadet Riley,” says the captain. “Please have a seat.”

  There’s a single metal chair in the middle of the room under a bare strip of florescent lighting. I shiver.

  Before I have a chance to cross the room, the burlier controller grabs my arms and pulls me toward it. He shoves me down into the chair and jerks my arms roughly over the back. Panic grips me as he pulls plastic cords from his belt and straps them over my upper arms.

  “I’m sure you know why you’re here,” says the captain once I’m bound motionless in the chair.

  “You think I was involved in the bombing.”

  “Smart girl.”

  My eyes dart from the captain to the glass partition separating me from the watchers. It suddenly occurs to me that I’m being interrogated for a crime I didn’t commit — a crime they think I’m responsible for.

  That’s when the terror sinks in.

  I’m no longer watching as a detached observer. My body has betrayed me — heart pounding, throat dry, hands shaking uncontrollably.

  I’m locked in the dark corners of the compound with two corrupt men who think I’m guilty. Paxton Dellwood is plotting my death just down the tunnel. I’m in a heap of trouble, and I have no one here to vouch for me.

  What can I possibly say to clear my name? I had no reason to be in the upper tunnels after breaking into Taylor’s office — other than the fact that I’d just been breaking into Taylor’s office — and I have no alibi to explain where I was just before the explosion.

  “Cadet Riley,” says the captain. “Where were you this evening?”

  “What time?” I croak.

  “Say . . . twenty-three hundred.”

  “I was with my friend Celdon.”

  That’s true. He can confirm my story — if he’s alive.

  “And then where did you go?”

  “I headed back to my compartment,” I lie automatically.

  “What time?”

  My mouth is impossibly dry. “I don’t know . . . I-I lost track.”

  “But you didn’t go straight back to your compartment, did you?”

  My heart rate speeds up. I am in such deep shit. “What are you saying?” I ask sharply.

  “I’m asking if you broke into Systems so you could remotely override Sullivan Taylor’s security settings.”

  My mind is racing. Every instinct is telling me to lie — lie convincingly. “No. I was going straight home.”

  “We know you broke into Sullivan Taylor’s office, Riley. Now did you also plant the bomb in his compartment?”

  “No!” I shout.

  This is horrible. It won’t be a difficult leap to link me to the office break-in, and then they’ll use that to tie me to the bombing.

  The captain sighs. “Cadet, this can be easy, or this can be difficult.”

  I don’t say anything.

  “Irving!” He snaps his fingers, and the other controller slaps something into his hand.

  “Do you know what this is, Riley?” he asks.

  I squint at the skinny, flexible object in his hand. A cold smirk ghosts across his face.

  He takes a step toward me, and I recoil automatically. He pulls my hair roughly out of the way and clips it around my neck.

  It’s too tight and pulls at my skin. It’s made of rubber, but on the inside, two silver probes dig into my flesh. It’s a shock collar.

  I don’t realize I’m hyperventilating until the collar starts to choke me. I clench and unclench my fists, trying to stifle the raw panic that’s making my body go haywire. I can’t afford to lose my shit — not now.

  In that moment, I have the most bizarre flashback: Eli choking me on my first day in Recon, yelling at me to fight back.

  The captain regards me with amusement and pulls a tiny fob out of his pocket. Every muscle in my body clenches, bracing for the shock.

  He steps in front of me and lifts the corners of his mouth into a grimace I’m sure is supposed to be a smile. “Would you like to tell the truth now?”

  “I told you,” I gasp. “I was headed straight back to Recon. I didn�
�t have anything to do with the bombing.”

  If I tell them I did break into Taylor’s office and why, whatever they choose to do with me will be much worse than the pain the captain is about to inflict.

  He sighs and clicks the fob once.

  Even though I watch him press the button, I’m unprepared for the jolt of electricity that shoots into my neck. My muscles seize, and I’m throttled back against the chair.

  It’s over quickly, but the pain feels permanent. Every muscle in my body is screaming.

  “Let’s try this again,” drawls the captain. “Where did you go after you left Celdon’s compartment?”

  “I — told — you,” I gasp, my fear turning to hatred. There’s a funny metallic taste on my tongue. “I went home.”

  I’m prepared for another jolt of electricity. I’m not prepared for the back of the captain’s hand when it snakes back and slaps the side of my face. “Stop — lying! We know you were in the upper tunnels at the time of the explosion! What were you doing in Sullivan Taylor’s office?”

  For a second, I’m completely frozen in shock. My face burns where he struck me. I can practically feel the red outline of his hand.

  “I’m not . . . lying,” I say through gritted teeth.

  He hits the fob again, and this time, all I feel is raw pain from the convulsions — as though someone is pounding my already-sore muscles. It’s worse than being beaten into the scratchy concrete. It’s worse than the scorching Fringe from my nightmares.

  My vision goes blurry, and I envision smoke emanating from my skin. The taste in my mouth is getting worse, and my skin feels funny.

  I think of Eli, talking in his low, urgent voice. He’s giving me directions, just as in practice. He’s telling me to be stronger, tougher.

  Don’t show weakness. Don’t drop your hands. Don’t back down.

  I hear the fob click again.

  The shock is different this time. I’m no longer sitting there absorbing the pain. I’ve gone outside myself as I’ve only done a few times in my life when a fistfight took a particularly nasty turn.

  The pain feels very far away now. The less I feel, the more dangerous it becomes. I’m on the brink of passing out. The shadows are pressing in on the edges of my vision like dark thumbprints.

  When the pain slips over me again like heavy armor and the full force of it hits me, my feeble brain decides it’s had enough.

  My last thought is of Celdon and if he’s still alive. I see him in his stupid mesh shirt, smiling at me with that hazy expression.

  I only have a few more seconds to take in the grimy walls around me — and the captain’s face, now purple with rage — before my mind abandons my body and slips away.

  sixteen

  Eli

  It’s the middle of the night when I get the call. I’ve been having nightmares again, and the buzzing of my interface yanks me back to reality, making me feel unsettled and disoriented. It’s flashing from my nightstand, so I yank it onto my ear and hit the talk button, still in the fog of sleep.

  “Hello?”

  “Lieutenant Parker?”

  “Yes.”

  “This is Captain Hutch of Control. We have one of your new recruits . . . Cadet Harper Riley? You might want to come up.”

  “What?” I splutter. His mention of Harper makes me wonder if I’m still dreaming.

  But he’s already disconnected. I swear and fling the interface across the room, jumping out of bed to pull on my fatigues.

  How the hell did Harper get herself arrested? I wonder as I fumble with my belt.

  My brain is working in fits and starts. I’m sure it has to do with her mysterious bid, though I can’t think what she could have done. Before I met Harper Riley, I would never have believed that one cadet could cause so much trouble.

  I barely have my boots laced when someone bangs on my door, rattling the walls.

  I stiffen automatically. Nothing good ever happens after midnight this close to Neverland, but I’m not worried about some burnout. My thoughts go to what I know about the VocAps scores and how dangerous that knowledge is.

  Heart pounding, I grab my gun from under the bed and fling the door open.

  It’s Miles.

  He raises his arms at the sight of the gun pointed at his chest and stumbles back. “Whoa. Whoa! Jesus Christ.”

  “Sorry,” I breathe, lowering the gun. “I’m sorry.”

  “Were you planning to shoot me?”

  I wipe my hand down the side of my face, trying to get a grip. “No. I don’t know. It’s just been a weird night.”

  “Weird, like, shooting people weird?”

  “She’s been arrested, Miles.”

  “What?” Miles shoves past me and slams the door shut. When he turns around, his face is contorted in fear and rage. “Shit! Then you need to forget what I’m about to tell you. This never happened. Do you understand me?”

  I nod, wondering how his news could possibly top Harper being arrested.

  He points his interface toward my computer, and the monitor flickers on. I punch in my password to give him permission to access the device, and he beams a file to my desktop.

  I’m staring at a screenshot of an account statement.

  “You were right about the shady accounting. Look at this.” Miles reaches out to point at a line item, his voice rising with excitement. “Somebody transferred sixty grand to the Recon budget the day before Bid Day.”

  “You’re kidding.” But it’s right there in front of me. I can see it. “Who made the transaction?”

  “This is where it gets really creepy. The transaction didn’t go through the proper channels. Sometimes, the board will transfer funds to a section’s account if they need to bring on an unusual amount of new recruits, but Recon never sees a piece of that action. This transfer wasn’t from the board. It happened way under the radar.”

  A choking cold dread grips me, and suddenly it feels as though all my extremities are made of lead. Now that I know the facts, the danger is confirmed. I shouldn’t have dragged Miles and Brooke into this. This kind of information gets you killed.

  I trash the file quickly and delete all traces of it from my hard drive.

  “Thanks for finding that,” I say. “You should wipe your interface. This is dangerous.”

  “You think I don’t know that?” Miles retorts, an edge of hostility in his voice. “Christ, I thought you were smarter than this. Why did you go get yourself wrapped up in this girl’s problems?”

  I shrug. “I had to know, Miles. The stuff she’s found out . . .”

  Miles raises an eyebrow. He’s curious, but I can tell he doesn’t want to know. “Whatever, Eli. Just please don’t ask me for any more illegal favors. And Brooke stays out of this. You don’t know her. Got it?”

  I nod, still too numb to think straight. Miles leaves, and I remember Harper’s been arrested.

  A horrible thought occurs to me: What if Brooke attracted attention digging into the transaction and they blamed Harper? What if she’d been caught trying to find that information herself?

  Harper’s a top-notch developer, and she’s friends with the best hacker in the compound. It’s possible she tried to hack into the financials, but she of all people must know the encryption would make the file impossible for any outsider to access.

  I shake away all thoughts of Harper digging into illegal files and take the stairs up to the Control station. By the time I reach the right level, I’m out of breath and completely panicked.

  The stench of piss and vomit hits my nostrils, and I know something isn’t right. Dozens of controllers are running in and out of the station, talking in urgent voices. Red lights are flashing on all the screens behind the dispatch desk, signaling an emergency.

  “Well, well. Look who it is.”

  I turn to see a stocky blond guy in a crisp navy uniform coming down the adjacent tunnel, a disgusting grin plastered all over his smug face.

  I see “Dellwood” stitched on his uni
form, and the pieces start to come together. He’s the new Control recruit who taunted Harper and Lenny in the canteen that first day.

  “I’m Lieutenant Parker,” I say, not bothering to extend my hand. “What’s going on?”

  “I’m surprised you don’t know,” he replies in a sharp voice, not offering his hand or saluting. Though rank isn’t recognized outside your section, it’s considered a sign of respect in Control and Recon to salute when you’re outranked. Dellwood doesn’t bother. “There’s been a bombing in the upper tunnels.”

  “What?”

  “The target was a board member’s compartment, but an entire Systems tunnel was destroyed.”

  “Who was the target?”

  “Sullivan Taylor. The undersecretary is dead.”

  I drag a hand down my face, a thousand thoughts firing at once. If Sullivan Taylor has been killed, this thing goes a lot deeper than some Recon bid money.

  He was in charge of deciding how many recruits went to each section. He handled the VocAps results, the recruit lists, and allocated each section’s recruitment budget. It’s possible that he stumbled into something he shouldn’t have — like sixty thousand credits mysteriously appearing in Recon’s account.

  I take a deep breath. “I got a call that you picked up one of my cadets.”

  “Ah. You’re Riley’s commanding officer.” He breaks into a satisfied sneer. “Captain Hutch called you up here, hoping you could persuade her to confess.”

  “What?”

  “She’s being held as a suspect.”

  Suddenly everything clicks, and the panic rips through my veins. “Wait. You think Harper was involved in the bombing?”

  “We have it on record that Taylor’s office code was overridden remotely, and I caught Riley fleeing the upper tunnels.”

  My heart feels as though it’s going to beat its way out of my rib cage. I know why Harper was in Taylor’s office, but if he’s been killed, it doesn’t look good. I swallow several times before I can form a coherent response. “How did she manage to break into his office?”