Ash

by Shani Petroff

  “And what if it was Crilas’s destiny to let those billions die?” Link rounded. “What if he was supposed to open the door to that laboratory? Let the disease out. Then would it have been okay?”

  We’d all studied the destiny system in school, and I’d heard variations of the arguments Link was making before. It didn’t matter though. I knew what it was like before. And I knew we allowed the unthinkable to happen. By not monitoring destinies more closely, by not establishing a proper system, the Event had taken place. “You’re being ridiculous,” I said. “Would you rather go back to the old days when people were at war, or starving, or killing each other for one petty thing after another.”

  Link shook his head. “You say that, Madden, but you have all those petty little things. Like a home, food, clothing.”

  “Exactly. Everyone has those things now. Everyone is provided for.”

  “It’s not the same. We place someone into a lower ring, and they never have a chance. They’re forced into a certain kind of job, a certain kind of lifestyle, and their children follow, then their children’s children. It’s an endless cycle.”

  I tried to respond, but Link kept talking, unwilling to let me get a word in.

  “Ash and Slate are growing faster than any of us can keep up with. Those families are playing the odds, hoping to have children born into an upper ring. It happens a few times a year in the entire city, Madden. But they keep trying, hoping for a miracle. Instead they wind up with even more mouths to feed.” He gave me a haunted look. “Don’t you see? The whole system is a broken cycle. And I’m responsible for it. I’ve extracted hundreds of destinies, and most of those kids I’ve had to place into Ash or Slate.”

  I took a deep breath, willing myself to stay calm. I could still turn this conversation around. “There’s nothing wrong with the outer rings. Their people are fulfilling their destinies, just like we are.”

  Link snorted. “Didn’t your parents want more? They were what? Crimsons? And yet they still moved to the Purple ring when they had you. They didn’t gamble on a second child, either. A child that could have moved them back down to Crimson. Or worse.”

  I slammed my hand against the glass of his cell. The sound echoed and I raised my voice, unable to keep the anger at bay any longer. “Don’t you dare bring my parents into this. That’s not what this is about. It’s about a successful government working to make things better for everyone.”

  Link’s tone changed. His words sounded strained, tighter somehow. “Have you even been out there, Madden? Have you walked through the Ash zone? Because I have. I’ve gone with Dax. One day, she may have to live there, and she wants to be ready. It’s horrible. Miles of crumbling concrete buildings and cracked pavement. Trash baking on the street. The buildings are falling down on themselves from disrepair. And do you really think there’s no crime there—or that it’s just not being reported?” He stopped, thinking to himself before speaking again. “‘Destiny is the art of shepherding used by wolves.’”

  I was starting to shake from anger and I balled my hands into fists, trying to remain steady. I looked deep into Link’s green eyes, trying to find some remnant of my ex-boyfriend. “You sound like a conspiracy theorist,” I said.

  He turned from me, looking off into space, as if the answer was there, floating just out of his grasp. “You know where I read that line?” he asked.

  “It doesn’t matter,” I murmured. “You shouldn’t be reading propaganda.”

  “Last summer I took an Advanced Theoretical Destiny course. I was doing some research when I found that quote. It was hidden in the library, in a scrapbook of old New World Times articles. The byline was Mila Lantner.”

  It took a minute for the name to sink in.

  “That was your mom, right?” he asked.

  “She wouldn’t have written something like that.” I shook my head. I didn’t know much about my mom’s career, other than that she’d worked for the Times before I was born. My dad didn’t like to talk about her, but I’d read many of her articles over the years. I knew she was an upstanding, destiny-abiding woman. “You’re wrong.”

  “Your mother stood up for what’s right. She didn’t just let the ministry feed her things to say. She had a voice, opinions—controversial ones at that.”

  “You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “Believe what you like.” He turned away from me and walked back to his cot. “I’m done pretending.”

  “But, Link…” I began.

  He refused to look my direction, instead staring up at the ceiling.

  “Let me help you,” I said.

  “Any help I wanted from you died with my brother.”

  “Link,” I began, tears stinging my eyes. “There was nothing I could do.”

  “You didn’t even try.”

  I stood there for a moment, unsure of what to say, surrounded by his silence.

  “Please go,” he finally said. “Aldan’s dead and there’s nothing you can do to fix that.”

  When I was little I remember looking with wonder at the seven colors that comprise the spire on the UV building. Each represented a color from the rings and, at night, their individual colors gleamed in harmony. Back then I still believed in the equality of the rings. Of course, even then I’d known that Ashes were further down the food chain. It was right there in descending order for anyone to see—purple, crimson, green, yellow, brown, slate, ash. But my brothers had never treated me differently, and unbeknownst to me at the time, they tried to make sure no one at school did either. It wasn’t until a fieldtrip that I understood the true symbolism of the building. “UV stands for Ultra Violet,” my first grade teacher explained. And that’s when it hit me. This was a building for Purples. With ultra destinies. It was right there in the name. Add to that I didn’t see a single Ash worker (believe me, I looked), and my lot in life became pretty clear.

  Since that day I’d avoided this place. Everyone knows that Blank destinies and government don’t mesh. Walking up to the UV building entrance, my hand clenched in Kai’s, I felt as confused and helpless as my six-year-old self. Reporters and hovercams surrounded us, and the lights from their flashes blinded me. Kai’s hand holding mine was the only thing that kept me steady against the onslaught. Voices called out as we passed, all asking the same questions.

  Why’d Aldan do it?

  Was Aldan’s performance an accident, or a statement against the destiny system?

  Was Link in on Aldan’s plan all along—and did they plan this together?

  Does the entire family share the anti-destiny sentiments of Aldan and Link?

  Was Aldan influenced by the under rings?

  As I turned to tell them where they could put their cameras, Pel put his arm around me from the other side.

  “Steady, Dax,” he said in my ear. “Saying something now will give them more to talk about later.”

  He was right, and as quickly as the anger had flared, it left. I slipped back into numbness as we waded through the last hundred feet to the doorway. Security guards checked our trackers, and then the doors were opened. Inside was cool, and as the doors swung closed behind us, quiet. Light streamed in through pockets of glass mixed into the crystal walls, highlighting the purple-colored carpet and furniture in the lobby. We passed through four security checkpoints before we made our way to the elevator going down to the holding cells.

  My parents were already at the sign-in desk, arguing with the booking officer as we approached.

  “It’s our son,” my father said. “It’s our right to see him.”

  The officer tapped her pencil impatiently against the desk, looking down her nose through thick glasses. “Sir, I’m going to have to ask you to sit down and wait your turn. We stick to protocol in this department.”

  My mother turned as we approached, and began to cry. Pel went to her immediately, hugging her tightly. “She won’t let us in,” she said between sobs. “I just want to see your brother.” As my mother’s cries
got louder, my father reached into her purse and handed her half of a pill. It was a pretty safe bet that she’d already taken the first half. She swallowed it and sat back down.

  “Officer, there must be some kind of misunderstanding,” Pel explained. “We’re Link Harris’s family. We need to see him. Please.”

  “I understand that,” the officer said, sighing. “But protocol says I can’t let you in right now.”

  “And what is the protocol, exactly?” Pel asked.

  The officer tapped the screen next to her desk, pulling up a numbered list. “Article 47 Clause 3.1.7. Inmates may not, in accordance with policy, see more than one visitor at a time during authorized hours of designated visiting days.”

  I looked at her in confusion. “You mean that someone is already with Link?” I asked.

  “I’m not at liberty to say,” she replied.

  “What do you mean you’re not at liberty to say?” I pressed. The woman wasn’t making any sense.

  She gave me a stern look through her glasses, pointedly ignoring the question. “I suggest you sign in, and I’ll call your name at the soonest availability.”

  We each scanned our wrist trackers. As my name and status appeared on the screen, the officer looked up at me, her eyes narrowing suspiciously. “You’re a Blank?”

  I nodded.

  She sniffed. “Then I’m afraid you can’t go in. Blanks are not allowed to see prisoners unless permission is granted by the warden or higher authority. I can’t allow it unless you have documented consent.”

  I shouldn’t have been surprised, but it still hurt. After everything that had happened, I just wanted to see Link. To hear his voice. And to tell him to take back what he’d said. I knew if I could just talk to him, he’d listen. I’d lost one brother today. I couldn’t lose another.

  I turned from her to follow my family into the waiting area, passing portraits of the Seven along the way. I hated the ministers. After today, I even hated Dr. Og. Seventy years ago, before Og had discovered the first destinies, Aldan might have just been a regular athlete. Link wouldn’t be in jail. And I’d be a normal sixteen-year-old girl. With an unknown future to shape any way I chose. I didn’t care what anyone said. The system might have changed the larger world for the better, but it had made the lives of anyone not born into the upper rings miserable. I blinked back a fresh round of tears as I sat down next to my father. Behind us, a screen showed clips from the race, and I did my best to tune it out.

  “How are you, Dax?” my father asked.

  “Okay,” I lied. What else could I say? Aldan was dead. Link was in jail. And I was a Blank, with no power to fix anything. “Dad?” I asked, “Do you know why he did it?”

  “I don’t know, honey,” he answered.

  “And Link…”

  “Hey,” he said, cutting me off. “We’re going to get Link back. Don’t worry, okay?”

  “Okay,” I agreed.

  From behind us I heard Link’s voice, and I turned excitedly before realizing it was just a broadcast. The camera was zoomed in on his face. It was red and tense with anger as he spoke. “You know the real joke?” my brother asked. “Us. Every single one of us, sitting in the Box because someone decided our destinies were better than the people down below. This system is broken.”

  I sucked in my breath. I couldn’t believe Link would say such a thing. Out loud. In front of the ministers.

  The broadcast cut back to the newsroom, to a Purple anchorman. “It was a stunt no one saw coming. One that left one brother dead—and the other in jail. Tonight we examine Aldan Harris’s misguided suicide, and Link Harris’s subsequent spiral into madness.”

  Aldan’s cuff was still concealed under my sleeve, and I gripped it furiously. “How can they say that?”

  My dad just shook his head. “The media is going to spin this for their own agenda.” He leaned in toward me, lowering his voice. “Nobody stands against the ministry, honey, but your brothers just did in front of the entire world.” He glanced at the officer behind the desk pointedly. “Everyone is going to be watching the rest of the family now, so we’ll talk for real when we get home. For now, just try and hang in there, okay?”

  I couldn’t help but turn back to the screen as the anchorman continued. “What I think we all want to know is just how deep this thing goes. Did Link know about his brother’s anti-destiny conspiracy? And were others involved as well?” He paused. “Breaking news to tell you about. I’m getting word there’s a full-blown riot in the New City Blank Ward. Three Keepers were killed trying to subdue the violence. In a time when Blank legislation is heating up, this can’t be a good sign. Our crews are on the way, and we’ll have a live report after we speak to some of Aldan Harris’s former fans.”

  I turned away as the scene cut back to the track, even more shaken. I’d never actually met another Blank. Most were institutionalized at birth. We were too expensive to keep. Most families couldn’t afford the annual forty-percent income tax that was attached to us. It was the ministry’s way to ensure the majority of my kind were handed over to the state. The government feared we posed a serious danger to the public, especially if we were allowed to roam freely and band together. Blanks were considered highly volatile. The thought was, a lack of destiny meant we were capable of anything. Only it wasn’t meant in a good way. I’d been monitored my entire life, but living without a destiny had never made me feel violent. Angry, sure. Sad, sometimes. But never violent. If the ministers upped the Blank tax again we’d be in serious trouble. Even with my brothers’ Purple credits, we could barely afford the Yellow ring. I stopped, remembering all over again that Aldan was gone. Without his credit, there was no way we’d be able to stay in Yellow. Not with me living free anyway.

  I slumped down in my seat, glancing at my wrist tracker. There were dozens of pings from Laira, but I let them go unanswered. Instead, I let my thoughts drift, trying to build up walls around my emotions. My family would still be living in the Crimson ring right now if I’d never been born. And while my brothers didn’t seem to care, nor my dad for that matter, my mom did. She hated the Yellow ring. She’d hate the Brown even more. I closed my eyes, focusing on building a wall all over again. I don’t know how much time passed before my mother’s shriek pierced my thoughts.

  “Madden!” she cried.

  I sat up, whirling around just as Madden Sumner exited the holding cells. She was the last person I expected to see. She plastered on a smile when she realized she had an audience, but I could tell something was wrong.

  “Mr. and Mrs. Harris,” she said, nodding to my parents. “Hello,” she continued, nodding to my brothers. She paused, then turned to me. “Dax,” she acknowledged. “I’m so sorry for your loss.”

  “Wait a minute,” I said. “You’re the reason we couldn’t get in to see Link?”

  “I was trying to help,” she answered.

  “You realize while you’ve been inside, we’ve all had to sit here,” I replied in disbelief. “None of us could get in to see him.”

  My mother interrupted. “What Dax means to say is that was very kind of you.” Her words were punctuated by a weird mix of energy. It was the pills. She didn’t take them that often, but when she did, they made her jittery. Still, it was better than the alternative. I remembered the wild panic attacks she’d had throughout my childhood. None of us would be able to handle it if she had an episode tonight. My mom’s voice grew even more uneven as she continued. “You’re always so thoughtful, Madden. Thank you.”

  I rolled my eyes. Our future minister wasn’t trying to help Link. She was managing her PR. It couldn’t be good for her image having an ex-boyfriend in the cells.

  “If there’s anything I can do,” Madden continued, “please let me know. Link needs time to process everything. I’m happy to come back.”

  “Thank you, dear,” my father said. “We appreciate that.”

  My brothers echoed his thanks, but I stayed quiet. As far as I was concerned, Madden Sumner represented
everything that was wrong with the system. By next year, her smiling portrait would be on the wall next to me, proving it.

  Madden said goodbye and sashayed out the door, her purple gown swinging as she walked. I pressed my lips together, not trusting myself to talk. Saying anything about Madden was likely to get me thrown into my own cell. Instead I returned to my seat, getting comfortable. I knew my parents and brothers would want to spend some time with Link, and if I couldn’t get in to see him myself, at least I could wait for the rest of my brothers to arrive.

  Except even this wasn’t to be.

  “Visiting hours are ending soon,” the officer said. “One of you may go in now.” She made a point of excluding me as she glanced at the rest of my family. “If you are brief another can go in after. That’s it for today.”

  “That would have been helpful information to have earlier, officer,” my father said.

  “The hours are listed on the door,” the officer replied, sounding offended.

  My father turned to us, defeated. “Why don’t you all head home. Your mom and I will check on Link today, and we can all come back tomorrow and see him.”

  Thanks to the rules, I knew “all” didn’t include me.

  Link was mistaken. About everything. My heels echoed through the empty hallway as I made my way from the holding cells, from Link, from his family. He was obviously out of his mind with grief, whether he realized it or not. He took an oath to protect and serve our system, and he believed in what it stood for. Before the system, we’d been on the brink of world war. People were hungry. Clean water was difficult to come by. And everywhere there was a sense of apathy. We’d had no meaning back then. Link knew all of that. He was one of the most rational, logical, intelligent people I’d ever met. It wasn’t like him to romanticize the past. The spontaneity it had offered came with a huge price. Collective destiny gave everyone a common goal, a reason to work together. It went past religion and culture and background. It was a different kind of faith that was grounded in science—one that everyone could ascribe to.