by Dylan Steel
The truth was, Sage didn’t need a lookout. It was easy enough to monitor the halls at night by pulling up the Institution’s live feeds. What she did need was a distraction to keep Peadre occupied while she was deleting footage. Considering what she was doing could be deemed treasonous, the less he saw, the better. That was safer for both of them.
Sage didn’t waste any time. She headed straight for the file storage archives. They always seemed to be kept in the same basic location—behind a building’s main desk. She wasn’t sure it was true of their real life counterparts, but in the virtual realm, that’s where records were locked away.
As soon as she found the footage logs, the tension immediately melted from her body. She rubbed the back of her neck and then stretched her fingers forward again, flipping through the different wings. In a few minutes, all the evidence of her connection to the old man and the necklace would be gone. Her freedom was close.
She scrolled through files until she found the date of her visit from last year. This was it.
Sighing softly, she gathered up every bit of footage ranging from two days before the visit through eight days after. It all had to go. After her conversation with Kai, a precise deletion of her visit would raise all sorts of suspicion, but a massive wipe would be more likely to look like a technical fluke.
That was also why she couldn’t go all the way back to her first visit at age eight and delete those records. Kai would know immediately that it wasn’t simply an inconvenient glitch, and it was much easier to convince him that she just couldn’t remember what had happened so long ago. It was risky to leave it, but the alternative was worse—deleting the oldest footage would practically be proof that she’d lied to him.
She took a deep breath and began to unravel the footage, slowly at first, then faster. Whole fragments of time disappeared beneath her fingertips, building into whole days that vanished without a trace under the slightest touch.
As she was trashing the videos, an image popped up that made her pause, her hand hovering over the table. It was her and the old man, talking in his room.
Swiping the other logs aside, she expanded the footage, replaying the familiar scene before her eyes. She squinted, trying to see if there were any final clues she could glean before destroying the clip forever.
Nothing. Apparently, the necklace was meant to stay a mystery.
Swallowing hard, she returned the clip to its place with the others and finished deleting the records. The images began to flicker and fade from view—proof that they would be destroyed for good. No one would ever see them again.
“What was that?” Peadre’s voice wavered as he broke the silence.
“Nothing.” Sage’s voice caught in her throat. How much had he seen? She flattened the fading images beneath her hand, brushing them away even as they finished disappearing on their own. “Don’t worry about it.”
“That was you. He gave you something.” Peadre’s gaze dropped just below Sage’s neckline, right where the necklace was hidden. “Are you—”
“Finish that thought, and I will use my trial option to bury you.” Ice flashed behind Sage’s eyes. Her pulse pounded in her ears as she tried to reign in her panic. “You weren’t supposed to be watching. If I wanted to, I could use that as grounds to tell the others that you failed this trial.”
All the color drained from Peadre’s face. “I-I was watching the hall. I promise. I only looked away for a second.”
“Well, you shouldn’t have,” Sage snapped. Her fingers curled into fists at her side.
“Don’t. Please—don’t. I don’t know why it’s—it doesn’t matter. I’ll never say anything to anyone ever.” Peadre made it across the room in four steps. He looked at her pleadingly. “You know what happens if I f—”
“I still need your help backing out of the system.” Sage clenched her teeth and turned her full attention to the tech, ignoring Peadre’s terrified expression. “Same deal as before, just in reverse.”
“Ok,” he said in almost a whisper.
Stiffening, Sage faced the table again and began pulling back out of the system, gesturing for him to follow. Peadre copied her precisely without saying a word, but she could hear his shallow, raspy breathing quickening with each movement. He was terrified. She held his fate in her hands, and they both knew it.
As soon as they finished, Sage shut down the table and turned to him. “When we leave here tonight, you’re going to forget everything that happened. Do that, and you’ll pass this trial. Don’t, and… Well, if you don’t think you can follow those instructions, let me know, and I’ll be glad to take your candidacy in front of the panel.”
Peadre licked his lips. He was shaking. “Look, I have no idea what you were doing here tonight…”
Sage raised an eyebrow.
“Uh—in fact, I’m not even sure we ever met.”
“Right.” She jerked her head toward the door. “So you should probably get back to your Common Lounge before we exchange introductions, huh?”
“Yeah.” He nodded, heading straight for the hall without a backward glance.
Once he’d left the room, Sage stepped back, leaned her head against the wall, and slid down to the floor. She let out the breath she felt like she’d been holding in for the last ten minutes.
Her plan hadn’t been totally fool-proof after all. She felt sick. Once he’d seen what she was doing, she knew she needed to scare him into silence. It was the only way.
Now, she just had to hope he’d stay scared even after he got his brand at the end of the year. Whether or not he realized it, all her leverage disappeared the moment he got his mark. Not that it mattered. She’d convinced him that she was willing to kill to protect her secret, but she knew she couldn’t do it. She couldn’t become just like Eprah—not even to save herself.
Her stomach twisted again in fear.
Right now, this scared, sloppy kid was the biggest threat she’d ever faced.
15. OFF-TOPIC
“Huh.” Everett flicked his finger across the screen lazily. “Did you know you have to be within a limited visual range to strip someone’s Chances?”
Sage fought the urge to roll her eyes. She tucked her feet under her, sinking deeper into the chair. “That doesn’t sound like it has anything to do with our assignment.”
“No,” he mumbled. “I just thought it was interesting.” His brow furrowed. He tilted his screen toward her, pointing at one of the paragraphs. “But this is a list of exceptions.”
“Great,” she said dully. “But I’m pretty sure we’re supposed to be looking up the transition of power from Quorum members, not—” she waved her hand, “whatever that is.”
“It’s related. It’s a compilation of the Quorum’s most noteworthy achievements.” Everett’s neck was still bent over his databook. “Weird. Did you know a benefactor can automatically strip Chances for anyone who’s paired to them or works for them? It’s called tethering.”
An image of Rosalind running—and falling—flashed across Sage’s mind. Her grip tightened on her databook.
“Everyone knows that,” she snapped. “But it doesn’t help us with our presentation, does it?”
“Rox, Sage. Chill.” He eyed her warily. “I didn’t know that.”
“Well, now you do. Can we move on?” She crossed her arms and slumped back in her chair, staring at her databook.
“I really don’t think most people—”
“Why are you still talking about this?”
Everett held his hands up in front of himself. “Why are you so mad about this?”
“I’m not. I just think we should stick to working on our actual assignment.” Sage pressed her lips together tightly, stopping herself from saying any more.
His eyes narrowed a little, but he didn’t argue. He dipped his chin. “So, current events, huh?”
“Apparently.”
“Kinda weird, right? We haven’t seen a transition before—I mean, not that most people have, but still.�
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Sage bit back the urge to agree. Most people wouldn’t live long enough to see that sort of transition. “I think Ms. Zayer found Mr. Gaztok’s announcement inspiring.”
“I guess.” Everett shrugged. “But weren’t you surprised? I figured one of the benefactors would be in the running.”
“Really?” Sage raised an eyebrow. “They’re obviously influential, but their jobs are pretty different from anything the Cabinet does.”
“Good point,” Everett mumbled, already drawn back to the unrelated information scrolling down his screen.
Sage rolled her eyes. Apparently, all the research for their actual project was going to fall on her shoulders. Great.
A quick scan over her databook told her that Mr. Gaztok had to have had at least ten years of general experience working at the Cabinet of the People, with a minimum of two years on the Quorum’s advisory council. Also, the minimum transitional time from an old to new Quorum member was six months, barring unavoidable exceptions—namely, a current member of the Quorum expiring.
Fascinating stuff. And mildly creepy.
She stifled a yawn.
Somehow, she doubted he was being promoted because he met the standard requirements. She’d seen firsthand just how vicious the man could be in the name of protecting Eprah. Torturing and killing those who didn’t share his beliefs didn’t bother him in the slightest.
Everett’s voice startled her, making her jerk her head back up.
“Speaking of benefactors, have you seen how many advantages they have?” He whistled. “Tethering is just one of the perks of being, well, them. And obviously, they get a huge number of Chances themselves—it’s like there’s no point in them even wearing bracelets. They’re practically just decoration.”
“Doesn’t surprise me,” Sage said, clenching her jaw. He really wasn’t planning on moving past this, was he?
“Did you know the same families have been benefactors for all of Eprah’s history?”
Sage shrugged and looked back at her databook, pretending to be bored. She hadn’t known that. But she wasn’t about to encourage him to keep going.
Not that he needed any encouragement.
“…and did you realize that they can claim a pair from the graduating class with only a two-fifths vote in their favor with the Quorum?” He glanced at Sage out of the corner of his eye, frowning. She refused to respond and kept her eyes glued to the screen in front of her.
“That’s kinda messed up,” he muttered. “I wonder if the Quorum ever actually stands up to them.”
At that, Sage looked up sharply. She shouldn’t have. Everett must have taken it to mean she was interested, not mortified, because he continued.
“I mean, think about it. Some of them are really… old. Isn’t that strange? Them wanting to be paired with seventeen year olds?”
Sage choked back a bit of bile. She didn’t dare admit that she agreed with him. “I suppose that’s why it’s ultimately up to the Quorum,” she managed. “I’m sure they know what’s best.”
He studied her curiously for a moment. “I’m just not sure it’s as unbiased as they make it sound. I mean, what if a benefactor asked to be paired with a graduate who was really, really smart. Someone who would make some really great contributions to Eprah?”
“Well, then I’m sure the Quorum would figure out which was better,” she said testily. “Now, can we please focus on the relevant research?”
Everett blinked, frowning. “Does this really not bother you at all? Benefactors aren’t—”
“Look,” she said, shooting a quick glance around the lounge to make sure no one was listening, “you really shouldn’t be saying stuff like this.”
“Seriously? You can’t tell me you’ve never thought that—”
“Everett,” Sage interrupted him again, this time using a firm tone. She leaned a little closer, lowering her voice. “You do realize I should be reporting you for saying all this, right?”
He tilted his head, scrutinizing her before speaking again. “Probably, but… you won’t.”
Her eyebrow shot up. “I won’t?”
He nodded slowly. “If you were going to, you wouldn’t have warned me first. Besides, I get the impression you agree with me.”
Sage’s jaw dropped open. “That’s a pretty bold assumption.”
The corner of his lips twitched. “Maybe. But you haven’t told me I’m wrong.”
She looked him straight in the eye, unblinking. “You’re wrong.”
“Ok, then.” He raised his hands apologetically. “My mistake.”
“Yeah. It was.”
He stared at her for a moment longer, then broke his gaze to thumb through his files. “So Mr. Gaztok is going to have to take an oath, right?”
“Uh, yeah,” she said, surprised with how abruptly he’d changed the subject. “According to this, he’s already taken one indicating his intentions, but he’ll have to take another to be confirmed as a member of the Quorum when the time comes.”
“Right,” he said. “Any guesses as to whether it’ll be a voluntary step down or if one of them’s just gonna croak?”
She gave him an exasperated look. “Really?”
“Sorry. Just kidding. Kinda.”
Sage sighed, ignoring the hint of a grin on his face.
This was all she needed. She’d spent years playing the part of the devoted citizen, but with just a couple months left in this place, her study buddy had suddenly decided that he wanted to talk openly about Eprah’s unequal treatment of its citizens.
Not that she disagreed with him, of course, but she couldn’t say anything in the middle of their Common Lounge. If anyone had overheard him and didn’t realize she’d shut him down…
Her stomach turned.
Perfect. Just perfect.
16. PERSONAL INTERESTS
“Fifteen minutes left,” Mr. Messer said, not bothering to look up. “Start wrapping things up.”
A collective groan sounded in the classroom, but it was short-lived. As always, there was too much to finish in the next fifteen minutes to waste time whining.
Everyone was always rushing at the end of the Tech Interest Society sessions, completely absorbed in their own projects. Sage had realized a long time ago that it was the best time to get away with something she didn’t want anyone to know about. Ironic—the safest way to break the rules was to do it right under everyone’s noses.
Sage’s fingers flew through the air as she shot one last quick glance around the room. Good to go. No one cared about the girl at the far end of the table. She pulled up the Institution’s security system with almost no effort, scrolling back until she found the footage of herself sitting with Everett in the Common Lounge.
After Everett decided to rant about Eprah’s failings the other night, she figured she’d get rid of the evidence. He’d thank her for it—if she told him, which she wouldn’t. She really didn’t want to bring up the topic again and let him rattle off more grievances against Eprah. He didn’t need to know she was doing him a massive favor.
Not that it was a totally selfless act. She’d sat there and listened to him without ratting him out immediately afterward. That would put her at odds with Eprah too if anyone else found out. And she wasn’t about to let that happen.
She’d done this dozens of times now. The movements had become effortless, instinctual. She knew she could get in the system and manipulate the footage however she needed to in under six minutes. Five, if she was after footage that had been recorded within the last two days.
At first, she’d only corrupted footage sparingly—just when she thought there was a good chance she’d get caught for saying or doing something that was undeniably anti-Eprah. But lately, she’d been erasing things that she’d said just because they hadn’t painted Eprah in the absolute best light. If the administration or the Quorum decided that they wanted to review her recent behavior to make placement decisions, she wanted to make sure they only heard good things. Besides
, with how fast she’d gotten, it wasn’t even that much of a risk anymore.
Convinced she’d created enough of a gap to hide the worst of what Everett said, she began backing out of the system. It didn’t take long before she was in the final layer of code. Her eyes darted around the room one last time before she flattened the remaining evidence beneath her hand. It was done.
The others were finishing up their projects too, but they still weren’t paying any attention to her. Leave it to techs to whip out their databooks as soon as their table sections dimmed.
A satisfied smile flitted over Sage’s lips as she leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms. Maybe he wouldn’t have gotten caught for saying what he had, but it felt good to help someone else for once.
She glanced up at the clock. Less than two minutes to go, then she could take off. It wasn’t worth pulling her databook out—she wouldn’t even have time to read over one of her assignments before it was time to leave.
Her legs bounced impatiently as her gaze wandered lazily around the room. She locked eyes with the boy sitting across from her and froze. He looked away quickly, but not before a strange expression flitted across his face.
Sage studied him carefully. His portion of the tech table had already been shut down, but unlike the others, he wasn’t fiddling with his databook. If anything, he was avoiding looking at her again—glancing at the clock, staring at his hands.
Her heart pounded in her ears. Had he seen what she’d done? She hadn’t noticed him watching her before, but he was acting so strange now, she couldn’t be sure.
Mr. Messer’s voice interrupted her thoughts. “That’s our time for today. And remember, I’ll be out the next two days, so we won’t meet again this week. See you all Monday,” he said, waving his hand in dismissal.
Sage stood and started to walk around the table. If she could just talk to the boy for a minute, maybe ask him what project he was working on, she might be able to figure out if he’d seen anything. Or if he’d say anything.
She never got the chance. As soon as he noticed her approaching, he grabbed his databook and shot to his feet, bolting for the door. Her stomach turned.