“So I’m sorry about what I said yesterday. I shouldn’t have suggested you stay away from anyone, it’s not my place and I apologize,” he says, maybe realizing his comment may have had the opposite effect. I suddenly feel guilty when I notice his perfect face sweltering with concern.
“It’s fine. Really,” I respond. “Good. I just wanted you to know that our conversation was so out of character for me. I let my feelings get the best of me,” he pauses, “but I am excited to see you,” he adds. I smile, but feel disconnected. “Well let’s get in line and see what happens,” I say, encouragingly.
After waiting in line for what seems like hours, our names are finally called. A woman wearing an ashen dress, with an noticeable wrinkle down the front, escorts us to a processing room.
“The geneticist will see you in about 20 minutes. Until then, please place your hands on the pad to begin the scan. Use the lights to enable the correct hand positioning,” she directs, politely.
As the door closes behind her, Phoenix mumbles enthusiastically, “Well…this is it.” He’s perceptibly nervous, excruciatingly so.
I wonder how he’ll handle the outcome if we are incompatible.
I place my hand where indicated and watch Phoenix do the same. We wait. He’s staring at me from across the parallel screens, I half-smile casually, hoping to help him relax. A viewing screen that encompasses an entire wall begins revealing our history and genetic codes. I try and read some of the information being scanned:
UUA
UUC
UUA
UUG
One of my classes taught us about the genetic codons, but the scan is processing too quickly. After the machine falls dark, the automatic door at the back of the room swishes open. In strides a man wearing a lab coat, his oily hair combed back, seemingly too young to be the geneticist, but his demeanor indicates that he is.
“Hello, Freya Skarsgard and Phoenix Dalton, I’m Dr. Calder,” he says, while reading files from his wrist. Neither of us speak, too anxious for the results. “Well, the good news first,” My heart sinks. That means there’s bad news.
“You pass the compatibility scanner with a 78%, and you will preserve the genetic mutation of your blue eyes which was enough to boost the percentage. The only concern is the low score in visual acuity for Pheonix, potentially affecting the marksman genetic code we’ve come to perfect with you, Freya,” he says as he turns to me.
“Freya has visual acuity that exceeds 20/10 and has correspondingly been flagged for closer observation due to hyperreflexia B,” he reads. “Her analysis has been confirmed, and you”— he makes eye contact with Phoenix, “may still qualify for pairing with Freya due to your elite genetic codons, but that will ultimately be left up to higher authority.”
Phoenix looks confused but smiles slightly from the mention of possibility, but Dr. Calder levels his mouth to avoid returning an affirming expression. “So in cases such as these, Freya, your genetic codons display abilities that have been determined to surpass all previous preeminent evolution in specified areas, therefore under Section 130: those containing genetic aptness unseen in previous generations, and those who have conditions associated with genetic advancement, will need consent from a member of the Creators Council before a marriage license can be issued,” Dr. Calder says, reading from his hologram again.
The Doctor motions for us to take a seat on an empty bench toward the back of the room. After dragging a rolling stool out from behind a counter and sitting, he sets the screen down, sighs and runs his hand through his greasy locks.
“It’s in my professional opinion that 78% probably isn’t high enough for pairing with Freya,” he finally says. “I’ve only been qualified and working in this profession for 8 years and have only had two subjects flagged—this is a very rare occurrence. You can receive the information on how to proceed at the front desk where you first came in. I wish you both the best of luck,” he says grimly.
Dr. Calder gazes at us for a moment, focusing on my face the most. I squirm in my seat from the awkwardness of it. Finally, he stands and exits the room. A humming sound breaks the stillness as the doors seal behind him. Phoenix remains silent, his face as motionless as the stone wall encircling the City.
I place my palm on his closed fist resting on the bench. He pulls away frustrated, and I bite my lip in contemplation. This was his biggest fear, this outcome.
“It’s not a definite no,” I whisper. “It might as well be,” he responds harshly, his voice cracking. After a moment of silence, he steps toward me and longingly touches the blonde hair hanging down my back before gazing into my eyes.
“What can I say, I’m disappointed.” His voice trembles. “I’m not going to get my hopes up, but let me know what happens after you access the information,” he says before releasing my hair and turning to leave. He walks ahead of me and exits first, leaving nothing behind but emptiness, his behavior cold, like he’s taking the disappointment out on me.
The lady at the entrance gives me the downloadable content for my device. Phoenix already left without saying anything to me.
Kindness shouldn’t be conditional. I’m almost relieved we failed, I think before heading home.
Wearing the Ursa training uniform, I take the skytrain to the lower level of the City. I’m not sure how I feel about our results. A part of me is suspicious of this whole process, mostly because of the ambiguous conversation with Apollo about me ending up with a future Creator. But another part of me is still naïve and trusting. We are taught to have complete reliance on our Creators; the child-parent dynamic drilled into every aspect of our lives. We are completely dependent on this City and its methods. Why would we ever think for ourselves?
I make a quick stop at the armory before heading to the dome for long-range shooting. The racing thoughts cease as I step through the doors, my shoulders back and head held high, I’m in my element once again.
The feelings and relationship dynamics crowding my life may cause confusion, but handling my rifles and handguns is easy. Maybe I’m just not genetically adept at dealing with people.
I digitally open my wall; a locker extending 10’ by 10’ protrudes forward as the covering descends below the floor. Examining my weapons, I load my favorite Armament Ursa rifle. I stop at security on my way out and scan my bracelet; it glows yellow to signify caution for the transfer of weapons. I head to the Skytrain again.
The weather is as calm and cool as usual. My blond ponytail whips in the breeze as I stand alone on the terrace. The dome will be open and heated since temperatures aren’t in the negatives.
The Sky drops me off at the edge of the City, the last exit before the transport makes the rounds again. The range is on ground level, one of the only reasons to go to the lowest point, aside from actually leaving the safety and confine of the City. Extending further than 700 yards, the inside is mock terrain and forest, but a dome insulates the entire range from harsh elements.
My boots crunch the ground beneath me and leaves cling to the faux-leather; I hold my head high, narrowing my eyes and carry two long black cases. The fur of my coat rustles softly in the breeze.
There he is.
Apollo turns his chin in my direction. His strong back stretches in a jacket that ends at his waistline. The lines of his jaw are chiseled and tough and with his hat pulled down over his brow, the stunning color seeping from underneath the brim knocks the wind out of me. His piercing expression lightens when his eyes meet mine.
He’s happy to see me.
Ignoring the flip of my stomach, I set my cases down. He’s already laid the pads and has been shooting metal targets. “Everything is set up for 500 yards,” he says. We keep smiling like idiots whenever our eyes meet.
He’s captivated, seemingly entertained by my every movement. I remove my rifle, put on my ear protection, load a magazine and drop to my stomach to shoot. “My scope has been a little low and to the right,” I say before firing a few rounds. The power of the rifle jolts my
shoulder: ping, ping, ping, the metal echoing my accuracy.
After a few adjustments, my scope is back to perfection, and Apollo is squatting next to me, his hands together in the same relaxed enclosure as always, one over the other. His chewing gum flexes the muscles of his strong cheeks, and he smiles again, a flash of radiating white, when I glance over my shoulder at him. He seems unaware of anything that may have happened with Phoenix and me.
I pause, trying to find something to say, but my throat is dry and I realize I can’t talk to him yet. He seems to understand what I’m thinking and concern falls over him. “Look, we don’t have to talk about it,” he says, reading my mind. Maybe he thinks I’m sulking over the results. I don’t want him to think that. Deep down I already knew it wasn’t meant to be with Phoenix, but I thought maybe the scanner would disagree.
Besides, Phoenix’s coldness was more disappointing than the results. But I’m scared of running out of options. My heart says Phoenix is a good one. I don’t want it to be miserable for me to go home after a hard day. Castor’s face keeps haunting my mind. The words Apollo had spoken, about me ending up in the back of the train with the celebrities and council members, worries me even more. Could they save me for someone, force a pairing? I now need signed consent from the Creators to pair. It might be true.
A chill crawls up my spine and lingers. “My brief is next. Maybe you’ll finally talk to me afterward?” I ask, deflecting the topic. Irritation flashes in eyes. “You know I can’t talk about what we know until its official. I just want you to know that. Understand that. I would tell you everything right now if that was allowed,” he says. I nod, feeling embarrassed that I sparked this much passion.
“You’ll get pinned and briefed, and then we can talk about whatever your little heart desires.” I lift an eyebrow, “Yeah?” “Yes,” he repeats, firmly, his captivated expression coming back.
He lowers his eyes and we stare at each other for a minute before I turn back to my rifle. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Each target rings from the damage I’ve inflicted; the rifle, an extension of me. I imagine his smile over my shoulder, and a quick glance confirms his beautiful grin wasn’t just a figment of my imagination. He’s really enjoying this.
I laugh to myself before turning back to the targets.
Our bodies touch on the Sky ride to intelligence, but neither of us adjusts ourselves to fix the issue. We seem to keep breaking the rules. My wrist vibrates, a message on my tracker from December:
Where have you been? I know you are busy now, but we haven’t talked for a few days. I’ll be at the archives tonight to study. Meet me there?
I don’t answer. The desire to survive this brief is too overwhelming.
We arrive at the largest building in the City again, 151. Apollo keeps subtly touching me, his hand grazing my back as we stand and wait to exit. My back slightly leans against his chest. He towers over me, but my shape is encircled like a perfect missing puzzle piece to his muscular frame. I notice some people staring now, so I distance myself a little from him. His natural response is to step closer to me, he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it, but he always stays inexplicably near when we’re together.
Inside the lobby, the silence is deafening. The lower level is swarming with paper pushers, and I feel out of place with my muddy boots and gun cases. We arrive at a locker designated to us for the year, unload our belongings, and head to the elevator. I swallow the lump in my throat and ignore the uneasy feeling. Apollo peers down at me. He must have noticed my nervousness because his face softens reassuringly. “This part—it’s a good thing,” he remarks.
After the never-ending elevator ride, we exit into a massive hallway. It snakes wildly, an assortment of doors are positioned throughout the passageway, each noticeably different from the others. We reach two giant double doors, and Apollo moves aside. “I can’t go in with you, but I’ll be right here when you get out.” I manage to nod, and after a few moments, I lift my chin and step inside.
The whiteness of the room, the chairs, the lighting… is blinding. Around a dozen men are seated at an oversized table with a single chair pulled out at the end, obviously positioned for me. A viewing screen, displaying data and symbols I don’t understand, is located directly above the shadow of their heads, landing oddly on the wall from the awkwardly placed, unflattering light.
“Freya,” a man, in a white suit with a collar that reaches his chin, says. Obviously, he’s Archer Perkins, with sunken cheeks and hollow, impassive eyes. There is no kindness in his demeanor. “Take a seat,” he barks and I obey.
“You’re here for Ursa. You will plug this chip into your tracker.” He hands me a small, fingernail sized microchip. “As I speak, the words will be conveyed and downloaded to your device, so you will keep this information and reread it at your convenience.” I take the chip and immediately plug it into my bracelet.
“There are many things that the general public is unaware of, and today you will be given a watered down version of the situations and people you will deal with as an agent of Ursa,” he says inexpressively.
“There are six municipalities called pagos outside the City walls. The inhabitants of these pagos treat those who dwell in our City as deity. They are the sole providers of food, clothing, and materials for our society,” he says this almost too quickly for me to keep up. My mind is racing. We are told everyone outside the walls is wild and uncivilized.
“We offer the pagos protection in exchange for goods.” “Protection from what?” I accidently interrupt, immediately regretting the decision. Archer is already glaring at me. “Your trainer will provide answers to all of your questions,” he says. “Please remain silent.”
“You are not to speak of these pagos to anyone outside of Ursa. When you are released to eliminate Saevas,” he pauses “Saevas are what we protect them from. Your trainer will brief you further.” He continues, “You will refrain from taking your allotted medication dose for the day. If you have already taken your daily dose for…” he flips through a hologram on the desk, “hyperreflexia B, you will quickly take an antidote provided by medical. Under no circumstances are you to use the antidote without being called to an emergency and you will always take your medication immediately following the suppression of a Saevas breach, unless told otherwise.”
“Yes, sir,” I say.
Nothing makes sense. My mind is out of control. I feel more awake than ever, images flashing through every possible situation with this new information, everything I never knew. Heat waves rush through me with my very identity being called into question. There are other people out there and they view us as deity? Why?
I can hardly focus on Archer and his voice, yet he continues to speak until I feel exhausted. Luckily, my tracker will have a record of everything. My new badge is handed to me, a ferocious grizzly bear exposing its teeth with Ursa scrawled below. Archer speaks in a monotone, unchanging and robotic, even though he has to know that this information is shocking for me.
Slipping the badge inside my jacket, the brief is over. “Your trainer and download will be able to answer all of your questions,” he says again. I turn and stumble back through the double doors.
8
Armed with my new download and badge, I come face to face with Apollo. My mouth won’t speak words and I can barely swallow. So many questions: questions about my life, about our City, where my brother is, all flailing on the tip of my tongue. “Where…Wha—” I stammer.
“Let’s get to watch. We’ll have plenty of time to talk.” He turns slowly, somehow calmer and more open than he’s been the past few days. Maybe he needed someone he could talk to. What he said to Phoenix at the gathering about there being more important things to worry about…was this what he meant?
It makes sense.
We take an elevator to the top floor, and then a colossal stairwell brings us outside. I’ve never been here. Once we get out into the cool air, the sight makes me gasp.
There ar
e rows and rows of black, bird-like vehicles with an appearance of candescent blue and yellow windshields, reflecting the daylight. “What are those?” I say, trying to contain my awe. “Hover-craft,” he says, “We call them Avems or birds.” I feel him study my expression, and I can’t help but smile.
My smile grows bigger, exposing my teeth. My enthusiasm matches the first time I watch an Ignis Messorem match. “I can’t believe this. This is crazy,” I whisper, still beaming. He grins, a perfectly beautiful expression, entertained by my child-like awe. It brings me even more momentary happiness.
Standing in the same place, I realize he’s already a few feet away, getting into the aircraft. “Come on!” he yells, climbing into the pilot’s seat. He hands me a headset. I put it on, confused that he’s flying. “You’re driving?” I ask. “Flying,” he corrects. “But my co-pilot today is Roman. Be prepared.” He smirks, but appears slightly uncomfortable himself.
Roman emerges from the stairwell door. When he gets close to the hover-craft, pleasure spreads across his face as he notices me sitting inside. Apollo and I exchange a look. No words are needed and he laughs at the obvious annoyance I have with Roman’s overly zealous fascination with me.
Apollo adjusts the black microphone from the headset, extending it away from his mouth, and begins procedures for departure. The engines fire up and invigoration flows through my veins. I tighten my legs and lean into the seat, not sure of what I’m preparing for.
Twenty three years riding the Sky train is nothing compared to this. The aircraft boosts into the air, a version of the world I thought I understood shifts into view, my body crawls with goosebumps, and the exhilaration abolishes the confusion and previous identity crisis that was clouding my mind. Leaning hard to look out, I take it all in, the sky still typical grey, but I can see the perfect red circle, the silhouette of the sun behind the contamination. The City grows smaller as we lift away. The City seems desolate now, lifeless.
MATCH CITY Page 6