MATCH CITY

by Megan Kreuger

  “Why?”

  “I have some training of my own to get through. You do gym and range with Roman tomorrow.”

  I don’t say anything. And Phoenix is right to remain silent. It’s beyond disappointing that I won’t see Apollo tomorrow, but I don’t want to express my disappointment and make the damage any worse on Phoenix.

  “At least it’s not with Castor,” I say cheerfully. We exchange a look and his scowl miraculously softens into a smirk. My smile, only reserved for me. I know Phoenix sees it, it must be painful. But I can’t help but cherish it. “Speak of the devil,” Apollo says as Castor waltzes into view at a nearby pillar, talking with multiple women, eyeing me sporadically. He’s obviously keeping tabs on my location.

  Lifting his shoulders, Apollo straightens his tie as he follows me out of the empty corridor. His clenched jaw looks severe and more pronounced. He doesn’t acknowledge Phoenix again.

  10

  The Council has been notified of a violation. Black is held for Creator’s offspring and their fiancés at gatherings, participation is a privilege bestowed by leadership and may be revoked at any time. Men may wear suits that contain sections of black, but solid black dresses and suits are not permitted unless the previous criteria are supported; they closely resemble Creator’s robes: representing the past, present, and future continuation of our scientific customs and signifying leadership. Please appear before the Council tomorrow 9:00am sharp to review this discrepancy. Confirm your compliance.

  Appointment confirmed

  Should I wear black? I laugh out loud to myself. I must be crazy.

  They mold us from carefully constructed genetics then expect the younger, hereditarily enhanced generation to fall in line without challenging the previous, weaker evolutionary species.

  What am I even thinking?

  I wear white.

  At least I don’t have to spend all morning with Roman, but defending a violation against the Council doesn’t seem any better.

  I take the train to building 151. The elevator drops me off at the same twisty hallway with the weird doors. The giant dual entry at the end appears welcoming. How deceptive.

  The Council is seated at an outstretched alabaster table again, eyeing me like a snake, cautious that I may bite. Archer Perkins speaks first again. “You’ve been being good, Freya?” What the does that even mean?

  “Yes?” I answer with a question, not sure how to respond. “Obviously, you know why you’re here,” he says, his tone gives the implication that he’s taking the violation lightly. “Yes, I wore black.”

  “Why did you select that dress for the evening?”

  I can’t play stupid; they won’t buy it with my knowledge of the law. “I was under the impression I was being reserved for Castor.” I can’t believe that just came out of my mouth.

  He pauses, seeming intrigued. “Where did you obtain that knowledge?” he asks, a look of fascination sprawled across his face. “I went through the scanner and barely passed with a very high ranking Tekki—“A what?” Archer interrupts.

  “A very high ranking computer specialist Phoenix Dalton, and was told I would need signed permission to pair. I am under the impression that only Ursa, Creator and Council family members are above his status. Castor seems interested, so I assume that he may be the direction that would be preferred. Black would be acceptable if we were to pair.”

  They all remain silent, exchanging glances that might be of approval. Yes. I may win this. “I have not received the file of yours and Castor’s scan results,” Archer says. “We haven’t gone through the MCS yet.”

  A fire burns behind his eyes; he’s thinking. “The Scanner is a cherished tool, our way of life, but percentages can be misleading…”

  “So I can pair with Phoenix Dalton?” I ask in confusion. “That’s not what I’m implying.” He suddenly seems snakelike; Archer would be the one to bite. “We need specific talents and genetic enhancements to lead the City. The Scanner produces these modifications, but even passing percentages can be inaccurate.” I’m silent, confused.

  “Let’s say you scored an 80% with Phoenix.” His guess is too high. “And let’s say you score a 75% with Castor.” I might throw up in my mouth a little, but I see where this is going. “We would still persuade you to pair with Castor since your evolutionary standing is needed in leadership. Does this make sense?”

  “Yes, sir,” I respond quickly. My heart sinks. Apollo was right. The Council doesn’t follow laws, even their own. Archer seems surprised, closing out the bookmarked hologram on his desk, he was expecting a fight. “Well, the Council looks forward to reviewing your MCS results with Castor Quinn. You are free to leave. The violation is detracted.”

  My boots feel as if they are filled with cement. I struggle with the short journey to the exit. What did I just do? Why did I have to wear black to the gathering? Nonsense, this isn’t my fault. They had this planned the moment I started passing every test they threw at me, starting in primary school. There has to be a way out of this.

  Or maybe I should just accept my fate and make a difference as a Spouse to a Council member? Astrid is beyond influential. But I could fight for good.

  Roman is bragging about Ignis Impetus at the gym. “You’ve never beat Imperium,” I say, brazenly. “We did. We beat them last year,” he boasts. “Apollo was out with a knee injury.” “Doesn’t matter,” Roman snarls. “Of course, it doesn’t,” I say sarcastically and laugh. “Well you play him tonight, so there’s no reason to talk about it. We’ll see.”

  “Why do you say play him? There’s a whole team playing, it’s not team Apollo,” he sneers. “Because it only matters if he’s Reaper. If he’s not Messorem, you being Messorem will be meaningless if you win.”

  He ponders this. “Just do your pull-ups,” he says, smirking. “I wish they would let women play,” I say. “I don’t. I’m not about crushing women.” “Well, I wish they would start a women’s only coalition. I’d kill to play.” “I’d kill to watch,” he says, smirking again. I roll my eyes.

  Suddenly our bracelets glow orange:

  All Ursa Report.

  Ursa Report. There’s been a breach. All Ursa Report. Immediately.

  “Let’s go,” Roman commands. I don’t say anything, but follow Roman out of the gym. We go to the second level, and take a known passageway across to an elevator that leads to the landing pads. Pax officers are bringing containers full of weapons. Ammo is being loaded into compartments inside the birds. I select my favorite long-range rifle but also carry my heavily modified, fully- automatic pistols and extended magazines.

  The hover-crafts we are taking this time are much larger. We enter through a large cargo door in the back. I feel inadequate and confused, not knowing what to expect. “Where is Apollo?” Brock Asks. “Not with us. He didn’t work out today because he had to lead a training course.”

  Council member Mel Quinn approaches the bird. “There’s been a breach at Pago 5. The watch on the south-side was ambushed. One of the three guys didn’t make it…a Silas Riches. The number of Saevas is unknown. Get to the seat that glows the same color as your tracker. Now!” Mel shouts, when we hesitate.

  Everyone scrambles in a synchronized attempt at efficiency. “Those needing antidotes will find them in the compartment below your jump seat. I pull out a syringe filled with a clear liquid. What is this? I hesitate again.

  “Freya! Arm. Now!” I realize Mel is shouting at me. I force the needle into my arm and push the syringe-top down until it’s empty.

  I instantly feel anxious. My vision becomes clearer, my breathing slows down. What is happening to me? Everyone seems to be moving at a snail’s pace. I feel antsy, impatient, edgy…where is Apollo? My anxiety skyrockets through the roof as I fight hard to swallow the lump in my throat.

  Finally I catch a glimpse of Apollo in the pilot’s seat. Nothing near calmness comes, but it’s better. The hover-craft powers up and lifts away, the City grows distant and the men around me relax
and prepare. I touch the frames of my guns, rubbing the sides of the metal, imagining what I’m about to do. I’ve never killed anyone before.

  My blond braid hangs securely over my shoulder and I lift my chin in anticipation, mustering whatever bravery I can. The flight out to the pagos seems longer than before.

  Brock Perkins addresses our unit. What am I even doing here? I’ve been Ursa for a week.

  “Two Pagos are under attack. The number of Saevas is unknown. Apollo is going to take us closer. I was told that somehow some of the Saevas do have firearms. I repeat: Saevas has some type of weapon. They are outdated…and these freaks are untrained and wild, but still proceed with caution.”

  “Freya, you are lead!” Brock suddenly shouts. Apollo twists in his seat. “She’s training still! She’s been Ursa for a week!” Apollo shouts, furiously. “No one asked how long she’s been here! It doesn’t matter. Saros said directly, and I quote, “Freya first after her antidote.”” My eyes feel heavy, but I glance at Apollo, who looks like he’s going to be sick. “Now, face shields on and go!”

  This is madness. No strategy. We fly over the pago, the hover-craft tilts slightly and I can see the Saevas for the first time. They are ruthless animals, tearing through the town. They are burning homes and killing people. Blood runs in the streets. I suddenly forget everything I’ve ever been afraid of, my insides hardening. Everyone in the unit begin pulling up their face shields.

  They have skulls painted on the front, reminding me of Apollo’s Messorum mask. I grab my long range rifle. Listening to the muffled shouts of Brock, I move toward the open backside of the aircraft, mentally taking note of every moving thing that is evil. The door-gunner moves the mini-gun erratically, trying to find an opening, but the Savaes are swarming the people; there would be too many casualties.

  Carefully, I start picking off the monsters with my rifle before we land. Six, seven, eigth, nine…I walk forward slowly as the door lowers.

  I fling my rifle over my shoulder to grab my automatic pistols, one in each hand. Jumping as hard and far as I can with my well-developed, durable legs, I’m completely free of the bird. I slam into the dirt. My boots land with a thud. My vision is better than ever, the monsters are ravaging in a hazy mist of dust, blood, and smoke. Suddenly a feeling of understanding falls over me amongst the chaos and fire, a feeling of purpose.

  The hegemony of Saros can’t compare to this moment, the brutality. When the questions of identity plagued me before, I didn’t understand. I never saw the torment and pain, the fervor, the fight…the death. I didn’t know evil. Evil has brought me purpose because I understand that there is good. I am the good. I can do something to stop this, and I can do it fast.

  Because evil exists, the solution exists. This is my purpose, the reason for my design. I have the power to change things, to save people.

  My reflexes and thinking are enhanced, the antidote did the job. The men behind me are still getting to their feet and retrieving their weapons long after I’ve already made up my mind. I take off, charging like a bull.

  I run. I run hard. Faster than my body has ever carried me, heels digging in, and arms poised for war. I blast away, unloading into any Saevas I see, guaranteeing they won’t harm anyone again. My motions are fluid, like an orchestrated dance. My arms waltz back and forth across my body, the Saevas fall to the ground just as quickly as the silver casings. I leap and roll from a small structure; twisting in all directions to eliminate each threat: twenty-six, twenty-seven, twenty-eight. I leap up a fence, still mentally counting the bodies dropping, and scale a structure, forcing my body in a parallel leaping-movement against two adjacent walls. I realize I’ve done all of this in a matter of seconds. The men in my unit are nowhere to be seen.

  The rate at which I can make decisions is incredible. My mind on overdrive, I’m planning and reacting with implausible speed.

  Spinning again with my dual pistols, I take out three more beasts. The charge and drive inside me doesn’t give out, I run kill, and repeat. Rabid monster after rabid monster drops to the earth in a circle of powder that no one cares about. The chaos is swift. The pago people scurry into hiding. I hear faint sounds of shots in the distance, the Saevas trying to shoot at me with their inferior weapons.

  When I finally reach the edge of the town, I can feel my heart pounding in my chest; the sound echoing in my ears as a drop of sweat stings my eye. I don’t have to turn around to know that every Saevas has been eliminated.

  Silence falls over the village. Smoke somberly tunnels out of windows and billows heavily towards the clouds. After whirling around, I glance wildly in all directions, confirming to myself that every blood-thirsty freak lies lifeless.

  The terrified people come out of hiding to gape at me. They know I’m a woman; my clothes cling to my curves, but I imagine the startling image I must generate. A woman, in tight pants and long coat, with a bright-blond ponytail, wearing a skull frosted face shield, single-handedly eliminated the threat. This must be why they believe we are deity.

  Some Ursa members finally show up, staring at me in awe, no one moves, and I don’t say anything.

  This experience has changed me, seeing death up close, causing it. I don’t want to have to do this again. I don’t want the people to ever have to go through this again. Could I give them weapons? No, I would immediately be charged, exiled or killed. I swallow the urge to speak to them. They have to stay unarmed. How else could the Creators control them or force them to be slaves? The weapon in my hand, the skill from my genetics and training, keeps us on top.

  When I get back to the bird, Apollo stands silently at the cargo door. As pilot, he was obviously the last one off. His rifle draped across his chest, Apollo holds it in a resting position, finger off the trigger.

  The way he’s staring at me makes me uneasy, like I’m a creature he’s never seen before. Everyone is scrutinizing me and watching my every move. Maybe under the assumption an alien has abducted my body. Brock and the other men standing near Apollo and the open door, step aside as I pass, ostensibly stagnant…dumbfounded.

  “Freya?” an unwavering, deep voice says. I look up and see Apollo towering over me.

  His eyebrows are furled in an expression of confusion. I want to touch him, let him know it’s still me. Or scream that I didn’t even know what I was capable of before now. I stare at him with tension, not wanting to discuss this in public. He reads my expression and follows me carefully into the aircraft.

  “What perfection are you diagnosed with?” he asks, probing even further with his deep, clear blue eyes once we are alone.

  I don’t answer because Brock climbs in behind him. “This is why you trust Saros. I’ve never seen anything like that. And the Creators knew,” Brock says, laughing. “That was unbelievable,” Roman chimes in, moving out from behind Brock, gaping at me. “She independently took them all out,” someone from behind them both says.

  My mouth won’t open. Frankly, I’m just as surprised as they are. I knew I could shoot, but the speed was superhuman…and right now, my thoughts are still racing on overdrive.

  “Those needing medication to restrain their perfection will find it under their seats,” Brock says, mainly to me. “You have to take it to counteract the antidote. No exceptions. The threat is neutralized.”

  Apollo opens his water and chases down his pill. Roman opens a compartment under his seat to retrieve his antidote.

  I don’t want to take it. I feel amazing. I chew on the inside of my cheeks in contemplation as Brock steps in front of me. “Take your antidote,” he says again. I need time to think. Could I pretend to take it? How do they monitor our medication? I don’t want to go back to thinking slower and feeling foggy, anxiety-ridden withdrawals. I feel whole. Time is passing and I’m still not moving.

  “Take your medication!!” he screams in my face. His shoulders tense up and his arms bow out like he might get physical. My mind flickers to my guns. If he moves in an effort to strike me, I can dodge it easi
ly; I could shoot him dead before he realizes what happened. Of course…I won’t, but I’m fully aware of my capabilities now. He should be, too.

  Apollo moves in front of Brock’s face. “She will take her pill. Can you give her a second?” he snarls, his eyes harden and his expression is frightening. “She just killed every Saevas on her own. Can you give her a freaking minute?” he barks like a drill sergeant when Brock doesn’t respond. Brock tilts his shoulder back so his face leans away from Apollo’s. His eyes slowly transfer between Apollo and me before snapping back. “Apollo Ailmar always thinks he’s above Unit Leader. And yet, somehow your record always goes untouched,” Brock snarls, breathing erratically.

  “Brock Harris, Unit Leader because I’m flying today,” Apollo responds automatically. Brock looks back at me and some sort of realization hits him. “You’ve never said anything against me before. I don’t know what’s going on with you.”

  He scowls at me and then an evil glimmer unfolds in his eyes. “She’s Castor’s you know. It doesn’t matter who you think you are.”

  I cock my gun and everyone’s heads jerk back to me. Placing them casually in my holsters, I say “I’m taking my pill,” I say before swallowing the little blue pill. “And why does everyone keeping telling me who I belong to. I don’t belong to anyone,” I say firmly.

  “Because it’s in the file we received when you joined Ursa,” Roman says. “Trust me we are all aware you’re taken,” he adds, winking.

  “What?!” I shout, raising an eyebrow. Roman looks confused. “The file. What file?” I stare angrily at Apollo, fighting hard to understand his expression. “Did you receive a file on me?”

  “Yes,” Apollo replies steadily.

  “It said I’m meant for Castor?”

  He sighs. “It said you weren’t available unless you fail the scan with Castor,” Roman answers obligingly. The feeling of betrayal creeps up on me.