I jolt awake. Two hours have passed since I fell asleep on the floor of the aircraft. Apollo never arrived. Peeling myself from the cold floor, I slide open the hover-craft door, feeling defeated and broken, feeling worse than I can ever remember feeling, I go downstairs and take the Skytrain home.
Hey Roman,
Have you seen Apollo? I haven’t seen him all day. Is he sick again?
-Freya
Freya,
Stop. Castor knows you tried to an appeal with Apollo. I don’t know where he is. I care about my brother and Apollo. You need to stop. Quit fighting the law, just obey! Just do what you are supposed to do. You won’t win this.
-Roman
I’m furious. My skin screams in agitation. Ignoring my emotions, I sprint for the next Skytrain to the Convention Center. The air inside the building feels suffocating, and I can barely manage to get my head straight to pick out a gown.
The spinning racks are dizzying, so I grab the first dress in my size that I can get my hands on. It’s a backless, pale blue gown with a deep-V neckline. Stunning doesn’t begin to describe the beauty of the dress grasped between my fingertips.
Dressing quickly, I sit for hair, makeup, and tattoos. The technician touches up my platinum locks. And then I request the outline of a skull on my back just like the one Apollo wears as Reaper.
Hesitating for a moment, the technician feels inspired and creates the most amazing design that fits perfectly within the opening of the back of the gown.
My makeup is especially dark with silver lids and deep greys and light shades of black surrounding my glossy sapphire eyes. December never arrives before it’s time to line up. What is happening?
Names are announced and when mine is called, I hastily parade conspicuously down the dimly-lit staircase, searching for him throughout the lines of men waiting at the bottom.
Apollo’s not here. Panic sweeps over me: elevated heart rate, dizziness, and rapid breathing. Hoping to keep myself from hyperventilating, I take exaggeratedly deep breaths and get something to drink from a server.
Roman stands across the room, gaping and analyzing my behavior. He’s facing Castor and obviously describing my every move to him. Castor appears upset and glances over his shoulder at me every so often, his handsome face emphasized by his scowl.
There are a few women close by, their usual crowd, remaining near Roman tonight while keeping tabs on his brother. They’re perceptibly dreading the upcoming engagement announcement of their beloved Castor.
When I don’t approach anyone, Castor finally finishes his drink, sets it down on a passing server’s tray, and spins around to walk toward me. He avoids eye-contact, but I can tell he’s annoyed, hurt and embarrassed. Everyone in the room is staring at us and whispering.
My heart aches for him. I didn’t want to hurt him. He’s done nothing wrong. It’s just the scanner, this system, this City, the people in the Pagos and the horrific Saevas. It eats at me from the inside, tearing away at me until I’m vulnerable and make mistakes. I can’t sit and do nothing. It might be selfish to want to change things, to be with Apollo, to leave my friends and Father, but I feel in my heart that it’s the right thing to do.
But I need Apollo now more than ever. Where is he?
I’m not supposed to be here…about to have this conversation, to see the pain and humiliation on Castor’s face. He walks passed me slowly. “Can I talk to you?” He says and keeps moving forward out the door and into the corridor. Everyone in the room unapologetically gawks at me.
I set my drink down and follow him out.
Once we are out of earshot, he turns on me. “Freya, you lied to me. The whole time, everything, it’s always been about Apollo. And I actually felt bad for what I had done. But it was true, all of it. You were waiting for him! You—
You are mine!” he yells.
My body flushes with heat, anger boils inside of me. “I don’t belong to anyone,” I state, coolly, keeping my composure.
He straightens himself out like he’s not going to listen to me any longer. “Well you’re mine by the end of the week, whether you like it or not. Saros’ orders. You might as well make this enjoyable for both of us. I could have any girl in that room if I wanted, and for some reason the one I’m supposed to be with, wants nothing to do with me.”
“Where’s Apollo?” It suddenly dawns on me that he might be in trouble. “How dare you ask me that? You’re not going to see him again until after we are paired—married. And neither you nor Apollo can do anything about it!”
The room starts spinning. All of the prying ears and eyes, the giant chandelier, the building and the City walls, everything is suffocating me and morphing into different shapes. Castor scowls at me, never breaking eye-contact, asserting his dominance, his authority.
The real Castor Quinn awakens in full-velocity. Towering over me, he watches as I try to gather my thoughts, but the words keep slipping back into the space between my throat and chest. I fight with everything I have to pull myself together. Apollo’s life may depend on it.
“Alright, you win,” I say. Castor stares at me suspiciously. “I win what?” Narrowing his eyes, he tilts his head back. His eyes fill with the same lustful fascination that has been the norm ever since we officially met. “Announce our engagement at dinner with the others. I’m done fighting you.”
Castor thinks for a moment before lifting an eyebrow. “I don’t understand you. I’ve never met anyone like you. You always act like you have a choice.”
“Everyone has a choice in how they respond, even to hegemony. I could never be forced to do anything against my will.” Castor furls his brows, but takes a breath and straightens his face. “You’re truly insane. You know that?” He asks rhetorically.
“Yes. You’ll just have to learn to deal with it.” I wink and walk away. Castor’s eyes widen in captivation, his mouth curls into a wicked grin. He thinks it’s over, but I haven’t even started yet.
19
Standing outside the restrooms, I try to formulate a plan. Where would Apollo be? They wouldn’t kill him. He’s too valuable. He wouldn’t leave me; all of the hover-copters are there. Who would know where he is? Think, think, think!
Phoenix! He’s standing on a lower balcony, talking with Paris Styles and Ophelia Warner. Why does everyone keep staring at me? Ugh, I need to talk to him, but how do I get him alone?
He notices me approaching and actually appears to be happy to see me. He gives a smile and both women turn to see the object of his warmth. Ophelia is pleased to see me, probably because I saved her from falling down the stairs. Paris also seems comfortable with my presence, maybe since I’m engaged, but I decide to talk to him.
“Hi, sorry to interrupt, but can I speak to you for a minute?” He steps aside. “Ladies, if you’ll excuse me for a moment.” He follows me down the stairs to my safe area. “I know I haven’t spoken to you and everything that happened between us was just terrible. But I really need your help.”
“Freya, it’s fine. What do you need?” I bite my bottom lip softly, thinking on how to ask. “It’s about Apollo.”
Phoenix tilts his head and gives me a look as if to say, “I already know that’s what this is about.” “Do you know where he is? Or why he isn’t here?” I ask, as kindly as possible. “No, I don’t.” My shoulders droop softly. “But I can find out,” he assures me before I can say anything more.
He holds his wrist up and starts typing and swiping aggressively on his forearm, holograms with words and numbers I don’t understand flash before my eyes, illuminating in different shades of green and purple.
Phoenix’s face suddenly gains intensity, deteriorating slowly into solemnness as he reads. “Freya, he’s in a holding facility. It says on his paperwork that he’ll remain in custody until pairing between Castor Quinn and Freya Skarsgard has taken place, and when Freya Skarsgard has had a successful visit with Dr. Fran wherewith she has had an affirmative pregnancy assessment.”
We both stare
at each other in disbelief. “A holding facility? Which building?” I ask impatiently, before full-realization sets in. “Freya, what are you going to do? Just give it up. I know he loves you. That’s why I was so afraid. I saw it on his face the first time he saw you. But you have to let it go now. I mean, look what you’ve done to him.”
His words sting. “Can you please tell me which building?” I plead. “Freya, please. Let it go,” Phoenix repeats, softly.
“Please, give me the opportunity to make my own decision. I know this is a concept no one in this City, maybe even this world, is accustomed to, but just allow me to. I know with all of my heart that he would want me to know where he is.”
Phoenix stands still for a moment, studying the hologram on his wrist. He finally lets out a breath and says, “He’s in holding cell 20 at headquarters…not the reformatory. It looks like his cell is on the 26th story, on the north side. It’s a holding facility for non-violent, high-profile inmates.”
“Thank you so much! I could kiss you! But of course—I won’t” I say, in reaction to his confused and nervous expression.
My chest aches at the thought of Apollo being held captive, but I have to play this smart. The worst part is Apollo warned me this would happen. Did they anticipate our plan, and how long will they keep him there? The Council said the end of the week for pairing, but insemination could take months. At least I’m confident the Creators would never order us dead. I’m starting to understand the way they view us, our value. It would be such a waste to simply eliminate human-beings that were procured over a century through genetic pairing.
Dinner is announced and everyone casually filters into the dining hall. I stand beside the table peevishly, dreading what comes next. Astrid makes her way to the head of the table, finally. Castor takes his place beside me. Resting his palm on the small of my back, he drags it up slowly to my neck. I try my best not to cringe; everyone is watching.
“Will everyone please be seated,” Astrid articulates sternly. Castor pulls the chair out for me, and I sit, reluctantly.
“I want to thank you all for coming. Let’s get started, shall we.
Tonight I am pleased to announce two engagements. First, son of Mel and Rosalind Quinn to daughter of Gustaf and Sara Skarsgard, I’m privileged to announce the upcoming pairing of Castor Quinn to Freya Skarsgard. There couldn’t be a more perfect pairing among us. Congratulations.” Astrid applauds softly, while everyone reciprocates loudly.
“Next, the son of Lonan and Willow Dalton to daughter of Kaito and Sayuri Adachi,” What?! My head almost spins off my neck when I hear December’s parent’s names drift from Astrid’s mouth. December is magically at the end of the table. Looking petrified, she stands next to Phoenix, holding hands with a forced smile.
“It is my pleasure to announce the future pairing of Phoenix Dalton to December Adachi. Congratulations, may you contribute greatly to our future generations.” Astrid applauds again, in the same weird, overly gentle way, like she’s afraid her wrists might snap.
Everyone’s faces convey confusion, most noticeably the two women that were dating Phoenix. Phoenix looks surprisingly collected, but I know December well enough to recognize the complete look of shock and confusion draped across her face, hidden beneath her phony smile.
Never would I have imagined that the Council would facilitate so many forced pairings. Does anyone get to select their spouse through percentages alone? I want to be there for her. Seeing her face, her reaction to the proclamation, the nervousness drifting through her body and her complexion becoming pale, it’s like being helpless to assist a bullied child.
And so I take my seat awkwardly, surprised she doesn’t glance toward us, even though I stare hard in her direction, trying to give her my support if she’d only look at me.
Dinner is served, but I hardly take two bites. Phoenix is a good guy. It will work out for them, I assure myself. Observing soundlessly, I watch Castor eat. He acts as if he’s in heaven, everything right in the world. He gazes at me with a devious gleam, smiling narcissistically as if to say, “Everything is as it should be. Deal with it.”
When everyone is finished and we are excused, I can’t leap from my seat fast enough. Phoenix and December are talking alone in the far corner of the room, ostensibly detached from everything and everyone around them. I don’t move while they discuss something serious. He finally gives her a hug, and they part ways. Now’s my chance.
Scurrying across the room, I reach her side quickly. Spinning around, it’s apparent from her expression that she expected me. “Hello, Freya,” she says calmly. My mouth doesn’t move; I merely wait for her to explain.
“They are pairing Phoenix and me,” she says, and stops. “Yes I know. Why?” I respond quickly. “Something about a perfection they want to produce. I don’t know completely. We just found out. Phoenix found out about fifteen minutes before dinner. I’ve known since this afternoon.”
“Is that where you were? You weren’t here earlier.” I say. “Yes, they’ve been working to manipulate something, and found the needed link with Phoenix and me. It was a recent discovery. I think it’s an immunity to something. Actually, they located what they needed today, and we were alerted immediately before becoming attached to anyone else.”
“Phoenix is a really good guy,” I say. “I know; I’m relieved. He’s wonderful. You can never tell with the really good-looking men. Sometimes they turn out to be terrible,” She says.
“Trust me; I know.” I glance in Castor’s direction, trying secretively to keep an eye on me while speaking with his Father. “You don’t feel anything for him anymore do you?” December’s question catches me off-guard.
“Who Phoenix? Absolutely not.”
I have to tell her the truth. “December, I am thoroughly… recklessly, nonsensically in love with Apollo Ailmar.” Her face brightens with color. “I knew it! Why did you deny it before? What are you going to do? What about Castor? Where is Apollo?” And just like that, my old December, wrought with questions, breaks free.
“Listen, I’m going to make some decisions tomorrow that will bring an endless storm of unalterable consequences, but I need you trust me and know that I love you so much. You are my best friend, and anything that I’m about to do, I will explain to you the first chance I get.”
“Freya, you are scaring me again. What are you talking about? What are you going to do?” “Can you trust me, please? There is too much to explain and I can’t do it here, but someday I will tell you everything.”
Her eyes are full of sadness; she stands like she’s faded into a ghost, her hands brush imaginary dust from her gown, and she doesn’t say anything for a moment.
“Okay,” she mumbles.
20
Nightmares attack all night long as I battle in and out of sleep. I see Apollo bound and tortured by Pax officers. I’m helpless to the cruelty and I’m unable to get to him, to free him. When I wake up, my sheets are soaked in sweat, and my hair is damp and tangled.
Walking to the bathroom, I take out my daily dose of medication. Pinching the translucent pill between my fingertips, I crack it open and drop it in the toilet. It has been said that the Council knows if you skip your dose. I’m counting on it.
Dressed in my Ursa uniform, I wait for my Father to leave for work. I gather together three duffle bags used for ammo transport, but I fill them with all of the food bars and rations in our kitchen, until they almost burst at the seams. Once outside, I stare at my beloved, collapsing sign, “Finis Est Initium.”
The bags draw lots of attention on the Skytrain, but I don’t care. I get to the Council building, and lug them up the elevator and onto the roof. Within seven minutes, I am back on the Sky, heading to the armory. The familiar anxious withdrawals pull at my chest and head. The headache is excruciating, but I know it won’t be long before I start thinking faster and clearer than anyone else in this City.
This part is easy. Ursa grants me access to all weapons and ammo in the armory
. I fill one bag with weapons and two bags with ammo, transporting them isn’t easy, though, and yet no one says anything to me, despite some strange stares.
Once back on the roof, I load the bags, but keep my favorite rifle and full-auto pistols. Half of the ammo I collected is tranquilizers. The Creators may have devised this City and the MCS, the Council enforces their best interest, but the Pax officers are simply called to serve. They don’t deserve to die, but some heavy sedatives should do the trick.
I’m fully equipped with my weapons and bad intentions; I take the Sky train to the second to last destination I have planned within this City. Though it’s not as cold as normal, the clouds block the sun, shielding its view from our deviant actions, the grey constantly reminding us that we lack the light that existed in another life, when people had it within themselves. I believe the true human purpose lies in our choices, because without that gift, our identity dies, dragging our perseverance down with it.
My stop comes quickly, Headquarters. Exiting the train with my weapons leaves me exposed and feeling naked. Pax Officers glance in my direction, already curious of the woman carrying the cases. My plan comes together in my mind quickly, the missed dose in full-effect.
As they start to surround me, I tenderly lay the cases on the concrete, opening them carefully toward me. “Hey! Step away from the bags,” the Pax Officer closest to me shouts. One, two, three, four, five, six. Click, click, click, click, click, click…in less than 10 seconds I’ve drawn my pistols and all six Pax Officers are sprawled on the ground, sleeping like babies.
Reaching in my case, I swing my rifle across my back; my boots hit the hard stairs in perfect, uninterrupted rhythm. Dragging the Pax Officer closest to the building, I use his wrist to lift the doors, granting me preliminary access to what I came for.
The man in the lobby seated at the desk stands up first, so he’s the first to get a dart to the neck. A few women holding paperwork scream and scramble for the door. “Sorry,” I say. Aiming for their thighs, they go down prepared. The woman who looks to weigh about 100 lbs. is perfect. I maneuver her to the elevator to get that purple clearance to illuminate with a flick of her wrist.
MATCH CITY Page 16