Elite: The Satellite Trilogy Part II

by Lee Davidson

  Was the guy in the photograph really the same person as this panting, crazed stranger in the mirror? And who was the girl beside him?

  4. As luck would have it, here you are

  I peel off my wet shirt and methodically hit the shut-up button on my calimeter, shocked—but very glad—that break is here. The scar on my chest, now more white than pink, is still cold. The one on my knee is probably the same, but I’m not checking. No need to confirm the sick feeling that something is seriously wrong here.

  On my elevator ride down to the lobby, the haunting, unfamiliar voice that spoke my name replays in my head. When my heartbeat reaches an uncomfortable pace, I focus on breathing and push the unsettling event out of mind. Instead, I think of telling my friends about my new role as an Elite. I hope that any hard feelings about my lack of experience won’t generate bad vibes among us.

  “Dude, you look like trash,” Rigby says when I join the table, and then resumes gnawing on his toothpick. Thankfully, no one else comments on his observation since looking like garbage is common around here if someone has a particularly difficult day with a Tragedy.

  Owen, the black-haired bulldog, leans over the table and shakes my hand. “Congrats on making the team, man.”

  Looks like I don’t need to share the news. “Thanks,” I mumble and try to gauge the others’ reactions.

  Clara beams at me in her usual overly-admiring way that makes me uncomfortable. Rigby, seemingly put off by Clara’s reaction, clamps down on his toothpick so his jaw flexes into a sharper angle. So far so good on the normalcy around here. I relax and settle into my chair.

  Liam must have just eaten something rancid. “How’s Tate?”

  Never mind about normal.

  Before I can reply, Clara says, “Cut it out.”

  Liam’s problem—whatever it is—is his deal, not mine, so I turn away. “How’s it going with you, man?” I ask Rigby.

  He flips his toothpick between his teeth. “Could be worse. How’s training?”

  “Relentless. It’s like training with Willow.” I shake my head. “Nah, it’s not that bad.”

  Recalling our first training session when Willow publicly humiliated me, Rigby laughs.

  “I’m so proud of you!” Against her olive skin, Anna’s smile is as white as Evelynn’s, but the quality of it is completely different. Probably because Evelynn’s carries zero sincerity. I don’t recall having any siblings while I was alive, but if I had I would have wished for a sister like Anna. I’ll never get what she sees in Owen—I’ve seen monkeys with better manners than that guy—but he makes her happy, and that makes me happy.

  Liam’s chair scrapes across the gray, wood plank floor and Anna and I watch him stomp out of Benson.

  “What’s with him?” I ask when he disappears through the middle archway.

  Owen shrugs, but the silent exchange he and Anna share makes me uneasy. “You know Liam. His assignment’s probably getting hairy. What’d you think of that little guy, Jackson?”

  Height-wise, Owen and Jackson could almost be brothers. In width, though, Owen looks more like he ate Jackson for breakfast and transformed him to arm muscles.

  “He talks a lot,” I say.

  Owen bounces up and down like he’s about to pee his pants. “Man, I still can’t believe you’re an Elite. You realize how great this is, right?”

  Relief washes over me, and my guilt about being chosen over my friends, who are much more deserving of the position, dissipates.

  “It’s amazing,” Clara adds before I say anything, her clear blue eyes seeming to sparkle against her silver eyeshadow. “And to step into Willow’s shoes—I mean, replacing your own Legacy—I don’t think that’s ever happened before.”

  “Not in my lifetime. Dude, I can’t believe they picked you!” Owen barks this loud enough that the neighboring table stops their card game for a second.

  I press my hand on my heart in mock pain, but drop it quickly when I feel the cool scar through my shirt. “I was surprised, too.” Uneasiness about my scar shifts to my upcoming assignment. “I don’t have the experience like you guys, and now things are weird with Liam. I hope he’s not jealous. If I had the choice, I would have given him the position. Lord knows he’s a better Satellite than me.”

  “Oh, I don’t think he’s jealous,” Clara says under her breath.

  “Why else would he be so pissy?”

  Clara shifts in her seat. “Liam’s just being…Liam.” She sits up straighter and the bright pink tank top elongates her super-model body. “He’ll get over it.”

  Unsure, I shake my head. “I just want things to be normal.”

  “Not gonna happen, man. You’re an Elite now,” Owen says.

  Clara and Owen make their usual exchange, which is a Clara look-of-disgust met with an Owen smirk.

  “That’s not true.” Clara goes on like she needs to console me. “You didn’t even know Willow was an Elite until I told you.”

  Owen spits a mouthful of milk across the table, barely missing Rigby. “Are you kidding? How could you not know?” he questions like I’m the dumbest person in existence. He may be right.

  My expression cracks and I’m laughing before I can stop myself. “I had no idea,” I confess.

  The others succumb to full hysterics, too.

  We finally calm down and I wipe my eyes. “I’m going to get a steak. Anyone hungry?”

  Rigby, the only taker, mazes around the crowded tables with me to the best room ever. Every food imaginable, plus a million others I’ve never heard of are displayed upon long buffet tables. Sharp mountains beyond the glass wall serve as the perfect backdrop. Rigby follows me past four tables and plops a thick slab of meat on his plate. Man, I love this place.

  “Hey Rig, what’s really going on with Liam?” I ask when we move to another table.

  After the mashed potatoes slide from the serving spoon and splat onto his plate, he stalls by pretending to be preoccupied stirring the gravy. Finally, when the gravy has turned to a watery consistency and the toothpick between his teeth is mangled, he talks. “Here’s the thing, man. He’s not jealous that you’re an Elite. He doesn’t like that you’ve changed.”

  He thinks I’ve changed? I’m about to deny this, but Rigby goes on before I can open my mouth. “Your memories didn’t disappear like the rest of ours, and you were wrapped up in this chick from your past named Tate. You don’t remember any of this,” he explains to my blank expression. “You even went to see her a few times.”

  “Oh, come on, not you, too? Liam’s told me this whole fairytale, and frankly, I can’t believe you’d buy into it. How would I even go see someone from my past?”

  “You displaced to her using your picture frame. I gotta admit, that was an ingenious idea.”

  All this time, I thought Rigby was a sensible guy.

  “Personally, I don’t get what Liam’s deal is. I mean, you’re following the natural order.” Rigby shrugs and rearranges his tray to make room for a plate of fries. “So what if it’s a little later than everyone else?”

  Whitfield, a redhead from our orientation group, pushes herself against Rigby and reaches around him for a roll.

  “Rigby,” she says in his ear.

  “Whitfield.”

  She chews on her lower red lip and walks away.

  I decide against spending any more energy entertaining the made-up story, and ask instead, “Does this mean you’re over Clara?”

  “Huh?” Rigby dumbly watches Whitfield ladle soup into a bowl two tables over.

  I laugh and punch his arm. “Come on, man.”

  Back at the table, Owen’s already dealt Rigby and I into a hand of Sats.

  “You guys know Rig is into redheads?” I joke.

  Owen twists around in his chair and watches Whitfield talking with some girls a few tables over. “I knew it, man!”

  “Whatever,” Rigby sneers and scoops up his cards. “Let’s play.”
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br />   “She’s really pretty. You two would be great together.” Clara slides a card into the fanned set in her hand and winks at me.

  As usual, break ends too soon. When the thousands of Satellites have vaporized to save the world, I head out of the empty hall figuring I might as well take Owen up on his offer to use his gaming system. There’s nothing else to do now that my introduction to Meggie is complete. If Jonathan doesn’t release me soon, I very well may lose my mind.

  Owen’s décor made me laugh the last time I was here, and my reaction hasn’t changed. The floral sofa and chair, outdated enough to make my green sofa modern, just don’t match his personality.

  I grab the binocular-mask contraption, hop up onto his black counter, and strap the atrocity around my head. The device powers on with a series of chimes, and the icon for Elite Force Seven appears. Apparently no one plays any other games around here. The characters begin scrolling past and—

  Oh. My. God.

  You’ve got to be kidding me! Not only am I included in the game, but someone has pulled a really bad joke designing my character, which is anime at its worst. The scar through my left eyebrow is the only thing that is actually dead on. My arms and chest are so big they’re bursting through my shirt and the lines of my jaw are also exaggerated. A lot. And my brown hair…it’s never been so…metrosexual. Ugh.

  I try to forget that other people are actually playing this game and slide my finger through the air to shoo my image from the screen. I cycle through the other characters and scowl because their images are more accurate.

  Sour about the embarrassing way the game depicts me, I chose to play as Billy. Then I intentionally lose three games in a row.

  Deciding to play for real, I choose Trina’s character. She’s compact but defined, and her out of control curls couldn’t be any sexier.

  Did I honestly just think a cartoon character was sexy? Someone commit me. I shake my head and start the game, punching through the air in the correct sequences to make the blocks. The longer I play, the better I get.

  I’m on level nine, after spending at least an hour stuck on eight, when there’s a knock on Owen’s door.

  “Owen’s not here!” I yell mid-block, and my concentration cracks. Forgetting the rest of the sequence, I yank the goggles off to find Jonathan standing in the kitchen.

  “Oh, hey. Owen’s not here,” I say, a little out of breath from so much air punching.

  “Actually, I am here to see you,” Jonathan says.

  His uncanny ability to find someone whenever he wants is enough to raise my eyebrow.

  “As luck would have it, here you are,” he says.

  Yeah, luck. “What’s up?” I ask and hop off the counter.

  “I received word that you’ve completed your reading.”

  My introduction to Meggie was nothing like reading. “Is that what we’re calling it?”

  He laughs and holds out his hand. “I’m here to bring you this.” He passes me a heart-shaped locket that’s so tarnished the gold has turned to a dull green.

  “My tocket, I’m guessing?”

  Jonathan nods.

  I turn the heart over in my palm, noting it’s even smaller and more convenient than Ryder’s granite rock. Chain free, too, which makes it easy to slip into my pocket.

  “So I’m released?” I ask eagerly. I probably shouldn’t be excited, but anything is better than hanging around here all day, no matter how fun Elite Force Seven is.

  “Yes. Can you go now?”

  Is he kidding? “Of course.”

  “Excellent. Meggie’s life is going to be permanently altered within the hour. Do you have your book?”

  I fish the assignment book out of my bag and eye it suspiciously because my biceps muscle now strains under the weight. The appearance of the book, however, has not changed at all.

  “Please complete your reading upon your arrival. Good luck.”

  The urgency in Jonathan’s voice makes me edgy, which quickly eclipses my previous excitement. My imagination plays through scenarios of what Meggie’s going to endure. When I get to a few that are too awful to think about, my mind shuts down completely.

  “Staying here will alter nothing,” Jonathan says. “I will see you on the field at break.”

  I swallow and nod while the edges of the locket dig into my palm. “Displace,” I whisper and the floor drops out.

  I plummet to Earth in a blur, hardly noticing that my stomach has leapt into my throat. Meggie’s life is about to take an unimaginable detour. I scowl with regret for being excited about—

  Bam!

  My feet land in Meggie’s world, not like in Flashbacks-o-Meggie, but for real. The red numbers on the clock float in the blackness as my eyes adjust: 4:49. I’m surprised that the floor didn’t break under my boots or that the shallowly breathing bodies in the bed haven’t startled from the jolt.

  I reposition my bag on my shoulders and flip through the weighty book. The pages may as well be illuminated now that my Satellite night-vision has kicked on. I read through The Present in less than a minute and the heavy book falls from my hands, landing soundlessly. I pick it up, open to the page I just read, blink a few times, and read again. The text refuses to bend to my will.

  I close my eyes and keep them that way for a full two minutes until the roaring starts. The rumbling overwhelms my brain, but my body never feels the heat, even when the flames have climbed up the stairs.

  Fury kicks in and I shove the book into my bag. “Wake up! Come on, wake up!” I scream, pacing at the foot of the bed to fill the void a smoke detector should occupy.

  When the coughing starts down the hall, I lean over and cover my ears, but the scratchy barks still get through.

  “Wake up!” I yell into my knees.

  Finally, Brody and Meggie start coughing, too.

  “What’s happening?” Meggie croaks.

  I see Brody’s figure out of the corner of my eye when he heads to the door.

  “Don’t touch the knob,” I say under my breath.

  He does, of course. The cursing that follows proves it. I assume he finds something to use as an oven mitt because the roaring becomes overwhelming for two seconds, followed by a slamming door.

  “WE HAVE TO GET THE KIDS!” Meggie shrieks.

  “Jump!” Brody’s voice yells over the roaring fire.

  I lift my head to watch their exchange by the now opened window.

  “The kids!” she pleads.

  “It’s the only way to get to them! Jump!” He all but pushes her out the window, hanging onto her forearms to lower her as much as possible before releasing his grip.

  I take a few steps and ghost my head through the drywall and insulation in time to see Meggie two stories below limping around the side of the house. I step through the wall and float to the grass, staying close to Meggie as Brody sprints past us.

  When we reach the front yard Meggie eyes up the only tree, surely wishing the sturdy limbs were closer to the second story windows, while Brody disappears around the other side of the house.

  I keep my eyes on Meggie when Brody returns, looking away only to watch Brody prop a ladder over the bushes, climb up, and break through the window with his elbow.

  Meggie’s face is painted with so much worry it ages her pale skin. I ball my fists in anger, all too aware of what’s coming next.

  Brody does his best to carry Josh down the ladder. Limping across the yard, he lays Josh at Meggie’s feet like a dog dropping his game. I concentrate until the blue filter clouds my vision. “Haze!” I yell and order the only thing I can.

  Calm, calm, calm, calm, calm…

  After I’m zapped with a voltage that would kill me if I weren’t already dead, my heartbeat echoes in my ears, carrying the searing current throughout my body. I find the smallest fracture in the wall of pain and spew my next order. “Block!”

  Meggie’s coughs and cries lessen and the wailing sirens grow l
ouder. Like she’s just been jerked awake, Meggie switches from mom to nurse. If she could actually hear my voice, she’d know pumping on Josh’s chest will do nothing.

  I turn away again when Brody returns with one of the girls because the ruffled pajamas and ash-colored curls are too much to stomach. Meggie’s screams overwhelm the approaching sirens and Brody disappears again. A few of the neighbors have joined the nightmare, crowded around two small bodies in effort to help Meggie.

  I center my filter to summon the waterfall effect. “Haze,” I yell angrily.

  Calm down, calm down, calm down…

  Pain ignites my already boiling blood. My muscles fight, but the strength seeps out of them anyway.

  “Block,” I somehow manage and the rippled water surrounding us falls, the droplets bouncing on the grass before vanishing.

  Meggie’s volume dials down a notch, but she’s still frantic, shaking Josh’s limp body. The horror on her face is like nothing I have ever seen. She resumes feverishly pumping Josh’s tiny chest.

  After thirty seconds, I realize the scream pounding though my head is my own.

  Meggie growls at the medic as he tries to wrestle her off of Josh, so I block her again and ready myself for more torture. I’d take a lifetime of the electrocuting shock if it would bring even a thimble of comfort to Meggie.

  Step back, step back, step back, step…

  Zing!

  “Block,” I groan.

  Meggie’s arms fall to her side and her face contorts in even more horror when a firefighter returns from the house carrying Brody. Behind them, another yellow-suited man is carrying her third child.

  The fifth body removed from the second story window confirms that there will be no break for my trembling muscles.

  While I’m performing another block, one of the seven medics who have joined us jogs halfway through me. They attend to the lifeless bodies on the lawn while the Mount Airy firefighters direct water into the house. Meanwhile, Meggie’s shedding enough tears to extinguish the murderous flames herself.