We have no choice but to follow the tour until the opportunity arises to sneak off and search for my siblings.
The lights dim as the presentation kicks off. Images of the underwater colonies fill the screen as the commissioner speaks. “Esteemed colleagues, what you will see here today will leave you astounded and full of ideas for the potential it offers. Your government has already entered into discussions with the Saven and our own administration, and the purpose of today’s visit is to showcase how an alliance can be best used to serve your country and your future. Apart from informing your own administration, nothing you see or hear today can be shared with any third party. Containment and secrecy are paramount to the success of the operation and central to the agreement between our nations.” His words are laced with an unspoken threat, and quiet murmurs echo around the room.
“When residents are first brought here,” he continues, as the images switch to show shots of the facility, “they are screened to identify strength of will.” Jarod and I both sit up straighter. This is news to me. I had no idea they could do that. “Those who are pliable are progressed to the next stage, and those who are too strong-willed are sent back home once their memories have been erased.” I had suspected as much based on what Fern and Rylan conveyed.
“Those selected for the experiment are inducted, matched, and assigned living accommodation. Thereafter, they are free to come and go as they please, provided they spend their time getting to know their designated alien mate. Using carefully selected assessment techniques, we identify the most compatible human-Saven coupling, but thereafter, we don’t force the issue because the relationship has to develop naturally. However, we have done everything in our power to create a conducive environment to help accelerate the process.” His simpering tone is repulsive, and I have the strongest urge to run onto the podium and smack him silly. Jarod grips the handles of his seat tightly and I know he’s seething too.
More images fill the screen, accompanied by a myriad of stats highlighting matching rates, percentage of those processed who progress, timelines, and relationship milestones.
“In the last two weeks, we have watched over the conscience transfer of one hundred Saven. They have been closely monitored, along with their human mates, and I’m delighted to inform you that the transfer has been deemed a huge success. This batch of lower-class subjects are currently undergoing final training before we transfer them to the first underwater colony. So far, they have shown no resistance and are happily following orders and commands. This is the future, ladies and gentlemen,” he says, brandishing his arms around like a proud father. “We are at the helm of the most radical societal change our world has ever known. Combined with the influx of natural resources, and strong support from the Saven, our future is looking very bright. When all assigned stars have been successfully subdued, we will have a steady flow of obedient workers to meet our ongoing needs. The overpopulation crisis has been diverted in the process, and we no longer need to worry about limited resources. This program will restore peace and balance to our world and forge a path for greater future advancement.” He beams widely at the audience.
I secretly scan the faces around me. There’s a mixture of expressions on display. Certainly, there are plenty who like the sound of what they hear, as evidenced by the growing round of applause spreading throughout the room. But there are plenty of appalled expressions too.
Not everyone is sold on this. That gives me hope.
“I think I’m going to be sick,” Jarod says.
“Me, too,” I whisper.
A few minutes later, the commissioner guides the group out of the auditorium, and we begin our tour of the facility.
We are taken to the main processing area first. It’s like a giant open warehouse with a breezy vaulted ceiling. Thousands of stars are organized in several slow-moving lines, waiting for their turn to be assessed. A narrow, long counter frames the top of the room, manned by a bunch of very serious-looking officials. Behind them sit seven identical men who instantaneously capture my attention.
Interest piqued, my eyes roam over their faces. I can’t detect any distinguishing features. They are the mirror image of one other: cropped black hair, red-rimmed tinted wireframe glasses, and strong angular noses and chins. Even their expressions are a carbon copy of one another—chin up, foreheads pinched in fierce concentration, and lips sealed tight.
Discreetly, I crush Jarod’s hand, subtly gesturing in their direction. His eyes are out on stalks. The commissioner is leading us across the room, talking in a showy imposing voice. My eyes browse the strange men at the back one final time. Suddenly, one looks up and catches my eye. Crunching fear whistles through me as I quickly look away. Dammit. I’m not supposed to be doing anything to draw attention to myself.
I stare straight ahead, as I automatically hasten my pace. The commissioner has reached the doorframe when a hand tugs on my sleeve. Oh, crap. “Excuse me, ma’am,” a heavily accented voice says. I don’t need to look up to know who it is. “Face forward please, ma’am.”
I briefly consider making a run for it, but there’s no way I would make it out of here undetected.
Squaring my shoulders, I attempt to ignore the roaring in my ears as I stubbornly stare at the stranger. He is one of the strange seven, most likely the one I was caught staring at. The lens of his glasses is strangely tinted, a reflective multi-colored glass over a dark base layer that shields his eyes completely. Tilting his head to the side, he stares at my face with weird intensity.
“Is there a problem?” the commissioner asks, approaching us.
“Not a problem, no,” he says without adjusting his probing gaze. “An anomaly is a more apt description.”
What? Why is that word becoming synonymous with me?
The commissioner inspects my nametag, and I have to fight to contain the trembling taking hold of me. “Your identity,” he snaps.
I’m preparing to answer him when the strange man responds first. “B6, sir.” He finally drags his gaze from mine and gives the commissioner his full attention.
“Well, B6. The chancellor is a visiting guest, and I don’t appreciate your scrutiny. Apologize and return to your station.”
You could knock me down such is the strength of my surprise.
“I apologize for any embarrassment, ma’am,” he says, hunching into the exact same half-bow Haydn does.
I compose myself before I speak. “Thank you.” I’m brusque, and he walks back to the desk.
“Let’s move on,” the commissioner says as if it’s nothing out of the ordinary.
Jarod falls into step beside me, shooting me a relieved look. I release an anxiety-laced breath.
Next up is the research center, and the commissioner hauls some clearly reluctant scientist to the top of the room, indulging in an obviously pre-staged Q & A session. Then we visit the medical center and watch as several men and women are subjected to a battery of tests.
The final room is the most interesting and most deplorable of all.
“Feast your eyes on our first-generation colony workers.” The commissioner’s chest swells with pride. I quell my nausea as we line up beside the other dignitaries in front of the glass observation panel. Groups of men and women, dressed in drab brown pants and shirts, feet bare, congregate at different workstations. The same glazed, vacant look coats every pair of eyes. I grasp Jarod’s hand as waterworks threaten to make an unwelcome appearance. “Every transitioned worker will spend two weeks undergoing trials to ensure their free will has been eradicated,” the commissioner verifies. “Allow me to demonstrate.”
He presses a button on the wall-mounted pad and speaks into the device. “Instruct that woman with the short dark hair at the front to face the observation wall and remove her top please.”
Jarod jerks, and I throw him a cautionary look.
A man in a crisp white uniform at the back steps toward the lady in question and repeats the command. The lady turns around, seeing but not se
eing us. Her jaw slouches as she sways ever so slightly on her feet. Lifting her shirt at the hem, she yanks it up and over her head, discarding it on the floor. She stands topless in front of us like a drugged-up mannequin. Guffaws and jeers surround us, and several men verbalize vile sexual suggestions. I resort to biting my tongue in an effort to dampen the escalating rage threatening to consume me. I peep up at Jarod. His jaw is taut and tense. Unintentionally, I peek at the woman standing on the other side of him. Shock and upset radiate from her moist eyes. We stare at each other, unspoken shared horror filling the space between us.
Harried footsteps approach, and I spin around, as a body slams hard against the door at the far end of the room. Everyone’s attention is diverted. A good-looking man bangs on the door screaming to be let in. He presses the keypad and fixes his mouth to the device. “Dania!” he screams over and over again. “I’m so sorry. I’ll fix this. I promise.”
Guards arrive, swarming the man. His arms are firmly secured behind his back as he attempts to lash out with both legs. All the while, he continues to scream out the girl’s name. Guards cuff him at the wrists and ankles, and he’s hoisted into the air as they prepare to cart him out of the room.
He cries out, thrashing about as they lead him away. My eyes settle on the black and silver watch on his wrist. Stretching up, I whisper in Jarod’s ear. “He’s Saven.”
Jarod’s surprised eyes meet mine.
“I apologize for that unpleasant incident,” the commissioner says, reclaiming our attention. “We are ready to move onto the next stage of the tour if you will follow me.” We shuffle behind the others as they leave the room in dribs and drabs. Without conscious thought, I look back into the observation room, instantly spotting the strawberry blonde-haired girl cowering behind a group in the corner. The instructors are busy so they don’t notice her.
But I do.
Anguished eyes meet mine as we stare at one another. Huge tears stream down her face, and she holds her torso as if she’s in the worst pain imaginable. I stop, pivoting around, wanting, no needing, to do something, anything, to help her. She subtly shakes her head and sets a finger to her lips. Panic widens her eyes as she silently pleads with me.
I nod in understanding. Placing a heavy hand over my heart, I mouth, “I’ll get help.”
She shakes her head again. “You can’t help me,” she mouths back. “No one can.”
CHAPTER 7
“You can’t help me. No one can.” The words reverberate through my brain on a continual loop as I sit on the transporter beside Jarod on the journey into the city. I barely recall eating lunch in the restaurant. All I could think about was that girl’s distressed expression and the hopelessness of her statement.
Sloping into Jarod’s warm body, I cling to his arm, desperately trying to ward off the shivery cold feeling rippling through me. As long as I live, I’ll never be able to erase today’s experience from my mind.
I’ve sat back for weeks while all this was going on.
I’ve let Logan and Haydn shelter and protect me while my fellow stars are being subjected to that.
I’m more than disgusted with myself. I feel like pummeling my fists into my skull, yanking my hair out by the roots, or letting loose the guttural wail that yearns to escape from the hidden depths of my very essence. I’ve let them down, and I hate myself for it.
Jarod holds himself stiffly beside me, and I know he’s trying hard to contain his rage. Commissioner Williams holds court at the top of the transporter, laughing and joking with his guests, as if what we’ve just witnessed isn’t the worst affront to mankind. Before, I used to think that those involved in this—like the president, the VP, and the commissioner—were being manipulated by the Saven into carrying out their nasty agenda.
But I’m no longer harboring those foolish notions. No one is manipulating the commissioner today. This is all on him. How I wish the rebels had asked me to assassinate him instead. I wouldn’t have any reluctance accepting that assignment or feel a shred of remorse for taking his life.
My thoughts flit back to the girl—Dania, I presume—and the Saven who is obviously her assigned mate. What was all that? She appeared to be fully in control of her faculties, and there was no telltale glaze over her eyes, so the conscience transfer mustn’t have worked in her case. But she didn’t look ill either. She didn’t look anything like Jenna looked those last few weeks.
So what’s their story? The only conclusion I can reach is that they didn’t have sex but somehow tricked the authorities into believing they had. But why? To serve what purpose when her life is going to follow the same path now anyway? It’s a puzzle I can’t solve. But that doesn’t mean I won’t try.
The transporter parks in the middle of the city, along the sidewalk, and we all pile out. The commissioner leads us to a small blue doorway and out through a darkened passageway into a more brightly lit corridor. “This is the hands-on part of the tour I promised you. I’ll leave you to wander around by yourself. We’ll reconvene back here in thirty minutes. The bar is complimentary—everything is in this city—so feel free to indulge. Though you might want to refrain from dancing with any Saven and avoid the smoke,” he says, chuckling.
Jarod’s face is severe as he looks down at me. “I need a couple of minutes in the restroom. Wait here.”
I’m standing alone in the corridor when he reappears a little while later. “Your brother is here,” he whispers in my ear. I slant a quizzical look in his direction. He carefully extracts a small black rectangular device from his pocket, and I can’t help smiling. I love Jarod’s “007” gadgets, and they’ve saved our butt on more than one occasion. “I’m monitoring their trackers. Your brother is inside somewhere, but your sister seems to be in one of the apartment blocks. She’s not going to be as easy to reach.”
“Let’s find Daveed,” I whisper, yanking on his arm. “He might be able to lead us to her.”
Two armed police stand guard outside the main room. Jarod retracts the heavy purple velvet curtain and steps into the room. I blink furiously as I try to make sense of the scene in front of me.
A massive dance floor occupies center stage in the space, packed full of writhing bodies. Music pumps out of wall-mounted speakers. Semi-naked male and female dancers bump and grind to the beat within elevated metal cages suspended over the crowd. A smoky haze hovers over the dance floor like an errant cloud.
Jarod takes hold of my hand as he edges closer. Men and women dance provocatively as mouths and bodies melt together in sync with the rhythm. Each couple is swaddled in their own little bubble, apparently oblivious to their surroundings.
Jarod maneuvers clear of the dance floor, heading for the bar positioned at the very back of the room. Clusters of booths and low tables fill the area in between. Everywhere I look, I see couples. Either in solitude or socializing in a larger group. But always in pairs. I can’t find a single person on their own.
My eyes flit to the edge of the room and the dark alcoves tucked covertly into the corners. Men and women writhe against each other, kissing and groping, some semi-dressed, some engaged in obvious sexual acts. I divert my eyes, not wishing to see any more naked flesh, when a memorable laugh reaches my ears. I pivot around in the direction of the sound.
Daveed is draped around a girl in one of the alcoves, his tongue tracing a line from her neck to the swell of her breast. I swallow my distaste and tug Jarod’s hand. “Over there,” I whisper. “That’s my brother.”
“Eh,” Jarod says, rubbing the back of his neck. “You sure you want to interrupt him right now?”
“We don’t have time to wait for the appropriate moment. He hates my guts anyway, so no time will ever be the right time.”
Glancing around to ensure no one is watching us, I steer Jarod over to the alcove. My brother’s head is now buried in the brunette’s chest, and she’s moaning explicitly. I shove my discomfort aside. “Daveed.” He ignores me. “Daveed.” I say it much louder this time, and I tap him on th
e shoulder.
Wrenching his head up, he stares at me in undisguised irritation. “Go away,” he sneers before returning his attention to his mate.
“I’m not going anywhere until you speak to me.” I overlap my arms and glare at him.
Reluctantly, he straightens up, stowing the girl under the crook of his arm. “Sorry, darling. Give me a few minutes to get rid of this nuisance.” Jarod flinches at my side. “What do you want”—he leans forward and reads my nametag—“Chancellor Quinn.”
Shoot, I’d forgotten about my disguise. I chew on my lip, pondering what to do. If this doesn’t go well, Daveed could easily turn me in, but we came here to get them out, so I’ll just have to take that chance. “It’s me, Daveed. Sadie.”
His eyes widen. “Bullshit. Who are you and what do you want?”
“It is me, Daveed.” I flit through my memories for something he might recall. “Remember that time when I was eight and you shoved me down three flights of stairs as an experiment to see if I broke any bones? Or the time when I was thirteen and you thought it would be fun to lock your friend in the bathroom while I was showering?”
Jarod glowers at my brother. Daveed’s sneer contorts his face into a familiar expression. Jarod takes a step forward, and I yank on his arm, shaking my head. Daveed steps forward until he’s toe-to-toe with Jarod. “You got something to say?”
“Plenty,” Jarod grits out.
“Stop. We don’t have time for this. We came here to get you and Ella out of this place, and we need to make plans.” My eyes scout the room to ensure we haven’t attracted attention.
Daveed barks out a bitter laugh. “One, I don’t want to leave. Why would I?” He fixes a sleazy smirk on his mouth. Winking at the girl beside him, he squeezes her butt. My lips purse in disgust. “And two, if I did want to leave, you’d be the last person I’d leave with. So skedaddle, we’re done.” He clinches the girl.
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