by Fonda Lee
All thirty-five teenage exos dropped immediately into plank position on the rocky ground, armor completely lowered. Donovan gasped. Pulling his exocel down was like plunging into an icy lake: the freezing wind struck his bare skin like a full-body slap. Within seconds, his arms were shaking. Next to him, he could hear Amrita’s teeth chattering violently.
“Soldiers-in-erze are always true to their oaths. They always obey orders. And they always stay with their erze mates.” Commander Li’s boots strode up and down the line through Donovan’s field of view. “Each of you tested as having the physical qualities, intelligence, and character required to be a soldier-in-erze. But that is not enough. Every year our erze master spends weeks traveling the world to conduct erze selections. He looks for something more: a willingness to consider the erze above the individual, to place others ahead of yourself.”
Donovan dug his bare fingers into the ground and bit the inside of his cheek, trying to distract himself with pain. The strain of not allowing his exocel to rise was unbearable, but if Commander Li saw any panotin on their backs, they’d be here even longer.
“You will run the course every day until you succeed. Together, or not at all. You will carry your erze mates on your backs if need be,” Commander Li declared. His boots came to a halt not far from Donovan’s head. The vast and harshly beautiful steppe stretched in every direction so that it seemed the exos were atop the world and alone in it, save for one another.
“The erze has existed since before we humans came to be, and now it connects all of us who carry these markings on our hands,” Commander Li said. “It will always be there for you, and as long as you live, you will serve and obey the erze.”
“Here’s what we’re looking at: high-alert patrol protocols, rotating double shifts, and mission-ready status at all times. Extra security around all Liaison Office locations, Hardening facilities, and erze-marked neighborhoods and businesses. Your comm stays on and attached to your body every minute of every day. Try to help out the non-Hardened reservists—we’re bringing on every one we’ve got. As of this morning, Congress has declared a national state of emergency, so as soldiers-in-erze you have the right to overrule any civilian police who get in your way if it means upholding the Accord.”
Commander Tate’s announcements in the briefing hall were met with stoic acceptance. With last week’s failure of the West America Future Summit, the country was threatening to descend into chaos. The rest of the world seemed not far behind. Everyone in the room expected their workloads and hours to shoot through the roof.
The shocking execution of an undercover SecPac agent in front of millions of viewers had done exactly what Kevin must’ve intended: completely derailed the transition talks. It had also emboldened True Sapience—in the following days, SecPac received hundreds of reports of violence against Hardened and erze-marked citizens. The public outcry had been fierce on all sides: some accused SecPac of encouraging violence with its aggressive tactics and brutal destruction of the Warren; others said it didn’t go far enough to combat terrorism. The President, the Prime Liaison, numerous politicians, and even some leaders of the Human Action Party had been quick to condemn Jonathan’s murder. Saul Strong Winter remained noticeably silent.
Donovan understood why: Too many of Saul’s followers were also supporters of Kevin Warde. Saul couldn’t afford to alienate his Sapience base. Cooperationists seized on the weakness at once, demanding the government refuse any further dealings with the HAP unless it took a public stand against violent extremism. Instead, the Human Action Party delegation had walked out of the Future Summit and left the Round. Saul’s statement had been terse. “There’s no point in attempting a discussion when we’re being treated like criminals.”
“They are criminals,” Thad pointed out. They’d watched the departure of the three green SUVs from Gate 2 in helpless frustration. Commander Tate had argued ferociously to detain and question the entire HAP delegation regarding the whereabouts of Kevin Warde, but the Liaison Office had guaranteed the delegates political immunity for the duration of the summit and there was nothing SecPac could do. “I’ll bet you anything someone in those vans knows where Warde is right now,” Jet muttered. “And Nakada too. And they’re driving right out of here.”
Donovan hadn’t managed to catch even a glimpse of Anya through the SUV’s tinted windows as she’d exited his life. Again. This time, he couldn’t bring himself to hope that there would be another meeting between them, and he realized with dull surprise that he wasn’t sure he wanted one. Anya too must’ve watched Kevin murder the man they both knew as Brett. Had she felt the horror Donovan had felt, watching a stripe killed on screen by the man who’d nearly done the same to him? Or was Anya—ever loyal to that bloodthirsty psychopath—only concerned for Kevin’s safety now, worried about him being caught?
Last night, one of Donovan’s old nightmares had returned, but it was different this time. Usually, he was tied up and being tortured, but in the new version, Donovan was the one setting up the video camera, sweating under Kevin’s watchful eye while Jonathan struggled, terrified, against the restraints that bound him to the chair in the concrete room. “Help me,” Jonathan begged.
A hand went up in the front row of the briefing hall. “Commander,” asked Claudius, “what’s going to happen now that the Human Action Party’s walked away from the talks?”
“Damned if anyone knows,” Tate replied. “Before the withdrawal announcement, the HAP was gaining mainstream support as a legitimate political party. A lot of their members are moderates who want species equality and political change, but not for the zhree to be actually gone, and not violent revolution or anarchy. Now they’re stuck between a rock and a hard place. Do they support the government they’ve opposed or join up with True Sapience?” Tate snorted. “While the armchair political analysts are mulling it over, we have to be prepared for the worst.”
“The worst has been pretty solid about delivering lately,” Leon muttered.
Tate took off her glasses and swept a slow gaze around the crowded briefing room. “All right. Let’s address the burning question on every one of your minds. The evacuation plan.”
The rest of the room went entirely silent. Tate said, “Here’s what Soldier Werth has been able to tell me so far: The zhree will evacuate ninety thousand humans with them as part of the drawdown. It might be more than that, but ninety thousand is the initial goal, divided across three equally sized groups. Incidentally, that’s how many people will comfortably fit on three Quasar-class transport ships, after accounting for zhree crew.”
It seemed as if no one in the room was breathing. Donovan’s stomach was in knots. Every eye was on Tate as she went on. “The time line isn’t firmed up yet, but they’re discussing one ship launch per year, over the next three years. The first ship will draw from the jurisdictions of Rounds One through Six, the second from Rounds Seven through Thirteen, the third from Rounds Fourteen through Twenty, to ensure a cross section of humanity in each group.”
Ninety thousand people from eighteen Rounds (not counting the long-extinct Rounds Nine and Sixteen, destroyed in the War Era) across the entire world. Donovan did the quick math: five thousand people from each Round. In Round Three alone there were over five hundred thousand erze-marked people. The evacuation plan would apply to less than one percent of humans-in-erze, to say nothing of the five billion unmarked humans out there.
Commander Tate consulted her notes. “Evacuees will be selected by each erze, the goal being to form a well-balanced population of exos of reproductive age.” That made the odds far better for those in the room. “There’ll be a rolling process until the quota is filled; the first wave of selections from Round Three will be made by the end of July.”
“What about family members?” Lucius called.
“If they’re Hardened, you can submit a family petition. If one member of the family is selected for evacuation, the others will be bumped up to priority consideration for the next round. No
allowances will be made for non-Hardened relatives.”
Worried and despairing murmurs began rising. Donovan glanced at his partner. Jet’s expression was grim. The two of them and most of their close friends were young, Hardened, and healthy—they stood a good chance of being selected. As for their families—Jet’s mom was an exo, but his dad wasn’t. Neither of Vic’s parents were Hardened, and neither were Leon’s.
“Some of us have spouses or kids who aren’t exos,” Emmanuel pointed out angrily. “If those are the rules we’re being given, then we can’t leave, even if we’re selected.”
“After the notices are sent, you’ll have ten days to accept or decline,” Tate said. “If you decline, you must explain your extenuating circumstances. Your spot will go to someone else.”
Donovan’s dread deepened, then sharpened into angry, burning conviction. The evacuation was wrong, all of it. It was going to divide the erze. It would tear families apart.
“We should turn down all the spots.” He spoke louder than he’d intended to, and everyone in the room turned. Commander Tate peered at him over the tops of her glasses, her stare laser sharp. Donovan swallowed at the sudden attention.
“That would mean giving up all our spots to exos in other erze,” Ariadne said.
“Once the zhree leave and Sapience takes over, it’s going to be the Dark Ages around here,” Tennyson exclaimed hotly. “We’ve already seen the beginning of that. Those who can leave ought to do it—they’ll be safer on any planet besides this one.”
Even after Donovan had woken sweating from his nightmare, Brett/Jonathan’s face remained stuck in his mind, as did the man’s final words to him: Please catch him for me. There was nothing Donovan could’ve done, yet he still felt as if he’d failed in the worst possible way. The undercover agent had given up everything, including his identity and maybe his sanity, for SecPac, and never been properly recognized for it. He’d saved Donovan’s life, and Donovan had not been able to do the same in return. Instead, he’d suspected the agent of being a traitor.
The thought made him queasy with guilt. Jonathan had been a squishy; he would never have been offered evacuation under Soldier Gur’s criteria, but he’d been as much a soldier-in-erze as any of them, if not more. He should’ve been better protected. He shouldn’t have died that way.
Donovan stepped away from the wall he’d been leaning on. “If the zhree take away the younger, fitter exos in the Soldier erze, it’ll gut SecPac. We’re already running at full throttle with everyone we’ve got. If a bunch of us leave this year, what happens to those who stay?” Uncomfortable silence; he’d gotten their attention now. “And what about all the civilians we’ve sworn to protect—the ones who don’t have any choice but to stay? If civilization falls and True Sapience unleashes a rampage of vengeance on marked people, it really will be the Dark Ages, like Tenny said. If we evacuate with the zhree, who’s going to be here to stop it?”
He was gathering momentum now. His face was hot and his armor was crawling up his chest and neck, but the murmurs of agreement that had begun to rise in the room made him even more certain that this was something that needed to be said. “Soldier Gur and the homeworlders—they’re covering their asses with this evacuation plan. So long as they save some humans, they don’t care what happens to Earth after they’re gone. But we’re stripes. We hold true to oaths and we stay together. Isn’t that what we’ve always been taught?”
“Are you quite done, Reyes?” Commander Tate asked. “Or would you like to come up here to the front of the room and finish the briefing for me?”
“No, ma’am,” Donovan said, his face burning even hotter now.
Tate’s face went through a number of small indecisive contortions before settling into a more typical scowl. “We can all appreciate those sentiments,” she said, her tone relenting. “But this is too unusual a situation and too personal a decision. Some of you have relatives whom you can get to safety with the family petition if you take your spots. Some of you aren’t going to want to leave Earth no matter what. Erze is everything, but with the Soldiers preparing to withdraw, it’s not clear where the erze stands now.” The twitch of Tate’s cheek showed how much it pained her to make such an unprecedented admission. “I’m not going to tell any of you what you ought to do if you’re selected for evacuation. If Soldier Werth has something more to say about it, we’ll hear it from him soon enough.”
Donovan slouched against the wall, trying to blend back into the periphery of the crowd. Challenging Commander Tate in this forum wasn’t as cringeworthy as his outburst in front of the zhree zun, but still—no exo could easily stomach being at odds with erze authority. Donovan’s fellow soldiers-in-erze were shooting quick glances in his direction, as if expecting more from him, but he had nothing else to say.
“That’s all for now,” Commander Tate said. “Back to work, stripes.”
Two days later, Donovan received a message instructing him to report to Soldier Werth in the Towers after his patrol shift ended. “I think I’m in trouble,” he told Jet.
“For what?” His partner frowned. “Soldier Werth wouldn’t dress you down just for getting opinionated in that briefing, would he? Have you done something else to piss him off?”
“I’m not sure,” Donovan admitted. “But every time someone wants to talk to me alone, it’s never good news.” He squinted at a blue car that had been parked for too long on the other side of the street across from the erze application center he and Jet had been guarding all morning. “I’m going to tell them to move along.”
Jet nodded, moving to a position where he could see Donovan and the vehicle while still keeping an eye on the front of the building. Donovan crossed the street. The driver of the car was a skinny blond man in his early twenties. He didn’t appear to be doing anything besides drinking a soda and looking at a screen. Donovan rapped on the window. The driver rolled it down a third of the way.
“You can’t park here,” Donovan said. “You need to move your car.”
“Sure. Sure, Officer.” The driver’s voice was sugary with false respect. Donovan’s eyes slid past him and landed on the man and woman sitting in the rear seat. A fumbled movement with a small object, a flash of apprehensive guilt on the woman’s face, and Donovan’s suspicion bloomed into instant certainty.
“Get out, all of you,” he commanded.
Instead of obeying, the driver lunged forward and started the car. Donovan’s left arm shot through the half-open window and his armored fingers locked around the man’s chin in a vise grip, pinning his head back against the headrest of the seat. Donovan drew his sidearm with his right hand and pointed it through the window at the couple in the back. “Out.”
Jet was there in an instant, yanking the couple from the car and ordering them onto the asphalt. The driver’s face turned red as he gurgled and struggled. Donovan tightened his armored grip. “Keep that up and you could really hurt yourself. Take your hands off the wheel and hold them up where I can see them.” The man’s eyes darted wildly with anger and fear, but he stopped flailing and did as he was told. Donovan had him open the front door and get out slowly, then lie down on his stomach next to the others.
“Where is it?” Donovan demanded. He turned off the vehicle’s ignition and began searching the car while Jet patted down the three conspirators. “Get your hands off me!” the woman protested shrilly. “This is SecPac harassment.”
“You know what’s actual harassment?” Donovan slid his hands under the seats. “Taking photos of people going in and out of government buildings and posting them for Sapience to build a public hit list.” He rummaged through the glove compartment. “Or should I say True Sapience? It’s hard to keep track of what you sapes are calling yourselves from day to day now.”
“Found it,” Jet said. He pulled out a small black device from the woman’s pocket and held it up, then tossed it to Donovan, who examined it.
“That’s from my vacation,” the woman insisted.
“H
ow long have you been a sape?” Jet asked her. “I’m guessing not long, since you don’t seem to know when it’s better to keep your mouth shut.”
“You do get some credit for having a proper camera,” said Donovan, turning the object in his hands. “Stripped down to minimal functionality, disposable, untraceable, and tracking disabled. Nothing to link you to any photos you post or any crimes that might occur as a result of you posting them. Good job.”
“You can’t arrest us for taking photos on a public street,” the blond man said.
That was true. An identity search did not turn up prior records, and they weren’t carrying any weapons on them or in the car. There was nothing to connect them directly to Sapience. There was a solid chance they weren’t bona fide sapes, just supporters or simple opportunists. A number of Sapience and Sapience-affiliated sites posted photographs and identifying information about people who were erze marked so they could be targeted. Some of the sites paid contributors. With the prospect of a reckoning day approaching, the demand for information ferreting out all the traitors had spiked dramatically.
The photographers earned themselves permanent profiles in the SecPac database. Donovan stood vigilant watch while his partner did the saliva swab and fingerprinting on each of the trio; Jet always got those honors because he was the more intimidating one and better at ensuring cooperation when the need arose. They confiscated all electronic devices in addition to the disposable camera, just to be on the safe side, then sent the three squishies away with the promise that a second encounter would land them in a SecPac detention facility.
The line at the front of the building had grown to a dozen people, all waiting for the office to reopen after lunch break. The Liaison Office operated three erze application centers in the area; this one on the south side of the Ring Belt was the busiest one. A couple of days ago, a truck full of Sapience sympathizers had driven by and peppered the bulletproof windows with gunfire (Lucius and Tennyson had tracked down the perpetrators later that night), but the threat of violence apparently hadn’t dissuaded the applicants. Jet paced away to survey the block from the street corner at the far end of the queue.