by Melissa West
I lean forward and kiss him, letting his body warm mine. Heat rises between us and I wonder when he’ll pull away, but he doesn’t stop.
He lays me on the blanket, his body pressed against mine, his lips enveloping mine in a fit of passion that causes my skin to tingle from my head to my toes. “Will you stay with me tonight? Out here?” he says, pulling away to look at me.
I nod and Jackson slides down so that we’re side by side on the blanket. He kisses me again and then closes his eyes. His breath is heavy but soon it slows to a peaceful rhythm. I close my eyes, drifting off.
Then the dream finds me.
I’m alone in lab three, watching as Ryden’s body jerks and spasms. No one will know if I release him. I can do it. I can save him. But I don’t. Instead, I watch as he slowly begins to die. Then I catch sight of my reflection against the steel wall across from me. My skin is golden, like the sun rises through my skin, bronze and beautiful…then fear eats into my mind. I’m an Ancient. As soon as I think the words, the door behind me opens, and Dad walks in with a gun in his hand. He shakes his head, his lips pursed, and then he shoots me in the head.
CHAPTER 22
I sneak into my house at four a.m., beyond exhausted. Mom is an early riser, so I knew if I waited too long I risked running into her…and being locked in my room for the rest of my life. She used to sneak into my room when I was little just to watch me sleep. I would wake up to find her sitting beside me on my bed, but when I would ask her why she came she would always say just to make sure. I never knew what she meant, but now I wonder if she was making sure I survived the night.
I have no clue what time Jackson and I fell asleep, but I know nightmares stole my dreams. He must think I’m a terrible sleeper. Though he’d sleep terribly, too, if his dad shot him in the head. I shake the image from my mind and climb into my bed, allowing myself another few minutes of sleep before I get ready.
Big mistake.
I wake twenty minutes late, missing the first tron. Mom bursts into my room just as I’m setting my alarm clock back on my nightstand. “Are you feeling okay? You have training today. You need to get going.”
“Training. You mean this afternoon?”
“No,” she says. “Didn’t you read your messages last night? Your father authorized early Operative training. You’re supposed to be there at eight this morning.”
I jump out of bed and race to my bathroom. “Can you pull out my training clothes?”
“Sure, but I can message your father.”
“No, no, no! I’ll be ready in ten.”
Fifteen minutes later, I’m out the door and running to the tron. I slide onto it seconds before the doors close and drop into a seat, my chest pounding. I can’t be late for my first training. This is unbelievable. I crack my knuckles, each joint one by one, my mind distant. I wonder if Jackson knows to show—or if he’ll even be asked to after what happened with Dad. I wonder if Gretchen will act weird. I wonder, if I do well, whether she’ll think it’s because I’m part Ancient. And maybe she’d be right.
The tron stops at Business Park and I’m off, running down the auto-path without another thought. I fidget for my keycard at the door but slam to a halt when I get inside. I have no clue where to go. The training room is a keycard-only access zone. My keycard isn’t coded for training yet…or is it? I step into the elevator and press the third floor. When the elevator stops, I turn and slide my keycard through the scanner on the back wall. Instantly, the doors open and once again I’m overlooking the training room.
“Alexander,” the head Operative calls out. “You’re late! Get down here before I drop you from training.”
I fall into line beside Gretchen, Jackson to her left, and Marcus beside him. The rest of the thirty or so people in the room are strangers. I had forgotten we wouldn’t train alone. Trainees are chosen from around the country. All schools offer F.T. training, though most don’t have the resources to test properly. I’m not the smallest girl, but I’m definitely not the largest. Depending upon our training today, I might leave bruised and bleeding.
The training room isn’t what I remembered. There are no longer four stations. Instead, one large station occupies the majority of the room, blocked off by four steel beams with rope draping from beam to beam. At the opposite side of the station from us is a large T-screen.
The Operative motions to the screen and then to the tables that line the station. There are four large black boxes on each of six tables. “You can call me Terrence. Today, you will learn how to shoot every legal weapon known to mankind…and a few that aren’t yet legal. The T-screen allows you to advance from a still target to a moving target. I expect you all to master this skill to prevent dead bodies. Understand?”
Dead bodies. I wonder if he means us or other people. Either way it doesn’t sound good. Terrence walks to each of the tables, clicking open all the boxes. From this distance, I can only see the first two tables. Both are stocked with handguns. All training guns have a switch that transfers the weapon from practice to lethal. Hence the T-screen. Practice mode utilizes lasers. Lethal mode uses lasers only for sighting and otherwise uses traditional ammunition—whatever is appropriate for the weapon.
“There are thirty-five of you,” Terrence says. “The T-screen behind us will separate into seven sections. I have you in five rows of seven. The first person in each line will take a gun from the first table, fire until you hit the moving target, and then circle to the back of the line when the screen flashes. Remember, if your aim’s bad you’re going to rile the ones behind you. So I suggest you figure it out fast. You must successfully use a weapon from each box before you can leave today. Get started!” He struts over to a chair against the left wall, smirking as he walks. I’m guessing he’s seen everything in this training and is anxious to see which of us makes an idiot of ourselves.
Thankfully, I’m well trained with most weapons. I shot my first gun when I was ten. I remember how heavy it felt in my small hands, how Dad pushed me to shoot again and again until my arms ached from holding it up. It took me weeks of hour-long practices every day to hit the target. I still have that gun, tucked away in my gun cabinet right now. Something about mastering your first weapon is like a rite of passage, so Dad let me keep it. I was so proud that day, until he brought in the next weapon and the next, each more complicated than the last. That training went on for years, but it left me with impeccable aim. Ancient or not, I should do well today.
The four of us from my school stand first in line along with a tall guy with long black hair beside me. He glances over and smiles. “Alexander, huh? The commander’s daughter. We’ll see if that heritage proves anything today.” He steps up to the table and grabs a handgun. I do the same, ignoring his jab. I widen my stance, feel the weight of the gun in my hand, and wait for the T-screen to click on. A grid appears on the screen with a black target in the center. I count to five, click the release, and shoot. A mark appears in the center of the target. The screen switches to a person walking across the street with a target over his head. I shoot again, and the screen switches to a bird flying through the air at absurd speeds for a bird. It flies across the screen and back. I study it, timing its flight, and then shoot a second before the bird comes back into the screen. My section of the T-screen flashes, and I circle to the back of my line.
Jackson is already done and smiles over at me. “Great job,” he says.
“You, too,” I say, smiling back.
Gretchen steps into line behind me, bouncing with excitement. She’s a good shot so I knew she’d do well. Seconds later, Marcus and the black-haired guy finish. I thought their times were slow until the second group starts. None of them can hit the still target.
“Locke,” Terrence calls. “Go demonstrate before we all fall asleep.”
“Yes, sir,” Jackson says, making his way to the front of the line. He shows them first how to stand, then how to hold the gun, how to sight in the target (with and without a laser sight). Within a f
ew minutes, he has all of them through the sequence. I expect him to step back in line, but instead he stays, helping the next group and the next until it’s our turn again.
Gretchen edges toward me. “Are you all right?”
“Much better, thanks to you.” I smile up at her, hoping she knows how much it meant to me that she didn’t trip out last night. I expected her to be a little uneasy around Jackson, but so far she’s acted normal. I would say it speaks to our friendship, but really it speaks to her ability as an Operative. She’s able to hide emotion better than anyone I know. I just hope she isn’t hiding her true feelings from me. I’m sure I’d notice. Besides, even if she were worried or afraid, she’d never put me at risk by telling anyone.
The next hour goes faster than the first. We switch from handguns to assault rifles to sniper rifles and every type of gun in between. Terrence walks over when we get to the final table. “The last set of tables contains a new, experimental weapon. This is classified information. If anyone leaks this…well, you can imagine what will happen. The first group,” he orders.
We go to the tables and pull out silver guns that resemble rifles, though smaller and definitely lighter. I balance the gun in my hand, getting a feel for its weight, and step over to my spot. The gun is light, but it must be powerful. I remember Dad’s Newton lesson from years ago—every action has an equal and opposite reaction. Whatever force comes out of this gun will recoil back at me, and I’d hate to embarrass myself by screaming or, worse, falling backward.
I wait for one of the others to fire first. Jackson shoots; there’s a red blur and then a flash on the T-screen. A hush goes over the room. All guns propel the ammo fast, but this is something else. A laser gun—no ammunition at all. This thing fires at invisible speeds, no doubt created for use against the Ancients.
I place my feet shoulder-width apart and bend my knees a touch. My finger curls around the trigger and bam! The recoil causes me to stumble back, but that isn’t what causes me to stare at the gun in awe. My hands tingle as though I’ve just been shocked. The others sense it, too, and, like me, stare at their guns. Jackson keeps firing. He seems determined, angry. He hits target after target, and then drops his arm, the gun dangling by his side. He tosses the weapon back in its box and marches to the back of the line. Terrence walks over and says something to him, and then Jackson leaves the room.
I turn back to my station and fire the gun again and again until I’ve hit all my targets. My fingertips feel electrocuted by the time I’m done. Terrence walks over to me after I’ve returned the gun. “Great job, Alexander. Your father would be proud. You can report back to school.”
I guess that’s what he told Jackson, too. I exit the training room and find him leaning against a wall. “You know what they’re doing, don’t you?” he asks.
“Yeah,” I say. Parliament knows the Ancients will attack. Early training can only mean they plan to be ready. Everyone in that room was seventeen, just like me, and we’re about to be sent into a war. Soldiers. That’s what we are.
“I’m tired,” I say, leaning against him.
“We have a few hours before your training with Cybil,” Jackson says. “Want to skip class? There are only two left now anyway.”
Ten minutes later, we’re on the tron to Market District, the only section of Sydia where items can be purchased in person instead of ordered. It’s quaint, but some of my best childhood memories happened there. Law, Gretchen, and I used to roam the District begging the shopkeepers for candy or toys or whatever.
Jackson takes my hand as we step off the tron, and instantly my mind relaxes. He makes me feel strong, like I’m more than just Commander Alexander’s daughter. Living in Dad’s shadow isn’t easy. I’ll never be good enough at anything I do. I’ll never be viewed as an individual, capable of greatness of my own doing. Everything I do for the rest of my life will be judged, logged away, and then compared to how my dad would have done it.
We reach the corner of the District, and Jackson’s face pales. He pulls me to the side of Decadent Desserts—my favorite bakery—just as President Cartier and her entourage march past us. Jackson sags against the composite brick, inching down until he sits on the ground.
“Are you okay?”
“Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Your mom just walked by. She didn’t say hi or ask how your day is or even glance your way. It’s okay to be upset about that, to care.”
“Why should I care?” He jumps up. “She sent me away, ditched me. What am I supposed to make of that? Not love, definitely no love coming from the Cartiers.” He kicks the wall, dislodging a brick, then picks up the brick and chucks it down the alleyway.
“Hey.” I tug his sleeve so he’s forced to look at me. “Maybe she wishes she knew you. Maybe she’s forced to not see you or talk to you. Maybe it wasn’t her decision. You don’t know that she ditched you. You don’t know that she doesn’t love you.”
“Whatever, it doesn’t matter. I’m not allowed to see her anyway.”
“Says who?”
“The people who run my life, that’s who,” he says, tugging his hair. “Let’s talk about something else.”
“I have a better idea,” I say. “Let’s walk around the shops and get desserts and candy. Want to?”
A few minutes later, we stroll down the street toward the park, ice-cream cones in hand. Of course nothing about them is real. It’s synthetic sweets, but it tastes so similar that I can’t really tell the real from the fake. I’ve had them a zillion times. Mom’s a dessert addict. But Jackson inhales the thing so quickly I can only assume he’s never had one. I want to ask but feel rude pointing out something that might make him sad again. Law has definitely had ice cream, synthetic and the real stuff. He’s experienced all of this and gets his mom. It must be hard for Jackson, whether he admits it or not.
The park is covered in trees, real trees, their leaves orange and red and yellow. I love fall. I love how the world around me changes into color, like a fantasy world or something.
“This is nothing. You should see Loge.”
“It’s like this?”
“It’s full of color and life all year round. You would like it, I think.”
“Tell me about it.”
Jackson stretches back on the bench, his face disappearing into thought. “There are less of us than there are of you on Earth. We have a school system like you, though, and a work system, but Logians can choose their future jobs. We don’t force it the way you do here.”
My instinct wants to argue his point. It isn’t that we force jobs, it’s that we place according to skill set and need at the time, but I know those are Dad’s words ingrained in me instead of my own, so I stay quiet, wondering if we are really as bad as Jackson sees us or if his kind has instilled his mindset, very much like ours has mine.
“Most,” he continues, “go into knowledge or agriculture. Government is trickier and as we’re a peaceful species by nature, no one wants to join the military. Zeus complains about it all the time.”
I tilt my head. “And what about your family?”
He stiffens. “What would you like to know?”
“Well, to start, what do they do for work? Are they military like you? I’m guessing RESs are considered military.”
He weighs the question for a long time. “I guess you could say a mix of all four.” Then he taps his watch. “It’s almost time for training. We better head over.”
“So does that mean my dad asked you to come back? I was worried you wouldn’t show to Op training, that he would take you out of the program altogether.”
“No, I received the same message you did about early training, so I showed. As for today, I don’t know. You could say he summoned me. Not sure what he wants.”
I sigh. That could be good or really, really bad. We make our way back through the park and are almost to the tron when I turn on Jackson, stopping him before he can take another step.
“You know,�
�� I say, my voice filled with sugary goodness. “You’re not getting out of this. I’m going to learn about your family whether you like it or not.”
“I know,” he says. “That’s what I’m afraid of.”
CHAPTER 23
Jackson doesn’t talk, not really, the entire way from the tron to Dad’s office. He comments on the weather, the tron, whatever to avoid the conversation about his family. Something tells me whatever secret lies with his family is bad. Maybe I don’t want to know.
The elevator doors open to Cybil already waiting for me in the atrium.
“You’re late,” she says and taps her watch. But I’m ten minutes early. “I expect punctuality for all training. And you.” She glances at Jackson. “He’s waiting in his office.”
Her tone, especially for Cybil, seems formal. I follow her to the Chemist elevator, giving Jackson my best supportive smile as I go. I try not to worry over what Dad wants or what he might say, but still my chest feels tight and I know it won’t relax until I see Jackson again and know everything is okay.
The elevator doors close, and Cybil turns to me, excited. “Wait until you see our latest development.”
Okay…talk about a mood change. “What is it?”
“Oh, you’ll see, but keep it to yourself. Your dad doesn’t want this one leaking.”
My insides sour. This is it. I feel it in my gut. I think of the room of us today, strong but so young, going into war against a species that even our most trained can’t stand against. I can’t let this happen.
We reach the Chemist door, and Cybil types in her code. It’s past five. The halls loom dark, with nothing but recess lights to guide our path. Lab three shines brightly again today, but as we near it, I realize two others are lit as well. Thirty or more Chemists work busily in each lab, all of them watching over glass rooms similar to three’s. Cybil calls them testing chambers. I guess that sounds more professional, and less barbaric, than calling them what they are—cages.