Surrender

by Elana Johnson

  “Oh?” I asked. “You were expecting something different? After-hours frozen yogurt, maybe?”

  “No—”

  “Maybe a projection?” I continued before he could fully protest. “We could’ve caught the latest propaganda flick in the Entertainment Rise. I hear they serve vitamin water and don’t issue dietary citations when you drink too much.”

  Gunn’s cheeks colored, adding to his boyish charm. I immediately wished I hadn’t teased him into such a strong reaction. That fluttery tingle zipped along my extremities, unwelcome and thrilling at the same time.

  “Sorry, I—”

  “It’s fine,” he said roughly. “I don’t know what I was expecting.”

  I didn’t know what to say to erase this new awkwardness between us. Luckily, I didn’t have to suffer long; Gunn settled down on his board with his arms folded behind his head.

  “’Night, Hightower.”

  Sexy.

  I chased that thought away real fast, wishing I had something witty to say in return.

  * * *

  Dawn took a long time coming. I’d never slept on a hoverboard, and what happened that night could hardly be classified as sleep. Gunn tossed and turned, and his high-tech wonder adjusted to everything. An alarm sounded just as the sky started to lighten. An on-board wake-up call.

  I hated him for a moment when I realized how much I wanted that hoverboard. Then he opened his eyes and found me staring. He grinned, and my hatred melted into something wrong. A smile.

  The kind I should only give to my match, if my match and I were more than best friends.

  I folded my mouth into a frown and nodded at his hoverboard. “Do you have breakfast in that thing too?”

  “You didn’t tell me I’d need breakfast.”

  “Yeah, well.”

  “You’d think you had a voice, the way you keep information to yourself.” He sounded beyond irritated. That crease in his forehead only appeared when he was annoyed.

  “You’re on a need-to-know basis until we’re secure.”

  He stood up, straightening his backpack and rubbing his hands together to ward off the early-morning chill. “We’ve been floating seven hundred feet above the ground for hours. How much more secure do we need to be?”

  “You don’t need to know that,” I quipped. I tried to get to my feet too, but the combo of my stiff joints and the lame regulation hoverboard almost made me take another nosedive.

  “I could make you tell me,” he threatened, a sparkle in his eyes.

  I brushed my hands on my pants after I finally regained my balance. “You could. But you won’t.”

  Incoming Enforcement Officers, a male voice came over my cache. It sounded too low to be Trek, but before I could register who it belonged to, my watch beeped. We needed to exit this airspace, quick.

  “Incoming EOs. And check-in for new recruits is in twenty minutes. Let’s fly.” I nosed my board toward the ground. Two seconds later my watch beeped again. I frowned even as dread settled over me.

  Then my watch beeped a third time. A fourth. The beeps became one steady alarm. Dammit. “Try to—”

  “Enforcement Officer nine-seven-one-two,” a voice boomed above me in the sky. “Open both eyes as wide as you can.” A man wearing a silver suit descended slowly, his hoverboard emblazoned with the symbol of the Association: the olive branch.

  A red laser bloodied the murky morning light. An iris recognizer.

  “What’s the charge?” I kept my eyes trained on my boots. Gunner hovered nearby, his fists and his jaw clenched.

  “Stolen property,” the EO said, his voice filled with flint.

  When I looked up, I expected to find him glaring at my low-class hoverboard, but he had his eyes glued to Gunner.

  Gunner

  7.

  I met Trek Whiting when we were thirteens. That year we both applied for extra flying hours. We’d both been approved.

  We saw each other on the hoverboard track every day. He had decent skills. Speed? Not a problem. His parents worked in the Tech Development Rise. They had tons of hookups. His board was as tricked out as they come.

  His balance? Superb.

  His training ethic? Unmatched.

  No, his biggest problem was the bulk of his shoulders.

  I’d fixed that for him when I showed him how to contort his body into a more aerodynamic shape. I’d only told him because my transmissions droned on and on about sportsmanship, and I’d felt guilty.

  We’d become friends by then anyway. We were fifteens, eligible for the flight trials, and two of the best upcoming flyers in Freedom.

  Enforcement Officers began to monitor our training, recording their observations for our possible recruitment to the squad.

  Trek found the idea of becoming an EO unappealing but, secretly, I thought there’d be nothing better. As an officer, I could (a) fly without restrictions, (b) be curfewless, and (c) learn how to block the power of someone’s voice.

  Sure, the life of an EO sounded just about as perfect as a pawn living in Freedom could get.

  Too bad I got (d) disqualified from the trials for “encroaching on another contestant’s airspace.”

  Two other people got tossed from the tournament too. One of those people was Trek.

  He actually crashed when I got nudged and sort-of-maybe bumped him. He broke his right leg and three fingers. My lip got busted open, but only because my face got in the way of his boot as he fell.

  Besides the injuries, I couldn’t figure out why he was so upset. His file disappeared from the list of possible Enforcement Officers. If anything, I’d done him a favor.

  The next year I entered the flight trials again—and won.

  For half a second I wished I had a microchip with the victory. Then I remembered who did. Something sharp bit through my insides. I hated that I’d watched my mom’s memories.

  Sometimes not knowing is actually better.

  * * *

  The Enforcement Officers wouldn’t touch Raine. Instead, they pulled on thick gloves and skirted around her.

  My earlier suspicion about her talent solidified. Something really had happened when she’d touched me. No wonder the girl wore gloves all the time. I’d thought she was just making a fashion statement in the limited way she could. We’d been in genetics class together for years, but I’d never matched the gloves with a talent. I’d just assumed anyone that came from Director Hightower had to enroll in genetics.

  While the EOs bound her hands together with tech cuffs, I let my board drift lower and lower. Like that worked. Two EOs followed and one of them said, “You’re the stolen property, son.”

  Super. Stolen property? How could a person be stolen property?

  I thought about the chip resting in my jacket pocket. Would it be considered stolen property? I didn’t want to give the letter up to anyone, especially Director Hightower. So I kept my mouth shut as the sun bathed the city with early-morning light and the EOs programmed our hoverboards with their destination. After that, all I could do was enjoy the ride.

  But it so wasn’t enjoyable. The streets below me lay silent and empty, mirroring the way I felt inside. Raine never turned, never looked at me.

  We left behind the orchards on the south side of the city, bypassed the outer Blocks, turned away from the ocean on the eastern border. I’d lived my whole life in Freedom and had never touched the water. As we headed toward the Rises, I wondered if I ever would.

  We flew past the outer Rises, on a straight course toward Rise One. Director Hightower’s lair.

  My pulse grew heavier and quicker in my chest. In imitation of Raine, I squared my shoulders and tried to pretend that I didn’t give a damn what he did to me. She didn’t know it, but I could feel her fear. And it settled in my stomach, amplifying my own.

  As soon as we landed in the street, a swarm of officers surrounded Raine, effectively blocking her from view. She said something I didn’t catch, so I called, “What?”

  Raine swung
wildly, and an Enforcement Officer fell down. I saw the panic written all over her face when she met my gaze. “Don’t watch—”

  And then the EOs tackled her, and the rest of what she said was mumbled into asphalt. Shock didn’t allow me to move. She’d said not to watch, but I couldn’t look away. So I just stood there like a raging loser while they hauled her back to her feet, watched as the blood trickled over her alabaster face, stared as she succumbed to their threats and let them lead her into her own freaking home.

  I remained in the street, hatless, with the two EOs. Uncuffed. Stunned beyond words. If the Director let them do that to his own daughter, what would he do to me?

  “Let’s go, Gunner,” an officer said. “Director Hightower would like to speak with you about last night’s events.” He sounded stern but tired. His left eye drooped a little bit, making his face asymmetrical. The other officer sported shoulders so broad he could probably block an alley by himself.

  “I’m not leaving my board with anyone.” I stepped to the ground, pushed a button to make the hovercraft fold up. I tucked it under my arm and tried to act carefree. Too bad I trembled.

  The two EOs exchanged a glance, their emotions smothered under years of service. I thought I could make out a hint of confusion. Along with that, a vein of … of unknowing swept between them.

  That’s when I realized they were just doing their jobs. They didn’t know who I was. Sure, they knew my name, but not what I could do or that I topped Director Hightower’s six thirty check-in list.

  I decided to play it right. “Look, I’ve never been here before.” I glanced into the sky, trying to see the top of the Rise. I couldn’t. “Where do I go?”

  “We have strict orders to accompany you,” Droopy Eye said. He’d obviously been appointed as the spokesperson. Maybe the other guy was all brawn and no brain.

  “All right, then,” I said.

  Droopy Eye stepped in front of me and moved to the door, where he swiped his palm across a reader. The black glass slid to the side, revealing nothing but glaring white light. I followed him into the Rise with Brawny behind me.

  I’d never been inside any of the Rises, except for the Education Rise, where I went to school, and the Transportation Rise, where my mom worked. And neither looked like this.

  Oh, no. This place was all tricked out. And by tricked out I mean, tricked. Out. I paused in the foyer—a foyer!—just so I could take everything in. The furniture glared back at me with geometrical, white faces. Not a spot or a dent to be seen. Did people really sit there, waiting to see Van Hightower, Director Extraordinaire?

  No way. Those couches were unsittable.

  And surely no one could relax while in the near future they’d be face-to-face with the man who decided every aspect of their lives.

  The glass tables sparkled with the bit of sunshine trickling in from the slanted windows far above. P-screens covered the walls, switching between luxurious pictures of waterfalls, white lilies, and brightly colored fish.

  The whole ensemble was supposed to say “Welcome!” but all it did was make cold prickles erupt over my neck and down my arms.

  Brawny prodded me with his elbow, jerked his head toward the other EO, who stood in front of a silver wall, waiting. I started walking again, tripping over the insanely white rugs before quickly stepping back onto the stainless, silver floor.

  But I’d left a dirty footprint on the rug. I closed my eyes in a long blink. Great. Here for two seconds and I deface the place. As soon as I thought it, anger settled in my stomach. What did I care if I muddied up a rug in the foyer of Rise One?

  Someone brainwashed would care. Last week—yesterday—I would’ve cared.

  I took a deep breath and whooshed it out in one breath. “Man, I’m sorry,” I said, laying on the gush real thick. “Look what I did.”

  Brawny didn’t even look, just poked me with his elbow again. “Doesn’t matter. Keep moving.”

  I maneuvered around the throw rugs to the silver wall and Droopy Eye, catching a glimpse of a wide corridor beyond. The smell of coffee mixed with an antiseptic scent mixed with a hint of conversation. I wondered what kind of people worked in Rise One, and did they really go downstairs for a latte to unwind?

  “Mr. Jameson.”

  When I turned around, I saw a spider scurry under the couch closest to where my footprint used to be. The carpet gleamed. Spider maid service. Scary.

  A faint glow on the floor drew my attention. A rectangle large enough to house several people pulsed with blue light.

  “Inside the ascender box, please,” Droopy Eye said. The box. The lines. Always stay within the lines. I suddenly felt trapped. And inside Rise One—with the promise of meeting the Director face-to-face—the walls were so thick I’d never escape.

  “Now,” Brawny said. Remaining motionless, I contemplated the ascender box. I really, really hate ascenders—and I’d already used one to get out of that diner. I didn’t want my particles accelerated again, not up or down or anywhere.

  “Mr. Jameson?” Brawny asked, and it sounded like a threat.

  I joined the two EOs inside the lines, gripped my hoverboard, held my breath.

  “Laboratory seven.”

  My only thought: Please, not a laboratory.

  And then I blitzed away into a million + one particles.

  Raine

  8.

  The first time I met Violet, she didn’t even know her own name. Thane—whose hatred of me was only matched by my blatant distaste for him—brought her to my room. I lived alone in a student flat—and it had taken a lot of whining to get my dad to agree to that. And I had to compromise by attending the torturous Sunday evening dinners in the glass-and-chrome prison.

  I’d told my dad that I needed space, that other fifteens got to leave their families to finish secondary school. I told him I didn’t need clones serving me breakfast anymore, that I had to learn to take care of some things myself. Dad was all about right and fair—and I got my own flat.

  In Rise One. But, hey, being on the third floor—in a flat of my own—was better than living in my dad’s lavish apartment on the nineteenth.

  I lived alone for two years until Violet arrived. I’d never heard Thane speak so gently or look so kind. He led Violet to her bed, her feet going wisp wisp wisp on the metal floor. She couldn’t even lift her legs onto the mattress until Thane said, “There you go, V, raise your right foot now.”

  Now that was extreme brainwashing. Once Violet lay prone on the bed, eyes closed and barely breathing, Thane turned toward me. His face shifted from almost parental to I really don’t like you. I pressed my back against the wall in an attempt to put maximum distance between us.

  “Raine.” Thane advanced slowly, as if trying to make sure I couldn’t escape. “I need to know everything.”

  I shook my head, tears already flash-flooding my face. I opened my mouth to protest, but only a strangled whimper came out.

  Thane nodded as vigorously as I shook, silently mocking me. “Everything, Rainey.”

  And then my room held half a dozen physicians and I was strapped to Violet’s bed before I could scream. When I finally released the rage, Thane slapped a silencer on my throat and leaned across me to soothe his precious V.

  The physicians attached live-streaming stickers along my forehead. Thane activated the projection screen in my room and linked the streaming to the right frequency.

  “Everything,” he repeated, all the kindness gone from his expression.

  Violet’s drain tormented me. Not only because the safety of my flat that I’d worked so hard to secure had been shattered, but because Vi had some freaky stuff going on in her head.

  And I got to see it all. Everything, just like Thane said.

  The show always starts with what the drainee wants most, broadcast through my touch to the live-streaming stickers to the projection screen.

  This girl had it bad for some guy. I never judge what I see inside someone’s head, but I sure didn’t want
to witness much of this relationship.

  Thankfully, her memory of the guy was broken. No name, no face, only a feeling. The most powerful feeling: love.

  I didn’t understand that all-consuming emotion. I’d never felt it choke in the back of my throat and burn behind my eyes.

  Soon enough, Vi’s want morphed into something bigger and far more dangerous—freedom.

  She craved with every fiber, cell, and quality of her body, mind, and soul to be free. No wonder she couldn’t walk on her own power. If she could, she’d be running—and telling everyone she met to do the same. And they’d all obey, because Vi possessed some heavy-duty mind control.

  Tears slid down my cheeks and pooled in my ears. I desperately wanted to stop the drain, but I couldn’t.

  So I suffered in Vi’s cesspool of want until her mind had been emptied of it.

  Hers was my longest drain ever. I’ve never experienced that level of desire before, and never want to again.

  But the show didn’t stop there. After I see what the person wants most, I’m, uh, privileged to see what will happen if they get it. My father adored this part of my ability. He used me to discover the innermost secrets of those he deemed dangerous.

  In Vi’s drain, I smelled oily smoke and wet cement. I tasted the triumph as it mixed with fury.

  I saw what would happen if Vi gained her freedom. I saw Thane weeping into his hands. I saw the sky flashing with fire, the wind howling with my father’s screams.

  I saw Freedom fall.

  And standing next to Vi, watching it all from a hoverboard, I saw myself.

  Someone flew up behind me, and I turned at his touch. He kissed me, and we surveyed the chaos with our fingers entwined.

  “About time, Gunner,” Vi said, her voice a mix of sarcasm and power.

  That’s when I started screaming, both in the vision and in real life.

  Later, I got an official e-comm with Thane’s name decorating the letterhead. I could never tell anyone about what I’d seen during the drain. Not Vi. Not Cannon.

  And especially not my dad.