But I am.
By the time I arrive at the bridge to the Government Studies residence, all evidence of the final Induction task has been cleared away. No boxes or planks or tools. Nothing that speaks of the tragedy that occurred just hours earlier.
I step onto the bridge and peer down. This time I am not looking for Rawson; instead, I feel like I am looking for myself. Staring into the rocky void is like peering into a reflector of my emotions.
Shadows.
Emptiness.
A hole where once grass and flowers grew that has been transformed into a place where nothing thrives.
I close my eyes and see Rawson. Zandri. Malachi. My Testing roommate, Ryme. Other faces I have no names for, but whose empty eyes haunt me in my sleep. Lurking somewhere in the residence is Will. One who has been rewarded for murder and betrayal. How many others inside that building have killed without hesitation? How many have been rewarded for their treachery with the future leadership of our country? How can I face my fellow students each day wondering what horrors they are capable of?
The five scars on my left arm burn. The darkness of the void beckons, and for the briefest moment, I consider answering its call. I grip the steel railing and let the chill of the metal fill me. How easy it would be to let the emptiness swallow me. To find release from sadness at the bottom. To be welcomed by those I have lost and turn away from the problems I face now.
But I don’t. I take my hand from the rail and step back. This is one choice I will never make.
There was a time immediately after the end of the wars when the hopelessness of the scarred world led many to seek the peace of death. I understand better now the despair that can lead to that choice, as well as the courage it takes to fight. The vision it takes for scientists like my father to create hope in his lab and watch it die over and over again until finally it flourishes in the blighted soil. The strength it requires to turn from the easy path and face the hard.
I look at the University campus—a place built on hope and a promise that those who study here will make this world better. A promise I believe in and will find the strength and courage to fight for. Starting Monday, I will do what it takes to get the information Michal and those working in secret need to bring down Dr. Barnes and The Testing—no matter what the cost to me might be.
Chapter 13
FOUR OF US are missing.
“Induction Day is a day filled with hope. Today you, our new students, will officially be accepted into the Government field of study.” Professor Holt stands behind a small podium that has been placed under the willow tree near the Government Studies residence. Her hair is slicked off her face. Her scarlet-painted lips curl into an expression of geniality as she addresses those of us assembled here who are in her charge. First years stand in front. The rest of our fellow Government Studies students are behind us, ready to celebrate the entrance of our class into their ranks.
Or most of our class. Rawson is dead. Olive never returned to campus after her flight. Neither did the girl named Izzy who failed to finish Induction with her team. Those losses I knew about. But one student I expected to see is also unaccounted for. Vance—the blond boy and fourth member of Olive’s team—is missing. An entire team from Induction is gone. There are whispers that Olive, Izzy, and Vance left the University and returned home. For their sakes, I hope that is true.
“The Induction process was designed by the final years to show that not only will you rely on your own resourcefulness, but you will also need to trust and work effectively with others in order to succeed in the careers you have ahead of you. Those who cannot be trusted to consider the effects of their actions on others cannot be trusted to lead.” Professor Holt sighs. “Sadly, not all students who demonstrate the intellect required of Government Studies students also work well with others. We work hard to identify those students early in their careers so they can be Redirected into more appropriate fields. Because of this, only twelve of the sixteen initially directed into this field will embark upon studying it. It is our hope we will not need to reevaluate the twelve of you remaining in the future.”
First-year students shift beside me. The threat is unmistakable. Professor Holt’s serious expression is replaced by a wide smile. “Your guides have collected and turned in the bracelets that identified you as members of the University’s Early Studies program. It is my honor to replace them now with the symbol you will serve for the rest of your lives.”
She calls our names one by one and asks us to come forward. Griffin struts. Damone preens. Others show various forms of pride as they hold out their arm and allow Professor Holt to fasten a thick bracelet onto their wrist. When my turn comes, I am careful to keep a pleased expression on my face despite the way my nerves jump as Professor Holt reaches out for my hand. The silver and gold coiled bracelet is cold as it slides over my skin. There is an audible click as Professor Holt fastens the band around my wrist.
Will’s name is called as I take my place in line and study the bracelet. Gold and silver. The joining of the materials used for the colony and Tosu City Early Studies bracelets. Now the two types of metal are combined in a pattern that, like The Testing versions of the bracelets, makes it impossible to see where the band comes together. Fused to the center is a disk made of silver, outlined in gold. Etched across the disk is a picture of scales suspended from a bar, hanging in perfect balance. Streaking through the middle of the disk from the top of the bar to below the scales is a lightning bolt. My personal symbol combined with the symbol for justice.
After Enzo receives his bracelet, Professor Holt congratulates us all again before her expression turns solemn. “Though today is a day of happiness, I would be remiss not to remember the life of Rawson Fisk. He was a student of keen intellect with a love of history and a passionate desire to do whatever it took to improve the lives of his family and colony. He will be missed. But though his death is terrible, it is not without purpose.” Professor Holt’s tone changes from one of kindness to fervent conviction. “This tragedy demonstrates better than any classroom lesson that leaders can never let their emotions get the better of them. Cool heads and calm logic must always prevail if we are to succeed in restoring our country to what it was before the Seven Stages of War.”
I hear murmurs of assent behind me.
“We will hang a plaque commemorating that sentiment in the residence to make sure Rawson Fisk’s lesson is never forgotten.”
As Professor Holt invites us inside the residence for a small celebration, I look toward the ravine and the bridge that was once missing.
“Hey, the party is inside.”
Slowly, I turn to see Ian watching me. “I know. I wanted a few minutes to remember Rawson before I go in.”
The truth, but only a shade of it. “Professor Holt never mentioned the others. Were they Redirected?”
Ian looks over his shoulder at the residence. “I don’t know.” But I can see by the sorrow in his eyes that he does.
I finger the band on my wrist. “Are we ever allowed to take these off?”
“Dr. Barnes insists on students wearing their identification at all times.” A fierce intensity shines in Ian’s eyes. “Dr. Barnes believes that the bracelet allows people you come in contact with to understand you are a future Commonwealth leader. More important, wearing your symbol demonstrates that you have accepted the future it represents.”
A compelling reason, but I doubt it is more than a shadow of the real one. Horror streaks through me. The Testing bracelet contained a listening device. I was not wearing one of these Inducted-student bracelets in the chicken coop, but Tomas was. Did officials hear our conversation? Does Dr. Barnes know Tomas remembers his Testing? Does he know that even though the two of us are separated by guilt and anger, we are unified in our desire to end the process that brought us here?
“Do you mind if I take a look at your bracelet?” Ian takes my arm and probes it with his fingers. “I thought the design looked a little different this yea
r. See . . .” He uses his index fingers and thumbs to squeeze two spots on the band, and it clicks apart. “This one is thicker and looks a little heavier.” He refastens the bracelet with a nod. “They talked about replacing the recorder with a tracking device last year. One of the first years got turned around while returning to campus from his internship. He was lucky safety officials found him in an unrevitalized part of the city before a wild animal did.”
A tracking device. That is what is contained inside this metal band. Since Ian freely shared this information, can I assume no one is recording or listening to our conversation?
“Hey, we should get inside so you don’t miss the entire party. Trust me when I say you won’t have a lot of time for parties when classes start in two days.” As Ian turns toward the residence with a grin, I do the same.
I eat. I laugh at jokes. All the while, I feel the weight of the bracelet and the tracking device it contains on my arm. The party lasts long into the night. It is only when the upper years seek their beds that I feel I can return to my room without arousing comment. It takes me a dozen tries before I can replicate Ian’s removal of the bracelet. I place it on the table and rub my wrist before examining the woven metal. I fish my pocketknife out of my bag, hold the bracelet to the light, and probe the back of the disc with the thinnest blade. The blade slides off the metal and nicks me twice before I find the almost imperceptible groove on the edge of the disc and pry off the back panel. Inside are a battery and an even smaller copper metal pulse radio transmitter.
Professor Holt spoke of the need for trust. Yet in front of me is the evidence to the contrary. I study the device. My father has never used homing devices, but Hamin and Zeen experimented with them as a method for tracking farm animals. The design of this one seems simple. A pulse signal is sent from this transmitter to a separate receiver, which communicates the location of the device. The size and simplistic design of the battery and transmitter suggest it is not that powerful and probably can only transfer data to the receiver if the receiver is somewhere close by. After several tries, my brothers were able to boost the power of their transmitter to reach a receiver up to a mile away. I doubt this one’s capabilities are much stronger, but I can’t be certain. I just have to assume the device is more powerful than I think and find a way to limit its ability to report my movements.
Since I have no idea how I’m going to do that, I climb into bed. Dreams of Tomas stabbing Zandri, or Dr. Barnes yanking me out of a hiding place and pushing me into the ravine, chase me from darkness until dawn. By the time I wake, I have still not come up with an idea how to limit the tracking of my movements without alerting Dr. Barnes that I am aware of the device. I could remove the transmitter and leave it in my room, but people might start to wonder why the transmitter never moved. The best idea I have is to enclose the transmitter with a thin layer of metal to block the signal and hope those who monitor our movement believe my device to be faulty. But that too might raise more questions than I want asked.
Putting the bracelet back together, I snap it on my wrist and head downstairs for breakfast. With no classes to study for yet, the first years are still in a celebratory mood. Although, as the day progresses, I see faces turn serious. For good reason. We have all been Inducted into the Government Studies program, but that acceptance is not a guarantee of our success. Only our performances in our classes can do that.
I still haven’t figured out a good way to counteract the transmitter in my bracelet by the next morning. But, today, if they monitor my movements, they will see what they expect to see. A University student going about her first day of classes. The pull of new ideas and learning is strong, but so is my fear that I might not measure up to the standards Professor Holt has set for me. As I finger the Government bracelet around my wrist, I can’t help but wonder how many other first-year students from the colonies have made it through their Inductions. Will Stacia be seated in one of my classes, or will she be remembered by future Medical students for the lesson she provided?
Breakfast conversation in the dining hall is subdued, and I notice I am not the only one who barely eats the food on the tables in front of us. Ian catches my eye as I push back my chair and hoist my bag onto my shoulder. He nods. I nod back, grateful for the support if uncertain as to the motive. It is time for my first class. Global History.
Fourteen of us are seated in the classroom when Professor Lee arrives carrying an armload of papers. He drops them on a large black table in the front that is already stacked with worn books. The only students I recognize in the room are Enzo and a broad-shouldered boy named Brick, who is a colony student like me. The rest are Tosu City students I know nothing about. Enzo does not look at any of them as they talk among themselves. He looks up only when Professor Lee finishes organizing his materials and addresses the class.
“Welcome to Global History. To make sure we don’t repeat the mistakes that led to the Seven Stages of War, we must understand past mistakes. In this class, we will learn what the landscape of the world looked like before the wars and study the countries and governments that dominated that landscape. Each week, we will focus on a different time period. You will be required to learn the names of the leaders, identify countries based on maps, and explain the pros and cons of the government structures of the most influential countries during that time. I will then select the most advanced students in the class for a special study of what is known about the current global structure and what it means for our future.”
The prospect of learning how the world is recovering beyond the United Commonwealth borders has me sitting up straighter. And I’m not the only one. The room crackles with excitement and something more. Under the exhilaration is an underlying tension. Only the select few chosen by Professor Lee will be allowed to participate in that portion of the class. Another competition. Another test.
He gives us a big smile and pushes a button on the wall. “So, let’s get to work, shall we?”
A large screen descends, and depicted on it is a world from the past. The next hour is filled with names of countries and people long dead. Governments destroyed by war or corruption. New regimes that rose to take their places. My pencil races across the page in front of me as I try to capture every word, knowing that any detail missed might be the difference between success and failure. Almost two hours later, my hand aches as I scribble down the homework instructions before heading to the next class. Enzo walks with me across the campus to Science Building Four.
Advanced Calculus.
Vic smiles at me from a corner desk. A boy named Xander nods from his seat in the front. Then class begins. Ordinary differential equations. Partial differential equations. Bessel and Legendre functions. Several pages of homework are assigned. A test will be given on Wednesday to assess our understanding of the material.
When class is over, I hurry out to avoid the familiar faces in the room. While I am grateful to see them, I am not sure I’m prepared to hear what they have to say. Will they tell me Stacia, whom I have yet to see, or other members of our Testing candidate class have failed their Inductions? That they have been Redirected? Instead, I find a spot outside that is mostly hidden from view to eat the apple and roll I slipped into my bag this morning. I have an hour to start on my homework before the next class begins.
United Commonwealth History and Law are followed by World Languages. Then my last class of the day: Chemistry. States of matter, properties of solutions, kinetics and atomic and molecular structure are discussed. A project assigned. And finally, classes are done, but my day is far from over. There are chemical equations to balance, a paper on the Commonwealth Government’s founding debates to write, and maps to memorize. All must be complete by Wednesday, with more to be assigned by my other professors tomorrow. I know Dr. Barnes will be watching to see which students fall behind. I will not be one of them.
The dining hall is filled with laughter and conversation. Students compare notes on their homework and teachers, and buzz about the n
ews that internships will not be assigned for at least another week. I say nothing as I fill a plate with greens, some kind of spicy pork, and sliced potatoes cooked with onions and walnuts. Part of me is relieved to have one less thing to worry about for the next seven days. The other part is anxious to learn whether or not I will be assigned an internship that will allow me to collect information for Michal and the rebels. Pushing thoughts of the internship aside, I ignore Ian’s and Will’s beckoning waves and head upstairs to study while I eat. When I finally sleep that night, Malachi and Zandri join me in my dreams. They quiz me on the names of country capitals, help balance chemistry equations, and insist the ending to my paper could be stronger.
They’re right. When I wake, I rewrite the final page before getting dressed for the second day of class.
More professors. More assignments.
Electrical and Magnetic Physics. The Rise and Fall of Technology. Art, Music, and Literature. Bioengineering.
Here and there, I see familiar faces. Brick and Kit in Physics. Will, a girl named Jul, and a Boulder kid named Quincy in Art and Music. And finally I see Stacia—along with Vic and a girl from Grand Forks named Naomy—in Technology. All are here. All wear bracelets that report their movements back to Dr. Barnes and his officials.
News of Rawson’s death has spread. In the minutes before and after class, we band together and talk about the loss of our classmate. I had almost forgotten Naomy and Rawson were from the same colony, but Naomy’s puffy red eyes speak loudly of her sorrow and the love she has felt for him since she was ten years old. While I have never been close friends with Naomy, I find myself feeling sorry for her. During class, I notice some of the Tosu City students passing scraps of paper. Notes. With paper so precious, our Five Lakes instructors punished this practice with extra work. Here, where paper seems to be less of a concern, the instructors don’t seem to mind. Biting my lip, I tear a small corner off the page in front of me, write a couple of words asking to meet after dinner and work on homework, and pass the note to Naomy. The smile she gives me when she reads it makes me feel happier than I have in days. When Stacia shoots me a questioning look, I tear off another corner and pass her a note too. When she grins, I feel better, more in control, knowing I will spend part of tonight with friends.
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