by Sarah Noffke
“If the modifier could draw attention to us, then maybe we’re better off not using it at all,” I argue, more out of desperation than logic.
“And what happens when a Voyageur stops you, asks you a question, and wonders why you don’t speak French?” James responds like he’s debating a philosophical point, rather than the greatest moral dilemma I’ve faced thus far.
“Any of you know French?” I ask, lacing my voice with hope.
No one nods.
James tilts his head, shrugs. “And this is just one of the main reasons to use the modifier. Others are that it will allow you to coast through the Grotte without having to invent a reason for your presence. Heck, I’m guessing that the Voyageurs might even go out of their way to help you, opening doors and such.” He pauses, scrunching up his bushy eyebrows. “Actually, I’m not certain they have doors, but you get the point.”
Unfortunately I do.
James continues explaining how to use the modifier and telling us different things to be observant of. I retreat into my mind, wondering how I’ve gotten into this hypocritical position. Wasn’t I the person who just exploded on Aiden over this stupid device? It’s what we always fought about. Well, and also Amber. A guilty shiver runs down my back.
Still, this device was the last thing I’d fought with Aiden about. And it had been the subject we’d steered away from, knowing we couldn’t agree. Now they expect me to use it. If I don’t then what would happen? Would I show up in the Grotte and be struck dead before I even had a chance? As I scroll down these questions I realize where the disconnect happens for me. It’s in my judgment. I’d previously judged George and Aiden for their involvement with the device. If I hadn’t judged them so harshly then I’d have no trouble using this device right now. In this circumstance, based on James’s reasons, it makes sense. And these people have stolen what belongs to us. This logic brings with it a companion question: Was it wrong for the Institute to program my fake family to accept me if it kept me safe from Zhuang for all those years? The answer doesn’t come. And still there are so many other things the modifier has been used for which I don’t have time or energy to analyze.
The logical part of me accepts using the modifier under the current circumstances. But my heart cannot reconcile the past. It’s the part of me having trouble coming to terms with this whole plan. I wish my heart would go back into hibernation. I had valid reasons for opposing the device’s use in the past. But in this circumstance, it does seem logical to employ it, if it can guarantee our survival and help us rescue Aiden.
Is this what Aiden meant when he said the modifier was only employed to protect the greater good? I always thought qualifying that was arbitrary. Everyone always thinks their side is the one that represents good. Where does the greater good lie in this scenario? Putting a small message into the Voyageurs’ heads so we can rescue Aiden before he’s killed does seem like the right thing to do. It makes logical sense. Something about my new robotic nature is making me view the disagreement with Aiden from a black and white perspective, which unfortunately doesn’t favor me in this situation. If this is the criteria for using the modifier, then it’s a no-brainer.
My deliberation brings only one question to the forefront of my brain that I can’t reason away. Arriving at this question leaves my ego battered. And the question assaults me with one more emotional injury as it runs through my mind: Can I overcome my pride if it means completing the mission, something I must do?
Bitterness coats my tongue. I dismiss myself to get a drink of water.
Chapter Twenty
The knock on my door startles me. It isn’t Patrick’s familiar rap. With an exaggerated sigh I flip over on my bed and continue leafing through my book. The knock comes again. This time it’s longer, more insistent. I toss The Golden Compass off my bed and bury my head under a pillow. I’m not in the mood for another apology attempt from George. The cocoon of pillow around my head is surprisingly comforting. If George doesn’t keep me up knocking, then I can probably fall asleep in this cozy darkness.
“What’s that, Stark?” Joseph says too loudly. His voice rings through the solid door and my pillow-insulated head. “One of the last things Aiden said to you was ‘when I kiss you it sends—’”
I rip the pillow off my head and bolt upright in one swift movement. My feet race to the door faster than should be humanly possible. The palm of my hand slams against the button, sending the door back into the recess. Joseph stands looking satisfied.
“Why?” I say through clenched teeth.
Joseph strolls around me into my room. “Because, sis, I wanted to see you. Plain and simple.”
I narrow my eyes at him. “My God, Joseph, you’re cruel.”
Hitting the button, I charge up behind him and when he turns around I say, “Where did you come up with that ploy to get me to open the door?”
He picks up one of my locks of hair and tosses it over my shoulder. “Oh, all my material is based on true life experiences. Works better that way. I might have exaggerated a bit though. I was antsy to see you,” he says, looking mischievous.
“That’s low, Joseph. Really low.”
He nods. “That’s what you’ve come to expect from me. I’m just trying to meet your expectations. So you and the scientist, eh? Yeah, I saw that coming a million miles away.”
“There’s nothing going on with Aiden and me.”
“Oh, I’m sure y’all will work out your disagreements once he’s back.”
“How do you know what’s in my head? Why don’t I know what’s in yours?”
He smiles and sinks down onto my bed. “Let’s call it luck.”
“Damn it, Joseph!” I roar and stomp around my room. “Don’t I have enough going on right now!? Do I really need you tormenting me!?”
Right there he returns. Suddenly from across the room I’m looking at him, the twin brother I love. It’s brief, then I’m too acutely aware of the dark circles under his eyes, sunken face, and pale complexion. And yet, for a brief second I saw the guy I trusted—he’s still there somewhere.
“I’m sorry,” he says, lying on my bed. “I wish I could be good enough for you. I’ve lost it.” I don’t believe much of what he says anymore, but I believe this.
“What do you want?” I say, taking a seat on the floor.
“Don’t criticize me for it, but I missed you,” he finally says, staring at the ceiling blankly.
Criticize him? For missing me? I’ve missed him so much. How can he be so stupid?
“I won’t and I’m glad,” I say, devoid of real emotion.
A small smile surfaces on the corner of his mouth. “Been dreaming much, Stark?” he asks.
“Yeah, when Ms. Chatterson shuts her trap.”
“Who?”
“Never mind,” I say.
“You want my input on your dreams?”
“Nope. How about you?” I ask.
“No real dreams,” he says, seemingly on another planet. “I don’t sleep much anyway.”
“Mmm,” I say, wondering if it’s possible he’s become a hallucinator.
Just like that he cuts off my thoughts and says, “Don’t worry, I’m not hallucinating.”
“Damn it, Joseph! Stop it!”
He laughs and turns over on his stomach. “Sorry.”
“No you’re not,” I say.
We’re quiet for a few minutes. He doesn’t say anything, but for some reason I get this impression that he feels sorry. I’m not sure if I’m imagining it, but it’s like he’s quietly apologizing to me for everything he’s done and not done over the last two weeks. After a while I sit up and say, “So what about Samara?”
“What about her?” Joseph says, staring at the floor.
“When were you going to tell me that you two are seeing each other?”
“About the time that I told you I was seeing anyone else,” he says with a rude laugh.
“What?” I jerk up, eyes wide with repulsion. “Are you playing her?
”
“Look, Stark, she knows what’s in my head if she wants to. I don’t feel like I’m playing any games on her.”
“You know she isn’t invading your thoughts. She wouldn’t do that and expect things to work out between you two.”
“Who says things are supposed to work out between us?” Joseph says, sitting up.
“Have you always been such a dog?”
He stares off as though seriously considering the question. “As far back as I can remember,” he says coolly.
“What if she finds out? And who else are you messing with?”
Joseph’s eyes retreat. “Look, this is none of your business.”
“Really?” I growl softly. “Why don’t you remember that before you broadcast my private life to the entire Institute?”
His eyes turn distant. “I’m sorry. I know this is harder on you than anyone else. But to be fair, you’re stronger than the rest of us.”
“That’s not fair,” I say bitterly.
“Well, it’s true,” Joseph says.
“That’s your opinion.”
“Look, you think I abandoned you. And you distrust me for not telling you why. But you gotta believe me when I say I’m tryin’, tryin’ to make our life better.”
I eye him suspiciously. “That’s ironic, because you’ve made my life worse.”
“Oh, stop playin’ the victim. It doesn’t suit you.”
“I don’t see myself as a victim,” I say in a mechanical voice.
“No, I don’t suppose you would,” he says, like it’s a canned answer and his thoughts are preoccupied on something else.
“Are you coming around to meals and by my room because you can’t dream travel?” I ask, almost accuse.
“What I’m working on was quite consuming and took me away a lot.”
“Are you working on it now?”
“In a way, but this mission needs my attention. And since you’re leading it I know you need my attention too.”
“Oh, is that why you came by?” I scold.
“Why you always got to think people’s motives are dark?”
I give him a defiant look. “I just don’t have much faith in people.”
“Well, I got all my faith in you,” he says in a sing-song voice.
“Stop it,” I say, feeling extra irritable. I need to turn back into the robot before I do or say something emotional.
Joseph gives me an apologetic look. “I mean it, but I know why you don’t believe me. I’ll try and be a better brother.”
“Fine,” I say, indifferently. Why get my hopes up just to have Joseph disappoint me again?
“And why don’t you work on lightening up a bit,” he says.
“I’ll see what I can do.”
The space between us falls quiet again. Joseph taps his foot. I pace back and forth between my thoughts deciding what I want to say to him now that I have his sincere attention.
“Joseph.” My voice is on the verge of sounding desperate. I steady it with a breath. “Do you see a vision where we get through this?”
He straightens and turns in my direction. A playful expression dances across his face. With his fist he gives me a pretend jab on the jaw. “Oh, come on, kid, you know as well as I do that knowing the future doesn’t fix anything.”
“Come on, Joseph, if you know something then tell me, prepare me.”
With an embellished sigh he stands and yawns. “Gotta thank you for something, Stark. You made me tired. I haven’t been tired in days.”
“I tend to wear people out.” I rise, folding my arms across my chest.
“That you do,” he sings, striding for the door. He presses the button and turns and faces me. “Oh, okay, maybe you’ll stop being so hostile at me if I tell you this much…”
I drop my arms, tilt forward, awaiting his words.
“I see a future where you’re happy. Not just read-a-cute-little-story happy, or come-off-a-runner’s-high happy, but one where you’ve made a claim to the emotion. It’s a beautiful thing, one that actually makes me truly happy.”
“Really?” I breathe in surprise.
“Really,” he says, a rare stillness in his eyes. After a moment he walks over the threshold, then turns around and looks at me directly again. “The thing is, that vision is so far away. So many choices that could make it or break it. I’m gonna try my darndest to ensure it happens, but you also have to work at it. We both know visions of the future are just potentials.”
I give a heavy sigh. “If nothing else then at least there’s a potential reality where I get what I want.”
Joseph inclines his head. “Yeah, now you’ve just got to decide what that is.”
His statement carries way more weight than I want to analyze.
“Good night, Joseph.”
“’Night, sis.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Ren storms into the lecture hall, takes a shallow breath, then twists around to face us. The bruise on his face is greenish, but the laceration is almost healed. His eyes are wild with hostility.
“Honestly, I don’t fear Pierre. He’s small potatoes in my opinion. I throw up a shield and I’m good against his attacks. However, one of his minions scares me to bloody hell. When it’s dark at night she’s my boogieman. She’s what I’m afraid is hiding under my bed or in my closet. She’s the closest thing to the devil I’ve ever seen and I’ve seen it all. She’s Allouette.”
Hate fleeces Ren’s face. Usually he has a little bit of disdain in every expression, but talking about Allouette brings him to a new level of revulsion.
“While you girls,” Ren says, sweeping his arms at all of us, “had posters of Justin Bieber pinned up in your room, Allouette chose to admire an exceedingly different kind of person. When she was a little girl, which was an awfully long time ago, she fancied none other than Zhuang. This brings up an important tidbit about this nasty little lady. While Dream Travelers age slower than Middlings, Allouette takes this to an extreme. When you’re in the Grotte and you spot a girl who looks about sixteen with long black hair and evil, dark eyes then you’ve just met Allouette. And let’s hope you’re prepared to meet her, or she’ll be the last person you see. She apparently has been using some of Zhuang’s strategies to preserve her youth.”
Focusing his attention on Trent, Ren continues, “If you’re going to do your job in the Grotte, then you better start practicing. Allouette is telekinetic. Your ability to move Roya around is notable, but it’s nothing compared to what Allouette can do. She makes you look like a kindergartener. I’ve seen her throw ten objects at once, turn over a cable car, and pull down a ship’s mast. She has a motivation that none of you have.” He stops, clenches his jaw. “She likes to watch people suffer. Nothing makes her happier than to inflict pain on another person.”
Trent, who usually looks like he’s just heard a joke, has a worried expression plastered across his face. Ren begins pacing.
“Your job, Trent, is to learn to intercept multiple fast-moving objects. Actually, let me be specific. You’ll need to divert sharp objects that will no doubt be aimed straight at your heart. This little French maiden is known for throwing knives with her hands. The Voyageurs really have the lamest hobbies. Can’t really expect much from people who dine on cave rats and mineral-heavy water. A diet of that sort no doubt robs them of their mental faculties.
“Allouette throws knives with incredible precision, and if you run then she uses her telekinesis to ensure it hits you.” Ren stops pacing, looking winded but pretends to hide it by eyeing his fingernails casually. “Your best defense is to rely on the combination of Trent and Roya’s abilities.”
My stomach churns with anxiety.
“Roya.” Ren doesn’t look up at me, just continues picking at his nails. “If you can see an approaching attack then maybe this will give Trent enough opportunity to stop it. Communication between the two of you is key,” he says in a monotone voice. “Honestly, your best bet is to hope Allouette is off sacrifi
cing goats or whatever she spends her nights doing these days.”
After this chilling monologue I wish I’d come down with some disease that rendered me useless in this battle. An awful thing to wish for, but facing these people sounds like a worse nightmare than Zhuang, and that’s saying a lot.
We spend the rest of the time learning every single detail about Allouette that Ren thinks might be of importance. He’s of the mind that knowing everything about your enemy isn’t just wise, but also lifesaving. I’m not sure how knowing the assorted details of this deranged sociopath’s life is going to help when six knives are chasing me through a cave, but I take notes anyway.
“One last thing before you all pop off for recess,” Ren says in a hoarse voice. “The Voyageurs spend their energy training on offensive tactics. They’re aggressive; I hope you prats have gathered that thus far.” He gives that snide expression which is usually followed by a round of insults. Ren sighs heavily, looking momentarily defeated. “The Voyageurs don’t observe our laws and they don’t fight fair. Get over it. Expect it. They’ll do something that Zhuang would never have done to anyone; they’ll stab you in the back.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Needless to say, lunch is the most subdued one yet. Before, when I was challenging Zhuang, it was my head on the chopping block. Now everyone’s facing what appears to be certain death. Maybe my team understands why I spent most of my free time alone.
Shuman begins our next training session by putting Trent to work right away intercepting objects being hurled at him. She and Pearl circle around him with a bag of squishy balls, throwing them as rapidly as they can. He has some luck with this, but if those balls were knives then his pretty little face would look much different now.