Recruits Series, Book 1

by Thomas Locke

  Carey moved like water, just flowing across the impossible distance and enveloping him in an embrace. “Oh, Dillon.”

  He spoke to her hair, lost so that his face could not be seen, and the words were so muffled and soft as to be indistinct. But Sean was certain his brother said, “Thank you.”

  Elenya smiled at them, wiped her eyes, and reached around Sean’s waist. Happy and sad at the same time. Just like he felt.

  Carey asked, “Does it hurt?”

  “Not at all.” Sean offered John his hand a second time. “Ready?”

  As they left the transit station and passed down the long hall, Josef came out of his office and observed them. Carey squeaked at the sight of the grey-blond giant, but that was all. No one else spoke or made any sound. Until they arrived upstairs.

  When they emerged in the grand windowed chamber, father and daughter both plopped to the floor. And stayed there for a good half hour. They probably would have remained longer, but Elenya finally announced, “I must go.”

  “No.” John clambered to his feet. “Don’t.”

  “I am already very late. My mother will be upset.”

  Sean explained, “This was her first time on Earth.”

  Carey laughed without humor.

  John pleaded, “A few questions.”

  Elenya looked back and forth between them, then said, “One moment.”

  When she stepped and departed, Dillon asked, “She doesn’t need the transit room?”

  “Experience, maybe,” Sean said. Then to the others, he explained, “She’s been doing this all her life.”

  “Her parents can . . . transit?”

  “Her father only. He was the Assembly’s Ambassador to this planet.”

  “Splendid,” John replied.

  Carey stared at her father. “Did you really just say that?”

  “Imagine the discussions!”

  Carey sniffed, but her response was cut off by Elenya’s return. “I am very sorry, but I must go. My mother . . . I do not want to give her a reason to say I cannot return.” She then turned to Sean and continued in Serenese, “My mother is livid.”

  He slapped his forehead. “Your clothes.”

  “I forgot as well. She wants to know who this outpost boy is who forces me to dress like a . . .” She stifled the comments. Tried for a smile. “Until very soon, I hope.”

  “Tell your father thanks.”

  Dillon added, “From us both. And from the heart.”

  Elenya kissed Sean and smiled to the others and vanished.

  “Astonishing,” John murmured.

  Carey asked Dillon, “How do you speak her language?”

  “It’s the language of the Assembly. And the Academy.”

  “Well, of course it is.”

  “Carey,” her father gently chided.

  She colored and eased back. “How did you learn it so fast?”

  “They teach us in our sleep.”

  Josef emerged from the stairway and stared over at where they clustered. His silence was more than enough for Sean to suggest, “Maybe we should continue this discussion back home.”

  John made a long, slow circle of the room, sighed once, and declared, “A hundred questions. A thousand debates. All answered with one glimpse of our tomorrow.”

  38

  Sean found himself lingering on the patio that night, and it had nothing to do with Dillon and Carey being in the loft. He could have transited over to the Cameron apartment, new bed, no worries. But John showed no interest in going anywhere. Nor did the professor have any further questions, at least any he was willing to voice. Instead, when the professor finally did speak, it was to ask, “You want to tell me what’s on your mind?”

  Sean had to laugh. “You mean, other than how Dillon is getting on with Carey?”

  “I think they’ll work this out just fine.”

  That startled him. “How can you be so calm?”

  “Oh, my world is rocked, all right. But just now all my major worries come down to one thing. Can I trust Dillon to take care of my little girl. And the answer to that seems very clear. Dillon is forthright. It’s a word that’s gone out of fashion, and more’s the pity. But that is the word that describes your brother.”

  “Yes. It does.”

  “See?” John spread out his hands. “A simple answer to a complex question. Your brother will do his best to do right by Carey. There will always be transitions. And what I don’t want is for my fears, my needs, my loss, to color how they are just now. This is about them, not me.”

  Sean felt that same burning lump as before. There was no way to completely erase his own yearnings for the chance to rewrite his family history. But what the professor said applied to him as well. Tonight wasn’t about him. So he decided to speak about the other thing that weighed heavy on him. “Can I talk with you about another problem?”

  “Of course.”

  He laid it out. The issues they faced and the mystery nobody would talk about with them could not be discussed unless Sean first described how the system worked. He stumbled more over this telling than he had in explaining the new life and worlds they lived in. But it felt good just the same. No clear answers. But here was a mind he could trust.

  John heard him out in silence, then went back to studying the night. “So let me get this clear. We have one of those teams—what did you call them?”

  “Watchers.”

  “On duty out there somewhere.”

  “More than one.”

  “And we’ve got a squad of . . .”

  “Praetorian Guards.”

  “On high alert, ready to defend us against an attack.”

  “Right.”

  “As of yesterday, your former Examiner is under arrest and facing trial.”

  “But he’s innocent.”

  “And they won’t accept this.”

  “The physical evidence is all pointed straight at him.”

  “And because of the strange nature of your and Dillon’s new talents, they discount your own findings as unimportant.”

  “They won’t even listen to us.”

  “But it all comes back to one thing, doesn’t it.”

  Sean nodded, loving this conversation. How they were walking along the same unseen path. Totally in sync. “The attack in the Charger.”

  “There is something they’re not telling you. Why would they prefer to think this was nothing more than your overactive imaginations at work?”

  “Either that or blame it on the Examiner.”

  “Someone in the group must at least be willing to consider that you’re giving them a correct account. That you were indeed attacked. In that case, why would this one man put together such an elaborate scheme when he had the power to erase your memories? I don’t buy it.”

  “Tirian called us reckless. He said we were a threat to ourselves and others. They’re probably assuming he put this together to show he was right. And keep the blame off himself in the process.”

  “That makes sense,” John murmured. “Perfect, logical, irrefutable sense.”

  “But there’s something else. They won’t talk about the how. Every time the topic comes up, they shut us down.”

  “Which leads you to think . . .”

  “That it’s tied to the other thing they won’t talk about. The aliens.”

  Sean expected the professor to come back with some dismissive comment. The sort of thing adults were all too good at doing whenever the conversation strayed into uncomfortable territory. But John studied the cloud-covered sky for a time, then said, “Do you remember what I told you the other night about my field?”

  Sean thought hard and replied, “Cultural anthropology is the study of how different civilizations develop distinctive traditions, philosophies, values, and ways of life. And your field has been divided into two groups. I forget what they’re called. They look at the same evidence and come up with two different outcomes. And what I need to do is look for a pattern or a motive that might h
ave led to a mistake in judgment.”

  “Very good. Excellent, in fact. Tonight I give you an A-plus.”

  “But I’ve been trying, and I haven’t come up with anything that helps.”

  “Yet. You haven’t come up with something yet. So let’s take this one step further.” John pushed his chair back from the table and crossed his legs. “To truly understand a culture from within, we must first confront a very basic issue in ourselves. Who are we, this group that studies the culture? How do we make sense of something that is totally unfamiliar to us? We run the risk of falling into very real traps. We can rely on our own cultural measuring sticks. We can remain tied at an unconscious level to the bonds of our own upbringing. We can view everything out there through the lens of our own past.”

  Sean found himself listening on two different levels. He was taking this all in, trying to see how it fit the patterns he had experienced within this mystery of the attacks. But he was also looking at himself. And reflecting on how this was what it was like to be an adult. Sitting together in the night, parsing out the impossibilities they faced, drawing on the wisdom of others, talking as equals. He had once heard that the greatest challenge every teenager faced was realizing they were not actually the center of the universe. Either they grew through this or they failed at life. And tonight, for the first time ever, he felt as though he was given a glimpse of what lay on the other side.

  Then something pinged.

  It was far below actual thought. More like a new buzzing sensation at some bone-deep level. Sean had no clear idea of what was happening. Only that it was important, and it was tied to what John had just said.

  He spoke as much to himself as to the professor. “So Carver and Tatyana could actually be responding to something in their past, and not the attack on us at all.”

  “Not exactly. Their analysis is colored by past experience. You see the difference? They see this event very clearly. But their judgment is tainted by previous incidents that have shaped their vision and their character.” John gave him a minute, then went on, “Tell me, what do you think of the atmosphere at your school?”

  His response was instantaneous. “Stifling.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  Sean described the windowless transit rooms, the careful discipline of point-to-point transits, the absence of doors to the outside world, the way the school itself did not even have windows overlooking the Lothian caverns.

  John did not let him finish. “There may be your answer.”

  “Sorry, I don’t . . .” Again the ping. Again the sensation of something far below conscious thought.

  “Let me give you a for instance from my own field. World War I was the most brutal bloodbath mankind had ever inflicted upon itself, at least in this world. Afterward, all the theories governing our study of other cultures were thrown out. It wasn’t that new evidence was suddenly discovered. Instead, the perspective changed. People of all walks and disciplines were repelled by the error of their ways. Everything that had brought them to this point—culture, civilization, the Western world’s air of superiority—all of it was dismissed. Scholars looked at the world through an entirely different lens. One fashioned through the flames of war and brutality and loss.”

  Suddenly Sean’s chair became constrictive. He bounded to his feet and began pacing the patio like it was a wooden cage. Seeking a way out. Hunting. “So you’re telling me that some terrible event happened . . .”

  “Perhaps, just perhaps, a cataclysmic event has reshaped their perspective. Not just about this attack. On everything you face. The school included.”

  Sean paced and thought and paced some more. Then he realized the professor had spoken to him awhile back, and he had no idea what the man had said. “Sorry. I missed something.”

  John actually seemed pleased by being totally ignored. “No, no, it’s good to see a mind at work.”

  “I guess I better get to bed.”

  “Sean.”

  “Sir?”

  “Thank you. For trusting me as well as Carey. Someday I hope you understand just how much this has meant.”

  Sean stumbled up the stairs, flung himself onto the bed, and was out. At least, until an idea woke him an hour or so before dawn.

  39

  Sean ate breakfast standing at the kitchen counter and left the loft before Dillon was even awake. For once, Sean was actually glad the school was its own enclosed world. He liked being able to transit into a place without doors or windows. It meant a minimum of distractions.

  Two hours later, Dillon found him seated on the bench outside Josef’s office. “Thanks for the note.”

  “I didn’t . . . Oh. Sorry.”

  Dillon settled onto the bench next to him. “So what’s up?”

  “Thinking.”

  “Don’t sprain something. About what?”

  But his response was cut off by Josef striding down the hall toward them. The giant moved with remarkable grace for a man his size. “Are you waiting to see me?”

  “No, sir. I was just looking for a quiet place.”

  “Ah.” Josef was followed by all the school’s instructors. He pointed them into his office, waited until they passed, then asked, “You are working on your latest tutorial assignment?”

  “Trying.”

  “Are you ready to discuss results?”

  “They’re not results yet.”

  “I see. Come with me.” Josef walked them down the hall away from his office and stopped in front of a portal that Sean had never seen open. Josef set his thumb on the fingerprint reader and the portal slid back. “This is Tirian’s office. Some might say it is an appropriate place for you to continue your efforts.”

  “This is great.”

  “The new Examiners arrive in an hour. Once that process begins, I am unavailable except in an extreme emergency.”

  “Understood. And thanks.”

  “I will inform your instructors that you are working on a special assignment.” Josef turned to the door, then offered them a final, “I am counting on you.”

  When they were alone, Dillon said, “No pressure, right?”

  “If you see Elenya, tell her where to find me.”

  “That sounds to me like a ‘get out now.’”

  Sean was already moving for the desk. “Shut the door when you leave.”

  Sean regretted Elenya’s continued absence. But in a small-hearted way he was also glad. Frustration over his lack of progress grew with each passing hour. He stayed in his isolation chamber all morning. Tirian’s office did not give up many clues about the imprisoned Examiner. Even so, Sean was grateful for the chance to share the man’s space. It served as a constant reminder to push ahead. The desk, floor, walls, chairs, and shelves were all various shades of bland beige. There were no windows, no plaques, just one wall of photographs of graduating classes. Tirian did not smile in any of the pictures.

  When Dillon came to fetch him for lunch, Sean confessed, “I’m seriously worried.”

  “Outstanding. Long as you’re fretting I don’t need to.” He ducked Sean’s slug. “I’m serious. You squeeze and squeeze and then all of a sudden, wham. You come up with the incredible.”

  “I’ve wasted an entire morning.”

  “It’s not wasted.”

  “I’ve got all these fragments of ideas. But I can’t put them together.” They entered the lounge used for meals. The tables were silent, the students glum, the instructors not there. “What’s going on?”

  “The Examiners are going through the records of each student. From day one to now. As in, maybe they don’t get to stay, maybe they don’t pass, maybe they bring back the mind-wipe. Or so the rumors go.”

  But Sean was mostly looking for a face that wasn’t there. “Have you seen Elenya?”

  “She hasn’t shown up today. I asked.”

  Sean got in line for a meal he didn’t feel like eating. “Her mom was so mad.”

  “I can’t believe the lady got so bent out
of shape over some new clothes.”

  “Oh, really.” Sean filled his tray and followed Dillon to an empty table. “You have to admit this doesn’t look all that great to Elenya’s mom. Her daughter pops out to dinner with a guy she doesn’t know. This guy has only been a recruit for, like, a month and a half. And oh, by the way, he’s from some outpost free-fire zone nobody’s ever heard of. And what happens, this beautiful daughter shows up long after curfew. And hey, look at this, she’s wearing different clothes. And somehow she’s just plain forgotten that her own clothes and her mother’s jewelry are back in the bedroom of Frontier Frank.”

  “Well, hey, you put it that way . . .”

  “If you laugh I will scalp you.”

  “Check it out, bro. This is me totally not laughing.”

  Sean returned to Tirian’s office and spent another futile few hours scribbling and pacing and worrying. When the walls started closing in he went upstairs to the grand glass-walled chamber, but what he mostly saw was the carpet in front of his next step. When he grew tired of pacing he went back downstairs. Finally he gave up and went home. He took a long bike ride through the hot afternoon. A thunderstorm struck when he was midway back. He cycled through the rain and arrived home drenched. The rumbling din and fractured vision fit his mood entirely.

  Dillon showed up soon after and unfroze some dinner Sean didn’t taste. His brother spent the meal watching the clearing sky beyond the balcony doors. The sunset was a lot more entertaining than Sean.

  As they were clearing up, Sean finally got around to asking, “How are things with Carey?”

  “Good. Better than good. I mean, she’s shook up, but . . .”

  “You two are still an item.”

  “Believe it or not.” Dillon grinned. “She said it’d take more than a galactic transport system to change her mind.”

  “I’m glad.”

  “Sean . . . thanks, man.”

  “Happy to help.” Sean fit the dish towel onto the drying rack and stepped over to the balcony’s screen doors. He saw Carey and her father going through the same process, clearing up from their own meal, and had an idea. “Why don’t you invite her over? I’ll make myself scarce, give you guys some room.”