by Jacob Gowans
“The goldfish have been in the cells with them for the past two weeks. The candidates have fed and cared for them as a reward for good behavior. So far the test looks promising.”
No sooner had she said these words then one of the girls in the room dropped her scalpel and sobbed into the crook of her arm. The teacher moved quickly, injecting a syringe into the girl. Five seconds later, she vomited into a waste bucket. Just as in the other room, none of the other kids were distracted by the punishment of one.
“They learn quickly to ignore the punishment of others,” Judy stated as if she read the Queen’s thoughts. “It’s one of the very first lessons we teach.”
Judy led the Queen around the facility for over two hours, talking most of the time. After touring most of S.H.I.E.L.D., the holo-screen on her com popped out. “Oh, look at that. It’s nearly time for a graduation test. We all have high hopes that this will be a pass. Shall we go back up and watch?”
The Queen motioned for Judy to lead the way. After taking an elevator, they stopped at the very end of a long hall where a closed black door waited. Judy took them through a side door to a small observation room. Several other doctors and teachers joined them in silence. Beyond the one-way glass that separated the observation and testing rooms, a young man with jet-black hair sat in a chair with his head down, arms folded. Without seeing his face, the Queen couldn’t be certain how old he was … perhaps in his late teens? Next to him was a small table, very similar to a nightstand, with a gun resting on its side. Under the gun was a slip of paper.
The Queen watched the young man for only a couple of minutes when the black door opened and two Aegis brought in a girl who couldn’t be eighteen—couldn’t even be sixteen. Once the Aegis seated her, they left. The girl wore a plain white outfit, a tight shirt and leggings which put every curve and detail of her body on intimate display. Judy leaned in and spoke so softly the Queen strained to hear her.
“Fifteen-year-old female with Anomaly Fifteen … aka Ultra. Has responded well to all treatments and tests despite recruitment at age thirteen. The male is a seventeen-year-old facing expulsion from the H.A.M.M.E.R. program due to notable lack of progression of releasing memories of family and childhood. The two have copulated over a dozen times in the last sixty days as part of their positive reinforcement regimen. Our behavioral psychologists noticed displays of affection beyond standard copulation techniques. I assure you, this will be an fascinating test—something you wouldn’t want to miss.”
One of the male teachers in the room with the Queen and Judy pushed a button on a console adjacent to the window through which the Queen and everyone else observed the test. “State your name for the record,” he said into a microphone.
“13F712072-Jane,” said the teenager.
“The alphanumeric sequence is unique,” Judy informed the Queen. “Thirteen-year-old female when she arrived. Then month, day, and year of birth. The names are recycled. The next female candidate will be given the name Jane if this one fails. Her birth name was Vitoria. They called her ‘Vivi.’ How humiliating.”
“The test will commence,” the male teacher said. “Pick up the paper and follow your orders.”
Jane—or Vivi—stepped forward, ignoring the young man in the chair. She slid the paper out from under the weapon without disturbing it. With steady hands, she unfolded the slip, read its contents, and set it back down on the table. Then she picked up the gun, checked the magazine, and fired it. The first bullet hit the young man in the head, the second in the chest, and the third in the navel. When she finished, she placed the gun to her temple and pulled the trigger. Instead of a bang there was only a click. The girl blinked twice, then placed the gun back where she’d gotten it and put her hands behind her. Applause and murmurs of satisfaction and congratulation came from the teachers and doctors. The girl couldn’t hear them. She simply stood in her spot, her white clothes spattered with the blood of the boy she’d killed.
Judy turned to the Queen, a smile of jubilance plastered on her face. The Queen, however, felt the beginnings of a sharp headache coming on, accompanied by an even sharper pain in her sternum.
“I’m glad you were here to see that,” Judy stated. “Would you like to return downstairs and visit S.H.I.E.L.D. again or might I interest you in some refreshment?”
* * * * *
Wednesday, March 26, 2053
“I didn’t put up those pictures!” Priyanka shouted in the principal’s office. “I didn’t do anything!”
Mrs. Simpson’s eyes were fixed on Priyanka Patel, who did not blink or look away. Katie had to admit, despite loathing her, Priyanka was an amazing liar. She always had been. Watching her friend get away with what she’d done made Katie want to shriek. She clutched her tablet stylus in her hand, imagining herself plunging a dagger into Priyanka’s eyes. The images were so realistic that it made her break into a sweat.
“Mrs. Simpson, I got a message last night from Mark—”
“Your boyfriend,” Priyanka cut in to say.
“—that she was going to do this. I can prove it! The messages are on my tablet. Then the next day it happens. You can’t believe this was a coincidence.”
“You’re just mad that you can’t walk your way to prom queen!” Priyanka shouted. “So I was angry at you. Big deal! So I said I was going to do some stuff. But—but that is disgusting! I would never …” Shaking her head furiously, Priyanka’s voice broke and she dissolved into a teary mess.
Oh I will make you cry, Priyanka. I will make you wail.
Mrs. Simpson put up her hands and kept her attention on Priyanka. “I’ve heard enough. What happened to Katie today was beyond vulgar or obscene. I’ve never seen anything like it, and I hope I never see anything like it again. What happened today is also illegal, Miss Patel. And you had better believe that I will do everything in my power to ensure that it never happens again. Never. As soon as you leave this office, I will be contacting authorities, parents, and the administration to catch whoever did this. Expulsion is more than a possibility. Even criminal charges.”
Priyanka crossed her arms. “I’m not worried because I didn’t do it!”
“I hope so. But someone did. Do you know who it was?”
“I don’t.”
Liar. Katie shook so hard that she needed to act, pounce, do something, but Mrs. Simpson turned her attention to her.
“Miss Carpenter, I know you’re furious. I know you’re hurting. And I will help you, but you need to remember that retribution … retaliation … any negative response to this will hurt your cause. Try to brush it off.”
“Brush it—”
Simpson’s hand went up again. Four rings adorned her fingers. One of them caught the light and blinded Katie. “I know it sounds impossible. I hurt for you, and am going to do everything I can. So work with me. Help me. Don’t be stupid. I’ll be in touch with both your parents about the matter. Priyanka, go back to class. Katie, would you rather go home for the day?”
“No,” she answered right away. “It’ll just make me look worse.”
Mrs. Simpson smiled as though to say she was proud of Katie’s decision. Both girls left. When they reached the hallway, Katie turned to Priyanka and grabbed her by the shirt. Priyanka smacked her hands away. “Don’t touch me, slut.”
“They’re gonna catch you, Pri. I’ll be waving goodbye when you’re expelled.”
Priyanka’s smirk unnerved Katie. “They’ll never pin it on me. My mom paid a pro to make and print those posters. You tried to make me go to my junior prom with a retard. You’ve lost your mind.”
“I’ll make sure they get you. I don’t care what I have to do.”
Priyanka giggled. “Oh sweetie, you’re so used to being on top, you can’t stand the view from the bottom.” She stopped giggling and stared Katie down. “Your reign is over. Mess with me and I will burn you.”
7. Alone
Friday, June 13, 2087
SAMMY LAY IN bed with the sheets pulled over his
head to block out the bad dreams. Rapid gunfire coming from the left flank. In the trees. They’re in the trees. The forest was dark, too dark to see far. He repeated his orders to the Psions on that area of the battlefield to shield, but gunfire still got through, peppering holes in the Ultras and Elite. Dozens of men and women—soldiers all of them—fell to the earth, but the gunfire continued. The faces of the Thirteens could be seen from afar, red eyes glowing. All of them looked like him. All the fallen were Brickert.
“Sammy!” a voice called out—Jeffie’s—urgent and desperate. “Sammy, can you hear me? Answer me!”
He searched the forest floor for her face among the wet leaves and dirt, but didn’t see her. Is she one of the fallen? A horrible emptiness filled his stomach. The pounding gunfire grew louder, more rapid. Artillery. He ordered his soldiers to take cover, full shields. Explosions came from far away, growing closer too rapidly.
“Sammy!” Jeffie cried again. “Open the door.”
Everyone else faded until Sammy was the only one in the forest. It was unnaturally dark and the air raised goosebumps on his arms. From a distance he saw a black shadow facing him, along with the distinct impression it was watching him. Shadows can’t watch things. They’re just shadows. But before he could get a closer look it faded into oblivion with a haze of color and a melting of sound. His sheets were soaked with sweat. But the sweat reeked of … Sammy sniffed, realized what the wetness really was, and cursed.
His nightmares had started after Detroit, growing worse each week. And now I’m wetting the bed?
“Sammy!” Jeffie yelled again.
“Just a second,” he called out to her.
“Hurry up.”
Sammy tore off his shirt and pants, and changed into dry clothes before answering. Jeffie frowned at him when he finally opened the bedroom door. “What took you so long?”
Frowning at her and hoping she didn’t notice the smell of urine, he said, “What do you want?”
“The baby. Marie gave birth.”
A smile appeared on Sammy’s face—a rare thing of late. “You serious?”
“Yes. And I thought you would want to know right away. I’ll take you there if you don’t mind my company.”
“You know I—”
“I don’t want to get into it, Sammy.” She sighed and played with the doorknob, glancing at him as she did so. “Do you want to come now? I have your car already running in the tunnels.”
Sammy pulled at his shirt, noticing for the first time that it was a dirty one. “I need to—”
“I know. Put on some cologne, too. It smells terrible in here. Is that because of Al?”
Sammy hesitated, then nodded. Al had moved in with Sammy three weeks ago following a fight with Marie that got so bad Commander Byron forcibly ejected him from the house. Since Brickert was still in serious condition the decision was made to put Al with Sammy for the time being.
“I wouldn’t have hurt her,” Al had told Sammy a hundred times, both sober and drunk. “Never.”
Al drank every night until he fell asleep, and the house often carried the scent of vomit and booze.
After changing his clothes and splashing on some cologne, Sammy followed Jeffie out the door. They hadn’t been alone together in over a month—not since he’d left after she told him she loved him. When they ate together or hung out, it was always in a group, usually with Kawai, Li, Natalia, and Strawberry.
While Sammy and Jeffie hadn’t officially broken up, they weren’t a couple either. Sammy didn’t know what they were. Sometimes they held hands around their friends, sometimes they didn’t. They spoke cordially to each other. They hugged occasionally. But it wasn’t the same as it’d been. It was as though an unspoken agreement existed that Jeffie would give him his space for now, but when they were around others, they could still act like a couple and catch up.
It worked for Sammy. He still liked Jeffie, and thought she was as beautiful as the first day he saw her. In fact, she was more beautiful, her curves more feminine after two years of aging and developing. Her green eyes still brightened when she found his face in a room or when he made a comment that only she would find funny. Holding her hand still gave him a feeling of pride in his chest.
The problem wasn’t with Jeffie. It was him, and he knew it. Why did I freak out when she told me she loved me? Sammy wondered while Jeffie tried to restart the car. Even now, a month later, the question still bothered him.
The car gave a whine instead of whirring to life.
“I hate your stupid car.”
“Lemon?” he asked her. “Why are you picking on Lemon?” Sammy patted the dash. “She doesn’t mean that.”
“You’re the most important person here, and they assign you the worst car. Tell me how that makes sense.”
“You’re the best, Lemon. Don’t listen to Jeffie. She’s jealous she doesn’t have a car of her own.”
“Seriously, why do you get this piece of junk?”
Sammy shrugged. “Thomas said I’m a teenager, so I get the teenager car.”
Natalia had named the car Lemon because of its bright yellow color and because it usually took more than one try to get it started.
“It was supposed to get fixed last week, but the mechanics are still repairing the cruisers. Are you going to be a gentlewoman and push or do I have to get out and do it?”
Jeffie glared at Sammy.
Sammy got out, mildly annoyed, and flashed Jeffie a mocking grin that stretched his cheeks. The tunnels were cold, even in the summer, and he shivered. The only way to be sure the car would start was by giving it a push. After using a strong hand blast on the car’s bumper to shove it forward, the car started and Sammy climbed back in the passenger seat. He rolled his window down so the air would blow on his face and help dilute his stench. Despite the cold, his skin was clammy from the night sweats.
“You okay?” Jeffie asked.
“Yeah. Fine. You?”
“Good.”
“Good.”
“I heard you saw Croz the other day for something,” Jeffie mentioned, her voice only louder than a whisper. “Is that true?”
Sammy stirred in his seat. “That’s not your business.”
Two weeks ago, Commander Byron and Dr. Rosmir had approached Sammy and suggested he visit Croz, the resistance’s chief psychologist, about getting a better handle on his Anomaly Thirteen. Sammy insisted that he already had a handle on it, but went anyway. The visit had been short, polite, and interesting, but Sammy hadn’t felt the need to set up another session, despite Croz’s multiple invitations.
Jeffie drove in silence for two or three minutes, but Sammy knew her too well. She wanted to talk, and was figuring out a way to bring up her desired subject without offending him. The only way to prevent this was by starting a new conversation before she did and keep the topic away from what she wanted to address.
“So—”
“When did you hear about the baby?” Sammy asked, barely voicing his question in time to cut her off. “Who told you?”
Jeffie gave him an annoyed side-glance that told him she knew exactly what he was doing. “Twenty minutes ago. Natalia’s been assisting in the infirmary to keep an eye on Brickert. Rosmir told her and she told me right after.”
“Is Natalia the one who told you about my appointment with Croz?”
Jeffie’s lack of response confirmed Sammy’s suspicion. “It slipped. Her mind’s been on Brickert, not worrying about you.”
“Has Brickert been awake more lately?” The last time Sammy visited his friend, three days ago, all Brickert did was sleep and mumble.
“He’s awake a little more every day. That’s all I know. Are you going to keep asking questions so that I have no time to bring up a different subject?”
“That was my plan.”
Jeffie snorted a laugh, but there was no mirth in her eyes. “It’s been a month.”
“So?”
“I want to go back to the way things were. How much long
er are you going to punish me?”
Sammy watched the lights of another car pass them as they drove slowly through the tunnel to the infirmary parking area. He should have known better than to think he could have ducked the conversation. “I haven’t been punishing you.”
“It feels like it.”
“I’m busy.” When he heard her sigh, he added, “Really, I am. I get home from meetings and I still have to read over reports from other subcommittees and analyze data to plan our strategies. You think I like doing it?”
“You don’t have to be as busy as you make yourself. Why can’t you talk to me about what happened? We were getting better about talking things through, now you act like I’m diseased—”
“No, I don’t.”
“You do!” She fixed her eyes on him, and he could feel her trying to get him to look back at her. But he didn’t give in. “Geez, Sammy, I said I love you. I didn’t ask you to marry me or something.”
“Stop saying that!” he shouted so loudly that she flinched.
“It’s true!”
“It’s insane. We’re sixteen and in the middle of a war. We’re screwed up.”
“Do not tell me what I feel!”
“I’m not.”
“Kawai and Li are planning to get married when the war’s over. People can still fall in love and plan for the future.”
Sammy hissed a short, cruel laugh. “Kawai is what? Barely seventeen? She’s gonna marry Li at eighteen? That’s ridiculous.”
“She’s eighteen, and she’ll be nineteen. What’s really going on in your head?”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re not.”
A spark of rage turned into a roaring flame, and Sammy kicked the dash, cracking the plastic in three places. Jeffie shot him an angry, disapproving look.
He closed his eyes, breathed, and leaned back in his chair. “Fine. I have problems, but I don’t want to talk—”
“You have ducked everything and everyone lately. Your responsibilities to the leadership committee. Your friends. Showering too, apparently. And you’ve been like this since Detroit.”