by Marie Lu
“It’s fine,” she snaps. “It’s just the truth, yeah? Well, you’ll be reunited with June soon enough. If she decides not to go back to the Republic.” She knows how cold her words are, but she doesn’t try to sugarcoat them. “Baxter thinks you’re going to betray us, you know. That’s why he doesn’t like you. He’s been trying to convince me of that ever since I first joined. I dunno . . . maybe he’s right.”
She leaves me standing alone in the hall. Guilt slices through my skin, opening veins as it goes. A part of me is angry—I want to defend June, and tell Tess all the things June had given up for my sake. But . . . is Tess right? Am I just deluding myself?
I HAD A NIGHTMARE LAST NIGHT. I DREAMT THAT ANDEN pardoned Day for all his crimes. Then I saw the Patriots dragging Day onto a dark street and putting a bullet in his chest. Razor turned to me and said, “Your punishment, Ms. Iparis, for working with the Elector.” I jerked awake in a sweat, trembling uncontrollably.
A day and night (more specifically, twenty-three hours) pass before I see the Elector again. This time I meet him in a lie detection room.
As guards lead me down the hall to an ensemble of waiting jeeps outside, I go over all the things I’ve learned at Drake about how lie detectors work. The examiner’s going to try to intimidate me; they’re going to use my weaknesses against me. They’ll use Metias’s death, or my parents, or maybe even Ollie. They’ll certainly use Day. So I concentrate on the hall we’re walking down, think about each of my weaknesses in turn, and then press each one deep into the back of my mind. I silence them.
We drive through the capital for several blocks. This time I see the city smothered in the gray half glow of a snowy morning, soldiers and workers hurrying along the sidewalks through the spots of light that streetlamps cast on the slick pavement. The JumboTrons here are enormous, some towering fifteen stories, and the speakers lining the buildings are newer than those in LA—they don’t make the announcer’s voice crackle. We pass the Capitol Tower. I study its slick walls, how sheets of glass protect each balcony so anyone giving a speech will be properly shielded. The old Elector had once been attacked that way, back before the glass went up—someone had tried to shoot at him all the way up on the fortieth floor. The Republic had been quick to put up the barriers after that. The Tower’s JumboTrons have wet streaks distorting the images on their screens, but I can still read some of the headlines as we pass them.
A familiar one catches my attention.
DANIEL ALTAN WING EXECUTED DEC. 26 BY FIRING SQUAD
Why are they still broadcasting that, when all the other headlines from the same time have long since made way for more recent news? Maybe they’re trying to convince people that it’s true.
Another one flashes by.
ELECTOR TO ANNOUNCE FIRST LAW OF NEW YEAR TODAY AT DENVER CAPITOL TOWER
I want to pause and read this headline again—but the car speeds past and then the ride’s over. My car door opens. Soldiers grab my arms and pull me out. I’m instantly deafened by shouts from the crowd of onlookers and dozens of federal press reporters clicking their little square camera screens at me. When I take in the people surrounding us, I notice that in addition to those who are here just to see me, there are others. A lot of others. They’re protesting in the streets, shouting slurs about the Elector, and being dragged off by police. Several wave homemade signs over their heads even as guards take them away.
June Iparis Is Innocent! says one.
Where Is Day? says another.
One of the guards nudges me forward. “Nothing for you to see,” he snaps, hurrying me up a long series of steps and into the giant corridor of some government building. Behind us, the noise from outside fades away into the echoes of our footsteps. Ninety-two seconds later, we stop before a set of wide glass doors. Then someone scans a thin card (about three by five inches large, black, with a reflective sheen and a gold Republic seal logo in one corner) across the entry screen, and we step in.
The lie detection room is cylindrical, with a low domed roof and twelve silver columns lining the rounded wall. Guards strap me standing into a machine that encircles my arms and wrists with metal bands, and press cold metal nodes (fourteen of them) onto my neck and cheeks and forehead, my palms and ankles and feet. There are so many soldiers in here—twenty in total. Six of them are the examination team, with white armbands and transparent green shades. The doors are made of flawlessly clear glass (it’s imprinted with a faint symbol of a circle cut in half, which means it’s one-way bulletproof glass, so if I somehow broke free, soldiers outside the room could shoot me through the glass but I wouldn’t be able to shoot back at them or break out). Outside the room, I see Anden standing with two Senators and twenty-four more guards. He looks unhappy, and is deep in conversation with the Senators, who try to cloak their displeasure with fake, obedient smiles.
“Ms. Iparis,” the lead examiner says. Her eyes are a very pale green, her hair blond, her skin porcelain white. She scrutinizes my face calmly before pressing on a small black device she’s holding in her right hand. “My name is Dr. Sadhwani. We’re going to ask you a series of questions. As you are a former Republic agent, I’m sure you understand as well as I do how capable these machines are. We’ll catch the smallest twitch of movement from you. The slightest trembling of your hands. I strongly advise you to tell us the truth.”
Her words are all just pretest hype—she’s trying to convince me of the complete power of this lie detection device. She thinks the more I fear it, the more reaction I’ll show. I meet her eyes. Take slow, normal breaths. Eyes relaxed, mouth straight. “Fine with me,” I reply. “I have nothing to hide.”
The doctor busies herself studying the nodes stuck to my skin, then the projections of my face that are probably being broadcast around the room behind me. Her own eyes are darting around nervously, and tiny beads of sweat are dotting the very top of her forehead. She’s probably never tested such a well-known enemy of the state before, and certainly not in front of someone as important as the Elector.
As expected, Dr. Sadhwani starts with simple, irrelevant questions. “Is your name June Iparis?”
“Yes.”
“When is your birthday?”
“July eleventh.”
“And your age?”
“Fifteen years, five months, and twenty-eight days.” My tone stays flat and emotionless. Each time I answer, I pause for several seconds and let my breathing become shallower, which in turn makes my heart pump faster. If they’re measuring my physical rates, then let them see fluctuations during the control questions. It’ll make it harder to tell when I’m actually lying.
“What grade school did you attend?”
“Harion Gold.”
“And after that?”
“Be specific,” I reply.
Dr. Sadhwani recoils slightly, then recovers. “All right, Ms. Iparis,” she says, this time with irritation in her voice. “What high school did you attend after Harion Gold?”
I face the audience watching me behind the glass. The Senators avoid my stare by pretending fascination with the wires snaking around me, but Anden looks back at me without hesitation. “Harion High.”
“For how long?”
“Two years.”
“And then—”
I let my temper go up, so that they might think I’m having trouble controlling my emotions (and my exam results). “And then I spent three years at Drake University,” I snap. “I got accepted when I was twelve and graduated when I was fifteen, because I was just that good. Does that answer your question?”
She hates me now. “Yes,” she says tightly.
“Good. Then let’s move on.”
The examiner purses her lips and looks back down at her black device so she doesn’t have to meet my eyes. “Have you ever lied before?” she asks.
She’s moving on to more complicated questions. I speed up my breathing again. “Yes.”
“Have you lied to any military or government officials?”
Right after I answer this question, I see a strange series of sparks at the edges of my vision. I blink twice. They disappear, and the room comes back into focus. I hesitate for a second—but when Dr. Sadhwani notices this and types something on her device, I force myself to turn back into a blank slate.
“Have you ever lied to any of your professors at Drake?”
“No.”
“Have you ever lied to your brother?”
Suddenly the room vanishes. A shimmering image replaces it—a familiar living room bathed in warm afternoon light comes into focus, and a white puppy sleeps next to my feet. A tall, dark-haired teenager sits next to me with his arms crossed. It’s Metias. He frowns and leans forward with his elbows resting on his knees.
“Have you ever lied to me, June?”
I blink in shock at the scene. This is all fake, I tell myself. The lie detector is conjuring up illusions that are designed to break me down. I’d heard of devices like this being used near the warfront, where a machine can simulate sequences to play out in your mind by copying the brain’s ability to create vivid dreams. But Metias looks so real, it’s like I could reach out and tuck his dark hair behind his ear, or feel my tiny hand in his large one. I can almost believe that I’m right there in the room with him. I close my eyes, but the image stays embedded in my mind, bright as daylight.
“Yes,” I say. It’s the truth. Metias’s eyes go wide with surprise and sadness, then he vanishes along with Ollie and the rest of the apartment. I’m back in the middle of the gray lie detector room, standing before Dr. Sadhwani as she jots down more notes. She gives me an approving nod for answering correctly. I try to steady my hands as they stay clenched and trembling at my sides.
“Very good,” she murmurs a moment later.
My words sound as cold as ice. “Do you plan on using my brother against me for the rest of these questions?”
She looks away from her notes again. “You saw your brother?” She seems more relaxed now, and the sweat on her forehead has faded away.
So. They can’t control what visions pop up, and they can’t see what I see. But they’re able to trigger something that forces these memories up to the surface. I keep my head high and my eyes on the doctor. “Yes.”
The questions continue. Which grade did you skip during your time at Drake? Sophomore year. How many conduct warnings did you receive when you were at Drake? Eighteen. Prior to your brother’s death, had you ever had negative thoughts about the Republic? No.
On and on. She’s trying to desensitize my brain, I realize, to make me lower my guard so she’ll be able to see a physical reaction when she does ask something relevant. Twice more I see Metias. Each time it happens, I take a deep breath and force myself to hold it in for several seconds. They grill me about how I escaped from the Patriots, what the bombing mission was for. I repeat what I’d told Anden at our dinner. So far, so good. The detector says I’ve told the truth.
“Is Day alive?”
And then Day materializes in front of me. He’s standing only a few feet away, with blue eyes so reflective that I can see myself in them. An easy grin lights up his face when he sees me. Suddenly I ache for him so much that I feel like I’m falling. He’s not real. This is all a simulation. I let my breathing steady. “Yes.”
“Why did you help Day escape, when you knew that he’s wanted for so many crimes against the Republic? Might you have feelings for him?”
A dangerous question. I harden my heart against it. “No. I simply didn’t want him to die at my hands for the one crime he didn’t commit.”
The doctor pauses in her note-taking to raise an eyebrow at me. “You risked an awful lot for someone you hardly know.”
I narrow my eyes. “That doesn’t say much about your character. Perhaps you should wait until someone’s about to be executed for a mistake you made.”
She doesn’t respond to the acid in my words. The illusion of Day vanishes. I get a few more irrelevant control questions, then: “Are you and Day affiliated with the Patriots?”
Day appears again. This time he leans in close enough for his hair to brush, light as silk, against my cheeks. He pulls me toward him for a long kiss. The scene vanishes, replaced abruptly by a stormy night and Day struggling through the rain, blood dripping from his leg and leaving a trail behind him. He collapses onto his knees in front of Razor before the whole scene disappears again. I fight to keep my voice steady. “I was.”
“Is there going to be an assassination attempt on our glorious Elector?”
No need for me to lie on this one. I let my gaze wander to Anden, who nods at me in what I assume is encouragement. “Yes.”
“And are the Patriots aware that you know about their assassination plans?”
“No, they are not.”
Dr. Sadhwani looks over at her colleagues, and after several seconds she nods and turns back to me. The detector says I’ve told the truth. “Are there soldiers close to the Elector who may support this assassination attempt?”
“Yes.”
Several more seconds of silence while she checks with her colleagues on my answer. Again, she nods. This time she turns around to face Anden and his Senators. “She’s telling the truth.”
Anden nods back. “Good,” he says, his voice muffled through the glass. “Continue, please.” The Senators keep their arms crossed and their lips tight.
Dr. Sadhwani’s questions are ceaseless, drowning me in their never-ending torrent. When will the assassination attempt take place? On the Elector’s planned route to the warfront city of Lamar, Colorado. Do you know where the Elector will be safe? Yes. Where should he go instead? A different border city. Is Day going to be a part of this assassination attempt? Yes. Why is he involved? He’s indebted to the Patriots for fixing his injured leg.
“Lamar,” Dr. Sadhwani murmurs as she types more notes into her black device. “I guess the Elector will be switching his route.”
Another piece of the plan falls into place.
The questions finally come to an end. Dr. Sadhwani turns away from me to talk with the others, while I let a breath out and sag against the detector machine. I’ve been in here for exactly two hours and five minutes. My eyes meet Anden’s. He’s still standing near the glass doors, surrounded on both sides by soldiers, his arms crossed tightly over his chest.
“Wait,” he says. The examiners pause in their deliberations to look over at their Elector. “I have a last question for our guest.”
Dr. Sadhwani blinks and waves at me. “Of course, Elector. Please.”
Anden walks closer to the glass separating us. “Why are you helping me?”
I push back my shoulders and meet his eyes. “Because I want to be pardoned.”
“Are you loyal to the Republic?”
A final collage of memories comes into focus. I see myself holding my brother’s hand on the streets of our Ruby sector, our arms raised in salute to the JumboTrons as we recite the pledge. There’s Metias’s face, his smile and also his strained look of worry on the last night I saw him. I see the Republic flags at my brother’s funeral. Metias’s secret online entries scroll past my eyes—his words of warning, his anger at the Republic. I see Thomas pointing his gun at Day’s mother; I see her head snap backward at the bullet’s impact. She crumples. It’s my fault. I see Thomas clutching his head in the interrogation room, tortured, blindingly obedient, forever captive to what he did.
I’m not loyal anymore. Am I still loyal? I am right here in the Republic’s capital, helping the Patriots assassinate the new Elector. A man I once pledged my allegiance to. I am going to kill him, and then I’m going to run away. I know that the lie detector is going to reveal my betrayal—I’m distracted, consumed with the conflict of needing to make things right with Day, but hating to leave the Republic at the mercy of the Patriots.
A shudder runs through me. They’re just images. Just memories. I remain silent until my heartbeat steadies. I close my eyes, take a deep
breath, and then open them again. “Yes,” I say. “I am loyal to the Republic.”
I wait for the lie detector to flare red, to beep, to reveal that I’m lying. But the machine is quiet. Dr. Sadhwani keeps her head down and types in her notepad.
“She’s telling the truth,” Dr. Sadhwani finally says.
I’ve passed. I can’t believe it. The machine says I’m telling the truth. But it’s only a machine.
* * *
Later that night, I sit on the edge of my bed with my head in my hands. Shackles still hang from my wrists, but otherwise I’m free to move around. I can still hear the sounds of occasional muffled conversation outside my room, though. Those guards are still there.
I’m so exhausted. I shouldn’t be, technically, since I haven’t done anything physically straining since I was first arrested. But Dr. Sadhwani’s questions whirl in my mind and combine with the things Thomas had said to me, haunting me until I have to clutch my head in an attempt to ward off the headache. Somewhere out there, the government is debating whether or not they should pardon me. I’m shivering a little, even though I know the room is warm.
Classic signs of an oncoming illness, I think darkly. Maybe it’s the plague. The irony of that sends a hint of sadness—and fear—through me. But I’m vaccinated. It’s probably just a cold—after all, Metias had always said I was a little sensitive to changes in weather.
Metias. Now that I’m alone, I let myself worry. My last answer during the lie detector test should have thrown a red flag. But it didn’t. Does that mean I am still loyal to the Republic, without even being aware of it? Somewhere, deep down, the machine could sense my doubts about carrying out the assassination.
But if I decide not to play out my role, what will happen to Day? I’ll need a way to contact him without Razor finding out. And then what? Day’s certainly not going to see the Elector the way I see him. And besides, I have no backup plan. Think, June. I have to come up with an alternative that will keep us all alive.
If you want to rebel, Metias had told me, rebel from inside the system. I keep dwelling on this memory, although my shivering makes it hard to concentrate.