A Soldier and a Liar

by Caitlin Lochner

  I’m so caught up in my thoughts that I nearly run straight into someone when I round the next corner.

  “Sorry,” I say as the other person rubs his shoulder where we knocked into each other. In the dim hall, it takes another moment for me to recognize him. “Mendel? What are you doing up and about this early?”

  “Looking for you,” Mendel says. His hand drops back down to his side, but something about his expression puts me on edge. “You weren’t in your room last night when I came by.”

  “I was in the training hall for a while,” I say slowly.

  “Until right before curfew? And just now when I went to check, you still weren’t there.”

  “Why would you be looking for me at this hour?”

  “It was more like I was seeing if you were still gone. Where’ve you been, Cathwell?”

  “Around.”

  “Obviously.” He crosses his arms and waits. When my silence continues, he says, “I was on guard duty last night. I watched the security camera feeds, but I couldn’t find you anywhere in Central. Not even just walking down a hallway. Funnily enough, you obviously weren’t in your room, either.” My heart starts pounding. “And yet, here you are in Central, as if you never left. How’d you leave and get back in?”

  “Leave?” I repeat with a mildly blank look. I can hear the blood rushing through my ears, but I force my voice to be devoid of emotion. “There are cameras all over Central. How could someone leave without being recorded?”

  “You expect me to buy that?” Mendel asks. His eyes are flat, any semblance of his usual carefree act long abandoned. “You don’t fool me, Cathwell. What are you hiding?”

  My stomach knots. The usual blank act won’t work on him, especially not after our last conversation. I hadn’t anticipated running up against him this soon. I need more time to think before I deal with him.

  I take too long to answer.

  Mendel says, “It’s fine if you don’t want to talk to me. But I’m sure Kitahara and Johann and, oh, I don’t know, all of the higher-ups, would be very interested to hear about all this. That rebel trying to take you with her on our last mission, you sneaking out. It doesn’t paint a very nice picture of you, does it?”

  My irritation flickers, and I know it shows on my face, because Mendel smiles sharply. It’s such an annoying look I jump to wipe it off his face without thinking. “And what about you? Poor little Mendel, missing all your memories from before the military picked you up injured Outside the Gate three and a half months ago.” The smile is gone. “What you wouldn’t give to know even a hint of your past. But your string of information brokers can’t tell you anything except that there was never any Erik Mendel in Sector Eight. You must be desperate by now. I wonder what the others would think of that?”

  Unlike Johann, Mendel does not immediately jump for my throat. He sticks instead to shutting down and staring at me with dead eyes. “None of that has anything to do with the team, the rebels, or my loyalty to the military. Even if I can’t remember, I’m not the one sneaking around and keeping secrets. That would be you.”

  Before I can respond, we both freeze as a nearby door opens. We were so wrapped up in our conversation that neither of us were paying attention to our surroundings. The gray, early light of dawn is already seeping into the halls. Footsteps are beginning to echo around us. Central is waking up.

  I focus on Mendel again. It’s clear he’s as reluctant to continue this conversation around others as I am. Despite what he says, he’s very cautious about his lack of memories. He sees it as a weakness. One he doesn’t want others to know about or be able to use against him.

  “Let’s continue this later,” I say cheerfully. Being too serious will only draw attention, especially from two Nytes. “I’ll find you, okay?”

  I don’t wait for his response before skipping away down the hall, back to my room and away from the reality that someone is onto me. But no matter how much distance I put between us, I know I can’t pretend my way out of this one.

  13

  LAI

  I FEEL MENDEL’S eyes on me all day. Now that I’ve been discharged, Kitahara gathers all of us together for a joint training session. Johann comes because of our recent agreement about her working together with the team. Mendel comes to see me.

  Much as Kitahara doesn’t want to pair Mendel and Johann together after last time’s disastrous outcome, he’s worried about either of them going too seriously against me when I was only discharged yesterday. And so, it’s once again me against Kitahara and Johann versus Mendel.

  Yet even though his sparring partner is Johann of all people, I feel Mendel’s gaze on me the whole time. It’s obviously distracting him from his practice, but he can’t seem to stop himself.

  Eventually, Johann snaps at him for his lack of concentration. “What are you even doing? You think you can win against me using only half a brain?”

  Annoyance flickers over Mendel’s face and he starts fighting her seriously after that. But it only seems to lead to them bickering even more.

  I shake my head, understanding for the first time how Trist must feel when Fiona and I go at it with each other.

  “You okay?” Kitahara asks. We’ve had a few matches by now, all of them ending in my win, with the result that Kitahara is finally starting to face me seriously. I don’t know how she’s still so strong after this long, but I’m glad. I hope she’s not pushing it with her recent injuries, though.

  “Mm.” My attention roams over the many soldiers training in the room while I try to keep all their thoughts at a distance. My fingers drum against my leg. “Want to go again?”

  But Kitahara’s eyes slide to our teammates as Johann’s fire flares up yet again. He sighs. What am I going to do with these people? “No, that’s fine.” He claps his hands and raises his voice so Johann and Mendel can hear him. “Let’s take a break.”

  Johann and Mendel trade one last glare before stalking toward the benches. Kitahara and I follow after them.

  Mendel reaches out toward his water bottle, clearly intending to use his telekinesis to bring it flying to him, but after remembering where we are and all the ungifted soldiers around us, he chooses to physically pick it up instead. Casually using our gifts outside of battle or training is one thing. Casually using them in plain sight of Etioles is another.

  I sit on the floor and try to ignore Mendel’s continued staring as Kitahara speaks. He’s standing, looking out across the room of training soldiers. There’s something distant about his expression. “We’re setting out again in a few days. This time, we have to be ready.”

  “The mission details from the file sounded easy enough,” Mendel says lightly. He may have dropped the carefree act around me this morning, but he clearly intends to maintain it around the others.

  “It’s better not to underestimate your opponent,” Kitahara says. After a look around the room at all the people present, he lowers his voice so only we can hear him. “We’ll proceed with caution. But the important thing for this mission is to stay hidden and inconspicuous.” He stares pointedly at Johann and Mendel, who, despite their personalities, have been very good at hiding certain things up till now. But I know what he means. They’re both too … much. “This time, we don’t want to engage with any rebel forces.”

  “Roger,” Mendel says.

  Johann rolls her eyes, but answers affirmatively at Kitahara’s look.

  “Okay,” the major says. “Let’s go once more.”

  * * *

  Even after the training session has ended, Mendel follows me around like some kind of target-locked Watcher. I make sure to go only where there are other people present while I consider my plan, but by the end of the day, I’m worn out from his constant supervision. Which was probably his plan.

  I finally duck into the one place I know no one will interrupt us: Mendel and Kitahara’s room. Kitahara is in the library drafting the plan for our next mission, and if his perfectionist nature is anything to go by, he�
��ll be there awhile.

  The door is locked, so I have to pick it open with a hairpin I carry around specifically for times like this. In a handful of moments, the door springs open under my fingers.

  Kitahara and Mendel’s room is a strange mix of two different minds. I’d heard Kitahara was transferred over from Eastern Headquarters for this team, but any signs of unpacking are already gone. Books and binders are placed in neat rows along his desk. His bed is perfectly made. Reminders written on varying colors of sticky notes form seamless squares over both his bed and his desk. Nothing is an inch out of place.

  The other half of the room is chaos born of creation. Drawings and schematics hang over Mendel’s bed, mostly for buildings, quite a few for furniture. Tables and chairs and other woodwork creations clutter his half of the room. They’re stacked one on top of another in teetering piles. Cities of model buildings cluster together in the empty spaces between chair and table legs.

  The door opens behind me and I ask, “Is the woodshop always where you go when you’re off duty?”

  “Shut up,” Mendel says. “How’d you even get in here?”

  “I opened the door.”

  He decides it’s not a topic worth pursuing, which, really, it should be given I just proved I could break into his room. “You said you’d talk, so get to it.”

  “So impatient.” I turn around to face him and hold up a deck of cards. “Let’s play a game.”

  “A card game. Are you serious?” He searches my face for any sign of a joke or trick. When he finds none, he frowns. What is she up to? “I wasn’t looking for you so we could play games.”

  “No. You were looking for me so you could get answers.”

  He eyes me one last time, carefully. “Fine.”

  Mendel waves his hand and one of the tables scattered around his half of the room rises through the air and comes to rest between us. He also manages to telekinetically pull two semi-matching chairs out of the mess without sending anything toppling.

  Mendel falls back into his seat. I wonder if he’s trying to show off his sturdy workmanship. “So. What’s the game?”

  “Pass.” I sit and push the deck across to him.

  It’s a simple enough game. Each player starts with five cards. The goal is to trade them out to get a chronological sequence of number or face cards. You get other cards for your sequence by asking the other player if they have a card you need. If they don’t, you draw, then discard a card. If they do, you trade cards.

  “You don’t just want to play cards, do you?” Mendel asks. I watch him. He taps the deck. “What’s the real point of this?”

  A corner of my lips curls up. “Information.”

  “That’s why it’s pass, right?”

  I nod.

  It’s about time I met someone interesting. Whatever she’s hiding, now’s my chance to find out.

  Mendel shuffles and deals the cards, then waits for me to start. Waits for me to set up the rules of this game.

  The idea is simple: If he has the card I ask for, he has to answer the question I ask. If not, he can ignore it.

  But I don’t necessarily need him to answer my questions for them to have an impact. I’ll show my intentions and get him riled up first, and then ask my real questions.

  “What would it take for you to work together with the team?” I ask. “Five.”

  I take it back. She’s as boring and annoying as the rest of them. “Pass.”

  When I pick up a card from the deck and set another facedown on the table without saying anything more, he realizes how this game is going to work.

  “Where were you last night?” he asks. “Jack.”

  “Pass.”

  Mendel picks up a card and discards another on top of my facedown one.

  “How come you want to find your memories so badly?” I ask. “Three.”

  His eyes narrow. There are only a handful of people who know I have amnesia. I might not trust any of them, but I doubt they would say anything without good reason. Which means she really does know something. He remembers how I mentioned the night approaching on our last mission. Something I accidentally pulled from the one scrap of a memory he does have of his former life.

  “Shouldn’t that be obvious?” Mendel asks. “I want to know who I was, if there’s anyone waiting for me, what I planned on doing with my life. Why I was injured and Outside when they found me.” He hands me a three of hearts. “I want to know everything.”

  I give him a card I don’t need.

  “What’s your gift?” he asks. “Four.” It’s not a card he needs, but he knows that since I asked for a three and a five, the probability of me having a four is high.

  My nose scrunches up and I stare at my cards. He just had to start playing to get information instead of playing to win the game. Too late to go back now. “Telepathy.”

  He stares at me. Is she joking? She wouldn’t lie. Would she? There’s nothing to gain from a lie like that.

  “It’s against my policy to lie,” I say, still examining my cards. “I’m a decent actress, but not a liar. Not through words, at least. Which is why, unlike you, I’m safe around Kitahara.”

  I flick my four of spades at him, but it floats down to lie on the table, where it remains untouched. He stares at it.

  “You should probably fix your line of thinking, too,” I say. “Not everyone does or says things just because they can get something out of it. We’re not all you.” I tilt my head in his direction. “Oh, and I do hope you won’t tell anyone what we discuss during this game. That wouldn’t be much fun.”

  He meets my eyes for possibly the first time since we met. It’s hard for him to wrap his mind around the fact I can read thoughts—his thoughts, specifically. No wonder she knew about my memory loss. What else does she know? Not just about me, but everyone. Wait. Could she go into someone’s head and dig up forgotten memories?

  He opens his mouth to ask the question aloud, but before he can, I say, “I’d like for this team to work out. Which means everyone has to cooperate with one another. Will you help me? Four.”

  Mendel blinks. He’d forgotten we were playing pass, and it takes him a moment to understand why I tacked a four on the end of my question. He slides the four still sitting between us back to me. Normally players don’t ask for a card they just gave up, but it’s not strictly a rule that you can’t. “What about Johann?” he asks.

  “The sergeant major seems willing to work with the team now.”

  Blackmailed. Johann definitely isn’t the type to make deals or be persuaded. Whatever Cathwell heard from his thoughts, it must’ve been important enough to get him to bend.

  He squints at the deck as if willing it to give him answers. What kind of person is this girl? Manipulative, clearly. But she seems smart. If she’s asking me for a favor, then she must have something to offer in return. I doubt she’d bother otherwise.

  Disagreeable though Mendel is, he’s perceptive.

  “If I agree, will you help me get my memories back?” he finally asks. When I just keep looking at him, he adds, somewhat irritably, “Four.”

  “It’s against the rules to ask for the same card as your last turn. An automatic pass.” I was expecting more from him. To correctly guess a card from my hand like last time, maybe. Did I overestimate him?

  But I can tell he’s been thrown off. Mendel said the card we’d traded back and forth instead of guessing a card I might have because he didn’t care about the game. He was more concerned with our conversation.

  I take up his side for him. “If I said I would try to help you get your memories back, would you work to make the team a success? Which would, of course, include not prying into my affairs or talking about them with anyone. Ace.”

  “You’re not sure it would work.” He’s careful not to phrase it as a question. That would require asking for a card. Besides, he needs to answer my own question first. “Using your gift to get my memories back, I mean.”

  “My gift isn�
�t going to be able to help you,” I say. “I can only hear what people are thinking in the moment. Dipping into memories is beyond me. But I know someone whose gift is to see into a person’s past. I can ask him to help us. I don’t think he’s ever used his gift on someone who has amnesia, but if that doesn’t work, I’ll help you in other ways.”

  “And what ways might those be?” he asks. I raise an eyebrow, but he says, “I’m not going to agree to such a flimsy deal. I don’t even know this person you’re talking about—if he even exists.”

  “I did say I don’t lie.”

  He scoffs. “Look, I want concrete proof that you’ll find a way to make me remember my past, or at least get me closer to it.”

  “You wouldn’t trust me if I said I could absolutely do such a thing.” I lean back in my chair until I’m balancing on its two back legs. Mendel’s craftsmanship really is solid. “And I wouldn’t, either, if I were in your position.”

  We stare at each other. He knows I’m reading his thoughts. He knows I probably know exactly how to counter any argument he could think up before it even crosses his mind. Her gift must be so helpful when she wants to manipulate someone into doing what she needs. There’s no way I can trust her.

  I don’t so much as bat an eye when he comes to this conclusion. Even among Nytes, a gift like mine isn’t something that’s easy to have or share with others. It happened a few times when I was younger, before I knew better, where I told someone about my gift and was met with revulsion and hate. I didn’t understand then. Now I know some things are better left secret.

  “You’re asking an awful lot of me in return for this one favor.”

  “The one thing you want is your memories, right?” I ask. “If there was more you wanted, I would offer it to you. But there isn’t. You have no leads, no allies, and only three and a half months’ worth of memories. I have the means to help you. If you don’t accept them, who knows how much longer you’ll remain at a standstill. You need help, Mendel. I’m offering it to you.”

  “At a price.”