by Ellery Kane
I was about to ask Max if he knew how the Guardians had learned so much about him, but Quin returned, alone.
“Well, hello, Sunshine,” Max teased Quin. “How kind of you to return for our guest.”
Quin’s mouth turned up slightly at the corners in a half smile. When he looked at me, his face was contrite, though he didn’t apologize.
“C’mon, Lex,” he said. “They’re ready for you.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
SUPER SOLDIER
I STOOD NEXT TO QUIN at the front of the Map Room. At least three hundred pairs of eyes stared back at me. The last time I had been in front of a crowd this size, I was graduating from high school, giving my valedictory address. I remembered trying desperately to find my mother’s face in a sea of faces, beads of sweat pooling underneath my long hair. Stalling, I had cleared my throat into the microphone, sending my nerves cascading in echoes throughout the stadium. Finally, when I implored myself to begin speaking, I saw her.
Now, in this sea of faces, only two were familiar: Max and Elana. I was grateful they had taken seats near the front. I tried to focus on them, but it was impossible. The faces of the Resistance were everywhere: Men and women, young and old, all races. I mentally tallied the number of Guardian tattoos, losing count at seventeen. Though the room was filled with chatter, a steady drum of voices, I often heard my last name. Curious heads turned in my direction, their eyes lingering for longer than was polite. I felt spotlighted, so I looked back at them. I wondered what they’d been told about me.
I glanced at Quin. As usual, he appeared calm, almost bored. He leaned in toward me, so close that I could feel his warm breath on my cheek.
“Apparently, you’re quite the celebrity,” he said quietly, his face softening into an easy smile. There was something about Quin smiling at me that felt a lot like finding my mother’s face in the crowd.
“Apparently,” I replied. “Too bad you missed your chance for an autograph.”
Quin chuckled. I noticed that Max and Elana were watching us intently. Max whispered something to Elana, and she nodded.
Quin nudged my arm and gestured toward a man, standing at the back of the room.
“That’s Augustus Porter,” he said, his voice reverent. “Before the economy tanked, he was a successful investment banker. He’s the elected leader of the Resistance.”
Augustus Porter. I repeated the name in my head. It was unfamiliar to me, but then again, up until yesterday, the entire Resistance had been an enigma. My mother’s contacts with the Resistance had been infrequent. Text messages to her emergency-only cell were always initiated by them and shrouded in secrecy. I doubted she had ever heard the name, Augustus Porter.
Augustus had the look of an aging athlete. He was tall and wiry, towering above most of the crowd. His skin was the color of candied chocolate, and he had a thick, graying beard. To say the least, he had a presence—the kind of person who changes the room just by entering it. Augustus walked toward Quin and me, the crowd parting as he passed through it.
“Hello, Ms. Knightley.” He extended his hand. “Gus Porter. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.” His voice was deep and booming like a bass drum. “When we heard about your mother’s plan, we were quite concerned. I’m glad you’ve proven yourself to be tougher than we expected.”
I smiled graciously, masking my annoyance. Was that a compliment? “Thank you. It’s a relief to be here,” I said. That was true, at least. “I’d like you to meet the Council, the governing body of the Resistance.” Augustus gestured toward the group accompanying him. He named them one by one. “Cason Caruso, our strategist; Dr. Shana Bell, psychiatrist; Hiro Chen, computer and technology specialist; and Vera Bullock, pharmaceutical consultant.”
Augustus paused, smiling. He put an arm around Quin. “And, of course, you’ve already met Mr. McAllister. He’s our expert on all matters Guardian.” Quin’s face brightened.
“Nice to meet you all,” I said, shaking their hands. Their faces were welcoming, all but Cason Caruso. Giving me a single nod of his bald head, he turned from me, disinterested. He wore a permanent scowl with a firmly set jaw as if bolted into place.
Augustus opened his arms toward the crowd. They quieted as he spoke. “Members of the Resistance, today is a landmark day in our cause. As you may have already heard, we have with us here, Ms. Alexandra Knightley, daughter of the esteemed Dr. Victoria Knightley. Dr. Knightley has been instrumental in promoting the views of the Resistance and has been working closely with us since the city was evacuated. Her daughter is here to assist us.”
The crowd began to buzz, a small hive of chattering voices.
Augustus turned to me and addressed me directly. His gaze was intense. “Most likely, you have been given a great deal of misinformation by the media. The things you will hear today may shock you. You may have trouble believing them, but you can trust that the Resistance speaks the truth.”
I nodded, but inside my stomach churned with an uneasy doubt. Though I wanted to believe him, my mother had taught me to be skeptical. “We aren’t lie detectors, Lex,” she always cautioned. Through her work with criminals, my mother had learned quickly how effortlessly people lied and, even worse, how easy it was to be duped.
Behind Augustus, a large projector screen came to life. For a brief moment, I stopped breathing. On the screen was the face of the dead man. The picture appeared to have been obtained from a social media website. In it, the dead man was clearly alive, posing for the camera. I wanted to look at Quin. I wanted to look away—anywhere, but at the dead man’s face. Concealing my horror, I kept my eyes focused on the screen as Augustus spoke.
“Last night, in our efforts to rescue Alexandra, a member of the Guardian Force was killed by our surveillance team. His name was Elliot Barnes. He was twenty. We were fortunate to obtain a sample of his blood and his cell phone data.”
A new screen appeared. Thankfully, the dead man—Elliot—was not on it. Instead there was a graph marked Levels and Composition of Emovere. I tried to focus on it, but I was distracted by Augustus’ lies. I had killed Elliot. Was he trying to protect me? And the word rescue infuriated me. Quin had admitted he was under orders to allow me to fend for myself as a test of my trustworthiness.
“Consistent with our prior data, Mr. Barnes had large amounts of Emovere in his blood. As you can see, comparing our prior samples, the levels of Emovere have been steadily increasing among members of the Guardian Force. Additionally, we detected the presence of other emotion-enhancing substances, including Agitor.”
My assumption about Elliot had been correct, but I hadn’t expected him to be under the influence of other substances. Agitor was known as a particularly potent drug for enhancing stimulation and excitement.
Augustus continued. “These results are further proof that our suspicions about the government’s motives in establishing the Guardian Force are correct.”
Augustus looked directly at me as he spoke. “The Guardians are not a military police force. They are an experimental group serving only one purpose.”
Another screen appeared. It was black except for two words in large red, block print: Super Soldier.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
A WARNING
AS THE CROWD DISPERSED, A few members of the Resistance lingered behind to shake my hand. I felt like an impostor. Attention had always come easily to my mother. She reveled in it, soaking up accolades like a sponge. For me, as for my father, it had always been more comfortable to stand just outside the spotlight. Besides, I had done nothing to warrant attention except shooting Elliot. No one but Quin and I (and Augustus?) knew that.
Most of the Resistance was gracious and welcoming, but I knew some viewed my mother’s participation in the movement as too little, way too late. An older woman approached me, her brow narrowed in a hard line of contempt. As she neared, I could see that time and sadness had weathered her face. I smiled, trying to preempt the storm that I could see gaining strength inside her. She did no
t return my gesture.
“Alexandra, is it?” she asked, her voice already irritated.
“Yes, ma’am.” I tried to be polite.
“In my opinion, your mother started this whole mess. Wasn’t she the one who helped to develop Emovere in the first place?” The woman didn’t wait for a response. “Now she wants to jump off that bandwagon onto ours, and we’re supposed to say, Thank you, Dr. Knightley. We’re so honored, Dr. Knightley. I don’t think so. We don’t need her kind of help.”
“I understand why you feel that way,” I said, parroting a phrase I heard my mother use often. She told me that expressing understanding disarms anger. I hoped it would work.
“Do you? Do you understand?”
An obvious miscalculation. My words had only strengthened her storm. I sighed, exasperated. I noticed Augustus watching us, listening intently, while pretending not to.
“No,” I admitted to her. “I guess I don’t understand, but I would like to.” My voice was small and contrite.
Just like that, the storm passed and her face calmed.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I don’t mean to come off so angry. I’m really not like this all the time.” She offered a meager smile. “My name is Sharon Cloverdale. I have—I mean had—a son named Michael. He was in the US Army Special Forces. Remember those bombings we had a while back in Chicago?”
I nodded. It was impossible to forget. Radical forces had bombed several major landmarks in the city, resulting in mass casualties. It was one of several precipitating events that sent our economy into a tailspin.
“After Chicago, he was selected to be part of the tactical team that went to the Middle East. He was given Emovere prior to his deployment. The doctors said it was their recommended prophylactic treatment for PTSD. No side effects.”
Her face contorted with grief. “After that, I lost my son. He didn’t die right away, but he was never the same. He walked around like a zombie, like there was nothing there anymore.” She waved her hand in front of her face. “Then he killed himself—or at least, that’s what we think. He drove his car into a wall.”
“I’m so sorry,” I said to her. “It might be hard for you to believe, but I know my mother is too.”
She nodded, but I knew my words offered no comfort.
“I’m here for him,” she said. “There are a lot of us here for someone. I hope you’ll tell your mother that.”
“I will,” I called after her. She was already walking away.
I took a breath. Sharon’s sorrow-fueled anger had stung just as if I had been slapped. I looked around the room. Only Augustus remained, but Quin lingered by the doorway, just within my sight. I was glad he hadn’t left me alone with Augustus—something about him seemed false.
Still, I was inclined to believe his accusations against the government. When the economy collapsed, the government worked quickly to shore up the pharmaceutical companies. My mother often referred to these companies as the government’s puppets because of the lucrative defense contracts they had been awarded. By that time, my mother had resigned from her position at Zenigenic. Her research had begun to suggest that Emovere could be highly addictive to some and induce aggressive episodes in others. When she approached the company with her concerns, they immediately demanded her resignation. So it wasn’t a stretch to imagine the government partnering with the pharmaceutical industry to create an undefeatable and unempathetic soldier: fearless, aggressive, and unrelenting.
“A penny for your thoughts, Ms. Knightley.” Augustus stood over me, looking down.
I chose my words carefully. “It’s a lot to take in,” I admitted, “but I’m not surprised.”
“Well then, your mother has certainly taught you well.” He paused, surveying the now-empty room. “Quin tells me that you have something for me … from your mother.”
Again, my stomach flip-flopped. I hesitated but produced the flash drive from my pocket. I had been keeping it close to me. I could still remember the feel of my mother’s hands as she pressed it into mine. She had wanted the Resistance to have it.
I offered the flash drive to Augustus. As it was swallowed by his large hand, I immediately regretted surrendering it so easily.
“Who else knows about this?” Augustus asked.
“Just Quin,” I said. I glanced toward the doorway, but he was gone.
“Let’s keep it that way.” Augustus’ lips smiled as he spoke, but his eyes were dead and cold, faintly reptilian. I couldn’t help but feel as if his words were a warning.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
TOGETHER?
WHEN I LEFT THE ROOM, I was surprised to see Elana waiting for me. She was alone. I felt disappointed. I needed to talk to Quin.
“Are you okay?” she asked. “You look a little pale.”
“I’m fine,” I lied.
As we walked back toward the control booth, Elana touched my arm. “I just wanted to apologize for earlier, for leaving like that.”
“It’s okay,” I said. “You were just being a good friend to Quin.” As I spoke the word, I immediately wondered if friend was an accurate descriptor of their relationship.
“Quin has his moments,” Elana chuckled.
“So are you two … together?” Inside, I cursed my own boldness. Though I wasn’t entirely sure why, my breathing was momentarily suspended as I awaited her answer.
Elana laughed again, throwing her head back.
“Quin, Max, and I were all recruited at the same time,” she explained. “I was only sixteen. I would be lying if I said that I didn’t fall for him.”
My heart dropped fast, like a hard stone down into my stomach.
“We had … a moment, if you want to call it that, but it didn’t last long. I guess I needed a lot of reassurance, and Quin isn’t exactly the reassuring type.”
I looked at Elana … her face was radiant. What could she possibly need to be reassured of? The girls I had known in school like her moved with a kind of effortless confidence. I could see now that Elana was not like that. Something deep inside her was broken.
“Quin has been through a lot,” Elana said. “We all have, but Quin especially.”
Elana sensed my curiosity.
“Be patient with him,” she said gently, placing her hand on my shoulder. “He’ll tell you. I can see that he wants to trust you.”
Though I tried to hide it, I knew she could see how much I wanted to believe her.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
SIGHTSEEING
AFTER I LEFT ELANA, I returned to the control booth. Quin and Max were exchanging a computer tablet between them, engrossed in a game of Scrabble.
Max glanced up and waved me over. “Here she comes, our local celebrity,” he joked, his eyes twinkling at me.
Quin snickered.
I rolled my eyes and shook my head at them.
“We’ve been waiting for you,” Max added. “Augustus wants us to take you on a quick tour of the city—a little sightseeing of the Guardians’ handiwork.”
I gave him a puzzled look, inwardly recoiling at the mention of Augustus’ name.
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“You’ll see,” Max offered cryptically.
A few minutes later, they were both geared up, guns and walkietalkies strapped to their waistbands. I still wanted to talk to Quin about the meeting, but I held back. I couldn’t help but notice that he seemed less-than-excited about our excursion. He hardly spoke to me until we were outside, walking up Market Street, retracing our circuitous route from the night before. Making sure we avoided the surveillance cameras, Max walked a few steps ahead of us.
“Did you give Augustus the flash drive?” he asked me.
I nodded, still feeling annoyed with myself.
“So,” he began, “your mother didn’t tell you what was on it?” I was surprised at his interest.
“No,” I replied. “My mother is kind of a mystery sometimes. She hasn’t told me much about her work lately.”
; “Oh.” Quin sounded disappointed.
His voice hesitant, he asked, “Does she still work with criminals?”
I turned to him, considering his face carefully. “Do you know a lot about my mother?” It seemed that he did.
Before Zenigenic, my mother had spent years studying criminals. She had developed a drug—Crim-X—for the government that was supposed to reduce crime by suppressing emotions like anger and excitement. Her work allowed for the release of many inmates previously evaluated as high risk.
A few years after the first group of five hundred inmates was released, one of the men, Inmate 243, committed murder. The other inmates were returned to prison, and the project was abandoned. My mother rarely spoke of that time in her life, even to me, so Quin’s question was a curious surprise.
Quin shook his head rapidly. “Uh … no … not really. Just what I’ve heard,” he stammered. I saw Max glance back at us, directing a raised eyebrow toward Quin.
Max’s comment from the morning about Quin and my mother nagged at me. “What have you heard?” I asked.
Quin didn’t answer. He pointed up ahead. “Stop one on your tour, Ms. Knightley,” he announced.
Up ahead, I saw a familiar scene. It was the overturned, graffitied cable car at the intersection of Market and Powell Street. Max hoisted himself up on the car, showboating for a moment, his arms outstretched.
“Fellow San Franciscans, lend me your ears.” Max’s voice was intentionally dramatic.
I giggled, but Quin seemed perturbed.
“Max.” Quin admonished with a disapproving look.
Almost immediately, Max jumped down, giving me a little bow. “Sorry, Dad,” he said sarcastically, narrowing his eyes at Quin.
“Wasn’t there a rally here a while before the city was evacuated?” I asked, vividly recalling an SFTV news broadcast from one of the protests where shooting had erupted in the crowd.
Quin nodded solemnly, something dark passing across his face.