The Perfect Soldier

by B D Grant

  Then, in the midst of my imaginary fight with Flea, I suddenly hear Sidney’s voice. All thought leaves me as I listen.

  I can’t see her, but she’s here. I allow the door to shut behind me as I walk in behind Kian following the sound of her voice. I want to push past him and run to her but there is no way this is a coincidence.

  “You’re going to shove me in that machine again, aren’t you?” she fusses. “That could be what’s making me sick. Have you thought of that?”

  Kian moves to the side, allowing me to see Sidney coming down toward us in a wheelchair. I’ve only ever seen Sidney through her eyes. I’ve seen her hands in front of her face, her body curled up on the paper-thin mattress in her cell, and reflections of her face in the tiny window of her cell door, but none of that has prepared me. I can’t help but study her. My eyes rack over her as I purposefully keep my expression blank; I have a feeling that Kian is watching to see if I react. She’s older than I’d thought. I try not to stare at the age spots scattered over her cheeks and up the sides of her forehead. She is sickeningly thin. Kian holds a hand up to the person pushing her, signaling him to stop.

  Sidney turns around to face us once her chair stops rolling five feet in front of us. Her eyes barely pause on me as she looks to Kian, who is silently scrutinizing the both of us. She doesn’t seem to recognize me at all.

  “Are you putting me on display for new recruits now?” She glances at me distastefully. “You want them to see what happens when people don’t go along with your fascism?”

  He ignores Sidney’s question, his lips pursing together. “Do you know this woman?”

  Sidney doesn’t flinch as I look her over top to bottom. Her hair is kinky, pulled back from her aged face, gray hairs sticking out in all directions. Kian’s eyes are all but drilling holes in the side of my head. I act like I am legitimately trying to place her. I think we both know that he will take any exchange between us as proof that we have a history. If I lie to him, though, I’m sure that he’ll catch that too.

  I look past her and to the person behind the wheelchair as I shake my head. “I’ve never laid eyes on either of them before today, Mr. Kian.” I want to go to her. I want to kneel down and hug her, maybe smooth the dead ends away from her face.

  “It’s not that I’m concerned with,” he hisses. Damn.

  “Mr. Kian? Really? You ask her to do that?” Sidney barks at him.

  “Miss Jameson is polite,” he says pointedly. I can’t tell if Sidney is truly mad or if she’s trying to distract him. Either way, I glare at her defensively, taking as much offense as I can. “I don’t know how you were raised, but my parents raised me to be respectful,” I snap.

  As if she’s going to tell me a secret, Sidney leans forward in her wheelchair, stage-whispering. “Let’s see how that works out for you.”

  Kian says to the man standing behind the wheelchair, “Take her away.”

  “Don’t believe a thing he tells ya, kid,” she calls over her shoulder as she’s rolled off.

  Behind us, I hear Sidney complaining to her attendant again. “Was seeing her supposed to help me believe this place isn’t like the basement? She looks like some of the Seraphim we pulled out of those cells.”

  The door shuts behind the man pushing Sidney. Kian squares his shoulders at me. “She’s dying.” He says it in a rushed, emotionless statement.

  My ability remains silent—he’s not lying.

  I stare back at him for a second. Is it because of the seizure? Did her trying to help me cause this? I remind myself that I can’t care, not right now. I purse my lips. When I feel like I can’t keep my shock in any longer I slowly turn away from him. I look around the new room, keeping my face turned away. The lab we are in now has the same smell as the first one, but this one is lined with tall refrigerators, all with sliding glass doors, and much smaller work stations right beside them. Like the last laboratory, this one has one door on either side of the room and no windows. There are no workers here, though—just a dozen or so lab coats hung up by the door we first walked through. A single, small camera is nestled in the upper corner of the room. This lab is confined enough that I’m sure it sees everything from that angle.

  Quietly I ask, “Is that why she’s so mean?” I can’t let it sound like I care.

  I want to ask Kian more about Sidney. I want to know why she’s dying, but I know better than to act the least bit interested.

  Instead, I walk up to the nearest fridge. It is the tallest one I’ve ever seen, shelves going all the way up. I’d have to be a good five inches taller to reach the top shelves. I try the handle, but it’s locked. “What’s in those?” I ask, pointing at the vials through the clear doors.

  I can see Kian’s reflection in the glass refrigerator door. He glances at the fridge next to me. “Samples,” he says absentmindedly.

  I think about asking why they’re locked up, but I get the feeling he might not like that. “Fascinating. Samples of what?” I keep my voice light, as if I don’t particularly care.

  I watch his reflection as his glances down, staring meditatively at the floor. Then, his head pops up suddenly. He meets my gaze in the reflection of the door, but says nothing. He steps sideways, out of sight. I turn to watch him heading for the door on the other side of the lab. I’m hoping that he’s decided to call Sidney back, but he stops short of the door.

  He grabs one of the lab coats by the door and pulls it on over his suit. He moves to the only hand-washing station in the room, to the left of the coat hooks.

  “Have a seat,” he instructs while rinsing his hands. Sliding on a pair of latex gloves, he walks over to another station.

  My heart-rate quickens as his gloved hand hovers over a tray that has a short red sharps container sitting on it. Next to the sharps container is everything needed to draw blood. He picks up a syringe and strip of stretchy rubber tubing. “For what?”

  “I’m going to take your blood,” he says.

  I’d donated blood once at my school’s blood drive. Nothing ever came of that. Mom and Dad weren’t very happy when I told them how I got bonus points in math class for doing it. I had to swear never to do it again.

  “Like hell you are.”

  He presses behind his ear as he continues readying a work station with the other hand. He extracts gauze from a glass jar that reeks of rubbing alcohol as he says to his ear, “Mase, bay four.” He casually rolls a stool out from under the station and sits down in it. He points to another stool under the station “Please sit down. This will only take a second.”

  I move closer to see what all he has out. I don’t see any vials of suspicious-looking substances that he might be intending to inject me with. Still, I don’t like my options. As I stand there, my mind racing, the door by the lab coats swings open. I instinctively jump back. Mase walks in, rolling up his left sleeve. When he sees me, he stops.

  Looking amused, he asks, “She giving you trouble, sir?”

  I take another step back from them and glare at Kian. “You’re going to force me to give you my blood? What happened to the whole ‘We aren’t bad people’ thing?”

  Kian, still sitting, says, “Mase is only here to ease any worry you may have. He’ll go first to demonstrate how painless this is.” He looks at Mase’s sleeve, rolled up past his elbow and says, “You had the right idea.” Mase silently sits down in the chair beside Kian’s and offers him his arm.

  “Why do you want my blood?” I ask, as I watch Kian tie a rubber tub above Mase’s left elbow. He rubs a gloved index finger over the crease of Mase’s arm before inserting the tiny needle into Mase’s arm. He pops the test tube into the other end of the needle, blood quickly filling it. Mase doesn’t react at all; he just stares down at the floor. His eyes flicker up to Kian for a moment and then go back to the ground.

  Kian removes the rubber tubing with one hand while juggling the test tube still filling with blood. He sets it on the tray between them and then gives me a small, forced smile. See? Not s
o bad. Kian pulls the communication thingy out of his ear, unwinding the thin, fresh-toned wire. He drops the device into the chest pocket of his lab coat, managing to hold the needle steady in Mase’s arm with one hand. Kian then nods at Mase expectantly. Mase pulls his device out next. He struggles to shove it into his pants pocket, trying not to move his left arm.

  With the devices safely away, Kian says, “You are the next generation, Miss Jameson. You’re special.”

  Mase gives me an intense once-over, as if the something that makes me special might somehow present itself on my forehead. I don’t meet Mase’s gaze. The vial hanging from his arm is almost full. I stare at the burgundy contents.

  “There’s nothing special about being a Veritatis.”

  Kian dislodges the vial from the needle and then shakes it, watching it almost as intensely as I was. “You don’t have to be modest,” he says. He writes Mase’s name on it with a permanent marker before setting it on the counter.

  “How do you know who I am?”

  Kian takes a small square of gauze and holds it over the needle tip. “Darrell Jameson, for one.” He pulls the needle slowly from Mase’s arm. Hearing him say my dad’s name is unnerving. Kian wraps a bandage around Mase’s arm, leaving the gauze to cover the injection site. “You can go,” he tells Mase. “And drink some orange juice,” he adds as an afterthought. “We don’t want you passing out.”

  Mase gets up to leave without a word. “Oh, Mase?” Mase turns to Kian on his way to the door. “Tell Mr. Edwards to make sure they don’t need any help downstairs.”

  I know that my dad didn’t tell them about me. I’m sure of it, but Kian hasn’t lied to me yet. As soon as Mase shuts the door, I ask Kian, “What did my dad tell you?”

  “I’ve never spoken with him,” he says, moving Mase’s sample off to the side. “As I told you, I didn’t work at The Academy. But I was informed that he refused to answer any questions regarding his offspring. As a Veritatis, I’m sure you know how telling silence can be.”

  As a Veritatis that may be true, but for me, one lie can reveal even more.

  “So he didn’t want Rogues to know who I was. Big deal.” I worry about where he’s going, and I choose my words carefully. “Any parent would refuse to talk about their child if they thought it would put them in danger.”

  He gives me a knowing look. “Not any parent.” I hold his gaze until he goes back to preparing the tray. “You were already known to us, Miss Jameson. It was your Seraphim ability he was questioned about.” He grabs a new pair of gloves. “You don’t consider yourself special?”

  I run my fingers through my hair, checking for split ends and stalling for time. He can play nice, but he isn’t going to get anything out of me. “If you had a face like mine. You’d think you were special too.”

  The wrinkles in the corner of his mouth deepen, but he maintains his composure. “I have had the pleasure of meeting plenty of Seraphim who were impressive at first glance, but,” he taps on the vial full of blood, “most turned out to be average.”

  I drop the hair I’m holding to comb out a new section. “Did you kill them?”

  He chuckles in a dry rasp. “I didn’t hurt any of them.”

  “You had someone else do it for you, then?”

  “I did not.”

  I look up from my hair, considering what he’s said. His answer is straight on and honest, but I can’t help wonder if he’s still hiding something. I saw that basement. If you don’t play ball for their team then they don’t allow you to play ball at all.

  What does he want with my blood though?

  “I tell you what,” he says. “I can promise you that if you let me take one blood sample, you will not be harmed in any way, no matter the results.”

  Despite my better judgment, I sit. “I want to watch you run the tests afterwards.”

  “Alright. I’ll explain the results,” he says, wrapping the rubber strap around my upper arm, tying it tight. I watch as my hand slowly reddens.

  I could still refuse. I could try to run. I would need codes and a keycard for all of the locked doors. I would have to knock Kian out somehow, or I’ll have the entire building searching for me before I make it through the adjoining lab. I would need someone to help me, and there is only one person in the building that comes to mind.

  Kian picks up an alcohol swab. I curl my arm into myself protectively.

  I tuck my feet under my stool to bounce them anxiously under me. “I’m nervous. Could you get one more person in for me to watch?” He stares at me giving me no indication if he buying it or not.

  “You have plenty of people working for you,” I say, acting like I don’t already have someone in mind. “ What about that other guy that was with Mase?”

  Kian shakes his head with an almost sad grin. “His blood wouldn’t work for what I’m doing,” he explains. “I need a regular blood sample to run with yours to show you the difference in the results.” His grin fades as he looks me in the eye. “You know Mr. Edwards, is that right?”

  I ignore the question, quickly asking my own. “Why wouldn’t Kelly’s blood work?”

  “I suspect that he’ll have similar markers to yours.”

  I allow him to take my arm. “Similar markers?” The alcohol swab is cold on my skin. It leaves a sharp cooling sensation as he grabs the needle and test tube.

  “Like you, Mr. Edwards is special.”

  Chapter 15

  “Once those are done,” Kian says, moving away from the spinning machine holding the tube of my blood, “I’ll use a dropper to—” The door to the other lab bursts open.

  Flea runs in, stopping as soon as he lays eyes on the both of us. I can hear heels clicking behind him in the distance.

  Kian’s tone goes cold. “What is the meaning of this?”

  Flea presses his earpiece into his ear. “Sir, we have to clear out,” he says insistently.

  The flurry of footsteps and voices from the adjacent lab sounds like they have everyone hurrying out suddenly. It’s as though we’ve missed an announcement that there’s free pizza and donuts in the break room. There’s a clicking of heels that grows closer as every other sound from the lab behind Flea fades. “Be sure to wipe your hard drives!” a deep voice yells from far enough away that the heels nearly drown his words out.

  Kian looks at Flea. “We are in the middle of—” I catch a glimpse of shiny black heels stepping in the lab behind Flea’s big frame. She clears her throat prompting Flea to move out of the doorway, gaze still fixed on Kian. Kian quickly blocks my view as he steps between the door and me. Kian isn’t as tall as Flea. Platinum hair is all I can see over him, but it’s enough.

  I dive around Kian, pushing Flea out of the way as best I can. “Cassidy?!”

  I had first seen Cassidy’s platinum hair after secretly following my mom to a meeting spot in New Orleans after Dad and the Angelos were kidnapped. My mom had told me she was meeting the only Seraphim she could trust. She was talking about my Uncle Will, but Cassidy was there with him. When I had seen Cassidy’s hair from a distance I had mistaken her for an old lady thinking it was silver. I don’t know why I ever thought it was silver. It’s not really even platinum, but it’s the closest word I can think of to describe it. Her hair is a beam of light in a dark room.

  She opens her arms to me, pulling me into her chest. “You are really here! I’m so glad you’re safe.” She pulls her head away for a moment to look me in the eye. “The last time I saw you, I thought that was it,” she says. In the basement during the raid, she had tried to warn me as she was pulled behind the barricade. I tried to get to her in the midst of us trying to take down the Rogues who were shooting at us from behind the barricade at the end of the corridor. The Rogues, with Cassidy, fled though another corridor on the other side of the barricade that we couldn’t see, and after the explosion the corridor we were in was collapsing to the point that we were scrambling to collect the prisoners we’d freed and our wounded before we became trapped. Cassid
y had no way of knowing that Kelly had shoved me into a cell just before the explosives rigged to the barricade detonated.

  “You shouldn’t be here,” Kian says to her in the same stern tone as before.

  She loops an arm around my shoulders She isn’t hesitant to meet Kian’s eyes. “You didn’t leave me any choice,” she says defiantly. “You didn’t have your comms in.”

  Kian gives Flea a sharp look. “What happened?”

  Flea pauses, looking at me uncomfortably. I don’t bother to pretend as if I’m not listening. “Your comms, sir.”

  Kian takes the little device from his pocket with an annoyed grunt and inserts it into his ear. He goes silent as he listens, his mouth forming a hard line. I watch Cassidy’s eyes flit over to the machine spinning behind us. “Looks like you won’t be finishing whatever science experiment you two were working on,” she says to me.

  I turn to look at the machine, which is still whirring away. “Why not?” Flea steps closer to Kian. “Public elevators have already been disabled, sir.”

  “Shut all of them down,” Kian tells him.

  The two men head for the door on the other side of the lab. Cassidy tugs on my arm to get my feet moving as I look back at the machine one more time. Flea repeats Kian’s order into his earpiece as they walk, checking over his shoulder to make sure Cassidy and I are following. “We’re going to the roof,” he says once he takes his hand away from the back of his ear. “The bird is doubling back.”

  “If the second floor becomes compromised have our people barricade all doors leading to the stairwells,” Kian tells him.

  Cassidy, with her arm still around my shoulders, hurries me forward with her. If she knows what’s going on, she isn’t forthcoming. My relief at seeing her alive and well is fading with every step we take. Cassidy’s willingness to trail after them speaks volumes. What tells me even more is her being able to walk about freely.

  “So it’s true then,” I say, keeping my voice low so the others won’t hear me. “You’re a Rogue.”