by K A Riley
To my dismay, Brohn and Rain seem to be using the time to get closer. They sit together in the Mess Hall, heads together, talking quietly. I try not to pay attention, but the truth is that when Brohn’s out of the room, I miss him. I don’t know what they talk about. All I know is that I’m back to envying Rain for her easy ability to be so friendly with him.
Like a loyal Golden Retriever, Cardyn’s been keeping me company. To be honest, at first I found his constant chatting annoying, but now it helps keep my mind off the fact that we’re imprisoned below the earth, serving a sentence that for all we know may last the rest of our lives.
Karmine and Kella are almost fully recovered from their injuries, and they seem reenergized from our forced rest period. They seem even more determined than ever to complete the training and head out into the world to slaughter the Order.
Amaranthine hasn’t moved in I don’t know how long. I check on her from time to time to make sure she’s not dead. Occasionally, I peel back a corner of the covers from over her head. She always shouts at me to leave her alone before covering herself back up again.
From time to time, I climb out of my cot and lumber over to the viz-screen. I don’t know why I bother checking. The scores haven’t moved in days. Not that we’ve done anything to make them move one way or the other.
Everyone is desperate to know what happened to Terk. We all agree that we’re sure he’s fine, that the medics are taking great care of him, and he’ll be back with our Conspiracy in no time. No one says anything about his arm. At first, no one expresses doubt that everything will be fine. Eventually, though, any optimism we’ve been cultivating dries up.
At one point, Card finally asks the questions I suspect we’ve all been thinking.
“Do you think there’s anyone left up there? Or…maybe they forgot we’re down here?”
“They didn’t forget about us,” Kella replies. “We’re still getting our meals through the chutes every day.”
“That could be automated, though,” I point out. “We’ve never been told how they decide what to feed us, or how the serving system works.”
“Maybe this is part of our training,” Brohn suggests. “To see how we react in stressful, confined conditions.”
“Great,” I reply. “They probably want to see if we’ll all murder each other. Hiller’s probably up there taking bets on who will get eaten first when the killings begin.”
Almost everyone laughs, for the first time in days.
Everyone except for Karmine.
“What if the Order’s taken over?” he asks. “What if they found the Processor, invaded it, and everyone up there is dead, and it’s only a matter of time before they find us down here and kill us—or else they don’t even realize we’re down here, and we’re left to die?”
“Let’s not go crazy, Kar,” Brohn says. “Yes. All that’s possible. But I doubt it’s probable.”
“Right,” Rain says. “It’s like Occam’s Razor, remember?”
I do remember. Rain taught it to us back when she and Karmine teamed up with some of the Sixteens of the 2040 Cohort for a few months to teach us about game theory and strategy. “When facing an uncertain situation or a complex problem,” they taught us, “the simplest answer tends to be the right one.”
“So what’s the simplest answer?” Amaranthine mumbles from under the covers of her cot.
We all stare at each other for a second, stunned to hear her voice. Other than yelling at me to leave her alone, it’s the first time Amaranthine’s spoken since we’ve been locked down here.
“It has to be a test, like Brohn said,” Rain says finally. “Everything we’ve faced so far has been a test. Why should this be any different?”
Cardyn breathes a huge sigh of relief. “A test I can handle,” he says. “I just don’t want to die down here.”
“You think dying up there is going to be that much better?” Brohn barks. All of a sudden, he sounds angry, but I’m not sure why.
Even Cardyn looks surprised. “I don’t know. I guess not. I just thought…”
“What? That we’d slaughter the Order and live happily ever after?” Brohn stands up now and starts pacing at the foot of his cot. “Don’t you see? Kress. Karmine. Kella. Terk. Their injuries. This is more than just training. Hiller and her goons are ramping things up. They’re trying to break us down, not build us up.”
“If it’s not training, then what is it?”
“It’s war games,” Kella says.
Brohn shakes his head. “No. This is something else. It’s like…like we’re being weeded out. It’s an elimination game. And if we don’t do something, it’s going to turn into an extermination game.”
I lie back on my cot with that gloomy possibility rattling around in my head. Absently, I run my fingers along my wrists and forearms. The thick black bands and graceful curves of the pattern feel warm to the touch. Maybe it’s a trick of the dim light in the Silo, but they almost seem to glow.
To my pleasant surprise, my connection with Render seems to be coming back. It’s faint, but I definitely feel something. Card starts to say something to me, but I tell him I need to concentrate for a minute.
“Your Render connection?” he asks. “It’s working?”
I nod and close my eyes, trying to make out what I’m seeing and feeling. The images are fuzzy. I can make out the flat green Agora and the silver Halo hovering high overhead. The eight black buildings are also easy to identify. There are flashes of movement here and there. I think it’s Chucker and Kellerson and the other guards in the turrets in front of each building. But then everything fades again, and I’m left back in the bunker with the others staring at me, asking me what’s happening.
“I’m not sure,” I say. “But I think Render knows we’re stuck down here. He knows we’re angry about Terk and afraid we might be trapped forever. I know it probably sounds insane, but I think he’s telling us we’re not alone. He’s telling us not to worry.”
Normally, that would be small consolation, but these are extreme times, and we’re all neck-deep in extreme emotions. As I pass along Render’s message, I’m answered with six deep sighs of relief.
We all sleep that night. Still angry and afraid, but also hopeful, for the first time in days.
Maybe it’s a coincidence. Maybe not. But when we wake up, we check the viz-screen, and our numbers have finally changed. Not by much—mine have gone up only slightly—but they’re definitely different. Like a flock of birds moving in unison we dash over to the Capsule Pads. This time, they light up like they’re supposed to and whoosh us to the surface.
The second the Capsules open, Brohn leaps out at Granden, to the surprise of the rest of us. Caught off guard, Granden gets slammed down, his head bouncing hard on the ground.
Trench darts over before Brohn can land another punch. He flies at Brohn, knocking them both off of Granden and onto the ground just by my feet.
Karmine and Kella shove me out of the way and leap into the fray. Karmine grabs Trench around the throat and starts dragging him off Brohn while Kella jumps in front of Brohn and squares off against Granden who is just rising to his feet, startled and furious.
Granden drives his forearm into the side of Kella’s head, and she stumbles ten feet before dropping to her hands and knees. A few feet away, freed now from Karmine’s grip, Trench leaps to his feet and strikes out at Karmine with a powerful side kick. Karmine manages to partially block the strike. He staggers but keeps his balance enough to land a straight counter-punch to Trench’s abdomen. Trench doubles over as Karmine and Brohn both close in on him.
Before Card, Amaranthine, or I can react, the crack of gunfire rings out. The air around us is peppered with bullets, and the three of us hit the ground.
Chucker, Kellerson, and two other guards whose names I don’t know thunder up to where Kella is just getting to her feet. They point their guns at all of us and order us to step back.
Trench grabs Brohn by one arm. Granden grabs him b
y the other.
“How could you do that to Terk?” Brohn shouts up at the Observation and Assessment Halo. There’s no answer, of course. The huge silver ring just keeps spinning.
18
All seven of us drop to the ground. It’s an act of exhaustion and surrender, but also one of defiance. Forget standing at attention. Forget military obedience. Hiller and her crew broke the rules. Training us to fight the Order means training us to survive. When they compromised that, they compromised the entire training program and our trust in them. In the one place in the world we should feel safe, we now feel danger lurking around every corner. But we can’t quit. We can’t just walk out of the Processor, through the woods, and out into the war. There’s nothing for us to do, but they can’t stop us from doing that nothing together. So we plop down on the Agora grass, exhausted, down, but not yet defeated.
Granden and Trench stand over us, guns drawn, ready to meet any more resistance with deadly force if necessary.
In the distance, we see Hiller in her white lab coat storming toward us. Her ponytail is pulled back so tight I can count the comb marks in her hair from here. I’m used to seeing her flanked by guards, but now she’s alone. She also doesn’t look as angry as I would have expected considering we just attacked our Trainers. She obviously takes her job seriously, but maybe she’s prepared to be reasonable. Maybe she’s got a heart buried under that starched lab coat somewhere after all.
Granden and Trench step to the side to let her pass. Unlike Hiller, they look unreasonable, heartless, and still pretty angry. The one thing they don’t look is surprised. Makes sense. After seeing what happened to Terk and then being trapped underground for nearly a week, no one could blame us for being belligerent, fed up, and totally on edge.
Next to me, Brohn tenses up like he’s going to leap to his feet and attack Hiller. His face is a twisted knot of frustration, vengeance, and rage. He presses his palms to the ground and starts to gather his legs under him. A forceful hand, palm out, from Chucker stops him before he can get going.
“I think we all need to take a breath and get some perspective here,” Hiller says. She’s not exactly happy about this situation, but her face and voice are calm.
Now Brohn does stand up. Chucker steps forward, but this time Brohn ignores him. The rest of us follow suit and stand in solidarity with him as he points an accusing finger at Hiller. “I think you can take your perspective and shove it up your—”
Rain cuts him off with sharp look and an even sharper elbow to the side of his arm.
“What I think Brohn means,” she says, “is that we’d like, no—we demand some answers. About Terk. About being trapped down in the Silo for days.”
Trench’s lip curls into a snarl. “We don’t care what you’d like, Recruit. You’re here for us, not the other way around.”
Hiller gives Trench a gentle “down, boy” look. He’s instinctively put his hand on his gun, but Hiller covers his hand with hers before stepping forward.
“We’re not the enemy here,” she says. “We’re as human as you. And with many of our resources limited by the war, we’re as subject to problems as anyone else. I know we’re supposed to be this big, flawless machine that churns out soldiers for the nation without any glitches or hiccups. But we’ve been as affected by the war as anyone else. Even the big Arcos being built are in limbo temporarily while we try to repel some of the latest incursions by the Order. I assure you, those people are pure killers, and they won’t stop until we’re all dead. We needed to devote some of our resources to one of the other Processors that just barely survived one of their drone strikes.”
“But why Terk?” Brohn asks, pointing back to the round seam in the Agora where the Capsule Pads rise and fall. “Why not let us see him? Why keep us trapped down there?” His voice is insistent rather than pleading. It’s the voice of a leader, of a full-grown man. These aren’t rhetorical questions. Brohn is demanding real answers.
“We lost power,” Hiller assures him. “You’re kept isolated here in the Processor and down in the Silo for your own protection. But I admit it: That protection backfired on us. The same protocols we have in place to keep you safe also kept you isolated while we worked out some kinks in the system.”
“And you couldn’t contact us?” Karmine asks, his voice an undisguised sneer of rage. “Let us know what was going on so we weren’t freaking out? We didn’t know if everyone up here was gone or dead or what.”
“Again, my apologies. Our communication and security systems are linked. We’ve argued over whether or not they should be. There are advantages and disadvantages. The big disadvantage, as we’ve all just discovered, is that if one system goes down, the other goes down with it.”
I look over at Brohn for a clue about where to go from here. He gives me a quick glance and shakes his head. We all pick up on his “stand down for now” signal. The tension drops a level, and we shuffle toward each other into a slightly tighter group.
Granden’s comm-link buzzes. He holds his wrist to his ear and then leans over to say something to Hiller. As she returns his whisper, Cardyn tugs at my sleeve. “Are you buying this twaddle?”
I shrug. “I guess,” I say out of the side of my mouth. “What choice do we have?”
Cardyn starts to say something to me about making our own choices for a change when Hiller and Granden finish their little side conversation. Turning back to us, Hiller tells us that the systems are all back up and running. “Communication. Security. The Agora. The Catalysts. The Cubes. Everything should be smooth sailing from here,” she says. “And Sergeant Granden here has just informed me that updates to the Agora have been completed. If things keep progressing, you’re on your way to being the best class we’ve ever seen. There’s even been word that President Krug himself has taken a special interest in your Cohort. Seems some of you have talents we’ve never seen before, talents that might just help us turn this war around.”
For a second, I’m terrified that she’s talking to me, that she knows about Render. But she doesn’t single me out or give me a second look. In fact, her gaze lingers over Brohn and then Amaranthine before turning back to Granden and Trench.
“Gentlemen, our Recruits have suffered a loss. But we need to continue with their training. The survival of our nation depends on it. We lost over three thousand men, women, and children in the Order’s latest drone attack. It was a coordinated effort designed to cripple our Southern Processor, derail our rebuilding efforts, and destroy our morale. They have failed. And with the help of this Cohort, they will continue to fail until they are finally defeated once and for all.”
“What about Terk?” Karmine asks. The rest of us have followed Brohn’s unspoken message to stand down, but Kar is still giving off some pretty serious attack-mode vibes. The knuckles on his right hand are red from where he hit Trench, and both of his fists are balled up tight and aching for action.
“I assure you, we take this as seriously as you do.” Hiller’s voice is soft and soothing. She’s practically cooing. She points to the last of the eight black buildings. “Terk is in the Theta Cube’s med-lab, being given the absolute best care. We’re even arranging for him to be fitted with a prosthetic arm. Top of the line. He won’t just be good as new. He’ll be better.”
“When can we see him?” Brohn asks.
“Soon. He needs to rest and rehab first. In the meantime, you need to get on with your training. There’s not much time.”
“What do you mean?”
Hiller sighs and looks genuinely distressed. She exchanges a look with Granden and Trench before dropping her head. She starts to pace in front of us, her eyes alternating between us and the lush grass of the Agora. “Okay. Look. I’ll level with you. You might be the last batch of Recruits. The war against the Order isn’t going as well as we’d like. They’ve cut off many of our supply chains and transport routes. That includes our access to the remaining free towns like the Valta where we’d be able to recruit more soldiers for o
ur army. Intel suggests that the Order is getting ready to make a final push to invade all four of our Select Processor facilities at once, including this one.”
“Four?”
“Yes. There are actually twenty-five Processors like this. But they’re much bigger. Soldier-factories. Four of the Processors have been designated as ‘Select.’ They’re built for special cases.” She gives us a long look and a sweep of her hand. “Basically, for you.”
“We’re honored,” Brohn says, his voice an unmistakable blend of challenge and contempt. “Why would they go after the smaller Processors? Why come after us at all?”
“Killing you helps them kill the rest of us. They’re preparing to end the war. In their favor.”
Rain steps forward, her head even with Brohn’s shoulder. “But President Krug always talked about how well things were going.”
“They were going well. For a while. But we may have overestimated our own strength and underestimated our enemy’s resolve. So you see, we don’t have the luxury of wasting time or resources.”
“So the fate of the war rests on our shoulders?” I ask, half incredulous, half terrified.
“Not just yours. There are still the other three Select Processors. But yes, you represent what could be our last chance to turn things around. As our training has gotten more sophisticated, we’ve been able to turn our best and brightest even better and brighter. Every minute of your day, every movement, challenge, puzzle, and physical test is carefully calibrated to ensure that when the time comes, you’ll be able to unlock talents you never knew you had. Your Cohort is the culmination of decades of research and experimentation. I’m sorry that your friend Terk had to suffer his injury as a result of all that. I really am. I like Terk. I like all of you. But now is not the time for emotions, especially mourning or regret.”
