by Tahereh Mafi
He says nothing. Indicates nothing. He seems neither interested nor perturbed by my presence, which is new. He holds himself with a certainty that reminds me a great deal of Anderson, but there’s something else about Ibrahim— something more—that feels unique. Even from a passing glance it’s obvious that he feels absolutely sure about himself. I’m not sure even Anderson feels absolutely sure of himself. He’s always testing and prodding—examining and questioning. Ibrahim, on the other hand, seems comfortable. Unbothered. Effortlessly confident.
I wonder what that must feel like.
And then I shock myself for wondering.
Once the elevator stops, it makes three brief, harsh, buzzing sounds. A moment later, the doors open. I wait for Ibrahim to exit first, and then I follow.
When I cross the threshold, I’m first stunned by the smell. The air quality is so poor that I can’t even open my eyes properly. There’s an acrid smell in the air, something reminiscent of sulfur, and I step through a cloud of smoke so thick it immediately makes my eyes burn. It’s not long before I’m coughing, covering my face with my arm as I force my way through the room.
I don’t know how Ibrahim can stand this.
Only after I’ve pushed through the cloud does the stinging smell begin to dissipate, but by then, I’ve lost track of Ibrahim. I spin around, trying to take in my surroundings, but there are no visual cues to root me. This laboratory doesn’t seem much different from the others I’ve seen. A great deal of glass and steel. Dozens of long, metal tables stretched across the room, all of them covered in beakers and test tubes and what look like massive microscopes. The one big difference here is that there are huge glass domes drilled into the walls, the smooth, transparent semicircles appearing more like portholes than anything else. As I get closer I realize that they’re planters of some kind, each one containing unusual vegetation I’ve never seen. Lights flicker on as I move through the vast space, but much of it is still shrouded in darkness, and I gasp, suddenly, when I walk straight into a glass wall.
I take a step back, my eyes adjusting to the light.
It’s not a wall.
It’s an aquarium.
An aquarium larger than I am. An aquarium the size of a wall. It’s not the first water tank I’ve seen in a laboratory here in Oceania, and I’m beginning to wonder why there are so many of them. I take another step back, still trying to make sense of what I’m seeing. Dissatisfied, I step closer again. There’s a dim blue light in the tank, but it doesn’t do much to illuminate the large dimensions. I crane my neck to see the top of it, but I lose my balance, catching myself against the glass at the last second. This is a futile effort.
I need to find Ibrahim.
Just as I’m about to step back, I notice a flash of movement in the tank. The water trembles within, begins to thrash.
A hand slams hard against the glass.
I gasp.
Slowly, the hand retreats.
I stand there, frozen in fear and fascination, when someone clamps down on my arm.
This time, I almost scream.
“Where have you been?” Ibrahim says angrily.
“I’m sorry, sir,” I say quickly. “I got lost. The smoke was so thick that I—”
“What are you talking about? What smoke?”
The words die in my throat. I thought I saw smoke. Was there no smoke? Is this another test?
Ibrahim sighs. “Come with me.”
“Yes, sir.”
This time, I keep my eyes on Ibrahim at all times.
And this time, when we walk through the darkened laboratory into a blindingly bright, circular room, I know I’m in the right place. Because something is wrong.
Someone is dead.
KENJI
When we finally make it to the compound, I’m exhausted, thirsty, and really have to use the bathroom. Warner is none of those things, apparently, because Warner is made of uranium or plutonium or some shit, so I have to beg him to let me take a quick break. And by begging him I mean I grab him by the back of the shirt and force him to slow down—and then I basically collapse behind a wall. Warner shoves away from me, and the sound of his irritated exhalation is all I need to know that my “break” is half a second from over.
“We don’t take breaks,” he says sharply. “If you can’t keep up, stay here.”
“Bro, I’m not asking to stop. I’m not even asking for a real break. I just need a second to catch my breath. Two seconds. Maybe five seconds. That’s not crazy. And just because I have to catch my breath doesn’t mean I don’t love J. It means we just ran like a thousand miles. It means my lungs aren’t made of steel.”
“Two miles,” he says. “We ran two miles.”
“In the sun. Uphill. You’re in a fucking suit. Do you even sweat? How are you not tired?”
“If by now you don’t understand, I certainly can’t teach you.”
I haul myself to my feet. We start moving again.
“I’m not sure I even want to know what you’re talking about,” I say, lowering my voice as I reach for my gun. We’re rounding the corner to the entrance, where our big, fancy plan to break into the building involves waiting for someone to open the door, and catching that door before it closes.
No luck yet.
“Hey,” I whisper.
“What?” Warner sounds annoyed.
“How’d you end up proposing?”
Silence.
“Come on, bro. I’m curious. Also, I, uh, really have to pee, so if you don’t distract me right now all I’m going to think about is how much I have to pee.”
“You know, sometimes I wish I could remove the part of my brain that stores the things you say to me.”
I ignore that.
“So? How’d you do it?” Someone comes through the door and I tense, ready to jump forward, but there’s not enough time. My body relaxes back against the wall. “Did you get the ring like I told you to?”
“No.”
“What? What do you mean, no?” I hesitate. “Did you at least, like, light a candle? Make her dinner?”
“No.”
“Buy her chocolates? Get down on one knee?”
“No.”
“No? No, you didn’t do even one of those things? None of them?” My whispers are turning into whisper-yells. “You didn’t do a single thing I told you to do?”
“No.”
“Son of a bitch.”
“Why does it matter?” he asks. “She said yes.”
I groan. “You’re the worst, you know that? The worst. You don’t deserve her.”
Warner sighs. “I thought that was already obvious.”
“Hey— Don’t you dare make me feel sorry for y—”
I cut myself off when the door suddenly opens. A small group of doctors (scientists? I don’t know) exits the building, and Warner and I jump to our feet and get into position. This group has just enough people—and they take just long enough exiting—that when I grab the door and hold it open for a few seconds longer, it doesn’t seem to register.
We’re in.
And we’ve only been inside for less than a second before Warner slams me into the wall, knocking the air from my lungs.
“Don’t move,” he whispers. “Not an inch.”
“Why not?” I wheeze.
“Look up,” he says, “but only with your eyes. Don’t move your head. Do you see the cameras?”
“No.”
“They anticipated us,” he says. “They anticipated our moves. Look up again, but do it carefully. Those small black dots are cameras. Sensors. Infrared scanners. Thermal imagers. They’re searching for inconsistencies in the security footage.”
“Shit.”
“Yes.”
“So what do we do?”
“I’m not sure,” Warner says.
“You’re not sure?” I say, trying not to freak out. “How can you not be sure?”
“I’m thinking,” he whispers, irritated. “And I don’t hear you contribut
ing any ideas.”
“Listen, bro, all I know is that I really, really need to p—”
I’m interrupted by the distant sound of a toilet flushing. A moment later, a door swings open. I turn my head a millimeter and realize we’re right next to the men’s bathroom.
Warner and I seize the moment, catching the door before it falls closed. Once inside the bathroom we press up against the wall, our backs to the cold tile. I’m trying hard not to think about all the pee residue touching my body, when Warner exhales.
It’s a brief, quiet sound—but he sounds relieved.
I’m guessing that means there are no scanners or cameras in this bathroom, but I can’t be sure, because Warner doesn’t say a word, and it doesn’t take a genius to figure out why.
We’re not sure if we’re alone in here.
I can’t see him do it, but I’m pretty sure Warner is checking the stalls right now. It’s what I’m doing, anyway. This isn’t a huge bathroom—as I’m sure it’s one of many—and it’s right by the entrance/exit of the building, so right now it doesn’t seem to be getting a lot of traffic.
When we’re both certain the room is clear, Warner says—
“We’re going to go up, through the vent. If you truly need to use the bathroom, do it now.”
“Okay, but why do you have to sound so disgusted about it? Do you really expect me to believe that you never have to use the bathroom? Are basic human needs below you?”
Warner ignores me.
I see the stall door open, and I hear his careful sounds as he climbs the metal cubicles. There’s a large vent in the ceiling just above one of the stalls, and I watch as his invisible hands make short work of the grate.
Quickly, I use the bathroom. And then I wash my hands as loudly as possible, just in case Warner feels the need to make a juvenile comment about my hygiene.
Surprisingly, he doesn’t.
Instead, he says, “Are you ready?” And I can tell by the echoing sound of his voice that he’s already halfway up the vent.
“I’m ready. Just let me know when you’re in.”
More careful movement, the metal drumming as he goes. “I’m in,” he says. “Make sure you reattach the grate after you climb up.”
“Got it.”
“On a related note, I hope you’re not claustrophobic. Though if you are . . . Good luck.”
I take a deep breath.
Let it go.
And we begin our journey into hell.
ELLA
JULIETTE
Max, Anderson, a blond woman, and a tall black man are all standing in the center of the room, staring at a dead body, and they look up only when Ibrahim approaches.
Anderson’s eyes home in on me immediately.
I feel my heart jump. I don’t know how Max got here before we did, and I don’t know if I’m about to be punished for obeying Supreme Commander Ibrahim.
My mind spirals.
“What’s she doing here?” Anderson asks, his expression wild. “I told her to stay in the r—”
“I overruled your orders,” Ibrahim says sharply, “and told her to come with me.”
“My bedroom is one of the most secure locations on this wing,” Anderson says, barely holding on to his anger. “You’ve put us all at risk by moving her.”
“We are currently under attack,” Ibrahim says. “You left her alone, completely unattended—”
“I left her with Max!”
“Max, who’s too terrified of his own creation to spend even a few minutes alone with the girl. You forget, there’s a reason he was never granted a military position.”
Anderson shoots Max a strange, confused look. Somehow, the confusion on Anderson’s face makes me feel better about my own. I have no idea what’s happening. No idea to whom I should answer. No idea what Ibrahim meant by creation.
Max just shakes his head.
“The children are here,” Ibrahim says, changing the subject. “They’re here, in our midst, completely undetected. They’re going room by room searching for her, and already they’ve killed four of our key scientists in the process.” He nods at the dead body—a graying, middle-aged man, blood pooling beneath him. “How did this happen? Why haven’t they been spotted yet?”
“Nothing has registered on the cameras,” Anderson says. “Not yet, anyway.”
“So you’re telling me that this—and the three other dead bodies we’ve found so far—was the work of ghosts?”
“They must’ve found a way to trick the system,” the woman says. “It’s the only possible answer.”
“Yes, Tatiana, I realize that—but the question is how.” Ibrahim pinches his nose between his thumb and index finger. And it’s clear he’s talking to Anderson when he says: “All the preparations you claimed to have made in anticipation of a possible assault—they were all for nothing?”
“What did you expect?” Anderson is no longer trying to control his anger. “They’re our children. We bred them for this. I’d be disappointed if they were stupid enough to fall into our traps right away.”
Our children?
“Enough,” Ibrahim cries. “Enough of this. We need to initiate the transfer now.”
“I already told you why we can’t,” Max says urgently. “Not yet. We need more time. Emmaline still needs to fall below ten percent viability in order for the procedure to operate smoothly, and right now, she’s at twelve percent. Another few days—maybe a couple of weeks—and we should be able to move forward. But anything above ten percent viability means there’s a chance she’ll still be strong enough to resis—”
“I don’t care,” Ibrahim says. “We’ve waited long enough. And we’ve wasted enough time and money trying to keep both her alive and her sister in our custody. We can’t risk another failure.”
“But initiating the transfer at twelve percent viability has a thirty-eight percent chance of failure,” Max says, speaking quickly. “We could be risking a great deal—”
“Then find more ways to reduce viability,” Ibrahim snaps.
“We’re already at the top end of what we can do right now,” Max says. “She’s still too strong—she’s fighting our efforts—”
“That’s only more reason to get rid of her sooner,” Ibrahim says, cutting him off again. “We’re expending an egregious amount of resources just to keep the other kids isolated from her advances—when God only knows what damage she’s already done. She’s been meddling everywhere, causing needless disaster. We need a new host. A healthy one. And we need it now.”
“Ibrahim, don’t be rash,” Anderson says, trying to sound calm. “This could be a huge mistake. Juliette is a perfect soldier—she’s more than proven herself—and right now she could be a huge help. Instead of locking her away, we should be sending her out. Giving her a mission.”
“Absolutely not.”
“Ibrahim, he makes a good point,” the tall black man says. “The kids won’t be expecting her. She’d be the perfect lure.”
“See? Azi agrees with me.”
“I don’t.” Tatiana shakes her head. “It’s too dangerous,” she says. “Too many things could go wrong.”
“What could possibly go wrong?” Anderson asks. “She’s more powerful than any of them, and completely obedient to me. To us. To the movement. You all know as well as I do that she’s proven her loyalty again and again. She’d be able to capture them in a matter of minutes. This could all be over in an hour, and we’d be able to move on with our lives.” Anderson locks eyes with me. “You wouldn’t mind rounding up a few rebels, would you, Juliette?”
“I would be happy to, sir.”
“See?” Anderson gestures to me.
A sudden alarm blares, the sound so loud it’s painful. I’m still rooted in place, so overwhelmed and confused by this sudden flood of dizzying information that I don’t even know what to do with myself. But the supreme commanders look suddenly terrified.
“Azi, where is Santiago?” Tatiana cries. “You were last
with him, weren’t you? Someone check in with Santiago—”
“He’s down,” Azi says, tapping against his temple. “He’s not responding.”
“Max,” Anderson says sharply, but Max is already rushing out the door, Azi and Tatiana on his heels.
“Go collect your son,” Ibrahim barks at Anderson.
“Why don’t you go collect your daughter?” Anderson shoots back.
Ibrahim’s eyes narrow. “I’m taking the girl,” he says quietly. “I’m finishing this job, and I’ll do it alone if I have to.”
Anderson glances from me to Ibrahim. “You’re making a mistake,” he says. “She’s finally become our asset. Don’t let your pride keep you from seeing the answer in front of us. Juliette should be the one tracking down the kids right now. The fact that they won’t be anticipating her as an assailant makes them easier targets. It’s the most obvious solution.”
“You are out of your mind,” Ibrahim shouts, “if you think I’m foolish enough to take such a risk. I will not just hand her over to her friends like some common idiot.”
Friends?
I have friends?
“Hey, princess,” someone whispers in my ear.
KENJI
Warner just about slaps me upside the head.
He yanks me back, grabbing me roughly by the shoulder, and drags us both across the overly bright, extremely creepy laboratory.
Once we’re far enough away from Anderson, Ibrahim, and Robot J, I expect Warner to say something—anything—
He doesn’t.
The two of us watch the distant conversation grow more heated by the moment, but we can’t really hear what they’re saying from here. Though I think even if we could hear what they were saying, Warner wouldn’t be paying attention. The fight seems to have left his body. I can’t even see him right now, but I can feel it. Something about his movements, his quiet sighs.
His mind is on Juliette.
Juliette, who looks the same. Better, in fact. She looks healthy, her eyes bright, her skin glowing. Her hair is down—long, heavy, dark—the way it was the first time I ever saw her.
