The Cloak Society

by Jeramey Kraatz

  “Are we going to have to give them a designated rank? Because eventually we’re going to run out of Greek letters,” Mallory said.

  “Ah!” Julie exclaimed. “You guys, we should totally bring back titles! Like nobility rankings.”

  “Yes!” Titan said. “What’s higher, a duke or a baron?”

  “Um, archduke maybe?” Mallory suggested.

  “Perfect!” he said, suddenly excited. “Titan: Archduke of . . . Titania? No, something cooler than that.”

  “Sounds like you’ve given it a full analysis,” Alex said.

  “Aw,” Titan said. “Poor little Alex is sad because ‘Knight’ is lower on the totem pole than ‘Archduke,’ isn’t he?”

  “Whatever we do,” Julie said, “I’m definitely going to start a collection of Cloak crown jewels.”

  “Alex,” Volt called. “Can I have a word?”

  All of them stopped and turned to see Volt standing in the corridor behind them. Immediately they all stood tall, hoping the man didn’t think they’d been making light of Cloak’s future.

  “Father,” Alex said. “Yeah, of course.”

  As the others continued on to their rooms, Volt spoke.

  “Your mother told me what happened with the she-wolf, and your subsequent probation. I just want you to know that I have every faith that you’ll prove to us that you deserve a spot on the strike team when we make our move against the Rangers.”

  “Thanks,” Alex said. “I’m going to do everything I can to be there.”

  “If you want to talk about what happened—”

  “That’s okay,” Alex said, raising his hands. “Too much excitement from the mission and my powers went a little crazy. It was a fluke. It won’t happen again.”

  Volt smiled and pulled something out of his pocket.

  “I meant to give this to you yesterday,” he said, handing over a photo to Alex. “I thought it might make a nice addition to your wall.”

  Alex looked down at a picture he’d never seen before. His mother and father, both younger, were huddled around a baby with brilliant blue eyes. All three of them were smiling. He flipped the picture over to find his mother’s handwriting. Alex—6 months.

  “Wow,” Alex said. “This is really great.”

  “You’re welcome,” Volt said. He squeezed Alex’s shoulder. “You have a lot of training ahead of you, but I’m proud of you, son.”

  “Thanks, Father.”

  “All right. I have to go,” Volt said. “Time to juice up the generators. Someone’s got to keep the lights on in this place.”

  Volt turned and headed toward the elevators, leaving Alex alone in the hallway. He stared down at the picture for a few moments, relishing how happy everyone looked, before slipping it into his pocket and heading to his room.

  Being so close together in age, the Betas were all educated at the same level by the Tutor, a man with the uncanny ability to remember everything that he read perfectly. A second-generation Cloak member, the Tutor single-handedly oversaw the education of everyone at the base. He had done this for decades, and the members of the current High Council were among his alumni. His facial hair was a meticulously groomed black goatee and mustache that had only recently begun to gray, despite the fact that he was in his late seventies. Unlike the other people occupying the underground base, who dressed in dark, monochromatic uniforms, the Tutor always wore earth-toned suits that were a bit ragged in the elbows and smelled faintly of old newsprint.

  He rarely left his library, which had grown to occupy several rooms on the second floor between the Beta and Gamma sections. Even with all that space, many of the Tutor’s books and files and research trappings were located off-site. The old man’s belongings rivaled the collections of many libraries. The thought of such a wealth of knowledge in one man’s head boggled Alex’s mind. He wondered how, with the power to recall so many words, the Tutor managed to hold his brain together at all. He regularly sent lists of texts and recordings that he needed with anyone who was leaving the base, and as long as he was kept with a steady supply of new films and scores and literature, he never complained. In fact, he seemed completely unconcerned with anything that happened outside his bookshelves and carefully orchestrated lessons.

  The Beta Team might not have been in classrooms for seven hours a day like other kids their age, but their education was intensive. They were familiar with the military strategies of Napoleon and Genghis Kahn and could quote Machiavelli at length. On the day after the bank mission, the Betas spent hours analyzing chapters five and six of The Art of War, which led into a brief review of the causes of the French Revolution. They sat on overstuffed couches and chairs, watching their professor at a mobile blackboard, counting down the minutes until they would be freed.

  “I would like to finish today by discussing a problem in game theory called ‘The Prisoner’s Dilemma,’” the Tutor said. “Are any of you familiar with this?”

  The Betas looked around at one another, shaking their heads.

  “Splendid,” the man continued. “I’ll give you a hypothetical example, then. Let’s see. . . . Titan. Imagine that you and Alex have both been captured by some unnamed enemy and put into different cells.”

  “Wonderful,” Titan murmured, rolling his eyes.

  “Your captors give you both the same options: You may either betray your teammate, or remain silent. Titan, if you betray Alex and he remains silent, you are free to leave and Alex receives ten years in prison.”

  “I’d like Mallory to be my new teammate, please,” Alex said. Julie laughed.

  The Tutor gave her a stern look. She was immediately quiet.

  “Titan,” he continued, “if you betray Alex and he also betrays you, you both receive five-year sentences. If you both remain silent, however, you’ll each receive one-year sentences. Now, what do you do? Anyone?”

  The room was quiet as the team considered this question.

  “Are Alex and Titan allowed to speak to each other?” Mallory asked.

  “An excellent question,” the man said. “No, neither of the captives may communicate with each other, though once the sentences are handed out, they will be able to deduce the other’s actions.”

  Several minutes passed without a word from the Betas.

  “All right, if none of you have an answer, we’ll turn to our two captives. Titan, betray or stay silent?”

  “Betray,” he said, smirking at Alex.

  “And why do you choose this option?” the Tutor asked.

  “Because I’m a bigger asset to Cloak,” the boy replied. The Betas groaned audibly. “They’d need me back in action as quickly as possible.”

  “An interesting choice of reasoning, Titan. What about you, Alex?”

  “Betray,” he said, glaring at Titan. “But only because it’s the rational decision. Whether Titan is silent or not, betrayal is the most logical answer, statistically.”

  “Correct,” the Tutor said. “Betraying, in this case, has what we call ‘strategic dominance.’ Remember that term as we delve deeper into game theory in the coming weeks.”

  “It totally doesn’t matter what option you choose in our case,” Julie said. “The High Council would just break us out. The choice would be made for us.”

  “She has a point,” Mallory added. “This problem is based on the notion that both prisoners are looking out for their own interests. Wouldn’t it have to be adjusted for us, since we can assume that neither of the prisoners would turn on the other? And besides, if both prisoners stayed silent, the amount of shared punishment is reduced to almost nothing.”

  The Tutor smiled.

  “Very good points, Mallory. When trust and irrationality are added into the equation, it becomes a fickle problem indeed. Keep these concepts in mind over the next few days. We’ll be returning to them very soon. Now, are there any questions before we recess?”

  “Actually,” Alex chimed in, raising his hand, “I have a question. I was wondering if you could talk to u
s about the battle at Victory Park. Were you there?”

  The others grew quiet, all staring intently at their professor. It was hard for any of them to imagine him on a battlefield.

  “Do you not remember?” the Tutor asked, sipping water from a tall glass cup at his desk.

  “What do you mean?” Alex asked, puzzled.

  “The day of the battle,” he said, “you were here, in this very room. All the children were bumbling around on the floor. Once the nanny was called into the War Room to help dress wounds, I was left to watch everyone. I had no idea what to do with you all. I tried to keep spirits up by reading Le Petit Prince aloud—in French, first, and then the translation—but you, Alex, were the only one who seemed to enjoy it. Though, looking back, I can’t help but think it was perhaps too complicated a book for children who could barely form complete sentences.”

  “Wait, we were here too?” Julie asked, pointing back and forth between her and her brother. “And we had a nanny?”

  Everyone looked confused by this. Alex had been only two years old at the time, so it didn’t surprise him that he had no memories of the event. But the nanny posed an issue he’d never thought of before. The current Uniband in charge of the Gammas had also been his caretaker growing up. But she hadn’t moved into this position until Alex was five or six. There must have been someone else caring for them before that time, but Alex had no recollection of this person—nothing but a hole in his memory.

  “Oh yes.” The Tutor nodded to both questions. “She was a wonderful woman, like a governess out of some Victorian novel. This was before the new council locked down security and had most of the auxiliary staff purged. You don’t remember her? As I recall, you were all quite fond of the woman.”

  “No, I don’t,” Alex said. “When was the staff . . . purged?”

  The Tutor hesitated, looking deep into Alex’s concerned eyes.

  “On second thought, I must be mistaken about timing. My head is so full that sometimes my memories suffer as a consequence. I must have been thinking about your mother’s nanny instead. When you get to be my age, things like that tend to run together.”

  Alex felt that there was something he was missing, some element of the conversation that was being washed over, but he couldn’t pinpoint what it was.

  Somewhere in the library, a clock began to chime. Titan glanced at his watch and then quickly closed his notebook and gathered his things, bolting for the door.

  “Shade’s going to kill me,” he mumbled. “I’m late for power training.”

  The others gathered their things and left. Alex caught up with Mallory in the hallway.

  “I’m going up to see what Gage is doing,” he said. “Want to come?”

  “I got talked into braiding Misty’s hair this afternoon,” Mallory said. “But I’ll take the elevator up with you. I need to pick up my laundry.”

  “Careful, or you’ll end up the Gammas’ personal hairstylist,” Alex said.

  “No way,” Mallory said, smirking. “I’d just suggest to Shade that braiding be a part of your training.”

  “Hey,” Alex said, “do you remember seeing anything about Victory Park on the news when you were a kid?”

  Mallory twisted her face and thought about this.

  “No,” she finally said. “I don’t think I do.”

  Mallory had been six years old when she came to live at the base, but she remembered very little of anything regarding her pre-Cloak life. In those early years, Titan and Julie had shunned her because she had not been born into the Society, but Alex had always tried his best to make her feel welcome. Shade attributed Mallory’s poor memory to post-traumatic stress. She had probed the girl’s mind several times, looking for hints of her past, but never seemed to find anything.

  “Ah, well,” Alex said, exiting onto the top level. “Maybe it’s for the best. I’ll see you at dinner. Have fun with Misty.”

  It was a busy time of afternoon on the first floor, and the Unibands he passed all nodded to him, keeping their eyes to the ground. “Good afternoon,” a few of them murmured, to which he responded, “Hail Cloak,” without much thought. In a room across from the elevators, several Unibands sat around computer terminals, monitoring the functionality of the base—oxygen levels, power supply, temperature. On his way to Gage, Alex passed the infirmary and a large mess hall, where cooks were already preparing dinner for the nearly fifty inhabitants of the complex. Though the Unibands ate together there on the first floor, the Betas and High Council took their meals in the lower levels, with rare exceptions.

  The entrance to Gage’s workshop was wide, made up of two sliding sheets of steel. Alex pressed the circular button to the left of the entryway, and the door split in the center, opening with a small rush of air. An acrid electrical smell immediately overtook him.

  Inside the workshop, rows of tables and counters of varying heights were piled high with creations of metal and glass and rubber. The area was loosely sectioned off into groups of weapons, utility devices, and oversized projects, which sat at the far end of the room where there were no tables. The size of Gage’s workshop was one of the few indulgences afforded to him by the High Council, and even then, only because his work required so much space.

  The main workstation was located directly across from the entrance, below a large Rembrandt painting that had belonged to Gage’s father, called The Storm on the Sea of Galilee. Alex found Gage there in his white lab coat, hunched over a sketchbook.

  “Hey, Gage,” Alex called when he was halfway into the workshop. “Am I interrupting?”

  Gage swung around on his swivel chair, holding a pen in one hand and wearing thick goggles that distorted his dark eyes. His curly hair sprouted wildly.

  “Of course you are,” he said, grinning. “But I’m happy for it. What’s up?”

  “Just avoiding my studying,” Alex said. “We’re starting something called ‘game theory’ in our lessons, and I have a feeling it’s going to give me a headache.”

  “Oh?” Gage asked, sliding his goggles to the top of his head. They left deep imprints around his eyes. “What problem did he start you with?”

  “Oh, no, no,” Alex said, shaking his head. “You’re not getting me to talk homework. What are you working on?”

  Gage looked back at his sketchbook. He flipped it shut.

  “Just some new weapon prototypes for the upcoming attack,” he said. “Nothing special.”

  “Actually, I was going to see if you had any spare alarm clocks lying around.”

  “Hmmm,” Gage murmured, thinking for a moment. “I don’t believe so. Is yours malfunctioning?”

  “I had a little accident with it this morning.” Alex shrugged. “I think my brain must have hit the snooze button a little too hard, and now it’s busted.”

  “I’ll see what I can put together for you later,” Gage said, rubbing his eyes.

  “Gage, man, you look like you haven’t slept in days. Why don’t you take a nap or something?”

  “I would if there were anyone reliable enough to continue working while I slept. As it is, I think it best that I keep at it.”

  As he spoke, Alex looked around the room at the long countertops cluttered with electronics and tools. His eyes stopped on a boot poking out from behind one of the tables. He walked over and looked at the floor, where one of Gage’s assistants was lying perfectly still.

  “Uh . . . is he . . . ,” Alex began. “Is he dead?”

  “Of course not,” Gage said, hopping off his chair and walking over to the man on the floor. “He’s just unconscious. Here, look at these.”

  On the counter was a stack of red and black click-top pens. Alex reached out to grab one, but Gage stopped him.

  “They appear to be real pens,” he said, “made to look innocuous. I call the red ones Gassers. Clicking one sends a quick burst of knockout gas shooting out. And these black ones are Blackout Bombs. They send small electromagnetic pulses that disrupt electrical devices by causing a mini
ature power surge. One can blow a breaker, basically.”

  “Wow,” Alex said, genuinely impressed. “That’s incredible. So were you testing a Gasser out on this guy?” Alex lightly kicked the unconscious man’s boot.

  “He got one mixed up with his normal pen,” Gage said. “He’ll be fine. An hour from now he’ll wake up more rested than any of us.”

  “I may sneak away with some of those,” Alex joked, nodding at the Gassers. “That way I could shut Titan up in class. Or use them on him during combat drills.”

  “Or the next time he’s standing at the top of a very tall flight of stairs,” Gage suggested.

  The thought of the metal Beta tumbling down an endless staircase sent Alex into a fit of laughter. Gage smiled widely and pulled his goggles back down over his eyes, turning once again to his workstation.

  The Beta Team common room consisted of a few couches and chairs, a large television, and a kitchen area. It was all dark mahogany and brown leather, making it feel more like a hunter’s lounge than a rec room. There, following dinner, the Betas gathered at the request of the High Council, anxiously wondering why they had been called together so late in the day. Titan was stretched out on one of the couches, a cold compress on his head. He’d become severely overheated during his outdoor training session that afternoon, and was now whining about it to anyone who would listen, coaxing Mallory over to re-cool the compress every five minutes. Alex stood staring at the wall of movies that the High Council had given the Betas to watch in their free time, mainly old heist movies and period films that involved a lot of medieval conquests and revolutions. Julie killed time by casually tossing throwing knives at a dartboard in one corner.

  Finally the door slid open. In walked Shade. The Betas immediately got to their feet, standing at attention, and waited for her orders.

  “Good evening, everyone,” Shade said. “Don’t worry. I haven’t gathered you here for late-night training.”

  “Whew,” Titan said, relaxing a little and rubbing his pounding head.

  “Despite the failings of yesterday’s mission,” she continued, “I brought you all a gift. It’s last night’s newscast. I’m sure you’ll be excited to see it.”