by Lynette Noni
It’s his only indication of gratitude for my earlier actions. But my heart still twists with alarm, especially with his next words.
“It would appear that she’s finally ready to commit herself to the program here at Lengard.”
The program. The program everyone keeps mentioning but no one has ever explained. I’m beginning to understand now. But — God — I have so many questions.
I was given a month to show Lengard that I was worth keeping alive. I guess the only proof they ever needed was for me to open my mouth.
Maybe that was what they were waiting for all along. For me to “commit” myself. For me to prove that … that I am one of them.
But now that they know, where does that leave me?
“What kind of breakthrough?” Cami asks. “Is Abby okay?”
“Go find your brother if you want the details, Camelot.” Falon waves a hand in the air dismissively. “Jane and I have much to discuss, so you’ll have to excuse us.”
He starts walking forward, gesturing for me to keep up. I stumble after him, unable to bring myself to look back at Cami for fear of what I will see in her expression. For fear of what I will feel, wondering how long she has known about me, why she has concealed the truth.
“In here, Jane,” Falon directs me. He has stopped outside a door lodged in the side of the massive training room.
I step through to discover a classroom-sized rectangular room with walls made of glossy black material. The floor and ceiling are black, too, though both have veins of pearlescent stone spiderwebbing along the surfaces. Blue and white lights just like those in the larger training area illuminate this new, smaller space, showing me that there is absolutely nothing in the room. No furniture, no books, nothing. Other than the door we used to enter, there are no exits.
That door slides closed and seals with a hiss. Now Falon and I are trapped together in this glossy room. Less than a month ago he was ready to write me off. Now I have no idea what his intentions are.
“I was never entirely certain about you,” Falon says.
He looks relaxed, but his eyes are assessing me.
“Vanik was always sure, right from the very beginning. The moment you checked yourself into that institute and your file hit the system, he saw your scans, read your readings and told us we simply had to retrieve you. But when so much time passed and you didn’t so much as make a sound …”
He shrugs, almost as if he’s apologizing for his doubt, and continues, “Vanik was adamant about you being a Speaker — and a powerful one, at that. But Landon tells me you’re not just a powerful Speaker. Do you know how rare Creators are, Jane?” Falon shakes his head, smiles a small smile. “You have no idea, do you?”
Thump. Thump. Thump. My heartbeat is loud in my ears, speeding up with every word that falls from his mouth. I want him to hurry up and tell me. And I want to run away before he can. I’m not sure which I want most, but since I’m frozen to the spot, the choice is taken from me.
“How much do you know about a medication called ‘Xanaphan’?”
I stare blankly at him, trying to calm my heart enough to not miss anything.
Falon cocks his head to the side. “Forgive me. Perhaps I should rephrase my question. Have you heard of a medication called ‘Xanaphan’? Judging by your lack of knowledge when it comes to Speakers, I’m presuming you haven’t.”
He’d be correct in such a presumption.
“Xanaphan was created by a team of Australian biochemists and pharmacologists who began testing on human volunteers around forty years ago. Fortunately — or unfortunately, depending on how you look at it — there weren’t a huge number of willing test subjects. It was an experimental drug at best, and since its target consumer group was women struggling with infertility, only a small number of those were desperate enough to accept the potential side effects of the medication.”
He looks deep into my eyes and continues, “Those complications ended up being more severe than anticipated, and while ninety percent of the women taking the drug succeeded in falling pregnant, almost all of those mothers ended up dying during labor. Around half the children survived, but the loss of life was catastrophic enough for the drug to be recalled from any further human trials.
“After a redesign of the medication, twenty-five or so years ago, it was cleared for human testing again. It was much more successful this time, even if it took longer for women to conceive — sometimes up to ten years after they were first injected with the drug. But this time very few of them suffered complications during childbirth. By all accounts, the medication had enabled them to fall pregnant and carry their children full-term, just like any other naturally occurring conception.
“Now,” Falon goes on, “during the time the second round of women were given the drug and slowly began to fall pregnant, the original group of surviving children entered their pubescent years. That’s when strange things began to occur.”
Goose bumps rise on my skin as I hang on to his every word.
“Things started … happening. Unexpected things. Unnatural things. Tests showed that there was something neurologically abnormal about the children whose mothers had been medicated pre-pregnancy. During puberty, that abnormality in those children … blossomed, so to speak. Usually out of the blue, with no warning whatsoever.”
An echo of my own voice tries to float across my mind, a whisper of a memory, a vile scream of unforgettable words. But I refuse to acknowledge it, and I shove it away.
“It was as if a switch flicked in their minds, and suddenly they were able to Speak things into existence. Words to make, words to break.”
Falon’s eyes are glazed; he’s looking at me, but I don’t think he’s really seeing me right now. Wherever he is, it’s far away. At least until he shakes his head.
“As soon as the scientists began to realize what was happening with the first-round teenagers, they canceled the drug testing — forever this time. But it was too late to un-medicate the women participating in the second round of trials. There was nothing the scientists could do but wait and watch and see if the changes to the drug would make any difference with the next group of children. Meanwhile, the first teenagers were rounded up by a secret branch of the government and sequestered into highly classified military-run laboratories for testing. And so Lengard was born.”
Finally, some answers. But now I have even more questions. Was my mother a part of this drug trial? Is that why I am … what I am? Did anyone tell her what the medication would eventually do to me? Did she know what I would become?
I wish I could ask her.
Falon’s features tighten, and he turns from me toward the far side of the room, unseeing again.
“The tests those original teenagers underwent were … unpleasant. The government was dealing with a branch of science still not understood today, power that could only be described as supernatural. Because of that, some of the tests were unconventional. Unethical, even. But those teenagers were seen as a threat to the rest of the world, and the government needed to make sure they wouldn’t become terrorists who could call forth violence or hatred by throwing a scant number of syllables into the wind.”
If I didn’t know that what he said was possible, I’d scoff and think he was exaggerating. But I could easily be one of those terrorists. All I would have to do is open my mouth.
“The tests they used were perhaps too severe at times, since not all of the teenagers made it out unscathed,” Falon continues. “Some of them died. Some killed themselves. A handful escaped, only to be taken down on the outside. But those who remained and made it through the testing were eventually seen as warriors, not terrorists. Warriors capable of wielding words as weapons.”
Is that what the program is? The government’s mission to train some kind of … super soldier? Someone who would only need to open his or her mouth to stop a war? Or to start one?
Is that what they expect me to “commit” to?
“The testing changed then,�
�� Falon says. “It became less about evaluating the adolescents and more about nurturing them. They were encouraged to find their limits, to discover the scope of their strengths and weaknesses. The kids were put through what was termed the ‘Genesis Project’ and trained to become the government’s secret weapons. Their unique abilities would be used for the greater good.”
Falon shakes his head again, as if he struggles to believe his own words. I have no such trouble, since I know what I just saw. Those others — the Speakers in the next room — they’ve all been through the same as me. And despite my trepidation, despite my resentment at being kept in the dark, I’m also filled with relief. I’ve kept myself isolated for years, but now … now I am one of many.
“Time passed,” Falon says, drawing my eyes back to him. “The teenagers continued their Genesis training and grew into adulthood. Most of their time was spent learning how to control their abilities — and to this day they continue to stretch their self-discipline and fine-tune their talents, as you saw for yourself just a few minutes ago.” He nods toward the training room.
“As the years progressed, it became clear that the effects of Xanaphan were the same in the second round of children as the first,” Falon goes on, telling me something I now already know. “But since the records were destroyed when the experiment failed, it’s impossible to keep tabs on all the families. We can only wait and watch for any supernatural events to unfold. When that happens, we send out Genesis agents to collect the new Speakers and bring them here to train in what we have termed the ‘Exodus Project.’ It’s the Genesis do-over — the way it should have been done the first time. The Exodus teens are protected from the extreme tests the Genesis Speakers had to suffer through. They just have to train, to develop control and refine their skills. And we’re finding that they’re much stronger, much more resilient than their senior counterparts. It’s fascinating.”
There are many words to describe what I have been through thanks to this Xanaphan drug. Fascinating is not one of them.
I’m desperate to ask Falon all the questions he’s yet to answer. But I can’t. I can’t open my mouth, because …
Because I can’t control what will happen if I do.
Even though there are now others like me, I’m still a monster.
I always will be. And no one — no one — can convince me otherwise.
“You’re a part of the Exodus Project now, Jane,” Falon says, his voice quiet but heavy with meaning. “In saving Abby’s life today, you showed us what you can do. You proved your worth to the program. And now it’s time for you to begin your real training.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
I don’t have a chance to process his last words, because the door hisses open and Ward walks into the room. He nods once to the director, but his eyes skip over me as if I’m not here. There’s not a hint of warmth on his face, and I wonder about his icy reception. If anything, I should be giving him the cold shoulder, especially after everything I’ve just learned. Everything he could have — should have — told me in the past month.
“Perfect timing, Landon. We’ve just finished our history lesson.” Falon turns to me and says, “Landon was a stroke of genius on my part. I knew you weren’t being receptive to any of the other evaluators, and after so much testing, as I said earlier, I’d all but given up hope. But then I thought, why not try something different? After all, you’d been isolated for so long — perhaps what you really needed was a companion. A friend, even. Someone you could learn to trust, someone who could … chip through those walls you’ve built around yourself.”
I can’t help flinching violently at his word choice, one that alludes to far more than all the rest put together. Ward makes a sudden, jerking movement, but he then freezes in place, stopping himself from what, I don’t know. I don’t turn my searching gaze to him, because Falon isn’t done yet.
The director continues mercilessly, “Someone who could take you out of your comfort zone enough that you would eventually … slip up. And I must say, Jane, Landon played his part perfectly, don’t you think?”
He might as well have punched me in the stomach, so gut-wrenching is my understanding of his words. Was it all an act? Everything that happened during our month together? Is that what Falon is saying?
“In defense of his character, Landon wasn’t eager to play along, especially after he first met you. But one day he will be the next director of Lengard, and he understands what that requires more than most,” Falon says. “He listened dutifully to my suspicions about you, and he was aware that I wanted him to get close enough to see what you would reveal. He had to make you like him, Jane. His job was to make you trust him, and he performed better than I could have hoped.”
I stare at the wall. No, no, no. He’s wrong. I never trusted Ward. I wouldn’t let myself. All along, I was careful.
But … somehow along the way I must have slipped, I realize. I wouldn’t be hurting so much right now if it wasn’t true. I wouldn’t be feeling so completely and utterly betrayed.
“I can see this upsets you, but you must understand, Landon was just doing what was required of him, Jane. We all have a part to play. The Exodus Project is too important to let a talent like yours be ignored. You’ll eventually realize it was for the best, that the end justifies the means.”
The end justifies the means. I can’t believe what he’s telling me. But I know it’s true, because when I force myself to look up at Ward, there is not one drop of warmth in his expression. He might as well be a different person.
He was Falon’s puppet all along.
“The good news — and there is good news, Jane — is that you already have a rapport with Landon. Once you accept that his actions were necessary, you’ll find it easier to acclimatize to your new training. He’ll be in charge of teaching you everything you need to know about Speaking. The sooner you realize that he can help you, the better off you’ll be.”
My stomach roils at the thought of having to spend more time with Ward now that I know the truth.
Oblivious to my inner turmoil, Falon sounds almost affectionate as he says, “I’m very much looking forward to seeing what you can do with that enormous talent of yours, Jane, especially now that you’ll be staying with us indefinitely.”
Maybe I would have been better off leaving this world in three days, if this is the alternative. But while I now understand that I was manipulated into this situation, part of me can’t help feeling a trickle of hope at the possibilities my new future might bring.
Assessing me one last time, Falon gives a satisfied curl of his mouth and turns to Ward. “She’s all yours, Landon. Are the others on their way?”
I still can’t bring myself to look at Ward, but from the corner of my eye I see him nod as he answers, “They’re just finishing their training for the day. They won’t be long.”
Falon makes a sound of approval. “I’ll leave you to it, then. Report back to me when you’re done.”
He doesn’t wait for Ward to agree before he strides purposefully from the room.
The moment the door seals behind him, silence descends between the two of us. I sneak a glance at Ward, noting that every line in his body is rigid, like he’s waiting to see what I’ll do now that we’re alone. But I can barely think straight, since I keep replaying Falon’s words in my head. As much as I don’t want to believe him, I know he was telling the truth. Ward was just playing me; trying to get me to open up, to trust him enough that I would lower my defenses and let him in. Every soft look, every dimpled grin, every gentle touch, every hand squeeze was a part of some grand manipulation.
Despite how dangerous I am, perhaps I’m not the only monster in the room.
Ward sighs loudly. His eyes lock on mine, his once-warm gaze cutting through me like frozen daggers. When he opens his mouth, there is nothing familiar in the way he speaks to me.
“There are a few things you need to know before the others arrive,” he says.
His tone is crisp and
to the point. I realize that’s how he’s going to play this. He’s not going to defend Falon’s accusations, because they were true. From here on out, he’s going to keep everything clinical, factual. No room for anything else. He doesn’t have to fake a friendship with me — not anymore.
“I presume Falon told you about Xanaphan, but I’m guessing he didn’t explain much more than that.”
I nod, even though it’s not a question. I’m just pleased I’ve managed to swallow back my emotions. I won’t let him see how upset I am. I’ll take my lead from him and never let him know how much he hurt me. From now on, he’s back to being just my evaluator. My trainer.
His eyes narrow slightly as he takes in my nod. “You can talk freely in here. This room is soundproof. More than that, the black rock surrounding us —” he waves a hand, indicating the glossy material “— is called ‘Karoel.’ It’s a rare mineral that acts as a buffer and blocks the power behind Speakers’ words. No words you Speak will be able to pass outside this room, nor will any unintentional consequences. And the words you do Speak in here will be harder to summon than elsewhere, making it less easy for you to lose control.”
I want to believe him — I really do. The idea of being able to talk freely, even in this small, dark room, is something I desperately wish for. But I’ve been so careful for so long, and I’m not willing to make any more mistakes. Mistakes like trusting this new, cold Ward. I cross my arms over my chest and raise my chin. He reads my meaning clearly, if the muscle ticking in his jaw is any indication.
“You’ll have to talk eventually. You need to train, and to train you need to Speak. If you don’t, you’ll be kicked out of the program. You’ve bought yourself some time, having shown your raw abilities earlier today, but make no mistake, Six-Eight-Four: Lengard has no place for unwilling, untrainable soldiers.”
I feel as if he’s slapped me. Not because of his threat, though that doesn’t sit well. But because of what he called me.
Six-Eight-Four.
Not “Chip.”
