“You mean those people,” Clover said.
“Excuse me?”
“The skills belong to people.”
“Well, yes. Yes, of course.” Bennett tapped his right forefinger against his temple. “Your mind is a gift, Clover. At Waverly-Stead, it is an asset that will allow you to help your fellow citizens.”
“Help them how?”
“As a Time Mariner.”
Clover choked on her next breath, and Mango lifted his head. “Kids aren’t Mariners. No one is, until after they graduate the Academy.”
“You’re right. But some lucky children—children with skills the Company depends on—are on the Mariner track. They start as Messengers. Do you know what a Messenger is?”
Clover recited a primary school textbook definition. “Messengers travel forward and gather the news from two years in the future, then bring it back to be analyzed so that problems can be solved before they occur. Messengers are the front line in the defense against a return of the Bad Times and essential to the operation of the world’s most effective justice system.”
Bennett smiled, showing a mouth full of very white, very straight teeth. “Exactly. Messengers protect us against another civil war or outbreak of disease. They are a big part of making sure that we can all live without fear. Waverly-Stead is dedicated to making sure that the Bad Times never happen again.”
Clover pulled up whatever information she had about Messengers. Since the scope of what they did was so narrow, there weren’t very many of them. Being a Messenger usually led to becoming a Time Mariner, traveling forward through the portal under Lake Tahoe and working with the information the Messengers collected. There were more Static Mariners, those who didn’t travel through the portal, than Time Mariners. Everyone on the Mariner track, including Messengers, made up the Company’s military ranks.
Clover didn’t exactly know how those on the Mariner track were chosen, mostly because it wasn’t described very well in her schoolbooks or lessons, and it had never occurred to her that she’d ever need to care.
Apparently, they randomly swooped kids up from the Academy. Not exactly something they bragged about.
“How can I be on the Mariner track if I don’t graduate from the Academy?” she asked.
“You’ll learn here. Starting today with your first mission.” She waited for him to elaborate, but he didn’t. Instead, he said, “Your guardian will continue to receive your rations and extras, of course, since Messengers don’t live in the barracks.”
“My guardian?”
Bennett raised a dark eyebrow and leaned back in his seat. “That’s your brother, isn’t it?”
Right. Her brother, who had no idea where she was. “Can I talk to him about it first?”
Bennett gave her a tight little frown and shook his head. “There isn’t really anything to talk about, is there?”
“My brother will be really worried if I’m not there when he gets home from work.”
“He’ll be made aware of the situation.” Bennett leaned back in his chair and watched her, like he was trying to gauge something. She couldn’t figure out what, and that made her nervous.
“I’d really like to go home before I make any decisions. I can come back tomorrow.” Clover came to her feet. A tight knot gathered in her belly, and she clenched Mango’s lead in both hands to keep from flapping them as excess energy surged down her arms. “I have to talk to my brother. And my father.”
Bennett walked toward her. “Your father. James Donovan. He’s an executioner, isn’t he? Such important work. And I’m certain he’ll be pleased when he learns of your important role.”
Clover held her ground on shaky legs, and for a minute she was sure she felt the whole tall building sway under her. “I need to go home now.”
Bennett didn’t move. “Did you study the Vietnam War in primary school?”
“Yes.”
“Then you’ve heard of the draft?”
This was absurd. “Are you saying I’ve been drafted?”
“We don’t call it drafted, sweetheart.”
“My name is Clover.”
“Yes. And you have a certain set of skills that makes you invaluable to your country.”
“What skills?”
“The important thing is that we recognize them, and we are equipped to help you learn to use them.”
Clover didn’t know how to answer that, so she changed the subject to give herself time to think. “Can I look out your windows?”
Bennett froze, as if she’d shocked him with her request, then shrugged. “Of course.”
Mango followed her closely to the closed curtains. She figured out how to open them while Bennett sat down in his chair, watching her. The view was startling. Like nothing Clover had ever seen before. She could see over the tops of all the trees and buildings and houses below. The gray concave curve of the wall cut a line between the relatively manicured occupied part of Reno and the wilder area beyond.
If the window were on the other side of the building, Clover would have been able to see the farms. As it was, she could just make out the gate, standing wide open. Two people, as small as ants, milled near it. “Are there just two guards at the gate?”
Bennett came to stand beside her. She felt his breath blow over her head and took a giant side step away from him.
“Yes,” he said.
“All this work, to build the wall, and the gate is left open with just two guards?”
Bennett smiled slowly when she looked at him. She tried to place the look that swept over his scarred face. Irritation? Maybe pride. She couldn’t be sure. “Waverly-Stead has helped build America into a country where the virus and violent crime, are a thing of the past. Who would want to leave their city?”
Clover’s brow furrowed as she thought about what she knew of the walls. “They weren’t built to keep people in.”
“That’s right. And there is no one to keep out anymore.”
“I really have to go home,” Clover said.
“After your first trip through the portal, you will. I’ll make sure your brother gets word.”
“Mr. Kingston said I could work at the farm with West.”
Kingston’s forehead wrinkled. “I would be personally offended if you were wasted with the dirt slingers.”
chapter 5
Ask not what your country can do for you—ask what you can do for your country.
—JOHN F. KENNEDY, INAUGURAL ADDRESS, JANUARY 20, 1961
Bennett led Clover and Mango outside, across a courtyard, and behind the main building to a tower so tall that Clover had to lean back and crane her neck to see the top.
They entered a small lobby on the first floor, at the end of which was another bank of elevators. Overhead, Clover saw a giant chandelier that matched the one she’d seen in the main building. At least on this one, the bulbs were unlit. Gas lamps attached to the walls cast a soft, flickering glow instead.
“What is this place?” Clover asked.
“The first three floors hold the offices for the Mariner and guard units,” Bennett said. “The next two are our physical training facilities, and then the barracks up to the top.”
This elevator didn’t have any mirrors. Just brass handrails and cream and muted pink candy-striped wallpaper that looked to be about as old as the building itself.
Bennett pushed the number seven button and then let his hand fall on her shoulder.
“Please don’t do that,” she said, sidestepping away.
Bennett dropped his hand to his side but continued to stand a little too close as the elevator took them up.
Bennett led Clover to room 745. It looked like the hotel rooms she’d seen in movies and books. That made sense, since the building had once been part of a resort casino.
Clover wondered if every room in the barracks had the same dark, pressed-wood dresser and table and chairs. The same bed, made up with a white comforter and two pillows. Heavy, dark red drapes were parted and allowed a br
eeze through the half-opened window, billowing the lighter curtains into the room.
“There’s a uniform hanging in the closet. You’ll need to hurry if you’re going to make the lake in time for the next mission.”
Clover stood watching Bennett watch her. “Are you staying in here while I change?”
For the first time, Bennett seemed flustered. “I’ll wait in the hall.”
He closed the door, and Clover locked it behind him. She found a brown jumpsuit and a leather belt with a hip pocket attached to it hanging in the closet. A pair of heavy black boots sat on the floor beneath it.
West was never going to believe this, she thought as she pulled off her mother’s dress and stepped into her Messenger uniform. She barely believed it herself. Sure, she belonged in the Academy, and she was positive Adam Kingston would regret his decision someday, but in the mean time she was getting ready to dive in the Veronica. The Veronica!
Clover had to roll up the uniform’s arms and legs and cinch the belt so it wrapped nearly twice around her waist. The jumpsuit was marked size small but was still too big for her. The boots fit. She had no idea what she would have done if they hadn’t, since her only other choice was her mother’s torture shoes, and even she knew that would look ridiculous.
Clover tied the boots on and her feet immediately felt as though she’d encased them in blocks of concrete. She would kill for her sneakers.
When she looked at herself in the full-length mirror on the back of the bathroom door, Clover thought she looked like a child playing dress-up in her father’s uniform. Which reminded her of her mother’s dress. She started cold water running into the sink with the stopper in place and picked the yellow dress up off the bedroom floor. The stain seemed beyond removal, but Clover turned off the water and shoved the dress into the basin, making sure the stain was submerged.
Bennett stood across the hall from her door when she opened it. He looked her up and down when she and Mango came out.
“It doesn’t fit,” she said.
“We’ll find you a smaller uniform,” he said. “You’re fine for today.”
They took the elevator back down to the lobby. Another man waited for them. He wore a navy blue uniform that fit him perfectly.
“Officer Usher,” Bennett said. “This is Clover Donovan. She’s assigned to tonight’s mission as a Messenger Trainee. She’s only to observe. Officer Usher is a Static Mariner, Clover.”
The Company had Time Mariners, who traveled through the portal, and Static Mariners, who didn’t. They came through the guard track into military service. While every Time Mariner lived in Reno, every city in the country had Static Mariners.
Usher seemed to be in his early twenties, although Clover wasn’t great at judging age. His hair was nearly white-blond, with a reddish tint that made it look almost pink. His face was covered in virus scars that made her think about West.
“Are you sure I can’t talk to my brother first?” she asked.
“Come on, sweetheart,” Usher said, moving toward the door without waiting to see if she would follow. “We’re in a hurry.”
“My name is Clover.”
He turned back. “What?”
“My name is Clover, not sweetheart.”
Usher looked to Bennett with eyes so light blue they were almost colorless. “Really?”
“Clover, I’m sure Officer Usher didn’t mean any disrespect. And, like I’ve already told you, as soon as you’re gone, I’ll notify your brother of your whereabouts.”
She hesitated, but neither man did. They walked together down the hall without looking to see that she followed. Clover hurried to catch up, clomping in her heavy boots with Mango’s leash wrapped around her hand maybe a little tighter than was necessary. She didn’t want to be left behind.
“Does the dog have a name, too?” Usher asked as they walked into the elevator.
“He’s Mango.” Bennett told her they wouldn’t try to make her leave Mango behind, but she wanted to be sure. “He’s a service dog.”
“I know.” She looked up at him in surprise. He tilted his head toward Mango. “He’s wearing a vest.”
Right.
“Have a good mission,” Bennett said after they’d stepped off the elevator into the lobby. “I’ll debrief you myself when you return.”
For some reason, that promise didn’t fill Clover with happy thoughts as she followed Usher through the building to a large lot out back filled with Company cars, trucks, and vans.
She’d learned in primary school about the time before the Bad Times. Cars everywhere, causing noise, pollution, and accidents. The need for foreign oil to keep them running caused wars, and keeping them running changed the weather, if you believed the environmentalists. Clover thought she might.
Now there were only official vehicles. Ambulances and guard cars, big trucks that carried goods to the trains, and Company cars, like the one Clover was about to ride in.
With a hugely diminished population, there was plenty of domestic oil now. Enough to allow for the use of vehicles without looking to other countries. But when the walls were built, all personal vehicles were taken out of the cities. The blacktopped roads that were designed for cars and trucks were mostly traveled by bicycle now.
Every New Year’s Eve one person won a Whole New Life at the Bazaar. The winner received an electric cart, the kind old men used to drive around golf courses. They got a key to the charging station downtown, where they could replenish their cart’s battery once a week. There were so few of the vehicles around, though, that whenever a participant drove one they attracted a crowd. Like a one-person parade.
Usher brought her to a white van with the blue Company logo emblazoned on the side. She looked back toward the buildings. “Where is everyone else?”
“They’re already at the lake, preparing to launch,” Usher said as he opened the van’s door for her. “We need to hurry.”
She hadn’t been in a car since she was a baby. Maybe she should have been nervous, but she was fascinated. Her parents owned a huge orange Jeep before the city was walled and personal cars were banned. She had a picture of the four of them in front of it, taken the day she was brought home from the hospital. West’s toddler cheeks were smooth and plump. Her mother didn’t know yet that she’d been infected by the virus.
Clover watched movies at the library, and the recorded chaos of roads filled with cars, trucks, buses, and motorcycles made Clover wonder how anyone survived the experience of being in the middle of it all.
The noise alone was more than Clover could imagine.
She let up on Mango’s leash so he could hop into the van first, then climbed into the seat.
“You’ll only observe this time,” Usher said once they were inside.
“Okay.”
Usher looked at her for a few seconds, then reached across her body and pulled a dark gray woven belt from near her ear across her lap and hooked it at her hip.
“Oh, a seat belt!”
“Yes, a seat belt. We buckle up for safety.” That last bit made him chuckle. She didn’t get the joke.
It took about ten seconds for the novelty of the belt to turn into irritation that felt like a thousand ants crawling across her skin. The belt’s rough texture hit her across the neck and tickled her ear; the sharp edge bit into her collarbone. Usher hadn’t even put the van into gear.
“Can I take this thing off? It’s trying to strangle me.”
“No.” Usher glanced at her, then reached over and pushed a button that lowered the shoulder belt four or five inches. “Better?”
The irritation lessened immediately. She still didn’t like it, but it was livable at least. “Yes. Much.”
“Good.” He pulled on a lever on the side of the steering wheel, and the van moved backward. “Now, this is an observation run for you. You’ll ride along with your trainer. The two of you will pick up the disc and bring it back.”
“That sounds easy enough.”
“It does
, doesn’t it? Your number one rule is to avoid accidentally changing the future. You don’t talk to anyone except your trainer. Your uniform lets people know better than to talk to you.”
He stopped the van and looked at her until she nodded that she understood. Then he pulled up on the lever again, and they moved forward. Clover had never actually seen a Time Mariner but had been taught from childhood that if she ever did, she was to pretend they weren’t there. They even practiced STI, Stop-Turn-Ignore.
“Messengers have a half-hour window to get in and get out. That’s an absolute, do you understand?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Your trainer will have a van at the lake on the other side. You’ll drive it—”
“I don’t know how to drive.”
Usher blew out a breath. “Your trainer will drive you to the pickup box where you’ll find the info disc.”
He reached into one of his uniform pockets and pulled out something about the length of her thumb, pale and curled, wrapped in clear plastic, and handed it to her.
“What is that?” she asked, without reaching for it.
He shoved it into her hand. “A fortune cookie, in case your trainer doesn’t have an extra.”
“A fortune cookie?” Clover started to open the plastic, but Usher stopped her.
“It’s not for now. You open it on the other side. There’s a piece of paper inside, with a sentence printed on it. Read it out loud.”
“Out loud to who?”
“The trees, honey. It doesn’t matter.”
“My name is Clover. Why do I have to eat a cookie?”
“No. You don’t eat it. That thing is older than you. It’ll make you sick.”
She frowned and turned it over in her hand. It looked okay to her. “I don’t understand.”
“You don’t have to. It’s a ritual. Just do it. The most important thing is not to talk to anyone, other than your trainer. Even the Mariners. Do you understand?”
She didn’t need to be convinced. Changing the future, when her whole job was to bring back reports about the way it stood without her influence, didn’t make sense.
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