“Answer the colonel,” Weasel demands.
I have to give a name—I don’t have a choice. “Dr. Dietrich.”
“That’s a fortunate assignment,” the man—the colonel—says.
“Sir?” Weasel says. “Look what she’s wearing. No apprentice would wear that.”
“This?” I look down at my jumper. “I’m getting fitted for my new wardrobe. It makes it easier to try stuff on.”
Weasel steps aggressively toward me. “Who are you really?”
“Stand down,” the colonel tells her. He turns to me. “I’m meeting with Dr. Dietrich in a few minutes to discuss the president’s visit, and I’m supposed to meet her new apprentice. So the question is, what are you doing here?”
“That meeting’s now? Oh, no, this is terrible. It’s a brand-new job and I’ve already blown everything,” I say, channeling my actual distress. “I wish I could undo it. Did you ever make a mistake you wished you could erase?” I ask the colonel.
He looks wistful and chuckles. “A long time ago I did get myself in a pretty good pickle.”
“That’s where I am now,” I say. “You could be my hero and make my mistake disappear.”
“Colonel Marek,” Weasel says.
He holds up his hand, stopping her. I’m laying it on pretty thick, but apparently not too thick for him.
“Sir, please,” I say. “Can you find it in your heart to point me in the right direction and forget you saw me here?”
He looks at me, his gaze warm and fatherly, a smile crooking his mouth. He’s going to let me go!
“Young lady,” he says. “You need to face the music.”
“But—
“Come with us.” He gives Weasel a nod and she grabs my arm like a snake striking.
“I made a mistake,” I say, keeping eye contact with the colonel. “And I’m very, very sorry. I’ve learned from this, and it won’t happen again.”
He looks away. Not good.
“Shut up.” Weasel yanks me toward the stairs.
“Ouch,” I say, hoping the colonel will feel sorry for me. No such luck.
“Sir, our recon?” Weasel asks.
“Later.”
Weasel holds tight to my arm while we follow the colonel back up the stairs they came from. I think this stairway goes to street level, outside. Maybe I can break away.
Nope—at the top of the stairs is another enclosed common area, as rundown as the one below. Weasel’s fingers dig in as she pulls me past an orange barrier—so much for my excuse that I was “stretching my legs and got turned around.” Coming from this direction, it would have been impossible not to know the area was off limits. Which begs the question, what were they doing down there?
Weasel leads me across a cracked tile floor covered with puddles and debris.
“Ew!” I’m in a puddle, my shoe-booties soaked with disgusting water. Weasel’s smirking—she did that on purpose.
We cross to a cement wall with one door, no windows. The colonel holds the door open, and Weasel shoves me through into a hallway. We proceed in silence to an area with filing cabinets and other office-y stuff. Ahead, there’s a reception desk facing a lobby on the other side—we’re entering from the back. There’s a woman sitting at the desk. As we approach—the Nazi’s boots clacking on the tile—she turns. She sees me and her eyes go wide.
“Officers,” she says.
“Where’s Dietrich?” Weasel demands.
The receptionist swallows. “Dr. Dietrich is in her office. I’ll let her know—”
“No need.” Weasel turns, yanking me so hard I stumble.
“Wait,” the receptionist calls.
Weasel doesn’t wait. She marches me down a side hallway with office doors on each side. I hear the colonel following.
Smack at the end of the hall is a closed door with a nameplate that reads “Dr. Piers Dietrich.”
Weasel barges in without knocking.
The office is oversized and luxurious. Apparently Dietrich is big stuff. She comes to her feet behind her enormous desk, unsurprised—until she spots me. Then her expression flashes shock, which quickly transforms to fury.
“What’s going on?” she asks, her rage barely controlled.
“She says she got lost,” Weasel says, “but—”
“Give us the room,” the colonel interrupts.
Weasel draws a sharp breath as if to object, then presses her lips together. She gives me a little shove as she lets go of my arm, but I’m expecting this and catch my balance.
“I’ll be right outside, sir.” She leaves, closing the door.
I look at Dietrich. Under her smooth, poised exterior, I know she’s seething. “I’m so sorry,” I say, wanting to get my story out before she says something to contradict it. “I know I only started my apprenticeship, and I shouldn’t—”
“Enough,” the colonel interrupts. “Dr. Dietrich, may we sit?”
She gestures to the two visitors’ chairs on our side of the desk, then takes her seat.
“I’m obligated to report,” the colonel says, “I found your apprentice below in Montgomery Station. It appears she’s too inquisitive for her own good.”
“I’m so sorry,” I say. “It won’t happen again.”
“You’re right,” Dietrich says. “You’re relieved of duty. Wait in my chambers while I decide what to do with you.” She points to a door at the back of the room.
I stand and the blood drains from my face—as soon as I’m out of the colonel’s sight, there’s nothing to stop Dietrich from recycling me.
“If I could just explain,” I plead. There will be no convincing Dietrich, but if I can get the colonel on my side, it could buy me some time. “This job is all I have in the world. I know I made a mistake—a bad mistake—but it was only because I wanted to do well.”
I turn away from Dietrich’s scowl to check the colonel’s expression. He looks sad, not angry.
“Now,” Dietrich barks, stabbing her finger toward the door.
I note the colonel shaking his head. If I keep it up, he might come to my defense.
“Dr. Dietrich, you know how hard I worked to get this job,” I say. “I would never throw it away intentionally. I was trying to prove I deserved to be here—”
“By wandering off—”
“By learning my way around. I usually have a great sense of direction, but somehow I got lost. I was trying to be the best at my job I could possibly be, to show that you made the right decision in choosing me. But it backfired. And I can’t express how much I regret my choices, and how differently I will do things in the future if given the chance.”
I pause, hoping the colonel will jump in, but I don’t dare look at him. I can’t afford to scare him off.
“Why are you still here?” Dietrich says. “In my chambers now, or I’ll—”
“Wait,” the colonel says.
Yes!
“Excuse me?” Dietrich’s voice is low and gravelly.
“Perhaps we’ve been a bit hasty.”
“I don’t think—”
“After all,” the colonel says, “a healthy curiosity is a sign of intelligence, is it not? And we know how the president prizes intelligence.”
Dietrich cocks her head. “Above obedience, Colonel? I don’t think so.”
“Yes, of course you’re right.” The colonel is nodding, agreeing. I hope he’s building rapport, not changing his mind. “Obedience is necessary, to be sure. But…” Good, there’s a but. “With those of particularly high intelligence, blind obedience is not the best way to achieve loyalty. Sometimes it’s necessary to take a broader view and inspire loyalty rather than demand it. In upholding the president’s ultimate objectives, we’re obligated to be cautious not to throw out the wheat with the chaff.”
I don’t know this metaphor, but it seems like he’s arguing to give me a second chance.
Dietrich shakes her head. “Once my trust is broken, it’s beyond repair.”
“Surely you can
’t mean that,” the colonel says. “Look at the great examples in history. Broken Japanese pottery made more beautiful by repairing cracks with gold. The rebuilding of the Nazi empire after it was all but destroyed at the end of World War II. Why, your very own success here is literally built upon a crack in the earth so great there was thought to be no hope of ever bridging it. Yet here we are, about to show the president the great strides you’ve made in reclaiming this city.”
Dietrich opens her mouth as if to speak, but then purses her lips.
“Piers.” The colonel leans toward her, bracing his elbows on her desk. “How do you think the president would handle a similar situation with one of his own daughters, hm? I suggest we use this opportunity to demonstrate that the president—and we as his instruments—are deserving of loyalty and obedience. Together, we can turn this curious young woman into an asset for the president and his grand plan.”
Thank you, Colonel!
Dietrich looks down at her desk and straightens her pens. When she looks up, her face is placid, but her posture’s still rigid. “Let’s say I were to give her one more chance. What then if she were to fail?”
The colonel leans back and looks over at me. “I will slit her delicate throat myself.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Slit my throat?
Apparently I’m a terrible judge of character.
Dietrich looks from the colonel to me, then leans back, her hands braced on the edge of the desk. Her index finger taps the desk four times. Then she looks him in the eye. “I agree her potential warrants another chance. Under the right circumstances.”
“What would those be?” he asks.
“A mentor. Someone with a superior sense of duty and adherence to protocol.”
“I would be honored—”
“A young woman named Bel Raskin,” Dietrich interjects. “A model member of the Party. She’ll be an excellent example for our wayward young lady.”
“Oh.” He casts a look in my direction. “A shame she won’t be working with me. But very well.”
“Then it’s decided,” Dietrich says. “I’ll make the arrangements and we’ll reschedule our meeting for tomorrow.”
“Agreed.” He rises from his chair.
“One moment, Gav.” The way Dietrich says his name verges on condescending. “There’s one more thing.”
He sinks back into his chair. “Yes?”
“What were you doing in Montgomery Station?”
Surprise flashes on his face, then just as quick it’s gone. “It was nothing. Scouting a location for some propaganda footage.” He sounds a little defensive.
“I believe that’s the purview of my office,” Dietrich says.
“Yes, yes,” he says, as if brushing it off. “I merely wanted to get the lay of the land. Like our young apprentice, here.” He pats my shoulder, and I shrink back from him.
“I understand,” Dietrich says, an edge to her voice. “However, protocols are important, especially given the magnitude of the impending visit. So have your adjutant contact my logistics manager with a list of your venue needs and security concerns. I’ll review and we can discuss tomorrow.”
“Of course.” He chuckles as he stands. “Until tomorrow, Doctor. And…” He looks over at me. “I still don’t know your name.”
“Uh, Allie,” I say.
“See you soon, Allie.” He smiles at me long enough for it to be uncomfortable. Finally, he leaves.
As the door clicks shut, Dietrich turns her full wrath on me. “What on the flat earth were you doing? Do you have any idea what’s at stake? Do you know what you risked?”
“You were going to recycle me.”
“This is so much greater than one person. There are millions of lives to consider.”
“Easy to say when you’re not the one person getting recycled.”
“Well, you achieved your goal. I can’t recycle you now that the ASP colonel has taken a personal interest in you.”
The way she says personal interest sends a shiver up my spine. How could I have missed how ruthless he is?
“You won’t be sorry,” I say.
“I’m already sorry.”
“I can be useful. Here, I’ll prove it. You wanted to know what the colonel was doing in Montgomery Station, right? He told you he was scouting a location, but I heard them call it recon.”
“Oh?” The change in her expression is subtle, but there. This is new information. “What else did you hear?”
“Well, that was it. But I was only with him a few minutes. I’ll learn more.”
Dietrich rolls her eyes, then turns and crosses to the door she was pointing at before, the one to her “chambers.”
With her back to me, I glance at the outer office door.
“Don’t even think about it,” Dietrich says.
Busted.
“Get moving.” She holds the door open for me.
Her “chambers” turn out to be her apartment, the one we were in before. How the heck? I really am turned around.
Bel is lounging on the couch. She springs to her feet, gaping at me. “What are you doing here? I thought we got rid of you.”
“You knew!” I lunge for her. But she grabs my arms and does some sort of martial arts move I never saw coming. I land on my back on the floor.
“Stop,” Dietrich shouts. “Get control of yourselves. You have to find a way to work together.”
Bel’s livid. “You said I wouldn’t have to deal with her anymore.”
“Things change,” Dietrich says as I get to my feet.
“I’m out of here.” Bel storms to the yellow wall and holds up her hand, but nothing happens.
“We’re on lockdown. No one’s going anywhere,” Dietrich says.
Bel turns on me. “This is your fault.”
“No,” Dietrich says. “There are ASPs on the premises, remember?”
“That’s right—our meeting,” Bel says. “Isn’t that now?”
“Postponed. Thanks to Allison.”
They both give me the stink eye.
“So what am I supposed to do stuck in here with her?” Bel asks.
“Help her go through the clothing you rejected this morning and select at least five outfits.”
“Outfits for what?”
“She’s going to be your co-apprentice.”
“What the—” Bel clenches her fists and her face turns bright red, like in cartoons right before the person’s head explodes.
“Brief her on the plan,” Dietrich says. “I’ll be in my office taking care of all the additional paperwork that’s now necessary.” She gifts me with another angry glare.
“Great.” Bel tosses her hair and heads through the archway to the back of the apartment.
Same old Bel. And I get to spend the afternoon trying on clothes with her—oh, joy.
I’m halfway considering if being recycled would be better.
I head for the back of the apartment.
“Allison,” Dietrich says. “Aren’t you forgetting something?”
I look back and she glances at my wrist.
Dammit.
I hand over the personal I lifted from Calix. She doesn’t ask for mine—maybe she forgot I have it.
She tucks Calix’s personal in her pocket. I feel pretty bad about taking it. I hope he didn’t get in too much trouble. “When you give that back to Calix, tell him I’m sorry.”
“That won’t be necessary. He was recycled.”
Oh God. The bottom drops out of my stomach, and I turn away so she doesn’t see my tears.
Despite the fashion show of ridiculous clothing, the room is tense. Bel despises me, and I like her even less. I’m sure she’s choosing the ugliest outfits on purpose: high-waisted pants so baggy that three of me could fit inside; a mustard-yellow shirt with ginormous ruffles around the neck, a brown and orange segmented dress that makes me look like a caterpillar.
She’s droning on about the junior ambassador gig—which is completely stup
id—and it’s all I can do not to tell her to shut her face. I keep thinking about Calix—how could they recycle a doctor? And over something so trivial?
“Our goal,” Bel says, finally getting to the punch line, “is to convince the president’s daughters that this place is dangerous. Then they’ll lean on their father to abandon the idea of rebuilding San Francisco.”
“Seriously?” I can’t keep it in any longer. “How could this possibly be the best plan for stopping the president?”
“What do you think, we’re idiots? This isn’t the primary plan. My mom’s got that covered with the president himself—scientists showing falsified readings, doctors with ‘proof’ of the medical side-effects, vids showing how dangerous the grounds still are.”
“Can’t all that be emailed or something?”
“Of course it can. It was. But this new president is full of himself. He says he’s got to see it in person.”
“If he already knows it’s dangerous here, why would he bring his daughters?”
“Because he’s a politician. It’s a publicity stunt to evoke support for reclaiming the city. He thinks if he shows his own children in the Zone, everyone will believe it’s safe.”
“And we’re supposed to counter this how?”
“We can’t put them in actual danger, so we show them around our quarters—”
“The Middie sleeping quarters?”
“Geez, you’re such a nafe. We can’t let beans see the private infrastructure. Only the carefully curated public areas like this.” She gestures to the bedroom painted in suburban beige, accented with pale pink bedding and a few teddy bears.
“So this isn’t your real bedroom? It’s only for show?”
“It’s my real room. For you, it’s show.”
“What about Sharrow? Does she have a room here, too?”
“No, she says she wants to live like the inmates.”
“Inmates?” Flyx said people could leave.
“Ease out. It’s a figure of speech.”
“Okay, so how is showing the president’s daughters your bedroom supposed to convince them this place is dangerous?”
Bel rolls her eyes. “The bedroom has nothing to do with it. We’re going to show them how we have all kinds of side-effects from living here—rashes, memory loss, deformities. We get to play like we’re sick, exhausted, the whole deal. You think you’re good for that? Because I can’t have you blowing it.”
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