by Tarah Benner
But after my conversation with Eli, that gnawing feeling is back in the pit of my stomach. There’s something Jayden isn’t saying — something about Bid Day that even Eli doesn’t know.
He won’t help me figure it out, though. That’s the most disappointing part. Even if he resents Jayden, Eli won’t work against Recon.
I need to know more, and something tells me that Sullivan Taylor, Undersecretary of Vocational Placement, holds all the answers. I can’t exactly ask Taylor, but getting on his computer is the next best thing, and there’s only one person who can help me with that.
I knock on Celdon’s door after dinner and feel a little hurt when Sawyer answers. She and Celdon barely get along half the time, and yet she decided to visit him instead of me.
But when the door swings open, she grins broadly and throws an arm around me. As she pulls away, her expression turns serious. She glances at Celdon, and I realize why she’s there.
He’s completely passed out on the sleek white couch, with an untouched water bottle and a reheated to-go box in front of him — Sawyer’s handiwork, no doubt. He’s got more dirty laundry draped over the furniture than usual, empty food containers piled everywhere, and a pill bottle stuffed between the couch cushions.
Judging by his wrinkled clothing and mussed hair, he hit Neverland earlier — probably when he was supposed to be in Systems — and he’s coming down from his high.
Sawyer and I talk in hushed voices for more than an hour. Her hair looks as though it hasn’t been washed in a few days, and she has bags under her eyes from pulling back-to-back shifts in the medical ward, but I can see she loves Health and Rehab.
She tells me about the different doctors she gets to work with — how brilliant they are, how they let her assist with patients. She says she doesn’t mind the long hours because it never feels as though she’s been there that long. When she talks, she has the tired, satisfied smile of someone who’s worked a long day at a job she finds important.
My heart aches for more nights like this — just the two of us talking about our lives. I try to keep the conversation on her because I can’t talk about my life. I can’t tell her the truth about VocAps, and I don’t want to talk about Recon. My life is nothing like the life I had planned.
After a while, Sawyer yawns and leaves to get some sleep, and I take over babysitting Celdon. He doesn’t stir once, and I figure he won’t be up for several hours.
I wait until twenty-three hundred to swipe his key card from the ceramic turtle on the coffee table and let myself out. It’s easy — almost too easy — but I feel pretty shitty about it.
Heart thundering in my chest, I shove down my guilt and slip through the residential tunnel. I take the stairs up one level and head for Systems headquarters. Nobody’s around this time of night, and the lights tick on automatically as I walk.
I feel jumpy and exposed in the bright white tunnel. Celdon in his white Systems clothes would blend in, but I stick out like a speck of dirt in my gray uniform.
Glancing behind me to make sure I wasn’t followed, I pull on a pair of gloves I swiped from the Operations cart and let myself into the room.
Once inside, I make a beeline for Jacob Morsey’s computer. I may have felt guilty about using his login before, but after seeing his smug face in person, it doesn’t bother me as much as it should.
I know Celdon always uses the same dummy password to set up new accounts for people, and I know Jacob is probably too stupid to change his.
Logging on to his computer is easy; remotely overriding Taylor’s office access protocol isn’t. Any Systems operative can do it to access the room for routine malware updates, but it takes me a while to figure out how to make the room accessible by key code alone. Most high-level security rooms require a code and an all-access card.
While I’m pretty sure Celdon’s security clearance is high enough to get me in, it’s too risky. Plus, I need it to automatically reset to its default code as soon as I’m finished.
I start to sweat in Jacob Morsey’s stupid ergonomic chair, and tiny fans mounted on the half-moon partition kick on automatically.
I groan. Systems’ relentless pursuit of comfort and productivity is sickening.
Finally, I remotely override the lock on Taylor’s door. I don’t hang around any longer than I have to. Something about being inside Systems among hundreds of sleeping monitors and the barely audible tick of blinking server lights gives me the creepy feeling I’m being watched.
I head out into the tunnel and hurry toward the board members’ offices. They’re situated directly above their swanky compartments so the leaders can access their offices without mingling in the tunnels with everyone else.
I don’t encounter a single living soul in the tunnel, which unnerves me. My luck is never this good when I’m attempting something illegal. I definitely should have screwed up by now.
Struggling to get a grip on my fried nerves, I tap my interface twice so I can read the silvery plaques on the doors. A little chill rolls down my spine when I reach Sullivan Taylor’s door. I can’t believe I’m doing this.
My code works, and I let myself in. The smell of new chipboard and fake mahogany finish hits my nostrils, and I go straight for his computer. It’s the same model Systems uses, and I get another kick of envy. I’m sure Taylor only ever uses it for messaging.
I turn on the computer, and my heart sinks a little when I realize it’s password protected. I’m not as good at hacking into people’s accounts as Celdon is, but I’ve been around him long enough to pick up some of his tricks.
Plenty of people use their birthday. I flip on my interface and perform a quick search through compound records. I try Taylor’s, but the little password field just shudders, telling me I got it wrong.
I type in “thisismypassword,” but apparently even Taylor isn’t that stupid.
I have one more shot at this before the system locks me out. Taylor is the only one who uses this computer. It’s in his locked private office, meaning he probably thinks it’s safe.
I hold my breath and hit enter, leaving the field completely blank.
I hear the friendly login note and collapse back into his chair in relief.
His application icons pop up on the desktop, and I click on his messaging app. There are thousands of messages clogging up his inbox, but I do a quick search for “bid day.”
Scanning the messages, I see they’re mainly correspondence about the bidding ceremony itself: a draft of his speech, the schedule, and the new recruits’ VocAps scores.
Nothing.
I search for messages containing “Harper Riley,” but nothing turns up except for the information about my education and my score.
I sigh in frustration. After all this, Sullivan Taylor might be a dead end after all.
Just as I’m about to leave, I type “Recon” into the search bar. There’s one message that sticks out from his trash bin, and I open it first.
It’s a message to the rest of the board about the number of recruits for Recon this year. One part catches my eye:
I think it may be wise to reevaluate the number of recruits for Recon. The rapid death of so many cadets last year has created strong animosity for compound leadership, which could spread to the rest of the sections if this continues.
Despite recent threats on the Fringe, internal discord may be a bigger concern at the present time.
I scroll down to President Ferguson’s reply, and my blood goes cold.
Your concerns are understandable, but we believe the recent surge in Fringe violence calls for more Recon operatives in the field. I stand by my recommendation to increase recruitment by twenty-five percent.
Somewhere out in the tunnel, a door slams shut. My heart stutters in my chest, but my head is clear.
I close out of Taylor’s messages and hastily shut off the computer. Careful not to make a sound, I creep to the door and put my ear against the cold metal, listening for footsteps outside the office. Nothing.
I open the door a crack and peer out into the tunnel. The lights are on, which means someone must have walked through here recently.
Seeing no one, I slip out of Taylor’s office and close the door behind me. I walk as fast as I can without making too much noise, yanking off the gloves and tossing them into the first wastebin I see.
I’m halfway down the tunnel when I hear it: the soft scuffle of controller boots coming from the adjacent tunnel.
The air goes frigid in my lungs, and I stop, listening to hear which direction the steps are coming from.
“Hey!” he yells. “Who’s there?”
I know that voice.
My heart flies into my throat. I’m not alone up here after all. The controller on duty heard me shut the office door, and he’s close enough to find me up here breaking into a board member’s office.
Without pausing to think, I sprint toward the megalift.
The footsteps quicken, drawing closer. There’s a chance he’ll see me, but the only way out of this tunnel is to run toward the controller.
The door to the emergency stairwell is situated out of his line of sight, so I throw myself into it and take the stairs two at a time. It’s too dark to see where I’m going, but I can’t turn on my interface.
Suddenly I remember Celdon’s key card. If I’m caught, I can’t let him find it on me. Celdon will probably have his clearance revoked, and I’ll be prosecuted for identity theft. I shove it into my bra and hope to god Control doesn’t perform strip searches.
I can hear the controller behind me, and I see the blue light of his interface bouncing off the walls. He’s only a flight behind me, and he’s catching up fast.
The stitch in my side is stabbing me like a knife, but the controller isn’t even breathing hard. He’s enjoying this. This is what they train for, yet they so seldom get to chase down criminals in the compound.
And then, I don’t have time to think about anything else. Someone tackles me from behind, and my feet fly out from under me.
I’m airborne for a second, and then I hit the landing with enough force to shatter every bone in my body.
I feel the oppressive weight of a fully grown man pinning me down and smell something familiar. My face scrapes against the filthy concrete, and the man yanks my arm behind my back.
Panicked, I throw my elbow back just as Eli taught us, and the controller’s groan tells me I hit him hard.
“Well, well. Hey there, Riley.” The familiar voice is so full of cold delight that it freezes me in place.
I turn away from the blinding blue interface light, but the man seizes me roughly by the hair and yanks my head sideways to get a good look at me. The white-blond waves come into focus around his pointed, weasel-y face.
I almost throw up.
Of all the controllers to be sitting on top of me in a deserted stairwell, Paxton Dellwood is the one who makes my blood curdle in fear.
I feel something hard poking me in the side — his electric nightstick — and suddenly every part of my body is convulsing against the concrete.
I cry out a little but instantly clamp my mouth shut. I won’t give him the satisfaction.
“I’ve wanted to do that for a while,” he says, brushing my hair back with a creepy-soft, clammy hand. He cuffs me tightly and yanks me to my feet. But before I can regain my balance, he throws out his forearm and slams me bodily against the handrail, pinning my back against the wall.
“What were you doing in the upper tunnels?” he growls.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I say automatically.
He lets out a frustrated little laugh of air through his nose. “Of course. Because the Recon recruit with the biggest bone to pick with the board just happens to take her midnight walks past Sullivan Taylor’s office.”
“I sleepwalk,” I say, not even bothering to come up with a convincing lie.
I know I should really be worried about ending up in the cages — about the fact that I actually did break the law. But with the biggest slimeball in our year pressing every part of himself against me in the dark, I just want to show him he doesn’t have the power to scare me. So I lie shamelessly.
Paxton rearranges himself so his hips are grinding against me even harder, and I feel his holster digging into my abdomen. His hands trail up my thighs, and I swallow down the bile in my throat. His spidery fingers brush the inside of my legs longer than they need to, searching for weapons, and he takes his time rubbing his way up my waist and chest.
I think of the key card shoved in my bra and hope he’s too preoccupied with what’s going on in his pants to notice the rectangular piece of plastic stuck to my side.
“Hmm. Not going to shank me? That’s nice of you.”
His breath is laced with so much coffee and spearmint that it makes my eyes water a little.
“Why were you up there, then? Trying to sleep your way into Systems?”
I swallow. Maybe I should tell him that’s what I was doing. He might actually believe it, but I can’t bring myself to tell such a humiliating lie to Paxton Dellwood.
“No.”
“Were you trying to tamper with your test results?”
“No.”
“Just tell the truth,” he says, trying a seductive tone that just comes out like a snarl.
Now that the adrenalin has worn off, I’m starting to feel genuinely afraid. My hands are cuffed together, and though Paxton is about my height, he’s built like a bull. I’m completely powerless against him.
“You have no proof I did anything,” I snarl. “I didn’t break into any of those offices.”
He shoves me harder against the wall. My eyes water as our combined weight slams against my cuffed hands, but I set my jaw and refuse to show weakness.
“Someone did. We got a tipoff that someone from Recon was lurking around the restricted access rooms. And do you really think Control doesn’t get an alert every time a high-level security protocol is overridden?”
My chest constricts in horror. I had no idea.
“Well, it wasn’t me,” I say, trying to sound offhand. Part of me thinks I should confess, in case Paxton is smart enough to link Jacob Morsey’s code back to Celdon. I’ll take the fall before I let Celdon get dragged into this.
Paxton is leaning against the wall looking smug — as though he can’t believe his luck that I’m his first arrest.
“What I can’t figure out,” he says, unable to hide his smirk, “is why you broke in.”
“You can’t tie me to his office. I wasn’t there. I have no way to override the security protocol or whatever.”
I know my bluff isn’t very convincing, but at this point, I’m just lying my ass off, hoping something sticks.
But Paxton’s got the bit between his teeth.
“You know, if I wanted to tie you to Taylor’s office, I’d call the best hacker in this place to figure out how you overrode security.” He lets out a derisive laugh. “But the best hacker in the compound happens to be your best friend. Now, I’m no hearing board, but I like my chances of —”
I never hear what Paxton says next.
A deafening rumble shakes the level above us. The tremor throws us against the wall, causing Paxton to nearly dislocate my wrist as we’re jolted sideways.
He looks up in alarm, clearly thrown off by the unexpected turn of events, but he doesn’t let go of me. For a moment, we both just stare at the walls and ceiling, waiting for another tremor.
Then I hear a faint garble coming from his interface, which seems to shake him out of his stupor.
“Copy that,” says Paxton, speaking to the controller on the other end. “No. But —”
The speaker seems to cut him off, because Paxton drags in an annoyed breath.
“Captain, I’ve apprehended a suspect.”
“What?” I yell, twisting to glare at him. I have no idea what just happened, but he isn’t going to pin it on me.
“Yes. Caught her breaking into one of
the board members’ offices just a few minutes ago. Right. Yes, sir . . . yes, sir. I’m on it. Over.”
Paxton ends the conversation, glancing at the concrete steps above us apprehensively. But then his expression flips into a smirk, and he tightens his grip on my wrist.
“Well, it looks like my lucky day.”
“What are you talking about?” I growl.
“I’ve gotta say, Riley. I never thought you had it in you to bomb a board member’s compartment.”
“What?”
“Oh, yeah.” He yanks my handcuffed arms backward, dragging me up half a flight of stairs toward the level just below Systems. “Let’s go have a look at your handiwork, shall we? I’m curious.”
There’s a morbid edge to his voice, and the panic starts spilling into my gut like acid. If there really was an explosion, I’m going to be a suspect. Talk about shitty timing.
Paxton flings the emergency door open, and my stomach falls to my knees.
The destruction is unimaginable. I’ve never seen anything like it. One tunnel is completely caved in, the ceiling and walls crumpled like a box of broken chalk. I hear yelling and moaning coming from every direction, but I can’t see any people among the destroyed compartments.
There’s a thick cloud of plaster dust in the air, and as it clears, the realization sinks in.
This is the tunnel I was in less than an hour ago. This is Celdon’s tunnel, where I left him passed out on his couch.
Celdon.
“No!” I scream, lunging toward the ruins. I feel the handcuffs dig into my flesh, and Paxton yanks me back roughly.
He’s staring at the rubble — utterly transfixed — but his face isn’t twisted in shock and horror. He’s barely containing his glee.
“I can’t believe —”
“Let me go!” I yell, nearly ripping my vocal cords in my anguish. I yank forward hard enough to cause him to stumble, but he rights himself and tugs me backward. The handcuffs dig into my wrists, but I don’t care.
“That’s Celdon’s compartment!” I yell. “Right — there! I have to see —”
“That’s cold, Riley. Even for you.”
He tsks loudly, and I twist around to face him, wanting nothing more in that moment than to kill him.
