The rest of the afternoon passes in a haze. I’ve never felt like this before, giddy, but also calm, and, despite everything going on in the camp right now, safe. We wander the woods, something unspoken keeping us away from the camp. For once, Connor hardly says anything. We just coexist, enjoying the relative coolness of the shade of the trees’ cover.
It’s a feeling I have no context for. I can’t remember my parents ever holding hands. Can the Directorate’s algorithms calculate for this kind of connection? Or maybe they don’t want to factor this in. The Directorate pairs for order and stability, but that isn’t anywhere close to what Connor stirs up in me.
Order. Is it really worth everything the Directorate sacrifices to maintain it? My mind wanders to Gracelyn, and the carefully-planned, predictable path ahead of her, every step and detail a straight line, already assigned and carefully managed. There’s an entire world out here she has no idea about. So many choices, and flavors, and surprises, that she’ll never experience.
As it starts to get dark, my stomach rumbles.
Connor laughs, and I feel so giddy that I laugh too. “Guess we’d better head back,” he says. “I know better than to mess with your stomach.”
My heart sinks a little at this. I don’t want to share him with anyone yet. But he’s right. Dinner time is coming, and people would worry if we didn’t show up, especially considering the day’s news. As we near the edge of the camp to meet the others, our hands drop apart and I try to tuck away the warmth that has been building up in me.
As it turns out, it’s not too hard. The camp is quieter than usual tonight, tension settling over the scattered tables and dampening the mood. It tightens between my shoulders and in the pit of my stomach. Even Kinlee, who usually shows no sign of stress from her work, seems more tired than usual. It must be nuts in Intel right now. Still, she tries her best to brighten the mood.
I try to be like Kinlee and keep things light. Everyone at the table does. But the afternoon’s announcement looms over us all the same. Arguments and heated discussions in hushed voices drift in from all the other tables. It’s not just Tad. His disappearance has caused a rift through the camp.
The tension wedges between my shoulders and grips into me. Clashes like this never happened in the Quads – there wasn’t anything to care about this deeply. And there certainly wasn’t space for this kind of conflict amid our carefully-structured days. How can they look one another in the eye, sit at the same tables, continue to work together, while caught in such conflict?
“Do arguments like this happen a lot?” Even as I ask, I wonder if that would make it better or worse.
“No,” says Ginnie, wide-eyed. “I’ve never seen this before, ever.”
But Kinlee shrugs. “Oh come on. Adults fight all the time. These debates about how to run the camp are constant.”
Ginnie’s brows pinch together and her eyes widen.
“Okay fine. This one’s a lot worse. But it’s been building. It was kind of inevitable.”
Connor puts on his thinking face, then nods in somber agreement.
“What do you mean?” I ask.
Kinlee shrugs. “The camp is kind of a misfit base, without a clear governing body. Officially, a lot of countries won’t even acknowledge us anymore – they’re too afraid of the backlash if the Directorate finds out, because no one can come close to matching their military power.” She shifts, leaning into the table. “So we run on volunteers and under-the-table funds. It’s a mix of a joint government espionage effort, and also a human rights effort. Some governments want to monitor the Directorate to make sure they don’t become a threat to the rest of us again. Others want to gain intel to take it down. Some are more interested in taking out the Licentia cells so they don’t expand to their own countries.”
I still can’t believe the Licentia are real. My mind flashes back to times when a loud noise or unexpected smoke rose from buildings in the Quad, any time a stretch of street was blocked off. Maintenance, the Directorate always said. But maybe it wasn’t. It would never have occurred to me before that such destructive hate could really exist, and it scares me more than anything else I’ve learned since coming here.
But Licentia aside, Kinlee’s breakdown explains a lot. Particularly, how low-tech this place is, other than the Intel bunker. But could the Alliance really take down the Directorate? What would happen to citizens like Gracelyn if they did?
Kinlee continues. “So sure, the camp is mostly peaceful and we work together on pre-agreed efforts that help us all meet our various goals. But we take some big risks here, and anyone willing to risk themselves by being here has strong opinions about what they think the priorities should be. Something like Tad going missing was bound to happen eventually. And we all have different things motivating how we think we should handle it. So of course it’s chaos.”
It’s as if, in Kinlee’s mind, the entire camp is a giant game of chess.
“It’s kind of weird it hasn’t happened earlier, when you start to think about it,” Connor says.
Kinlee shrugs. “We haven’t had anyone go missing before. Not like this, where we don’t know what happened.”
Dave sighs and sprawls out over the table in a dramatic gesture. “Can we not? This day has already been tense enough without reliving the entire thing. Let’s have some fun.”
We all exchange looks. Kinlee jumps to her feet, her expression shifting into a troublesome grin.
“Fun? You want to have fun?” She leans forward to face Dave on the table and punches him playfully. “Isn’t that all you do all day? Do you doofuses over in Food Prep even work?”
Dave grins. “Nope. That breakfast you wanted tomorrow? We thought about doing that. But we all agreed, it didn’t sound fun, so we went swimming in the river instead.”
Kinlee tries for another swat at him, but Dave catches her by the wrist. Kinlee lets out a giggling shriek as he tugs her onto him over the table and wraps his arms around her.
Their relationship is a strange push and pull of challenges, and I still don’t really get it. But he definitely makes Kinlee happy. Fun. That’s exactly it. They have fun together. We all do here. We didn’t really do fun in the Directorate. We were content. We were healthy and safe. But fun?
Gracelyn. I had fun with her. Not like this, but more than anyone else in the Quad.
The memory of Gracelyn comes with a pang of sadness. I want her happy. I want her safe. It’s become clear the Directorate is a dangerous place to be. Gracelyn, ever the perfect citizen, is about as safe as a person could be there. But I still worry about her. If only I could have brought her with me. If only –
“Ev?” Connor tilts his head, studying me. “What you thinking?”
I realize with a flood of embarrassment I’ve been staring at him. Shit.
“What? Nothing. Zoned out, I guess.”
I’m not ready to share this new idea with anyone yet, but it charges through me, relentless as a heartbeat.
If only Gracelyn could be here, too.
It has to be possible – don’t they bring people in from the Directorate all the time? I’ve just got to figure out how to do it. My mind wanders to the giant map stretched across the wall of the Intel & Recon bunker. If there’s a way to do it, that’s where I’ll find the answer, I’m sure of it.
“Hey Kin?” I’m calling out to her before I’ve even thought it through.
“Yeah?” she says. Dave is making a face at her, and she is giggling as she breaks away.
“I thought about it some more, and I’ll do it. Tell Raina to sign me up for Intel & Recon next rotation.”
She turns to me, eyes wide. “Really? It’s going to be great, wait and see.”
“Yeah. Great.”
Gracelyn, out here, in the real world. The idea settles around my heart and grows roots. I’m not sure what comes next, but there’s bound to be a way to do it. There has to be.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Gracelyn
I a
m starting to lose hope of finding anything more about Code Twenty-Seven. I have not found anything to explain the brief conversation between Gunders and Johnston.
What if there is nothing about it on the server at all? What if I misheard, or they had important additional information they didn’t say out loud? If I keep this up, I am going to get caught, and my fear of the consequences grows each time. But it is too late now. If I let this go without understanding, questions about Evie will haunt me the rest of my life. I have to do this, so that everything can get back to normal again.
With all this sneaking around, I am realizing for the first time how carefully the Directorate monitors us in the Quad. Even our smallest actions are tracked and recorded and watched. It is in everything from the card swipe at the main entrance and again at my desk each morning and evening, all the way to the confusion in Mother’s eyes when I leave for my day a few minutes early, and Hanna’s side-eye glances.
It is hard to blame them – we have been taught to monitor one another like this. The expectation of our exacting schedules has been ingrained into us. Disrupting it triggers concern, and concern could lead to even more observation. And I don’t dare risk being marked as noncompliant. So I have had to scale it back.
When I do slip in early, I turn on my computer and start sifting through hundreds of thousands of tedious corporate documents. I have never been more grateful for my photographic memory – without it, I would be lost.
This would all be easier if I could simply run a server-wide search for “Code Twenty-Seven.” But I might as well stand up and announce it to everyone: Hello. I am searching for what I assume is a highly-classified project I am not qualified to access. Could you hand it over, please?
The search would surely raise a flag on the system, and Quinn would probably receive a notification of my suspicious actions, along with others even higher up the chain. Who knows where that would lead? Suspension? Complete removal from the Department? I’d lose my access to find these answers, and everything about the life I am trying to get back to would be ruined.
So no searches. Searching the folders one by one, if I get caught, I might be able to pretend I’m merely being over-ambitious. It would be odd, but it would not be the first time someone has gone to extremes to get ahead in this program. Even if they didn’t believe me, at least they still would not know what I was really looking for.
My days have begun to feel like a side note, and the real reason behind everything has become the search. I have to hold myself back from going in early more frequently.
And then one morning something jumps out at me from the text. My heart pounds. It is not a mention of Code Twenty-Seven, but it is awfully strange.
It is old. And it is short. I read it slowly, making sure to capture every detail for later.
MEMO
September 9, 2231
FROM: Alan Gunders, Senior Associate
TO: Departure Management, Department Chair and Deputies
A significant aberration has been discovered with the time-release feature of the chemical compound in the departures serum. Although the serum works as intended for most citizens, there is a small minority for whom this process is not effective.
It is critical that we correct the issue before it becomes more widely discovered and disrupts citizen life.
So far, most of the very few victims of this failure are so stunned to find themselves still present upon waking that they do not take any action, and some did not wake until they are on their way to crematory. There was one incident where the victim went into a panic, and the spouse also became quite distressed. The victim was removed, and the spouse had to be heavily dosed with memory-altering medications. The greater challenge is keeping Departure Crews from spreading these stories to others, and keeping them unaware of the greater problem. Memory-altering medications are effective in most cases, but in one, an early departure was necessary.
We must act while we still have the advantage that the anomaly is unknown by the general public. The risk of exposure will only grow with time. Addressing this quickly is of the utmost importance.
I review the words again, sure I have missed something. But I haven’t. People are not departing when they are supposed to?
For the thousandth time the shuffling from Evie’s room that morning comes back to me, and this time the sound seems so much darker. My stomach knots. It makes perfect sense, in fact it is the first thing that has made sense in all of this. But if Evie was not departed when the Departure Crew arrived, what happened to her?
Don’t be crazy, I scold myself. After all, this memo is over twenty years old. Surely they have solved it by now. Besides, they carried the body bag down the stairs and out to the van.
But…
I shake my head and try to think, my heart thudding in my ears.
“Good morning!”
A smooth, cheery voice comes out of nowhere. I shudder.
“Um, hi. Good morning,” I stutter. I lean forward to tap away from the document still on my syncscreen, but a porcelain hand pulls mine away before I can. I look up and my stomach knots – it is Quinn.
Her eyes flit quickly over the memo on my screen, and my face turns hot and red in spite of myself. I have never been a good liar.
Quinn taps to close the document, then looks back to me, her face expressionless but her eyes busy. “I think you’d better come with me.”
Why did it have to be Quinn? I know the feelings I have been nursing for her are ridiculous, but at least right now I am in her favor, a promising future leader in the department. I cannot stand the idea of her writing me off as noncompliant.
Too late, Gracelyn. You should have thought of that before you started nosing around classified files.
How else could this have possibly ended? If Quinn had not caught me, someone else would have, eventually. And then they would have reported me to Quinn, and we would be back right here, with me following her to her office. A watchlizard skitters under a door as we pass it in the hall.
What will they do with me? Probation? Removal? Will I spend the rest of my days in a janitorial position, picking up litter around the parks? This will break Mother and Father’s hearts. They have invested everything in me, in my future. I can feel it all disappearing, and I realize I can’t make myself care like I know everyone else will. If I let myself get caught now, I might never find out what really happened to Evie. If she was alive on her Departure Day, she could still be alive now.
We reach the office, and Quinn gestures for me to enter. She follows in after me and closes the door.
***
I sit in one of the chairs across from Quinn’s desk and stare at the floor. Instead of crossing the room to the other side, she pulls the other chair close, facing me.
Shame floods my cheeks, but under that, indignation simmers. I scold myself to keep it together, then force myself to look up and meet her gaze. She leans in, a brilliant red curl falling into her face.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” she asks.
“I was – but – are you…?” I’m so confused by her question that I cannot piece a sentence together. It occurs to me I have no idea what she deduced from what she saw. Though I cannot see how this could possibly look like anything good.
I take a breath. “Tell you what?”
“That memo,” she says, voice low. “You’ve been looking for something.”
We stare at each other, in a standoff. Her eyes are clouded, mirroring the confusion I feel. My head rushes. Quinn is so close, I could brush my fingers over her leg if I were to only lean forward.
But no. I cannot let my feelings for her get in my head; there is too much at stake. Right now, Quinn is the Directorate, and the Directorate is a roadblock to the answers I need. I pull my hands in and rest them in my lap. I shake my head and press my lips together, unable to say anything.
She gives a tentative half-smile. “You’re really going to tell me you haven’t been looking for something?”
Evie. I crave to be able to talk to someone about everything that has happened. But that would ruin everything. Stick to the plan. I have lies prepared for this very moment. “No?” I just wish I was better at employing them.
Quinn leans forward, the crease in her forehead deepening. “Damnit, Gracelyn… tell me.”
I look down at my hands, unable to speak and unable to resist.
A wall goes up behind Quinn’s eyes, turning steely as she pulls back.
“Look. I don’t want to play hardball with you, but I will if you make me. I saw what you were looking at. It’s classified. And it’s way out of your purview, both by department and position.” Quinn taps her fingers against the arm of the chair. “I have every reason to report you. Depending on how I spin this, you could spend some time on probation. Or I could hold you back at entry level again next year. Or I could have you removed from the organization entirely. I like you, Gracelyn. Don’t make me do that. Tell me what’s going on.”
Her abrasiveness burns through me. But what to say? In my fear and confusion and the mounting pressure, I cannot think straight.
She reaches out and takes my hand. Despite everything, a thrill shoots up my arm.
“Trust me, Gracelyn. You might be surprised.”
I almost give her the story I prepared, about curiosity and getting ahead. But it sounds so flimsy all of a sudden. A terrible pang of desperation trembles through my chest, and suddenly I cannot bear to keep carrying this secret alone. To my dismay, the truth starts to fall out of me.
“A few weeks ago, a man with a tag that said ‘Gunders’ from DMD said something to another employee. Johnston. He said something about a Code Twenty-Seven. And it happened on my sister’s departure date.”
Heat rises up my neck and into my cheeks. Even though I have been thinking it almost constantly for weeks, it still feels strange to say it out loud.
Departures Page 15
