by J. Kowallis
“Of course I have, idiota.”
“Hmm,” he grunted. “I’m surprised.”
“Jump off a cliff.”
A low rumble echoed in Nate’s chest. “I did that once. In Korea. You should try it sometime. Without bungees, preferably.”
“Pendejo,” Ransley replied with a roll of her eyes, sinking down next to him, keeping a clear distance between them. She gazed at the book cover. “Lobb? Who’s that?”
Nate frowned at her. “Martin Lobb. The sociopath who created The Public system.”
“You mean, The Nexis?”
“I mean all of it. This book,” he thumped the cover and it made a hollow thud, “was published long before the war. I hope there might be something in here we can use.”
Ransley stared at the floor for a while and started picking at the skin on her bottom lip. “What’s it about?” She turned to look back at him.
Nate turned the next page to a short biography of Lobb. He brought the book closer to him and started to read. “Martin Peter Lobb is the current Director of the Central Intelligence Agency . . .” Nate leaned forward in the seat, his eyes narrowing.
“Wait. What’s the Central Intelligence Agency?”
“The United States, when it still existed, had an agency. The CIA dealt with international intelligence. For years, they were involved in counterterrorism, nonproliferation, cyber intelligence, and advanced genetics—like, finding ways to make military personnel more resistant to diseases and other things. Basically, they were involved in protecting the country. At least that was their purpose. Over the years, they had many functions, but at the end, they were no different than criminals.”
Nate looked at Lobb’s biography and placed a finger under the first line. “Listen to this.” He continued reading. “Lobb is a native of Rochester, New York. He joined the CIA in 2009. As the chief director of the CIA's genetics division in Asia, Great Britain, and North America, most of his work in the agency has been devoted to advanced engineered genetics. Lobb managed the United States Citizen Registries staff in 2016. Before his 2017 Deputy Director nomination, Lobb served for a short time as Assistant Director for Intelligence, a position he had held since 2015. Before that, he served as the CIA's first Associate Genetics Director from 2011 to 2015. He and his beautiful wife, Gentry, live in Virginia with their daughter.”
“How in the world . . .” Ransley’s voice darkened, “does a genetics director advance to Director of the CIA in less than fifteen years? Is that possible?”
Nate couldn’t believe it. “Apparently,” he whispered. “I don’t know how he did it. Of course, with all the backdoor work going on in the government at the time, I’m not entirely surprised.”
Ransley slid closer to him and reached out to turn the next few pages. “Does it say anything about his work? Or, or what the United States Citizen Registries means, or anything?”
“Well,” Nate cleared his throat softly and swore under his breath, “I could tell you what the USCR was.” He took a deep breath and frowned at her. “The initial project, designed fifty years ago, gathered DNA identification from each child and person registered with a social security number under the government’s new health care plan. It was one of those bills that kind of tore the country in half. Back then, it wasn’t called the Citizens Registry. When the social security system nosedived in 2017, the project . . . altered.
“Every legal citizen of the US was required to report, and not only did they gather DNA inventory, they also implanted everyone with a registry device. Those who were alive, of course knew about it because they had to report to their local health clinics to be tagged. For newborns, like me . . . it was a regular procedure like measuring and weighing. My parents told me about mine on my tenth birthday.” Nate rolled up his sleeve and pointed to the jagged raised scar on his forearm. “I cut it out that night with a pocket knife. They made my parents take me back in so I could be implanted with another one the next day. During the war, I removed it for good.” He unrolled the shirt and turned a few more pages.
“Why?”
“Because I didn’t want the government in my body.”
“No,” Ransley paused, “not that. Why did they do it?”
“I guess for the same reason Lobb still likes to play god. Because he can.”
Ransley rested her head back and looked up at the ceiling while Nate continued to look through the book. “So, what was it like, Rambo?” she finally asked.
“What was what like?” Nate lifted his head and turned to her.
“The war. Was it worth fighting for a corrupt system?” Her face turned stone cold and she fixed her eyes on the blank ceiling.
Worthwhile? A losing country in an impossible war? “I’m still trying to come to terms with whether or not it was worthwhile.”
Ransley shook her head. “Then maybe the only thing that matters is ourselves. We take what we want, and leave everything else as it is.”
Nate felt a lump build in his throat. Slowly he shook his head. “No. I don’t think it’s that simple. I can’t, with good conscience, say that’s true. In a way . . . it was worth it. The loss was worth it. All the losses.” Lieutenant Green. General Petrov. Thousands of soldiers. Scout Tanner. His mother, father, Lou, Chris, and Dayna. Liam. Olivia. The names were always in the back of his mind, their faces in front of his eyes with each blink of his eyes.
They never left him alone.
“Without loss,” he set the book on the table, “we never learn how to protect and fight for what you call ‘worthwhile’ things.”
Another set of faces played across his memory. London. Reggie. The ones still here. The ones he would never let go of.
“So you’re saying this whole fight against The Public is worth it? Even if I lose Roy?”
Her voice brought him out of his thoughts and he took a deep breath. Would he still feel the same way if Reggie was gone?
He nodded. “I know it is.”
“But not worth it enough to tell Reggie how you feel?”
Nate snapped the book shut, keeping one finger in between the pages and turned to her. “Excuse me?”
“Don’t play dumb, Rambo. Even without Reggie telling me last night, I can tell there’s something wrong with the seemingly discordant picture of romance between you two.” Ransley snorted and brushed a rogue tear from her eye.
Why was she crying? Nate lifted his eyebrow.
“And I’m the one with issues?” she added.
“Not that it’s any of your business, but I’ve told Reggie how I feel.”
Ransley sat straight and folded her arms. “Really?”
“Really.”
“You’ve told her you love her?”
“Yes. But it’s complicated.” He frowned and opened the book again, taking his eyes away.
“Santo mierda! You two and your complications. It’s ridiculous. Be a man, Rambo.”
Nate scanned another chapter section. “Drop it, Harpy.”
“Oh, I see. You act tough, but you don’t actually have a backbone.”
“For your information,” Nate’s voice clipped, “Reggie’s the one pushing me away. Not the other way around. Like I said, I’ve already said what I need to.”
He refocused on the book. Ransley was possibly the last person he wanted to ‘open himself’ to. If he could get her to shut up, the conversation would be over.
“What?” Ransley sounded taken back. “What do you mean?” Her voice actually sounded somewhat genuine. For once, she wasn’t needling him. It was an odd sensation.
“I said, drop it.”
“You say it’s complicated. That’s what Reggie said. How ‘bout you explain it to me. Then maybe I’ll be on your side.”
Nate’s eyebrows dove deep and he turned to her. “There are no sides. Just drop it.”
“Nate.”
“Ransley,” he growled.
“Come on. Tell me, dumbass!”
“We had a friend die.” It came out so fast, he wasn’t quite sur
e he’d actually said it. For a second, he had to let it settle, hoping maybe he hadn’t.
“You mean Olivia?”
After a long pause, he nodded, finding himself a little shocked that this scrawny annoyance had gotten him to admit anything.
“Yeah.”
“What does that have to do with Reggie?”
Nate closed the book and looked toward the other end of the room. “I can’t believe I’m telling you this. I can’t believe you’re even asking me.”
Complete silence crept over the room. Ransley said nothing, yet Nate felt compelled to continue. “I’ve never talked about it with anyone,” except Liam, he thought to himself, “but I definitely have some stress trauma issues ever since the war. Watching Liv die made it worse. I love Reggie, but sometimes all I need is for her to be next to me. That being said, she’s too ripped up inside to let herself near me for . . . a lot of her own reasons. So, for now, we pretend nothing’s wrong and that we don’t care. Sometimes you have to pigeonhole shit like that.”
Nate pressed his lips together and returned to searching the book. Ransley went silent. But only for a moment.
“Well, why don’t you tell her?”
“Tell her what?”
“That you need her? If she knew, maybe things would be different.”
His chest constricted and he cleared his throat. “I doubt that. Now, can you please drop it?”
She did. Finally. Nate pushed the conversation out of his mind and let the words lead him across each page.
Most of the chapters mentioned military applications of his team’s genetic research. On page 345, a term jumped off the page at him. He didn’t know where he’d seen it before. Maybe he hadn’t even seen it—just heard about it.
“Enertia,” he whispered. “I know that title.”
“What does it say about it?” Ransley leaned in closer.
“Nothing. It’s mentioned as one of his research projects. Just this once. Here.” He pointed to the page and Ransley, hesitated before unfolding her arms and looking over his shoulder.
“Is it something else like the Registry you were talking about earlier?”
Nate shook his head. “No. I’m pretty sure I heard about this during my time in the Marines. After I was promoted to Captain. I don’t remember for sure.” He lifted an eyebrow. “It’s spelled wrong through.”
“You know what it means?”
Nate flipped through more pages, scanning the text. “It’s been a while since I had a science class, but, inertia, with an ‘I’, has something to do with the ability of an object to resist a change in its motion. But,” he shook his head, trying to scan the page for more information. “all this says is ‘There is quantifiable significance in the belief that objects, in this instance: mankind, could have their direction altered. Something I like to call Enertia. It is conceptual project that’s bred a novel way of examining the human race, designed to advance our motional progression in relation to our nature.’”
―REGGIE―
I press my palm to the pad and the door opens with a whoosh. The icy chill of night blasts against my face. I step out to the concrete terrace and the door shuts behind me. Outside, Public Four glitters like a dank steel mill with bright lights running up and down each building. Smoke columns rise from vents in the ground and chimneys of buildings. I can’t believe this is a branch of The Public. But this is the last constructed city within Public reach.
A mile away, I can see the main Public Four building rising from the center of the city. The same building we took Carmen from. Roydon is still inside. My heart breaks for Ransley. I understand her desire to save him. What hurt most was the look in her eyes when Roydon nearly broke her neck. She pled with him, begging him to remember her. It wasn’t the call of a sister.
Although she may say she’s trying to accept the possibility we’re family . . . her emotions are screaming something else, and we both know it. I’ve been there before. Maybe not in the same way, but I remember the crushing weight of wanting someone I knew I shouldn’t.
What am I saying? I still feel that way. I thought that maybe I’d be able to control how I feel about Nate. I’ve tried. From my first vision of him, I’ve been drawn—not that I’d ever admitted that to him. I’ve had a hard enough time explaining those feelings to myself.
Despite her unreliability when it comes to Roy, Ransley’s right. I’m still afraid to tell Nate how I feel. Olivia, my best friend, a woman Nate loved—or even perhaps still loves—keeps haunting my memories. With each close of my eyelids, and each time he touches me, I remember I didn’t do anything to stop her or save her. She died because of me.
What scares me most is wondering if I would feel the same way Ransley does if Olivia were still here. Would I be beating my head against a brick wall with no way out?
At the back of my eyes, force builds and I feel myself being carried away. An unwelcome vision makes my whole body tremble.
The sounds. Guns. Shouting. So much fire. Martin Lobb . . . standing there. Then the glass. A wall of glass. A cage. Nate looks back at me. He pounds the wall, but it’s silent. He’s trapped behind it. A hiss streams, so softly, I almost miss it. I look up at the haze of gas seeping from the ceiling above me.
It’s not Nate trapped. It’s me.
Cold wind rushes around me and the images crumble. It’s all over, but still playing over and over in my memory.
No.
I force the vision this time, reviewing each vivid detail. No. No, it can’t.
Again, I force the images trying to see an alternate future.
This time, it’s not myself I see. I watch Nate leave the others behind and sprint off. I chase after him. The guns again. The sounds. Fire sparks. A muted voice speaks. I can’t understand it. Martin Lobb smiles at Nate.
When another gun fires in my memory, I break out of my vision and clamp my hand over my mouth to keep from screaming. Lobb.
He’s going to shoot Nate.
Or I’m going to die.
No. No, there has to be another option.
I try to find another future. Again I seek through the future. There has to be another option. All I see is a glass wall. All I hear is echoing gunfire.
It’s he or I.
I stare numbly at the city’s skyline, my hand shaking over my mouth. I don’t want to believe it. I can’t have come this far—
The door slides open at my back and I take my hand away from my face, taking a deep breath. I have to make myself act normal. Nate’s familiar scent, pine and earth, wafts toward me and I turn to look at him. I want to tell him; I want to warn him what’s going to happen, but I can’t. If I do, he’ll do everything to keep it from happening.
He steps out and the door shuts once more. He stands next to me, folds his arms across his bare chest and looks out. The waistband of his Public linen bottoms is tied loosely on his hips. I know how much he hates the uniform.
“Are you all right?”
I nod and manage a smile, pushing the vision’s images from my mind.
“You looked like you had a . . .”
“I didn’t,” I cut him off. I know he’s not ignorant, but I have to shield him from this. “I thought you were sleeping.”
“Yeah, well. My head apparently doesn’t want to.”
I look into his face. “Nightmares again?”
He nods. “Always.”
“Do you want to talk about it?”
Nate studies my face then shakes his head, his eyes never leaving mine. “Not really.”
“So, did you see Carmen in there? How is she?”
Nate watches me carefully. He’s trying to see something in my expression or my eyes, but he gives up and finally, he takes a deep breath. His cheeks puff out and he lets out a long sigh. “That woman’s going to have a hard time.”
I close my eyes, deflated. We need her to go back to work, convince them she’s fine, and get her to help us finish this out.
“It’s strange. I can’t sha
ke one question,” I say. “Why haven’t they come looking for her yet? No one has come to her apartment. The only answer I can figure is either they don’t care about her, or . . . they know exactly where we are.”
“I’ve been thinking the same thing.”
“Well, if you were The Public, and knew where we were, what would stop you from closing in?”
“Uncertainty.”
I frown at him.
“If I had an enemy I didn’t understand, I’d want to wait to see what their next move would be. It’s a matter of study. It’s calculated. I can imagine they had a lot of faith in Roy. Even with everything he could do, we all still got away. That’d unnerve them.”
I nod.
“What do you think about Ransley?” he asks me.
My gaze drops. “I wish I knew the right thing to say to her. Everything is so new. Adding her feelings on top . . . this is going to be hard. I don’t know how she’ll handle everything.”
Something clicks in my mind and I eye Nate. “Maybe we could both talk to her?”
“Both of us?” He rears back slightly. “Why?”
Now I’m not sure if I should say anything. Perhaps what she told me should stay between us. Would she be offended if I said something? More importantly, would Nate?
But it’s Nate, and even though I want to protect Ransley, I want to share almost everything with him.
Almost.
“She feels . . . she feels she has inappropriate feelings for someone she shouldn’t. I probably shouldn’t be telling you, but I think we both might be able to give her some insight. If you don’t want to,” I add, looking at him and instantly pull away again, “I understand.”
He nods. “Who is it?” Then his face drains of color and freezes. “It’s not me is it?”
The look on his face makes me want to laugh, but I don’t. “Don’t flatter yourself. You’re not that irresistible,” I whisper.
Nate gives me a crooked smile, a sign of obvious relief filling him. “Fine. Who is it?”
“You haven’t noticed?” I nibble on the inside of my lip. “I mentioned it earlier.”
He shakes his head.
“Roy.”
“Seriously? Those are the feelings you were talking about? Aren’t you all siblings? Or, maybe siblings?”
