by G. P. Ching
But inside, there is no wood, sand, or metal, just a dark room with padded walls and a mirror at the front disguising the observation booth. I look directly at the square of glass.
“What do you want me to do?”
Dr. Konrad speaks slowly, condescendingly. “We would like a demonstration of your skills, Lydia. By establishing a baseline, we hope to better develop how we can help each other in the future.”
“There’s nothing in here to demonstrate on,” I say.
“Anything in a blue uniform is a target. Avoid the green. Greens are friendlies.”
A man appears in front of me, out of thin air. For a moment, I’m confused. Where did he come from? What is he doing in here? Burly and dressed in blue, he looks half-crazed. He draws a gun, points it in my direction.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
Konrad’s voice comes over the speaker. “Hit the target, Lydia.”
The man pulls the trigger. With a snap of my arm, I spark out to protect myself, but the bullet never hits me. Instead, it passes right through me, shield and all.
It’s a hologram, like the game at Korwin’s. I blast the man with a bolt of lightning from my hand. He breaks apart on contact. In the resulting flash of light, I notice a thin wire behind his image.
“A weak current,” Konrad says. “But effective.”
Weak? Does he think that’s the best I can do? I didn’t know it was a hologram. I certainly didn’t give it my best shot. Anger swells within me. If he wants a demonstration, I’ll give him one.
“Again.” I throw my hands out to the sides, the hot elastic ribbon shooting from my control center into my palms.
A blue soldier rushes me. I blast him to bits. Another jumps at me from the ceiling and earns the same fate. Behind me, a blue soldier reaches for my throat. I see him in the mirror, pivot, and blow him away. More come, ten, twenty. I start to sweat. This is my chance. Maybe I’m tipping my hand by showing him everything I’ve got, but I want him to know. And it’s more than a desire to avoid ever doing this again. I want him to fear me.
Blast after blast I destroy the soldiers, and then something different. A green uniform instead of blue. I’m not supposed to shoot the green. I let him pass me. More blue, both men and women this time, twenty, thirty. I fry an entire legion of them, avoiding the ones in green. I am shaking, dripping with sweat, and glowing brighter than a star.
The room goes dark again and then there is a child, maybe seven years old, in a blue uniform. I narrow my eyes in the direction of the observation booth. I don’t want to do this. Even if it is a hologram, it’s a line I don’t wish to cross.
“Engage the target,” Konrad says.
My head is spinning. I’m too hot, too bright. If this was a child, she’d have burnt up in my atmosphere. “No,” I say. “I won’t kill a child, even a pretend child.”
Konrad doesn’t respond but the next thing I know, the room is filled with children in blue uniforms, knives and guns in their tiny hands. Obviously, Konrad thinks he can push me beyond my limits and force my obedience.
I give my head a shake and then I walk to where one of the children are and grab the wire hanging behind her while the hologram stabs me harmlessly in the stomach. Staring directly at the mirror, I unleash the thing within me, the monster I’ve kept tethered for as long as I’ve known how. I throw it into the wire with no intent to call it back or tie it off. I tell it to run, to fly.
My breath comes in ragged pants. My glow fills every corner of the room. The children flicker and fade. The wire in my hand melts and drips soupy silver to the white floor. I wipe my palms free of the remnants. All of the wires have melted, peppering the floor with silver puddles, and the white material on the walls is singed brown. It blisters and melts in my mounting heat, but I do not pull my power back inside.
“Stop!” comes a voice over the speaker.
Stop? How could I stop? It feels so good to let the power out. Only now do I realize how difficult it was to keep it contained. My power glides behind my knees and circles in front of me. The beast has taken form. A twisting blue, dragon-like fire swims around me, pushing at the melting walls. It passes in front of the mirror and the glass cracks, first in one spot at the center and then branching out like a spiderweb to the corners.
The shattering glass and the ever-growing electric dragon, the corporeal form of my power, bring me to my senses. I have to stop this. If I don’t, it will consume me and everything close to me.
Focusing, I begin to draw the power back inside. I tie it off at my elbows, clench my fists so no more can go out. I pull and yank and coil the beast inside like I’m spooling yarn. My head might explode from the effort. I’m not sure the power will fit inside of me anymore. It’s too large.
Sprinklers come on above me, water drenching me from head to toe, cooling me. I grab hold of what remains and wrench it back inside. Finally, it obeys and I succeed in containing it.
At the center of the wrecked room, I stare at the cracked mirror, knowing Dr. Konrad is watching. My reflection in the glass is someone I don’t recognize. A too-skinny woman, soaking wet, with mascara-darkened eyes and a white T-shirt that clings to her breasts. The muscles in my arms bulge beneath my skin. Blood dribbles from my nose. My chin lowers and my lips peel back from my teeth, not in a smile but an expression more sinister.
I am powerful. I am deadly. Fearfully and wonderfully made. The water drips over my lashes, down my cheeks, and onto my lips. I don’t blink. I focus on the crack in the mirror with everything in me, willing him to challenge me with something more.
The mirror shatters, pieces crashing to the floor, revealing the open-mouthed faces of Dr. Konrad and two men in white coats.
“Is that the kind of demonstration you wanted?” My voice sounds husky. I hadn’t meant to annihilate the mirror. I’d thought my ribbon was wound back inside. But my power is like a muscle and with all the exercise I’ve given it, it has grown.
Dr. Konrad finds his voice. “Yes, Lydia. That was perfect.” He smiles, breaking into a low chuckle. “You are absolutely perfect. Let’s get you some dry clothes and find David.”
I walk toward the hole in the wall, stepping through the broken glass and into the room with Dr. Konrad. He swallows hard as I approach but stands his ground. The other white coats scramble away.
All the while I’m watching them scatter, I am drunk with power. Who am I? Not the timid girl from Hemlock Hollow I’m supposed to be, but the owner of a great and terrible power. I’m shocked that a part of me is proud of the way I’ve made Konrad revere me. And the biggest surprise of all is that I like this feeling. In fact, I love it.
Dr. Konrad motions toward the door. “Shall we go?”
I lead the way into the hall. Eyes twinkling, he bounds after me like it’s his birthday and I’m the present he never expected to get.
26
By the time David comes to get me, I’ve changed and had lunch with my father and Jeremiah. They are comfortable but, unlike me, haven’t been allowed out of the room. We say little to each other, for fear the Greens are listening.
After Konrad’s enthusiasm, I expect David to be in a good mood. Instead his expression is grave.
“Dr. Konrad shared your results with me. He wants to begin combat training.”
“Wasn’t that what I just did?” I answer. “I fought off an army of blue uniforms. And no electroscurvy.” I hold up both arms so he can see. “I did get a bloody nose though.”
“You’re getting stronger.”
I shrug and look away. The confidence and assertiveness I’d shown with Konrad has been replaced by the humility I’m far more familiar with.
“Konrad wants to train you in hand-to-hand combat. You have to be able to defend yourself in the event you are drained or otherwise unable to spark.”
I step into the hall and turn right toward the elevators, but David shakes his head. “Let’s take the stairs to warm up.” He turns left, hugging the south wall.
At first I try to walk beside him, but he keeps stepping in front of me. The tug is back and I stumble at the odd sensation in my body. I find relief by walking behind him, snug against the south wall. My senses are on high alert. David is trying to tell me something.
We reach the stairwell and he pauses, his hand hovering over the Biolock. An electric breeze courses over me and the hair on my arms stands at attention. I glance toward the second door to my right and then at David.
Korwin is in there. I know it. “When can I see Korwin?”
David lowers his chin slightly, almost imperceptibly, and opens the door. “Not up to me,” he says. He begins jogging down the stuffy concrete stairwell, and I join him, matching him step for step.
“There are twenty-one floors between your apartment and the training center,” he says. “The training center is on the second floor.”
“Konrad and I had an agreement. I cooperate and no one gets hurt.”
“Take it up with Konrad.”
I nod, then narrow my eyes. “Will Natasha be meeting us there?” He’d mentioned his wife yesterday and said she’d help train me.
He clears his throat. “She isn’t feeling well today.”
My stomach drops and I’m flooded with panic. I miss a stair and trip. David catches my elbow, and the feeling passes as quickly as it came.
“Are you okay?” he asks, but the concern in his eyes is not for me. I am not imagining our connection. His expression pleads with me, but what is he pleading for? What is he trying to tell me?
“I’m fine. Just a little drained from this morning’s session.” I nod my head slowly, deliberately.
“Come on. Almost there.” He breaks into a jog again and doesn’t stop until we reach the second floor.
The training room has an impressive display of padded mats and racks of weapons. Although the space goes on and on, we are the only ones there. “No one else feel like training?”
“Konrad said you needed your space. You made quite an impression this morning. I’m not sure any of the officers want to be in the same room as you at the moment.”
Good. Exactly what I wanted.
My eyes fall on the padded floor. The symbol of the Green Republic is emblazoned on the black rubbery surface. “Sustainable Living Through Government.”
“Do they teach you what the symbol means in those Willow’s Province schools?”
“I was homeschooled,” I say quickly, “and my parents never stressed the subject. What does it represent?”
“I’ll make you a deal. If you work hard today, even if the exercises make you uncomfortable, I’ll tell you.”
I shrug. “I was going to work hard anyway.”
“You might not want to once we begin,” he says darkly. The gray in his hair seems more pronounced today and the bags under his eyes make him look weary.
“I’ll work hard.”
“Good. Prove it. Give me an idea of what we are dealing with. Hit me.” He stands in front of me, feet slightly spread, arms by his sides.
I pretend to punch, stopping my fist before I make contact with his chest.
“No, Lydia. That’s not how we train here. Actually hit me.”
David is older than me. Not quite as old as my father but still old enough to be called my elder. “It would be inappropriate.”
Without warning, David’s fist connects with my jaw. My body slaps the mat and pain radiates through my jaw. “Get up,” he growls.
I turn my stinging face in his direction. “I… I don’t think I can.”
David’s foot connects with my ribs, hard enough for me to groan, but I can tell he’s holding back. It’s more of a push than a true kick. “What’s it going to be, Lydia? Are you going to fight or fail? Get. UP.”
I scramble to my feet. His fists are raised and I copy his position. “Now, hit me, Lydia.”
For a moment, I just stand there, moving my fists in slow circles.
“Stop avoiding. You said you’d work hard. Now do it.” He looks me in the eye and lowers his voice. “There is only one way out of this room and it’s through me. Now, come on.”
I jab at his face. My punch is slow and soft. He could easily move out of the way or block it if he tried, but he doesn’t. My fist connects with his cheek. It barely leaves a red mark.
“Good. Now here’s how to make it better.” David grabs my wrist and repositions my fist, explaining how to use my hips to throw my weight into the punch. He helps me practice different approaches on a rubber manikin, coaching me on ways to focus the impact. When I’ve practiced several times with each arm, he grabs me roughly by the elbow. “Now, hit me.”
This time, I don’t hesitate. What’s the point? My fist connects with his chest. A grunt escapes David’s lips, and he takes a step back. He smiles fully for the first time. “Not bad. On to blocking skills.”
We work for another two hours on blocks and kicks, and then fight each other for practice. David calls this sparring, but his punches feel as real as actual fighting. I throw everything I have into protecting myself from his attack, never allowing myself to think too much about what I’m doing.
His fist slides past my arm and connects with my gut. All the air in my lungs comes out and I crumple to the floor, unable to catch my breath.
David’s bare feet are near my face, and I cover my head with my arms, expecting him to kick me, but he doesn’t. “That’s enough for today.”
I lower my arms and nod, although I remain curled on my side.
He crosses the training center to his bag and starts putting on his socks and shoes.
“You said you would tell me about the emblem,” I say, pointing to the mat.
Hands on his hips, he steps to the symbol. “So I did.” He takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. “The emblem of the Green Republic commemorates its three founding organizations, each powerful in its own way.” He squats and points at the greenery that forms the outside of the symbol. “The first was an agricultural company called Next Generation Ag (NGA), represented here by the laurel wreath. NGA invented and patented genetically modified crops and combined forces before the war with a major animal rights group to become the leading proponent of in vitro meat production.”
“In vitro? You mean, the meat produced in a lab,” I whisper, remembering what Korwin has explained to me about their world.
“Yes. NGA believed that the only sustainable food supply was one completely within human control. But they faced a growing public contingent that believed natural, organic food production was better for health. Before the war, NGA understood that the grow-your-own way of life couldn’t be sustained. The chemicals people poured on their gardens were ruining our water supply, and farm animals contributed to greenhouse gas emissions.”
I have to consciously work to keep my jaw from falling open. I’ve spent most of my life working on our farm, growing crops and raising animals without any chemicals. It seems like the most basic human right. I can’t fathom being dependent on someone else for food, and I find it hard to believe that our way of life is bad for the earth.
“NGA saved the world by banding together with two other groups to form a revolution, the Great Rebellion.”
“Who are the other two groups?” I ask, curious.
“I’ll tell you when you’ve earned it.”
I groan.
“I know it’s hard, Lydia, but you need to know how to defend yourself,” David says. “Your enemies are everywhere. Remember that you can’t trust anyone. The Stuarts are prime examples. People like Korwin and his father look innocent but have committed heinous crimes. Crimes the Green Republic find unforgivable.” He stresses the last word.
The feeling is back, the sense he’s trying to tell me more than he actually says, and I know he’s warning me about Korwin. My heart sinks into my stomach. What does the Green Republic do to the unforgivable?
27
The next day, David bangs on my door before the sun is up. He chides me for being late and dem
ands I be ready and waiting every morning by seven. I’m not usually a late sleeper, but my body aches from the paces he’s put me through.
“I can hardly move,” I complain.
“I thought that might be the case.” From a zippered black bag he carries, he pulls out a syringe of clear liquid. Before I can protest, he’s grabbed my arm and stabbed my bicep with it.
“Oww. What was that?” I ask, rubbing the injection site.
“Something for the pain. Come on. You’ll be fine once we get to the training area.”
Warmth spreads from my shoulder outward as I follow David into the hall. The same path as last time, he hugs the wall to the stairwell, making a production about using the Biolock, while glancing at the door where I think they are keeping Korwin, then jogging down the stairs as he counts down from twenty-one. By the time we’ve reached the training center, the ache in my muscles is completely gone.
He kicks off his shoes and I sink into the fighting stance he taught me. He waves his hand.
“We’ll get to that, but first we’re going to learn about weapons. Have you used any of these weapons before?” He points at the rack of metal in front of him.
I’m overwhelmed by the sheer number and variety. I attempt to distract him. “Aren’t you going to explain the rest of the symbol?”
“Later. When you’ve earned it.” He points at the rack.
Aside from the knives, I can’t even name most of them. “No,” I say. I don’t explain that I grew up in a place where implements of war are forbidden, and he doesn’t ask for justification.
“We’ll start at the beginning.” Methodically, David introduces me to each item on the rack.
There is an entire section of weapons for stabbing—daggers, swords, spears, double-edged knives. He says these tools are used to puncture the enemy. On a diagram of the human body, he shows me where to attack to inflict the most damage. I have to stop myself from vomiting when he discusses with complete detachment how a proper stab to the lung will cause an opponent to drown in his or her own blood.
