Necessary Sacrifices (The Internal Defense Series Book 2)

by Zoe Cannon

  Becca hung back, hugging the door. Already she regretted taking Jameson’s advice and coming here. Every voice was a potential accusation, every pair of eyes a spotlight ready to expose her. Her head twitched from person to person, scanning for Monitor pins.

  On an ordinary day, she might have turned around and gone straight home. But tonight her blood burned with I found something, I found something. Tonight, she could handle anything.

  Even a table full of former Monitors.

  She squared her shoulders and searched the room for Micah.

  It didn’t take long to spot him. He sat at a table in the corner, doubled over in laughter at something somebody had said. Next to him, someone she vaguely recognized from high school—Ramon, that was his name—shook his head in either real or affected exasperation. Across from them, Vivian reached for a slice of pizza. Becca remembered Vivian—she had been insistent on befriending Becca back in high school, on bringing her into their circle. It had taken her months to give up on the idea. And at the far end of the table, hands neatly folded in front of her plate—

  Heather.

  Becca didn’t know why she hadn’t expected Heather. Why wouldn’t Heather be here? Why wouldn’t she be working for Internal now? She had joined the Monitors long before Becca. In the aftermath of her parents’ arrest, she had become part of the political crowd, the ones who ate and slept and breathed Internal, who had been aiming for Internal jobs all their lives. Micah, Vivian, Ramon—they had become her new circle of friends, a replacement for Becca and her dissident thoughts.

  It was hard to let go of old habits, hard even after a year and a half to see Heather as one of them. That was the only excuse she could give herself for why she hadn’t even considered the possibility of meeting Heather here.

  At the sight of her former best friend she almost turned around and left after all. Their friendship had ended civilly enough, but that didn’t make it any less awkward to sit across from the person who used to share all your secrets and have nothing to say. But it was more than that. Although Heather didn’t know about Becca’s work for the resistance, she did know Becca was far from loyal to the regime. She had promised to keep Becca’s secret, but all it would take was one misspoken word. And she didn’t have Becca’s experience at keeping things hidden.

  Becca might have escaped out the door if Micah hadn’t looked up just then and started waving wildly at her over Ramon’s head.

  She couldn’t leave now. Not without them wondering why. Her heart sank to her feet as one by one, everyone at the table turned their heads toward her.

  Micah. Vivian. Ramon. The sight of them together sent her straight back to high school. She had joined the high school Monitors, a watered-down unpaid version of the adult Monitor program, at the beginning of her senior year. She had done it to improve her reputation after her arrest the year before—a reason Heather understood well enough to keep her from asking why a dissident would join the Monitors—and to give herself a better chance of getting a job with Internal. She had counted the days until graduation, until she could finally start making a real difference for the resistance, finally do more than steal files from her mom’s computer every once in a while. Until then, she had reported on her fellow students, giving up just enough information to look like she was taking the whole thing seriously, choking on guilt with every accusation she made.

  At first the other Monitors had invited her out with them after meetings and on weekends. But friends were a luxury she couldn’t afford, not with so many secrets lurking right beneath her skin. Especially not friends rewarded for every traitor they found. She had choked down her loneliness because it was safer than the alternative, and because being alone was at least less exhausting than pretending all the time. After a while, the others had written her off as a lost cause.

  Micah had asked her on a date once, outside on the steps before school. She had mumbled something about not being ready to date anyone yet after everything that had happened with Jake, and had disappeared into the crowd before he could protest. She had refused to allow herself to regret it.

  She shook off the memories as she walked to the table. She squeezed into the last remaining seat, next to Micah and directly across from Heather.

  “I told Becca she could come tonight,” said Micah in explanation. “I figured no one would mind. We’ve been working together in 117.”

  Heather nearly choked on her water.

  “You’ve been working in 117?” she asked Becca once she had recovered, her tone indicating she thought the idea of Becca joining the circus sounded more likely.

  She’s going to get me caught. She’s going to get me killed. Becca nodded. She kept her face perfectly smooth. Betrayed no sign of the tide of panic washing away all the confidence her earlier discovery had given her.

  “Since when do you want to work for Internal?”

  She could feel their eyes on her, burning into her, as they used their Monitor training to unearth her secrets. “To stop the dissidents. I thought that was what we were all there for.” Put them on the defensive. Make them prove their own motives so she wouldn’t have to prove hers. Would it be enough to protect her?

  “Straight to the point,” said Vivian with an approving raise of her eyebrows. “I like that. I really should have gotten to know you better in high school.” She mopped at her mouth with her napkin.

  “She’s got it right, though,” said Micah. “That’s why we’re all here, isn’t it? To stop the dissidents. To fix what’s broken in our society. To make this world into what we want it to be.” He turned his smile on her, and she felt illuminated, exposed. She turned away.

  “Just doing our part to keep the world from crumbling around us,” added Ramon, lips curving in a sideways smile. Becca had forgotten about the way he talked—as though everything he said was the punchline to some private joke.

  Heather was still looking at her like she had grown two heads. Becca changed the subject. “Where are the rest of you working? I don’t remember seeing you in 117.” That question was safe enough—or she hoped it was. She didn’t know how to talk to these people, didn’t know whether she was supposed to be their friend or a casual acquaintance or barely more than a stranger. She didn’t know any of their history, any of their inside jokes. She almost hadn’t remembered their names.

  “Heather and I work in Investigation 212 together.” Vivian shot Heather a smile that spoke of a friendship thick with history; a pang of jealousy shot through Becca for a second. “Heather isn’t doing too badly for herself, either—she’s gotten herself adopted by a mentor of sorts. He’s determined to be Investigation 212’s number one investigator within the next five years, and Heather will be number two if he has anything to say about it.”

  Heather dropped her gaze to the table. “It’s not a big deal.” Her voice was as colorless as Jameson’s. At least she wasn’t looking at Becca anymore.

  Vivian gave Heather’s arm a playful smack. “Quit that. I’m going to cure you of this modesty of yours if it kills me.”

  “And then there’s Public Relations 103,” said Ramon with a quirk of an eyebrow. “Bringing up the rear as usual. I have to say, though, I like the quiet. Lets me catch up on my beauty rest.”

  Public Relations 103 had the distinction of being the third Public Relations center ever established in the country. That fact had never made the place anything more than an afterthought. It certainly wasn’t referred to with the easy familiarity of Processing 117, which had lost its formal name and become simply 117 when Becca’s mother had driven it to national prominence, much as people had long since stopped calling Internal Defense anything but Internal except in formal situations. Public Relations 103 was only ever referred to as Public Relations 103, on the rare occasions it was mentioned at all.

  Vivian rolled her eyes. “Don’t believe a word he says. He’s never taken a nap in his life. He probably spends all that free time reading fat books and plotting the overthrow of some small nation.”
She rested an elbow on the table and studied Becca. The intensity of her gaze pinned Becca in place; she imagined Vivian seeing under her skin, straight through the flesh and blood and bone to where her secrets lay. “So how did Micah manage to drag you here, anyway? In school you were so…”

  “Quiet,” Micah supplied. “Thoughtful.”

  “Standoffish,” Vivian finished. “Like you thought you were too good for us.”

  Ramon shook his head. “Not standoffish. Afraid.” He met her eyes directly for the first time, for once sounding completely serious. “We made you nervous.”

  Becca resisted the urge to look away. One slip is all it takes.

  Micah gave a nervous laugh. “If this is how you treat her when she comes out with us, she’s never going to do it again.”

  Vivian waved away his concern. “I wasn’t trying to offend. I’m sure she knows that. I’m just surprised, is all.”

  The table went silent for a moment. They were waiting for a response, Becca realized.

  Her insides coiled like a spring. They used to be Monitors. Don’t forget. She chose every word carefully, keeping her tone light and bland. Safe. “Working in 117 can get lonely after a while. I thought it might be nice to talk to people who understand.”

  Micah nodded like she had said something insightful. “That’s what my parents always said—that people outside Internal can never really get what it’s like. That’s why we tend to stick together.” He smiled. “Don’t worry—you’re welcome here with us anytime.”

  She felt herself sinking into quicksand. These were not her people. This was not her place. She had to get out of here, back to where she was alone and safe.

  “So you’re in 117, right?” asked Vivian. “Are you going into interrogation like your mom?”

  A dull ache began crawling its way up from the base of her neck. “I don’t think I’d do too well at interrogation. Besides, I don’t really want to follow in my mother’s footsteps all my life.” There. That was good. They would understand that. They would believe that.

  “It has to be tough, having the best interrogator in the country for a mother,” Micah mused. “So much to live up to.”

  “It’s why I never wanted to join Internal. I knew everyone would always compare me to her.” This, at least, wasn’t a lie. Before Heather’s parents, before the resistance, she had resisted every attempt to steer her toward Internal, had resented the unspoken assumption that she would live an echo of her mother’s life.

  It wasn’t the whole story, but it was true. And releasing that little sliver of truth felt like dangling over the edge of a precipice that dropped straight down to the underground levels of 117.

  She was dangling over a precipice… and part of her wanted to jump.

  You’re welcome here with us anytime. Taunting her with what she couldn’t have.

  Careful. They were not her friends. They would give her up to Internal in a heartbeat if they knew the truth. Don’t forget.

  Heather watched her too intently. “What changed your mind?”

  Her earlier answer wouldn’t be enough this time. She chose each word like she was defusing a bomb. “I guess I grew up. I realized that what Internal does is more important than my own issues.”

  She watched Heather as closely as she could without staring, trying to gauge her former friend’s reaction. Did she believe Becca’s too-simple explanation? Did Heather believe that Becca was no longer a dissident? Something flickered in Heather’s eyes, something that disappeared too quickly for Becca to read.

  “But it’s more than that, isn’t it?” asked Micah. “You always seem so… focused. Committed.”

  He was doing it again. Seeing past her mask, into the parts of herself she couldn’t let anyone see. She didn’t know how, but somehow she had let him in. Here of all places, at a table full of people trained in spotting secrets.

  “I believe in what I’m doing.” She kept a death grip on her tone of voice, on every movement of her face and hands and body. Neutral. Bland. Safe. Don’t look guilty. Don’t look afraid.

  Vivian laughed. “You sound like Heather. Both of you act like the world might fall apart if you actually had fun for more than two seconds.”

  Becca was getting it wrong. Making herself look too focused, too serious, too something. At work, with her mom, among strangers at the park, her mask was flawless. But she didn’t know how to have friends. Not anymore.

  They’re not your friends.

  They were going to see right through her.

  “We need to fix that.” Vivian leaned closer, looming toward her like an interrogator about to ask an important question.

  She almost flinched. Caught herself just in time. Give nothing away.

  Micah rested his hand on her arm. “You okay? She doesn’t mean anything by it, you know. She’s just being Vivian. You’ll get used to her.”

  She pulled her arm away.

  Not her people. Not her place.

  She couldn’t afford friends. Not in high school, not now, not ever.

  “I’m okay.” She shoved her chair back from the table and stood up. “I’m sorry. I really have to go.” An excuse. She needed an excuse. Anything.

  She had nothing.

  But she couldn’t stay here.

  “I have to go,” she repeated. She pushed her way through the crowd before anyone could call her back.

  She escaped out of the restaurant into the crisp night air. She pulled her jacket tightly around her as she took a deep breath to cleanse herself of whatever that had been. Before she could take another step, a hand clamped down on her shoulder.

  Only her memory of Jameson’s admonition kept her from screaming.

  “Becca?” The voice was Heather’s. “Can I talk to you for a minute?”

  Becca turned to face Heather, her body ready to run despite her mind’s insistence that no matter what Heather had to say, running could only make things worse. “Sure.”

  Her flat response couldn’t have sounded less inviting. Heather pressed on obliviously. “I’m kind of glad I saw you tonight. I’ve been thinking about you lately. About everything that happened with my parents.”

  She paused. Becca didn’t respond.

  After a few seconds, Heather started talking again. “I sometimes think about how it was before, too. Back when we were friends. I miss that.”

  What was she supposed to say? That she missed it too? Of course she did. She and Heather had been inseparable for better than ten years, and then all of a sudden Heather was gone, and some cold-eyed single-minded political stranger had taken her place. But that time was over. That Heather, and that Becca, didn’t exist anymore.

  “I miss it too,” she admitted.

  “So you’re working with your mom now?”

  Becca wanted to hide from the unspoken questions in Heather’s voice. “I’m just doing transcription.”

  Heather looked like she was about to say something else. But then her face smoothed into a familiar blank neutrality, the same mask Becca saw in the mirror every day.

  Becca wasn’t the only one hiding.

  “Anyway,” said Heather, “I should get back.” Moving like a startled rabbit, she disappeared into the restaurant before Becca could wonder what had just happened.

  * * *

  Becca knew Jameson wouldn’t approve of her arranging a meeting. Not for this. R100, whatever it was, could wait until the next time he contacted her.

  She put the flyer up anyway.

  Finally, finally, she had something. Something more than names he would dismiss as insignificant. She would rather face Jameson’s patronizing disapproval than risk waiting until it was too late to do anything with it.

  And if Jake was involved—

  No.

  She wouldn’t let herself think about that. Jake was dead. She had made peace with that, such as she could. Better to leave him safely buried.

  She put the flyer up on her way back from Lucky’s Pizza, still shaky with adrenaline and lo
nging and the knowledge that she had made herself look more conspicuous instead of less. As she smoothed the paper’s edges, keeping one eye out for Monitors among the after-dinner exercisers and the couples holding hands in the moonlight, her heartbeat began to slow. I’m getting information to the resistance. I’m making a difference. This is what I’m here for.

  The calm lasted through the next morning. It got her through a transcript that ended with the dissident bleeding out on the interrogation room floor. It got her through assuring a nervous Micah that everything was fine, that Vivian hadn’t scared her off, that she had just been having a rough night. It got her through seeing one of the names she had given Jameson yesterday show up in the dissident bin—Status: Executed.

  It lasted until her fourth lap around the track at lunch, when she began to admit to herself that Jameson wasn’t coming.

  She made a fifth lap. A sixth. Studied every face she passed, searching for his familiar features and finding nothing but a parade of strangers.

  Maybe he hadn’t gotten the message yet. He would see the flyer today, and tomorrow he would be here waiting for her, chastising her for her lateness, demanding to know why she had arranged a meeting in the first place.

  Or maybe—

  No. He would be here tomorrow.

  That was what she told herself the next day, too. And the next.

  He would be here tomorrow.

  He had to be.

  * * *

  Monday morning came with no sign of Jameson.

  Excuses followed her all the way to work. Maybe he didn’t see the flyer. Maybe he’s sick and couldn’t make it to the park. Maybe he knows it’s not an emergency and wants to teach me a lesson.

  It was getting harder to convince herself.

  As soon as she sat down at her desk, the icon for the dissident bin began taunting her. One search, and she would know.

  Jameson had warned her not to go searching through dissidents’ files anymore. And if he had been caught, and someone spotted her looking him up…