Unbound

by J. B. Simmons

  The ceiling suddenly slid apart. Dozens of androids dropped down beside us. They started striking like snakes.

  Adrenalin-fueled instinct took over. I jumped over a robot’s swinging arm, then jerked away from another. As I turned to run, I glimpsed a metallic blur sweep Charles’s legs out from under him.

  I sprinted off, with Naomi running at my side.

  We’d taken only a few strides when more androids dropped in the hallway before us. There were too many, too fast. I dodged one, only for another to catch my heel and send me crashing to the floor. Naomi went down beside me. Lifeless robotic eyes surrounded us. One of the androids plunged a needle into my shoulder. I felt it injecting something.

  As everything faded to black, I managed to look to my other side. The last thing I saw was Naomi’s ashen, freckled face.

  “YOU HAVE BEEN unconscious for thirty minutes, but you could just as easily be dead.” It was Wade’s voice. He had lost all trace of a warm, southern accent.

  My eyelids lifted slowly. I was in a huge, bright room. Sunlight streamed through a wall of windows that looked over the Potomac River and the Washington Monument. All five of us from the ISA-7 table were tied to chairs. Naomi was in the chair to my right. Three men were standing beside Wade, staring at us. Wade was still dressed like a cruise director. The others wore plain grey jumpsuits.

  “You’re in the Pentagon,” said one of the men.

  I blinked three times, trying to bring up V. Nothing came. They had somehow shut down my precept. I tried to stay calm, but I was close to freaking out. Was this really training? What were they going to do to us?

  “You think you know why you’re here,” another man said, stepping closer, appraising us. “You think you’re special, but I’ll tell you now, you’re nothing but meat on a chopping block until you learn to observe like a spy. That’s why I’m here.” The man was older, maybe fifty, with a bald head half covered by a thin circuit board. His round body and face looked about as friendly as a boulder. “If you all pass the entrance exam, you five will be a team. You might as well get to know one another.”

  He approached Patrick to my left.

  “What is this?” demanded Patrick. “I came here to be an ISA fellow, to train as a spy but then get back to my life.” He glanced at the rest of us. “I figure we all did.”

  “Yeah,” agreed Aisha. “I have four years before my commitment begins.” She looked down at the bindings around her wrists. “If you call this training, I want out.”

  The man’s stern gaze was locked on Aisha. “So you thought you’d show up for a week, collect your ISA resume line, and head back to your life unchanged?”

  “No, it’s not like that,” Aisha protested. “But I didn’t come here to be attacked and tied up.”

  The man glanced at the rest of us. “Anyone else?”

  No one spoke. It was a unique honor to be invited as an ISA fellow, and prior fellows had gone on to do big things. I figured we all knew there’d be some surprises. We also knew about the commitment. It was a one-year minimum for me, after college. It was probably similar for all of us. In return, they’d teach us the secrets of spying and the best technologies. I wanted to do my part, to serve, and to prove wrong everyone who thought a rich kid like me would just flit his life away. But still, why’d they tie us up? It looked like I was not alone in thinking we’d have an easier start than this.

  The man held his hand up to his ear, as if to amplify a sound. “That’s what I like to hear—silent obedience. Here’s a first lesson. Spying is never a part-time job. Now, where were we? Ah yes, getting to know each other. This will all go better if you stay quiet and listen.”

  He stepped up to Patrick and stared hard at him. “Patrick O’Grady thinks he’s here because he’s a good ole boy—as smart and strong as they come. In every year of high school, he won the Texas scholar athlete award. He proudly helps out the wimps in his class. He’s heading to Stanford next year with a full-ride to play quarterback.” The man leaned forward, within inches of Patrick’s face. “The ISA needs studs like you, right Patrick?”

  Patrick met his stare evenly but did not answer. The man stepped back and blinked. An almost life-size 3D image of our group appeared beside him.

  “Let’s see how Patrick handled this first test, shall we?”

  The image started to move, lifelike. It showed all of us walking down the long hall behind Wade. It showed Patrick grabbing Wade’s arm, trying to stop him, but then following on. I wondered how they had gotten such clear footage of us. I hadn’t noticed a single camera.

  “Patrick sensed something was wrong,” the man said. “That’s good. That’s necessary. But you must learn to act!” he shouted. “Trying to act is not enough,” he continued in a measured voice, “you must act and affect what is around you.” He pointed at Patrick with his thumb up, like a gun. “Patrick could have saved your group, but he failed. One down.” He pretended to shoot Patrick with his hand.

  Then he turned to Aisha. “Aisha Mahdi, our Persian princess, born in the U.S.A. She thinks she’s here because of her beauty, culture, and wit. And she really is a princess in Iran, where she’ll be returning this year as the youngest-ever Iranian graduate of Harvard. Will your royalty save you when a stranger leads you down a dangerous path? Let’s see.”

  The image beside the man shifted and began to move again. It zoomed in on Aisha and Wade. They were both smiling widely and laughing. She reached over and clasped Wade’s shoulder fondly. The image paused, showing her happy, gorgeous face.

  “Trying to win the favor of your instructor?” asked the man. “That’s all well and good. You can seduce to succeed, but you must never trust.” The man pointed to the frozen image of Aisha before us. “This is a face of trust. Trust no one!”

  “Let me go!” she snapped back, trying to wrest her wrists free. “Who do you think you are?”

  “Our enemies can be anyone, anywhere, any time.” The man’s voice went stoic. “They litter the country where you’ll be going, my dear Aisha. Be thankful for my lessons. Without them you will die. With them you might live a little longer.”

  The man’s head swiveled to Charles. “Charles Chang, Chinese American par excellence.”

  As the man stepped closer to him, Charles began straining against the bindings of his chair. They didn’t budge.

  “Good, Charles, good. I bet you can guess why we picked you. You’re as gifted a hacker as we’ve seen. And you’re a fighter, a multilingual tiger in a cage. But do you know the tiger’s greatest weakness?”

  Charles had gone still. “An unbound tiger would rip open your throat,” he said calmly, “so I guess we tigers lack restraint…except when you tie us down.”

  Anger flashed in the man’s eyes. He pointed to the circuit on his head. “Do I need to remind you what we can do if we hack into your precept?”

  Charles shook his head.

  “Good. I’ll ask again,” the man said. “Do you know the tiger’s greatest weakness?”

  “Arrogance,” Charles growled.

  “Precisely,” the man replied. “The master of the jungle does not know his weaknesses. They are not weaknesses of physical strength or cunning, but of failing to detect dangers. Let’s watch a tiger and see.”

  The image now showed Charles outside the elevator bank, before we went down the stairs, joking with me about Wade’s boring orientation. Then the image shifted and showed Charles walking down the hall beside Patrick. While the tall quarterback wore a look of growing trepidation, Charles was laughing again. The image stopped but the sound of Charles’s laughing continued.

  “Arrogance,” the man said over the sound, “leads even the fiercest and sharpest of tigers into a false sense of security. We must never be arrogant in our line of work.”

  The man’s gaze turned toward me. As he approached, my spine went rigid. The man’s pale blue eyes made me feel cold.

  “Elijah, Elijah. Enjoying your winter break?”

  I kept my face bl
ank, as I had from the start.

  “You think you’re unique,” he said, “because of your brilliance, your pedigree, and your connections? Your rich father bought you every genetic enhancement, along with one of the best precepts in the world. But you can’t buy what it takes to survive. You think it’ll be cool to play a spy while you’re a freshman at Princeton, with your buddy Charles? I think you’ll be lucky to live that long. Watch.”

  The image returned. It showed me in the stairwell, walking down after Naomi and staring at her. A red line appeared on the image, following my line of sight and connecting it with Naomi’s back. The image moved at double-speed while I walked down the stairs. The red line moved with me, showing how my gaze stayed locked on Naomi. The image then shifted to us in the hall. It zoomed onto my face as I talked to Naomi. It showed the color in my cheeks, the excitement in my eyes. The image froze there, focused on my flushed face.

  “I’ll spare you the embarrassment of showing your heart rate in that moment,” the man said. “Passion can be a useful tool, but it is usually a distraction, a lethal distraction. We must harness our passions.” His pale eyes fixed on me.

  I’d seen enough to not try talking back. “Yes,” I answered, “and, I’m sorry, but I did not catch your name.”

  He smiled for the first time I’d seen—a devilish and frightful snarl. “No, you did not catch my name, because I did not throw it. Work with me another year, and then I might let you know my initials. Until then, you can call me Captain.” He sighed, like a disappointed teacher. “Now Elijah, passion and curiosity, these are tools. You must never let them control you. Use them. Do not be used by them.”

  The man turned last to Naomi. She was completely still in her seat. Her face was smooth and relaxed, with a grin playing on her lips.

  “Naomi Parish, you think you’re here because it’s God’s will for your life.” The man suddenly laughed. “I know it’s true you believe that, so pardon my skepticism.” He continued in a sober voice, “You’re really here because you have more talent than the rest of this group combined, even though you’re the youngest. A half dozen languages, beautiful composure, unparalleled IQ, and wise beyond your years—those are the makings of a spy. So what did you do wrong? Here we go.”

  The image tracked Naomi walking past the elevator bank and through the stairwell door. She wore a look of confusion and uncertainty. The image paused.

  “See,” the man said, speaking to the rest of us, “Naomi knew. She sensed that Wade was leading you towards danger. She was the first to detect something amiss. There is no greater gift for a spy. But keep watching.”

  The image replayed Naomi’s brief conversation with Wade inside the stairwell. It showed his warm response, and then it showed her look of concern lifting. She followed after him and the image dissipated.

  “You had faith in Wade!” the Captain scoffed. “Why?”

  “I had no reason to question him,” Naomi answered.

  “You had every reason! You always have every reason. Question everyone. Question Jesus Christ if the dead man haunts your work.” A look of indignation passed over Naomi’s face, but the Captain had already moved on.

  He addressed all of us. “This is your first lesson, a lesson on instincts. You must make these five instincts part of your very soul.” He held up his thick pointer finger and spoke like Moses issuing commandments. “First, act and affect what is around you. Second, trust no one. Third, never let pride obscure danger. Fourth, use passion only as a tool. Fifth, question everything.”

  He held his hand up high, with his five fingers stretched out. “These five things will keep you alive in a lethal world.” He closed his hand into a fist. “We must work together to survive. We must survive to succeed. And we must succeed if our world is to enjoy any peace.”

  The Captain saluted us and blinked slowly. The floor panel under his feet began to drop, lowering him out of the room. And just like that, he was gone.

  “Sorry about tying you up,” said Wade. “Rough introduction, I know. We’ve all gone through it. You’re the world’s most promising talents, and our goal is to make you even better. We’re going to let you go now, but while you stretch, let me offer a few last thoughts for the day.”

  The cords around us suddenly released, as if dropped from a magnet. My body was stiff as I stood.

  “I really am Wade Brown,” he continued, “y’all really can call me Wade, and my accent is real. I’m from south Georgia, even if I hide it sometimes. We all hide something for the sake of duty. You’re gonna face more tests here this week, but I’ll be here for the full ride. You can trust me as much as anyone. Any questions?”

  “Who was that man?” Patrick asked.

  “The Captain?” Wade said. “He’s a veteran, a spy who’s survived more than a cat with nine lives. He’s been leading this training for a decade. You’ll be getting to know him better. Anything else?”

  “What was that circuit on the Captain’s head?” Charles asked. “Some enhanced version of a precept?”

  “Good question,” Wade said. “The short answer is yes, and you’ll learn more if you stick around. Tomorrow, report to the base of the Washington Monument at 5 am, unless of course, you decide ISA-7 is not for you. Hope to see y’all there.”

  “YOU WERE CHECKING her out,” Charles ribbed again as we waited in the hotel lobby. Naomi, Aisha, and Patrick were joining us soon for dinner.

  “No,” I said, “I already told you. I was just watching my step going down the stairs.”

  “Checking her out.” He grabbed my shoulder and pretended to look serious. “Look man, I’m not saying she’s not worth it. She’s smoking hot. Pretty face, lean body, some spark. And I know you like freckles. There’s no one like her at our sister schools, that’s for sure.”

  I was shaking my head. “She’s interesting, that’s all Charles.”

  “Oh, she’s interesting all right. I’m just saying you better own up to it, because our pal Patrick has eyes for her, too. You boys can fight it out. Aisha’s more my style.” He pressed his palms together and flashed a devious grin. “We Asians will stick like wet rice.”

  “She’s Iranian, Charles.”

  “She’s a fox, Eli.”

  We laughed together. Charles was always saying something ridiculous. We’d never been too close at school, but now that we were both joining ISA-7 and heading to Princeton in the fall, we’d be spending plenty of time together. I could think of worse company.

  “So what do you make of Patrick?” I asked, trying to change the subject away from Naomi. “Why’d he suggest this dinner?”

  “He’s a Texan.” Charles shrugged as if that explained everything. “A quarterback’s gotta lead the team and date the cheerleaders, right?”

  “I’m guessing there’s more to it than that. Remember what the Captain said,” I copied his stern voice, “question everyone.”

  “The Captain’s full of smoke,” Charles said. “I’m sure he’ll teach us a few things, but I don’t like his style. Anyway, yeah, Patrick definitely gives me some questions. You really think he’s fit for ISA-7? He seems too straight-laced to be a spy. Why would he want to join, anyway?”

  “I doubt anyone turns down the ISA fellow invitation. Besides, he’s probably the strongest and fastest of our group. Maybe we’re the brains, he’s the brawn.”

  “Brawn is so last century,” Charles said. “Maybe it’s because he’s Catholic.”

  “So?” I asked.

  “Think about the five of us fellows. They’ve got the major religions covered: a Pope lover, a Jesus freak, a Jew,” he nodded to me, “a Muslim, and an atheist.” He pointed to himself.

  “Missing a couple, but I guess so,” I said. It still didn’t make sense why ISA would care about the religions of its spies. Maybe we’d be posted to places where our backgrounds would help us blend in. “Do you think we’ll stay together in the field, or are we just in the training together?”

  “I’ve heard they let in ten
fellows like us each year,” Charles answered. “Maybe they keep us in pockets of five. Who knows?”

  “I know!” Patrick’s voice was right beside my ear. I jumped in surprise. I never heard him coming.

  “Sorry guys, just proving a point,” he said. “Even a Catholic Texan might surprise you with what he can do.”

  “I didn’t mean that,” Charles said, “I mean, I’m sure you have what it takes if you’ve been invited to ISA-7.”

  Patrick smiled in response, looming over us by at least half a foot. He put his arms over our shoulders, pulling us into a huddle. I felt like a paper doll in his strong grip.

  “We’re in this together, gentlemen,” he whispered. “We each contribute to our team. We have to work as one if we hope to serve our country well.” He released us, stepped back, and made the sign of the cross. “God willing,” he continued, “we might just be the ones to save the world from whatever threat is coming next.” Charles was right. Patrick seemed way too vanilla to be a spy.

  “You boys already scheming against us?” Naomi’s voice was like a rush of warm wind in my ears. She walked up with Aisha at her side. They were a stunning pair. “Ready for dinner?”

  “Absolutely,” Patrick said, with a big goofy grin toward Naomi. “This place is awesome. It’s called Luz. They scan your chip when you walk in the door. Then, whatever your body needs most, that’s what they serve you. Come on, it’s not far from here.”

  Patrick roped Naomi into conversation as he led us out of the hotel. I walked beside Charles while he flirted with Aisha.

  The capital’s streets were brighter than day under the white lights shining from every building. The lights formed stripes with the lines of lush green plants climbing the buildings’ walls. We weaved through crowds of people rushing about. Their eyes looked ahead, but they were distant, focused on watching or reading whatever their precepts were showing them.

  It was not long before Patrick stopped outside a new-looking restaurant. We walked in after him.

  The android greeter directed us to a booth. I slipped in front of Charles and Aisha, securing my spot beside Naomi before we sat down. Patrick was on her other side. Charles flashed me a knowing smile from across the table.