by Belle Malory
Everything was too quiet. Reagan should be gently stirring or snoring. The vibrations of the rickety ceiling fan should be lulling her to sleep.
She heard nothing.
So when soft whirring whooshed by the bed, her blood froze. She sat up, stiffening, and trying to see through the darkness.
“It’s only me,” Matilda said in her weird human-sounding voice. “I was wondering if there is anything else you might need for the night?”
Kennedy let out a deep breath. Mild heart attack averted. “Um…no. I’m good, thanks.”
“Okay, then. The department requires you get a minimum of eight hours sleep. Since there’s nothing else, I’ll turn on your sleep agent.”
“Sleep agent? What’s that?”
The android pressed a button on the foot of her bed, a mist clouded the air, and that was the last thing she remembered. Kennedy wasn’t awake for Matilda’s answer.
Eighteen
“You’re capable of making breakfast?” A spinach omelet and a bowl of sliced strawberries sat on the countertop next to a glass of freshly squeezed orange juice. Matilda set down another glass filled with something thick and green beside the orange juice. Kennedy sniffed it and crinkled her nose.
“Breakfast, among other things,” the android responded.
Kennedy took a seat at the counter. Matilda went about her business collecting dirty dishes and cleaning the countertops. “Do you make waffles?” Kennedy asked after tasting the omelet. The eggs were filled with something suspiciously grainy. Better off sticking to the fruit.
“Dr. Sigly and the other members of your training team has set aside a very specific diet guideline for you. Waffles, I believe, were not on the list.”
Kennedy frowned. So aside from taking her away from her home, family and school, now DOE wanted her to follow a diet of green juice and grainy eggs? Not gonna happen.
She tried a new tactic with the android. “Matilda, if I were to, say, not follow this diet, would you be required to report it? Hypothetically, of course.”
“Hypothetically, no. I would not be required to report it.”
Perfect. “So then, let’s say I don’t follow it. Could you cook me waffles instead of whatever is on their list?”
“Listen, cupcake, just because I’m a robot doesn’t mean I’m not smart enough to figure out what you’re doing. If you don’t want to eat the food, then don’t. It’s as simple as that.”
Kennedy blinked. Had a robot really just told her off?
Matilda rolled to the pantry, extended her mechanical arms, and reached for a box of flour. Kennedy shook her head; she’d never get used to living with the Series Seven android.
“So what’s on the training agenda today?” she asked nicely. “Where am I supposed to go?”
“The training rooms are on Level 3. I can escort you, if you’d like.”
“No, it’s okay. If you upload another map on my brace, I can probably find it on my own. Yesterday I had trouble, but I think I figured out how the passageways work.”
“Are you sure you wouldn’t rather have company? I’m also programmed for security.”
“Really?” Kennedy smiled, imagining the four-foot something android fending off an accoster, using her metal arms to throw punches.
“You sound surprised.”
“I’m just trying to wrap my head around how that works.”
“I could show you sometime.”
Orange juice sputtered as Kennedy coughed. She reached for a napkin. “Pass.”
“Let me know if you change your mind.”
If robots were capable of looking full of themselves, she was sure that was exactly what Matilda was doing.
The rest of breakfast was spent watching the daily waves, a series of news prompts and messages on the TV. Sort of like their wave-reader back home, but more fancy and advanced.
One of the reports was about her. Kennedy stared at the screen as images of her and Professor Mason walking through Olympus’s airport were shown. Funny thing was, at the time, she’d been so consumed with looking down at the Neon City she hadn’t even noticed anyone taking her picture.
“Seems you’re a celebrity here already,” Matilda said.
Kennedy grabbed her bag and stood to leave. “It’s not all it’s cracked up to be.”
“How would you know?” she asked. “It’s your first day being one.”
“Well…” The robot had a point. “I don’t like it so far.”
“Why not?”
Kennedy paused. These endless questions were more than a little annoying. She didn’t know why she didn’t like her newfound celebritydom. She just didn’t. Besides, she shouldn’t need a reason not to like something. People were entitled to their own opinions. “You know, for a robot, you’re very intrusive.”
“If I am, it’s only in response to your personality.”
Kennedy raised a brow. “So you’re saying you’re nosy because I want you to be?”
“My programming allows me to scan your body language, facial expressions. Add that in with your words, tone and inflection, and I create a sequence of percentages.” Matilda paused a short moment. “Like right now, I just scanned your expression, caught the deer in headlights look, and can estimate that what I’m saying doesn’t make sense to you. So, in short, the answer is yes. You want me to ask questions.”
Crossing her arms over her chest, Kennedy stared down the android. She was tempted to ask Matilda what expression or move of her body gave that impression—mainly so she could make sure she wouldn’t make the same mistake twice—but was afraid Matilda’s next answer might be even more confusing and longwinded.
“By the way,” Matilda said. “You should probably get going. You’re going to be late.”
Kennedy looked down at her brace.
Crap.
She was running late thanks to the android’s asinine conversation. After letting out a frustrated growl, Kennedy ran out the door in search of the training facility.
As it turned out, it wasn’t hard to find. Once she’d reached the elevator and pressed the button for number three, she’d arrived. The whole level belonged to the training facility.
A group of men in sweats jogged by as Kennedy exited the elevator. They were all in a perfect formation, each step timed in unison.
One of the guys saw her and slowed his pace. She recognized him from the welcome dinner. It was Deacon Vickard, the General’s son.
His face lit up as he approached Kennedy. “Hey, newbie,” he said between rapid breaths. “First day on the job?”
“Yes. I’m trying to figure out where I’m supposed to go.”
Deacon lifted the bottom of his shirt, using it to wipe the sweat from his forehead. “You’re not far. The keepers’ rooms are just down there.” He pointed ahead. “Come on, I’ll show you.”
Appearance wise, there wasn’t anything particularly special about him. He was tall and lean, with perfectly trimmed brown hair and light green eyes. She supposed he was handsome in an average way. What really made him attractive was his charm. He had a way with people at the dinner, getting them to laugh as he told stories. His face and voice came alive as he talked, and he put people at ease.
“So uh, I’m not going to get you in trouble for leaving your jogging group, am I?”
Deacon chuckled. “My regiment? Nah, I won’t get in trouble. Not much, anyway.”
Kennedy glanced back at the men, seeing them round a corner and jog out of sight. She hadn’t realized they were part of a military regiment, or that the keepers shared their facilities with them. “Are you sure it’s okay to leave?”
Seemed like a reasonable question. It was only day one, after all. Her tardiness would probably get her into trouble; she really didn’t want to get Deacon into trouble too, not on the first day.
“It kinda helps when your old man is in charge.”
Ah, that’s right. Being the general’s son probably was helpful. The other soldiers must secretly hate h
im.
“Anyway, this is you.” They stopped in front of a large door beneath a tall, curved archway. “Told you it wasn’t far.”
Kennedy paused, suddenly feeling nervous. Now that it was time to discover what was in store for her, she wasn’t so sure she was ready.
“Hey, Kennedy?” Deacon called from behind.
She turned around, trying not to look as nervous as she felt. “Yes?”
“Good luck on your first day.”
He winked, his eyes twinkling with mischief before jogging away. His words hadn’t put her at ease this time. The way he’d said good luck, it sounded like he truly meant it. As if something big waited behind that god-awful door.
You quivering chicken. Open the stupid thing and get this over with.
Kennedy breathed deep and wrapped her fingers around the cold metal handle. It clicked loudly as she twisted it and stepped inside.
Nineteen
Loud, ominous echoes resounded throughout the room as the door closed from behind. Kennedy blinked, adjusting her eyes to the dimmed lighting.
“You’re late.”
Professor Mason’s severe tone made Kennedy flinch. He had been there waiting, and for who knows how long.
“Sorry about that. Lost track of time.”
Mason stared at her for a long moment, brows knotted together beneath a forehead lined with harsh creases. “Make sure it doesn’t happen again,” he said. “I have bosses too, and when you’re late, I’m the one who gets in trouble.”
Kennedy nodded. “Gotcha. Won’t happen again.”
She shuffled her feet, wishing he would say something already, instead of making her feel so uncomfortable. The silence ended when he handed her a plastic bag.
“Your uniform,” he said. “From here on out, you’ll be expected to wear it.”
Black spandex was neatly folded inside.
“Suppose it’s time for the grand tour. Come along, kiddo. You’ll enjoy this part. Everyone does.”
He led Kennedy down a long corridor and steered them inside an enormous great room. Plush sofas and chairs filled the space, alongside a kitchen and dining area. Everything was designed in warm, vibrant colors. A change from what she’d seen so far. “This is the lobby. We meet here daily to discuss important events. Anything of note.” Mason looked at her pointedly. “You, however, missed today’s meeting.”
Kennedy smiled apologetically, wondering how many times he planned to bring that up.
She continued following him up a short flight of stairs, which led into another long hallway. “One of the classrooms,” Mason said, pointing inside a room with twelve large desks. “Here, you’ll finish up high school. You’ll have three forty-five minute classes before lunch.”
The thought of attending school again, no matter what format it might be within, came as a pleasant surprise. Kennedy hadn’t been counting on that. The prospect of having something as familiar as schoolwork was exciting. She hadn’t realized how much she’d taken it for granted, how much she enjoyed being inside of a classroom.
“What subjects will I be taking?” she asked.
“It depends on what level you’re at in math and science. Those will be followed by Planetary Studies and Research.”
“What about English? History? I was studying art at my last school. Watercolor paintings were my favorite.”
The professor stopped sharply and turned around. “You’re in training to keep the world safe, Miss Mitchell. Reading Romeo and Juliet while spending lazy days painting isn’t exactly on our list of priorities.”
“Seriously? But I’m only a sophomore. I have two more years of English left.” She didn’t mean to sound so whiny, but the thought of sitting through math and science all day made her feel like gouging her eyes out.
“Sorry to tell you this, kiddo, but English would be a waste of your time. Here, we expect you to learn how to communicate with alien life forms. You’re a keeper now, or did you forget?”
Kennedy swallowed. Forget? Definitely not.
She was simply the only one who saw things the way they really were. Too bad it would be a waste of breath to say so.
“I’ve already read Romeo and Juliet anyway.”
“Good for you. Now come along, the tour’s not over.”
As she followed the professor, they passed a bolted door he didn’t stop to mention or talk about.
“Oh that?” he said. “We call that the Room of the Lost Prophets. It contains artifacts, ancient scrolls, and things of that nature. Nothing you’d be interested in.”
On the contrary, she thought. “Who are the lost prophets?”
The professor paused, as if debating whether or not to tell her anything. Kennedy took a step closer, urging him to continue. Finally, he conceded. “They supposedly belonged to a planet that disappeared many years ago. We’re not sure if they exist, or if they ever existed.”
Whoa. He didn’t think she'd be interested in that? A mysterious planet, presumably inhabited by life forms that people referred to as prophets? Boy, was he ever wrong.
“Well, if you think they may have never existed, how does that explain the artifacts?”
“We’re not sure. They were given to us by the Nona.”
Ah, the Nona. Kennedy had never seen one in person before, but she’d watched many, many documentaries about them.
Images of the peculiar looking people came to mind. They were tiny in stature, about half the height of an average man with leathery pink skin and wide buggish eyes. Biologists had been studying the Nona for years; they were the first alien life discovered. Or rather, the Nona discovered humans, since technically, they visited Earth first.
The door leading into the Room of Lost Prophets suddenly looked a lot more appealing. Kennedy itched to go inside to see the alien artifacts. “Can’t we go in? Just for a minute?”
“Unfortunately, no. Only authorized personnel are permitted.”
Kennedy frowned, thinking of how ridiculous that sounded. What was the point in being a keeper if she couldn’t have access to whatever confidential information was out there? They had to keep the world safe, after all. Should be a fair trade-off.
“This is Training Room A, Martial Arts and Combat.”
Glass walls lined the hallway. Kennedy peered down into the large room. Since they were perched higher up, she had a decent view of an ongoing match between two fighters. A ruthless one too, by the looks of it.
One of the fighters was an Asian guy with an athletic build, keeping a low stance, arms angled to jab at any moment. Not even a bead of sweat trickled down his expressionless face. If she didn’t know any better, Kennedy might’ve thought the guy was a statue rather than a live person.
The second fighter’s back was to her, but from what she could tell, was slightly taller and leaner than his opponent. Muscle wise, they were equally strapping. Should be a fair fight.
What set them apart was their technique. Unlike his opponent, the second fighter’s feet weren’t firmly planted in the ground. He moved constantly, never staying in the same spot.
Her breath caught in her chest; Kennedy pieced the mussed blonde hair and angular features together. It was him, all right.
But she couldn’t figure out who the other fighter was.
Kennedy tried to place him with her limited knowledge of the keepers.
Asian guy. Medium build. Spiky hair. Apart from Fang, only one other keeper was of Asian descent.
Crap…can’t remember…oh yeah! The Japanese guy, Hoshi or Yoshu. Weird name, whatever it is.
Kennedy racked her brain, but couldn’t remember whether or not he was a deadly fighter, or anything else of significance. Might have been useful to have paid attention to more of those television biographies Reagan and Hannah loved to watch.
Staring in a daze, Kennedy watched the two of them fight. Alongside her, Professor Mason watched with lit up eyes, stroking his pointy beard. Every few seconds he made comments beneath his breath. “Duck right,” and “K
eep your guard up.” And when something was done well he said, “Atta boy!”
Gusto and appreciation disturbingly exuded from the professor, whereas Kennedy felt like she was going to be sick.
Every jab or kick made the pit of her stomach clench—the feeling worse when Phoenix was hit—she would wince, feeling the pain too.
Realizing they had an audience, both fighters glanced up at the mirrored hallway. For one agonizing moment, Phoenix locked eyes with Kennedy. She held her breath, wondering if she should look away and pretend she wasn’t watching them or something.
Too late though. She’d already been spotted and would look stupid trying to hide after the fact. What’s more, Professor Mason was watching unabashedly, even grumbling at their lack of focus. “Never get distracted,” he said, as if the two of them could hear him from this distance in their enclosed room.
The opportunity wasn’t wasted. Phoenix’s opponent used the chance to outmaneuver him, attacking from behind. He thrust his elbow into Phoenix’s neck—a move that doubled Phoenix over into a coughing spasm.
Kennedy reached for her neck, her whole body tense, holding her hand over the spot where Phoenix had just been jabbed. Watching him struggle to breathe sent her heart spearing into her throat, her breath lost, too.
She willed the air back into his lungs, pressing up against the glassed hallway as if getting even a few inches closer could help somehow.
Long, excruciating seconds passed before he stopped coughing, and stood.
“Serves him right,” Professor Mason said. “Damned fool knows better.”
Kennedy held her tongue, even though Professor Mason’s careless words infuriated her. As cold as Phoenix was, and as much as he intimidated her, she didn’t want to see him choked to death.
Phoenix brushed himself off and shook his opponent’s hand, a sign that the match was over.
“Gah, what a waste. Ended much quicker than it should’ve.”
“Why do you say so?” She couldn’t help herself.
“Phoenix is the stronger fighter. Hoshu took that blow out of spite. The neck’s off limits. Sort of an unspoken rule, if you know what I mean.”
