The heat rushes up my neck, and I’m sure it turns my face a brilliant shade of red. “Umm, yeah. That’s what I call one of the guards. The other two are Buzzcut and Pugnose.”
“Should I be afraid to ask why?” His eyes twinkle, and the corners of his mouth twitch. Is he making fun of me?
“It’s what they look like, kinda. Bullfrog is squat and short like a toad. Buzzcut has really short hair, and Pugnose, well…”
Will’s chest shakes with laughter, though he doesn’t make a sound.
“Look, just forget about it.” I huff and turn away.
Will moves to stand in front of me, all seriousness. He quickly touches my arm to stop me from walking away. I look down, and he jerks his hand away. “Have you told anyone else about what the guards did?”
“No. Who would I tell? Who would listen?”
“You’d be surprised. If I may, I recommend keeping this information to yourself.”
“Why?”
“You already have one strike against you by associating with rebels. That alone has probably already put you on the military’s radar. If you were to publicly accuse one of their own of falsifying evidence, there would be an investigation, which would also call into question everything that happened. Including anything the guards might want to keep quiet. They might be under the President’s command, but the military fervently protects their own.”
“Do you think they’d do something?” The cold gray walls of my cell close in on me again. I gulp.
Will shrugs. “Of course not, but accidents happen, even at the Smith. Even with our advanced technology, people still get sick, injured, and die despite extensive treatment.”
“Thanks for warning me. I don’t have any friends here, and well, I think I need all the help I can get.”
A flash of surprise appears, then vanishes on his face, replaced by a faint blush. “You’re most certainly welcome, Mira.” I like the way he says my name, softly rolling the “r.”
I shiver. His voice runs like fingers stroking along my spine. From Will’s lips, my name flirts, exotic and unfamiliar. I rush to change the subject. “We have a stream like this in the forest near the farm.” I turn away from him to watch the water tumble over the smooth stones. “It was one of my favorite places.”
“You must miss it terribly.”
I crouch down at the edge of the bank, trailing my fingers in the cool stream. “Yes, but then, you’re from a farm, right?” He pulls back the sleeve of his shirt, showing me his tattoo.
“Yes, though my farm was in South Dakota. It’s not like free citizens would do this kind of job?”
I stumble back a step at the venom in his voice. “Huh, I’ve never thought about it that way before.”
“The farms have a steady supply of workers, so if no one else wants the jobs, they bring us in.”
“How old were you?”
“Six. I was very studious and well-behaved for my age, so I was a logical choice.” He clenches his hands at his sides. What would that have been like? Getting ripped from your family at such a young age? Rosie’s smile dances through my mind. I guess it’s not that unusual after all.
I touch his arm, but he jerks away from me.
“I’m sorry.” I pull my hand back to my side, embarrassed.
“It wasn’t your fault.” Will shakes his head and leads me to a bench with the words “In God We Trust,” engraved in the stone.
“Still…” I run my fingers over the deep grooves etched to look weather-beaten and aged. “It’s not fair.” I look away as the tears return, blinking them back. This is stupid, Mira. Get a hold of yourself. Stop being so weak. I sit down, and Will follows suit.
When I look back, Will raises his hand toward my face, but then lowers it. “I know.” He puts his hands in his lap, as if not sure what to do with them.
“I didn’t want to be a Second. I was supposed to have a nice, safe life on the farm, marry Tanner, raise a family, just like my parents. Maybe even fall in love.” My lips curve in a faint smile. I glance up at him. “I’m sorry for bringing all this up. I’m sure listening to me whine isn’t in your job description.”
“Don’t worry about it. My mother once told me that I’m a good listener.”
“Can I ask you something?” I hate the wistful, desperate lilt in my voice.
“Of course.”
“What’s your job when you’re not taking care of people like me?”
Will smiles. “When there isn’t a Second in residence I work in the gardens. Four years ago, they offered me this position, and I jumped at the opportunity.”
“You wanted to help Seconds?”
“Well, yes. It seemed logical to me at the time. Most Seconds are younger than you, and if you think about it, they’re not that much different from seedlings in the greenhouses. Both need special care, nurturing, and someone to remember they’re alive.”
His wrist unit beeps. Will glances down at it, stands up, and walks a few steps. I can hear someone talking, but I can’t make out the words.
He lowers his arm. “We have to go back to your room. My presence is being requested elsewhere. I’ll have someone fetch your dinner, but if you’d like to come back, I’m sure your friend Bullfrog can escort you.” His eyes twinkle with humor.
My face flushes again. “No, thanks.”
He chuckles and holds out his hand. I take it, and his grip, firm and warm, makes me feel safe. He pulls me to my feet, and Tanner’s face flashes through my mind. I felt safe with him, too, and look where that got me. Be careful, Mira, you can’t afford to trust anyone right now.
We get to the elevator without saying anything else, and I watch Will again as he types in the code to get us back to my hallway. The little box rumbles to a start and goes down, over, and up, before coming to a stop. Neither of us even sway at the sharp turns. Heck, I’ll be a pro at this by the time I leave.
When the doors open, Will holds me back with his hand and steps out ahead of me, looking in both directions. Unease trails down my spine. What is he looking for?
“All clear?” I ask.
He jumps. “Yes. One can never be too safe.”
“I didn’t think there was anything to worry about here.”
“There isn’t,” he answers, contradicting his actions.
He gestures, and I follow him down the hall. We turn the corner to my room, and I see Bullfrog slouching in his chair, snoring loud enough to wake the dead.
“Ahh, yes, I can see it now. Definitely toad-like.” Will grins.
I flush. “Cut it out. You’ll wake him up.”
When we come to the door, Bullfrog doesn’t even twitch. “You’re right. He’s obviously a light sleeper.”
I sigh and shake my head. “Fine, whatever.”
With a reminder to call him if I need anything, Will backs out, shutting the door behind him.
Another servant brings dinner, a real chicken breast with lightly seasoned steamed vegetables. I pick up a roll and take a bite, then put it back down. All this food, did it come from a farm like mine? What if Tanner harvested the wheat used to make this roll? What if I fed the chickens? I put it back on the plate, not hungry anymore.
After eating, I use the touchpad on the bottom of the screen to scan through the various channels on the video screen, avoiding the news and finally settling on one about the wilderness. A wide panning shot shows deep-green forests and mountain ranges, then the scene changes to a small clearing, focusing on a man in khaki pants and a button-down shirt. He wears a ridiculous round hat, like an old-fashioned helmet.
“The forest is home to a wide variety of predators.” He gestures at the trees. The scene cuts away to show pictures of mountain lions, bears, wolves, and some sort of spotted cat—all suitably snarling, growling, and look
ing terrifying. “These creatures slaughter humans and are prolific since the Immigration War. Even though the border between the United States and the wilderness is heavily monitored, it is still fraught with dangers.” Border? The boundary between my farm and the wilderness is a bubbling stream. Its narrow outline of rocks is the only fence I’ve ever known.
“Many a child has been lost to this forbidding landscape, devoured by fearsome predators and killed by unforgiving elements.” Okay. I’m done. I raise the remote. “And even worse…” I pause mid-click. “… are the rogue humans living in this horrible place. Desperate for any sort of food and water, they abduct those who venture too far into the forest. Those unfortunate souls are never seen again.”
I click off the screen and fall backward on the bed. If this is what people choose to see, maybe it’s not such a bad thing we’re forbidden to watch it. I fall asleep, fully clothed.
The Greater Adversary
Socrates
“Veronica.” I can’t hide the surprise in my voice. Her pleasure in that is unmistakable. “I wasn’t expecting you.” I motion for the servant boy at my side to drop my bags by the large four poster bed. He does, bows, and after I turn my full attention to the viperess in front of me, he darts out of the room.
The President’s wife, our nation’s Vice President, wearing a long black dress with her hair coiffed to show off her pale, slender neck, arranges a tall bouquet of electric blue and violet flowers in an etched glass vase. The flowers boast viciously pointed spikes partially hidden behind feathery green leaves. Poisonous, just like the woman positioning the blooms.
“Socrates,” she purrs, turning to fix me with a fake red-lipped smile as she strips white gloves off of her hands. “I didn’t know you were arriving so soon.” Right. Veronica knows everything. She keeps her red-tipped fingernails in every aspect of the government. She flicks her fingers at the bouquet. “I just wanted to beautify the place up some. You know, these rooms can get a bit… monotonous… for an esteemed celebrity such as yourself.”
“Hoping I’ll prick my finger and fall asleep?”
She gives me the barest of nods. With her pale skin and deep brown hair, she could pass for Snow White herself. If Snow White had been the villainess. “It’s not my fault the most beautiful blooms are also the most deadly.”
“By your design, no doubt.” She had, after all, been a famous botanist before she married and entered politics.
Veronica lifts one elegant shoulder and drops it. “At your age, a man should know to look before touching.”
I lower myself onto the edge of the bed, and she leans against the wall across from me. “To what do I owe the somewhat… dubious… pleasure?” Ben sits warily at my feet, eyeing our guest.
“Oh, nothing really. Just welcoming an old friend.”
I eye the flowers again. “What’s the real reason you’re here?”
She lets out a huff. “Fine, you’ve never been one for pleasantries or small talk. I hear my husband visited you last night.”
“He fancied a brandy.”
“I’m sure.” Her icy voice drips with the same venom tipping the roses’ thorns. “You know, I almost had him turned around. He very nearly agreed to drop this stupid bill and concentrate on more important matters.”
“Oh?”
“Until he visited you, of course. Now he’s full of this preconceived notion that he has to follow his father’s footsteps and free the Texans.” She shakes her head. Not a hair dares to drift out of place.
“Preconceived? Madam Vice President, I thought you supported him?”
“Of course. He is my husband.”
I crack a smile. “For better or for worse, right?”
Her lips thin into a firm line, and she turns and crosses the room, her steps so smooth, so effortless, she could be floating. When she reaches the window, she pulls open the curtains, and peers out. I don’t know how she does it. The brightness blinds me. “Some might argue that those vows are as antiquated as some esteemed members of society.”
I chuckle. “You might be right on the second part, but like those vows, many people also believe that the oldest of us still has some purpose in this world.”
She barely inclines her head toward me. “Yes, they’re quite useful. They serve to remind us of harsher, more brutal times. Times better left forgotten.”
I raise my eyebrows. “If you’re so against us, Madam Vice President, then why do you oppose the bill to free the Texans? It will effectively limit the number of available Seconds. You know as well as I do that the younger the Second, the more effective the transfer process.” She nods again. “Why would you try to stop it? How many people under the age of eighteen would volunteer for something like this?”
Veronica turns toward me, a faint smile stretching across her lips. “When you put it that way, it almost makes sense. Perhaps I’m merely a creature of tradition, set to follow the same patterns over and over again.”
I open my mouth to speak, but she raises her hand to stop me, her dark fingertips glistening. “My motives, my dear Socrates, are very simple.” She slinks past me toward the door. Her hand hovers over the knob. “Assess the threats and determine which is more dangerous. For our society, for our people, for our way of life, the Texans are the greater adversary, if by nothing else but numbers alone. You, my friend, are merely a dinosaur. A creature of historic significance but little political impact.” She grasps the handle and turns it. “My goal is to neutralize the bigger threat to our country, with or without my husband’s support, and I shall let nothing stand in my way.”
What I Wanted
Mira
A loud beeping from the com unit wakes me up. Scrubbing away the sleep gumming my eyelids and pressing a button, I see Will’s smiling face on the screen.
“Good morning?” I grumble.
“I thought you farmers rose before dawn?”
I mumble something my mother would smack me for. “What time is it?”
He chuckles. “It’s nearly noon. You must have been exhausted.” On overload is more like it. “Lunch will be ready shortly, then one of our assistants will come to get you ready for your interview.”
I sit up quickly and swing my legs over the side of the bed. “Do I have to?”
He chuckles. “It isn’t what you think it is. Trust me. I’m sure you’ll find the experience… enlightening.” The screen goes black.
After a quick, sharp knock, the door opens, and a young blonde hurries in, carrying a tray of food. Right on her heels is a tiny bald man carrying a silver-topped platter and a black bag slung over his shoulder. He brushes past her, and she backs away after putting the tray of food on the end of the table. He shoves the tray aside with his dome-topped one.
“My name is Theodore Reynard, but you may call me Mr. Reynard.” He smiles widely as if I should recognize his name, and his face falls when I don’t.
He sighs, opens the black bag, pulls out a pale cream-colored tunic and slacks, and throws them on the bed. “Here, change.”
“What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?” I look down at myself.
“It’s wrinkled. Change. You need to look perfect for your interview.”
“Whatever.” I snatch the clothes off the bed and stalk to the bathroom where I quickly climb into the new clothes. When I come out, Mr. Reynard insists on tying a white sash around my waist, just as I did for Max. The memory flashes behind my eyes, and I tear up.
“None of that, now,” Mr. Reynard snaps. “It’ll be impossible to do your makeup if you have puffy, red eyes.” He pulls out a silver and gold etched box and opens it. Inside are needles and bottles of color, from creams to browns, reds to blues, white to black. Some kind of handheld device, similar to the silver gun used for the vaccine, sits in a special slot.
“What are those for?” I ask, e
yeing them skeptically.
“It’s your makeup, of course. It’s only temporary, and the effects will only last a couple weeks, maybe a month at best. You young ones always seem to heal faster, dispersing the pigments.” Studying me for a moment, he picks up the gun, snaps in a needle, and runs his fingers over the bottles, before selecting a dark brown. “This will go nicely for your eyes.”
I stand up, quicker than I’ve ever stood up in my life. “You’re going to inject me with that?” I shake my head in disbelief.
“This?” He looks down at the gun and snaps the bottle into the back. “Why, yes. How else would I get the pigment into your skin? You can hardly expect me to just paint it on, can you?”
Backing away from him, I continue shaking my head. “You are not sticking that stuff in me.”
“But you have to,” he sputters. “Everyone does it. It’s expected of you.”
“No. Not going to happen.” I back up until I hit the door and fumble behind me until I find the handle. Twisting it open behind me, I practically fall into the hallway.
Bullfrog lurches to his feet. “What’s going on here?”
I spin toward him, an ugly angel in black fatigues with a laser gun strapped to his hip. “He… he’s trying to torture me!”
“It’s makeup!” Mr. Reynard exclaims, waving the black device around. “Tell her it’s harmless. Tell her she has to get it done.”
Bullfrog shrugs. “If she wants to look like crap on national television, let her. Don’t matter to me one way or the other. Why don’t you ask her First?”
Mr. Reynard pales. “I… I can’t bother him about something like this. He has more important things to do!”
“So…” Bullfrog pulls his chair to the other side of the hall and straddles it. “It’s not a big deal, then, is it? I don’t care what you do, but I say, let the girl look like an idiot.” With that, he pushes me back into the room, shoves Mr. Reynard after me, and shuts the door, chuckling all the while.
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