Gravity (The Taking)

by Melissa West

  Cybil reaches the fifth door and slides her keycard through the scanner stationed on the right side of the door. Inside, there are a thousand mini T-screens covering the back wall. Too many to count. Too many to focus on. And all of them are trained on people going about their lives. Working. Eating. Having sex. Ack. Okay, so the Engineers spy on us. I can’t say I’m surprised.

  Cybil walks over to the left side of the wall, where a male attendant with reddish hair and freckles sits, wearing the telltale black Engineer attire. She motions to me, and he nods as though my presence explains everything.

  “Do you see this woman?” Cybil says as she clicks a screen and points to a blond lady getting onto the tron. “We suspect she’s a Latent, a rogue Ancient hiding in our world. As you know, Ancients are only allowed to be on Earth during the Taking. The fact that they are here breaks the rules of the treaty.”

  “A rogue Ancient? How do you know?”

  “It’s tricky,” she says. “Average people don’t notice them. After all, there are tons of pretty people in the world. People with seemingly no imperfections, which is how they have existed for years—hidden among our beautiful.” She redirects her attention to the screen, zooming in with her fingertips so every feature of the lady is in focus. “But they aren’t like us. If you look closely you can see their skin is neither white nor brown, neither light nor dark. See,” she says, tapping the screen, “it’s almost golden. And their eyes…” She zooms farther and then taps the screens above and below the one with the lady. An older man appears in the top screen, a young female in the bottom. Cybil zooms in on their eyes. I have to stifle a gasp. They are all, all three, exactly like Jackson’s. A strange combination of blue and green, changing, it seems, by what they wear, the color of the sky, their mood, who knows.

  “Their eyes are all…”

  “The same. We know,” Cybil says. “But that isn’t enough for us to take someone into questioning. We have to be sure. Recognizing an Ancient is recognizing that nothing about him or her can be easily classified. Nothing except movement, which is always premeditated. We don’t notice the Ancients because they don’t want us to notice them. And that is what makes them so dangerous.”

  “But you said they were rogue Ancients. Why don’t you just contact Zeus about it?”

  “We have, yet the number of Latents continues to rise. You’re the future commander. Think like it. What do you think that suggests?” She crosses her arms, waiting.

  There are Ancients living in our world, pretending to be human. Of course, I already knew that thanks to Jackson, but I had no idea the numbers were so high. Zeus wouldn’t ignore our concerns unless…

  “Zeus sent them to spy on us,” I say. Jackson said it’s already in motion. This must be what he meant. And this room shows thousands of Ancients, but there have to be more that are not yet discovered, like Jackson. My greatest fears from this morning may be true after all—they’re watching us. But why or what they have planned I haven’t a clue. Enough delaying; I need to question Jackson. The sooner I get home, the sooner I get answers.

  Cybil dismisses me with the assignment to pay attention to those around me, but when I slide onto the tron, I find myself staring out the window, avoiding everyone. I don’t want to start staring from person to person, checking for eye color, creeping everyone out. Instead, I try to think through how the Latents got here. They could stay after the Taking, I guess, but more than likely they come through one of the interplanetary ports. There are ten ports across the world, two here in America, all connecting to Loge—the Ancients’ home planet. The Ancients control them, which would make for easy access of large numbers, but surely Earth’s leaders watch the ports.

  I focus out my window, trying to make sense of it, when my eye catches on the forest behind a series of houses. Trees. The trees act as hyperspaces between Loge and Earth, linking the two so that Ancients can travel easily between planets. So technically they could come at any time. But surely we monitor them on some level, though how could we possibly monitor every single tree? We couldn’t. If they can cross over to Earth through any tree, at any time, there could be hundreds of thousands already here. The thought sends a shudder down my back.

  The tron stops at Landings Park. Farther down the street are the rows of new composite steel apartments, but here, the old, rundown part of Landings, the buildings crumble in places, and it has the smell of burned wood. Of course, you’d never see a wooden building in Process. It seems stupid to me anyway to use wood to make a building or house when wood is so flammable. I guess the Chemists agreed and so they banned the use of wood ten years ago.

  I glance out the window at a group of people huddled over a fiery metal bin. I wonder what they’re doing and then realize—cooking. Landings is a food pill region, which means someone has found, stolen, or spent a month’s salary on a piece of meat. A few more people walk up, then a group of kids, none of them older than five or six. The look of wasted taste buds envelops their small faces. I’ve seen the look before, especially around desserts.

  I start to look away, saddened by the poverty our government allows, when something catches my eye. Adjacent to the fiery pit is a patch of trees, and clinging to a thick limb is a man. His golden skin contrasts against the brown of the tree. His brown hair moves with the wind. His expression looks focused, too focused. He watches the people for a fleeting second, and then he’s on them, tossing children into the street, Taking one then another then another. I bang against the window. Everyone on the tron jumps up and rushes to the windows, all pointing and shouting, all horrified. My eyes dart down the aisle, and then back to the attack. I gasp. Every human lays lifeless on the ground—men, women, and children. There is no blood. The Ancient has leeched the life from these people.

  Everything changes today, Jackson had said. He knew.

  I race to the front of the tron. “Open the doors!” I scream at the attendant, but he just looks at me, confused. A few more passengers join me, all of us yelling at the attendant to do something. Finally he phones for emergency help, just as an explosion sounds from the site of the attack. Everyone darts back to the right side of the tron, but all we see is a thick cloud of smoke. The tron kicks back into motion, and we’re ordered to take our seats, though no one does. Finally we reach Process, and everyone rushes off the tron. Several are already on their phones, recounting what happened, and I pull mine to do the same. First bringing up Dad’s number and then switching to Mom’s, I message Attack at Landings, call for help. I’m okay. Almost home now.

  Ten minutes later, I’m home. I slide my keycard at my front door, activating Dad’s home protection system. A red laser scans over me twice, and then the light on the alarm turns green. “Ari Alexander, welcome home,” it says. I dash inside, looking frantically for my parents.

  “Mom? Dad?” I yell.

  “They aren’t here,” Lawrence says, walking in from the kitchen. He takes one look at me and wraps me in a hug. “Are you all right? I just heard about the attack.” He loosens his embrace and motions to the T-screen in the sitting area off our kitchen.

  I cover my mouth with my hands. They show the attack, and then what looks like a bomb dropping, followed by smoke. When the smoke clears, the ground is black, the trees decimated. I don’t know how the building is still standing, but it is streaked in black.

  My phone buzzes in my hand, and I click a message from Mom. Are you okay? Are you at home?

  I type yes and drop my phone into my pocket. Lawrence hugs me closer, his warmth blanketing the chill in my spine. He starts to ask me more when the screen switches to the address. We both sit silently on the sofa in front of the T-screen, waiting to hear what they say about the attack.

  President Cartier, Lawrence’s mom, sits in the center of a long table. To her right and left are the three other worldwide leaders, and seated at the end of the table is Zeus Castello—the sole Ancient leader.

  President Cartier is the smallest of the five, so petite she looks alm
ost like a child in an adult’s chair. Her brown hair curls in perfect waves, just like Lawrence’s. Her olive skin shows her age, creasing in fine lines across her face, the heaviest lines around her eyes. To her right sits Alaster Krane, the European president, known for his stunning height and overpowering attitude. His skin and eyes and hair are as black as the night sky. Down the table to President Cartier’s left are the African and Asian presidents. The African president is the only other female, and her skin is as fair as mine, but while I have nearly black hair, hers is fiery red. The Asian leader sits quietly. He’s always quiet, as though he prefers to think more than speak, a quality I wish some of the other leaders would possess. His looks are perfectly symmetrical, and I imagine he was very beautiful when he was young.

  Then my eyes drift to Zeus, my breath catching. He stares into the screen, ominous and powerful, like he knows so much more than any of the others. I’ve never met him, and I pray I never will. I study him as though I’m seeing him for the first time. Long white hair that must reach the center of his back. Eyes like a predator. He looks human, like Jackson and the other Latent Ancients, but now that I’m looking at him closely I realize that nothing about him is warm. From his expression, to his face, to his posture. Everything about Zeus oozes danger. I clear my throat to push back my fear.

  They begin with the regular stuff—the laws of the treaty, discussion of amendments (there never are any), and a reminder of our responsibilities as humans. I almost scream for them to get to the attack. Law looks as tense as I feel.

  Finally, President Cartier focuses on the main camera, her face solemn. “Today, there were four attacks across the world, one in each of the four governing territories. We believe the actions were that of a vigilante Ancient group. They have all been apprehended, returning our world to safe order.” She turns to Zeus. “Mr. Castello, to your knowledge, can you guarantee there are no other threatening groups, and furthermore, do you agree to maintain our peaceful separation until coexistence can safely commence?”

  “Vigilante Ancients?” Law asks, but I’m too shocked to respond. Because Zeus Castello has just walked off the stage.

  The leaders jump up. One yells after him.

  The screen cuts to black.

  CHAPTER 5

  Hours later, I’m alone in my room, left with my paranoid thoughts. Dad and Mom came home right after the address, both looking wrecked with worry. Dad went straight to his office and Mom, after asking me a zillion times if I’m okay and checking me for signs of stress, went straight to bed. I tried to listen by Dad’s office for a while, hopeful he’d say something, anything to make sense of all this, but then he stormed out of his office, nearly barreling into me, and ordered me to go to bed.

  I flip on my T-screen and wait for Gretchen or Law to sign on. Maybe they’ve heard something. A few messages appear from professors. At-home exercises from Coach Sanders. Each tiny note comes across as a virtual envelope and then disappears once I’ve read it. We’re supposed to archive anything from school or the Trinity, but I’m too exhausted from the day to care.

  I glance at the clock. 11:50. I need to prepare. I reach for the power-save button just as a message flitters across the screen. I sit back in my chair, watching as the note blinks from yellow to green, yellow to green. Across the letter, written in script, is the sender’s name—Jackson Locke.

  I hover my pointer over the letter and then say, “Open.” It flips backward and a note appears.

  I forgot to tell you—try not to scream.

  —J

  I stare at it, trying to analyze the words as though something more could come from them. I have no clue what he means. I click to discard the note, hesitate, and archive it instead.

  My alarm beeps. 11:59. I lie down but don’t worry about my patch. I didn’t even check to see if it was in the case earlier. It’s pointless now.

  The window keypad pings, and I force myself to draw a long, steady breath. Relax-relax-relax-relax. I repeat the mantra over and over, hoping the word processes into my subconscious, because inside I’m beyond vexed. Something tells me tonight will change everything.

  Wind blows in through the now-open window, sending a mix of pine and honeysuckle into the room. Goose bumps form over my skin. I wait for Jackson to start the Taking, but the warmth never comes.

  “Ari.”

  I ease my eyes open to see him sitting beside me. He looks so comfortable. He always looks comfortable, like nothing or no one could ever rattle him. I wish I were that way.

  “What are you doing?” I ask.

  “We need to talk first.”

  I sit up, pulling my knees to my chest, and wrap my arms tightly around them. “Fine, talk. Let’s start with the attack. You knew didn’t you? Why didn’t you stop it? Those people…the children.” I glance away to keep my eyes from brimming with tears.

  “Yes, I knew.” He drops his head. “And I already told you; I can’t stop this. The attack was minor. It was a warning for things to come if Parliament continues to refuse coexistence.”

  “Refuse? That’s always been part of the treaty. I thought—”

  “No. Everything you’ve been told is a lie.”

  His words feel like a slap in the face, and I shake my head in disbelief. It’s not possible. But the address…Zeus walked off the stage. Still, Dad wouldn’t lie to me.

  “He would and has. All the top leaders know.”

  I jump up. I hadn’t said anything out loud. “Stop doing that. How are you doing that, anyway?”

  Jackson shrugs, continuing to look at ease. “Sorry, I can’t control it. I’m usually better at hiding it. All the RESs are equipped. It’s a device implanted into our hearing system. It reads worry and stress in your tone and word choices, then transmits the reading into data.”

  “So you hear my thoughts?”

  “No. It’s more like an educated guess based upon your stress reading. I’m just better at it than most.”

  I freeze. My arms drop like noodles to my sides. “Most. Did you say ‘most’? The rogue Ancients. They aren’t rogue, are they? Zeus sent them, like he sent you. This isn’t happening.”

  “Ari…”

  “No, stop. Just stop.” I pace the room, my mind a whirlwind of puzzle pieces that I can’t make fit. There are more questions than I can focus enough to articulate, but one holds strong in my mind. I have to know. I pause in front of him, closer than I normally stand to anyone, but I want to be sure I hear his answer. “What do you want from me?”

  For the first time, he looks away. He scratches his chin and rakes a hand through his hair. Then in a flash, he’s beside me. He grabs my hand, and I’m sucked through a tunnel. I can’t breathe. I can’t breathe. “Jackson!” I scream. A hand clamps over my mouth.

  “I asked you not to scream,” he whispers.

  The pressure locks over my chest and lungs. My eyes feel like they’ll pop from their sockets. I bite his hand, but he holds tight. Then the pressure is gone, and I’m standing in an office, an office I recognize. Dad tells someone to come in. President Cartier enters followed by Zeus Castello. They look angry, but Dad, like Jackson, never appears rattled.

  Dad scribbles a note and then peers up at them. “Thank you for coming,” he says. “I’ve reviewed the information you provided, Mr. Castello. Unfortunately, our Chemists disagree. It is not yet time for coexistence. We will notify you when food supplies can support both species.”

  “Food supplies!” Zeus grabs hold of his chair. “We provide your food. We have kept our end of this agreement.” His voice shakes and he stutters, “A-a-greement, the harmony of opinion, action, or character.” His face relaxes, and he draws a deep breath before continuing. “Our kind, sir, became fully acclimated two months ago, yet you still refuse. What is your game, Commander?”

  I glance nervously at Dad, but before I can hear his response I’m yanked back, the force pressing all the breath from my lungs. Bile climbs in my throat. Tears leak from my eyes. Then I’m stumbling backw
ard onto the floor of my bedroom.

  Several seconds pass before I open my eyes. Jackson is curled on the floor, white as paper and covered in sweat. His body spasms. I rush to him and check his pulse, which is racing in his veins. I run to my bathroom and soak a cloth with cold water. When I return, he’s sitting up. I kneel beside him and press the cloth to his forehead and neck. “Are you all right?” I ask, then, realizing what I’m doing—or rather who I’m doing it for—drop the towel into his hand. He looks so much like a human that my instinct to help those in need must have caused me to move before I could think.

  He nods. “Just…need…a second,” he whispers. Neither of us speaks for a minute or two. Jackson opens his eyes and gazes into mine. “Thanks for this,” he says, lifting the towel in his hand.

  I pull away but stay seated on the floor. “What did you do to me?”

  He draws a breath. “Recollective transmission. I showed you a memory that was shown to me. I knew that was the only way you’d believe me. I haven’t transferred to a human before…well, since the last time.” He smiles again. “It’s exhausting. Your minds are more skeptical than ours. It requires more energy to implant the memory.”

  I think back to what I saw. “So you’ve acclimated to Earth?”

  “Yes. Our bodies function very much like yours now. Our antibody levels are strong. We’re ready.”

  “And we’re refusing to let you come here permanently.”

  “Yes. The memory I transferred happened four months ago. We’ve been told to continue the Taking until coexistence is agreed upon. But as you saw, negotiations have not gone well.”

  “But according to the treaty, failure to comply with coexistence will spark a—”

  “War. Yes. We are a peaceful species, Ari, regardless of what you’re told. Even Zeus doesn’t want a war, but I can see this hardening him. He sent a formal ultimatum, which has gone unanswered. The attack today was nothing. A warning. He sent additional RESs a month ago. We’re stationed at different areas, all given one goal—find out their strategy.”