A voice always knows when another voice has employed their power. And Thane hadn’t. I didn’t even know if he possessed voice control. Not all Thinkers did.
We stared at each other, unmoving, unspeaking, barely breathing. A thousand possibilities ran through my mind, all of them ending with Thane bloody and me shackled and on my way to the modification chamber where my memory would be purged.
He blinked. I swallowed. The projections played inside the cabinet, a cacophony of background noise.
He leaned on his desk. “The Director needs to know the scope of your abilities.”
Like I wanted to show anyone the “scope of my abilities.” Especially Director Hightower, the man who restrained his own daughter behind walls of glass.
Just as Thane opened his mouth again, I said, “Punch your way through that window.” I inclined my head to the sheet of glass behind his desk. I’d employed my most powerful voice, and strangely, I felt the need to smash something, stat.
Thane’s gaze deadened, and he stood up mechanically. His legs barely bent as he stepped to the windows. Clonelike, he cocked his fist back and slammed it as hard as he could into the glass.
Cracking noise filled my ears, my eyes, my mouth. He punched again and again, even through the warnings and shrieking alarms, until the window-wall came shattering down. Shards of glass spilled onto the floor, rained into the street far below. An alarm spiked the air with a shrill beep-beep-beep! Thane turned around real slow, as if made of gears and tech.
Bits of jagged glass stuck in his knuckles, blood flowing thick and free over his ruined hand. It dripped onto the silver floor as three clones, a physician wearing a blue lab coat, and Director Hightower burst into the office.
He wore a look of amazement and a triumphant smile. His gaze swept me from head to toe, satisfied, yet terribly terribly terribly hungry.
* * *
The door to my flat jerked open before I pressed my thumb to the portlet. Good thing too, because I felt like I didn’t have enough energy to push hard enough.
“Holy—Gunner!” Zenn grabbed my arm and hauled me into the flat. “How did you do it?”
I collapsed at the kitchen table, my stomach gnawing at me for something to eat. I didn’t check my meal plan before I said, “Toast first.”
The smell of browning bread revived me a little, and I raised my head just as Zenn set the buttered slices—six—in front of me. “Spill, Mr. Voice Talent.”
“Spill what?” I asked around a mouthful of bread—and another dietary notice in my cache.
“How you got Thane to smash his hand through a plated window. Through the tech barrier of Rise One.” Zenn studied me like I had untold knowledge, the secret to the universe, or some other huge factoid.
“Um, the same way you would have.” I moved to the food-dispenser and ordered orange juice. I gulped it, trying to steady the shaking in my hands with the burn of the citrus in my mouth. Zenn pressed in next to me, too close for comfort, yet neither one of us moved.
He ordered something on the dispenser, and while it generated, he whispered, “Really? Just your voice?” His words didn’t hide a secret message this time. They didn’t conceal his fear either.
I nodded, still guzzling the juice, wondering what about my voice could make Zenn afraid. Didn’t he have a Gunner Jameson brief-sheet? He should know everything about me.
“That’s the most powerful voice I’ve ever heard of.” He angled his body toward me just a bit. “Planning session, midnight, okay?”
I searched his gaze for some hint of how we’d trick the sensors, the spiders. Them. I found nothing. Zenn collected his own stack of toast and sat at the table.
“I’m so glad your first day went well, Gunn. Welcome to the team!”
Again, I marveled at how seamlessly he moved from I’m terrified—you only used your voice? to cheery Informant flatmate in under two seconds.
At least I now knew the food-dispenser was good for concealing three seconds of whispered conversation.
And I wanted more.
After stacking my plate in the recycler, I lifted the front cover of the dispenser. The flat area where the food materialized needed to be cleaned.
Like I did that.
Instead, I turned the dispenser, removed the cover on the back. A flashing green light on the inside showed its functionality. I rested my hands over the tech inside, imagined that I wanted the dispenser to take longer to generate the food.
Maybe seven seconds instead of three. Then Zenn and I could talk in sentences longer than two words.
I adjusted the timing portlet, nudged it along until the tech zinging up my arm translated to seven seconds in my head.
Satisfied with the juiced food-dispenser, I ordered a glass of water and turned back to Zenn. His shock permeated my senses in a quick jolt. “Technopath. Sweet.”
If he said so. I flashed him seven fingers before settling back into my chair at the table. “So …”
“So now the Director knows the extent of your voice.” Zenn took the water from the dispenser, ordered another glass. “Be careful, Gunn. He collects people with talents as if they were trophies.” He put the water in front of me. “You just made my job harder.”
I picked up the glass, cold dread creeping down my throat as I gulped the water.
“Your job?”
“He’ll want to know everything now.”
“What will you do?”
“Feed him in small bites.”
I nodded before heading to bed for my mandatory rest period, wishing those seven seconds of stolen conversation could be erased from my memory.
I had no doubt Director Hightower would swallow me. Slowly. Painfully. But completely.
* * *
Midnight arrived with Zenn shaking me awake. He pressed his finger to his lips, then stole across the rug and into the living area. I scraped my hair off my forehead, followed. I caught a reflection of the moonrise in the glass as he paced on the balcony.
When I joined him, there wasn’t much room for either of us to move. And it was holy cold. My teeth knocked together, and I cursed the fact that I hadn’t grabbed a heat stick first. “Wh-what’s up?”
“One of the perks of living in this flat is the spider surveillance,” Zenn began. When he drove his hands deep into his pockets, I didn’t feel like such a wimp. “Our spiders scramble the Association’s feed every day for twenty minutes. When the time changes, we’re notified on our way home from our last session.”
Anything I said would come out garbled, so I kept my mouth shut. Everything about Zenn glowed too-white in the light of the moon; his hair, his skin, his teeth. He freaked me out a little, and I wanted to return to the warmth and comfort of my bed. Then the exhilaration of living, breathing, talking freely washed over me. “Can’t They just record our cache?”
“Not all the time. And besides, spoken conversations aren’t cached.” Zenn waved one hand before repocketing it. “Just be careful with your thoughts when you’re around Thane. Disguise the information among the other mundane details of your daily life. I mean, even Thane is human.”
My lower jaw shook in response. Despite the blood that had dripped from his hand, I wasn’t so sure of that. I shifted back and forth from foot to foot in a lame attempt to warm up.
“Spoken convos can be recorded,” I said, just to have something to argue about.
“That’s why we have technicians,” Zenn replied matter-of-factly. “It’s why we have a scrambler in our living area. And why the spiders give us these twenty minutes.”
He waited for me to say something else. I opted to let him talk.
“We want to gather as much intel on Thane as we can, and we haven’t had anyone in his office for over a year. So you’ll be our main contact there. I—”
“Our?”
“The Insiders. I run a group in the southern Blocks, just above the orchards. Each group has separate yet synced directives.” Some annoyance drifted from him. Maybe I should know
all this already.
“Oh, right, course.” I made a mental note to send Raine a nasty e-comm as soon as I could.
“Raine provides us with the necessary info about her father. And I’m with Vi, so I can bring in her status as well.”
“Who is Vi, exactly?” I asked.
“She’s my match,” Zenn answered. “She could control the entire Association—if she wasn’t kept completely brainwashed. I’m working with her.”
“Doing what?”
“They think I’m implanting new memories. Or at least keeping her sedated. She trains with Thane too; he’s her dad.”
“Her dad?” The words sandpapered against my tongue. I noticed that Zenn didn’t say exactly what he did with Vi.
“Yeah, her dad. But Vi’s useless to us in her sleepwalking state. She rooms with Raine, but Raine’s brief-sheet forbids meaningful contact. Raine’s forced to comply so she can keep her position of power. Remember that obedience buys power. It buys freedom.”
“Got it. So, what next?”
“Notice anything in Thane’s office today? Before you had him punch down the security system, that is. Anything we can use?”
Thane’s office was as undecorated as they came. Unless he had secret compartments in the silver floor, I didn’t see how my presence in his office was going to help at all. “He’s got a desk, a chair, and a cabinet. That’s it.”
Zenn leaned on the railing. “He must have an e-board. Probably two or three.”
“There were a couple projections playing inside the cabinet. Could’ve been from e-board data.”
“Did you see what they were broadcasting?”
“No.”
“Well, that’s where we’ll start. Tomorrow night, midnight.”
I groaned. “Do we ever sleep on this job?”
Zenn laughed, the sound almost ringing with happiness. “You’ll get used to it after a while. And you’ve got those pills for school, right?”
I grunted, which passed for a “yeah.”
“Hit the coffee kiosk first thing in the morning,” he added. “I’ll stall the Director if I can. But try not to do anything else with your voice for a while, okay?” He went back inside the flat, leaving the sliding glass door open for me.
I hesitated out on the balcony, even though the cold pricked at my fingers, ears, and nose. The city lay dormant at night, and I felt a strange sense of power at being up at a forbidden hour, viewing it.
Taking strength from the ink-stained sky, I drew in a deep breath full of frost and zero expectations before returning to bed.
All I could think about was my head on the Director’s wall. My voice = his trophy.
Sleep didn’t come. I ended up retrieving my chip from the light generator. After clipping my feed into my e-board so whoever was monitoring me tonight would think I was asleep, I brought up my father’s letter. I studied it, trying to make links between phrases like, reverse coordinates of incoming reports—91, 112—Green River, or shut down tech generators—123—Harvest, and then, olive branch will amplify—118—Goodgrounds.
Apparently punctuation was optional in my father’s world. Capital letters were rare, and periods even more scarce.
As the night wore on, my eyes grew as heavy as my memory. Both filled with line after line of nonsensical instructions.
The next morning I stood in the shower, thinking about the letter. The numbers suddenly clicked into place.
“Page numbers,” I whispered into the steam. “Stars alive, those are page numbers in the journal.”
Raine
12.
Time passed in blurs of purple, navy, and black. Gloved hands touched my bare skin. Doors opened and closed.
People talked. Through the medical-induced, post-drain haze, Cannon’s voice said my name. Thane’s too. My dad. But Vi’s voice was the one that sliced through the loudest. When she traced her fingers over my forehead, she wore no gloves.
She sang to me, her voice as beautiful as the birdcalls in the spring. Her words didn’t register, but they didn’t need to. The fact that she was there spoke volumes.
Several times I felt like I was falling, and always Violet stood ready to catch me. She soothed me when I shook; she stroked my hair while I wept.
But when I finally woke up on Tuesday morning, she’d already left with Zenn.
Our room felt stale, as if no one had been there in days. The air barely moved, and I turned up the circulation portlet to clear the place out. My hands shook as I pulled on a long-sleeved shirt and light-blue jeans (total fashion crime).
My cache held several messages from Cannon, which I flipped through while the food-dispenser made my breakfast. He’d sent the standard Hey, Raine! It’s raining, it’s pouring … Hope you’re not melting messages, mingled with the more serious Hope you’re feeling betters I received after every drain. I managed a weak smile at his humor. I wished he was here right now to escort me to school. A pang of loneliness accompanied the thought.
As his messages continued, they grew shorter, more afraid. One even said, Your dad said not to message you again, so this’ll be my last comm … He’d sent it on Sunday night.
I answered it with a quick I’m fine, and I’ll be at school today while I nibbled on a breakfast burrito. My stomach ached on the way to school.
I longed to hear Vi’s voice singing that lilting melody. As I hurried through the streets toward the Education Rise, I thought I could hear it echoing off the buildings.
But I’d forgotten the words.
* * *
The Education Rise was like a mini indoor city. It spanned an entire city block, but only stretched six stories.
Level One housed the primary school. Children from five to twelve attend classes in one of four Squares inside the Rise. An administrator presides over each Square, which consists of twelve classrooms.
I’d hated primary school. Forced to endure the same group of students for seven years was not my idea of fun. Friendships established, and that was it. The only class that changed was genetics. We were grouped by age, so no one ever joined the class, but over the years many stopped coming. I was ten years old before I realized why: Those of us who remained had some sort of talent. A genetic mutation that allowed us to do something regular people couldn’t.
Gunner stayed in my genetics class. In fact, we still had that class together. We didn’t have to reveal our talents unless we wanted to, and Gunn had told the class about his ability to control tech last semester after he won the flight trials. He revealed it as part of a report we’d had to do on what profession we were training for. Gunn wanted a spot on the Enforcement squad.
He’d been on my radar for a couple months at that point, and as soon as class ended, I e-commed Trek with Gunn’s name for a possible recruit for the Insiders.
I knew if I didn’t get him, my father would. Because I knew Gunn had voice power too, whether he’d said it explicitly or not. The geneticists in the Evolutionary Rise would kill to get a sample of his DNA.
All my friends came from my genetics class, because no one else wanted to be friends with the Director’s, uh, creepy daughter who wore gloves all the time.
Except for Starr Messenger, the girl with freaky eyes who sat on the back row in genetics. I didn’t get the impression that Gunn liked her all that much, but I couldn’t figure out why. Guys fawned over Starr. They signed up for the tech geek classes in droves, even if they didn’t have any ability, just to be closer to her.
As children, we spent our time playing vids and projection puzzles. I knew she had killer mind control. She could Think over an entire Rise or sit on my dad’s advisory council. I liked her; she didn’t judge me. I didn’t judge her.
But we went our separate ways right about the time we moved up to Levels Two and Three for secondary school. That’s when you’re sorted into talented and untalented.
And Starr had lied. Hidden her talent. Talked way too fast for someone with advanced mind control.
But I’d
heard her speak just fine. I’d felt her control more than once. She was still in my genetics class. I knew she was a control freak of the highest degree.
She faked it, blew it, failed. On purpose.
As a twelve-year-old, I didn’t understand that. We’ve always been told to do more, be better, work hard. You could be this amazing thing or that leader of whatever. Never be yourself, or who you are is good enough, or it’s okay, maybe you’ll do better next time.
With my dad as Director, there often was no next time.
So when I heard Starr blatantly lie, when I watched her get assigned to the lesser mind control track, when my dad crossed her name off his list, so did I.
Fortunately, he never made me drain her.
Unfortunately, I’d never found a way to repair our friendship. Once I smartened up, I realized Starr had things figured out long before I had. I’ve been playing catch-up with her ever since.
And I’m still not winning.
But at least she’s not talking. She’s never ratted me out to anyone, never told anyone about my ability.
Thirteens and fourteens attend classes in what the Administrator called “in between education.” I made it onto the athletic and scientific track, which meant I could use my leisure time to fly and would be assigned classes like the human body and tech production. Once I turned fifteen, my classes were moved to Level Three—that’s where I still am. Next year, after I turn eighteen, I’ll move to Level Four: specialized training. If I could keep my marks up in biology, I’d be on the path toward that job in the Medical Rise.
Level Five of the Education Rise housed the administration. Administrator Cage didn’t allow students on the admin level, and the reason why anyone would want to go there escaped me.
Level Six was a mystery. Students weren’t allowed up there. I often wondered when I saw an Educator or an Administrator use the ascenders if they were going to the unknown Sixth Level. Of course I never asked. I did everything I could to avoid scrutiny at school.
After grabbing a coffee at the kiosk and ascending to the third floor, I found Trek leaning against the wall across from my first period class (environmental studies). He wore a look of discomfort, as if he could anticipate the questions building in my head. For once, I appreciated the strict cache-off protocol at school.
Surrender Page 9
