Mindstormer

by AJ Steiger

  Once, that may have been true. But so much has changed. Steven has changed. “That won’t happen.” A thought occurs to me, suddenly—that he grabbed my hand when he fled. He chose to save me, not Rhee or any of the others. I push the thought away. “He doesn’t need me. They do.”

  One corner of his mouth twitches. “Self-sacrifice runs in the blood, hmm? Or maybe I should say self-destructiveness.”

  “Leave my father out of this.” When did he learn about the real reason behind Father’s death? When he was digging through my mind? I take a deep breath, fighting for control. “Why are you trying to talk me out of this, anyway? Isn’t this what you want me to do?”

  “I want you to understand fully what you’re agreeing to. Including the sacrifices.”

  He could just do it to me, I realize—just summon his goons to restrain me, drug me, do his experimental procedure, and send me into IFEN as an unknowing spy. Why doesn’t he?

  I remember his face—pale and drawn—while he was watching Nicholas torture me. I remember his fingers clenched on the arms of his chair.

  There are limits to what Zebra will do. He has no qualms about using us, but in some twisted way, he also feels responsible for his army of child soldiers. And he sincerely hates IFEN and everything it represents. He believes in the importance of choice. Even if he’s willing to bend his own ethics, he must believe in them on some level, or else why would he be doing any of this? There are easier ways he could achieve power, if that’s his goal. “I have to admit,” I say. “I misjudged you a little.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yes. You’re sneaky, manipulative, and egomaniacal. But you’re not evil.”

  A smile twitches across his lips. “You forgot ‘brilliant and charming.’”

  “Charming? I didn’t notice.”

  He chuckles. Then the smile fades. “I am asking a lot of you, I realize.”

  The air feels thick between us. I’m worn out and raw and about to turn myself over to IFEN; I may never see Zebra again. I may as well ask, even if he doesn’t answer. “Who are you, anyway? How did you become the leader of the Blackcoats? And why?”

  He raises an eyebrow. “Why do you ask?”

  “I want to know what kind of man I’m trusting to perform experimental brain surgery on me.”

  “Ah. Well, I suppose I owe you this much.” His voice is low and pensive, as if he’s speaking to himself. I wait.

  He closes his eyes briefly. “All I know about my mother is that she abandoned me at a hospital as a newborn. I came into this world with part of my spinal cord protruding from a hole in my back. They had to tuck it back inside me and sew me shut, but the nerve damage was already irreversible. My earliest memories are of growing up in a state home. I was raised by individuals who saw my very existence as something tragic. An orphan and a cripple, and a Four to boot. Even when they smiled at me, I could always feel their pitying eyes crawling over my skin like roaches. When they thought I was asleep, I overheard them talking, saying it would have been kinder if I’d been euthanized as an infant. Every night, I fantasized about burning that place to the ground.”

  If they pitied him, they were fools. Wheelchair or no wheelchair, Zebra is not someone to let your guard down around. I have a feeling they found that out the hard way. “How did you get out?”

  “I found my way onto the Deep Net using a cell phone I’d stolen from one of the staff, and I got in contact with the Blackcoats. Of course, back then, they were much more disorganized—they rarely worked together. Still, they were willing to help, if you could promise them something in return. I’d acquired some useful skills combing the Deep Net. I learnt how to make bombs from cleaning supplies.”

  “You started your rebel career early.”

  “You might say that.”

  “So why ‘Zebra?’”

  He gives me a deep, searching look. Then he begins to unbutton his shirt.

  A flush rises into my cheeks. “What are you—” I fall silent.

  Scars stripe his chest. Four long, horizontal scars of rough, rippled pink tissue. “I have them on my back, too,” he says. “All over me, in fact. These scars were inflicted by a sadist with a taste for adolescent boys. She was a member of IFEN’s board, a respected and influential figure. She managed to fool the system for years. When you’re rich and powerful, you can find ways to avoid neural scans or fake them. It was easy for her to find playthings.” He smiles, though there’s a terrible deadness in his eyes. “Though I was young, I’d already been a Blackcoat for a few years. I was discovered and captured, and I found myself under her control.” He buttons up his shirt. “After the worst few weeks of my life, my fellow Blackcoats rescued me and brought me to Canada, where I started a new life for myself. If you’re clever, it’s easy to make money in Canada. And I am very clever. I quickly became one of a highly secretive, underground upper class, a group of businesspeople who trade information and amass fortunes in anonymous online accounts. I have no real-world identity—not anymore. I don’t need one. I’m only Zebra.”

  My mouth has gone dry. “The woman. What happened to her?”

  “Eventually, IFEN found out what she was doing and expelled her from the Board of Directors. But she was never punished. You see, to punish her, they would have had to reveal her crimes to the public. Instead, they claimed that she retired because of her failing health. Some years back, I hired an assassin to take her out, so she will never hurt anyone again.”

  I stare into his cool, gray eyes. What are the scars from? A whip? A branding iron? “Zebra,” I whisper. “I—”

  He lifts a hand, silencing me. “No need for that. I told you my story because I want you to understand what IFEN is capable of. For weeks, that snake kept me locked in a closet so small I could barely turn around. She had a room filled with torture implements in her summer home. And when they found it, they simply brushed it all under the rug. These are the sort of people we’re dealing with, and you’re their enemy, now. When you walk back into their jaws, they won’t show you any mercy.”

  I gulp. “They aren’t all like her.” Aaron isn’t. I only explored a small corner of his mind, but still, I sensed he wasn’t a bad person.

  “Perhaps not. But the way they handled the incident is typical. They don’t care about abstract concepts like truth or human rights.”

  I look at the tightness around his mouth. And suddenly, I understand why he never leaves this room.

  I had a client once—a young woman with an abusive spouse who would lock her in her bedroom for days on end. She got so accustomed to being a prisoner that eventually, he didn’t have to lock the door. She was too afraid to go outside.

  “I could erase the memories for you, if you want,” I say quietly.

  He tenses. His gloved fingers are clenched on the arm of his chair. “Do you think I’ve never considered the possibility? If that’s what I wanted, I would have found a way.” A muscle in his jaw twitches. “The anger—the desire to never again be so helpless—was what fueled my ambition. It’s how I clawed my way up to where I am now. I can’t afford to lose that.”

  I lower my gaze. Of course, I already knew what his answer would be. But I had to offer. Deep down, I’m still a Mindwalker. The hunger to take away people’s pain is still there. I draw myself up, squaring my shoulders. “Let’s do this.”

  He relaxes, nodding. “Once the preparations have been made, it will be best if you leave immediately, in secrecy. If you want to say goodbye to him, I’d advise you to do it now.”

  I lower my gaze. I can’t, of course, tell Steven that I’m planning to turn myself over to IFEN. He’d do everything in his power to stop me. But I have to say something. My legs suddenly feel as weak as water, but I need to stay strong. Just for a few minutes.

  “All right.”

  *

  I knock on the door to Steven’s room. It slides open. He’s sitting on the edge of his bed, his face drawn, his eyes shadowed with exhaustion. He gives me a wan smile. “Can’t
sleep?”

  I shake my head and quietly enter, gaze lowered. The door whisks shut as I walk slowly to the bed and sit down next to him. My hands are balled into tight fists in my lap.

  “Lain?” His voice is soft, puzzled. “What—”

  “Will you hold me?” I whisper.

  He wraps his arms around me. I hug him back, my cheek against his shoulder. It doesn’t feel the same as before. His arms have grown stronger, corded with muscle from his training—but that’s not the only thing that’s changed. Even though we’re pressed together, there’s a gap between us, as if we’re separated by a thin layer of clear plastic.

  I close my eyes and try to forget everything. Just for this moment. I want to melt into him, to return to the time when it was just us against the world, when we were fugitives together. Strange, to feel nostalgic for such a frightening time. My arms tighten around him, and I try to imprint his scent deep in my mind.

  Will I even remember this, once I leave the Citadel? Or will Zebra have to erase this moment, too?

  I rest my cheek against his heart. “Why does everything have to be so confusing?” I whisper.

  “Been asking myself that for a long time.” He strokes my hair, combing his fingers through it slowly. “I’m sorry.” His voice breaks. “For everything.”

  Tears prickle at the corners of my eyes, and I blink them away. “This isn’t your fault.” If anything, it’s mine.

  Steven’s arms tighten around me. His breathing is hoarse and ragged. “I love you,” he whispers. “You know that, right?”

  My muscles go rigid. No. No, he can’t say that now, not now. It’s not fair. My throat swells shut. Why is he doing this? “Steven…”

  “You don’t have to say anything.” He hides his face against my hair. “I just needed to tell you.”

  I close my eyes, squeezing back tears.

  He touches his thumb to my chin. “Look at me. Please.”

  I force myself to meet his eyes, and I lose myself in their color—a tapestry of blue, gray and silver. Faded denim and mercury and the ocean on a cloudy day. His eyelashes are pale gold, almost invisible, except when they catch the light at a certain angle.

  He frames my face between his hands and leans in, but I turn my head away. “I can’t,” I whisper. “Not now. Not when our friends are…” My voice breaks.

  Silence stands between us. “Okay,” he murmurs, and drops a soft kiss on the top of my head, instead.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “No. I get it.” He gives me a weak smile.

  What’s happening to Ian and Rhee right now? Are they being tortured? Are they even alive?

  But that’s not why I turned away. If he kisses me now, I won’t be able to go through with this. I’ll fall apart and I’ll tell him everything. I hide my face against his chest, unable to look him in the eye. I can’t afford any weakness.

  I can’t let him know that I’m about to betray him.

  *

  We lie down in bed, holding each other, until Steven drifts off. I close my eyes, listening to his breathing.

  He’ll survive; I truly believe that. He’s no longer the broken boy I knew. He has comrades, friends among the Blackcoats, and once I make the exchange, he’ll have Rhee. Still, this will hurt him deeply. The ache deepens and burrows into me, splitting me apart.

  The worst of it is, I can’t even tell him why it’s necessary. I have no choice but to sneak away like a thief.

  Will the plan even work? Once the exchange has taken place, once I’m a prisoner, will I really be able to discover anything about Project Mindstormer? Zebra seems convinced I can get the information out of Dr. Swan, but we’re leaving so much to chance. And even if I succeed, even if I learn the truth and Zebra shows the proof to the world, who’s to say that it will change anything?

  That’s what I’m most afraid of, I realize—that I might succeed in exposing the worst thing about our government, the darkest secret, and that no one will care.

  But I have to try. Not just for Ian and Rhee and the others, but because the world needs to know. Whatever Project Mindstormer is, whatever IFEN is planning, it’s too big and too dangerous to remain a secret.

  Slowly, so slowly, I climb out of bed. I pause for just a few seconds to drink in the sight of Steven Bent one last time. His lips are parted, relaxed, but even in sleep, I can see the faint lines of tension around his eyes. They roll beneath the lids as he dreams, and his soft breathing fills the room. The longer I look at him, the more it hurts. I turn away.

  As soon as I’m in the hall, the knot in my chest unwinds, and a calm sense of determination fills me. Now that my choice is made, everything seems much clearer. Steven will hate me for doing this, but in the end, it will be better for everyone.

  When I return to the study, Zebra is waiting. Across from him, there’s an empty chair with padded restraints on the armrests.

  I place my hands on my hips. “You’ll arrange the hostage exchange?”

  “I’ll take care of everything.”

  I nod. “In that case, I’m ready.”

  He smiles. There’s a black box in his lap, about six by six inches. His hands rest atop it. “Sit down.”

  *

  An engine rumbles, vibrating through the seat beneath me. I blink a few times, trying to clear the cloudiness from my eyes. There’s drool on my chin—I wipe it away with a sleeve. My thoughts are a watery smear. Where am I? Why can’t I think? Have I been drugged?

  I’m in the backseat of a truck rumbling through a dark forest. The headlights cut a swath of light through the shadows. There’s something heavy around my wrist—a thick, chunky black bracelet. In front of me, I see the back of a woman’s head. Her short hair is like a shiny black helmet, slicked down with gel. “Who are you?” I ask. My lips feel thick and clumsy, like they’ve been anesthetized. “What’s this thing on my arm?”

  She casts a glance over her shoulder and purses her blood-red lips. “Try anything, and you’ll find out.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “No more questions. You belong to the Canadian government now. We don’t owe you any explanations.”

  Confusion is slowly giving way to terror. I fumble through my memories, searching for some clue as to how I got here. I vaguely recall a conversation with Steven in his room, a sense of sadness, of loss. That’s right. We were in the Citadel. We went on a mission, and it failed. Ian and Rhee and the others were captured.

  The Citadel… where is the Citadel? I remember my time inside it, but the journey there is a blur.

  My memories have been altered. By who? Zebra. My breathing quickens. It must have been him. But why?

  My thoughts are closing in, strangling me. I have to get out of here. I fumble for the door handle, but I’m locked in. I pound a fist against the window of the truck.

  The woman pulls a device resembling a cell phone from her pocket and stabs a button with one finger. Pain shoots up my arm like red lightning, and a choked scream bursts from my throat.

  “That was the lowest setting,” the woman says. “Don’t make me turn it up.”

  The agony fades, but my arm still throbs and burns. It feels like the entire limb was immersed in fire and then doused with acid. When I look down at it, I’m faintly surprised to see that the flesh is smooth and unmarked, not stripped raw and bleeding. “Let me out, or you’ll answer to the Blackcoats.” My voice shakes. I don’t expect the threat to have any effect, but I’m desperate enough to say anything. “They’ll come for me.”

  “I doubt that. Your own people handed you over.”

  That can’t be true… can it?

  The trees thin out until we’re driving across an expanse of open field under the cloudy sky. I lean back in the seat, exhausted by the pain.

  Even if the Blackcoats did hand me over, they wouldn’t have done it for no reason. There’s only one explanation I can think of: Zebra made a hostage exchange. That means Ian and Rhee and the others are safe. I cling to that knowledge.
I have no idea if I volunteered for this or if he did it against my will, but if my sacrifice has won their freedom, it’s worth it.

  What’s going to happen to me now?

  In the distance, a shadow looms through the rain. At first, it’s only a collection of amorphous shapes. Then it slowly grows clearer, and I see the fence. It’s concrete, topped with snarls of barbed wire, and much bigger than the border fence. And looming above it, an enormous, monolithic gray building. When I see the blocky black letters across the front, my heart sinks.

  Area 9.

  The massive gates swing open as we approach. Cameras perch like vultures atop the fence, peering down at us as the truck pulls into the enclosure. The gates slam shut behind us with a resounding bang. Rain hammers the muddy ground, forming puddles, as the car rolls slowly down the road, which sucks at the wheels like it’s trying to pull us under. The whole place is a swamp of mud. The gray building towers over us, featureless, save for rows of tiny, cramped windows.

  We drive toward a vast iron door, like the gate of some medieval castle. As the car approaches, the gate slides open with a rusty, grinding roar, then slams shut behind us, engulfing us in cool darkness. Dozens of lights snap on at once, illuminating a cavernous concrete garage.

  The terror begins to ebb back into numbness as I follow the woman across the garage and through a door, into a gray hall. Gray, gray everywhere. Is it cheaper to paint everything the same color? Or is it a deliberate choice meant to suck away the prisoners’ will to live?

  As we walk, my surroundings fade into a haze; it’s too much to absorb. I just keep moving like a robot, one leg forward, then the other. The woman walks close behind me, her thumb on the button of the remote control.

  A pair of wide metal doors slides open, revealing a vast, harshly lit room with naked cement walls. I blink. The gray-tiled floor stretches over a space wider than several football fields put together. It’s lined with rows of rectangular steel boxes, slightly larger than the refrigerator I had at home. My guard walks me briskly down the narrow aisle between rows, and I see that there’s a number stamped on the front of each box. As I realize what I’m looking at, the sickening coldness in my stomach deepens and spreads. No—surely not. There can’t be people in those things. They’re not even large enough to be called cells. You can’t just stuff people in boxes and leave them there. They’d go insane from sensory deprivation.