by K A Riley
“You’re so different from the rest of us.”
“Oh, yeah?” I ask as I pet Haida with long, soothing strokes. “How’s that?”
“Well, for starters, except for Roxane kind of, you’re the only other one of us in the Academy who’s never been a prisoner.”
“And I never will be,” I snap back.
Trax raises his hands, palms out. “It wasn’t an accusation. I’m just impressed.”
“Nothing to be impressed about.” I’m about to tell him how there’s no way in hell I’d let myself end up as someone’s guinea pig or as a puppet in a Processor, but I take a breath and decide on the truth:
“I was lucky.” I wave my free hand in the general direction of the bleak landscape below. “You all lived out there in that cock-up of a world. I lived safe and sound in the Tower of London. I had my mum and dad with me. And the ravens.”
“I have to admit, I’m a little jealous.”
“Because I lived in the Tower?”
“No. Because of the ravens.”
“What’s to be jealous about?”
Trax is quiet, and at first I think he didn’t hear me. But then he sighs and leans back, his hands pressed again to the cold flat stone. “You have a connection the rest of us don’t. What I mean by that is we’re all struggling to figure out our place, who we are, how we’re supposed to be with each other.”
“I’m trying to figure that out, too.”
“I know. But you already have an…intimacy. You have Haida. I think it makes you more complete somehow. Like you’ve got a head start and an automatic soul mate.”
“I wouldn’t go that far,” I laugh. “Yes, we’re connected. Yes, our telempathic bond makes our relationship…unique. But trust me, I don’t feel any more complete than any of you. Besides, you daft bugger,” I remind him with a playful elbow to his arm, “you’ve got a twin sister.”
“And she’s my best friend. But…”
“But what?”
“Well, lately she’s been so into her writing and drawing. She’s consumed with the idea that we’re going to split up, go our separate ways.”
“You and her?”
“No. All of us here at the Academy. She says she senses death and separation. She says chronicling our lives is the only way to keep us safe and together. So…she writes and draws. Obsessively. It’s like it’s all she needs these days.”
“Could be worse. She could be Libra and just want to smile and hug everyone all the time.”
Chuckling, Trax tells me that’s a fair point. He looks up at the sliver of the moon visible through the dark red haze of the polluted night sky. “Well, I think maybe we should be getting back.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. Chace is a light sleeper, and she’ll lose her mind if she gets up and I’m not there.”
“Okay. Let me put Haida back in her roost with the others.”
Trax hops down onto the roof with a light grunt.
I swing my legs around, drop down to the rooftop next to him, and start walking back to the roost as Haida compresses herself into the crook of my arm to keep out the cold.
As gently as I can, I slip her back into the shallow fissure under the craggy overhang where she settles down on a bed of sticks and dry grass in the corner.
Thanks for joining me.
~ We join each other.
Haida’s voice fades from my mind as she drifts back to sleep.
“Okay,” I whisper, turning back to Trax, “Let’s go.”
Trax makes a gentlemanly show of opening the big door for me and letting me walk inside ahead of him.
Together, we slip back into the Academy and head down the stairs toward our Dorm.
Outside of my door, Trax extends his hand to me. I pause for a second, but then I accept his handshake and tell him, “Goodnight.”
“How was that for a first date?” he asks.
“It was actually really nice,” I tell him. “Cold. But nice.”
He heads to his dorm, and I head to mine.
Once inside, I slide into my bed, fully prepared to spend the rest of the night staring in quiet solitude at the ceiling.
But Libra’s voice, barely a whisper, flutters to me out of the darkness.
“So…how was it?”
“He’s nice,” I whisper back.
“Are you going to go on another date with him?”
“I don’t think so.”
Our beds are set up on a semi-circle, and we usually sleep head to foot. But Libra pushes herself up and turns around so her head is close to mine.
“Did he kiss you?”
“Kind of. Not really.”
“Did you want him to?”
“Maybe.”
“He’s cute, don’t you think?”
“Can I tell you a secret?”
“Of course.”
“I haven’t talked to anyone about this. Not even Kress.”
Libra pushes herself up onto her elbows, her chin resting in her cupped hands. “Yeah?”
“I met a boy. A long time ago.” I wait for Libra to interrupt, but she’s uncharacteristically quiet. “With Trax just now, up on the roof, I felt good. But with this boy from a long time ago…”
“Yeah?”
“I felt right.”
“Who was he—the boy from a long time ago?”
I don’t answer at first. Partly because I’m really tired, and I feel myself drifting off. Partly because I feel like if I say too much, I’ll lose the memory, and it won’t be real anymore.
With my eyelids fluttering shut, I feel myself mumble, “There’s something missing from inside me. I don’t know what it is. But I’m pretty sure it’s not Trax.”
Libra asks, “Who then?” The answer is on my lips, but I lose the battle with sleep and drift off into a hazy mist of dreams.
29
Breakfast
It can’t be more than an hour later when the morning wake-up lights flash in the room.
Libra is the first one up. I’m the last.
“Come on!” she laughs, her hand on my shoulder.
I bare my teeth and growl at both her and her intrusive hand. “You’re about to draw back a bloody stump. I had a long night. Leave me alone.”
“We’ve got work to do and fun to have!”
“Hey!” I call over to Arlo. “Does this girl have an off switch?”
Arlo tugs his hoodie over his head and smiles at me from across the room, the raised, rubbery scars on his cheeks tugging back toward his ears. “I’m not about to check.”
“What do you suppose they’ll have for us today?” Mattea asks.
“Knowing Wisp,” Sara answers with a morning yawn, “it’ll be inappropriately deadly.”
Wearing just his blue and white checkered boxer shorts and his white Academy tank top, Ignacio plops down next to me on my bed and gives my knee a squeeze. “You destroyed Granden, yesterday,” he beams.
“Speaking of ‘inappropriate…’” I say, slapping his hand off of my leg.
Ignacio blushes and says, “Sorry.” He smacks the back of his own hand, waggles his fingers, and shrugs. “Sometimes this thing has a mind of its own.”
“Now, if only you did,” Libra snaps, pinching Ignacio’s ear in her fingers and hauling him to his feet.
“Ow!”
“That’s for being a handsy turd-burglar,” she scolds, swatting him on the rear-end with a loud “thwack!” “Don’t worry, Branwynne,” she says, turning to me with a wink. “I’ll protect you.”
I’m about to grumble at her that I don’t need her protection, but I catch myself smiling, instead. I tell her, “Thanks,” as I hop up and prepare to fight Sara for one of the better sonic showers in the bathroom.
Once we’re all dressed, we head downstairs to the Tavern where Cohort B is already nearly finished with their breakfast.
In unison, they stand when we enter, clap their hands, and bow.
Lucid, his hand on his sister’s shoulder, tips hi
s head and says, “Nice job.”
Even quiet, mostly-monosyllabic Roxane—her sugary white hair practically glowing under the Tavern’s holo-lights—offers up a goofy grin and claps along, although completely out of synch with the others.
“Seriously! Well done!” Trax calls out, raising his glass in a dramatic toast as my Cohort and I take our seats on either side of the long table.
I smile my thanks to Trax. I expect him to say something about our little rendezvous last night, but he’s thankfully discreet. His eyes linger on mine but just for a split-second longer than normal.
It’s not that I’m sorry I went up to the roof with him. That part was actually really pleasant.
It’s just that with all the competitions going on, I don’t want my Cohort to know I’ve been fraternizing with the enemy. And I especially don’t want them to know that this particular member of “the enemy” is actually a pretty cute and unexpectedly easy guy to chat up.
Her jacket slung over her shoulder, Wisp comes into the Tavern with Granden walking along just behind her, wincing and doing an amusingly piss-poor job of trying to hide his limp.
We all stop talking and snap to attention as Wisp addresses us. “Both of the Cohorts did a very nice job yesterday. And, although we don’t believe in taking breaks from your training, just this once, we’re going to go against our own rules and give you the day off.”
“Kind of,” Granden cuts in.
“Right,” Wisp agrees. “Kind of.”
“What are we going to do then?” Reverie asks from down at the far end of the bench seat.
“You’re going to get to use the Virtual Reality Simulator,” Wisp announces.
There’s a moment of stunned silence while we gauge her for signs of deceit or possibly brain damage. When Granden nods his confirmation, everyone from our two Cohorts—minus myself—bursts into a simultaneous, unified whoop of cheery-eyed glee.
Kress and the other teachers use the VR-sims for their own training all the time. It’s a top-of-the-line system that Terk and the Auditor call a “triumph of engineering.” It’s designed to run participants through complex, ultra-realistic battle and problem-solving simulations, the kind that can’t be replicated in the real world without causing serious injury or, what’s even more serious, death.
My fellow Academy students have been begging Wisp to let them have a go at it for weeks now, but she always refuses.
During one of my Ravenmaster training sessions about a month ago, Kress told me why:
“The technology in the VR-sims—in this entire Academy, actually—comes from Krug.”
“What?”
“Well, not Krug, personally. But from his techno-geneticists.”
“The Deenays?”
“And the En-gene-eers. Yes.”
“So…are they dangerous?”
“The VR-sims? No. Well, yes. Potentially.”
From there, Kress went on to tell me about her experiences in the sims in the Processor where she and her Conspiracy were first trained. She told me about endless battle-simulation loops that were enough to drive her and her friends completely off their trolley.
“It’s not a game,” she explained as we stood outside of the ravens’ roost on the roof. “You’re not just an avatar of yourself. You’re still you. All the feelings, emotions, and physical consequences of your actions—it’s all in the sim. At our core, we’re nothing more than electrical impulses. The VR-sim takes advantage of that fact and replicates you with neurochromatic precision.”
I guess she saw the stunned look on my face because she laughed and threw her arm around me.
“Don’t worry about it,” she said. “We have the Auditor now. She oversees all the tech in the Academy. As long as she’s around, we don’t need to worry.”
I know Kress meant it to be comforting, but honestly, the Auditor has always given me a mild case of the creeps. As the disembodied female voice “living” in a collection of circuit boards and micro plasma panels in a black glassy disk on Terk’s back, the Auditor looks like a machine but sounds like a living, thinking human being.
But I have to admit, on our way here five years ago, she did get us away from some deadly people and through some dangerous places.
The Auditor saved me, Kress, and Kress’s entire Conspiracy a dozen times over.
She’s able to tap into what’s left of the nation’s network, which makes her a great asset to have around.
But, since she’s attached to Terk, and because Terk is off with the rest of our teachers on their recruiting mission, she’s not around now. And, unfortunately, her consciousness—including her personal ability to monitor and defend the Academy’s network—goes where she goes.
That leaves us without her protective oversight and very much in the hands of the VR-sim.
Having my life in anyone’s hands is enough to give me a serious eye twitch. Having my life in the hands of a disembodied techno-consciousness…well, that’s enough to make me think twice about the whole idea of turning myself over to a VR-sim, especially one based on a design that’s evidently caused so many life-or-death problems in the past.
On this fine morning, Ignacio apparently doesn’t share my reservations. He bounces up and comes around to my side of the table, wedging himself between me and Libra.
Snarling through a mouthful of one of the plump strawberries Mayla left us from our greenhouse, I plant my hand on his chest and push him away.
“What’s with everyone touching me today? Am I wearing a sign?”
“Come on!” Ignacio urges. “The VR-sim. Finally!”
“Are you ready?” Wisp asks. “I mean, I know breakfast is the most important meal of the day…”
“We’re ready!” Trax shouts, rising to his feet and pumping both fists in the air.
Wisp laughs and says she hopes we all share Trax’s enthusiasm. “Follow me. The program is fun, deadly, and ready for you.”
30
VR-sim
Even though they’re on the same floor as the Combat Skills and Training Rooms, the Weapons Lab, and the Fitness Center (where I’ve been spending way too much of my time these days), this will be our first time stepping into one of the actual VR-sim rooms.
When Wisp and Granden lead us in, though, I’m profoundly disappointed. It’s got to be the most boring room in the entire Academy.
It’s just one big empty space with a tube-shaped console suspended from the ceiling. About a dozen thin black cables hang down from the mirrored cylinder and drape over each other on the floor in a maze of lazy tangles.
If Wisp and Granden wanted to replicate the look of a droopy, octopus-shaped chandelier, this would be it.
“Not much of a room,” Trax mutters, reflecting my own disappointment.
“The room doesn’t matter,” Granden explains. He presses a fingertip to his temple. “It’s what’s in here that makes all the difference.”
“We’re not plugging you into a machine, “Wisp explains. “The sim is designed to let you work cooperatively with some of the neglected parts of your own brains.”
Libra elbows me and flicks her eyes toward Ignacio. Under her breath, she says, “Some of our brains are more neglected than others,” and I put a hand to my mouth so no one will see me laugh.
Granden has us form a circle under the hanging octopus arms and takes notes on a holo-pad while Wisp gathers up the dangling black tentacles and, one by one, loops the ends of them around our heads.
Once on, they constrict a little, not enough to hurt but snug enough to stay fixed in place.
“I thought there’d be seats or chairs or something,” Trax says to me from his side of our eleven-person circle.
“You know what they say,” I tell him with a wink. “Sitting’s for the birds.”
Trax laughs loud enough to startle Roxane, who is standing next to him, her arctic blue eyes flashing as they dance nervously around the room.
Wisp tells us to brace ourselves, and Trax turns to Granden.
“Aren’t you joining us?”
“Not this time.”
“But the teams won’t be even. Cohort A will have a numbers advantage.”
“You won’t be competing against each other this time.”
“We won’t?” I ask.
“You know about the Unsettled, right?”
“Up close and personal,” I boast.
Is it weird that I wear the deadliest moments of my life as a badge of honor?
“Okay then,” Granden continues, his eyes on mine, “once you’re in the sim, I’ll count on you to introduce your classmates to their army.”
At the word, “army,” Libra gulps, and Roxane giggles.
“What’s so funny?” Sara asks her.
Roxane’s grin drops, and her pale cheeks flush pink. “Army. Personality. Illusion.”
With no idea what she’s on about and getting eager for combat, I ask Wisp if we can start the program now.
With an impish grin, she tells us, “Absolutely” and hits a series of pads on her input panel.
I hold my breath and feel a surge of electric warmth flow through my head as the room around me pixilates away.
When the world of color, depth, and definition returns, I’m standing in a simulated desert-scape with both Cohorts.
Our normal clothes are gone. Instead, we’re all dressed head-to-toe in matching slate-blue body suits with white trim and long white lines running down our sleeves and pant legs. White military vests and ankle-high patrol boots complete the kit.
Wisp’s voice is soft and warm and seems to bubble up from the air all around us.
“This will be nice and simple. There’s an army coming toward you. The Army of the Unsettled. They want a war with you. They’re not programmed with weapons. Neither are you. This will be a hand-to-hand combat scenario against superior numbers of an unpredictable opponent. All you need to do is not die.”
“Great,” Mattea mumbles. “Is that all?”
Ignacio stops in the middle of rubbing his hands together and looks down at them like he’s seeing them for the first time. “Marvie!”
“What is?” I ask, looking down at my own hands.
