by Simone Pond
THE MAINFRAME
Simone Pond
Ktown Waters Publishing
Copyright © 2014 Simone Pond
All rights reserved. Published in the United States by Ktown Waters Publishing, Los Angeles, CA.
Book design by Damonza.com
simonepond.com
ISBN-13: 978-0692321317
ISBN-10: 0692321314
For PSJ
“For we wrestle not against flesh and blood, but against principalities, against powers, against the rulers of the darkness of this world, against spiritual wickedness in high places.”
– Ephesians 6:12
“Courage is not simply one of the virtues but the form of every virtue at the testing point, which means at the point of highest reality.”
– C.S. Lewis
“There is danger from all men. The only maxim of a free government ought to be to trust no man living with power to endanger the public liberty.”
– John Adams
1
About two minutes had gone by before Grace’s breathing was back on track. She stood pressed up against an oak tree, mapping out possible escape strategies. The end was inevitable and someone always had to die first, but at the moment it was anyone’s game. Sword in hand, she crept out into the forest and scanned the area for her partner, Marion. She had gone missing a few minutes earlier when the other team, consisting of Blythe and Ally, ambushed them by dropping from the trees.
A loud crack from a branch snapping pierced through the quiet forest and Grace turned to see the Odd Couple—her nickname for the opposing team—running toward her. Ally was spry and nimble and reminded Grace of a jackrabbit, while Blythe was like a Herculean warrior, plodding forward with her long black hair whipping behind her broad shoulders. They were getting close, and there was still no sign of her partner Marion. She’d have to face the Odd Couple on her own. Not an easy task, but she was up for the challenge. The extra practice might do her some good for Silicon Valley Academy tryouts the following day. Acceptance into the academy’s combat program meant the world to Grace. Not only would she train with the best, she’d also leave Ojai Village and get away from her overprotective mother. The hint of freedom dangling over her was a powerful motivator.
The other team was getting closer, and just as Blythe was about to shoot off an arrow toward Grace, a heavy rock volleyed from above and slammed into her gut, knocking the Goliath to the dirt. Good—this meant Marion was still in the battle. One down, one lightning-quick one to go. She locked into position and lifted her sword. Just sixteen years old, Grace was competent in all the martial disciplines—archery, pistol, rifle, and hand-to-hand combat—but with a sword she was remarkable. Most people called her gifted. Grace concentrated on her breathing and focused on her opponent, like her father had taught her. Ally liked to fight dirty and sprang forward, trying to knock down Grace, but she flipped out of the way. Ally skidded across the dirt and smacked into a tree. The tenacious imp shot back up and grabbed a knife from her boot, flinging it toward Grace with razor-sharp precision. As the knife careened through the air, Grace lifted her sword and deflected it to the ground. Ally reached for her small-but-deadly push dagger and took aim. Grace darted side to side, knowing a moving target is much tougher to hit.
“Stay still so I can get this over with,” Ally said in her high-pitched voice.
“I’m not goin’ down without a fight, you twit.”
Ally flung the knife. It spiked into the tree behind Grace. Ally was out of knives, giving Grace the advantage. The split second of relief came to a halt when she saw Blythe getting up off the ground. She scanned the area for Marion again, hoping she’d do another last-second assist with her slingshot expertise. This hope was crushed when Blythe shot an arrow toward the branches above, knocking Marion from her sniper’s nest. Marion’s red hair was like a fireball falling from the sky and crashing into the ground.
“Red’s down,” Blythe’s roar echoed through the trees.
“You’re on your own, Gracie!” Marion yelled.
Grace glanced at her partner, lying in the bushes, knowing if she went to help her that it’d be game over. She needed to keep fighting. In the few seconds it took to make that call, Blythe had fired an arrow. Grace knew better than to take her eyes off her opponent. The arrow tore into her left hand, and she dropped her sword. Now, she was weaponless and injured. Blood oozed down her fingers and a wave of queasiness rolled through her stomach, causing her to sway.
Ally laughed and laughed. “Gonna faint, wimp?”
Grace knew in order to finish the match she’d have to deal with the arrow embedded in her hand. She closed her eyes and snapped off the back end, yanking the rest of it through.
“This isn’t real. You’re fine,” she whispered to herself.
Blythe approached. “Looks like you’re down a partner, pansy ass . . . and a sword,” said the giantess, kicking Grace’s sword out of reach. “Told you before, I’ll say it again: You live by that thing, you’re gonna die by it.”
“I don’t need a weapon to fight,” Grace said, with the cocksureness of a bullheaded captain mindlessly leading troops onto enemy turf.
Blythe dropped her bow. “How about we end this Jiu-Jitsu style, Combrat?”
“You might be bigger, but you’re not quicker.” Grace held out her arms, refusing to back down, even if it was already over.
Blythe stood, with her hands on her hips, smirking.
“Know what I think?” Ally said, yanking her knife out of the tree bark.
“You actually think in that pretty little head of yours?” Grace said, stumbling forward.
“It’s time to put the baby to bed.” Ally flung her knife, planting it deep into Grace’s chest with a thump.
The Odd Couple smiled, waving good-bye.
“Ta-ta, Daddy’s Girl,” Blythe said.
“Not cool,” Grace whispered, sinking to the ground.
The words Game Over lit up across the forest trees.
The virtual ended, and Grace took her hand out of the connector panel and got up from the lounger. That was enough practice for one day. She needed to conserve the rest of her energy for the big day tomorrow. Tryouts for Silicon Valley Academy were no joke. She’d been waiting for this day since she was a kid, and she was finally old enough to participate. If she performed well across all of the segments, she could be one of the four competitors picked from her village to train with the best of the best, getting her one step closer to her goal of becoming a soldier like her father, General Joseph Strader. Anyone who graduated from the academy automatically entered the military at a higher station.
It was a little after three o’clock. Plenty of time to get back to Ojai before her mother noticed she had been gone all day. If she got home in time for dinner, she’d be in the clear. Though the city was only a thirty-minute train ride away, she wasn’t permitted to visit New Los Angeles without a chaperone. Grace didn’t need a babysitter, and usually ignored her mother’s exhausting commitment to being overly cautious. Before Grace could even walk, there was already an invisible perimeter around the village letting her know how far she could journey—a perimeter she found too limiting. Her mother freaked out over everything—whether Grace showed up late, or trained too hard, or didn’t work hard enough to understand the mainframe technology. Ava claimed it was to prepare her daughter for the possible return of Chief Morray, the man her mother had been hunting down for the last sixteen years. Ava warned that he if he came back he’d destroy every living thing in order to rebuild society on his own terms. Grace was convinced the threat of Morray’s return was a figment of her mother’s paranoid imagination.
Instead of waiting for the virtual to finish, she decided to check out some real action at the adjacent SportsPlex—a multilevel facility with various athletic and training programs. She didn’t mind virtual challenges and tolerated technology—she didn’t have a choice with her mother being the mainframe virtuoso—but her true love was engaging in an actual sword fight. Ever since she could remember, she’d had an interest in the art, and by the time she was ten years old, she was a master.
Inside the SportsPlex, she found an area where a couple of guys were sparring with their swords; their perfectly coifed hair and radiant skin told Grace they were Insiders. It was well known that Insiders were “built better” and “came with excellent genes.” Though the Los Angeles City Center had been dismantled sixteen years ago, contention still lingered between the city residents and the people who lived outside the city. Grace wondered if the concept of Insider vs. Outsider would ever go away. Her father said it would take a few generations before the differences smoothed out.
Grace watched as the boys sized each other up and began striking their swords. The sound of metal clanking against metal was exhilarating. She clenched her fists and tightened her jaw; excitement charged through her entire body. She burst to life when it came to live combat; she liked being able to smell her opponent’s sweat.
She whispered instructions under her breath. “No, move him to the left; look at his stance.”
A young boy standing next to her tugged her sleeve. “They’re good, huh?” he said.
“What’s your name?” she asked.
“Chris,” he said, just above a whisper.
“They’re good, but look carefully; the guy on the left isn’t taking advantage of his opponent’s weakness, which is his right ankle. He should keep pressing him right to wear him down and gain control. Once he has control, he can win the match.”
Grace demonstrated the move to Chris, who was now more impressed with her than the duel happening on the mat.
Grace noticed the swords had stopped clanking. She looked over to the mat. The two guys had paused their match to watch her demonstration. Heat rose up through her body. Now she had something to prove.
“Looks like the Outsider is looking for some Inside action,” the guy on the left said.
Then the other guy—the cute one with the weak right ankle—approached Grace. His green eyes sparkled as if they were made of jewels. Definitely full-blooded Insiders, she thought. She didn’t like the way Insiders paraded around their confidence. She also didn’t like the way he pushed back his perfect hair from his handsome face. Insiders were flawless, and they knew it.
He stood in front of her and gestured her to a duel. “How about a quick round?”
“I need to get back home,” Grace said.
Chris tugged her sleeve. “Oh, come on. I’ve never seen a girl fight a guy. Will you do it for me?” he begged, his innocent eyes beaming. Grace didn’t want to let the kid down. Also, whenever someone assumed she wasn’t good enough, the urge to prove them wrong seized her. She looked forward to showing Mr. Perfect what she was made of.
“Okay. This shouldn’t take too long.” She winked at Chris.
She stood on the mat, sizing up her opponent. He looked at her, smiling flirtatiously. “I’m Lucas. What’s your name?” he asked.
“Is this a duel or a date?” she asked.
“Easy there; just trying to be polite.”
“Save it,” she said, refusing to get distracted by his charm.
She held her sword, left hand over right, and locked her stance with her feet spread shoulder width, recalling the strategies her father had ingrained in her over the years. She took in deep breaths to calm the nerves. Relaxation was key to keeping the muscles loose for faster moves. She assessed her opponent: Lucas was the product of excellent breeding—no perceivable flaws existed in his bone or muscular structure. She heard her father’s voice: All humans have a weakness, regardless of their breeding. She already knew Lucas’s weakness: his right ankle. Lucas held his head high in confidence—that would be the first thing she’d break. From there, she’d force him to the right to trigger his ankle.
She engaged with caution, swinging high from the left and striking his sword with a loud clang that vibrated through her arms.
Lucas stumbled back a few feet and quickly regained balance. He plunged toward her, only to be blocked with one swift move. She held her sword low at her torso as he approached, and she blocked him again, knocking him off-kilter. The look that Grace always waited for—desperate determination—scrunched across his face, and Grace knew she had him. She moved forward with her sword raised, and swung down hard to the left again, forcing him to the right. His balance and confidence wavered by the second. She inched him across the mat, wearing him down. She was about to make the final strike when she noticed her mother’s assistant, Sam, standing at the edge of the mat. His intense eyes, heavy with disapproval, glared at her. She called him the Watchdog because he always had his eyes on her. Sam was one of the refugees who showed up in Ojai a few years back. He had lost everything in one of the southwest battles and Grace’s mother had taken him under her wing. He was a diligent informant and would most likely report this incident.
Grace refocused on the match just as Lucas’s sword came down fast, swiping across the right side of her forehead. Blood poured down over her brow and into her eyes. Blood. This was her weakness. Lightheaded and dizzy, she fell backward. Lucas dropped his sword and ran over. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to hit you. Are you okay?” He crouched over her and examined the wound. “Someone get me a towel!” he yelled.
She sat up, shaky and nauseous, but pretended not to be flustered. She used her sleeve to wipe away the blood. “Got distracted,” she muttered, embarrassed over her loss. She blamed Sam. Why was he there, anyway? Did her mother send him to spy on her again? This enraged her more than losing the match.
Chris ran over and gave the towel to Lucas, who pressed it against Grace’s forehead. “I’m sorry. Here, let’s get you over to the benches.” He helped her stand up, wrapping his arm tightly around her waist. Grace felt a shiver move up her spine, but before she could decipher its meaning, Sam strutted over and moved Lucas out of the way, taking Grace’s arm and escorting her off the mat.
“This will not go over well with your mother,” he said.
“What are you even doing in the city?” Grace asked, irritated.
“I had to pick up some supplies.”
“So that’s what you’re calling spying these days?”
“Why would you do something so risky when you have academy tryouts tomorrow?”
“I was practicing.”
“But, now you’re injured. Don’t you ever think before you jump into things?”
She yanked herself away to walk on her own. “Why do you care?”
“I know how important the academy is to you.”
Of course he knew the importance of her getting into the academy. The entire village knew how important this was to her. She had been training for years. Grace felt ashamed for getting so angry. “I’m gonna get cleaned up. Meet you outside,” she mumbled.
She washed the blood off her face, closing her eyes to keep from gagging. She used a clean towel to press against the bleeding wound. There’d be some explaining to do when she got home. She could already hear her mother nagging. What were you thinking? I told you not to leave the village without a chaperone . . . This is what happens when you don’t listen to me . . .
Outside the restroom, Lucas was waiting. “I’m really sorry,” he said.
She wanted to lash out at him for being so reckless and potentially screwing up her chances at tryouts, but she knew it was partially her fault. “My loss is your gain,” she said, forcing a smile and extending her free hand.
“You’re an excellent competitor.”
“Excellence doesn’t end up bleeding,” she said, looking up toward her forehead.
“I hope you’ll accept
my apology. Let me make it up to you by taking you to dinner.”
She couldn’t believe he was serious. Was she supposed to go to some fancy restaurant in the city and bleed all over the tablecloth? No, she needed to get back to the village. She was already in for a painful lecture.
“Maybe next time,” she said.
“Can you at least tell me your name?”
“Grace,” she said, trying not to smile.
On her way out, she stopped to say good-bye to Chris.
“You okay?” he asked.
“Just a minor battle wound.” She smiled and patted his head. “So, what did I do wrong?” she asked.
“You took your eyes off your opponent.”
“That’s right. Don’t let anything break your concentration, no matter what. Never take your eyes off your opponent.”
2
When Grace entered the cabin, Ava was in her usual spot at her desk, combing through one of the musty old journals from the library vault and scribbling notes into another one. She was once again reading the pages of Lillian’s life, dating back three hundred-plus years. Lillian had kept meticulous records from the days of the Repatterning to the origins of Ojai Village, and her descendants had kept up the tradition throughout the centuries. There were hundreds of journals and Ava scoured them, looking for answers she couldn’t find inside the mainframe. Holding the journal, she thought about the first time she had read Lillian’s words; back then, she was naïve and unaware that she was a prisoner inside the Los Angeles City Center. When Joseph had broken inside the city center and handed her Lillian’s journal, Ava’s eyes had been opened. Lillian chronicled the man-made apocalypse and the New Agenda—the societal system implemented by Chief Morray and a corrupt group of elites—which was actually a controlled plan for human breeding. After Ava’s eyes were opened to the truth, there was no returning to the cave of ignorance; the shadows simply would not do. Lillian’s journal had inspired Ava to escape the city center and to take down Chief Morray. Her ensuing years in the village had more than made up for her years of imprisonment inside the city center, yet there was always a lingering fear that one day her freedom could be snatched away. She knew Morray was still out there, existing inside the mainframe, waiting for his chance to come back for Ava and anything else he could take down.
