by Lisa Jade
“So I’m being spied on?”
A smile plays on his lips – it’s not altogether unfriendly, but the motion is still rife with suspicion. He doesn’t trust me one bit.
“If you’re not doing anything wrong, then what’s the issue?”
I sigh. I wish I could tell him no, that I’m not a child and that I don’t need to be watched. But then I remember life at the Mill; Hoverbots watching every inch of the fence, Guards on every row, cameras closely watching nearly every corner and crevice. I’ve spent my whole life being watched. Why should I care now?
“Fine.”
“Good. Now then, every Hoverbot has a handle – a name, that is – and you log yourself in as the primary user by saying its name while it’s in stasis mode, like now. Just read the side panel out loud.”
I do as I’m told, though the letters painted on its side are messy at best. I’m not the most literate of people, either; I can read just as well as the next person, but it takes a minute. Eventually, I decipher his scribbles.
“A-Atlas?”
The device immediately springs to life, launching itself from the ground with a high-pitched squeal. I leap back; but to my surprise, it circles me. The beeps and squeaks it emits make it sound almost happy – I can’t help but feel it’s somewhat cute as it spins in the air and fixes a light on me. I even dare to crack a smile.
“It’s called Atlas?”
“Yeah,” he chuckles, “I come up with the dumbest names. This blue one is called Atticus. He’s my personal Hoverbot. Responds only to me.”
I take a moment to size up the machine in front of me. Atlas is still spinning happily, like a puppy whose owner has been away just a few minutes too long. It’s just a piece of metal, I tell myself; but I still reach out and gently touch the interface. It beeps as I do so, nestling into my hand as though it enjoys my touch.
“W-what does it do, exactly?”
“It’s set to automatically watch for any signs that you’re doing something you shouldn’t be. If it catches you asking questions you shouldn’t, or trying to download data from our systems, it’ll block you and alert me. It’ll also alert me if you go anywhere you shouldn’t, or if you try to sneak away. But that will work in the background. It also works like any other Hoverbot. Say its name to start a command. You can ask it to show videos, play music, store data, create maps. It can scan for body heat, heart rate, pulse… and communicate with others, like Atticus here.”
“Wow.”
I had no idea that a Hoverbot could do all that. Atlas twirls again, its joy contagious, and I vow to see what exactly it’s capable of the moment I get chance.
“Now, if you’re ready, we need to go and see Jay.”
Jensen’s voice pierces through the small degree of comfort I’ve built around myself. I don’t think I want to face him again. Those intense eyes, immense hope guarded by an even bigger shield. Hesitant and distrustful. It’s hard to be the subject of someone’s hatred while also being the subject of their greatest hope. Especially when I don’t fully understand why.
But it seems I don’t have any choice in the matter, as I’m swept along the pathways by Pan and Jensen. They chatter as we walk, bickering like children – and though I should find it irritating, it’s actually kind of nice. They argue like siblings, Pan’s arm always hooked around his in a sisterly fashion. Atlas lurks behind me, its presence actually somewhat comforting.
I allow myself to fall just a half step behind, then pause as we cross a bridge. Beneath me is a man-made river of sorts, its water far too clear to be natural. Its edges are straight and neat, unlike the rough, muddy banks of the river back home. But that’s not what my eye is drawn to.
There’s another small garden beneath the bridge. Small flowers bloom all over. It’s much less structured than the crop garden, but I can tell that the placement is very intentional. In the centre of the clearing sits a stone statue. Two figures, abstract in form, twist around one another and lean into an embrace. The river parts around them.
I don’t understand art. I never have. When Nel talked about the beauty of the sunset or the artistry in the night sky, I’d simply nod along. I never cared about things like that. It doesn’t matter if something’s lovely, unless its sole purpose is to be lovely. And if so, it’s useless anyway.
So why can’t I tear my eyes away from the statue?
“Noah?”
Pan’s hand finds my arm and I jump. I’d thought they were further ahead.
“S-sorry.”
“For what? We thought you’d got lost.”
“I was just looking at the garden.”
She follows my gaze down to the statue, and that bright, confident expression falters. It’s just for a moment as she quickly replaces her smile, but it’s too late. I saw her reaction.
“What is that thing?”
Her fingertips tighten around my arm.
“Pan?”
“Come on. Jay wants to see you.”
They push me into the room and shut the door, leaving me standing like an idiot. There’s something unnerving about the way it clangs shut. Intimidating.
“You’re here.”
I turn. Jay’s standing in the middle of the room. It’s the same room from last night – or at least, it looks similar. Perhaps this is the base of operation.
He draws his lips back in a polite smile. In the morning light, I’m surprised by how old he looks. He can’t be more than three or four years older than me, but there are dark circles under his eyes, deep lines near his mouth. He looks as exhausted as I feel.
I open my mouth to speak, then realise I’ve not got anything to say and draw it shut again.
“Sit down,” he says, and I obey immediately. He perches across from me, nudging his seat back a little, like he’s afraid to get too close. He shoots a glance at Atlas, perhaps reassured that I won’t launch myself across the desk.
“I’m sorry about yesterday. I think we may have thrown a lot of information at you. That wasn’t fair.”
“It’s alright.”
It isn’t. But I’m not prepared to tell him that.
“I’m not sure how much Pan told you about us.”
“She told me about the Cull. About Ada.”
When I say the name, his face gives a small, involuntary twitch. I inwardly vow not to say it again.
“I know what your system told you,” I start, “I know you think I’m her, but…”
“I wouldn’t go that far.”
With that he stands to pace the room, maintaining the sterile distance between us. I wish I could complain, but I’m secretly pleased he’s staying away.
“You wouldn’t?”
“No,” he says, “I know what the Citizen System told us – but that system’s provided by our leaders. It could very easily have been manipulated to include you.”
“You think they’re messing with you again?”
He hesitates at that.
“Pan told you about that, huh? I’m not ruling it out. Look, clearly you’re clueless about all this. You have no idea who I am, do you?”
“I’m sorry.”
“I don’t think for a minute that you’re a spy. There’s nobody around here who looks quite like you. Or acts like you. And don’t take it the wrong way but, you don’t exactly have the makings of a secret agent. You’re definitely from the Mill and I don’t think you’re out to deceive me. There’s a chance you are my sister in which case, I’d want you to stay here. Be a part of the Clover.”
“But…”
“But without knowing for sure, I can’t do that. I hope you understand.”
I bite my lip, relieved by the slight pain it causes.
“So what are you going to do with me?”
I want to go home. Sure, there’s a tiny part of me that’s screaming out for more – more knowledge, more detail. A tiny voice is begging me to absorb everything I can about this place. I’m not a fan of that voice. Of course, it might not be that simple. He m
ight have much worse plans for me. My stomach twists at the thought.
But he simply sits back down.
“If you’re her,” he says softly, “then I want you here with me.”
“And if I’m not her?”
“Then I’m not opposed to you staying here, if you really want. But it won’t be the same. At all. You understand that?”
“Yes.”
“Would you want to stay?”
I consider this. My immediate instinct is to say no, to insist they let me go home as soon as possible. I don’t want to be here a moment longer than I have to be. But I sense that’s not the answer he’s looking for. Time to lie.
“I’m not sure,” I say carefully, “I don’t know much about Thorne, or about your cause. It’s hard to judge when I don’t know the first thing about it.”
“Makes sense. Go ahead, ask your questions.”
I nudge a strand of greasy hair from my face and pretend to be thinking of a question – though I already have several in mind. Better to start with the basics.
“Who are the city leaders?”
“There are three leaders that we vote in every ten years. They each take care of separate aspects of running the city. Social, Political, Financial. It’s much more detailed than that, of course, but that’s the basic explanation.”
“But they’re all involved in the Cull?”
“Yes. And there’s never been anyone in power who’s opposed the Cull. Because nobody ever opposes it, except us.”
“Why not?”
He knots his hands together until his fingers start to resemble thickly tied rope.
“The world outside our borders – outside the Mill too – is in chaos. War’s been raging across the globe for so long now that nobody even remembers who caused it.”
Something stirs uncomfortably in my gut.
“It has?”
“Yes. Everything within our borders has immunity, as long as we remain completely self-sufficient and don’t ever demand anything from other places. My best guess is that people are so scared of screwing up that immunity that they’re afraid to speak out against the Cull. If they scream too loudly, they’re frightened they’ll draw the attention of less than desirable powers. Our records suggest the war may be over, but without proof, there’s nothing we can do. Nobody is willing to take the risk.”
“But…”
I trail off, suddenly unsure. I’d never bothered to consider what might be happening outside our little patch of the world. The Mill has been my life for so long that half the time, I forget there’s anything at all past the chain-link fence and Guard towers. Even since coming here, it hadn’t occurred to me to think about the space beyond their walls.
A war. I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. Humans fight over menial, unimportant things. I’ve seen it myself; teenagers scrapping over the last spoonful of gruel, or bickering over one more log being loaded into their wagon. Sometimes, I think humans weren’t built to live in groups.
I expect Jay to tell me more but he simply watches, his eyes filled with a quiet curiosity. Waiting for me to continue with my questions.
“So why aren’t you scared of the war, too?”
He chuckles.
“Oh, I am. Believe me. But I could never ignore the Cull. Just because there’s greater danger in the world, doesn’t mean we should forget about the danger outside our own front door.”
I bite my lip. There’s a certain air of pride when he talks like that. His chest swells and his voice slips into a lower octave. He’s proud of what he’s achieved.
“Why does this mean so much to you?”
Instantly, I regret the question. That’s not fair. It means a lot to everyone here. Not just him. After speaking with Pan, I’ve no doubt it means a lot to her, too. But she seems to face it with a retired acceptance, like she knows change is coming but accepts it. Not Jay. He clearly hates the situation, and everything about it. It fuels his anger, motivates him.
He doesn’t seem surprised that I asked. Maybe he hears it a lot.
“What did Pan tell you about me?”
For a brief moment, I consider telling him what she said. How we’re too similar, too alike to possibly be strangers. But I feel like that’s not what he’s asking.
“Nothing.”
“I’m surprised at that. She normally jumps at the chance to tell people my tragic backstory. Typical.”
Jay rolls his eyes, as though he’s irritated with Pan – but the motion seems devoid of any real annoyance.
“My parents weren’t anything special. Just normal citizens. They’d always figured the Cull was a disgusting process, but they never questioned it. Just like everyone else. That is, until their youngest child – their daughter – was taken in the Cull.”
“Ada.”
“Exactly. She was just under four. Close to having survived the annual Culls – but then they took her. They carried out the normal executions in public to scare us, and then disposed of the rest elsewhere.”
I should be shocked at the thought of public executions. Really, I should. It should horrify me; but then I remember watching kids get lashed to the whipping block, faces burning with pain and humiliation.
He pushes on.
“After that, something snapped. My parents realised that the Cull was wrong – even more than before. They set this place up. They gathered people and tried to use sheer numbers to overthrow the city’s leaders.”
He looks away from me, eyes glistening. When he speaks, his voice punctuates the silence between us.
“The next year, my parents were the ones chosen for the public execution.”
Something squirms in me – the knowledge, perhaps, that they could have been my parents, too.
“I’m sorry.”
And I am. It’s not often I feel pity for anyone. It’s a patronising, superior feeling and I hate it with a passion. But I can’t help it. Family means something here, and he lost that. That’s like losing a friend back home.
Kane’s face flashes through my mind, a not-so-subtle reminder that for all I know, he could be dead.
“I’m… really sorry.”
“That’s okay. It was a long time ago. After that, I took over. Built this thing from the ground up, made it what it is today. But there’s still no way to win. Every year we protest the Cull and try to get people to join us, but they’re so terrified that they won’t even try.”
“Oh.”
“But now, you’re here. And that might just change everything.”
“Really?”
Suddenly his face is flushed and feverish, excitement bubbling just a little too close to the surface. The feeling is almost infectious, and after a moment the discomfort in my gut settles. He leans forward on his hands, looking me up and down with a renewed sense of interest.
“You see, if we managed to find Ada, that would mean she was never killed. If she’s you, that means she was sent to the Mill instead. And if she was, then maybe they all were. Maybe they’re all still alive – and maybe there’s enough hope in that to spur everyone into action. The hopes of being reunited with their lost loved ones.”
“That’s a lot of maybes.”
“I know. That’s why we need to find out the truth. The first step is finding out who you really are.”
“How are you going to do that?”
He rubs a hand over his chin, picking at the sandy stubble there.
“I’m not sure yet. But I’ll think of something. Will you stick around long enough for us to figure it out?”
I shrug. I want to go home. I want the dirty fields. I want my soggy little campbed back. I want Nel’s snuffly breathing to be the sound I fall asleep and wake up to. But there’s so much hope in his eyes, so much passion. Nel would never forgive me if I turned away now.
“Sure.”
“Good. In the meantime, make yourself at home. Enjoy your time here. I’ll let you know once we have a plan.”
I nod. I step towards the door – b
ut my path is suddenly blocked by his hulking figure. His expression is hard as he sizes me up.
“One more thing. Like I said, I don’t think you’re a spy. It’s unlikely you’re from Thorne. Even less likely that you understand anything. But on the off-chance that you are, and we find out – we’ve had traitors before. It’s nothing new. I want you to know that I won’t take any chances, if you show even the slightest inclination towards betraying us.”
I gulp hard. My heart is racing suddenly, and though I have no intention of hurting anyone, the threat still unnerves me.
“I understand.”
He pushes me somewhat unceremoniously from the room, seemingly eager to get back to whatever he was doing before I chose to intrude. Pan and Jensen are waiting outside for me, and as I near, they watch me closely.
“How did it go?”
I shrug.
“Fine. I got the full history.”
“And what’s his plan now?”
“I-I don’t know. He wants to find out who I am.”
Pan rolls her eyes, but Jensen gives a small, understanding nod.
“I get that. I have some ideas for how we can find out, too. I’ll run them by him later.”
Pan loops an arm through mine. There’s a smile on her face again, like she knows something I don’t. Perhaps she thinks there was some soppy brother-sister moment in there. But nothing happened. In a way, I’m disappointed. I’d thought that family meant more here. But when he’d looked at me, he’d regarded me in the same way one might regard a particularly interesting sheet of paper. With mild intrigue and not much else. There was no sense of familiarity between us, no familial affection. Maybe I expected too much.
Pan must see the disappointment on my face, because her grip on my arm tightens.
“Hey, don’t worry about it. These things take time.”
I nod, but the feeling persists. I’ve never cared if someone liked me before. Except for Nel, it never mattered if someone noticed me or not. This time? I want to impress him. I want him to be proud of me.
What a strange feeling.
As the afternoon sun blazes overhead, Pan takes me to meet Nate. He’s a heavy-set man in his thirties, though he seems much older. He’s got a balding head and a pair of tiny glasses perched on the end of a crooked nose. He greets me with a warm, overly familiar hug.
