Resist

by Tracey Martin

  When at last I have the device ready, I worm my way to the spot that should be closest to the guard station. At this level of precision, I have no option but to guess. Guess and hope. I’m only going to get one shot at this.

  The device fires silently, sending an electromagnetic pulse down into the lobby, and I hold my breath. Thirty seconds passes without confirmation from Cole. Sixty.

  “The guard’s checking his equipment,” he says into my ear.

  Eighty-two seconds.

  “He’s gone. I’m going in.”

  Some of my tension drains away, and I let my muscles relax a little. It’s in Cole’s hands now.

  I pack up the device and crawl back toward the vent where I entered the duct. Noise alerts me that someone is using the bathroom, and I turn off the headlamp. On my stomach, motionless in the dark, I’m acutely aware of every bead of sweat on my neck and the way they each roll down my skin. The way they itch.

  Get on with it, I will the person at the sink.

  Whoever it is finally leaves but only as the transmitter in my ear comes to life. I can’t hear what the guard said, but Cole’s response is loud and clear. “Just a minute ago. Isn’t Malone in? I wanted to talk to him about the trip tomorrow.”

  Shit. Cole, tell me you got what we needed.

  “Nah, phone’s out of juice, so I thought I’d stop by instead. He’s not usually busy in the evening.”

  I swear silently again. The guard must be suspicious about why Cole didn’t contact Malone directly. Another pause follows.

  “What? Of course not. Why?”

  That doesn’t sound good.

  With trembling hands, I open the grate. I have a new dilemma. What to do with the equipment we stole? Since I don’t know exactly what’s going on, I don’t know how long Cole is going to be delayed. I need his access to return it. But if we’re not going to have time tonight, then it’s safest to leave it in the vent where it won’t be discovered for a while.

  “Not necessary,” Cole’s saying. “I’ll check in with him tomorrow morning.”

  This time, I can pick up on some background noise—the guard’s voice, but not his words. Then there’s loud static and a clunking in my ear, and the transmitter goes silent.

  My heart beats faster. Not good. Whatever just happened is not good at all. I have a bad feeling Cole just smashed his transmitter, which suggests he’s afraid of it being found, which suggests the guard is being way too suspicious. Damn.

  I drop out of the vent, leaving the equipment behind. Without knowing what’s going on with Cole, I have to hope we can still pull off our plan. Missing equipment from an engineering lab is only a minor concern. If we’re lucky, Cole and I will be gone before it’s noticed. It’s not as ideal as no one discovering it was ever borrowed, but it could be worse.

  It could be much worse. Cole might not be able to talk his way out of this. Cole might not have gotten the information we need. I have no way of knowing, and my insides flail.

  Checking the time, I casually make my way to the spot where we planned to rendezvous before returning the equipment. We have twenty minutes until lights out. Twenty minutes until Fitzpatrick stops by our quarters to make sure we’re there.

  Come on, Cole.

  Never mind the cold, a growing panic, a certainty that something is very, very wrong makes me break out in an all-new sweat as I wait. Fifteen minutes. Ten.

  At five, I do the only thing left. I give up waiting and return to our quarters alone. The whole time, I hope with everything I have that Cole is somewhere right behind me, or better yet—already there. That he forgot about the rendezvous.

  But we don’t forget things like that without someone screwing with our heads, and Cole isn’t in the building. I lay in bed all night, listening for the sound of a door opening, for a quiet knock to let me know he’s okay.

  None comes.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Tuesday Morning: Present

  Cole doesn’t join us for our morning run, and my fear bursts into full-on panic. No Cole. No information on where the meeting is. No contact with my unit outside the camp. Everything has gone horribly wrong, and concern for Cole and worry that I’ve returned to this hellhole for nothing threaten to overwhelm me. Malone might have left for the meeting already, and I don’t have any ability to begin searching for answers. I survive my run only because the consequences of not surviving will make the situation worse.

  At the end of it, the answers find me.

  Everyone is caught off-guard by Cole’s absence, and when Fitzpatrick meets us on our way to breakfast, my unit’s confusion increases. Mine does too, but mostly what I feel is dread. Her icy gaze seeks me out with its usual contempt, but something else underlies her tone when she speaks. Some new flavor of venom.

  Instantly, I know Cole is in as deep a pile of shit as I feared, and Fitzpatrick is choking on the knowledge. She expects me to fuck up. No one expects Cole to.

  “Seven.” She says my name like a curse. “Malone’s office. Now.”

  I shiver, and I wrap my arms around myself. If Cole couldn’t explain away what he was doing last night, it will be my fault. Last night was my plan. Kyle and Cole and my friends at RTC, and who knows how many innocent people in the future, will suffer because I’m going to fail to stop Malone. It’s just as well that I’m missing breakfast because I’m sick to my stomach.

  The despair eats at my insides as I head down the hall toward Malone’s office. My hands shake, and I curse my useless brain. What good is being enhanced if I can’t take down a normal human like Malone?

  Two security guards stand sentinel inside Malone’s doorway. The man has learned his lesson about never being alone with me. I’ll give him that. As for the man himself, Malone sits at his desk, reading something on his computer and sipping tea. He idly waves for me to have a seat. With rueful humor, I remember a time when he used to offer me drinks when I was invited here.

  I sit, and Malone keeps me waiting for almost two minutes before deciding to speak. “I’m sure you noticed HY1-One didn’t participate in your unit’s exercise this morning.”

  “Hard to miss, sir.” I consider adding that Cole mentioned something about going off-site today in a way to probe for intel, but I decide it’s better to say less. Malone must have a reason for calling me here, and it’s best to give him nothing new to use against me. Sometimes you never know where an innocuous statement can lead.

  Malone almost seems to be hoping for me to volunteer information because the lull in conversation stretches until it’s as taut as a rubber band.

  “I don’t suppose you know what One was doing last night?” Malone asks at last.

  My heart catches in warning. The question is ambiguous. Is it rhetorical or not? “No, sir.”

  “He was trying to obtain information off my assistant’s computer.”

  Under other circumstances, I’d be amazed how many times my brain can silently scream the word fuck over and over again. “Sir?”

  I don’t blink and don’t fidget. In fact, I barely move. I’m so tense I’m afraid anything I do will give away my lies, and I need to sell my ignorance.

  I’m also acutely aware that my act might be a waste of time. Malone might already know I was involved, but if he doesn’t, I have to do everything I can to convince him that I’m innocent. For my sake and everyone else’s. I’m the only one now who has a chance at stopping Malone and RedZone.

  Zero ideas how, but technically, a chance.

  Malone folds his hands. “He’s denying it, of course. And you are accomplished liars thanks to us. But unfortunately for One, we have you to contend with.”

  I don’t bother to feign confusion this time. I’m genuinely unsure what Malone is getting at.

  “He was clever,” Malone continues. “He probably would have gotten away with it, but my assistant has been havi
ng computer trouble. Her machine isn’t shutting down properly some of the time. So when the guard, who One managed to temporarily get rid of, noticed her computer was stuck in shutdown instead of off like it had been earlier, he investigated.”

  Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me. We’ve been undone by a faulty computer? What kind of irony is this? My last plan was undone by a malfunctioning memory implant, and now I’m screwed because of a computer with shut-down issues?

  “So security did some checking, and they discovered One used his access to get into the engineering labs earlier. Some equipment was missing—the sort of equipment that could have caused the type of malfunction in the guard’s station that would have sent the guard to do a security check, leaving One alone with my assistant’s computer.” Malone calmly sips his tea. “What do you think?”

  I think we’re fucked, and I think I need to think faster. Or at all.

  I want to wet my lips but don’t dare. “That’s surprising, sir. I’m not sure what I have to do with it though.”

  Malone sets the teacup down with a sigh. “What you have to do with it, Seven, is that you’re clearly a bad influence on those around you. I can only assume whatever One was searching for, it had to do with you. He’s so very protective of you. Again, I have to take some responsibility. I allowed this flirtation between the two of you after he brought you back. He seemed like such a loyal soldier that I thought he deserved the consideration. And you—well, I admit, I was interested to see whether letting you act on your feelings for someone I considered a positive role model would improve your behavior.”

  I take in Malone’s words impassively, but my mind races. At last I have an explanation for one of the many issues that’s been bugging me. It’s unimportant in this instant when my problems are so much bigger, but as with everything Malone cares to share, I file it away. Anything and everything might be useful one day because it’s not looking like today is going to be the day I take him down after all.

  “Unfortunately, that appears to have been a mistake.” Malone’s whole posture changes. He’s no longer relaxed, the calm dictator explaining my fate. He’s furious. “I’m convinced you have a greater hold over One than I realized. That perhaps you said things to him while on the run that have gotten into his head. He’d want to trust you, Seven. The pull between his faith in us and his faith in you must have been stronger than I suspected. I think he broke into my assistant’s computer, most likely because of things you said to him when you left.”

  I open my mouth, but I have nothing to say to that. I’m not supposed to remember anything I might have told Cole.

  Malone waves off my nonexistent objections. “You have no idea what you might have said or done. I’m aware, obviously. I’m the one who made sure of it. That’s not why I brought you here. I did that because I want you to fully understand the consequences of your actions. I want you to see how other people—people you care about—will suffer because of your disobedience, so you will never do it again.”

  “I already won’t, sir.” The fear in my voice is real. What is Malone planning on doing to Cole? Oh, shit.

  “No, I don’t imagine you will, but the lesson is one that should be taught, regardless.” Malone gets up and carries his empty cup to the sideboard along the far wall. “You see, One was supposed to accompany me on a trip today in an official capacity. I was going to introduce him to important people in the intelligence community, people who he’d one day be working with closely. But instead, he’s coming with me for far less flattering reasons.”

  The pause that follows this speech unsettles me. Malone is waiting for me to ask what’s going on. “Sir?”

  “HY1-One is going to present a live demonstration, with himself as the subject, of our memory-alteration techniques. Just as we removed your act of insubordination from your memory, we will be removing his, and then some.”

  “And then some?” The question tumbles out of my mouth, although I’m certain I don’t want the answer.

  “The HY1 line has always shown too much emotional instability. Too much humanity, if you will. It’s where some of your problems stem from, and it’s clear that’s where some of One’s stem from, at least where you are concerned. It’s taken a lot of work, but we finally believe we have a method for muting those emotions. HY1-One will be our first test subject.”

  I’m no longer faking anything. My horror is real, and it doesn’t matter that Malone can see it. My lungs refuse to inflate with air. Pain strikes me motionless, but rage sets my blood coursing. I want to launch myself at Malone and strangle the evil out of him.

  I should have done it when I had the chance. I never should have let him live. This is what compassion got me. This is where those emotions I valued failed.

  As if sensing what I’m thinking, the guards step closer. I have no doubt they’ll attack—maybe shoot me—if I make anything so much as resembling a move toward Malone. No matter how much I long to kill him, I can’t risk it.

  Nonetheless, Malone must have sensed my fury too, and that was why he increased his distance before telling me his plans. He remains where he stands, not coming any closer. We all know I’m the fastest, best trained person in the room. Security only has a slight advantage because there are two of them, and they’re armed.

  “Remember this, Seven. This is your legacy.” Malone holds up a hand. “Right now, you’re furious with me for taking One from you, I know. But don’t worry because, assuming we’re successful, the pain of this won’t last much longer.” His voice is gentle again, suffused with false sympathy that only increases my anger. “After the demonstration with One, we’ll use the same procedure on you. Who knows—possibly by the end of tomorrow, this will all be erased from your memory banks. You won’t remember it, and better yet, you wouldn’t care if you did. Take comfort in that. In the long run, what I’m doing is what will be best for you. For you, for HY1-One and eventually your entire unit. I think, in the end, you’ll even thank me for it.”

  At my sides, my hands curl into fists. No, in the end, I will kill you for it.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Tuesday Morning: Present

  I’m back to being punished, or Malone simply isn’t taking any more chances with me until I’ve been given my RedZone-developed lobotomy. Either way, the end result is the same. I’m not allowed to rejoin my unit, and I’m being thrown back in the same holding cell by the Es where I was stuffed when I first arrived.

  Four security guards escort me down the dimly lit corridor. I try to take some pride in that, but since I’m not feeling deserving of their fear, I’m stuck seething in my rage.

  It’s a helpless, defeated sort of rage too. The worst kind, the type that shuts down any useful thoughts and forces your brain to run in circles. Like the proverbial hamster on a wheel inside someone’s head, my thoughts race and race and go nowhere. Eventually, though, the hamster gets tired. I burn up my anger and collapse to the cot, sickened with defeat and feeling as big a failure as Fitzpatrick’s always named me.

  It’s Fitzpatrick who sticks in my head. Beginning when we were eight, she ran us ragged through an obstacle course. It involved the usual sorts of maneuvers—walls and ropes to climb, mud pits to crawl through on your stomach, and a whole room with pendulums dangling from the ceiling. Some simply clobbered you if they made contact. Others could give you an electric shock. Still others, to this day, I’m not sure what they would have done, but I knew I didn’t want to find out.

  The obstacle course was more than just another demonstration of our burgeoning physical capabilities. It was a test that pit us against the normal human security personnel who worked for the camp. At what point in our training, and at how young an age, would we surpass them?

  As such, it was also a test of the camp’s scientists who messed with our brains and altered our DNA. And it was a test of Fitzpatrick’s training. We’d been under her so-called care for three ye
ars at that point. Three brutal years that had already shaped my lifetime of hatred of her.

  Although the course had been built up as a game for us, we were smart enough to realize that nothing at the camp was ever truly just a game. Our cuts and bruises and the damned emotional abuse left no doubt.

  Running that course and fearing how I’d be judged is one of my first memories of Malone. He came to watch, naturally, though he stood impassively on the sidelines and never said anything to us. If he was nervous about our progress, he showed no clues of it. But Fitzpatrick was nervous, although I wasn’t aware of it at the time. She must have wanted to impress Malone with how she was shaping us.

  As I do so many times, it’s her voice I hear in my head.

  I’d finished my run of the course, having navigated the final room—the pendulum room—without a single hit. Sweaty, filthy and tired, yet proud, I was permitted to stand along the back wall while I recovered and watch the people after me.

  Octavia came next. At that age, she was the fastest girl in our unit, and on most days, the fastest runner overall. She barreled into the pendulum room at top speed. But although we were being timed, the swinging obstacles required more finesse than force. Tiny Octavia must have thought she could manage both.

  She couldn’t, and halfway through she couldn’t slow down in time to avoid being hit by one of the electric shock devices. As she lay on the mat, Fitzpatrick berated her from the sidelines. Get up, you worthless wimp. Get up and finish this! Do not let them win.

  That’s what I hear in my head today. Get up and finish this. Do not let them win.