by Marie Lu
THE COLONIES OF AMERICA
CLOUD . MEDITECH . DESCON . EVERGREEN
A FREE STATE IS A CORPORATE STATE
Then, an evening landscape of a beautiful, sparkling city comes up, completely covered in thousands of twinkling blue lights. “Citizens of the Republic,” a grandiose voice says. “Welcome to the Colonies of America. As many of you already know, the Colonies have overrun the Republic capital of Denver and, as such, have declared an unofficial victory over the tyrannical regime that has kept you all under its thumb. After over a hundred years of suffering, you are now free.” The landscape changes to a top-down map of both the Republic and the Colonies—except this time, the line dividing the two nations is gone. A shiver runs down my spine. “In the weeks to come, you will all be integrated into our system of fair competition and freedom. You are a citizen of the Colonies. What does that mean, you might wonder?”
The voiceover pauses, and the imagery shifts to a happy family holding a check in front of them. “As a new citizen, each of you will be entitled to at least five thousand Colonies Notes, equivalent to sixty thousand Republic Notes, granted from one of our four main corps that you decide to work for. The higher your current income, the higher we’ll pay you. You will no longer answer to the Republic’s street police but to DesCon’s city patrols, your own private neighborhood police dedicated to serving you. Your employer will no longer be the Republic, but one of our four distinguished corps, where you can apply for a fulfilling career.” The video shifts again to scenes of happy workers, proud, smiling faces hovering over suits and ties. “We offer you, citizens, the freedom of choice.”
The freedom of choice. Images flash through my mind of what I’d seen in the Colonies when Day and I first ventured into their territory. The crowds of workers, the dilapidated slums of the poor. The advertisements printed all over the people’s clothes. The commercials that covered every square inch of the buildings. Most of all, DesCon’s police, the way they had refused to help the robbed woman who had missed her payments to their department. Is this the future of the Republic? And suddenly I feel nauseous, because I cannot say whether the people would be better off in the Republic or the Colonies.
The broadcast continues. “We only ask that you return a small favor to us.” The video shifts again, this time to a scene of people protesting in solidarity. “If you, as a civilian, have grievances with the Republic, now is the time to voice them. If you are courageous enough to stage protests throughout your respective cities, the Colonies will pay you an additional five thousand Colonies Notes, as well as grant you a one-year discount on all of our Cloud Corp grocery goods. Simply send your proof of participation to any DesCon headquarters in Denver, Colorado, along with your name and mailing address.”
So, this explains the various protests popping up around the city. Even their propaganda sounds like an advertisement. A dangerously tempting one. “Declaring victory a little too soon,” I say under my breath.
“They’re trying to turn the people against us,” Anden murmurs in reply. “They announced a ceasefire this morning, perhaps as a chance to disseminate propaganda like this.”
“I doubt it will be effective,” I say, although I don’t sound as confident as I should. All these years of anti-Colonies propaganda are going to be difficult for the Colonies to work around. Aren’t they?
Anden’s jeep finally slows to a halt. I frown, confused for a second. Instead of taking me back to a high-rise for my temporary apartment, we are now parked in front of the Los Angeles Central Hospital. The place where Metias died. I glance at Anden. “What are we doing here?” I ask.
“Day’s here,” Anden replies. His voice catches a little when he speaks Day’s name.
“Why?”
Anden doesn’t look at me. He seems reluctant to discuss it. “He collapsed during the evacuation to LA,” he explains. “The series of explosions we used to knock out the underground tunnels apparently triggered one of his severe headaches. The doctors have started another round of treatment for him.” Anden pauses, then gives me a grave stare. “There’s another reason we’re here. But you’ll see for yourself.”
The jeep comes to a halt. I climb out, then wait for Anden. A feeling of dread slowly creeps through me. What if Day’s illness has gotten worse? What if he isn’t going to pull through? Is that why he’s here? There’s no reason for Day to ever set foot inside this building again, not unless he was forced to, not after everything this hospital put him through.
Together, Anden and I head into the building with soldiers flanking us. We travel up to the fourth floor, where one of the soldiers swipes us inside, and then step into the Central Hospital’s lab floor. The tense feeling in my stomach only tightens as we go.
Finally, we stop in front of a smaller series of rooms that line the side of the main lab floor. As we go through one of these doors, I see Day. He’s standing outside a room with glass walls, smoking one of his blue cigarettes and looking on as someone inside gets inspected by lab technicians in full body suits. What makes me lose my breath, though, is that he’s leaning heavily on a pair of crutches. How long has he been here? He looks exhausted, pale, and distant. I wonder what new drugs the doctors are trying on him. The thought is a sudden, stabbing reminder of Day’s waning life, the few seconds he has left, slowly ticking by.
Standing beside him are a few lab techs with white jumpsuit gear and goggles dangling from their necks, each of them watching the room and typing away on their notepads. A short distance away, Pascao’s deep in conversation with the other Patriots. They leave Day alone.
“Day?” I say as we approach.
He looks over to me—a dozen emotions flicker through his eyes, some that make my cheeks flush. Then he notices Anden. He manages to give the Elector a stiff bow of his head, then turns back to watching the patient on the other side of the glass. Tess.
“What’s going on?” I ask Day.
He takes another puff of his cigarette and lowers his eyes. “They won’t let me in. They think she might’ve come down with whatever this new plague is,” he says. His voice is quiet, but I can hear an undercurrent of frustration and anger. “They’ve already run tests on me and the other Patriots. Tess is the only one who didn’t come up clean.”
Tess bats away one of the lab techs’ hands, then stumbles backward as if she’s having trouble keeping her balance. Sweat forms on her forehead and drips down her neck. The whites of her eyes have a sickly yellow tint to them, and when I look closely, I can tell that she’s squinting in an effort to see everything around her—something that reminds me of her nearsightedness, the way she used to squint at the streets of Lake. Her hands are trembling. I swallow hard at the sight. The Patriots couldn’t have been exposed for long to the Colonies soldiers, but apparently it was long enough for some soldier carrying the virus to pass it to one of them. It’s also a very real possibility that the Colonies are purposefully spreading the disease right back to us, now that they’re in our territory. My insides turn cold as I remember a line from Metias’s old journals: One day we’ll create a virus that no one will be able to stop. And that just might bring about the downfall of the entire Republic.
One of the lab techs turns to me and offers a quick explanation. “The virus looks like a mutation of one of our past plague experiments,” she says, shooting Day a nervous glance (he must have given her a hard time about this earlier) before continuing. “As far as we can tell from the statistics the Colonies have released, the virus seems to have a low uptake rate among healthy adults, but when it does infect someone, the disease progresses rapidly and the fatality rate is very high. We’re seeing infection-to-death times of about a week.” She turns momentarily to Tess on the other side of the glass. “She’s showing some early symptoms—fever, dizziness, jaundice, and the symptom that points us to one of our own manufactured viruses, temporary or possibly permanent blindness.”
Beside me, Day clenches his crutches so hard that his knuckles look white. Knowing
him, I wonder whether he’s already had several fights with the lab techs, trying to force his way in to see her or scream at them to leave her alone. I know he must be picturing Eden right now, with his purple, half-blind eyes, and in this moment a deep hatred for the former Republic fills my chest. My father had worked behind those experimental lab doors. He had tried to quit once he found out what they were actually doing with all those local LA plagues, and he gave his life as a result. Is that country really behind us now? Can our reputation ever change in the eyes of the outside world—or of the Colonies?
“She tried to save Frankie,” Day whispers, his eyes still fixed on Tess. “She’d made it back inside the Armor right after we did. I thought Thomas was going to kill her.” His voice turns bitter. “But maybe she’s already marked for death.”
“Thomas?” I whisper.
“Thomas is dead,” he murmurs. “When Pascao and I were fleeing to the Armor, I saw him stand and face the Colonies soldiers alone. He kept firing at them until they shot him in the head.” He flinches at this final sentence.
Thomas is dead.
I blink twice, suddenly numb from head to toe. I shouldn’t be shocked. Why am I shocked? I was prepared for this. The soldier who had stabbed my brother through the heart, who had shot Day’s mother . . . he’s gone. And of course he would have died in this way—defending the Republic until the end, unwavering in his insane loyalty to a state that had already turned her back on him. I also understand right away why this has affected Day so much. Shot through the head. I feel empty at the news. Exhausted. Numb. My shoulders sag.
“It’s for the best,” I finally whisper through the lump in my throat. Images flash through my head of Metias, and of what Thomas had told me about his last night alive. I force my thoughts back to Tess. To the living, and those who still matter. “Tess is going to be okay,” I say. My words sound unconvincing. “We just have to find a way.”
The lab techs inside the glass room stick a long needle into Tess’s right arm, then her left. She lets out a choked sob. Day tears his eyes away from the scene, adjusts his grip on his crutches, and begins to make his way toward us. As he passes me, he whispers, “Tonight.” Then he leaves the rest of us behind and heads down the hall.
I watch him go in silence. Anden sighs, looks sadly toward Tess, and joins the other lab techs. “Are you sure Day is clean?” he says to the one who’d shared the virus information with us. She confirms it, and Anden nods at her in approval. “I want a second check run on all of our soldiers immediately.” He turns to one of the other Senators. “Then I want a message sent right away to the Colonies’ Chancellor, as well as their DesCon CEO. Let’s see whether diplomacy can get us anywhere.”
Finally, Anden gives me a long look. “I know I have no right to ask this of you,” he says. “But if you can find it in your heart to ask Day again about his brother, I would be grateful. We might still have a chance with Antarctica.”
1930 HOURS.
RUBY SECTOR.
73° F.
The high-rise I’m staying in is just a few blocks away from where Metias and I used to live. As the jeep I’m riding in approaches it, I look down the street and try to catch a glimpse of my old apartment complex. Even Ruby sector is now blocked off with segments of tape indicating which areas are for evacuees, and soldiers line the streets. I wonder where Anden’s staying in the midst of all this mess; probably somewhere in Batalla sector. He’ll definitely be up late tonight. Before I’d left for my assigned apartment, he had taken me aside in the lab hall. His eyes flickered unconsciously to my lips and then back up again. I knew he was dwelling on the brief moment we shared in Ross City, as well as the words that had come after it. I know you care deeply for Day.
“June,” he said after an awkward pause. “We’re meeting with the Senate tomorrow morning to discuss what our next steps should be. I want to give you the heads-up that this will be a conference where each of the Princeps-Elects will deliver some words to the group. It’s a chance to experience what each of you would do if you were the official Princeps—but be warned, things may get heated.” He smiled a little. “This war has left us all on edge, to put it lightly.”
I’d wanted to tell him that I would sit this one out. Another meeting with the Senators—another four-hour-long session of listening to forty talking heads all battling to outdo one another, all attempting to either sway Anden to their side or embarrass him in front of the others. No doubt Mariana and Serge will lead the arguments to see which of them can come across as the better Princeps candidate. The mere idea of it drains me of all my remaining strength. But at the same time, the thought of leaving Anden to shoulder the burden alone in a room full of people who were so cold and distant was too hard to bear. So I smiled and bowed to him, like a good Princeps-Elect. “I’ll be there,” I replied.
Now the jeep pulls up to my assigned complex and stops, and I push the memory out of my mind. I get out of the jeep with Ollie, then watch it go until it turns a corner and disappears completely from sight. I head inside the high-rise.
I initially plan to stop by Day’s room right after settling into my own, to see what he meant by his “tonight” comment. But as I reach my hall, I see that I don’t have to.
Day is camped outside my door, sitting slouched against the wall and absently smoking a blue cigarette. His crutches are lying idly beside him. Even though he’s not moving, some small piece of his manner—wild, careless, defiant—still shines through, and for an instant I flash back to when I’d first met him on the streets, with his bright blue eyes and quicksilver movements and unruly blond hair. That nostalgic image is so sweet that I suddenly feel my eyes watering. I take a deep breath and will myself not to cry.
He pulls himself to his feet when he sees me at the end of the hall. “June,” he says as I approach. Ollie trots over to greet him, and he pats my dog once on the head. He still looks exhausted, but manages to give me a lopsided, if sad, grin. Without his crutches, he sways on his feet. His eyes are heavy with anguish, and I know it’s because of our earlier stint in the lab. “From the look on your face, I’m guessing the Antarcticans weren’t much help.”
I shake my head, then unlock my door and invite him inside. “Not really,” I reply as I close the door behind me. My eyes instinctively study the room, memorizing its layout. It resembles my old home a little too closely for comfort. “They’ve contacted the United Nations about the plague. They’re going to seal off all of our ports to traffic. No imports or exports—no aid, no supplies. We’re all under quarantine now. They’ve told us that they can help us out only after we show them proof of a cure, or if Anden hands over a chunk of Republic land to them as payment. Until then, they won’t send any troops. All I know now is that they’re monitoring our situation pretty closely.”
Day says nothing. Instead, he wanders away from me and stands on the room’s balcony. He leans against the railing. I put out some food and water for Ollie, then join him. The sun set a while ago, but with the glow from the city lights, we can see the low-lying clouds that block the stars, covering the sky in shades of gray and black. I notice how heavily Day has to lean on the railing to support himself, and I’m tempted to ask him how he’s feeling. But the expression on his face stops me. He probably doesn’t want to talk about it.
“So,” he says after another puff on his cigarette. The light from distant JumboTrons paints a glowing line of blue and purple around his face. His eyes skim across the buildings, and I know he’s instinctively analyzing how he would run each one of them. “Guess we’re on our own now. Can’t say I’m all that upset about it, though. The Republic’s always been about closing off her borders, yeah? Maybe she’ll fight better this way. Nothing motivates you like being alone and cornered on the streets.”
When he lifts his cigarette to his lips again, I see his hand trembling. The paper clip ring gleams on his finger. “Day,” I say gently. He just raises an eyebrow and glances at me sideways. “You’re shaking.”
&
nbsp; He exhales a puff of blue smoke, squints at the city lights in the darkness, and then lowers his lashes. “It’s strange being back in LA,” he replies, his voice distracted and distant. “I’m fine. Just worried about Tess.” A long pause follows. I know the name—Eden—that hangs at the tips of both of our tongues, although neither one of us wants to bring it up first. Day finally ends our silence, and when he does, he approaches the topic with slow and laborious pain. “June, I’ve been thinking about what your Elector wants from me. About, you know . . . about my brother.” He sighs, then leans farther out on the railing and rakes a hand through his hair. His arm brushes past my own—even this small gesture sends my heart beating faster. “I had an argument with Eden about it all.”
“What did he say?” I ask. Somehow, I feel guilty when I think back on Anden’s request for me. If you can find it in your heart to ask Day again about his brother, I would be grateful.
Day puts his cigarette out on the metal railing. His eyes meet mine. “He wants to help,” he murmurs. “After seeing Tess today, and after what you just told me, well . . .” He tightens his jaw. “I’ll talk to Anden tomorrow. Maybe there’s something in Eden’s blood that can, you know . . . make a difference in all this. Maybe.”
He’s still reluctant, of course, and I can hear the pain plainly in his voice. But he is also agreeing. Agreeing to let the Republic use his little brother to find a cure. A small, bittersweet smile tugs at the corners of my mouth. Day, the champion of the people, the one who can’t bear to see those around him suffer on his behalf, who would gladly give his life for those he loves. Except it’s not his life that we need in order to save Tess, but his brother’s. Risking one loved one for the sake of another loved one. I wonder whether anything else made him change his mind. “Thank you, Day,” I whisper. “I know how hard this is.”
