Mr. Crowne, after jerking me ever so slightly to a stop, leaves me standing in the center of the stage directly under the flood of lights, then he clips off into the shadows of the front row. At least he’s not on Senate. I scan the faces before me. The Director sits in the center chair, flanked by eight other men and women I don’t recognize. No one is smiling. No one is on my side. What have I even done to deserve this? Had a few minutes of thought to myself?
“State your name,” a woman on the end of the row with a widow’s peak and thin lips calls out.
“I am Valeria of the Fifth Oder.”
“Valeria V, do you know your crimes?”
I nearly laugh. Crimes? I’m sorry, did I shoot someone in my sleep? “No, ma’am, I do not.” It is the truth.
Her turn to laugh. “I find that hard to believe. Valeria V, you have broken Codex, which is your law; therefore you have committed a crime. And your actions, you may be surprised to know, have endangered your entire Order. Turning off your sensors is incredibly dangerous. Julius V and Prudentia V are now compromised, too, because of your actions. Do you know what this costs?”
So they got them too … “What are you going to do to them?” I shake my head. “Tell me they are going to be all right.”
As if I hadn’t spoken at all, she continues. “It costs us sixteen years of developing their bodies, their talents, and their minds. It costs us not only the past sixteen years, but also the future of research they will no longer be able to produce. It costs us their breakthroughs, their intelligence, and, importantly, their memories. Your Order will not have access to what they know. Your actions have left your Order less capable, less knowledgeable, and less prepared to accomplish the tremendous amount of research we need you to complete. Humanity, Valeria, rests in the hands of this Center. And you have decreased our efficiency. That will cost much more than what this facility ever sees.”
Guilt flattens me like a paver.
The woman clears her throat and continues in a lighter tone, reading off of a screen in front of her. “Valeria V, you are charged with breaking Codex, Article 1, Section 5; Article 3, Section 2.2; and Article 4, Section 1. What do you say to these accusations?”
The words of the Codex whiz through my head. “All Order members are to submit to the higher authority.” Guess I haven’t done this—several times. “Any changes or requests pertaining to research are to be approved by a higher authority in the laboratory.” Asking other Order members to change what they’re working on and keep it a secret from the Center. I guess that counts, too. “I will not jeopardize my entire Order’s effectiveness with dangerous thoughts.” What will they do to Marcus?
I lift my chin. There’s at least one good thing: they did not mention theft as one of my crimes. Feeling the tiny pressure of the stolen cards in my pants’ pocket, I swallow. “I admit to these actions.” They can mine my head for proof, after all.
“Very good.” The same woman continues. All eight other pairs of eyes, including the Director’s, bore into me. “After consideration, the Senate has decided that you will be transferred out of this facility at the earliest convenience. A vehicle is waiting for you outside.”
“Transferred?” My jaw drops, heart races. “Transferred where? What about all that cost you were just talking about?” Panic, sheer panic. I am exposed on this stage. “Why now? I just had—my research! I just …” I’m floundering like a fish on a hook.
“We knew how close you were to publication. We wanted that to happen, Valeria. We needed it,” the woman states plainly. “You have done this for us and now you must go. It was only a matter of time.”
“What about Pru and Julius? And my research!” I sound like a fool. A blubbering, terrified fool.
“Prudentia and Julius will be joining you.” The Director’s voice rumbles out across the open stage. “They are no longer effective here, which you have made possible by swallowing them along with you in your code breaking. And as for your research, the new epigenetic tag you just produced will be perfected by your laboratory team, tested, and published as soon as possible by your lead.”
Published? Vomit churns in my throat. Crecentia III will publish my research …
“Wretched scum,” I hiss. I will never see my name below that publication; that much is certain. Wretched, wretched man. I glare at the Director.
“You will now be escorted to the exit,” the woman concludes.
Mr. Crowne rises onto the stage, giddy excitement in his loping gait. A gradual implosion starts inside me. Not this. This is not what was supposed to happen …
“No, Hanner, I’ll take her.”
The Director stands, moves toward me, and smiles.
Part Two
Fourteen
The elevator acts as a syringe, sucking me down, extracting me from my home. All this time I’ve felt confined, compressed, and even controlled. But now that the Director is forcing me to leave, I want to stay. Let me stay! But when the doors open and I am taken out of here, I know I will never return.
Transferred. They will wipe my brain like a corrupted file. It is a death sentence.
The Director’s bearded face, angled down, reflects in the smooth elevator doors.
“Where are you taking me?”
His eyes meet mine in the reflection, and I instantly shiver. The look on his face is one of pure bliss. He is a monster.
“You’re going to kill me, aren’t you?”
“We are not going to kill you. You are much too valuable for that. Take my word.”
“You get to keep the body alive but suck out the person. It’s no different.”
“Rehabilitation is not as bad as you think.”
I snort. “Let me see Marcus.” But I know that will never be allowed.
“I’m afraid not.”
“Ah!” I squeeze my fingernails into my palms, repeatedly. Silence, like a mold, grows dense and hairy between us.
Soon, the doors part, and he directs me past my laboratory—oh, my lab!—to a door marked “No Entry.” Above the door, as is stamped everywhere in this facility, are the words I stopped reading long ago. But I read them this time, the last time.
To Whom Much Is Given, Much Is Expected.
Fury, tears, spite, fear, all ripping through me. My lab! My research! All gone!
And then I think of Marcus. I’m losing all of it, my whole life, everything I’ve ever known. Even him.
The door leads to an open atrium, the building’s formal entrance that I’ve never seen. We click across the dark, wide tile to the glass façade. Sunlight pours into my eyes.
As the doors spin open before us, air rushes over me, bringing with it the smell of sun-warmed concrete and the scent of the flowers in rows lining the walk. I freeze.
The Director turns. “Valeria, you are no longer a part of this facility. You must come voluntarily or I will have to force you.” He has the gall to extend a hand.
Breathe. I step out of the Center.
Behind me, the doors shut, sealing me out. I am no longer Valeria of the Fifth Order. Then who am I? Just Valeria. No, just V.
This is what I wanted, what I expected. So why am I so afraid?
Down a few steps a black vehicle idles in front of the building. And beside it, a man, hands clasped in front of him, wearing a dark grey suit and dark glasses.
“No tram?” I’ve seen cars from the tram windows, but I’ve never ridden in one.
“You are not going to the shopping district today. Mr. Hicks will take you where you need to go. Prudentia and Julius are already waiting.” The Director steps close to me, I take a step away. He sighs. “Valeria, I am sad that your role here is ending.” Jerk! He smiles, as if there is something to smile about. “But remember, I will never truly leave you.” He taps his skull with a tilt of his head.
What does that mean? Will my sensors still transmit—?
Mr. Hicks cuts off my panicked thought as he opens the car door for me. Inside the car, Julius’ face scowls dow
n at nothing. Prudentia is leaning forward, head in her hands, in the seat facing Julius. I did this to them.
“Your Order will be informed of your transfer.” The Director’s voice startles me.
“Yeah, right, you’ll bring in some new Valeria, and a new Prudentia, and a new Julius. They’ll forget we ever existed.” Just like we forgot there ever was a different Marcus. And, like a hammer to the chest, I realize Marcus will forget he ever knew me.
The Director maintains his filthy little smile, a scar of white within his black beard.
“Whatever.” I start to climb into the mouth of the beast, ready to be swallowed alive. Inside the elongated car are two compartments. One for the man up front, one for us. A thin panel of glass separates the two passenger cabins. Up front, a screen full of branching roads fills the right side of the front glass, an image that makes me think, oddly, of my brain. Of the maze of axons and dendrites fingering out from my neurons that are mapped like this city, mapped and read and traveled by many. A paused video blinks on the other side of the glass.
“You know something, Valeria?”
Piqued, I look over my shoulder at the still smiling Director. What now?
“Don’t be afraid. This is, after all, what you wanted.” He sweeps a hand behind him at the building I’ve just left.
The three of us sit in total silence.
I watch the Director skip up the steps back to the main entrance. Evil man. Mr. Hicks takes a seat in the car. He says something to the screens, but I cannot hear his words through the glass.
Suddenly, Julius pops the car door open, one hand clamped to his mouth as gagging sounds rise from within him.
Mr. Hicks looks up, arm poised over the pause button on his video screen. Julius sprints over to the fountain that catches the long, thin waterfall cascading from our gardens fifteen floors up. He drops to his knees, chin hovering close to the water.
“What now? Is the boy sick?” Mr. Hicks asks after tapping some kind of intercom button.
Julius’ arm slips into the water and back out in a flash. He heaves a few more times, wipes his chin, then, as he smears his hand across his chest, the hem of his shirt lifts, revealing a flash of his white skin.
As soon as he’s back in his seat and Mr. Hicks is confident he won’t puke again, the car pulls onto a packed highway, and I mull quietly over my rage.
Why should I be afraid? The Director’s words play on repeat in my head. Each time, I snort through my nostrils and look for something I can break. But I am afraid. Again, he seems to know exactly what I’m thinking. As these thoughts fill my head, I grunt. Pru and Julius are having a similar struggle. Pru’s face rests hidden in her hands. Julius is rubbing his stomach—hopefully not about to vomit again.
“You know they’re going to wipe our brains.” I finally say, voice flat. They should know what’s coming if they don’t already.
“Figured that part out. Thanks,” Prudentia snaps.
I try to steady my breathing. Deep down, I knew that once I decided to turn off my sensors, something like this would happen. But I never thought they’d transfer all three of us. Julius, sure. He was as good as out when he started firewalling his workstation. But Pru didn’t even do anything. Why is she sitting here with us?
“They are just mad that they made three Order members who turned out imperfect,” I add, finally meeting Julius’ gaze. He doesn’t look happy, but he doesn’t look as mad as I figured he would. A strange crinkling sound accompanies the movement of his hand across his stomach. Prudentia looks ready to beat the Director at his plan to obliterate me.
Thinking of a way to redirect her anger, I say, “If the Director can really still capture my thoughts, I want him to know that I went to my death loathing him.” I imagine what it will be like, having my entire memory expunged but waking up to this same face, this same body. It will be like the streams, only worse. Only emptiness instead of overflowing fullness.
“Yeah, that’ll show him.” Prudentia snorts, then turns her attention out the window.
Julius elbows me. I shove him off, not looking at him. Another jab.
“What?” I hiss between closed teeth.
He lifts the hem of his shirt. Eyebrows up, I stare at the item tucked under the hem of his black waistband: his tablet. It’s enclosed in a plastic zip bag. My mouth hangs open. He places a finger over his lips, then turns to elbow Pru and show her.
The waterfall. He sent it down in the waterfall.
Julius is pure genius. I’ve always thought Prudentia was the smartest one. Now I’m not so sure. I shake my head at him in disbelief. Pru starts hissing whispered questions at him, which he attempts to silence.
Mr. Hicks fortunately believes we are too dangerous to let down the glass separating us. He can probably hear us talking, but I doubt he can make out our words.
I meet Julius’ gaze, point at the tablet, then mime the words what are you going to do?
He swats away my question like it’s as worthless as a fly. In a few seconds, the plastic bag is discarded on the floor of the car, and he leans forward, cradling his forehead in one hand while the other gets to work on the screen.
Whatever he’s concocting, it better get us out of here. As the car moves seamlessly among the thousands of other vehicles propelling toward the city center, my thoughts begin to drift to Marcus.
Sadness now mixes with my boiling anger. The only person I’ve ever truly connected with will soon not even remember my name. Pfft, my name. Silly me, it isn’t even my name. It is a name that is repeated in every Order. There are currently five people with the name Valeria in that Center, five more with the male version of the name, Valerius, and only a Roman numeral distinguishes the difference between us. And I share—shared—that Roman numeral with fifteen others of my Order. The name Valeria and the number V are not unique at all. Neither am I. And soon, there will be another Valeria V, and everyone in the Fifth Order will think she’s the only one who’s ever been Valeria V. I do not exist anymore. We do not. I’ve erased us all.
I groan again, pounding my fists into the leather seats like a child.
“I can’t do this. I can’t go there, wherever they are taking me. I won’t.” Feeling my anger turn to fuel, I look out the window at the rising city, the buildings stretching up toward the sky. Below us, the highway rises above crumbling streets and houses. Looking down, I start calculating. It’s not that far; I wouldn’t die …
“And where do you plan to go?” I can hear the pure spite in Prudentia’s voice.
Ignoring her, I ask Julius, “Can you get us out of here with that thing?” I nod at his tablet.
He looks up at me from the screen, taking a few seconds to sever his focus from his task and digest what I asked. “No,” he finally says, turning his gaze back down.
“Fine then.” I reach forward and knock on the window separating us from the driver. He lifts narrowed eyes at me in the rearview mirror—a vestige left over from the old, drivable cars—and lowers the window enough for my face to hover over it. “Where are you taking us?”
Mr. Hicks shakes his head. “Like I said, Miss, I don’t know. They gave me the address. That is all.”
“Then tell me the address.”
Mr. Hicks points at the dashboard. “That’s it. That’s all it says. Center for Rehabilitation and Re-entry. This car knows how to get there.”
“That’s it. I’m out.”
I try the door. Locked! A beeping sound rings inside the vehicle.
“Oh, no, Miss. There is no escaping. I wouldn’t try again, if I were you.”
Okay, I’ll try something different.
Heart pounding, I look around and see a small backpack in the seat beside our escort that I had been too distraught to notice before. It has a badge sewn on the front, the same one that Mr. Hicks wears on his lapel. The same curved helixes cupping a chalice—the symbol of the Center.
He notices me eyeing the pack. “That’s mine, and it won’t open without a passcode.�
�
“I don’t need a passcode.”
Quickly, I flip one shoulder strap over the man’s neck and yank, hard.
Rough, gurgled sounds emit from his lips; his arms grab for my face, my arms. Suddenly, Pru is leaning forward too, ready. I’m losing purchase on the man’s throat. He knocks my grip loose and is twisting in the seat to get a better angle on me. But out of nowhere, Pru nails the man’s nose with a knuckle-popping punch. He keels backward into the dash, his weight pushing all kinds of buttons. In the car, the words of a woman announce: Auto drive disabled. I look at Pru. A ring of bright horror surrounds her dark irises.
The car swerves, then we slam forward. Pru screams. I lose my grip on the backpack and clamp my hands on the back of the front seat. Mr. Hicks lunges for me, and a solid, head-splitting punch fuzzes my vision. As I’m blinking back into reality, the car tells us an obstacle approaches. My brain turns to cotton balls. I slump against the seat, then into the floor. Then, bam!
The car starts spinning, smashes into something solid. Glass everywhere. Popping sounds. The door is smashed in. Julius is crumpled on top of my feet.
For a moment, I just lie there, trying to collect the loose cotton balls of thoughts. We crashed. Someone hit us. I pull myself up onto the seat, slicing my hand on a piece of glass. A dark smear of blood on the driver’s side door tells me Mr. Hicks took the brunt of the crash. His body is draped across the inflated airbag, glass in his face and neck.
I did this. Vomit comes. I manage to dump it into the front, nearly in Mr. Hicks’ lap. I killed him. I didn’t mean to kill him … didn’t mean to kill him … didn’t mean to …
I’m shaking so violently, choking on nothing but air. Someone’s voice reaches into my head. Julius’ voice. A hand starts to pull me. Then sunlight pricks my eyes.
The Veritas Project Page 11
