Children of the Uprising Collection

by Megan Lynch

  “Sam-ra?”

  “I…I pronounce it Sam-AH-ra.”

  Clovinger, to her credit, practiced a few more times and eventually got it right. Samara, timid in her new surroundings and suddenly very aware that her own scent screamed white drugstore bar soap, wished for a moment that her parents had named her something more Scottish sounding.

  “You have come here to talk about citizenship?”

  “Yes,” answered Samara, her voice cracking under the pressure of her cause. “We are refugees from a country you call the United States. We understand that we’ve been granted temporary amnesty, but we’d like to talk about a more permanent solution.”

  “You have the wrong room, my dear. I completely agree that you and your people should be granted citizenship, if you want it.” Clovinger stood, walked to a window, and gestured beyond the decorative iron bars to a nearby building with thick white columns. “You’ll have to lobby.”

  “Lobby, ma’am?”

  “Yes, you know, tell the members of Parliament about who you are and why you’re here. Ask them to help you stay here. There are a hundred and twenty-nine members of Parliament, and this year, they all care very deeply about the most important issue. Do you know what that is?”

  “The most important issue?”

  “Yes.”

  Samara thought about what she’d been hearing at the rallies. What was most important? “Is it defense?”

  “No. Have another go.”

  “Healthcare?”

  “No. I’ll give you a hint. Not only is it the most important issue, but many regard it as the only important issue. No other comes close in terms of priority.”

  Samara winced. “Immigration?”

  “No. Another hint: it was the same issue last year, and the year before. It will be the most important issue next year and ten years from now, it will be the same. Have you guessed yet?”

  Samara sat in bewildered silence.

  “It is re-election. Find a way to connect your issue, your future, to their re-election, and you will win.”

  In her little room in Olympic Village, Samara pressed her reading glasses up higher on the bridge of her nose and got to work. It served her well to remember Clovinger’s advice before she dug in. She’d learned that potential laws always had two levels—the written and the unwritten. In the unwritten, a wealth of information was available. Who the lawmakers really were. Their background. Their bias. These were the keys to their re-election plans. If you read the unwritten correctly, she thought as she smiled to herself, there was no limit to what you could do.

  Chapter Five

  Jude smacked his lips as he sat his tray on the table. Lunch in Olympic Village wasn’t usually stellar, but today the cafeteria was serving his favorite: sausages and boiled potatoes. For most of the fugitive population here, that meant a meal of only potatoes, since many still couldn’t stomach the notion of eating dead animals. Jude and his friend Cork were both teenage boys with a lot of growing yet to do, and they’d given up the vegetarian diet they’d grown up with last year.

  Jude picked up his fork before he even sat down, but Cork swiped it from his hand. “They’re always telling you to practice,” he said to Jude. “Do they mean even when you’re eating?”

  Jude picked up one of the links with his fingers. “Not on sausage day,” he said, chewing.

  Cork laughed and handed the fork back. “Use a utensil, you animal!”

  Jude ate with the fork but noticed he still had Cork’s attention. “What?”

  “Seriously. Do they eat looking at their watches too?”

  “I think so. Probably.”

  “I feel so dumb that I don’t remember, but I really don’t.”

  “We only got them when we were ten, and then I went in Fox County Juvenile Detention Center when I was eleven. I remember them being really cool at first. At school, everyone wanted to synch up their watches to play games with each other. And I remember the girls would spy on the boys with their watches.”

  “Creeps. How?”

  “Don’t ask me. I only had a watch for a year. You had one longer than I did. You were almost twelve when you and your brothers went to St. Mary’s.”

  Cork smirked and gazed down at his plate. “Why’d we go to St. Mary’s, Jude?”

  Jude gulped. Of course. Cork and his little brother, Henry, were Unregistered and not entitled to watches. His oldest brother, Taye, had claimed the citizen status in their family as the firstborn, but he’d taken them to the monastery ahead of the relocation to keep them safe. Taye had been the only one required to give up his watch at the monastery gates; Cork and Henry were never assigned them in the first place. The government had pretended that they’d never been born.

  “Sorry.”

  “No need to be sorry.”

  Even four years after leaving their home, people here still seemed tied to the old status system. Here, there was absolutely no need to remember who had been Threes, Fours, Fives, and Unregistered. But it had mattered immensely back home, and so much had hinged on that number: culture, education, diet, pretty much every aspect of their lives. Jude was grateful that he, Cork, and Henry had been so young when the relocation happened and had never gotten a real chance to practice condemning others based on their tier. To the adults, it seemed like a mere compulsion.

  Cork’s eyes kept flitting to Jude’s wrist. Jude unfastened it and threw it across the table. “Try it on.”

  “Bet they’d like that,” said Cork, looking over his shoulder for Samara.

  True, Samara wouldn’t appreciate someone else playing with Jude’s watch. It was an expensive piece of training equipment, she’d say. Not a toy. But Jude knew Samara well enough by now not to be afraid of her reaction, especially if he could explain that Cork had never worn one before.

  “Just do it. I need someone else to understand how impossible this is.”

  Cork strapped the little blue band around his wrist and fumbled with the fastener. Jude didn’t have the patience to watch him, so he reached across the table and put it on for him.

  “Now open World of Sport.”

  Cork’s hand hovered over the face of the watch as if it would puncture his finger if he got too close. “World…of…”

  Jude pointed. “Right there.”

  “Okay. Wow! That was fast.”

  “Now, you’re on the ski jump. You have to drag your finger over there to make the little guy jump and avoid the trees as he goes down the mountain.”

  It took a few minutes for Cork to get used to it, but as soon as he’d caught on, Jude tried talking to him.

  “How are the sausages today?”

  “Delicious, as always.” Cork popped one into his mouth between swivels of his fingers, no doubt swerving his skier through the forest. “I can’t believe they denied us these for so long. If you ask me, that fact alone would convince the Scots that the United States is inhumane.”

  Jude jutted out his chin as he stared incredulously at his friend. “Are you still playing the game?”

  “Winning, I think!” A fanfare of music came from the watch, and Cork punched the air, delighted by the sounds. “Oh, now it’s saying I’m onto round two.”

  “Round two?” Jude didn’t know there were rounds in World of Sport.

  “Yeah. Oh, oh! Now I’m throwing a stick. Javelin? I’m throwing a javelin.”

  Jude, annoyed that he couldn’t see what a javelin was, took this opportunity to talk more. This was harder than Cork was making it look. “The right-wing members of Parliament would rather never eat meat again than admit that we could be beneficial for their country. How are we beneficial?”

  “Oh, lots of ways, I’d think.” There were now intermittent cheers coming from the watch. Cork never took his eyes away from the screen. “I’ve heard people on the news say that we’re good for the national fabric. Diversity and all that stuff. Our experience does put us in a unique place. Everybody thinks Samara is so smart, and she is, but mostly I hear wha
t she’s saying as common sense. If the people here can’t see that, then they really need her around to talk sense into them. And people here are good at some dishes—” He gestured casually to his plate in front of his with his left hand while his right hand elicited more cheers. “But obviously they have no idea how to cook vegetables. We could teach them, open some restaurants, and they’d probably love us for it. But those right-wing guys only care about the economy, and we help there, too. And all the adults work. I’d work too if everybody didn’t insist I go to school. I mean, look at Taye. Working down in London with no citizenship. He’ll probably have to hire some of those guys that are railing against us someday. Boy, am I looking forward to that day!”

  Jude slammed his fists onto the table, and Cork finally looked up.

  “How are you doing that?”

  “Doing what?”

  Cork’s confusion only made Jude more embittered. “You’re playing that stupid game and talking to me at the same time!”

  “Oh…yeah, but it’s just a game. Who cares if I win or lose?”

  “But you’re winning!”

  Cork shrugged. “I guess I’m just used to tuning certain things out.”

  Pouting, Jude grabbed Cork’s hand. “Give me that.” Jude opened World of Sports before he’d even strapped on the watch. “Okay…okay…”

  “Just make your eyes and hands stay with the game, but let your brain stay out here with me,” said Cork helpfully.

  “Okay…Ask me something.”

  “How’s training going?”

  “It’s good.” His skier crashed into a tree. Jude hung his head.

  “Don’t get so invested in that. In there, it’s just a game. Who cares?”

  “You’re right. Okay. Training…is…good…” His skier narrowly avoided a large boulder and sailed right into a floating gold coin. How many points was that worth again?

  “Hello?” Cork’s voice was far away.

  Jude sighed. “I hate this. I am so the prototype Metrics citizen; just give me a watch and I forget about what’s important. I don’t know why I’m like this.”

  “You were bred to be competitive. You were trained to achieve. Your brain sees a quick and easy chance to win and it can’t resist.”

  Jude considered this. “Yes, but I have inferior genetics. Breeding didn’t work on me.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “I couldn’t catch a ball to save my life. I always needed more time to think about answers to the daily tests. I never had any friends in school.” Admitting these brought a fresh wave of embarrassment, the old shame new again all these years later.

  “You were a late bloomer. If you ask me, Metrics did a great job with you.”

  “Thanks, pal.”

  “It’s not your fault, man. I’m just saying it looks like you have a lot more work to do than, say, I would. Being Unregistered actually gives you lots of freedom, and a totally different kind of education.”

  Jude raked his fingers over his scalp. “You realize you need to come with me, right?”

  Cork made a sound that wasn’t quite a laugh. “Me? Go on an international mission? Do you realize I’m failing civics?”

  “You’re right, though. We have different skills. Right now, it’s just me and Stephen going over to stake things out for three weeks. Then we come back for a couple of months, and then the whole team is supposed to go over. Spies from all over the world, all with the mission of liberating America from Metrics. I’m not worried about that second part—those agents know what they’re doing. But I’m afraid we’ll never get there if I blow it. And the way it’s going, I will most definitely blow it. Come with us.”

  “Jude, it’s not like I can just buy a ticket and get on an airship with you.”

  There was no way he was going to let Cork talk him out of this. Sure, it would make things different, but with him around, Jude would feel bold. Ready. He’d only just gotten the idea and already he couldn’t imagine going without him. “I’ll talk to them. I’ll convince them that you’ll be useful. Then you can stare at your watch playing games, and I can stay back and talk to you through an earpiece and let you know how to talk like a Three.”

  Cork poked a potato. “Well,” he said, “I guess it would get me out of school for a few weeks.”

  Chapter Six

  Bristol went to Cindy’s apartment with a litany of excuses lined up in his head. The pieces she wanted weren’t exactly ready, not because he’d been lazy, but because he’d been working on new ones instead. He wished his ideas would just form orderly lines and not come at him all at once, but ever since he’d become a full-time artist, creativity simply took him over in ways he could seldom control. The pieces Cindy had doubtlessly called him over to discuss were commissioned, and although he could always ask for an extension, he never liked to do that when taking money. An agreement was an agreement, and he prided himself on always keeping his end of the bargain. He just wouldn’t sleep tonight.

  He was prepared to say all these things and more the moment Cindy opened the door, but she called him in and called from the kitchen to ask how many lumps he’d like in his tea.

  “None,” he answered.

  She sighed. “Still?”

  “You know I don’t like tea.”

  “Fine. I think I still have some of that horrid instant coffee you insist on…”

  Bristol endured a few more mumbled laments about this, catching familiar phrases like, “How you’d put that stuff in your body.” When Cindy finally emerged, holding a mug in either hand, she did not look familiar at all.

  Bristol raised his eyebrows. “You look…nice.”

  “Oh, thank you,” she said, eyelashes sweeping downward. “I went to the salon this morning. And I found a tube of lipstick I thought I’d lost in an old coat. And this dress just came back from the cleaners.” She stood very close before handing him his coffee.

  “I don’t have those canvases ready yet,” said Bristol, taking a step back.

  “That’s fine, Bristol. Sit down.”

  “Okay, but I should probably get going soon to finish those up.”

  “Sit. I have a present for you.”

  Bristol blew on his coffee—if it could be called that—and drank prematurely. It burned the middle of his tongue, and in his haste to draw it away from himself, he spilled another scalding drop on his lap. Cindy walked back into the room with a small white box with a blue ribbon tied over it.

  “This is from me,” she said.

  He took it gingerly, wondering how long it had taken to loop the ribbon all those different lengths. “What is it?”

  “Just a little something to help further your career,” she said.

  His stomach dropped. It couldn’t be…She wouldn’t cross a line so clear. Still, fiancés were technically protected under current law and she could sponsor him until he got his green card. Getting engaged to Scottish colleagues, however, was not a sustainable solution to their particular immigration problem, with almost two hundred American refugees to place. Bristol had always had the feeling that she didn’t much care about his countrymen…at least not in the way she cared about him.

  He’d just tasted the first hint of vomit in his throat when Cindy asked if he was going to open it. Seeing no other way out, Bristol tugged at one of the blue loops until the whole thing came apart. He tore at the paper and held his breath as he lifted the top. He looked inside blankly.

  “Do you like it?” Cindy asked.

  “It’s…”

  “It’s not like those ones where you’re from, where they assigned them. It’s way nicer than those old models, and it runs faster, too.”

  Bristol could only stare, stone faced and hard hearted, down at the shimmering silver holowatch that was now his.

  “It has all kinds of things loaded on it already, but the thing I want you to pay attention to is a program called Influential Friends.”

  “Influential Friends?”

  “Yes. It’s sort
of a database for those who have some sort of influence. You go in, create a profile, and you’re able to communicate with all sorts of people who are already famous at different levels. I have no idea what level you’re at now, but as soon as you create your profile, it will rank you and put you in a pool of people as well-known as you.”

  “For what purpose?”

  “Hold on, I’m getting to that. You can communicate with your rung, and the rungs of famous people beneath you. You’ll have to wait for the really famous people to ping you if you want to talk to them. The public can see all your profiles and read them, but they can’t ping you directly.”

  “Ping?”

  “Get in contact. No one will bother you, but we need to make you more accessible to the public.”

  Bristol held the watch at arm’s length. “Let me see if I’ve got this straight. You want me to put this on, make my private information public—”

  “Listen to you—private information! Pictures and interests!”

  Bristol deeply wanted to tell her that what he considered private wasn’t up to her, but he held it in. Reminded himself that she was trying to be nice. Reminded himself to be grateful it wasn’t a ring in the box.

  “I don’t want to be ranked again,” he said quietly.

  “This isn’t like that,” she said, placing her hand, greasy from floral-scented lotion, on his. “No matter where you fall on this system, it’s good. It only means that people are recognizing you for your hard work. You deserve to be ranked in this program.”

  He did work hard. And as far as he knew, no one else in the entire camp could do the things that he did. He fulfilled a unique role in this movement to resettle his people. Maybe he did deserve this—and how gratifying it would be to be highly ranked in a fame program after living as an Unregistered his entire life! How inspirational it could be to the others!

  Setting up the watch for himself took much longer than he would have guessed. He was at Cindy’s long after his coffee went cold, and when the sun set, he was still there uploading photos of himself and his art.