Controllers (Book 1)

by Lynnie Purcell

  The man and woman force me to stand on my good leg and take all of my measurements with a tape measure. They talk almost nonstop about their plans for me, but they don't actually speak to me. They bounce ideas off one another and take pride in my achievements.

  They finally leave. Their presence has made me think I've done more bad than good in saving Humphrey. I haven't just protected myself. I have let the government turn me into a pet. It's far worse than letting Ace turn me into one. At least he wants me alive.

  The door opens ten minutes after they leave. This time, my visitor is more welcome. Ace quietly closes the door behind him and then steps over to the bed. He sits down without asking if he can and shakes his head at me.

  "This is not what I had in mind," he chastises me gently. He's teasing me. The humor is very welcome after my time with the man and woman.

  "I was going to ask you if you planned it," I say.

  "Don't be ridiculous," he says. "I couldn't have done this if I wanted to. And I didn't make you save that awful man."

  "Awful?" I ask.

  "Junior Minister in Charge of Immigrant Affairs is his official title," Ace says. "He likes to check on the new recruits and perpetuate the propaganda of the program."

  A wave of dislike surrounds me. "Oh."

  "Yeah," Ace agrees. He turns and looks at me. "But it's a good thing."

  "The people who were just here were talking about making me into the face of hope," I tell him. "What are they going to do to me?"

  "Show you off," Ace says. "They'll let the public see you as the girl who rescued the minister. It'll bring confidence to the people who doubt the immigration system works. It'll bring added support to the government as the news of the rebel army moving toward us is increasing by the hour."

  I look at my hands and fight back tears. I'm the last person who wants to help the government with anything. I have irrevocably become part of the system. They're going to make me say how wonderful the city is and how my experiences at the facility have been a positive experience. They're going to parade me around and tell me how special I am. If I don't agree to the propaganda, they'll kill me. And then, when they are through with me, they're going to send me back to the game to get brainwashed into actually believing their rhetoric.

  "I won't do it," I say.

  "You will," he says firmly.

  "Why?" I ask.

  He looks at the floor for a minute. I sense him searching for a reason that will mean something to me. "Because they'll punish Max if you don't. They know your weakness. They will exploit it. It's their nature."

  His words bring clarity.

  "So what happens now?" I ask.

  "You're going to go to my house and stay for a couple of days," he says. "When you're healed, you'll return to the facility and continue your studies. You will say everything they tell you to say and do everything they tell you to do. You will not give them a reason to look at you too closely. Obedience must be your motto."

  "They said something about the Ellison boy looking after me," I say. "Do you know him?"

  Ace turns to look at me. I'm surprised by the coy smile on his face. It's friendly and warm. "Hi, I'm James Ellison. You can call me Ace. Everyone does."

  I actually laugh. His words are just too sincere. "Ambria Carson," I introduce myself. "But you can call me Bree. Everyone does."

  He chuckles quietly, then his expression hardens. "Remember who you are and who you're doing this for...The next few days won't be easy."

  "So you're saying everything else I've been through lately has been?" I ask archly.

  His grin is crooked. It fades quickly. "We have to be cautious, Bree. They can't think I'm interested in you other than as a beacon of hope for the city and to be sure you toe the line, of course. You understand that, right?"

  "Yes," I reply, though his words make me curious. In what way is he interested in me? I also realize that if I don't play my part, he'll get in trouble. I can't do that to him. His underground network is too important.

  "You should know that my father is a high-ranking government official. He represents one of the more powerful districts in the Assembly. My mother is a supreme judge. Neither are your friends, no matter how kind they are to you or what they say. Don't trust them."

  "I don't trust anyone," I say.

  He turns and looks at me again. His eyes burn with a question. He doesn't ask it. "Good," he replies. He stands and leaves the room without looking back.

  Two hours later, a nurse comes into the room. She's pushing a wheelchair. "Time to go," she says pleasantly. She has a green armband on her right arm. She's an immigrant. Her expression is placid and happy. It makes me sick.

  I hobble over to the chair and sit. She spins me around and pushes me over to the same moving room I experienced on my first visit to the hospital. The ride down is silent. The woman hums an old tune under her breath as she pleasantly smiles at the empty room. I wonder if the tune is her subconscious remembering the person that was. I wonder if I will be the same way.

  The doors slide open and a dozen lights are pushed into my face. I blink as the bright light hits me. Arms and sleeves surround me, but it's difficult to see much around the movement.

  "Bree, what was going through your mind when you saved Junior Minister Humphrey?"

  "How long did it take you to become an immigrant?"

  "Bree, over here! Can you tell us in your own words what happened?"

  Their questions fly out so quickly I can't tell who's asking, if it's a man or a woman or something in between. They are energetic and pushing to get closer to me.

  "Settle down, settle down." I recognize the voice as the woman who measured me for clothes. She takes the nurse's place behind me. Her hands are like ice as she puts them on my shoulders. "Bree has been through quite an ordeal. She will be available for questions tomorrow morning."

  "Can you tell us what happened?" a man presses.

  "There was a failed attempt to breach the wall. Our RFA soldiers shot the lift down and prevented the terrorist attack. Bree was there when the lift landed and managed to save a lot of lives. She's a hero. We'll have more information for you tomorrow," the woman says.

  They continue to ask questions, but the woman pushes me past them. They all step out of her way automatically. They're afraid of her. They ask questions, but they know better than to get in her way. It's a curious mixture of curiosity, daringness and fear.

  The sun has gone down behind the wall. The few straggler rays cast thin shadows along the ground and buildings. The trees look grey in the light. The square is large and beautiful. A fountain is directly in the middle. Tall buildings are all around me. They reach up to touch the sky with dignity and light. The pods are not running along the tracks nearly as often as they had been during the day. The lifts have stopped flying by every few minutes as well. The city is settling down for the night. The wall is in the distance. Blue lights line the interior. There are larger, brighter lights as well. They look like spotlights. They're coming from the direction of the crash.

  The woman wheels me over to a train that has been stopped at the edge of the square. She makes sure I am secure and then gives a happy little wave at the people who have crowded outside. All of them are holding devices that look like handhelds, save for the fact that they have large lenses. They're recording us. The lights emanate from the tops of the devices. I do my best to look as pleasant as the rest of the immigrants in the city. I'm certain no one is fooled.

  The doors slide shut on the train and we glide away without a bump or rattle. The woman looks pleased with herself. "They're just eating it up," she says happily. "You were perfect."

  I breathe a sigh of relief.

  "I'm sure you understand the need to keep hope alive as the rebels continue to move closer to the city. This is a trying time for the city and its people."

  It's a warning. I take it seriously.

  "Yes," I say quietly.

  "You will say everything I tell you to
say, and you will show the city that heroes can come from the most unexpected places."

  "I know what to do," I say. "I won't let you down."

  "You had better not," the woman replies.

  We're silent then. She is confident and smug. She, like the others I have met in the city, thinks she has all the power. She's right. It's funny how they are all scared of the violence of the rebels and the unrest they might cause in the city but keep us in line with violence and threats. It is a strange contradiction I am too groggy to focus on for long.

  The train takes us in a long arc around the city. The fading light finally leaves the city. New lights, of blue and white, take over for the sun. These lights sparkle and glitter charmingly as we pass them. I would have enjoyed the sight more if the woman had not been my escort. She makes me tense and nervous. She's like a tightly coiled spring that can be released at any moment without any warning to destroy me.

  The train comes to a slow stop fifteen minutes later. The woman grabs my wheelchair again and pushes me down the street. Her high heels clatter along the stone. I don't think she knows another way to walk that doesn't belong to a grim march.

  The buildings in this district are all houses. They're stone, like the rest of the city, but they have beauty and ornamentation that the other buildings do not. Scrollwork adds texture to the stone, and large windows give light and life. Amber lights illuminate the interiors of the houses. They are warm and cheerful. They are nothing like the lights in the facility. The houses have bright-green grass, broad trees and colorful flowers that bleed over from one yard to the next. There is a sense of continuity and togetherness about the design. The beauty of nature belongs to them all.

  The woman stops in front of a house that is pushed back from the street a little. It is different from the others in that it has a large porch and twice as much yard. It is the largest house on the street, and has a certain dignified air of seclusion.

  The woman rolls me down a rock path and stops at the front porch. "Up," she tells me.

  I stand painfully and feel my leg ripple with agonizing pain. She doesn't help me up the stairs. She expects me to manage on my own. I step up the three steps awkwardly and join her at the door. She has already knocked.

  The door opens almost immediately. A large woman with round eyes and blonde hair stares back at us. Her eyes are incurious and a smile is on her face. She wears a yellow armband. "May I ask who's calling?" she asks.

  "Agent Crease," the woman says.

  She's an agent for the government. I have heard of them from my classes. They keep secrets hidden and situations covered up. No wonder the others fear her. I remember Devlin telling me about special agents who disseminate information and carry out special missions. He told me they were a big part of the reason the rebels lost the war.

  "One moment," the woman at the door says.

  She closes the door. There is a hushed conversation and a different woman comes to the door. She is definitely not wearing an armband. She would never allow such an indignity. She has Ace's eyes and skin tone. His strong nose is her nose. Power and self-control are in her expression. I'm convinced he learned both from her. She looks at me for a long minute, assessing, measuring, deciding. Whatever she sees does not impress her. Her lips lift up into a mocking smile. The smile quickly changes as her face grows impassive again.

  "Please, come in," she says, all politeness.

  I understand Ace's warning. She's dangerous. She's the type of woman who smiles at you even as she stabs you in the back. I wince as I take a step forward. My leg sears painfully at the movement. I want to scream out. I don't. I won't let Agent Crease have the satisfaction. Mrs. Ellison reaches out and takes my arm instantly, surprising me. She guides me to a chair in a room off the main hall. Her hands are gentle. They're a contradiction to her steely eyes.

  There are five other people in the room. A man with Ace's cheekbones and muscular physique is in the center of the room. He has grey at his temples, but I see where Ace gets his blond highlights. His face is square, and he is almost alarmingly handsome. I have a feeling he's not afraid to use his looks to his advantage. Like his wife, there is a deep intellect and cunningness in his eyes.

  Ace is sitting in a chair near the window. He looks bored. He has one leg thrown over the arm and is staring out the window. Next to him is a girl who can only be described as pretty. She's tall, full-bodied, and her face is round and pleasing. She looks like the type of girl who always has interesting conversation.

  Another older man is on the sofa. He has dark hair peppered with grey and a lined face. He looks tired and icy. He does not pretend to be warm like Ace's mother does. He doesn't care to be. He owns his anger and lack of niceties proudly. The last place my eyes go is Gib. My body knows the danger of looking even if my mind hadn't registered him yet. It wanted to give me time to acclimate to his presence. It's time I definitely need. He's leaning against the wall and looking at his handheld. He doesn't even glance in my direction as I walk inside. My stomach clenches unpleasantly when I recognize him, and my face fills with heat.

  I want to hurt him. I want to reach out and rip his throat out. Riley may have helped him escape, but Gib is the real reason camp is gone. He brought the RFA back to us. He killed us for saving his life. His evil is the one I want to punish the most. Looking at him without moving is torture.

  Don't say anything. Act like you don't care. Keep your expression neutral. Don't give in to the temptation.

  I look over at Ace again and see him nod slightly, though his eyes are on the road. He's telling me I'm strong enough to say nothing. He's telling me I can get through first contact with Gib. I'm stronger than my rage. Remember Max. Remember Maria. They will hurt them both if I react to Gib.

  "She doesn't look like much," the man with the cold face decides as Mrs. Ellison helps me sit. "Her face is plain, and she's far too muscular. No shape to her at all. And she definitely doesn't have a lick of smarts. Look at how vacant she is."

  Don't say anything. Pretend you're someone else. Be someone else. Just get through this without attacking Gib. I stare at the floor. It's better than staring at Gib or Ace.

  "I think she's pretty," the girl decides. "For an immigrant."

  "Is there anything we should know?" Mrs. Ellison asks Agent Crease.

  "She has to be at the Assembly by nine o'clock tomorrow. There will be reporters and questions. Please make sure she is presentable by eight o'clock. I will be here at that time to go over her responses."

  "I will," Ms. Ellison says.

  "Thank you," Agent Crease says. She bows slightly and leaves the room. The front door closes a second later.

  "Definitely not smart," the cold man says. "I don't know how she managed to rescue Humphrey. Probably knocked into the idiot while she was running away and he rolled out of the way on accident."

  "She's spent her life running wild in the woods with the rebels," Gib says, sending a shockwave of anger and dislike down my spine. His voice is exactly how I remember it, only now the need to hide his emotions is gone. His arrogance and vanity are on display. Don't attack him. They'll kill Max. I'll lose everything if I show my dislike. "They're all stringy and tough on the other side...Doesn't mean they have a lot of common sense or intellect."

  Just enough common sense and intellect to save his life.

  "I hope they've stomped out the rebelliousness in this one," the cold man says, eyeing me cautiously.

  "She wouldn't be in this house if they hadn't," Mr. Ellison replies. "My brother-in-law knows what he's doing. He assures me that three weeks into training not one feels the need to rebel. They have learned their place...They've learned obedience."

  The cold man nods, an apology on his face. I get the distinct impression it's not a good idea to make Mr. Ellison angry. He doesn't explode with his rage. He waits in the shadows and takes his revenge when his enemy is weakest. It reminds me of Ace. The resemblance is not what I want to think about now.

  I keep my eyes o
n the ground and listen to them without moving. I'm afraid that if I shift they'll see that I am not as subdued as they think. I'm afraid to show them the truth of what I can do and think.

  "I can't imagine having to live on the outside of the wall," the girl says cheerfully over the awkward moment. "It must be dreadful. I hear they're all wild...and starving. They never shower or read."

  "You wouldn't last a day," Gib tells her. "All those bugs and fresh air would make your skin crawl. It's nothing like your parties and gossip."

  "Don't tease her," Ace replies quietly.

  "Speaking of the outside, when are they going to send you over the wall again?" the girl asks. The question is light and airy, but I sense there is some mettle to her. It is not a question she's supposed to ask. It reveals a surprising amount of steel.

  Gib shrugs once and glances at the cold man uncomfortably. "The rebels know my face now. I'm here until my commander needs me elsewhere."

  "But surely you can be a pilot and take our soldiers to the frontlines," the girl adds. "They can't waste such talent. It would be a mistake for the city."

  Gib's cocky smile returns. "It's out of my hands."

  "A little rest won't hurt you," Mrs. Ellison adds. "You were out there for seven months. Anyone would need a break after all that."

  Mr. Ellison nods, though I think he likes seeing Gib's failure. Ace stares out the window, not interested enough to join the conversation. The cold man looks at Gib like he's never been more disappointed in his life. I stare at the floor and wish they would send me away. My voice is fading away the longer I sit and say nothing. I wonder if I'll ever get it back.

  "It's getting late," Ace says suddenly. "Gib and I have to leave now if we're to make it back by curfew."

  "Oh, can't you stay away from headquarters for a night?" the girl complains.

  "I have nights off," Ace says. "Just not tonight."

  "Not even after you saved the city?" the girl asks, her expression lifting up with pride. Her smile is warm and affectionate.

  "A soldier doesn't get a night off for doing his job. He gets to go on living if he does it properly," Ace replies.

  The girl giggles as if Ace has made a clever joke, while Mr. and Mrs. Ellison smile proudly. They like that Ace is so dedicated to the city. They think they have raised the perfect son. Neither of them know him at all.

  Ace unwinds himself from the chair and the room seems to grow smaller. I realize in that moment he will not be staying the night. I will be in the house alone with two people who look like they can kill me in a glance. The facility feels safer. At least I have Maria to talk to there. I have a moment of panic. I had been expecting him to be around. But I know he can't babysit me. He has done everything he can. Survival is up to me.

  The girl stands as well and puts her hand in his lovingly. They're a couple. I don't know why the thought startles me. I didn't figure him for the dating type. He seems too rigid and focused on his duties to think of anything else. Or so it seemed.

  "Take me home?" she asks coyly.

  "Of course," he replies with a warm smile.

  They say their goodbyes and Gib follows them from the room. Gib's eyes linger on me for a long minute as he walks out. He's thinking of our last meeting. Maybe he's thinking of Riley. Does he wonder if I will search her out? Does he question whether I am really subdued? Can he see my rebellion in my face? He knows I'm different, but does he wonder how different?

  The cold man leaves not long after with plenty of compliments and happy exchanges with the Ellisons. They are all politeness to one another. I wonder if they know they can't stand one another. They probably do.

  I'm finally left alone with Mr. and Mrs. Ellison. I hear people moving around the house. They're immigrants who are cleaning and making the house perfect for tomorrow. They're not allies. My only ally has left.

  "You must be very tired," Mrs. Ellison decides. "I'll show you to your room."

  "Thank you," I reply so quietly it's a whisper.

  She hears. She nods once to acknowledge my thanks and gestures for me to stand. I follow her out of the room. Mr. Ellison's eyes are on my back. I can't be certain if he is wondering if I'm a rebel or thinking I look pathetic. I don't want to ask. It'll just get me in trouble.

  Mrs. Ellison takes me to a room that is small but clean. It is the first bedroom I've ever had to myself that didn't consist of sleeping on the ground. I would have been impressed had I not been scared, frustrated, and trapped by words as much as actions.

  "Don't leave this room," Mrs. Ellison says. "We have a security system that will shoot you on sight should you leave before I collect you."

  I nod to show I understand and she closes the door behind me. She doesn't lock it, but she doesn't have to. She has trapped me with her warning. I am always trapped now.

  I sit down on the bed and let out a long breath I didn't know I had been holding in. I just have to heal, then they'll send me back to the facility. It's strange that I suddenly feel safer there, but I do. At least I have friends there and can avoid getting noticed. I can blend in. Not everyone is staring at me, judging, assessing, waiting to see if I'll let them down.

  I lean back on my bed, not bothering to turn off the light that shimmers on a table, and close my eyes. If I can just get through the next two days. If only I could turn my brain off and forget where I come from until I'm taken back to the facility. If only.

  Chapter 21