Alienation (18 page)

“World leaders have assured the masses that we have everything under control. They have repeated time and again that the gateways opened by the Thule on September 24 of this year have not only been sealed shut, but that we have locked the doors and thrown away the proverbial keys.”

Agent Graves folded his hands and placed his long index fingers against his lips. “I am afraid that those gateways are the least of our concerns. You see, we believe the Thule are nearing completion on a machine that will allow them to create traversable wormholes—a kind of bridge that connects two points in the universe. Once that happens, they will fill our skies with warships and hunt us until we are extinct.”

The cadets fidgeted uncomfortably.

“Ladies and gentlemen, you have been summoned in the middle of our term because time is running short. Not only are you the youngest class in the history of this institution, but there is also a chance that you will be among the last class who passes through these halls. Our hope . . . indeed, our prayer is that you will rise up and lead us to victory. If not, we may be in the last days of our existence as a species.”

Oz stood and clapped. At first, the other cadets looked confused, but then someone a few seats away stood with him. So did another, and then another. Before long, everyone was standing and cheering. Agent Graves stood there, his face stoic as he allowed the applause to crescendo. Then, like a conductor before an orchestra, he raised his hands and everyone stopped.

“Very good,” he said. “Given the special circumstances that have brought us together, Director Romero has asked if he could say a few words. Director?”

There was a flicker like a lightbulb, and suddenly Oz's dad was standing in the middle of the stage—only he wasn't actually there. It was a hologram. “I'm sorry I couldn't be there to greet you in person,” he said. “But as you can imagine, my schedule has been a bit hectic lately.

“I won't repeat what you've heard from Agent Graves, but it's critical that you understand what's at stake. The Thule are warmongers. They have stripped their world of its natural resources and now they have to find a new home or they'll face extinction. We believe that they picked Earth because our atmosphere is similar to theirs, but we're not going to let that happen.”

Lobo paused and took a deep breath. “I'll shoot straight with you. Thanks to a generation of politicians more interested in self-preservation than the good of mankind, our program has been woefully underfunded for decades. That means our military, as well as this agency, is not equipped with the tools, much less the bodies needed to protect our planet against the inevitable. But giving up isn't an option!

“That means we're going to push you to your breaking point, and then we're going to push you harder. And when you feel like quitting, I want you to remember that you are humanity's last line of defense. We won't have time to train another class of cadets before the Thule arrive, so if you fail, we'll be wiped from the history books. Sleep well tonight, because starting tomorrow, life as you know it will change forever.”

There was applause, and Lobo's figure flickered and disappeared as Agent Graves returned to the stage to review academy rules. Most were fairly obvious, like boys weren't allowed in the girls' dorms and vice versa. Nobody could leave school grounds without prior authorization, and cadets were expected to be in class on time. No exceptions.

“There will be no personal electronic devices—that goes for phones, music players, laptops, and cameras—all are strictly forbidden.” The cadets started to complain, but Agent Graves simply raised his hand and waited for everyone to calm down. “There is too much at stake to risk leaking critical data to the public at large. However, each of you will be given a tablet computer loaded with your textbooks.”

Someone in the back of the room raised his hand and cleared his throat. He was sitting with a cluster of boys, most of whom were trying to hide the fact that they were laughing.

“Name, please,” Agent Graves said, his cold eyes regarding the cadet.

“It's Pierce, but most people call me—”

“I did not ask for a nickname,” Agent Graves said, cutting him off. His manner was calm, but he spoke with an unquestioned authority. “And when you speak, you will stand and speak with conviction. Now try again.”

“Pierce Bowen.”

Colt rolled his eyes. It was the annoying kid from the locker room.

“Ah, yes,” Agent Graves said with a nod. “Your father is the junior senator from Utah. He was a rising star until reports surfaced that he was having an affair.”

Pierce clenched his jaw, but he didn't say anything.

“Trust is a critical part of this organization.” Agent Graves paused for a moment. “Are you trustworthy, or do you believe that your genetics will betray you?”

Pierce seethed, his face bright red as his eyes shifted to the other cadets who were sitting around him. They slouched in their seats before Agent Graves decided to bring up their family secrets as well.

“I'm sorry, I don't believe I heard your response,” Agent Graves said.

“Yes, sir. You can trust me.”

“I certainly hope so,” the agent said. “Now I believe you had a question.”

Colt wondered if the instructors tore the cadets down before they built them back up as part of the training. Why else would he publicly humiliate Pierce like that? Or maybe Agent Graves was just a jerk. He'd find out soon enough.

“I wanted to know if everyone here has had their blood tested,” Pierce said.

“Tested?” Agent Graves said. “What do you mean?”

Pierce looked around the room to make sure he had a captive audience. “My father is a member of the Senate Committee on Intelligence, and he told me what really happened in Iowa. There wasn't a leak in that nuclear reactor—someone released a virus, and that's why they quarantined the city—they didn't want it to spread .”

“An interesting theory,” Agent Graves said.

“It's not a theory. I've seen pictures of people who were infected, and they all died within forty-eight hours,” Pierce said. “The virus wasn't contained. They found it in Thailand and Mexico, and there's been another outbreak in Haiti. And the scary part? There's no cure, because it didn't come from our world. It's a biological weapon from the Thule, so before they try to sneak into this facility and spread the virus through the air ducts or something, I figured we should know if anyone here is a shape-shifter in disguise.”

Colt gripped his chair until his knuckles turned white. Did Pierce know his secret?

:: CHAPTER 31 ::

C
olt fought an overwhelming urge to jump out of his chair and rush to the nearest mirror. He wanted to make sure his skin hadn't started to morph into scales and that his eyes were still blue instead of that creepy yellow color.

“What's wrong with you?” Oz asked as everyone left the amphitheatre.

“Nothing.”

“Then why do you look like you're about to throw up?”

“Do you think he's right?”

“That one of us is a shapeshifter?” Oz asked. “I doubt it. They wouldn't get passed the security scan in the lobby—their skeletal structure is different, even after they shape-shift into a human form. Besides, everyone has to get a blood test.”

Colt followed Oz toward a group of about twenty cadets, each looking unsure. When he saw their tour guide, he understood why. The giant was at least seven feet tall and covered in fur that was the color of rust. Intense eyes hid beneath a heavy brow, its nose was short—almost like a dog's—and it had a wide jaw that looked strong enough to crush boulders.

All of that would have been enough to terrify anyone, but the creature looked like a mad scientist had twisted it into some kind of a hybrid. Its left arm had been replaced by a robotic prosthetic, with working fingers and joints. Its right leg was mechanical as well, but the strangest enhancement was a second head that sat just above its prosthetic arm. It was cased in metal and had a glowing eye that roved back and forth, scanning the cadets.

“Remember him?” Oz asked.

Colt nodded. The last time they had seen Lohr, they were at Hyde Field House as a guest of Basil Hyde, a former CHAOS agent turned businessman. Amongst his many enterprises, Hyde owned and operated the Intergalactic Fighting League. It was similar to boxing or mixed martial arts, but the IGFL pitted the greatest fighters in the twelve known worlds against one another—and Lohr was ranked toward the top of his weight class. He was also the combat training instructor at the CHAOS Military Academy.

“Now that we're all here, let's go over some rules,” Lohr said, his voice deep and rich. “Anyone in a black uniform is an instructor, and you'll address them as sir or ma'am. If you see someone in a gray uniform, that's a second-year cadet. They've been here longer than you, and they've earned certain privileges. When you see one walking down the path, you step aside and let them pass. Other than that, I have only have one rule . . . do exactly what I say when I say it, and you won't have to sleep in the infirmary tonight.”

Lohr led them through the halls of the main building, which felt more like a warehouse or an industrial park. He explained that it was a façade, and how delivery drivers and postal workers thought that the CHAOS Military Academy was actually the Morrow Research Institute, a facility that specialized in the study of infectious diseases. It was the perfect cover, because nobody stuck around long enough to see more than the lobby or the loading dock. They were too worried about catching anthrax, SARS, or Legionnaires' disease to notice the rest of the campus.

The grounds housed what used to be a private university founded by Thomas Jefferson in the 1820s that was patterned after the College of William and Mary, which he attended as a young man. The school specialized in history, mathematics, metaphysics, and philosophy, as well as foreign languages and music. It boasted an enormous library, housing Jefferson's vast collection of books, but the school found hard times during the Great Depression and shuttered the doors in 1937. It wasn't long after that the United States Army purchased the land, where it was turned into a training ground for their top secret CHAOS program.

It was closing in on seven o'clock, and the sun was already gone as they left the warmth of the building for a network of lighted paths. Colt could see the steam rising from his lips, and he started to wonder if the cadets would be given some kind of jacket, or at least a windbreaker. Then it started to feel like his uniform was actually heating up.

“The fibers are programmed to elevate your body temperature when it drops below normal,” Oz said when he saw the strange look on Colt's face.

They cut through a series of buildings made of stone and brick, all with steep steps and tall pillars. Some were dedicated to traditional subjects, but there were also buildings for espionage, combat, and weapons systems. Eventually they came to a recreational center that had gymnasiums, racquetball courts, and weight rooms. There was a massive library, a chapel with a cemetery out back, a theatre, and combat simulation rooms where cadets trained with holograms.

They had rounded the corner of a grassy area covered with trees to discover a stadium lit up with hundreds of lights. Cadets cut through the sky in jet packs, flying through metal rings that somehow hovered in the air. One did a back flip while two others looked like they were racing around a series of floating pylons. But there were more than jet packs. Other cadets went around on some kind of a surfboard, only instead of sliding across the water they soared three feet off the ground.

“Welcome to the flight center,” Lohr said.

“What are those?” Colt asked.

“Hoverboards,” Oz said. “They can't fly as high or as fast as a jet pack, but they're a lot better for distance.”

“How do they work?”

“I don't know,” Oz said with a shrug. “It has something to do with the earth's gravitational pull. I think the technical term is electrostatic repulsion. There's an electric charge on the bottom of the board, and it repels the charge on the earth's surface.”

“Looks like fun.”

The group started heading back to the main building, but Colt lingered, watching hoverboard riders veer through an obstacle course. He hadn't been surfing since the day his parents died, and that was almost three months ago.

“Come on, McAlister,” he heard Oz call. “I'm hungry, and I'm going to blame you if all the good food is gone before we get to the party.”

:: CHAPTER 32 ::

C
olt followed the group back inside. The warm air brushed his cheek as the sliding door closed behind him, but despite the cold he wanted to go back and watch the hoverboards. Maybe he would sneak away unnoticed once everyone was busy eating. Then again, the doors were probably going to be monitored.

Lohr led them through a network of corridors, his head just inches from the ceiling tiles as they passed door after door, each requiring a biometric scan to access whatever was inside. One of the cadets placed his hand on a pad to see what would happen. Red lights formed around his fingertips and a sensor beeped twice, but that was it.