Ash (13 page)

“I spend my days ruining lives, Madden. You realize that only one percent of the babies I designate are Purples? Do you know how many are Ashes?”

I shook my head no. “What does that have to do with anything?”

He continued to spew statistics. “Thirty-two percent. Another twenty-four percent are Slate. Can you imagine what it would feel like to have your child designated to one of the outer rings?” He looked at me. “Can you?”

“I hardly think that would happen,” I shot back. “If it did, I would accept it. That’s the system we live with. It’s not perfect, but it works better than the alternative.”

“People used to have the freedom to define their own lives, Madden. They had a choice. The future was undefined. It could be anything.
They
could be anything.”

I’d had enough of this. I had to remind him of the stakes.

“Choice is a luxury we no longer have,” I snapped. “It’s a small price to pay for safety. Billions of people died during the Event. Ninety percent of our world—gone within one week. Because John Crilas decided to ignore his destiny. All he had to do was close a door. He didn’t. And so here we are. Our government is barely keeping things on track as it is. Your job is a big part of what maintains our safety. All of us.”

“And what if it was Crilas’s destiny to let those billions die?” Link rounded. “What if he was supposed to open the door to that laboratory? Let the disease out. Then would it have been okay?”

We’d all studied the destiny system in school, and I’d heard variations of the arguments Link was making before. It didn’t matter though. I knew what it was like before. And I knew we allowed the unthinkable to happen. By not monitoring destinies more closely, by not establishing a proper system, the Event had taken place. “You’re being ridiculous,” I said. “Would you rather go back to the old days when people were at war, or starving, or killing each other for one petty thing after another.”

Link shook his head. “You say that, Madden, but
you
have all those petty little things. Like a home, food, clothing.”

“Exactly. Everyone has those things now. Everyone is provided for.”

“It’s not the same. We place someone into a lower ring, and they never have a chance. They’re forced into a certain kind of job, a certain kind of lifestyle, and their children follow, then their children’s children. It’s an endless cycle.”

I tried to respond, but Link kept talking, unwilling to let me get a word in.

“Ash and Slate are growing faster than any of us can keep up with. Those families are playing the odds, hoping to have children born into an upper ring. It happens a few times a year in the entire city, Madden. But they keep trying, hoping for a miracle. Instead they wind up with even more mouths to feed.” He gave me a haunted look. “Don’t you see? The whole system is a broken cycle. And I’m responsible for it. I’ve extracted hundreds of destinies, and most of those kids I’ve had to place into Ash or Slate.”

I took a deep breath, willing myself to stay calm. I could still turn this conversation around. “There’s nothing wrong with the outer rings. Their people are
fulfilling their destinies, just like we are.”

Link snorted. “Didn’t your parents want more? They were what? Crimsons? And yet they still moved to the Purple ring when they had you. They didn’t gamble on a second child, either. A child that could have moved them back down to Crimson. Or worse.”

I slammed my hand against the glass of his cell. The sound echoed and I raised my voice, unable to keep the anger at bay any longer. “Don’t you
dare
bring my parents into this. That’s not what this is about. It’s about a successful government working to make things better for everyone.”

Link’s tone changed. His words sounded strained, tighter somehow. “Have you even been out there, Madden? Have you walked through the Ash zone? Because I have. I’ve gone with Dax. One day, she may have to live there, and she wants to be ready. It’s horrible. Miles of crumbling concrete buildings and cracked pavement. Trash baking on the street. The buildings are falling down on themselves from disrepair. And do you really think there’s no crime there—or that it’s just not being reported?
” He stopped, thinking to himself before speaking again. “‘Destiny is the art of shepherding used by wolves.’”

I was starting to shake from anger and I balled my hands into fists, trying to remain steady. I looked deep into Link’s green eyes, trying to find some remnant of my ex-boyfriend. “You sound like a conspiracy theorist,” I said.

He turned from me, looking off into space, as if the answer was there, floating just out of his grasp. “You know where I read that line?” he asked.

“It doesn’t matter,” I murmured. “You shouldn’t be reading propaganda.”

“Last summer I took an Advanced Theoretical Destiny course. I was doing some research when I found that quote. It was hidden in the library, in a scrapbook of old
New World Times
articles. The byline was Mila Lantner.”

It took a minute for the name to sink in.

“That was your mom, right?” he asked.

“She wouldn’t have written something like that.” I shook my head. I didn’t know much about my mom’s career, other than that she’d worked for the
Times
before I was born. My dad didn’t like to talk about her, but I’d read many of her articles over the years. I knew she was an upstanding, destiny-abiding woman. “You’re wrong.”

“Your mother stood up for what’s right. She didn’t just let the ministry feed her things to say. She had a voice, opinions—controversial ones at that.”

“You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Believe what you like.” He turned away from me and walked back to his cot. “I’m done pretending.”

“But, Link…” I began.

He refused to look my direction, instead staring up at the ceiling.

“Let me help you,” I said.

“Any help I wanted from you died with my brother.”

“Link,” I began, tears stinging my eyes. “There was nothing I could do.”

“You didn’t even try.”

I stood there for a moment, unsure of what to say, surrounded by his silence.

“Please go,” he finally said. “Aldan’s dead and there’s nothing you can do to fix that.”

W
hen I was little I remember looking with wonder at the seven colors that comprise the spire on the UV building. Each represented a color from the rings and, at night, their individual colors gleamed in harmony. Back then I still believed in the equality of the rings. Of course, even then I’d known that Ashes were further down the food chain. It was right there in descending order for anyone to see—purple, crimson, green, yellow, brown, slate, ash. But my brothers had never treated me differently, and unbeknownst to me at the time, they tried to make sure no one at school did either. It wasn’t until a fieldtrip that I understood the true symbolism of the building. “UV stands for Ultra Violet,” my first grade teacher explained. And that’s when it hit me. This was a building for Purples. With ultra destinies. It was right there in the name. Add to that I didn’t see a single Ash worker (believe me, I looked), and my lot in life became pretty clear.

Since that day I’d avoided this place. Everyone knows that Blank destinies and government don’t mesh. Walking up to the UV building entrance, my hand clenched in Kai’s, I felt as confused and helpless as my six-year-old self. Reporters and hovercams surrounded us, and the lights from their flashes blinded me. Kai’s hand holding mine was the only thing that kept me steady against the onslaught. Voices called out as we passed, all asking the same questions.

Why’d Aldan do it?

Was Aldan’s performance an accident, or a statement against the destiny system?

Was Link in on Aldan’s plan all along—and did they plan this together?

Does the entire family share the anti-destiny sentiments of Aldan and Link?

Was Aldan influenced by the under rings?

As I turned to tell them where they could put their cameras, Pel put his arm around me from the other side.

“Steady, Dax,” he said in my ear. “Saying something now will give them more to talk about later.”

He was right, and as quickly as the anger had flared, it left. I slipped back into numbness as we waded through the last hundred feet to the doorway. Security guards checked our trackers, and then the doors were opened. Inside was cool, and as the doors swung closed behind us, quiet. Light streamed in through pockets of glass mixed into the crystal walls, highlighting the purple-colored carpet and furniture in the lobby. We passed through four security checkpoints before we made our way to the elevator going down to the holding cells.

My parents were already at the sign-in desk, arguing with the booking officer as we approached.

“It’s our son,” my father said. “It’s our right to see him.”

The officer tapped her pencil impatiently against the desk, looking down her nose through thick glasses. “Sir, I’m going to have to ask you to sit down and wait your turn. We stick to protocol in this department.”

My mother turned as we approached, and began to cry. Pel went to her immediately, hugging her tightly. “She won’t let us in,” she said between sobs. “I just want to see your brother.” As my mother’s cries got louder, my father reached into her purse and handed her half of a pill. It was a pretty safe bet that she’d already taken the first half. She swallowed it and sat back down.

“Officer, there must be some kind of misunderstanding,” Pel explained. “We’re Link Harris’s family. We need to see him. Please.”

“I understand that,” the officer said, sighing. “But protocol says I can’t let you in right now.”

“And what is the protocol, exactly?” Pel asked.

The officer tapped the screen next to her desk, pulling up a numbered list. “Article 47 Clause 3.1.7. Inmates may not, in accordance with policy, see more than one visitor at a time during authorized hours of designated visiting days.”

I looked at her in confusion. “You mean that someone is already with Link?” I asked.

“I’m not at liberty to say,” she replied.

“What do you mean you’re not at liberty to say?” I pressed. The woman wasn’t making any sense.

She gave me a stern look through her glasses, pointedly ignoring the question. “I suggest you sign in, and I’ll call your name at the soonest availability.”

We each scanned our wrist trackers. As my name and status appeared on the screen, the officer looked up at me, her eyes narrowing suspiciously. “You’re a Blank?”

I nodded.

She sniffed. “Then I’m afraid you can’t go in. Blanks are not allowed to see prisoners unless permission is granted by the warden or higher authority. I can’t allow it unless you have documented consent.”

I shouldn’t have been surprised, but it still hurt. After everything that had happened, I just wanted to see Link. To hear his voice. And to tell him to take back what he’d said. I knew if I could just talk to him, he’d listen. I’d lost one brother today. I couldn’t lose another.

I turned from her to follow my family into the waiting area, passing portraits of the Seven along the way. I hated the ministers. After today, I even hated Dr. Og. Seventy years ago, before Og had discovered the first destinies, Aldan might have just been a regular athlete. Link wouldn’t be in jail. And I’d be a normal sixteen-year-old girl. With an unknown future to shape any way I chose. I didn’t care what anyone said. The system might have changed the larger world for the better, but it had made the lives of anyone not born into the upper rings miserable. I blinked back a fresh round of tears as I sat down next to my father. Behind us, a screen showed clips from the race, and I did my best to tune it out.