Compliance (14 page)

Beep.

I look up at the sound. My heart rate soars but no one even turns, and I realize I could claim to have mistyped my own passcode. I’ll get three tries before a real alarm sounds.

A drop of sweat traces over my temple, and I close my eyes and imagine Mr. Belando typing in his code. Yes, a Z, not an X, but I’m no longer confident whether it’s a T or a U following it. The numbers are easier because he moved his right hand over to the number pad and that’s more compact and easier to watch.

I open my eyes, draw a deep breath, and try again, choosing the Z and the U.

Beep.

My chest constricts and I suck in a ragged breath. One more chance. My hands tremble. I look around the room. No one’s watching, but it feels as if I have an audience of thousands.

Thinking of all the Deviants who need saving, I try one last time, opting for the Z and T. Closing my eyes, I strike the last key, a 6.

No beep.

I open my eyes as the screen appears before me, reading, “Good Evening, Mr. Belando.”

My eyes dart around. No one’s watching, but it’s not hard
to imagine that somewhere there’s another set of eyes looking out from this screen and seeing that I’m not Mr. Belando. My shoulders tense. Even if no one looks at my screen, it’s all too possible that someone, somewhere, will review the log of Mr. Belando’s System access. I’m hoping that, since he’s in charge of Compliance, I only have him to fear. I’m not sure how I’ll explain what I’m doing to him, but I need to be brave, and I’ll cross that bridge if I come to it. Chances are he doesn’t review his own accesses.

The next screen reads COMPLIANCE across the top. Below that, the menu options list virtually every other department inside Haven. I’ve always known the Compliance department was powerful—its employees oversee the performance of every other department and audit their adherence to the Haven Policies & Procedures Manual—but until this moment, with every detail in Haven literally at my fingertips, I hadn’t fully understood that power.

Blocking those thoughts, I select HR RECORDS, and I’m about to search for Adele Parry, but I reverse my priority list and enter Gage’s name instead. If one or both of his kids are Deviants, this might be my one and only chance to access the full HR database and find them. I can’t pass up this chance to help his kids.

TERMINATED appears on the screen under Gage’s name. Dead.

If they know he’s still alive, it’s not recorded here. His profile is still linked to his marriage contract partner, Theresa. From her HR record I discover they have two children:
Kara’s fourteen and Tobin’s eleven. I wish there were some way I could safely get news to them that he’s alive. They deserve to know.

As much as I hated my father when I thought he was the one who hurt Drake and killed Mom, I wish I’d known he was alive.

I memorize their address, the department Theresa works in, and the location of the GT center that both Tobin and Kara attend.

There’s a flag next to Tobin’s name in his GT class list. I touch it and a message box appears. “Absent twenty-three consecutive training sessions. Parasitic behavior reported to Compliance.” I gasp. It’s a note from his instructor from at least a month ago.

I search through menus until I find a list of open audits and then search through the open investigation list for Tobin’s employee number. It’s not there.

Either I’m too late or no one in Compliance has acted on the note from Tobin’s GT instructor—yet. There’s one small benefit to all the Comps being so focused on finding the terrorists: it’s created an audit backlog.

Backlog or not, assuming Tobin’s GT absences were to hide a Deviance, I need to find him quickly.

The study room door opens, and I swipe my hand to close down my screen; but it’s just one of my classmates whose name I’ve forgotten or never noticed. He nods before taking a seat at the other side of the room.

I use my own passcode to open the study files on my screen and pretend to review the material, but I can’t concentrate.
Besides, I’m already feeling prepared for the exam.

After five minutes, I gather the courage to use Mr. Belando’s code again. This time, before I look for Adele, I perform some searches on my COT classmates’ HR files, hoping to find a key to the mole’s identity, but I don’t find anything of interest. At least now, if the unthinkable happens and Mr. Belando realizes I used his code, I can demonstrate how I was looking for the mole. I doubt that will make him forgive me, but I can’t let that fear stop me.

Giving up on my mole queries, I search for Adele. Her name brings up the work placement and residence that Clay gave me, but I already know she’s not there. I’ve checked. I then discover a feature to show the full employee list for her former work placement.

There she is. Her ID photo shows a square face, short dark hair, thick eyebrows, and an angry expression.

What happened to you, Adele? Why is there no transfer or termination record? I split the screen and compare the lists of employees at her work placement now and a year ago. The only other change is a female who was transferred to some place called a laundry. On a whim, I look at her photo in the list of laundry employees. It’s Adele.

Somehow Adele has assumed another woman’s employee number and records. I quickly take note of her details. Heart pounding, I take a huge risk and send an anonymous e-note to Adele, asking her to meet me tomorrow night.

Tomorrow is the Quarter End Free Day, but it’s too risky to approach her during daylight hours. Better if I can get her to meet me at night. I sign it, “A friend.”

I know from class that these notes aren’t ever
really
anonymous, that even low-level auditors can trace them; plus, her supervisors at the laundry will be able to see it if they choose to. But I’ll worry about that if I’m caught.

Hoping to cover my tracks, I go back to the list of transfers from Adele’s old job and follow a few more links, thrilled when I actually find the parent of one of my fellow COT recruits. That will help my cover story with Belando should I need one.

I search for other records at Gage’s wife’s work placement too, then I do more searches on our Comp class and our training instructors, leaving a complicated trail I hope Mr. Belando will find plausible. I’ll claim I didn’t want to wait for the audit reports.

Adrenaline surges. I was made for spy work. If I continue to be smart and careful, I might live beyond seventeen.

“What are you doing?” Captain Larsson asks.

I jump and press the kill key to completely shut down my screen. “Studying,” I blurt. How did he creep up on me?

He narrows his eyes and leans over the table toward me. “Didn’t look like studying to me.” He points to his eyes and then to me. “I’m watching you, Solis. Be careful.”

I lift my chin and look at him calmly and evenly. “Yes, sir.”

Too bad Larsson
, I think. I am Glory, super spy. You can’t scare me.

T
HERE ARE FEWER
people in the Hub today than on most QEF Days, but it’s still crowded. With the President’s Birthday only six days away, some people must have decided to stay home, but more will come that day. Many more people will be here that day and if the terrorists strike then, so many lives will be lost. Scanning the crowd, I wonder whether anyone here is one of the terrorists. It’s not clear what they want other than to disrupt our lives and make us lose confidence in Management. They’re nuts. Setting bombs is not the way to do that.

But I don’t want to think about terrorists right now. The bright lights from the Hub screens shine and bounce off the glass and steel buildings—such a contrast from the dark alleys and rooftops at night—and my skin almost sings at being outdoors while the sun light’s turned on. The feeling
doesn’t compare to real sunlight; still, it’s great, and I’m determined to enjoy this short respite from my stressful and busy life.

There’s little I can do right now anyway, and everything’s falling into place. Adele responded to my e-note and agreed to meet me tonight in the laundry. As long as Burn—or someone from the FA—shows up at the meeting spot tonight, I can let him know I found Adele. It’s my best chance to get back on the team.

“Isn’t the Hub beautiful today?” Jayma tips her head back and spins.

“I did that.” Scout touches her shoulder and points up to a new billboard with a photo of the President standing in front of the Haven logo and grinning ear to ear. The colors are bright and the President’s teeth gleam with blinding white.

“You painted it?” Jayma stares at Scout in awe.

“I put it up.” He puffs out his chest. “Well, my crew did. It was difficult to get it straight.”

“Why aren’t there more people here?” Jayma asks.

“Not sure,” Cal says. “It’s kind of odd for a Quarter End.”

“It’s the terrorists,” Scout says, then wraps his arms around Jayma’s waist from behind. “People are afraid to come to the Hub since that last bombing.”

“Don’t worry.” Cal slides his hand up my back to my shoulder. “There’s too much security for anything to happen here.” He gestures with his head to the Comps lining the Hub’s perimeter.

In addition to the Comps we all see, Cal and I know from class that there are a minimum of eleven Comps posted in buildings around the Hub. But Shocker tags—even bullets—won’t do anything against bombs.

“The terrorists are cowards.” Cal claps his younger brother on the back. “They’d never come near the Hub. Plus, assuming they’re Deviant freaks, we’d spot them.”

“You’re probably right,” Scout says, “but people are scared.” He looks up at a large screen that’s flashing the Haven motto: Haven Equals Safety. “Haven used to be such a safe place.”

I suppress a grin. We graduated from GT just last term but Scout’s talking as if he’s an old man looking back on his youth. And the Haven slogan is laughable. Terrorists aside, no one in Haven understands what safety means, or real danger for that matter.

“Hey there, stranger.” Stacy bounds up to Cal and grins, totally ignoring me. Ansel, Quentin, and the handful of other recruits who are with her nod their hellos.

“You found us.” Cal says, and Stacy leans in for a hug, clinging to him even after he drops his hands. He smiles an apology at me.

“How’s your nose healing?” Stacy asks. “You were so brave that day.”

“It’s not that bad,” Cal says, and she rubs his arm.

I turn away. Cal said he doesn’t like Stacy in that way, and I believe him, but that doesn’t mean I want to watch her flirt with my boyfriend.

I gesture for Ansel and the others to come over to meet Jayma and Scout, and after I’ve made introductions,
everyone chats and admires the new lights and sights in the Hub as if we’re all good friends.

Ansel pulls me aside. “You okay with that?” He crooks his head over toward Cal and Stacy. She’s still standing way too close and laughing.

“It’s no big deal,” I tell Ansel, but I wish I could convince the bands of elastic tightening around my stomach.

“No,
you’re
the best,” Stacy says to Cal. As much as I try to ignore her, I can’t.

“Really?” He runs his hand over his cropped hair.

“And you deserve the best too,” she says. “You should upgrade.”

“Upgrade?” he asks.

She grabs hold of his wrist and circles her fingers around the edge of his dating bracelet.

Enough.
I stride over and slip under Cal’s arm.

He squeezes my shoulder and smiles. “Stacy’s trying to convince me that I’m the best in our martial arts class.” He shakes his head.

“You’re the best in my eyes.” I reach up to his neck and pull his lips down to mine, kissing him harder than I should in public.

“Wow,” he says quietly when we come up for air. “Where did that come from?”

I shrug and give him a small smile.

Cal bends his lips toward my ear. “Let’s get out of here. I want some time with you. In private.”

My whole body buzzes, and I pull back a tiny bit. The
level of license we have does not permit activities that might result in procreation.

Stacy stares at the ground, arms crossed over her chest, and I know her discomfort shouldn’t make me happy, but it does.

The music from the Hub loudspeakers swells, and the screens pulse with changing colors to get our attention. An image of the President appears on the screens, beaming down.

“Welcome,” he says, “and thank you so much to each and every Haven employee who’s working hard to make the Hub beautiful for my birthday celebrations.” He gestures as if he’s actually up there on the screen and surveying the surroundings. “I hope that you’ll all attend.”

The crowd murmurs.

“In fact,” the President continues, “I’ve declared my birthday a Haven-wide holiday!”

The crowd cheers, and without thinking, I’m cheering too. It’s hard not to get caught up in the excitement, especially when it’s about something nice, like a party rather than someone getting exed. And I’m still on a high from the kiss.

“And now,” the President continues, “I have a special treat.”

The crowd’s spellbound.

“Today’s exercises will be led by none other than the VP of Health and Safety herself, Mrs. Kalin.”

The crowd cheers, the President steps to the side, and Mrs. Kalin, looking very fit in a brown jumpsuit, steps into the frame. “Thank you, Mr. President.” She turns to the camera
and smiles. Normally we do the exercises at our work placements, led by our supervisors or instructors when we were in GT.

I look into Mrs. Kalin’s eyes on the screen—so much easier without the risk of revealing my Deviance—and they’re warm and inviting. My shoulders drop and I realize how tense I’ve been these past days—past months.

I remember my pledge to take advantage of this free day and forget about Adele and the FA, forget about the mole, forget about Burn. Right now, I’ll enjoy this special treat of having Mrs. Kalin lead our exercise routine.

“Why is everyone cheering for the witch who’s in charge of the Hospital?” Jayma asks, and I peel my gaze from Mrs. Kalin’s eyes on the screen. Jayma’s facing the ground. Scout and Cal are jumping and cheering with everyone else and getting set up to do the exercises, and neither of them has noticed Jayma’s discomfort.