Intermix Nation (17 page)

“But only because that’s what the Medis
wanted!”

“Exactly,” he says. “The Medis used you as
propaganda. You became the symbol for what can happen to every
citizen if they step out of line. We are hoping to turn that
propaganda around. We want you to become the face of the rebellion,
the face of intermix. Be the voice for people who are so unable to
speak for themselves. Show them what happens if they do not join
us.”

“So you want me to pose for an advertisement
or something?” she asks. “Shoot a video?”

“It’s a bit more invested than that,” he
says. “For a few weeks, we want you to go on a campaign of sorts
through the four territories. Just show your face to the people a
little, tell your story, and make a few speeches. Try to gather as
much intermix and territory support as possible.”

“But I’m crap at public speaking!” she
argues.

“It doesn’t matter,” he says. “The people
living in the territories, especially intermix, are in a constant
state of starvation and poverty. They want to revolt against the
government, Nazirah. They just need a push. You need to become that
catalyst.”

Nazirah scoffs. “Oh, is that all?”

“You don’t have to do it if you don’t want
to,” he says. “I’ve spent several weeks arranging your safe
transfer with our most trusted allies around the country. And
Aldrik will be with you the entire time, trying to forge new
alliances along the way.”

“Aldrik?” she whines. “He hates me!”

“He doesn’t hate you,” Niko says. “He just
doesn’t like you much. I don’t want to mislead you into thinking
this will be entirely safe, because it’s not. But you will be as
protected as possible.”

Nazirah fingers the gold
bangle the Deathlandic girl gave her on the bus. The girl’s mother
recognized her, sympathized with her. Niko is right. This is
something she can do … something
only
she can do. So, although
Nazirah can think of a million reasons to say no, she says, “Yes,
Niko. I’ll do it. I want to do it.”

Nikolaus breathes a sigh of relief. He gets
up and walks over to her. “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me now,” she huffs. “I haven’t
done anything yet.”

“But you will,” he says. “Don’t
underestimate yourself. You’re more likable than you think.”

“You’re so sweet,” she says.

He laughs, but then turns serious again.
“Listen, this campaign isn’t to be taken lightly, okay?”

“I’m entirely serious about it,
Nikolaus.”

“That’s not what I mean,” he says. “I’m
trying to say that this isn’t a job for one person to handle
alone.”

“I thought that’s what Aldrik is there for,”
she says slowly.

“Aldrik will be there, yes,” Nikolaus says
evasively. “He has the formidable task of winning over some very
critical allies. We are hoping to restrict the transport of various
resources into Mediah, weakening them from within before we
strike.”

“And how is Aldrik planning on doing that?”
she asks.

“To be perfectly honest,” Niko says,
“probably with bribes.”

“Well, it certainly won’t be with
charm.”

“Agreed,” he laughs.

“And how do you expect the Medis to react
when we cut off their access to food, water, and whatever
else?”

“Not well, obviously,” he says, “Which is
why our window of opportunity is so small. It’s now or never.”

“Okay,” she says bluntly. “Your point
being?”

“Aldrik has good intentions …”

“I’m sensing a ‘but.’”

“
But
,” Niko continues, “like you
said, his delivery isn’t great. We need someone there to negotiate.
Someone with the military background and monetary backing to secure
alliances and make sure our allies follow through.” Nikolaus looks
at her, waits for her to comprehend.

Nazirah doesn’t need to ask. “Niko, no
way!”

“It has to be him.”

“You can’t possibly expect me to spend weeks
with him!” she cries. “This isn’t a two minute conversation where I
can leave when he starts pissing me off!”

“I’m sorry,” he says. “But it can’t be
avoided. He’s the best option we have.”

“The best option?” she yells. “If Morgen is
the best option the rebels have, then we really have no chance in
hell! He’s killed half the country, for God’s sake! You really
expect people, intermix people, to ally with him? I don’t think all
the bribes in the world could make that happen!”

“I think you’d be surprised by what people
will do for money,” he says, “especially hungry people. Like you
said, everyone in the country knows him too. You’ve heard what
people are calling him. Renatus, Irri. They are naming him after
the damn country, in whispers, all over! He’s exactly who people
need to see in order for them to give us their trust and support.
Can you imagine how this will help us?” His eyes glaze over. “Two
former enemies, of completely different races and social strata,
appearing together as a united front?”

“Only we’re not two
former
enemies,” she
hisses. “We are very much in the present!”

“Stop being dramatic.”

“You don’t understand!” she tells him hotly,
flashing back to all of their previous encounters. “Morgen is
seriously deranged! He is mentally unstable.”

“Everyone’s a little unstable,” Nikolaus
replies callously.

“Are you trying to upset me?”

“I’m not saying he’s the friendliest Medi on
the street, Nazirah. Of course he’s a little mentally …
preoccupied. But aren’t we all, with everything that’s been
happening?”

“He called me ‘Nazi!’”

Nikolaus snorts. “That’s my fault. I may
have mentioned your childhood nickname once or twice.”

“You talk to him about me?” she shrieks.

“Sometimes.”

“Niko!”

“Nazirah!”

“You can’t do this to me!”

“This isn’t open for discussion. We’re in
the final stages of this and we need Morgen. Either you decide to
get over yourself or you don’t, but he goes either way.” Nikolaus
grabs a thick binder from his desk. “I have to go discuss the final
schedule with Aldrik. Think about it over the weekend. If you
decide to go, the car leaves for Rafu first thing Monday
morning.”

“How am I supposed to pretend, before the
entire country, that I’ve somehow forgiven him?” Nazirah asks.
“Because isn’t that what you’re really asking of me? How can I
possibly make anyone believe it?”

Nikolaus leans into her. He says, entirely
serious, “Become an amazing fucking liar.”

#

Nazirah sits alone in Nikolaus’s office for
a good ten minutes, trying to process everything her disillusioned
brother has asked her to do. She rubs her temples, feeling a
migraine forming in her skull. Ready to seek out the nearest bottle
of tequilux to drown her sorrows in, Nazirah’s eyes befall the
silver briefcase.

She stares at it, intrigued, remembering how
unsettling she found Adamek’s appearance with it. Nikolaus tried to
dismiss Nazirah’s curiosity, but she isn’t crazy. There are no
training sessions today, Nazirah is almost sure of that. He used
the Iluxor on himself. But what was he looking at … and why?

Nazirah stands rapidly, the chair scraping
against the floor. She walks over to Nikolaus’s door. Nazirah puts
an ear to it, listening but hearing nothing. She turns the lock
before she can talk herself out of it. This is an opportunity she
might never have again. And maybe, with a little luck, she’ll
finally get some answers.

She grabs the briefcase off the bookshelf,
pulling it over the ledge with two hands. It’s heavier than she
expects. Nazirah hauls it over to Nikolaus’s desk, struggling to
lift it. She runs her fingers over the keypad, trying to remember
what code Adamek entered the day of their first lesson. The case
unlocks on her second try, with a hiss.

Like a warning.

Periodically glancing at the door, Nazirah
quickly fills a syringe to the top with translucent serum.
Hesitating for only a second, Nazirah injects herself in what she
hopes is the vein, grimacing in pain as the syringe empties. She
remembers what Adamek told her that first day, about how the Iluxor
stores the last memory it picks up. Nazirah argued then that it was
an invasion of privacy, but she isn’t arguing now.

She places a shaky hand on top of the glass,
watching with trepidation as the sparkling white mist fills the
cube.

Don’t ask a question, if you don’t want to
know the answer.

“Take a risk,” she whispers.

Nazirah closes her eyes, hesitantly touches
the corner of the cube. And she gets her answer.

Chapter
Thirteen

The party is already in full swing.

Nazirah opens her eyes slowly, taking in the
grand room covered in crystal and marble. In every direction, in
every crevice and corner, there’s lush opulence and indescribable
luxury. Women dressed in corsets and velvet walk around with
leather parasols. They laugh softly, dance slowly, sipping electric
blue champagne from long-stemmed flutes. Their bodies are covered
in glitter and shimmering dust. The men, not to be outdone, are
dressed in gunmetal suits, liquid black waistcoats, bright top hats
and crystal canes. They play cards and drink brandy, completely
unfazed by the literal circus around them.

There are tigers and snow leopards and
cheetahs with diamond collars, lazily chained to chairs and tables.
A breathtaking mural of the sky and stars is painted on the
ceiling. The centerpiece in the room is somehow both a waterfall
crystal chandelier and a winding staircase that opens onto the
roof. Near the stairs, a woman covered entirely in gold sequins
serenades partygoers atop a fuchsia piano. Four electric violins
back her up beautifully.

Most mesmerizing of all are the walls. There
are no windows, only floor-to-ceiling glass. Nazirah sees the view
outside, sees the glittering skyline she’s only ever read about,
confirming what she has already guessed. She’s in Mediah.

Behind her are three unnervingly lifelike
marble sculptures of Adamek, his father Gabirel, and his mother
Victoria. Nazirah realizes that she must be in the Morgen’s
penthouse. This is how Adamek lived? With this grand room as vast
as an entire floor at headquarters? Nazirah wonders yet again why
he ever chose to leave.

The large metal doors in front of her open
and Adamek Morgen enters. He looks almost exactly the way Nazirah
knows him. Guests all around stop their conversations. Females
stare longingly as he makes his way across the room. Adamek stops
halfway across the room to pet a tiger, shaking his head in
amusement. Nazirah’s heart catches in her throat when his gaze
pierces through her. She immediately turns to run, but he walks
straight past. Nazirah tells herself to grow a backbone. This is
what she asked for, after all.

Adamek speaks quietly to a woman who’s
obviously his mother. Not much is known about Victoria Morgen. She
tends to keep to herself because of her illness. She is, however,
known for throwing lavish galas that are the talk of Renatus.
Nazirah has seen photographs before, in the papers back home, but
photographs don’t do Victoria justice. She is absolutely stunning
in person, with flowing brown hair. She has creamy, unmarred skin,
although very pale. She has Adamek’s high cheekbones and
aristocratic nose. But on Victoria, the nose is delicate, not
masculine. And she has the second most beautiful pair of eyes
Nazirah has ever seen. Green eyes deep as the lagoons of Rafu, old
as the Earth. Green eyes that whisper of Oseni hilltops, of Eridian
shores.

Nazirah walks over to them, listening to
their conversation. “You’ve outdone yourself, mother,” Adamek says.
“But you could have warned me that I’d be walking into this
tonight.”

Adamek does seem informally dressed for the
occasion, even by Nazirah’s amateur appraisal. He’s in simple black
pants and a dark shirt. His hands casually rest in the pockets of a
black leather jacket. On anyone else, the outfit would seem out of
place in this highfalutin zoo. But on Adamek, it’s refined. Like
everyone else is just gaudy. Which might actually be the case.

Victoria sets her flute of blue champagne
down on a nearby table. She smiles at him, but Nazirah thinks it’s
not a genuine smile. It’s reserved, borderline restrained. Victoria
straightens her back, linking her gloved hands in front of her. The
emeralds that are woven into her gown glitter.

“My dear Damek,” she says airily. “My world,
my earth. I told you about this charity gala weeks ago. You’re
incredibly late. So you’ll forgive me if I don’t take your
complaint to heart.”

Nazirah smirks.

“And what pointless fundraiser are you
throwing tonight?” Adamek asks. “Bikinis for the Eridians again?
Fur stoles for the Zimans? Hut decor for the intermix?”

“Your arrogance does not suit you, Damek,”
Victoria says tersely. “I do what little I can with my hands tied.
I have to appeal to certain tastes, certain expectations.
Sometimes, you are just like your father.”

“Most people would see that as a
compliment.”

“I’m not most people,” she says softly. “I’m
your mother. But speaking of Gabirel, where is he? It’s rude for
the Chancellor to keep his guests waiting.”

They’re distracted by a group of young girls
giggling nearby. The girls point at Adamek, obviously infatuated.
He clearly hears them, but doesn’t move.

“You could stand to learn a few manners
yourself,” Victoria tells him.

Adamek turns around slowly, nodding his head
in greeting at the girls. “Father is in his study,” he says to
Victoria. “I’ve just finished speaking with him, after I came back.
He’s in an especially rank mood, but should be down shortly.”

Victoria’s entire body tenses, before
relaxing in what’s clearly a forced gesture. “Come back?” she asks,
voice strained. “I did not realize you were away.”