Rebels (17 page)

Lucky for us, we're in no position to make a choice.

Standing behind us is the greasiest, nastiest scav birthed in the Bottom. His guts rumble and he belches. His face is almost all skull, his flesh having dissolved long before we brought thunder to his
home. He's got an illuminator attached to his left eye, which blinds us. Most of all, he smells like waste. Probably his own.

Their leader, obviously.

“Gross.”

“Oh great,” says Kane. “We couldn't just leave, huh? Why are you so core-low stubborn?”

I open my mouth to argue. “Shut up,” says the dirtmonger, oozing foam from his rotting mouth, covered in dead man's sores.

He reaches behind and pulls something from his back. A weapon, crudely constructed of cast-off materials. A makeshift blaster that sparks with fused power cells.

I'm reaching for my borrowed blaster, but Kane is quicker. His arm is already lifted high.

“Scream,” he says, just as the dirtmonger is pulling the trigger.

I scream harder than I've ever done anything in my life.

My sound cloud is instant and overwhelming.

The dirtmonger stumbles backward, and I blast him, right between his rotten eyes. He drops dead. At least he looks that way.

We escape through flecks of my golden scream just as Cassina and the rest of the cadets finally storm in.

◊  ◊  ◊

My body jerks in the blinding light. Above me, the sooty sky fades to a white dome. My weapon fades with it, and so does my leg wound. The only thing real is me.

I blink a few times and look down. My body is untouched. Even my fingernails are clean.

It wasn't real. But it felt that way. I unstrap myself from my simulation capsule, and all my fellow cadets look as dazed as I do, even though they didn't see any real action. One by one, they stare at me. Their eyes are wide with surprise. No one says a word.

“Hey, Lex,” says a voice. Everyone turns toward Vipsinia, so little she almost disappears in her capsule. “You are so stratosphere,” she says.

Then Exdrilla, one of Cassina's most loyal followers, looks at us. Something in her eyes, maybe a sense of recognition that Kane and I did the unexpected. We succeeded. And yet, she's scared to recognize that. They all are.

The dried blood from Kane's face is gone. Just plain old Kane, his combat uniform as spotless as mine. The nightmare world and the nightmare people of the Rock Bottom are only memories now, locked away in their electric Archive chips, at least until the next class takes their Final Simulation.

I smile at Kane. I feel my face glowing.
Pretty good for an orphan, huh?

He smiles right back. Only he isn't glowing. There's something underneath his smile. Something I've never seen before. It scares me.

Cassina remains in her simulation capsule, the look in her eyes distant and cold. We made her look good and still her pointy face is pulled tight.

“Cadets.” The senior lieutenant booms through the speakerfeed. “Congratulations. You have completed your Final Simulation. Report to Academy headquarters immediately to receive your placement.”

No one makes a noise.

It no longer matters how we feel inside. We are cadets. We serve a higher purpose.

◊  ◊  ◊

Kane and I are last to exit the Simulation Room. I wish I could say something to him. Just a few words. But we can't speak. Placements await. It's a serious occasion, walking toward your future. The cadets stand tall. We walk in drill lines toward headquarters. I wonder if they're all as nervous as I am.

Paint me
, I want to say to Kane. Just one more time.
Paint me saying good-bye.

“Cadet Kane,” says an authoritative voice. Kane and I stop. I turn, Kane doesn't. He just stares ahead into nothing.

Three Population Control Forces officers stand shoulder to shoulder. They aren't part of the Academy. They wear the dark blue PCF uniforms, but there are no insignia patches. Weird. All members of the PCF wear patches to show rank, even the lowliest, floor-scrubbing slabbers.

“Cadet, it's time to go,” says one of them.

“What is this?” I say to Kane

Kane's shoulders slump, like somebody just lifted a weight off them.

“Can I say good-bye?” he says.

“Good-bye?” I say.

The rest of the cadets are long gone. It's just Kane and me. And these officers, telling him it's time to go. Go where?

Fear rises up inside of me. Fear of what's about to happen.

It catches me off guard. I don't do
fear
.

“Make it quick,” says the lead officer. He and the other two don't move. Don't even look away.

“What's going on?” I say to Kane, out here in front of these strangers. “Did you know this was going to happen?”

“Lex,” he says, accepting my anger. “I couldn't tell you. I took an oath. I couldn't tell anyone. I got my placement already.”
What?
“I can't tell you more. I've already been doing it for a while—”

“That's where you've been?”

“Yes,” he says. “I wanted to tell you more than anything, but—”

“Wrap it up, Cadet,” says the lead officer.

“But we'll meet, right?” he says. “Meet as planned. Two weeks. Same as before.”

Kane's stares at me, so much left unfinished between us. But
we'll meet. We will. I look into his eyes and wonder how much else he's hidden. What else he could say that would leave me as speechless as I am right now. What else he could do . . .

He reaches for me and pulls me in tightly and kisses me.

My whole body blushes, and I kiss him back.

I kiss him back.

He steps away and salutes the officers.

“Kane,” I say. “Why did you—?”

Over his shoulder he looks at me. “Because I wanted my first kiss to be with someone I actually care about.”

“That's enough,” the lead officer says.

Kane faces the men, his expression suddenly hard. “Agent Kane reporting for duty, sir,” he says, never sounding more official.

He sounds like a man
, I think.

Then he marches forward, and just like that, he's gone.

◊  ◊  ◊

“An inability to follow orders. A blatant disregard for standard protocol. Habitual and premeditated departures during simulation training . . .”

I have to stand before the Official Placement Panel and listen to Senior Lieutenant list my offenses while everyone glares at me. These are bad things he's saying. I know that. I'm neither proud nor ashamed of my disobedience. I've just proven that I can't be changed. This is me, and I will always be this way.

As soon as he's stopped talking, I'll get my placement, and I'll accept it. It's not gonna be pretty. A lifetime filling out PCF forms for people who matter. Cleaning up after people who matter. Serving others who mean something more than I ever will.

And all I can think about is Kane.

He's gone, and he knew it would end this way.

“All that said, graduate, you've shown remarkable skill today.
Unexpected circumstances. Unique aptitude. Unprecedented ability . . .”

Kane already knew his placement.

“This knowledge has led the committee to contemplate the possibility . . .”

And he didn't tell me. Senior Lieutenant replaces my armband with a new red one.

“With training, you could be of great use to Special Operations . . .”

Kane.

“. . . of the Rock Bottom Patrol.”

I'm finally headed to where I was always meant to be.

Excerpted from
The Book of Indra,
Chapter VIII: “Indra: Protecting Our Great Society”

The elite soldiers that make up the Population Control Forces are painstakingly chosen through a process veiled in secrecy. These select individuals are trained at the Population Control Forces Academy. Once graduated, they will go on to some of the most important positions Indra has to offer—some will serve as the leaders of the City of Indra, overseeing the safety of all Indrithians. Others will serve in intelligence and security roles, overseeing the Horizon Checkpoint. The most elusive and lethal members of this highly exclusive force will work in Special Operations in the lowest levels, also known as Rock Bottom.

Two weeks and I haven't been permitted to leave the Academy. “This training is so specialized,” Senior Lieutenant tells me, “that you'll do it here. When you are deemed adequately prepared, you'll be relocated to your new base of operations.”

They don't even tell me where that will be.

I'm still on Academy grounds, only far away from the students. Even farther than where the instructors live. A place not even Kane and I knew existed.

There hasn't been an Academy graduate placed in the Rock Bottom Patrol in almost ten years. It takes a couple days before all new training equipment arrives. My placement reflects well upon the instructors. I'm even permitted to dine with them, if I choose. I don't. Still, I should feel honored.

Rock Bottom Patrol is the elite. If I pass the apprenticeship, I'll be a Special Operative.

SpecOp Lex. It sounds pretty good, but for some reason, I'm not that excited. Moving on is harder than I supposed.

I have a home pod. Just like my sleeper pod, only bigger. For the first time, food is brought to me. And I have choices. “I'll have the turkey ration,” I tell the woman who takes my order. Sometimes I choose the beef. There are choices, but not that many.

She just shoves the tray of turkey into my hand. Then she wheels her meal cart away. It's pretty much my only normal interaction of the day.

I don't see many people besides Special Operative Langhorn. He appeared at my door one day, earlier than my alarm. “I'm here to train you,” he said. I knew not to ask questions.

I spend my days in a small facility just down the hall from my pod room. There's a sim capsule in one quadrant, and strengthening and cardio trainers spread among the other three.

I have no friends. SpecOp Langhorn trains me. I'm not in as good shape as I thought I was. My only rest is when I return to my sleeper to review rules and regulations on my holoreader.

For a week, he explains how to use the new equipment and technology. I complete weapons training and grow to like using pacifiers and decoys, even though blasters are more efficient. When I can finally plug myself in and operate the transmission valves, he leaves. No good-bye, nothing. He's programmed me to follow my daily schedule.

After my morning workout, I spend my days observing SpecOps training on the earfeed. No visual projections, not yet. I just sit there with my earfeed turned up. I record the team's actions and file my report at the end of every day. I should listen and learn. That's what Langhorn instructed.

I'm alone at night, too. This is not forever, I know that. But sometimes it feels that way.

I've been listening to the guys as they prepare for their next mission. They do not give me their names, simply tell me to refer to them as “Op O” and “Op C.” To them, I'm “Apprentice L.” They run diagnostics on equipment and discuss tactical strategies endlessly. They know I'm here, but they mostly ignore me. I don't ask questions, just like Langhorn told me. “Don't ask, don't speak.” That's the apprentice motto.

From what I can put together, they're targeting a rebel troublemaker. Not to take him out, not yet. This first mission is just recon. The rebels control a small base that distributes supplies throughout their entire network. It's been designated a Class 2 scenario.

I think about the final exam. The scenario we faced was built off a real SpecOp mission. That one was rated Class 4. Lunatic fringe elements. Cannibalistic proclivities. Even the Islanders don't get real meat—no one does—but these savages do us one better and take it from each other. If someone's missing a limb, it's probably because someone else got hungry.

I don't sleep the night before. I pace my room. I want to be down there with them. I want to hurt someone.

I want to destroy those dirtmongers. This time for real.

◊  ◊  ◊

By the time O and C finally hit the ground, I've been granted access to the visual feed. The feed is so dark I can hardly see anything.

“Apprentice L, do you copy?” says O.

“Yes.”

“We're currently en route,” he says. His voice is low, even when I increase the audio. Both O's and C's feeds are running simultaneously on my monitors, but I can barely discern their outlines, despite my sensory gifts.

They're sitting in a powered-down dirt ranger scouter. The parameters of their mission are basic: Survey the target location. Paint suspected rebel bases of operation with guidance lasers. Return to headquarters.

So far, all there's been is silence and darkness.

I strain to see something on the monitor. I think I can see C's hand moving across the controls of their stolen vehicle. I can't be sure. I wasn't expecting fun, but it's almost painful to be this powerless. I chart their location on a known map of the area. Cave-ins and the shifting of the earth's plates change the terrain of the Lower Levels frequently, so for all we know, this map is useless by now. Now would be a terrible time to find that to be true.

“Nearing quadrant minus eighty-three,” says O.

There's a long enough silence for me to doubt myself. To know if what I'm doing is right.

“Approaching suspected rebel HQ.”

There's a faint light ahead of them. They've switched on the scouter's antique beamers, but its range is so limited. Then I see it: the target.

A mountain of stones rises from the void. The map indicates the tunnel should not have ended so abruptly.