Falling & Uprising Read online

  “Cleaning bots exist.”

  I think she got scared people were going through her home in the middle of the night. She looks relieved when I confirm that one for her. I’m waiting for her to ask if elevators are actually mechanical or pulled up manually by brainwashed islanders.

  Aside from these little amusements, Serenity is taking everything in stride. She hasn’t cried since day two. When she gets angry, her anger is directed at the Establishment, rather than us for telling her. She asks good questions, and she’s usually logical. Rather than letting all of this wear her down, she’s using it to strengthen herself. She pulls further away from being a mindless Kaycian every day.

  Chapter Eight

  SERENITY

  “You know who these people are.” Sophos flings me a diagram on a holoScreen. “Under Governor Martel is Lieutenant Governor Casimir Agnar. His real job is to manage the production on the islands and resource distribution. The managers on each island report to him. Then there are the directors of Security, the Department of Health, City Planning, Research and Technology, Cultural Affairs, and of course, Education and Placement.

  “All of them, or rather us, have some involvement with the islands except the Director of Cultural Affairs. Estrella Rinne knows as much as any other Kaycian. Governor Martel keeps the truth guarded.”

  It makes sense that the woman in charge of arts, entertainment, and events doesn’t need to be involved in the islands or this terrible system. I’m glad my parents happen to be in Kaycie's only sector with no part in it. They wouldn’t want to have anything to do with this.

  “Watt Kemp, the Director of Security, manages the marshals here in Kaycie and on the islands,” Sophos says. “The Director of the Department of Health, Tevin Hickey, is responsible for the extirpation drug which brainwashes the islanders”—he shakes his head at the way I refer to this—“who are selected for Kaycian service. The Director of City Planning, Flora Prosper, manages housing and development in Kaycie. Construction and maintenance, which we utilize islanders for, is under her supervision. The infrastructure of the underwater tunnels and trains is also in her realm of responsibility. Alima Karan is the director of Research and Technology. Her department supports all of the others, and she manages the systems and cyber-security for the city.”

  Alima Karan is also Rollin’s mother. When he learns about this, he’ll be finding out that his mother has known all along. How horrible to realize your own family has been harboring secrets. I wonder if he’ll support all of this? It’s difficult to imagine anyone agreeing with the Establishment’s policies, but if his mother does…

  “You know what I do,” Sophos continues, snapping me back to the conversation at hand. “Embed the minds of children with all of the lies, place everyone into careers where they won’t cause trouble, and kidnap children.”

  The guilt Sophos feels for his position runs rampant in him. He doesn’t give himself enough credit for his efforts to correct it.

  “On the security front,” I say, “why don’t they have cameras everywhere? They are all about control, and yet they aren’t listening to our conversations?”

  “They don’t have to.” Bram joins the conversation from across the office. “The Establishment has faith in the system they’ve created. Do you have a security camera to monitor the behavior of your well-trained lapdog? You know she won’t plot to kill you because she needs you to survive. The Establishment has created a population so dependent it couldn’t turn against them. If you need the Establishment for your food, housing, healthcare, and education, you don’t oppose it. You can’t. Plus, you idiots track each other and yourselves for the Establishment. Most of the city knows what you’re doing all the time.”

  Of course, I’ve always been aware of how many eyes may be on me at any given time, but I always thought about it in terms of social standing and public image. The Establishment’s use of it to monitor us makes sense, though.

  “We are veering off-topic,” Sophos says. “Serenity, you’ll begin your internship in City Planning soon. For now, you will be working in the areas that serve the department’s known functions, but the goal will be to learn details about the tunnel and train system. Controlling the movement of people and products is the key to controlling the islands. You won’t have many opportunities to get close to secure information, but you should always be alert to anything hidden or obscured. It may be a little dull for a while, but we all have to do our sanctioned jobs, too.”

  ***

  The islands look like different worlds in the images I flip through. Some of them are just so rustic—like time forgot to bring them along. The technologies we live off—that we take for granted—don’t exist. I can’t fathom how people can be so close and live such contrasting lives to ours. And the more developed islands… They look so… dirty. It’s as if the people there have given up and can’t be bothered. I suppose when you barely have enough to live, aesthetics aren’t a priority. Poverty and hunger were supposed to be extinguished long ago. How can the Establishment allow this?

  Between the pictures and Bram’s story about extirpation, I believe what they’re telling me is true. Mostly. It’s difficult to wrap my head around it all. Maybe my doubts come from not wanting to believe it. Regardless of the source, I need to be certain beyond a shadow of a doubt. Kaycie’s sparkle may already be lost to me forever, but I can’t shatter it unless I know. Sophos doesn’t want to introduce me to his other allies in the EC—keeping us all compartmentalized for security. While I understand the reasons, I can’t help but draw parallels to the islands being isolated.

  Finding out who works with him in the Department of Health without him realizing it is a morbidly slow process. I thought of several plans to get him to go see his agents there, but they would have been too obvious for me to follow him. One such scheme got so far as stealing a dose of amnesia from his desk. I was going to take all three, so he’d have to go restock, but I thought better of it. Still, I kept the one just in case. Instead, I wait and hope he’ll mention he’s going up there sometime. Films make spying look far more exciting than it’s turning out to be.

  “I’ll walk with you to the elevator,” Sophos says as I slide my purse onto my elbow. “Bram, I’ll be back shortly.”

  The first one that arrives is going up. “Have a good evening, Serenity.” Sophos steps into it and says, “Fourteen, please,” to the woman standing inside.

  My heart jumps. The Department of Health takes up floors thirteen through fifteen. Is he going to see someone in the uprising? It’s worth a try. Darting to the nearest stairway, Millie’s voice whispers, ‘Walk with purpose, but not like you’re rushing,’ in my head. I’m pushing that a little as I get through the hallway and forget the whole idea as I run up the two flights of stairs. When I reach the fourteenth floor, my heart is racing from exertion and excitement in equal measure. Slipping silently around corners makes me feel like I’ve actually become a spy for the first time.

  Sophos weaves through the labyrinth of hallways, unaware of me shadowing him. I stop back behind a corner when he knocks on a door and steps inside. While Sophos is behind the closed door, I maneuver to a corner where he won’t pass me on his way out. I lean against the wall in a way that should look casual but is wholly unnatural to me, flipping through holoScreens lazily. When I hear a door click, I peek around to see Sophos walking away. Just do it. I roll my shoulders back and go to the door Sophos just went through. What am I even going to say? I knock twice and take a deep breath. A voice calls, “Come in,” and I step inside, closing the door behind me.

  “Did you—” The young man at the desk spins toward the door and stops short when he sees me. “Oh.” Recognition flashes in his eyes. They’re the color of golden honey, sharp against his warm features and chestnut hair.

  “Hello. I’m Serenity Ward.” Getting the phrase out without being cut off by, ‘I know,’ is refreshing.

  “Hello, Serenity Ward. I’m Jase Delgado. How can I help you?”
/>   If I play my typical role, he’s unlikely to believe I could be a part of the uprising. If I’m wrong and I give away too much… the amnesia dose burns in my pocket. I’ve found myself in a scenario to act like a spy, but can I actually do it? There’s only one way to find out.

  “Sophos is my mentor, and I noticed that he came to see you. I was wondering how closely you work with him.”

  “Why didn’t you just ask him?”

  We could dance around this all day long, but I’d rather dive in.

  “He isn’t eager for me to know his other allies.”

  Jase’s face flashes from surprise to disbelief.

  “I assume you are one of his allies.” My voice is utterly confident, though I’m feeling anything but. “Am I wrong?”

  He leans his chin onto his hand, contemplating me. “If you’re asking me if I’m part of the uprising, you’re being a little careless with information.”

  “I could say the same of you.”

  “I have insurance.”

  “As do I.” I present the vial from my pocket.

  He cocks his head at me. “Would you drug me?”

  I sigh, but maintain my expression. “If I have to.”

  His lips turn up in a half-smirk. Is he impressed?

  “But I don’t think it’ll come to that.” I sit in the empty chair he hasn’t offered me.

  “Thank goodness.” He stretches his neck, tilting his head to his shoulder. “Well, I’ll admit, I’m at a loss. I don’t understand Sophos involving you, and I don’t know why you’re here.”

  As a matter of fact, I don’t particularly understand that first part either. I know why I’m here, though. “I… am looking for proof of what I’ve been told.”

  “Ah, I see. You want to know about extirpation?”

  I nod. “Is it really as they say it is?”

  Jase frowns. “I’ve never seen it in action, but I’ve found the drug. It appears to be a rather destructive force on the brain, but of course, I can’t test it.”

  My fingers tap away in my lap as I reconcile relief that Sophos was telling the truth against the fact that I’ve been lied to my entire life. I didn’t want to believe it was true. How could the Establishment do this?

  “How long have you known?” I ask.

  “Two years.”

  The casual way he says it makes me feel a touch pathetic. For two years, he’s lived with the knowledge that’s threatened to tear my soul apart in less than a month. I’m tempted to ask him how he deals with it, but that would be an admission of my struggle.

  “How long have you been in this?” he asks.

  “Only since the beginning of the month when I started my program.”

  “Quite the start.”

  Part of me wants to dive into all of the things I haven’t been able to say to anyone. Pour out the doubts and fears that have consumed me for these weeks, talk about how it’s disturbing my sleep and straining my relationships. But I don’t know this Jase Delgado, and I’m irrationally bitter that he might be handling this better than I am. All I let out is a thin smile and the word, “Indeed. Well, I’ll get out of your way.”

  As I stand, he says, “Before you go, how did you get that amnesia shot?”

  “I… found it in Sophos’ desk.”

  “Do you know what to do with that or how it works?”

  Acting like I know what I’m doing isn’t going to do me much good, I guess. “I don’t have any friends in the health department to instruct me.”

  “You do now.” He stands and holds his hand out, palm up. Being shorter than most people is nothing new to me. Even in my heels, he towers over me. I take the vial from my pocket and place it in his hand. He turns it to point to the label running up the side. “AMN1H. Amnesia, one hour. The unit of measurement could be ‘D’ for days, ‘M’ for months, or ‘Y’ for years. Doubtful that you’ll ever see a ‘Y’ dose, though.” Thank goodness. How awful to remove years of memory. He flips the cover open. “It can be swallowed, or”—he closes it and presses the bottom of the vial to release a needle from the top edge—“injected anywhere.” Another push of the bottom retracts the needle, and he hands it back to me.

  “After taking it, your victim”—he shoots me an incredulous look which I volley with an eye roll—“will be in a state of intoxication. During this inebriated period, you can tell the person what happened during the time you just erased, and they’ll believe it like their own memories. Smaller doses have brief inebriated periods, but if you wipe out a year, the person will be woozy for twenty minutes or so. If you don’t say anything, it would be like they skipped over that time with no memory of it.”

  “That all sounds… completely horrible.”

  “Basically. Still want to carry that around?”

  Want to? No. “I think it’s a decent idea to have it as a precaution.” I slide it back into my pocket. “Thank you.”

  “My pleasure. And here’s one to replace the one you ‘found.’” He hands me a vial from his desk, then taps his cuff a few times. Mine vibrates against my wrist. I glance at it to see his contact information. “In case you ever need more and don’t want to fall into a life of crime.”

  “I’ve already fallen into a life of spying and rebellion. What’s a little theft?”

  He bobs his head back and forth like he’s weighing my argument. “In the grand scheme of things, I suppose it doesn’t matter much. You should save as much of yourself as you can, though.”

  Chapter Nine

  BRAM

  “I’m not staying there alone.”

  We’ve already had this conversation, but Sophos is trying again.

  “Keeping the marshal act on all weekend will be miserable,” he says.

  He’ll be at the governor’s estate for the weekend, a retreat I’m not assigned to since there are plenty of guards already stationed there. Rather than stay at the townhouse, I choose to stay at the marshal barracks for the weekend and do city patrol instead.

  Sophos wants me to feel at home in his townhouse, but I can’t. It doesn’t feel right when I remember our little hovel of a home in Lawson and know my family is still there. Even Kaycie's identical apartments are larger than the houses on Lawson, and most are only occupied by three or fewer people. Seven people lived in our house when my grandparents lived with us, in two small bedrooms, one bathroom, a kitchen, and room for our table.

  If the apartments in Kaycie make my old house look small, then Sophos’ townhouse dwarfs it. He didn’t ask for it; it comes with the job title, but why would anyone need so much space? The formal dining room can seat twenty, but it’s only used once a year. And I don’t understand the purpose of having a formal lounge and a living room.

  At Marshal Headquarters, I descend the stairs past the commissary, the tunnel, and the training level to enter the dormitories. The seventeenth bunk down in the third row is still mine even though I’m on permanent assignment as Sophos’ guard.

  The dormitory is about two-thirds full but eerily quiet—a result of relieving the marshals of their personalities and free will. I make the bed and climb up onto it. Lying here, staring at the ceiling, I remember Lawson isn’t the only miserable place I escaped from. This was supposed to be my home for the rest of my life. Instead of the paradise promised, these islanders will spend their miserable lives here. It’s fitting that it’s underground. They’re hardly alive anyway, might as well bury them down here.

  I should feel grateful, I guess, that I’ve avoided all of my potential fates, but all I can feel is anger. Angry there are only these two options for us. Angry we don’t even get to choose for ourselves which of these miserable existences we want. Guilty, too, I guess, that I had a third option—not that I got a choice either—but it still isn’t fair. Eventually, I fall asleep the same way I do every night, by pushing the thoughts about everything wrong with the world off to a far corner of my mind. Stashing it away so I can get to the next day until the day comes to do something about it.

&
nbsp; ***

  During training, my body would wake up right on time at five o’clock automatically. Three years of being on a schedule with a Kaycian citizen has gotten me used to sleeping in, so now I’m woken up by the sounds of the other marshals shuffling around getting dressed. I get up and do the same.

  My B group has an hour of training before breakfast. Usually, I have the training gym to myself, or close to it. Having to share it is annoying. As I enter the gym, Tori, my former training captain, catches my eye. She roves around, looking bored. Her expression doesn’t alter to show any sign of recognition when she spots me. I nod to her subtly, and her eyes point to the shooting range. She starts toward it, and I take a roundabout way there, so I don’t appear to be following her. Typical training regimens don’t begin with shooting, and though the marshals can do things in any order now, they don’t veer from the way they did it in training. They aren’t creative enough to come up with their own ways to do things.

  I enter the range, and Tori waits for the door to close before she turns toward me. She is a mash-up of Kaycian beauty standards and militaristic uniformity. She wears the navy uniform well and stands with her feet planted shoulder-width apart. Still, she has on a full face of makeup, her eyes shadowed in shimmery blues, and her dark hair in an elaborate braid showing off electric blue highlights through it.

  “This is how you spend a weekend off?” Her tone is teasing, but her eyes drill into me, and her mouth puckers in an inquisitive glare.

  “Marshals don’t get days off.”

  “And all of the rules about marshals apply to you. Have it your way.” She passes me a handgun, a magazine, eye and ear protection, and ammunition. “In case we have to look productive.”

  “I hope you don’t have anything too important to tell me.” I start putting on the earmuffs.

  Tori and I have spent the last two-plus years since I graduated from training, irritating each other in the friendliest of ways. I suppose I was annoying her during training too.