Rebellion (26 page)

“Of course you will,” Commander Charlie says, his eyes twinkling. “I have full faith in you. You’re going to be a great help in our strategy planning. I have some ideas I’d like to run by you later this evening.”

“I look forward to hearing them.”

Charlie sets his hand on my shoulder and pats it twice.

I flinch away from his touch; I shove him inside my head. But my body doesn’t react in the slightest. My smile remains wide as ever.

“Why don’t you run along and let Lieutenant Dean show you to the room I’ve prepared for you, so you can wash up,” he says. “The cafeteria is open for lunch. I’m sure you’re hungry.”

I am starving, and my mouth is dry even after that cup of water. But I don’t want to go to the cafeteria because Charlie told me to. I don’t want to do
anything
he says, but my lips are already moving.

“I am hungry,” I say.

“We’ll have plans to discuss soon, but I’ll have someone send for you.”

“Okay,” I say. “Thank you for everything.”

“It’s my absolute pleasure.”

Lieutenant Dean sets a hand on my lower back. I walk with him out of the room, into the corridor.

I try to unclench my fingers, to drop the syringe. I want it to clatter to the floor and break, and spill Charlie’s serum so it can’t control anyone. I want to jam the needle into Charlie’s neck. Would he listen to me then? If I told him to take his own life, would he do it?

But my hands remain tight around the barrel, like it’s glued to my palm. Some other part of my brain, which is subdued and allegiant to Charlie, has control of my motor nerves, and I don’t know how to free it.

We reach an elevator, and Lieutenant Dean lets me step inside first. I push my hand toward the buttons on the wall to close the door before he can come inside, but of course my hand doesn’t even move; it remains limp at my side.

I’m a prisoner in my own body.

As the door closes, and Dean presses a button and pays me some compliment that makes the other me laugh and blush while disgust curls in my stomach, it hits me how utterly and completely helpless I am.

A boy could tell me to kiss him and this subdued, other me might do it. Charlie could tell me to kill someone and Other Me would squeeze the trigger. I can solve puzzles and make calculations in seconds; I can climb better than almost anyone; I scored high on the Core Official Development Aptitude test.

I will be the perfect soldier, as Charlie always intended.

How am I going to fight this?

24

In my assigned bedroom, after Lieutenant Dean leaves, I set the extra syringe on the hovering tray beside my bed.

Twenty-four hours, I remind myself. I have twenty-four hours to regain control of my body and keep myself from administering another shot.

I wonder how many crimes Charlie will make me commit in the next twenty-four hours.

Shoving that thought away, I focus on my surroundings, since Other Me is already taking everything in. There’s a small CorpoBot screen in the corner. There’s only one bed—huge and round, heaped with blankets even softer than the carpet—but the room is almost twice the size of the one I shared with Ariadne. Charlie must’ve decided I deserve a higher status of living, since I’ve pledged my allegiance to him now.

The four walls around my bed have a strange silver sheen, and no lamps, as far as I can tell. But there’s a light-panel by the door. I press one of the buttons, and the walls transform into what looks like a real sunset. Clouds drift around me, through a haze of pinks, oranges, purples. I feel like I’m standing in the sky.

My hand moves to press the other button before I decide I want to, but the next second I forget I’m angry. Endless stars surround me with their brilliant light, hues of red and gold and bluish green. A million suns floating in distant galaxies.

Other Me revels in the calm the stars give her. But my calm splinters fast. Even under the influence of the submission serum, the stars bring back flashes of that night on the spaceship—the night I lost Oliver. The stars might’ve been the last thing he saw before he died.

Commander Charlie is the reason he’s gone. He’s the reason I lost him.

I hate Charlie for giving these stars to me after he’s taken almost everything else away, as if he thinks he can make up for some of it. He can’t.

Other Me switches off the stars to take a shower and finally scrub the dirt off her body. I switch them off out of defiance and revel in the feeling, for an instant, that I’m in control again. Even if it’s a lie.

*   *   *

Lunch is almost over when I arrive in the cafeteria. My cheeks are no longer bloodstained, and I’m wearing knee-high black boots. My skintight gray suit clings to my body, showing off the places where I still have a bit of curve and some muscle. The fabric isn’t uncomfortable, but if I had the use of my hands, I would rip it apart and go naked before I’d wear this uniform. Core officials wear gray suits; Sam wears this suit. Charlie is making me associate myself with everyone I’ve ever hated, and I can’t do anything to stop it.

I walk straight to the touch screens on the wall, to order my meal. My fingers tap through the menu without my permission, detached from the nonsubdued part of my brain. Thankfully, they pick food that looks appetizing: woreken ribs smothered in spicy sauce, a side of yellow beets in tangy dressing, and a large canteen of water.

Tray in hand, I head to the nearest table. All but one table in the cafeteria is empty, and I don’t recognize the people at the table—teens who are talking and laughing while they eat. I’m not ready to run into anyone I know yet. Not when Other Me is smiling about her new uniform, and I can’t trust my mouth to say the right things.

I slip onto the bench, set my tray down, and slice off a piece of the ribs with my fork and knife. The first bite is juicy. Spicy sauce trickles down my chin, and I wipe it away with a napkin. I can’t deny the food here is better than anywhere else. Even the canned food we ate in the KIMO facility, which was tastier than my daily rations in the Surface camp, tasted like plastic compared to this.

The cafeteria door opens, and I try to turn my head to make sure I don’t need to avoid whoever walked in, but Other Me won’t budge her eyes. She’s scarfing through her ribs, apparently as starving as I feel. I grind my teeth together as she chews.

If I’m going to be trapped like this awhile, at least for the next twenty-four hours, I need to figure out as much as I can about Charlie’s defensive strategy against Marden’s fleet. Information is all I have, and it’s the only good thing about my predicament; now that I’m subdued, he will hopefully trust me enough to tell me everything. The more I learn, the easier it’ll be to sabotage his strategy once I figure out how to overcome the serum.

He already told me the first stage of the defensive plan involves the Strykers and relocating the entire population of the lower sector work camps to the Surface. No doubt he’ll make me help relocate them, because he is cruel and knows how much I hate that he’s sacrificing all those people. Some of them are my friends—Nellie, Evie, Lucy, and Grady, if he’s still alive. Even Hector, who turned me in. I don’t want to see any of them die.

Nellie, at least, knows everything Charlie’s already done, and knows she’s in danger. But she doesn’t know how much. Even if she tries to hide someplace when officials come to put her on a transport ship, as long as the Stryker is in her body, the bomb will go off with all the others. She will die no matter where she is.

My hand lifts another bite of food to my lips. I half wish I could make myself stop eating—why should I get food like this when Nellie and the others get almost nothing?—but I can’t afford not to eat. Maybe half the reason I can’t fight the serum and regain control is because I’ve grown so weak in the past few days, in the work camp and then in my holding cell. Charlie might’ve told the guards to starve me on purpose for that very reason.

I need to get stronger, so I can make my mind strong too. I don’t know what exactly Charlie is going to make me do—he could make me do anything. Before I knew about the submission serum, he told me he wants me to work with Beechy to convince the rest of the Alliance to fight for him, once he captures them, I assume. Surely he already knows where they are, if Beechy’s subdued like I am. He must’ve given everything up, including the location of our headquarters.

Charlie could’ve lied to me, though. Killing the fugitives would be easier than convincing them to change their allegiance, unless he has enough of this new serum to administer to all of them. All the rebels used to fight his old injection, but this new kind would make them do anything Charlie wants, same as me.

As I stand to dump my empty tray in the trash chute and exit the cafeteria, I hope the others in the Alliance were smarter than I; that they were prepared for something like this. Mal knew Beechy was captured, so he could’ve informed the others in Crust and figured out new covers for them, ones Beechy wouldn’t know about. Maybe Mal even somehow got word to the KIMO facility and told Sandy and the others to relocate, so when Beechy gave up their location they wouldn’t be found.

This is assuming Mal is still on our side, completely undercover. Maybe he’s been fighting against us all along, and he’s the one who gave Logan and Skylar up.

But I hope I’m wrong. I hope we won’t be able to find the other rebels, so Charlie can’t subdue them and he can’t make me kill them.

*   *   *

I don’t know where I’m headed after I leave the cafeteria until I end up in Training Division, in the room with the track and the obstacle course, where I passed CODA. Other Me wants to work on her physical conditioning. At least this will feel somewhat natural, since I ran and lifted weights almost every day in the KIMO facility. But I don’t want to think about what exactly Other Me is planning on doing with her strength.

A young man in official garb—a gray suit identical to mine—holds the door open for me as I enter. His eyes drink in my figure, and a smile twitches at the edge of his mouth. I curse my stupid lips for smiling back.

Is this what it feels like for everyone after they receive their monthly injections? Oliver and Ariadne used to smile incessantly too, and agree to things they wouldn’t normally agree to. After Oliver snapped out of his submission, he seemed to remember the things he’d done while under the influence—agreeing to help Charlie; trying to shoot me; becoming overpowered—but he didn’t make it sound like he’d been trapped inside his body. He knew what was going on and he thought it was strange, but he didn’t know why.

Maybe self-awareness is the side effect of the new strain of serum. Or maybe it isn’t even normal—maybe it’s a sign my brain is fighting back.

I run on the track for almost an hour, until my calves and lungs are burning and I’m sure I’m going to be sore tomorrow. But Other Me isn’t finished. Her feet carry me to another training room a few doors down, where punching bags hang from the walls. There are other people already inside—young boys, all of them. An older official is coaching two boys who are sparring on the floor mat, while the rest practice the same techniques against the punching bags. I must’ve interrupted a training session.

“Always size up your opponent before you engage,” the coach says.

His voice makes me start. I know him. He’s not just any official—he’s Colonel Parker. His eyes never look hazy or muddled, like he’s subdued. But he’s Commander Charlie’s right-hand man. His loyalty must be because he believes in Charlie’s plans.

I tell my body to turn around, to leave quickly, but of course, it doesn’t listen. My feet linger in the doorway.

A couple of the boys notice me first, and then Parker does. It takes him a minute to recognize me.

He stops frowning and smiles a little, like he knows my secret. Charlie must’ve told him I took the injection.

“Clementine, join us, if you’d like,” he says.

“Thank you,” I say, walking into the room.

Colonel Parker refocuses his attention on the sparring pair on the mat. The boys can’t be more than twelve or thirteen, but they’re throwing punches and block attacks like they’ve been doing it for years. They have gloves on and mouthpieces, but no helmets.

I listen to Parker’s coaching tips as I wrap sparring tape around my hands. I’m still getting used to hearing out of only my right ear; I have to face that side of my head toward him to hear him best.

“Remember to set up your opponent before you strike,” he says. “Set high, strike low, and vice versa. You’ll get more hits in.”

Facing one of the punching bags, I flex my hands before curling them into fists. I wet my lips, bouncing on the balls of my feet to make my movements light. All things I would normally do, but they feel strange when the wrong half of my brain is in control. At least I can still imagine the bag is Commander Charlie. When I aim my first punch, I hit him square in the nose. He slaps a gloved hand over it with a groan. When he pulls his hand away, there’s blood all over the glove, so much it will never wash away.

If I could move my mouth, I’d curl my lips into a smile.

I practice each of the punching styles—uppercut, hook, cross, straight, and jab—until my hands hurt and the boys around me have finished their training. They trail out of the room, laughing and still practicing their jabs, and leave me alone with Colonel Parker. My eyes are so focused on the punching bag that I don’t notice him watching me until I’m pretty sure he’s been standing there for some time. His arms are crossed, and there’s amusement in his eyes.

Other Me stops to catch her breath. The tape is covered in sweat and a few bloodstains from my knuckles, and falling off my hands. I’m relieved when I pull the tape off, because it means I’m finished.

“Your form is pretty good,” Colonel Parker says. “It could use work, but it’s getting there. Seems like you’ve been practicing.”

“A bit,” I say, and I hope my lips won’t tell him anything more. Maybe he already knows the location of Alliance headquarters, but if he doesn’t, he doesn’t need to know.

“Do you have somewhere to be?” he asks. “We could spar a little. Officials are usually expected to spar with a partner each day. I don’t want to force you, since you’re new to this. But I think it would be good for you to get into the rhythm of things.”