Rebellion (30 page)

Charlie stops talking when he sees me, holding up a hand to hush Dean, as well.

“Here you are,” he says, glancing at his time-band. “Right on time. Do you have the syringe?”

I unzip my belt pouch and pull the syringe out to show him.

“Good,” Charlie says. “And here’s the nurse.”

I hear the soft click of shoes behind me.

“Here’s the next batch of injections, as you requested, Commander Charlie, sir,” the nurse says, setting three syringes on the counter by the sink. Her hair is long and blond and familiar.

Ariadne’s smile is wide, and her cheeks are rosy. The last time I saw her, she was in a bed with Sam. They were kissing, and I ran because I didn’t know what else to do. She couldn’t have wanted to be with him; she knew he was cruel. But she’d been injected with the mind-control serum, and he took advantage of that.

She is still mindless. There’s a glaze over her eyes like the glaze over mine.

“Clementine, it’s so good to see you!” she says. “I heard you were sick. I’m so glad you got better.”

Sick. She thinks I was sick, and that’s why I haven’t been around. Charlie would tell her that; he used to tell everyone Unstables had a sickness that couldn’t be cured, even though all they were were people who tried to fight him and sometimes won.

“It’s horrible that Oliver didn’t get well.” Ariadne’s smile fades. “I wish I’d been further along in my medical training when that happened. I wish I could’ve saved him.”

I stare at her, thankful my lips aren’t moving for once. Charlie looks amused out of the corner of my eye.

He makes me furious. Lying about why I was gone is one thing; lying about Oliver’s death is another. Charlie could’ve saved him. He could’ve stationed someone else on the spaceship to guard the KIMO bomb, or no one. He could’ve let Oliver stay here in the Core, where he’d be safer, but he put him on the ship because he didn’t care about his safety. He knew it would kill me when I found out.

He brought Ariadne here on purpose too, so I would hear her say this. He knew I would get angry. I can’t clear up the truth for her, not when my mouth won’t do as I tell it.

“It’s nice to see a happy reunion,” Charlie says, not bothering to hide his sarcasm. “But let’s hurry this along, shall we?”

“Of course, sir,” Ariadne says, wiping the sadness from her face like someone pressed a switch on her back to flip it off. She turns away to rummage through a drawer.

I’m not ready for this. I need to figure out how to control my hands first, how to make them turn against Charlie instead of doing what he says. I’m running out of time.

When Ariadne turns around again, she’s ripping open an antiseptic patch. She set a few more on the counter with the extra syringes. “If you’d please roll up your sleeve,” she says with a smile, “I’ll clean the injection site for you, and then you can administer the shot.”

My hand moves automatically to do as she says.

I will make it stop. I struggle until beads of sweat trickle down my forehead, until I feel like I’m going to explode from trying so hard.

The struggle lasts only a second in reality. My hand rolls up my left sleeve, exposing my bare shoulder. Ariadne presses the cool patch to my skin and wipes the area gently.

Lieutenant Dean has his hand on the weapon in his holster, just in case. Charlie’s body is tense as he watches me out of the corner of my eye, his gaze so hard and focused, I’m sure he’s looking right through my skin. He’s looking at the girl who wants to scream at him and tear his skin open with her fingernails and use the syringe in her hand to make him listen to her for once, and take his own life if she says.

You can’t make me do this. I won’t let you.

The slight twitch of his lip tells me he heard me, or saw the words in my face. But all he does is smile, that smile that says it doesn’t matter how hard I struggle; he will always win.

Ariadne takes a step back. “All finished.”

“Go ahead, Clementine,” Charlie says.

I won’t.

My fingers rip the syringe’s plastic open and hand the wrapper to Ariadne. They pull the needle covering off next, and hand it to her as well. She tosses both articles in the trash.

My hand guides the syringe to my shoulder.

I don’t know how to stop it. I don’t know how to make the other half of me listen.

There’s still time. In twenty-four hours, I’ll have to give myself another injection again. Maybe I’ll have figured out how to regain control by then.

But I don’t know where I’ll be in twenty-four hours. I don’t know what the war mission will make me do, or turn me into.

My hand guides the needle closer to my skin. My hand is visibly shaking. That must mean I’m doing something right; I’m starting to break free of this. I will every fiber of my body to make my hand stop moving, to break free all the way.

It doesn’t work. The needle pricks my skin, and my thumb presses down on the plunger. The silver liquid flows into my body. I lost again; the clock has restarted.

Out of the corner of my eye, Lieutenant Dean takes his hand off the weapon in his holster.

“Very good,” Charlie says, almost relieved.

If he’s relieved, that means he saw me fighting the injection; he saw me close to escaping from my cage. For at least a moment, he thought I would win.

“Let’s head to the flight port,” he says. “You have a ship to board.”

Ariadne hands me the supply of extra syringes and antiseptic patches. She waves at me on our way out, and my lips move on their own to offer her a smile in return.

I have twenty-four hours until my next injection. Twenty-four hours to figure out a way to stop this from happening again.

*   *   *

Two officials haul a metal crate up the ramp of the hovercraft. The crate has the word
EXPLOSIVES
on its side.

I walk past the ramp with Commander Charlie and Lieutenant Dean to meet Lieutenant Sam and Beechy, who stand beside an X-wing fighter jet. We’re taking six X-wings on the mission, along with the hovercraft. Mechanics are still loading fuel into two of the jets through hoses. Most of the pilots are already in the cockpits going through the preflight checklist, and the last few are climbing up the ladders.

Skylar freezes at the top of one of the ladders, her cheeks paling at the sight of me with Charlie.

I nearly falter in my step.
What’s she doing here?

I thought Charlie still had her locked in a cell. I didn’t think he trusted her enough to send her with us on this mission.

I don’t want her coming. I will never trust her again.

Skylar sets her jaw, climbs up into her seat, and jams her helmet over her head.

Lieutenant Dean dismisses himself before we reach Sam, saying he’d better help with the cargo. He must be coming on the mission too, then.

When we reach Sam, he’s telling Beechy to make sure all the explosives are on board the hovercraft.

“The men just put the last crate inside,” Beechy says.

“Double check. If any are missing when we need them later, the blame will fall on you.”

“Of course, sir.” Beechy salutes him and Charlie before hurrying away, up the ship’s ramp.

Sam smiles coolly, clearly enjoying his authority over Beechy. The smile falters a little when he sees me, though. I don’t think he likes me standing so close to Charlie.

“Commander, sir, how can I help you?” Sam says.

“Did you secure Cadet Malcolm successfully?” Charlie asks. “I’ve received no updates.”

“Yes, we have him in custody. He’s in the Crust cell block. My men will get him to talk, and I’ll have him transferred here once he does, as soon as I return from the mission. Your orders were to shoot the other Crust fugitives if they don’t surrender, correct?”

The deepest pit of my stomach lurches.

“That’s correct,” Charlie says. “Good, I’m glad to hear it.”

Sam can’t shoot them. I won’t let him.

“What’s the mission status?”

“We’re double-checking that all the equipment has been loaded,” Sam says. “We’re set to leave in T-minus fifteen minutes.”

“Good,” Charlie says. “I put this mission in your hands, and I expect you to accomplish it without a hitch.”

“I assure you I will, sir.”

Charlie purses his lips slightly. “Get to work, then.”

“Yes, sir,” Sam says, but I swear he mutters something under his breath as he struts away.

Charlie turns to me. His eyes sweep over my figure. “We need to get you a gun. You won’t be much help on the mission with an empty holster. Follow me.”

My feet lead me after him to the bottom of the hovercraft ramp. Lieutenant Dean comes down the ramp, ducking his head under the low doorway.

“Lieutenant,” Charlie says.

“Yes, sir?” says Dean.

“Are there any coppers on board?”

“I believe so.”

“Retrieve one for me, please.”

Dean turns around and disappears inside the ship. I wonder why Charlie didn’t let me walk up the ramp and get the gun myself.

When Dean returns, he hands the copper to Charlie. “Anything else?”

“That’ll be all.”

A slight crease touches Dean’s forehead. But he nods and heads back up the ramp.

Charlie weighs the copper in his palm, checking the mechanics. This model has a small scope that he opens and closes.

“This should do nicely,” he says, and hands the gun to me. “I’d like you to test it out first, though.”

I grip the copper, unsure what he means. He keeps glancing at the door we walked through to enter the port. He’s been doing that for some time, but it didn’t strike me as odd until now.

“Is there a target nearby?” Other Me asks.

“Yes, there is,” he says, relaxing, his eyes still on the doorway.

I look over there again. Two guards are leading in a prisoner. A young man who limps with every step.

Logan.

“What’s he doing here?”

Logan’s eyes land on me as he draws closer. There’s something urgent in them, something fearful.

“I told Logan he was going to be able to see you off,” Charlie says. “But I brought him here for a different reason.”

“Why?” my lips ask of their own accord. I’m not sure I want to know the answer.

Leaning in, Charlie brings his mouth close to my ear. “To remind you that no matter what you may think, I’m still in control,” he says softly. “And I always will be.”

Fear is a serpent twisting inside me, wrapping around my lungs. Charlie steps away from me, and his eyes land on mine, dark and cruel. “Logan is your target. Shoot him in the leg.”

It takes too long for his order to sink in.

The world turns into slow motion. Panic splinters through me, but my feet take two steps forward; my hands lift the copper and find their target; my fingers settle on the trigger. I can’t put the gun down.

I cry out, but the sound is lost inside me.

A look of understanding—and terror—crosses Logan’s face. He opens his mouth, but my finger squeezes the trigger and a laser flies before he can speak. It doesn’t miss my target.

No no no no no no no no

Logan falls forward with a cry, his face contorting with pain. Blood gushes from his left leg, from the gash on his thigh where the laser seared his skin.

I didn’t. I can’t have.

I shot him.

I want to scream. I want to say,
It wasn’t me, not really,
and
Please forgive me
.

Charlie steps around me until he’s facing me, and my gun is almost pointed at him. I can’t lower my hands; they’re immobile. Even Other Me can’t believe this.

“It’s all right,” Charlie says, and sets his hands on my wrists and gently lowers them.

I want to knock his hands away. I want to put the gun back up and shoot him. But my hands won’t listen.

Charlie turns around, so he’s no longer blocking Logan from view. Logan is on his side on the ground, unable to move. The tears are visible in his eyes, but he’s blinking fast to stop them.

I hit his bad leg, at least. I could’ve crippled his good leg, but I didn’t and that’s something. But it’s not enough.

“Take him to the health ward,” Charlie says to the guards.

The guards heave Logan to his feet. He yells in agony. His eyes meet mine, and there is no pity in them, no understanding. There is only hurt.

“How could you?” he asks.

His words rip my chest open. My heart feels like it’s going to bleed out.

I don’t know how I’ll ever forgive myself for this.

Something wet trickles down my cheek. I must be crying. I’ve never cried under the serum before.

I hesitate, unsure what this means. I decide to try something. Focusing hard, I send the signal to my hands to ball into fists.

They
listen
.

Whatever broke inside me must’ve been big enough to break the part of me controlled by the serum too. Am I free?

Charlie turns back to me. He sees my teary-eyed face and sighs, disappointed. “Clementine, listen to me.”

He reaches out and takes my hand in his, like he’s my friend. He is not my friend; he will never be.

I tell my hand to pull away from his. I wrench as hard as I can. My hand pulls away a little, but not enough. I’m still partially under the serum’s control.

“This demonstration was to help you understand: The more you fight the serum, the more you will lose,” Charlie says. “I hope you will be smart enough to spare yourself this hurt. I trust you will make sure to readminister your injection when a new dosage is required, every single time. I trust you won’t fight it, or do anything to jeopardize this mission.”

How can he expect me to do any of this? I will never stop fighting.

“If you slip up,” Charlie says, softer, “I will have no choice. I will kill Logan. And you will live with the guilt for the rest of your life.”

I feel a knife in my chest again. Deep, twisting my insides.

I shake my head, but it hardly shakes at all.

“You can’t,” I only manage to make the words come out in a whisper. I want to scream them.

Charlie can. And he will.

29

Sam makes the final boarding call. Charlie lets go of my hand.