Token (Token Chronicles) (6 page)

I hear someone outside ask, “Are you alright in there?”

I have heard the voice before. I think it is Zeke, but I am not entirely sure.

“Yeah, about as fine as I can be.”

I wait a second for an answer, but there is none. I begin to think he has walked away when I hear him again.

“Listen, I am sorry about the other day.” So that confirms that I have been in here for more than a day. “I had to shoot to stop you. Nayze found me and told me what you were about to do. They would have killed you had you gotten across that fence, no matter how high up you are on their list. I did it to protect you. Gunnar wanted to put a bullet through your head right there, but I stopped him. The only compromise I could get him to agree to was five days in the chamber.”

“How long has it been?”

“You are due for release in an hour.”

I exhale in relief that this misery is nearly over. On second thought, I will only be out of the box, my agony will continue no matter where they keep me. He interrupts my thoughts when he says, “I just wanted to give you some answers so you won’t run out of here and try to see the Ambassador again. I have a feeling they won’t be giving you anymore second chances.”

This is my opportunity to finally get some sort of satisfaction, to know what happened. He disheartens me when the first words to come out of his mouth are, “I don’t know where she is or who bought her, only the Ambassador knows that information. But I can tell you why this happened.”

I am suddenly drawn back in ready to heed every word. “It happened once when I was on Island 8. We can all be bought early if the price is right. Do you remember the shooting day we have every year?”

I do, but I have never really given it much thought after the fact. They have everyone in the camp line up and stand in front of a weird metal object with a tube sticking out of its center that flashed brightly. We just listened to the man’s directions, and he would flash us several times. We would always be rewarded with an extra ration of food afterwards so none of us ever complained.

Zeke continues assuming I did remember, “Well, those were cameras that were snapping your picture, your image, the way you were at that exact moment in time. Those images are used in commercials, advertisements to the Elitists. Months before you become eligible for your first auction, all the Islands begin sending in these images of their top prospects who have a chance at being purchased for the most amount of money as Tokens. They want to get the Elitists excited at the prospect of owning you one day. To pick out the ones they want the most, so they can come to auction ready, prepared to spend whatever it takes. So they plaster all of your images in mass waves of these advertisements. Just as the Federation has high hopes for you, they did for Hadley as well. If the right buyer comes along and offers an excessive amount of money pre-auction, any of you can be sold immediately. It’s rare that it happens because it costs so much, but it is possible. I am positive it is what must have happened with her. The timing must have been right after the Retreat Feast so they must have figured they could save some time by sending her out with the others. Nothing else can explain it. I hope this at least gives you something. Just don’t do anything stupid when we release you, okay?”

“I understand,” I say convincingly. I am thankful for what Zeke has risked by telling me, but I will not be able to keep my promise.

He proceeds to open the door, and I know the sight and smell of me must be pretty appalling because he turns his head away and coughs vehemently. He instructs me to follow him with his hand still covering his nose and mouth, and I walk with him down a trail that leads to the beach. When we arrive, he tells me to go into the ocean and wash the filth off. I don’t argue and take off and begin to run through the choppy waves of salt water. I am not able to stand sturdily in the water and trip into an oncoming wave. I am weak from the limited amount of food they have given me over the past few days, not that I could hardly keep any of it down anyways because of the smell. The waves crash down on me, but I embrace them. I can see the grime oozing away from my body in a brown cloud in the clear blue water. Once I feel I am as clean as I am going to be able to get without soap, I begin to make my way back towards the shore. Zeke is standing there waiting for me laughing.

“Starting to look like you again,” he says lightheartedly.

I must have really been a mess. I am glad I never got a chance to catch a glimpse of my reflection. We begin to make our way back to the District, and he escorts me all the way back to the door of my shack. Before I enter, he reminds me to be careful, and of my false promise to behave. I reassure him I will, but no matter what, I still have not forgotten I have accomplished nothing. Yes, I know why Hadley was sold early, but I still need to know where she went. I have to know where to find her, or I may lose her forever. Zeke even admitted that only one person knows this information on our entire Island. The Ambassador. Regardless of what I said, whether I bring my own death sentence down on me or not, I will find a way to speak to him.

*

My memories have not faltered me in the least bit, not about that day, that week. It will forever be singed into my brain. I remember every detail about what Yency said, the chamber, what Zeke told me, and the promise I made to myself to find a way to talk to the Ambassador. A promise I am about to enact. I still have about three months before I go up for auction. Three months to finalize my plans to accomplish my goal, but I will not wait that long. I can’t take any chances. It was necessary for me to remain calm and go about my daily duties as if nothing was wrong these past few weeks. I didn’t want to worry my friends anymore or give the Grods and Holds more reason to monitor me closely. They have finally started to accept maybe I am okay, after all. The time is right. I will find a way to break into the Ambassador’s mansion. I have decided, tomorrow night. I pick myself up off the dirt from the path and dust off my knees. I begin to head back towards my shack in the District. I may have been able to fool everyone else on the Island that I am stable, but my shack mates know better. They have been extremely worried and are not buying my happy act. Staying out this late after shift has probably gotten them wondering if I have finally just decided to go off the deep end and get myself killed.

When I finally make it back, I push open the creaky bamboo door to our shack expecting a scolding from Benja, Nayze, and Yency for my foolishness, but they are not there. Sitting on my bed of cotton is a man I have never seen before in my life. He looks rather peculiar. He is neither a Grod nor Hold. He is definitely not one of the Island trainees. He stands up, and I notice he is in a black suit with a gray trench coat. Kind of odd attire for our climate. He must be burning up. He interrupts my train of thought when he coldly barks, “Trainee 15892, Ambassador Tarik has requested to see you immediately.”

Chapter 3

Weapons are trained on me from every direction as I cross the threshold of the daunting gate entrance. There were four men positioned at the gate, and I can easily spot four more guarding the front entrance of the mansion. I am not sure, but I think I catch a glare from a couple of weapons on the roof. Snipers, I think. Much more protection than the original two Grods who were fortifying the defense the last time I was here. I still would not have backed down then, though. Not in the state of mind I was in. I would have gotten myself killed. My wrists begin to itch. My hands are cuffed behind my back with tight rawhide constraints. Two of the gray trench-coated men are escorting me on both sides with their hands firmly gripped around my elbows constantly nudging me forward. I am befuddled over the intense precautions they have deemed necessary to employ for my presence. I am guessing they have discovered my plans for breaking into the mansion. But even if they have, I was never planning to harm anyone. I just wanted to talk to the Ambassador. Surely, they cannot think I am so much of a threat that I should warrant this much attention.

We begin to ascend the steps to the entrance of the mansion and, wow! The mansion is even more imposing as I approach closer. I look up and the dome on the roof of the building seems to be scraping the bottom of the highest clouds in the sky. Every shack on our Island could fit into this place at least ten times over. All of this for one man. What a waste of useful space. As I step through the front entrance, I am even more astounded over the splendor of the inside than the colossal dimensions outside. The floors and walls appear to be clear as if they are all made of mirrors, but no reflections rebound from them. There is an oval fountain in the front room with water spouting from three different sources creating a double arch. Like a sideways 3, I wonder if it is intentional. Behind the fountain are two sets of staircases that spiral around each other leading to different floor levels. The steps of the staircases are clear and can barely be seen. The inner workings of the building are much more intricate than I originally expected from the outside.

One of the men next to me calls a Grod over and commands, “Tell the Ambassador 15892 has arrived.”

The man nods and scurries off around a corner I had failed to notice earlier. The non-reflective mirrored walls are throwing me for a loop. I can’t get a sense of where I am. My head is starting to spin. This is either some weird Federation décor trend, or a way to confuse any of the Ambassador’s enemies if they were to ever break in. Ah. Of course, it makes sense. If I had managed to break in, I would have had no idea what to do once I got in here. I probably would have wandered around in circles for hours like I was in a maze. Hadley told me about mazes before. One of her childhood memories I got to abstractly participate in once was of her parents taking her to a cornfield maze to play in. Stop, I tell myself. I have to focus, for Hadley. This was the meeting I was willing to die for, to sacrifice everything, and it looks as if I will be getting the meeting with the Ambassador shortly. I didn’t even have to do anything. I should feel fortunate, but something does not feel right about this whole situation. I had not told anyone about my plans to break in here. I had put on an acceptable enough act by most standards the past few weeks to convince the outsiders. My shack mates may have been suspicious, but even they had no proof. Just then, the Grod who scampered off earlier returns. He has a look of relief, but fear in his face at the same time. I never see Grods fearful of anything, but then again, I guess an Ambassador for the Federation holds more rank and power capable of intimidation than us trainees on the Island.

“The Ambassador is ready to see him now.”

The gray trench-coated men push me forward, and we head around the same corner. When we get to the middle of the aisle, we unexpectedly stop as if they are preparing to walk through a door. I am just as confused as one of the men reaches his hand up in the air and appears to place it on something I can’t see. His hand remains there for a few seconds seemingly frozen in place. Red lights begin to emit from thin air tracing key points along his palm and fingers. Almost instantaneously, the image of the empty hallway disappears, and we are standing in front of a set of metallic doors that begin to slide open in front of us. I step into the small polished chamber and when the doors close again, I feel an energy that abruptly shoves me against the back wall. In only a few seconds, the doors are opening once again. We step into a room with black marbled floors and walls. A stark contrast to the clear front room. The furniture appears to be molded straight out of the marble, and there is an absence of sunlight with no windows. Hadley would hate this room. Concentrate, I mutter quietly to myself.

I meet eyes with the man sitting behind the desk in a throne like chair. He is a dark-skinned man whose wrinkles indicate he is well aged. His black and gray sprinkled hair surrounds his shiny bald scalp. He rises as I enter the room, and I see he is dressed in all white and must easily outweigh me by 200 pounds. I start to think about the amount of food he must have had to consume to become so big and think my weekly intake must be equivalent to one meal for this man.

The gray trench-coated men sit me down in a chair in front of the desk, and they walk around to whisper something in the ear of the man I am now assuming to be Ambassador Tarik. He nods his head in apparent agreement and waves them away out of the room leaving me alone with him. He inquisitively eyes me up and down as if I am a mystery to him. He gingerly moseys around to take a seat directly in front of me at the edge of the black marble desk. I am waiting for him to speak first, but he seems as if he is waiting for me to say something. Well, if they knew I was planning on breaking in here to speak to him, I may as well be the one who initiates our meeting.

I start, “Sir, I wanted to speak to you abou…”

I cannot finish my opening statement before he violently wallops me with the back of his hand across the right side of my face. I am knocked out of the chair with no way to brace my fall as my hands are still firmly cuffed. My left shoulder crashes to the hard marble floor, and I feel an abrupt shooting pain. I must have separated my shoulder. He reaches down with one hand and picks me up to throw me back in my chair. What I mistook earlier for glutton I know now has hidden his tremendous brute power.

“Do not speak to me unless you are told to do so, boy!” he bellows.

“I am sorry, sir,” I say. He smacks me again in the same spot, but with less force this time. Apparently apologies are also included in his no talking policy.

“Stand up,” he commands.

I stand up quickly battling the urge to try and rub the stinging pain away from my cheek. He begins to circle me eyeing every part of my body.

“I don’t get it,” he says. “What is so special about you? You aren’t the strongest, the fastest, the biggest. I have seen the footage from your training sessions, your work sessions. You are nothing particularly special to look at it either. So what is it?”