Champion: A Legend Novel (12 page)

“What’s the point of reaching . . . levels?” I ask as we leave the hall and step into an elevator. “Does it determine your status in the city? Does it keep your civilians in line?”

Guardsman Makoare nods. “You’ll see.”

We step out of the elevator and head out onto another bridge (this time it’s covered with an arched glass roof) that connects this building to another. As we walk, I begin to see what Guardsman Makoare is talking about. The new building we enter looks like an enormous academy, and as we peer through glass panels into classrooms lined with rows of what must be students, I notice that all of them have their own point scores and levels hovering over their heads. At the front of the room, a giant glass screen displays a series of math questions, each with a glowing point score over them.

CALCULUS SEMESTER 2

Q1: 6 PTS

Q2: 12 PTS

And so on. At one point, I see one of the students attempt to lean over and cheat from a neighbor. The point score over his head flashes red, and a second later the number decreases by five.

CHEATING: −5 PTS

1,642: LEVEL 3

The student freezes, then quickly returns to looking at his own exam.

Guardsman Makoare smiles when he sees me analyzing the situation. “Your level means everything in Ross City. The higher your level, the more money you make, the better jobs you can apply for, and the more respected you are. Our highest scorers are widely admired and quite famous.” He points toward the back of the cheating student. “As you can see, our citizens are so engrossed in this game of life that most of them know better than to do things that will decrease their scores. We have very little crime in Ross City as a result.”

“Fascinating,” I murmur, my eyes still glued to the classroom even as we reach the end of the hallway and head out onto another bridge. After a while, a new message pops up in the corner of my glasses.

WALKED 1,000 METERS: +2 PTS

DAILY SCORE: 3

CUMULATIVE SCORE: 3

To my surprise, seeing the numbers go up gives me a brief thrill of accomplishment. I turn to Guardsman Makoare. “I can understand how this leveling system is good motivation for your citizens. Brilliant.” I don’t say my next thought aloud, but secretly I wonder,
How do they distinguish between good and bad actions?
Who decides that? What happens when someone speaks out against the government? Does her score go up or down? I marvel at the technology available here—it really makes clear, for the first time, exactly how far behind the Republic is. Have things always been so unequal? Were we ever the leaders?

We eventually settle inside a building with a large, semicircular chamber used for political meetings (“The Discussion Room,” Lady Medina calls it). It’s lined with flags from countries around the world. In the chamber’s center is a long, mahogany wood table, and now the Antarctican delegates sit on one side while we sit on the other. Two more delegates who are at similar levels as Lady Medina join us as we begin our talks, but it’s a third delegate who catches my attention. He’s in his midforties, with bronze hair and dark skin and a well-trimmed beard. The text hovering over his head reads
LEVEL 202
.

“President Ikari,” Lady Medina says as she introduces him to us. Anden and the other Senators bow their heads respectfully. I do the same. Although I don’t dare turn my eyes away from the discussion, I can see the Republic’s flag in my peripheral vision. With my glasses I see the virtual text
THE REPUBLIC OF AMERICA
above it in glowing letters. Right next to it is the Colonies flag, with its black and gray stripes and the bright gold bird in its center.

Some of the other countries’ flags have the word
Ally
hovering under their names. But we don’t.

From the beginning, our discussion is tense.

“It seems like your father’s plans have backfired against you,” the President tells Anden. He leans stiffly forward. “The United Nations is, of course, concerned that Africa has already given aid to the Colonies. The Colonies declined an invitation to talk with us.”

Anden sighs. “Our scientists are hard at work on a cure,” he continues. I notice he doesn’t mention Day’s brother in all this, and Day’s lack of cooperation. “But the Colonies’ forces are overwhelming with Africa’s money and military supporting them. We need help to push them back, or we risk being overrun within the month. The virus could spread to us as well—”

“You speak with passion,” the President interrupts. “And I have no doubt that you’re doing great things as the Republic’s new leader. But a situation like this . . . The virus must first be contained. And I’ve heard the Colonies have already breached your borders.”

The President’s honey-gold eyes are piercingly bright. When Serge tries to speak up, he silences him immediately, never taking his eyes off Anden. “Let your Elector respond,” he says. Serge falls back into sullen silence, but not before I catch a smug look pass between the Senators. My temper rises. They—the Senator, the Antarctican President, even Anden’s own Princeps-Elect—are all taunting Anden in their own subtle ways. Interrupting him. Emphasizing his age. I look at Anden, quietly willing him to stand up for himself. Mariana nods once at him.

“Sir?” she says.

I’m relieved when Anden first shoots a disapproving look at Serge, then lifts his chin and calmly replies. “Yes. We’ve managed to hold them off for now, but they are right at the outskirts of our capital.”

The President leans forward and rests his elbows on the table. “So, there’s a possibility that this virus has already crossed into your territory?”

“Yes,” Anden replies.

The President is silent for a moment. Finally, he says, “What exactly do you want?”

“We need military support,” Anden replies. “Your army is the best in the world. Help us secure our borders. But most of all, help us find a cure. They’ve warned us that a cure is the only way they’ll retreat. And we need time to make that happen.”

The President tightens his lips and shakes his head once. “No military support, money, or supplies. I’m afraid you’re far too indebted to us for that. I
can
offer my scientists to help you find a cure for the disease. But I will
not
send my troops into an area infected with disease. It’s too dangerous.” When he sees the look on Anden’s face, his eyes harden. “Please keep us updated, as I hope as much as you do to see a resolution for this. I apologize that we can’t be of more help to you, Elector.”

Anden leans on the table and laces his fingers together. “What can I do to persuade you to help us, Mr. President?” he says.

The President sits back in his chair and regards Anden for a moment with a thoughtful look. It chills me. He’s been waiting for Anden to say this. “You’re going to have to offer me something worth my while,” he finally says. “Something your father never offered.”

“And what’s that?”

“Land.”

My heart twists painfully at those words. Giving up land. In order to save our country, we’ll have to sell ourselves to another nation. Something about it feels as violating as selling our own bodies. Giving up your own child to a stranger. Tearing away a piece of our home. I look at Anden, trying to decipher the emotions behind his composed exterior.

Anden stares at him for a long moment. Is he thinking about what his father would say in a situation like this? Is he wondering whether he’s as good a leader to his people? Finally, Anden bows his head. Graceful, even in humility. “I’m open to discussion,” he says quietly.

The President nods once. I can see the small smile at the corners of his lips. “Then we’ll discuss,” he replies. “If you find a cure to this virus, and if we agree to the land, then I promise you military support. Until then, the world will have to deal with this as we do with any pandemic.”

“And what do you mean by that, sir?” Anden asks.

“We will need to seal your ports and borders, as well as the Colonies’. Other nations will need to be notified. I’m sure you understand.”

Anden’s silent. I hope the President doesn’t see the stricken look on my face. The entire Republic is going to be quarantined.

JUNE’S LEFT FOR ANTARCTICA. EDEN’S GONE TO LOS ANGELES
with the second wave of evacuees. The rest of us stay down in this bunker, listening as the Colonies’ assault continues. This time the fighting sounds worse. Sometimes the earth trembles so much that fine dust rains down on us from the underground bunker’s ceiling, coating lines of evacuees with gray ash as they hurry onto the waiting trains. Rotating lights over the tunnel paint us all in flashes of red. I wonder how other bunkers across the city are holding up. The evacuations grow more urgent as each train leaves on the hour and is replaced by a new one. Who knows how long this tunnel will stay stable. Now and then I see soldiers shoving civilians back into line when they get unruly. “Single file!” they bark out, hoisting their guns threateningly. Their faces are hidden behind riot masks that I know all too damn well. “Dissidents will be left behind, no questions asked. Move along, people!”

I stay at one end of the bunker as the dust continues to rain down, huddled with Pascao, Tess, and the other remaining Patriots. At first a few soldiers tried to hustle me onto one of the trains, but they left me alone after I lashed out at them with a string of curses. Now they ignore me. I watch people load onto the train for a few seconds before I return to my conversation with Pascao. Tess sits beside me, although the unspoken tension between us makes her feel much farther away. My ever-present headache pounds a dull rhythm against the back of my head.

“You saw more of the city than I did,” I whisper to Pascao. “How do you think the Armor is holding up?”

“Not great,” Pascao responds. “In fact, with another country helping the Colonies, I wouldn’t be surprised if the Armor breaks down in a matter of days with this kind of assault. It’s not gonna hold for long, trust me.”

I turn to see how many people are still waiting to board the trains. “How should we go about throwing the Colonies some curve balls?”

Another voice pipes up. It’s one of the Hackers, Frankie, the girl with the wounded shoulder. “If we can get our hands on a few electrobombs,” she says in a thoughtful voice, “I can probably rewire them to scramble some of the Colonies’ weapons or something. We might be able to throw their jets off too.”

Jets. That’s right—Anden had mentioned the Colonies jets parked on a makeshift airfield outside the Armor’s walls. “I can get my hands on some,” I whisper. “And some grenades too.”

Pascao clicks his tongue in excitement. “So we get to have fun with nitroglycerine in your plan? You get on that, then.” He turns to address Baxter, who shoots me a cranky glare. His ear looks as mangled as ever. “Hey, Baxter boy. Back up Gioro and Frankie, make sure you give them cover while they’re working their magic.”

“Pascao,” I say quietly. “You up for some decoy work?”

He laughs. “It’s what Runners are best at, yeah?”

“Let’s play with them a little—I want you to be my double while I’m heading toward their makeshift airfield.”

“Sounds promising.”

“Good.” Despite the grimness of the situation, I smile. A note of haughtiness creeps into my voice. “This night’ll end with a bunch of expensive, useless military machines.”

“You’re out of your mind, blinder boy,” Baxter snaps at me. “The Republic itself can’t even keep the Colonies out—you think
our
little group stands a chance at beating them?”

“We don’t need to beat them. All
we
need to do is stall them. And I’m pretty sure we’re good at that.”

Baxter lets out a loud snort of irritation—but Pascao’s grin grows wider. Next to me, Tess shifts uncomfortably. She’s probably thinking back on my past crimes, how she’d had to witness them all and how she’d had to bandage me up after every single one. Maybe she’s worried about me. Or maybe she’s glad. Maybe she’d rather me not be here at all. But she had come back here because of me. That’s what she said, isn’t it? She must still care, at least on some level. I try to think of the right thing to say to her to fill this awkward silence, but instead I question the others. “You told me back in the room that you guys came back here because you wanted to be pardoned. But you could’ve tried escaping to a country other than the Republic, yeah? You wouldn’t even have to help the Republic out. Anden—the Elector, that is—he would’ve pardoned you all anyway.” My eyes fall on Pascao. “You knew that, didn’t you? Why’d you all really come back here? I know it’s not just because you heard
my
plea.”

Pascao’s grin fades, and for a moment he actually looks serious. He sighs, then gazes around at our little group. It’s hard to believe they used to be a part of something so much larger. “We’re the Patriots, right?” he finally says. “We’re supposed to be committed to seeing the United States return in some way or other. With the way things seem to be in the Colonies, I don’t know if they’d be the right ones to bring that kinda change about. But I gotta admit, the new Republic Elector has potential, and after what Razor pulled on us, even
I
think Anden might be the answer we’ve been waiting for.” Pascao pauses to nod at Baxter, who just shrugs. “Even Baxter boy here thinks so.”

I frown. “So you guys came back here because you genuinely want to help the Republic win this war? You seriously want to help us defend ourselves?” Pascao nods again. “Why didn’t you say that back in the room? Would’ve sounded pretty noble.”

“No, it wouldn’t.” Pascao shakes his head. “They wouldn’t have believed us. The Patriots, the terrorists who used to blow up Republic soldiers every chance they got? Yeah, right. I figured it’d be better for us if we played the pardon card instead. It’d seem like a more realistic answer for your Elector and your little Princeps-Elect.”

I stay silent. When Pascao sees me hesitate, he dusts off his hands and stands up. “Let’s get started,” he says to me. “No time to waste, not with this hailstorm happening upstairs.” He motions for the other Patriots to gather around and starts divvying up their individual tasks. I rise to a crouch.

Tess takes a deep breath, and when she catches my gaze again, she speaks to me for the first time since being in the room together. “I’m sorry, Day.” She says it softly, so that the others can’t hear.

I freeze where I am, resting my elbows on my crouched legs. “Why?” I reply. “You don’t have anything to be sorry for.”

“Yes, I do.” Tess looks away. How did she grow up so quickly? She’s still thin, still delicate, but her eyes belong to someone older than I remember. “I didn’t mean to leave you behind, and I didn’t mean to blame June for everything. I don’t really believe she’s bad. I
never
really believed that. I was just so . . . angry.”

Her face pulls me to her like it always does, the way it did all the way back when I first saw her digging around in that dumpster. I wish I could hug her, but I sit back and wait, letting her make the call. “Tess . . . ,” I say slowly, trying to figure out the best way to express what I’m feeling. Hell, I’ve said so many stupid things to her in the past. “I love you. No matter what happens between us.”

Tess wraps her arms around her knees. “I know.”

I swallow hard and look down. “But I don’t love you the way you want me to. I’m sorry if I ever gave you the wrong impression. I don’t think I’ve ever treated you as well as you deserve.” My heart twists painfully as the words leave my mouth, striking her as they go. “So don’t be sorry. It’s my fault, not yours.”

Tess shakes her head. “I know you don’t love me that way. Don’t you think I know that by now?” A note of bitterness enters her voice. “But you
don’t
know how I feel about you. No one does.”

I give her a level look. “Tell me, then.”

“Day, you mean more to me than some
crush.
” Her brows furrow as she tries to explain herself. “When the entire world turned its back on me and left me to die,
you
took me in. You were the one person who cared about what might happen to me. You were everything.
Everything.
You became my entire family—you were my parents and my siblings and my caretaker, my only friend and companion, you were both my protector and someone who needed protecting. You see? I didn’t love you in the way you might’ve thought I did, although I can’t deny that was part of it. But the way I feel goes beyond that.”

I open my mouth to reply, but nothing comes out. I don’t know what to say. All I can do is
see.

Tess lets out a shaky breath. “So when I thought June might take you away, I didn’t know what to do. I felt like she was taking everything that mattered to me. I felt like she was taking away from
you
all the things that I didn’t have.” She lowers her eyes. “That’s why I’m sorry. I’m sorry because you shouldn’t
have
to be everything to me. I had you, but I’d forgotten that I had myself too.” She pauses to look over at the Patriots, who are deep in conversation. “It’s a new feeling, something I’m still getting used to.”

And just like that, we’re both kids again. I see the younger us, dangling our feet over the edge of some broken high-rise, watching the sun dip every evening below the ocean’s horizon. How much we’ve seen since then, how far we’ve come.

I reach over to tap her nose once, just like how I always have. She smiles for the first time.

* * *

The night has transitioned into the early hour before dawn, and the drizzle and slush has finally paused, leaving the city glistening under the moonlight. The evacuation alarm still echoes every now and then, and the JumboTrons continue their ominous red warning to seek cover, but a brief lull has hit the battle and the skies aren’t full of jets and explosions. Guess both sides have to rest up or something. I rub the weariness from my eyes and try to ignore my headache—
I
could use some rest.

“It’s not gonna be easy, you know,” Pascao whispers to me as we both survey the morning. “They’re probably on the lookout for Republic soldiers.” We’re perched on top of the Armor, watching the field just beyond the city’s boundaries. It’s not like people don’t live outside the Armor, but unlike LA, which is just one large spread of buildings that melts right into its neighboring cities, Denver’s population is sparser outside the safety of its walls. Small clusters of buildings sit here and there. They seem empty, and I wonder if the Republic saw the Colonies approaching from a distance and evacuated their people inside the Armor. Although the Colonies’ airships have returned back to their own land in order to refuel, they’ve left a bunch of jets in the fields, and the areas they’ve occupied are well lit with floodlights. I’m kind of shocked by how repulsed I am at the thought of the Colonies taking us over. A year ago, I would be cheering at the top of my goddy lungs for this exact scenario. But now I just hear the Colonies’ slogan over and over in my head.
A free state is a corporate state.
The ads I remember from their cities make me shiver.

It’s hard to decide which I prefer, really: watch my brother grow up under the Colonies’ rule, or watch him taken back for experimentation by the Republic?

“Yeah, they’ll be on the lookout,” I agree. Then I turn away from the Armor’s edge and start making my way down the wall. Along the Armor’s outer edge, Republic jets lie parked, manned, and ready. “But we’re not Republic soldiers. If they can hit us with a surprise attack, then so can we.”

Pascao and I are dressed exactly alike, in black from head to toe, with masks pulled over our faces. If it weren’t for a little height difference, I don’t think anyone would be able to tell us apart.

“You two ready?” Pascao mutters into his mike to our Hackers. Then he glances at me and gives a thumbs-up signal. If they’re in place, then that means Tess is in place too.
Stay safe.

We make our way down to the ground and then let several Republic soldiers guide us around to a small, discreet underground passage. It leads outside the Armor and into dangerous territory. The soldiers nod a silent “good luck” to us before retreating back inside. I hope to hell this all works.

I look out at the field where Colonies jets are parked. When I first turned fifteen, I had set fire to a series of ten brand-new F-472 Republic fighter jets parked at the Burbank air force base in Los Angeles. It was the first stunt that landed me at the top of the most wanted list, and one of the crimes June herself actually made me confess to when I’d been arrested. I did it by first stealing gallons of highly explosive blue nitroglide from air force bases, then pouring the liquid into the jets’ exhaust nozzles and across the tail end of the jets. The instant their engines turned on, their tails exploded into flames.

The memory comes back to me in sharp focus. The design of the Colonies jets looks different, with their strange, forward-swept wings, but at the end of the day they’re still just machines. And this time, I’m not working alone. I’ve got the Republic’s support. Most importantly, I’ve got their explosives.

“Ready to make your move?” I whisper to Pascao. “Got your bombs?”

“You think
I’d
forget to bring bombs? You should know me better than that.” Pascao’s voice turns taunting. “Day—no bull this time. Got it, pretty boy? If you suddenly think you wanna go rogue, you sure as hell better tell me first. Then at least I’ll have time to sock you in the face.”