Elected (The Elected Series Book 1) (10 page)

The room is empty except for a wooden table in the center. On it sits a helmet with wires crisscrossing all around. I pick it up, turning it over in my hands.

“Careful,” Tomlin warns. But his voice is still giddy.

I look for a battery pack or some sort of solar panel, but I don’t find one. “How is it powered?”

“By the pulsing of blood in the wearer’s temples. Utterly amazing.”

I look over at him with my eyebrows furrowed. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were actually happy to see this technology.”

Tomlin finally checks himself, aware now that it appears he’s pleased to see the helmet.

“I apologize.” His voice is an octave lower. “It is still technology, yes. Something we cannot have. But it is one of the most remarkable pieces I have ever heard about. So rare. Only a few were made over two hundred years ago before the Accords. I never imagined one would still exist.”

“What does it do?”

“It is just what the name states. It multiplies your mind.”

“I still don’t understand.”

Tomlin smiles. “It lets you see things your mind has locked away. Things you didn’t remember you’d seen or heard. And sometimes on rare instances, it taps into a certain clairvoyance to give you pictures of the future or past you weren’t physically present to see when they happened. Let me show you. May I?” He walks toward me with the helmet outstretched, ready to attach the various plugs onto my skin.

“Is it safe?” I know putting on the helmet constitutes technology use, but it’s better we know what the thing is and if it’ll be a danger to our country.

“As safe as increased knowledge ever is,” Tomlin says.

I nod, letting Tomlin secure the helmet on my head. At once I’m tired of his riddles. Tired of his excitement over this piece of metal. I just want to sleep. I realize I still haven’t slept since spending all night with my parents. I feel the urge to sink down onto the floor right now and collapse onto a warm pillow.

But, before I can fully let myself melt into a puddle, the helmet is fastened firmly on my head. It stings as the metal knobs pinch into the sides of my scalp.

“It’s too tight,” I complain.

“It’s supposed to be tight.” For the first time, he’s not worried about my well-being. He’s engrossed in this technology, and it makes me mad. I want to fling the contraption off my head. I’m starting to reach up to my chin to do just that, when Tomlin pushes a button on the helmet and the whole thing starts humming.

It’s not a hum exactly. It overtakes my ears with singing. It’s the voice of my mother, humming softly to me as I fall asleep the previous night. I can hear it so clearly. At once I’m awake and asleep at the same time. I’m utterly relaxed.

And I’m thinking. My mind is so open and malleable. I think of Vienne back in my room and how much I want to keep her safe from any assaults by the Technology Faction. I think of my parents and where they’re heading in Mid Country. I almost see them right now in front of me, walking alongside their horses through the freezing countryside. They are close enough to be touched. I reach out.

And then a different image comes across my mind. I’m at the town hall meeting. The one where the assassin tried to kill me with the barrage of long arrows. I see Griffin looking at me. I take in his image, free now to drink in the sight of him without anyone noticing. His cheekbones are high and his hair is strewn across one eye. I want to reach out and push it off his forehead for him. More than anything, I want to touch him. But then he’s looking backward. Fearful. He is watching. So keenly watching. I see an arrow coming for me in slow motion. And I watch Griffin. He sees the arrow too.

But instead of watching me, Griffin’s face is pointed toward the back of the amphitheater.

He sees who launched the arrow.

10

All of a sudden, the helmet is off. I’ve ripped it from my head without knowing I was even touching it. I smash it onto the floor, screaming.

Tomlin is there, holding my arms back, trying to grab the helmet from me.

“Elected!” he screeches, imploring. “Aloy! Aloy!”

It is his use of my given name that finally breaks through my haze.

“I saw... I saw...” The words won’t come.

“You thought clearly. Of multiple thought threads all at the same time. Things locked in your head. And now they’re out.”

I calm, knowing Tomlin understands. “Yes. I saw... saw...”

I can’t seem to form words now. It’s like my brain capacity increased for the period the helmet was on my head. Who knows how long that even was? And now that the helmet is off, my thoughts are back down to their normal size. Their normal capacity. Which isn’t big at all, I realize, dejected.

And I want that helmet back on my head. Now.

I grasp for it like a blind man finding his spectacles, but Tomlin holds my hands back behind me. I cry out, exasperated.

“You must wait. Too many increased brain threads aren’t good. It will overload you. You can’t put the helmet back on right now.”

I fall onto the floor, into the puddle
I desired earlier. Tomlin sits on the ground by me.

“It’s amazing, isn’t it?” he says in awe.

“Yes. But my head aches.” I find I can only make small sentences.

“It will ache for just a few minutes more as your brain capacity returns to normal.”

“Where did this thing come from?”

“Only the prisoner knows,” Tomlin says. “Unfortunately, it seems the information is locked in the accused’s head. Too much use of the helmet, I’m afraid.”

“With great technology comes great burden.” I am quoting my father.

“Are you ready to stand up now?” I try my feet. They’re gelatinous, but at least they support me. “What did you see or hear?” Tomlin asks.

“My mother’s singing. Does everyone hear that?”

Tomlin laughs. “No. It’s different for each person. It’s based on your own brain waves. Did you see anything?”

My hand runs the length of my brow, massaging my temples in frustration. “It’s hard to remember.”

“It’s ok, don’t push too hard.”

“I saw my parents,” I say suddenly. “They’re somewhere cold.”

Tomlin nods. “Anything else?”

I concentrate hard. There was something else. I can almost taste the feeling of it. The anger. The betrayal. I yell without thinking. “Get me Griffin, now! NOW!”

Tomlin is off running, and I hear the pounding steps of multiple guards following after him.

I lie on the cold concrete of the room floor, trying to collect my thoughts. I want to find the helmet, but Tomlin took it with him. This helmet could be used for torture, I think. My brain aches. I want to use it. But I want to destroy it. No. I want to use it on Griffin, I realize. I want to bash his head in until it hurts like mine does now. I cry, rocking back and forth on the floor, with my head in my hands.

I vow never to put the helmet back on my head. What must this have done to people in the past? How many times did people use it? Did it make them crazy too? Or is it just the mix of radiation in our systems that now turns it so vile?

I throw up in a pool on the concrete floor, and it makes me feel better.

When the guards fail to return quickly, I finally stand back up and open the door into the corridor. The place is deserted. All of the guards are out doing my bidding—bringing Griffin to me.

I try all of the doors in the corridor, most of which are locked until they’re needed for prisoners. When one finally budges, the force I use throws open the door. Inside, armor glass dissects the space in two. As usual, my side contains just one long wooden bench. The other side behind the glass, contains the prisoner. A plant. A cot. And a cup of clear liquid.

As I walk in, the door slamming in back of me, the prisoner looks up. The accused can’t hear me. But the reverberation of the door is jarring.

We lock eyes with each other. I’d expected to see a man. A man who had used the helmet and now knows too much.

But I was mistaken.

It’s a woman. Imogene, the chemist.

She stands immediately, pushing both palms up to the glass. Her cheek crushes up against the barrier, squishing out into a blob of pale skin. It looks odd and almost makes me want to throw up again. She moves her cheek away and this time plants her lips against the glass. She kisses the armor glass. Over and over again.

She’s gone crazy. Imogene, the smart, collected chemist has come unglued. I can almost hear my father’s words in my head.
This is what happens when technology is used
.
Humans don’t have the capacity to use it wisely
.
We must not use it at all
.

Imogene is trying to talk to me through the glass. I can’t hear her, and even when I try to read her lips, I can’t understand what she’s trying to communicate.

I hold up one finger to her, to indicate I’ll be back in a minute. She just opens her mouth in a big O. Screaming.

I run out of the room and down into the lobby. One guard is still there.

“I need to question the accused,” I burst out.

He turns, sees the fierceness on my face, and instantly starts leading me to the back of the accused’s room.

“Elected, you don’t want to go into that side. The prisoner is unstable.” I know he’s warning me with my best interests in mind, but I don’t want to be told what to do right now.

“Oh, but I do,” I say, my voice uncharacteristically cold.

“Your father, he never...”

I get up in the guard’s face, eye to eye, daring him to defy me when I’m feeling so vicious.. “I am not my father. I am the Elected now!” The guard needs to realize I’m no longer a child to be protected. Today I’ve become their leader. I try to compose myself, the headache coming back twofold. I attempt to contain my voice. “Let me in.” I say my words with more restraint this time.

He immediately unlocks the door. I walk past him with a curt nod.

Imogene is still standing against the armor glass, waiting for me there. Her lips are again stuck to the partition.

The door closes behind me, the deadbolt flicking in a final thud.

“Imogene,” I whisper.

She doesn’t turn, just keeps making fish faces against the glass. I cautiously walk up behind her and put a finger on her shoulder. She wheels around, seeing me there for the first time. She throws her arms around my neck. At first, I’m worried she’ll try to choke me and I look back at the guard’s door. But then, Imogene starts crying, hugging me and mumbling incoherent words.

“Shhh,” I console. “It’ll be okay. I’ll get you out of here. Don’t worry. You... aren’t of right mind. We don’t make people drink the hemlock if they don’t have control of their... wits,” I say. I think back to my father saying people with mental problems are forgiven any trespasses against the Accords.

“You... you... never...,” she blubbers.

“It’s okay. Don’t try to talk.”

“No! No! I must... tell... you!” she cries.

I lead her over to the cot along the wall at the far corner of the room. I sit her down on it gently and then ease onto the bed next to her. We’re facing each other, and she has her hands cupping my face.

“Need to tell!” she says.

“Okay, go ahead. I’m listening.”

“No, baby... not for you!” Imogene bellows loud, choking on her own tears. “They’ll take it!”

I smooth her matted hair, seeing the bare spots where she’s pulled it out in tufts.

“It’s okay. I know. I won’t ever have a baby of my own. I already know. Is that what you saw with the helmet on?”

She nods, her eyes blank.

“What else did you see?”

“Niro... nirogene. No more. No more!” She’s so distressed, she’s shaking. “No more bikes. Rust. Everywhere rust!”

“You must be wrong about that. We still have stores of it. And we’re harvesting more nirogene from the hills. There’s plenty of it. Don’t worry.”

“Taking... taking it!”

“No, no. I won’t take it,” I say. “I’ll make sure everyone gets some.”

She grabs my cheeks, pulling at the skin. “Not you! Them! Them! Taking it! Save us!”

“The harvesters? They’re taking it?”

Imogene looks confused, like I’ve posed a question too hard for her. I try soothing her again. “Okay, don’t worry. We’ll fix it. I’ll fix it.”

This quiets her, and she puts her head down on my shoulder.

“Where did you get the helmet?” I ask.

She looks up at me, searching my eyes. She says nothing, and I’m about to let the question drop when she moans, “Sky.” She points up at the ceiling.

“It fell from the sky?”

She nods and then puts her head back down on my shoulder, exhausted.

I look in front of me, over Imogene’s back, out toward the armor glass. Great. So the only person who can tell me where this strange helmet came from thinks it fell from the sky. Perfect.

When Imogene’s breath is steadier, and she’s panting less, I place a hand on her shoulder. “Let’s go, Imogene. I’ll get you out of here. You can stay with me in the White House.”

“Black house.” Her words come out in a quiet mumble. “Black like ash.”

I shiver at her description. “Fine. Black house. You can stay with me there.”

Imogene looks up at me, tears glistening in her eyes. I pull her bent fingers, one by one, from the fabric around my neck.

When I’ve finally extricated myself, I stand up, ready to knock on the door to get the guard.

“Imogene, let’s go.”

She stares at me blankly and then puts her fingers to her lips. I can’t tell exactly what she’s doing, but when her fingers come away from the kiss, I realize she’s saying goodbye.

And before I can reach her, Imogene skids across the floor. She’s upon the glass of clear liquid, more quickly than I would have expected.

“No! Imogene, no!” I scream.

She flails out at me, pushing me back. I scramble toward her again, but the liquid is already bubbling out of her mouth. She’s thrown it on her eyes, down her throat, and over her head. She licks her cheeks where the liquid dribbles out of her mouth.

I crouch next to her, yelling for the guards. One of them flings open the door, and they’re upon us, trying to help me.

But it’s too late. Imogene is already convulsing, gurgling with the onset of hemlock paralysis. All I can do is hold her head, as it bucks and threatens to split in two on the concrete floor. There’s blood pouring out of her nose and down her lips. I can hardly see anything as unshed tears obscure my vision.

When Imogene’s body falls still, and I think she’s gone, her eyes bolt open. There’s no more choking. Imogene’s at once clear and calm as she gazes at me, her pupils exploring my face like she sees something majestic. Then she lets out one long, shuddering sigh. Her body tenses, and I prepare myself for more violent thrashing. I stay on my knees with her, waiting, but after the quiet sets in I know it’s finally over.