Elite (Citizen Saga, Book 1) (15 page)

I didn't know how to answer her. She seemed so lost, so vulnerable. All I wanted to do was wrap her up in my arms and protect her from the world. But she was right. I shouldn't trust her. She didn't trust me.

Although her act was definitely fooling me.

I turned on my heel without a word and stalked into the tech room. All eyes on the woman I could actually feel following behind me, even though she wasn't physically touching me and I couldn't hear her footsteps.

Damn, this was bad.

And we had an audience. Not entirely unexpected, Lena was the biggest feat we'd accomplished in years. Or the biggest risk.

"Everyone," I said loudly, making them turn to me and stop staring at the Elite in our midst. As though she was an exhibit at the zoo. "This is Selena Carstairs." No way did I want them calling her Lena. That was mine.

"
Honourable
Selena Carstairs,"
Damia reminded everyone, clearly no longer on front door guard duty and here to ride my arse. A quick glance told me Alan must be playing guard. Which was a shame, because I was guessing I could have used his level head 'round about now.

"That's debatable," I replied, holding Damia's disgruntled glare. "Selena's identity has been compromised. She has no home."

"So we take in refugees now?" Zikri, her brother, asked.

I blinked back at him. "Aren't you one?"

He snorted, offered a self-deprecating smile and shrug, and nodded a greeting to Selena. That was the best welcome she'd probably receive.

"This is an unnecessary risk," Carla announced, speaking as though she held authority. She even stepped out of the little group of busy bodies and turned to deliver her next words. "Trent is not acting for the good of the cause, he's been compromised."

So it was a coup, was it?

"No more than he is when you're in his bed," Si muttered, without taking his eyes off the vid-screens.

"Pardon?" Carla demanded, hands on skinny hips.

"Enough!" I barked. "You've seen her. You know why she's here. Now get out and let us get to work."

Carla spun around to glare at me, then lifted a finger to point angrily at my face.

"You're going to destroy everything," she hissed. "Throwing it away for a bit of Elite skirt." Her eyes darted towards Lena, offering a withering glance that would quell a weaker woman. Selena was built from sterner stuff, so I didn't bother to check her reaction. "She's not even all that good looking without her make-up on. And what the hell is with that dress? Hardly Elite."

God, sometimes Carla could be so thick. Her eyes returned to me and I saw what she was trying to hide: Hurt. This was hurting her and I didn't know how to make it stop. I never promised Carla anything. I never make those kinds of promises. She of all people knew that. But still she was hurt.

"What would your father say?" she whispered, landing the blow she should have fired right at the start.

"He's not here," I snapped. "He's dead," I added, hoping to slap some sense into her.

"Like we'll all be when she hands us over to Chew-wen," Carla replied with surprising grace, and then ruined the effect by storming from the room and slamming her shoulder into Lena.

I almost went to her side, but needn't have bothered.

"Wow," Lena said with an amused smile that reached right into the depths of me and turned my world upside down. "She's good. I'll have to take lessons."

Everyone just blinked back at her.

"To perfect my Elite bitchiness?" she added in a questioning tone.

Si snorted, Zikri chuckled and Kevin let out a grunt. All three of them already in love. I realised with a start, that I was smiling, indicating I was just as much part of that group as them. But it was Damia who summed up the moment and brought reality back with a crash.

"You are not one of us. You're a Carstairs. To trust you would be to deny everything we are."

"True," Lena replied holding the
Mahiah
's steady gaze. "But
you're
the reason why my father is dead."

She didn't elaborate, she didn't add the three years she was then forced to live under Chew-wen's roof. The attention she must have received from Wang Chao because of that fact. The need to escape that had arisen every night in order to break free of the hold. She didn't add any of the things I knew she had chaffed against. Whether the others could work it out for themselves, she didn't care.

She only mentioned the most important part of it. The one thing a young girl would have felt most keenly. The one thing, I suspected, that had made her into who she now was.

Not really an Elite. Definitely not a Citizen.

But a survivor. Like me.

"Yours was not the only father to have been killed," Damia murmured, voicing what everyone else was no doubt thinking.

"But I'm guessing," Lena offered, her tone soft but lethal, "that they all had blood on their hands."

I closed my eyes and shut out the room for a moment, trying to still the rush of memories as they stormed my brain. The news arriving at our then base that the Uprising was over, that my father, our leader, had been killed in General Chew-wen's office. That Calvin Carstairs, the man always at the Chief Overseer's side, had fired the gun.

"And yours didn't?" I found myself asking.

My eyes opened to find her looking at me; sadness, loss, such pain, mixing with that beautiful pale blue. I wanted to look away - to stare into their depths was a trap I knew I couldn't escape. But even if every fibre in my body right then demanded that I do it, I couldn't.

What was this woman doing to me?

"I am not my father's daughter," she said, and it sounded strong and clear, coated in conviction I knew the others would hear.

But I saw the tremble in her lips. I saw the way her hand fisted the material of her dress. I saw the heartache and loneliness in her eyes.

And I knew. This girl was every inch her father's daughter, and if she knew Mason Waters was
my
father... she'd likely kill me too.

Just as I should be killing her, before she got the chance to destroy everything I'd worked for. Everything
we'd
all worked for. Everything my father had built up and then lost when he faced General Chew-wen and his right hand man.

I went to storm across the room and demand she be taken from here and dropped off in the middle of Broadway near the Cardinals' hub, when she reached up and slipped her fingers inside the collar of her dress. Into her bra.

I stilled. The room fell deathly silent.

And she said, pulling a flash-drive from beneath her clothing, "I propose a trade. These codes for an identity scrubbing."

Oh, this had to be a trick. Why the hell would she want to be Selena Carstairs again? It wouldn't solve a damn thing.

"Do we have a deal?" she asked, running the thumb-drive through her fingers like a card sharp.

"Oh, yes, little zebra," I replied, uncaring that the room had frozen at my familiar and admittedly too cute moniker for her. "We've got a deal."

It was the first time in days that I'd acted as I was supposed to. Ruthless. Hardened. A true revolutionary leader putting the good of all before himself.

I should have been elated; I'd broken her spell.

But all I could think as she swallowed obviously, doubt and uncertainty flashing in her eyes, is that I'd just made the biggest mistake of my life.

And I was going to very much regret it.

This was not how it was supposed to go. But I couldn't stand here any longer. In front of the people who'd brought my father his death. I'd thought I could. I'd been wrong. Even whatever strange and inexplicable thing it was that Trent and I shared couldn't override my desperate desire to get out of here.

But I couldn't revive Selena Carstairs. I knew that now. I couldn't go back to that life. I needed Lena Carr, and
Wáikěiton
, and a world so far removed from who I had been that even Wang Chao couldn't find me, despite having already visited there.

I looked toward the long haired guy in front of the vid-screens, instinctively knowing he was the one Harjeet had referred me to.

"Simon Richards, I presume," I said, holding his surprised stare. He nodded, then flicked uncertain eyes towards Trent.

I couldn't look at Trent. He saw too much when he stared into my eyes. I had to stay strong.

"How good are you at scrubbing?" I asked.

"Good," he replied, and then swallowed. His Adam's apple bobbing nervously in his throat.

"This one will be tricky," I advised. "Already on the Cardinal radar. I need it cleaned enough for them," I paused, sucked in a deep breath and forced myself to say it, "for Cardinal Chew-wen Wang Chao to be convinced she was the wrong person all along. Can you do that?"

"You're General Chew-wen's god-daughter," he replied, looking completely flummoxed. "How the hell do you think I can convince his son that you don't exist?"

I smiled and watched his eyes widen.

"It's not Selena Carstairs I need scrubbed."

"Then who?" Trent demanded from over my shoulder. I still refused to turn around.

"I need to know you can do it, before I divulge that name," I said, directing my words to Simon Richards.

"I could do it," he said slowly, eyes over my shoulder, obviously holding Trent's gaze.

"Everyone out," Trent said in a low, dangerous voice.

The room evaporated down to just Simon in front of the vid-screens, the guy at the back of the room with headphones on, which didn't fool me at all - he could hear every single word spoken - and Trent and myself.

I felt his heat before I saw him. Appearing at my side and purposely placing himself within my personal space. The need to step away was crushing. But I raised my eyes to his and held my ground.

"What name?" he asked me, unaffected by my actions.

This was it. Why I was here. I looked down at the flash-drive in my hand, turning it over.

"What are the codes for?" I asked, stalling.

"Is it relevant?" Trent replied. "You're giving them away. Trading them."

"You must want them greatly," I commented. "You went to a lot of trouble."

"Do you think that's the only reason why I met with you?"

"Yes, of course."

He chuckled. Shook his head and stared off into space, as though remembering something.

"Bring up the video footage of Wántel, Si," he finally said.

I was completely caught off guard when an image of me flying off the top of Arthur Chen's Wántel building filled the main vid-screen. Just what the hell was this about? I didn't dare look at Trent, but I could tell his eyes were on me and not the video playing; as I swan-dived off the high-rise, flight-suit fully engaged. The landing on the lower K
ái
tech Industries building wasn't my best, but it paled in comparison to the disaster that was my impromptu somersault from there when Alan landed at my back.

For a second or two time seemed to stop, as it was clear I was barely in control and plummeting fast. I held my breath, even though I knew I came out of the free fall alive, if somewhat battered. But still, it was something to witness. Bizarrely like a ballet through the rain and night's heated air.

When I clipped my shoulder up on the screen, I swear I felt the injury all over again. I rubbed absently at my arm as I frowned in consternation at the footage being played. My wings engaged after a heart stopping few seconds of unconsciousness and even though there was no sound accompanying the video I was sure I heard the scream.

Then the landing. An embarrassing blush stole up my cheeks, heating my skin to scorching. Humiliation flooded me at just how terrible that moment was. But it was soon replaced with a small smile when I remembered looking up into the night sky, rain pelting down on top of me, crouching on that rooftop as though I hadn't just escaped death itself.

The footage stopped and no one said a single word. Why did Trent want me to see this?

"It wasn't my most impressive effort, I must admit," I said into the silence.

"Don't you see?" Trent whispered. "You're everything good about this city. Or everything Wánměi wants to be."

I turned finally to face him, unsure just what it was I would see. He was still, so statue still, as though afraid to move an inch and make me retreat. His eyes held mine, the deep blue getting deeper by the second. His mouth pressed in a thin line; I had the impression it was to stop himself from saying anything else. I wondered if he regretted his words.

"I am Elite," I reminded him. I was nothing that this city should be.

"Lena," he said in that soft voice he had started to use with me. "You're wrong. You walk amongst the Citizens of
Wáikěiton
as though you know them."

He'd picked that up? I thought I'd hidden it well.

"You spurn your rations," he went on. "Which means you've been taking replicas for a while, so know the black market as well as the high streets. You speak all our languages fluently; I could hardly pick up an accent with your
Wáitaměi
. You break rules as though you have to, as though it's part of who you've become. You jump off sky-rise buildings, break into secured facilities. I don't know what you do with the money you make from your... acquisitions, but I'm guessing it's not give it to Chew-wen. Your Shiloh unit goes on and offline at will and isn't detected. You stole something we'd been after for two months. Right out from under our nose." He took a breath, sighed and then added in a low voice, "You tried to sacrifice yourself for me."

I could feel the stares from Simon and the guy at the back of the room, as though they hadn't been aware of our
Rahroh Tohah
track confrontation. I couldn't look at them to see their expressions, though. I was too busy being sucked into Trent's deep, mesmerising blue.

"It seemed the right thing to do," I managed, and he burst out laughing, making the two guys suck in surprised breaths of air. Had they never heard him laugh before?

"The right thing to do," he murmured, still chuckling. "Do you do that often?"

"I'm Elite," I repeated. "It's what model Citizens are meant to do."

He stopped laughing and looked right at me. Too intense, I couldn't hold his stare this time and looked away.

"Is it what
you
do, Lena?" he asked carefully.

"Not all the time. I'm not a very good model Citizen," I admitted.

"I know," he replied as though it was old news. "And that's why you're exactly what Wánměi needs. What we need."

Not what
I
need.

I lifted my eyes and flicked a glance towards him, trying not to get sucked in too deeply. It was impossible to avoid. Trent had me trapped and I wasn't sure how he'd accomplished it. I wasn't sure I wanted to fight back.

"You could do so much if you joined us," he pressed, leaning closer as though he wanted to step into my space but was restraining himself.

"I'm not a revolutionary," I pointed out.

"You're not? Could have fooled me."

A beep sounded out in front of Simon interrupting Trent's and my staring match; him as lost to the moment as me.

"Incoming message from Harjeet," Simon announced, making my heartbeat speed up and my attention snap to the screen.

Trent moved forward, but not to block my view or order Simon to hide the message until I left the room. He simply came alongside me, giving in to the earlier urge, as though feeling my apprehension and wanting to offer what comfort he could.

I didn't understand him. He was clearly attracted to me, but also fiercely protective of those in his team. The way he had looked earlier, though, when he'd agreed to the deal I'd set out, I was sure he was ready to use me and be done with me.

And then the video footage came out and everything flipped one-eighty again. I couldn't make him out, but worse still, I couldn't make out how that made me feel.

"Trouble at the Palace. Cardinals called in from the fringes," Trent read. "What does that mean?"

"God knows, Harjeet always talks in code," Simon said.

"Or famous quotes," I added and both men flicked amused glances towards me, but didn't correct the statement.

I hadn't missed the obvious, though. The fact that Harjeet worked for the revolutionaries. Had Zhang Yong? Did Aiko and Tan? Any of my other contacts used to sell my acquisitions, as Trent had called them?

I suddenly wondered if I'd been walking with blinkers on. If I'd been as complacent as a ration dosed Citizen. It made me feel a little ill.

"At least it'll reduce the numbers in the suburbs," Trent mused.

"The numbers of what?" I asked.

"Drones."

I stared at him for a second, feeling a sense of clarity fold around me and squeeze tight. For a moment breathing was difficult. I'd noticed the increase in Cardinal drones, but it had taken a near death experience at a Rap-Trans station to bring home just how many had suddenly appeared on the streets. It couldn't have had anything to do with the celebration, Chew-wen had never increased numbers like this in the past. So why? What was the trigger? What was the Overseers' endgame?

And did the revolutionaries know?

I didn't get a chance to voice that question, because Simon suddenly said, "Another message."

Both Trent and I moved closer to view the screen.

"Celebration moved forward to tomorrow," Simon read aloud. "Now why would the General move such a significant event by one whole week?"

Trent turned towards me, his eyes an intense deep blue.

"He's looking for Lena," he said quietly. "Be prepared," he warned. "This is only the first act."

First act? What exactly did Trent suspect?

And then an image flashed on the screen. It looked like a news report. I couldn't tell if it came from Harjeet or if Simon had just surfed to Wánměi's main info channel. I couldn't think. I couldn't reason. I couldn't breathe.

It's not that it was overtly ominous, or that something nefarious was obviously displayed - Trent and Simon weren't even overly affected - but it was personal.

To me.

And Trent had been right. General Chew-wen was speaking directly
to me
.

He stood in the video clip, the presenter offering a voice-over announcing the change to Wánměi's annual celebration date, as he smiled for the cameras, waved his free hand, and looked the epitome of fatherly love.

And as his other hand clutched that of my dearest friend.

Aiko looked stunned. Scared. Desperately unsure of what to do. Tears glistened on her long black eyelashes, a bruise was masked by her make-up, but still obvious on her tanned left cheek. Her bottom lip trembled ever so slightly.

I made a sound. It was pained, agony personified. I reached out a hand to steady myself, to stop from collapsing where I stood, and found Trent. Clasping back, gripping my fingers, his other arm already wrapped around my body, holding me up.

Aiko.
Oh, no
Aiko.

He knew. General Chew-wen was calling me home.

And I'd come running.

He knew.