Gravity (The Taking) (16 page)

He’s not put-together, not at all. From his messy hair to his untied boots, everything about him screams carefree and effortless. But at the same time…he’s gorgeous. His golden skin contrasts against the white tank, making him look healthy and full of life. His muscles protrude from the fabric, showing his strength. It’s as though chaos and perfection slammed into each other and he’s the result. The corners of his mouth twitch, and then the tron stops and he files into the crowd.

I jolt up, almost shouting for him to wait for me, but then, thinking better of it, file into line a few people behind, forcing myself to keep my eyes away from him.

There’s a sign waiting when we enter the school for all Pre-Ops to report to the F.T. gym. Gretchen walks up to me, and we exchange worried expressions. This is the final test. By the end of this session, we’ll either be Op trainees or cut from the program.

Gretchen opens the gym doors to a pitch-black room. “Is it supposed to be dark?” she asks.

“I don’t know…” I ease forward, but someone jerks me back.

“Let me,” Jackson says, stepping in front of us. He disappears into the darkness, a second passes, and then rushing footsteps, a loud
crack
, followed by a
thunk
.

Gretchen backs up, accidentally shutting the door so I’m left in the dark. I raise my fists, preparing to jab if necessary, but nothing happens so I move forward a few feet at a time. Still nothing. I can’t even see my hands in front of my face. My foot hits something hard and I reach down to pull the trick knife from my pocket, but then think better of it. If this is part of the test, I don’t want to permanently hurt someone.

“Jackson?” I whisper into the darkness. Then hands wrap around my shoulders and toss me to the ground. I try to jump up, but more and more hands secure me to the floor. I draw a breath, hoping to steady myself before I panic, when a spark ignites inside me. Adrenaline pumps in my veins, like a switch turned on, and suddenly I can see. My muscles contract, pulsing, pulsing, pulsing, and then…the hands are off me. I’m on my feet, listening to each heartbeat drum around me. There are five of them. Five humans, I’m sure of it, yet I don’t know how. I wait for the first to attack, a guy I can tell by his smell. He lunges forward just as I swing around, kicking him in the face. He drops on contact. A brief flutter of guilt moves over me, but then two attack at once and my mind moves into a blur, kicking and punching, no longer needing thought or vision to guarantee a solid hit. I hear grunts and thuds, as one by one my assailants fall.

Finally, I stop and listen. I hear their heartbeats, hear their breathing, but that isn’t possible. I lower my fists to my sides. Luminous skin, healthy and alive. My mind flashes from Jackson on the tron to me this morning in the mirror. But that isn’t— No, not possible.

A loud whistle sounds over the room, jarring me back to the moment. The lights flicker on. I stare around me and raise a hand to my mouth. There are five Ops lying around me, all unconscious. Gretchen is not far from me, looking as dazed as I feel. My eyes register a petite black-haired woman. Cybil. I almost laugh. I knocked out Cybil.

Applause starts from the north end of the gym. “Congratulations, the four of you have advanced to Operative training.”

What? That was it? I smile wide, searching for the other three who will train with me. Gretchen wraps me in a big hug. “We made it!” she screams. Marcus Wilde sags onto the ground, exhausted but grinning. So that leaves… My eyes land on Jackson, but he doesn’t look happy. He looks worried. He shakes his head, his mouth open.

We’re directed down the hall to the main library where a large banner greets us, already with our names inscribed on it. There’s a crowd and they break into cheers as we enter. Gretchen’s dad, Oliver O’Neil, races to her, embracing her in a hug. Marcus’s dad finds him and does the same. I glance around, wondering if Dad will show, but after scanning the crowd twice, I realize it was stupid to even hope. Instead, Cybil, now conscious, walks up behind me and hugs me. “Your father said to tell you he’s proud,” she says. “And to come see me after school today.”

I nod. “Hey, sorry about…” I motion to her swelling eye.

“You don’t need to be sorry. What you did was amazing. Your father isn’t the only one who’s proud.” She hugs me again. “Now, remember, my office as soon as you can. There’s a lot to discuss.” And with that, she leaves the library, letting in a sea of students. A few congratulate me, but most rush over to the food tables stationed on the back wall. They reach in with their bare hands, stuffing their faces with the only real food beyond fruit they’ll get this month.

I turn around, hating the sight of it. When I’m commander, I’m going to force them to change the food laws. That is, if I become commander. A war could change everything.

I’m about to search for Jackson—for some reason I want him with me more than ever right now—but Lawrence walks in, stopping me before I can go.

“Congrats,” he says, pulling me into a hug. I glance up at him, but his eyes aren’t on me, they’re across the room on another person, on Gretchen. My eyes dart from him to her. She smiles a little when she sees him, then looks at me and redirects her attention elsewhere. Wow, I hadn’t even considered… Wow. I press my lips together to keep from grinning.

“So did you get your invite for tonight?” I ask Lawrence.

“Yeah, I think we’re supposed to go together. Meet at my house?”

I nod, trying to keep my composure. Gretchen and Lawrence. I can’t believe I didn’t notice it sooner. There were hints for sure. I consider pointing it out to him, but he would never admit it, especially to me. Lawrence is all about expectation and as long as he’s tied to me, he would never publicly act on something with Gretchen. The thought makes me want to tell him about Jackson and me, give him the freedom he needs to be happy. Though, maybe he already knows.

He looks down at me, his face serious, and then to Gretchen, and then back to me. “I… I’ve got to go. I’m supposed to report to Mom’s office.” He kisses my cheek and leaves before I can even respond. I want to tell him not to feel guilty, that I’m okay with them being together, but I can’t. I turn around and find Gretchen watching me. She walks over once he leaves and we both just sort of stare at each other, unsure what the other knows and what we’re each allowed to say.

“You know it’s okay with me,” I say finally.

She sighs with a sarcastic laugh. “I wish it were that easy. He”—she lowers her voice—“he hasn’t… Let’s just say he isn’t as sure as I am.”

I don’t know what to say to make her feel better, so I reach out to take her hand, but she pulls away.

“It’s fine.” And she leaves as quickly as Lawrence.

I feel a lump form in my throat as I make my way to class, tired of the party and what it suggests, tired of being me for the day. I slip into world lit, anxious to see Jackson, but when I get there his chair is empty. Gretchen leans over to me. “Sorry about that. I shouldn’t… It isn’t your fault.”

“Regardless, the last thing I want is for you to be unhappy. I’ll do whatever I can to fix it. I’m so sorry.”

She shrugs and the final bell sounds before we can say more. Where is Jackson? I peer around the room to be sure he didn’t sit somewhere else today but come up empty. Worry begins to soak into my mind. Maybe the war is starting so he was summoned back to Loge.

The rest of the class settles down. Professor Kington writes notes on the overhead, which then transfer to our note tablets. I chew on my lip, thinking of possible reasons that Jackson is missing class, when the door slides open and he enters, handing Professor Kington something. She directs him to take his seat behind me.

I cross my arms to keep from fidgeting.

“Ari,” he whispers. “We need to talk.”

“I—”

“Enough talking!” Professor Kington snaps.

I lean back in my seat, dread pouring over me. The dreams. The unnatural speed and strength. I can’t deny it any longer. Something is definitely happening to me. All I can hope is that it isn’t what I’m thinking. I can take anything else but that. Because that—
that
—would change everything.

CHAPTER 17

I step into Cybil’s office unsure of what to expect. Mom replied to my message with a cold
I know
, which tells me both Dad and I will hear it when we get home. She has to understand that this is my job, but even though she’s married to the commander, she’s never been one to support the rigors of an Engineer schedule.

Cybil motions me inside and closes the door behind me. “We’re going to the lab again today, but first we need to talk. Did you receive your invitation to the ball?”

“Yeah, I was a little surprised it’s still on.”

“That’s not a coincidence. The masquerade ball is just a rouse, giving the four world leaders an opportunity to meet to discuss how we will proceed. The attacks are not going unanswered. We have had tests in place with both the Chemists and Engineers for weeks now. This meeting will decide our final strategy.”

“Negotiation strategy?”

Cybil laughs. “Our attack strategy. We are preparing to siege war on the Ancients, just not by the traditional means. By midnight tonight, the decision will be made. There are…risks involved when planning an attack. Key leaders often become key targets. I don’t want to frighten you, but your father, we believe, is being monitored.”

My mind flashes to the list Jackson showed me, to Dad’s name at the very top. “But isn’t that why we should try to negotiate before attacking? They have all sorts of advancements. We can’t possibly—”

“Ari, you really don’t understand what we’re capable of. We won’t lose. There’s no chance, nothing to worry about. I only tell you this to explain where I’m about to take you.”

I’m speechless. She really believes what she’s saying; they all do. They all think this is going to be easy. No wonder Jackson sought me out to help find the strategy and insisted I keep quiet. He knew then what I know now—they would never have questioned our superiority to the Ancients, and that arrogance would have guaranteed the wipeout of humankind. Any doubt from before fades away. I won’t let ignorance murder the people I love. I will fight for peaceful coexistence.

I look up at Cybil, everything in me focused on the strategy. “Well, what are we waiting for? Let’s go.”

Moments later, we’re back at lab three, but this time the lab is hopping with people—and not just Chemists, but Engineers, too. I want to eavesdrop on what they’re doing, but Cybil ushers me to the tight hallway that makes me feel like the walls are caving in, and then to the room full of Ancients and their body parts. The room has changed since the last time I was here. Now the back wall is a T-screen and the front wall is lined with Ancients in water chambers.

Cybil goes to the T-screen, types in a series of codes, and waits as a photo appears on the screen with data beside it. She points behind her to the first Ancient in line—a male, young, but older than Jackson, maybe twenty. He doesn’t move in the chamber, so I assume he’s technically dead but his body kept alert, like the old woman from before (who is no longer in her previous chamber). I try not to think about where she may be now or what they may have done to or with her body.

“Check out his bodily fluid percentages,” Cybil says, zooming in on the data with a couple of taps on the screen. “Notice anything?”

I scan down the list and stop at xylem. “Can that be right?”

“The human body,” Cybil says, “is roughly sixty percent water. Our blood is roughly ninety-two percent water. Ancients? Water comprises only twenty-five percent of their body, yet like our blood, xylem is roughly ninety percent water. But the composition of water in xylem can hardly be called water. Take water from a human and eventually what will happen?”

“Death.”

“Right, but that wouldn’t happen with Ancients because xylem carries water continuously through their body, almost recycling it. They claim that they want to come here because Loge’s water supply is deteriorating. So what? They don’t technically need water. Which is why we know they would never maintain a peaceful coexistence. Their reasons are built on a lie, so why would we believe anything they say? We can’t and won’t.”

I fight the urge to question her. Jackson told me they need water, but if what Cybil says is true, I can’t see why. Maybe they need it to flush out their bodies; I don’t know. But something isn’t adding up.

Cybil closes the screen and opens another one titled I
NJURY
A
NALYSIS
.
“Watch this.” She turns around, crossing her arms. I watch the first chamber, but nothing happens. I assume it’s too technical for me to see, but then the male’s eyes flitter open and round out in horror, while a dark liquid surrounds his left arm.

“I thought they were dead?” I half shriek, and then force myself to maintain my composure.

“These? No, they’re Latents sent to spy on us. And they are…asleep,” Cybil says with indifference. “I just gave the command for him to be stabbed in the arm. That’s the blood you see there. It’s a simulation of sorts, but the physical reaction is real.” She points to the dark liquid now floating through the chamber. “Now, watch, watch. It’s fascinating.” She pulls me closer to the chamber and jabs at the place where his arm is slit. We stare at it for several seconds, and then just as quickly as it appeared, the wound vanishes.

“How did it…? Xylem.” I knew it healed, but I had no idea it was so fast.

“Exactly. So whatever we do has to slow down xylem’s ability to heal. That’s the only way to kill them.”

“So the strategy is to stop xylem? How can we do that?”

She looks at me as though I’m such an amateur. “We have several options already in development. As I mentioned, the meeting tonight decides which course we proceed with. There isn’t a second chance here. Whatever we do has to work and it has to work quickly. Otherwise—”

“We’re all dead.”

“Well, that’s a little dramatic. We have this under control, but I needed you to see this so you would know how to read the data. Should something happen…well, there are only four people who have access to this room and this information. President Cartier, your father, me”—she passes me a gold keycard—“and now you. Though I believe Lawrence Cartier will also receive access. This is a restricted area. I cannot convey enough how important it is for you to keep this room and that keycard safe. Keep it where only you know to find it, because that key accesses more than just this room. It’s a universal key. In the wrong hands, it could be very dangerous.”