Gravity (The Taking) (22 page)

I place my feet shoulder-width apart and bend my knees a touch. My finger curls around the trigger and
bam
! The recoil causes me to stumble back, but that isn’t what causes me to stare at the gun in awe. My hands tingle as though I’ve just been shocked. The others sense it, too, and, like me, stare at their guns. Jackson keeps firing. He seems determined, angry. He hits target after target, and then drops his arm, the gun dangling by his side. He tosses the weapon back in its box and marches to the back of the line. Terrence walks over and says something to him, and then Jackson leaves the room.

I turn back to my station and fire the gun again and again until I’ve hit all my targets. My fingertips feel electrocuted by the time I’m done. Terrence walks over to me after I’ve returned the gun. “Great job, Alexander. Your father would be proud. You can report back to school.”

I guess that’s what he told Jackson, too. I exit the training room and find him leaning against a wall. “You know what they’re doing, don’t you?” he asks.

“Yeah,” I say. Parliament knows the Ancients will attack. Early training can only mean they plan to be ready. Everyone in that room was seventeen, just like me, and we’re about to be sent into a war. Soldiers. That’s what we are.

“I’m tired,” I say, leaning against him.

“We have a few hours before your training with Cybil,” Jackson says. “Want to skip class? There are only two left now anyway.”

Ten minutes later, we’re on the tron to Market District, the only section of Sydia where items can be purchased in person instead of ordered. It’s quaint, but some of my best childhood memories happened there. Law, Gretchen, and I used to roam the District begging the shopkeepers for candy or toys or whatever.

Jackson takes my hand as we step off the tron, and instantly my mind relaxes. He makes me feel strong, like I’m more than just Commander Alexander’s daughter. Living in Dad’s shadow isn’t easy. I’ll never be good enough at anything I do. I’ll never be viewed as an individual, capable of greatness of my own doing. Everything I do for the rest of my life will be judged, logged away, and then compared to how my dad would have done it.

We reach the corner of the District, and Jackson’s face pales. He pulls me to the side of Decadent Desserts—my favorite bakery—just as President Cartier and her entourage march past us. Jackson sags against the composite brick, inching down until he sits on the ground.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Your mom just walked by. She didn’t say hi or ask how your day is or even glance your way. It’s okay to be upset about that, to care.”

“Why should I care?” He jumps up. “She sent me away, ditched me. What am I supposed to make of that? Not love, definitely no love coming from the Cartiers.” He kicks the wall, dislodging a brick, then picks up the brick and chucks it down the alleyway.

“Hey.” I tug his sleeve so he’s forced to look at me. “Maybe she wishes she knew you. Maybe she’s forced to not see you or talk to you. Maybe it wasn’t her decision. You don’t know that she ditched you. You don’t know that she doesn’t love you.”

“Whatever, it doesn’t matter. I’m not allowed to see her anyway.”

“Says who?”

“The people who run my life, that’s who,” he says, tugging his hair. “Let’s talk about something else.”

“I have a better idea,” I say. “Let’s walk around the shops and get desserts and candy. Want to?”

A few minutes later, we stroll down the street toward the park, ice-cream cones in hand. Of course nothing about them is real. It’s synthetic sweets, but it tastes so similar that I can’t really tell the real from the fake. I’ve had them a zillion times. Mom’s a dessert addict. But Jackson inhales the thing so quickly I can only assume he’s never had one. I want to ask but feel rude pointing out something that might make him sad again. Law has definitely had ice cream, synthetic
and
the real stuff. He’s experienced all of this and gets his mom. It must be hard for Jackson, whether he admits it or not.

The park is covered in trees, real trees, their leaves orange and red and yellow. I love fall. I love how the world around me changes into color, like a fantasy world or something.

“This is nothing. You should see Loge.”

“It’s like this?”

“It’s full of color and life all year round. You would like it, I think.”

“Tell me about it.”

Jackson stretches back on the bench, his face disappearing into thought. “There are less of us than there are of you on Earth. We have a school system like you, though, and a work system, but Logians can choose their future jobs. We don’t force it the way you do here.”

My instinct wants to argue his point. It isn’t that we force jobs, it’s that we place according to skill set and need at the time, but I know those are Dad’s words ingrained in me instead of my own, so I stay quiet, wondering if we are really as bad as Jackson sees us or if his kind has instilled his mindset, very much like ours has mine.

“Most,” he continues, “go into knowledge or agriculture. Government is trickier and as we’re a peaceful species by nature, no one wants to join the military. Zeus complains about it all the time.”

I tilt my head. “And what about your family?”

He stiffens. “What would you like to know?”

“Well, to start, what do they do for work? Are they military like you? I’m guessing RESs are considered military.”

He weighs the question for a long time. “I guess you could say a mix of all four.” Then he taps his watch. “It’s almost time for training. We better head over.”

“So does that mean my dad asked you to come back? I was worried you wouldn’t show to Op training, that he would take you out of the program altogether.”

“No, I received the same message you did about early training, so I showed. As for today, I don’t know. You could say he summoned me. Not sure what he wants.”

I sigh. That could be good or really, really bad. We make our way back through the park and are almost to the tron when I turn on Jackson, stopping him before he can take another step.

“You know,” I say, my voice filled with sugary goodness. “You’re not getting out of this. I’m going to learn about your family whether you like it or not.”

“I know,” he says. “That’s what I’m afraid of.”

CHAPTER 23

Jackson doesn’t talk, not really, the entire way from the tron to Dad’s office. He comments on the weather, the tron, whatever to avoid the conversation about his family. Something tells me whatever secret lies with his family is bad. Maybe I don’t want to know.

The elevator doors open to Cybil already waiting for me in the atrium.

“You’re late,” she says and taps her watch. But I’m ten minutes early. “I expect punctuality for all training. And you.” She glances at Jackson. “He’s waiting in his office.”

Her tone, especially for Cybil, seems formal. I follow her to the Chemist elevator, giving Jackson my best supportive smile as I go. I try not to worry over what Dad wants or what he might say, but still my chest feels tight and I know it won’t relax until I see Jackson again and know everything is okay.

The elevator doors close, and Cybil turns to me, excited. “Wait until you see our latest development.”

Okay…talk about a mood change. “What is it?”

“Oh, you’ll see, but keep it to yourself. Your dad doesn’t want this one leaking.”

My insides sour. This is it. I feel it in my gut. I think of the room of us today, strong but so young, going into war against a species that even our most trained can’t stand against. I can’t let this happen.

We reach the Chemist door, and Cybil types in her code. It’s past five. The halls loom dark, with nothing but recess lights to guide our path. Lab three shines brightly again today, but as we near it, I realize two others are lit as well. Thirty or more Chemists work busily in each lab, all of them watching over glass rooms similar to three’s. Cybil calls them
testing chambers
. I guess that sounds more professional, and less barbaric, than calling them what they are—cages.

Cybil slides her card through the first lab’s key slot. Marique stands in front of the only T-screen in the room. It’s stationed to the right of the chamber, so her head jerks from the screen to the chamber and back continuously. “Doing okay?” she says to me as we near. “I hear you survived your first day of Op training. It can be intense, or so I’m told.” There’s a longing in her voice that makes me wonder if she was a Pre-Op in school but didn’t pass. I hear many become Chemists, since we work so closely together.

I shrug. “It was okay. I’ve been preparing so it was…okay.” I don’t mention why I think we’ve been drafted early. I don’t want her to think I’m afraid, because I’m not—not in the traditional sense, anyway. I’m not afraid to fight. Fighting is easy. I’m afraid that I can’t prevent the fight, and all of this—the early drafting, the testing today—just proves I’m losing that battle.

“So what’s that?” I ask her, pointing to the screen, where a reading is climbing slowly upward.

“Look in there.” She motions to the glass. “This is monitoring his xylem level. Notice how it climbs? We’re about to see how high it can go.” She clicks the sound on the screen, causing a soft
beep, beep, beep
to fill the air.

The door to the chamber opens and an Operative enters. I recognize him at once—it’s Lane, the same one I fought in the maze. He’s a strong fighter, but he can’t survive against an Ancient. Lane gets into position, but the Ancient in the chamber, a male who has at least a foot on Lane, doesn’t budge. The Ancient smirks then tilts his head up to the glass. “Is this the best you’ve got?” Then he lunges for Lane, tossing him to the floor. He drags his body back to the center of the chamber. “Stand, human. Let’s see what you can do.”

The beeping beside us quickens, growing louder. Marique exclaims, “Cybil, look at this!” She taps the screen hard, the xylem level climbing higher and higher. “That’s amazing. And check out his vitals. They’re soaring. Xylem must fuel energy in addition to healing him. It’s like an energy shot directly into his muscles. I’ve never seen anything—”

“Get him out of there!” Cybil yells.

Everyone’s eyes dart back to the chamber, where the Ancient hits Lane again and again. His speed, his reflexes, all too much for Lane to compete against. The door to the chamber opens and three Operatives race in just as Lane’s body falls to the ground.

“No more one-on-one combat. Do you understand me?” Cybil says to a Chemist beside her. “If he dies, it’s on you.”

She marches from the lab and I follow, unsure what to say or do. I assume we’re done for the day, but then she slides her keycard through the next lab, and we enter to a pungent smell, like singed flesh.

“More electrocuting?” I whisper to Cybil.

“Oh, no. We came up with something better.” She waves a few Chemists out of the way so we can see through the glass on the back wall. Inside this chamber, there are five Ancients—two males and three females. They’re all naked, their skin covered in dark marks that ooze some thick yellow goo.

“What happened to them?”

“Ever heard of spontaneous combustion?” A smile spreads across her face. I grit my teeth together to keep from screaming at her to stop acting like this is fun. It isn’t fun. It’s horrifying in every way.

I draw a breath to calm my anger and say, “Of course. What’s that got to do with this?”

“Everything,” Cybil says. “See, we release a chemical into the air that, once mixed with xylem, causes the Ancients to literally explode from the inside out. Brilliant, right?” Just then a large wall timer to our left hits zero, a second passes, and then
boom
! The Ancients explode within the chamber; limbs and guts splatter against the walls.

I jolt backward, my hands covering my mouth. Five lives just disappeared before my eyes. This isn’t happening. I fight to remain calm. I can’t get shaken, not now, not when I’m this close to learning the strategy.

“That won’t do,” Cybil says to a Chemist at the T-screen to our right, a lady much younger than Marique who seems as rattled as I am by what just happened. “Clean this up and record the issue. Make adjustments. We need more live subjects.”

“Live subjects,” I say, unable to hold back. “I thought they were Latents.”

“Most are.”

“And the rest?”

“Were obtained. What does it matter?”

“It matters because maybe that is why we’ve been attacked again and again. We stole some of their kind. Didn’t it ever occur to anyone that they would fight to get them back?” I know my words border on dangerous, but I can’t stop myself now. “All of this might have been prevented and yet you stand here, asking for more of them. We should just call Zeus now and schedule another attack.”

“That’s enough,” Cybil says, grabbing me hard by the arm and yanking me from the lab. “They attacked because they are impatient and greedy. The Ancients don’t care whether humans live or die; they only care about inhabiting Earth and to them, their time is now. And you will do well to remember that you are a guest here and a reflection of your father. You are to watch. Silently. Do you understand?”

I shake my head, biting hard on my lip to stop myself from arguing.

“Okay, good. Now on to lab three,” Cybil says.

Cybil enters the room with her head high. She’ll make a great Lead Operative someday, authoritative and void of emotion. I force myself to step to her side and peer down into chamber three. At first I think my sanity is safe, that there is no one in chamber three. Then a buzzer sounds, and a group of ten men and women and children enters the chamber. My mouth drops.

“Wait, those are kids,” I say to Cybil, my voice rich with fear.

“Of course they are. We need to guarantee the weapon works on all generations of Ancients. Some believe the youth are stronger, more able to resist. We have to guarantee full disposal.”

Full disposal.
I have to find Jackson now, before—

The wall timer hits zero. My eyes jerk back to the chamber. Nothing happens. The Ancients huddle together, protecting one another, all noticeably shaking. Time ticks by, seconds become minutes. I glance to my watch. Ten minutes have passed.