Independent Study (32 page)

“I know.” I race toward the fence and once more begin to climb. As I jump to the ground, I catch sight of Tomas heading toward the road. Back to the University and the dangers that lie there. I hope he stays safe.

Alone, I retrace the path we took toward the rebel camp, looking for signs of Raffe. I can hear laughter far in the distance. The rest of the camp must be waking up. Without the cover of darkness, I don’t dare venture closer. Instead, I turn and search to the east.

Thirty feet from the path we originally traveled, I see a freshly broken branch hanging from a bush. Several feet to the north, I spot patches of recently trampled grass. I follow the trail past a pile of rusted metal that must have once been part of a small airplane and stop dead in my tracks. Twenty feet ahead is a five-foot-wide fissure in the earth. The trail I’ve been following leads right to it.

For a moment, I can’t breathe. With small, trembling steps, I cross the barren earth and look down into the gaping hole. I am prepared for the worst. Instead, I find two wide, very blue eyes looking up at me. Standing on a thin ledge about nine feet below is a dirt-streaked Raffe.

“What are you doing here?” Raffe asks. “Where’s Tomas?”

Relief makes my knees go weak, and the bafflement in his voice makes me laugh. “What’s it look like I’m doing? I’m rescuing you. I sent Tomas back to the University so no one would realize he or the bike he borrowed was missing.” I realize helping Raffe out of the hole would be much easier had I let Tomas stay. Frowning, I add, “Give me a minute to decide how I’m going to get you out of there.”

I take the bag off my shoulder and study the contents. Nothing I brought with me will help Raffe reach the surface. I shield my eyes from the early morning light and spot a weeping willow tree. The branches are both flexible and strong. When my brothers and I were younger, we used to weave them into ropes and swing from the trees in our backyard. They were helpful then. Maybe they will work just as well for me now.

Climbing the tree, I use the pocketknife my father gave me to cut a dozen long branches. The branches are less pliable than the ones back home. Still, after pulling on them to test their strength, I’m pretty sure they’ll do the job.

I tell Raffe to hang on and begin weaving the branches together. In no time, I have a makeshift rope of twelve feet. I loop one end to a squat but sturdy-looking brown bush just above where Raffe waits. I tug on the rope several times to make sure the knots will hold and then throw the rope down.

Lying on my stomach, I peer over the edge. “Grab the rope and climb up.”

“You want me to use that?”

“Do you have a better idea?” I ask.

Raffe’s answering smile is grim. “If I did, I’d already be out of here.” He grabs the rope, wraps it around his right hand, and tugs. “Okay. Here goes.”

I glance back at the bush as Raffe lets the rope take his weight. The bush shudders. The knot shifts, but holds. For now. How long the little bush can withstand the force of Raffe’s weight is questionable.

Determination colors Raffe’s face as he pulls himself up inch by agonizingly slow inch. Below him, the dark, deep hole threatens. His feet search the hard dirt wall for leverage, but the dirt crumbles under his boots, making it almost impossible for him to gain a foothold.

Leaves rustle. Something snaps. A gasp rips from my throat as the rope shifts. The bush bends, and the roots begin to pull free of the ground. I grab the rope to alleviate some of the pressure, but the bush shifts again. Half the roots are showing. A glance over the edge tells me Raffe is still several inches from the surface.

“You might want to hurry,” I say.

Raffe grunts and pulls himself up another inch. The edge is just above him. One more pull, maybe two, and he will be close enough to reach the top. If the rope holds.

Raffe’s hand crests the edge. Instinctively, I scramble to my feet and grip his wrist with both of my hands and then lean back and pull. Raffe’s head appears. I feel a surge of triumph that is quickly replaced by terror as my boots start to slide across the dry earth toward the ravine. Raffe outweighs me by at least sixty pounds. While years of physical activity back home have made me stronger than most of the University candidates, I cannot hope to support Raffe’s weight much longer.

Sweat runs down my back. I fight to dig into the ground with the front of my boot. Raffe’s shoulders appear. His left hand grabs hold of a seedling as the bush holding the rope gives way. He lurches downward a fraction of an inch, sending me pitching forward. I hit the ground inches from the edge and scramble back as Raffe heaves himself up and over.

Raffe and I lie on our backs, breathing hard. We are dirty, covered with sweat, and safe.

Raffe speaks first. “You helped me again. Why?”

“Because it was the right thing to do.” I dig through my bag, pull out a bottle of water, and take a drink. Handing the bottle to Raffe, I say, “As soon as you feel up to it, we need to get going. There’s someone I need to talk to.”

“Tomas?” he asks.

“No. We’re not going back to the University yet.”

“Then where are we going?”

“President Collindar’s office.”

I wash Damone’s blood off my hands and coat with some of the water and change my blood-streaked pants for the extra ones in my bag before setting off for Tosu City. There are fewer skimmers in evidence on the streets today, probably because the government is shut down on weekends in order to give officials time to spend with their families and to tackle personal revitalization projects at home. Even the president isn’t in residence, which is why there is only one guard at the entrance and no staff wandering around when I arrive.

The guard checks my identification bracelet and allows me to enter. Raffe is denied entrance. He has to wait outside. I tell him I’ll be back in a minute and climb the stairs.

I spot Michal hunched over a small desk in the corner of his office, and feel a stab of betrayal. Since hearing the recording on the Transit Communicator, the only person I’ve felt I could trust was Michal. He confirmed that the recorder’s stored memories were real. He helped me communicate with my family and directed my fear and anger into assisting the rebellion to remove Dr. Barnes and bring an end to The Testing. I thought I could count on him for honesty. I was wrong. If Zeen is here with the rebels, Michal must know about it. Most likely, he facilitated an introduction and helped put the gun on my brother’s hip, shoving him into the path of danger.

Michal looks up and smiles. “Hi. I wondered if you’d drop by. Do you need a desk to work at?”

In case someone is listening, I reach into my bag and pull out the short analysis of the communication system I wrote for the president. “I’m just dropping off my work. Where should I leave it? I don’t want the president to think I neglected to do my assignment.”

Michal glances at the papers in my hand and stands. “Follow me.” He leads me back downstairs, through a couple of offices, to a small room I don’t remember seeing on our tour. “You can put your report in this box.”

Closing the door, he lowers his voice. “The president and her officials plan on announcing the debate about control of the University and The Testing on Monday morning. Per protocol, there will be three days of discussion. A vote will take place the day after the debate ends. If that measure is voted down, the other faction will be ready to begin their attack as soon as the vote of confidence is taken. If the president loses the vote, the members of the rebellion will be positioned throughout Tosu, ready to take out Dr. Barnes and his team. People in unrevitalized areas are being armed with weapons and instructions.”

I think about Zeen and feel panic bubble inside me.

“Why won’t the president wait?” It would give the rebels more time to find a peaceful solution. And more time for me to convince my brother to get out of harm’s way.

“Too many people know she plans on proposing a change of law. If she backs off now, she’ll look weak. Dr. Barnes has too many supporters ready to remove her if a vote of confidence is called. The other faction has convinced her that the only way to stay in power and end The Testing is to act now.”

“Did you know this was a possibility when you brought my brother here?” I don’t give him a chance to deny it. “I saw him, Michal. He’s calling himself Cris. Why did you bring him here when you know there’s a chance he’ll die?”

Michal shakes his head. “Zeen overheard your father and the magistrate discussing options to keep students from being selected for this year’s Testing. When he confronted them about their plans, he realized you might be in danger and insisted on coming to help you. Your father couldn’t talk him out of it, so he contacted me and asked that I find a way to bring him here and keep him safe. I thought if he was with the rebels, he’d be less likely to track you down on his own. I was the one who suggested your brother change his name so no one would associate him with you or your family. Just in case . . .”

In case the rebellion isn’t successful. So our family won’t be punished if Zeen is captured or killed. The way it sounds, both are strong possibilities. Unless, in the next couple days, someone can find and present the proof required to remove Dr. Barnes and his officials from power with a point of law instead of a war.

“I have an idea.” Before Michal can inquire about my plan, I ask him to wait for me to return, then I open the door and walk to the exit. For this to work, I have to put everything on the line. I have to once again go against my father’s instructions; I have to trust. Tomas would tell me this is a mistake, but he is not here, and I can see no other way. Zeen’s life and the lives of the other rebels are at stake, not to mention those of all future Testing candidates and the country itself. There is only one way I can think of to find the information the rebellion needs. If I am making the wrong choice, I will just have to live with the consequences.

I find Raffe waiting outside the entrance and say, “I need your help.”

I take Raffe to the same building where Michal once spoke to me in secret. Perhaps I should have asked Michal to come, but he would have objected to taking this risk and exposing the rebellion. So I tell Raffe about The Testing, the candidates who disappear or die, and the need to put an end to the system once and for all. I tell him the end can only come if certain information is found. My throat is still swollen and sore from the abuse at Damone’s hands. My words sometimes drop to a whisper, but I keep talking.

When I finish, the room goes silent. Seconds stretch to minutes as Raffe’s eyes search my face. Is he looking for the truth? Is he trying to decide the best way to report this conversation to his father or to the University officials? I clench and unclench my hands and wait.

Finally, he asks, “Colony students who get wrong answers die during The Testing?”

“Not all of them, but yes. In The Testing, death is often the punishment for failure. And for some, causing those deaths is the path to success.”

Raffe rakes a hand through his hair. “What about Tosu City students who don’t pass their Early Studies exams? My father said my sister was assigned to a job in one of the colonies. Is that true, or is she . . .”

The unspoken word hangs between us as he waits for my answer. For the first time, I understand the motivation behind his aid—the event that happened two years ago and changed everything for him. He is looking for his sister. Now he assumes I might have an idea where she is.

“I don’t know.” The unhappiness on Raffe’s face makes me wish I did. “Maybe if we can get Dr. Barnes removed, we can find out.”

Raffe takes a deep breath and nods. “Then I guess I should get started.”

Before I can ask what he plans to do, Raffe opens and closes the door, leaving me alone to wait and worry.

Time passes slowly. Though my throat is still sore, I eat an apple and swallow some water. I think of Tomas. Did he make it back to the University without anyone noticing he had been absent? Is he worried that I might not return? When I stand and stretch my muscles, my eyes stay glued to the ground below.

An hour passes. Two. Part of me wonders if Raffe was caught, while the other part wonders if he was telling the truth about his sister. Raffe’s father is in charge of the Department of Education. Surely, he would be able to protect his daughter from the punishments Dr. Barnes might exact.

The clock taunts me as its hands move from one number to the next. Closing my eyes, I picture the people I love. My parents. Zeen. My other three brothers. Daileen, who so badly wishes to be chosen for The Testing and join me at the University. Tomas. Would they understand what I am doing now? I know my father would agree that putting a stop to The Testing with bloodshed is just as wrong as ending lives because of incorrect answers. Fighting death with more death was the choice that led to the Seven Stages of War. Our country barely weathered the consequences. We may not survive if the same choice is made again.

I hear footsteps outside and hold my breath. Is it Raffe, or has someone Raffe alerted come in his place? Was putting my faith in him correct, or will I now be punished for once again ignoring my father’s advice to trust no one?

The footsteps pause.

The door swings inward.

Raffe stands alone in the doorway. In his hands are a bag and a gun.

R
AFFE TURNS THE
gun around and offers me the handle. I look at him before wrapping my fingers around the hard wood grip, and he gives me a satisfied nod. “I grabbed this out of my dad’s private office. Since you’re trying to stop a war, I thought it might come in handy. This will too.”

He reaches into the bag hanging from his shoulder and pulls out a palm-sized machine. A recorder.

“I’m pretty sure the recording in this machine and the others in the bag are what you’re looking for. And you’re right, Cia.” His expression darkens. “What’s on these recordings needs to end.”

“It’ll end as soon as Michal gets the recordings to Symon,” I say.

But when I leave and return with Michal, Raffe refuses to hand the recordings over. “No offense,” he tells Michal. “But I don’t know you. If you want to deliver this to your people, you’ll have to take me with you.”