Prodigy (9 page)

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H
IGH
D
ESERT
P
ENITENTIARY.

R
OOM 416 (20 × 12 SQUARE FEET).

2224
H
OURS; SAME DAY AS MY CAPTURE.

I sit a few feet away from Thomas. Nothing but a flimsy table separates us—well, if
I don’t count the number of soldiers standing guard beside him. They shift uncomfortably
whenever I let my eyes rest on them. I sway a little in my chair, fighting back exhaustion,
and clink the chains that keep my arms secured across my back. My mind is starting
to wander—I keep thinking back on what Thomas said about Los Angeles and its quarantine.
No time to dwell on that now,
I tell myself, but the thoughts won’t go away. I try to picture Drake University
marked with plague signs, Ruby sector’s streets crowded with plague patrols. How is
that possible? How could the entire city be under quarantine?

We’ve been in this room for six hours, and Thomas has gotten nowhere with me. My answers
to his questions lead us around in circles, and I’ve been doing it in a way so subtle
that he doesn’t realize I’ve been manipulating the conversation until he’s wasted
another hour. He’s tried threatening to kill Ollie. To which I threatened to carry
any information I had to my grave. He’s tried threatening
me.
To which I reminded him of the taking-information-to-my-grave factor. He’s even tried
some mind games—none of which went even remotely well. I just keep asking him why
Los Angeles is under quarantine. I’ve been trained in interrogation tactics as much
as he has, and it’s backfiring on him. He hasn’t gotten physical with me yet, the
way he had with Day. (This is another interesting detail. It doesn’t matter how much
Thomas cares for me—if his superiors order him to use physical force, he’ll do it.
Since he hasn’t hurt me yet, it means Commander Jameson told him not to. Odd.) Even
so, I can tell his patience with me is wearing thin.

“Tell me, Ms. Iparis,” he says after we’re silent for a moment. “What will it take
for me to get something useful out of you?”

I keep my face expressionless. “Already told you that. I’ll trade you an answer for
a request. I have information for the Elector.”

“You’re in no position to bargain. And you can’t keep this up indefinitely.” Thomas
leans back in his chair and frowns. The fluorescent lights cast long shadows under
his eyes. Against the undecorated white walls of the room (aside from two Republic
flags and the Elector’s portrait), Thomas stands out ominously in his black-and-red
captain’s uniform. Metias used to wear a uniform like that. “I know Day is alive,
and
you
know how we can find him. You’ll talk after a few days without food or water.”

“Don’t assume what I will and won’t do, Thomas,” I reply. “As for Day, I should think
the answer’s obvious.
If
he were alive, he’d head off to rescue his little brother. Any fool could guess that.”

Thomas tries to ignore my jab, but I can see the irritation on his face. “
If
he’s alive, he’ll never find his brother. That location is classified. I don’t need
to know where Day
wants
to go. I need to know where he
is
.
”

“It makes no difference. You’d never catch him anyway. He won’t fall for the same
tricks twice.”

Thomas folds his arms. Was it really just a few weeks ago that the two of us sat together,
eating dinner at a Los Angeles café? The thought of LA brings me right back to the
quarantine news, and I picture the café empty, covered with quarantine notices.

“Ms. Iparis,” Thomas says, putting his palms flat on the table. “We can continue like
this forever, and you can just keep being snide and shaking your head until you collapse
from exhaustion. I don’t want to hurt you. You have a chance to redeem yourself to
the Republic. In spite of everything you’ve done, I’ve received word from my higher-ups
that they still consider you to be quite valuable.”

So. Commander Jameson
was
involved in making sure I’m not harmed during my interrogation. “How kind,” I reply,
letting sarcasm seep into my words. “I’m luckier than Metias.”

Thomas sighs, bows his head, and squeezes the upper bridge of his nose in exasperation.
He sits like that for a moment. Then he motions toward the other soldiers. “Everyone
out,” he snaps.

When the soldiers have left us alone, he turns back to me and leans forward to put
his arms on the table. “I’m sorry you have to be here,” he says quietly. “I hope you
understand, Ms. Iparis, that I’m bound by my duty to do this.”

“Where’s Commander Jameson?” I reply. “She’s your puppet master, isn’t she? I would’ve
thought she’d come interrogate me as well.”

Thomas doesn’t flinch at my taunt. “She’s containing Los Angeles at the moment, organizing
the quarantine and reporting the situation to Congress. With all due respect, the
world does not revolve around you.”

Containing Los Angeles. The words chill me. “Are the plagues really that bad right
now?” I decide to ask yet again, keeping my eyes firmly fixed on Thomas’s face. “Is
LA quarantined because of illness?”

He shakes his head. “Classified.”

“When will it be lifted? Are
all
the sectors quarantined?”

“Stop asking. I told you, the whole city is. Even if I knew when it would be lifted,
I’d still have no reason to tell you.”

I know instantly by his expression that what he actually means is:
Commander Jameson didn’t tell me what’s going on in the city, so I have no idea.
Why would she need to keep him in the dark? “What
happened
in the city?” I press, hoping to get more out of him.

“That’s not relevant to your interrogation,” Thomas replies, tapping his fingers impatiently
against his arm. “Los Angeles is no longer your concern, Ms. Iparis.”

“It’s my
hometown,
” I reply. “I grew up there. Metias
died
there. Of course it’s my concern.”

Thomas is quiet. His hand comes up to push dark hair away from his face, and his eyes
search mine. Minutes tick by. “That’s what this is all about,” he finally mutters.
I wonder if he’s saying this because he’s weary too after six hours in this room.
“Ms. Iparis, what happened to your brother—”

“I know what happened,” I interrupt him. My voice trembles in rising anger. “You killed
him. You sold him to the state.” The words hurt so much that I can barely squeeze
them out.

His expression quivers. He lets out a cough and straightens in his chair. “The order
came directly from Commander Jameson, and the last thing I’d do is disobey a direct
order from her. You should know this rule as well as I do—although I have to admit
you’ve never been very good at following it.”

“What, so you were just willing to hand him over like that, because he figured out
how our parents died? He was your
friend,
Thomas. You grew up with him. Commander Jameson wouldn’t have given you the time
of day—you wouldn’t be sitting across this table right now—if Metias hadn’t recommended
you for her patrol. Or have you forgotten that?” My voice rises. “You couldn’t risk
even a fraction of your own safety to help him?”

“It was a direct order,”
Thomas repeats. “Commander Jameson is
not
to be questioned. What don’t you understand about that? She knew that he hacked into
the deceased persons’ database, along with a host of other high security government
catalogs. Your brother broke the law, multiple times. Commander Jameson couldn’t have
a well-respected captain of her patrol committing crimes right under her nose.”

I narrow my eyes. “And that’s why you killed him in a dark alley, then framed Day
for it? Because you’d happily follow your commander’s orders right off a cliff?”

Thomas slams his hand down on the table hard enough to make me jump.
“It was a signed order from the state of California,”
he shouts. “Do you understand what I’m saying? I had no better choice.” Then his
eyes widen—he hadn’t expected those words to come out, not that way. They stun me
too. He keeps talking, now at a quicker pace, seemingly determined to erase the words.
A strange light glows in his eyes, something that I can’t quite pinpoint. What is
it? “I’m a soldier of the Republic. When I joined the military I took an oath to obey
my superiors’ orders at all costs. Metias took the same oath, and he broke it.”

There’s something odd about the way he refers to Metias, a sort of hidden emotion
that throws me off. “The
state
is broken.” I take a deep breath. “And you’re a coward for leaving Metias at its
mercy.”

Thomas’s eyes constrict as if I’d stabbed him. I study him closer, but he notices
me analyzing him and jerks his face away, turning to the side and hiding his head
in his hands.

I think about my brother again, this time flipping in my mind through his many years
spent in Thomas’s company. Metias had known Thomas since they were kids, long before
I was born. Whenever his father, our apartment floor’s janitor, would bring Thomas
along to accompany him during his work shifts, Thomas and Metias would play for hours
on end. Military video games. Toy guns. After I came into the picture, I remember
the many quiet conversations the two of them would share in our living room, and how
often they were together. I recall Thomas’s Trial score: 1365. Great for a poor sector
kid, but average for kids in Ruby sector. Metias was the first to pick up on Thomas’s
intense interest in being a soldier. He’d spend entire afternoons teaching Thomas
everything he knew. Thomas would never have made it into Emerald sector’s Highland
University without my brother’s help.

My breaths turn shallow as something falls into place. I remember the way Metias’s
gaze would linger on Thomas during their training sessions. I’d always assumed that
was just my brother’s way of studying Thomas’s posture and performance for accuracy.
I remember how patient and gentle Metias was when explaining things to Thomas. The
way his hand would touch Thomas’s shoulder. The night when I’d eaten
edame
at that café with Thomas and Metias, when Metias first stopped shadowing Chian. The
way Metias’s hand would sometimes rest on Thomas’s arm for a beat longer than it had
to. The chat I had with my brother when he took care of me on the day of his induction.
How he’d laughed.
I don’t need girlfriends. I’ve got a baby sister to take care of.
And it was true. He’d dated a couple of girls in college, but never for longer than
a week, and always with polite disinterest.

So obvious. How could I not have seen this before?

Of
course
Metias never talked to me about it. Officer and subordinate relationships are strictly
forbidden. Harshly punished. Metias had been the one to recommend Thomas for Commander
Jameson’s patrol . . . He must have done it for Thomas’s sake, even though he knew
that it meant any chance of a relationship would be impossible.

All of this flashes through my thoughts in a matter of seconds. “Metias was in love
with you,” I whisper.

Thomas doesn’t reply.

“Well? Is it true? You must have known.”

Thomas still doesn’t answer. Instead, he keeps his head in his hands and repeats,
“I took an
oath
.
”

“Wait a minute. I don’t understand.” I lean back against my chair and take a deep
breath. My thoughts are now a whirling, jumbled mess. Thomas’s silence tells me far
more than anything he’s said aloud.

“Metias loved you,” I say slowly. My words are quivering. “And did so much for you.
But you still turned him in?” I shake my head in disbelief. “How could you?”

Thomas looks up at me from his hands, a flash of confusion lighting his face. “I never
reported
him.”

We face each other for a long time. Finally, I say through clenched teeth, “Tell me
what happened, then.”

Thomas stares off into space. “Security admins found traces he left behind when he
hacked through a loophole in the system,” he replies. “Into the deceased civilians’
database. The admins reported it to me first, with the understanding that I would
pass the message to Commander Jameson. I’d always warned Metias about hacking. You
cross the Republic too many times, and eventually you get burned. Stay loyal, stay
faithful. But he never listened. Neither one of you do.”

“So you kept his secret?”

Thomas drops his head back into his hands. “I confronted Metias about it first. He
admitted it to me. I promised him I wouldn’t tell anyone, but deep down, I
wanted
to. I have never kept anything from Commander Jameson.” He pauses here for a second.
“Turns out that my silence wouldn’t have made a difference. The security admins decided
to forward a message on to Commander Jameson anyway. That’s how she found out. Then
she tasked me with taking care of Metias.”

I listen in shocked silence.
Thomas had never wanted to kill Metias.
I try to imagine a scenario that I can bear. Maybe he even tried to persuade Commander
Jameson to assign the mission to someone else. But she refused, and he chose to do
it anyway.

I wonder whether Metias ever acted on his attraction, and whether Thomas reciprocated.
Knowing Thomas, I doubt it. Did he love Metias back? He
had
tried to kiss me that night after the celebration for Day’s capture. “The celebratory
ball,” I muse, aloud this time. I don’t need to explain that evening for Thomas to
know what I’m talking about. “When you tried to . . .”

I trail off as Thomas continues to stare at the floor, his expression oscillating
between blankness and pain. Finally, he runs a hand through his hair and mumbles,
“I knelt over Metias and watched him die. My hand was on that knife. He . . .”

I wait, light-headed from the words he’s saying.

“He told me not to hurt you,” Thomas continues. “His last words were about you. And
I don’t know. At Day’s execution, I tried to come up with a way to stop Commander
Jameson from arresting you. But you make it
so
hard for people to protect you, June. You break so many rules. Just like Metias.
That night at the ball—when I looked at your face—” His voice cracks. “I thought I
could protect you, and that the best way might be to keep you close to me, to try
to win you over. I don’t know,” he repeats bitterly. “Even Metias had trouble watching
out for you. What chance did I have of keeping you safe?”