Rebels (10 page)

I spun a little faster. Then even faster than that, as if I were at the center of a whirlwind.

Click.

The platform hurled me in frenzied circles, and all the while I could hear Etiquette Tutor's click. Click-click-click.

Don't look down. Don't think of their faces sixty feet below you
.
You won't find compassion or support there. Imagine your legs are heavy as stones beneath you.

Nimble, Livia.

Steady, Livia.

One direction, then another. Whirling in rapid circles, then suddenly decreasing in speed. Going slower and even slower . . . then fast again, the world disappearing into blurry color bands everywhere I looked.

I slipped.

Faster than thought I dug in and caught myself on the edge. My whole body rushed with adrenaline. Instead of Marius, I could hear Etiquette Tutor in my head.

Imbecile. Livia, you are utterly hopeless. Ridiculous.

Then it occurred to me, balancing on the air above her: Who was Etiquette Tutor, really? A very tall woman with sharp cheekbones
and an unpleasant disposition, who had never been celebrated at an Emergence Ball and never cohabitated. She led not by example.

Focus, Livia.
I sought to find empty space in my mind, just as Master informed me true warriors do. Everything kept revolving around me. Yet at the center, I was unmovable.

Rotating in never-ending circles, where nothing could touch me.

◊  ◊  ◊

No one said a word as I descended on the lift and disembarked. Their faces betrayed their awe and confusion.

How long had I been up there? It must have been quite a while for Etiquette Tutor to finally cease turning me. Anticipating a throw that would never come. Everyone turned to her, awaiting her response. I had done well, we all knew that. For once, she had no other choice but to compliment me.

“Let us move on to Pleasant Interaction,” she said.

One person was looking at me, though. I caught her eye before her gaze flickered away. I had never seen an expression like that, not even on Etiquette Tutor's face. In that split second, I sensed everything.

Mica.

And the feelings were far from proper.

In that moment, she chose to despise me.

I had a sudden revelation: I could try to be like the others, but I would never succeed.

Even more surprising? I had no desire to try. Not anymore.

In that way, my fate was sealed.

Be Industrious. Be Vigilant. Behave.

It was upon these three principles that all cadets were molded.

Be Industrious: We woke promptly and groomed before morning rations. We attended two block classes, were given an hour's rec time—time enough to eat afternoon rations and do some light training—before two more block classes. Followed by evening rations and rec time, usually spent reading and on homework for the next day's lessons. Then lights-out.

Every day of the week, every minute of it, our lives were accounted for. The PCF Academy's regimen had successfully shaped its graduates into becoming Indra's foundation.

Be Vigilant: First, you hold yourself accountable. Always show up on time. Always get your work done. Then, you hold your fellow cadets accountable. Their failure is your failure. Otherwise, all of you are doing laps around the track and no one's happy with the cadet who's to blame.

Behave: This one, I had trouble with. No further explanation needed.

The most promising youth. That's what Senior Lieutenant called
us. And he meant me, too. Even if they'd never had an orphan in their ranks.

After the pod confinement from my altercation with Cassina, I threw myself into Academy life. I was going to stick to my promise.
Work harder. Be smarter. Be stronger.

Cassina stuck to her promise, too. She planned on making me pay. At least, she'd spend every waking hour trying.

Cassina was sure I'd been an Academy mistake. She told everyone within earshot. Those first weeks, it took everything I had not to make her bleed again.

The worst part? Secretly, I wondered if she might be right. It had always felt like an accident, being
special
. Maybe this charade was at its end. I could be found out at any moment. Bottom out, as if I'd escaped my true fate and was living on borrowed time.

Not if I could help it, though.

No way I was gonna mess this up. Not a chance.

I learned to ignore her. I learned to ignore the names.

Mudgirl. Orphan waste. Dirtbaby.

At all times I could feel their eyes burning into me, Cassina and her pack.

“I heard she was born Low Level,” one said. “Like, core-low.”

I knew what “core-low” meant. Down here, we were nearer to the crust of the earth. Being “crust” was a good thing. Core? Not so much. That meant Rock Bottom, way down below us, near the center of the earth. That's where Indra started a thousand years ago. Before the population grew and the citizens reached for the sky.

A thousand years ago, only the worst of the worst chose to remain below. I couldn't imagine why they would do such a thing. And generations later, the worst of the worst were still there, causing damage and creating chaos for those of us above. That was why the PCF existed. To preserve the peace above and to quell the troubles below.

Where everyone thought I came from.

“In a brothel,” said one. “Her mom was, like, a prostitute. A Mudtown brothel, dirt walls, dirt on her back and knees. Can you imagine?”

“Of course I can,” said Cassina. “So low she'd probably even engaged a mutation.”

As if she'd ever seen a dirt wall. She sounded sure of herself. When she spoke, everyone shut up. Didn't want to miss a word. Less than a week, and she was already their queen. “I'm not surprised,” she continued. “She reeks of Low Level. Not something you can hide. That's what happens when they recruit from outside Indra. Looks bad for the Academy. For all of us. She's an experiment . . . and it's not gonna work. Just wait and see.”

I could hear every whisper. Of course, they didn't know that.

Not all of us would become PCF. Not all of us wanted to. Some would be happy to join a policy committee within the lower ranks of the High Council. Not me. Not since Commander Hauser visited us in our first year.

I had never seen a sharper haircut, or cleaner uniform, or so many medals within the Academy's halls. He was tall and handsome, even if he didn't smile. He instantly made me feel safe, if that wasn't already high on his list of priorities.

“Yesterday morning,” he said, standing at the front of our first block classroom, “at oh seven hundred hours, the Hub came under attack. A team of two, disguised as maintenance workers, planted an explosive charge in a transport tube. If you haven't already noticed, Cadet Forza is absent today. His older brother was killed while traveling to work. One hundred and twenty-one others died alongside him. It is the largest rebel attack in Indra's history. It is all of our jobs to make sure that it is the last.

“You wouldn't be here if Indra didn't see something more in you,” Hauser continued. “Your acceptance here is a privilege, and with that privilege comes responsibility. To yourself, your fellow cadets, your
instructors, your city.
Our
city. The Founders settled Indra to learn from the mistakes of former earth, to continue to reach and strive to greater heights. And yet, there is a pocket within us that would rather see us die. For that reality to shatter. As I stand here before you, I will not let that happen. And you will not let that happen. We will retain solidarity in the face of those that seek to endanger our lives and destroy what we have built.”

It felt at that moment as if he were speaking directly to me, his eyes hard beacons into the heart of Indra. I wanted nothing more than to serve at his behest, and to show all who'd doubted me that I was still there to protect them.

“Otherwise, we do not deserve what the Founders fought for.”

◊  ◊  ◊

No longer could we inoculate ourselves from the reality of what we were training for.

Rebel
.

It was the first time I truly understood the word, or learned of people who held Indra in such contempt. I became restless. Placements were so far away and we could only play at soldier here. It was all anyone could talk of, and for an orphan like me, I was curious about how much the other cadets knew about the world. It seemed like everybody knew somebody who had been affected. I'd thought Indra was much larger than that.

Perhaps in light of Commander Hauser's visit and the Hub attack, a good game of zip ball was either the worst or best thing we could do.

I felt the tension as I strapped on the gloves. I had no love for the game, but at the Orphanage I'd grown good at it. There, the field was pockmarked with gaping holes you could break your ankle on, and those electrodes on your fingertips would drop signal unexpectedly. You lose control of a fifteen-pound metal zip ball in midair, you could
get real hurt. But if you learn under those circumstances, you can play out of your mind on a real field, like the one at the Academy.

We lined up on the sidelines as Cassina and Vipsinia chose teams. Cassina chose Kane first and he looked back at me as he jogged over to join her, shrugging his shoulders in amusement. It wasn't a surprising choice. Whenever she was captain, the other team would just pick me last, knowing she would never take me for her team. This didn't really hurt my feelings. Except Vippy, out of some weird pride, couldn't help picking me first. I wasn't happy—she could've spent that pick more wisely—and I'd always clearly shown my emotions on my face.

For today's five-a-side game, we had Vippy, her two fellow Hubbers, and Caesar, who was from somewhere in the Lower Levels. Not exactly an ace squad.

I like to play a fast game. Keep the ball moving between my teammates, keep it out of your opponents' hands, and tire them out. My team wasn't quite built for that. Vippy's loyalty to her fellow Hubbers sabotaged a truly competitive match, but as long as I was out there, we had a shot. We put on our helmets and jogged onto the field, the electro fields humming from the skin of our gloves. You never actually touch the ball, but you can feel it, if that makes sense. Not it's full weight, but it's . . . potential.

The scoring buzzer sounded quickly. Cassina may be confident, she may have been the captain, but she always plays the player, never the ball. I got the ball to Caesar, who cut it right back to me. High sidewalls allow great bank shots if you play the angles right. There can be as much as five feet between a zip ball and the person controlling it. You can get faked out that way. You can also fake yourself out if you stretch your electro field too thin and get too cocky. Kane didn't even have a shot at redirecting it; it was already passing through the goal as he was diving for it.

That could've been our only goal, but it still would've been worth
it to see Cassina's despair. She immediately shouted at her team while I forgot just how much I didn't believe in my own and gave them all pounds. Caught up in our own celebration, I couldn't have anticipated just how angry Cassina was.

The zip ball slammed directly into the back of my head, cracking the helmet where it hit. I fell face-first into the ground and my head exploded with pain. So much pain I couldn't even see.

Kane was kneeling by my side, but I could hear the rest of Cassina's team laughing. All I could do was hear. “What the hell, Cassina?!”

“It was a live ball,” she said. “Not my fault.”

You get scored on, you have to run it out from your end. It makes it that much easier for the scorers to go on a quick run if they mount a press and steal the ball so close to the goal. My team should've immediately gone up to press. Cassina wasn't wrong about it being a live ball, but you don't ever headhunt. On that, she knew better.

“Stay right there,” Kane said to me. I rolled onto my side and could make out only the blurred shapes of my teammates. “Your visor's all cracked. Wait right here.”

He should've known me better. I sat up.

“Lex, game's over. Let's go get you checked out.”

“No . . . damn way,” I said, my head feeling as if it had broken right open. Everything I did made it feel like the crack was getting wider. Kane helped me to my feet. I couldn't see a damn thing.

But I could hear the zip ball clearly, several feet away. It hummed at a low cycling rate.

Kane waved his hand in front of my face. His glove's electro field hummed at a much higher one. If I could concentrate away from the pain, which truthfully is all I could feel, maybe I could hear the individual electro fields of every player. Possibly . . .

I slowly walked over to the zip ball and rolled it toward . . . someone, with the tip of my foot.

“One-nil, us.”

Someone's electro field engaged and I could hear the ball several feet higher than my head. I tried to make a play for it, but it was already thrown downfield. I ran blindly, focusing so hard on the sound of the ball that I crashed right into . . . someone. We both fell to the ground.

“You okay, Lex?”

“I'm fine, Vip.”

The goal buzzer sounded. Cassina and her laughter just had to be even louder.

One of the Hubbers retrieved the ball and brought it back out. She avoided me and passed it off. They didn't even get it to midfield when the ball sailed for too long and then someone grunted as they ate it on the field.

“I got it!” Kane yelled. His legs pumped down the field, his footfall sounding far closer than anyone else's, the ball secured in his electro field, which buzzed brightly as it hyperextended—the energy positively crackling—and pulled the ball back and forth. Another couple seconds and he had a clear shot. Just my impaired self and the goal.