Independent Study (28 page)

Just as this must be.

I look at the papers scattered across the room. While paper is utilized more frequently at the University and within the United Commonwealth Government buildings, it’s still precious. Ian’s internship tests were based on documents that already existed and were being recycled for his task. These reports, with their incorrect facts and mislabeled maps, could not possibly have been used before. They were created just for me.

Why? What purpose does this test serve? Did the president want to see if I would rely solely on my own knowledge or search for assistance on the colonies that I have never seen with my own eyes?

No, my gut tells me this test is not about teamwork or being confident enough to ask for assistance when it is warranted. There are ways to determine those skills that don’t involve wasting what at my school in Five Lakes would be a year’s allotment of paper.

I close my eyes to block out Raffe’s stare so I can think. The volume of papers and the short amount of time to read and report on them ensured I would have to work almost every moment until the deadline in order to complete the task. There would be little time to confirm the information I was reporting on.

And why would I? The documents were created by government departments. By people we depend on to make decisions for the good of our country. They are supposed to be the best at what they do. But if I used these reports to make recommendations and my recommendations were followed, then time, energy, and resources would be wasted. All because I trusted something created by people who are supposed to be experts.

And I understand. This wasn’t a test I was supposed to pass. Just like the final task during the Induction, this was an assignment designed for failure. The president wants me to learn that just because something is created by people in power doesn’t mean it is to be trusted. A lesson I learned in The Testing. And I will not forget it now that I have learned it again.

Opening my eyes, I thank Raffe for his offer but say I don’t need his assistance. I have enough information to write my report. I see annoyance color Raffe’s face before he gives a shrug. When I close the door behind Raffe and Will, I wonder about Raffe’s irritation. Did my refusing his aid injure his ego, or is he frustrated that he lost the opportunity to report that I could not complete this task on my own?

I’ll probably never know.

Sitting on the floor, I write a short list of recommendations for the president, including that she ask the colonies to provide accurate maps of their areas. I also suggest that when building the railway, engineers avoid laying tracks in the middle of already revitalized areas where healthy crops and trees could be affected. There’s no point in negating the important and successful work that has already been done. Something I’m sure the officials in charge already know.

Once I’m done, I pick up the papers strewn across the room, pile them neatly on the table, and head for my bedroom. President Collindar’s lesson has made me remember something important. The signs the government posted on the fence at the airfield imply that it is dangerous to venture into that area, but this doesn’t mean the government believes that to be true. Something lies behind those fences. It is time to find out what that something is.

I
ALLOW MYSELF
two hours of sleep. The sky is still dark when I slide the external transmitter into my coat pocket, sling my bag over my shoulder, and quietly descend the stairs. The dining hall and kitchen are empty. Not a surprise, since breakfast won’t be served for another three hours. With only the light of the moon through the window to see by, it takes more time than I’d like to grab supplies. I slide two bottles of water, several apples and pears, some dried beef, and a few small loaves of bread into my bag. If this trip works as I plan, I won’t be gone very long, but it never hurts to be prepared.

Tiptoeing through the dimly lit hallways, I get to the entrance and breathe a sigh of relief as I slip out the front door. The damp, cold air makes me shiver as I walk to the small outbuilding to collect my bicycle. I keep close to the residence in case anyone from the rooms above looks out.

The vehicle shed is unlocked. I grope through the darkness to where I remember storing my new bike while casting glances over my shoulder for signs I have been discovered. When I find my bike, I pull it from the shed and begin to pedal—across the bridge, down several walkways, past the library. I slow in front of Tomas’s residence and use the transmitter to signal him to join me. If he sees the signal, he will turn on his light. But the residence stays dark. So, though I want nothing more than to have Tomas beside me now, I turn my bicycle and pedal past darkened buildings—all while fighting the urge to glance behind me. If someone is watching, I want to look confident. Like I have permission to be leaving campus in the blackness of night.

But wait . . . not everything is dark. In the distance, I see a light on the far side of the campus. While the University is given more power allotment than the rest of the city, the residences are the only buildings allowed electricity past midnight. The light appears to be coming from a building to the north—in the same direction as the building where Obidiah was Redirected.

I swing my bicycle toward the light, not sure what I think I will learn. But anything happening at this time of night is clearly supposed to be secret. If Dr. Barnes or his team are doing something they want to keep hidden, I’m betting the president and the rebels need to know about it.

The light is coming from the same building that Obidiah walked into. Stashing my bicycle in a small group of bushes about a hundred yards away, I watch the illuminated windows for signs of movement. When I see nothing, I creep closer.

I glance through the window and see no one in the hallway. But someone must be inside for the lights to be on. Remembering Obidiah’s Redirection, I stay near the brick wall and hurry to the back of the building. I’m hoping to see something to give me an idea of what is happening inside. Four skimmers sit on the ground behind the structure. Whoever piloted the vehicles must be inside. If I hide in the same place I did the last time, I will see them when they emerge. But then I will know nothing about why they are here. The only way to find out is to go inside. If I dare.

Careful to keep to the shadows, I hurry back to the front entrance. The lobby is deserted. Adrenaline, fear, and doubt pulse in my veins as I wrap my fingers around the door handle. I should go back to my bike and get out of here.

I tug on the handle. The door opens an inch and I lean close, listening for the sound of anyone who could spot me. The building is silent as stone. Before I can lose my nerve, I slide through the entrance, careful to guide the door closed behind me so it doesn’t make a sound. I hold my breath and walk farther into the lobby, looking for a clue as to which of the three hallways I should begin my search in.

The creak of a hinge makes me jump, and the sound of voices stills my heart. People are coming.

“Speaking of projects, did you hear about the new breed of rabbit Professor Richmard’s bioengineering students have created?” The nasal male voice sounds as if its owner is just down the hall. I need to get out or hide. I duck behind a tall black reception counter as the nasal voice grows closer. “The rabbits have a genetically modified immune system that will withstand eating the plants growing in the soil out east. The students released a bunch of the new species not far from here last week. They want to see if the genetic improvements have altered survival instincts.”

I wedge myself between the receptionist’s stool and the counter. Blood roars in my ears as I go still.

“Let’s hope this breed does better than the geese Dr. Richmard was so proud of two years ago.” Professor Holt’s voice makes me stifle a gasp. “Not only did they lose all their feathers, the animals were overly aggressive and attacked anyone they came in contact with.”

“Both of those traits turned out to be useful. Without any feathers to pluck, the birds were easier to cook, and the aggressive nature meant no one had to go searching for them to see how they were doing. That made it easier for Dr. Richmard’s team to track them. And it should be noted that both problems were fixed in the next genetic generation.” This voice is warm. Amused. Familiar. And right on the other side of the counter I’m hiding behind.

“I can’t imagine aggressive rabbits,” a deep voice says. “How will Dr. Richmard’s team know if this new breed is thriving?”

“They’re injected with a new chip that transmits their heartbeat and location to a receiver installed on top of the Biological Engineering residence. Once the data is received, it’s transferred to a processor in the lab. As long as the rabbits stay within a couple miles of campus, the students can track them.” The nasal voice laughs. “So far those chips are working better than the ones in the new identification bracelets. Maybe we should put the bioengineering students in charge of that project next time. We could even put them in charge of monitoring The Testing bracelets, since you had such trouble with that last year.”

There are murmurs of agreement. I hold my breath and listen as they are cut off by the familiar voice. “The current issue with the University bracelets will be worked out. As for The Testing, worrying about the past is pointless. I have no doubt that Jedidiah will be happy with the alternative my team has come up with. The new data recorder in the bracelets will tell us if the locking mechanism on the clasp has been disturbed, and we’ll know whether the user has removed the bracelet. We will not allow the mistakes of last year’s Testing to happen again. Next time we might not get so lucky.”

Several voices offer their agreement before the speakers all bid one another good night. Footsteps echo in the lobby and fade as several people go down the hallway that leads to the back of the building. But the rustle of fabric tells me at least someone is still here.

I swallow hard and wonder what he or she is waiting for. Do they suspect that someone entered the building while they were meeting? That an unauthorized person might still be here?

When the sound of walking can no longer be heard, Professor Holt breaks the silence. “Is everything else under control? Jedidiah is concerned there is dissention in your ranks.”

“When dealing with the brightest minds, you have to expect some will question the direction we are taking.” Despite the reasonable tone, something about the voice sends a shiver up my spine. I know I’ve heard the voice before. I just can’t recall where. But as much as I want to see who it belongs to, I keep perfectly still as the man says, “Those pushing the hardest for change have been given tasks to distract them. They’ve been given a new goal that they foolishly believe I disapprove of. They think their plan will change the course of our country’s history, when in actuality, it will serve to destroy what they think they are building. Once their plans are put into action, we won’t have to worry about them anymore.”

“How can you be so sure?” Professor Holt demands.

“Because, my dear professor, they’re all going to die.”

Calm. Rational. The same tone my father employs to tell my brothers and me to help our mother with dinner. People killed. For believing something should change. Is this man talking about members of Symon’s rebellion? He must be. Their efforts have not gone unnoticed, and now some of them are in mortal danger. As I will be if this man or Professor Holt discovers me listening to their conversation. Michal needs to be warned so he can pass the news along to Symon.

I swallow hard and wrap my arms around myself as the male voice lets out a low chuckle and says, “Trust me, professor. They’ll be taken care of. Your precious University program will continue exactly as Jedidiah and you planned.”

“You’d better be right. The president—”

“The president will not be in power much longer. She just doesn’t know it. You don’t have to worry. Now, let me escort you to your vehicle. The next time we speak, I promise you will see the results we have all been working for.”

I let out a sigh as the footsteps fade. The lights blink out. A door slams shut. I force myself to sit quietly and count to one hundred, in case either of them comes back. When no one does, I grab the counter and use it to support my shaking legs as I stand. Part of me wants to search the building to see if it contains something the rebellion could use, but I doubt that they would leave anything incriminating out in the open, and the nearness of dawn makes me head for the exit.

I look through the window to make sure no one is in sight, yank open the door, and run. When I reach my bike, I jerk it from its hiding place, throw the bag over my shoulder, and ride. Pushing the pedals. Using the terror in my veins to go faster.

When my bicycle is returned to the shed, I hurry to my rooms before the rest of the residence stirs. I turn the lock behind me, lean against the door, and start to shake. On trembling legs, I walk to the bathroom with the hope that a hot shower will ease the chill running through my body. I sit on the floor of the shower and let the hot water run until my skin is pink and the room filled with steam. When I’m dry, I pull on my sleeping garments, climb under the covers, and close my eyes tight, hoping to leave the cold fear in my veins behind.

When I wake, the room is bright with light. I glance at the clock. Lunch was long ago. I should get up. I need to find Tomas to formulate a plan. But my eyes are grainy and my muscles ache. So instead, I eat an apple from my bag, curl up on the bed, and doze until dinner. Even after sleeping all day, I have to force myself to climb out from under the covers and get dressed. At dinner, I do my best to laugh, talk, and eat just like everyone else. When Ian teases me about being so overworked I don’t have time to come to meals, I laugh and admit I was up so late working that I slept most of the day. The words are easy to say since they are true.

More than once, I catch Griffin and Damone looking in my direction, but I pretend not to notice. When the meal is over, I use work as an excuse to go back to my rooms. I ache for the comfort of Tomas’s arms, but I remember Griffin’s and Damone’s watchful eyes. If I go find him, someone will report that to Professor Holt and Dr. Barnes. Tomas would end up in danger. Instead, I stay where I am, stare out the window, and watch the sky go from light to dark.