Prodigy (15 page)

“Not for the plagues.” Tess’s eyes get wider with excitement. “For
riots.
The Republic’s broadcasting it officially as a plague quarantine, but the truth is
that the whole city’s rebelling against the new Elector. Rumors are spreading that
the Elector is hunting you down with everything he’s got, and some Patriots are telling
people that Anden was the one who ordered—er, who ordered your family’s . . .” Tess
hesitates, turning bright red. “Anyway, the Patriots are trying to make Anden sound
bad, worse than his father. Razor says the LA protests are a great opportunity for
us. The capital has had to call in thousands of extra troops.”

“A great opportunity,” I echo, remembering how the Republic had put down the last
protest in Los Angeles.

“Yep, and it’s all thanks to you, Day. You triggered it—or, at least, the rumor that
you’re alive did. They’re inspired by your escape, and
pissed
about how you’re being treated. You’re the one thing the Republic can’t seem to control.
Everybody’s looking to you, Day. They’re waiting for your next move.”

I swallow, not daring to believe it. That can’t be possible—the Republic would never
let rebellions get that far out of control in one of the country’s biggest cities.
Would they? Are the people actually overwhelming the local military there? And are
they rebelling because of me?
They’re waiting for your next move.
But hell if
I
even know what that’s supposed to be. I’m just trying to find my brother—that’s it,
that’s all. I shake my head, forcing down a sudden tide of fear. I’d
wanted
the power to fight back, yeah? That’s what I was
trying
to do for all these years, wasn’t I? Now they’re handing the power to me . . . but
I don’t know what to do with it. “Yeah, right,” I manage to reply. “Are you kidding
me? I’m just a street con from LA.”

“Yeah. A famous one.” Tess’s infectious smile instantly lightens my mood. She nudges
me in the arm as we reach the door to my room. We step inside. “Come on, Day. Don’t
you remember why the Patriots agreed to recruit you in the first place? Razor said
you could become as powerful as the new Elector himself. Everybody in the country
knows who you are. And most of them actually
like
you. Something to be proud of, yeah?”

I just walk over to my bed and sit down. I don’t even notice right away that Tess
seats herself beside me.

She sobers at my silence. “You really care about this one, don’t you?” she says, smoothing
the covers over the bed with one hand. “She’s not like the girls you used to fool
around with in Lake.”

“What?” I reply, confused for a second. Tess thinks I’m still brooding about Anden’s
infatuation with June. Tess’s own cheeks are turning pink now, and I suddenly feel
uncomfortably warm sitting alone with her, her big eyes fixed on me, her crush unmistakable.
I’ve always been smooth at handling girls who’ve liked me, but they were strangers.
Girls who’d pass in and out of my life without consequence. Tess is different. I don’t
know what to do with the idea that we could be more than friends. “Well, what do you
want me to say?” I ask. I want to hit myself as soon as it comes out of my mouth.

“Stop worrying—I’m sure she’ll be
fine.
” She spits out that last word with sudden venom, then goes quiet again. Yeah, I definitely
said the wrong thing.

“I didn’t join the Patriots because I
wanted
to, you know.” Tess rises from the bed and stands over me, her back stiff, her hands
clenching and unclenching. “I joined the Patriots because of
you.
Because I was worried sick about you after
June
took you away and arrested you. I thought I could talk them into saving you—but I
don’t have the bargaining power June has. June can do whatever she wants to you, and
you’d still take her back. June can do anything she wants to the
Republic,
and they’ll take her back too.” Tess raises her voice. “Whenever
June
needs something, she gets results, but my needs aren’t worth a bucket of pig’s blood.
Maybe if
I
were the Republic’s darling, you’d care about
me
too.”

Her words cut deep. “That’s not true,” I say, getting up and grabbing her hands. “How
could you even say that? We grew up on the streets together. You have any idea what
that means to me?”

She purses her lips tight and looks up, trying not to cry. “Day,” she begins again,
“have you ever wondered
why
you like June so much? I mean—well—given how you were arrested and all—”

I shake my head. “What do you mean?”

She takes a deep breath. “I’ve heard of this thing somewhere before, on the JumboTrons
or something, where they were talking about prisoners from the Colonies. About how
kidnapping victims fall for their captors.”

I frown. The Tess I know is fading away into a cloud of suspicion and dark thoughts.
“You think I like June because she
arrested
me? You really think I’m that twisted in the head?”

“Day?” Tess says carefully. “June turned you in.”

I throw down Tess’s hands. “I don’t want to talk about this.”

Tess shakes her head mournfully, her eyes glossy with unshed tears. “She killed your
mother, Day.”

I take a step back from Tess. I feel like I’ve been slapped in the face. “
She
didn’t do it,” I say.

“She may as well have,” Tess whispers.

I can feel my defenses rising up again, closing me off. “You’re forgetting that she
also helped me escape. She saved me. Look, are you—”

“I’ve saved you dozens of times. But if
I
turned you in, and your family
died
for it, would you forgive me?”

I swallow. “Tess, I’d forgive you for just about anything.”

“Even if I was responsible for your mom’s
death
? No, I don’t think you would.” She fixes her eyes on mine. Her voice carries a hint
of harshness now, armored with an edge of steel. “That’s what I mean. You treat June
differently.”

“Doesn’t mean I don’t care about you.”

Tess ignores my reply and barrels on. “If you had to choose between saving either
me or June, and you had no time to waste . . . what would you do?”

I can feel my face going red as my frustration builds.

“Who would you save?” Tess uses a sleeve to wipe her face and waits for my answer.

I sigh impatiently. Just tell her the goddy truth. “You, all right? I’d save
you.
”

She softens, and in that moment the ugliness of jealousy and hate is smoothed away.
All it takes is a little sweetness for Tess to turn back into an angel. “Why?”

“I don’t know.” I run a hand through my hair, unable to figure out why I can’t take
control of this conversation. “Because June wouldn’t need my help.”

Stupid, so stupid. I almost couldn’t have said anything worse. The words spilled out
before I could stop myself, and now it’s too late to take them back.
That’s not even the right reason.
I would’ve saved Tess because she’s
Tess,
because I can’t bear to imagine something happening to her. But I don’t have time
to explain that. Tess turns and starts walking away from me. “Thanks for your pity,”
she says.

I hurry over to her, but when I take her hand, she jerks away. “I’m sorry. That’s
not what I meant. I don’t pity you. Tess, I—”

“It’s fine,” she snaps. “It’s just the truth, yeah? Well, you’ll be reunited with
June soon enough. If she decides not to go back to the Republic.” She knows how cold
her words are, but she doesn’t try to sugarcoat them. “Baxter thinks you’re going
to betray us, you know. That’s why he doesn’t like you. He’s been trying to convince
me of that ever since I first joined. I dunno . . . maybe he’s right.”

She leaves me standing alone in the hall. Guilt slices through my skin, opening veins
as it goes. A part of me is angry—I want to defend June, and tell Tess all the things
June had given up for my sake. But . . .
is Tess right
? Am I just deluding myself?

I
HAD A NIGHTMARE LAST NIGHT.
I
DREAMT THAT
A
NDEN
pardoned Day for all his crimes. Then I saw the Patriots dragging Day onto a dark
street and putting a bullet in his chest. Razor turned to me and said,
“Your punishment, Ms. Iparis, for working with the Elector.”
I jerked awake in a sweat, trembling uncontrollably.

A day and night (more specifically, twenty-three hours) pass before I see the Elector
again. This time I meet him in a lie detection room.

As guards lead me down the hall to an ensemble of waiting jeeps outside, I go over
all the things I’ve learned at Drake about how lie detectors work. The examiner’s
going to try to intimidate me; they’re going to use my weaknesses against me. They’ll
use Metias’s death, or my parents, or maybe even Ollie. They’ll certainly use Day.
So I concentrate on the hall we’re walking down, think about each of my weaknesses
in turn, and then press each one deep into the back of my mind. I silence them.

We drive through the capital for several blocks. This time I see the city smothered
in the gray half glow of a snowy morning, soldiers and workers hurrying along the
sidewalks through the spots of light that streetlamps cast on the slick pavement.
The JumboTrons here are enormous, some towering fifteen stories, and the speakers
lining the buildings are newer than those in LA—they don’t make the announcer’s voice
crackle. We pass the Capitol Tower. I study its slick walls, how sheets of glass protect
each balcony so anyone giving a speech will be properly shielded. The old Elector
had once been attacked that way, back before the glass went up—someone had tried to
shoot at him all the way up on the fortieth floor. The Republic had been quick to
put up the barriers after that. The Tower’s JumboTrons have wet streaks distorting
the images on their screens, but I can still read some of the headlines as we pass
them.

A familiar one catches my attention.

DANIEL ALTAN WING EXECUTED DEC. 26 BY FIRING SQUAD

Why are they still broadcasting that, when all the other headlines from the same time
have long since made way for more recent news?
Maybe they’re trying to convince people that it’s true.

Another one flashes by.

ELECTOR TO ANNOUNCE FIRST LAW OF NEW YEAR TODAY AT DENVER CAPITOL TOWER

I want to pause and read this headline again—but the car speeds past and then the
ride’s over. My car door opens. Soldiers grab my arms and pull me out. I’m instantly
deafened by shouts from the crowd of onlookers and dozens of federal press reporters
clicking their little square camera screens at me. When I take in the people surrounding
us, I notice that in addition to those who are here just to see me, there are others.
A
lot
of others. They’re protesting in the streets, shouting slurs about the Elector, and
being dragged off by police. Several wave homemade signs over their heads even as
guards take them away.

June Iparis Is Innocent!
says one.

Where Is Day?
says another.

One of the guards nudges me forward. “Nothing for you to see,” he snaps, hurrying
me up a long series of steps and into the giant corridor of some government building.
Behind us, the noise from outside fades away into the echoes of our footsteps. Ninety-two
seconds later, we stop before a set of wide glass doors. Then someone scans a thin
card (about three by five inches large, black, with a reflective sheen and a gold
Republic seal logo in one corner) across the entry screen, and we step in.

The lie detection room is cylindrical, with a low domed roof and twelve silver columns
lining the rounded wall. Guards strap me standing into a machine that encircles my
arms and wrists with metal bands, and press cold metal nodes (fourteen of them) onto
my neck and cheeks and forehead, my palms and ankles and feet. There are so many soldiers
in here—twenty in total. Six of them are the examination team, with white armbands
and transparent green shades. The doors are made of flawlessly clear glass (it’s imprinted
with a faint symbol of a circle cut in half, which means it’s one-way bulletproof
glass, so if I somehow broke free, soldiers outside the room could shoot me through
the glass but I wouldn’t be able to shoot back at them or break out). Outside the
room, I see Anden standing with two Senators and twenty-four more guards. He looks
unhappy, and is deep in conversation with the Senators, who try to cloak their displeasure
with fake, obedient smiles.

“Ms. Iparis,” the lead examiner says. Her eyes are a very pale green, her hair blond,
her skin porcelain white. She scrutinizes my face calmly before pressing on a small
black device she’s holding in her right hand. “My name is Dr. Sadhwani. We’re going
to ask you a series of questions. As you are a former Republic agent, I’m sure you
understand as well as I do how capable these machines are. We’ll catch the smallest
twitch of movement from you. The slightest trembling of your hands. I strongly advise
you to tell us the truth.”

Her words are all just pretest hype—she’s trying to convince me of the complete power
of this lie detection device. She thinks the more I fear it, the more reaction I’ll
show. I meet her eyes.
Take slow, normal breaths. Eyes relaxed, mouth straight.
“Fine with me,” I reply. “I have nothing to hide.”

The doctor busies herself studying the nodes stuck to my skin, then the projections
of my face that are probably being broadcast around the room behind me. Her own eyes
are darting around nervously, and tiny beads of sweat are dotting the very top of
her forehead. She’s probably never tested such a well-known enemy of the state before,
and certainly not in front of someone as important as the Elector.

As expected, Dr. Sadhwani starts with simple, irrelevant questions. “Is your name
June Iparis?”

“Yes.”

“When is your birthday?”

“July eleventh.”

“And your age?”

“Fifteen years, five months, and twenty-eight days.” My tone stays flat and emotionless.
Each time I answer, I pause for several seconds and let my breathing become shallower,
which in turn makes my heart pump faster. If they’re measuring my physical rates,
then let them see fluctuations during the control questions. It’ll make it harder
to tell when I’m actually lying.

“What grade school did you attend?”

“Harion Gold.”

“And after that?”

“Be specific,” I reply.

Dr. Sadhwani recoils slightly, then recovers. “All right, Ms. Iparis,” she says, this
time with irritation in her voice. “What high school did you attend after Harion Gold?”

I face the audience watching me behind the glass. The Senators avoid my stare by pretending
fascination with the wires snaking around me, but Anden looks back at me without hesitation.
“Harion High.”

“For how long?”

“Two years.”

“And then—”

I let my temper go up, so that they might think I’m having trouble controlling my
emotions (and my exam results). “And then I spent three years at Drake University,”
I snap. “I got accepted when I was twelve and graduated when I was fifteen, because
I was just
that
good. Does that answer your question?”

She hates me now. “Yes,” she says tightly.

“Good. Then let’s move on.”

The examiner purses her lips and looks back down at her black device so she doesn’t
have to meet my eyes. “Have you ever lied before?” she asks.

She’s moving on to more complicated questions. I speed up my breathing again. “Yes.”

“Have you lied to any military or government officials?”

“Yes.”

Right after I answer this question, I see a strange series of sparks at the edges
of my vision. I blink twice. They disappear, and the room comes back into focus. I
hesitate for a second—but when Dr. Sadhwani notices this and types something on her
device, I force myself to turn back into a blank slate.

“Have you ever lied to any of your professors at Drake?”

“No.”

“Have you ever lied to your brother?”

Suddenly the room vanishes. A shimmering image replaces it—a familiar living room
bathed in warm afternoon light comes into focus, and a white puppy sleeps next to
my feet. A tall, dark-haired teenager sits next to me with his arms crossed. It’s
Metias. He frowns and leans forward with his elbows resting on his knees.

“Have you ever lied to me, June?”

I blink in shock at the scene.
This is all fake,
I tell myself.
The lie detector is conjuring up illusions that are designed to break me down.
I’d heard of devices like this being used near the warfront, where a machine can
simulate sequences to play out in your mind by copying the brain’s ability to create
vivid dreams. But Metias looks so real, it’s like I could reach out and tuck his dark
hair behind his ear, or feel my tiny hand in his large one. I can almost believe that
I’m right there in the room with him. I close my eyes, but the image stays embedded
in my mind, bright as daylight.

“Yes,” I say. It’s the truth. Metias’s eyes go wide with surprise and sadness, then
he vanishes along with Ollie and the rest of the apartment. I’m back in the middle
of the gray lie detector room, standing before Dr. Sadhwani as she jots down more
notes. She gives me an approving nod for answering correctly. I try to steady my hands
as they stay clenched and trembling at my sides.

“Very good,” she murmurs a moment later.

My words sound as cold as ice. “Do you plan on using my brother against me for the
rest of these questions?”

She looks away from her notes again. “You saw your brother?” She seems more relaxed
now, and the sweat on her forehead has faded away.

So. They can’t control what visions pop up, and they can’t see what I see. But they’re
able to trigger something that forces these memories up to the surface. I keep my
head high and my eyes on the doctor. “Yes.”

The questions continue.
Which grade did you skip during your time at Drake?
Sophomore year.
How many conduct warnings did you receive when you were at Drake?
Eighteen.
Prior to your brother’s death, had you ever had negative thoughts about the Republic?
No.

On and on. She’s trying to desensitize my brain, I realize, to make me lower my guard
so she’ll be able to see a physical reaction when she does ask something relevant.
Twice more I see Metias. Each time it happens, I take a deep breath and force myself
to hold it in for several seconds. They grill me about how I escaped from the Patriots,
what the bombing mission was for. I repeat what I’d told Anden at our dinner. So far,
so good. The detector says I’ve told the truth.

“Is Day alive?”

And then Day materializes in front of me. He’s standing only a few feet away, with
blue eyes so reflective that I can see myself in them. An easy grin lights up his
face when he sees me. Suddenly I ache for him so much that I feel like I’m falling.
He’s not real. This is all a simulation.
I let my breathing steady. “Yes.”

“Why did you help Day escape, when you knew that he’s wanted for so many crimes against
the Republic? Might you have feelings for him?”

A dangerous question. I harden my heart against it. “No. I simply didn’t want him
to die at my hands for the one crime he didn’t commit.”

The doctor pauses in her note-taking to raise an eyebrow at me. “You risked an awful
lot for someone you hardly know.”

I narrow my eyes. “
That
doesn’t say much about your character. Perhaps you should wait until someone’s about
to be executed for a mistake
you
made.”

She doesn’t respond to the acid in my words. The illusion of Day vanishes. I get a
few more irrelevant control questions, then: “Are you and Day affiliated with the
Patriots?”

Day appears again. This time he leans in close enough for his hair to brush, light
as silk, against my cheeks. He pulls me toward him for a long kiss. The scene vanishes,
replaced abruptly by a stormy night and Day struggling through the rain, blood dripping
from his leg and leaving a trail behind him. He collapses onto his knees in front
of Razor before the whole scene disappears again. I fight to keep my voice steady.
“
I was.
”

“Is there going to be an assassination attempt on our glorious Elector?”

No need for me to lie on this one. I let my gaze wander to Anden, who nods at me in
what I assume is encouragement. “Yes.”

“And are the Patriots aware that you know about their assassination plans?”

“No, they are not.”

Dr. Sadhwani looks over at her colleagues, and after several seconds she nods and
turns back to me.
The detector says I’ve told the truth.
“Are there soldiers close to the Elector who may support this assassination attempt?”

“Yes.”

Several more seconds of silence while she checks with her colleagues on my answer.
Again, she nods. This time she turns around to face Anden and his Senators. “She’s
telling the truth.”