A Soldier and a Liar Read online

  I resist the urge to bite my lip. Austin isn’t aware of the fact that I sneak out of this prison all the time, nor does he know about the existence of the Order. I’m not exactly stuck here. But it’s true that being on the inside of the military, the very heart of information on the rebels and the sector in general, would be incredibly beneficial. It’d be a big help to the Order in particular. Especially with my gift.

  “Why ask me to come back now?” I say to buy time. “The rebels have been around and threatening to kill all the ungifted for over two years.”

  Now that I’ve had some time to recharge, I could read his mind to find out, but Austin is one of only two people whom I swore never to use my gift on. Albeit, at the time, I swore to him and Noah more out of necessity than out of any respect of privacy. It was one of the conditions for Austin adopting me off the streets.

  He hesitates, which makes me worried. “It was the High Council’s wish to both create an elite team to deal with the rebels and to make Nytes more accepted within the military by allowing them the chance to prove how capable they are. Therefore, they have decided to make a team consisting entirely of Nytes. If you choose to return, you will join this team.”

  I can tell from his tone that he thinks about as highly of that plan as I do.

  Nytes have the ability to attain high military ranking through an initial entrance test, so long as they’re at least thirteen years old and willing to admit what they are. Most Nytes prefer to lie low in normal society if they can, but the military is a good route for those of us who have nowhere else to go. And the higher your rank, the better the benefits. But a side effect is being hated by the ungifted within the military. Well, more than usual. The fact that Nytes are physically stronger than Etioles, faster to heal, gifted with unique powers, and able to survive Outside the domed sectors without safety equipment doesn’t help. A team of only Nytes? That will separate us further.

  “That idea sounds about as great as being dropped in a pit with a pack of starving Ferals,” I say.

  Austin sighs. “The rebels don’t want compromise. They’re Nytes whose only goal is to completely wipe out the ungifted, and so we must fight back with the intention of destroying them. You know as well as I do that the Council needs more firepower in order to do that. Only Nytes can face Nytes head-on and expect to win.”

  “I’m surprised the Council didn’t think of this brilliant idea sooner.”

  He taps a single finger against the table, which for him is the same as rolling his eyes. “They’ve only had twenty years of Nytes being around, Lai.”

  “More likely people are afraid of what would happen if we banded together.” I try to say it lightly, but I falter over the truth of it.

  Austin keeps his mild smile, succeeding where I failed. He’s waiting.

  I need more time. “If I were to come back,” I say slowly, “I wouldn’t want to be constantly responsible for a bunch of stuff like before. I want some time to myself.”

  Austin shrugs. “You’ll only be responsible for the gifted team and normal duty shifts. As long as it doesn’t get in the way of your work, you’re free to do what you please.”

  Austin’s always been like that. So long as you’re capable, he’ll let you do pretty much whatever else you care to.

  He clasps his hands around his knee. “Then your answer?”

  “You won’t even give me some time to think this over?”

  “I’m afraid the rebels won’t wait. The military can’t afford to, either.”

  I blow overlong bangs out of my face in response. I haven’t cut or brushed my hair in a long time. After all, physical appearance is important to crafting others’ perception of you. The disheveled look helps in convincing people I’m a little off, which generally keeps them at a distance, but it gets annoying.

  It’s one of many things I’m sick of at the prison. The guards are another major one. Plus, the chance to take down the rebels before they do any more serious damage is rather enticing. I could also gather more information from within the military. I’ve reached the extent of what I can do while in this place.

  But at the same time, I don’t want to go back to the military. I took such careful measures to leave it in the first place, and then even more so to create the routes and routine that allow me to consistently sneak out to the Order. If I go back, I’ll have more responsibilities. Sneaking out will be harder. I won’t be able to recruit Nytes wrongfully imprisoned here for the Order. I don’t know if I’ll be able to support the Order like I have been anymore.

  Luke would have said yes. If he’d thought it meant bringing Nytes and Etioles closer together, he would have said yes to anything. But I’m not Luke, and he isn’t here anymore. I do things my own way.

  “No.”

  “No?”

  “No.”

  Austin’s expression adopts a mildly interested quality, which is his equivalent of wiping all thoughts and emotions from his face. I hate it when he does that. “Might I ask why?”

  “You might.”

  “Then consider it asked.”

  I can’t meet his eyes. “I understand your side of the matter. I know it would help in the military’s effort to prevent a full-on war if I returned. And believe me, I want to stop the rebels. But I can’t work together with people who treat me as less than human. That’s why I left in the first place.”

  “I see,” Austin says. “Even though our end goals are the same, you feel you can’t fight for that with us or advocate for better treatment from within the military?”

  “That’s not what I said. And even if it was, our end goals are not the same. Yours ends with putting down the rebels. Mine ends when there’s peace between the gifted and ungifted.”

  “I would think my goal goes hand in hand with yours.”

  “That doesn’t make them the same.” I know full well what the military wants. They seek an end to the rebel Nyte threat, but that’s where our similarities end. They have no interest in peace between the gifted and ungifted—the entire purpose of the Order.

  Austin does not sigh. He does not shake his head. But I get the feeling he wants to. “Lai, you could do so much good from within the military. I admire your ideals, but you can’t do anything in this prison. You have the chance to save innocent lives. That is the basis of what you want, isn’t it?”

  I don’t answer.

  He stands. “I will come back in four days. Please reconsider your answer before then.”

  “Didn’t you say the military couldn’t afford to wait? I already gave you my answer.”

  “I have made the executive decision that the military can afford to wait four days.” He walks to the door without looking back. But he pauses with his hand on the doorknob. “Four days, Lai. Within that time, please consider what it is you really want to do.”

  2

  JAY

  “YOU WANT ME to talk to Lieutenant Cathwell?” I ask. The low thrum of the air-conditioning is suddenly much louder than it was a few heartbeats ago.

  General Austin sits across from me at his desk. His chin rests on threaded fingers. I can hardly see him over the disorganized heaps of papers and documents prepared to topple from his desk. The bookshelves lining the walls of his office have long since thrown up their contents onto the floor. I’m not certain how he can bear the mess.

  “That is correct.”

  “Why me?” I have no idea what the general is thinking. I press my glasses farther up my nose nervously. “Why choose me instead of someone the lieutenant knew while she served at Central?” She didn’t even answer in the affirmative to Austin. Why would she listen to what a stranger has to say?

  Austin’s smile merely widens. Even without using my gift to sense his emotions, I can’t help but feel that the greater my distress becomes, the more his amusement grows.

  “If you’re trying to convince her to rejoin the military, I truly don’t think I’m the best person to send.” Knowing me, I’d likely say the exact opposite of
what would convince her to return. What if I ruined everything and merely ended up convincing her it really would be best to remain in prison? No. Everything about this is a horrible idea.

  “Don’t worry about things like that,” Austin says with a vague wave of his hand. He sends a sheet of paper flying with the motion. “Don’t think about convincing her to come back and fight. Just talk to her.”

  Now I’m even more lost. “What’s the point in that?”

  “Lieutenant Cathwell is stubborn. If you try to talk her into returning, she’ll dig in her heels and never leave that place.”

  “So you want me to just … talk to her.”

  “Exactly.”

  I wait for him to lay out a detailed, thoughtfully crafted plan. However, he merely looks at me expectantly. When I reach out with my gift, I sense that he’s calm, unhurried. He’s not worried at all—meanwhile, I’m struggling to decipher what exactly it is he’s asking of me.

  “That’s it?” I ask.

  “That’s it.”

  This is absolutely a bad idea. My gut turns at the mental image of me awkwardly trying to convince a girl I’ve never met that, despite what she wants, it would be in her best interests to return and fight. What if she turns me away before I even have the chance to say anything?

  “So?” Austin asks. “Will you go? I was rather relying on you for this, Major Kitahara.”

  I straighten in my seat. I still think it’s an awful idea. However, if it’s something Austin is requesting of me, it must be something he thinks I can accomplish successfully. He’s relying on me. “Yes, sir. You can count on me.”

  * * *

  I set out shortly after my discussion with the general. Various images of me failing to convince the lieutenant reel through my head, and I have to remind myself that thinking of failure merely hurts my chances of success. It will be okay. It’s just a talk.

  Early afternoon light blankets the streets outside Central Headquarters. I can barely catch faint strains of music playing from somewhere in the distance. A little farther on and it disappears entirely, to be replaced by the living thrum of chatter, of laughter that pulls back and forth, of shouts that ripple through the air. The sounds of the sector pulse and throb like an undercurrent.

  This time of day, the sector is as lively as it gets. People stand on their balconies and hail their neighbors. They call to one another, gather in the doorways of cramped apartment buildings and restaurants and on the overhead walkways that connect most of the buildings, many of them with long lines of stalls of their own. Bycs—lithe, sleek hovering machinery with an elliptical base to stand on and a thick T-stem of a handle—zoom past. Some of the riders race each other as passersby jokingly shake their fists at them. They twist and turn through the empty spaces created by the many levels of walkways and the narrow gaps between connected buildings.

  How strange it is that even though the military is abuzz with the rebels’ recent attack, watching these people, you’d never suspect we’re on the edge of a war. When I let my gift spread out around me, taking in everyone’s emotions and presences, shades of warm yellows and oranges dance through the three-dimensional grid in my head.

  Perhaps it’s better this way. Better that people be happy than in a state of fear and panic.

  I press my way through the throng of people, trying to keep my head down, but I don’t stay a part of the crowd for long. In my decorated military uniform, at the age of eighteen, I stand out like a three-headed Feral. There are very few teenage officers, and to be one means only one thing.

  The air, so lively with sound just heartbeats before, chills to near silence as whispers pass through the crowd. Demon. Monster. Heathen. The bright colors I’d sensed previously now fade to dulled grays and blues. Suddenly, it feels as though every eye in a mile’s radius is trained on me.

  Focus. Don’t look around. Don’t pay them any attention. Just keep moving.

  At least I don’t have to push my way through anymore. People make way as I pass, and I let quick steps lead me forward.

  Something strikes my back—something small with the hardness of a stone—but I continue walking. If I don’t go looking for trouble, nothing will start. The last thing I need is for a scene to break out on my way to attempt a task I’m already sure to fail.

  No, wait, I went through this already—I’m not going to fail. And I’m certainly not about to be stopped here.

  The cool attention follows me all the way to the prison where Lieutenant Cathwell is being held, but it lessens in intensity once I’m farther from the city center. It’s almost a blessing when I step through the prison’s front doors.

  The secretary is shuffling through papers on his desk and doesn’t look up right away when I approach. “Hello, good morning—oh wait, it’s afternoon now, isn’t it? Where does the time go?” He laughs, and at the same time, he looks up at me. The laugh dies, leaving only abrupt silence in its wake. His presence turns from a busily bright orange to a subdued shade of blue. “Welcome. How may I help you?”

  Don’t react. Don’t let it get to you. “I’m Major Jay Kitahara,” I say. “I’ve come to visit Lieutenant Lorelai Cathwell. I believe General Austin sent word ahead of my arrival?” Not with command. Not too softly.

  The secretary glances at a note taped to his monitor. “Yes, he did. But when he said a major was coming, I didn’t expect…” He eyes me once more and doesn’t say anything for an extended period of time. He’s clearly trying to make me uncomfortable, but I’m not, nor will I be. I’ve been through this more times than he has. I’m a patient person.

  Finally, he presses a button on a small intercom and says, “Ms. Garcia, if you could come escort our visitor to Miss Cathwell’s room?”

  A crackle. Then a response in the affirmative.

  “Visitors typically meet with prisoners in one of the meeting rooms, but they’re both currently occupied,” the secretary says. “You’re going to have to meet in Cathwell’s room.” Then he turns his back on me and starts sorting papers.

  It’s an awkward wait until the guard comes, but I’ve had worse. The real problem is the stillness around me fueling my unease over this visit. Now that I’m not moving or focused on ignoring everyone around me, there’s nothing to distract me from the single thought that keeps pounding through my head.

  This is a bad idea.

  I’m unable to prevent this thought from repeating interminably as the guard eventually arrives and leads me to Lieutenant Cathwell’s room. The halls we pass through are dampeningly quiet and overly bright.

  The guard halts in front of a door marked LORELAI CATHWELL far too soon. All the way here, between ignoring the crackling atmosphere around me and making sure I’d been going the right way, I’d been deliberating over what to say. Not something to convince her to come back, but something to merely talk about, like Austin said.

  I couldn’t think of anything. The only things I know about her are the basics that were written in her file—and even those are sparse. She’s seventeen, only a year younger than I am. Raised as an apprentice in the military since she was nine, before eventually taking the Nytes’ ranking entrance test and becoming an official soldier. Not originally from Sector Eight, but Sector Four farther west. Her gift is so confidential that only General Austin, who knows the gift of every Nyte in the military, is aware of what it is.

  Her list of achievements is impressively long, however, especially during the near war we had with Sector Nine a few years back. Unlike me, she’s led teams into battle. She has true experience. I can understand why Austin would want her to return.

  Yet I highly doubt she’ll want to talk about any of that.

  As always when I get anxious, I let my gift spread out in full around me. The 3-D map within my head expands as I take in my surroundings. The guard in front of me, whose presence beats an erratic indigo born of nervousness from being around me. The floors of people whose presences take on an assortment of shapes and pound a multitude of colored emot
ions. The neutral presence on the other side of this door.

  The guard knocks. When no answer greets her, she says, “Miss Cathwell?”

  Silence.

  The guard glances at me prior to frowning and opening the door.

  The room is strangely quiet. And there’s scarcely anything in it. The only furniture is a bed and dark upright piano, both of which are nailed down. My eyes catch on the piano. It’s nothing grand, but given the setting, I’m surprised to see one at all. Sheet music lies scattered around it—on the bench, the floor, everywhere save where the music is actually supposed to be propped up. Yet despite the messiness, a sudden longing ignites in my chest.

  The lieutenant is sitting in the middle of the floor. Her legs are crossed as she huddles over a notebook, sheaves of paper spread around her in a half circle. She appears as though she just rolled out of bed. Her long brown hair is a blind bird’s nest, her simple white prisoner’s uniform beyond wrinkled. She looks almost deathly pale under the too-bright lights.

  “Miss Cathwell?” the guard says.

  The girl’s head snaps up as her scribbling comes to an abrupt halt. She stares.

  Then she begins gathering her notes together protectively. She drops several in the process.

  “You’ve got a visitor today, Miss Cathwell,” the guard says politely. Austin told me previously that the guards here are supposed to treat Lieutenant Cathwell with a certain amount of respect. After all, though the details of her crime are known only to those higher up, it’s common knowledge that her misconduct was minor and didn’t hurt anyone. Compared to that, her nearly six years of distinguished service to the sector hold more weight. I’m glad this guard appears to respect that. “Two people in only two days. Isn’t that nice?”

  Cathwell’s eyes lock on to my uniform and badges. I suddenly wish I had forgone the formal attire after all. It would have saved me a lot of trouble, in many ways.

  She holds her notes a little closer. “I don’t want to talk to anyone from the military.”