The Rift Uprising, page 11
“Look,” I say, “I know you see me as the person who put you here. Maybe you even see me as the person who ruined your life, I don’t know.” I wait for Ezra to correct me. He doesn’t. Great. “I didn’t choose this, either, though. You were swept up in The Rift and so was I. They call us Citadels. Do you know that?”
“They told me,” Ezra says levelly.
“We’re, like, not normal people. I mean, we aren’t robots or anything, but we’ve been enhanced technologically. So. Like . . . Sentries patrol areas. Sentinels are lookouts, but Citadels are the actual physical things that keep people safe. Each one of us is a small army on a fortress that stands between the enemy and the innocent. I didn’t volunteer for this job. My parents don’t even know what I am. I was seven years old when they put the thing in my brain that makes me able to do what I do. I had seven pretty normal years after I was implanted with the chip, except for the blinding headaches that were so bad that I literally passed out more than once. Way more than once. I was fourteen when ARC activated the chip. That’s how old I was the first time I killed someone—fourteen. I would trade places with you in a minute. I don’t mean to undermine what you are feeling; all I’m trying to say is that I never got a choice, either. That I am not the enemy.”
Ezra looks at me in disbelief. I can see him scrambling, trying to make sense of what I just told him. He sits beside me on the couch. Instinctively I edge away from him. If he notices, he doesn’t say anything.
“You know,” he begins after a short while, “I was sucked here by a straw full of messed-up string theory. I have seen lizard people, and rock people, and something that I’m pretty sure was, like, a great big stick insect person. I have been placed in a bizarre picture-postcard version of a concentration camp, but honestly, Ryn, what you just told me may actually be the most disturbing piece of information my brain has processed since I’ve come here.”
“I’m more disturbing than a stick insect person? I’m flattered.” I smile weakly.
“No, it’s not that. It’s just, I guess because we’re human we think we’ve achieved some kind of pinnacle in terms of evolution. It’s so disappointing to know that when it comes right down to it, we’ll eat our young in order to survive. I thought we were better. I thought, in the face of something as miraculous as The Rift, we would be better.”
“Well,” I say as I lean back into the couch, acutely aware of how close Ezra is to me. I have to be very careful now. “Wasn’t it Maya Angelou who said, ‘when you know better, you do better’? Or maybe it was Oprah. You do have Oprah on your Earth, right?”
Ezra laughs. “I think it was Maya. And yeah, we had Oprah, too. I’m sure she is a kind of quantum fixed point, like Jesus or Catcher in the Rye.” We sit there. Time races. There isn’t any way we can cram the amount of conversations we need to have in order to get to know each other into the short time my plan has allowed. My mind scrambles to try and pick out what’s most important. Ezra must have the same idea, because we both start talking at once.
“No, no, you go ahead,” he offers.
“I was just wondering how it happened. How you came through. Alone. From what we know of The Rift, it opens on another side randomly, but rarely in places where there is a single person. It seems to be attracted to, well, we’re not really sure, but energy of some sort. That usually means multiple, uh, beings.”
Ezra scrunches up his face. “I’m not so sure about that,” he says hesitantly. I look at him, intrigued. “Well, I go to MIT. I’m actually a senior there, but I’m only eighteen.”
“Ahh, so you’re a supergeek. Me too. But I can only claim the title by default. It seems that you come by yours naturally.”
Ezra laughs again. He is even more gorgeous when he smiles. It’s a lopsided grin, and his entire face, especially his eyes, lights up.
I’m in trouble.
“I suppose you could say that. Child prodigy, blah, blah.” Ezra waves his hand away, as if being a genius is nothing. “The thing is, I was working in the lab on our quantum computer model. We are pretty close to actually creating one. My field of study is quantum cryptography, which means—”
I interrupt him. “You use qubits instead of binary to break ciphers. Like code breaking on steroids, to the bajillionth power. But, if your Earth is anything like our Earth, you still have to deal with quantum decoherence, right?” I can see that my statement impresses him, and he just shakes his head and sighs.
“I think you may have just become the woman of my dreams. Wow. I would ask you to marry me, but with me being in a prison camp and you being a bionic guard and all . . . it’s very CW.”
“I’m not bionic. I told you, I’m enhanced. I’m not like Wolverine; I don’t have metal inside me.”
“Oh, God, comic book references, too? You’re killing me.” Ezra reaches out to touch me and I move my knee away. I hope he doesn’t catch it. I think he does, though. “Okay, the thing is, I’m almost one hundred percent certain the Rooms—”
“Roones,” I correct him. I have to get out of the habit of contradicting people who aren’t under my command. Actually, I have to get out of the habit of contradicting everyone, friends included, unless they are under my direct command at the time. It must be incredibly annoying.
“Roones. Right. Well, I think they’ve solved this problem. I think they are so ahead of the game that something is going on.”
I eye Ezra, not sure what he’s getting at. “What do you mean?”
“The Rift opened right outside of the lab. I can’t explain it, but I’m almost sure that I felt it—a good while before it opened. I know it sounds crazy. But I felt this weird thrumming inside of me. A pull. I got my stuff together. I grabbed my bag. I turned off the equipment, even though I had planned on being there for another couple hours. I walked out, and as soon as I got a decent distance from the building, The Rift opened and I was sucked right in. Can it do that? Choose someone?”
“No,” I say quickly. “It doesn’t choose. It doesn’t have a consciousness. It’s a thing that takes, randomly, which is part of its quantum deal. What do you think? That just from working on research, quarks jump off you and attract The Rift like a magnet? That theory might make sense if you had dark matter somehow floating around your lab. But just a computer program? A model? Doubtful.”
But the way Ezra jumps up, excited, it’s clear he doesn’t think it’s such a dubious theory.
“Doubtful but not impossible,” he says. “Because nothing is impossible when it comes to quantum physics. Not really.”
I don’t know what to say. He’s trying to make sense out of fate. I went through this phase, too. It’s not like I have peace of mind or anything, but I have a sort of peace knowing that why this happened to me won’t change what has already happened. I so want to reach out to him. I want to hold him and tell him to let it go. I understand Zaka now, when he said that hope only led to pain. Ezra has picked up the matchbox. He’s very close to striking something that could set us all on fire.
“Listen,” I say softly. I raise my hand to touch his, then think again and place it gently on the back of the couch. “I know you want to figure this out. But there is no shame in surrendering to something as huge as The Rift. It’s not just bigger than you and me—it’s bigger than the world and an infinite number of other ones. You work on a subatomic level, so you get that it’s a never-ending loop of chaos.”
“Ryn,” he says a little more sternly. His eyes are intense and I have to look away from him for just a second to collect myself. “You—”
“No, don’t interrupt me. I don’t know much about this place. I do know that the rest of your life can suck or be only sort of sucky. You screw with these people. These people who took—who still take—a random selection of the most ordinary seven-year-olds they can find to use as weapons. And when I say ordinary, I mean that we were as average as possible. Not just so that we wouldn’t stand out as much when we became Citadels, but because they didn’t want to take their best and brightest out of the gene pool. That’s how calculating they are.”
Ezra stops and looks at me stonily. “Wait.” He holds up his hand to get me to stop talking. “Just stop. You have to talk me through this because right now it sounds like you’re explaining a plot to a science-fiction movie. Where did they even get a random selection of seven-year-olds?”
I sigh. I don’t blame Ezra for wanting as much information as possible, and I did promise myself I wouldn’t lie to him. I’m just not sure that the truth is going help him accept being here. But whatever, I guess I have to.
“Okay,” I begin slowly. “We were tested. They used the tests they give to all kids in elementary school. The tests that are required for schools to get funding and awards and shit. They looked at kids within a two-hundred-mile radius of Battle Ground, because any farther would be suspicious in terms of physically getting the kids to move here. After they selected one hundred of us—they select a hundred a year—we all got the same strange rash.”
“What kind of a rash? How?” Ezra’s brows furrow.
I can only shake my head. “Look what they are covering up! You think they can’t give us a rash? They probably drugged us or touched us with some kind of other-Earth slime, I don’t know. The point is we were all referred to the same specialist. When the specialist saw us, we were biopsied and that’s when they implanted the chip. They tried to implant normal, grown-up soldiers, but they all died. Apparently, only a child can tolerate the chip. We grow with it or something.”
Ezra’s shoulders sag. “Oh, God,” he says in barely a whisper. “This just gets worse. And it makes no sense. How did they know that you were all going to see the same specialist? I mean, how did they ensure that?”
“I don’t know,” I say, suddenly feeling defensive, like I’ve done something wrong for not knowing. “They don’t answer those kinds of questions. They don’t even tolerate them.”
“What do they do when you ask? Beat you or something?” Ezra’s eyes are as wide as dinner plates.
“No, they don’t beat us,” I try to assure him. “They ignore the questions outright or they give you an extra round of training if you get mouthy. Very hard, very annoying training. So it’s easier to just go along with it. And then, in the eighth grade, our parents were told we were chosen for this highly prestigious gifted program that basically guarantees an Ivy League acceptance and a whole bunch of very tempting promises about our futures. Like I said, the chips were fully activated when we were fourteen. We got all the superpowers, but instead of going to high school we became Citadels. ARC is a perfect cover. Our parents believe that we are doing twice the work of other kids our age, which explains the stress, the long absences, the maturity level . . .”
“And when they told you what you would be doing, did anyone just say, ‘peace out, no thanks’?”
There’s a moment of silence as I consider his question. I think long and hard. “No one says no. No one ever says no. We have to protect our families and the country and the world. You can’t just turn away from that.”
Ezra leans back in the sofa. He crosses his arms and looks directly at me. “Let me just tell you,” he says with clear agitation in his voice, “from an outsider’s point of view, that story is bullshit. There are more holes in that story than, I don’t know . . . something with a lot of holes. It makes no sense. At all. No one has told their parents? No one has given away this huge big secret? You’re telling me that no one says no to this life of deception and violence and killing and death? That the entire world is protected from monsters by children? Right. Of course that makes sense. I mean, who can’t count on a fourteen-year-old? I know how reliable and honorable I was at fourteen in between marathon jerking-off sessions and playing Xbox. There is something else going on. You’re not seeing that?” he says frantically.
“I know it sounds crazy,” I counter, trying to keep my voice level. This conversation is getting away from me. “But once you’ve fought a Moth Man—like, an actual moth person with wings and big bug eyes and scary black claw things, not to mention fucking velociraptors and a bunch of other terrifying Island of Dr. Moreau monsters—the why you are there becomes so much less important than staying alive and using your training.”
I dip my head down. I’ve never tried explaining this before and I know I am doing a crap job. It does sound like bullshit, but how can I convince him that it doesn’t matter? I stand in front of The Rift and fight because if I wasn’t there, something terrible could be let loose in the world and kill a bunch of seven-year-olds. So, if it’s death or being implanted at seven, I choose the chip. “There are many children who have to grow up quickly,” I say, using a different tack. “Refugees fleeing war, kids with cancer, kids who are orphaned. Teenagers who go to college instead of high school.” I point a finger at him and cock my head because I can guess that as an eighteen-year-old senior at MIT that’s exactly what he did. “A thousand years ago, all of us would be married already with kids of our own. Nowadays, parents are ridiculous. A kid can’t even take a public bus or walk home from school without a mom or dad texting to make sure they aren’t being followed by a pedophile. Yes, we’re young and we have an insane amount of responsibility, but I’ve got to tell you that despite all the helicopter parents out there desperate to prove otherwise, teenagers are not little children.”
There is an uncomfortable silence as Ezra glares at me. In that moment he seems impossibly tired. “You sound like . . . ,” he begins, but his words seem suddenly remote, as if they are trying to get as far away from his mouth as they can.
“What?” I shoot back, annoyed that I am trying my best and it’s still not working.
“Someone who’s in a cult. That’s what you sound like to me. A cult member. Unreasonable. In denial.”
I jump up, off the couch, unable to contain my impatience. “You know what?” I let my arms fly around my head. “Maybe you’re right. It could be a cult. Or aliens. Maybe I’m an angel sent by God. Or maybe Captain America recruited me. But I’m telling you it doesn’t matter. You cannot beat this system. You cannot kick this hornet’s nest. You have to be cool. That’s it. You start nosing around and asking too many questions, they will lock you in a room and throw away the room. Do you get what I’m saying? You need to stay safe. Be smart. Smart enough to make a good life here but not too smart to threaten anyone.”
Ezra nods his head slowly and sets his jaw. He stands up, too, and sticks his hands in his pockets. “How do I know they didn’t send you to try to test me or throw me or convince me?”
I almost want to laugh. Just the idea that I would cooperate with ARC on that level with this boy is ridiculous. Then again, he doesn’t know me. All he knows is that I’m the girl he saw when he first came through The Rift. I’m the girl who beat down a bunch of Vikings without breaking a sweat, and I’m the one in the prison guard uniform. I cannot touch him, though I ache to do so. I feel like my fingertips on his skin could say everything that my mouth can’t. Since that is impossible, I stand as close to him as I dare, noticing every detail of his face. The arch of his eyebrows, the lock of hair that flops down around his left eye. His mouth, so full and pink, his lips parted just a millimeter . . .
Jesus, Ryn—get it together.
“You’re right to be wary of me. I am a liar. I’m a killer. I am not a particularly good person.” I feel a lump in my throat. Tears are beginning to well. I cannot cry. It will freak him out. I’m useless at emotions. I wear them so weirdly that it will only increase his suspicions. Once again I have to thank ARC for teaching me how to keep my humanity from seeping through, and I suck the sadness down. “But,” I continue, “I am not lying to you. I can’t explain why or what it is about you. From the first moment I laid eyes on you it’s like I couldn’t. Like I was totally incapable of being dishonest with you. I don’t know what that means. But I know that I’m asking a lot, given the circumstances, for you to trust me. But I swear you can. I snuck in here. I’m not even supposed to enter the Village until I turn eighteen. I only did it because I promised you I would and I didn’t want my word to be meaningless. Not to you.”
We stand. Inches apart. We are so close that I can feel his breath, which is minty and sweet all at once. He steps forward and I step back. Ezra narrows his eyes in misunderstanding. To his credit, though, he respects the boundary I have placed between us.
“All right,” he says finally, and I sigh in relief. “I will trust you. But you have to promise me that you’ll think about what I’ve said. All of you are so smart and none of you are demanding the answers to questions that anyone—‘super soldier’ or not—would ask and it’s really making me anxious.”
I don’t generally like ultimatums, but this seems fair enough. It’s not like I could not think about this conversation, anyway. I’ll probably replay it a thousand times in my head.
“Okay, I will consider everything you’ve brought up,” I tell him as neutrally as possible.
“Great. Can you stay?” he asks. “We can . . . I don’t know, I’m binging Game of Thrones. We can just sit here and not say anything and watch it. No conspiracy theories. I swear.”
“HBO really is a thing here. Crazy,” I say, raising my arms in a gesture that speaks to how much I don’t understand the way things work here in the Village.
