Compliance (13 page)

Warmth surrounds me, fills me, and I feel more loved and confident than I have since my mother died—even before that. I’m as close to Mrs. Kalin as I ever was to my mother and I long to tell her.

In fact, I should tell Mrs. Kalin everything I know about
Deviants, about the dust, and about life Outside. It might help her research, might help save humanity. Thousands of thoughts and words scramble inside me, and looking into her eyes, I feel as if I could tell her anything. I truly feel that once I tell her the truth she’ll accept me for who I really am.

My head feels like it might burst, and I feel my Deviance rise. Breaking eye contact, I stare at my hands, and they move in and out of focus. Dizziness invades and I blink to clear my head. So many emotions at once have made me feel strange. I nearly told her too much.

I cast my gaze down.” I’m glad to hear you have an open mind about Deviants. I was scared to say anything.” I pause. “Sometimes I have subversive anti-policy thoughts.”

“Every bright young person does,” she says. “It’s normal to question authority, especially at your age.” She sounds so sincere, but could she be lying? I wish I had some way to be certain I can trust her. I wish my Deviance let me hear thoughts.

I draw a deep breath.

Outside, when my father was pulling me up a cliff, I thought I heard his thoughts—but I’m not certain.

I hurt him that day. I know
that
with certainty. So, even if I can hear thoughts, can I do it without hurting the person? And more importantly, can I do it without Mrs. Kalin figuring out I’m a Deviant?

It’s worth the risk. I need to try. I need to be brave. This isn’t just about me. It’s about all the other Deviants inside Haven. I need to know if I can trust Mrs. Kalin.

Fear and anxiety fuel my Deviance and I look her straight in the eyes. I lock on immediately and focus on her brain—but instead of twisting, I listen.

So special. So alone. So hurt. I wish she’d fully trust me. If only she’d call me Mother.

My anxiety washes away. I blink, breaking our connection, and give in to the smile that spreads on my lips. “Thank you,” I say on an exhale. “I can’t tell you how much that means to me.”

“Thank you for what, dear?”

I shake my head. I almost revealed too much again. “Thank you for treating me today. And for saying that my subversive thoughts are normal. Sometimes I feel like such a freak.”

Did I really hear her thoughts, or just imagine what I wanted to hear? I wish I had a way to be certain. I look through the store and out to the mall where crowds walk by, all in clean, well-repaired clothing. How can there be so many new things?

She pushes my hair behind my ears. “Honey, there’s a big difference between being special and being a freak—and
you
are special.” She clears her throat. “But that’s enough serious talk. This outing is supposed to be a treat. How are things going with Cal? How long have you two had your license?”

“Just over three months.” My cheeks heat. “It’s going fine.”

“Just fine?” She winks. “Has he kissed you? Do you have any questions about what you’re feeling when you’re around him?”

I look up at her and smile through my embarrassment.
Cal is a safer topic than Deviants or Haven policies. “I like him. A lot. I have for years, even before we applied for our license.”

She smiles. “But?”

“But sometimes I wonder if he’s the right boy for me. The one meant for me—the only one—you know?” An image of Burn—the bulk of his body, the intensity in his dark eyes—reignites how he made me feel. My body tingles and heats, but I shake my head. I need to forget Burn. Even if acting so coldly was his way to cope with seeing me again, he made his point. We’re done.

I clear my throat. “I don’t know why I’ve got doubts about Cal. I’m so lucky to be licensed to him. He’s wonderful. It’s a miracle he wants to be with someone like me, and I’m nuts to think there might be someone better. I’m not so special.”

“Glory,”—she cups my face—“you’re so wrong, and in time I hope you’ll understand just how special you are.”

T
HE CORRIDOR IN
the Executive Building is dark except for a battery-powered safety light high in the far corner at the end. I slip from the stairwell onto the fifth floor and head toward Mr. Belando’s office. After getting back from my outing with Mrs. Kalin, I contacted him claiming to have intel about the mole. I don’t. Not really. But I plan to get him to type his code with me watching.

Today’s outing gave me hope for the future, but in the meantime I need that code. Once I have it, I’ll be able to find Adele Parry, and once I’ve found her I can get back to finding more Deviants. First on my list will be my friend Gage’s kids.

Even if I can’t convince Rolph that he needs me, I can use Belando’s code to find Deviants on my own. Burn might be acting like a jerk, but I know if I find any Deviants, he’ll save them. And perhaps I can use the passcode to help find
the mole and stop the terrorists. The President’s Birthday is a week from today. The stakes have never been higher. I can’t fail.

Listening for activity, I strain to hear anything above my heartbeat. I’ll never get used to the stress of being on the posh lower floors of the Exec Building, the domain of Senior Management. Especially not now that I have to sneak in.

Light spills from under Mr. Belando’s door and I creep forward, pausing at the edge of each office to make sure it’s unoccupied. The soft carpet cushions my footsteps, and my back hovers over pristinely painted walls decorated with art works he told me were in a public museum BTD.

His door’s closed and I’m not sure whether I should go in, knock, or wait. Knocking will make noise I can’t afford so I reach for the handle.

I snap back. Voices. He’s not alone. Pressing against the wall beside his door, I slide along it into a shadow about six feet away.

Belando’s office door opens and light floods the hall. A large man in a dark grey business suit steps out of the office, then turns back to shake Mr. Belando’s hand. My chest freezes. It’s the President. I’ve only ever seen him on the screens in the Hub, but he’s unmistakable. Tall, broad shouldered, and although he looks no older than Mr. Belando, his hair is silver like highly polished metal.

“Congratulations, again,” he says to Mr. Belando. “I’m sorry the circumstances are so unpleasant, but the honor is deserved nonetheless.”

“Thank you, sir,” Mr. Belando says.

“I personally selected you for this position.” He claps Belando on the shoulder. “I put myself on the line for you.”

“I won’t let you down.”

“I’m certain you won’t.” The President faces me, and my throat tightens with each rapid beat of my heart.

Although I’m shadowed, he sees me. I’m certain he sees me.

But the President turns away and strides down the hall, his gait strong and silent, as if he weighs nothing, even though he’s one of the largest men I’ve ever seen—besides Burn. At the end of the hall, the light from the corner glints off his hair and he traces a long-fingered hand over the unnatural silver, as if he knows someone’s watching. I can’t breathe.

When I’m certain he’s rounded the corner, I creep forward. Reaching Mr. Belando’s door, I push it open with one hesitant finger, like it’s booby-trapped.

“Come in,” Mr. Belando says with more lightness in his voice than I expect. “You’re late.”

“I—” Better not to tell him I saw the President. No telling how he might react. “I’m sorry.”

“Sit.” He motions toward the chair across from him and then runs a finger over the top edge of a brass plaque on his desk. The plaque reads Mr. Belando: Senior Vice President, Compliance.

“You were promoted.”

He leans back in his chair, lifts a glass filled with an amber liquid, and takes a long sip. His cheeks are flushed—something I’ve never seen on the normally polished man—
and I wonder whether it has something to do with the drink or the President’s visit. For all I know, both Presidential visits and amber liquids are regular items on Mr. Belando’s daily schedule. “Yes, I was promoted.”

“Congratulations.”

He sets the glass down and the liquid sloshes. “Tragic, really. Mr. Singh, my predecessor, hasn’t been heard from in days. No one’s certain where he is, but the position couldn’t be left unfilled, could it?” A satisfied grin drifts onto his face.

I don’t respond and can’t help but wonder if Mr. Belando played a part in his former boss’s disappearance, or how a man in his position could simply disappear. If Mr. Singh is gone, he was either tossed out of the dome in a secret expunging, or simply chopped up in the compost factory. Clearly, he is dead. I shiver. I have no doubt that Mr. Belando could make
me
disappear, and get rid of any trace of me in the System too. It would be like I never existed.

Mr. Belando tips his hand back and forth a few times, and the amber liquid sloshes up the sides of his glass. “What do you have for me?” His expression resurfaces with a serious veneer. “It had better be good. We’re running out of time.” He sets his glass on his desk.

Time to launch my plan. “You asked me to report anything unusual at COT.”

“And?”

“There was a fight in our rec room. One of the recruits accused another of being a Deviant.”

Mr. Belando leans forward. “Which one?”

“I didn’t see the accused, but I did see his accuser.” There’s not a chance that I’ll give him Ansel’s name, but I need to give him something to put my plan into action.

“Who was it?”

“Thor Kwaraski.” The second his name is out of my mouth, my throat thickens. With my accusation, he’ll be guilty until proven innocent. “Sir, to be clear, I don’t think that Thor’s the mole. No one in our recruiting group is more loyal.”

“Excessive loyalty could be the boy’s cover.” His hands slide toward the light that will activate his System terminal and I learn forward to get a better angle. His fingers stop short.

“I don’t think it’s Thor, sir, but the fight got me thinking about connections between the recruits in our class, connections that they have to other Comps, connections to Management.”

Mr. Belando nods, interested.

“It would be helpful to know whether any of the COT recruits had relationships to each other before training started, or whether they’re related to any of the instructors or to other Comps or to anyone in Management or to any known Deviants or other offenders.” I fall into a couple of those categories myself, but Mr. Belando knows that.

He frowns. “How would that help?”

I draw a long breath. “Do you think the mole is someone with a prior relationship to anyone else in the COT program or Management?”

“Not likely.” He frowns and drums his fingers on the desk. I’m losing him.

“That’s what I thought too,” I say brightly and slide forward
in my chair. “If I cross-reference the COT recruits’ HR files I can rule some people out and narrow my search.” I can feel my pulse throb in my throat.

Mr. Belando stills in his chair, and I can tell that I’ve captured his interest. So far so good. I move even further ahead in my chair until I’m almost at the edge of his desk. “My security level doesn’t give the access I need for that kind of database query.” I just need to see him type in his code. I’m sure if I had access to the right information I could narrow down the mole suspects, find Adele, and find more Deviants—all three. Everything’s riding on my seeing this passcode.

Mr. Belando stares at me for what feels like an hour. His chest rises and falls in a slow rhythm, and my heart beats so hard I fear he hears it. He drains the rest of the amber liquid, sets the glass down, and the ice cubes clink.

Nerves scramble over my body like a thousand rat feet. At any moment I’m going to break out in a sweat. He yanks his chair forward.

I jump. My heart slams against my ribs like it wants out.

“Do you expect me to change your security level? Is that it? Do you expect me to circumvent the P&P?”

I shake my head. “No, sir. I only wondered if you might do some database searches for me.” I swallow. “If it’s convenient.”

He grunts, but then swipes his hand to wake his keyboard and screen. I lean to better my angle. I have three theories about the key that starts his code. If I can become sure about that, I can figure the rest from its pattern.

“Your theory’s worth a shot.” He starts to type his passcode
and I lean over the desk, straining to get a better view.

He started on the J—I’m certain—and in my head, I recite the numbers and letters as he types them, burning the pattern into my mind as his thick fingers pound the desk. I’ve seen him type his code seven times now between all my visits to his office and the pattern’s remained the same.

I think I’ve got it, but I’m not sure.

He looks up and I bounce back from the desk.

“I’ve submitted a rush request to the Audit department,” he says. “They’ll complete your searches. Normally these requests take months, but you should have the results in two to three days. Let’s see how many names your loner theory kicks out.” He stands.

“Thank you, sir. I’m sure these searches will be helpful.”

His code will be helpful. My only problem is deciding which to do first: find the mole, find Adele, find Gage’s kids or find more Deviants to save?

He narrows his eyes. “You’d better find the mole soon. The President’s Birthday is one week from tomorrow.”

When I get back to the barracks, I check on Cal. He’s in his room, nose taped, and still sleeping off Mrs. Kalin’s medicine. Happy to see him safe, I get back to business and take the seat in the study room farthest from the entrance. The room’s about half full of recruits. We have twenty minutes before lights out and everyone’s using the System to study for our policy exam tomorrow.

Crowded room or not, I can’t wait. What if Belando changes his code?

I swipe my hand under the beam of light to activate the screen and keyboard. With an empty feeling in the pit of my stomach, my fingers fumble as I type in the code. Hovering for a moment on the ninth of twelve characters, unable to choose between the Z and the X. I select X.