Compliance (5 page)

Several recruits gasp. The second image was taken less than ten minutes later, and the wound’s healed with barely a black mark where the Comp sliced the Shredder’s chest open. “Is that the same day?”

I’m not certain who asked, and I don’t really care. I already know way more about Shredders than I care to.

“If they heal so quickly,” Cal asks. “How can you be certain one’s dead?”

“Try kissing it,” Thor says. “You’re into freaks.” He looks back at me.

“Enough!” Shaw strides to Thor’s desk. “One more interruption and I’ll report your behavior to Captain Larsson.”

Thor shrugs. Thor is clearly one of Larsson’s favorites, and even our instructors know better than to raise Larsson’s ire.

Cal offers me a supportive smile, but I can tell from the tension in his jaw and his shoulders that it’s all he can do to keep from challenging Thor. I get that they bother Cal, but I don’t care about Thor’s taunts. I
am
a freak.

Shaw returns to the front of the room. “Let’s move on to Shredder behavior.”

The door to the classroom opens and a woman walks in. Shaw turns toward her, clearly startled. The red spots on his cheeks spread and deepen. I’m beginning to understand why
Shaw’s an instructor and not on active duty. He can’t even handle the stress of teaching.

Our visitor’s crisp, white coat drops to the knees of grey slacks that brush the floor over black shoes with heels that click as she crosses to the center of the room.

She nods to Shaw. “Continue. Please, don’t let me interrupt.”

My stomach tightens. This woman is clearly Management and her presence makes me nervous, on edge, even if outwardly everything about her should do the opposite. Her voice is soft, her tone cheery, and when she turns to face the class her expression sparkles.

Dark brown hair, a shade darker than mine, falls in shiny curls around her face. I’ve never seen anyone quite so pretty. She looks my way and I divert my eyes from her gaze.

“Class,” Shaw says, his voice full of nerves, “Please say hello to Mrs. Kalin, VP of Health and Safety.”

A collective gasp fills the room and everyone, even Thor, straightens in their desks. “Hello, Mrs. Kalin,” the group says in unison. At least now I know why she makes me uncomfortable. This is the VP responsible for the Hospital.

Mrs. Kalin looks around the room like she’s making an effort to greet every student individually. Her eyes fall on mine. Cheeks burning, I look down. I’m too nervous to trust myself with eye contact.

“Mind if I take a seat?” she asks Shaw.

“Of course. I mean, yes, please do.” He gestures toward a chair in the back, then slaps the side of his head. “But today’s
topic is Shredder physiology. You should teach the class, not me.”

“Nonsense,” she says. “I’m certain you’re doing a terrific job.” She smiles at him and his shoulders drop as if the tension’s melting off his body.

Mrs. Kalin trails her fingers over the desks of the recruits she passes, smiling and nodding at each student. Realizing the only empty seat in the room is behind mine, I stare at the scratched wooden surface of my desk hoping to go unnoticed, but she touches my forearm as she passes.

I look up to meet her eyes and, for a moment, warmth calms my nerves. She reminds me of my mom.

I look back down. She’s Management.

Shaw continues to tell us about Shredders, and I keep my lips shut, even though I know that some of the information he’s teaching us isn’t true. Shredders can talk. They are sentient. They do make plans and live in groups. I’ve heard it. Observed it.

When the class ends, I wait until nearly everyone is gone before standing. Cal is just outside the door, waiting for me and talking to Quentin.

Shaw walks back toward me, red spots flaring again.
Great
, I think.
What have I done to draw his attention?
Then I remember that Mrs. Kalin is sitting behind me.

Her chair slides back. “Thank you for letting me sit in on your class today, Mr. Shaw.”

“If you have any pointers…” Shaw looks like he might bow down and kiss her shoes.

“None. You did well.” She pauses, and Shaw continues to gape at her as if he’s mesmerized by her beauty.

“Don’t let me keep you,” she finally says and Shaw shakes his head as if waking up, then turns and rushes out of the classroom. I rise, wanting to sneak out and wishing I’d left with the group for once.

“What did you think of today’s class?” Mrs. Kalin asks.

The only one in the room, I stop and slowly turn. “It was… interesting.” I’m not sure what she wants me to say.

She steps toward me and my gaze rises from the points of her shiny black shoes to her face. “Do you think there’s more to Shredders than Mr. Shaw told you today?”

I look into her shining brown eyes, and despite her danger-loaded question, the tension drifts out of my shoulders. I feel them unfurl. “Yes,” I say. “Shredders must be able to talk and think.”

“Why do you say that?” she asks.

“Because when someone gets exed, the Shredder attacks. They look planned.”

“That’s an astute observation, Glory.”

I cock my head to the side and study her face, searching for motives in her eyes. How does she know my name? I try to recall if Shaw used it during class. Either way, she took notice. Took notice of me. My lungs expand. I feel taller.

“Are you interested in science?” she asks.

I nod.

“I thought so. When I was your age I was full of questions about the dust, about Shredders, about Deviants. I knew there had to be more than what we learned in GT.”

“I know. Right?” I bite my tongue, but she doesn’t seem upset by my outburst, and I feel I can trust her. It’s been so many years since I’ve trusted freely—not since that horrible day I’d rather forget. How strange that I want to trust Mrs. Kalin, a member of Management no less.

“We’re always looking for bright people in H&S.” Her hand touches my upper arm. “If you’d like to talk to me about your career, you let me know.”

I nod, then look down. I squeeze my eyes shut, still reeling from the glow of her attention. I force out the good feelings and remember what really matters.

I can’t trust her, and there’s no way I’d ever work for H&S. Not a chance. Even if she looks like my mom, even if she made me feel good, I can’t forget who this woman is: my sworn enemy.

F
ROM BEHIND HIS
desk, Mr. Belando, the Junior VP of Compliance, beckons without lifting his head. The silver stripe at his temple glints against his otherwise black hair. Not a single strand moves, and if I weren’t so creeped out, I’d want to touch it to test if it’s real. Meeting Mrs. Kalin today almost gave me hope, but Mr. Belando is a quick reminder of what most people in Management are like.

As I slip into the chair opposite him without being asked, I can’t resist running my hand over the chair’s smooth leather and the brass studs at the edge of the seat. Such opulence is unheard of in the Pents. Few people I knew growing up even had chairs.

Mr. Belando types on his projected keyboard with such fervor that I worry his wooden desk will form dents, and I wish I’d been here when he typed in his passcode. If Clay has
cut me off, I need a new way to find targets. Belando’s passcode will give me access to all the information I need. Clay will still have to escort the kids out of Haven, but I doubt he’ll refuse to help once I’ve found them.

Mr. Belando grunts and snaps back in his chair. I straighten, but he returns to typing. He acts like he’s forgotten that I’m in the room or that he summoned me to this meeting.

Anxiety builds inside me, a taut rope from the back of my throat to my belly, and I focus on the painting behind his head—a farm scene from BTD. Except for the faded red barn, it could be a painting of the Settlement.

“Young lady,” Mr. Belando says, “your attention, please.”

I jump. “Yes, sir.”

“Well?” He leans onto his desk.

I squirm, unsure what he’s asking me. “Sir?”

“Do you plan to apologize?”

“I’m sorry?” Heat burns low on my cheeks.

His expression’s so smug. “Why do you keep provoking him?”

“Who, sir?”

“Captain Larsson.” He squeezes his waxy lips together and shakes his head. “I pulled strings to have you exempted from the Entrance Trials. I went to a lot of trouble to get you into Compliance Officer Training and how do you thank me? By causing trouble?”

“Trouble, sir?” I honestly don’t know what he’s talking about.

He leans back in his chair. “Larsson wants you kicked out.
He went above my head to the Senior VP, Mr. Singh. Insubordinate piece of rat dung.” His eyes narrow and he leans forward. “I don’t think you appreciate all I’ve done for you.”

“I do, sir.”

“Because if you’re finding Compliance Officer Training too difficult, I
will
have you removed.” One side of his mouth lifts.

“No, sir. It’s not too difficult, sir.” I know what he means by “removed.” I’ll be exed. Mr. Belando has the power to do it, no questions asked.

His chair creaks as he rocks back and puts his feet up on the desk, crossing his legs at the ankle. Even the bottoms of his shoes are pristine and shiny.

“You say you understand what I expect from you,” he says, “yet you draw attention to yourself. Make trouble. If you want to survive COT, you’ll learn not to provoke your Captain’s ire.”

“Yes, sir.”

Dropping his feet to the ground, he stands and leans onto the desk. A tiny vein above his left eyebrow appears and my stomach churns.

I leap to my feet. “Captain Larsson is trying to force me to quit. I won’t.”

“No, you won’t.” He strides around his shiny wooden desk and puts a hand on my shoulder, close to my neck. “I’ve taken a big chance on you, Glory. I expect to see some return on that investment. The Deviant problem is growing worse by the day.” He pauses and I can barely breathe.

His hand is heavy on my shoulder. “Experts from the
Health & Safety department assure me that you’ll remember more details of your kidnapping soon. Details that can lead you back to him and begin your undercover work to catch them all.” He bends close to my ear. “Did your kidnapper tell you his bomb targets? Where is he hitting next?”

“He’s not setting the bombs.” The words burst out of me before I think, and my guts twist.

“How can you know that?” His fingers dig deeper, pinching. “What have you remembered? What aren’t you telling me?” His voice is edged in steel.

“Nothing, sir. I told you everything I know.” My heart pounds so fast and hard he must hear it, must feel it under his hand. He’s quiet for an impossibly long time, his breathing loud beside me, and my anxiety builds as I fight the urge to elaborate on the story I gave the Comps when I returned to Haven.

I want to defend Burn. He’d never hurt innocent people—on purpose. None of the Deviants or FA Soldiers I met would, but I know that adding more details to my story will only make him want more and will only cast doubt. So I wait.

Mr. Belando’s fingers dig into the back of my neck. “Are you secretly working for the terrorists? Helping to set those bombs?”

My chest constricts. “No. Never.” His fingers dig deeper, pinching, and my voice is tight with pain and tension. “My friend was almost killed by that last bomb. I’d do anything to stop the Deviant terrorists.” My neck cramps under his hold, and I’m not sure I’ll be able to turn my head once his hand moves, but I don’t dare show signs of pain.

A beep comes from his System. He releases my neck, moves back behind his desk, and swipes his hand under a laser beam to activate his screen and keyboard.

I suck in a sharp breath and resist the urge to raise my hand to my neck. He’s going to re-enter his passcode. I have to get it. His laser keyboard projects onto his desk, but from this angle all I can see are red lines. I shift until the letters and numbers start to appear in streaks and dots. If I just move forward and a little farther to the right…

“Sit down.” He looks at me sternly.

Heart pounding, blood rushing in my ears, I focus my eyes past him to the back wall and watch his hands out of my peripheral vision. I can’t see the keyboard, but can watch the pattern. His fingers strike the desk twelve times—three letters, three numbers, five letters, one number. I burn the pattern into my head. If I can figure out the first letter, the rest will follow.

He frowns and lines appear on his shiny forehead. Up to this point I wasn’t sure his skin was pliable.

He looks up and I move back. “We live in troubling times, Glory.”

I nod.

“Yesterday’s terrorist bombing was a surface symptom of the pestilence lurking inside our fair city. Deviants will steal Haven from us Normals, given a chance.”

“Yes, sir.” My heart beats so loudly, I’m sure he can hear it, and I dare not look him directly in the eyes. Instead, I remain focused on his way-too-perfect lips.

“Do you know what the real threat is?” he asks.

I shake my head, praying he doesn’t mention the FA—or me.

“Our own people.” He leans forward so his face is mere inches from mine. “Moles, spies, traitors within.”

I press the soles of my feet into the floor to make sure my legs don’t shake.

“There’s a traitor in the COT program. Possibly a Deviant.”

Blood rushes in my ears. My stomach implodes. “How is that possible? Everyone in COT is screened, tested, even before they’re recruited.” Does he mean me?

He narrows his eyes. “I just received a report. We uncovered evidence that someone from COT is involved.” I want to press my heart back into my chest. His jaw shifts as he raises his chin. “A training tag from a Shocker was discovered in the same location where the terrorists assembled their bomb.”

I jump up and lean on his desk. “You know where the terrorists meet? Why don’t you send the Comps to catch them? If you can stop the explosions—” The terrorists are undermining what the FA is trying to do, making things worse for all Deviants.

He bangs his fist on the desk as he stands. “Do you think I’m a fool, young lady?”

I shake my head.

“The terrorists change meeting locations.” He shakes his head. “They won’t use the same place again.”