Compliance (6 page)

“What do you need me to do?” When Mr. Belando asked me to work undercover, I never imagined I’d find a reason
I’d want to. Hunting down the terrorists is much better than betraying fellow Deviants. And even if he and others are right, and some of the terrorists
are
Deviants, if I find them, I can tell them about the FA and assure them there’s hope, that they’re not alone, that their violent methods are not the answer. I can make Haven safer for everyone.

“Time is of the essence,” Mr. Belando says. “We need to neutralize the terrorist threat before the President’s Birthday. It’s less than two weeks away.”

“Why before then?”

“Enough questions.” He flicks his hand.

“But, what do you need me to do?” It’s another question but he looks straight at me.

“Keep your eyes and ears open.” He slides his manicured hands across his desk. “Listen for subversive discussions, support for Deviant Rights, expressions of sympathy for our enemies. From your instructors too.”

“Yes, sir.” I can’t imagine there are Deviant sympathizers inside COT—besides me—yet my chest bubbles with excitement and a regained sense of purpose.

His eyes narrow. “Now that I’ve given you an assignment, it won’t do to have you observed with me.” He strokes his chin. “I can’t have anyone know of our arrangement—especially anyone in COT.”

I nod, not wanting to mention that if Larsson knows that Mr. Belando forced me into COT, our arrangement is already suspect.

“From now on,” he says, “we must take greater precautions. I can’t have you seen coming onto this floor.”

Fine with me. I hate coming here. “Where will we meet?”

“Here.” He looks at me like my question’s ridiculous. “But after office hours.”

“But how will I get into the building?” Procedures dictate that I register at the entrance with a guard who logs my employee number against an appointment record. I don’t see how we can keep that part a secret. It goes into the System.

Mr. Belando holds his hands as if cupping a large sphere, then turns them. His screen shifts to an angle where I can see it too. He presses a key and a nine-digit code appears on the screen. “I’ve disabled the cameras on the roof of this building,” he says. “This is a passcode for the roof access door.” He looks up at me. “Got it?”

I quickly memorize the nine-digit number and nod. “How do I get on and off the rooftop without getting caught?”

He turns to me, a slight smirk on his face. “Surely a promising Comp recruit and future spy can solve such a small problem.” He twists his screen back so that I can no longer see it. “Prove yourself worthy.”

My stomach clenches, but he’s right about one thing: I am adept at sneaking around Haven. And once again, I wonder how much Mr. Belando knows that he’s not telling. But if he knows what I am or who I’m working for, why wouldn’t he just kill me?

“In fact,” Mr. Belando says, “I think you should leave via the roof tonight.”

“But, sir, I’m logged in with the guards. If I don’t leave through the front entrance, I’ll be flagged.”

He types on his projected keyboard as I say this, and I’m
not certain whether he’s heard me. He presses one final key with a flourish and leans back. “You are no longer in this building.”

My breath catches, but I nod. Of course he can access the guard’s log. He’s the Junior VP of Compliance; he can probably access any part of the System he wants to. The power at his fingertips makes me vibrate with excitement.

I need his passcode.

He continues to type and, after a moment, flicks his hand. “That will be all.”

Outside Mr. Belando’s office, the corridor’s empty. I race to the end and slip through the stairwell door. The latch clicks behind me, and I grimace at the unnecessary noise. Taking the stairs two at a time, I race up thirty-one floors, past the upper floors housing the offices of the lower-level managers and support staff, to the top.

As I climb, the air becomes hotter, more polluted, even in this fancy Exec Building, and I’m panting when I reach the roof level. In the faint light, I type the nine-digit code on the keypad. One wrong keystroke and an alarm will ring.

There’s a slight pause when I finish. My muscles tense in fear, but a green light flashes and the door clicks open. Relief floods through me as I exit.

The roof of the Exec Building isn’t as close to the sky as the ones in the Pents and it’s possible to stand, but I keep low as I cross, out of habit and to decrease the chances I’ll be spotted.

Hearing a sound in the corner, I drop to my stomach,
pressing myself against the rough roof surface, fighting to slow my breathing, still fast and heavy from the climb. Squinting to focus in the low light, I see the unmistakable shape and movement of rats. Smiling, I spring up to a squat. Who’d have thought there’d be a stash of free meat on the top of the Exec Building? I want to laugh.

I creep toward the rodents. If I hurry, I can bag a few, get them over to Jayma, and sneak back into the barracks before lights out.

My speed and agility have improved during Comp training, and I bet I can catch some rats with my bare hands. That won’t break my vow about using my Deviance.

Crouching near the rats, I sense someone watching. The hair on the back of my neck rises, and I twist to search the adjacent rooftops, then scan the beams of the sky. There’s nothing. I check behind a large metal structure, but find nothing there either.

Still feeling the electricity of unseen eyes, I look for surveillance cameras. Mr. Belando assured me that he disabled them, and I can’t think of a reason why he’d lie.

I wait until I’m certain there’s no one up here besides me and the rats; then I return my attention to hunting. Selecting a rodent near the edge, I creep forward, placing each step down silently, keeping my breaths slow and even.

The rat turns and sees me. Its whiskers twitch but it doesn’t move as I take another cautious step forward. The rat bares its sharp teeth and I spring forward, grabbing the creature around its stomach before rolling to the side to absorb the impact of my dive. Twisting its head, the rat tries
to bite, but I break its neck before its teeth have a chance to dig in. The other rats scatter, and I wait for them to calm down before landing a second, then a third, and soon I have a small pile of rats ready to skin and bring to Jayma.

Loneliness eats into me for a moment—it’s hard not to see her every day, especially now that I’m separated from Dad and Drake. I rest for a moment, closing my eyes to regain my center and push down emotions I can’t afford.

Feeling better, I open my eyes. A rat’s staring at me. My shoulders jump. Fear rouses my Deviance and before I can think, my eyes are locked onto the rodent’s, my Deviance focused on its brain.

I vowed not to use my power to kill—ever again—but now that I’m locked onto the rat, I’m tempted. More meat for Jayma.

The rat falls to its side. I gasp and rush forward as the other rats scatter away. My heart thumps and tears rise up in my eyes. It’s not about the rat; they’re expendable—meat. Killing rats is something I won’t apologize for, ever, but I’ve broken my vow. I’ve used my ability to kill.

I want to believe that I’m not a bad person, that there’s more to me than my deadly power, but what do you call someone who kills with her eyes, if not bad, horrible, evil?

Reaching out, I tentatively touch the rat’s side and snap my hand back. It’s not dead; it’s still breathing, still alive.

Did I fry its brain?

The rat’s eyes are open, and I lie down to get closer, looking for a sign that the rat still has a functioning mind.

Wake up
, I think as I look into its eyes. I sense his brain
waves, moving slowly.
I’m sorry, so sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you. It was an accident. Wake up.

The rat blinks, I break our link, and it leaps up and races away.

Trembling builds inside me and I lie flat on my back to slow my breathing, to will my heart rate to decelerate. I have no idea how I rendered that rat unconscious or how it woke up. I’m not even positive I had anything to do with either. I wish there were a guidebook to help me understand the bounds and limitations of my Deviance, to help me learn to control it.

I shake my head and look up at the sky. What good would that do? Even if I figured out and learned to control every facet, my mother would still be dead.

The LED stars dotting the sky blur as tears fill my eyes. I can’t reverse what I did at thirteen before I even knew I was a Deviant.

I’ve known the truth for over three months, and the pain weighs on me like a building collapsed on my chest. I can’t bring my mother back. I can’t even keep my promise to her memory that I’ll never use my power again.

Guilt clutches my body, snaking along the inside of my skin, zapping my energy, my hope.

But I refuse to indulge it. I can’t wallow. Saving others is the only way I can make up for even a fraction of the terrible thing I did.

N
OISE BOUNCES OFF
the tunnel walls, echoes of echoes of echoes so loud and constant that I can barely think. We’re under a building near the outer edge of Haven, and everyone in our Comp training class is talking at once, excited about the mysterious “adventure” Larsson promised—more like threatened.

Although the tunnel’s well lit, it brings back memories: some great, some I’d much rather forget—all about Burn.

Cal leans down toward me. “You okay?”

“Fine.” My cheeks flush. I have to stop thinking about Burn, especially when I’m around Cal. It’s not fair. It’s not right.

Cal’s fingers brush mine, but I pretend not to notice, and I raise my hand to scratch my nose.

“Hey,” Stacy says from behind us, “
I’ll
hold your hand.”

I spin to face her. So does Cal.

“You want to hold Glory’s hand?” he asks, a mischievous smile on his face.

“Very funny.” Stacy pushes in between Cal and me. “That’s not exactly what I had in mind.”

“Glory and I are dating, Stacy.” He holds up his bracelet for her to see.

My roommate’s shoulders are nearly as wide as Cal’s, and she’s only a few inches shorter. In fact, only three of the boys in the group are taller than Stacy, and her complete invasion of the space between Cal and me is like an itchy powder on my skin. I see enough of her as my roommate; I don’t need to deal with her now.

“I was only joking.” She grins at Cal. “No offense to Glory, but everyone thinks you’re a great guy for staying licensed after everything that happened. Who knows what that Deviant kidnapper did to her?” She puts a hand up to mask her lips from me, but whispers loudly, “Damaged goods.”

I roll my eyes.

“Show some compassion, Stacy,” Cal says.

“You’re too kind,” she says to Cal, then looks at me with fake sympathy. “But maybe it’s time to admit the truth and move on.”

“What truth?” I ask.

She sneers. “That your dating license is bogus and should be revoked.”

“It’s not bogus,” Cal says. “We’re perfectly legitimate dating partners.”

“If you say so.” Stacy gives him a conspiratorial grin. “Is this new?” She runs a hand over the sleeve of Cal’s plain gray
shirt. The same shirt he’s worn since we started training. “Or have your arms grown?”

“I am getting stronger,” Cal flexes his arm.

“Oh, look at that.” Stacy touches him again and my itching powder gets worse.

She continues to natter and I block it out, let it blend with the cacophony of voices, hoping it will temper my urge to scratch her eyes out. The tunnel narrows and Cal doesn’t seem to notice as Stacy uses her broad shoulders to force me to walk behind them. Fine. It’s not as if I feel like talking.

Stacy brushes her shoulder against Cal’s arm. “Glory doesn’t even let you touch her. No one would blame you for revoking the license.” Her hand brushes down his bare forearm to catch on his bracelet. “You have options.”

Her voice pierces through the din of lower male voices, but I can’t hear Cal’s response. She laughs at whatever he says and slaps his arm playfully. I scratch my shoulder.

Stacy is beyond rude but she’s right about one thing: I can’t have it both ways.

I try to imagine Cal with Stacy, try to imagine being happy for him like a friend would, but I can’t. The thought of them together leaves me nauseated. Since I got back, I’ve been keeping him at arms’ length, but seeing this display makes it clear: I don’t like the idea of Cal dating someone else. And that’s not fair.

Cal notices I’m no longer beside Stacy. He stops and gestures for her to go on ahead. While his back’s turned, she scowls at me then stomps off.

“Do you like Stacy?” I ask Cal once she’s out of earshot.
Maybe I can learn to accept them together. He deserves to be happy and we have no chance at a real future. He doesn’t even know what I am.

“Stacy’s okay, why?” He turns toward me. “Are you two getting along?”

“Not really.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. It must be tough with her being the only other girl who got into COT.

“I’m fine.” Saying it helps to convince me. “Stacy sure seems to like you.” I bump my hip against his and bob my eyebrows.

Grabbing my wrist, he stops and lets the few people behind us pass. “Don’t let her get under your skin. You have nothing to worry about.” Unable to endure the intensity in his eyes, I look down. “I’m yours,” he says. “I don’t want anyone else—ever.”

“Cal, I’m sorry. I know I’ve been distant…”

He crooks a finger under my chin to tip my face up. “I get it. You’ve been through a lot. I can be patient. We have our whole lives.”

“But…” My mouth dries, my mind blanks, my ears fill with cotton, and I can no longer hear the noise of my classmates. Looking into his blue eyes, standing this close, I feel so safe, so comfortable, and it’s easy to forget the reasons we can’t be together—the reasons he doesn’t know and can never know.

“Recruits!” Larson’s voice booms down the tunnel. He’s standing at the entrance to a room about forty yards ahead. “Inside. On the double. We’re closing the doors.”

Realizing we’ve dropped way behind, Cal and I race after the group, and when we enter the room there are only two seats left. One in the very back row and one in the front near a dark curtain covering the wall. I take the seat in the back, but Larsson steps over and grabs my arm.