Divided (6 page)

“This, West, is a Ronin Mark II—a Roark. Built with mercy in mind, it promises instant death.”

I take a closer look at the gun in my hand, the shape of the barrel, the width of the muzzle. “Poison?”

He nods. “Instantaneous and completely painless if used properly; agony and a prolonged death if not. Unfortunately what makes it so effective—the heating of the liquid as it exits the gun—also compromises the accuracy. Which is why we can’t approve it as a Board-sanctioned Alt weapon until the designer improves it. We need completions to happen, but we’re not monsters.”

Monsters.

I close my hand around the gun, test the feel of its weight. It’s disconcertingly comfortable. If my striker marks weren’t covered, they’d be right against the grip of it, silver against silver.

“The incompletes wouldn’t feel any pain?” I ask him.

“Like dropping off to sleep.”

“What do you mean when you say ‘if used properly’?”

“Heart, base of the neck, temple. There are other pulse points on the human body the poison could neutralize, of course, but those three are the ones that lead to the fastest deaths.”

“Built for mercy for
both,
then. Completes would know they at least did it painlessly.”

“Again, only if used properly.”

Carefully, I place the gun back onto its hooks. “A good enough shooter should be able to make up for the faulty accuracy.”

“There are problems with the recoil. Unpredictable explosions. Chemical burns.”

My hand goes to the thin scar on the side of my face. I didn’t get it from poison, but still my skin was altered forever. Chemical burns would do the same.

The Operator’s eyes follow the path of my fingers, and I cover up my discomfort with a flustered scowl. Avoiding his stare, I look past him, wondering what else I’m missing in this house of terrible beauty, when I spot a door.

“What’s in there?” I ask.

“Surely you didn’t think this room was all,” he chides.

I did. How can there possibly be more? “I … I wasn’t sure.”

“Again, after you.”

We enter darkness again, but now I know it won’t last. When it finally lifts with a touch of the light panel, I don’t know what to think.

Here’s a room much like the one we just left, a concrete cell built for abuse. But instead of stations set up throughout, there are tall, hinged panels of mirrors. So many of them, all at different angles to each other, creating a maze of mirrors.

Mirrors aren’t that well received in Kersh. Homes often have them, but public places usually don’t. One unguarded glance and you’re seeing your Alt.

I walk up to the maze’s entrance and step inside.

The effect is dizzying and terrifying. There I am, pale face making my scar more vivid, eyes a touch wild. And there I am again, and over there … and over there. An infinite parade of Alts.

Suddenly I hear a brief, high-pitched whir in my ears. It’s followed by a flash of light across my eyes so bright it leaves me blinded for a few seconds. When it clears, I see a shadow moving behind me, a girl’s shadow, and it’s not mine.

I whirl around. Though I know—

It’s her.

—I’m simply seeing things because—

My Alt.

—she’s already dead.

The girl standing in front of me can’t possibly be real, despite how much we look alike. The same long black hair, the same chin and cheeks and nose. Except for her eyes, and I’m thankful when I stare into her dark, coiled pupils and see nothing of myself in there.

“She’s a replication of your Alt, West,” the Operator says, coming to stand next to the shape. Not girl, not human, but shape. “When you stepped into the maze, you were scanned by our mirror program in order to produce a suitable training opponent. Someone with the same build and the same way of moving. She can’t read your mind, but she mirrors what she sees by feeding off your actions. Also, the more engaged you are in the training session, the faster she learns.”

“Learns to what?”

“To initiate action, instead of simply reacting. To become as close to your Alt in a fighting situation as possible.”

“She’s just an image,” I say, trying to sound normal. As though I see my Alt come back to life on a regular basis. But standing this close, I can also see how she’s made up of pixels, suspended in air. Not real in the least, but real enough to be effective. “How would she help me with training?”

“Not in combat, but in a chase-or-be-chased scenario, with the main goal to strengthen you mentally rather than physically. The chase only ends when physical contact is made. And the preferred setting, of course, is having
you
chase—knowing how to hide can also be useful, but ultimately that’s not why we created this training station.”

I think of running the streets and alleys of the Grid as a little girl, using them to train in much the same way as this maze of mirrors. But back then I’d only had my brothers and sisters to pretend they were my Alt. This replica is much closer to the real thing, would test me on a whole other level.

“And measuring nearly two thousand square feet in size, the station can also accommodate more than one Alt per training session,” the Operator says, a proud parent, “and therefore a variety of replicas. Such scenarios won’t happen in the natural environment, but it’s a unique option that only our elite mirror program can offer.”

“An Alt learning to chase down one that isn’t their own?” I shake my head. The idea is exactly as he says—not natural. “Why?”

“I believe what the program designer had in mind was for the kids to achieve a sense of camaraderie, which is loosely connected to the release of endorphins to produce a performance ‘high’ that can help during completions.”

My stomach is in knots. The way he talks about completions … as if they are a
sport.
“How do you change the settings?” I ask, still looking at my Alt if only so the Operator can’t guess how his words unnerve me. A handful of pixels on her cheek is darker than the rest—a reflection of my scar. “To go from being the chaser to being chased?”

He points to a control panel mounted on one of the mirrors at the maze’s entrance. “Stripping the code resets it. Though, again, teaching our Alts how to be the aggressor is why we designed this program. There is little room in the maze for those who hide.”

If I wasn’t sure before, I am now. These Board idles … they are the ones. They are worthy.

I poke my finger into the girl’s eye and the replica of my Alt dissolves into nothing; I wish it were as easy as that to pretend she never existed in the first place.

I brush past the Operator on my way out of the maze. “I’m leaving. I don’t need to hear anymore.” Home calls,
Chord calls,
and I desperately want to get away from here.

Whatever he sees on my face convinces him there’s no point arguing, and his expression is as pleasant as it was when he first walked into that meeting room. The same way the surface of a lake looks inviting, until you dive in and your breath is taken away at just how cold it is beneath.

He passes me a small, white, round disk. Nothing on it except for a bar code. “Scan this with your cell when you’re ready to talk. You have until morning to make your decision. I hope I’ve managed to convince you to make the right one.”

I take the disk and stuff it carelessly into my pocket. “And if I make the wrong one? Am I supposed to believe you’ll be fine with that?” Because I know the dangerous truth now. That even the Board can’t guarantee that the system always works.

“If that’s the case, then we’ll consider the offer void and without repercussions of any sort.” A chill in those hazel eyes. Then slowly, deliberately, he continues. “Of course, circumstances might change if we find that details have leaked.”

My skin crawls at the meaning behind his words. They fill me with grim premonition, the sense that my life has again altered forever. I stalk past him and head for the door that connects to the training room. The way out. There’s another closer door that opens to the outer hall, but it’s still pulled shut.

“Wait here,” the Operator says to my back. His voice isn’t raised, but irritation filters through, anyway. I’m not supposed to be left alone, to navigate freely through the Board’s territory. “Someone will lead—”

I yank at the closed door, suddenly not wanting to see all those stations again, and dart out into the hall. Half running down the wing, I will myself not to fall apart, not here. The sound of my footsteps in the hall is desperate, my breathing more ragged than I want to admit. I dash across the amber-lit lobby, that cavernous trap of a wide-open room, and burst through the revolving front door as though I’m being chased.

And I
am
being chased. By guilt over the ghosts of the Alts I’ve killed, by what I’m already starting to consider.

Considering the Board’s offer means no longer being able to see the people seated around me on the outer ward train as just people. They’re now reduced to
maybe thems.
I don’t know what those Alts—my potential strikes—look like. They can be anywhere, anyone.

Perhaps the girl near the front of the train, the one sleeping in her seat with her platinum hair half shielding her face. Or the boy across from me, reading on his cell while hearing nothing but the music blasting into his ears. Both would be easy to kill. Not
girl
or
boy
but each a
target.

It’s an ugly view, but a familiar one, too.

And then there’s what’s behind me—
who’s
behind me.

Two parents with a little kid. She’s got a messy bob of light brown hair, eyes nearly the same shade. Her face is round and unassuming and still way too young to fully realize what’s in store for her.

She doesn’t look much like me when I was that young. Or like Ehm, either. Still. I’m hyperaware of her sitting in the seat behind me. When she laughs, the sound leaves me bewildered, curious … and thinking of Chord.

Kids. A mix of him and me, the two others absolutely insignificant in this moment. How dominant would Chord’s features be, compared to mine? Where would one give and another take? Would they be stubborn, smart, skilled?

The train pulls to a stop at the station. I make my way to the door and step off onto the streets of the Grid.

It’s raining and completely dark out now and I pull my hood over my head. An inner ward train blasts by without stopping, heading down the same direction I need to go, and I swear under my breath. A particularly cool rivulet of rain runs down the side of my face and I decide not to wait until the next train comes. I want an end to this day.

Across the street is a café, its windows steamed from the cooking going on inside. It reminds me that I’ve missed dinner, the takeout container still on the couch in that meeting room. I’m no longer hungry in the least.

By the time I turn onto my street, I’m hunched over and soaked through and silently cursing the rain. Even this close to summer there’s not much relief. My own fault for not carrying an umbrel—

“West.”

My name comes out from the dark. He’s standing in front of my house right beneath the burnt-out streetlamp.

“Chord?” I call out. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. I was just coming over to see if you were home,” he says, stepping out from the shadows and closing the distance between us. It’s true; he obviously wasn’t planning on going any farther—he’s just as jacketless as he was when I left him back at school, despite the rain. It’s thinning his T-shirt, revealing the hard planes of his chest, dampening his brown hair. He’s smiling anyway, despite the question in his eyes. “You weren’t answering your cell …”

“What?” My hand automatically goes for my jeans pocket before I remember that I turned it off earlier, when I was waiting in the meeting room. I forgot to turn it back on.

“Sorry, I guess it must have died,” I lie. “But you have a house key …” I gave it to him for emergencies, but now that I think about it, he’s never used it. Though his place is so messy with all his tech projects lying around in different stages of progress as he waits for a certain part to show up. “Did you lose it?”

“No, of course not,” he says with a low laugh. “And I can tell you were just picturing my room—”

I have to smile back. “I was, yes.”

“That key is one thing I’m careful to keep track of, West.” His eyes gleam a bit beneath the lamplight.

“That’s good,” I say, my pulse taking a little leap.

“And, well, as much as I wanted to see you, it didn’t feel right to call that an emergency.”

“Like tempting fate, or something?”

“Something.”

“But now you’re all wet. You should have just waited for me to call—”

Chord comes closer, pulls me to him. “Hi,” he says, interrupting me.

“Hi.” So good to feel him again.

He kisses me. Rain washes over our faces, mingling with our lips, the heat from our mouths. My hands are on the back of his neck, where his skin is still warm.

Our kids could be free … but it’s too late for me.

I shiver, and Chord feels it, wraps me up tighter. “It
is
kind of cold out here,” he says, laughing. “I’m ready to head inside if you are.”

I grab towels from the hall closet and bring them to the kitchen. Chord’s deep in the fridge, looking for something we can eat.

“I’m sorry, Chord,” I say to his back, placing the towels down on the counter. I start unwrapping the gauze from around my wrists; it got damp from the rain, the feel of it now chilly and clammy. I don’t bother covering up my marks when we’re alone. “I … you’re not going to find much in the fridge.”

Chord emerges, a container in his hand. He looks at me questioningly. I only shake my head. “Don’t eat that,” I tell him. “That’s old.”

“How old?”

“I can’t remember what it is.”

He chucks it back in the fridge, shuts the door. “You do know food’s a good thing to keep in the house, right?”

I pass him a towel. Instead of using it to dry his hair, he reaches over and starts in on mine. My dark hair goes everywhere, loose and wild. It’s growing back, playing catch-up after I cut and dyed it back in the winter. When I needed to be someone else to kill my Alt.

“Sorry,” I say again to Chord. “If it makes you feel better, I do keep my other kitchen well stocked.”

“Yeah?”

“It’s just five houses down from here, believe it or not.”

He grins, tosses the towel on the counter behind me. “We
could
go back to my place, but it’s raining even harder out now. And I brought the rest of my math homework to finish for tomorrow. Ordering pizza okay with you?”

“Sure. Go crazy with the toppings.” I’m hungry now; things feel almost normal, buffered by the familiarity of my surroundings.

You have until morning to come to a decision.

“Still?” Chord takes out his cell, taps in the order.

“Still.” My attempt to sound fine, to wipe away the Operator’s voice continuing to sound in my head.

“Idle pizza or not, I kind of miss it. You know, the kind where I could tell what I was actually eating, mystery meat aside.” He places his cell on the counter.

“Humor me?” I’m not used to being a complete yet. I can’t help but order as much as possible from the complete menu, with its better-quality food. Whatever I decide to eat now is only restricted by what I can afford to spend. And I still have my striker savings.

Chord’s turned on the kitchen news screen, and even as I turn to see what’s on, my cell thrums in my jeans pocket. One long purr that lasts for a good ten seconds.

Chord looks down at his own cell. It’s humming, too.

It’s a citywide news file being released by the Board. Announcing the fulfillment of a black contract.

Rebels.

Strikers.

Like me.

We both pick up our cells, tap them awake, and read the words as they scroll by.

A complete was caught and killed while digging a tunnel underneath the barrier in Calden Ward. A small tunnel that he would cover up with plywood and a layer of fresh turf before going back to work on his farm for the rest of the day. Six years of furtive, secretive work, gone just like that.

The funny thing is, the guy wasn’t trying to leave Kersh—he was building the tunnel for someone from the Surround to enter the city. He claimed that a voice in his head kept talking to him about someone preparing to come to the city, this safe haven. The voice said if he didn’t help this person get in, Bad Things Would Happen.

“Something happened on my tour that I never told you about, West,” Chord says quietly, startling me so I look up from the news file on my cell. “Out there along the barrier.”

He’s watching the news screen, where the same news file on our cells is playing out. Just words, no picture of Level 2’s latest contract. My guess is the Board chose not to publish photos or videos this time because his mistake was made out of goodwill—to someone in the Surround, yes, but it’s obvious there was no true intent to harm Kersh.

I move to stand next to Chord, wondering what he’s reading behind the words on the screen, ones I can’t see, having never gone on tour myself. His tone was uncertain, as if he wasn’t sure what to say.

“No, you never mentioned that,” I say.

“Usually we just walked back and forth along the Kersh side of the barrier, from one end of our sector to the next,” he begins. “Just … walking, gun in hand, scope with the other in case we needed to take a closer look at anything in the Belt or the Surround just beyond it. Once, when I was close to finishing my tour—it must have been about three weeks in—the Surround set off a series of flares.” Chord finally looks at me. “Remember the last time we saw flares on Fireton Street?”

The name takes me back to that run-down house where Luc died. But now it’s also where Chord had his first tour. East side of Jethro, just off Fireton, BPS24J.

“Fireton.” I say it out loud, try to normalize it, make it nothing. Julis would be proud of me, I think. “I remember, yes.”

“It was like that, but brighter, since I was so much closer this time. I pushed my way through these crazy kaiberry bushes that had grown as tall as my shoulder, and this huge tree, all silvery and really kind of beautiful—the only one I’ve ever seen like that, I still don’t know what kind of tree it was—to get even closer to the barrier to watch. There was a clear path through the Belt on the other side. Short, but still clear enough to pretend I wasn’t staring directly into the Surround. If I blurred my eyes the right way, it was just this perfect, open path.” His bemused smile makes me feel sad. “Baer would’ve kicked my ass if he were there, seeing how distracted I was,” Chord says.

“How close did you get to the barrier? Chord, the electricity …”

“I didn’t touch it … at first.”

My heart leapt in fear.
“Chord.”
It’s not unheard of for cleaning to find the occasional body out there, sometimes actual incompletes but more often than not a careless active or idle blackened to a crisp. Get too close to the barrier and you risk getting charred to death. There’re signs up along the barrier, all along its circumference—
remember the barrier is charged do not touch thank you the board
—but no one in Kersh needs to be reminded. It’s a part of life, just like knowing that all restaurants have both a complete and an idle menu from which to order.

“Well, I got close enough that I should have smelled something burning, and I don’t mean the smoke from the flares, either,” Chord says. “I mean, I know how strong the barrier’s currents are. But there was nothing, and that was wrong.

“Then I realized what I had in my pocket. I’d left it in there from the day before. It was a new piece I was playing with, trying for a new kind of key-code disrupter. Like the one I made for you when you were active.”

I think of the cool, smooth strip, made of mesh and wire. How I’d hold it against my palm to break open locks of houses. “Why would you want to make another one?”

“Why did Luc and I ever make any of the crap we made?” He shrugs. “Just because we could.”

The memory of how they’d claim victory with each new contraption, even if no one else could understand the purpose of it or showed much more than a passing interest. “Okay, that’s true.”

“So this new key-code disrupter was in my pocket, and I think it was reading something inside of me—
using
it—that let it temporarily neutralize the barrier’s charge.”

“Using something inside of you? What do you mean?”

“Whatever’s left of my Alt code inside my head. The spent shell of it, I guess you could say. And the dead code would be the bullet, already shot and fired.”

“I still don’t understand.”

“It’s the same way your old disrupter used your striker marks to scramble lock systems long enough for you to get inside a house. It took a single material and used it as a conductor to make something happen, right? So this new disrupter does the same thing, except it uses whatever’s left of my Alt code to
stop
something from happening.”

“The barrier’s charge,” I say through numb lips. It’s finally starting to sink in. “The new disrupter used the remnants of your Alt code to temporarily neutralize it.”

“Yeah. The barrier will no longer burn us, but it won’t keep us safe, either—as long as we have the disrupter on us.”

“Can only completes do this?” I ask. “What about an idle or active with an Alt code that’s still working? Could the disrupter use the whole thing as a conductor to neutralize the barrier’s charge?” I can’t help but picture that guy who was just on the news, caught trying to break through. Bad enough to imagine even one complete without Chord’s sense of caution or logic somehow accessing that kind of disrupter and using it, thinking he was actually helping Kersh. The idea of the whole entire city suddenly capable of doing the same thing was bone-chilling.

Chord shakes his head. “It’s not built to conduct more than one material at a time. And the Alt code and whatever gets left behind after it’s used up are made up of slightly different components. Like a bullet and its shell.”

At least there’s that, then. “So completes will still burn up if they get too close—unless they have the disrupter to temporarily neutralize the barrier’s charge.”

“Exactly.”

“In a way, it’ll be as though
we
go neutral, too,” I say slowly. “Because for those few minutes our Alt codes are probably completely neutralized. It would be as if we aren’t even Alts.”

Chord grabs my hand in understanding. “West, I touched the barrier.”

I squeeze his hand, rub my thumb over the healthy, unburned skin. My hand is shaking. Anger at what he risked wars with relief that he’s okay—relief wins. “That’s one sentence no one in Kersh has ever said before, I bet.” I blow out a long sigh. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I never said anything because … well, at first I thought I was losing it. All that alone time on watch. Then after I was sure it really happened, I didn’t say anything because I was worried what you’d do, if you knew.” Chord frowns at me, touches the side of my face. “You were just starting to see Julis, and then there’s Dire, you know? I know you trust him, but I don’t. That disrupter puts Kersh in danger—what if the Surround learned about it and tried to use it to break in?”