Sulan, Episode 1: The League

  ***

  I drift off again, though my rest is disturbed by nightmares of the League and Imugi. I wake up bathed in cold sweat, determined not to fall asleep anymore.

  “Hank,” I whisper. “Hank, are you awake?”

  “Yeah.” She opens eyes that are red and puffy from crying. I wonder if she’s crying over Billy, our capture, or both.

  “You okay?” It’s a stupid question, but I ask it anyway.

  Hank shrugs. “Yeah.” She shifts, turning as much onto her side as the cuffs allow. “I’ve never seen anyone do math the way you do. How come you never told me you can do all those complex equations in your head?”

  “I don’t like anyone knowing.” And now every whacko in Vex knows.

  “Why don’t you get better grades?”

  “I mark wrong answers on purpose.”

  Silence. Then, “You’re really lucky, Sulan. You’ve got a gift.”

  I know she’s right. I feel guilty for resenting my gift.

  “Sulan?”

  “Yeah?”

  She glances at the drones, and I know she’s picking her words carefully. She drops her voice to a whisper.

  “If for some reason you make it out of here and I don’t, can you do something for me?”

  “Don’t talk like that,” I say. “We’re all going to make it out of here. . . . Global is going to rescue us.” I tack on that last part for the benefit of the drones, just in case anyone is listening closely.

  “I never told you this before, about my scholarship to Virtual High School,” Hank says. “My family fell on hard times with the climate change. We were three days away from being homeless when I passed the entrance exams. Claudine knew I couldn’t attend school if I was living in a gutter, so she made arrangements. She gave my parents jobs at Global in the cafeteria.” Hank swallows, and I see how difficult it is for her to tell me this. “So long as I keep a three-point-eight GPA, Global keeps my parents employed. If I get straight As, they send us a bonus check. If I get higher than a four point O, we get a double bonus. The three of us bring home just enough money to cover food and rent.”

  I’m so astounded that I can’t think of a single thing to say. All my desperation to spend every spare moment in the Cube, all my desire to become a fighter—it all seems so childish. All I’ve ever worried about is hiding my math talent and training, while all this time Hank’s been worried about the security of her family.

  I think of Hank’s ferocity when it comes to her studies, about her single-minded drive. All this time I thought it was because she was passionate about her work, about succeeding. And maybe that’s part of it, but what it really boils down to is the survival of her family.

  “Why didn’t you tell me any of this before?” I ask.

  “It’s not something I like to talk about. But I’ve got a little brother and two parents to look out for. If I don’t make it out of here, I don’t know what Claudine and Mr. Winn will do with them. The only reason they get to go to the Livermore compound is because of me. Will you promise to look out for them?”

  “I promise.” It hurts to say the words, to even admit that we might not all escape. “I’ll make sure they don’t end up on the street.” Dad should be able to pull strings to make sure they stay on the compound roster.

  “Thanks.” Some of the tension leaves Hank’s body—some, but not all of it. “Anything you want me to take care of, if you don’t make it out of here?”

  “I don’t want to talk about this anymore,” I say. “Let’s—”

  I snap my mouth shut at the sound of approaching footsteps. The door opens and four people enter, three men and one woman. Each carries a tray with a large glass of water and a covered plate. Even from ten feet away, I smell the food. I’m shocked when the lids are lifted to reveal mashed potatoes, sautéed vegetables, sliced steak, and garlic bread. This is fresh food, not preserved stuff from a can. I usually only eat like this on holidays.

  The plates are placed on the cots between our ankles. There’s a beeping sound, and our wrist cuffs are freed. We all sit up, even though our ankles are still stuck to the metal railings. I get my first good look at Taro since he lost his finger. He cradles his injured hand against his body, and there’s a tightness around his eyes. I smile at him, and I am relieved when he smiles back.

  The Leaguers leave us to our meal. My mouth waters. There’s no silverware, so we dig in with our hands.

  “Guess they want us to go to auction with a full stomach,” I say.

  “Food is food,” Hank says.

  That’s when I notice Taro is eating everything except his steak. “Are you saving the best for last?” I ask.

  He shakes his head. “I don’t eat meat.”

  It takes a full ten seconds for this to sink in. “You don’t eat meat?”

  “No.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t believe in killing things.”

  I must be staring at him completely cross-eyed, because he says, “Just because my dad made me into a killing machine doesn’t mean I like it. At least I have control over what I eat. And I prefer not to eat dead animals.”

  I don’t know what to say to this. With food so scarce, I’ve never been in a position to be picky, but Taro’s choice isn’t about pickiness. I am struck by the breadth of his sheer goodness. He is, by far, the strangest boy I’ve ever met.

  “Maybe you should make an exception this time,” Hank says. “Why say no to a good steak when it’s probably the last good meal you’ll ever have? Besides, you may need your strength.”

  “What good are convictions if I can’t hold onto them in a moment of crisis?” Taro says. “If anything, it’s more important that I don’t eat meat right now.”

  Billy’s full attention is on Taro. “Can I have your steak?” he asks.