Intermix Nation

Nazirah searches the room for inspiration. “Because,” she says, “it’s old and secondhand and dirty.”

  Adamek chuckles. He rests his hands in his lap. “There’s nothing wrong with getting a little dirty.”

  Nazirah flushes. She has heard the rumors, the dreaded girl talk, especially in the lavatory. Girls obsessed about his perfect looks, perfectly high cheekbones, perfectly straight teeth, the way his perfect hair perfectly flips … blah freaking blah. Originally, they whispered about it when in her presence. But now, no one bothers to hide what they think of perfect Adamek Morgen. And it irritates Nazirah no end.

  How can they forget everything bad he’s done, just because of how he looks? Are they blind? Can’t they see that that is part of it all? Part of the way he lures people in? He disarms docile dolts with charm and confidence before leading them to the slaughterhouse.

  “Aren’t we chatty today.”

  Nazirah snaps out of it. “I was focusing on this essay … before I was interrupted.” She sighs, looking distastefully at her notepad. Nazirah feels an unwelcome rant coming on. “I don’t get it!” she complains. “You can’t be that much older than me and you have been here a hell of a lot shorter. Why don’t you have to go through this ridiculous training?”

  Adamek looks at her like she is delusional. “I don’t need training,” he says.

  “That excuse didn’t work for me.”

  “I have friends in high places.”

  “I’m sure you do,” she scoffs, thinking of how chummy he is with her brother. Nazirah is suddenly very interested in her fingernails. “How old are you, anyway?”

  “Why?” he asks suspiciously.

  “Just … curious.”

  “Nineteen,” he says, after a moment.

  Nazirah is shocked that he is that young. He looks that young, but she always imagined him older. “Oh,” she says. “I’m eighteen.”

  “I know.”

  “Oh.” Why is she even asking him this?

  “Your face has healed.”

  Nazirah touches the spot above her eyebrow where there used to be stitches. She’s forgotten she has not seen him since before Bilungi removed those, leaving not even a trace of a scar. Her split lip from Grum has healed as well. “A few weeks ago,” she says.

  It’s so surreal, this almost-conversation they’re having. Adamek glances at the books scattered around her again, trying to read some of the titles. “What are you writing about?”

  “The proper way to tape up your wrists.”

  The corners of his eyes crinkle in amusement. “I’m not surprised you need this many sources.”

  “It’s an informational essay.”

  Adamek snorts, picking up the nearest book. His face blanches when he reads the title. He thumbs through the pages. “You’re researching the Medis?”

  “It’s for Territory History,” she says.

  “Mediah isn’t a territory,” he counters.

  “It’s just an assignment,” Nazirah says. “I didn’t exactly attend class much, when I first … came here. I’ve had all these makeup essays to do.”

  “Ileana would pull something like this.”

  “Ileana?”

  “Bairs,” Adamek says, closing the book thoughtfully. “She’s from Mediah, you know.”

  “I didn’t,” Nazirah says, surprised.

  “Our families are old friends. Her mother is very sick.” He hands the book back to her. “Until next time, Nazi.”

  Nazirah holds onto the book, not taking it from him. “Where did you hear that name?”

  “Around.”

  “You’re not going to tell me?”

  “Let’s just say you have even less friends here than I do,” Adamek says. “No idea why, since you have such a winning personality.”

  Nazirah wrests the book from him, about to make some sarcastic comment. Her focus shifts when she sees Adamek’s sleeve roll up, revealing his Medi tattoo. He rises to leave, but Nazirah grabs his wrist, stopping him. She stands quickly.

  “Morgen, your tattoo,” Nazirah says, staring. “It’s different.”

  “Different?” he asks, tensing.

  Nazirah quickly flips through the book he just handed her, where she knows she has recently read about the Median tattoo. She finds the page, triumphantly showing it to him. “Look here, see?” She points to a picture in the textbook. “It’s supposed to look like this, a pair of crossed swords with the word ‘Merus,’ meaning ‘pure,’ under it. Yours is more ragged around the edges, kind of blotchy and deformed.” She leans forward to inspect it further, but he pulls his arm away.

  “So the book is wrong,” he says coldly. “Drop it.”

  “But if the book is wrong about this insignificant thing,” Nazirah argues, confused by his anger, “then who knows what else we’re wrong about? You could tell Nikolaus –”

  He grabs her wrist. “Listen, little girl,” he says, “if you want to keep that pretty head of yours, which talks without considering the consequences, then don’t involve yourself in situations beyond your intermix comprehension.”

  A hush settles over the library. Its few occupants openly stare at the two of them, all pretenses of reading thrown aside.

  “Let go of me,” Nazirah hisses. “Or I swear you’ll be sorry.”

  “At least then I’d know you’ve put our lesson to good use.” Adamek releases her wrist and looks at her meaningfully before leaving.

  #

  “Cato, come over here for a second!”

  Nazirah sits down beside Lumi on the grassy hill, watching the recruits kick a ball around. Cato breaks from the game and trots over to them. He wipes his forehead with his shirt, breathing hard. “Hey, guys. Did you finish your essay, Irri?”

  “Almost,” Nazirah replies. “Show me your arm for a minute, will you?” Cato looks at her curiously, shrugging as he extends his right arm. “No, the other one.”

  Cato extends his other arm, revealing his Eridian tattoo. Nazirah grabs it, looking closer. She notes with disappointment that the fish silhouette looks exactly like always. “What are you looking for?” he asks.

  “Never mind,” she sighs.

  “Are you sure?” jokes Cato. “Because I have several other extremities you’re welcome to inspect.”

  “You’re sick,” she says, laughing. “Go back to losing your game.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Cato gives them a short salute and then runs away. Nazirah turns to Lumi. “Can I see yours?” she asks.

  Lumi nods, sticking her arm out so Nazirah can look. The black crescent moon of Zima appears exactly like what Nazirah has read about. It seems that the history books are accurate after all, which means Adamek’s tattoo is the enigma. Nazirah tries to recall when she saw him in the prison, or that night in the workout room. Did it look different then? She can’t remember.

  They watch the game for a few minutes in awkward silence. Lately, Lumi has been more sullen than usual. Nazirah wonders if Cato has anything to do with it. “I just don’t get it,” Lumi scoffs, shaking her head.

  “Don’t get what, Lumi?”

  “You,” Lumi snaps. “I don’t get you.”

  “Me?”

  “You’re such a walking hypocrite,” Lumi rants. “One day you’re miserable, then you’re happy. One day you’re a doe-eyed, orphaned little virgin, and then you’re an ass-kicking whore. You’re so hard to read.”

  Lumi’s words sting, but she’s just being honest. Nazirah can tell Lumi isn’t trying to hurt her; she’s just telling her how she feels. And a part of Nazirah sees the truth in her words. “I didn’t realize I came across like that,” she mumbles.

  “Of course you don’t,” Lumi sighs. “Why would you? I just don’t get what everyone sees in you. What makes you the special one? You’re not the only one who crap has happened to. You’re not the only one who ever lost someone.”

  Lumi lost her mother when she was only a child. And her entire family has been uprooted from their home. Nazirah feel
s ashamed that she has never asked about any of it. She says, “We can talk about –”

  “Don’t,” Lumi interrupts. “Just … don’t.”

  Nazirah clasps her hands together. They sit there, silently, watching Taj kick the ball between two designated garbage cans. He whoops enthusiastically, stretches his arms out, pretending to soar around the field. Everybody cheers.

  “I miss her,” Lumi says suddenly. “I didn’t appreciate her until I lost her. I’m so lost now. I wish I could talk to her again.”

  Nazirah understands exactly how Lumi feels. “I know,” she says simply.

  “I know why you were asking before,” Lumi says, “about the tattoos. I noticed it too.”

  “Noticed what, exactly?”

  “Oh please, Nazirah,” Lumi scoffs, fidgeting with a strand of blond hair. She seems uncomfortable. “You’re not the only one here with a brain and two eyes. Adamek’s tattoo; it’s unusual.”

  “You saw it too, Lumi?” Nazirah asks, excited.

  “Obviously.”

  “Do you know why it’s abnormal?”

  “No idea.” Lumi shrugs her shoulders gently and Nazirah’s hopes deflate. “He’s got so many tattoos I didn’t even notice at first. But I noticed his dusza right away. That’s pretty impossible to miss.”

  Dusza? Nazirah has never heard the term before. “What’s a doo-shah?” Nazirah asks, trying to pronounce it correctly.

  “Really, Nazirah?” asks Lumi, peeved. “Didn’t you learn anything from your research on Zima?”

  Nazirah looks at her guiltily.

  “His dusza … his soul tattoos.”

  Now Nazirah is beyond lost. “His what?”

  “It’s an ancient tradition of ours,” Lumi says, “like the scratch marks on his hands. I can’t explain it too well to a southerner. Centuries ago, before our warriors fought in battle, they received the dusza. It’s an extremely painful ordeal, but it offered them protection, so they did it.”

  “Protection from their enemies?”

  Lumi shakes her head. “Zimans believe that when you kill, you lose a part of your soul. “The dusza … it’s an old wives’ tale that almost nobody takes seriously anymore. If you have it and you kill another, it’s supposed to protect you. Your soul remains intact. But it comes at a terrible price: unbearable guilt, the burden for the lives you’ve taken.”

  “Why would Morgen care about getting Ziman soul tattoos?”

  “Search me.” Lumi shrugs. “Like I said, it’s a fable, a bedtime story every Ziman child grows up with. I almost didn’t believe he actually had it, when I first saw it.”

  “Lumi,” Nazirah asks curiously, “I’ve never seen this dusza on Morgen. Where exactly is it?”

  Lumi stiffens. “On his back,” she says.

  “When did you see his back?”

  “God,” Lumi sighs, looking away in embarrassment. Nazirah gets an unsettling feeling in the pit of her stomach, as Adamek’s words ring in her head.

  Don’t ask a question, if you don’t want to know the answer.

  “Oh,” Nazirah says, realizing.

  Lumi faces Nazirah, unusually vulnerable. “Don’t tell Cato, okay?”

  “So you and Morgen are uh … dating?”

  Lumi frowns. “No, Nazirah. We’re not dating.”

  “But –”

  “I really don’t get it!” Lumi interrupts, throwing up her hands. “I thought it was all an act, but you really are that naïve.” Lumi stands, wiping invisible specks of dirt from her legs. Nazirah remains seated, face aflame. This is the second time someone has said that to her recently. It must be true. “Cato cares about you a lot, you know,” Lumi says, before leaving. “Don’t mess it up.”

  Nazirah sits alone on the grass, trying to decipher her torrent of clashing emotions. She feels compassion for Lumi, uneasiness about Adamek, and embarrassment for herself. But there’s more to it than that. Trapped in thought, she distantly watches the final plays of the ball game. A wave of sickening revulsion surges over her, once Nazirah pinpoints exactly what else she’s feeling.

  Jealousy.

  Chapter Nine

  Nazirah walks into Territory History exactly one minute early. She was holed up in the library all last night, finishing her essay on Mediah. The rest of the class is already there, but Bairs is uncharacteristically late.

  The recruits are lounging around, relaxing. They laugh and sit on desks, speaking easily with one another. Nazirah spots Cato and Lumi towards the back of the room. She heads over to them and takes an empty seat next to Cato. Nazirah motions towards the Bear’s empty desk. “What’s going on?” she asks.

  “No one knows,” Taj replies, a few seats away. He raps on the desk with his fists, drumming an energetic beat to kill time.

  Hadn’t Adamek said over the weekend that Bairs’s mother was very ill? Nazirah wonders if Bairs is visiting her or something.

  Nazirah pulls out her finished paper in frustration. She holds it up, showing it to Cato. “Figures.”

  Cato smiles sympathetically. “That’s the way it goes.”

  Nazirah gets up and walks towards Bairs’s desk, wanting to at least put her paper into the inbox. The classroom door opens and Adamek walks in, holding a silver briefcase. He heads straight to the front of the room and sets the briefcase down on the desk. The class immediately goes silent.

  Adamek doesn’t need to tell people to take their seats, doesn’t need to say a word. The recruits automatically rush to find empty desks. Nazirah is left standing in the front of the room, staring blankly, paper in hand. Adamek smirks at her. “Questions already?” he asks.

  Nazirah pulls herself together, quickly walking the rest of the way to the desk. From the corner of her eye, she sees him enter a four digit code onto the briefcase’s keypad, unlocking it. Nazirah files the numbers away in her mind, placing her paper in Bairs’s inbox. “I was handing this in,” she mutters, not bothering to wait for a response before returning to her seat.

  Lumi seems extremely uncomfortable and avoids looking at Adamek. He doesn’t even spare her a glance. Anger boils inside of Nazirah. It’s so typical of guys like Adamek to sleep with a girl and then move on to someone new. Nazirah shoots him a scathing look, which of course he notices.

  “At the request of your Commanders,” Adamek says, his voice confident and easy, “I’ll be teaching this class for a while. Professor Bairs has taken an indefinite leave of absence.” The class whispers, until Adamek silences it with a look. “Now I, personally, don’t give a shit about the nuances of each territory.” Adamek touches the briefcase lightly. Nazirah recognizes it from Niko’s desk. “Though I’m sure there are many. As you are undoubtedly aware, the Medis have extraordinarily advanced technology, military, and medicine. But I don’t think you realize exactly how advanced.” He opens the case. All the recruits in the class crane their necks, trying to get a better look.

  “What is it?” asks Anzares, from the front row.

  “When Medi soldiers train for battle,” Adamek says, “they often prepare by using this device, called an Iluxor. Does anyone know what an Iluxor is?” He looks around the room, but no one raises a hand. “Nation?” He singles Nazirah out, picking up her research paper and flipping through it casually. “No idea? I know from our conversation this weekend how interested you are in Mediah.”

  A classroom of eyes swings to Nazirah, shocked. Not many people know she and Adamek are on speaking terms. And they’re not … not really. Adamek is just trying to embarrass her, getting back at Nazirah for questioning his tattoo. Cato goes stiff beside her, looking carefully between the two of them. Nazirah unfortunately does remember reading about the Iluxor. “It helps soldiers channel and overcome their fears,” she says.

  “Correct,” Adamek says, taking out a syringe full of clear liquid. “Any idea how?”

  “No,” she snaps.

  Adamek holds up the syringe. “This is a complex neurological serum. Once in the bloodstream, it stimulates the neurons in
your brain associated with fear and memory. Used simultaneously with the actual Iluxor” – Adamek holds up what appears to be a large cube of glass – “which detects these enhanced brainwaves through sensory vibration – and under the guidance of someone who actually knows what he’s doing – we can channel these waves directly into the brain’s occipital lobe, allowing you to temporarily relive certain memories.”

  The entire class stares at Adamek blankly.

  Ansel Mays raises his hand. “So … we can watch our memories play inside our heads?”

  “Basically,” Adamek confirms, placing everything back into the case and locking it.

  A buzz of excitement goes through the class. The recruits look at the Iluxor in awe. No one from the territories has ever seen technology like this, has ever imagined something like this existed.

  “What’s the point of this?” Cato scoffs, unimpressed.

  “Soldiers of Mediah normally use the Iluxor to channel their worst memories and, by extension, their biggest fears,” Adamek explains. “It’s widely believed that, by replaying these memories over and over, you eventually become immune to them. You can theoretically overcome all of your fears, making you a better warrior, able to fight independently of fear. Your Commanders have asked me to familiarize you with this technique, so that when the time comes, you will be ready.”

  “This is ridiculous,” Cato huffs.

  Nazirah agrees. She might expect this of Gloom and Doom, but of her brother? She can’t believe Niko actually sanctioned Adamek teaching them Medi war techniques! And why? So they could become fearless killers in battle? They are already walking the fine line between Medi and rebel.

  Nazirah looks apprehensively at the case. She knows exactly what her worst memory is.

  “Now,” Adamek says, as though reading Nazirah’s mind, “since none of you have ever been exposed to something like this before, you won’t see any heavily fear-driven memories today. And because this is obviously extremely personal, I’ll be assisting recruits individually.” Adamek lifts up the briefcase and begins calling them forward alphabetically from memory. “Adams.”

  A scrawny boy to Nazirah’s left gets up hesitantly and follows Adamek out the door. Once they are gone, the class bursts into intense conversation.