“I believe I can do more good as a doctor, ma’am,” Leslie replied stiffly. “Unless you disagree?”
“No, no, not at all. It is just that I happen to know your source for mental manipulation is one of the most powerful we have. It would be a shame to not use it.” The doctor paused. “You are showing remarkable proficiency with the ability already. I am sure Cadet Karmine would agree. Perhaps I misspoke; having that talent in the medical profession could prove extremely beneficial, as you demonstrated earlier.”
Cressa emerged from behind the curtain, once again dressed in her regulation clothing.
“I would like to see you back in one week, Cadet Karmine. The more talents we implant, the more frequently my techs will need to perform checkups. We will also be tracking how your practical progress corresponds with the levels of abilities in your system.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Cressa replied automatically.
“Thank you for your time, Doctor Masterson. Follow me, Cadet,” Leslie said, turning towards the door without waiting for a response.
Cressa followed Leslie into the hallway of the med bay, expecting to find it deserted. Instead, she saw Gregor and another boy exiting a cubicle nearby. The boy’s golden hair was a messy wreath around his head. His eyes were downcast, staring at his feet as he trudged towards Leslie and Cressa.
“Cadet Leonard, how are you feeling? Much better, I trust?” Dr. Masterson asked, stepping into the hallway behind the girls.
The boy standing beside Gregor glanced up, his crystal-clear blue eyes expressionless. Cressa gasped audibly. Not because of the boy’s vacant gaze, but because she recognized the tanned face and patrician nose. She’d seen that face too many times to count, plastered on e-boards, cinne posters, and wallscreens. Cressa even had a collage of retro images of the boy on the wall of her bedroom back home, as did most females between the ages of eleven of twenty-five.
His name was Kev Leon. He’d been the most famous young actor on the planet before his tragic death, only a month before.
Talia
Vault, Isle of Exile
Four Days Before the Vote
As Victoria promised, a thick folder was waiting on my bed when I returned to my cell. My curiosity piqued, I grabbed the file and took it over to the small table in one corner of my cell. Over my morning meal of greenish goo—supposedly oatmeal made from kelp, sans oats—and seaweed bacon, I began flipping through the pages.
Yocum sat in his usual chair in the opposite corner, making little noncommittal grunts in response to the rhetorical comments I posed every so often. After consuming as much of the breakfast as my stomach could safely handle without revolting, I stretched out on the bed and continued perusing the dense file.
Several hours of arduous study later, my vision was blurry, and the urge to rip out my hair was strong. Somehow, I was only halfway through the exceptionally dull and redundant reading material. So far, I’d learned that a town in nowhere France had been experiencing frequent power outages in the last several months. The electric company was baffled.
Or maybe they were happy; my French was rusty.
Regardless, livestock in that same rural town were also disappearing at a rapid rate. Farmers believed thieves were making off with their animals during the night. Authorities were unconcerned with the sudden rise in cattle abductions, merely suggesting that the farmers breed the remaining cows more frequently.
Like I said, painfully boring stuff.
“I fail to see the point of this,” I said aloud. “Why on earth would I care about any of this nonsense? I mean, cow thievery? Is that even a real crime?”
Yocum reluctantly looked up from his communicator. Judging by his rapid thumb movements, he was playing a game that had him engrossed.
“A very serious one, depending on the location,” he said in his stoic tone. “In rural areas that are still heavily contaminated, edible meat and drinkable milk are rare. Large-scale cow thefts could create a food shortage.”
“I guess,” I agreed grudgingly. “But why does UNITED care? Shouldn’t they be more worried about…well, anything? Like the lack of real food on the islands. Let me tell you, plant-based meat is no substitute for the real deal. If the Isle’s livestock was disappearing, then I could understand Victoria’s interest. But why would she send me stuff about this?”
Yocum shrugged and returned to his game.
“Lot of help you are,” I grumbled, flipping to the next document in the file.
It was yet another I-pub that Victoria had printed out for me. This one was a newspaper article focused on one of the farmers, Franz Duquesne, more than the actual thefts. A familiar name jumped out at me immediately: Selby Masterson.
Where had I heard that name before?
“Selby. Selby Masterson,” I said aloud, trying to jog my own memory.
Nothing.
Maybe I’d read the name, not heard it spoken? I stared at the two words, willing my brain to provide some insight. I felt a tickle at the base of my skull. Yes, I had definitely seen that name.
“Do you know a Selby Masterson?” I asked Yocum.
Transfixed by whatever was taking place on his communicator’s screen, my babysitter didn’t look up.
“Nothing?” I prompted.
“Can’t say I have,” he muttered.
“Thanks, Nicci. I really don’t know what I’d do without you and your wildly helpful ways,” I grumbled. Yocum spared a shrug, and I returned my attention to the I-pub.
According to the article, Selby was a local townswoman the reporter interviewed for this particularly hard-hitting piece of journalistic work. Ms. Masterson went on record to say that Mr. Duquesne was “a bit unstable” and “prone to ranting.” Apparently, good ole Franz even believed he’d been the victim of several alien abductions.
“Maybe once I get out, Victoria will let me take a fieldtrip to France,” I said to the uninterested Yocum. “It’s not every day you get to look into the mind of an alien abductee. Franz’s head is probably a fascinating place.”
Yocum didn’t seem to find the prospect at all interesting. In fact, he couldn’t have been more disinterested in me and my boring new store of knowledge.
Staring intently at the guard, I was tempted to compel him into conversing with me. Finally, after ignoring my penetrating stare for an impressively long time, Agent Yocum tore his gaze from the communicator in his hands. His expression was uncharacteristically grim, as though someone had just plucked the feathers from his pet canary.
“Did you lose your latest round of Bubble Kingdom?” I asked, barely suppressing a smile. “Or, wait, have you been abducted by an alien before? Oh, please, please tell me that you—”
“Agent Kelley was attacked.”
My snarky follow-up died on my lips.
“W-what?” I stammered. “Is he okay? When? What the hell happened? Who attacked him? I will kill them.”
Every thought on Erik, I couldn’t contain the stream of questions, concern, and anger bubbling up inside of me.
Yocum slid his sunglasses up onto his head, revealing pinprick black pupils surrounded by colorless irises. The first time I’d seen his eyes, the sight had been so unnerving that I’d actually spit milk all over my lumpy fauxt-meal. With Erik’s wellbeing occupying every corner of my brain, I barely registered the oddness.
“Councilwoman Walburton told you earlier that Agent Kelley was scheduled to speak at a peace rally in Manhattan this morning?” Yocum prompted.
“Yes, she did,” I replied, willing him to get to the point.
“It appears he was attacked there, on his way from the helicopter to the stage.”
My heart skipped several beats. This couldn’t be happening.
Victoria had assured me that Erik was surrounded by bodyguards at all times. From her descriptions, my boyfriend couldn’t shower without an audience. So how the hell could someone get close enough to attack him?
“Where was Erik’s protection detail during the attack?” I pos
ed the question aloud. “Where was Miles? And Penny? Isn’t she with him? How badly is he injured? Oh, shit. Was Penny hurt, too?”
“Look, Talia…” Yocum began, gaze darting nervously around the small cell. There were no cameras in the interiors of the cell, only in the hallways of Vault, so I wasn’t sure what he was so worried about. Even if a camera with full audio was pointed directly at him with the entirety of UNITED’s council watching with rapt attention, I wouldn’t have cared.
“Don’t,” I snapped. “Don’t you dare tell me the information is classified. Erik is my boyfriend. My family. I have a right to know what happened.”
Yocum gritted his teeth. “It’s not classified, but you know I’m not supposed to share news with you. As far as you’re concerned, these four walls,” he made a circle with his index finger meant to encompass the cell, “are your world. That’s it, nothing else.”
I slammed my fist on the thin mattress, causing the springs to groan.
“Erik is my world,” I snapped. The still air in the cell began to stir, ruffling the papers strewn on my bed. My temper was rising too fast, my emotions entering the red zone. And still, even being cognizant of it, I didn’t care. This was Erik we were talking about.
“Just tell me how badly he was hurt. If he’s going to be okay. I deserve that much. If you won’t divulge that information willingly, I’ll—”
“Easy, inmate,” Yocum barked, interrupting my tirade. “You need to calm down. Now. Look at me, Natalia.”
The use of my full name caught me by surprise. Still seething, though not quite so ready to peck out Yocum’s pigment-free eyes, I met his hard gaze.
“You need to listen to me, Talia. You are a prisoner. The day you set foot on Vault, you lost every single right and privilege you’ve ever known. In case you haven’t noticed, you are locked inside a cell. The reason for that is because the council needs you to learn obedience and humility, both of which are obviously difficult concepts for you.
“Look, I get it, okay? Believe me, I really do. I’ve read your file. Your entire life, you’ve been given leeway because you’re special. Your gifts give you value to those in charge—way more than any other Talent on UNITED’s payroll. But in here, you’re just like every other criminal. The sooner you accept that, the easier the rest of your time on Vault will be.”
His speech left me torn between attacking Yocum and dissolving into a sobbing mess. Everything he’d said was true, and it hit me hard.
Both as a TOXIC operative and a UNITED agent, those in power had made allowances for my outbursts, attitude, and impetuous nature. I’d been granted special treatment because of my abilities. I wasn’t blind to that fact; my only worth to all of them was the power I wielded. And yes, following the rules had never been an area in which I excelled. Insubordination was the reason I was currently locked inside a tin can.
But Yocum was wrong about me losing all my rights the day I came to Vault. I’d lost them before I’d ever heard of the Isle of Exile. Possibly never even possessed them at all. Because I’d forfeited any semblance of freedom the day I’d joined TOXIC’s ranks. From there, it had just gone downhill. And every time I thought I’d hit rock bottom, the world had shown me how much lower I could fall.
Seeing the tears shimmering in my eyes, Yocum’s expression softened.
“Shit. Please don’t cry, Talia,” he said quickly. “Look, since the Councilwoman permits you updates on Agent Kelley…he wasn’t seriously injured in the attack. That’s all I’m saying, though.”
Using my powers to compel the rest of the story out of the guard would have been easy, but Victoria was right; I needed to be much more careful about using my abilities on Vault. I still would if I needed to, but the sight of me upset seemed to be effectively melting Nicci’s icy resistance. Even though the tears were genuine, I wasn’t above using them to my advantage. Especially not when it came to Erik. So, I let the waterworks flow, sniffing noisily for good measure.
“Please, will you just tell me what happened?” I asked in a small voice, a little afraid I was going overboard with the pathetic act.
Yocum’s jaw was set in a hard line. “Seriously? I just told you that I’ve read your file, Talia. You’re a trained assassin, you’re battle-tested, and you have a reputation for meeting a fight head-on. A few harsh words don’t result in tears for a girl like you.”
Ugh.
Okay, the superfluous sniffles might have been overboard. I probably should’ve gone with manipulation.
“How would you feel if it was your wife?” I asked, switching tactics. “Or one of your children? You’d want to know.”
Yocum sighed. “Of course I would.”
I stared at him pointedly, letting the guard wage his internal debate in silence.
The emotions pouring off of Yocum were conflicted. Despite his lecture, my guard did feel bad for me. Plus, my comment about his family had hit home.
“Fine,” he relented after several long moments of contemplation. “But you’d better not let on that you know anything, even with Victoria.”
“I won’t, I swear,” I quickly promised.
“Like I said, Agent Kelley wasn’t seriously hurt.” Yocum paused as he scrolled through the messages on his communicator. “Looks like he’s got a concussion, some scrapes and bruises, and a couple of stitches—nothing life-threatening.”
“That’s good news, I guess,” I replied, careful to keep the anxiety out of my voice.
Just then, Yocum’s communicator buzzed. Since he had the exact same comm that I did before being tossed in a cell, I knew it meant he had a new message. After a few taps of his thumb, Yocum’s expression turned grim again.
“What is it?” I demanded.
“I’m sure it’s just a precaution,” the guard hedged.
“What is it?” I repeated. Since his hesitancy to share was obvious, I threw caution to the wind and put the slightest bit of compulsion behind my words.
“UNITED is sending a specialist to New York—a neuro-talent medical expert,” Yocum replied automatically. “The alert doesn’t say why, just that the doctor and his team have been dispatched to the base where they’re treating Agent Kelley.” Yocum looked up, clearly confused.
That made two of us. A concussion wasn’t serious enough to warrant a specialist. Unless Erik’s brain was hemorrhaging. Tamping down the panic that was simmering within me, I locked eyes with Yocum’s watery gaze.
“Tell me about the attack,” I said, keeping the command light and using just enough authority to ensure compliance. Though I wasn’t overly concerned with the personal consequences—Erik was worth whatever the Vault guards did to me—the ramifications for Yocum kept me from launching a full-scale invasion into his mind. If my non-dormant abilities were exposed to anyone other than my three cohorts, they’d all go down with me.
“The official statement says that Agent Kelley and his protective detail were en route from the transport helicopter to the stage when a crowd member slipped through the barriers and assaulted him,” Yocum began, reading the info from his communicator. “From both eyewitness statements and footage shot by the news crews covering the event, it appears as though the assailant detonated an explosive. They’re not sure though, because what would’ve been the blast radius was quite small. If it was an explosion, it was a relatively weak one. Only Agent Kelley and those closest to him at the time were wounded.” Yocum glanced up. “Agent Penelope Crane…is that your friend Penny?”
I nodded, suddenly unable to find words. My best friend was almost as impossible to live without as Erik—I wouldn’t be able to handle it if she’d been seriously hurt.
“Agent Crane is on the list of those without injuries—she’s fine,” Yocum announced.
I sagged with relief. My best friend had been trained as a Brain, so she wasn’t exactly tough physically. Though cuts, scrapes, and even broken bones were not a big deal for Erik and me, they were for Penny. Even though she no longer stayed at home base behind a compu
ter, Penny still hadn’t adapted to handle physical pain the way Erik and I did.
In the midst of my relief, something occurred to me.
“Wait, go back. UNITED has already taken witness statements? And reviewed videos of the attack?” I asked.
Yocum consulted his communicator again, nodding as he read. “Looks like the agents with your boyfriend have been interviewed, but investigators are still talking to the civilians.”
“Then why don’t they know for sure whether an explosive was involved? I mean, it seems pretty cut and dry.”
“There was definitely an explosion of some sort,” Yocum confirmed, nodding readily. He hesitated before continuing. I was about to force him to keep talking, but it proved unnecessary. Yocum was so clearly baffled by the reports that he wanted to discuss the attack with someone, if only to garner a better understanding of what actually transpired. “The confusion is because no bomb fragments have been recovered. And not one of the victims was hit by shrapnel.”
“Interesting,” I mused. “What about the attacker? Is he dead? Have they examined the remains?”
Yocum shook his head, disbelief coloring his expression.
“The reports say the assailant was a child, a little girl. She was killed by the explosion.”
I gasped audibly. “That’s terrible. Why the hell would a little girl want to hurt Erik? Obviously someone put her up to it. But how could anyone do that to a kid?”
My thoughts turned to Alex, which just made the sadness multiply within me. What kind of evil was behind the attack that they would sacrifice an innocent child?
Shrugging, Yocum replied, “You might not feel that way once you hear the rest of the report. The investigating agents believe the child may have used her mind to blow herself up.” He paused, looking up at me with sorrow in his eyes as he connected the dots. “If she did in fact blow herself up, she wasn’t an innocent pawn. A pawn maybe, but one fully aware of what she was doing.”