The three-dimensional image begins to materialize in a swirling storm of crackling static. For a second I let myself hope that this’ll be the moment I finally get to see and talk to Cole again.
But it’s not my brother. The image has formed, once again, into the familiar face of Percy Favell, the beak-nosed rep from the Child Assimilation Services. He proceeds to update me on Cole’s physical and mental well-being.
Although it’s always reassuring to hear that my brother’s doing okay, it’s just empty words without being able to see for myself. When Favell pauses from his droning to finally take in some more air, I seize the opportunity to interrupt.
“When can I see my brother? He was supposed to arrive at Haven this week.”
Favell looks up from the tablet screen he’s been reading and regards me with his beady little eyes. “I’m afraid your brother’s transfer to Haven has been delayed.”
“What are you talking about?”
Favell grins. “Cole’s been selected to take part in a very special program.”
Before I can react, the image disappears, the lights come on, and the door to the com room whooshes open. A torrent of stark artificial light cascades through the room and I squint against it.
Then the light is eclipsed by a familiar hulking shape. “Officer on the floor! ATTENTION !” he barks, barreling through the doorway followed by his squatter twin. They station themselves on either side of the entrance like two concrete columns propping up the structure.
Great. My old friends Styles and Renquist. They must have arrived with the convoy.
I spring from my booth to join Leander, Rodrigo, Arrah, and Dahlia, planting myself beside them at attention like a rigid stalk.
Styles’s eyes crawl across the room and pounce on me. “Long time no see, Spark,” he mutters.
Renquist’s tongue flits across his lips. He winks at his companion. “Looks like someone’s ripened into manhood.”
“Assholes,” Arrah whispers through clenched teeth.
“Big time,” I whisper back.
“Quiet!” Styles snaps.
Styles and Renquist have got to be two of the most corrupt and sadistic Imposers I know, and that’s saying a lot. If they’ve been sent all the way from the Parish to this outpost at the ass-end of the Fringelands, it’s a good bet that Cassius has something to do with this—and that it involves me somehow.
If Cassius walks through this door, it’ll really be a test of willpower not to pounce and tear his throat out.
The shadow that falls across my fellow trainees and me doesn’t belong to Cassius Thorn, but rather to another of the Establishment’s decadent agents, one I’ll never forget. She’s tall, with amphibious slits for eyes and small, sharp teeth like rough gems mined from the quarries.
My old drill instructor, Sergeant Slade.
Her smile is a crooked slash across the pale stone of her face. “At ease, Flame Squad.”
In spite of the audible release of breath around me, my muscles remain tense, on alert, ready to spring at a moment’s notice. The last time I actually saw Slade was during the Recruit graduation ceremony at Infiernos, right before the Trials started. But I’ll never forget the sound of her sadistic voice guiding us through the hell of each trial. I have no intention of giving her the upper hand again if I can help it.
She paces the floor, taking us all in. “I regret that we had to cut your family time short this month, but I’m sure you’re all wondering why a detail has been sent from the Parish to such a remote station as this.” Her eyes impale each of us in turn, like darts. She pauses, in between Leander and Dahlia. “Some of you have shown a certain degree of proficiency in your posts and have proven that you actually might have what it takes to serve among your fellow officers.” She cuffs Dahlia’s cheek with an audible slap and beams at her.
“Thank you, Sir.” Dahlia nods, her face turning a slight shade of red.
“Unfortunately,” Slade continues, “it appears that late last night there was a terrorist attack on the Pleasure Emporiums.” She sighs. “As you know, the Emporiums play a vital role in curbing the baser instincts inherent in human nature, providing
a safe and secure outlet for our citizens to embrace their natural tendencies without interference from the rabble who possess no self-control.”
All I can see are the faces of the kids in those tanks at Harmony House. But I just nod and take deep breaths until my muscles relax.
Renquist lumbers over and hands Slade a small packet before returning to his post by the door.
She holds up the packet. “This was found in the wreckage of Harmony House.”
Tearing open the packet, she pours something into her open palm. Her fist uncurls, revealing a charred silver disc—one of the concussion charges that didn’t detonate during my attack on the Emporiums.
She waves the disc for all to see. “Forensics will be reconstructing this specimen, and then checking the markings and serial numbers against our arsenal inventory.” Her face radiates pure hatred. “It’s only a matter of time before it leads us to the terrorists.”
I never break eye contact.
Slade stops directly in front of me and her eyes narrow. “This isn’t the first of such terrorist attacks. Several weeks ago, someone set a fire at one of the plants supplying power to the Fringelands’ generators, and a month before that, a precinct office was fire-bombed. In each instance, a lit torch in the shape of a T was set ablaze at the scene of the crime.”
I suppress a satisfied smile. Looks like they’ve been taking note of my messages.
Good.
My eyes hold against Slade’s. “How tragic… Sir.”
She glares at me. “Yes. Quite tragic, Spark.”
Dahlia clears her throat. “Permission to speak freely, Sir?”
“Permission granted, Private.”
“What can our unit do to help apprehend these criminals?”
Slade smirks. “Spoken like a true leader, Private.”
“Yes, Sir!” Dahlia puffs out her chest.
“It seems last night’s terrorist act was part of a coordinated effort,” Slade announces. “At the same time the Emporiums were being hit, a team of insurrectionists overran a medical research facility in Asclepius Valley, murdered the officers on duty, and commandeered the station in their first open action of sedition. Even as we speak, there’s a small group of Imposers who were delivering supplies who are now trapped and engaged in a firefight with the traitors. But communications have been lost.”
Asclepius Valley? Why would the rebels hit a community of peaceful researchers and their families sequestered on the borders of the Parish… unless they were looking for something?
“This base is the closest to the station,” Slade continues. “Unfortunately, the bulk of your personnel have been deployed to investigate and deal with an emerging threat on Infiernos.”
Slade can vague it up as much as she wants. “Emerging threat” is code for the Fleshers. Whatever those things were that I encountered while training for the Trials, they’re still out there. And growing stronger.
“With time being of the essence, that leaves only Flame Squad to conduct the raid on Asclepius Valley, with a handful of fighter pilots to provide air support.” Slade turns her head. “Styles! Renquist! I want these grunts prepped and boarded for the war zone, stat.”
Around me, there are hushed murmurs, glances cast around the room. This is it. After all our training and Sims, we’re going into real combat.
Slade’s eyes sweep the room. “I assure you, the Trials were nothing compared to what you are about to face.” She turns her back on us. “Get them loaded for immediate departure.”