They have been told it was a war that threatened their serene and secure way of life. But it was not war that caused us to lose almost all of our technology. The disaster that befell us, when we were nearly obliterated into Stone Age primitivism, was brought upon us by our own lack of vigilance. It was the hubris of our own self-congratulation that nearly ruined us. Had we been more watchful, we may not have allowed the threat to gain a foothold in the first place.
(Elite Watcher Training Manual, 51st edition, page 222)
My newfound plan begins early the next morning. I get up an hour early and go to the Watcher room as quickly as I can. The process makes my skin crawl, but I need to get my quota before Crucible arrives.
It’s all too easy to find violence in Love City. My first visit is to the apartment I saw from the hotel room. I flag the man who I saw attacking his flatmate, but in an apartment two floors up I spot another. Soon, I am flying around alleyways and tenements, flagging drug dealers and thieves. Violence simmers barely below the peaceful surface of Love City. I feel as if I’ve lifted a rock and discovered a bugs’ nest crawling in the shadows.
“So much for the Love Collective Precepts.” I flick the red button on a man who is standing over a fallen figure, blood dripping from the knife in his hand. Crucible would call him “small fry,” but I figure that if I can find enough of them, he won’t be able to complain.
When Crucible finally arrives, I emerge from the Watcher room with my face carefully expressing the appropriate level of solemn obedience. He narrows his eyes, evaluating me as I report my findings: double my usual daily quota. Withered fingers flicking across his infotab, he begins to interrogate me about the criminals I have reported.
“This one?” he rasps, pointing to a man I found in the marketplace.
“Suspicious Anti-Love activities,” I reply, giving the official transgression category.
“Huh.” Distaste is written on Crucible’s face, but he flicks across his screen again. “What about this one?”
“Treason. He killed someone.”
A grey eyebrow on Crucible’s face rises. “Really? Who did he kill?”
“I believe it was another shop vendor. From what I could tell, they had an argument about stealing one another’s customers.”
“That’s not treason.” Crucible snorts derisively.
“The victim was wearing a Love Collective flag, Executive Lover.”
The sharp, evaluating stare is directed at me again. “Hm.”
“Has this fulfilled my quota, Executive Lover?” I stare at a point over his head.
“You have clearly been diligent.” Crucible is still flicking at his screen. Finally, with a tired sigh, he casts his infotab onto the cushion of the lounge beside him. “That will be enough for this morning,” he says. “VR drills for the rest of the day.”
I nod, feeling triumphant. “Of course, Executive Lover.”
By the end of each day, my body is zinging with tension, but my brain is completely exhausted. I fall into a fitful sleep, peppered by nightmare dreams that involve my parents being interrogated and arrested. The worst nightmare is when I find myself standing in the witness dock while they are standing in the accused chamber. I wake up in a cold sweat more often than not and have to drag my exhausted body out of bed in the morning.
Today, when I shuffle into the common room, Wil is in the kitchen area, scoffing down a bowl of protein cereal.
“You look terrible,” he says between mouthfuls.
“Thanks a lot.” I stagger for the fridge to grab a bottle of water.
“Okay, see you.” He sets the bowl down.
“Where are you going?” I ask. “It’s only just 0600.”
“Dorm Leader assignment.”
I shake my head. “She’s got you busy.”
His eyes shift sideways. “Yeah. Yeah, she does.” Before I can say anything more, he bolts from the room.
I’m too tired to do an early Watcher run, so the time spent waiting for Executive Lover Crucible is excruciating. I wish Dorm Leader wasn’t too busy with the demands of his inspection to be here. Her presence is calming, even if she can’t openly back me up.
But today, Crucible doesn’t arrive by the usual start time. At 0800, the room’s announcement system chimes with a soft ding to remind me to begin work.
After a quick deliberation, I step up to the VR booth, letting my headset fall down over my eyes. I know Crucible well enough by now to know that he would not be happy to find me standing around doing nothing when he turns up.
Safely cocooned in VR, I swoop back into the Triumph festival training exercise. It’s easy now to find several Haters in the hypnotized, dancing crowd. I just wish that every exercise didn’t keep reminding me of uncomfortable memories. The way Wil rescued, then confused me. The fact that I have to report real people for Embracement. The way I seem to be purchasing my own safety at the price of other people’s lives.
I run through the training exercise five times before risking a break. When I emerge from VR, the Watcher Dorm is still silent and empty.
“Where is Executive Lover Crucible?” I ask the vacant air. The AI gives me no reply, so I wander into my room to collect my infotab. Hiding back in the safety of my bunk, I flick over to the Siren message system to see if Akela has left me any clue.
Mission with X coming. Wait for signal, is all the information I get from her. But a chat conversation seems to be raging between the other Sirens.
Viola: Ugh. Triumph fever. My eyes!!!
Allegra: I know. It’s like the entire Academy forgot how to control themselves.
Hodge: Only a few weeks left. Hang in there.
Viola: YOU AREN’T IN MY BUNK ROOM.
Allegra: Dining room is worse.
Viola: It’s gross.
Hodge: It’s only bad because Elites know this is their one chance to fraternize each year.
Allegra: Well, they’re certainly making up for lost time. Blergh.
Fife: I can kinda understand it.
Viola: ARE YOU JOKING???
Hodge: Cool down. Go run on the obstacle course or something.
Fife: The obstacle course is full of them, so watch your step.
Viola: Can’t we just hang out together at meals? I need a break.
Hodge: You know the drill, V.
Allegra: BUT WHY??????
I flick the infotab off and safely stow it back in the charging dock.
I wonder what’s going on.
Straightening my uniform, I decide to go for a walk. It’s time to see for myself what has horrified my Siren comrades so much.
The lift delivers me to the atrium with silent efficiency, and the doors open to something that jolts me. All around the open space, small groups of Elite Apprentices mingle. Faces pressed together, arms locked around each other. It’s all so shocking that I almost turn around and retreat back to the safety of my dorm.
I avert my eyes and focus on the direction of the dining room, taking care to step around couples sitting on the stairs as I descend. The usual lunchtime hum emanates through the doorways, but the sight that greets me is just as bad as the atrium.
Triumph fever has hit.
Sidling up to one another in line, couples snuggle in small pockets, heads together and arms entwined. The atmosphere of the room is uncomfortably charged with pheromones and desire. I start to retreat, but a bright, familiar smile catches my eye.
“Flick! Hi!” Cam calls from a nearby table. Farr sits on Rook’s lap, twining her fingers in his short sandy hair. Pim is beside an unfamiliar black-haired Apprentice who leans into her with a hungry smile. Chu has his arm around Sif, who looks so different I nearly don’t recognize her. The old cheeky smile is back, and her eyes are wide as she gazes lovingly up into Chu’s face. I stop dead, stunned by the image.
“I know. It’s sickening.” Cam looks distinctly uncomfortable as he follows my gaze.
“I thought he was avoiding her.”
Cam merely shrugs. “He played her well. All that mean treatment made her crazy, so when he finally spoke to her, she nearly jumped on him right then and there.”
I stare at them. “Interesting strategy.”
“Yeah, well I think I’m the only person who can’t wait for Triumph season to be done,” he grumbles.
You’re not the only one.
“Haven’t you found someone?” I ask innocently.
“Not yet. Are you free?” Cam smiles.
I inch away from him. “Uh, no.”
“Figures,” he sighs, looking crestfallen. “I don’t know what I’m doing wrong. Everyone else seems to have found a Triumph buddy.”
Sif looks up from her canoodling, and a shadow crosses her face when she recognizes me. “Oh. It’s you.”
“How are you, Sif?” I ask, keeping my voice carefully even.
She turns back to gaze at Chu. “Busy,” she replies curtly. Chu doesn’t even turn, but smiles back at her with an adoring expression.
I feel the ache of the distance that has grown between us. Our easy friendship seems like an age ago now.
“I’d better get back,” I say quietly.
Cam grabs my wrist. “Can’t you keep me company for a while?”
I press my lips together. “I can’t.”
“I’m going to die alone.” Cam looks miserable. “And nobody cares.”
“I do care, Cam. Really. But if I don’t get my training quota done, I’m in trouble.”
“Fine. Go.”
With a last apologetic look, I turn to leave. “Sorry,” I say again.
“Whatever.” Cam slumps in his seat.
The Watcher Dorm’s silence is a welcome relief after the visual onslaught that is the dining hall in Triumph season. My shoulders relax the moment I step into the cool interior. It’s quiet. The lights are dim. The VR chambers are empty, waiting like silent sentinels against one wall.
Wil sits alone at one end of the table, as still as stone. He looks up at me, and my heart does its flip-flops again.
“Love all, be all, Apprentice,” I say carefully.
He stands slowly, face streaked with shadow. “It’s time,” he says, and it doesn’t take a genius to know what he’s talking about.
“When?” I reply.
“Now.”
“Okay.”
The air is humid and cloudy as we step out of the Academy for the second time in my life. Like the last mission, a sleek silver overcar turns up to meet us. With us comfortably seated inside, it glides down the drive, turning in the opposite direction from our first mission. I’m startled, but I know better than to say anything in front of the driver. Instead, I watch the highway walls pass by, drinking in the occasional suburban views and hoping there might be a chance that Wil would talk to me again. The locket rests snugly against my collarbone, hidden from view.
To pass the time, I let some Song fragments ramble through my head. The Muse’s whispers calm me and lift my thoughts away from the Triumph tumult and into a quieter plane. The more the Muse sings, the less chaos I find. Worries that were pressing against my thoughts now don’t seem as important anymore.
“Is it much further?” I ask, watching the grey sky above the highway barriers. Bulbous shapes ebb and flow in the soft vapor. There might be a storm later.
“Twenty minutes, or so. Not too far,” Wil says. “The warehouse district is downriver.”
“I know.” My voice is calm and happy. I glance at Wil to find he is giving me a confused look.
“Are you okay?” he asks.
“Yeah.” I smile. In my head, I’m replaying the Song fragments I learned last time. They float around like a flock of birds, swooping melodies and mind-bending poetry mingling in a symphony of wonder.
Wil’s hand brushes mine, and the flock scatters.
After twenty minutes, the overcar turns off the highway. We glide past huge rectangular blocks that form concrete warehouses. Workers in brown shuffle in and out of warehouse doors. Large vehicles thunder down the road nearby, belching black smoke into the air.
The overcar heads down a road that slopes toward a brown ribbon of water. In front of us, the river meanders through the warehouse district like a chasm, cutting between white concrete buildings and separating teams of workers from each other. A few low barges putter along the river, decks crammed with containers.
“Pull over here,” Wil says, leaning forward.
The driver nods, and pulls to the side of the road. We get out into the afternoon haze, and the warm air brings the scent of diesel fuel, rusted metal, and sulfur.
“That’s not pleasant,” I say, trying in vain to stop the smell from getting into my nose.
“Kind of glad Watchers stay in the Hall of Love,” Wil agrees, face wrinkling in disgust.
We head toward the river. Wide concrete docks line the waterfront, and barges gently rock against their thick rope tethers. Machinery chugs out of the warehouses, carrying containers and boxes from the giant open doors out to the waiting boats. In our grey-and-indigo uniforms, we stand out easily. A few faces turn to us in curiosity, and I feel a nervous twinge of fear.
“Is it safe?” I whisper to Wil.
“Nothing ever is,” he informs me. “As long as you remember that, you’ve got half a chance to survive.”