Chapter 13

FOUR OF US are missing.

“Induction Day is a day filled with hope. Today you, our new students, will officially be accepted into the Government field of study.” Professor Holt stands behind a small podium that has been placed under the willow tree near the Government Studies residence. Her hair is slicked off her face. Her scarlet-painted lips curl into an expression of geniality as she addresses those of us assembled here who are in her charge. First years stand in front. The rest of our fellow Government Studies students are behind us, ready to celebrate the entrance of our class into their ranks.

Or most of our class. Rawson is dead. Olive never returned to campus after her flight. Neither did the girl named Izzy who failed to finish Induction with her team. Those losses I knew about. But one student I expected to see is also unaccounted for. Vance—the blond boy and fourth member of Olive’s team—is missing. An entire team from Induction is gone. There are whispers that Olive, Izzy, and Vance left the University and returned home. For their sakes, I hope that is true.

“The Induction process was designed by the final years to show that not only will you rely on your own resourcefulness, but you will also need to trust and work effectively with others in order to succeed in the careers you have ahead of you. Those who cannot be trusted to consider the effects of their actions on others cannot be trusted to lead.” Professor Holt sighs. “Sadly, not all students who demonstrate the intellect required of Government Studies students also work well with others. We work hard to identify those students early in their careers so they can be Redirected into more appropriate fields. Because of this, only twelve of the sixteen initially directed into this field will embark upon studying it. It is our hope we will not need to reevaluate the twelve of you remaining in the future.”

First-year students shift beside me. The threat is unmistakable. Professor Holt’s serious expression is replaced by a wide smile. “Your guides have collected and turned in the bracelets that identified you as members of the University’s Early Studies program. It is my honor to replace them now with the symbol you will serve for the rest of your lives.”

She calls our names one by one and asks us to come forward. Griffin struts. Damone preens. Others show various forms of pride as they hold out their arm and allow Professor Holt to fasten a thick bracelet onto their wrist. When my turn comes, I am careful to keep a pleased expression on my face despite the way my nerves jump as Professor Holt reaches out for my hand. The silver and gold coiled bracelet is cold as it slides over my skin. There is an audible click as Professor Holt fastens the band around my wrist.

Will’s name is called as I take my place in line and study the bracelet. Gold and silver. The joining of the materials used for the colony and Tosu City Early Studies bracelets. Now the two types of metal are combined in a pattern that, like The Testing versions of the bracelets, makes it impossible to see where the band comes together. Fused to the center is a disk made of silver, outlined in gold. Etched across the disk is a picture of scales suspended from a bar, hanging in perfect balance. Streaking through the middle of the disk from the top of the bar to below the scales is a lightning bolt. My personal symbol combined with the symbol for justice.

After Enzo receives his bracelet, Professor Holt congratulates us all again before her expression turns solemn. “Though today is a day of happiness, I would be remiss not to remember the life of Rawson Fisk. He was a student of keen intellect with a love of history and a passionate desire to do whatever it took to improve the lives of his family and colony. He will be missed. But though his death is terrible, it is not without purpose.” Professor Holt’s tone changes from one of kindness to fervent conviction. “This tragedy demonstrates better than any classroom lesson that leaders can never let their emotions get the better of them. Cool heads and calm logic must always prevail if we are to succeed in restoring our country to what it was before the Seven Stages of War.”

I hear murmurs of assent behind me.

“We will hang a plaque commemorating that sentiment in the residence to make sure Rawson Fisk’s lesson is never forgotten.”

As Professor Holt invites us inside the residence for a small celebration, I look toward the ravine and the bridge that was once missing.

“Hey, the party is inside.”

Slowly, I turn to see Ian watching me. “I know. I wanted a few minutes to remember Rawson before I go in.”

The truth, but only a shade of it. “Professor Holt never mentioned the others. Were they Redirected?”

Ian looks over his shoulder at the residence. “I don’t know.” But I can see by the sorrow in his eyes that he does.

I finger the band on my wrist. “Are we ever allowed to take these off?”

“Dr. Barnes insists on students wearing their identification at all times.” A fierce intensity shines in Ian’s eyes. “Dr. Barnes believes that the bracelet allows people you come in contact with to understand you are a future Commonwealth leader. More important, wearing your symbol demonstrates that you have accepted the future it represents.”

A compelling reason, but I doubt it is more than a shadow of the real one. Horror streaks through me. The Testing bracelet contained a listening device. I was not wearing one of these Inducted-student bracelets in the chicken coop, but Tomas was. Did officials hear our conversation? Does Dr. Barnes know Tomas remembers his Testing? Does he know that even though the two of us are separated by guilt and anger, we are unified in our desire to end the process that brought us here?

“Do you mind if I take a look at your bracelet?” Ian takes my arm and probes it with his fingers. “I thought the design looked a little different this year. See . . .” He uses his index fingers and thumbs to squeeze two spots on the band, and it clicks apart. “This one is thicker and looks a little heavier.” He refastens the bracelet with a nod. “They talked about replacing the recorder with a tracking device last year. One of the first years got turned around while returning to campus from his internship. He was lucky safety officials found him in an unrevitalized part of the city before a wild animal did.”

A tracking device. That is what is contained inside this metal band. Since Ian freely shared this information, can I assume no one is recording or listening to our conversation?

“Hey, we should get inside so you don’t miss the entire party. Trust me when I say you won’t have a lot of time for parties when classes start in two days.” As Ian turns toward the residence with a grin, I do the same.

I eat. I laugh at jokes. All the while, I feel the weight of the bracelet and the tracking device it contains on my arm. The party lasts long into the night. It is only when the upper years seek their beds that I feel I can return to my room without arousing comment. It takes me a dozen tries before I can replicate Ian’s removal of the bracelet. I place it on the table and rub my wrist before examining the woven metal. I fish my pocketknife out of my bag, hold the bracelet to the light, and probe the back of the disc with the thinnest blade. The blade slides off the metal and nicks me twice before I find the almost imperceptible groove on the edge of the disc and pry off the back panel. Inside are a battery and an even smaller copper metal pulse radio transmitter.

Professor Holt spoke of the need for trust. Yet in front of me is the evidence to the contrary. I study the device. My father has never used homing devices, but Hamin and Zeen experimented with them as a method for tracking farm animals. The design of this one seems simple. A pulse signal is sent from this transmitter to a separate receiver, which communicates the location of the device. The size and simplistic design of the battery and transmitter suggest it is not that powerful and probably can only transfer data to the receiver if the receiver is somewhere close by. After several tries, my brothers were able to boost the power of their transmitter to reach a receiver up to a mile away. I doubt this one’s capabilities are much stronger, but I can’t be certain. I just have to assume the device is more powerful than I think and find a way to limit its ability to report my movements.

Since I have no idea how I’m going to do that, I climb into bed. Dreams of Tomas stabbing Zandri, or Dr. Barnes yanking me out of a hiding place and pushing me into the ravine, chase me from darkness until dawn. By the time I wake, I have still not come up with an idea how to limit the tracking of my movements without alerting Dr. Barnes that I am aware of the device. I could remove the transmitter and leave it in my room, but people might start to wonder why the transmitter never moved. The best idea I have is to enclose the transmitter with a thin layer of metal to block the signal and hope those who monitor our movement believe my device to be faulty. But that too might raise more questions than I want asked.

Putting the bracelet back together, I snap it on my wrist and head downstairs for breakfast. With no classes to study for yet, the first years are still in a celebratory mood. Although, as the day progresses, I see faces turn serious. For good reason. We have all been Inducted into the Government Studies program, but that acceptance is not a guarantee of our success. Only our performances in our classes can do that.

 

I still haven’t figured out a good way to counteract the transmitter in my bracelet by the next morning. But, today, if they monitor my movements, they will see what they expect to see. A University student going about her first day of classes. The pull of new ideas and learning is strong, but so is my fear that I might not measure up to the standards Professor Holt has set for me. As I finger the Government bracelet around my wrist, I can’t help but wonder how many other first-year students from the colonies have made it through their Inductions. Will Stacia be seated in one of my classes, or will she be remembered by future Medical students for the lesson she provided?

Breakfast conversation in the dining hall is subdued, and I notice I am not the only one who barely eats the food on the tables in front of us. Ian catches my eye as I push back my chair and hoist my bag onto my shoulder. He nods. I nod back, grateful for the support if uncertain as to the motive. It is time for my first class. Global History.

Fourteen of us are seated in the classroom when Professor Lee arrives carrying an armload of papers. He drops them on a large black table in the front that is already stacked with worn books. The only students I recognize in the room are Enzo and a broad-shouldered boy named Brick, who is a colony student like me. The rest are Tosu City students I know nothing about. Enzo does not look at any of them as they talk among themselves. He looks up only when Professor Lee finishes organizing his materials and addresses the class.

“Welcome to Global History. To make sure we don’t repeat the mistakes that led to the Seven Stages of War, we must understand past mistakes. In this class, we will learn what the landscape of the world looked like before the wars and study the countries and governments that dominated that landscape. Each week, we will focus on a different time period. You will be required to learn the names of the leaders, identify countries based on maps, and explain the pros and cons of the government structures of the most influential countries during that time. I will then select the most advanced students in the class for a special study of what is known about the current global structure and what it means for our future.”

The prospect of learning how the world is recovering beyond the United Commonwealth borders has me sitting up straighter. And I’m not the only one. The room crackles with excitement and something more. Under the exhilaration is an underlying tension. Only the select few chosen by Professor Lee will be allowed to participate in that portion of the class. Another competition. Another test.

He gives us a big smile and pushes a button on the wall. “So, let’s get to work, shall we?”

A large screen descends, and depicted on it is a world from the past. The next hour is filled with names of countries and people long dead. Governments destroyed by war or corruption. New regimes that rose to take their places. My pencil races across the page in front of me as I try to capture every word, knowing that any detail missed might be the difference between success and failure. Almost two hours later, my hand aches as I scribble down the homework instructions before heading to the next class. Enzo walks with me across the campus to Science Building Four.

Advanced Calculus.

Vic smiles at me from a corner desk. A boy named Xander nods from his seat in the front. Then class begins. Ordinary differential equations. Partial differential equations. Bessel and Legendre functions. Several pages of homework are assigned. A test will be given on Wednesday to assess our understanding of the material.

When class is over, I hurry out to avoid the familiar faces in the room. While I am grateful to see them, I am not sure I’m prepared to hear what they have to say. Will they tell me Stacia, whom I have yet to see, or other members of our Testing candidate class have failed their Inductions? That they have been Redirected? Instead, I find a spot outside that is mostly hidden from view to eat the apple and roll I slipped into my bag this morning. I have an hour to start on my homework before the next class begins.

United Commonwealth History and Law are followed by World Languages. Then my last class of the day: Chemistry. States of matter, properties of solutions, kinetics and atomic and molecular structure are discussed. A project assigned. And finally, classes are done, but my day is far from over. There are chemical equations to balance, a paper on the Commonwealth Government’s founding debates to write, and maps to memorize. All must be complete by Wednesday, with more to be assigned by my other professors tomorrow. I know Dr. Barnes will be watching to see which students fall behind. I will not be one of them.

The dining hall is filled with laughter and conversation. Students compare notes on their homework and teachers, and buzz about the news that internships will not be assigned for at least another week. I say nothing as I fill a plate with greens, some kind of spicy pork, and sliced potatoes cooked with onions and walnuts. Part of me is relieved to have one less thing to worry about for the next seven days. The other part is anxious to learn whether or not I will be assigned an internship that will allow me to collect information for Michal and the rebels. Pushing thoughts of the internship aside, I ignore Ian’s and Will’s beckoning waves and head upstairs to study while I eat. When I finally sleep that night, Malachi and Zandri join me in my dreams. They quiz me on the names of country capitals, help balance chemistry equations, and insist the ending to my paper could be stronger.

They’re right. When I wake, I rewrite the final page before getting dressed for the second day of class.

More professors. More assignments.

Electrical and Magnetic Physics. The Rise and Fall of Technology. Art, Music, and Literature. Bioengineering.

Here and there, I see familiar faces. Brick and Kit in Physics. Will, a girl named Jul, and a Boulder kid named Quincy in Art and Music. And finally I see Stacia—along with Vic and a girl from Grand Forks named Naomy—in Technology. All are here. All wear bracelets that report their movements back to Dr. Barnes and his officials.

News of Rawson’s death has spread. In the minutes before and after class, we band together and talk about the loss of our classmate. I had almost forgotten Naomy and Rawson were from the same colony, but Naomy’s puffy red eyes speak loudly of her sorrow and the love she has felt for him since she was ten years old. While I have never been close friends with Naomy, I find myself feeling sorry for her. During class, I notice some of the Tosu City students passing scraps of paper. Notes. With paper so precious, our Five Lakes instructors punished this practice with extra work. Here, where paper seems to be less of a concern, the instructors don’t seem to mind. Biting my lip, I tear a small corner off the page in front of me, write a couple of words asking to meet after dinner and work on homework, and pass the note to Naomy. The smile she gives me when she reads it makes me feel happier than I have in days. When Stacia shoots me a questioning look, I tear off another corner and pass her a note too. When she grins, I feel better, more in control, knowing I will spend part of tonight with friends.

All through the day, I find myself looking for signs of Tomas. When I finally see his familiar gray eyes watching me from the back of the Bioengineering classroom, I realize I am unprepared to deal with the emotions storming inside me. Love. Guilt. Need. Uncertainty.

My heart pounds loudly in my chest as I slide into the seat next to him. I can’t help but notice the pallor of his skin and the smudges of fatigue under the eyes that meet mine. Class begins. The teacher drones on about viscoelasticity, and though my pencil is clutched tight in my hand, my writing is barely legible as I try to ignore the ache in my heart. The same ache I know is in his at the possibility that we will never be able to look at each other without death and guilt between us.

The two of us stay seated when class ends. We say nothing as we watch everyone shove papers into their bags and head for the door. A few glance in our direction as they file out, but none linger. I wait for Tomas to speak. The quiet grows more uncomfortable with each passing second. In his eyes, I see self-condemnation and a weariness that scares me. Now that Tomas has admitted his actions to me, he is drowning in guilt. And though I still feel the sting of his betrayal, the anger I have held since hearing his confession fades, and fear takes hold. Unless Tomas finds a way to forgive himself for Zandri’s death, the weight of guilt could drown him. I see a flash of my roommate Ryme swinging from a yellow rope. I want to convince Tomas that Zandri’s death was an accident. He, unlike so many, did not make the choice to kill. But I have known Tomas too long to think words will help. Until his confession, Tomas pushed aside the guilt in order to protect me. He had a purpose. Now he needs another.

Leaning forward, I ask, “Did you work with my brothers on the livestock accountability project?”

Curiosity crosses Tomas’s face. “My brother did most of the work, but I had some input. Why?”

I look around the room. Not sure if someone could be listening, I grab my bag and stand. “I should get going if I want to make it back for dinner. Do you want to walk with me?”

We exit the building side by side. When we are far away from anyone who could hear us, I explain about the transmitter locked inside my bracelet and my desire to outwit it. Tomas asks questions as we walk toward his residence. By the time we reach his destination, his eyes have lost some of the shadows.

“A few of us are meeting together at the library to study tonight.” I brush my fingers against his hand. “You could join us.”

Tomas looks down at our hands. His fingers tighten against mine for a brief moment before they drop away. “There are some things I have to do.” As he holds up the wrist circled by his Biological Engineering symbol, I once again see the mix of determination and hopelessness.

His lips brush my cheek. Then Tomas turns and walks away before I can think of anything else to say.

Dinner at the residence is filled with undercurrents of tension. At least a half dozen first years are bent over books while they eat. The upper-year students look less tense, which leads me to believe the first-year course work is designed to test not only our knowledge, but our ability to cope with stress and adversity. To keep from failing that test, I once again fill a plate with food and take it to my room. Naomy and I agreed to meet at seven. I will work on other homework until then.

When I was too young to attend school, I used to watch my brothers do their homework at the scarred kitchen table. I longed for the day when I too would sit beside them with my mother close at hand to lend guidance. However, when my turn finally came, I found it almost impossible to concentrate surrounded by my brothers’ antics. So, each day, I would abandon the table and spread out on the floor in front of the living room fireplace. Which is why, when I enter my rooms, I ignore the desk in my bedroom and dump my bag on the floor. Sitting cross-legged, I eat bites of chicken and carrots while working on potential difference equations.

I jump as someone pounds on my door. Ian barely waits for me to get out of the way before coming into the room and shutting the door behind him.

“Did you think I was joking when I said Dr. Barnes is watching you? What do you think you’re doing up here?”

“I’m studying. You told me not to fall behind in my classes.”

“And I meant it.” Ian looks at the papers and books strewn across the floor and rubs the back of his neck. “But you can’t segregate yourself from the rest of us. Especially after Rawson’s death. Everyone in the residence is going to think your behavior shows you can’t handle loss or you don’t want to be a part of the University.”

His words make my nerves jump. “Tell them I have nine classes to study for.”

“No, because then they’ll report to Dr. Barnes that your class assignments are too much for you. Luckily, Raffe said you weren’t feeling well during class today. Enzo backed him up, which defused most of the grumbles.” He frowns. “Cia, it’s not enough to get passing grades. You also have to look like everyone else while doing it. That means eating meals in the dining hall, spending some time in the common areas, and making it look like you’re having fun.”

“I’m supposed to make handling nine classes look easy?”

Ian nods. “That’s what leaders do.”

I look down at the pages scattered across the floor. Pressure builds behind my eyes and in my chest. It’s only day two of class, and already I’m feeling the effects of the stress. But I only have to think of the leaders from Five Lakes Colony to know that Ian is right. Though she has the weight of our colony on her shoulders, Magistrate Owens never looks flustered. Even when voicing a serious problem, she has a way of making it feel like a puzzle rather than a life-and-death concern. My father is the same. No matter how worried he might be about a contagion corrupting crops or the way an unrevitalized piece of land is responding to his team’s ministrations, he never shows it. Not to the public. He keeps his frustrations and concerns at home. The minute he walks outside our door, he knows people will be watching his actions. The success of his team means the difference between starvation and survival.

“All right,” I say. “I’ll be at breakfast and dinner tomorrow.”

“Good.” Ian smiles, moves some papers off a chair, and takes a seat. “Once internships start, you won’t be expected at every meal. Unexpected tasks come up all the time. You’ll be able to blame them for the time you take alone to study. Now, since I’m here, do you want me to look at the assignments you have to turn in tomorrow?”

“Why?” I ask. Suspicion wars with gratitude. Is Ian’s offer of assistance due to his own experiences or something more? “Did someone suggest I need help?”

I search Ian’s face for the truth behind his actions. Is he rendering me aid because I am a fellow colonist? Is he the friend Michal spoke of when he said he was being reassigned? Ian sharing information about my Government Studies bracelet tells me he is on my side. But I still don’t know why.

“A friend did tell me that helping a pretty girl with her homework would be a great way to gain her trust. It can be hard to know whom to trust.” Ian pauses. My heart pounds in my chest as I try to hear the message communicated between the words. “That friend trusts me, Cia. You can too.”

Wordlessly, I hand over the pages. Then I try to work while Ian pores over them. He points out a mistake on my calculus assignment and is making suggestions about how to strengthen the ending of a paper when I notice the time. Stacia and Naomy are waiting.

“I have to go.”

“Where are you going?”

“I’m going to the library before it closes.”

Ian’s eyes narrow. “As long as you’re not meeting with your friend Tomas.”

Tomas’s name on Ian’s lips renders me speechless. As far as I know, the two of them have never met.

Ian sighs. “If you’re planning to meet him, don’t. You won’t be doing him any favors. Until we know why Dr. Barnes has singled you out, the only way to keep your boyfriend safe from Dr. Barnes is by staying away.”

Since Tomas turned down my invitation tonight, that won’t be a problem. But if we are going to work together to outwit the tracking device, we will have to meet in the future. We could meet in secret, but until we find a way to work around the transmitters in our bracelets, people in charge will know we are together—which, according to Ian, will put Tomas in more danger.

I know what Zeen would do. My brother wouldn’t put a stop to his plans. He would simply find a way to achieve his objective without alerting those watching to his actions. The Transit Communicator in my bag is a perfect example of his ability to follow his own agenda in plain view, and in such a way that no one notices he is doing anything at all. Perhaps I can use that same trick to cover any discussions I have with Tomas.

I shove the papers I need into my bag, shrug on my coat, and go down the stairs. I hear voices coming from the hangout room. Standing in the doorway, I look for familiar faces. Most of the students are upper years. But I spot Raffe and Damone with a couple of other first years in the back corner.

“I’m going to the library to work on my history of technology assignment,” I say as startled eyes swing toward me. “Do any of you want to come with?”

Most say no, which I expect. But Raffe surprises me when he gets up, hoists his University bag onto his shoulder, and says, “I was just about to head over there. Let’s go.”

We walk down to the bridge in silence. Raffe’s steps slow as we cross the bridge. So do mine. Out of the corner of my eye, I notice Raffe glance over the rail.

Once the bridge is behind us, he asks, “Are we really going to the library?”

“Where else would we be going?”

He shrugs. “I’m just glad to get out of there for a while. Griffin and Damone are starting to get on my nerves.”

“I thought they were your friends.”

Raffe stops walking. “Just because we’re all from Tosu City doesn’t make us friends. I don’t know about you, but friendship is a luxury I’ve never had time for. I was too busy beating out my competition to get here.”

I can’t help but wonder about Raffe’s words as we walk across campus. Friendship is something I’ve always taken for granted. In Five Lakes, we competed to be the best in the class, but we all worked hard to get along. It’s impossible for me to imagine growing up without Daileen’s whispered confidences or Tomas’s kind understanding. Are the people here in Tosu City so different that they don’t place value on that kind of connection? Or maybe Raffe is just using this opportunity to gain my sympathy in hopes of using it later.

Naomy and Stacia are waiting outside the library when we arrive. I introduce them to Raffe. If either of them is surprised that I brought a noncolony student with me, they don’t show it. The four of us go into the well-lit library, pick a table in the back corner of the main study room, and get to work.

Several upper-year students and professors take notice of us, but none seem to be surprised or unhappy with the group study session. Nothing could be more natural than students working together to succeed. When I convince Tomas to join us, no one will think twice about his addition. At least, that’s what I hope.

In between discussing how much history was lost when computer networks were destroyed, we talk about ourselves. Raffe mentions he is the youngest son of the director of education for the United Commonwealth. Of the seven children in his family, six were accepted to the University. Naomy says she’s envious of large families. While her parents were proud of her being selected for The Testing, they couldn’t quite hide their sadness at the prospect of saying goodbye to their only child.

“At least you got to sleep in a bed growing up,” I say. “I shared a room with my four brothers. All of them snore.”

As we fetch books and look up information, we do something more important. We laugh. It feels good. Normal. Happy. How long has it been since I felt either of those things? Even Stacia, who is usually so reserved, unbends enough to talk about her little brother, Nate, who was born too early and as a result learns slower than his classmates. She wonders how he is doing now that she isn’t there to help him with his schoolwork and keep the other kids from teasing him. “Dad and Mom don’t always have enough time to spend with him.”

Stacia shrugs off the hand Raffe places on her shoulder and changes the subject, asking me to help her find a book. The two of us climb the stairs to the second floor. Several heads turn our way. Stacia studies them before leading me down a row of medical texts. Under her breath, she quickly tells me about the Medical Induction, where first years were asked to select the correct treatments for a dozen common diseases with the help of a medical textbook. Once answers were given, each student was taken to a treatment room. On the table inside, twelve sets of medications sat waiting to be dispensed to patients who, one by one, walked through the door. The medication inside the cup representing the correct answer was a placebo. Wrong answers contained poison.

“The final years made us watch each patient take their medication. They wanted to test our confidence in diagnosis and our ability to cope with losing a patient. I guess some people have trouble living with a mistake that causes someone else to die. Anyone who demonstrated psychological unfitness or gave more than two incorrect answers was Redirected.”

Bile rises in my throat. “The patients didn’t actually die, right?” It would be almost impossible for Dr. Barnes to explain that kind of loss of life or get officials to volunteer for that kind of job.

Stacia shrugs. “The one I lost looked dead, but I was instructed not to touch a patient after treatment had been dispensed. So anything is possible.”

Stacia is driven and sometimes aloof. Of all of the colony students, she has always accepted the challenges we face with calm resolve. But the fisted hands and tightening of her jaw when she speaks of death and the three students who her head of residence said were Redirected to work in the colonies indicate worry she has never mentioned. For some reason, seeing Stacia unnerved is more disturbing than if she had maintained her stoic resolve.

The overhead light catches the bracelet on her wrist. In the center of it is a symbol I remember seeing in Dr. Flint’s house. A snake coiled around a staff. Dr. Flint had it displayed in the room he used to treat patients. When I asked him about the design, he said it was the ancient symbol for medicine. However, unlike Dr. Flint’s version, this one has what looks to be a second snake coiled underneath it, ready to strike. After hearing Stacia talk about the Induction, I can see why this symbol was chosen to represent her.

I quickly answer Stacia’s questions about my Induction experience before grabbing a book and heading back down the stairs to join the others.

The next day’s classes get harder. Professors collect our homework. Several give quizzes to assess our level of understanding of the basic material. Others announce that tests on more advanced concepts will be given the following week.

I pass more notes during class Wednesday. Tomas’s note instructs him to wait to join the group until the following week. By then I am hoping people will be so used to seeing the group they won’t be surprised by the addition of one more. In the evening Stacia, Naomy, Raffe, and Vic meet me at the same library table we occupied the night before. We don’t all have the same assignments to complete, but we still work together. Help each other out when one needs someone to double-check a chemistry formula or proofread a sentence—like I used to do with Tomas during our Early Studies classes.

Thursday’s classes are more of the same. Assignments collected. Lectures on important literature, basic cell engineering, and the equilibrium properties of alloy systems. We are told the classroom buildings will be open over the next few days so we can use the labs and the resources in the rooms to complete our projects. I do, never forgetting my other projects. The one I vowed to help Michal with and the one that circles my wrist. As I work on a pulse radio assignment, I think I might know a way to address the second.

By Monday, the strain of the workload shows on almost every first year’s face. Too much reading. Too little sleep. Worry about the cost of failure shows in red-rimmed eyes and tense smiles. The exercises I have started doing alone in my rooms to regain my muscle strength have helped me fare better than some. Still, I find myself soaking a cloth in cold water and putting it across my eyes to hide the fatigue brought about by late work nights and dreams filled with disturbing images.

I pull myself out of sleep after every dream and sit in the dark, trying to decide if the smell of the blood and the sound of the bullet leaving the gun are simple nightmares or Testing memories lurking in my subconscious. If only I can find the key to unlock them.

I pass more notes, and our study group grows in number. Enzo joins us. As do Brick and a Tosu City Biological Engineering student named Aram. Internship assignments are postponed for another week. The tension builds.

Enzo starts walking with me to class. He is the one who spots Damone trailing behind us. When I look back, Damone stares at me. The next day, Enzo and I leave the building earlier, but still Damone is there. Watching. I notice the lock on my door is scuffed and scraped. Nothing inside the room is missing. No cameras have been added, but I can’t help feeling that someone has been inside. I sleep with a chair propped under the door handle and jump at every sound in the night as I lie awake—wondering if Symon’s faction of rebels has found a way to end The Testing without bloodshed or if war is coming while the rest of my classmates sleep, unknowing, in their beds.

I pass another note to Tomas, asking him to join us and sharing the idea that I have. When he walks up to the library table where we are gathered, the shadows in his eyes have faded, replaced by a hint of excitement.

For a while, he works next to me in silence. When some of our study companions begin to work together on assignments, Tomas turns to me and asks, “Did you finish the transmitter assignment yet?”

No one at the table is in our class. They have no idea what assignments we are working on. So I dig through my bag, pull out a piece of paper, and say, “I have a couple of ideas written down.”

While conversations about physics and literature swirl around us, I show Tomas my idea for an external transmitter that would be set to the same frequency as the one in our bracelets. In theory, the external transmitter would create enough interference that the signal from the device in the bracelet would be drowned out. Whoever was monitoring on the other end would read the problem as natural signal obstruction instead of tampering.

Tomas grins, helps perfect my design, and suggests we make extra transmitters to scatter around campus so other students’ signals experience the same technical difficulties. By the time we pack up our books for the night, we have a workable plan in place. When I get back to the residence, I head for the labs and get to work. I find a variety of resistors, batteries, capacitors, wire, coils, and transistors in the lab’s supply cabinet. My eyes are tired and my fingers cramped by the time I have assembled and tested five two-inch-long, one-inch-wide transmitters. I have also created a small receiver set on a different frequency that will light up when I flip a small switch. Now I will be able to signal to Tomas if I need his help. I hide one blocking transmitter behind a portrait in the currently empty hangout room before going upstairs to bed.

During classes the next day, I hide three of the transmitters on campus. When Tomas and I cross paths, I give him the receiver and an update on where I’ve hidden my transmitters. Tomorrow he will hide his. At dinner, an announcement is made. The internships will be assigned on Friday.

When Friday dawns, the first years and our guides are asked to assemble in the gathering room after breakfast. Most are dressed in their finest clothes. Boys wearing jackets. Girls in gauzy dresses. I did not bring fancy clothes with me for The Testing, so I am dressed in brown pants, a turquoise shirt, and my scuffed boots. Instead of pulling back my hair, I brush it until it gleams, like my mother did when I was little. Since I am more than happy to let officials track my movements today, I leave my transmitter hidden under my mattress when I go downstairs to learn what my assignment will be.

Dressed in deep crimson, Professor Holt stands near the fireplace. Lips that match the color of her jumpsuit are curved into a smile. “Today begins one of the most important parts of your education. It’s not enough to answer test questions correctly. You must be able to work well with others and apply the knowledge you have received to real-world situations. Your internships give you important experience that will help you be effective leaders after you graduate from the University.”

Her eyes pan the room. “Unfortunately, after meeting with your final-year guides and talking to your professors, we have concerns that some of you are not up to the challenges thus far presented. We have taken your academic achievements up to now into consideration when assigning internships. Some of you might be disappointed with the choices we have made, but we do so in the best interests of your future and the future of the United Commonwealth. Remember, while we consider these internships essential to your education, your classwork is just as important. Alternate arrangements will be made for students whose work falls below acceptable standards.”

Alternate arrangements.

Redirected.

Dead.

“When your name is called, your final-year guide will escort you to meet with a representative from the government department in which you will be working. Regardless of what internship you are assigned today, you should be proud of how far you have come and all that you have accomplished. We’ll start with Juliet Janisson.”

The dark-haired girl rises from a seat in the corner, joins her guide, Lazar, and disappears out the door. I wipe my palms on my pants as we wait for the next name. No one speaks as the seconds tick by. Several times I catch Griffin watching me. He whispers something to Damone that makes them both smile.

One by one, students are called. Guides walk with their charges out of the room and then return to act as escort to the next first year. Finally, only Ian, Professor Holt, and I remain.

The fire crackles.

The ceiling above us creaks.

I fight not to squirm under Professor Holt’s penetrating gaze. Finally, she breaks the silence. “I’m sorry you had to wait until the end, Malencia.”

“Someone has to be last,” I say, glad to hear my voice doesn’t betray the nerves I feel.

Professor Holt nods. “That’s true, but in your case, it was a deliberate decision. Certain events during your Induction raised questions about the kind of future you should have within this institution.”

My heart swoops into my stomach and my knees go weak. I’m thankful Professor Holt doesn’t expect me to reply, because I doubt I could squeeze the words through my clenched throat.

“Because of your unique circumstances, we had to wait until a time when the officials interested in your case could be available for this discussion.” She looks at her wrist and smiles. “That time would be now. Please follow me.”

Professor Holt sweeps out the door without a backward glance, and I follow. I look to Ian, who keeps pace beside me. When he takes my hand and holds tight, I know I am in serious trouble.

We are led across the bridge, where a sleek silver skimmer gleams in the sunlight. I want to run fast and far, because the only reason for a skimmer to be here is to transport me away from the University. To what or where, I don’t know, but it can’t be good. Despite my desire to flee, I hold fast to Ian’s hand and wait for whatever surprise Professor Holt has in store.

The passenger compartment door opens, and Professor Holt gestures for me to enter. Ian drops my hand. My legs are uncertain as I approach the skimmer. After one last look at Ian, I take a deep breath, climb inside the cabin, and see Dr. Barnes seated on one of the soft gray seats that line the wall. He gives me a familiar smile.

“Sit. Please.”

Despite the pleasant tone, I understand the words for what they are. A command. One I obey.

“I apologize for the unusual location of this meeting. As you know, at this juncture in your University career, Professor Holt and I normally assign you the internship we believe best suited to your skills. In this instance, however, we have been asked to pass along that responsibility to someone else.”

Hope blooms as I realize Dr. Barnes is in fact talking about an internship. I am not being Redirected.

“Who’s assigning my internship?” I ask.

“I am.”

I turn, and a shiver travels down my spine. Standing in the doorway, wearing a severely cut blood-red dress, is the United Commonwealth president, Anneline Collindar.