five

SOCAL SAT CITY 2—TUESDAY, JULY 4, 2141 9:05 P.M.

BRYSON SLUMPED BEHIND his vid screen, his head resting in his hands as he rocked back and forth. The other people in the lab had been escorted out hours ago, leaving him alone to figure out where things were going wrong. The quiet seeped into his bones, and he shivered.

The copied memory chip was essentially empty—one of the reasons Ms. Peters and her group couldn’t decrypt the damn thing. There wasn’t anything to decrypt. It was pretty much random gibberish except for the message from ACE, and one other thing. There was a single packet that looked different than the rest, at least to his algorithms. He doubted anyone else would have been able to see the difference. After a few hours of poking around and tearing it apart, the only conclusion he could come to was the packet contained a virus. A mean one that had already been deployed.

His first reaction had been to unplug his computer, but at that point it was probably already too late. The chances the virus had escaped onto the lab network were near enough to one hundred percent that it was guaranteed. The good news was that the chance of it having left the lab was significantly less. The lab’s network was pretty much isolated from the rest of the city. But not completely. He knew his data was backed up every night, and that Ms. Peters could see anything on his computer at any time. That implied some sort of connectivity. He didn’t have access to any of that, and couldn’t trace it.

If the virus was as dangerous as it seemed, it would find those holes.

He’d thought about contacting Ms. Peters again. She obviously hadn’t been watching him in real time when the virus unpacked itself, or she would have been down here long before now. Unless the damn thing had taken care of that as well. Or maybe she had no clue what she was looking at. He didn’t even pick up the comm unit, mostly out of spite. If they thought they could kidnap him and force him to work without any repercussions, who was he to try and stop a virus from infiltrating SoCal’s systems? With the protections they would have in place, it wouldn’t live long anyway. Maybe some of the information it would grab would tell people he was up here. A prisoner. Maybe they would come and get him. It only made sense that they had to be ACE, and ACE had some people who could come and help. Didn’t they?

He studied the chip sitting on the stainless steel countertop. It seemed simple enough, an unlabeled blue square that looked almost like the one he had dumped the quantum drive information onto. There wasn’t anything special about it. Strange how something so small might be the only way someone on the outside would know where he was.

He kept staring at the chip. Blue on top of silver. Something in his brain niggled. Blue on top of silver. Color. Frequencies. Quanta. The thought snapped into place and his fingers raced over the keyboard in front of him, the virus forgotten. A detailed three-dimensional image of Meridian’s quantum ship popped up on the screen, and he zoomed in. The outer shell, or shield, of the habitable area contained hundreds of millions of quantum wells and transmitters. The wells converted and stored ultraviolet photons for later use. The frequency of ultraviolet light fell between 130 and 140 nanometers. The problem was, the frequency was wrong. Using the 100–120 spectrum was what they needed. The different range prevented the quantum eddies from penetrating into the living space of the vessel. How the hell had he forgotten that? Coupled with the engine design fix he’d done on Kadokawa, that had solved the protection issue.

He moved the formulas into the proper part of the spectrum and started more tests. It would take some time for the simulation to find the exact frequency, but he expected positive results by the morning.

He stared at the screen, watching the simulation run through its steps, everything else pushed aside in the thrill of discovery.

LOS ANGELES LEVEL 3—TUESDAY, JULY 4, 2141 4:02 P.M.

Two people stood on either side of me, supporting most of my weight as we waited in line among the others captured in the sweep. The one on my left was so tall he had to crouch so he didn’t lift me off the ground. As soon as the line moved, he let me go and I almost dropped. The woman on the right grunted and took most of my weight. I struggled to get my feet under me.

“How you doing?” she asked.

I shook my head, staring at the ground as everything came into focus.

“You took quite a hit. It took three soldiers to stop the one soldier from tearing you apart. I’m still not quite sure why they did it.”

“I tried to get out. I thought I’d broken her knee.” The line moved forward and I shuffled my feet to keep up.

“That explains the woman, but why would the other soldiers stop her?”

“Quotas,” I mumbled. I tried to put some more weight on my feet. My legs shook, but they held me.

“What?”

“Quotas.” My voice was stronger. “The soldiers have draft quotas to fill. If they don’t fill them, they get extra shifts.”

The woman stared at me, squinting. “How do you know that?”

Shit. How did I know that? Only because I’d heard it before dinner at the insurgents’ building. The fact that it wasn’t common knowledge didn’t even occur to me. Until now. “Umm, I don’t know. I overheard some guys talking on Level 5 before they closed it off. It may not be true.”

“Huh.” The woman shifted as I took more weight off of her. “You okay to stand on your own now?”

“Yeah, I think so.”

She lifted my arm from around her shoulders and took a small step away, her arms still outstretched to catch me in case I fell. I wavered, but stayed up under my own power. I wasn’t sure about moving yet.

“Thanks,” I said. “I’m Kris.”

“Carlene.”

“Thanks, Carlene.”

“Don’t thank me. Those bastards threw you onto us. We didn’t have no choice.”

“Thanks anyway.” I finally got a good look at her. She was a larger woman, and her face showed signs of age with the hard lines of a difficult life. Despite that impression, her eyes were soft and concern flashed through them. She seemed to be too old for SoCal to want her. Why hadn’t she been separated out with the others?

“You’ll be okay,” she said.

“I’m about to be drafted in a war I don’t believe in, made to fight for people I hate. I don’t think it’s going to be okay.” With the words came a deep-rooted fury. I swallowed it, hoarding it for later. I would need everything I had if I wanted to get out of this. I couldn’t stop the tears.

Carlene’s looked softened and she put a hand on my arm. “You’re young yet. They don’t draft no one under eighteen. How old are you, sixteen, maybe?”

“Seventeen, but my birthday is at the end of August.” Looking younger than I was would have helped me if I didn’t have this damn tracker ID. I should have set to an ID younger than I really was.

“Maybe they’ll let you go and hope to catch you in the next one, when you’re older.”

“Quotas.”

“If they’re real,” Carlene said. There wasn’t much hope in her voice.

The line shuffled forward, the soldiers keeping us tightly packed. Carlene and I stood in silence. I watched the soldiers. They weren’t young, and they had the air of people who had been doing their jobs for a long time and knew how to do it well. The ones at the perimeter of the ad hoc drafting station stood in a rough circle with their backs to the tables and waiting trucks, trusting the ones monitoring the line to keep us in our place. A few of them were chatting with the soldier next to them. Relaxed. Like they’d done this many times before.

It was obvious they didn’t use draftees for this job; they used professional enlisted men and women, veterans. Maybe they were worried anyone drafted would have too much sympathy and wouldn’t do a good job. Maybe they thought the draftees would try to escape. I knew I would if given the chance.

The line shuffled forward again.

Carlene sighed. “This is your first draft, isn’t it?”

“Yeah.”

“You’re pretty skittish, always looking at the soldiers and fidgeting with your hands.”

“You’re not,” I said.

“Nah. This ain’t my first time. Won’t be my last.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’ve been in five of these now,” Carlene said. “I ran at the first one too, but these old, fat legs don’t carry me too far or too fast. Not anymore. They let me go every time. Old and fat ain’t what they want. I don’t know why they even bother with me, unless it’s quotas, like you say. Maybe I’m just borderline fat.” She chuckled at that. “Now I wait for them to come and get me. I don’t run no more, but I don’t help them any neither.”

Five? I’d seen a couple of drafts and managed to avoid them, but if one person had been in five, they were a lot more prevalent than I thought. “You’re lucky.”

“I don’t feel lucky. I’m fifty years old, worked hard my whole life to give my kids the best I could. Two, sometimes three jobs to keep them in school with clothes on their backs and food in their bellies. Worked too! I got two boys, both done better than me or their old man ever did. They went to college. One was a plumber, the other wanted to be a teacher. They’re both gone now, lord knows where. Both caught in the same draft. I haven’t heard from them since, and it’s been over a month.” Her voice hitched and she took a quick wipe at her eyes. She grabbed my arm and her voice became harsh. “Never let those bastards know they’re getting to you. When we get to the front of the line, you stand as tall as you can, and don’t you blink. Show them that you ain’t scared. Show them that they got no power over you, over who you are.” She paused and glared straight ahead between the few people left between us and them. “It’s what I do. I wish I could do more.”

I didn’t know what to say, so I stayed quiet and grabbed her hand, giving it a tight squeeze before letting it go. We were one person away from the front of the line when she spoke again.

“If you see my boys, Dwane and Markell Porter, you tell them I love them and think about them, okay? Dwane and Markell Porter.”

“I will.”

“Say their names so you remember them.”

“Dwane and Markell Porter.”

She nodded fiercely and looked forward again, pushing me behind her as she stepped up to the table. Her back stayed ramrod straight, even as they led her past the circle of soldiers to her freedom.

Then it was my turn. I did as she said, looking the man sitting at the table right in the eye. He was the first to turn away. It was a hollow victory.

“Name.”

“Kris Merrill.”

“Age.”

“Seventeen.”

“Take off your jacket and hold out your arm, with your sleeve rolled up.”

As I moved to do what he asked, I noticed a woman off to the side, about three meters away. She held a scanner in her hands and moved it up and down my body. “What’s she doing?” I knew, of course. She was scanning my ID. I just wanted to see what they would say.

“Jacket and sleeve.”

“Not until you tell me what she’s doing.”

Two soldiers stepped from the sides of the table and stood facing me, one on either side. One of them smelled like he hadn’t showered in a week. Was this the fight I wanted to pick? I reached for the zipper on my jacket.

“She’s scanning for weapons. Jacket and sleeve, or these two will make it happen for you.” He couldn’t have sounded more bored.

I shrugged and took off the jacket. It would be obvious to anyone who knew about the IDs what she was doing. I didn’t want to be caught with knowledge I shouldn’t have.

Once she had a scan, the information would be shown on the display on the table. What would have happened if it didn’t match what I’d said? I rolled up my sleeve and felt the jab of a needle in my arm. They didn’t take much blood.

Carlene had been told to go left. I was told to go right. They printed out a wristband and wrapped it tightly around my arm. It had a single barcode on it. No text, no numbers. I walked around the corner of a van and stopped. The line in front of me was shorter than the one I’d left, and by the looks of things, the age of everyone in it was younger. Men and women in worn-out suits, boarders in their protective gear, the jackets removed and carried in their hands. I seemed to be the youngest here. No one cared.

We were grouped in batches of twenty and herded into the backs of the large trucks. There were no windows, and the only way out was the same way we had gotten in. Two soldiers followed us and closed the doors behind them. I heard a bar drop.

We were on our way.

LOS ANGELES LEVEL 3—TUESDAY, JULY 4, 2141 4:29 P.M.

“They’re gone.” Pat closed the link on the comm unit and threw it onto the dashboard. They were still a kilometer away from the draft site. Her insides churned and she thought she might throw up. It had taken them too long to get a team and a truck. Kai had heard what was happening and managed to get a ride with them.

In the back of the tarp-covered truck sat eight men and women. Seven of them had K-3700s, fully prepared for an extraction. The last one had a C14 Timberwolf, an old Canadian sniper rifle. Sandy was the only person Pat trusted, besides Kai. And she wasn’t about to send him out with a sniper rifle. Sandy was also the only person that had orders to take out Kris if they couldn’t get to her. Orders that wouldn’t be followed. Pat would be in debt for a long time to pay off the favor.

“What do we do now?” the driver asked.

“Wait for an update. There’s no way we can get her out of a SoCal base. Our best bet is to ambush them on their way to wherever they’re going.” Almost impossible, she thought. They already had a head start. “There are two places they could take them: southwest to Hawthorne, or north to Burbank.”

“My guess is Hawthorne,” said Kai. “There is no place big enough to train all the people they are grabbing in San Angeles, so they have to be shipping them out of here. The air base is the quickest way to do that.”

“That means they’re heading through Level 6 security,” the driver said.

“We won’t even get to Level 5 with the new checkpoints in place. Our only chance is to stop them from going through. Let’s move,” said Kai.

The driver stepped on the accelerator and the motor whined in response. He swerved around a slow-moving car, throwing Kai into Pat. “We’ll never make it.”

“Just fucking drive. Faster!” said Pat.

The truck sped up, the worn and pitted Level 3 road tossing it on its suspension like a rag doll. From the back, Pat heard a curse. Even strapped in, the people back there were all being thrown around pretty good.

They slowed down again as they approached the up-ramp. Traffic was thin. News of the ramp draft had gotten around pretty quick, and people were scared of getting trapped. No one wanted to be in SoCal’s army.

If SoCal was trying to limit movement, what they had done had worked. The truck nosed up the ramp, passing one or two cars on the way, and sped up again. Pat’s comm unit rang.

She grabbed it off the dash, reaching almost in front of the driver to where it had bounced. “Pat here.” She listened and hung up, gripping the phone tight. “They’re heading toward Hawthorne.”

Kai smiled, though there wasn’t any humor in it.

Traffic was heavier on Level 4, and drones hugged the roof below the Ambients. The driver slowed to the speed of everyone else. Pat knew why he did it—they were already conspicuous with the damn truck as it was. Speeding on top of that would draw more attention. Each person in the back had a temporary blocker under their clothes so they couldn’t be tracked. That helped a bit. If the drones scanned the truck and found eight IDs, they would have been stopped and arrested already.

Each slow kilometer that passed drove Pat deeper into frustration. Kai gripped her shoulder, trying to give her some extra strength. A headache was starting to form behind her left ear from clenching her jaw so tight. They stopped the truck less than a kilometer from the Hawthorne Level 5 up-ramp. Pat banged on the back, and the sniper jumped out, running into a building that almost touched the ceiling. Someone inside held the door open and closed it behind her.

Everyone else waited in the truck. After what felt like an eternity, Pat’s comm rang again. She put it on speaker.

“Yeah.”

“I’ve got them. Five trucks heading toward the up-ramp. They’re bypassing the checkpoint.”

“Can you see anyone inside?” Kai asked.

“No. The best I can do is take out a tire and stop the line.”

Pat didn’t hesitate. “Do it.”

Her driver left the curb and continued to the up-ramp just as Pat heard a sharp crack.

“This is going to be suicide,” he said in a shaky voice.

A half a second later the voice came over her comm unit again. “Shit. Missed. There’s a pretty stiff breeze coming down the ramp.”

“Can you compensate?”

“Yes.”

“Then try again.” Pat knew why she was trying so hard to get Kris back. Kris had become the only family she had. Jack’s goal was the safety of the insurgents. Even if it cost Kris her life.

If they got close enough, the extraction team would get her out. It’s what they trained—what they lived—for. The real question was how much did she trust the sniper? There was only one answer that worked: she trusted her with Kris’s life.

“Missed again. They’ve mobilized vehicles. Two battle drones heading our way.”

Fuck. “Get off the roof. Now. We’ll pick you up later tonight.” The comm link closed. She turned to the driver. “Get us off the street.”

“No can do, no place to go.”

“Fuck. Then let’s get rid of our cargo.”

“I had better go with them,” Kai said. “I will see if I can find out what they will do with her after Hawthorne. It is not a training facility, so they won’t be keeping them for long.”

The truck slowed and seven people jumped out the back, their K-3700s jammed under jackets and stuck down pant legs. They dispersed, each heading in a separate direction. As Kai climbed out of the cab, she gave him a quick smile. How did he keep his cool so easily? The door closed and the truck picked up speed again until the next corner, slowing to turn away from the up-ramp.

“We’re going to be stopped,” Pat said. “They’ll want to know what we’re doing. Stick to the story. There’s no way for them to tie us in with shooting at the up-ramp. Hell, they may not have even figured out it was a sniper yet. Hopefully we’ll just be a mandatory check for them.”

The driver’s face had gone white. He had a death grip on the steering wheel.

“Breathe, and stick with the cover. We’ll get out of this just fine.”

A battle drone dropped from the ceiling and hovered in front of the truck, its dual .50-caliber weapons pointing straight at the driver. Its speakers came to life. Stop the vehicle and get out with your hands up.

Pat’s door was open before the truck had stopped. They both got out and stood between the drone and the truck’s grill, waiting. She could hear the driver’s raspy breath. If he wasn’t careful, he was going to pass out. At least it would still be realistic.

It took only a few minutes for the SoCal ground crew to arrive.

“Lay on the ground, hands behind your back.”

The driver responded so quickly, he scraped his cheek on the rough surface of the road. Two men approached and zip-tied their hands and feet. Four more went around the back of the truck.

“Clear.”

Pat and the driver were rolled over, staring into the deadly end of machine guns.

“Names.”

“Pat Nelson.” She added a slight waver to her voice, trying to appear meek and scared.

“D—Dave Fowler.”

“What are you doing with the truck?”

“Scavenging,” Pat replied. “The lower levels are hurting pretty bad. We figured if we found anything up here, we could sell it to them.”

The soldier’s boot lashed out, hitting Dave in the chest. “Fucking profit mongers. Willing to rake over your own people for a dollar. If I catch you up here again, I’ll shoot you.” He turned away. “Let them go.”

Pat lay still as they cut the zip ties. These guys were idiots calling her and Dave profit mongers. The corporations ravaged the common people every day, and they’d been doing it for decades. Their bosses were the assholes here.

Before she got to her feet, the soldiers had piled back into their truck and drove off. The drone was nowhere to be seen.

Pat sat back in the truck as Dave slowly picked himself up off the road. She could see he’d been rattled by what had happened. Good. It was experience he could use later. They didn’t have near enough of it in the insurgents.

When they rounded the corner she picked up her comm unit again, connecting to the sniper.

“You okay?” she asked.

“Yup. Just packed up and ready to head home.”

“Good. Thanks for sticking around.”

“No problem.”

Pat closed the link and slipped the comm unit into her pocket.

“Who was that?” asked Dave.

“Sandy.”

“She’s just getting out?”

“Yeah. She covered us during the stop.”

“She was watching the whole time?”

“You bet. Never leave anything to chance. If we got into serious trouble, she was ready to cover our escape.”

“We would never have made it.”

“We had less of a chance without her.”

They both got quiet as they drove back down to Level 2. Pat was lost in her own thoughts.

Kris was gone.

LOS ANGELES LEVEL 3—TUESDAY, JULY 4, 2141 4:11 P.M.

The van had no windows, no way to view the outside world. I sat in the semidarkness created by a single strip light along the center of the roof, protected by a thick black cage, stopping anyone from using it as some sort of weapon. The truck was otherwise bare, save us and the seats we sat on. We’d been driving for ten minutes and gone up a level before the people around me began to whisper to each other, trying to find comfort in the sound of voices other than the ones in their heads. The voices harbored the same fear and uncertainty I felt.

My ACE training kicked in, and I started mapping the drive. I closed my eyes and stayed quiet, feeling the motion of the van under me, counting my breaths, keeping track on my hand using unseen motions of my fingers. Whenever I stole a peek, the soldiers were sitting by the door, staring into nothing as the time passed.

By my calculations, we drove for about thirty-five minutes before we hit another up-ramp. Using my best estimation of speed and the number of stops we had made for traffic and lights, I figured we had traveled a little more than twenty kilometers. When we’d been pushed into the trucks, they had been facing south. Based on the turns, we had headed mainly west, toward the ocean.

As the trucks rolled up the second ramp I thought I heard the distinctive sound of a high-speed ricochet. The soldiers didn’t seem to notice. Ten minutes later, we hit another up-ramp. That meant we were heading through security. The lack of delay meant we were being expedited through.

We hit another up-ramp. Level 7. If the people in the van could see outside, they would have gone into shock. I doubted a single draftee in any of the trucks had ever been exposed to open sky. We stopped briefly and I heard a gate open, before driving for another couple of minutes. The sound coming from outside changed and we dropped down. Not far enough to go down a level. Underground parking. Keep the draftees in an environment they knew and understood.

The trucks stopped and the rear doors were thrown open. Even in the parking garage, the air felt different than where we had come from. It had lost the permeating scent of the huddled masses, of recycled air being blown through old and dirty ventilation systems. There was a tang that I immediately associated with the ocean. As we got out, I watched the other draftees, emulating their reactions to the differences. I didn’t want to stand out.

Soldiers herded us into a cargo elevator that lowered us farther into the depths of our prison. Before the door closed, I heard the distant roar of a shuttle taking off. Everyone else ignored it. Maybe they thought it was a damaged filtration system, not knowing what a shuttle sounded like. But I listened to what it told me.

The sound meant we had traveled far enough west to be close to the shuttle port. We weren’t in it, though, it wasn’t loud enough. I couldn’t place direction from the noise—it had echoed down the ramp leading back to the surface. Even with that, I knew where we were, without a doubt. There could only be one place. We were at the SoCal Air Force Base south of the shuttle port. I also knew this wouldn’t be our final destination. This was an interim spot before they shipped us somewhere for training and brainwashing.

I knew all about that. ACE had done their share to me.

The elevator doors opened onto a fibercrete tunnel and with it the familiar scent of recycled air. This time without the stench of the lower levels. Only thirty meters farther in, a huge door swung on massive hinges, opening into even more tunnel. Armed soldiers stood outside the door on full alert, rifles held at the ready. Inside were three women in white lab coats, waiting for us.

No one moved until the soldiers started pulling us out. Then, like obedient children, we followed them. The only sound was of our feet on the floor. The door became more impressive the closer we got. It was thick, almost ninety centimeters by the look of it. The frame had three deep holes in it, matched by three huge cylinders embedded into the door itself. Once that thing closed, there was no getting out unless they wanted you to.

Someone shouted from the front of the group, their voice filled with dread. Panic spread like unventilated smoke on Level 2, and the tide of bodies turned, pushing back on those of us following. I fought against the sudden surge and slipped to the side wall, followed by a couple of other people, watching as the horde tried to get back to the elevators.

They didn’t know it was already too late.

A single shot sliced through the air over our heads, and a hole appeared in the back of the elevator. For the first time, I noticed it was home to more than just one. People had panicked here before, and been brought back under control with the threat of violence or death. Everybody froze and the tunnel fell into an eerie silence. A single voice cut through the stillness.

“Welcome to SoCal Basic Training. Starting today, your mind, your body, and your very soul belong to us. You will maintain control of yourself, and follow these three people to your quarters for the night. Tomorrow, you will be shipped to Snied Parker Base to begin your training.” The voice paused, then rose in volume. “Move. Now!”

Once again, the only sound was that of shuffling feet. When we were finally all through the massive door, it closed silently behind us. The only signs of its movement were a rush of air before it closed and the sound of three cylinders driving home.

We followed the people in lab coats to the first regular-sized door I had seen. A small sign above it read “Decontamination.” We were herded inside and ordered to line up in three rows. I stayed in the back, trying to remain small and inconspicuous. The feeling of being trapped threatened to overtake me. I fought it as the line of bodies in front of me pressed me into the wall. The only other exit in the room was a set of double doors opposite the ones we had come in through. The soldiers stayed with us, standing along the opposite wall.

One of the people in lab coats, the tallest one with the bright red lipstick and a beak for a nose, started talking. “Welcome to Hawthorne Air Force Base. You’ve all come from various walks of life. In order to allow you to mix with the other trainees tomorrow, we have to make sure you are clean and healthy. First row, strip. Leave your clothes in a pile where you are and walk through the double doors. New clothes will be provided once you are done. We’ll get your bloodwork results back tomorrow before you ship out.”

No one moved.

The same voice from outside the elevators boomed across the silent room. “First row. Strip and move through the doors to your right. Now.”

In a sudden flurry of motion, the front row started to remove their jackets and shirts. Everyone hesitated before they stripped off their underwear, trying to cover themselves in modesty. They were led silently to the double doors.

KADOKAWA SAT CITY 2—TUESDAY, JULY 4, 2141 5:40 P.M.

SoCal was up to something. The problem was, Andrew couldn’t figure out what. Even the intelligence reports were vague when they mentioned the Sat Cities. His forces, and SoCal’s, had spent the day eyeing each other warily across the thousands of kilometers that made up the front line. None of the ships had moved.

The battle on Mars had intensified. SoCal had brought in new troops, barely trained and barely controllable. It should have been a bad move, but it had worked. They’d regained control of the mines. Kadokawa troops, or what was left of them, were huddled to the north waiting for air rescue. So far SoCal had left them alone.

Things were changing within Kadokawa as well. All because Kaijō-bakuryōchō Sone and Kadokawa’s president had gotten control of the once-peaceful corporation and turned it into a warmongering one . . .

Andrew caught himself before the thought could fully complete. Even thinking it felt like treason to him. He was a soldier. He knew that the day he signed up. When he was told to do something, he did it to the best of his ability.

And yet . . .

He’d received a private communiqué just before lunch from Natsumi. He corrected himself, Kaishō-ho Kadokawa. The note had troubled him to his very core. He and Kaishō-ho Kadokawa had been childhood friends. They’d joined at the same time, attended the same training camps, and moved up the ranks in synchronicity, until she had reached Kaishō-ho. He had been held back at Kaisa, simply because he was needed where he was. There had been no one to promote into his position, to fill his space.

His plan had been to ask for her hand when they both reached Kaisa, but circumstances had placed them on the opposite side of the globe for more than a year. Kaisa was the first step into admiralty, and allowed a bit more freedom, a chance to have a life outside of the military.

Her outranking him put a stop to those plans. It wouldn’t have been proper for him to ask anymore. They were both Kaishō-ho now, but the distance between them remained. He was in the field, and she was in Okinawa. Her position had more responsibilities than his did. Soon she would be Kaishō, and even further out of reach.

The communiqué was encoded with nothing the military normally used, and it had left him stumped for most of the day. Only after an early dinner with the enlisted, which he tried to make a daily habit, did he realize what was going on. The code was actually quite simplistic, but difficult to break at the same time. Natsumi had found it in an old text in the library at Nagasaki when they went to school there, and they had both memorized the encryption and decryption routines, running through them daily to make sure they had everything right. They’d used the code throughout high school, passing notes to each other about whatever topic came up. With her, it had almost always been math or geography. For him, physics and calligraphy. She’d never really understood the beauty of either.

It took him some time to decode the message—the old routines were only a memory, and he hadn’t used them in decades. When he had finished and read the complete message, he’d immediately deleted its receipt from the logs and destroyed the pad he’d decrypted it on.

She had spoken of the old Kadokawa, of how they’d worked together to bring the necessities of life to the people of Korea after an earthquake had devastated the east coast. How they’d helped protect Machu Picchu when civil war had threatened to destroy the ancient city. Together, they had helped rebuild cities and bring joy back into people’s lives. The new president and Kaijō-bakuryōchō were destroying all of that. She wrote what she was going to do about it.

She spoke of treason.

Andrew had sat in his room, going over the message word for word, searching for a different meaning behind them. Perhaps he had memorized them wrong. Perhaps someone else had written the words, or forced her to do so. He sighed, knowing none of that was true. She’d signed the letter using her given name. He hadn’t spoken it out loud since she’d outranked him, though in his thoughts she would always be Natsumi.

The note had come from her.

Trouble was brewing in Kadokawa, and she had picked a side. She had just told him why, and asked him to join her. He yearned to be with her, to help her any way he could.

But duty . . .

LOS ANGELES LEVEL 7—TUESDAY, JULY 4, 2141 5:35 P.M.

It was my row’s turn.

I had never been comfortable being naked, and was even less so with other people around. Watching the first rows strip down and march through the doors didn’t relieve any of my discomfort. Gender didn’t really matter, I preferred staying clothed around everyone. I was sweating as I took off my clothes, even in the cold room. The last of us stood and waited, keeping our eyes on the ground.

We didn’t need to be told to start moving. As soon as the double doors opened, we walked single file across the room and through them. I resisted the urge to cover up and kept my eyes on the feet of the man in front of me. The soldiers had watched the previous groups, their gaze lingering when they saw something they liked. I could feel them watching me. My belly protruded a bit, and I tried to suck in my gut. I wasn’t sure why.

The doors opened to a short hallway. There was another exit at the other end, clearly labeled with a lit green sign, and two doors in the left wall. The one closest to us was open and we were led in. One of the women in the lab coats stood nearby. I peered over her shoulder and saw a wet trail exiting the other door, stray footprints discernible near the edges.

The floor of the room was soaking wet. Three people in rubber boots and ponchos stood against one wall with hoses in their hands. We were told to stand against the other, our arms raised above our head, facing out.

The person in the lab coat stood in the doorway. “If you have any sores or open cuts, this will hurt a bit. The water contains antibiotics and various chemicals for killing lice or anything else that may be on you. As the water sprays, you will duck your head into the stream and wash your hair. You will do the same with your armpits and groin. If we think anyone is not doing an adequate job, we will do it for you. We won’t enjoy doing that, therefore neither will you. When the water stops, turn to face the wall and repeat the process. You will be told when to exit through the far door.”

The water turned on. It seemed like the assholes got pleasure from humiliating us like this. Treating us like animals with no respect as people. The first spray was right in my face, held there until I couldn’t breathe before moving on to the next person. I washed my hair, trying to look like I was doing a thorough job while still being careful to keep my bobby pins in place. By the time we were told to turn, my skin was bright red from the rubbing and the water pressure.

“Bend over.”

I was too slow. All three hoses aimed at the back of my head, forcing my face into the wet, slimy wall. When the pressure stopped, I was bent over like everyone else. I hated the men with the hoses, hated the soldiers and the lab coats. Hated SoCal, with every part of who I was.

I shivered as they corralled us through the doors into the hallway and through the next set of double doors. We were separated into two groups, men and women, and forced to stand against another wall, still wet and cold, as they stuck fingers into our mouths and other places. At least this time they had the decency to have a woman search our group.

We were finally given towels. They had been used and washed so often they barely worked anymore. I did the best I could and wrapped the towel around me. It was so small I had to hold it together with my hands. Some of the larger men and women held their towels clutched in front of them.

The man with the loud voice stood in front of us again. “You will be given clothes and a place to sleep tonight. Tomorrow, we’ll go over your blood test results and send you to training. You’ll have six weeks to become the soldiers we want you to be. Those that don’t make it will not be returned home. There will be water available after you’re dressed.” He smiled. “Drink as much as you want. It’s all you’re getting until tomorrow. Do you understand?”

Most of the people just mumbled. I stood silent, dreaming of the different ways I would kill him.

“When I ask a question, you will respond with a ‘Yes, sir.’ Do you understand?”

Several of the group replied with soft answers.

“I can’t hear you.” The soldier took a step closer to the nearest person and yelled only centimeters from his face. “Do you understand?” Spit flew from his lips.

This time, everyone responded, including me. I would bide my time, but when it was right, I would kill him.

The clothes came in two sizes, medium and large, with no differentiation between men’s and women’s. Except for the underwear. The military gray material was stiff and coarse. I ended up rolling up the bottom of the pants and the sleeves of a shirt that I tucked in down to my knees.

Everyone drank water. As many glasses as they could, thrilled by how much was available. I watched from the sidelines until I noticed the soldiers paying more attention to me. Then I stood in line and pretended to drink.

ACE had taught us to never accept food or drink from the enemy. I knew I couldn’t hold out forever, but I could last a while. Long enough to tell if SoCal put something in it.

They marched us single file down a long hall with doors on either side. None of them had windows, and under the doorknob was a ten-digit keypad. The light on each pad glowed red. We went into the sixth door at the end of the hall.

The room was spartan at best. The walls, ceiling, and floor were bare fibercrete and the beds simple plastic frames with thin mattresses. On the end of each bed were a pillow and a couple of thin blankets. The far end of the room was an open washroom. Toilets and showerheads lined the walls, and a single large sink separated them from the beds. There was zero chance of privacy. I managed to get a bed by the door, laying the first blanket down as a sheet and using the second for its intended purpose. I’d slept in enough disgusting places to want something between me and the mattress.

“Lights out in two minutes.”

It couldn’t have been much past 6 P.M., but exhaustion swept through me. I lay on my bed and watched the others. Several of the men sat in a small group, talking quietly and waving their hands. I didn’t know what they were going on about. I didn’t want to know. The others simply commandeered the beds near the front of the room. Most of them were already under the blankets before the lights went out.

I could hear the men cursing as they tried to find a place to sleep in the dark. Eventually the room quieted down. I lay there until all I could hear were the sounds of sleep from the humiliated and exhausted people around me. I shivered and pulled the single blanket tighter before finally closing my eyes.

Despite my exhaustion, I was wide awake.