Flight Page 4

  Sister.

  “Sure,” I reply through gritted teeth.

  “Tomorrow we’ll hold the debriefing with the rest of the team, first thing in the morning,” she says.

  “In this office?” I ask.

  “Level Nine. It’s exclusive to Hunters. Just show the guard your Corp card and he’ll let you in.”

  Corp Card. Hunters. Debriefings. These words bring me back to the days when these were all normal phrases for me. Suddenly this office makes me uncomfortable, cold, and I can’t shake the stares from the photograph.

  “Cool. Is that it?” I ask. I’m itching to get out of here.

  “One more thing, Miss Madden,” she says, looking at me expectantly. Ah, here’s the clause in my contract.

  My instinct is to leap from my chair and run out of here but deep down I know she’ll just track me down anyway. It’s not like she doesn’t know where I live, who my friends are and every possible location I could be. I take a deep breath and try to relax.

  “Blood sample, right?” I say. She nods ever so serenely, like sticking a needle into me isn’t the end of the world. You’d think I’d be used to this. For more than ten years I gave blood to the Corp monthly without a second thought, but now even the idea of a needle causes my heart to beat wildly. Myra pulls a portable unit out of her desk and instructs me to hold out my arm. By now I’m already hyperventilating, imagining the horror of that first prick.

  “I need you to relax, Miss Madden,” she murmurs as she comes at me with that damn needle in her hand like it’s a machete. I try to back away but the woman’s quick. She’s got that thing stuck into my arm before I can react and in seconds the world fades around me yet again.

  Chapter Six

  In my dream I’m at a ball, garbed in fine silk and gentle dancing shoes. Glittering around me, the Elder Corp ballroom’s aglow with hundreds of tiny lights strung around tall pillars. I’m surrounded by hundreds of people; each dressed more lavishly in handsome tuxedos and twirling gowns, their eyes shielded by slender masks. Music begins to play, swelling the room with gentle crescendos as the people start dancing. I feel a hand on my shoulder and know it’s Tor beneath the plain black mask, gesturing toward the floor. He guides me, his strong hand at my waist until we’re standing in the middle of the floor. Taking my hand in his, he leads me into a slow waltz, swaying with the music.

  His scent mingles with my senses, the reliable smell of laundry soap and peppermint reminding me of how it feels to be home, and I squeeze my eyes shut, letting the haze of familiarity wash over me. I miss him right now, wishing he could always be there to save me. The song slows to an end, leaving the dancers momentarily static. I feel a figure nearing my back, and feel Tor’s muscles clench. A man, tall and lean with shiny black hair and an extravagant purple mask stands beside us, tapping Tor on the shoulder.

  “May I cut in?” he asks. Tor looks at me with confusion in his eyes, but I nod that it’s okay. He steps away from me and I’m whisked away by the masked man, his every move as graceful and lethal as a tiger’s.

  “What are you doing here?” I ask quietly. There’s an edge creeping through my body as a slower song is played.

  “Seeing what all of the fuss is about at this soiree. It’s almost perfect, isn’t it? The bright lights and fancy music, the pretty dresses. The masks are a great touch, aren’t they? This way no one can see who I am,” he replies. He holds me closer, his fingers applying gentle pressure onto my back. I can see Tor in the crowded table area, his eyes never leaving us as we twirl about the room.

  “We can’t do this,” I protest, trying to push him away from me, the closeness of his body almost intoxicating, “you need to leave.”

  “When will I see you again?” he whispers into my ear. His breath is warm and sweet, leaving a soft tickle on my neck.

  “Tonight, after this is over,” I reply.

  “Tonight, then. Remember, Piper Madden, you belong to me, no matter who you’re dancing with,” he says, pulling away from me. Before he leaves I lean into him, my lips just grazing his earlobe.

  “And you belong to me.”

  I groan as I roll over and open my eyes, soft daylight filtering in through a window, tickling my cheeks. I’m lying on a cushy bed, and a girl with big brown eyes is standing over me, peering intently. I scream.

  “Well, at least I know you’re alive,” the girl says, moving over to the other end of the room.

  “Where am I?” I ask groggily. My vision slowly fades through, revealing a room with soft pastel walls and lined with twin beds along each side.

  “Recovery room. You don’t remember passing out when you got pricked?” she says. I’m guessing this is Grier, whom Myra told me about. She’s a bit shorter than me, with fierce-looking eyes lined black and shiny ebony hair. She wears straight-cut bangs across her forehead and I am completely envious of how good it looks on her.

  “Ugh. Yeah, I remember. I hate needles,” I mutter. She seats herself in a cushy chair beside the bed, looking at me quizzically but with a hint of a smile on her face.

  “Strange for a Hunter to fear the transfusion,” she replies. I strip the thin infirmary sheet from my body, thankful I’m still in all of my own clothing.

  “I’m not a Hunter anymore,” I mutter. To this, she giggles quietly. I sit up, ignoring the black spots crowding my vision and face her, raising an eyebrow in question.

  “Leaving the Corp doesn’t make you human. The Hunt is in your blood, and will always be in your blood,” she says, placing a hand over her heart for emphasis. I exhale loudly. My blood type will always tie me with the Corp, it seems. Will there ever be an escape?

  “I’m no longer a dog on the Corp’s leash,” I rephrase. She nods in snooty satisfaction. I scan her again now that I’m upright, noting her fitted imitation eel-skin pants, silky, airy top and custom brown boots that look brand new. From the handbag on the side-table hangs a keychain with tiny photographs in plastic casing: Grier smiling widely with friends, boys, and posing comically, all nothing like the harsh girl I see before me. I realize I’m jealous of her photos because I don’t have any. I burned all my memories a year ago.

  “Are you okay?” she asks. I shake my head and try to smile, remembering that we haven’t even properly introduced ourselves.

  “I’m fine, really,” I say. I’m waiting for her to return my smile, but instead she crosses her arms in front of her chest and frowns.

  “Then, could you please stop staring?” she snits. My instinct is to stare her down, to show her dominance in the smallest of battles, but I’m too tired for petty competition, so I return my gaze to my bed, the room, the bruise spreading on my inner elbow where the needle was inserted.

  “How long have I been sleeping?” I say. Grier sighs deeply, as if I’ve already held up too much of her precious time.

  “A few hours now. Myra wanted you to run through some VR training with me before you left, but since you blacked out, she’s being lenient and letting you wait until tomorrow after the meeting,” she replies. She paces about the room as if to show off her tightly muscled body. I resist the urge to laugh, it seems so petty.

  “Great. Tomorrow then, we can really scope each other out,” I say. She smiles, but it looks more like a challenge.

  “I’ll warn you. I’ve gotten the top scores on the latest VR modules. I might not be as easy as you think,” she says. This time I smile, and though my inner conscience quietly murmurs to leave her with her games, to be professional and just walk away, I can’t help but add in one last remark as I gather my things to leave.

  “That’s alright. I helped design them,” I say, leaving her silent as I saunter out the door, feeling a false sense of satisfaction, but at the same time recognizing the familiar tug of regret that I’d taken the low road.

  I inhale deeply when I leave the Corp building, for once enjoying the staleness of the false air. Being in the stiff and prim building only reminds me of before. I hop on the nearest streetcar and grip the
steel pole tightly. A wave of memories flashes before me like nausea, and I bend over slightly, trying to catch my breath.

  I’m brought back to a lecture in Central on ethics, part of my ever-continuing training under Rupert’s command. Back then I was young and unwavering in my confidence with Elder Corp. When I think back on it, this lecture was probably the first time I started to have my doubts.

  I remember the frail old ethics professor, her stout body planted at the front of the class while the other students around me were setting themselves up to take a nap. These classes were open; meaning not only Corp personnel could take them. She had one of those weird last names that are impossible to pronounce, so instead went simply by Leslie. My guess is that’s when she initially lost the class’s respect. Still, I felt for the old woman and straightened my shoulders to pay attention each day from my seat in the back.

  I remember only a few faces in the front rows: some bubbly girls busy whispering to each other about lip-gloss or something, other Hunters with disciplined faces, and other Corp personnel looking for an easy credit to continue their contracts. Tor was supposed to take this class with me so we could have at least an hour together each day, but he bailed out at the last minute when he was given a new assignment. I was left sitting by myself, notebook ready even though I knew the Elder Corp Ethics Code by heart.

  Professor Leslie set up her projection slides and began with the brief history of Elder Corporation that everyone has heard a million times, with the obligatory statement that without the Corp, society wouldn’t function. I daydreamed my way through the introduction, doodling in my margins. I don’t know how many times I wrote my own name before my ears tuned back into the lecture.

  “It was for this reason that founder Roger Elder created the Hunter Code of Ethics. The Corporation was looking to ensure the safety of human society, but also to affirm that Hunters were solely responsible for eliminating the Harpy threat and not to use their increased strength and stamina for personal gain. Let’s discuss the ethics of the Hunter world. What do you think about the code?”

  I scanned my eyes across the room, expecting each student to remain silent, twiddling their thumbs or letting drool fall from their lips. No one ever wants to speak against the Corp, and mindlessly praising them would just be redundant. What could be wrong with the protection and preservation of the human race? But a hand rose up from the middle row, a student I’d never seen before.

  “It’s all a bunch of bullshit if you ask me,” he said, eliciting giggles from the girls and a hard jab in the ribs from a guy sitting next to him. I sat up straighter, trying to get a glance of him, but I was stuck with the view of the back of his head. Leslie waited until the room was quiet before addressing him.

  “All right, Mr. Owen. Do elaborate,” she encouraged. It was hard to tell if she was merely annoyed or actually intrigued by his statement. Mr. Owen lazily crossed his arms behind his head before responding.

  “It’s bullshit because the code isn’t ethical at all, in the literal sense of the word. There are three different classes involved, Harpy, Hunter and Human, each with their own society. Who decided that humans have the right to live and Harpies don’t? I don’t think it’s up to us to make the executive decision based on our personal preferences,” he continued. The faint rustling of papers lulled to a dead silence, and I felt the screaming need to jump in.

  “But Harpies kill humans,” I stated, “Elder Corp keeps human society alive and functioning by destroying a threat toward human extinction. I think it’s up to us to make an executive decision to keep our society alive, it’s instinct.” The guy turned to glance at me briefly before countering, that once glance shaking me to the bone. Messy hair covered most of his face, but his light blue eyes bore into me. It was like he knew that I’m not really human, that I’m just part of the contract service that keeps humanity alive for a quick buck.

  “And Hunters kill Harpies. I’m all for surviving, but when we’re talking about the ethical standpoint, isn’t it a little hypocritical to place Harpies in the same category as animals? We know that Harpies have a society. They’re living, breathing creatures. We, as humans consume animals for our own meat. What if the cows were able to band up and take down the humans to save their own populace? Who would be the bad guy?”

  I was left speechless. There were so many self-serve questions from his argument. I guess the biggest one was: Am I good, or am I bad? I’ve killed hundreds of Harpies. Harpies have killed hundreds of humans. Who gets the high road? I filed the thought in my to be continued folder in my brain as a high-pitched voice chimed in.

  “But cows don’t have a society,” the student claimed. Professor Leslie called the class’s attention back to the front.

  “I think that Mr. Owen and Miss Madden have both brought up some valid points. These are issues within ethical code that the Corp deals with to this day. There are human based pro-Harpy functions who oppose the Hunter organization completely. This question has existed for generations and has been pondered by philosopher and government official alike. Who gets to decide who lives and who doesn’t? Where do we draw the line between right and wrong? I want you to think about this over the weekend and write an essay due Monday,” she said. A widespread groan waved throughout the room as outlines were handed out, but I remained flabbergasted. Of course the Corp was right to eliminate a threat to our own race, right? I stuffed the outline in my bag, the questions racing through my mind. Questions I still have to this day. Does being a Hunter separate me from humanity? Am I a third-party in this society?

  Mr. Owen caught my eye briefly as he passed by, his friends joking around behind him. His gaze stripped me down to my core, like he knew every single thing about me: my wants, my secrets, my despair. I never saw him again.

  When I enter the apartment a loud buzzing pervades the air. I feel around in my coat until I find a tiny, vibrating cell phone. Just like the Corp to plant a tracker on me while I was unconscious. I flip the phone open and bring it to my ear.

  “Hello?” I say. I cradle the phone between my head and shoulder as I un-suit myself and kick my boots into the closet.

  “Good afternoon, Piper,” a voice sounds. I recognize the gravelly tone instantly.

  “Rupert,” I reply. I hear him exhale the thick smoke of his cigar, and it’s almost as if the pungent stink is permeating the phone and into my house.

  “It’s good to hear your voice again,” he says dryly. I resist the urge to roll my eyes, picturing him at his desk, cigar in hand, feet raised up as he leans back in his chair.

  “Well, I had a pretty good vacation,” I reply. He chuckles slightly.

  “Listen, Piper. You took off after David died without even telling anybody. Half of Central thought you were dead. I’m just glad to find you alive and well. Now, tell me about your current situation. How are they treating you?”

  “Fine. We’re debriefing tomorrow and running some VR modules. No weapons yet. Actually, I haven’t seen weapons on any of the other Hunters,” I muse. It’s one thing I miss about being a part of the team. My crossbow and daggers used to be like a second skin, sometimes my only companions.

  “Too sentimental. What have I always told you?”

  “A weapon is only a piece of metal to a sentimental warrior,” I repeat in monotone.

  “Good. At least you still remember something. Just try to relax, and call me immediately if you see something that looks suspicious,” he mutters, then hangs up the phone. That’s Rupert’s trademark, deciding when any conversation is over. He took over Elder Corp a few years before I started training heavily, leaving his older brother Raul to a comfortable retirement in the clean beaches of Southern France. He’s one of the only Elder Corp presidents who actually did some time in the field, making him a valuable boss and ally, and sometimes an infuriating slave driver. I click the phone shut and toss it back in my bag, unable to shake his last words from my mind. Suspicious. What exactly is going on around here?

  I le
t myself slide onto my couch, deciding that all of the big questions can wait until tomorrow, especially when I see a note taped onto the coffee table that reads Don’t forget about tonight. Dress cute—Shelley.

  The venue is at a bar called Trash. It’s a tiny hole in the wall, and one of my regular dives. I try on a few outfits in my room, even debating on raiding Shelley’s closet for something cute before I give up and slip into my favorite jeans, ripped and splattered with paint, and a simple t-shirt. At the last moment before I leave, I let my hair out and shake it so it drapes over my shoulders and dab on a bit of lip-gloss. I guess there’s no harm in trying.

  With the Holo-sky glowing the frail purple of twilight, the underground comes alive with bright lights from every shop and restaurant, and as I walk along the sidewalk every door I pass carries a different scent. The food might be genetically altered, but the smell and taste is almost—almost—real. I content myself with watching the people around me; the shopkeepers haggling to sell their wares, the younger kids traveling in groups, their world centered around them for now, and the odd couple holding hands. Sometimes I think there isn’t so much wrong with this underground world. How different would it be on the surface? Eventually the wealthiest will move up to the fresh-air district, but instead of being stuck down here in filth, I wonder if the remaining population will still thrive.

  “Hi there!” a light voice sounds from beside me. I whirl around to see the little girl with pigtails, the one I saw in the elevator the other day. Her eyes are bright and she carries a stuffed teddy bear in her hands. I smile at her and look around for her parents, but every adult around seems to be preoccupied with other things. I turn back to her to ask her where they are when she skips off down the street.

  “Hey, wait!” I call. I pick up my pace to a fast walk, trying to keep up with her without drawing too much attention to the fact that I’m chasing a child. The way she jogs is so carefree, and she weaves through opposing travelers as if they aren’t even there. My lungs burn slightly as she finally turns off into an alleyway right beside Trash. I slow my pace before following, my mind telling me that something’s off. I look around before continuing, and everything seems normal, from the loud lineup to the bar to the slow, pounding beat coming from within.