Independent Study

Raffe leans back in the chair. “I came to offer Cia my help.”

“So you can report back to your father and Dr. Barnes that she can’t handle her assignments?” Will asks.

“Why would I do that?” Raffe’s eyes glitter with anger.

“Maybe because you don’t like the idea that a colony student was picked to work in the president’s office instead of you? You wouldn’t be the first one around here I’ve heard sounding bitter about that. Griffin won’t shut up about it.”

“I’m not Griffin.”

“No.” Will nods. “But you aren’t a colony student, either. So why are you here, offering to help Cia?”

“Just because someone is from the colonies doesn’t mean he can be trusted, Will.” Despite the aid he rendered me during Induction, distrust fills my voice.

Will looks at me. I see surprise, sorrow, and regret flicker in his eyes. “Maybe not,” he says. Then the cockiness I have always known returns. “But some of us are worth keeping around because of our sparkling personalities and handsome faces.”

His words make Raffe laugh, and while I want nothing more than for Will to leave, even I am forced to smile. Will has that effect.

“As much as I appreciate that,” I say, “your sparkling personality is keeping me from getting this work done. If the two of you both leave, I can get back to it.”

“I’m not leaving until he goes.” Will picks up some papers and takes a seat on the small couch.

I look at Raffe, who raises his eyebrows at me. The expression is almost identical to one Zeen gives when I try to convince him to do something he has no intention of doing. It makes me want to stick out my tongue like I used to do when I was little.

“Hey, this report is about Madison Colony.”

I turn to reach for the papers Will’s holding, but the na**d longing on his face makes me stop. Reading about my colony made me feel closer to those I love. As much as I want to hurt Will for all that he has done, I can’t deny him this glimpse of home.

“These plans are about the railway expansion,” I explain. “Four departments involved drafted opinions on how best to build a train system to the colonies that aren’t part of the current system. I’m supposed to review them and report to President Collindar on which ideas have the most merit.”

“Well, whoever drew this map should be pitched off the project.” Will holds up the diagram of Madison Colony. “The paper mills are over here.” He points to the outskirts of the city, where the report shows only unrevitalized buildings. The perfect site to build the train station. “And this area is all farmland. And why do they think we have corn and soy farms in the middle of the city?”

Raffe laughs. I sigh. “The Five Lakes Colony maps are wrong too. If both the Madison and Five Lakes maps are inaccurate, the others must be as well. I can’t give the president a recommendation if the information I’m basing my judgment on is wrong.”

Less than a day into my internship and I have already failed. So much for thinking I would get this assignment done quickly enough to strike out on my own.

“I can help,” Will says.

“Me too.”

Will rolls his eyes at Raffe. “Have you ever been outside Tosu City?”

“No.” Raffe shrugs. “But that doesn’t mean I can’t find people who have. Give me the maps for the other colonies. I’ll find students from those colonies who can look them over and tell us the things that are wrong.” When I hesitate, I see that glint of passion fire up again in his eyes. “Trust me. I can do this.”

Perhaps it’s because I see my brother in Raffe that I consider his request. This is my assignment, but it’s sheer folly to rely only on yourself when you don’t have the knowledge required. My father and Magistrate Owens delegate work all the time. If anyone questions Raffe’s assistance, I can say I was only doing the same.

But then I realize I don’t need to.

The mistakes in the reports about Five Lakes bothered me, but I could reason them away. Five Lakes is the smallest colony. The most distant. The least communicated with by the leaders here in Tosu. But Will’s observations about the flaws in the Madison Colony reports are not so easily explained. Every day the departments that created these reports make decisions that affect citizens across this country. I find it impossible to believe that a project so important would be treated with so little care. Or that the president would put so vital a task in the hands of an untried first-year University student.

I think back to the night Ian asked me to meet with him. He said his own internship was filled with writing summaries of old reports. As an intern, he was being tested on his ability to identify which facts and ideas were most important. The work wasn’t real. It was a test.

Just as this must be.

I look at the papers scattered across the room. While paper is utilized more frequently at the University and within the United Commonwealth Government buildings, it’s still precious. Ian’s internship tests were based on documents that already existed and were being recycled for his task. These reports, with their incorrect facts and mislabeled maps, could not possibly have been used before. They were created just for me.

Why? What purpose does this test serve? Did the president want to see if I would rely solely on my own knowledge or search for assistance on the colonies that I have never seen with my own eyes?

No, my gut tells me this test is not about teamwork or being confident enough to ask for assistance when it is warranted. There are ways to determine those skills that don’t involve wasting what at my school in Five Lakes would be a year’s allotment of paper.

I close my eyes to block out Raffe’s stare so I can think. The volume of papers and the short amount of time to read and report on them ensured I would have to work almost every moment until the deadline in order to complete the task. There would be little time to confirm the information I was reporting on.

And why would I? The documents were created by government departments. By people we depend on to make decisions for the good of our country. They are supposed to be the best at what they do. But if I used these reports to make recommendations and my recommendations were followed, then time, energy, and resources would be wasted. All because I trusted something created by people who are supposed to be experts.

And I understand. This wasn’t a test I was supposed to pass. Just like the final task during the Induction, this was an assignment designed for failure. The president wants me to learn that just because something is created by people in power doesn’t mean it is to be trusted. A lesson I learned in The Testing. And I will not forget it now that I have learned it again.

Opening my eyes, I thank Raffe for his offer but say I don’t need his assistance. I have enough information to write my report. I see annoyance color Raffe’s face before he gives a shrug. When I close the door behind Raffe and Will, I wonder about Raffe’s irritation. Did my refusing his aid injure his ego, or is he frustrated that he lost the opportunity to report that I could not complete this task on my own?

I’ll probably never know.

Sitting on the floor, I write a short list of recommendations for the president, including that she ask the colonies to provide accurate maps of their areas. I also suggest that when building the railway, engineers avoid laying tracks in the middle of already revitalized areas where healthy crops and trees could be affected. There’s no point in negating the important and successful work that has already been done. Something I’m sure the officials in charge already know.

Once I’m done, I pick up the papers strewn across the room, pile them neatly on the table, and head for my bedroom. President Collindar’s lesson has made me remember something important. The signs the government posted on the fence at the airfield imply that it is dangerous to venture into that area, but this doesn’t mean the government believes that to be true. Something lies behind those fences. It is time to find out what that something is.

Chapter 16

I ALLOW MYSELF two hours of sleep. The sky is still dark when I slide the external transmitter into my coat pocket, sling my bag over my shoulder, and quietly descend the stairs. The dining hall and kitchen are empty. Not a surprise, since breakfast won’t be served for another three hours. With only the light of the moon through the window to see by, it takes more time than I’d like to grab supplies. I slide two bottles of water, several apples and pears, some dried beef, and a few small loaves of bread into my bag. If this trip works as I plan, I won’t be gone very long, but it never hurts to be prepared.

Tiptoeing through the dimly lit hallways, I get to the entrance and breathe a sigh of relief as I slip out the front door. The damp, cold air makes me shiver as I walk to the small outbuilding to collect my bicycle. I keep close to the residence in case anyone from the rooms above looks out.

The vehicle shed is unlocked. I grope through the darkness to where I remember storing my new bike while casting glances over my shoulder for signs I have been discovered. When I find my bike, I pull it from the shed and begin to pedal—across the bridge, down several walkways, past the library. I slow in front of Tomas’s residence and use the transmitter to signal him to join me. If he sees the signal, he will turn on his light. But the residence stays dark. So, though I want nothing more than to have Tomas beside me now, I turn my bicycle and pedal past darkened buildings—all while fighting the urge to glance behind me. If someone is watching, I want to look confident. Like I have permission to be leaving campus in the blackness of night.

But wait . . . not everything is dark. In the distance, I see a light on the far side of the campus. While the University is given more power allotment than the rest of the city, the residences are the only buildings allowed electricity past midnight. The light appears to be coming from a building to the north—in the same direction as the building where Obidiah was Redirected.

I swing my bicycle toward the light, not sure what I think I will learn. But anything happening at this time of night is clearly supposed to be secret. If Dr. Barnes or his team are doing something they want to keep hidden, I’m betting the president and the rebels need to know about it.

The light is coming from the same building that Obidiah walked into. Stashing my bicycle in a small group of bushes about a hundred yards away, I watch the illuminated windows for signs of movement. When I see nothing, I creep closer.

I glance through the window and see no one in the hallway. But someone must be inside for the lights to be on. Remembering Obidiah’s Redirection, I stay near the brick wall and hurry to the back of the building. I’m hoping to see something to give me an idea of what is happening inside. Four skimmers sit on the ground behind the structure. Whoever piloted the vehicles must be inside. If I hide in the same place I did the last time, I will see them when they emerge. But then I will know nothing about why they are here. The only way to find out is to go inside. If I dare.

Careful to keep to the shadows, I hurry back to the front entrance. The lobby is deserted. Adrenaline, fear, and doubt pulse in my veins as I wrap my fingers around the door handle. I should go back to my bike and get out of here.

I tug on the handle. The door opens an inch and I lean close, listening for the sound of anyone who could spot me. The building is silent as stone. Before I can lose my nerve, I slide through the entrance, careful to guide the door closed behind me so it doesn’t make a sound. I hold my breath and walk farther into the lobby, looking for a clue as to which of the three hallways I should begin my search in.

The creak of a hinge makes me jump, and the sound of voices stills my heart. People are coming.

“Speaking of projects, did you hear about the new breed of rabbit Professor Richmard’s bioengineering students have created?” The nasal male voice sounds as if its owner is just down the hall. I need to get out or hide. I duck behind a tall black reception counter as the nasal voice grows closer. “The rabbits have a genetically modified immune system that will withstand eating the plants growing in the soil out east. The students released a bunch of the new species not far from here last week. They want to see if the genetic improvements have altered survival instincts.”

I wedge myself between the receptionist’s stool and the counter. Blood roars in my ears as I go still.

“Let’s hope this breed does better than the geese Dr. Richmard was so proud of two years ago.” Professor Holt’s voice makes me stifle a gasp. “Not only did they lose all their feathers, the animals were overly aggressive and attacked anyone they came in contact with.”

“Both of those traits turned out to be useful. Without any feathers to pluck, the birds were easier to cook, and the aggressive nature meant no one had to go searching for them to see how they were doing. That made it easier for Dr. Richmard’s team to track them. And it should be noted that both problems were fixed in the next genetic generation.” This voice is warm. Amused. Familiar. And right on the other side of the counter I’m hiding behind.

“I can’t imagine aggressive rabbits,” a deep voice says. “How will Dr. Richmard’s team know if this new breed is thriving?”

“They’re injected with a new chip that transmits their heartbeat and location to a receiver installed on top of the Biological Engineering residence. Once the data is received, it’s transferred to a processor in the lab. As long as the rabbits stay within a couple miles of campus, the students can track them.” The nasal voice laughs. “So far those chips are working better than the ones in the new identification bracelets. Maybe we should put the bioengineering students in charge of that project next time. We could even put them in charge of monitoring The Testing bracelets, since you had such trouble with that last year.”