Judgement: The Undergrounders Series Book Three (A Young Adult Post-apocalyptic Science Fiction Thriller) (9 page)

J
erome places
a hairy palm on the hologram keyboard. "Don't do this."

Sven turns to him, his face rigid with shock. "I have a right to know."

Jerome shakes his head. "Why torture yourself with the days you have left?"

"His choice," Trout says. "I'd want to know if it were me."

The Ghost peers over Sven's shoulder. "What's the big find?"

"Inception records. They document the date we were cloned." Jerome grimaces. "No clone's ever had an expiration date past twenty-five units."

The Ghost's eyes glitter. "Can't say I'll be crying to be rid of the lot of you."

I glare at him. "No one's going to be crying at your funeral either."

Sven fixes his gaze on Jerome. ""I want to know. It's important to me."

Jerome tightens his lips and reluctantly withdraws his hand. "Leave me out of it."

Sven hits a few strokes on the hologram keyboard. He frowns at the lines of records scrolling down the screen.

I stare at the baffling array of data hoping to catch a glimpse of Sven's name, but everything is numbers and code.

After a few minutes, Sven keys in a combination and the screen goes blank.

"Did you find it?" The words tumble out as I turn to him. My bottom lip trembles as an overwhelming fear grips me. "Do you–"

"Nineteen units," he says, flatly, a strange mix of emotions in his amber eyes.

I breathe slowly in and out. "That's good news, isn't it? You're still a teenager." I flash him a smile, but it droops a little as the reality sinks in. He's somewhere in the last six years of his life. He may not even make it to twenty-five. A machete-sized pain slices through me at the thought of losing him.

"We need to get back to the Biotik Sektor and check on the Rogues," Trout says, breaking the strained silence.

Sven gives a dazed nod.

"Let's go," The Ghost says. "I'm starved." He makes a beeline for the steel entry doors.

Jerome gets to his feet. "I'll stay here and get started on the deviations' work schedule."

Once the doors retract behind us, Sven lays a hand on my arm. "I saw Jerome's records."

I frown in disapproval. "He told you not to."

"I couldn't help it." An anguished look flits across Sven's face. "He's twenty-four units."

My pulse picks up pace as I try to mask the despair I feel at the news. "It's not too late. Viktor's son could turn it around."

"Don't get your hopes up," Sven says. "We may never get the chance. It won't be easy to fool the delegation."

We walk the rest of the way back to the Biotik Sektor in silence. I spend part of the time thinking about Jakob and Hannah, and Owen and Nikki. I envy their uncomplicated relationships. Boy meets girl, they fall in love and live happily ever after. None of this girl meets clone, fall down a rabbit hole of expiration dates and ossification. The fear of losing Sven is messing with my mind. But I can't deny my heart--he ignites something inside me that I didn't know was there before I met him, and I don't want to give up on it.

T
he Rogues have trashed
the Biotik Sektor by the time we arrive back--it looks like they've sampled every lyophilized food combination possible and tossed the rejects at each other. The pod chairs are twisted around on their goosenecks, and muddy packs and gear are strewn across the floor. The Undergrounders shrug when I throw them a questioning look. "The Rogues are pigs, what do you expect," one of them says.

A flash of anger goes through me. There's a ton to do without having to clean up after the Rogues as well. I turn to The Ghost. "Tell your men to straighten this place up right away."

He sneers at me. "This ain't summer camp. My men don't like to be told what to do."

I stare coldly back at him. "They'll spend the rest of their lives being told what to do if we don't straighten this place up before the delegation arrives."

The Ghost shrugs. "We got time."

"We've got enough to do between now and then without adding to the workload. Are you with us, or not?"

The Ghost scowls, but he grabs a handful of trash and marches across to his men.

"Let's head into the office and go over a few things with Viktor while the Rogues sort this place out," Sven says.

We follow him inside and close the door, relieved to be rid of The Ghost breathing down our necks for a few minutes.

Sven gets to work at the CommCenter and fires up a projection display above our heads. A moment later a hologram of Viktor comes into focus.

"Everything on task?" I ask him.

"We have a problem." His voice wavers like he's under duress. "I just received a transmission from my son."

I curl my hands into fists and press my nails into my palms. Whatever bad news Viktor is about to give us, it had better not be that his son's backing out--he knows too much now. And he's the only hope we have of overturning Sven's and Jerome's looming expiration dates.

"What's the problem?" Trout asks.

"The delegation has brought their arrival date forward," Viktor says.

"What?" My heartbeat hammers wildly as the implications explode in my brain. "When?"

"Tomorrow."

Sven bars his arms over his chest. "Why the sudden change?"

Viktor blinks. "After reviewing the reports again, the Sweepers on the Megamedes felt the circumstances called for an immediate assessment of the situation."

Sven narrows his eyes. "If you're setting us up, Viktor, I'll find out. I can recreate every keystroke you've hit, dig up every transmission you've ever deleted."

Viktor frowns. "Why would I warn you if I was setting you up?"

My brain spins. Instead of a week to prepare for the delegation's audit, we're down to twenty-four hours. There's no time to put everything in place. We'll have to change our strategy and focus on a few priorities.

"Brief the scientists," I order Viktor. "I'll be there in a few minutes."

He nods and flatlines from view.

"I'll check up on the cleanup operation," Trout says, walking out of the office. "I'll get the Undergrounders to pitch in too."

I turn to Sven. "As soon as this place is put back together we'll take the Rogues down to the Intake Sektor. I told The Ghost we'd let the men familiarize themselves with the place. But we're out of time for those kinds of formalities now. They're going to be suspicious if we tell them the delegation is arriving early. The chances of one of them getting trigger-happy are high. We're going to have to figure out a way to lock them up without alerting them."

Sven raises his brows. "They'll go ballistic, you do realize that?"

I give him a rueful grin. "I hope so. Enraged extractees are a lot more convincing."

Sven chuckles. "I'll work something out. I can show them around and then slip out a side exit and lock all the doors from the computerized keypad. They can be activated from any CommCenter after that. The Intake Sektor is soundproofed so the delegation won't be able to hear the Rogues yelling. I take it you're not planning on joining them now?"

I rumple my brow. "I need to stick with Viktor while he's touring the delegation around, make sure he adheres to our plan. Trout and I, and the other Undergrounders can pose as junior scientists. I think Viktor's come clean about everything, but he's fickle. He could be talked into something."

"It's risky," Sven says. "You don't know anything about their scientific research. One slip from you or Trout could trigger their suspicions."

"I'll leave the technical mumbo-jumbo to Viktor." I dig Sven playfully in the ribs. "Isn't it about time you rounded up the military clones and practiced goose-stepping in those dapper black fatigues?"

Sven reaches for me and pulls me close. "I know what it means, all this joking around. You're scared."

I shiver in the strong circle of his arms--arms that could buckle and warp into desiccated limbs at any minute, trapping me against his expired frame. I can't let that happen. I'll fight to the end to save him.

"We need to let Jerome know about this latest transmission," I say.

Sven nods and releases me. He reactivates the CommCenter, and a moment later Jerome's face comes into focus a few feet above us.

"Everything under control at Terminus?" I ask.

"All good. I'm working on the maintenance schedules," Jerome replies. "How about on your end?"

"There's been a change of plan. More of a timing issue, actually. The delegation's arrival has been pulled forward."

Jerome's face twitches. "When?"

"Tomorrow."

He runs a hand over his pitted forehead. "The deviations can't restore the Craniopolis to full operational capacity in twenty-four hours. Maintenance and cleaning are in disarray, laundry is piled up in every Sektor, trash for the incinerator is overflowing."

"It doesn't matter. Tell them to resume their old schedules and positions effective immediately and look busy. The most the Sweepers will do is throw a passing glance at a deviation pushing a food cart or a broom around. Our main goal is to convince the Sweepers that the Schutz Clones have restored security and that Viktor, as the new lead scientist, has resumed extractions and clone production. He's already dummied up the records the Sweepers are likely to inspect."

Jerome squares his jaw. "The deviations don't do well under duress and they don't like disorder. They might become disruptive--run off and hide, walk in circles, that kind of thing. It's not a good idea to put them back on shifts under these circumstances."

I frown. "There must be some way to keep them pacified for the few hours the delegation is here."

"We could say they've contracted a communicable virus and keep them quarantined inside Terminus," Jerome suggests. "It's a common enough problem with their fragile immune systems. I can operate a skeleton crew and only allow those who are stable to resume work duty."

"Do what you think is best," I say. "Just make it happen. Sven and I are taking the Rogues down to the Intake Sektor in a few minutes to lock them up. I'll check in with you in the morning."

Jerome inclines his head. Seconds later, he condenses and zips from sight.

"Let's do this," I say to Sven. We walk out into the main living area and survey the space. The Rogues throw us dark looks as we pass by, but they keep working under The Ghost's supervision and the watchful eyes of the Undergrounders. The place is already looking ten times better. Maybe all those years in the reeducation center engrained some kind of work ethic in them after all, or maybe they're just scared of The Ghost. I don't blame them. I'm trying not to think of what he'll want to do to me after the delegation leaves.

I wave Trout over. "You and the rest of the Undergrounders can stay here and finish putting the place back together. Sven and I are going to take the Rogues down to Intake now." I arch a brow at him. "
Some of us
will be back shortly."

He gives me a crooked smile. "Sounds more fun than trash pickup."

The Ghost gathers up his men and we exit the Biotik Sektor and follow Sven through a web of feeder tunnels. An uneasy feeling hits as soon as we step through the steel entry doors to the Intake Sektor. Inside, the space is laid out like a giant batting cage of sorts, sub-divided into sections separated by sixteen-foot high chain link fencing. A few mattresses and benches are scattered around the interior.

"This is just a temporary holding pen area for extractees," Sven explains to the Rogues. He points to some doors at the far end of the room. "Back there is where the extractees are medically and psychologically evaluated. After they're processed, they are moved into the living quarters--much more upscale, complete with a lyophilized food dispenser." He raises his brows at The Ghost. "You'll be in there when the delegation comes through. Feel free to look around. Through these doors. Follow me." Sven taps something into a keypad on the wall, waves the Rogues forward and with a subtle incline of his head signals to me to fall back.

I bend down and fiddle with my bootlace, peeking cautiously through my hair as the last Rogue disappears through the main door. I wait for several minutes, then exhale and get to my feet. Before I can move, someone steps up behind me and whistles softly in my ear.

I
gasp and spin around
. The Ghost's steely eyes bore into me, unsmiling. "Getting a little behind the tour group, aren't you?"

"Just tying my bootlace." I jut out my chin, but inside I'm shaking. Any minute now Sven will reappear, but without The Ghost locked in the living quarters with the rest of the Rogues, our plan is useless.

He makes a sweeping gesture at the door. "After you." His lips tug upward, but his eyes are devoid of warmth.

I start toward the door, dragging my boots with every step. I punch in the code on the access panel and push on the door, but it doesn't give. Sven's secured it already.

The Ghost folds his arms across his chest. "Isn't this interesting? My men are locked inside the Intake Sektor, and coincidentally you're out here." He narrows his eyes at me. "Only one little miscalculation on your part--you forgot I'm not as dumb as the rest of them."

"Don't be stupid." I knock sharply on the door and make a show of peering through the viewing monitor in the door. "Sven doesn't realize we're stuck out here."

"He knows
you're
out here, just like you planned it." The Ghost tightens his grip on his M16.

In my peripheral vision, I catch a glimpse of Sven approaching. Something in my face gives it away because The Ghost spins around and aims his gun straight at Sven.

Without stopping to think, I swing the butt of my rifle hard and crack the back of The Ghost's head. He lets out a grunt and drops to the ground.

"Are you all right?" Sven asks, running up to me.

"I'm fine. Just get him secured before he comes back around."

Sven reaches for The Ghost's limp body and swings him over one shoulder. "I can't reopen the doors to the Intake Sektor for the next hour. They're on a timed lockdown. I'll put him in one of the holding pens for now."

"What if he starts talking when the delegation comes through?"

"Viktor can give him something to knock him out," Sven says, adjusting his load. "That's his specialty."

He takes The Ghost out to the holding pen area and lays him down on a mattress on the back wall.

"Pat him down for weapons," I say. "Drugs or no drugs, we can't take the risk of him grabbing a member of the delegation through the bars and holding a knife to his throat."

Sven retrieves a Glock and two blades and hands them to me. "I'll tie him up for now." He pulls out some rope from his pack and secures The Ghost's wrists behind his back.

"Hear that?" Sven asks, looking up.

A muffled din reaches my ears.

Sven grins. "Took the Rogues that long to figure out they were locked in."

I grimace. "Let's get Viktor down here before The Ghost wakes up and discovers
he's
locked in."

Sven walks over to a CommCenter and a moment later Viktor's face materializes above us.

"We need your help down here," Sven says. "The Ghost gave us some trouble. He's out cold for now, but we'll need something to keep him subdued until the delegation has left."

"I'll swing by Sektor Sieben right away and pick up some drugs," Viktor says.

He fades from sight, and I turn to Sven. "We're behind schedule, and this is going to hold things up even more. We should split up."

Sven gives a reluctant nod. "I'll set the military clones up with Schutz gear and assign them their positions."

"Okay," I say. "I'll take the Undergrounders to the Research Sektor and get them kitted out with lab coats. And I want to go over the reports with Viktor one last time."

Sven's face creases in concern. "I don't like the idea of you going back there without me."

"We have no choice. We're running out of time."

I spin around at a loud groan. The Ghost contorts in a coughing fit. He bolts up into a sitting position, lucid and livid, eyes like darkened slits as he takes in his surroundings. He jerks his wrists to test the strength of his bonds, but only Sven's hands will ever be able to undo the grip of those knots.

"You double-crossing punks," he snarls. "Trading us like meat to the Sweeper processing plant."

I walk over to the pen and wrap my fingers around the chain link fence. "No one's being traded to the Sweepers. The delegation's arriving early. They're suspicious of something. I knew the Rogues would opt to fight if they got wind of it. We had to lock them up to make sure they don't deviate from the script in the heat of the moment--take out a Schutz Clone or something. We only get one shot at fooling the delegation."

The Ghost eyes me coldly. "We agreed to the plan. You're the one deviating from it."

"Consider it a necessary modification," I say as Viktor sails through the door. I give a subtle nod in his direction. He takes a few steps toward the holding pen and reaches inside his lab coat for a dart gun.

The Ghost's eyes flash to me, comprehension flitting across his face. The dart hits him before his lips can move and he sags to the ground like an empty sack.

"How long will he be out?" I ask.

"I'll arrange for one of the scientists to dose him up again tonight," Viktor says. "He won't twitch for twenty-four hours."

I nod. "Good. Let's head back to the Research Sektor and go over your reports."

"Watch your back," Sven mutters, as I turn to leave.

I give him what I hope is a reassuring smile as I follow Viktor out of the Intake Sektor.

T
rout
and the other Undergrounders are already dressed in their lab attire by the time we arrive at Research. I stare unapologetically at Trout, his thick, brown hair parted and combed neatly to one side. Against the white scrubs, I realize for the first time how sallow-skinned he is despite our years in the bunkers.

"Where's Sven?" Trout asks.

"Getting the clones fitted for Schutz fatigues." I arch a brow at him. "You know you don't look half bad in a lab coat. One of those Sweepers might take a fancy to you."

He makes a face and gestures toward the screen behind him. "I've run through most of the reports Viktor put together for the delegation. They look good."

I give Viktor an approving nod. "Nice work, given the short notice."

"I have my own selfish reasons for wanting to make those reports convincing," he says.

"Ten years is a long time not to see your son," I say, grudgingly.

He throws me a grateful look. "I need to wrap up a few things. I'll be at my station if you need me." He walks back to an array of screens and sits down.

Trout brings me a couple of different lab coats to try on. I reach for the smallest one, but when I stick my arms through, the sleeves ride up past my wrists.

"More Won's size." I laugh, as I shrug off the coat.

Trout hands me the larger one and I slip it on. "Perfect! How's this?" I swivel to show him.

"You're clean, for once," he says, grinning.

I try to punch him in the arm, but he ducks and walks off chuckling.

I spend the next hour familiarizing myself with Viktor's doctored reports, before Trout and I call it a day and head back to the Biotik Sektor with the other Undergrounders.

I sink into a pod chair clutching a lyophilized turkey and mashed potato dinner sachet. Without the Rogues tromping around, bellowing, the place has a surprisingly soothing effect on me, despite the fact that we're essentially in an oversized coffin.

It still shocks me that the Craniopolis exists. And that it stayed hidden from the world for so long. Big Ed says it used to be harder to hide things from the public when the world was made up of different countries: governments were always spying on each other and leaking things to the press. The media was one of the first things the world government abolished. They said the political fear mongering had become too disruptive to global progress.

Sven sits down beside me, rips open a sachet and pours the contents into his mouth.

"What's on the menu?" I ask.

"Cheesecake." He grins. "I ate a flatiron steak and a baked potato on the way over here. Alexander the Great would have loved the convenience."

I frown. "Who?"

Sven shakes his head. "Never mind. I forgot you didn't have school in the bunkers."

He stands and yawns. "Get some sleep," he says. "You've got the biggest performance of your life tomorrow." He hits the recline feature on my pod chair and I tilt backward, sinking into the luxurious matrix cushioning. I moan as the softness envelops me. "Tell Trout I said goodnight," I mumble.

I
wake
the next morning before anyone else and tiptoe across to the food dispenser to appease my growling stomach. One bacon and egg burrito later, I'm feeling satisfied enough to take a stroll and see if anyone else is stirring. I'm eager to be up and moving, and start preparing for the delegation's arrival, but it seems I'm alone.

Sven is in a deep sleep, his chest rising and falling in perfect rhythm. None of the military clones snore, a by-product of their flawless physique. Viktor and the other scientists are spread out across the room in various pod chair arrangements. I spot the Undergrounders sleeping in the corner of the room, but no Trout. After tiptoeing around the Biotik Sektor twice, and checking in all the bathrooms, a seed of panic starts to grow. Where could Trout be? I stuff my hands into the pockets of my lab coat and my fingers brush up against something I'm certain wasn't there last night.

I take a quick breath and pull out a scrap of paper.

Back soon. Heard something.

T