Satellite: The Satellite Trilogy, Part I (27 page)

“How are we going to get out of here?” Liam whines.

I shrug a shoulder and play “eenie, meenie, miney, moe” like Fischer would. The hall to the left wins.

When a guy walks by us, I clear my throat to warn Liam to play it cool.

“Yo,” the guy says. After he passes, Liam blows out air.

“Relax, man.”

“Unlike you, I don’t enjoy breaking the rules.”

“I don’t remember any rule about this.”

He groans and hurries to keep pace with me.

At the end of the hall, I spin around and push Liam back. When I mouth the word
Jonathan,
his eyes nearly pop out of his face and I don’t doubt he could use a change of boxers.

I hear a woman’s voice speak first. It’s Wynn from training. “If she stays, then we must delay the process. It has been written that the decision for the seventh will be announced today.”

“Her experience will be a great asset. I feel it is worth the risk,” Jonathan says cryptically.

“But the course of the next Elite will…”

Their voices fade, and I motion Liam down the opposite way.

“This is crazy,” he hisses.

I ignore him and turn again, following the growing voices. A few people pass us, but no one seems suspicious.

In a circular room laid out like the stone well that took me through Ryder’s past (but actually welcoming, with more drywall and less rust), Henry disappears into one of the doors. The girls on the sofa are too engrossed in a magazine to even notice us.

A voice behind us makes Liam jump out of his clothes. “You guys look like you’re lost.”

“Jordan, you’re going to give poor Liam a heart attack,” I say coolly, after Liam peels himself off the ceiling.

“What are you doing here? You could get in some major heat if someone sees you.”

“Looking for Willow,” I answer.

Jordan studies us. “Come on.”

We follow Jordan down a hall that looks like all the others and opens to another round room. He steps around two guys wearing Virtual Reality-looking headgear before taking us through one of the ten ornate doors.

Jordan walks across the tan room and move a notebook from the futon to the coffee table to sit. “How’d you get here?”

“We followed Henry. We could use your help,” I explain.

He looks impressed. “What’s up?”

I stare up at the cloudless blue sky and collect my thoughts before vomiting the entire story—everything. When I’m finished, Liam lies and says Tate’s breakdown wasn’t my fault. He then adds a few choice words about Willow.

Jordan already knew the Rebellion part, of course. Keeping secrets around here is a joke. “What do you need from me?”

“We need to catch Willow when she gets back. Any idea where she displaces?” I ask.

“Sure, to her room. You’re in luck. It’s just across the hall.”

Liam scopes a J-shaped chair in the corner and relaxes a little. “Dude, I didn’t know you were a gamer.” About time the guy loosened his panties up.

“Totally. You?” Jordan asks.

“Uh, yeah! I’m addicted to Squad Seven.”

“Have you figured out mission four?”

Aggravated, I clear my throat.

“Apparently Grant’s never played before,” Jordan says to Liam, directing us out. We cross the circular room, and he opens a seemingly random door. How he can tell all these identical doors apart is beyond me.

“You all right, mate?” Liam asks after we enter Willow’s room.

I stop laughing, but my head still shakes when I fall into a dreadful, putrid-orange sofa. It’s as comfortable as mine. Figures.

“I gotta go. You should be uninterrupted until Willow gets back,” Jordan says.

Liam reverts back to freak out mode. “You’re not going to mention this to anyone, are you?”

Jordan shakes his head. “It’s cool.”

“Thanks,” I say.

Jordan closes the door behind him. Liam moves Willow’s guitar and stretches across the faded rug in its place.

I rub my thighs and try not to think of Tate. “Should we take bets on when she’ll return?” I ask, mindlessly watching the birds dart across the clear sky.

Liam stops juggling a red bouncy ball and looks at his calimeter. “My guess is, we’re gonna be here awhile.”

I sigh, and Liam resumes tossing the ball.

After twenty minutes, I cross the room and open the cabinet above the sink, helping myself to a mug and some coffee. I doctor it with sugar and return to the sofa.

Even though I couldn’t care less, I ask Liam, “Any word on who the next Elite will be?” I’ll try anything to keep my anxious thoughts at bay.

“Uh-uh, but I hope it’s me. If we’re caught and this messes up my chances, I am going to have your neck.”

I half laugh.

“You think I’m kidding?”

“Nope. I believe you.” And I do. He is so not happy with me. “What is it with everyone wanting to be an Elite?”

“Oh, come on. Don’t tell me you wouldn’t want to be one.”

“No frigging way.”

“You’re off your bloody rocker, mate.”

“Seriously, are your regular assignments not tough enough?” When the words fall from my mouth, the image of Tate in the bathtub burns in my eyes. I squeeze them closed and concentrate on my breathing.

“Sure, but being an Elite means you’ve arrived, man. There’s nothing—” Liam stops talking and we both jump when the door opens.

“Here, man. It’s probably going to be a while,” Jordan interrupts, tossing Liam a pair of binoculars.

“Ace! I totally owe you!” Liam says, like he’s just been given the keys to a Lamborghini.

“It’s cool. I’ll grab ’em from Willow later.”

“Want to play?” Liam asks me after Jordan closes the door. I shake my head.

“Smashing!” He starts strapping the atrocity around his head.

I look up at the sky and think of anything that will keep me from playing worst-case scenario, starring Tate.

*******

“Dance with me,” Tate said, pushing herself up from the bed of my truck. The gravel lot was empty, and we hadn’t loaded our mountain bikes yet after a day of riding on the Katy Trail.

“You know I can’t dance,” I half joked. “And besides, there’s no music.”

She pushed the top half of her body through the truck cab’s open back window, and a second later, country music was coming from the speakers. She wrapped my arms around her waist and pushed herself against me.

“The song’s a little too fast, don’t you think?” I whispered.

“Just hold on to me.”

We stood there, barely moving, through the rest of the song and the commercials that followed.

“I love you.” After the words were out, I regretted them. Not that I didn’t mean them (God, I meant them), but it was too soon. It hadn’t even been three months.

Tate pulled back, clearly ticked. “Why did you say that?”

“What?” This was best answer I could come up with.

“Why did you just say that?” she demanded.

“I’m sorry. It’s too soon, I know. I shouldn’t have—”

She placed her finger over my mouth to put me out of my misery. “Did you mean it?”

“Of course.”

She studied me and then caught me off guard with a kiss. When she pulled away, I thought,
Here it comes, she’s adding “desperate” to the list of reasons she can do better than me.

Instead, she whispered, “I love you, too.”

My heart sprinted when she kissed me again. When she pulled back this time, we were both out of breath.

“You say something, mate?” If he wasn’t already dead, I would kill Liam for interrupting my replay from when life was good. He gauges my expression, shrugs, and pulls the hideous goggles back down.

I cross the room for a refill while Liam sways and karate chops the air. Suddenly, ice shoots through my veins and my coffee spills onto the counter, black as the hole that engulfs me.

“Grant! Wake up, you nancy!”

My eyes blink open to find Liam inches from my face, snapping his fingers. “Good morning, sweetheart. It’s about bloody time!”

I rub my head. “Huh?”

“You were out cold, mate.”

When I sit up, Willow materializes behind Liam. I open my mouth, but Liam cuts me off. “You!” he yells at Willow. “If you ever do that again, I swear I’ll kill you!”

“Simmer, dude.” Her deflated tone matches her face.

“Are you all right?” I ask.

Her eyes meet mine, and then she looks away. “Oh, jeez.”

“What happened?” Liam demands.

“It’s bad. Really, really bad.” Willow’s eyes dart to me for half a second before holding steady on Liam. “She destroyed everything.
Everything
, Liam.” She rubs at the creases on her forehead. “Even her ring,” she whispers.

“Her ring?”

An invisible weight causes Willow’s shoulders to slump even more when she answers Liam. “Her engagement ring.”

They both turn to me with oversize eyes, like they’re waiting for me to say something. I can’t imagine what they’re expecting. I don’t even know what the hell they’re talking about.

.

20. Why couldn’t you have shut up like this months ago?

From my sofa, I try to tune out Willow and Jonathan’s not-so-quiet argument in the hall. They’ve been at it since Jonathan unhappily lead us out of Programming and back here. Their cryptic conversation hasn’t evolved much in the last hour.

“But it
is
important. He needs to know,” Willow’s insisting.

“No, he doesn’t. This is the natural order of things.”

“He’s different. You and I both know it.”

“The transition took a little longer for him, that’s all. Willow, you’re missing the point. This is a good thing. He will no longer have the unnecessary distraction.”

Willow grumbles something I can’t make out and then yells, “It’s different! His memories weren’t forgotten naturally like ours. She erased them!”

“Maybe you’re too personally connected with this assignment. It may be best that we bring in someone else—”

“No!” she interjects. “No one else.”

Long pause.
Please let them be finished.

“You need to pull it together, for the sake of both parties.”

“Fine! I’ll handle it,” Willow huffs.

My head snaps up when the door opens. After gauging her mood, I know better than to even consider opening my mouth.

Willow stomps to the kitchen and her head disappears behind a cabinet. I join her but put the counter between us, just to be safe. She slams two mugs down, fills them, and shoves one in my direction. Coffee sloshes onto the black marble but it vanishes a second later.

“You have no idea how frustrating this is for me,” she states.

I stare back at her, knowing anything I say can and will be used against me.

“Dang it, Grant! You’ve gotta remember something about her?”

I give her my best “I have no idea what you’re talking about” look.

“Gah! Think about it! Tate. Tate Jacoby. She was your fiancée—your soul mate, for crying out loud!”

I smile placidly. “Please tell me you don’t believe in that crap.”

Whoops. Now she’s
for real
pissed. “Who are you?!”

“I think you need to get your head checked,” I suggest.

Her volume raises. “
My
head is fine! It’s
yours
that’s jacked. Come on, kid; it’s Tate we’re talking about here. Tate whom you broke almost every rule for. Tate whom you couldn’t stop connecting with. You’ve got to remember something!”

I’m seriously questioning her sanity. “Sorry. Can you calm down long enough to tell me why we were all in Programming?”

“You’re impossible!” she growls and storms out the door.

I shake my head. In the words of Liam: “She’s gone bloody mad.” I drum my fingers on the counter and check my calimeter. Almost break. Finally.

I grab a table for the others when I get to Benson. The room seems even larger when it’s quiet and empty. My thumbs race around each other while I wait.

And wait.

And wait.

Mental sigh. It’s going to be a long week waiting to start my next assignment.

Finally, the masses come. “Oh, Grant,” Clara says to me, like I’m a sick cat or something.

Not her, too.
“Yeah?”

From across the table, she trails off. “I, uh…”

“Oh my gosh, are you all right?” Anna almost pushes my chair over when she throws herself on me.

I peel her arms off my neck and catch Owen’s stare. My eyes dart to the others, who give me similar cautious looks. “What?” I demand.

Rigby holds his toothpick in front of his gaping mouth. “What’s up with you, man?”

“Nothing. What’s with you guys?”

Rigby shrugs, turns a chair around, and sits between Clara and a new guy. The others follow Rigby’s lead, sitting down and keeping their eyes on me. No one even bothers introducing the new Satellite.
Rude.

“You’ve all gone postal,” I mumble under my breath.

Everyone looks away, trying to act casual—except for Liam. His glare emanates pure hate. If looks could kill…well, no, that one doesn’t work anymore. If looks could kill
again
, I’d be a goner.

“I’m getting something to eat,” I say to the table of lunatics.

“I’ll go with you,” Anna offers, rising from her chair.

When we’re in the buffet room and I’m filling my tray with everything I can grab, Anna says, “Grant, I’m worried about you.”

“Aren’t you going to eat?”

She shakes her head. “Honestly, I don’t know why everyone’s tiptoeing around it. We’ve all heard what’s going on.”

“And what, exactly, is going on?” I ask peevishly.

“Tate’s a Rebellion.” Anna’s volume is low and she looks around the room like she’s just said a bad word.

“And?”

“And she’s your fiancée,” she hisses.

Not this again.
“Seriously, Anna, you’ve got to stop believing the gossip. Trust me, I’d remember if I had a fiancée.” I push her chin up and her jaw clinks closed. “What happened to keeping assignments private, anyway?”

“We’re all worried about you.”

“Well, don’t be. I’m fine. Couldn’t be better, actually. Now, can I get my food? I’ve got a quiet week ahead of me and would prefer to take advantage of the company.”

She says nothing else and leaves the buffet with just a bottle of water. I, on the other hand, am carrying two overflowing trays of food and intend to eat every last bite. I catch Rigby at one of the meat tables; I’m glad to have an opportunity to talk to him.

“Hey man, how’s it going?”

He eyes my trays. “Not bad. Hungry?”

“Nah. So listen, I wanted you to know…” I pause, not sure how to continue. May as well put it right out there. “I kissed Clara.”

He clenches hard on his toothpick and remains silent.

“I’m sorry. I’m not sure what happened.”

He doesn’t look too keen on accepting my apology. “What about Tate?”

Ugh. Not him, too. “Please tell me you don’t believe that Tate crap like everyone else?”

“You told me all about her!” he accuses, like I’m the one that’s crazy here.

This whole place has gone mad! Not wanting to get into a heated argument with so little time to be around the others, I set one of my trays down, ready to clear the air. “Are you ticked about Clara?”

“Yeah I’m ticked about Clara! You knew I was interested and you kissed her anyway?”

“It just…happened. I didn’t plan it or anything.”

Rigby’s anger escalates.

“Look, I’m not interested.” Am I?

No! I can’t do that to Rigby. I don’t have time to play
Love Connection
. I’m a Satellite, after all, soon to have a new Tragedy to watch over. This isn’t high school. Though now that I think of it, I don’t remember much about high school at all.

“But you kissed her,” Rigby reminds me.

“It was a momentary lapse of reason.”

“You’re quoting Floyd now?”

I grin, impressed that he got the Pink Floyd reference. “Is it working?”

“No. And just so you’re aware, if you are interested, I’m not backing down,” he threatens.

“I’m not interested,” I reiterate, hoping my voice sounds convincing. After a good, old-fashioned stare down, we both wordlessly concede and make our way out of the food room.

The conversation back at the table dies when Rigby and I return. I’m like the sideshow freak no one wants to be caught looking at—except I do catch them.

When Rigby sits, he hops his chair closer to Clara and shares his Hollywood smile with her. She pushes her hair behind her ear, turning away from Rigby, and glances sideways at me. Not wanting to see Rigby’s reaction, I put my focus on my trays of food.

After a few silent, awkward minutes, I swallow a piece of steak and drop my fork loudly. “Listen, I don’t know what’s up with you guys, but if this is about Tate, my so-called fiancée”—my fingers make mock quotations—“there’s obviously been some miscommunication. I don’t know her, I’ve never known her, and if she happens to be a Rebellion, well, then good for Willow for scoring herself the assignment of the century.”

I return my attention to my plate and cut another piece of steak. The new guy stands so abruptly that his chair falls behind him. He kicks it angrily and marches out of Benson.

“What’s with him?” I ask, and then shove a forkful of mashed potatoes into my mouth.

I don’t get an answer, just a lot of wide-eyed looks. Even Rigby is flaking out on me.

“Seriously, dude, that’s cold,” Owen whispers.

“What?” I demand.

“He doesn’t remember Elliott,” Liam grumbles, more to himself. “She erased those memories, too.”

Curiosity gets the best of me. “Who’s Elliott?”

“Tate’s brother,” Owen explains in a quiet voice. I didn’t know Owen even had a quiet voice. “Seriously cold, man,” he repeats, shaking his head.

I stop chewing and hate their accusing glares. “How was I supposed to know?”

Clara gives me the stupid sick-cat look again. She really is
Sports Illustrated
hot. Deciding I should stop staring at her, I focus back on my food and eat in silence. Finally, Owen and Rigby strike up a conversation about some new video game.

By the end of break, the others are almost acting normal. Except for Liam, who has said nothing.

“Aren’t you headed back to your assignment?” I ask him when everyone else vanishes.

“Seriously, bloke, you don’t remember her at all?”

I suppress my irritation, though I’m miffed that we’re on this topic again. “No.”

He looks as frustrated as Willow was earlier. “I was Tate’s Satellite. I was there when you visited her. You may not remember her, but she’s real. The two of you, your relationship—it’s all real.”

I hope my expression conveys how ridiculous he sounds.

“She erased your memories. I saw her do it firsthand.”

I stare back at him, trying to gauge how someone seemingly sane could believe this. “I guess she did a good job, then,” I finally reply.

His eyes look desolate when he squeezes my shoulder. After he releases me, he whispers “displace” and vanishes.

I push out my chair, hoping some time-killing idea will strike me on my way to my room.

“Jonathan!” I yell loudly so my voice travels across the vast lobby. He turns at the sound of his name.

“Jonathan, wait up!” I shout, jogging to him.

“Hello, Grant.”

“Hey,” I say, a little out of breath. “Is there any chance I could get my next assignment now? Because here’s the thing: I’m going crazy. I need something to do.”

He considers my request for a moment. “There’s an urgent matter that needs my attention first. Can you meet me in Orders at the next break?”

Ugh. Next break?
“Sure,” I end up saying, because it’s not like I can argue with the guy.

I glance at the courtyard doors when he’s gone. Any place is better than my room, so I spend the rest of the day sprawled on the lawn. Time couldn’t possibly move slower.

Unable to wait a minute longer, I arrive at Orders before break starts and lean impatiently against the golden desk.

Eve, the whacked-out girl who gave me my first assignment, approaches and pops a pink bubble. “Grant?”

I nod.
Please tell me she’s not going to question my name again.

“Jonathan sent me,” she explains, smacking her gum.

Apparently, no one ever told this girl it was rude to stare. “Okkkaaaay?” I draw the word out so she gets it.

“He sent me with a message. He cannot meet you today. Something urgent came up.” She talks like she’s reciting a script. “Meet him back here in two days.”

“Two days!” I bark. She pops her gum. “Can’t you just give me my next assignment?”

“Sorry, I’m just the initial girl.”

“The what?”

“The initial girl,” she states again, as if I’m supposed to get it this time. “The girl who gives the
initial
assignments.”

I wait for her to say more, maybe a “Duh!” or something to that effect, but she just stares and pops another bubble. Finally, she asks, “You seeing anyone?”

“Excuse me?”

“Do. You. Have. A. Girlfriend?”

“Oh. Uh…no.”

She cocks her head. “Want one?”

“Sorry, I’m not in the market right now,” I stammer, pushing by her to get away as fast as possible.

“Well, if you ever change your mind…” she calls after me.

I walk directly to my usual table in Benson, thankful to be away from her. Sheesh, the way things have been going around here, Progression may as well be
Match.com
. After I endure stares from Rigby, Clara, Owen, Anna, and Liam, the atmosphere around the table returns to normal. I’m dealt into their game of Sats. Deflated, I tell them about having two more whole days to kill.

“You should totally try gaming, man,” Owen suggests.

“No, you shouldn’t,” Anna argues, eyeing Owen.

Owen brushes her off. “Seriously, it’s way cool! You’re welcome to my headgear if you want it.”

“Maybe,” I reply noncommittally.

“It’s in my room—number seven twenty-three in the
K
wing. Help yourself.”

“Thanks. Anyone seen Willow?” I check the archways, wishing I could make her appear.

“She’s pretty busy right now.” Liam’s apparently still ticked that I’m not buying his made-up story.

“Think she’ll be coming for break?”

Liam’s scowl deepens. “Doubt it.”

“Have you seen her? Is she OK?”

“How do you think she is?” He pushes up from the table and stomps out of the room.

I shake my head and return to the card game before the others have to leave as well.