The Proving (5 page)

Beyond the park was access to the restricted mag-rail line, an old line that Ben had once researched and found to have a fundamental design flaw: the line’s southern route bumped up against the sewage system, which meant there was no room to add a second line. After the Specters invaded and forced everyone to live inside the safety of the city, the concept of “expansion” no longer existed. An entirely new mag-rail line needed to be designed, this one directly
under
the old one.

Two Spartans stood sentry beside the door. Dad and Mom waved their ID badges for the soldiers, who stepped aside without a change in their stern facial expressions. A pair of black doors whooshed open, leading them through a clean, white corridor.

“Specters aren’t really ghosts,” Dad said to Ben.

“I know, Dad.”

“They’re simply negatively charged energy.”

Ben laughed. “And we kill them with positive thoughts and feelings.”

Dad smiled. “Your Coterie will depend on you out there. You have to know how the Specters function.”

“We’d know more if we were allowed to study them in-depth. We don’t even know why they hide underground at night! We just guess and observe from a distance.”

“Rules are rules. Parliament makes them and we follow them.”

“But we don’t know
anything
, not really,” Ben said. Ahead, he could see the hall opening up into a larger room with thin pillars. The station. Already, there were people waiting on the platform. Ben hated empty halls with bare walls — it just seemed like such a waste of space. “I mean, we know they consist of some kind of combination of electrons and an unknown molecule we call ectoplasm that somehow creates this ghost-like creature, right?”

“Right.”

“And we know they can be destroyed with a high-powered proton charge.”

“Right.”

“And that’s it. That’s all we know. After all these years.”

Dad gently squeezed his neck, rubbing his
longissimus
muscle with his thumb. “Just make sure you take care of your sister. We’ll talk when you get back.”

“If I do.” Ben immediately regretted saying it. He expected Dad’s hand to fall away but instead Dad squeezed harder, applying a comfortable pressure.

“Everything is going to be fine. And
when
you get back, it’s time to delve into some high-concept theories. Your brain is going to be fried by lunchtime every day.”

Ben looked at him quizzically. “What do you mean?”

“I mean you’re going to intern in the Holocene lab.”

“Really? Are you kidding? No, you can’t be kidding. You don’t kid about lab things. You’re serious.”

Dad nodded. “Everything is squared away with the bosses. You’re in the lab as soon as you get back. You’ll get some boring assignments to start, but maybe we can sneak you into a few genetic studies. I’ve got a pet
smilodon
who loves meeting new people.”

“Dad . . . um, that’s . . .” His stomach lurched. He swallowed his excitement. “I would be honored. It’s a great honor. It’s really, really neat.”

Dad just laughed and patted him on the back.

They stopped at the entrance to Station 6-A. It was empty, save for a young man with a shaved head and three Spartans. A boy and an older man stood next to each other, both eyeing an ad for a holo-movie playing on one of the platform pillars.
The Star War
. An action-thriller about a love-struck couple who shoot their way through hundreds of Specters in search of their missing baby. Not Ben’s favorite genre.

Then he saw her. And for what seemed like the hundredth time that day, Ben’s stomach felt like it was doing somersaults in his abdominal cavity. Only this time the source of the disturbance was somewhat different.

Skye. All grown up. Her curly red hair had gotten darker, and so had the freckles that dotted her sharp nose. Her skin was still pale, just a little sunburnt. She stood tall, hands on hips, VR rifle slung over her shoulder. She licked her full lips, looking around. Taking in her surroundings, just like Spartans always did anywhere they went. Her eyes passed over Ben, registering nothing as they met his gaze briefly before quickly going back to the empty mag-rail track and the wide, inclined corridor on the other side of the station that led up to the first floor of the Parliament building.

Ben couldn’t look away. Skye was beautiful.

The Free Chamber was bustling, as always. It came as no surprise — these were trying times, and there was much to discuss. The Ark was complete. It had been completed years ago and now Clan Athens scientists had calculated that based on their most recent laser-comm readings of New Earth, the planet was finally terraformed to the point that it could sustain human life.

It was time to go.

But who would go? Now
that
was an interesting question. The answer, it turned out, wasn’t cut and dried.

And so here they were. Thirty citizens freely elected from Neo Berlin’s thirty districts standing in the crowded amphitheater, arguing heatedly with more than eight hundred other representatives from Earth’s eighty remaining cities protected by the Phenocyte shields. But since traveling outside the shield was nearly impossible by night, and since even the most efficient mag-rail transport lines could only take so many passengers from city to city during the day, these arguments were taking place in cyberspace.

The other representatives were all holograms.

Good holograms, though. In fact, if it wasn’t for a momentary static blip in the hologram program, Gabriel’s eyes would have been perfectly deceived. The amphitheater was built in the style of a traditional forum: circular, with seats in ascending rows. At the center there was enough room for a handful of people, though protocol dictated that when one person stood there, he or she had the room and respect was to be observed no matter where your hologram was broadcasting from. The holograms themselves were powered by holo-lamps built into the floor, which meant the floor was layered with a graphenite grate composed of little pinholes.

Which meant coffee was forbidden in the amphitheater proper.

Which meant Gabriel, nursing his cup of half-decaf coffee, had to sit in the audience chamber that circled the amphitheater. It suited him fine: the seats were more comfortable here, and from his vantage point he could see all the way to the stage below.

“Fancy meeting you here,” Armando said. He sat beside Gabriel, giving him a peck on the cheek. “How are you?”

“Peachy,” Gabriel murmured. He sipped his coffee. It was delicious — somewhere on the planet, there was always some small mechanized coffee farm finding a new way to roast traditional beans. Or tweak the soil. Or fine-tune the genes of the
coffea arabica
shrub. Just this morning, Gabriel had seen an ad for this particular brand in the elevator — “Just message C4543 at the nearest coffee machine and we’ll zap the genetic blueprints in three seconds flat!”

Delicious. If you liked spending credits on such things.

“Splendid getup. Is this the new style then?” Armando asked, running a finger across the shoulder plate of Gabriel’s Ecosuit.

“I hope not,” Gabriel answered. “My Proving is today. But you know that.”

“Yes. Everyone on your social net knows.” Gabriel turned in time to catch Armando in the process of rolling his eyes. Armando was attractive, with skin that was a shade browner than Gabriel’s and dark hair that was just a little longer, a little unrulier. Armando also had the dubious distinction of being nicknamed Eyebrows — on account of the black caterpillars on his brow — ever since primary school. But it didn’t diminish the young man’s looks. Armando was undeniably handsome.

“Did you study your Proving manual?”

Gabriel nodded. “Two centuries ago, we began tracking a massive comet that would buzz right past Earth. When the comet arrived one hundred and thirty-three years ago, it got caught in our orbit, forming a ring around the planet. Inside the Ring were Specters. Specters descended to Earth and wreaked havoc. Humanity fought back. Good enough for you?”

“For me? Yes.” He leaned back, crossed his arms and smiled a wry smile. “Although your mother might prefer you
not
use a snotty tone when reciting the history of humanity’s most trying experience.”

A gentle ping sounded from the speakers near the ceiling of the amphitheater, and it echoed between the marble pillars along the top row. Molambique Triam — the representative from Neo Berlin’s Fifth District — made her way down to the stage. She turned, and as she did her flowing white dress followed like a frothy wave.

“No,” Armando whined. “Why are you wearing that dress the day after Carnivale, woman? You’re offending half the delegation.”

“Shhh,” Gabriel said, leaning forward and setting his cup of coffee on the rail that divided the audience chamber from the back row of the amphitheater. Armando was right — the dress was cut low, revealing a fair amount of chest. But at least the dress was beautiful, and it perfectly complemented Representative Triam’s dark brown skin. Gabriel loved it when Neo Berlin’s reps demonstrated sophistication to the world delegation.

“The people of Neo Berlin have elected Pierre Price to serve on the Ark,” she announced.

The conversation began. Holograms spoke amongst each other. Some spoke with delegates from Neo Berlin, others from different cities. Near Gabriel, two holograms — a middle-aged man and a younger woman — spoke heatedly with one another.

“We need more artists,” the woman urged. “Writers. Actors. Entertainers. You can’t put a value on culture.”

“Pierre Price can
build
,” the man said. “It’s wise enough. Although the newer structures he’s designed leave much to be desired. I hope he’s learned a thing or two about simplicity. He won’t find a glass factory on New Earth.”

“Who is this Price?” Armando asked, putting an arm around Gabriel. Gabriel allowed it, although he wished he could get inside Armando’s head. They’d been on three dates — what, exactly, did Armando want? In just a few short months, Gabriel would no doubt be whisked away to University, maybe in another city entirely.

And
that
was the death knell of any relationship. Mag-rail trips between the cities were expensive. Shields, Spartan guards, limited space . . .

“He’s a building designer,” Gabriel said, shaking away the other thoughts. “Parliament wants the first colony on New Earth to have a good number of architects. Price is a good choice, although he does obsess over detail.” He grunted. “He’ll drive some of the colonists mad.”

“And now democracy rears its ugly head.” Armando leaned forward, watching the thrall of delegates move from row to row, arguing and speaking heatedly in ever-growing groups.

“It’s slow,” Gabriel said. “But it’s also beautiful. The free people are selecting twenty thousand volunteers. Another forty thousand will be selected from the lottery. Each of the three clans gets to pick five thousand of their own. It’s as fair a process as you can expect when you’re planning an emergency colonization.”

“Oh? And you know this for a fact, even though it’s never been done?”

Gabriel rolled his eyes. “What I mean is the decision was made fairly, and by representatives of Parliament. It’s as good as democracy gets.”

“Except for those who get a free pass,” Armando said slyly. “People like you who are much too important to leave behind.”

Gabriel snorted. He grabbed his cup, thumbing the bio-plastic lid. “You won’t see me on the Ark. I have no intention of ever
abandoning
this planet.”

“Are you crazy? You have a chance to make history!” Armando held up a hand, spelling out a news headline: “Parliamentary Golden Boy Elected First Premier of New Earth.”

“Sounds horrible.”

“Sounds amazing. Though what if the Ark travels through its wormhole thingy and it turns out the planet’s not ready yet?” Armando laughed. He had such a sinister sense of humor. “All those hundreds of thousands of terraforming bots we sent through are just sitting around, arguing amongst themselves like our delegates here. Oh, were we supposed to convert the air? I don’t know about that. Do you know, Robot-Two? I thought I was in charge of building soil, Robot-One.”

“I
hope
Clan Persia doesn’t have any bots that talk to one another,” Gabriel said. “That kind of AI is forbidden.”

Armando gently squeezed the back of his neck. “You’re too uptight.”

“I’m supposed to be uptight. I’m
important
, remember?”

“So you have no interest in colonizing New Earth. You have no interest in exploring the new world. You have no interest in living
Specter-free
. No interest in watching elephants and mastodons and tigers and rabbits frolic to their hearts’ content.”

Gabriel laughed. “It all sounds wonderful. But I’d rather save this planet first. I don’t know. It feels like we’re giving up.”

The chime rang again. The crowd silenced. Molambique was still standing in the stage below. She waved a hand and the remaining whispers died down. “There is news from outside the protected city of Lakota. A Coterie has repaired the mag-rail transport line from Lakota to Neo Berlin, but has returned this troubling footage.”

She stepped back. A hologram appeared above the stage, revealing a dark forest with just a hint of a reddish glow, as if one of the trees was on fire. Gabriel leaned over the rail, watching. The footage was clearly from the camera on someone’s smartglasses, shaking as the person scrambled to take cover behind a quartet of boulders. There was no sound, or if there was, it was deathly silent.

“Now what’s all this,” Armando whispered.

Suddenly, a Sebecus Specter slipped through the trees like a ghost, walking on all fours. Its long tail swung from side to side as if it were a fish’s tail, propelling it toward the camera. A squirrel, caught unawares in the silence, darted under the creature. It reached down with one clawed, humanoid hand, as if it meant to grab the squirrel and squeeze the life from the poor critter. Instead, the hand passed through the squirrel. Its body convulsed. Its brown fur turned gray like paper charred by flames. Gabriel felt a terrible anger toward the ghostly creature, glaring at it as it turned its attention back to whoever was wearing the smartglasses.