Читать книгу: «The Rift Uprising»

CHAPTER 1

“Command Center, this is Gamma Team in Nest four. There is no visual. Over.” The voice crackles in my earpiece. I tap the small device without thinking. It’s not a hardware issue, not with the kind of equipment we use. More than likely it’s interference. We are the closest team to The Rift. I wait for the other teams to check in, but it’s protocol at this point. They aren’t going to see anything before we do. We hear from Lambda, Phi, Rho, and Omega. The reserves are farther back, in the denser part of the forest, waiting in case something really bad comes through, like a column of Karekins. Karekins are the most dangerous enemy we face in The Rift game. They are humanoid but proportionally much, much bigger—at least eight feet tall. Whenever I see one, I think of the Titans from Greek mythology. Maybe the big shots at ARC thought the same thing when they divided us all into groups using the Greek alphabet.

The scientists at The Allied Rift Coalition created sophisticated machines that spike and beep whenever The Rift is about to dump something out.

We don’t need them.

Citadels are in tune with the opening. I don’t even think it’s our heightened senses. We just spend so much time around the damn thing that we’ve grown accustomed to its habits. I am Beta Team’s leader. I was surprised at first when I got the rank. I am not the fastest or strongest among us. When we first deployed, it didn’t take long to see that I think quickly on my feet. I’m a natural tactician and I don’t make sentimental decisions. In the beginning of all this, I would never have volunteered for a command. After so much time on active duty, however, it’s clear the rank is a good fit. The fact that ARC figured out my strengths before I did still pisses me off. It’s like swallowing one of those huge horse vitamins without water. The truth that they somehow know me better than I know myself will always burn right in my center.

I try not to think about how or why anymore. It’s pointless and distracting, and I need to focus. I’m here and in charge, responsible for my team. We are holding our positions. The four of us are crouched behind a large rock that sits just off to the left of The Rift. The rock was strategically placed here so that we can see what’s coming out, but they can’t see us.

No, we can’t actually see through solid rock or anything … though that would be cool. Instead, the rock has a couple holes bored through, covered and camouflaged on The Rift side with paint and sieved metal. It’s kind of like a two-way mirror. No one would notice the holes unless they got right up and put their face up to them, and by that point, well, more than likely they would have already been neutralized.

I study my three teammates for a moment. They look so badass they could be on the cover of a comic book. Three years ago, Christopher Seelye—the head of ARC—told us we had all been chosen because of our incredible “averageness.” He got that one wrong by a mile. Maybe it was bad math, or maybe it’s the chip they implanted us with to give us all these crazy superpowers. Either way, we are far from average. Citadels are striking. People look at us and can’t look away. We are sleek and dangerously fascinating, like any other large predator, which makes it impossible for any of us to fly under the radar. Am I pretty? No, not conventionally. But we all have a strange and complicated beauty that’s undeniable. We have become used to being watched and stared at. I wonder what our parents think sometimes. Do they notice, or are they just used to us? I wouldn’t dare ask them, and because of the role I am forced to play at home, they wouldn’t expect me to.

I am snapped back into the moment when Boone checks in on the mic, trying to sound all official. “Command, this is Brony Team. We still don’t have a visual.” He smirks beside me. I roll my eyes. Always the comedian.

“Repeat,” Command demands through our earpieces.

“This is Team Rainbow Sparkle and we have a negative on a visual.”

Violet gives Boone a smack, and per usual Henry says nothing at all. Henry has no sense of humor. He’s as immovable as the rock we are crouched behind.

Colonel Applebaum’s voice cuts through the static. “Cut the shit, Boone. After we’re done here today you can go home and play with all your little action figurines, but since we know something is about to come through, maybe you’d like to focus so that we can save some lives.”

It’s an inside joke, years old, that Boone never gets tired of. When we first met Applebaum we were so intimidated that it was difficult for most of us to even speak, let alone answer one of the dozens of questions he would scream in our faces during basic training. It was Boone who came up with the idea that his last name sounded like a My Little Pony character. Boone can be a smart-ass, but he can always defuse a tense situation. After we started associating Applebaum with a children’s cartoon, the colonel seemed far less terrifying.

“Ryn?” he asks.

“I’m on it, sir.” I shoot Boone a look. A look that says everything without me having to use any actual words. And then I feel the hair on my arms begin to stand up. I know that I am the first one to sense that The Rift is about to open. I always am. I think that’s another reason I was made team leader: I have a hypersensitivity to it. I hold my hand up and make a fist. It’s a gesture that means business, and my team knows me well enough to stop the nonsense and follow my lead. I keep my head down and close my eyes. I can feel the tug of The Rift’s giant mouth in my belly. I know we won’t be sucked in, because all the mathematicians have calculated the exact safe distance from The Rift. It’s one of the few things ARC has told us that I believe absolutely, because we haven’t yet lost a Citadel that way.

But it doesn’t mean the pull doesn’t bother me every time.

My heart begins to beat a little faster, the adrenaline starts to course through my veins. The Rift’s rippling intensifies.

“Command, this is Beta Team leader. We have a visual. Stage one. Repeat: We have a visual. Stage one.” Through the rock I can see the shimmering air undulate like a hummingbird’s wings and then, from The Rift’s center, a purple dot begins to bleed out toward the edges. “That’s Stage two, Command. Copy,” I say swiftly.

“We copy, Team Leader. Hold your position.”

I grit my teeth. They don’t need to tell me what to do. I know exactly what needs to happen next. I’m about to put my life on the line and they are safely sitting on their asses a mile away, watching this all on a bunch of camera feeds. I take a breath. Irritation won’t help me if things turn ugly. I have to empty myself of every emotion. I have to become a thing instead of a person if I want to survive the next ten minutes. It’s why we’re called Citadels and not soldiers. Solid, immovable objects, not malleable beings.

Ready to withstand anything.

The purple in The Rift begins to darken until it is pure black. It’s not a normal black but the darkest color my eyes can register. It is the inky night of the universe. I look at my team. They are ready. Focused. Intense.

“Stage three, Command. Stand by.” We all wait for the sound. The Rift always opens with a muffled sonic boom. It’s not ear piercing. It’s not even all that unpleasant. In fact it comes as sort of a relief. No more waiting. No more guessing. It’s time.

The boom happens.

It is an echo of a thing started a million or a billion Earths away from our own Earth. The ground shakes ever so slightly.

“That’s it. Stage four. Weapons ready,” I say calmly. I peer through the rock. The view isn’t perfect through the tiny holes perforated in the metal on the other side, but it’s enough. The Rift opens completely and a person comes tumbling out. Just as quickly, The Rift closes and turns back into the neon green tower of energy that it is. It always closes with far less ceremony than it opens—like a guest who’s overstayed his welcome and hustles to get out of there before things get awkward.

“It looks like we have a solo passenger, Command. I repeat: a lone individual, a man or possibly …” I peer through the grate in the rock. It’s ten a.m., so he’s pretty easy to see from my clumsy vantage point, even though there are fifty feet between us. He’s tall but a bit wiry, a swimmer’s build. He looks pretty young, maybe my age or a bit older. “A youth. Not a child, though,” I add hastily.

“Roger that, Team Leader. Let’s give him The Five,” Applebaum says cautiously.

“Yes, sir, going silent,” I say softly. The Five is what we give every Immigrant—human or otherwise—who comes through The Rift. There are a few species we simply attack, like the Karekins, because we know they are a threat and have shown no desire throughout the years to negotiate.

For the rest of what or whoever ends up here, we have a pretty decent method of threat assessment: We watch them for five minutes. It becomes clear almost right away what we are dealing with. They are all afraid. How that fear manifests itself is the key. Some get panicked and desperate. Some cry. Some wail. Some simply sit down and look at The Rift, staring into its sickly green abyss, clearly in shock over what has just happened to them. Some get very, very, violent.

I breathe out slowly. There is an unlikely chance things will turn ugly this morning. This young man is wearing a flannel shirt and jeans, and sporting a backpack that makes him look like he’s from a version of Earth very similar to our own. Obviously we’ve seen more benign-looking beings step through and wreak havoc, but my gut says he’s not about to go on a rampage. And yet I’m troubled.

He is also standing just a little too close to The Rift.

Regardless of whether their five minutes are up, we can’t ever let them go back through. Who knows where they would end up? The chances of making it back to their exact same Earth of origin are almost nonexistent. Anything that has the misfortune of stumbling through becomes our responsibility, and we wouldn’t want them jumping back in and ending up God knows where—an Earth without an atmosphere? A Karekin Earth? The sharpshooters are ready with a tranq gun up in one of the tree towers, or Nests, just in case.

“He’s awfully close,” Applebaum says, as if reading my mind, but I know he’s just looking at one of the video feeds back at Command Center.

“Just give him a second,” I whisper. The young man cups his hands over his eyes and steps back, as if he’s trying to get a better view. He’s taking it in.

He looks around. All he will be able to see is forest. He looks back at The Rift. “What the hell?” he asks in plain English. He reaches around for his backpack and then stops, bites his lip and slips it over his shoulder once again. “Oh my God.” His voice is just barely loud enough for me to hear. My hearing is enhanced, so he must have almost whispered it. The minutes tick by. He scratches his head and begins to pace. He’s trying to figure it out. He’s trying to analyze. I recognize this approach. I’ve seen it in others. There is no real logic to what’s happened to him, though. Well, there is—in a “PhD in quantum physics” type of way—but this guy doesn’t look old enough to have that. Besides, even if he could wrap his mind around how this happened, there is no rhyme or reason for why it happened to him. It’s moot at this point, though.

The Five are up.

“Command, this is Beta Team leader. I’m going in.” My team begins to stand up, and I immediately stop them. “I’m going in alone,” I say with finality. I register their looks of annoyance. I don’t care. This guy is not a threat and he doesn’t need to be scared half to death by a bunch of commandos jumping out from behind a rock.

“Not a good idea, Ryn,” I hear Applebaum say with authority. “What if there is a weapon in that backpack of his?”

Applebaum doesn’t care about me personally one way or another. What he does care about is losing any Citadel—probably because of the expense that goes into training us. It’s hard to think of Applebaum caring about an actual person.

“I don’t think there is,” I say. “I’m making the call, but it’s sweet that you’re worried about me.” I put my gun down and stand up. I try to imagine what this guy is going to think when he sees me pop out of nowhere. We wear a uniform, of course. A long-sleeved unitard in forest green. The suit was designed by the Roones—one of the first groups that came through The Rift, and the creators of a lot of the tech we use. In terms of the uniform, our outfits are made of a polymer titanium, and spandex for movement. The titanium is spun so lightly and so deftly that it weighs practically nothing, but it is in effect like chain mail, kind of like wearing a bulletproof vest on your whole body. They must have added another compound to the suits, to compensate for the impact of melee weapons, but the Roones don’t like to answer questions about exactly how things work. Since the suit has saved me more than a few times, it seems rude to keep asking.

Attached to the bodysuit are strategically placed lengths of quilted black leather. Our knees, shoulders, elbows, and torsos are covered for added heat and protection in hand-to-hand combat. We wear boots, too, though they aren’t standard military issue. They look more like motocross meets Mad Max. I wish I could wear them outside of work, but we aren’t allowed to take any of these provisions home. How would we explain them to our parents? Especially the utility and weapons holsters? The guys generally choose to put khakis over the suit. I understand why. Tights are a pretty hard sell to a teenage boy. The girls have no such qualms. The suit helps us fight better and stay alive. I see no reason to alter it, even though we are all acutely aware that our uniform hugs every curve.

I walk around the rock with my hands up. I have taken my holster off. I have no type of weapon on me at all. Granted, every Citadel is basically a living weapon—and yes, Boone loves to make that joke over and over.

And over.

The guy is looking not at me but down at the ground, shaking his head, muttering something to himself. I walk closer and clear my throat.

“Hi,” I say with a smile on my face. He looks up and I really see him for the first time. I catch my breath. He is gorgeous—specifically, my type of gorgeous. His skin is one shade darker than olive. His hair is tousled and brown, his eyes are azure blue. They look almost unreal, like he’s wearing contacts. I push this thought aside. Even from this distance, he doesn’t seem like a guy who would wear lenses to enhance the color of his eyes. Then I push that thought aside. How the hell would I know what kind of guy he is? Yet even as I think that, my heart begins to race and I clench my fists. ARC is monitoring my vitals through my suit. The last thing I want them to see is my attraction. It’s so embarrassing. My cheeks flush. I suck in a deep breath and center myself. I’ll be fine as long as this kid doesn’t come too close or make any sudden moves to reach for me. He looks at me and narrows his eyes. He seems more wary than scared, which is good. He should be wary. But he’s not panicking, and that is even better.

I force a grin. “Pretty crazy, right?” What a stupid thing to say. He looks at me and then at The Rift.

“Where am I?” he asks slowly.

“Washington. State.”

“Well, then, when am I?”

The question catches me off guard. He’s smart. He knows that whatever has happened to him is huge and mind bending.

I walk closer to him, my arms open, my body language showing vulnerability. “When do you think you are?”

“Please don’t come any closer,” he says politely. He tries to smile, but it’s forced. He is standing stock-still but looks as if he could bolt at any second.

“Do you think you’ve time traveled or something?” I make it sound like that could never happen in a million years, but in a way it’s not that far off from the truth.

“I don’t know—have I?” He looks down again and then back at The Rift. His gaze finally falls back to my face, but his eyebrows are raised in a way that says he knows something and there’s no point in making small talk.

I tell him what year it is and he nods.

“Same year, then,” he says hesitantly.

“What’s the last thing you remember?” I ask with genuine concern. How disorienting that trip must be. How terrifying.

“I was working in the lab at school. I heard a kind of drumming noise coming from outside. I walked toward the sound to investigate it and I saw this green light. That light,” he says, pointing to The Rift. “And then the next thing I knew, I don’t know … it sucked me inside and I couldn’t breathe. It felt like I was being dragged underneath a wave and didn’t know which end was up. What is it?” His words are cautious and carefully chosen. Most people are in shock when they end up here. Maybe he is, too, but he’s holding on to his rationality pretty well.

Our eyes really lock for the first time and something passes between us. Heat maybe? Or just plain interest?

Or maybe wishful thinking. Get it together, Ryn.

“It’s a cosmic anomaly—that’s really as much as I know. Can I come a little closer? I promise I’m not going to hurt you.”

“Okay,” he says. Yet his voice is anything but casual. I walk toward him slowly. We are beside each other now.

I hear Violet’s voice in my ear. “Watch yourself, Ryn.” She’s part of my team, so that’s not surprising. But she’s also my best friend, and that means she knows exactly what’s going on in my brain right now. She’s not warning me against any kind of sudden attack by him. She knows he’s my type. She’s heard us talking. She’s worried for him.

“I’m not really trained to answer all the questions you must have. There are people here who can, though. I can take you to them,” I offer. But I don’t really want to take him anywhere. I wish we could just stay here for a while. I wish we were two normal people who met by chance, and who decided that they would like to get to know each other better. It’s a selfish thought. We are a thousand light-years away from normal and the answers he wants won’t bring him anything but pain.

It hurts me to think about that, and I start to wonder when in the past couple minutes I stopped being a Citadel and started acting like a teenage girl.

Never mind the fact that I am a teenage girl …

He looks me up and down. “What are you trained for, then?” he wonders out loud. Is he flirting with me? I’m so crap at this kind of thing, I have no idea.

“I’m like”—I fish for a word—“a guard.”

“You’re a girl,” he says flatly.

Now it’s my turn to narrow my eyes. “A girl can’t be a guard?”

“A woman can, sure—a female—but you’re a girl. How old are you?”

His words sting. He thinks I’m a child. I imagine picking him up by the collar and holding him in the air. He’d change his mind pretty damn quick about me being a little girl.

Definitely back to being a Citadel again.

“I’m seventeen,” I say, trying not to sound defensive or pouty. “How old are you?”

“Eighteen. Technically an adult. And last time I checked, you had to be an adult to be in the military, especially if you’re guarding something like that,” he says as he points to the huge shimmering green pool in the sky. “So again, where are we?”

“We’re in Washington, like I said.” I have to move things along now. They aren’t going to give me forever to get this guy to trust me.

“Yeah, but where exactly in Washington?” he asks—not in a cocky way, but in a way that says he’s not going to be distracted from getting an answer.

“Battle Ground,” I say.

He jerks his head up and takes a slight step away from me.

“I mean, this isn’t a battle ground—at least, not always …” I bite my lip. I’ve never done anything like this before—gone in alone and made first contact without my team. Boone is better at this kind of thing. Way better. “The name of the town we’re in is Battle Ground, though actually, technically, we’re at Camp Bonneville Military Base.”

“And why would a seventeen-year-old girl be in charge of a cosmic anomaly?” He cocks his head, almost daring me to answer.

“I’m not so into the tone you’re using when you say the word girl—just gonna put that out there,” I snap back, and he gives me a half smile.

“Sorry. Why would someone so young be guarding something so … I don’t know, what’s a synonym for terrifying, but, like, way, way more?”

Now it’s my turn to give a hint of a smile. “Have you ever heard of the Multiverse Theory?” I ask tentatively.

“Ryn!” Applebaum barks in my ear. “Enough. You do your job and let the experts do theirs for the intake. You have sixty seconds,” he warns.

“Yes, the Multiverse, heard of it, go on,” he says warily.

“Okay, so that thing is a portal to different versions of Earth. Some versions are similar to yours and mine and some are different?” It’s weird that I’m framing this as a question. Am I trying to be cute? I am not cute. Applebaum is yelling objections through my earpiece and it’s throwing me off. I need to take charge here. “I have a very particular skill set to deal with the ummm … more dangerous variations of other Earths.” I do not take charge with this statement. I sound ridiculous.

“A particular skill set?” he counters immediately with sarcasm. “Like Liam Neeson?”

“Well, no, but yes, I mean, that’s great. You have a movie star Liam Neeson on your version of Earth and so do we. We’re getting somewhere!” He frowns. I am screwing this up royally.

“Thirty seconds, Ryn,” Applebaum growls at me, “and I am not happy at all.”

I sigh and then I disable the audio. I don’t need the colonel’s disappointment buzzing in my ear. I take a step closer to the guy in front of me. I get so close that my mouth is just an inch away from his ear. He smells like the woods and something else, something spicy. I like it, but I do my best to ignore it.

“Look,” I whisper, “I don’t have time to walk you through this. I know you have no reason at all to trust me. But, if you just let me and my friends escort you away from here, to someplace safer, there will be a bunch of people who are far better equipped than I am to answer all your questions. Okay?”

He turns toward me. His eyes are like turquoise and they are boring into me, making my knees go a little weak. I make a fist and push my short nails into my palm. “What if I say no?”

“Please don’t do that,” I plead. There must have been something in the tone of my voice because he nods his head slightly. “All right,” I say softly, “my friends are going to come over here from behind that rock. Don’t be freaked out. They have guns, but it’s just standard procedure. That being said, don’t, like, make any crazy sudden moves.”

“Given that I can barely feel my arms or my legs right now, I don’t think that will be a problem,” he says, and stands perfectly still.

“Hey, guys, I think we’re ready to go back up to Base. We just need to get a reading.” Boone, Henry, and Violet pop up from behind the rock and make their way toward us, much faster than I would have liked them to. I can see him tense up beside me. But Boone, with his open face and his casual body language, immediately changes the energy among us all.

“Hey, man,” he says, extending his hand. “I’m Boone and this is Violet, Henry, and of course you’ve already met Katniss.”

Vi stifles a giggle.

“Your name is Katniss? Seriously?”

“No, it’s not. That’s Boone’s idea of a joke. My name is Ryn.” I hold my hand out and he shakes it and smiles genuinely.

“Ezra.”

“Ezra, great!” Boone says. “Okay, we’re all friends now and we’re gonna get outta here ’cause, I’m not gonna lie, this particular spot is very not safe. All I need to do before we leave is use this little machine,” he says, holding up a small silver box about the size of a phone, “to make sure you aren’t radioactive. It’s cool, right?”

Ezra gulps, and his eyes widen in alarm. “Why would I be radioactive?” Boone doesn’t answer his question, nor does he wait for permission; he just waves the machine up and down over Ezra’s body. He looks at me, wondering if Boone is kidding again. I mouth the word sorry to him and then crane my neck and look at the interface. It’s blue. Ezra is fine, which I pretty much knew, but in our line of work you can’t take anything at face value.

Even a face as gorgeous as Ezra’s.

I suppose I was distracted by what I had just done, and that being so close to Ezra threw my senses totally out of whack, because I’m a bit surprised when he points at The Rift and says, “Why is it doing that?”

I glance over, and my eyes widen: The Rift has escalated to Stage 3. We all look at each other for a moment. This is how quickly things can go wrong here. This is how stupid mistakes can get people killed. I enable my audio right away, report to Command, and I’m instantly treated to an onslaught of expletives from Applebaum.

“We need to get to cover,” Henry says calmly, but I can hear the strain in his voice. He’s pissed. I feel a pang of guilt that my rash decision to come out and meet Ezra alone has now put us all at risk. I sweep it away. I can’t afford to feel anything right now. I have to let my training take over and go back to being a soldier. The Rift doesn’t usually open up again so quickly, but of course, this would be the day it does.

“There’s no time, everyone, just hold your positions. It could be a dog for all we know. Just calm down and keep your hand on your weapon. Do not draw, though. Repeat: Do not draw your weapons,” I say with authority. “The Nests have eyes on our situation and can provide ample backup if we need it.” My team listens to me, and Ezra to his credit is also standing perfectly still. A lot of other people would have run, so his staying says something about him.

Of course, he could be doing the whole deer-trapped-in-headlights routine. That happens sometimes, too.

The Rift turns to deadly black and seven men come tumbling out. They aren’t Karekins, so at least there’s that. But they are very large. They have fair skin and long beards, and long hair, though some have pulled it back in rows of braids. They are wearing leathers and pelts. They are armed with an assortment of weapons, some axes, some broadswords. Each is holding a wooden shield with enough decoration and symbology to give me a clue. Apparently Ezra has the same idea as I do.

“Are those Vikings?” he says incredulously.

“Yes, it seems like … yes, those look like, uhh, Vikings.” I take a step forward, but I do not reach out my arms. If they are anything like the Vikings we had on our Earth, they will not respect passivity.

I put my hands on my hips and give the newest Immigrants what I can only describe as a Peter Pan stance. “Legg ned våpnene. Jeg gir deg kun en advarsel. Legg ned våpnene nå!” Which roughly translates into: Put down your weapons. I’m not going to give you another warning.

“You speak Viking?” Ezra asks, noticeably shocked. I would argue that the fact that I speak Norwegian is far less fantastic than the fact that real-life Vikings have just tumbled through a Rift of time and space, but bantering seems inappropriate. The warriors shout and shake their weapons.

“Vi har visst dødd og er kommet til Valhalla. Det er vår rett til å ta våre våpen til Odin selv, for å bevise at vi er krigere. Vike trollkvinne!”

Boone can’t stop the laugh that escapes full throttle out of his mouth.

“What did he say?” whispers Ezra.

“They think they’ve died and have arrived at Valhalla. They need their weapons to prove what hard-asses they are to Odin. They also say I’m a witch or demon.” I wonder if Ezra thinks that we’ll just shoot them. I know that would probably be my initial thought if murderous warriors just popped out in front of me. As easy as shooting them would be, though, things don’t work that way. We don’t kill people without prejudice. It was our scientists who created this Rift, and the thirteen others around the world, albeit accidentally. I mean, I think it was an accident. That’s what we were told. ARC has never fully explained the experiment, and even though we all have advanced intellects capable of understanding the complexities of the exact cause, we’ve never been given the full debrief. It’s been deemed top secret, above our security clearance. I guess they don’t want us Citadels blaming any one scientist specifically. Which is ridiculous. As members of ARC, we collectively shoulder the responsibility for what happens with The Rift. We are way past finger-pointing.

Again, though, how or why this happened doesn’t matter. It’s our fault these men are here. It’s our fault that their communities will be broken and their children will grow up without fathers. You can’t point a gun at someone and pull the trigger to solve this kind of problem, especially when they can’t even wrap their minds around what a gun is, let alone the circumstances that led them to be here. We could tranquilize them—in fact, that’s exactly what we used to do. But then we figured out (through trial and error and the input of many anthropologists) that, in cases like this, these men must be defeated on their own terms. They have to be given a fighting chance so that their surrender will be lasting. I don’t love combat, but I am good at it, especially hand to hand. Everyone gets a boost when they do something they are really good at. I’m no exception. And these guys … it’s pretty clear they like a good throw down. Their body language is defiant, tensed. They are ready to bring it.

So am I.

“Vi, stay here with Ezra. Make sure he’s covered.”

Violet nods and stands in front of him, her hands on her rifle, but as ordered does not draw it. The three of us who remain walk just a few steps forward, and I see out of the corner of my eye Violet backing up, taking Ezra farther away from where the action is bound to happen. We don’t run at the men, because we want them to come to us, away from The Rift. The men are screaming in Norwegian and pounding their swords against their shields. As annoying as it is, it’s better than getting an earful from the colonel. Applebaum is blessedly silent. He knows well enough not to try to talk to me with the threat right in front of us, though I know he’ll go ballistic on me once we return to the base. Now we just have to make sure we make it back to the base.

The Vikings begin to move forward, and I take a deep breath. Good. They are gaining distance from The Rift. When we are about twenty feet apart, one of the men throws his ax and it hurtles toward me. I catch it easily with one hand and for a moment the seven men are silent. I turn around and throw the ax in the opposite direction, much farther than he could have thrown it, right into a tree trunk. The Vikings charge anyway.

I have to give them bravery points for that.

The whole encounter lasts less than two minutes. I leap ten feet into the air and use a tree as leverage to make another jump down onto two of the men. I land squarely on the chest of one and kick out hard into the groin of the other. The one on the ground is unconscious. I have just enough time to turn him over and make sure there is no blood, that he hasn’t hit a rock. Nope. Just your basic traumatic head injury. The one I kicked has recovered somewhat and lunges toward me. I see both Henry and Boone a few feet away. Henry actually picks up one of the men by the throat and lifts him high enough to throw a few feet. Boone blocks and parries the weapons easily. We all move so much faster than them, it’s hardly a contest.

The Viking who lunges at me flips his shield up, presumably to use as a sort of battering ram to knock the wind out of me. I dance easily away, sidestepping him and ending up at his back. I jump on him from behind and wrap my arms around his neck. He tries to shake me loose, but I am so much stronger than he is. I know this shocks him. He probably thinks that women are feeble. I feel a sense of satisfaction as he begins to go down, but this is quickly replaced with the knowledge that he also thinks I’m some sort of demon guarding the gates to his afterlife. This one act of overpowering him is unlikely to change his views on women, but he’ll learn soon enough when he gets to the Village. He passes out in my arms and I let him drop to the ground. When I look up, I see that all the Vikings are similarly disabled. I hear Applebaum through my earpiece calling for two teams in the Nest to assist. Eight soldiers jump from their perches high atop the trees and land softly behind us. We begin to zip-tie the Vikings’ hands and pull each of the men to their feet. They are dazed and defeated, all of their bravado washed away. I notice the youngest one, probably close to my age. A single tear falls from his eye. If this was their great test, they have failed. All hope must be lost for them now. As my adrenaline recedes, I feel for this young man. I look over at Ezra and my heart breaks a little more. We haven’t killed anyone, but in a way they are all dead. As soon as they entered The Rift they were reborn into a new life. Ezra’s won’t be as bad off as the poor Norsemen. Still, for the first little while, maybe for a long while, they will all be walking ghosts trapped in a new world that will take them years, if not their lifetimes, to understand.

I walk over to Ezra and Violet. “Come on, I’ll take you to transport,” I say wearily. I’m usually pumped after this kind of exercise, but looking at these newest arrivals I just feel kind of sad. “Violet, we still have another couple hours on duty. Can you get Boone and Henry and go back to our post? I’ll be there in a minute.”

“Sure,” she says softly with a smile. Vi is a lovely person. It’s an old-fashioned word, but that’s what she is. Lovely. Not a mean bone in her body. What we do, who we are, is harder for her than anyone. The only thing that keeps her going is the knowledge that she saves way more lives than she is forced to take. She gives me these few moments with Ezra without making any kind of big deal about it, and I love her for that. She squeezes my shoulder and walks back down toward the big rock.

Ezra and I head for a separate transport vehicle. He will not be going back to base in the same car as the Vikings.

“So …” he says, drawing out the word, “skill set.”

I chuckle. “Yep.”

Ezra lifts up both hands and wiggles his fingers. “Thanks for not zip-tying me.”

I keep my eyes on the ground. I don’t want to look at him. I don’t want to face any more questions, but I know they are coming.

Sure enough, he asks, “Where are they taking me? And when will I be able to go home?” He stops walking and so do I. I take a deep breath and exhale slowly. I finally look him in the face, deep into those gorgeous blue eyes of his.

“Oh, Ezra, I’m … sorry,” I whisper. I don’t need to say anything more. He still doesn’t know the specifics, but he knows enough now.

He bites his lip and nods. “It’s okay. It’s not your fault. Thanks for being nice.” And then, out of nowhere, he pulls me toward him. He is hugging me. It’s not a sexual embrace, but it’s not exactly brotherly, either. It’s a good thing that I had been feeling so sad; it takes a while for my body to get the signal from my brain that our skin has made contact and my face is now in the crook of his neck, and to notice that smell of his, a spicy earthiness mixed with his fear and wonder and the purity of The Rift. I have just enough time to pat him lightly and step back. We walk a couple more minutes in silence until we are just a few feet from the jeep.

“Just promise me that this won’t be the last time I see you?” It’s a statement, not really a question. Ezra’s intake coordinator, Kendrick, is standing right behind us. I look over at him, and he raises his eyebrows. I stop for a minute and wonder why Ezra would ask me this. Does he like me? Does he think we can hang out later or something? He just saw what I did to those two Vikings. Didn’t that freak him out? Or maybe it’s because I was just the first person he saw when he got here and I was nice.

“Yeah. Okay,” I say, and Kendrick gives me a stone-faced look. “Ezra—sorry, what’s your last name?”

“Massad.”

“Is that Arabic?” I ask, because it would explain his remarkable coloring.

“Well, yeah, my dad is Moroccan and my mom is American.”

“Cool. Well, this is Kendrick. Kendrick, this is Ezra. Kendrick is going to be your main guy here for a while and answer all those questions you must have.” Kendrick is one of the better intake coordinators. He has a calming vibe about him and is pretty much a straight shooter.

“As-Salaam-Alaikum,” Kendrick says, putting his hand out.

Ezra shakes his hand. “Wa-Alaikum-Salaam. But I’m not really a practicing Muslim. And after today … well, I might have to table the whole religion thing.”

Kendrick laughs genuinely and opens the rear passenger door of the car. “I hear ya, man.”

Ezra and I look at each other. There is too much to say.

There is nothing to say.

“Bye.” I give him the warmest smile I can.

“Bye,” he says, also smiling, but his eyes are not happy. “Thanks again.” Not sure how to take that thanks, though. Everything above his mouth is a mixed bag of terror and crushing sadness. I watch the car drive off down the path and stare after it. I know Kendrick didn’t say anything at the time because he thought it would be easier for me to lie. Yeah, sure, I’ll come and see you. No problem, Ezra. The thing is, Citadels my age don’t go to the Village. You don’t have to be an adult to kill here at Battle Ground, but for some reason you need to be one to get posted to the Village. I have always known this, but now, suddenly, it strikes me as extremely worrisome. However, little does Kendrick know that I was being honest. Whatever it takes, I’m going to get into the Village.

I have decided that Ezra is going to be the only person in the world I will never lie to.