10.

Assignments

Five hours later, I’m sitting in the cafeteria facing Vin, breathing in the usual mix of nasty food smells: today it’s fish, vita-paste, and overripe tomatoes. The large L-shaped room should be filled with a lunchtime crowd, but only half of the tables are occupied. I’ve gotten used to the hostile stares by now, but it’s Vin’s expression that alarms me the most.

He knows something’s up, and he’s not about to let it go.

“That’s it?” he asks, frowning. “Gant just wanted to talk?”

“Yeah.” I give a small shrug, then poke at the gray streak of vita-paste on my plate. “He just went over our story. Same thing he did with you, right?”

“Riiight.” Vin draws out the word to let me know just how little he’s buying it.

“Looks like everyone’s happy to see I survived my interrogation,” I joke, trying to change the subject.

Seated two tables away, Ferro mouths the word ‘traitor’ and his friend – some muscle-bound Junior named Brax or Brix or something like that – looks like he’s about to hurl his lunch tray at me.

“Guess the rumors have been flying since my detention.”

Vin shrugs as if he hadn’t noticed the looks. “You could say that. My favorite was the one that you’d been mind-stripped and then terminated. I mean, you disappeared for twenty-four hours! What was I supposed to think?”

“As you can see…” I force a smile. “I’m fine.”

“Yeah, well thanks for giving me a head’s up.”

“Sorry.” I tap my ear, then glance up at the ceiling. “But I just didn’t get the chance.”

Vin knits his brow and I can tell from his expression that he finally gets it. The Prime Enforcer’s men are listening in on every word.

“No problem,” he says, jaw tensing. “Just worried, that’s all. It’s good to have you back.”

I reach across the table to take his hand, squeezing hard. For now, that’s the only sincere form of communication I can offer. “At least that makes one person who feels that way. So… does everyone else think I’m a traitor?”

He grins. “Only half our class. Unfortunately for you, the other half blew up last week.”

I cover my mouth to muffle a laugh, but it’s too late. Ferro whips his head around and glares at me.

“Something funny, Settler?”

He and Brax jump up from their chairs, circling in like wolves. “Sixty brothers and sisters die and you think it’s a rotting joke?”

“Course not.” I reach over to keep Vin from getting between us. “Let me handle this, okay?”

“Finally going to man up and fight your own battles?”  Ferro taunts. The way his pale cheeks have bruised from Vin’s recent beating, it looks like he’s wearing war paint.

“I’m not looking for a fight.”

“Right, I forgot.” He turns to Brax. “Cowards don’t like fair battles. They prefer to stab you in the back. Here’s your chance, traitor.” Melodramatically, he shows me his back. “Better take your shot, because you won’t get another one.”

“Better take your shot, because you won’t get another one.” Vin rolls his eyes as he mocks Ferro’s stiff High Founders’ accent. “Damn, Fahrenheit. Who even talks like that?”

Ferro whips his head around to confront Vin, lips puckering to form words I’m sure he’ll regret, but then his attention suddenly shifts to the cafeteria entrance. I follow his gaze to Astrid, who approaches us in brisk strides. She’s already wearing her Assignments robe, bright crimson cape trailing behind her like a flame, and her hair is done up in the High Founders’ fashion, golden braids pulled back to shape a delicate wreath that sparkles with diamond accents. Wow. My breath catches and I can’t help but stare.

“What are you doing here?” she says, marching past me as if I’m invisible. “You’re supposed to be getting ready for Assignments. We’re meeting my dad an hour before the ceremony, remember?”

Ferro checks his time stamp, looking flustered. “I… I guess I lost track of time. Sorry.”

“Fine, but let’s go!” She takes his hand, tugging playfully in a way that makes me think of our rushed journey through the greenhouse, of the way her hand felt when pressed against mine. “You know my father. He doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”

Ferro turns to me, eyes narrowing into hostile slits. “We were just about to leave anyway. Smells like a Camp in here.”

“Yeah,” Brax chimes in. “Settler stink, everywhere.” To ham up the point, he sniffs through the kind of broad, arrogant nose that’s just begging to be broken. Judging from Vin’s body language, he’s thinking the same thing.

I catch his arm. “Let it go. They’re not worth it.”

I doubt they can hear my dig, because they’re already halfway to the exit. At the threshold though, Astrid shoots me a glance over her shoulder.

What did I catch there? Disgust? Hostility? Frustration? Or was it something else?

It’s impossible to say, because she’s gone before I can read her.

As if I ever could.

*

Assignment Ceremony.

Vin and I have been building this day up in our minds from day one at the GA, wondering if we’d ever make it. At times, graduation seemed like such a long shot. I mean, no Settler has ever graduated, so what were our chances? Slim to none, right?

But then Washton happened just over a week ago, taking half our class out of the picture. The High Founders’ Council reacted by moving up graduation, promoting all functioning seniors to active duty. It’s not like they had any better options. Which means in less than an hour, Vin and I will become full-fledged Guardians. We’re about to make history.

Not that anyone’s in the mood to celebrate. As I scan the packed auditorium, it feels more like a high-profile funeral than a graduation ceremony. The usual spectacle – flowing black, crimson, and gold banners; blaring trumpets; cheering crowds; hours of grandiose speeches – has been stripped down to its bare bones. Black fabric-draped stage. Spotlit podium embossed with the Crystal and the Flame. Somber audience of High Founder elites, classmates and family forming an inner ring, surrounded by at least a thousand Founders filling the upper tiers.

As is customary, the Chief Guardian steps to the podium first, starting the ceremony with a call to Recitation:

“The Founding Three above all others!” he booms out, voice gravelly with emotion. “As the Great One, the Wise One and the Just One have commanded, so we shall live. We hold these Three Pillars to be all that was, is, and ever will be true!”

We rise from our front row seats, hands covering our hearts to recite the Three Pillars:

Strength through one shared heart!

Wisdom through one shared mind!

Freedom through one shared purpose!

“So has it been!”

“So shall it always be!”

Locke tells us to take our seats, surveying the crowd with a look that somehow manages to project both gravity and smugness. When he reaches the High Founder’s section, he gives the Prime Founder a deep, ceremonial bow.

Augustin Blake acknowledges the gesture with a crisp nod and makes his way to the elevated stage, stopping to shake hands along the way. Like everyone else, I’ve seen countless vids of Astrid’s father, but he’s even more imposing in person – the physical embodiment of everything a Prime Founder should be. Tall and broad-shouldered. Severe but handsome facial features. Full head of silver hair framing eyes as blue and piercing as his daughter’s. Even his stride commands respect.

When he takes the podium, a reverential silence settles over the crowd.

Augustin Blake lifts his head proudly, a captain comfortable at the helm of his ship. “Brothers and sisters: we greet you today with a conflicted heart. To our dear graduates, we say…” He motions to us with one sweeping gesture. “How could we not be uplifted by the glorious sight of you?”

His words are met with muted applause, hesitant at first, then growing steadier, like the rumble of an approaching thunderstorm.

“Yes, brothers and sisters! Don’t be afraid to celebrate their glorious achievement!”

Now the crowd erupts, engulfing us with cheers and the vibrations of a thousand stomping feet. Blake lets us bask in the glory for a full minute before raising his fists to command silence.

“And yet –!”

The applause dies down.

“How could we not be moved to tears when we see so many empty seats among you?”

And so it goes. Over the next half hour, the Prime Founder lives up to his reputation as a great orator, masterfully balancing celebration with memorial. First, he praises the heroism of our class, picking a few names from among those we lost and weaving in poignant personal details. Then he returns to the usual script, highlighting the proud Guardian tradition. How all of Neoden looks to us for strength and stability. How he has no doubt we’ll rise to whatever challenges face us.

As he offers some final words of encouragement, his eyes move over us before coming to rest on his daughter.

“We’re so proud of you,” he concludes triumphantly. “For all that you’ve already accomplished. For the promise we see in you every day. And for the faith you give us that the future of our Great Unity, thank the Three, could not be in safer hands!”

And with that, he steps back from the podium.

“Must be some kind of speed record,” Vin shouts into my ear, his voice barely audible above the roaring crowd. Most years, the ceremony would just be getting under way, but Chief Guardian Locke and his entourage of instructors are already making their way onto the stage.

After thanking the Prime Founder for his inspirational words, the Chief turns to face us.

“Brothers and sisters!” He motions for us to rise. “There is no greater honor than the one you are about to receive! Head Instructor Slate will now announce your first assignments. As always, names will be called in random order to remind us that all Guardians are equals!”

Taking his cue, Slate calls out the first group, each name a thunderclap followed by the rumble of applause.

One by one, my classmates rise to accept their Guardian medallions.

Those who have been given the best assignments – places like Founder’s City or Emerald Point – pump their fists triumphantly as they cross the stage. Not surprisingly, they’re all children of High Founders.

Ferro and Brenne high five each other after both getting Founder’s City.

Garrick follows, shoulders slumping even before he learns he’s been assigned to York.

“Poor bastard,” Vin says. “Talk about having a black cloud.”

He’s right to feel sorry for the weasel. Garrick may have survived the Washton attack, but his luck just ran out. Of the twenty possible assignments, York Settlement – a frigid wasteland stretched out along the southern fringe of the ice flats – is by far the worst. Rumor has it, a cadet once slit his wrists to avoid going there, and that was before the terrorist uprising. Before the Aletheians made York their home base.

Which is why I don’t need to wait to hear my assignment. I already know where I’m heading.

I stare at the hem of my graduation robe, wishing there were some other way to keep Vin safe, but I’ve already worked through the possibilities. If he stays behind, my friend will become a hostage, so there’s no alternative but to take him with me. That was the one condition that I gave Gant.

“Hey Wil!” Vin shakes my shoulder. “You in there?”

“Yeah,” I say, realizing he’s been trying to get my attention for a while. “Just nervous, I guess.”

“Wrong emotion, kid.” He gives me his trademark grin-and-shoulder-punch combo. “Time to celebrate! We made it!”

His words are met with fresh cheers as Slate calls out another name. Hands out another destiny.

“I’ve been thinking!” Vin raises his voice to be heard above the applause. “We’ll probably get the same assignment. I mean, why break up a strong team? Wouldn’t make any sense, right?”

“No.” I swallow a lump of guilt. “No, it wouldn’t.”

“Then where are we going? My bet’s on Vineland, or maybe the Eastern Territory, now that we’ve taken it back from the Sinovoss. Always wanted to cross the Great Sea. What do you think?”

Before I can answer, Slate calls out my new name – a bland creation to hide my Settler roots.

Wil Brown.

Vin nudges me with a grin. “You’re up, Brownie!”

I rise to a polite smattering of applause and navigate past my classmates, wondering how many people in the crowd know the truth. How many realize a Camp Rat is moments away from earning his Guardian medallion?

The stage looms before me, spotlit and terrifying, but there’s no choice but to move forward. I force my spine straight, telling myself I won’t slouch, that I must project nothing but confidence, because the most powerful eyes in Neoden are all fixed on me.

So I smile my proudest smile and step up into the light, pretending this is the best day of my life. That the stage I’m now crossing leads to some place bright and promising, some place other than the gallows.

When I reach Slate, the Head Instructor eyes me as if I’m a rat that just strayed onto his boot. To his credit though, he sticks to the script, shaking my hand before looping the medallion over my head.

“Congratulations, Guardian Brown, on your new assignment…York Settlement.”

More anemic applause.

Slate offers his hand again, eyes flickering with something barely perceptible – the flash of a snake’s tongue in tall grass.

“Welcome brother,” he says, his grip becoming almost crushing.

 And even though I shouldn’t be able to sift his psionic mind, I still hear one word as clearly as if it were hissed right into my ear. It’s a word that lingers as I move on to accept congratulations from the Chief and his entourage.

The same word that Ferro threw at me less than two hours ago.

Traitor.

On auto-pilot now, I give the crowd the traditional bow, then rush from the stage. Chased off by an accusation that may as easily be coming from the outside as from within.

What remains of the ceremony passes in a blur. Vin spends most of the time consoling me, until he gets his assignment. Then, true to character, he tries to put a positive spin on things.

“See,” he wise-cracks after dropping back into his seat. “Told you they’d keep us together!”

I keep my eyes mostly shut for the next fifteen minutes, first tuning out the steady cadence of Slate’s voice, then the waxing and waning applause, until all that remains is the chaotic murmur of hundreds, maybe thousands of background thoughts.

Do any of them know about me? About what I plan to do?

At first, nothing coherent registers.

But then, one common aura bubbles to the surface. Vibrant green, like the first leaves of spring. Excitement. Anticipation. Hope. And amazingly, it’s all focused on the same person.

“Astrid Blake!”

When Slate finally calls out her name, the crowd greets Astrid with applause so deafening the Great One himself may as well be taking the stage, and that’s when I realize just how many people share my fascination with the Prime Founder’s daughter.

How does one become so adored by so many? So effortlessly magnetic. It’s impossible to hate her even when you want to, but why?

That’s the puzzle I’m left with as Astrid glides through the crowd, a thousand sets of eyes fixed on her. When she reaches the stage, her image fills the overhead vid screen, which cuts to the beaming face of her father.

Louder cheers. Whistling. More stamping feet, then a collective holding of breath as Slate clears his throat.

“Congratulations, Guardian Blake, on your new assignment…”

I close my eyes, half expecting, hoping, to hear the words everyone else expects to hear next: Founder’s City.

But I already know better. The impossible is about to happen.

Neoden’s favorite daughter is going to York.

When Slate drops his bombshell, the audience lets out a collective gasp, followed by a few groans and cries of outrage. The vid zooms in on the Prime Founder, who looks like he’s just swallowed something bitter. He turns to one of his aides and whispers something, then rises abruptly and strides off camera.

Meanwhile, Astrid stands petrified at the podium, staring at Slate’s outstretched hand for what feels like an eternity before finally taking it. In a daze, she dips her head to accept the medallion.

More applause, this time subdued, like whispered gossip.

Slowly, Astrid turns to face the crowd.

Makes her bow.

Then looks toward her father’s now empty seat.

And that’s how the vid screen catches her, frozen in a moment that I’ll replay in my mind long after all the other sights and sounds of today have faded. Astrid Blake, wide-eyed and lost, looking vulnerable for what may well be the first time in her life.

***

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