Now that we’ve settled on a plan to contact the Core, we separate into groups. Dax and Cael head off to help Kobari and his crew, while Thea takes the rest of us back to the sleeping quarters. As we walk single-file down the catwalk, I ask her to tell us more about the Core.

“The Ancients used to make all important decisions through consensus,” she explains, glancing back at us over her shoulder. “They governed through what they called a republic. We follow the same model. The Rebellion has four districts, and each elects one member to the Core.”

“How strong is your rebellion?” Astrid asks. “I mean, what kind of forces are we talking about? Do you have enough fighters to take a fortress like Scilla Rock?”

Thea stops to consider the question. “Yes, but taking it won’t be enough. Dax is right about the risk of getting trapped. First, we’ll need to attack the mainland to draw the Enforcers away. If we time it right, they’ll think the Sinovoss are mounting an offensive.”

“You’re talking about a diversion,” Vin notes.

“Exactly.” She turns to Astrid. “If the Core approves a rescue mission for your father, they’ll need to commit our best fighters in the Eastern Territory. Casualties will be high. They won’t take that decision lightly.”

Astrid bites down on her lower lip. “Okay. So then how do we convince them?”

“I have some thoughts about that,” Thea replies, smiling. “If you’d like to hear them. I’m about to meet with Cael to plan our transmission. Why don’t you come along?”

“Sure,” Astrid agrees. “Why not?”

“Good.” My old mentor now shifts her gaze to me. “We’ll meet you back in the crew’s quarters, Wil. There’s some food and water in the canteen. You and your friends must be starving.”

Wait a second! Is she saying I’m not invited to their planning session? I open my mouth to protest but then catch the look in her eyes. She doesn’t need to project her thoughts for me to understand. She wants to talk to Astrid, alone.

I glance at Ferro, who’s glued to Astrid’s arm like a flaming barnacle.

Yeah, right. Good luck prying away her clinger boyfriend.

“It’s okay,” Astrid reassures him. “I’ll be fine. Just go with the others.”

“No way,” he snarls. “You’re not going anywhere alone with that Abomination. If she wants to mess with your mind, she’ll have to go through me.”

“No one’s keeping you away,” Thea says with a shrug before turning to Astrid. “Come, I’ll take you to the communication room to get ready.”

Once they’ve departed, Vin turns to Brenne and they both give me a “now what?” look.

“Guess we may as well see what there is to eat,” I say, reaching down to twist open the hatch.

It’s hard to get lost when there’s only one direction to go. We pass through the crew’s quarters to the mess, where someone has set out a large pitcher of water and tray of pale, multi-colored crackers.

“Dehydrated protein strips,” Brenne notes, picking up a green one with a dainty motion. She sniffs it and crinkles her nose. “Yummy. This one smells like low tide at Founder’s Bay. Must be seaweed or something.”

We sit around the table and nibble at the bland, crunchy strips. Mine turns to sawdust in my mouth and tastes vaguely like chicken. Fortunately, there’s plenty of cold water to wash it down.

Vin reaches over to rub Brenne’s shoulders. “So, what’s the deal with Princess Astrid and Fahrenheit?” he asks. “Are they still… you know?”

“Pairing up?” Brenne grins and blinks up at him through long lashes. Her natural hair color has grown in at the roots, like shoots of fire grass pushing up through a dull layer of topsoil.

“Hey!” Vin cringes. “Don’t put that image of Fahrenheit in my head.”

“Then they’re still a couple?” I ask, trying my best to sound indifferent.

Brenne nods. “They’ve known each other since Prime School, Wil. Their fathers have been best friends since, like, forever.”

Yeah, I think, suppressing a scowl. Well, that explains everything.

“But he’s such a fragging idiot!” Vin blurts.

“Maybe to you…” Brenne shoots back. “You’re right about that much. But you have to understand, that’s not the Ferro we know. That’s not what he’s really like.”

I ask her what she means, reminding myself to keep an open mind.

“Just that he’s changed so much this year. All that testosterone and aggression. It’s new. He used to be this fun-loving, sweet boy who’d do anything to make her happy. Like a loyal puppy dog, you know? He even stood up to his sister to defend her. Don’t you remember?”

I turn to Vin, who frowns and gives me an “I don’t have a clue” shrug. I remember hearing something a few years back about a huge blow up between Astrid and Ferro’s big sister, but never bothered to get more details. There’s plenty of gossip in the halls of the GA, but I tried to avoid it whenever possible. Especially when those rumors involved upperclassmen with nasty reputations.

“Anyway,” Brenne continues, “if you think Ferro’s mean, you should see Violet. That bitch made it her mission to torture poor Astrid, probably out of jealousy. Things got so bad that Ferro had to step in. He gave Vi an ultimatum: leave Astrid alone or lose him as a brother.”

“And?” Vin prompts, getting into this story.

“And they haven’t spoken since. Ferro even made his dad step in to protect Astrid. Talk about testosterone. That took a lot of it.”

Vin crunches into a beige protein strip and pulls a face before washing it down with water. “Sorry, but I don’t buy it. The testosterone thing and standing up for your girl…” He gives her a sly grin. “Hey, I totally respect that. But not the attitude, the way he’s always cutting on us for being Settlers. He’s a fragging Peacock, Bee. Can’t just brush that off.”

“You’re right,” she admits. “The way he treats you and Wil. That’s totally unacceptable. But it’s also just a defense mechanism. I’m not trying to justify his behavior, but this is all new.”

I mull over her words, realizing I never had any problems with Ferro until this year. Not like we had anything to do with each other, but at least he never sought me out to bother me.

“He’s changed,” Brenne says sadly.

When I ask her why, she sets her half-eaten protein strip down on the table, pale blue eyes lifting to mine. “Come on, Wil. Do you really need to ask that question?”

*

I excuse myself to go to the washroom, struggling to wrap my mind around what Brenne just implied. Could Ferro really be jealous of me? The Camp Rat? The notion seems laughable. He and Astrid are High Founders, born to the same top echelon of society. I’m so beneath them on every level. I think about what Gant told me about my parents, how they abandoned me in Wilmington without looking back. Even snow rippers nurture their young, at least until they’re mature enough to survive on their own, so what does that make me? Just some mutant who was spawned in the dirt of a Camp and then abandoned.

But then how do I explain away that kiss in the tunnel? I close my eyes and recall the way Astrid’s lips felt against mine. Soft. Brushing lightly, like a breeze or the flutter of butterfly wings. That kiss wasn’t bold or calculated. It was tentative. Shy.

And what did she say to me right before?

When we get to the surface, things will be different. You won’t always know how I feel.

She was asking for my patience. Trying to warn me that she won’t simply abandon Ferro. Not after everything he’s sacrificed to be with her.

Would I act any differently in her shoes?

I’m so distracted by this revelation that I forget to knock before entering the washroom. When I step inside, a warm cloud of steam envelops me. That’s when I remember what Liv said about taking a shower.

She’s leaning against the edge of a sink less than five feet away, bent over to towel off her legs. I catch a flash of pale skin and crescent of black underwear, seconds before she pivots to face me. She’s naked from the waist up.

I jerk my head away to the sound of rustling fabric and stare at the metal ceiling. When Liv clears her throat, I lower my head to find her wrapped in a towel, arms crossed beneath her now-covered breasts. Surprisingly, she looks more amused than angry.

“A Stalker and a lurker,” she says, lips curling into what could be either a smirk or a scowl. “Not an attractive combination, Wil.”

Before I can babble my apology, she raises a hand to cut me off.

“You wouldn’t think twice about violating my mind, but this…” She shrugs off the towel and then steps over it nonchalantly to gather her clothes from the floor. “This is just my body. Just skin. No secrets to sift through here.”

I look away but still catch her reflection above the sink as she finishes toweling off. When she’s done, she slips on a sports bra, black tee-shirt and matching sweats in three quick motions. Then her eyes find mine in the mirror.

“Did you come here to shower or to watch me get dressed?”

“Um…” I stare up at the ceiling for another awkward stretch before finally looking back at her. “Sorry I walked in on you without knocking first. I’m just here to wash up.”

She points to the sink. “Well, no one’s stopping you.”

I slip past her and start washing, soap suds stinging my flushed cheeks. I rinse with tepid water, taking my time. Trying and failing to come up with something intelligent to say. When I’m done, she tosses me a towel.

“Wil, huh? So, you’re really still going with that name?”

I meet her gaze in the mirror. “Yeah. Is there a problem with it?”

“No.” Her nose crinkles when she laughs, giving her a surprisingly playful look. “I guess not. Only that it’s not exactly original, is it? There must be… what? At least five thousand Wils living in Camp Wilmington alone.”

I raise an eyebrow.

“You know, that’s what they call all males in Wilmington, followed by their ID tags. Wils for boys and Willas for girls. Same thing in the other Camps. Vins and Vinnas in Vineland, Hans and Hannas in Hanover… you get the picture. The Great One forbid a Settler should have a real name. Who knows where that could lead?”

When I react with silence, her green eyes widen like algae blooms. “Wow. You really don’t remember anything, do you?”

“Nope.” I tap my skull. “Stripped clean, remember?”

She nods slowly, like she’s just beginning to process this news. Is it possible Thea didn’t explain what happened to me? Guess I just assumed all the Aletheians knew my backstory by now. “I’m sorry,” she finally says, sounding like she means it. “But if they stripped your memories of Wilmington, consider yourself lucky. That place was a hellhole.” She laughs again, but this time it’s a bitter sound. “Almost as bad as Orleans.”

“That’s where they sent you?” I ask, picturing the yellow bus that took her away.

“Right.” She pulls her damp hair into a ponytail and secures it with an elastic band. “Orleans Reeducation Camp. Where Gammas go to die.”

For eight years, I’ve been wondering where that bus took her. Now that I finally know, I wish I didn’t.

I return to the sink to splash more water on my cheeks. Rough with stubble, like sandpaper. When I glance up at the mirror, Liv’s reflection stares back at me. “I’ve been having the same dream for eight years,” I tell her. “It always starts on a beach.”

Her lips twitch with the faintest of smiles. “By the wind farm. We used to sneak out there every Friday, right after the first harvest shift. There was a deer trail through the scrub pines that bypassed the perimeter fence, if you knew where to look.”

“Past the old minefield,” I say, dropping my towel into the sink and then turning back to face her. “But how did we slip out?”

Her smile widens. “Some of the guards were Settlers just like us. We used to bribe them to look the other way.”

“With what?”

She shrugs. “Oh, I don’t know. Just little things. Sometimes, you’d sneak an apple from the orchard, and I’d usually…” She swallows suddenly, freckled cheeks turning pale.

“What?” My voice rises with concern.  “What did you give them?”

She purses her lips and looks away. “No… nothing like that, Wil. Only a few of the guards were evil that way, and you learned early on which ones to avoid. I used to…” She swallows again, like she’s trying to fight off a wave of nausea. “I used to draw pictures for some of them. You know, little sketches. Landscapes. Portraits. I’d ask what they wanted me to draw and then trade for a chance to slip away.”

“You were so creative,” I say, remembering the magical way she used to find animals in the clouds. “We’d lie on the sand and stare up at the sky together. You’d spot these animal shapes and make up elaborate stories about what they were doing.”

Liv flinches, like my words are causing her physical pain.

“What is it?” I reach for her arm but she pulls away.

“Just a parting gift from Orleans,” she murmurs, folding her towel and then setting it on the bench. Before I can ask for an explanation, she moves to open the exit hatch.

“You’re leaving?” I blurt.

“Well, yeah.” She rolls her eyes at me. “Listen, Wil from Wilmington: It’s been fun catching up in the washroom and all, but I need to get back to work.”

When I ask if there’s anything I can do to help, she frowns. “Know how to run a diagnostic on a sonar array?”

I shake my head.

“What about prepping a Mib?”

“No, but maybe you can teach me. I’d like to keep you company… um, that is, if you don’t mind.”

She crosses her arms. “Do I look like I’m hungry for some Stalker companionship?”

“Don’t call me that,” I mutter. “You’re not being fair.”

“Oh, really? And what if you weren’t wearing this?” She leans in to tug on my neck collar. “Would you still respect my privacy and stay the hell out of my mind?”

“Yes, I would,” I answer firmly, wishing she could sift me to see how much I mean this. After what I’ve learned about the Founding Three and our toxic legacy, I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to stomach sifting again. “I don’t want to know all your secrets, Liv. Only the ones you choose to share with me.”

Her hands slide down to her hips as she considers my words. Another eye roll, followed by a soft sigh. “Fine, come on, then,” she finally says, pulling a face like she’s just agreed to have a tooth extracted. “Just don’t get in my way.”

*

Liv leads me up a ladder and through a labyrinth of catwalks to the sonar cabin. By the time we reach the claustrophobic box of a room, I’m too disoriented to know where we are, but Liv explains we’re near the nose of the sub.

“That wall contains the baffle,” she explains, pointing to a thick gray bulkhead. “It keeps sounds inside the sub from interfering with the sonar sphere in the nose cone.” She taps the bulkhead. “That’s our eyes and ears when we’re underwater.”

“What about ships on the surface?” I ask. “Can’t they use sonar to detect us?”

“Not if we run deep.” She bends over a cabinet-shaped piece of equipment as she talks, prying open a side panel to reveal a rainbow of wires. “Sound waves get distorted when they pass through the different layers of seawater. As long as we stay below the thermocline, we should be pretty much invisible.”

“Wait… thermocline?”

She glances over her shoulder to explain that’s the name for the boundary between the warm surface water and the cold deeper layer. “It acts like a shield, reflecting sound waves from above.”

I ask her where she learned that, and how to inspect sonar equipment for that matter.

“On the job training, I guess. Then there’s the fact that Cael could pretty much build a subnaut from the ground up. He’s a good teacher.”

Cael. Of course. Her boyfriend with huge, sculpted muscles and a brain to match.

“You two are close,” I prompt.

She nods, expressive green eyes telling me everything I need to know.  They’re more than close. They’re in love. “He led the raid on Orleans that freed me,” she says, a faint blush creeping onto her cheeks. “That was three years ago.”

Three years ago. She would have been thirteen. “He seems like a solid guy,” I say, remembering the respectful way he treated us in the tunnel. “What’s his story, anyway? I mean…” I fumble for words. “How did he get all that engineering training?”

“Simple,” she answers, shifting her attention back to the inner workings of the sonar equipment. “His parents were High Founders, and so was he… until the screenings tagged him as a Gamma.”

I frown. “But wouldn’t that have happened in Prime School?”

“Not for someone like Cael. He’s still alpha-dominant. You Stalkers never picked him up, but he had to take a full neural screening to apply for a government position.” She scowls, delicate nostrils flaring. “That’s when they tagged him as a Gamma and shipped him off to be ‘reeducated.’”

Makes sense. The neural screenings are much more sensitive, but way too time-consuming to do on the general population. That’s where we Guardians come in. Seen in that light, we’re nothing more than glorified bloodhounds. No wonder the instructors call our training simulations “Fox Hunts.”

“How did he wind up joining the Aletheians?” I ask, eager to steer the conversation away from Guardians and screenings.

“Same way I did. He escaped during a raid. That’s how he met Thea. She took him under her wing and helped him to rise up through the ranks of the Resistance. She’s like a mother to him…” She glances down at her hands. “And to me.”

I work through the chain of events, realizing it can’t just be a coincidence that Cael’s the one who rescued Liv.  Thea must have sent him to find her, but why?

“I met Thea back in the Camp,” I say, wondering if she already knows this. “She… she was a powerful Guardian.”

If Liv is surprised by this news, she doesn’t show it.  Her expression remains neutral as she hunches over the sonar equipment.

“She discovered I was a sifter,” I continue, now talking to the back of her head. “Right before they took you away.”

That grabs her attention. Her shoulders rise and fall, like she’s taking a deep breath before diving underwater. “Thea wasn’t the one who tagged me,” she finally says. “But even if she had been, I wouldn’t blame her, just like I don’t blame you or your friends for being brainwashed into good little Stalker robots. But I do blame the Founders, and when this nightmare of a world they built starts burning...” She flashes me a warrior’s smile. “I’m going to be right there to fan the flames.”

How do you respond to that? She doesn’t give me a chance, turning her back on me before I can open my mouth. I have no idea what she’s doing, but I still watch over her shoulder as she sorts through the electronic guts of the sonar equipment. The next five minutes pass in silence, Liv absorbed in her work while I try to think of a way to draw her back into conversation.

“In the tunnel beneath York…” I finally say after clearing my throat. “You said the name Liv no longer means anything to you.”

“That’s right,” she replies, eyes not leaving her task. “The name was a joke, anyway. Guess you wouldn’t remember, but I came up with it because I was the fifty-forth live delivery on the day I was born.” She gives me a sideways glance. “Get it? That’s LIV in Ancient numerals.”

“Much more original than Wil,” I note.

“Maybe, but the name carried too much baggage, so I had to come up with a new one.” She turns to face me, cheeks blanching again. “On my first day in Orleans, the Founders in charge of my ‘reeducation’ hooked me up to a neural stimulator, then set out a canvas and ordered me to paint. I guess they could tell whenever the ‘Gamma’ parts of my brain lit up, because that’s when they’d punish me.” She thins her lips. “Sometimes they’d hit me with nausea until I curled up into a ball on the floor, dry heaving.  Or they’d give me migraines so bad it felt like my head was being cracked open. But most of the time, there’d be this…” She clenches and unclenches her fists. “This overwhelming terror, like the kind you experience in a nightmare where you know you’re about to die but can’t wake up.”

“But what if you just refused to paint?”

“Then they’d punish me even worse for resisting.”

My throat tightens up as she speaks. I’ve been training for half my life to track down ‘deviants,’ but this beautiful and damaged girl in front of me… she’s not the deviant. The people who did this to her are.

I am.

“I’m so sorry,” I whisper.

“Well, don’t be. We never look back, only forward. That’s what Thea told me after I escaped from Orleans. It didn’t matter that I felt like throwing up every time I saw a beautiful sunset. She said I’d overcome what they did to me. That I should start the healing process by picking a new name for my new life in the Resistance. I chose ‘Lily.’”

When I ask her why, she digs into the front pocket of her sweats to pull out a folded piece of paper, which she hands to me. “Thea gave me that, right after my escape. It’s a copy of a painting that’s thousands of years old. I think whoever painted it was a Gamma.”

As soon as I unfold the paper, I understand why she chose her name. The laminated image is worn and faded, but I can still make out the vivid swaths of color, the green pads and pink blooms of water lilies floating on a bright blue, sunlight-dappled background.

“Lily,” I say, offering her my hand. “It’s nice to finally meet you.”

She holds my hand for a moment before dropping it abruptly. When I ask what’s wrong, her eyes widen in panic.

“Can’t you feel it?” She glances upward. “We’re rising.”

I close my eyes and feel the floating sensation too. Moments later, my ears pop from the shift in cabin pressure. “Yeah,” I say. “Kobari must be going to the surface so that Thea can get a message to the Core.”

“No!” Lily shakes her head, now frantic. “They can’t!”

She’s in motion before I can ask her to explain, sprinting for the exit.

***

© Copyright 2025 graymartin. All rights reserved.