"Begin at the beginning and go on till you come to the end: then stop." - The King
"Get up."
Holden was standing over her, expressionless. A quick glance at the window showed that it was still dark out. He'd taken a set of clothing from her backpack and dropped it on the floor in front of her feet. He stepped back as she let her legs out from under the covers, touching down on the tile. She'd hoped it had all been a bad dream, but his voice, his face, his undeniable eyes had awoken her to terrible reality.
"You really shouldn't wake people up like that," she grumbled, rubbing her face. "It's super-creepy."
He blinked at her, either untouched by or uncomprehending her insult. She shook her head, and went to the bathroom to change.
She followed him to the cafeteria, noticing as he stopped along the way and picked a wild daisy that had grown through the gravel road. Inside, yawning mercenaries filled their stomachs with the hot, greasy-smelling food. Rather than line up with the others, Holden led her to a corner of the room where a portly cafeteria lady stood waiting.
The woman wiped a greasy strand of greying hair from a sweat-stained brow as they approached. When she saw Holden, her face lit up. She patted Holden's cheek and handed him his tray of food. He handed her the daisy, and she fawned over it, eyes twinkling as he moved on wordlessly. She then turned to Katia, crow's feet crinkling as she smiled. "You're Omega-two, aren't you?"
Katia bit her lip and nodded. She hated hearing that epithet.
"My name's Debbie. You come to me when you're hungry," Debbie instructed, handing Katia her breakfast. She nodded towards Holden. "He's been waiting for you his whole life, you know," she whispered loudly, perhaps not realizing that Holden could hear. She shook her head sadly, gazing at Holden, who was making an obvious effort to appear nonchalant. "He must be so happy you've finally showed up."
Katia had no idea what Debbie was doing in this camp. She seemed genuinely kind. But the nicest thing Katia could say in return was nothing at all.
After she'd forced down her breakfast, Holden stood up. "Come on."
Katia followed him across the compound. They were crossing the field when Jackson yelled out. "Omegas!"
Holden stopped and turned on his heel, marching obediently over to Jackson. Katia felt no choice but to follow. There were about eighty mercenaries standing at attention near the obstacle course. They all faced Dean King, who was busy talking with a group of five men. Jackson was standing off to the side, his arms across his chest.
She stopped when Holden stopped, and waited for Jackson's instruction.
Jackson waved his arm towards the mercenaries. "Omega-two will train with the recruits."
Holden paused. He seemed to be absorbing the information before carefully considering a response. "I didn't realize you planned on putting her through Training Week. I'm not sure it's necessary."
Jackson's face betrayed no opinion at Holden's remarks, but when he spoke, there was a testy edge to his words. "If it's unnecessary, then it shouldn't be difficult for her. Would you suggest something more challenging?"
"No sir," Holden shook his head. He paused again, and this time he seemed to deliberate. "Might I accompany her?"
This time, Jackson could not conceal his expression. His brow lifted, ever so slightly. "You would do Training Week over?"
Holden nodded. "I believe it would be best for us to train together."
Jackson almost smiled. "Then get in formation."
Katia was almost positive that the two missing places at the far left of the front line had not been coincidental. The other mercenaries were mostly in their late twenties to mid-thirties with powerful muscles and determined stares. Despite their focus, they could not help but glance sideways at the tall, skinny girl that joined their ranks.
"Recruits," King began, and Katia couldn't help raise her brow. She had most certainly not been recruited. "You've been selected for specialized training. You were chosen for your physical and mental aptitude." Katia swallowed a snort. There was nothing mentally apt about any of these men. King began to walk amongst the recruits. "For the next three weeks, you will endure the most challenging, agonizing duress you have ever encountered. Some of you with military experience have undergone similar assessments. Rest assured, this will be as painful. Those who complete this training phase will be added to our special extraction team. The benefits include more diverse employment opportunities, and of course, higher pay." A few of the men grinned hungrily. "At the end of training, eight will be chosen as specialists." He paused with unnecessary drama. "Welcome to Training Week."
King stepped back, and a huge, bear-like man stepped forward. "Ten miler through the woodland trail. If you can't finish in under one-hundred minutes, don't bother finishing at all."
The men didn't move. Some seemed to be deciding if this Bear-man was serious. Apparently, he was. He held up a pistol and blasted it into the air. The loud noise banged against Katia's eardrum painfully, and she ran to get away from the gun, if nothing else.
The men set off at a furious pace into a thin trail that opened into the surrounding woods. Katia turned to follow Holden, wondering how she might get out of this, when Jackson called, "Oh, and Miss Yazykova."
Katia turned. He'd called her by her name. Jackson smiled, and held up the photograph again, tracing his wretched finger over her sister's face. "You are too expensive to dispense of. She, on the other hand, is not. Keep that in mind when you consider rebelling."
Her throat tightened, and a dark bleakness settled over her entire being as her body moved automatically, turning away from Jackson without acknowledgement. She knew then that every act of freedom would come at a cost, and that cost would be the death of one she loved.
She ran for their lives.
**************************
Holden's limbs were stronger and fresher than they'd ever been. He was running on a downhill trampoline: slightly uncoordinated and unfamiliar as his legs were, they were flying. He'd never moved this fast, never loped so lightly, and he knew this was her doing. It was pure exhilaration.
Beside him, Katia let out a short, almost childish laugh. He glanced down at her, and for just a moment, he caught her smile. In that moment, an overwhelming hum filled the air, and the lightness in his limbs became a prickling, burning sensation that overtook him and made it hard to breathe. Slowly – or perhaps all in the space of time – the buzzing receded, and his breath came back to him, yet the lightness was no longer the same. This was also her doing. Then she noticed him watching her.
Her smile disappeared. She focused straight ahead.
Holden coughed unnecessarily. They were well into the woods, having quickly pulled away from the others. He was unsurprised that Katia could easily keep pace. He'd spied her fly through her own forest, outrunning both predators and prey.
"Training Week – " Holden began explaining the concept regardless of whether or not she was listening.
"Why do they call it that?" she cut in. "It's three weeks, not one."
Holden was surprised she'd spoken at all. He thought of King's ridiculous answer to that question. Because time passes more slowly in Hell, he'd once said in one of his speeches. Holden gave Katia the honest answer. "They've stolen the concept from the Navy, who call a similar regime Hell Week. The difference is that with Hell Week, the men aren't allowed to sleep for five days. Some of these men are former Navy SEALs, and they find Training Week here much easier, despite the fact that it's two weeks longer." He was trying to console her, but he had no idea why.
"They don't sleep?" The idea seemed shocking to Katia.
Holden glanced around. Fortunately, no other mercenaries were lurking in the woods, so he could be honest. "Katia, you're faster than anyone you know. And so strong it frightens you."
She didn't reply, probably because it was true.
"But have you ever forgotten to eat a meal? Ever had a night without sleep?"
"Once or twice," she answered vaguely. He doubted she had ever gone in need for long. She was so ignorant, and yet so sure in her beliefs of how the world worked. It infuriated him to no end.
"And then you felt awful," he concluded. "You were non-functional."
Katia smiled a tiny smile. She had a strange sense of humour, Holden thought. But that slight curve of her lip made something in him move. He swatted the feeling away, even angrier now. He pushed down the feeling, and continued. "Everything about you and me works faster, more powerfully. But it also means that we tire more quickly if we don't feed and rest our bodies adequately. We can't go without sleep or food for very long, or we shut down completely. It's our... weakness. It's the reason you're about as hefty as a starved gazelle, because you can never get enough to fill yourself."
He expected her to glare at him at the insult, but instead, one eye tightened, and she seemed to be considering what he said. Her expressions were funny, the way one eye would narrow as she pondered information, or the way she bit down on her cheeks to repress whatever words threatened to slip off her tongue. The little motions affected him in a way no other face had.
"You're not that big yourself," she finally said.
He frowned.
Then she asked a strange question. "The men used to be in the army?"
"Most of the mercenaries are discharged military personnel. Training Week just ensures that they're still capable and willing to undergo the duress."
Holden was now noticing the way her brow furrowed as she considered an unappealing prospect, and the way she pressed her lips together when she was flustered or angry; two more mannerisms he could add to his reflections. "So these men have all been fired from the army?"
He shook his head. "No, that's uncommon. The men trying out for Suspiral's elite teams have been actively recruited. The truth is that working for Suspiral is just far more attractive: the pay is substantially higher for the same work, and they prefer the lack of bureaucratic constraint. They're still on the same side as the army, they're just getting a better deal for doing it."
He could tell she was not pleased by his words. After a maddening silence, he finally coaxed her. "Tell me what the issue is."
She ran on, and for a moment, he thought that she might remain silent. Then the words came tumbling forth. "It's the reason they're fighting. Fighting for your country is bad enough, but it's excusable, because..." She paused, searching for an excuse for war. She seemed unable to locate one, which only served to anger her further. She spat. "I can't argue with an entire country's conviction – the entire world's belief – that war is a necessary evil. But fighting for money? Wanting to go to war?"
She fell silent again, seething inwardly. Holden found himself amused by her naïveté, though he tried to conceal it. He was thinking of all the words the soldiers would have for someone like her. Leftist. Commie. Flower-wielding Pinko Pacifist. He'd laughed when he'd heard that one, though he didn't know what any of them meant. He liked the alliteration. Funny as her ignorance was, it would find her no friends if anyone overheard. He sighed, and tried to explain.
"Katia, they're not ruthless thugs. This is a skill set they have. Soldiers don't get paid very much, and we've just started in on a major recession. It's hard enough to keep a job right now, much less find one. Even if they could, do you think they'll just be able to sit down in a cubicle and forget about everything that they've seen and done? At least with Suspiral, they'll have guaranteed income, benefits for their families, and they'll be with other men who get it." She stared straight ahead, and Holden wondered if she was even listening. Her eye tightened, and he knew she was. "It won't be so bad. There will be-
She cut him off. "Why are you doing this with me?"
He stared at her. He wasn't sure of the question's intonation, whether it was hatred or simple curiosity. The reality was, he wasn't sure why he'd volunteered to do Hell Week over. The first time around had been one of the more painful trials of his life. Then again, he'd been thirteen years old and weighed fifty pounds less than the smallest man there. He'd been fighting for his life then; they would have killed him if he hadn't completed it. It would be easier this time. Yet, even if it had been as painful as the first time, he would have done it again, and he had no idea why.
He knew that she hated him; she wasn't the first. But for some reason, it was the first time he cared. Frightened by that realization, he matched her steely look with his own, and lied. "If you fuck this up, then I'm dead too. And I happen to like breathing."
She didn't speak to him for the rest of the day.
**********************
As the minutes passed, they pushed the pace. They were running fast, much faster than Katia had ever run. Her legs were springs, bounding and pliant to her will. They moved with extraordinary speed and strength, and the movement was pure exhilaration. If she weren't so angry, she would have been ecstatic. But he ruined the joy. It was uncomfortable, running next to him in this silence, and she ran faster to get away from him. Unfortunately, Holden seemed to be doing the same. He matched every step, and the harder she pushed, the harder he pushed back. By the time they came barrelling out of the woods and across the field, back to the place where they'd started, they were sprinting harder than she'd ever done. Her legs and lungs burned and screamed for relief, but she would not allow them that.
They finally reached the finish line, and it was through sheer willpower that she stood and faced the Bear-man directly, refusing to bend over with her hands on her knees and gasp for air, the way Holden was doing.
The Bear-man stared at Katia dubiously. "Fifty-five thirty-eight. That's a world-fucking-record."
"We didn't cheat," Holden said, having recovered his voice.
The man cocked his brow, and almost smiled. "Then you have competition."
They waited a full forty-five minutes for the final mercenaries to come through. They didn't bother waiting for the ones who didn't make the cut. They were ushered over to the ditches, where King gave his second speech.
King stood in front of them, his legs slightly apart and his hands behind his back. "Water torture. The first person to exit the water will go back to regular infantry. If at any time you give up, you will go back to regular infantry. This will continue for the next four days, until we have culled our group sufficiently to move onto the next phase."
"Omega-two." King beckoned her over. He spoke in a low voice. "If you finish last or give up once, you will not be discharged, but your punishment will make you wish you were."
It was a stupid threat. Unlike the others, she already wished she would be discharged. Yet even as she tried not to roll her eyes, she could not help but wonder what her punishment might be. She felt the eyes of the other mercenaries on her, and she wondered how they could look at her and do nothing. Katia clearly was not meant to be a part of their group, yet they did not protest, they did not even question.
Katia came to understand what the ditches were for. They were made to lie down in a shallow trench. It was filled with ice-cold, putrid water, covering all but her mouth and nose when she lay flat. Then King's henchmen came along and hosed them down, half-drowning them in a bruising, forceful flow. She lay beside Holden, feeling the water soak through her clothes, foam tickling her neck, the acid of peat in her mouth. It wasn't pleasant, but it was less frigid than the waters of the north Pacific. She was unworried by the drowning spray; taking a breath when she could, waiting patiently when she could not. She clenched and unclenched every muscle, remembering how to keep warm. The cold water leeched through her boots, cooling the blisters that had sprung up since the morning, and she almost smiled again.
Time ticked by as the men coughed and gagged around her, and she giggled, remembering how James and Sam would shake their head and rub at goose bumps as they watched her paddle through the water in nothing more than her bikini and rash guard. The giggle twisted into outright laughter as she considered the futile absurdity of the situation.
"Fucking psycho," a mercenary muttered beside her. She turned to her left.
The torturers had moved on, giving them a chance to catch their breaths. This mercenary was younger than the others, maybe in his early-twenties, with shorn brown hair. Initially he reminded her of anyone who'd ever called her names, but as she looked closer, she saw that his brown eyes weren't unkind; they were more delirious than anything. His lips were blue, his fingers white, but still he held on. Part of her felt sorry for him, and another part was impressed. Then she remembered what he was.
She reached over, and squeezed his frozen hand with her warmer one. Katia hated this company and anyone who had anything to do with it, but she hated seeing pain even more. He turned to her, his confusion barely registering beyond the all-consuming cold.
She squeezed his other hand, warming it.
"Who are you?" His accent was thick and drawling.
She took her hand away.
Ten minutes later, a whistle blew, and men got up all around her. Some fell back into the water, shaking and blue. King smiled.
"Run again."
They repeated the run, this time waterlogged and stiff from the cold. Katia kept pace with Holden, who took the front. The sodden blisters in her feet burst, and she felt the raw scrapes of skin against leather stinging with every step. Her legs were as heavy as concrete as she trudged through the woods, her eyes on Holden's back, matching his longer strides with her quicker ones. Every time she slowed, he slowed as well, only to increase the speed ten metres later. He was leading her.
Along the length of the trail, they saw mercenaries, standing at attention, on the lookout for cheaters. At the sixth mile, she saw Frankie. He was eating a sandwich, and as they passed, he tossed a packet at her. She caught it easily.
"Good work, Katia," he encouraged her.
She was tempted to slap him. Instead, she glanced at the packet in her hands, dumbfounded by it.
"It's energy gel," Holden explained through puffs of breath. It made her glad to know that he suffered too. "Just rip off the top and suck on it."
She did as he instructed, and within minutes, she felt the spring in her step again. She followed Holden, buoyed by the memory of the distraught faces of the remaining men. She only had to beat them, and that wasn't hard.
It continued like that for a week, running ten, sometimes twenty miles in a day, lying in the filthy ditchwater, hopping over obstacle courses, doing an endless number of push-ups and sit-ups, so that even her muscles burned and ached to the point she thought they might snap. In a funny way, she was glad for the intense regimen. At night, she was too exhausted to think on her family and whether they might be worried for her, too tired even to be bothered by the fact that the one who'd taken her from them lay only a few feet away.
Katia tried to keep herself sane, tried to focus on the positives. She had food, she had clothing, she was allowed six hours of sleep each night, and in three weeks time, she would be done. She dared not think of what might come after that.
Over the course of the week, she watched grown men cry, over what? Pain? Fatigue? She knew it was wrong, because she was so much stronger and faster, but held no sympathy for them. They were doing this for money, not survival.
Holden rarely spoke to her, though he kept close at all times. On the fourth night, as she was marking another notch on the wall, he placed a jar of a slimy gel on her blanket. "It will help with the blisters," was all he said.
"I know what Vaseline does," she snapped. She picked up the jar, and her voice softened. "Thanks."
"You're welcome." He said it like he was testing out the sound of the words on his tongue. Katia wasn't sure why he was helping her, but it seemed like something he was unfamiliar with.
She lay back with her fingers laced behind her head, staring through the window above her bed and considering the futility of escape. A thick blanket of cloud had rolled in, and there were no stars in the sky. The hopelessness was too much to bear, and she let her head fall to the side. Holden was lying in the exact same position. The sight stirred a question, an idea so abhorrent she needed it to be quelled. She couldn't stand the idea of being related to someone like him. Her voice wavered as she gave voice to the question. "Are we siblings?"
He chuckled softly. "No."
"Then how do we have the same eyes?"
"That's a simple genetic mutation that acts as an identifier. Iris scans are a thousand times more accurate than fingerprints. It was intended to make sure they didn't... misplace us." He laughed darkly at that. "Each of the Paragons have abnormally coloured eyes. I'm surprised no one noticed. I guess that whoever stole you must've thought that if you lived in the smallest town of the most inconsequential country, right under our noses – " he laughed " – then you'd get away with it. And you almost did."
"Hey," she riposted, feeling rather offended at his jab, "for a country with fewer civil liberties than a country that got rid of the apartheid less than twenty years ago, I'd say you Americans have a tendency to overestimate yourselves."
"I'm sorry, Oh Master of World Facts, I didn't realize that utopia was to be found in Canada. I was too distracted by the fact that most of it is frozen tundra. And for someone who appears to have gross disdain for America, you seem to know a lot about it."
Rather than admit he was right, she whispered, "But despite all that tundra, you found me."
A pause, and then he sighed. "To answer your initial question, we're... you're my polar opposite. From what I know, you were born two years after me, after they found a suitable match."
"A suitable match?"
"I don't know how it works exactly, but we're not just made DNA. We're taken from human samples all around the world and assembled to form perfect strands. Unfortunately, the researcher who worked on us disappeared with your carrier. We never found out quite what he'd intended when he designed us."
Katia felt ill at the idea of being designed by another human being. It was eugenics. "How can we be polar opposites if we're a perfect match?"
He turned and propped himself up on one elbow. "We're a perfect match because we're polar opposites. I'm not talking about personality, or food preference, or even race. I mean, our very molecules... they're like north and south." He chewed on his lip, like it was a conundrum he'd been trying to answer his entire life. "That's all I know."
"Like magnets," she observed quietly, her mind fixated on the problem.
He flopped onto his back. "Maybe."
The number of recruits dwindled to twenty. Katia stifled a yawn as she lined up beside the remaining men on the eighth morning. She knew it could be worse. Though she was tired, the others staggered. For them, it had been one of the hardest weeks of their lives. For her, it had been a week of the gym exercises she'd never been permitted. The physical exhaustion was welcome, as it cleared her mind of the anxiety she felt for her family.
Dean King stood in front of them in his usual position of intimidation. Katia couldn't take him seriously. It was Jackson that she feared. He'd lingered every day, studying her sometimes for an hour, sometimes for ten minutes, never making any sign of pleasure or displeasure. But every time she saw him, he would ever so casually flash a photograph – of Ninel, of Valentina, of Irina – and nod directly at her. Jackson was not holding up a photograph that morning.
"You've proven that you can sustain extreme physical duress," King spoke in his nasal drawl, and she cringed. Everything about him, from his misplaced arrogance to the sound of his voice to the shallow, drooping pool of his eyes, grated on her. "Starting tomorrow, we will test your ability to transfer it to the battlefield. Enjoy your day off."
The men whooped in joyful surprise at the gift of a day off. Amongst them, Katia stood very still. The most peculiar sensation of dread, like a cracked egg yolk, dripped from the top of her head, behind her ears, down her neck, filling her chest with the thickness of it, seeping through her veins, all the way down to her toes, so that she was drowning in the sludge of it, immobile and mute.
She had thus far been content to neglect the reason for her presence in the camp, but starting tomorrow, she would have to face reality: to face battle.
***************
Dr. Clark performed her check-up. Katia stood in his office, staring at the diploma on his wall. It matched her father's in all but name. Above his desk was a framed poem. She knew it by heart, because that same poem hung above her bed in Haidala. Her father had nailed it there long before she could remember.
"I heard you performed remarkably well in your first week, Katia," Dr. Clark said quietly as he examined her. "I can't say that I'm surprised."
She hadn't spoken since she'd arrived for her check-up, but something he said surprised her. "You call us by our real names."
"Every human being has the right to a name, Katia."
"And that's what you think we are?"
Dr. Clark grunted. "I'm sorry to see they've distorted your self-perception so quickly. Yes, I do believe that's what you are. You must remember that I created you. You are, from cell to soul, a human being.
Katia wasn't sure she believed in souls. "Jackson and Harper are okay with that?"
"Even the Edward Jacksons and Bruce Harpers of this world need a trustworthy doctor." Dr. Clark laughed. "The latter more than most, actually.'"
That she could concede that was true. "But you're not trustworthy at all," she whispered as he took her bloodpressure.
"That's a rather unkind accusation."
"Is it?"
He unravelled the cuff, and removed the stethoscope from his ears, before looking at her quite sternly. "You will do well not to make suppositions, Katia. Chances are that they're incorrect."
Katia swallowed and looked away from him then, because there was nothing else to say.
She was walking slowly back to the Paragon's building, taking in the crisp air, thankful for the cold, when the date occurred to her. As she entered the foyer, Apollo was sitting in one of the old, battered armchairs, making notes in a journal, while Holden and the twins played a video game. Holden was biting his tongue in concentration, when suddenly Frankie yelled. "Boom! Scoring like a hooker in Congress!"
Holden's eyes narrowed, his fingers moving over the controller with incredible speed.
The sound of an explosion burst forth from the television, and Frankie's triumph melted as quickly as it had exploded. "What the hell?"
Holden passed the controller off to Colton. "You have a tendency towards premature celebration, Frankie. You should learn to contain yourself until your opponent is definitely finished. You'll never make it to Congress that way."
Colton laughed.
"Good morning, Katia," Apollo said, causing them all to look up. She'd been standing near the doorway, biting down on her cheeks as she tried hard not to laugh at Holden's filthy joke.
"Morning." Katia hadn't spoken for more than five minutes in the past week. It felt almost strange to use her vocal cords. "Are we allowed to watch the news?"
"No," Colton answered.
"The elections were yesterday. I was just wondering about who won."
Frankie's brow pinched together. "They're not till next month."
"She means the Canadian elections, Frankie," Holden corrected him. He nodded at Frankie. "Give her a turn."
"Who cares about those?" Frankie asked.
"Canadians, I think," Apollo answered, not looking up from his book.
"Exactly," Frankie said, having made his point. Nonetheless, he got up and handed Katia the controller. He placed a finger to his lips, indicating that he wanted silence. She sat down on the threadbare couch and watched Frankie slip out of the building, not quite sure what was going on.
Katia settled onto the couch. On weekends when the ocean was too rough or the air too cold, she and her friends had bunkered in Ethan's basement, playing video games. If she put effort into the game, she won handily every time, but this disturbed the boys, so she usually lost on purpose.
Acutely aware of Colton's long, wiry body beside her, and Holden's gaze on her from the armchair across from them, Katia focused on the screen. Colton grinned at her. "Ready to get destroyed?"
Strangely at home on the age-softened, patchy couch, Katia let herself smile. "Don't get too cocky."
She was normally very good at video games, but Colton had years of experience and a near-equal capacity for violent reflexivity. Katia lasted ten minutes. By the time it was over, sweat dripped from her brow and her thumbs were reddened by the ferocity with which they'd whirled over the controller.
She leaned back against the couch, fatigued from the effort. "You killed me."
Colton slapped her arm. "It wasn't easy."
"You're just saying that."
He looked at her strangely. "Why would I do that?"
She stared back at him. Then something occurred to her about the Paragons: they hadn't learned conventional etiquette or been subject to social hierarchy before. They could lie, but with each other, they were entirely, refreshingly honest. She found herself glancing at Holden. He'd said cruel things to her, but he had also once said she had the potential to be great. She wondered if that had been true as well.
Frankie came back in, and handed her a piece of paper. It had one name written on it. Parker.
"Damn," she mumbled.
"Not who you were hoping for?" Frankie asked.
"Doesn't matter. I was just curious."
Apollo came over and picked up the piece of paper. "Oh, him. He's the one that wants to secure the Arctic for Canada."
"There won't be much point if he continues to make decisions that ensure most of it melts," she muttered.
She felt the silence in the room, and squirmed.
"Sorry," she squeaked automatically.
"For what?" Frankie asked, staring at her in confusion.
She realized that they would not understand her apologetic mannerisms either. She was about to explain when Aldous came through the door. He nodded at them in greeting.
"You're back early," Holden noted.
"Good to see you too," Aldous replied. He tilted his head towards Katia. "Good first week?"
"Hellish," Holden answered pleasantly for her.
Aldous picked up the inflection. Rather than address her, however, he turned to Holden. "For God's sake, Holden. I told you to sort it out."
"'Sort it out, smooth out wrinkles.' I'm not sure if you're talking about my shirts or my second."
Aldous was not amused. "You have until the end of this week. Harper will be back Friday, and he'll want answers."
"I can give him this one," Holden replied coolly, pulling a crumpled sheet of paper from his pocket. Katia glanced at the paper. It was filled with complex mathematical equations.
"It's your head, Holden. Not just hers," Aldous warned. His anger was oddly paternal.
Aldous looked about to say something more, when Iris called down from the banister of the upper level. "Come upstairs, Aldous."
Aldous shook his head, and climbed the stairs to meet her. Iris kissed him on the lips and pulled him into the room. Katia stared with impolite curiosity after them.
Did I miss something?
"Lunchtime," Apollo announced hastily, getting up from his chair.
Katia's stomach grumbled in agreement with Apollo, easily forgetting about Iris and Aldous. She glanced back at Holden, who was still seated, all the sarcasm drained from his face.
Katia knew that she would have to face many realities soon.
Instead, she picked up the problem Holden had been working on. She blinked in surprise. It was the Riemann Hypothesis. Mr. Young had given her the same problem, what felt like years ago.
"Did you really solve a Millennium Prize problem?" Katia hadn't even come close to solving it.
He stood up, and shrugged. "Not like it's hard."
It was pouring rain that afternoon. She finished her lunch a little earlier than the others, and ran back to her room. She was pulling off her wet jacket when Holden suddenly came into the room, closed the door behind him, and grabbed her by the sleeve.
"Hey!" she protested.
Fear rushed through her as he shoved her roughly into their small bathroom. She stumbled back against the far wall, which was only three feet away, as he stepped inside and closed the door. She had no idea what he was going to do, but her reflexes, well-built five years after the incident with Jason, were sent into hyperdrive. The problem was that this time she knew she wouldn't be able to fight back.
"Don't," she pled, on the verge of tears. "Please, don't touch me."
His voice was confused. "I'm not going to touch you, Katia."
She stood still, unable to believe him. "Then why did you just shove me into a bathroom?"
He pointed a finger to his ear. "They can't hear us in the bathroom."
She balked. "That's supposed to reassure me?"
"We can't talk out there!" he hissed in clarification. "They monitor what we say, remember?"
"Oh," she said, relaxing slightly. Then she stared at him. "Did I say something wrong before?"
"No," he reassured her. "I wanted you to explain something."
"What?" she asked.
"You said something about the Arctic melting. That's climate change, right?"
She pushed her mouth closed with her hand. "You want me to explain climate change?"
He drummed his fingers against the door nervously. "I don't understand how it works."
"You proved the Riemann Hypothesis, an unsolvable proof, and you don't understand climate change?"
"They don't want to give us access to information, in case it's the wrong information," he explained. "Dr. Clark is allowed to teach us biology and chemistry, and we had a tutor for physics and mathematics, but we never had an ecology teacher. The only other information we get is either if we steal it, or if Dr. Clark passes us a magazine or a book. Sometimes we can get on the internet, but that's usually monitored. They probably wouldn't care if I learned about climate change, but it's not part of our curriculum, so they don't teach it. I haven't had time to learn about it."
He wasn't asking for her sympathy; she knew he wouldn't want it, and she could not give it even if he did. But she could not help but feel a sort of empathy for his desire to know. She settled down on the yellow linoleum floor, and motioned for him to do the same. "I'll tell you about it, if you explain the Riemann Hypothesis."
He slid down to the floor, his back resting against the door. "Deal."
So they talked for hours. They spoke about the intricacies of science, the beauty of mathematics, about all of the wondrous complexities that she had never been able to discuss in Haidala, for fear of mockery or blank stares. Katia so rarely verbalized her thoughts, even with her closest friends, that she'd forgotten how nice it was to speak. She wondered how Holden, whom she feared more than anyone else in the world, could put her at such unprecedented ease.
The Riemann Hypothesis was remarkably simple when you got to the answer, whereas the multi-variable causations and implications of climate change were so fluctuating and immense that they both found it a far trickier mess to untangle. Holden listened attentively, occasionally interjecting with a question or remark. After she finished, he leaned his head back against the door.
"On the bright side, Canada will be inhabitable. I mean, more than the thin strip along the forty-ninth parallel."
"Less maple syrup, though," she pointed out.
"Oh." He appeared genuinely distressed. He stood up. "I'm hungry."
As they walked to the cafeteria, she finally had the courage to ask, "What will happen next week?"
"They'll go over marksmanship and hand-to-hand combat next week, then combat situations the week after," he answered. "At the end of each week, we'll have some sort of test."
"I've never touched a gun before," she said quietly.
"I know," he answered. "Just pretend... like video games."
This wasn't a game, but she wondered if it was to him.
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Just pretend, like video games! *facepalm* Boys.
Tell me your thoughts! I'd love to hear them.