Nemesis Boxset Page 22

  “People say this planet is cursed,” I say in answer to Orion’s question. “Adrestia was the goddess of equilibrium between good and evil, but most people remembered her as the goddess of revolt and revenge.”

  “She who cannot be escaped,” Vega adds. “Word spread that if you landed on Adrestia, you could never leave.”

  “A wives’ tale,” Orion says, “to scare children into behaving well. But Adrestia was properly named for our cause. She represents everything we want. Justice, balance—”

  “And revolt,” Vega finishes.

  “You’re not wrong,” Orion agrees. “Veritas was built in response to IA’s unjust treatment of its citizens and its lucrative deals with outsiders. If IA lowers the Patch Shield and the Revellae enter our galaxy, life as we know it will never be the same.”

  As Orion talks, he leads us into the city Veritas has made upon Adrestia. For a supposedly deserted planet, the rebel group has done an impressive job of populating it. The city extends for miles in each direction, toward the vast crystal sea and the mountain jungle opposite it. The locals use natural items in every aspect of their lives. The buildings are constructed of black stone, no doubt some mixture of the planet’s sand and a binding ingredient. Thatched palm fronds provide shady areas to work or relax. The city is arranged in large, interlocking squares. In the center of everything is some kind of trade market. From what I can tell, the people who live here don’t barter for money. A system of equality has been put into place. Those that make materials like clothes and shoes trade their goods with those who hunt animals and gather edible plants. Veritas is a well-oiled machine, assigning roles to every resident to keep the city up and running.

  “If only the rest of the galaxy operated like this,” Vega murmurs as we pass through the trade market. “We’d see far less of a wage gap. No poverty or accumulation of wealth. It’s amazing.”

  “Equality is a way of life here,” Orion explains. “Every person, including the children, contributes to our society. We can’t afford to live any other way. Sometimes, it can be difficult to get used to it, but you’ll learn soon enough.”

  The people of Veritas are wide and varied. I expected a city of soldiers, straight-backed and sure-footed, but I forgot that soldiers have families. All manner of people walk the streets to complete their tasks for the day, varying in age, skin color, size, and shape. Little shriveled women who look older that the universe itself sit beneath a shady tarp and weave complicated lattices of palm fronds. Their fingers work with utter confidence as the women laugh and gossip with each other. A group of kids, no more than four or five years old, runs past, their shirts full of tubers and roots they pulled up from the jungle floor. As we watch, they dump their hauls into a large trough and take turns pumping a handle at the trough’s end. Fresh water flows into the trough, washing the dirt and sand away from the tubers and roots.

  “Come on,” Orion says, ushering me and Vega along when we pause a moment too long to watch the children work happily. “We don’t have time for the grand tour just yet. The council wants to meet with you.”

  Vega trips over a lip in the uneven sandy ground. “The council? What council?”

  “As I said before, Veritas values truth and equality,” Orion replies. “We don’t have a leader or a president. All executive decisions are made by the council, a fluctuating group of twenty-five people. Together, we hope to garner different perspectives and opinions. Ultimately, the council was formed to choose what’s best for our people. Your sister sat on the council for a few months, Ophelia.”

  “Claudia?”

  “Yes. Before she became our eyes and ears at the Defense academy, she spent three months here,” Orion says. “Of course, IA doesn’t know that. She claimed she was on an extended vacation to better herself.”

  “Where is Claudia anyway?” Vega asks. “She disappeared as soon as we landed.”

  “No doubt to inform the council of our successful mission,” Orion answers. “She is one of our most revered agents. She managed several duties.”

  “It’s weird to think of Claudia as the rebel,” I muse. “She was the most eager to join IA when we were kids. She liked it even more than Laertes.”

  “She certainly changed her tune,” Orion says. “Here we are. After you, ladies.”

  We enter a community building near the middle of the square. It’s fairly large, adequate enough in size to accommodate several hundred people should Veritas face any kind of emergency or threat. It looks as though the room might be used to host community events, but the only people here today are members of the council. Unlike the boardrooms at IA’s headquarters, there is no conference table for the council to sit around. Instead, they recline in ergonomic chairs made of bendy palm parts, rest on padded mats on the floor, or stand comfortably at the edges of the gathering. I’m surprised to see that the council fairly represents the people of Veritas. There’s even a teenaged girl—maybe fourteen or fifteen—here to speak for the younger generations. As soon as we enter, the chatter dies down and every member of the council looks at us.

  A tall man with a magnificent beard whistles—a sharp, high-pitched tone that echoes through the building and pierces my eardrums. Someone else joins in, then another and another, until it sounds like a roost of angry falcons has taken up residence in the community building. Vega tenses, but I understand the meaning of the gestures. It’s Veritas’s form of applause.

  “Settle down!” Orion says, and the room quiets. “As I’m sure you’ve all heard by now, our mission on Harmonia was successful.”

  “Mostly,” says a familiar voice. My older sister, Claudia, stands up to address the council. “My sister managed to destroy most of the materials for the serum, but we don’t know that IA can’t reproduce them in time. Moreover, we are unsure if Intelligence Director Gertrude Holmes survived the explosion.”

  “You mean your mother?” the teenaged girl asks with a smirk. A matte-black mask covers her left cheek and extends over her jaw. I wonder what lies beneath it.

  “I’d rather not claim her,” Claudia replies. “And I think we should take advantage of this situation as soon as possible. We should gather intel. We need to go back to Harmonia—”

  “Go back to Harmonia?” another council member chimes in. It’s an older man with but a wisp of gray hair on his shiny bald head. He wears a disgruntled expression. “We aren’t sending our people back in to get killed.”

  “We suffered no casualties, Quell,” Claudia informs the older man. “With good planning and a solid escape plan, we could be in and out of there in no time. I can put together a team—”

  “Why is Holmes even here?” Quell questions. “She’s not been a part of this council in several months. She does not have a voice in our decision-making process.”

  “Everyone has a voice here,” the teenager replies with a healthy serving of snark. “That’s why I’m here, to make sure you old farts don’t let your fear prevent us from winning this war.”

  “Caution does not equate to fear,” Quell shoots back. “You would know that if you weren’t so busy with your reckless teenage rebellion, Halley.”

  Halley laughs. “My teenage rebellion? I proposed the mission to bring Ophelia here to Adrestia. You fought against it. Were it not for me, we wouldn’t have an important piece of the puzzle in hand.”

  “I fought against it because Ophelia Holmes is a notorious traitor,” Quell replies, staring straight at me while he speaks. “First, she betrays IA by defection at graduation. Then she commits mutiny against Captain Rita of The Impossible. How do we know she’s true to our purpose?”

  “I defected from IA because I knew I couldn’t represent a corrupt government,” I say hotly. Vega shifts nervously beside me. She knows my words aren’t exactly true. I defected from IA because I couldn’t handle the discipline system, but since then, I’ve realized the deeper reason for my betrayal. “I joined Saint Rita’s crew because I knew she could protect me from IA. For your information, I
didn’t commit mutiny against her. IA used V—an Intelligence operator as bait to bring me back to Harmonia.”

  “You mean your little sidekick there?” Quell says, indicating Vega. “Yes, we know all about Miss Vega Major. Regardless of her mother’s place in Veritas, we have no evidence of Major’s loyalty to this organization. It would be foolish of us to put our trust in either one of you. How are we to know that you won’t betray us too?”

  “They can take the oath,” Halley says. “Like everyone else has on this planet.”

  Quell sweeps his gaze across me and Vega, as if scanning us for our potential. “That was never an option. They will take the oath or face imprisonment here.”

  “Imprisonment?” Vega repeats. “What—?”

  “It’s not imprisonment,” Orion jumps in, shooting Quell a judgmental look. “If you don’t take the oath, we have to place you in holding. It’s for everyone’s safety. We can’t risk anyone spilling secrets to IA. We simply don’t have the resources to rebuild if IA comes down on us.”

  Pressure builds behind my eyes. This entire discussion is giving me a headache. “I’ll take the oath,” I declare. “All I want is what’s fair. IA needs to be taken down a peg or two, and I’m willing to put everything on the line to force them to face their mistakes.”

  “Perfect.” Halley unfolds her long limbs from the floor. She’s tall and skinny, hardly the shape of a rebel, but I have a feeling it’s her brain that makes her valuable to the people in this room. “Do we have a pair of gloves for Ophelia?”

  Another member of the council disappears into an adjacent room and comes back with a small wooden box that he hands off to Orion. Orion opens the box, revealing a brand new pair of leather gloves inscribed with the Veritas insignia.

  “As you might have noticed, these gloves are special,” Orion says, taking the pair out of the box. “They keep us all linked. They function as Monitors. They track the movement and actions of the wearer, keep statistics, and feed information to a server here on Adrestia. If you take the Veritas oath, you agree to keep your gloves on your person at all times. You don’t have to wear them except on assigned missions, but they must be touching your body at all times. Most of us tuck them in our waistbands. Are you ready to swear the oath, Ophelia?”

  Over Orion’s shoulder, I see Claudia’s expression harden. Her arms cross her body in a self-hug, like she’s reassuring herself, but when I catch her eye, she gives me a curt nod.

  “I’m ready,” I say.

  Orion holds the gloves out to me but doesn’t let me take them yet. “Do you, Ophelia Holmes, swear to uphold the Veritas motto of truth, freedom, and equality?”

  “I do.”

  “Do you swear to protect the citizens of this galaxy no matter the cost to your own life?”

  “I do.”

  “Do you swear to never betray this establishment or its people?”

  “I do.”

  Orion gestures for my hands. When I offer them to him, he slips the new pair of gloves over my fingers. As soon as the leather touches my skin, it readjusts and tightens to fit the exact size of my hands and the length of my fingers, as if remembering my body. When I clench my fists, a flurry of white light shoots through the gloves.

  “These Veritas gloves now belong to you,” Orion says. “You are officially a member of our organization.”

  The whistles start again. My head throbs as the ear-splitting applause bounces through the room. I raise one of my gloved hands in appreciation. The whistles die down, but the dull ache behind my eyes stubbornly remains.

  “Vega?” Orion says, turning to the woman beside me. “It’s your turn. Gloves?”

  As someone hands Orion another wooden glove box, Vega squares her shoulders up to her ears. She assumes a slightly defensive stance, feet shoulder-width, hands at the ready for a fight. She’s all height and lean muscles, her dark skin and hazel eyes blazing with a golden defiance like she radiates sunlight from her pores.

  “No,” she says.

  All eyes of the council members turn toward her.

  “No?” Orion echoes.

  “No,” Vega confirms. “I won’t take the oath, not without knowing Veritas’s true purpose.”

  Orion looks concerned and confused. “You know our true purpose. We wish to defend the galaxy from IA and any other entity that means to cause it harm.”

  “I recognize the technology in those gloves,” Vega says, nodding at the box in Orion’s hands. “It’s a biological recollection implant. As soon as you put on those gloves, it connects with your body mechanics and reports the information to your server.”

  “Yes, that’s how we know if our agents are in danger,” Orion says. “It’s quite helpful—”

  “I’m sure it is,” Vega says. “But that technology can be dangerous if it’s not understood. Those gloves have the power to alter the wearer’s body. Whoever controls your server controls all of your people.”

  “Is that true?” I ask, finding Claudia’s eyes in the crowd. She looks away. I flex my hands, and the gloves react instinctively, adjusting in all the right places to keep my fingers perfectly nimble. It’s definitely some kind of smart tech I haven’t seen before.

  “Of course not,” Orion says. “These gloves are simply our way of communication. Everyone on this planet has a pair, including our civilians.”

  “I won’t wear them,” Vega declares.

  “Then you won’t be a part of this organization,” Quell says loudly. “And you won’t have a place in this community either. Halley? Surely you cannot disagree with me on this front.”

  Halley studies Vega from head to toe. They couldn’t look less alike. Halley’s pale skin and skinny figure work in direct opposition to Vega’s darker, sturdier tones. Nonetheless, they both emit the same defiant, intelligent energy.

  “I’m afraid you’ve put me in a difficult position,” Halley tells Vega. “On this matter, I have to agree with Quell.” She winces as she says it, like it causes her physical pain. “All in favor to place Miss Major in holding until she agrees to take the oath.”

  Every council member puts their hand up. Claudia grits her teeth and raises her hand as well, even though she no longer has a say in this room. Orion also raises his hand.

  “I’m sorry, Vega,” Orion says. “It’s for the safety of our people.”

  Two members of the council approach Vega, a burly woman half Vega’s height but twice her width and a tall, lean man with biceps the size of boulders. They approach Vega, but I jump in between them.

  “You can’t put her in holding,” I say. “I need her.”

  “We cannot allow her to roam,” replies Orion. “We cannot afford it if she decides to betray us.”

  “She won’t turn on you,” I tell him. “Vega is—”

  I cut myself off, stunned into silence. My vision has gone blurry, and darkness creeps in from all sides. In a matter of seconds, I can’t see anything. The whole world has gone black.

  “Ophelia?”

  I feel Vega at my side, reaching for my hand.

  “Ophelia, what’s wrong?” she asks.

  I clutch her tightly, pulling her close.

  “I’m blind.”

  2

  Vega clocked the medical building on the way in to the Veritas camp. She clocked everything, apparently. When she seizes me by the arms and leads me from the community building, I can hear the commotion of the council following her. Pillows shuffle against the floor, as do the legs of those annoying perfect ergonomic chairs. People shout at Vega to stop, to let me go, to conform to the rules of the camp, but Vega pulls her blaster out of her waistband, which gets everyone to shut up really quick.

  “I am taking Ophelia to the med bay,” she declares. I hear the blaster buzz as it heats up the opalite bullets inside it. “If anyone tries to stop me before I can get her help, I will shoot them. Apparently, I’m already a prisoner in this camp.”

  No one stops her, and we stumble outside. The bright sunshine hits my
eyes, but I can’t see it. All I know is the change in light degree and temperature. The council shuffles along behind us—not all of them, just the ones who are convinced Vega’s an IA spy—as we cross the main square. I walk like a zombie, arms outstretched in front of me until Vega links her arm in mine and guides me in a less haphazard fashion. My heart pumps in a quick, frantic rhythm. I can feel the panic creeping in. What’s happening to me?

  I trip over the threshold of the medical building. Thankfully, Vega keeps me upright. The unmistakable scent of sterility invades my nostrils. The smell, whatever its indication of cleanliness, isn’t comforting. I want to turn around and go back outside.

  “Hey!” Vega shouts. “I need a medic. My friend lost her vision. I don’t know what’s wrong with her.”

  A pair of footsteps hurries across the stone floor. Someone’s cold hands turn my chin upward to look into my eyes. I can’t see them, but I sense they’re shining a light directly into my pupils.

  “I do,” the medic replies. It’s a cool, soothing voice. Female. I imagine a petite woman with kind eyes and capable hands. “She’s got an open opalite wound right next to her face. It probably seeped into her bloodstream and impaired her vision. Why didn’t you bring her to the med bay sooner?”

  “Because we got dragged in front of the council,” Vega snaps. “Are you going to help her or not?”

  “Easy, tiger,” the medic says. “I’m going to do my best, but it might already be too late. Sweetie, can you hear me?”

  It takes me a second to realize the medic’s talking to me. “Yeah, my hearing is fine.”

  “Good. You’re Ophelia, right?”

  “Unfortunately.”

  The medic gives a good-natured laugh. Her cold hands guide me to sit down. The exam table is the only thing in the camp that doesn’t seem to be made of natural material. It’s sterile metal. I wonder if Veritas stole supplies from IA.