Meredith McCardle - The Eighth Guardian

I don’t know what I should do. A sour taste lingers on my tongue following my run-in with Blue. I’ve known that they weren’t telling me much, but now I can see that the truth is much more than that. There are things that they intentionally aren’t telling me.

I glance around the table and try to find the weakest link, the person who will tell me what I need to know. Alpha and Zeta are out, obviously. And I’ll just go ahead and count Red out, too. He’s a member of the office club, and I don’t trust anyone who has an office. Next is Orange. I don’t really know anything about Orange, except that he looks to be way older than everyone else, like Red. Midtwenties, maybe. He’s also never spoken to me, and I get the feeling that he resents my presence here. Yellow is a definite no. Green presents the same problem as Orange; while he’s about my age, I don’t know where to start. That leaves Indigo and Violet.

That leaves Indigo.

After dinner everyone piles out of the dining room except Green and Indigo, who are deep in a conversation about some battle Indigo fought in today in the Civil War. I pretend I have to tie my shoe, even though I’ve been slipping my feet into these sneakers for so long that I couldn’t untie the laces with a pair of pliers.

Finally Green and Indigo wrap up, and Green leaves. Indigo turns to me. “Something I can help you with?”

I sit up. “No. Why would you say that?”

“Um, because it’s very clear you’ve been sitting here waiting for me to finish my conversation. So unless you’d just like to gaze longingly into my eyes”—he bats his baby blues at me—“I’m going to assume you want me for something.”

No on the eyes thing. Although he is right. I do want something. I want the full story. But I’m not going to be dumb about it and come out and ask. These things take time; I know that from reconnaissance lessons. First you have to track the subject and learn his every move. Human beings are creatures of habit. Once you learn those habits, you know the weaknesses. Same thing here. I have to learn Indigo’s weaknesses by watching him, by befriending him. Get him to let down his guard and trust me.

I just hope I have enough time.

“Fine,” I say. “I do want you for something.”

Indigo raises an eyebrow and grins.

“I was hoping you could help me with this essay I’m working on for Zeta.”

Indigo smiles. “That guy’s a dick.”

I clear my throat. “I’m still having a few problems understanding the difference between altering and enhancing, and I was hoping—”

“I’m not really supposed to,” Indigo interrupts. “You have to figure it out on your own. That’s what they told us.”

“Who told you that?”

“Alpha. Zeta. Red. You’ll figure it out.”

Everyone seems so sure of that except for me. I sigh and push my chair back to stand. I hate being shot down. It makes me feel like such an ass for asking in the first place.

“Hey.” Indigo puts his hand on my back, and for one brief second I’m surprised to discover that I don’t want him to move it. “I can imagine this is very frustrating for you.”

I crane my head left to look at him.

“And I really can’t tell you about the difference between enhancing and altering. Zeta specifically told us not to. But—” He looks out the door into the living room, then back at me. “I can tell you some other things if you’d like.” He pulls his hand away, and I scoot the chair back in.

My brain tells me to slow down and go for the important questions first. But my mouth has other plans. I start vomiting out questions faster than I can think of them. “So how were you all chosen for this? Is there some sort of path you’re following? Why is Alpha in charge? What happened to the rest of Annum Guard Two? Or Annum Guard One for that matter? Why the hell does Red have an office? And—”

Indigo holds up both hands. “Whoa. Simmer down there. I said I could tell you some things; I didn’t say I could tell you everything I’ve ever learned in my entire life.”

My mouth snaps shut, and deep within the bowels of my imagination, my brain locks my tongue in a basement and starts beating it with a baseball bat. Way to blow it, genius.

Indigo looks at the door one more time. “I can tell you this. Chronometric Augmentation—all the projecting—is really, really hard on the body. The first generation didn’t last very long. At all. There’s only one member left. Seven. And he’s only around because he didn’t project that often. He sort of ran the missions.”

“Where is he now?”

Indigo shrugs. “I guess technically he’s still ‘in charge of the Guard’ since he’s the most senior living member.” I ignore that Indigo just used finger quotes. “But he doesn’t really want much to do with us anymore. He rarely comes around. I don’t think I’ve seen him in at least a year. Alpha’s in charge now. Has been for a really, really long time. Like, since before we were born.”

“How come Zeta’s still alive?”

“Wow, you really don’t like him, huh?” Indigo says with a laugh.

“I didn’t mean that . I mean, how come he doesn’t seem to be fazed by the projecting?”

“The gravity chamber,” Indigo says. “Zeta invented it. Look, I know you don’t like him, but he’s really smart. He figured out that gravity lets us project without all the physical trauma. He used himself as a guinea pig while he was testing the chamber, and it turned out to be a really good call. Everyone else is dead or . . . on their way out.”

I think of Epsilon in the wheelchair. Talk about dying for your country in the slowest, most agonizing way possible. But thinking about death makes me think about my dad, which makes clearance codes flash before my eyes. I turn back to Indigo. I stare him right in the eye as if daring him not to answer my next question.

“So why were you all chosen for this? Huh? Why am I considered an outsider?”

Indigo’s eyes drop to his lap, and he deliberately ignores the question. “Red has an office because Alpha is grooming him to take over leadership someday. The end.” He scoots his chair back and stands.

Dammit. This isn’t the first time I’ve come on too strong. And it won’t be the last time it all blows up in my face either, I’m sure.

“That’s really all I can tell you, Iris. I hope it helped clear up a few things.” His voice is distant, reserved. Time to backpedal.

I pat his hand for one quick half second. “It did.” Even though he didn’t answer the questions I wanted to know the most. “Thank you. Can I ask you one more?”

Indigo looks pained. “Um, okay?”

I lob him a softball to get him back on my good side. “Who came up with the term ‘Chronometric Augmentation’ anyway? Didn’t they realize that sounds like we’re giving time a boob job?”

Indigo’s head falls to his chin and he laughs. Really laughs. Then he pushes in his chair and squeezes my shoulder as he walks past me and out the doorway.

No one speaks to me much over the next few days. They sure as hell don’t take me on any missions. I spend my days in the library, reading book after book on American history, taking enough notes to fill an entire three-ring binder. Essays. All essays for Zeta. Each time, I pick an event and only make one minor little change. I still have no idea what the difference between enhancing and altering is, but I have to do something to win back his trust.

I’m in the library, hunched over a desk writing, when Alpha walks in. I look up, and he shuts the door behind him.

“Hello,” he says. He’s a very tall man standing over me, looking down as I sit at my desk. It makes me feel small and powerless.