Aimee Carter - Pawn

The speeches she gave were dangerous and full of reasons why there should be equality among the people like there had been during the early twenty-first century—when no one was marked or assigned careers, when freedom meant more than being able to walk down designated streets at night. When one person’s entire life wasn’t determined by a single test; when you had the chance to be whatever you wanted to be and live the kind of life you wanted without being told what to do. When we all had a choice. A real choice.

My entire life, I’d been told that the ranks were there for a reason. Everyone had their place, and the only way society could function was if we all respected the system. We were all equals when we took the test, and we were all scored the same way.

But in the speeches Lila gave, she said that the children who grew up in the neighborhoods meant for IIs and IIIs weren’t given the same opportunities as the others. At first I didn’t understand—there was only so much you could learn, right? Who cared where the schools were or what kind of supplies we had?

And then she talked about the education the children of Vs and VIs received.

“Some kids have tutors to help them with the test?” I said, stunned. “Isn’t that cheating?” Getting five minutes with my teachers had been next to impossible, let alone anything more. It wasn’t their fault, not really—there were dozens of us crammed into a classroom. Most days the teachers were lucky if they got everyone to shut up at the same time.

Celia pressed a few buttons on the remote. “I wouldn’t call it cheating. It’s more...teaching to the test, shall we say?”

“Most of the highly sought-after tutors are people who have worked in the testing centers,” said Knox. “If your family has enough money, they’ll hire one.”

“Yeah, but only VIs can afford that,” I said. He shrugged.

After that, I made a point of listening to what Lila was saying, not just the way she said it. If the government lied to everyone about the so-called equality of the test, then what else were they lying about?

None of the speeches Lila gave were televised. Instead they were recorded on handheld devices like the one Daxton had, some so shaky that I had to look away, but it wasn’t what she looked like that mattered. She talked about doing away with Elsewhere and reverting to the system of government America had used before the Ministers of the Union had been formed, one where the elections were real and not a way for the Harts to legitimize their stranglehold over the country.

It was political treason, and if she’d been anyone other than a Hart, she would have been shot on sight. She was questioning the very system that was responsible for her family’s power and the VII on the back of her neck. She was leading a rebellion.

School didn’t teach us anything about the time before the ranks. There were mentions of the past, the World Wars and long-dead kings of countries across the oceans, but as far as the textbooks were concerned, history began seventy-one years ago, when the first citizen of the union was marked and Daxton’s grandfather became prime minister. Years before I was born, there had been people who’d remembered a time before, but now everyone over the age of sixty was sent Elsewhere and never heard from again.

Maybe instead of killing me, that was what Daxton had in mind. I’d be as good as dead anyway, since no one knew where Elsewhere was. Presumably someplace warm where people could grow old and die, where they wouldn’t take up space in already-crowded cities and could keep an eye on the criminals who were sent there as well, banished from society for the smallest of crimes. That wouldn’t be so bad, except for the part where I wouldn’t have Benjy.

But something about the way Lila spoke—she believed in her message. There was no need to tell IIs and IIIs that something crucial was missing from their lives, but judging by the well-dressed crowds, few members of the audiences were below a V. Not only was she speaking to the population about her traitorous ideas, but she was convincing the smart and the powerful.

No wonder Daxton and Augusta had had her killed.

The door handle rattled one afternoon as I watched the last recording of her, a rousing demand that the rank and assignment system be demolished in favor of freedom and choice. Knox, who sat beside me, jumped up and turned off the screen. From the other side of the room, Celia launched herself toward the door.

I expected her to chew out whoever was on the other side, but instead she stepped back and opened it all the way. Daxton entered, and behind him walked a woman with chin-length white hair and a face so smooth it looked like she was made of marble. She held her shoulders back with such perfect posture that my spine ached just looking at her, and as a member of the only family exempt from going Elsewhere at age sixty, she was by far the oldest person I’d ever seen.

Augusta Hart.

“Good afternoon, Mother,” said Celia. “We weren’t expecting you for another two hours.” The bitterness in her tone was obvious to me, but Augusta didn’t seem to notice. If she did, she didn’t care.

“My schedule freed up unexpectedly,” said Augusta, her voice as cold as her expression. She stared at me, as if she could see right through Lila’s face to the person I was underneath. I held her gaze, but she said nothing to me.

Daxton hesitated. “Mother, this is Kitty. Lila’s replacement.”

“Stand-in,” corrected Augusta. “What have you been teaching her?”

“Everything,” I said. “How Lila talked, how she acted, how she walked and what she ate—”

“Celia,” interrupted Augusta, as if I hadn’t said anything at all. “I asked you a question.”

My face grew warm as I glowered at her, and a muscle in Celia’s jaw twitched. “We’ve been teaching her exactly what you told us to, Mother. The basics and enough to help her fully adjust. Nothing more.” She flipped on the television screen Knox had turned off in such a rush. Somehow Lila’s last speech had been replaced by a recording of her running around as a child while wearing a frilly tutu and a crown I wasn’t so sure was plastic.

Augusta nodded curtly, still watching me as if I were a piece of furniture instead of a living, breathing human being. “If she passes tonight’s test, she will be taken back to the city and will resume her duties. If not, you will all remain in the Stronghold until she is ready.”

“Of course,” said Celia, and Augusta sniffed.

“If all goes well, the media will be informed of your return from vacation tomorrow, so no one will have a chance to speculate,” she added, as if the Harts hadn’t controlled the media and public opinion for decades. “You holidayed in Aspen. Do prepare her for that, as well.”

Augusta turned to leave the room, and I tightened my fists. “It was nice to meet you,” I said before I could stop myself.

She stopped dead in her tracks. Seconds ticked by, and my heart pounded as I waited for her to say something. Maybe I was nothing more than a pawn to her, a nameless piece in whatever twisted game she was playing, but she had to acknowledge me eventually.

Finally Augusta stepped toward the door, and Daxton held it open for her. “Don’t be silly, dear,” she said. “You’ve known me your whole life.”

Celia spent the next two hours preparing me for dinner. She stuffed me into a dress and painful high heels, and while she did my hair, she drilled me on everything I’d learned over the past eleven days. No matter how hard I tried, nothing I said was exactly right.

“No, no, no,” she snapped, yanking my hair. “She named her cat Missy, not Misty, and her favorite color’s chartreuse, not green.” She let out a frustrated groan and turned to Knox, who sat on the couch watching the whole production. “She’s going to fail, and it’ll be our asses on the line.”