Page 18 of Silver Elite

Nearly all my fellows leave the base on Sunday. In the hours I spend alone in my bunk, I’m startled to realize I miss Lyddie. I even miss Kaine’s incessant flirting. My old life feels like it’s slipping through my fingers. Tana is barely answering me. She must be sick of me only reaching out to beg her to contact the Uprising on my behalf, to champion my rescue. But I’m trapped and she’s not. No matter what Cross advises, I’ll never accept that this is my life now.

I kill time by searching things on Nexus. I know they’ll be monitoring my searches, but my curiosity has always been a thorn in my side. Unfortunately, the results refuse to sate it. When I say, “Nexus, who is Julian Ash?” all I get are red letters flashing on the screen.

RESTRICTED DATA.

When I search for the phrase “Sun Post Bombing,” which Struck and Ford brought up during my interrogation, I get the same message. When I search the name “Cross Redden,” even the warning doesn’t come up. It simply says:

SUBJECT NOT FOUND.

Annoyed with my dead-end research, I open a path and poke Wolf instead, but he doesn’t let me link. Groaning, I roll onto my side and succumb to the boredom.

The next morning, we start the second section of the Program. I wait until the barracks clear out before grabbing my stuff to go take a shower. Everyone should be at the mess hall right now, so I freeze when I hear noises coming from one of the lavatory stalls.

A soft groan. A female voice gasping Roe’s name.

Kess.

The door rattles on its frame as I tiptoe past the stall toward the showers. Of all the people I would’ve bet on to hook up during training, Kess and Roe wouldn’t have been at the top of my list. She seems like she’d be more Anson’s type. Two sadistic peas in a sociopathic pod.

During morning meal, Hadley announces we’ll be running drills and small mock operations all week, as well as learning about the various technologies utilized in Silver Block and continuing to firm up our shields. Before we start the day, however, there’s another test waiting for us on our sources.

This one is short and sweet.

What are your three biggest weaknesses?

I ponder the question. For once, I opt for honesty. Mainly because I don’t think the truth can hurt me.

Impulsiveness.

Impatience.

Classroom learning.

They could probably figure out the third one based on my written scores.

After the test, each of us is given a radio call sign. It makes me feel like I’m in one of those spy movies they show in the theater in Hamlett. The Aberrant spies always lose, obviously. And if it’s a Prime spy infiltrating an Aberrant cell, then the Primes win. Obviously. Propaganda is the General’s favorite pastime.

Lyddie’s call sign is Blue Jay. Kaine’s is Condor.

Mine is…

I tap the icon in my profile.

My jaw drops. That fucking asshole.

Kaine leans over my shoulder and snickers. We’re gathered in a large room in the tech wing of the main building.

“Broken Dove,” he reads out loud. “I don’t know if that’s badass or just a bad omen?”

“Bad leadership,” I mutter. “The captain’s making a point.”

Betima grins. “You’re an expert on the captain’s motivations now, are you?”

I notice Ivy frown at that. She’s next to Betima and not being discreet about eavesdropping. She doesn’t like me. But that’s fine. I don’t like her, either.

“All right, let’s get started.” Ford’s deep voice booms from the doorway.

He strides inside, clad in a black shirt and khaki fatigues. It’s the first time I’ve seen him out of navy blues, and I wonder where he’s coming from this morning.

“This is Lieutenant Hirai. Communications.”

A short, squat man in his late twenties steps forward. He’s missing his two front teeth, but that doesn’t stop him from flashing a gummy smile.

“Hiya,” he greets us.

“Lieutenant Hirai knows everything there is to know about the tech on this base. Comms, cameras, signal jammers. Any tech questions should be directed at him. He’ll be fitting you with the comms you’re going to use during ops.”

Hirai holds up a black case about the size of a sugar cube, then flicks it open to show us the item inside. The comm is no bigger than my pinkie nail. Flat, beige, and so tiny you can only see it when it catches the light.

“This,” Hirai says, utterly delighted, “is not your average comm. It is every operative’s dream device. I’m talking cutting-edge, extremely versatile, worth-billions-of-credits kind of technology. The kind of tech that makes you want to weep from its sheer splendor.”

“This is weird,” Kaine whispers to me, and I choke down a laugh.

Hirai presses his index finger into the small case then holds it up. The beige disk sticks to the pad of his finger.

“This little guy here was solely designed to give you a tactical edge in the field. It’s got advanced audio processing capabilities that can filter out background noise and enhance speech clarity. It even detects enemy movements through sound alone.”

I try not to raise a brow. Well, damn. Does the Uprising know about this thing?

Hirai grows more animated. “It’s equipped with a built-in biometric sensor that’s capable of monitoring your vital signs in real time, children. Real! Time! The data gets relayed to the Command Center. Gives us crucial insight into the physical condition of our operatives.”

Still beaming, he distributes the comms to each member of our cell.

“The mic is voice-activated,” he explains. “It stops transmitting and receiving after two seconds of silence. You can also start and stop transmission with voice commands.”

Ford, who seemed bored until now, sweeps his gaze over the group of recruits. I swear it lingers on me.

“Every single op is recorded, logged, and evaluated. Every word you say is transmitted to the communications center. And at the end of every mission, you’ll turn your comm in to Hirai. Same goes for any weapons. All guns are tagged and scanned back into the system once you return to base.”

“We’re leaving the base?” Bryce asks as a twinge of hope tugs at my belly.

“For some ops, yes. Not tonight.” Ford glances at Hirai.

“Let’s get you acquainted with your earpieces,” the tech enthusiast says happily.

—

We’re dismissed for the day but report to our cell leader again after dinner. Tyler Struck loads a 3-D map into the holoscreen and says we have five minutes to study it.

The projector shows a maze of steel and shadows. How the hell are we supposed to memorize this layout in five minutes?

Lyddie shares that sentiment. “I won’t remember all these hallways, Wren,” she hisses, sounding devastated.

“Don’t worry. It’s our first mock op. I’m sure they’ll expect some mistakes from us.” Or in my case, failure.

Since I plan to fail.

At this point, I don’t think there’s much I can do to convince Cross to cut me, but it still feels wrong to excel.

Our objectives are uploaded to our sources. Seems simple enough. We’re to infiltrate a site without alerting the perimeter and interior guards, locate our target, and eliminate them. It’s a timed mission, run in pairs, with two teams on the course at the same time.

I’m paired with Kess.

Kess, of all people.

I don’t know what sadist decided it would be a good idea to put me with the victim of my right hook, but Struck explains that the pairings were picked at random, which sounds a bit too convenient.

Kess glares at me when I go stand beside her. There’s still slight bruising around her nose, and I glean a perverse sense of satisfaction from it.

Kaine is on my other side. His partner is Roe, and they’ll be on the course with us.

“I’m going to crush you,” Kaine tells me, winking.

Meanwhile, my partner threatens me with a deadly look. “If you screw this up for me, I’m going to knock your teeth out,” she mutters.

“How’s your nose? Did Medical take good care of you when you were there?”

Her eyes blaze.

“The bruises are healing nicely,” I add with a helpful smile. Kaine snickers.

Although every muscle in her body looks ready to pounce, she keeps her mouth shut as Struck and Ford stride over to us.

The mock op is taking place in a two-story warehouse on the outskirts of the base. Kess and I are starting on the ground, while Kaine and Roe will infiltrate from the roof. We’re told both pairs are an equal distance from the target on the second floor.

“First pair to reach the target gets five Lux credits in their accounts. After you eliminate the target, you exit the way the other pair entered. That means roof team uses the ground egress, ground team on the roof. Fastest total time gets another five credits.” Ford smirks. “Worst pair in the group will run laps before lights-out.”

“I don’t get why we’re not running all these ops as simulations,” Lash puts in. “Wouldn’t that be easier?”

Struck fields the question with the roll of her eyes. “Far easier,” she agrees. “That’s why we don’t run sims. Virtual reality is no substitution for real life.”

We get into position, Kess and I stationed around the side of the warehouse, its shadowy exterior concealing who knows what within.

“Teams 1 and 2. Go.” Struck’s voice slides into my ear to signal the start of the op.

Palming our weapons, Kess and I move along the wall. She takes the lead. When we reach the end of it, she peers out, barely an inch, before pressing her back to the wall again.

She holds up two fingers.

Two guards.

I nod and edge closer to take a look. Two men dressed in dark uniforms walk the perimeter, blending seamlessly into the shadows. They scan the surroundings for any sign of intrusion.

This is supposed to be covert, so we don’t want any fanfare. We haven’t been tasked with killing anyone but the target. Which means we can’t act until the guards have moved on.

The moment they disappear around the corner, Kess and I creep toward the door. Despite the fact that we’re not supposed to be working with the roof pair, Kaine’s playful voice fills my earpiece.

“Broken Dove, come in.”

I grit my teeth. Goddamn Cross.

“We’ve infiltrated the roof. Copy?”

“We’re not working together, Condor!” I hiss, and his laughter tickles my ear.

Together Kess and I enter the warehouse. Various corridors snake away from the main entrance, disappearing into the darkness like veins in a giant, metal beast. Shit. I can only remember the path toward the stairs. Everything beyond that draws a blank in my brain.

Our footsteps are muffled by the thick layer of dust that coats the concrete floor. Every shadow seems to pulse with potential danger, every corner harboring unseen threats. I know it’s fake, but I get caught up for a moment. Under other circumstances, I would thrive in this training program. My adrenaline is surging.

Kess and I move with silent precision. I glimpse the first alarm, a razor-thin blue line slashing across the floor. We carefully step over it. As we round a corner, a pair of guards materialize out of the darkness, armed. Without hesitation, we inch back, flattening ourselves to the wall. We wait for them to pass.

“Now,” she urges, her voice barely a whisper in the stillness.

We press on, ascending a narrow staircase. Kess is in the lead again. She holds her weapon with ease and moves like a ghost. She’s good. I hate admitting it, but it’s true.

Halfway up the stairs, she steps on a tread that gives a loud creak.

We freeze.

Everything remains quiet.

I release a breath and keep going.

Finally, we reach the top, our target tantalizingly close yet shrouded in darkness. According to the countdown on the source around my wrist, we’re making really good time. I don’t remember this part of the map, so I’m happy to follow Kess, who seems to know where she’s going.

She halts in the middle of one hall, holding up her hand. I stop, too, following her gaze to the blue lines glowing up ahead. We’ll need to crawl beneath them to make it to the end of the corridor. While a guard might be turning the corner at any second.

With a nod from Kess, I go first. Crawling on my elbows, keeping my head as low as possible.

“Hurry up, bitch.”

My fellow, who’s supposed to be watching my back, hasn’t mastered the concept of camaraderie. Or encouragement. Or human emotion. I resist the urge to kick my foot back at her face.

After we clear the alarms, we hop to our feet and keep moving. For a second, I’m caught up in the exercise again. I don’t know where Roe and Kaine are. Suddenly I want to beat them. I want to reach the target first. We’re just turning the next corner when I hear, “Target eliminated.”

It’s Roe.

Kess huffs in displeasure and turns to glare at me as if it’s my fault the guys got to the target first. But the op isn’t done yet. We reach the door that was marked on the map. Kaine and Roe are already gone.

Kess eases the door open, locates the dummy that serves as our target, and presses her gun barrel to it to activate the sensor. Then she bitterly mutters into her mic, “Target eliminated.”

Now it’s a matter of getting up to the roof. We might be able to beat Kaine and Roe’s time if we hurry, but I never had any intention of executing this mission.

The alarm is camouflaged in a layer of dust at the base of the staircase leading to the roof. It’s easy to miss if you’re not paying attention.

“Come on,” I urge Kess. “Let’s move faster. Run.”

“Wait—”

Pretending not to hear her, I rush forward and trip the alarm.

The shrill sound pierces the air, echoing off the walls. Chaos erupts as the warehouse guards spring into action, footsteps pounding down the hallway as two of them descend on us.

Ford’s sardonic voice slides into our earpieces. “Bang. You’re dead.”

“You dumb quat,” Kess growls, her voice dripping with venom.

I shrug, trying hard not to laugh. “I’m sorry. I didn’t see the alarm.”

She’s fuming the entire walk out of the warehouse. The moment she spots our cell leader, she stomps over.

“She screwed it up for me!” Her face is flushed with anger. She implores Struck with her gaze. “Can I run it again with a new partner?”

Struck laughs. “No.”

By the time everyone’s scores are logged into the system, Kess has not calmed down one iota. When she checks her source and sees the word Fail under our names, she goes apoplectic.

“Stupid godfucking quat!”

She lunges for me, but Ford steps between us.

“Enough.” He sounds bored. “Go disarm.”

We’re required to turn in our firearms at the end of every exercise, along with any weapons on our bodies. But…only the rifle is scanned, I realize, as I watch my fellows relinquish their weapons. Knives and sheaths are dropped on a long metal table, scattered in a disorganized manner.

Is anyone really going to notice if one measly blade goes missing?

Struck might—she’s observing everyone unsheathe, eyes sharp as a hawk’s, but when it’s my turn, someone chooses that moment to call her name. She turns to address them.

I seize the opportunity, slipping one of the daggers along with its sheath under my waistband. It’s thin, only about four inches. It certainly wouldn’t be my weapon of choice—I feel naked without my rifle—but prisoners can’t be fussy, now can they?

—

In the bunks, I hear Kess across the room bitching to the Psycho Brigade about our disqualification. Ivy is there too. She regularly associates with them now. And she always stares at me with distrust, as if I’ve personally affronted her.

Those same distrustful eyes find me in the lav mirror later before lights-out. She stands at the sink next to mine, brushing her pale hair into a ponytail. She’s the kind of attractive that would jab at any woman’s insecurities. I suppose you have to be to catch the attention of someone like Cross. Because he’s the kind of attractive that doesn’t exist in nature.

Ivy finally speaks. “Why are you still here?” Suspicion laces her tone.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean you can’t shoot. You can’t fight. You can’t hold a knife properly—”

“I’m trying my hardest,” I say innocently.

She ignores that. “Yet you strut around like you’re better than all of us. It’s the biggest case of unearned arrogance I’ve ever seen. You’re one of the worst recruits in the Program.”

“Huh. I’ve never viewed myself as arrogant.” I purse my lips. “But I accept your constructive criticism and will do my best to grow from it.”

Her jaw clenches. “Why isn’t he cutting you?”

I raise a brow. I know who he is, but I feign ignorance. “Who?”

“Cross. He doesn’t put up with this ineptitude from anyone. Why isn’t he cutting you?”

“I don’t know. I must be providing him with something he can’t live without.”

It’s total horseshit, but she doesn’t know that. The way her eyes flash tells me she doesn’t love the idea.

“Enjoy it while you can. He’ll drop you fast enough.”

“The way he dropped you?” I smile at her reflection.

Her lips twist, cheeks flushing. I leave her glaring at me in the mirror.