Inquest by DelSheree Gladden

name, and named to the
Mediator class. The wrongness I had glimpsed so quickly earlier
today is plain, now. They aren’t identical little vertical stripes
laid out in a perfect row. The spaces between each diktat are
fractionally different. The raised flesh is slightly uneven, as if
they had bubbled up rather than appeared instantly. And the left
one has a sharp divot that lashes out and nearly touches the diktat
next to it. I wrap my fingers around the remote in an effort to
keep myself from running them over his skin.
    What happened
to him?
    Never before
have I seen someone with diktats like his. They’re always perfect,
a reminder of how our society is meant to be. You can’t even screw
them up later. Whatever makes the diktats appear in the first place
changes the skin around them, too. It’s impenetrable. You can no
more mar your diktats to lie about your talents, class, or name,
than sprout wings and fly to the moon. But something screwed up
Milo’s diktats. And it had to have happened during the Inquest.
Whatever happened, the Inquisitor who performed his Inquest caused
it.
    As I flip
through the channels without really seeing them I can’t shake the
feeling that there is something dangerous lurking behind Milo’s
diktats.
     
     

Chapter 9
    Jealousy
     
     
    As promised,
Milo is waiting for me outside my room at seven-thirty on the dot.
I doubted his ability to get up early and show up on time when he
made the promise last night, but I am pleasantly surprised to find
out how wrong I was to question him. Today is already starting off
a million times better than yesterday. I smile as I climb into his
Corolla.
    “Ready?” Milo
asks groggily.
    “Yep.”
    He jams the
gear shift in reverse. The car jerks back and then out of the
parking lot. His hair hides most of his face, and his sunglasses
hide the rest. Milo’s hunched shoulders and drooping head, plus his
utter lack of conversational ability, make me smile.
    “Not much of a
morning person, huh?” Normally I’m not either. I rarely get through
a night without terrible nightmares, which means little sleep and
grumpy mornings. Nightmares still gave me an awful night’s sleep,
but actually having a ride to school this morning has put my usual
unpleasantness on hold. I was sure I’d be calling a taxi after
yesterday.
    Milo merely
grunts in response to my question.
    “Well, thanks
for picking me up.”
    “No problem,”
he growls.
    A chuckle
slips out before I can stop it. “Are you sure?”
    “Yeah.”
    I smile even
wider. He doesn’t seem to notice. He does however speed up, ten,
fifteen miles over the speed limit. He darts in and out of traffic
so effortlessly that I doubt the likelihood of his one talent being
Perception. He fits right in with the rest of the Guardians the way
he’s driving. The rest of the trip passes in silence, with me
holding onto the door handle very tightly. We make very good time.
We have a full twenty minutes before the bell is due to ring.
    “Well,” I say
when we’re safely stopped and my fingers are unclenched from the
handle, “that was interesting. If you wanted to get away from me
that badly you could have just said so.”
    Milo finally
looks over at me. “What?”
    “You were
speeding like a maniac. Were you trying to get rid of me as soon as
possible?”
    “Oh. No, I
just wanted you to have enough time,” he says.
    “For
what?”
    He unbuckles
his belt and leans toward me. I almost start to say something, a
mixture of fear and curiosity at what he might do springing up
instantly, when he twists and reaches for a container I hadn’t
noticed, peeking out from under his backpack. He tugs it out and
hands it to me.
    “I brought you
some breakfast. Wake me before the bell rings, okay?” Then, casual
as you please, he lays his seat back and closes his eyes. Within
seconds his chest is rising and falling in the steady rhythm of
sleep. Amazing.
    I turn back to
my container with an amused shake of my head and work