questions, even after the brain-clogging history lesson on the ride from the hospital.
Miriam crosses to the treadmill, flicks the power on at the wall and nods me over. “We need to get you moving first. The more we stimulate your adrenaline, increase your metabolism, the better. Your strength and stamina will have skyrocketed already and if you don’t get moving, the pins and needles will start driving you nuts.”
I can’t deny the zip-zapping has become uncomfortable and the prospect of action makes it hard to sulk. I pull my hoodie off, tingling with anticipation. Do I really have more strength and stamina? I want to test it.
“Jump on. You can warm up with a jog.” Miriam taps the arrow keys and the motor whirs. I hop on the conveyor and hold on to the handrail until I find my pace. Moving feels good, really good.
She nods, knowingly.
“This is why you always go running?”
“Therapy for body and soul, trust me,” she lifts her voice above the whir of the treadmill.
“So where did Carolyn take you?”
“I don’t actually know. They always put you to sleep before transportation. You wake up in the facility, somewhere underground.”
“Underground?” I grip the handrail so I can look at her as I jog.
“I was only there a few hours. I’m guessing the rest of the time is spent travelling, maybe by air. I really don’t know.”
“It’s big?”
“Pretty big. Bigger than an airplane hangar. There are different levels. Departments. A hospital. Training rooms. Sleeping quarters. It’s where you’ll go when they take you in.”
I blow through my lips. “What did the tests show?”
“Just that my signal’s taking longer to cool than usual.”
“Because of me?”
“Fluctuations in signal strength aren’t unheard of, especially during periods of high stress. April’s only been gone a month or so and I’ve been settling you in. I let them believe it’s post-traumatic stress.”
I ignore the pang in my chest.
She touches the back of her neck, checking the magnet and tape are still in place.
“The tracker thing – they can find you but you don’t want them to find me?”
“Not yet. For Kitty’s sake it’s best if they don’t know about you.” She waves at the treadmill for me to get moving. Distracted, I nearly trip again and she taps the arrow key, increasing the speed to a proper run, forcing me to concentrate or risk wiping out. She waits for me to find my rhythm. She really has to raise her voice now, to compete with the motor and my pounding feet. “It’s hard to explain. For them, we’re the assets. Sparks are collateral damage, useful only because they bring the Shields to light. I mean they want you to succeed, for sure, but the survival of a Spark is not a primary objective.”
She presses on before I can voice outrage. “There are two primary objectives. Acquisition of assets is the first. Shields are the assets. They monitor, train, protect and utilise the assets for the second primary objective. Deactivating Strays. Saving innocent lives is gravy.”
I duck the migraine material with another question, struggling with the idea of the Affinity Project requiring anything from me. “They’ll expect to utilise
me
?”
“I suppose it’s waste not, want not. Mop up the mess and make the most of the assets. Only fully matured Shields,” she gestures to herself, “are used for contract assignments.” She leans in to check the readout on the panel and nods in approval. “You’re not even puffing.”
I hadn’t noticed, too busy taking it all in. I remember what she said about Wardens sending contract agents when they sensed an active Spark and it dawns on me. “That’s what you do. They send you to a town to shake hands with some poor bastard with an invisible target on his head and hope you’ll bond to his signal?”
“Yep.”
“That was Phil?”
She nods.
I shake my head. “Did you actually do a photo shoot?”
“I did. Vocational matching’s a
Miriam crosses to the treadmill, flicks the power on at the wall and nods me over. “We need to get you moving first. The more we stimulate your adrenaline, increase your metabolism, the better. Your strength and stamina will have skyrocketed already and if you don’t get moving, the pins and needles will start driving you nuts.”
I can’t deny the zip-zapping has become uncomfortable and the prospect of action makes it hard to sulk. I pull my hoodie off, tingling with anticipation. Do I really have more strength and stamina? I want to test it.
“Jump on. You can warm up with a jog.” Miriam taps the arrow keys and the motor whirs. I hop on the conveyor and hold on to the handrail until I find my pace. Moving feels good, really good.
She nods, knowingly.
“This is why you always go running?”
“Therapy for body and soul, trust me,” she lifts her voice above the whir of the treadmill.
“So where did Carolyn take you?”
“I don’t actually know. They always put you to sleep before transportation. You wake up in the facility, somewhere underground.”
“Underground?” I grip the handrail so I can look at her as I jog.
“I was only there a few hours. I’m guessing the rest of the time is spent travelling, maybe by air. I really don’t know.”
“It’s big?”
“Pretty big. Bigger than an airplane hangar. There are different levels. Departments. A hospital. Training rooms. Sleeping quarters. It’s where you’ll go when they take you in.”
I blow through my lips. “What did the tests show?”
“Just that my signal’s taking longer to cool than usual.”
“Because of me?”
“Fluctuations in signal strength aren’t unheard of, especially during periods of high stress. April’s only been gone a month or so and I’ve been settling you in. I let them believe it’s post-traumatic stress.”
I ignore the pang in my chest.
She touches the back of her neck, checking the magnet and tape are still in place.
“The tracker thing – they can find you but you don’t want them to find me?”
“Not yet. For Kitty’s sake it’s best if they don’t know about you.” She waves at the treadmill for me to get moving. Distracted, I nearly trip again and she taps the arrow key, increasing the speed to a proper run, forcing me to concentrate or risk wiping out. She waits for me to find my rhythm. She really has to raise her voice now, to compete with the motor and my pounding feet. “It’s hard to explain. For them, we’re the assets. Sparks are collateral damage, useful only because they bring the Shields to light. I mean they want you to succeed, for sure, but the survival of a Spark is not a primary objective.”
She presses on before I can voice outrage. “There are two primary objectives. Acquisition of assets is the first. Shields are the assets. They monitor, train, protect and utilise the assets for the second primary objective. Deactivating Strays. Saving innocent lives is gravy.”
I duck the migraine material with another question, struggling with the idea of the Affinity Project requiring anything from me. “They’ll expect to utilise
me
?”
“I suppose it’s waste not, want not. Mop up the mess and make the most of the assets. Only fully matured Shields,” she gestures to herself, “are used for contract assignments.” She leans in to check the readout on the panel and nods in approval. “You’re not even puffing.”
I hadn’t noticed, too busy taking it all in. I remember what she said about Wardens sending contract agents when they sensed an active Spark and it dawns on me. “That’s what you do. They send you to a town to shake hands with some poor bastard with an invisible target on his head and hope you’ll bond to his signal?”
“Yep.”
“That was Phil?”
She nods.
I shake my head. “Did you actually do a photo shoot?”
“I did. Vocational matching’s a
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