Enders(53)

“Shoot,” she said.

“At an innocent civilian?” I asked.

“Shoot.”

“No.”

She turned away so I couldn’t see her face. I could vaguely make out that she was conferring with another Ender in the control room.

My scalp started to tingle. I sensed someone inside me.

Callie?

Dawson. Oh, I hated having him under my skin!

Don’t worry, little Starter. You don’t have to do anything. Just relax.

Oh. He was going to try to control me again. I tried to resist. I gripped the rifle.

But my arms raised slowly. This was horrible. They rose into a shooting position. I tried to fight, tried to push them down.

He had control of me.

My head lowered so my cheek was up against the rifle, and my eye lined up the shot. It pointed toward her heart.

Sweat beaded on my forehead. I tried to make my hands stiff, so they wouldn’t be able to move. But my finger slowly bent and pulled the trigger.

BANG.

I glanced up at the control room. The Ender at the glass-enclosed viewing area spoke to someone inside.

The target rolled closer. That poor old Ender lady had been killed by a fatal wound to the heart by my gun.

Excellent.

I felt my fingers loosen their grip on the rifle. Dawson had given me back control. It must have taken extreme concentration on his part to maintain a connection, and now he had to recharge.

“This is disgusting,” I said. “You’re a horrible, sick person.”

Sometimes we have to do things that aren’t pretty. For the greater good.

The Ender target moved away with a sad electronic buzz of the motor, and a new target moved into the original position.

Let’s try this one.

It was a holo of a Starter. At this distance, I guessed he was about my age, in typical street Starter wear: rags and a water bottle, handlite. Dirty, scraggly.

It was an image of Michael.

I felt my stomach lurch. I was going to put the rifle down, but I couldn’t.

“No …”

My hands brought the rifle into position, and my eye focused on the target.

“Stop this!” I screamed.

My mind raced. Was there anything I could do to stop his control? If relaxing helped, then would panic break the connection?

“You can’t make me do this!”

But in painfully slow motion my finger pulled the trigger. Nothing I could do would stop my finger from moving. Everything was happening in spite of myself.

The rifle fired with a bang.

The Enders in the control room pressed buttons that made the target move forward so I could see the results.

A wound was outlined in red, showing that my bullet had gone clean through the holo image of Michael’s forehead.

If it were really him, he would be dead.

My stomach tightened into a knot. I felt my arms get lighter. I had control again.

I gripped the rifle and sprinted down the walkway to the door. The female Ender shrilled over the microphone.

“Callie Woodland, return to the stall. Stop now!”

Callie!

I tried not to listen to Dawson but held on fast to my anger. It seemed to be fueling me. I burst through the door. The Ender guard on the other side came at me. I aimed for his leg and pulled the trigger.

It wouldn’t move. The trigger froze.

Do you think we can’t control those? They don’t work outside the shooting range, little Starter.

“Stop calling me that!”

I raised the rifle and used the butt to slam into the Ender’s stomach. He doubled over. But what I couldn’t see was the Ender who came up from behind me and pressed something hard against my spine that zapped my nerves to jelly. My knees buckled, and everything turned black.





CHAPTER SEVENTEEN





I woke up in the padded room with a killer headache and a mouth that felt stuffed full of cotton. The door opened, and a female Ender guard let someone enter the room. Emma. She closed the door behind her.

I looked at her. “No smoothie?”

She sat on the floor next to me. “I heard they locked you up.”

“What else did you hear?”

“That you were an expert shooter. But you attacked a guard.”

“I refused to shoot my best friend. What did they think?”

“It’s just a holo. Maybe they wanted to see if you could follow orders.”

I shook my head. “They knew I wouldn’t do it. That’s why they set up that situation.”

She bent her knees and rested her arms on them. I noticed her large name anklet again.

“So Michael, is he like your boyfriend?”

“No. He’s my friend.” Why was she asking this? Did she really care? “How is he?”

“He’s doing fine. He did all the tests.” She emphasized “he” to point out what a good Starter does.

“And Hyden.” She played with her hair. “What about him?”