Secondborn (Secondborn #1)

“Approaching level four.” The floor glides by us.

Hawthorne drops his hand. “The next level is five. We’ll step off there.” The heady rush of being near him is knee-weakening. I’ve been surrounded by powerful men all my life, but not one has affected me like this. It’s a vicious craving for something that I don’t entirely understand. I want to touch his hair, to slide my fingers over the angular planes of his face.

It suddenly occurs to me that we may not see each other again after today. This Tree alone is the size of a city, and either of us could be reassigned to another Tree or a new Base at any time. Maybe it’s smarter not to grow too attached. I crave connection, but the thought of missing Hawthorne the way I miss Dune is heart-wrenching.

“This is us,” Hawthorne says, threading his fingers through mine. We jump from the heartwood, landing gracefully on the glossy metal deck. I gaze at our clasped hands. His is sun-kissed and strong, capable. Mine is so much smaller in comparison. I can’t remember the last time someone held my hand. Hawthorne’s voice is tender. “It’s this way.”

We merge into a stream of brown and blue uniforms and move with the flow. Hawthorne doesn’t let go of my hand. The ceiling has the same exposed girders and dull lighting as the cargo area. Light panels line the sides of the hallway like long windows.

Every few steps, someone’s arm bumps into my shoulder. I’d drown among them if Hawthorne weren’t here to keep me afloat. We turn so many corners that I lose count. Finally, we come to a gateway that reads “Intake.” Hawthorne lets go of my hand, but I still feel the echo of his. Soldiers surge around us. No one turns down the short hallway to the Intake facility. “Are you ready?” Hawthorne asks.

It doesn’t matter if I’m ready. This is my life now. This Tree is my home for as long as they say it is. From this moment on, most of the decisions that affect my life will be made for me by Sword commanders who don’t know me at all.

“I’m ready,” I lie.

“I’m around, you know, if things go wrong and you need me. You can find me.”

His earnestness makes my heart contract, and my entire being longs to reach out and hug him. “I’m around, too,” I say softly. “You know, if things go wrong and you need me.”

Hawthorne gives me a sad smile. He lifts his hand and rubs his ear where I’d wrenched it. “I just might need someone like you in a fight.”

“Good,” I reply. I turn and square my shoulders to the empty hallway. “I’ll see you around, Hawthorne.” I pass through the sliding doors into the Intake facility, then glance back over my shoulder. He’s still there, watching me as the doors close.





Chapter 10


Intake


I walk past empty turnstiles and corrals that must be used to funnel new recruits along on Transition Day. It feels weird being the only one here. I reach two glass doors that slide open as I approach, leading me into a waiting room filled with rows of metal benches bolted to the floor. Soft chamber music plays through speakers in the ceiling. A beautiful blond woman about ten years older than me sprawls on one of the benches, gazing up at the ceiling, listening to music through wireless earpieces. It must be different music than the song playing overhead because the beat she taps with her black-booted feet is so much faster. Her hair is swept up in a tight twist above the collar of her red uniform. A loose overcoat of the same bright red hangs open and drapes from either side of the bench. She holds a stylus between her top lip and the bottom of her nose. Beside her on the bench rests a medical tablet, adorned with the Atom-Fated symbol of a carbon atom.

“Excuse me.” I try to get her attention by waving my hand.

No response. I walk nearer and stand over her. She squeaks in fright, almost tumbling from the bench, and scrambles to her feet. The stylus hits the ground. “I didn’t hear you come in!” She pulls the earpieces from her ears and shoves them into the pocket of her overcoat. “Intake has been suspended since the attack. No one is being processed until new monikers are issued. I wasn’t expecting you.” I hand her back the stylus, and her eyes widen. “You’re Roselle St. Sismode!”

Her awe might be funny if I wasn’t so nervous. “I’m . . . well, I’m just Roselle Sword now.”

She realizes her breach of etiquette and nods, composing herself. “Of course. So, you’ve been assigned to Tree 177?”

“Yes.” I thought that was obvious.

“Me, too!” She grins at me and holds her hand to her chest. I’m not sure what she wants from me, or what I’m supposed to do. She’s grinning at me like we know each other, but I’ve never met her before. I fidget, feeling awkward. “Oh! You’re here for intake!” she says, like the thought just occurred to her.

“Yes.”

“I never dreamt I’d be the one to intake Roselle St. Sismode.” She doesn’t try to mask the giddiness in her voice. She retrieves her tablet, assuming a much more professional mien. “If you’ll follow me.” She leads the way through metal doors and down a hallway of doors to private rooms. We pass by other professionals in red coats, looking bored as they sit at desks and stare at walls, their chins resting in their Atom-monikered hands.

“My name is Emmy, by the way, and I’m here to make your intake go as smoothly as possible. If you have any questions, just ask.” She guides me to a private room with an examination table and medical machinery. I cringe. The machinery seems archaic compared to the infirmary at the Sword Palace.

“Please take a seat on the table, and we’ll get started.”

The metal slab table in the middle of the room is less than inviting, but I take a seat. Like everything else here, the room has dark metal girders with exposed bolts. “Let me pull up your files, Roselle.” Emmy sits beside me on the table with a friendly smile, then she gasps with a loud intake of breath. “You’ve been given a new moniker! You’re a beta tester, like me. I thought only Atoms were testing it!”

I glance at my moniker. The sword-shaped hologram on my hand shines brighter than my old one, the crown more pronounced. “I was given a new one yesterday.”

“Can I look at it?” She takes my hand, gently touching the small scar that the moncalate device left when Agent Crow implanted the new processor. “Your sword has a rose-colored ring around it. Why was it never removed?”

“The stain of the birthmark is deep, so the only solution would be to cut out the area of skin and regenerate tissue over it. My mentor was against it because he didn’t want my training delayed for something he thought was frivolous. Since I’m secondborn, no one argued with him.”

“Well, I think it’s interesting,” Emmy replies with a conspiratorial wink. “Have you used your new moniker yet?” She goes to the side table and retrieves a shiny silver, laser-like tool.

“What do you mean?”

“You’re equipped with the latest technology. This is top-secret Atom device-ware. Your moniker is state of the art, impossible to clone. The Gates of Dawn will have a difficult time sneaking into our Fates when these beauties get implanted. They’re going to start phasing them in soon to the general population.”

“What’s new about it?” I ask.

“Didn’t anyone tell you how to use your moniker?”

“No.”

She lifts my hand in her own again. “First of all, let’s take care of this scar.”

“I don’t have any money to pay you.”

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