Birthright

CHAPTER NINETEEN

"Your stuff is on my bed," Kray said to the Meta cadet reclining on the top bunkbed, his hands folded behind his head.

His roommate leaned down and looked him over with a smirk that would any Meta proud. Kray knew the image he presented. The severe cut of his hair, the way his navy-blue uniform shirt fit snugly over his shoulders and chest, the hand that was balled around the strap of his duffel bag, turning his knuckles white. In comparison to this scrawny kid with his floppy yellow hair, he knew he looked formidable.

But the way someone looked meant nothing here. Two years ago, Malkan Kovos had allowed Oliver to beat him down even though he probably could have taken him out with a single punch. Kray didn't understand it then, but the lesson had been burned deep into his brain since. Neither he nor Malkan Kovos had the right kind of power to make a difference. The kind of power that mattered.

Birthright.

"Sure, buddy. I'll get right on it for you." The roommate hopped down and grabbed his suitcase, placing it next to the foot of the bunkbed.

Across the room, Kray's other roommate, a caramel-toned kid with curly brown hair laughed softly and turned back to the projected screen on the opposite wall from his bunkbed. He wore fancy bosgloves that let him control the interface with flicks of his fingers and twists of his wrists, allowing him to sift through information streams on the Nexus with rapid speed. His tight shirt was emblazoned with the golden M of the Meta Faction.

Two Meta cadets.

The Meta cadets outnumbered the Sansers one to five, which explained why he'd ended up sharing a room with these two. But Kray thought whoever had made the decision to force two opposing sides to share close quarters had to be either really gullible or just plain evil.

Fostering lifelong camaraderie and respect, said the brochure about the subject.

He wondered how many Sansers had bought that line.

He placed his duffel bag on the edge of his bed and sat down. It was six p.m. Saturday evening. Mrs. Eagan, his ex-aunt, had handed him over to a Meta early this morning. They'd driven for hours from Saranth to Calsin: through lazy, green landscapes smattered with old-style houses and farmlands, and then deep into the heart of the metropolis with its crowded streets, vidtron billboards, and sleek, glass-walled skyscrapers.

Calsin Foundation was nestled in woodlands just on the edge of the Mainland wall, next to a serene lake with geese he'd spotted on the drive over. The scene was unlike anything he'd seen in two years. There were no geese in the wastelands. No animals. No living thing except criminal Sansers and the abusive Metas who watched over them.

The sight of that lake had pulled at something in him, so as soon as the Meta driver had dropped in front of the West Dormitory at two o'clock, he'd walked over there and sat on a bench for four hours. He'd stared out at the glimmering water and the graceful paths the geese created as they glided across the lake's surface, not allowing himself to think or to feel.

Not thinking or feeling was a trick he'd learned out in the Wastelands. It had allowed him to survive these past two years.

The brand new handheld Mrs. Eagan had given him yesterday beeped. He glanced at the message on the small screen.

Holovid request: Alexandra Drasse.

Her contact wasn't programmed into his handheld, but the student directory gave him access to her, and her to him. He'd gotten the calendar invitation for a 'team' meeting and a tour of the foundation's facilities that morning. It had been scheduled for 3:00 p.m, which would have given him enough time to get settled in to his dorm and then meet up with her at the atrium.