ENTER
TUESDAY, DECEMBER TENTH, 2121
14:55
‘You’re late.’
‘Apologies, Counsellor, I was held up by Counsellor Xemin.’
‘Your tardiness will be noted,’ she said. ‘Sit.’
‘Thank you, Counsellor.’
I reached my seat at the rounded table between Jess and Peter. The hologram in the centre of the table was of a familiar face.
‘Margaret Smillton,’ said the Counsellor. ‘One of the most dangerous criminals in history. Assassinated former President Donald Trump in 2020. Committed a major massacre in 2039, killing four hundred civilians in total. Many more mass killings occurred at her hands. Birthed Miranda Smillton, father unknown. Though Margaret was caught and killed in 2086, her daughter is still at large. No one has ever seen her, which makes it our job to identify and hunt her down, as she seems to have inherited her mother’s craving for bloodshed.
An informant notified us that her next target will be the Three Gorges Dam in China, on the 25th of December. As you will serve as backup that day, you must stay vigilant.
Meeting dismissed.’
* * *
I swung my satchel over my shoulder and headed towards the door. I was in the pristine white corridor when something hard caught my shoulder.
‘Hey, Madison!’
I turned around. Kristie was waving as she thundered down the sparsely occupied hallway that shouldn’t have been able to hold the amount of noise she was making.
‘Madison, did you hear? Miranda is going to attack the powerplant in China! I might actually be able to do field work this Christmas!’
The smile I hitched felt painfully false. I hadn’t the heart to tell her that her rank was demoted to CU. Completely Unqualified. It was lucky that there was no chance of her going to the mission on Thursday.
Meanwhile, I, as the youngest AFQ (Almost Fully Qualified), had every chance of going. Not that I was looking forward to it.
* * *
I had Physical Preparation next.
P.P. was one of the main reasons why I bothered to go to the Institute every day. My coach, Adrian (formally known as Coach Blackdon), was on the Board of Combat (BOC) along with sixteen other fully qualified initiates. My rank of AFQ was just below that, and IT (In Training) was the next, the starting level for all initiates, Under Average Ranking (there wasn’t much of those), and then Completely Unqualified. Most CUs are expelled after memory wiping them, but Kristie was an exception: her father, Bill Peterson, was the MBD. The Main Board Director. Or, as I liked to think of him, My Bestie’s Dad.
The floor of the P.P. hall was split into three rectangles, each bordered with different colours. I went to the red section at the very back, where a few of my fellow AFQs were already standing. One of the rectangles was green, for those In Training. Another was yellow for the small amount of UAR initiates. The Fully Qualified were the only ones who trained separately.
Jake grinned at me from the green side. I returned it with what felt like a grimace and turned to face the door. The ITs were going to be emergency backup at the Three Gorges Dam.
I just hoped that they wouldn’t be needed.
Coach Blackdon arrived at last, walking across the hall before stopping at the junction of the rectangles.
‘Right, initiates, are you ready for the toughest training session you’ve had in your entire life?’
There were a few groans. Blackdon was known for his vigorous training exercises.
‘Smillton is going to strike, and y'all need the most preparation you can get!’ he said. ‘Right, five hundred half twist burpees! Go!’
WEDNESDAY, TWENTY-FIFTH OF DECEMBER, 2121
18:52
I pressed my thumb to the analyzer.
Identified: Miranda Smillton.
I hesitated at the sight of the next words that popped up on the screen.
Activate Project B.O.M.B.?
This is for you, mom.
I pressed ENTER.
THURSDAY, TWENTY-EIGHTH OF NOVEMBER, 2121
23:43
I tried not to make my shoes squeak on the brightly polished floor, but they seemed keen to make as much noise as possible. It seemed inevitable that a Counsellor would hear.
Eventually, I reached the end of the hallway, where the files office lay. I eased the door open, praying that it wouldn’t make a noise. By some miracle, nobody was inside. I slid the door silently back and tip-toed towards the filing computer lying on an otherwise empty desk. I flicked on the switch. A blueish holographic screen popped up. I scanned through the various names in alphabetical order, watching as muti-coloured rankings went past beside them.
Finally, I reached a familiar name.
Kristina Peterson
I clicked it.
Her file came up. I pressed a little red button in the corner of the projection.
DEMOTE?
Yes.