Chapter 9
As we stop, I peek through cracks in the canvas. We've pulled up to the city's iron gates. The concrete walls loom over the vehicle, and I start fidgeting, cracking my knuckles to relieve the tension from the ride.
Leo lifts the screen fully so we can look out the back.
As we roll through, my eyes widen at what I see.
This city is different; I knew it would be, The Centre originated before the fall of Arcadya, under another name I can no longer remember, but it was the one place that never fully fell apart thanks to the Council’s intervention.
I knew it had somehow survived the war, but I didn't expect this.
The city seems to be thriving; people wandering the streets, children laughing and playing happily.
I glimpse the main square, and wonder why everyone seems lighter and cleaner here.
A pang of jealousy surges through me. Even the air smells fresh.
In theory, I know the high concrete walls around the city keep out a lot of the dust clouds, but I hadn't expected how vastly different it would feel.
People are riding bikes, old, refurbished bikes with baskets and trailers, easing their everyday chores.
I wonder how they keep them all going. There's evidence everywhere that at one time this place was spilling over with greenery.
The heavier, empty pots lining the streets are like tombs to a lost world.
I'm captivated by the residents' faces, each one less haunted than those from my home town.
I glance towards the rest of the passengers, wondering if I'm the only one thrown off by The Centre's inhabitants, but they all seem wide-eyed and pensive.
The combinations of awe and shock sit heavy with us as we make our way further into the city.
For a second, I'd wondered if only our region was as bad as it is, but the looks on surrounding faces tell me they haven't seen this type of community in a long time, if ever.
My chest tightens the further into the city we go.
The more people I see, the more I think of my family, my friends all struggling to breathe most days through the thick dust.
I wonder what it would take to get my family here, for Willow to live in a place like this.
I imagine her lungs would improve dramatically.
I think of Linden here, riding a bike, and going to the big university that looms in the far distance.
Then, I wonder about Deacon. Imagining him here is easy.
He'd waltz in with his big smile and broad shoulders and everyone would love him.
A thought strikes me. In all his traveling, has he never come here? Surely, he would've said something.
He would've questioned why such a small portion of the country was living so.
.. differently. I have so many questions, but as my thoughts spiral through all the obvious inequalities, I also feel a renewed sense of purpose.
If I can get Willow and Linden here somehow, things could be different.
I take a deep breath, trying to ground myself.
I look out and notice we're away from the center of the city.
Concrete, industrial-looking buildings tower over us on our left, the thick grey walls around the sunken city.
The outside walls made higher by the natural valley.
The vehicle stops and we all exit, dazed. Most shucking masks, scarves and hoods.
Rounding the corner, the officer leads us towards the doors of a giant industrial compound.
There are large bays and garages to the left, and I hear the distinct clamor of people working and shouting things at each other.
At first glance, it feels almost like a tiny city within the city.
Made differently from everything we saw coming in.
Immediately, I notice how all the windows seem to be actual windows.
No boards or covers. There are two tall structures peering from the far right, connected by long narrow strips of concrete.
Further back there appears to be an older part of the building, its worn red brick looking distinctly at odds with the grey metal and concrete.
Barking orders to get inside and line up against the wall, the officer hauls the captives in through another set of small doors and disappears.
Two men appear in the tall bare room. The younger one holds a clipboard and glances anxiously at the other, a middle-aged man who has a permanent scowl on his face.
His white mustache matches his snowy hair, and despite his years, he's intimidating.
He commands attention, his face weathered and stern.
"My name is Captain Jim Kethler. I'm here for your intake and will be the commanding officer in charge of your initial testing and training. It is wise to follow orders, and to not piss me off."
The nervous young man to his left fumbles a little with his clipboard, his glasses catching on something as he tries to straighten himself out. The Captain looks annoyed immediately, and this seems to only stress glasses out more.
The Captain clears his throat. "This is cadet Wesley Hoover.
We have assigned him to clerical here. He'll take your information first, show you your assigned bunks, and give you the official tours.
Tomorrow morning, you'll all begin assessments and be put into trainee unit crews.
Once your general training is done, you'll be assigned a section.
Those of you with exceptional aptitudes will be assigned spots in specific practical fields, like engineering or medical, but I'll warn you, those positions are scarce.
The last cohort of cadets were exclusively assigned to our general infantry. "
The Captain scans all of us, as if making sure everyone understood, then turns abruptly and walks out the way he came.
Wesley's features relax the second the Captain's footsteps fade into the hall.
"Hi everyone, if you could line up, I'll call you over and we'll set up your files. Please have your signing paperwork handy. I'll be giving you your assigned bunk cards and ID tags. Don't lose those. The chef in the cafeteria will look for any excuse not to have to feed you."
I smile a little at this. Maybe being a chef inherently makes you ornery.
Wesley scoots over to the metal desk in the corner with the stacks of files and begins calling people over.
Once again, I'm thrown off by the cleanliness of the facility.
By the simple functionality of everything.
Every window is unbroken. Lanterns with dual function bulbs and torches line the walls.
They must still have access to reserve electricity. It has to take a small army to keep this place clean, this entire city looking the way it does. Leo appears beside me, letting out a soft whistle of approval.
"Fancy place, have you ever seen anything like this?
" he asks, his hands sliding into his pockets casually.
I can tell he's nervous by the way his eyes dart around the room.
Leo isn't a big guy, not much taller than me, and hasn't come into his body yet.
I wonder if he knows he's a prime target for becoming a punching bag, or maybe his blind optimism and charm will keep him safe.
"No, I've never been anywhere that looked close to this. It's a little overwhelming," I admit, looking around.
"Totally… and a little... weird." He shrugs at me as he glances at the others lined up beside us.
I sense he wants to say more, but he isn't sure who's listening, so he just gives me a knowing look. A little weird, a little overwhelming, and a little unfair is likely what we're both thinking.
I'm called over, and the tense cadet Wesley asks questions. This seems like a more in-depth version of my original enlisting paperwork.
"You'll need to write down your parent's professions, dates of births and or deaths."
I pause,"Why do you need that?"
I don't mean to sound defensive, but it's strange. I'm an adult, my parents shouldn't affect my standing. Right?
"Because we need to know where our cadets came from, and if there should be concerns, like affiliations out in the field that may compromise missions." He states this bluntly, like it's obvious.
I worry about what they'll find if they dig around my parents' pasts, but it's too late.
"Also, add any dependants and all their information to ensure they're taken care of in your absence. Any medical concerns need to go in this file."
I nod, moving to the side so he can start on another cadet and fill everything out. He hands me numbered tags and a card that says BETA 403. I assume this is my dorm and room number. I thank him and head to the back of the line.
After everyone is finished, Wesley tells us to gather our things and he'll give a brief tour before leaving us at our dorms. As he walks, he talks, answering questions and pointing out various functions of the facility.
The place is huge. It's connected by long halls, and they seem to veer indoors and outdoors depending on the space. It's cold and bright––almost clinical.
It feels odd after a lifetime of living in a dusty haze.
There are classrooms lining either side of the halls on the main stretch.
Wesley explains each recruit will be required to do some general knowledge courses.
I wonder briefly why this is necessary; they won't be quizzing us on history while we’re fighting.
We pass the cafeteria, which has metal slabs for tables and sleek grey floors. I'm hit by just how massive this place is. I wonder if I'll get lost.
We pass larger rooms lining never-ending slim halls, Wesley explains they are training facilities.
Some have weapons and medical equipment, and what appear to be tech materials inside.
He reiterates most of us will be officers or soldiers.
Officers being those who maintain peace within our own ranks, and soldiers who handle outside conflict, mainly at our borders.