Satellite: The Satellite Trilogy, Part I (20 page)

“They can’t do this,” I say numbly.

She pulls back and holds my arms out to examine me, as if I could be injured. I consider screaming to her that I’m already dead, but I’m too drained.

“We’ll figure this out,” she says firmly.

“They can’t do this,” I repeat in a restrained voice.

“I can’t believe we’re here.” She looks around like a kid in the world’s largest candy store. “I’ve never heard of a Satellite meeting the Schedulers. Ever. This is major.”

“Glad I could help you out with that,” I scoff.

“I’m sorry, that came out wrong. You must be sick about Elliott.”

The knot in my stomach grows. Jonathan opens the door and pops his head around the side. “The Schedulers have been notified.”

We walk into a space that’s more like a coliseum than a room, except this coliseum isn’t anything like the Roman Colosseum I’ve seen in pictures. This one is much more pristine, without the slightest hint of crumbling, and instead of stone bleachers, a double-tiered desk structure surrounds its perimeter. Unlike Willow, my expression remains level. At this point, I don’t expect anything less spectacular from the ostentatious Schedulers.

Dozens of freestanding marble columns are joined together by arches to create a circular sort of wall that separates the desk structure from the overgrown, grassy field. A picturesque forest and mountain range surround us far in the distance. An evergreen scent drifts through the area and I swear I can hear a stream flowing.

Jonathan leads us to the center of the room, and I envision man-eating lions being released into the pit. At this moment, consumed by rage, I’d happily take on a dozen grisly animals and still come out the victor. We stand dead center, where the bright floor tiles form a bull’s-eye within a sunburst pattern.

“The Schedulers will be here momentarily,” Jonathan says, looking up at the scarlet tanagers perched along the thick arches.

When he shifts his gaze, I follow his eyes across the space to one of the arches. The archway swings out, and the grassy landscape beyond is replaced by a dark-paneled hallway. When an inordinate amount of people file through, I keep my face level, refusing to let Progression’s magic impress me. I’m not sure what I expected—maybe monks’ robes or judges’ garb—but the group’s regular, casual clothing throws me. I rub my thighs, and the scar on my knee prickles.

The mob settles into their golden chairs, filling both levels of the massive circular desk, and hundreds of eyes are suddenly on me.

“Thank you all for meeting with us on such short notice,” Jonathan says to the alert audience. “As you know, this is Grant Bradley and his Legacy, Willow Beckmann. He would like to speak with you regarding a new arrival, Elliott Jacoby. Since this meeting has been convened at Grant’s request, I will allow him to continue.”

Following Jonathan’s lead, I address the guy sitting in the center of the elevated portion of the inner desk. Well, not address per se, as that would require me to remain calm, and I feel my anger and frustration toward these people building steadily. “Elliott can’t be here! You have to send him back!” I ball my fists, but that doesn’t stop them from shaking.

A chair scrapes on the tile, and the man in the center of the group stands. “Hello, Grant. Let’s start over, if you don’t mind. I’m Landon, and these are my fellow Schedulers.” He looks and talks like an politician, which pisses me off even more. “We have been doing our job for many, many years. Our planning is careful. It is precise. Let me assure you, we do not make mistakes.”

“A mistake
was
made,” I interrupt.

“I realize this is difficult for you, but as I said, a mistake has not been made,” he repeats.

My blood boils and I clench my teeth. “Let me correct you. It’s not difficult for me, it’s difficult for Tate. She’s been through enough!”

“Facing a great deal of adversity in a lifetime is not uncommon.”

“We’re not talking about a lifetime, we’re talking about a few months! What is wrong with you people?” I accuse, spinning to see all of the staring, calm faces lined along the desks. I give Willow an apologetic look when my hand forcefully smacks against her arm.

“There are reasons for these events—a larger picture—though I realize that may seem unclear at the moment.”

“Give me just one good reason,” I growl.

“We cannot share this information out of respect for Tatum’s privacy.”

“You didn’t show her any respect when you wrote her future!”

“Two deaths in such a short time is excessive. However—”

I cut him off. “Excessive?”

My teeth grind together and my mom’s voice rings in my ear as if I’m nine again: “You’ll only be defeated when you’re heated.” I almost laugh out loud. Partly because I can hear her singsongy voice like it was yesterday, but mostly because I think I really have lost my mind. “Has a mistake ever been made?” I ask in a calmer voice.

“Let me assure you that Tatum’s future would not have been written as such had we thought she was not strong enough to handle it.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me!” So much for my mom’s advice.

“Please allow the events to unfold as they will. There are reasons.”

“So there’s no way you can send Elliott back?”

“I’m deeply sorry, Grant.”

“What about Fischer? He’s just a child! Did you even consider what this is going to do to him?” My voice raises with my blood pressure.

“Oh yes—Fischer. He is going to accomplish great things.”

Landon’s cocky smile infuriates me. I bite my tongue until the taste of iron runs down my throat. When the lesion heals, I bite again.

“I assure you that Tatum will come out of this as planned,” he says.

“Let me assure
you
that if she doesn’t, you’re going to wish this was handled differently,” I say, walking out of the circle. “Although I guess you already knew that, since you’ve written my future as well,” I yell over my shoulder.

“Grant, I know this is difficult, but please have faith. We still need to discuss you extracurricular activities—” Landon’s saying as I’m pushing through the door.

When I realize I need Jonathan to lead me out of this fun house, my fist attacks the wall. The wall wins. I should have learned from Ryder’s mistake, but at least now I can understand his rage.

Jonathan and Willow step out of the room as I’m shaking the pain out of my hand. Jonathan eyes my red knuckles and then silently leads the way back. Willow grabs my arm and squeezes it. When our eyes meet, she looks away. Even the freak is at a loss for words.

Halfway through the maze, Willow leans closer to me and whispers, “They know you’ve been visiting Tate.”

I should probably be more concerned about this, but I honesty don’t care what they know. I hate them. If the Schedulers think I should stay away from Tate, then I’m going to see her even more. Those idiots don’t have a clue what they’re doing.

We finally get back to the lobby. Jonathan pulls down on one of the iron sconces like a lever, and the marble wall retracts and slides to the right. Jonathan follows Willow and me out and the panel closes behind us, leaving no trace that it ever existed.

“Willow, would you mind if I speak with Grant privately?”

Willow throws herself around me, but my arms hang dead at my sides. “It’s going to be all right,” she whispers before letting go.

Jonathan leans against the golden desk and addresses me after Willow leaves. “Grant, you must have faith that the Schedulers know what they’re doing.”

“That’s slightly problematic for me. Certainly you can see my point,” I sneer.

“I can, and I deeply sympathize with you.” He does look sincere. “There is an issue we need to discuss. We’ve overlooked your visits to Tate in the hope that you would gain closure and say good-bye. But the time has come for your visits to stop.”

Nothing like getting right to the point.

“You’re not helping her as you think you are, and you’re also putting Ryder in danger. You cannot be distracted. He needs you.”

I stare at Jonathan hard enough that he should have a smoldering hole in his forehead, but I refuse to speak.

“Ryder’s life course is at risk. I’m sure you’ve seen in his behavior—he is deeply struggling with the loss of his father. His grieving is beyond what we consider normal. Are you willing to face the consequences of failure? More importantly, are you willing to face Willow if something happens to Ryder?”

He’s so not playing fair. I still won’t answer him, though. I respect him too much to lie to his face.

“I’m not going to reprimand you any further, as I trust that you will make the right decision.” He pauses. “I think it would be helpful for you to speak with Elliott. He was shaken up after your earlier encounter. Would you mind?”

I shake my head. Of course I want to see him, just under different circumstances.

“Thank you. I believe it will help him a great deal.” Jonathan silently leads me to a small room off one of the hallways past Benson. “Please, make yourself comfortable. Elliott will be here shortly. If you’ll excuse me,” he says, squeezing my shoulder before leaving.

Staring at the jumping flames in the stone fireplace, I drum my fingers on the table to the rhythm of my racing thoughts. My foot stops bouncing when the door finally opens.

Physically, Elliott looks great—he’s older and more built than I remember. Emotionally, he looks like he got hit by a bus.

“Grant, is it really you?” he whispers.

.

15. You really are Captain Oblivious

From Elliott’s confused expression as he gapes at me, I probably shouldn’t maul him, but in three strides, my arms are strangling his shoulders.

“Dude, you shouldn’t be here. I can’t believe this is happening,” I say.

“Grant?” His voice sounds muffled.

I let him go so he can breathe. “Yeah, it’s me.”

“Where am I? What’s going on?”

“Progression. You’re dead, Elliott.” I try to sound sympathetic.

“I got that much. I just heard the spiel from Fabio.”

“Jonathan?”

“Yeah, I guess.”

“So you know you’re dead?” He’s handling this well.

“Uh-huh. What’s all this about being a Satellite?”

“Looks like you’ve been chosen, too.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Neither do I. Have you gotten your Legacy yet?”

“No. Fabio asked me to come with him while the others were lining up.”

“Your Legacy will be able to explain why you’re here.” The last thing he needs is my cynical explanation.

“My family. How are they going to get through this? And Tate.” Just her name makes my stomach turn. “What’s going to happen to her?”

His eyes burn into me for an answer. Not having one, I cross the room and avoid eye contact. “So, you’re still rock climbing, huh?”

“Not anymore. Man, my mom must be a mess. I should have listened to her. It wasn’t worth this.”

There’s no way I’m going to mention Mrs. Jacoby’s reaction. “Don’t beat yourself up too bad. That fall was out of your control.”
And planned years ago by the monsters
. I keep this part to myself.

My calimeter drones just as Willow barges into the room. She’s found the time to change into a glowing pink shirt that hurts my eyes. “Hey, Grant,” she says, as if everything’s fine. She extends her hand to Elliott. Her acting skills are scary good. “I’m Willow, Grant’s Legacy.”

Elliott pushes his eyes back into his head and shakes her hand. “
You’re
Grant’s Legacy?”

She winks at me. “Opposites attract.”

“Apparently. Grant must hate you. He’s way more like his old man than he’d ever admit, especially when it comes his opinion of body art. Killer ink!”

I open my mouth to argue, but the two are already engrossed in their own conversation about Willow’s self-induced, colorful scars.

After a few minutes, she remembers I’m still here. “Oh, kid—I almost forgot; you’ve gotta get back to your assignment. You guys will have plenty of time to catch up later. It was great to meet you,” she says to Elliott before skipping out of the room.

“She seems cool.”

Instead of adding my two cents, I say, “Come on.”

Elliott runs his hand through his hair. It’s exactly the same color as Tate’s, and, though much shorter, it has a trace of the same curls, making my mind wander.

Elliott punches my shoulder when I dump him in line. “It’s great to see you. You look a million times better than Cancer Boy.” This was the nickname, much to Tate’s disapproval, that Elliott gave me when I started to look creepy from my treatments. After the cancer took a disgusting toll on my body, he was about the only one who could talk to me like I had a disease instead of like I was a five-year-old. I respect him for that more than he’ll ever know.

“I’ve missed you, man.”

Before I can stop myself, I hug him again. “I’ve missed you, too.”

After saying good-bye, I turn the corner to displace so I don’t spook him more than necessary. Ryder and Hannah have already buzzed to life and are watching a movie.

My mind is preoccupied through the night and never-ending day. Luckily, I only have to block Ryder once. When break finally arrives, I bypass Progression altogether. Even though I want to see Elliott, I need to see Tate—to know she’s coping all right. Screw the Schedulers. They’re the reason for this whole mess. If they don’t like my visits, then they’ll just have to find a way to stop me. Maybe, if I’m lucky, they’ll pull me from this whole asinine program.

Who am I kidding? My luck ran out months ago. Plus, saying I don’t want to help Ryder would be a lie. Though our relationships with our fathers were very different, I feel a strong connection to Ryder because of our mutual loss. Maybe it’s a stretch, but helping him through his grieving is helping me as well, and my feuding emotions of anger and sadness toward my dad have lessened a bit.

When I get to Tate’s, her bedroom is dark. The blinds are closed and the air smells stale. My stomach flips nervously. Thanks to my night vision, my eyes need no time to adjust and I find her quickly. She’s asleep in the big button chair. In contrast to the soft-green cushion, her eyelids are red, raw, and swollen.

The room shouldn’t be this still.
Why is the room so still?

I gasp for air when I figure it out. She isn’t sleeping.

The word repeats with my thundering pulse:
Tragedy, Tragedy, Tragedy…

I plow through the room in panic, stopping a couple of times to glance at her frozen body and listen for her breathing. When I finally realize there’s nothing I can do here for Tate, I displace and run as fast as I can to Benson.

“Whoa! What’s up with you?” Anna asks at my abrupt entrance.

“Nothing. Sorry,” I answer, out of breath.

Like always, Clara has to get an eyeful. She scans my entire body before speaking. “You look like you’ve got the hangover from hell. Bad day?”

“You could say that. Have you guys heard of anyone getting a new Tragedy?” I blurt out too fast.

The girls look at me like I’ve grown a third arm and disappoint me with their answers.

Paranoid, I sit in a chair and try to appear calm. “Did you know Tate’s brother is here?” I ask to change the subject.

Clara bites. “Uh…yeah. I also heard you saw the Schedulers.”

“It was no big deal.”
Tragedy, Tragedy, Tragedy…

“No big deal? Are you kidding me? Spill!”

Coming here was a huge mistake. “It was nothing.”

Clara flips her hair over her shoulder. “You do realize that no other Satellite has ever seen them, right?”

“I seriously doubt that.”

“None that I’ve ever heard of,” she says.

“Maybe they’ve just kept their mouth shut. By the way, how did
you
hear about it?”

“Oh, come on. Everyone knows,” Clara says. “You really are Captain Oblivious.”

Anna chokes on her drink from laughing. Seriously? Girls and gossip go together like axles and wheels around this place.

“How many Schedulers were there?” Anna asks, wiping apple juice off her chin.

“A couple hundred, I’d guess.”

“Wow! What did you say to them?” Anna asks.

“I asked them to send Elliott back.”

Clara takes a bite of the carrot she stole from Anna’s tray. “That’s impossible.”

“So I’ve learned.”

“The Schedulers? Man, that had to be something,” Owen says like he’s impressed, sitting down with Liam and Rigby.

I don’t answer and instead trace one of the dark knots on the table.
Tragedy, Tragedy, Tragedy…

After shoving an entire cupcake in his mouth, Owen’s muffled voice says, “Dude, you look like crap. I can’t believe your bro-in-law is here!”

“Gross, Owen! Swallow your food before speaking, you swine.” Clara gives him her most disgusted look.

“It’s seafood.” Owen drops his jaw to show her a mouthful of yellow cake. “Get it? See food?”

“Seriously, man,” Rigby sneers with disapproval. “There are ladies present.”

“Thank you!” Clara says.

Rigby sits up straighter and appears pleased that Clara has taken notice of him.

“Anyone hear who the new Legacies are?” Liam asks, shifting in his seat and looking down at his calimeter.

“I heard Liv is one. She looked totally bummed when I saw her,” Owen says.

“Well, Lainie’s stoked,” Clara adds.

“I still don’t get how someone could be excited about leaving all this.”

“Owen, believe it or not, some people want to see their loved ones again,” Liam says.

“Of course someone
married
would say that. Everyone I want to see is right here.” Owen nips at Anna’s ear.

“You were married?” I ask Liam.

“Yeah.”

“For how long?”

“Nine years.”

“Any kids?”

“A son. Finn,” he answers.

This shocks me. Picturing any of the Satellites living normal lives outside of Progression is difficult.

“Finn was ten so we call him Liam’s little love child,” Clara jokes.

“How’d you die?” I ask.

He looks down at his entwined fingers and his voice is quiet. “I drowned.”

Clara kicks me under the table. “Let’s grab a bite. I haven’t checked out what’s new yet.”

“There’s some decent stuff in there,” Owen says. “But it’s not as good as the chicken,” he whispers to Anna.

“Get a room.” Rigby pulls a new toothpick from his shirt pocket. His raised spirits are no more, probably because Clara and I are getting up from the table together.

“You know, that’s not a bad idea,” Owen agrees, moving his eyebrows up and down at Anna before she punches his arm.

“Come with us, man,” I offer to Rigby, wishing he’d stop seeing me as a threat.

“Nah, I’m good.”

I want to push harder, but I let it go. Clara and I maneuver around the tables to the back of the room. I think about Tate with every step.
Tragedy, Tragedy, Tragedy…

“I didn’t want things to get weird back there.” Clara passes me a tray. “Liam doesn’t like to talk about his death. He had some difficulty losing his memories.”

Huh. Me too. “What happened?” I ask, trying not to sound too eager.

She misinterprets my question. “Liam was fishing with Finn and their boat got hung up on some nasty trees. When Liam dove into the water to free the propeller, his arm got caught in some debris. He couldn’t get himself loose. Finn managed to get him untangled and back in the boat, but Liam died a few minutes later.” Clara pauses before putting a plate on her tray. “Man, he was a mess when he got here,” she says, more to herself.

“What about his memories? You mentioned he had difficulty losing them.”

“They stuck around longer than usual, that’s all.”

“Does that happen a lot?”

“Not really.” She bites her lip and eyes the egg roll and steak on my tray—mere props to avoid suspicion. I don’t trust my queasy stomach enough to actually eat anything. “Good choices—although not so great together,” she says with a sour face.

I look from her glossy lips to her salad that’s too many shades of dark green. “Yeah, well…yours looks super filling.”

I decide it’s best to let Liam’s memory thing go (for the sake of keeping my own secret) and we head back to the table. I barely talk, wondering if any of the Satellites in Benson could be Tate’s. I wish Elliott was around so I could pick his brain while he still has his memories, but break ends without any sign of him.

Back on Earth, I don’t catch up on my reading until Ryder falls asleep. As usual, my instructions are to keep him calm. His thunderous snores vibrate through the small bedroom. Surely a couple of minutes away from him couldn’t hurt.

I dig into my bag and say the magic word when my hand finds the frame. The lightning speed no longer bothers me, nor does ghosting through the buildings, trees, and earth. Tate is all that matters. When the pull finally releases, I stumble against my old bedroom wall, shocked by what I witness.

“I miss you, kid,” my dad whispers into a photo album, barely disrupting the still, quiet house. My breathing hitches. He’s the only person who ever called me kid, aside from Willow. Why had I not remembered this?

Unbelievable. The old man is crying. Over me. This is news. He blows his nose on his stained handkerchief. I should probably feel sympathy for him, considering he’s in such a state, but I feel strangely whole for the first time in a while. He actually misses me.

“I miss you, too, Dad,” I say before I can stop myself. My heart swells because I mean it.

Then, remembering why I’m here, the wholeness I feel at seeing my dad’s grief evaporates. I force my eyes from my him, not wanting to leave yet, but knowing that I must. A second later, I’m soaring over blocks of dark houses spotted with glowing yellow circles. A sleet/snow mix swirls around me but never touches my skin.

I relax when I see Tate asleep in the chair, breathing again. I kneel down and focus my energy around one of the curls resting on her cheek. I tighten the filter, and with feather lightness, I push the lock of hair away from her face. I shift the filter to the left, making her lips so blue that she looks like she has hypothermia. I pull in a deep, anticipatory breath and kiss her. I can’t pull myself away from her peppermint taste. She feels so good, her lips so soft, that I linger around her mouth.

Her lips part slightly and curve upward, but I yank back and spin around when a throat clears.

“What are you doing here?” I demand. Seeing another guy stretched across Tate’s bed irritates me beyond words.

Liam’s speechless when he leaps up and paces to Tate’s desk.

I stare in disbelief when my stupefied mind finally remembers what’s happening here. “
You’re
Tate’s Satellite?” I blurt out.

“Thanks for the vote of confidence, mate,” Liam shoots back.

“That’s not what I meant. You just caught me by surprise.”

I’ve never seen the guy so tense. He’s looking around Tate’s room like we’re about to be invaded by martians. “The better question is, what are
you
doing here?” he asks.

“Oh, uh…”

“Yeah? Go on.”

Dude, Liam, don’t pee yourself.
“I’ve got nothing. I should be with Ryder—”

“Whoa! Rules, man!”

Right. Apparently I’m destined to break them all. What a crying shame. “This is Tate,” I say lamely, because I can’t come up with anything else.

He angrily shakes the book in the air. “Yeah, I got that much.”

He’s got her book!
“Can I see that?”

“Are you dim?”

“More like defective.” I look back at Tate. “I still know every detail about her, about our time together—everything.” To claim my territory, I sit on the floor as close to Tate’s chair as possible. “So, can I see it?” I ask, pointing my eyes back to the red book in his hand.