Convictions of the Ascent: Book 2 of the Fallen Series Read online

  Convictions of the Ascent

  J. T. BOOHER

  Copyright © 2020 J. T. Booher

  All rights reserved.

  ISBN-13: 979-8-6463-2524-3

  CONTENTS

  1

  Conviction

  1

  2

  Plan C

  9

  3

  OV3

  19

  4

  Lap Dog

  29

  5

  Gift

  39

  6

  Lessons

  49

  7

  Nature

  59

  8

  He Knows

  68

  9

  Tiger

  76

  10

  Change of Plan

  84

  11

  Stolen Green

  94

  12

  Normal

  103

  13

  Later

  113

  14

  Ally

  125

  15

  Orders

  133

  16

  Push

  142

  17

  Scar

  153

  18

  Doorknob

  162

  19

  Mine

  172

  20

  Burden

  182

  21

  Projecting

  190

  22

  Influencer

  202

  23

  Pull

  211

  24

  Marks

  220

  25

  Incoming

  232

  26

  Promise

  241

  27

  Go Time

  251

  28

  Keep

  261

  **

  Author’s Note

  269

  1

  …

  Conviction

  CAROLINA IS NOT WHERE I was born. All my life, Momma told me that her reasoning for giving me this ridiculous name was to remind me of my roots. But, it turns out that she is not my mother, and my roots are not in Carolina. Roots are the system of branches that are hidden beneath the surface of the earth that absorb nutrients for the entity that it supports. They keep it firmly planted where it is, holding it upright. I have no roots, and I am far from upright. I suppose my sister, Georgie, could be considered my ‘roots’, but I can hear her thoughts, and she does not consider herself such. I can hear everyone’s thoughts. They surround me and consume me and batter me. I can’t shut them out. There is no longer a window to close between my mind and the world of people around me. I know that the officials of the Authority of the Requital Republic are coming for Georgie. You don’t need to be a mind reader to deduct that. The glowing red light on the implant at her wrist is enough to tell anyone. Daddy told me that I was meant for great things. He said that I had the ability to stop the Authority. He may have been right, even if he wasn’t really my father, after all. I have no parents. I am a genetic compilation of the DNA of many. I have no sister. She is a genetic replica of me. I have nothing. The Authority has taken it all. It has left me thirsty, and I’m ready for the rain. I crave the coming storm with the anticipation of having my thirst quenched. I am ready to fight.

  ‘I need a ride,’ Georgie says into my mind. I already know where she wants to go. The red light on the implant at her wrist is maddening. She is willing to give up her last hours at home just to shut it off. She doesn’t want to sit at the house like a child waiting for her punishment. She wants to get it over with. Momma doesn’t know yet. I can hear her happy, humming thoughts inside, so oblivious to her surroundings that her daughter walked right past her with a death sentence blinking red on her wrist, and she didn’t even notice. She is not really our mother, anyway. ‘I don’t want to tell her,’ Georgie says into my mind. ‘Let her think that we left and went to the north-central territory together. Just drop me off at the Authority office on your way out of town.’ When I begin to protest, Georgie pulls forward the images from her memory of Momma’s hollow, lifeless face from years ago. It took Momma’s mind years to return after Daddy was drafted and killed. We are not sure she would return at all from Georgie being taken too. I nod into Georgie’s head and climb down from my perch on the roof. I take a deep breath and plaster a fake smile on my face. It hurts my soul.

  “Lina-bean! Oh, my baby girl is back at last!” Momma proclaims in her thick, southern aristocratic accent. “Well, I saw that fancy ca’ a out front an’ I just knew you wu’a he’a! We’a in heaven did that come from? So, I see we’a you’a prio’ties lie, then, Docta’ Gallaga’! Buy a ca’a, Georgia, tha’ roof, an’ then you’a Momma!” She pulls me into a disapproving hug and then releases me, but her chatter doesn’t falter. “So much has hap’pend since you left, Darlin’! This is Mr. Caymo’a, I’m sure you rememba’ him, don’t you?” she asks, eyeing me and anticipating disapproval. She is assuming that Georgie has already told me about her recently discovered nocturnal activities with the man and that I am going to rebuke her for it. Her assumptions are just as ridiculous as the lies that she has told me my whole life.

  “Of course, Mr. Claymore,” I say through smiling teeth, “Georgie tells me that you are going to be taking care of Momma.” My face already hurts. Why do fake smiles hurt more than real ones?

  “Okay, now that everyone has met, it’s time to go. Bye, Momma,” Georgie says in a clipped tone and embraces her. She is wearing her coat to hide the light on her implant. The temperature is so stifling already that I’m not sure how she’s managing it. The urgency that she feels to take it off wafts at my brain as she siphons the feeling of the air on my bare skin from my mind for relief.

  “Well, what’s tha’ rush darlin’? And why a’a you wea’in’ that coat?” Momma drawls at Georgie.

  “See ya’, Bill,” Georgie shoots at Mr. Claymore, offering him a salute, and ignoring Momma completely. “It’s been real,” she grumbles and turns to head out the door.

  “Georgia Anne Gallaga’!” Momma yips indignantly at Georgie’s retreating back, but she is already out the door and climbing into Dak’s car. I shrug.

  “I think she’s itching to get on the road,” I relate, as I feel Georgie peel the coat off in the car, with the car door blocking our view of her.

  “Well, I don’t ca’a what she’s itchin’ to do. I haven’t seen you in fo’a ye’as, and I don’t know when I am goin’ to see you again. You a’a goin’ to sit down and have lunch with us whetha’ you a’a angry about my movin’ on afta’ yoa’ daddy’s death o’a not!” I glance at Mr. Claymore. He feels awkward, but he is so infatuated with Momma that he would stand by her side through a lot worse than this. I can hear it straight from his brain, and it makes me smile. I have no problem with them being together. I turn my face back to her and offer her a grim smirk. If we don’t go, then the Authority is going to show up here any minute and take Georgie right in front of her. I will not see that happen to Momma again. Even if she is a liar.

  “It’s a long drive, and if I don’t go now, then I am not going to make it in time for my first day of work,” I lie, “I have to go.” I pull her into a hug. I don’t feel bad about lying to her anymore—not now that I know what I know. When I withdrawal, there are tears in her eyes, and I exhale and go for it. ‘It will be fine, Momma, I will talk to you soon,’ I say into her brain. Her eyes widen, and she clutches he
r pearls. She is such a cliché.

  “What in tha’ name a’ Jesus Christ o’a Lo’ad and savia’ was that!?” she exclaims in a shriek, and I laugh. I wasn’t sure if that would work. Theory confirmed. Georgie has always been the only person with whom I could communicate in this way without a surge. Something changed last night, and the barrier between our minds was broken. Since waking afterward and vomiting my headache away, I have noticed that the absence of the barrier is not the only significant change. Georgie’s surges that she used to use to magnify my abilities are no longer necessary. I can hear more minds more clearly and with a better range than I ever could before—even when I had been under a surge. In fact, it was Georgie’s experimental surge last night, after the change, that had rendered us both unconscious for hours and waking on the ground outside with symptoms of a concussion. While sitting on the roof, skimming through the thoughts of the people in town, miles away, I had wondered if this would be possible—if I could project words into the minds of others on my own. I wonder now what the range is on it.

  ‘Let’s go!’ Georgie barks into my head.

  “Befo’a ya’ go rummagin’ through mah head”—Momma begins with hands raised. Mr. Claymore stands beside her, wide-eyed, and I smirk at him and then cut her off.

  “You will give me answers,” I inform her, staring into her eyes convincingly, “but later. Right now, I have to go.” Relief flits across her face. I already dug through her head and got everything I needed over an hour ago. She didn’t even know I was in there. She doesn’t know that I know that she is not my mother. But I need to give her a reason to want me to leave, and I can feel that protecting her secrets is the only thing that will do that.

  “I love you, Lina-bean,” she says, pulling me into another hug. Her smell is familiar and comforting, and I linger in her arms for longer than necessary, letting myself believe that I am safe, if only for a few seconds. I open my eyes and look at Mr. Claymore over her shoulder. He looks confused. I’ll leave Momma with the decision about how much of this needs to be explained to him. He is cleaner and better kept than I remember. It seems he is pulling out all the stops for Momma. I smile at him.

  “Take care of my mom,” I say to him, and he gives me a reassuring nod as I pull away.

  I climb behind the wheel of Dak’s car. His familiar smell surrounds me and for a second, and I close my eyes. We are on our way to the beach, and the biggest worry on my mind is my upcoming microbiology final. Life was so simple then, and I didn’t even appreciate it.

  ‘You’re going to the north-central territory, Roe, you’ll see him again soon,’ Georgie says into my mind. I exhale his smell and take stock of all of the factors that determine my current direction as I start the engine. The unnatural pull between Dak and I tells me that Georgie is right, North-central is precisely where I should go. It tells me that Dak and I should be together, and we need each other. The man who I thought was my father, however, told me that the pull was meant to bring us together so we could take down the Authority and end the war—which is a plan that I am endorsing more with every passing second. Dak himself told me not to go to the north-central territory because of Robert Radisson, the man that he thought was his father but was actually the geneticist who created us. If Robert Radisson finds out that I am alive, I will be in danger—and so will Georgie. The man that I thought was my father, Jack Gallagher, faked my death when I was an infant and stole me. He did it because I am a weapon. My best friend Kerika, who will be waiting for me in the north-central territory, says that I should go regardless of Dak’s warning. The MEDOC says that, due to my contract, I have no choice but to go to North-central. They gave me a free education and the title of doctor. In return, I signed a contract committing my life to their whims. They will report me to the Authority for breaching my contract if I don’t arrive and check-in for work at the north-central territory in three days. They don’t know that I destroyed all of the merit contracts, including my own, before I left campus yesterday. I haven’t decided where I am going yet—not outwardly—but inwardly, I know what I have to do. Georgie is the most critical factor in all of this. I glance at the red light on her wrist again.

  ‘I need to charge the car, or I’m not going to get far,’ I say into Georgie.

  ‘There’s an old vehicle lot a few blocks from the Authority office that will charge it. You can just drop me off first,’ Georgie relays into my mind. I glance at her from the road. I don’t need to raise my eyebrow or say anything. She can feel how ridiculous I find the notion of just driving straight to the Authority office and dropping her off like an unwanted kitten. Now that we are away from Momma and don’t have to worry about her seeing the Authority come to collect her, I am in no hurry to take her to them. I drive to the car lot and park Dak’s car out front. The man at the lot has never seen this type of car and lures me into his office to ask questions about it while Georgie waits with it charging. He is a petty, dishonest little man, who has obviously never encountered a person who can read thoughts. I take advantage of him, and I don’t feel bad about it. When I emerge, my bag is bulging with a plan.

  ‘Let’s just walk over to the Authority office,’ I say into her, ‘the car’s going to have to charge for a long time.’ She nods expressionlessly. She has no inkling of what I plan to do, which means I can still hide things from her in my brain. Another theory confirmed. We walk slowly—meandering, absorbed in each other’s thoughts. Momma’s secrets were so much more than we could have imagined. But she’s not really our mother, despite the fact that she has convinced herself otherwise. Her name is Annabelle. She’s the wife of the man that we thought was our father. His name is Jack. When I slid into her brain earlier, the memories of how Georgie and I came to be with her were buried under layers of denial and fear in her mind. The information was cloudy, and the unconscious part of her brain that held it struggled against me when I tried to retrieve it. But my mind is not the weak tool that it was only a day ago. I took it from her anyway.

  Her family name was Walton. They owned a chain of successful stores that supplied the vast majority of the territory before the fall. Her father was one of the original founders of the Authority of the Requital Republic. She grew up with wealth and privilege, in a pretty, painted house with perfect hedges and high gates. The fall happened before she was born, but she was shielded from the world that was rapidly changing around her. When she left home for college, she received an education that reached far beyond the degree in history that she earned. Once the protection of the pretty painted house with perfect hedges and high gates was gone, nothing was blocking her view of the world. She saw the suffering and pain that the Authority was imposing on the people for the first time. Coupled with her formal education about the way things used to be, she established the conviction that the Authority, her father’s organization, was built to fall. She participated in anti-Authority protests with the friends that she had made in college. It was fun and exciting to rebel, and she was young and regarded the consequences dismissively. After all, there had never been any consequences in the pretty painted house. Underestimating the consequences came at a steep price to all of them. The protestors—her friends—were red-lighted and executed publicly. She was sentenced to a lifetime of harboring the knowledge of their deaths. She lives with the smell of their burning flesh and their screams as they burned in her memory. Now, I guess I will live with that too. Her father returned her to the pretty painted house, where she was given a driver to take her to her pretty job, teaching history. She became numb, after years of living in the pretty cushioned cage that her father had constructed for her. Work, home, work, home, work, home. When the Authority ordered that the schools be closed down, she was left without the pretty lie that she had used to occupy her time. She could no longer tell herself that she was making a difference by teaching others about what used to be. She could no longer say that she wasn’t doing nothing.

  She accompanied her father to the north-central territory to meet with
officials and tour the gen soldier plants. When she had asked to go, her father was reluctant because of her anti-Authority inclinations—inclinations that she had acted on in the past. Knowing that it was the only way that he would conceit, she had lied and told him that she wanted to go to find a husband. He agreed that the trip would be an efficient way for her to meet some ‘good Atho’aty men,’ as he termed them, in his strong southern drawl. Mission accomplished—she met Daddy. But he’s not really our father. His name is Jack. Her father was under the impression that since she had begun showing interest in an ‘Atho’aty man,’ that it meant that she had grown out of her rebellion against him. Jack was twelve years her senior, and he had been previously married to his work, as the head geneticist on the gen soldier project. Annabelle was starkly opposed to the gen soldiers, which was what began her and Jack’s first conversation of many. Jack said that he fell in love with her the first time that she waggled her finger in his face and told him that he was a terrible man. She ardently believed that the act of creating people that could be used as weapons through altering DNA crossed a line that should never be crossed. He was able to help her see past his work, and to her father’s chagrin, she agreed to marry him several years later. Her father didn’t see the ceremony, though. He died three days before the wedding, and Robert Radisson, the man that Dak thought was his father, walked her down the aisle.

  Jack thought that he was helping her see past his work, but in reality, she was slowly turning him against his own convictions as the years passed by. She still thought that what he was doing was wrong. She believed that he was creating abominations—until she held Georgie for the first time. He had already been having reservations about the Gen-24 project, which was what mine and Georgie’s fertilization and incubation was termed. He had been a scientist lost in the chase toward accomplishing what he believed to be the impossible. Once he achieved the impossible, however, he recognized the power that the Authority would have with the weapons that he had crafted for them, and it frightened him. Georgie, Dak, and I are those weapons. When he saw the tears in Annabelle’s eyes as she clutched the helpless baby to her chest, his mind was made up. She took Georgie and me in the night and drove to Hartwell Lake, where they had honeymooned years before. Momma’s mind didn’t hold the details of our faked deaths and Daddy’s resignation from the Authority, which happened months later. She took us to be named and implanted when she arrived in town. Dr. Reed signed our birth certificates for a healthy sum of money. She didn’t know much about Georgie and I’s abilities. She knew that we could read each other, and Daddy had told her that mind reading was not all that we could do. Her mind had reacted toward this information with denial. There were fragments of conversations that she held in her mind—something about a split between mind, body, and spirit, and something about controlling the gen forces. But those were broken memories, clouded with her own disbelief, which made them difficult to interpret. The context had been lost with time. She has little faith in science. A pinch of conviction is all it takes to change a memory permanently. That’s why perception is such a powerful weapon.