The Variables

Dylan yawned and stretched his hands up in the air, then brought them down and tapped on his belly like a drum, beating out a small rhythmic pattern against his skin. “Busy day, dude,” he replied. “Guards might be on edge...maybe you should skip it this morning?”

“Oh,” Grant said. He tried to stifle his disappointment. “Sure! Yeah, that makes sense. I’ve got some things I can do around here...” he glanced around the bare apartment.

Tucking his hands into the waistband of his boxers, Dylan looked at Grant. He blinked and then took his right hand, rubbed his eyes, and yawned for a second time. “Look...”

“Not a big deal,” Grant continued. “I wasn’t that hungry anyway.” He flashed his roommate a warm smile and picked the book back up and thumbed through the pages, trying to find his spot.

“You should come. The guys’ll be fine. I don’t know what I was saying...I’m tired. Come to breakfast. I mean...it’s the last day, right?” He turned back to his room to get into his uniform. As he reached the door, he turned and looked at Grant again. “You’re a good guy, Grant. You know that?”

Grant thought that Dylan said the last part with a bit of sadness. He had never been good with goodbyes; he didn’t want to think about having to bid his new friends farewell as they all took off to different Islands.

“You go

Dylan nodded as he walked away to get dressed. “Yeah, dude,” he said with his back turned. “I’ll come visit.” He shut the door with his foot, and from behind the thin walls Grant could hear him whistling.

Grant looked down at Salem’s necklace dangling down in front of his t-shirt before he walked into the guard’s workstation. He knew the guards wouldn’t tease him about the feminine quality of the sparkly silver chain—they each had their own talismans, and no one ever questioned much when it came to rituals. Superstition reigned supreme. Among their small band of survivors, the soldiers selected for this special task were professionals, each of them procured over time from different branches of the military. When they settled into a poker game or a movie, they naturally fell into telling their old war stories again and again. Grant had learned about each of them during their evenings together.

With a deep breath and a prayer that he wouldn’t be seen as an intruder, Grant slipped into the room. He was greeted at breakfast with stoic faces and an intense aura of concentration. They looked at him and then at Dylan. Grant knew immediately: he wasn’t supposed to be there.

“Grant’s last morning,” Dylan said as a way of explanation and the group nodded in unison.

“Good morning,” said Nate, a long and lean towhead with a penchant for swearing and talking about how much he missed porn. “Big day.” Nate glanced sideways at Grant and pulled out the chair next to him, patting it as an invitation.

“I guess,” Grant replied. “I mean...it’ll be nice to get out of here.”

A soldier named Ryley sniffed and clattered his spoon into his cereal bowl. “You all packed up?” he asked to no one in particular. A few people answered in the affirmative, and then Ryley rolled his head over to Grant. “And you?”

“I just have a poster,” Grant said, thinking of the Romero that was rolled up back in his room. Salem’s necklace around his neck and the poster. He realized that he didn’t have any earthly possessions beyond those two items. “That’s it, I guess.”

“Well,” Ryley replied, rubbing his mouth with the back of his hand, “we all got something.” The man stood up and stretched his arms to the ceiling, letting out a ghastly sigh. “What’s our timeframe? When’s the big...when’re the Copia folk coming for their meeting?”

Nate started to respond, but Blair’s heels, clipping along in her usual rushed gait, a

“I just got off a video chat with my father from Kymberlin, and I have some things to discuss before our operation today, so please, please everybody, I need your attention.” She waltzed to a long counter on the far end of the room and pushed herself up to sit on it; she was wearing a medium length skirt that hit just above her knees, and when she crossed her legs, the boys couldn’t help but stare. Private Wendy, the only female soldier among them, punched one of the guys next to her in the arm and playfully tried to pull his gaze upward.

Grant saw Blair’s attention flicker in their direction, but she ignored their teasing at her expense and kept talking.

“First things first, we will need all hands on deck for a System sweep prior to calling the Copia residents to the Center.” She looked up. Nate had raised his hand quickly. He cleared his throat to stop her from talking and she paused. “Yes?” she asked, pointing to him.

“Uh, Ma’am?”

“Please just call me Blair. Please.” She smiled.

Nate blinked.

“Blair.” He said the name like he was testing each sound of her name separately. “Ma’am, um, we have a visitor for breakfast this morning. Civilian in our midst, Ma’am. So, perhaps we should wait on discussing…I just wanted to bring it to your attention.” He nodded over to Grant and Grant bowed his head. He wanted to disappear into the wall; he felt every person stare at him and collectively hold his or her breath.

“Oh,” Blair put a hand over her heart and stared at the faces around the room, each of them looking straight back at her with blank expressions. “I’m sorry...I didn’t. I’ll just...” she stammered.

Grant stood up. “I’ll go,” he said and waved goodbye to Dylan, picking up a small breakfast bar off the table.

It was silent as he made his way to the door, and as he grabbed the knob, he heard someone clear his throat.

“Grant can stay,” Dylan a

Blair’s head spun to Dylan. She pursed her lips and tapped her fingers against the counter. “You don’t have authority to make that call. He goes. And then I’ll continue. Problem solved.”

“Maybe don’t come into the room and start spewing classified information when a civilian is present,” Nate added. “Ma’am.”

“I...just,” she cleared her throat.

Nate shot his hand up again. “Also, that plan would leave the main elevators unattended.”

Everyone was silent. Grant froze, still by the door, unable to determine if he was supposed to go or stay. Everyone’s eyes were back on Blair. He crinkled his breakfast bar wrapper, hoping it would draw some attention back to him so someone could tell him if he was supposed to leave.

“Station someone at the second elevator. There’s no need to waste a person at the one to the surface.” Blair said this with a flick of her wrist and the guards all exchanged knowing looks. Grant shifted on his feet, Dylan motioned for him to sit, and so he sat down in an empty chair. He ran his hand through his hair and slumped backward, arms crossed.

“With all due respect...your father’s plan is convoluted. No offense,” a guy named Mick said. He was chewing a large piece of bubble gum and he popped it loudly.

A few of the soldiers shook their heads and mumbled to each other, whispering to each other in low voices so Grant couldn’t hear.

“Never underestimate the resourcefulness of our Copia residents,” Blair said. Turning to sneak a look at Grant, she added, “The Copia residents must be led to their meeting and led out of their meeting with strict precision. Their plane waits, after all. Because there are so few of us, it’s important to make sure that we handle everything according to protocol.” She titled her head and uncrossed her legs. Then she slid down off the counter, sca