Ronin Read online

  A facial tic poked Ryder in the eye. He couldn’t read the reports on John’s fancy monitors, but he knew where this was going. He’d never seen the reality show he was currently starring in, didn’t know exactly what they did, and had assumed it was like all the other bright lights.

  “Ten.”

  “Ten? That’s a bunch.”

  “How many for you?” Ryder said.

  John stiffened, the question unexpected. “Three, including this one.”

  “Three is a lot.”

  “Why have you been in so many?” John asked.

  Ryder clutched the armrests. The tension rippled up his arms. Jane let go and came around the desk. This was an impasse. He wasn’t going to tell the world why he’d been in ten homes. And they’d better not read them out loud, either. Half-million-acre playground or not, he’d hike out the way he came in.

  Jane read the monitors over John’s head. “You have a history of property damage. Is that right?”

  A rapid tapping echoed in the room. The toe of his brand-new boot was bouncing on the floor. The muscles in his jaws flexed. He gave a quick nod. He’d been in awful situations at school and in homes. Rooms were trashed, buildings wrecked, and a few people were hurt. They were the sorts of things a troubled young man would do.

  Only he didn’t do it.

  No one believed it. No matter what he said, they added it to the growing record that was in front of John and Jane. Someone once said he had a guardian angel. If that were true, the angel let his mom leave him in the back of a truck.

  Nothing angelic about that.

  “We’re all imperfect,” John said. “Some of us more than others.”

  Playfully, Jane swatted John on the arm. “You’re in the right place, Ryder,” she said. “You’re home. You’ll help us build a better world by building a better you. How does that sound?”

  All for the low, low price of my freedom and soul? Golly, a deal.

  “Let’s start with your phone.” John held out his hand.

  “I don’t have one.”

  They both laughed. He was sure they’d practiced it. “That’s a first. No, seriously. Let me have it.”

  “No, seriously. I don’t have one.”

  “Okay, we’ll talk later.” He looked at Jane. She nodded and he frowned. Someone didn’t tell him that Ryder was the only kid in the world without a phone. “Let me have your hand, then.”

  John’s grip was firm. He put a sleeve over Ryder’s index finger. There was a slight sting followed by mild numbness. When he took it off, there was a red pinprick at the tip of his finger.

  “We take a blood sample,” John said, “for health reasons.”

  “Welcome to the family,” Jane said. “Nothing here is free. You’ll earn your place. We value hard work and serious play.” Laughter, on cue. “There’s a lot a fun and honor out here, but ultimately, there’s only one person responsible for Ryder Mack.”

  Ryder nodded along. The questions were piling up. He was overloaded and in need of space. Why did they take my blood?

  “You’ll see him tonight,” Jane said.

  “What?”

  “That’s when you meet BG. I know you’re wondering.”

  It was weird that he was being interviewed by people nearly his age, but that wasn’t what he was wondering. He had no idea who BG was. Jane pointed at the banner then one of the pictures.

  “That’s a wrap,” John announced.

  Both of them relaxed. The door opened and Mindy walked in. “Fantastic. I could feel the tension through the walls, kids. Well done. The hits will go through the ceiling on this one.”

  Ryder was dizzy. Mindy mussed his hair and hugged Jane. They discussed the bonfire. It was the beginning of November, but they were going to do Thanksgiving early so they could advertise it. This was reality entertainment.

  Not actual reality.

  John grabbed Ryder. They were going to his room, where he could clean up and get ready for the bonfire. He was going to meet the man responsible for all of this. Ryder turned around before leaving the office. Big Change Needs—

  “Big Game,” Ryder said.

  2

  Trees like sculpture.

  Conifers set up like snow-laden bowling pins in a sparkling layer of snow. The silence, thick and padded, is broken by a roar and clatter.

  The herd’s under attack.

  A mother reindeer lowers her head and charges. The bear stands with fur bristling, swatting the rack of bony tips with desperate claws. The herd gathers around her, but the predator is hungry.

  The fight is long.

  Somewhere in the trees, a figure is watching. His beard is braided into two ropes that hang over his belly. Thick eyebrows hide chiseled eyes, and wrinkles fold across his wise features.

  Never interfere.

  His people let nature take its course. Even the best intentions could have long and lasting consequences. The predator-prey relationship is as important as the sun rising and the ocean tides. But it hurt his heart to see prey so innocent at the mercy of such a beast.

  Even if the predator had young of her own.

  No one witnesses such violence, not like Gallivanter. He is the ancient wanderer of his people. It is the risk he takes, to be in the world. To witness the good and the bad.

  And terrible.

  The bear gives up. She will find a meal somewhere else. The herd gives chase without losing one of their own. Two newly born reindeer follow. Gallivanter smiles. He remains until a mewling tears a hole in the silence.

  His long green coat drags behind him.

  Tucked at the base of a tree, a runt is curled up and shivering. The mother gave birth to multiple calves, but only two followed. This one looks up with gluey eyes. Gallivanter searches for their return, but the herd has moved on. It’s too dangerous to leave the newborn alone. Perhaps she’ll come back for her boy.

  Because he can’t interfere with nature.

  Ryder opened his eyes.

  He wasn’t in the Arctic surrounded by snow or curled up against a tree. He was lying on a lower bunk, staring at the bottom of a box spring. Someone had carved tiny words on one of the struts.

  Don’t be nice.

  A train was coming from a bunkbed on the other side of the room, a boy with a mop of blond hair and rosy cheeks. His head was in the corner and his feet hung over the mattress, a torrent of wind ripping through him.

  Ryder was still dressed.

  His coat was on the floor, but he was wearing jeans and a sweatshirt. He didn’t remember lying down or taking his boots off or pulling a blanket up to his chin. Jane had showed him to his bedroom with two bunkbeds. No one was there when he arrived.

  Now the window was dark.

  On the top bunk, a boy was curled up beneath the covers, his head sunk into the pillow. He looked tiny. If the two were combined, they would probably make an average-sized person.

  A long desk was below the window. There were three laptops, each of them labelled. Arf was written on one of them. Ryder was taped on the other one. He’d never had a computer before. He’d used one, sure, but never had one with his name on it.

  Outside, an orange glow was creeping over distant mountains, and a bright light was on in a barn. Something was smoldering out there, the remains of a fire having melted the snow.

  See you in the horseshoe, Jane had said.

  He’d fallen asleep. There was no memory of anyone trying to wake him or the sounds of celebration. Just one long dark night and a vivid dream.

  Two in a row.

  Ryder leaned closer to the window, his breath fogging the glass. Someone was out there. He was bundled in a thick coat, a wide hat tipped toward his face. He walked with a slight hitch, poking a stick, embers floating up like fireflies.

  A door closed.

  The giant was still chugging down the tracks and the boy on top still curled up like a bean. The bedroom door was closed. Footsteps walked past it. Ryder put his hand on the knob.

  Som
ething dropped from the ceiling.

  Ryder swatted at it. He’d been in houses that had cockroaches the size of bats and rats that lived in the attic. The giant snorted into silence and the boy on top moaned. A small green light hovered near him.

  A drone.

  It was the same type as before. There were no spinning propellers, just a silent oblong disk staring at him with a glowing eye. It moved away when Ryder moved near it, hovering over his head and out of reach. There were two more lodged in the ceiling like spitwads, each with a pinpoint of light.

  The drone followed him into the hall.

  There were several closed doors. To his left, a light illuminated a large board. Someone was in front of it, rubbing a towel on her head. A tiny green light hovered above her. She wasn’t there long, going into an open door. The green light followed her. A moment later, it zoomed out of her room like it had been punted.

  Ryder looked in both directions.

  His footsteps were quiet. Cold seeped up from the hard floor as he crept toward the lighted board. Music leaked from the girl’s room. Ryder lingered for a moment, tempted to tap on the door. He didn’t know why. He’d always found acclimating to a new home worked best with silence, getting a feel for the people around him before talking. But he’d never lived in a place with so many people, especially his age.

  Or with drones.

  The board was lit with names and times. On the left side was a schedule. At seven o’clock, it was time to rise. Eight o’clock was breakfast. Nine o’clock was chores. Arf had kitchen duty along with Soup.

  Ryder didn’t see his name.

  On the right side, all the names were listed in scoreboard fashion. They were numbered beneath a heading in bold letters that said NICE. There were forty names. Ryder was at the bottom. Soup was number thirty-eight. Arf, thirty-seven.

  No one had explained the board. Maybe that was supposed to happen at the bonfire. He was used to figuring out the rules on his own. Keep quiet and do what everybody else does. Blending in was survival.

  And he was a master.

  A door opened. It was the girl with the towel. Her hair was short and her eyes dark. She stopped suddenly and stared. A drone dropped in front of her and she slammed the door. The sound echoed to the end of the hall and seemed to set off a dozen alarms. They beeped behind closed doors. One by one, they turned off. Then the first door opened.

  The walking dead shuffled out.

  Drones followed them like magnetic balloons. Boys emerged from one side, girls from the other. Partially dressed, some muttered good morning. Scratching their heads or butts, they wandered to the other end of the hall toward bathrooms—girls on one side, boys on the other. No uniforms, no smiles or sharply pressed shirts.

  This wasn’t the welcoming committee.

  Several journeyed toward the board. A few of them sighed, a girl with a pixie haircut let out a little weee, and a boy with thick curly hair groaned. They all, however, ignored Ryder until a little girl wrapped in a comforter looked up at him.

  “Move.”

  Ryder made his way through the slow hustle. Music was beginning to bleed through the doors, a variety of country, rap and pop. A roll of socks fired out of the boys’ side and into a girl’s open door. A moment later, a return volley.

  There was no music coming from Ryder’s room, only the rich timber of snoring. The giant was sprawled across his mattress; his sheet had been pulled off him. The small boy was streaming a video on the laptop. His hair was closely shaved. What Ryder thought was a headphone cord was a small disk attached to the side of his head, just above his left ear.

  “You good at games?” the kid said without turning. “I bet you are.”

  Ryder wasn’t sure if he was talking to him then noticed the video he was watching. The limo pulled around the fountain, and the well-dressed welcoming committee was waiting. The view was from one of the drones, capturing Ryder’s reluctant exit from the car, the clench of his jaws. It zoomed on the half-moon birthmark on his cheek.

  Ryder’s face heated up.

  “We didn’t get a limo,” the kid said. “We got an Uber. John and Jane were waiting in BG’s office, not on the steps. The lady there”—he smudged Mindy with his finger—“never looked up from her phone. She definitely didn’t do that.”

  Mindy’s eyes were wet and her hands clasped below her chin as she watched them hug Ryder.

  “We did chores that night.”

  He turned the laptop. The opening credits of the reality show were playing, the same view he’d seen in the back of the limo—the flyover of the resort, the confident, square-jawed profile of the man running this place, and scenes of adventure.

  Big Game.

  “You know where you’re at?” He clapped the laptop shut. It was labelled Soup. “This is Kringletown, bo. This is every misfit’s dream. You’re in Billy Big Game’s house, and he’s here to give you everything you ever wanted for the low price of your privacy.”

  The sun still wasn’t above the mountains and there were already two million views on the episode. Two million people who watched him arrive.

  “You Eskimo?” Soup said.

  “What?”

  “That’s what Jocko John said, but I got to admit he was right. You look Eskimo. I’m Swedish, mostly. That’s what my blood test said, plus the blond hair, vanilla ice cream face. I look Swedish and you look Eskimo.”

  “What’s an Eskimo look like?”

  “You.”

  “Is that a problem?”

  “You narco?” Soup waited. “Someone who falls asleep all the time. I knew someone like that, would fall asleep standing up. Once he went down, you couldn’t wake him. That was you.”

  Ryder couldn’t remember falling asleep.

  “The bonfire was for you. It’s on the stream, Sweet Jane all worried and Jocko making an executive decision to let you sleep. It’s a tearjerker.”

  He scooped a shirt off the floor and threw it at the giant kid.

  “Arf put the blanket on you. Thought you were cold.”

  The giant snarfed through the shirt and dragged it off his face. He looked up with a hollow expression, details of who and where he was slowly loading. He propped himself up, careful not to hit his head.

  “Smells nice in here.” His voice was deep. Ryder wondered if he was still a teenager.

  “He’s right,” Soup said. “You smell nice.”

  Ryder nodded. No one had ever told him that.

  “No, you smell like them.” Soup pointed out the window at the other wing. Where the welcoming committee went.

  Arf might be huge, but Soup was running the show. Ryder knew one thing, if he didn’t push back, he was going to end up on the bottom rung. It was better to be a punching bag than a welcome mat.

  Arf stood up and stretched. He was well over six feet tall with a frame that probably exceeded the bunkbed’s capacity. He scratched his butt and shuffled into the hall.

  “What’d the board say?” Soup said. “The one in the hall, the one everyone’s looking at?”

  Ryder stared. He wasn’t getting in line with the pack. Not yet.

  There were four sets of drawers beneath the desktop. Soup made a pile of clothes at his feet. He threw a sweater over his shoulder and grabbed a toothbrush. He was wearing furry slippers.

  “Please tell me you shower,” he said.

  “It doesn’t smell like anyone showers.”

  “I don’t because I don’t sweat. I do brush my teeth. We got forty-five minutes before breakfast. Then chores. You’ll probably go suntanning with the nicies.” He threw a towel. “Follow me.”

  “I’m good.”

  Ryder dropped the towel. Soup watched with disappointment. Maybe this worked on Arf, but Ryder wasn’t on board. When Arf returned wearing a robe, they were still in a standoff. His hair was damp and wild. A wispy crop of whiskers covered his jaw.

  “Arf.” Soup waved at him.

  The big boy closed the door and let the robe fall. He stood in a
pair of boxers and fuzzy-lined boots. His shoulders were bright red from a hot shower. All the lights on the drones turned red.

  Ryder tensed.

  He’d managed his way out of a few tight spots. You didn’t know what people were made of until they got tested. Sometimes they were mean all the way to the core. Sometimes it was hot air.

  “Jane tell you the drones would stop filming if you asked?” Soup said.

  She hadn’t said anything about drones. Not that Ryder could remember.

  “She tell you that’s your personal spy? Nod once if you understand.”

  Ryder was about to change the subject when Soup raised his hands.

  “Don’t shoot, bo. I’m telling you how it is. You have a spy, I have a spy... we all do. Arf named his Drony. Not original, but I’m not judging. Mine is Dingleberry. Come here, Dingleberry. Introduce yourself.”

  Three identical drones hovered near the ceiling. He waved at one and it didn’t move.

  “What Jane probably told you was that if you don’t want your spy recording, all you have to do is ask it to stop. She’s lying. There’s only one way to stop them and that’s in the bathroom or getting undressed. No one wants to see us half-naked, not even Bill. Someone would sue his jingle bells blue.”

  The drone lights were still red.

  “Honestly, Bill’s probably still listening, but whatever.”

  “Bill?”

  “BG, bo. Big Game.” Soup whispered, “Billy ‘Big Game’ Sinterklaas. He gave himself the nickname. That tells you everything you need to know.”

  “What do you want?”

  “Me? I don’t want anything. You want something, Arf?”

  The giant shrugged. Soup dug through his top drawer. He pulled out a bottle of cologne.

  “We just want to make sure you’re not one of them.”

  “Who?”

  “The nicies.” When Ryder didn’t get it, he added, “The goodies, the smilies. Sweet Jane and Jocko John and the rest of the country club that live on the ding-dong wing. They’re not welcome over here.”

  “Why?”

  “Because they’re robots. Are you serious, you’ve never seen this stupid reality show? This is the snowglobe, man. No one gets in or out till Billy commands it. It’s the most watched reality stream three years running because it’s got poor children and crazy talk. Don’t get me wrong, this is better than where we were, but Billy is molding us into white-toothed nicies. You should be afraid. You should be very afraid.”