Free Flight by Lindsay Leggett

in me before I pass out. Can you do me a favor and bring this up to Myra’s office?” he asks. He fumbles around the desk until he finds a thick manila envelope and hands it to me.
    “No problem. Thanks again, for everything,” I say before leaving him in the dark scribbling away at his programs.

    When I reach the office I’m surprised to find it completely empty. The sun’s just beginning to set, sending waves of violet and fuchsia light against the rich wooden furniture. I know I should sit down in one of the plushy chairs and wait for Myra to return, but I can’t help myself as I wander about the room, gazing at all of the pictures hung on the wall. With more time to observe, I see Myra, faded and youthful, her stern brow lifted into a gleeful smile, laughing along with other Hunters, some I recognize, like the legendary Gamma, my own dead idol, and others who are long gone.
    There are countless other photographs, framed and spotlighted on the wall, happy memories of earlier days. I’m drawn towards a smaller shot sitting on the corner of Myra’s desk. It’s her and a man, obviously a lover, embracing and looking into each others’ eyes like there’s nothing else in the world but the two of them. I feel my heart beat louder, crying for emotions that don’t exist, and resist the urge to flip the picture face side down. I’ve heard the rumors of Myra’s husband. How she was supposed to be president and he had aspirations to change how the Corp was run, make it better. He died soon after Rupert took over: radiation poisoning, or so they say. You never know when Rupert’s involved. Then I see it. A pile of papers with my name lining the top of the page.
    I scan my eyes over the paper, feeling my stomach sink as I realize it’s my file. No one is ever supposed to see their file; it’s confidential information. But no one’s around, and my will-power isn’t so great that I can stop myself. Listening for any indication that someone’s coming, I scour the papers, only getting past the first line.
    Subject seems to be recovering without any side effects. No signs of confusion or temporary brain zap. Subject seems to be traumatized from a personal accident that was omitted from the procedure.
    I stop myself, my mind reeling, my lungs beginning to hyperventilate. I back away from the desk, unable to comprehend what it was I just read. I feel like I should call Rupert in Central, or my mother, or go find Shelley underground, but instead I collapse into an armchair just as Myra saunters into the office.
    “Hello, Miss Madden,” she says, eyeing me suspiciously. I need to act calm. I force out a smile and flash the envelope Sandy had given me.
    “Atwood’s report,” I say quickly. She takes it from me and places it on her desk. I see her eyes flash from my file and back to me, but she says nothing.
    “I understand you had a training session with Miss Lan earlier. How did that go?” she asks. I lean forward and rub my hands together.
    “Well, I think. She had some interesting defense techniques,” I say. Myra nods and searches her desk drawers until she pulls out a small, worn book. She holds it out for me. I my hands I can feel its flimsy, worn pages, and can just make out the title, The Flow of War . I look up expectantly.
    “Teachings of the Temple. Grier is a very devoted student, and I think having a skilled fighter such as you will be good for her. She needs a challenge to help her improve, though I do realize she can be a bit difficult sometimes,” she says.
    That’s an understatement.
    I tuck the book under my arm, promising myself that I’ll give it a good read. There’s something about that water-like technique that has me intrigued.
    “Thank you. It’s getting late, I’d better start working,” I say. Myra nods and waves me away. As I walk through the halls my head spins, the papers on the desk continuing to haunt me. Subject. Procedure. What the hell’s going on?

Chapter Eight
    I go