Chapter 20: Tobias – A Rough Ride

This ride is even more uncomfortable than the last one. We're crammed in the same tight, windowless van as last time, bumping up and down over uneven pavement and, at times, what is clearly dirt. At least the motion sickness distracts me from the claustrophobia.

We spend the first stretch of time learning about NUSA's culture, slang, and accents, to help us blend in when we get there. Pari and Margot explain everything they think we need to know, based on their time growing up in Philadelphia. It's way too much information at once for everything to stick, but we practice the most important aspects. They seem satisfied with our progress – until we work on body language.

"Do you even know how to slouch?" Margot asks me in annoyance. "You're supposed to look down-trodden, not like you have a metal rod in your back."

I grit my teeth. I've spent the last two years learning to stand up straight and look confident, and now they want me to act like I did while I was still living with my father….

Lauren answers for me. "We spend a lot of time learning not to slouch in Dauntless. It's a hard habit to change."

"Well, it's a habit that will get us all killed," Margot states flatly. "So, find a way!"

I sigh, looking at the others. They're all putting on a good kicked-puppy act, even Tris, who normally looks so strong. "How are you doing it?" I ask her.

She smiles slightly as she answers, "Sometimes, it helps to show a little vulnerability, even if it's not real." I don't smile back. The comment brings up an image of her, bruised and beaten, putting on a false face to stay safe from Peter, and later from Eric. I didn't like having her do that then, and I don't like it now, but I suppose she's right. We need to look weak without really feeling that way, and a pretend fear is a decent way to do that.

"What should I fake?" I ask reluctantly.

"I hear insects are good," Uriah says with a grin.

I raise an eyebrow at him. "It probably needs a grain of truth to work, since I'm clearly not much of an actor."

Caleb suggests tentatively, "You're very protective. Maybe you could think about the little girl from the aptitude test being in danger. She's not real, so she won't trigger a strong reaction, but it might be enough."

It's not a bad idea, but before I can respond, Christina snorts loudly. "Protective? I missed that when Molly was beating the crap out of me, and when Eric made me dangle from the chasm."

Tris snaps an answer. "Four wasn't there then, remember? And he did try to get Eric to let us surrender during fights."

Christina rolls her eyes and says, "Fine, then I didn't see much protectiveness when he was throwing knives at you."

"That was being protective," I snarl, "since the alternative was for Eric to throw them."

Christina looks frustrated. "I'm not saying you're a bad guy or anything," she tries to clarify. "I just think you need a realistic vulnerability, and I don't think people become Dauntless instructors if they're 'very protective.'"

"They do if they're protecting their best friend's Divergent brother," Uriah answers firmly, and I feel a brief flare of gratitude. I never said it aloud, to anyone, but I guess it wasn't hard to figure out that was my primary goal when I volunteered to train this year's initiates.

"It's a moot point, anyway," Cara interrupts. As everyone looks at her, she turns to me and adds, "My observations have been that you respond to fear with strength and an excellent poker face. So, feeling vulnerable won't help you look weaker. I think you should try thinking of something relaxing instead, or even a little bit happy."

A very long pause answers that statement, but it does make sense. I've spent my whole life hiding my fears and injuries – acting like they don't exist. I only lose that control in extreme situations, and it wouldn't be helpful for me to imagine those during this mission.

"You might be right," I finally mutter.

Cara nods in acknowledgement and then reminds me, "But you're not aiming for giddy."

"Well, that eliminates all thoughts of Tris," Peter says with a smirk. "Do you even have any other happy memories?"

I glare at him. "Some," I say, though the truth is there aren't many. Most of them relate to Zeke, so I focus on those, thinking back to moments with him before I met Tris, before I worried about Eric realizing I liked her, before war broke out…. Something relaxing and just a little happy….

What finally comes to mind is the feeling I always got early in an evening of drinking with him, just when I started to relax but before I lost track of my thoughts. I haven't drunk like that since the night by the chasm, when I said whatever I did to Tris. I was too panicked after that, thinking about what I might have revealed, to risk drinking again, but now I focus on that feeling and try to let my body imitate it.

"Better," Margot says, evaluating me. "But relax your shoulders more."

I sink further into the feeling, sending it through my arms and shoulders, trying to imagine my grip loosening and my body stumbling a little with the first signs of drunkenness. My face goes slack with my body.

Margot finally nods in approval. "Much better. Keep practicing it, though."

"In the meantime," Pari interrupts, "we need to move on to something else important – how to act when the government broadcasts a message."

The others stop their side conversations and pay attention as she continues, "They always send a mental alert first, so everyone has time to stop what they're doing. And you'll see it like a wave as everyone turns in exactly the same direction in unison and just waits. And then the message comes. Afterwards, everyone starts back up at the same time, like nothing happened. It will be hard for you to imitate that, because you obviously won't receive the alert, but if you don't follow it well, someone will notice. That will be your most vulnerable time every day."

"Are people aware of their surroundings during the broadcast," Tris asks, "or just at the beginning and end of it?"

Pari purses her lips thoughtfully at that and says, "To be honest, I don't know. I was always aware during the message, but of course I'm resistant to it, so my reaction may not be typical. People look essentially frozen during it, but I don't know if they're seeing or not. It would be safer to assume they are."

"Afterwards, are they aware that they received a message?" Caleb asks curiously.

Margot and Pari both laugh, and then Margot answers. "It's impossible to say because no one talks about it. That prohibition is part of the message." That's not reassuring.

Tris frowns and asks, "Are the messages sent at a particular time of the day?"

I can see the answer on Pari's face before she says it aloud. "Not nearly as reliably as we need. They used to broadcast most often in the evening, but given everything going on right now, it's a good bet they'll be broadcasting multiple times a day at random times." Great….

"You two will both receive the messages, though, right?" Tris asks Pari and Margot. When they nod, she continues, "So, we'll need to follow your lead. That means we'll need a signal of some kind when the message begins."

Margot shakes her head and says, "Sorry, but any kind of signal will attract attention, and it won't really give you lead time. When you see us turn the same direction as everyone else, you turn too. That's your signal."

Tris bites her lip thoughtfully, but it's Caleb who speaks next. "So, you'll always be in the lead, I assume." It's not really a question.

Pari nods. "We may split up at times, but not into more than two groups, so one of us can lead each group. And when we're driving, one of us will need to be up front and one in the back."

"What about the other vehicle?" Robert asks, startled. Trust an Amity-Abnegation mix to worry about them.

"They're all like us," Margot says. "From within NUSA, I mean. They'll be fine."

Tris' voice is suspicious as she says, "But that means they can't drink the water there, can they? How will they complete their mission and get away?"

Margot's eyes narrow, and she's silent for a very long time. Just when I think she's not going to answer, she finally says, "We all know the risks we're undertaking. They have special water bottles, and hopefully that will be enough to get them through." But it's clear from her tone that she doesn't think that's likely, and I realize they must have signed up for a suicide mission. The thought sends a chill through me, even though our mission may not be much safer.

"Even if they're captured," Margot continues, "they don't know anything about our plans, and they haven't even seen most of you, so they can't turn us in." She looks away, her face grim. And I understand the second meaning behind her words. She and Pari can give us away if they're captured, so if that happens, we have to either rescue them or kill them. Judging by the expressions around the room, most of the others understand that too, but no one says anything about it. It's not exactly a friendly topic of conversation.

After a moment, Pari pulls us all together to practice responding to fake broadcasts. It's difficult to do in the van, with everyone being jostled by the constant movement, but she keeps it up for close to an hour to be sure we have a handle on it.

By the time we finish, we're all exhausted and ready to get some sleep. I return to the corner I picked earlier, and Tris sits with me as the others find spots.

When Pari turns the light out, I pull Tris against me, holding her tight to soothe the day's tensions. Even her presence isn't enough to relax me at the moment, but it helps to breathe her scent and to feel her body pressed against mine. We're silent, with the others so close by, but she turns a little in my arms so she can kiss me gently under my jaw. I run my fingers through her hair and tilt her head up, kissing her slowly and deeply. A nervous excitement travels through me at doing something so private when we're in such a public place, but at the same time, it feels good, so good to kiss her right now.

"You two aren't nearly as quiet as you think you are," Peter says snidely after a moment, and we break apart quickly. My first impulse is to strangle him, but I settle for pulling Tris back into my arms and just holding her. She presses the side of her face to my chest and snuggles in to sleep. It takes a long time for slumber to find us, but eventually it does.

When I wake up at three-thirty, the van is quiet and motionless. I disentangle myself carefully from Tris and climb out the door as quietly as possible. There's no way to avoid letting a blast of cold air in, but hopefully it doesn't wake anyone up, and at least I manage to re-latch the door without shaking the vehicle.

As I walk to the front, I notice the SUV sitting dark beside us, and I can just make out the shapes of four people sleeping inside it.

In the front of the van, Marcus sits in the passenger seat, dozing lightly. Amar, on the other hand, looks deeply out of it, his head resting on the steering wheel as he sleeps soundly. I open his door, intending to offer to drive for a while, but I immediately realize my mistake. It's a bad idea to startle someone as deadly as Amar.

I step back quickly, raising my hand automatically to block the inevitable strike. The contact is hard anyway.

"It's Four!" I say loudly, and he pulls his hand back, staring at me for a moment. Then, he swears. Beside him, my father has already jumped to alertness, and he narrows his eyes as he glares at me suspiciously. I ignore him.

"What the hell are you doing?" Amar asks. "You know better than that."

"Sorry. I thought I'd see if we could get moving again with another driver."

Amar looks over at the SUV. "I didn't realize they were back." He runs a hand up the back of his head. "We were sleeping while they went to bomb highway 69. I guess they were too tired to continue when they came back."

"They should have awoken us," Marcus states coldly. "One of us could have driven that vehicle. Instead, we've lost time we couldn't afford to lose." His tone implies that this is somehow my fault. I grit my teeth but don't bother responding. There's never any point in arguing when he gets like this.

Amar calmly addresses him. "I'm still pretty drowsy, so if you can drive the SUV, I'll let Four drive this one for a while."

My father glares for another moment and then departs silently. I don't watch him.

"God, he's an ass," Amar mutters as he slides over to the passenger seat. I chuckle and climb into the driver's seat.

"Every day of my life." As I adjust the seat and mirrors, I ask, "Should I follow the SUV, or are you going to stay awake to be navigator?"

"After the way you woke me, I'll be lucky to sleep again for a year." He grins. "But follow the SUV anyway. That way, they can hit the potholes, and we'll get to avoid them." I'm certainly not going to argue with that.

Amar chats idly as we start moving, bumping and rattling along the broken road. It's miserable driving in conditions like this, but in a way it's better than being in the closed-in back part. At least I can see up here.

"How far along are we?" I ask after a bit.

Amar leans forward to double-check the odometer and says, "About two-thirds of the way to Toledo. We'll stop for gas there, since there are still a lot of working stations in that area."

He settles back into his seat and asks with a yawn, "I assume you learned all about NUSA culture?" When I glance at him, I see a sly smile on his face. He must realize parts of it didn't come easily.

"Yes, apparently I'm a perfect fit for it."

He chuckles. "I'm sure you are, Four."

"You're not supposed to call me that anymore. It seems that standing up straight, being tall and stone-faced, and being called by a number is likely to attract attention."

He grins. "Who would've guessed?" But he turns serious again as he asks, "Are you okay with 'Tobias?' Because we can use a different nickname if you want."

"It's…okay. Half the group already uses that name, so there will be fewer mess-ups if I go by it."

He nods. "I suppose it must not be too bad, or Tris wouldn't call you that."

I feel a touch of red rising up my face. "When I shared it with her, I intended it to be private." I shrug. "But it didn't work out that way."

He laughs. "Things rarely stay private when they're supposed to. When George and I first got together, we didn't want anyone to know. Partly in case it didn't work out, and partly because of the whole push for Divergent people to have kids and pass on the good genes." He shrugs. "Anyway, we thought we were so careful, but then one day Anna casually asked me if I was going to need my room that weekend or if I'd be in George's, because they needed a space for a visitor. She saw right through us."

A smile tugs at my mouth. "That doesn't surprise me. She's a lot like Tris."

"I've noticed." He squirms around a bit, trying to get more comfortable. "Anyway, it worked out fine. She officiated when we exchanged rings a couple of months later."

"A couple of months?" I ask, a bit startled. "Were you in a hurry or something?"

He smiles fondly. "Sometimes, you just know it's right."

I nod, swerving around a particularly large pothole. "Yeah," I say after a moment, "I can understand that."

"That's obvious," he says with a soft chuckle. He evaluates me for a moment before adding, "You two make a good couple, you know. I've seen a lot over the years – ones that worked and ones that didn't – and you two press the right buttons in each other."

I smile a little despite myself. There aren't many people whose opinions I care about in this world, but like it or not, Amar is one of them.

"Think you'll get married?" he asks casually – so casually that it takes a second for me to freeze in response. Then, every muscle in my body goes rigid, and it becomes difficult to steer.

I always swore to myself that I'd never get married, after watching my parents for so many years. Two months ago, I still felt that way, absolutely, unambiguously. But now….

"I don't know," I mutter stiffly. He waits in silence, and I finally admit, "I do think about it, sometimes."

He nods but doesn't say anything else. He's always been better than Zeke about not pushing a subject too far. Still, I'd rather discuss something else, so I eventually say, "I'm surprised George didn't come with us."

There's an odd mixture of sadness and relief in Amar's voice as he answers, "He couldn't. He was captured a while back, and NUSA got all his identifying information on record. It would have been a risk to all of us for him to come."

I nod, thinking about how I'd feel if I were here without Tris. I suppose it would depend on whether I felt she was safer being left behind or not, but with the city coming under attack, that's a hard question to answer.

"Did they pull you out to rescue him?" I ask after a moment.

"No," Amar says with mild surprise. "Marcus actually did that. It was a long time ago."

Every muscle in my body stiffens again. How long ago?

My voice is harsh when I finally find it. "Is that when he got exposed to a high dose of the serum?"

Out of the corner of my eye, I can see Amar's body language shift, tensing up before he forces himself to relax again. "No," he says softly. "He never got a high dose among the rebels. If he got one at all, it was back in Erudite as a teenager, when Jeanine was beginning her experiments. I don't know for certain either way, but it's definitely possible he got one then."

The words stir multiple thoughts at once, and I don't know which direction to follow first. Finally, I say, "That doesn't fit with the timing my mother described."

Amar raises his eyebrows. "What timing would that be?"

I clear my throat and manage to speak. "She said he spent a couple of days in the rebel camp when he first became a leader, and that he was different after that."

Amar thinks for a bit before responding. "That would be when he rescued George... But there's nothing in the records about him being exposed then, and they're really anal about those records." He tenses a bit and adds, "We're not supposed to look at other people's records, by the way, so please don't mention that to anyone. I only looked because I wanted to know more about who I was working with – you know, after seeing your fear landscape."

I nod absently. I don't care that he looked at Marcus' records. I care about whether or not they're accurate, and it sounds like they are. Does that mean my mother was simply wrong, or did the stress of the mission affect him in some other manner? War certainly changes people. Maybe the serum had nothing to do with it after all.

"Anyway," Amar continues, "both of your parents, and Tris' dad for that matter, were friends with Jeanine in Erudite during their school years. We know she began experimenting with the serum around that time, and we know they had a major falling out after that, and all three of them transferred to Abnegation. There was clearly bad feeling between them afterwards, but at the same time, they kept working together, and they stayed tight-lipped about what happened... It's possible all three of them got a hefty dose, or any combination of them, or none."

I nod again, realizing I'll probably never get the full story on that, any more than Tris did before her father died. And that means I'll never know if Marcus' violence was all him or was triggered in any manner.

I remember reading once in a psychology textbook that abusers aren't usually that way early in a relationship. They don't start hitting until after they're married, sometimes after they've had kids. Maybe my father's timing was typical, and it had nothing to do with anything else. Or maybe Jeanine did affect him, or the mission, or both. I clench the steering wheel hard in frustration. I want some explanation, some idea how much to hate Marcus and how much to worry about becoming like him, but I'll probably never get it.

We go over a particularly large bump, and my head hits the ceiling. I swerve around another one.

"When do you think we'll reach Toledo?" I ask, glad of an excuse to change the subject.

"Probably around dawn." Amar yawns, and I realize he's far more tired than he's admitting.

"Why don't you get some sleep?" I tell him. "I'm fine following the SUV, and if you rest now, you can take over later when I'm tired."

He hesitates for a moment but then nods. "Okay, but if you start getting sleepy, wake me up. It helps to talk."

"Of course." And he drifts off, leaving me driving in the darkness, mired in even darker thoughts.