Determinant
[dih-tur-muh-nuhnt]
noun
1. A factor that decisively affects the nature or outcome of something
2. Biology: a gene or other factor that determines the character and development of a cell or group of cells in an organism, a set of which forms an individual's idiotype
3. Mathematics: a quantity obtained by the addition of products of the elements of a square matrix according to a given rule
adjective
Serving to determine or decide something
Chapter 38: Tobias – Determinant
The alarm still blares as we dart down narrow hallways between rows of cubicles, gray panels surrounding us in all directions. Their walls are a couple of inches shorter than I am, which has its pros and cons. I have to keep my head ducked down as we run to make sure I'm not seen, but as we reach each "intersection," all I have to do is stand on my toes to peer over the corner, checking if the way ahead is clear. It feels safer looking from above like that – I know from years of being taller than average that people tend to look straight ahead and miss movements that are higher up.
We cover quite a bit of ground without encountering anyone, and I'm beginning to think that the alarm is only sounding because Margot and Peter are attacking the twentieth floor, and that they succeeded in giving us a free path here. But we certainly can't rely on that. So little has gone right on this mission that it would be foolish to assume now is any different.
As we prepare to turn left again, that pessimism proves to be accurate. There's a soldier standing guard halfway down the hallway we want, machine gun in hand. Shit. There weren't any soldiers on this floor when I checked the cameras earlier – just security guards – but his uniform and gun are different from those. Reinforcements have obviously been sent to this floor, which means something has gone very wrong. For a moment, I can't help but worry about the others, but I push it away. Either they're alive or they're not – letting the thought distract me helps no one.
Christina starts to step forward, gun ready, but I throw my arm out to block her while I try to think of how to proceed. Unfortunately, our choices are limited. The soldier is too far away for a clean shot with our handguns, but we're well within range of his machine gun, so it's a bad idea to fire at him. If we can get across this "intersection" without being seen, we can take the next left instead, since the hallways form a grid system through this whole area. But it's unlikely that all three of us can cross here without him seeing us. Besides, there's probably someone in the next corridor too. We're very close to the Control Computer at this point, so it's a sure bet that every hallway is guarded.
No, somehow we need to find a way to get close to the soldier without being noticed. My eyes roam to my companions automatically, looking out of habit for her to come up with an idea. But she's not here, and it's hardly surprising that Marcus and Christina seem to be as clueless as I am. I force my gaze away from them, turning to the sea of cubicles around us, and slowly a thought begins to form. Maybe it's possible to go over instead of around….
I do some quick mental calculations, pausing as I remember that Christina's leg isn't fully healed yet and that my father is twenty years older than I am. I guess this task is up to me.
"Wait here," I say, speaking just loudly enough for them to hear me over the sound of the alarm. Christina shakes her head immediately, frowning, and Marcus grips my arm to stop me. I try not to wince, knowing that he's not planning to hurt me right now – it's more the opposite. They feel the need to protect me, so I can complete this mission. But there's no time for that.
"I know what I'm doing," I tell them firmly, pulling myself free and moving quickly back the way we came. I try to picture this floor from a bird's eye view, thinking of it as city blocks on a grid, and I picture the location of the Control Computer on that mental map, along with the soldier I need to reach. I turn right into the next hallway, moving halfway up the "block" before I stop. If I've estimated this correctly, the soldier should be one "block" – or two cubicles – to my right. There's no direct hallway between us, but that works to my advantage.
I step into the cubicle on my right, climbing on the desk and peering over its back wall. As expected, there's an adjoining cubicle on that side. From here, I can't see the soldier, but hopefully that means he can't see me either. In a single fluid motion, I swing myself over the partition wall and onto the desk on the other side of it. I'm only exposed above the wall for a second.
Crouching down, I move along the L-shaped desk until I can peer over the wall into the hallway beyond. Sure enough, the soldier is there, roughly ten feet away, his back to me as he surveys the corridor. I'm aiming as he turns around, but it's clear he doesn't see me. He's too busy looking down the hallway at the usual height, watching for threats from the only directions he expects. He dies without ever knowing I'm there.
After he falls, I wait for a moment to see if anyone else comes, but the coast stays clear. The noise of the alarm must have sufficiently covered the gunshot. I drag the body into the cubicle, hiding him to make our presence on this floor less obvious, and I take his gun and ammunition. It's far superior to the handguns we have, particularly with our diminishing supply of bullets.
Checking one more time for enemies, I race back to collect Christina and Marcus. They jump as I round the corner from this direction, clearly uncertain how I got here, but at least they don't shoot me. I hand Christina the machine gun and ammunition before leading the way down the corridor, past the dead soldier and beyond. We're so close to our goal now – I know from the broadcast earlier that we just need to take a right at the end of this hallway, and the room will be one "block" down, on the left.
Nervous excitement builds as we reach the end of the hallway. I'm so ready for this whole mission to be done. But as I peer over the corner to the right, and I can finally see the door we want, my excitement changes to dread. There are too many people there. The cameras only showed two guards earlier, but since then they've been joined by a group of soldiers who are watching all directions. There's no good way for us to approach.
Gesturing to Marcus and Christina, I move back a little ways and into the shelter of a cubicle, quickly explaining what I saw. Their expressions are grim.
"Can't we take another hallway?" Christina asks. "There are a bunch of them that run parallel to this one."
My father shakes his head at the same time I do, and I ignore the sick feeling that goes through me at the unintentional mirroring. I keep acting like him today, and that's the one thing I've always most wanted to avoid.
"There will be guards in those hallways, too," Marcus states flatly. "And we still need to get into the room itself, so we must pass through the soldiers regardless."
Christina turns to me, clearly annoyed by the vague scorn on my father's face. "How did you get around that soldier earlier?" she asks.
For some reason, the question makes me smile, just a bit. I guess it's because one of her friends is talking to me again. I point to the back of the cubicle as I respond. "I jumped the wall from the next hallway over."
For a full second, Christina stares at me, clearly wondering why she didn't think of something that simple, and then she grins with what I can only describe as Dauntless appreciation of a good stunt. I can't help grinning back.
But what catches my attention is the way my father is watching me. I have never – not once in my life – seen him look at me with approval, but he is now. I have no idea how to react.
"I believe that gives us a plan," he states with a trace of pride. "The two of you can use that technique to get to the next hallway, which will place you right outside the entrance to the Control Computer. Once you are there, I will begin attacking the soldiers from the end of this hallway. That should cause sufficient distraction for Tobias to cross the next hallway and leap to the one beyond it." He looks at me as he continues. "Once you are there, you should begin firing too. With attacks coming from both sides, the guards are likely to abandon the door itself, which is too exposed. They will enter the hallway where Christina is, to use it as shelter from our attacks, and she can take them out from behind."
We're silent for a moment, digesting that. It's a good plan, all things considered, though I don't like that Christina is getting the riskiest part of it. Still, I'm not sure there's a choice. She's undoubtedly a better shot than my father, and none of this will amount to anything if I don't get to that computer. It makes sense for her to take the role Marcus is suggesting.
But unlike my father, I'm not willing to order someone on what could be a suicide mission, so instead I meet Christina's eyes and wait for her to voice an opinion. Her response is what has always been best about my second faction. The corner of her mouth lifts in a half smile as she says, "Good thing I know how to be brave." She straightens her head and shoulders with unmistakable Dauntless pride, and despite myself, I smile a little back. At times like this, I think maybe there's something to be said for the factions after all.
I nod, moving a few more cubicles down, Christina at my heels, before I repeat my stunt of leaping the partition. She follows me with almost no difficulty, and I feel bad about judging her by her leg injury earlier. She hasn't let it stop her yet this entire trip.
We crouch out of sight, waiting for Marcus to begin firing. It doesn't take long. I wait another minute to ensure he has the guards' full attention, listening to their shouting and the sound of return gunfire before I peer over the top of the wall. No one is looking this way, so I go quickly, crossing the hallway in a single flash of movement. I wait again, my heart pounding. If anyone saw me, this whole plan goes to hell. But there's no change in the sounds, and after another minute, I dare to check again. We're still clear.
In an instant, I'm on the desk and over the next partition and am looking at the soldiers from that hallway. Their attention is on my father, so I take the opportunity to race to the end cubicle, sheltering inside it and firing carefully over the wall. I take two of them out before they realize they've come under attack from a second source. They're clearly having trouble spotting me, and I catch a third one before the others back away, retreating toward the hallway where Christina is hidden. It's working….
It doesn't take long before the sound of a machine gun begins from Christina's position, followed by more yelling and the sound of footsteps scattering.
It's difficult to tell in which direction they're running, but after another moment I risk peering over the wall again. The guards and soldiers have conglomerated close to Marcus' position, apparently deciding that's the least deadly option. They're aiming everywhere, shifting wildly back and forth as they attempt to defend themselves. They clearly have no idea that they still outnumber us.
I eliminate one more before I'm startled by the sound of gunfire coming from right beside my cubicle. From this angle, I can't see the shooter.
Carefully, I slip down from the desk and make my way to the entrance of the cubicle, looking around the doorframe with my gun extended and my heart pounding. An enormous surge of relief goes through me as I recognize Uriah and Peter's backs. They're standing at the edge of the "intersection," using the outer walls of my cubicle as shelter while they fire around the corner at our enemies. I don't know where they came from, or how long they've been nearby, but I'm more than a little glad to see them.
"It's Four," I say loudly enough for them to hear me over the sound of the wailing alarm and the continued gunfire as I step closer to them. Despite my words, they spin toward me, guns raised, before realizing I'm who I said I was.
Uriah's face breaks into a huge grin. "Thank God," he says. "I thought I was going to have to do the broadcast."
I smile back briefly, but I don't take the time to answer, not while the others are still under fire. Instead, I zip back into the cubicle so I can resume firing over its wall. Peter follows me, imitating my technique to shoot from right beside me while Uriah continues to battle from the hallway. To my left, I can still hear the sound of Christina's machine gun.
It only takes a few more minutes to eliminate the remaining troops. I remain in position, covering my father and Christina as they emerge from their hiding spots to ensure everyone is dead. My father removes a machine gun from one of the lifeless soldiers, training it on the others as he checks them. When he finally turns toward us and gives the all-clear signal, I feel a swoop of victory going through my gut. We may succeed at this thing after all.
I don't see what happens next, because I'm in the process of hopping down from the desk and moving toward the cubicle entrance. But I hear the sudden sound of multiple machine guns and Marcus' voice shouting orders. By the time I scramble back up to where I can see, my father and Christina have both disappeared from view, and I catch just a glimpse of several soldiers following them down the hallway Marcus was hiding in earlier. Reinforcements have obviously arrived, and the two of them are drawing the attack away from us. More accurately, away from me. They're giving me this chance to get to the computer, and I hesitate only a second before taking it.
Peter follows me without question as I leap down from the desk and race into the hallway, heading straight for the Control Computer. Uriah looks torn for a second as I pass him, obviously hating to leave the others in so much danger, but he comes too.
I'm in the doorway when I hear my father's cry of pain. Somehow, it carries to me over the sounds of the alarm and the pat-pat-pat of the machine guns. Maybe it's because I spent so many years listening for his voice, trying to avoid hearing it filled with anger, or maybe there's some instinct that connects us to family at times like this, no matter what they've done to erase that title. Either way, his scream carries to me, and in that instant, I know that he's been shot. And a moment later, something inside me knows, beyond any doubt whatsoever, that he's dead.
I've imagined my father's death many times during my life. As a boy, I fantasized about killing him, about getting rid of my tormentor once and for all. When Abnegation was attacked, I was sure his time had come, and I was even more certain after the Erudite found us in Amity. And each time, I had no idea how to feel. Now, despite the fact that time seems to have stopped, and it seems like I have forever to decide how I should react, I still don't know. All of his wrongs seem to be at war with the approval in his eyes the last time he looked at me, and the fact that he died as he asked the others to do – for this mission. And maybe for me. I can at least honor that sacrifice.
Holding my gun in front of me, I enter the Control Room. Fortunately, there's no one here, and I practically dive for the equipment, my fingers racing to set everything up as quickly as possible. It's not difficult, since the apparatus is familiar to me from the broadcast and since it's not that different from the equipment we practiced on back in the bomb shelter.
"Give me a hand!" I snap at Uriah. We can set this up faster with two of us. But he still doesn't move, and I finally glance up, startled to see him aiming his weapon at Peter. The two of them are glaring at each other, each targeting the other.
"Four is doing the transmission," Uriah states tensely. "Got that?" It takes a second, but then I understand his concern. For whatever reasons, he thinks that Peter wants to do the broadcast in my place. I can't say it occurred to me before, but now that I think about it, that seems like a Peter kind of thing to do. After all, he could put himself in charge of the entire country that way. It might even be why he wanted to come on this mission.
I pause as I wonder if this is going to be a problem. But then Peter's eyes narrow and he responds, "Of course he does it." He deliberately turns away from Uriah and aims his gun at the door. "You think I want to be responsible for a nation's morality?"
I don't know whether to believe him or not, but I've already spent too long debating this. My fingers go back to work, racing to finish this thing once and for all. I'll have to trust that Uriah can keep Peter under control.
It only takes a minute to finish the prep work, and then I practically leap into the control chair, slapping electrodes onto the appropriate spots on my head before I reach out and press the final key on the computer. I should be "live" now.
At that exact moment, the door bursts open, gunshots ringing out. My muscles tense.
"Stop!" I shout, mentally and vocally. "Stop shooting each other. Stop killing. Stop hurting people. Just stop everything and listen to me." The room goes silent, only the sound of the alarm carrying in from beyond the door. But I don't look to see what just happened. I can't afford any distractions right now.
"It is time to change things," I continue fiercely, putting as much feeling into the signal as I can. This part of the message is what Anna taught me back in the bomb shelter, and I remember her emphasis that the message has to be strong to work. So, I do the only thing I can to make it powerful – I let myself think of Tris, letting her image fill me with conflicting emotions. And I draw strength from her as I always have.
"Your government has been lying to you. For your entire life, they have been manipulating you through broadcasts like this one. You were never allowed to talk about it, but you know you have been receiving these transmissions every day. They have been telling you what to think, and how to behave, and who to be. That ends now."
"It is time for every single one of you to rise up and reclaim your government – and your freedom. Every soldier in the NUSA military should return to this country. Chicago is not a threat to you, and you must not attack it. Instead, you need to take your leaders into custody. They must face trial for the crimes they have committed against all of you. It is your job now to arrest them and to keep them in prison where they cannot harm anyone else. Do not obey any more orders from them, ever again!"
I almost begin the next part of the message out of habit, from all the times I repeated it in the bomb shelter. I know exactly what I'm supposed to say – the names I'm supposed to put in charge and what I'm supposed to say about them – but I stop short of actually delivering that part. The problem is that I still don't believe in it fully, and that means it won't be strong enough to work. And the doubts I had an hour ago are still there. How do I know I can trust these people to be any better than the leaders I'm ousting?
I cast my mind around, trying to come up with an alternative, wishing again that Tris was here. She would know what to say. But I stuck myself with this job the moment I slammed my fist into her. Suddenly, Peter's words echo in my head. You think I want to be responsible for a nation's morality? I don't want that any more than he does, but that's exactly what I need to do. I need to provide something to help these people move forward, something to replace the ethics their corrupt government instilled in them. Something to make them care about others and to give them the tools to build a better future.
In that moment, an idea clicks into place, and I know immediately that it's what I need to do. It goes against every instinct I have for guarding my privacy and keeping my secrets, but it's unquestionably the right choice.
"It will be difficult to form a new government," I broadcast as powerfully as I can. "But this is also an opportunity to create a better life for all of you. To do that, you must all work together. More than that, you must learn to reach beyond what you have been taught. You must learn to be a better person, to be the person you would have been if your government had not manipulated you. That is not easy, but you can begin by embracing five traits."
I let Tris' image fill my mind again, even more fully than a moment ago. I focus on all the things she does right, all the things that make her unique, all the things that I love about her. And then I begin. The first words are for myself as much as for the millions of people I'm addressing.
"Be brave."