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was that going to get me? Suddenly all those hours studying math and writing essays in school felt pretty wasted.
    “Wait,” I said. “I have a skill. I’m a landscaper. I design gardens and know how to care for pretty much anything that grows. They say I’ve got a green thumb.”
    That was totally overselling my abilities. The truth was I mowed and raked grass for my dad’s gardening business. I knew a little bit about fertilizer and how to trim plants to keep them looking good, but that was about it.
    “ IRRELEVANT ,” the machine said.
    Gee, thanks.
    “What happened to my mother and my friends?”
    As soon as I said that, I regretted it. This machine didn’t know who I was. If it connected me with the others there was a better chance we’d all be found out. But I couldn’t help myself. Without my friends I wasn’t sure how I’d have enough strength to go on.
    “ YOU NO LONGER HAVE A MOTHER AND FRIENDS , ” the machine said. “ YOU ARE ZERO THREE ONE ONE. THAT IS YOU R HISTORY AND YOUR F UTURE. ”
    I wanted to jump out of my chair and throttle this person, or whatever it was. But there was nothing to grab on to but glowing white letters that came and went as if blown by the wind.
    “ D O NOT SPEAK WITH AIR FORCE PERSO NNEL UNLESS YOU ARE REQUESTED TO SPEAK. D O NOT COMMUNICATE WI TH THE OTHER WORKERS UNLESS IT REGARDS T HE TASK AT HAND. THER E ARE SEVERE CONSEQU ENCES FOR DISOBEDIEN CE. ”
    I didn’t have to question that. I believed it.
    “ YOU WILL SLEEP I N A COMMUNITY BARRAC KS AND EAT IN A COMM UNITY HALL. YOU WILL NOT SLEEP IN THE SAM E BUNK TWICE SO DO N OT HOARD PERSONAL IT EMS. ”
    This was going to be even more horrible than prison. They were taking away everything that made a person unique, starting with their name. “ WHAT YOU WERE B EFORE ARRIVING HERE DOES NOT MATTER; THER EFORE NAMES ARE IRRE LEVANT. WORK HARD, OBE Y THE RULES, AND THE REST OF YOUR LIFE WI LL BE WORRY-FREE. ”
    “Yeah, except it probably won’t last very much longer.”
    “ GOODBYE, ZERO THREE ONE ONE. ”
    The door to the igloo slid open. I shielded my eyes from the bright light and saw the Retro guard waiting outside for me. I stood and shuffled out.
    “So I guess I’m registered,” I said. “Now what?”
    The guy zapped me with the baton.
    I screamed, but it was more out of surprise than pain. His weapon was dialed to shoot a very light charge . . . just enough to keep the rowdy in line.
    “Do not speak,” the guard warned. “I’ll bring you to your unit.”
    There wasn’t anything else I could do but follow the guy. If there was any hope of finding out what happened to my mom and my friends, I was going to have to play along . . . at least until I saw a chance to escape. As I followed the Retro guard through this frightening new world, there was only one thing I knew for sure: I was not going to live out the rest of my life as a slave to these murderers. That would have to become my focus because all hope of bringing down the Retros was gone.
    The guard led me through several more buildings that were connected by wooden walkways. Each time we left one building we stepped out into the blazing-hot desert. After a few steps we’d enter the next long building in line. It wasn’t much cooler inside the structures than out in the open. Each building had ceiling fans that didn’t do any more than push the hot air around, but it was still better than being under the sun.
    The buildings we passed through were nearly identical. They were barracks similar to the wooden hospital ward but with one big difference: The beds here were empty. The buildings themselves looked and smelled brand-new. The wooden beams were fresh and there was none of the grime that came from use. It looked to me as if the Retros were preparing for an influx of more people. Many more people.
    When we were given the briefing back in Las Vegas before setting out to sabotage the Retro fleet of planes, the leaders of the survivors said