Publisher's Synopsis
Kimjen: My name starts blinking as my worst nightmare becomes real. I AM The Select.As if in the far distance, I see the Overseer hold out his hand to prompt me to enter the spotlight and to move further on-stage. I freeze with horror. Fear keeps me silent as I realize just how afraid I am of the future. I do not want to be Select. In spite of my nearly overwhelming fear, I find myself slowly and softly whispering aloud that I must take the Option to join the Candidate in the tasks. I must take the path that allows me to have a chance for a real choice. Stunned silence reigns as I carefully leave the center stage to The Select's place to await the announcement of the Candidate. Jayjo: Drums roll. I think how much the unfortunate Candidate must be suffering, knowing that he still holds an invitation to the celebration dinner and that the drums must mean that all other potential Candidates have already been shown. I find I pity the poor man. I watch with interest as Protectors enter the crowd and quickly work their way through the mass of tightly packed bodies. A path of sorts clears before them. Two of the Protectors stop directly in front of me and make low bows. They politely request my attendance on the stage. At the same time, my picture is suddenly flashed on the screen with the bold words: "The Candidate." I silently rage in an inner scream. I calmly proceed over to stand beside the Select. We are two people, alone in a crowd. We are two strangers thrown together by circumstances, but who live or die together. On Floer: I hear Kimjen hoarsely calling. Panic immediately seizes me in its grasp and squeezes my heart. Under my breath, I find myself promising all kinds of things if only everything turns out all right. Realizing that I am in the throes of panic, I force myself to calm down and to go toward her, just as quickly, but more quietly. Breaking through the brush, I see Kimjen crouching. She appears to be hiding but I do not know from what. Hearing me approach, she swiftly turns and puts her index finger to her lips while whispering, "Shhhh." Kimjen silently points through the brush. Looking through, I see a beautiful Spikealone. It has vibrant burnt orange hair with sparkling silver streaks running down its sides. Its wings are folded along its back and its arms are raised defensively. It is so beautiful that I unconsciously catch my breath. I notice that it is struggling to remain on its feet and is panting fiercely. I hear a low rumble coming from a short distance away. A Carelfut is softly growling and preparing to continue battle with the gorgeous Spikealone. Its legs are nearly the size of a sturdy tree-trunk and are slowly rippling as muscles flex from side to side. My heart flies into my throat as the Carelfut charges. It belies its size and rushes forward extremely fast. It is more like a blur than a moving creature. With a high-pitched squeal, the Spikealone jumps high into the air, furiously whipping the air with its wings. It continues to flap wildly as two of its arms release spikes directly at the Carelfut's colossal face. None of the missiles appear to make much difference. The Carelfut only bellows a mild reproof. It stands on its hind legs and begins to swirl its front legs in ever increasing circles. With a sickening thump, one of them connected with the Spikealone. One wing stops moving. As if in slow motion, the Spikealone slowly sinks to the ground. I know it will be finished at any moment now. Kimjen softly whispers, "The Spikealone is terribly wounded! I do not think it will win this. I think it is pregnant. Oh, we have to find a way to help it!" The Spikealone is now unable or perhaps is simply too tired to move quickly enough to avoid the terrible destructive power of the Carelfut. "But, what can we do?" I despairingly whisper back.
