The news cycle ends abruptly. I straighten when I see the next bit of footage: The new Elector is about to give his first live speech to the public.
I hesitate, then glance over at Kaede. She seems to be sleeping pretty soundly. I get up, cross the room on light feet, then skim a finger across the monitor to turn up the volume.
The sound is tiny, but enough for me to hear. I watch as Anden (or rather, the Elector Primo) steps gracefully up to the podium. He nods to the usual barrage of government-appointed reporters in front of him. He looks exactly the way I remember him, a younger version of his father, with slender glasses and a regal tilt to his chin, dressed impeccably in a formal, gold-trimmed black uniform with double rows of shining buttons.
“Now is a time of great change. Our resolve is being tested more than ever, and the war with our enemy has reached a climax,” he says. He speaks as though his father hadn’t died, as if he had always been our Elector Primo. “We have won our last three warfront battles and seized three of the Colonies’ southern cities. We are on the brink of victory, and it won’t be long before the Republic spans to the edge of the Atlantic Ocean. It is our manifest destiny.”
He goes on, reassuring the people of our military’s strength and promising later announcements about changes he wants to implement—who knows how much of it is true. I go back to studying his face. His voice is not unlike his father’s, but I find myself drawn to the sincerity in it. Twenty years old. Maybe he actually believes everything he’s saying, or maybe he just does a great job of hiding his doubts. I wonder how he feels about his father’s death, and how he is able, at press conferences like this, to pull himself together enough to play his role. No doubt Congress is eager to manipulate such a young new Elector, to try to run the show behind the scenes and push him around like a chess piece. Based on what Razor said, they must be clashing daily. Anden might be as power- hungry as his father was if he refuses to listen to the Senate at all.
What exactly are the differences between Anden and his father? What does Anden think the Republic should be—and for that matter, what do I think it should be?
I mute the screen again and walk away. Don’t dwell too deeply on who Anden is. I can’t think about him as if he were a real person—a person I have to kill.
Finally, as the first rays of dawn start spilling into the room, Tess comes out of the bedroom with the news that Day is awake and alert. “He’s in good shape,” she says to Kaede. “Right now he’s sitting up, and he should be able to walk around in a few hours.” Then she sees me and her smile fades. “Um. You can see him if you want.”
Kaede cracks open an eye, shrugs, and goes back to sleep. I give Tess the friendliest smile I can manage, then take a deep breath and head for the bedroom.
Day is propped up with pillows and covered up to his chest with a thick blanket. He must be tired, but he still winks when he sees me walk in, a gesture that makes my heart skip a beat. His hair spills around him in a shining circle. A few bent paper clips lie in his lap (taken from the supply boxes in the corner—I guess he did get up). Apparently he was in the middle of making something out of them. I let out a sigh of relief when I can tell that he’s not in any pain. “Hey,” I say to him. “Glad to see you’re alive.”
“Glad to see I’m alive too,” he replies. His eyes follow me as I sit down next to him on the bed. “Did I miss anything while I was out?”
“Yeah. You missed listening to Kaede snore on the couch. For someone always ducking the law, that girl sure sleeps soundly.”
Day laughs a little. I marvel again at his high spirits, something I haven’t seen much of over the last few weeks. My gaze wanders to where the blanket covers his healing leg. “How is it?”
Day scoots the blanket aside. Underneath, there are plates of smooth metal (steel and titanium) where his wound had been. The Medic also replaced his bad knee with an artificial one, and now a good third of his leg is metallic. He reminds me of the soldiers who come back from the warfront, with their synthetic hands and arms and legs, metal where skin used to be. The Medic must be very familiar with war injuries. No doubt Razor’s officer connections helped her obtain something as expensive as the healing salves she must have used on Day. I put out my open palm, and he puts his hand in mine.
“How does it feel?”
Day shakes his head incredulously. “It feels like nothing. Completely light and painless.” A mischievous grin crosses his face. “Now you’ll get to see how I can really run a building, darling. Not even a cracked knee to hold me back, yeah? What a nice birthday present.”
“Birthday? I didn’t know. Happy belated,” I say with a smile. My eyes go to the paper clips strewn across his lap. “What are you doing?”
“Oh.” Day picks up one of the things he’s making, something that looks like a metal circle. “Just passing the time.” He holds the circle up to the light, and then takes my hand. He presses it into my palm. “A gift for you.”
I study it more closely. It’s made of four unfurled paper clips carefully entwined around one another in a spiral, and pulled together end to end so they form a tiny ring. Simple and neat. Artistic, even. I can see love and care in the twists of metal, the little bends where Day’s fingers worked on the wire over and over until it formed the right curves. He made it for me. I push it onto my finger and it slides effortlessly into place. Gorgeous. I’m bashful, flattered into complete silence. Can’t remember the last time anyone actually made something for me on his own.
Day seems disappointed by my reaction, but hides it behind a careless laugh. “I know you rich folks have all your fancy traditions, but in the poor sectors, engagements and gestures of affection usually go like this.”
Engagements? My heart flutters in my chest. I can’t help smiling. “With paper clip rings?”
Oh no. I’d meant it as an honest question of curiosity, but don’t realize I sound sarcastic until the words are already out of my mouth.
Day blushes a little; I’m immediately angry at myself for slipping up again. “With something handmade,” he corrects me after a beat. He’s looking down, clearly embarrassed, and I feel horrible for having triggered it. “Sorry it’s kind of stupid- looking,” he says in a low voice. “Wish I could make something nicer for you.”
“No, no,” I interrupt, trying to fix what I just said. “I really like it.” I run my fingers over the tiny ring, keeping my eyes fixed on it so I don’t have to meet Day’s eyes. Does he assume that I don’t think it’s good enough? Say something, June. Anything. My details come bubbling up. “Unplated galvanized steel wiring. This is good material, you know. Sturdier than the alloy ones, still bendy, and won’t rust. It’s—”
I stop when I see Day’s withering stare. “I like it,” I repeat. Idiotic reply, June. Why don’t you punch him in the face while you’re at it. I turn even more flustered when I remember that I have actually pistol-whipped him in the face before. Romantic.
“You’re welcome,” he says, shoving a couple of the unbent paper clips into his pockets.
There’s a long pause. I’m not sure what he wanted me to say back, but it probably wasn’t a list of a paper clip’s physical properties. Suddenly unsure of myself, I draw closer and rest my head against Day’s chest. He takes a quick breath, as if I’d caught him by surprise, and then he drapes his arm gently around me. There, that’s better. I close my eyes. One of his hands combs through my hair, sending goose bumps down my arms, and I allow myself to indulge in a little moment of fantasy—I imagine him running a finger along my jaw line, bringing his face down to mine.
Day leans over my ear. “How are you feeling about the plan?” he whispers.
I shrug, shoving my disappointment away. Stupid of me to fantasize about kissing Day at a time like this. “Has anyone told you what you’re supposed to do?”
“No. But I’m sure there’s going to be some kind of national broadcast to tell the country I’m still alive. I’m supposed to stir up trouble, right? Work the people into
a frenzy?” Day laughs dryly, but his face doesn’t look amused. “Whatever gets me to Eden, I guess.”
“I guess,” I say.
He pulls me upright then, so that I face him. “I don’t know if they’ll let us communicate with each other,” he says. His voice drops so low I can barely hear it. “The plan sounds good, but if something goes wrong—”
“They’ll keep a close eye on me, I’m sure,” I interrupt him. “Razor’s a Republic officer. He can find a way to get me out if it starts falling apart. As for communications . . .” I bite my lip, thinking. “I’ll come up with something.”
Day touches my chin, bringing me closer until his nose brushes mine. “If anything goes wrong, if you change your mind, if you need help, you send a signal, you hear me?”
His words send shivers down my neck. “Okay,” I whisper.
Day gives me a subtle nod, then pulls away and leans back against his pillows. I let out my breath. “Are you ready?” he asks. There’s more to his sentence, I can tell, but he doesn’t say it. Are you ready to kill the Elector?
I give him a forced grin. “Ready as I’ll ever be.”
We stay like that for a long time, until the light filtering in from the windows is bright and we hear the morning pledge blaring out across the city. Finally, I hear the front door swing open and close, and then Razor’s voice. Footsteps approach the bedroom, and Razor peeks in right as I straighten and sit up.
“How’s that leg of yours?” he asks Day. His face is as calm as ever, his eyes expressionless behind his glasses.
Day nods. “Good.”
“Excellent.” Razor smiles sympathetically. “I hope you’ve had enough time with your boy, Ms. Iparis. We’re moving out in an hour.”
“I thought the Medic wanted me to rest it for—” Day starts to say.
“Sorry,” Razor replies as he turns away. “We have an airship to catch. Don’t push that leg too hard just yet.”
THE PATRIOTS DISGUISE ME BEFORE WE HEAD OUT.
Kaede cuts my hair so it stops right below my shoulders, then she tints the white-blond strands a dark brownish red. She uses some sort of spray to do it, something they can remove with a special cleanser if they need to strip the color out. Razor gives me a pair of brown contact lenses that completely hide the bright blue of my eyes. Only I can tell that it’s artificial; I can still see the tiny, tiny specks of deep purple dotting my irises. These contacts are a luxury in themselves—rich trots use them to change their eye color—for fun. They would’ve come in handy for me on the streets if I’d had access to them. Kaede adds a synthetic scar to my cheek, then finishes off my disguise with a first-year air force uniform; a full black suit with red stripes running along each pant leg.
Finally, she equips me with a tiny flesh-colored earpiece and mike—the first embedded discreetly in my ear, the second inside my cheek.
Razor himself is decked out in a custom Republic officer uniform. Kaede wears a flawless flight outfit—a black jumpsuit with silver wing stripes wrapped around both sleeves, matching white condor gloves, and wing goggles. She’s not a Pilot in the Patriots for nothing—according to Razor, she can pull off a split-S in the air better than anyone he’s ever seen. Kaede should have no trouble posing as a Republic fighter pilot.
Tess is already gone, whisked away half an hour ago by a soldier who Razor says is another Patriot. Tess is too young to pass as a soldier of any level, so getting her onto the RS Dynasty means dressing her in a simple brown collar shirt and trousers, the outfit of workers who operate the airship’s hundreds of stoves.
And then there’s June.
June quietly watches my transformation from the couch. She hasn’t said much since our last conversation over my recovery bed. While the rest of us have our various getups, June is unchanged—no makeup, her eyes still dark and penetrating, her hair still pulled back in that shiny tail. She’s dressed in the plain cadet uniform Razor gave us last night. In fact, June doesn’t look all that different from the photo on her military ID. She’s the only one of us who isn’t equipped with a mike and earpiece, for obvious reasons. I try to catch her gaze a few times while Kaede works on my appearance.
Less than an hour later, we head down the main Vegas strip in Razor’s officer jeep. We pass several of the first pyramids—the Alexandria dock, the Luxor, the Cairo, the Sphinx. All named after some ancient pre-Republic civilization, or at least that’s what we were taught back when the Republic actually allowed me in school. They look different during the day, with their bright beacon lights off and edges unlit, looming like giant black tombs in the middle of the desert. Soldiers bustle in and out of their entrances. It’s good to see so much activity—all the better for us to blend in. I go over our own uniforms again. Polished and authentic. I can’t get used to it, even though June and I have technically been passing as soldiers for weeks. The collar scratches at my neck, and the sleeves feel way too stiff. I don’t know how June could stand wearing this stuff all the time. Does she at least like how it looks on me? My shoulders do seem a little broader.
“Stop tugging on your uniform,” June whispers when she sees me fiddling with the edges of my military jacket. “You’re messing up its alignment.”
It’s the most I’ve heard her say in an hour. “You’re just as nervous,” I reply.
June hesitates, then turns away again. Her jaw is clenched as if to keep herself from blurting something out. “Just trying to help,” she mutters.
After a while, I reach over to squeeze her hand once. She squeezes back.
Finally, we reach the Pharaoh, the landing dock where the RS Dynasty is resting. Razor ushers us out, then has us stand at attention. Only June falls out of line, stopping beside Razor and facing off to one side of the street. I watch her discreetly.
A second later, another soldier melts from the crowd and nods at Razor, then at June, who straightens her shoulders, joins up behind the soldier, and disappears back into the street crowd. Out of sight, just like that. I exhale, hollowed out by her sudden absence.
I won’t see her again until the whole thing’s over. If it all goes well. Don’t think like that. It will go well.
We head inside with the tides of other soldiers filing into and out of the Pharaoh. The interior is huge; beyond the main entrance, the ceiling stretches all the way up to the top of the pyramid and ends with the base of the RS Dynasty, where I can see tiny figures boarding through a maze of ramps and walkways. Rows of barrack doors line each level of the pyramid’s sides. Long marquees of text run across each wall with a never-ending onslaught of departure and arrival times. Diagonal elevators run along each of the pyramid’s four main edges.
Here, Razor leaves us behind. One second he’s walking ahead, and the next he takes an abrupt turn through the crowds and melts in with the sea of uniforms. Kaede continues walking without hesitation, but slows enough so we’re side by side. I can barely see her lips move, but her voice echoes with razor-sharp clarity from my earpiece.
“Razor will board the Dynasty with the other officers, but we can’t go in with the soldiers or we’ll get ID’d. So sneaking in is our next best option—”
My eyes go up to the airship’s base, skimming across the nooks and crannies lining its sides. I think back on the time when I broke into a grounded airship and stole two bags’ worth of canned food. Or the time I sank a smaller airship in Los Angeles’s lake by flooding its engines. For both cases, there was one easy way of getting in undetected. “The garbage chutes,” I murmur back through my own mike.
Kaede gives me a quick, approving grin. “Spoken like a true Runner.”
We make our way through the crowds until we reach an elevator terminal at one of the pyramid’s corners. Here we blend in with the small group clustered in front of the elevator door. Kaede clicks her mike off to make small talk with me, and I’m careful not to make eye contact with the other soldiers. So many of them are younger than I’d imagined, even close to my age, and several already have permanent injuries
—metal limbs like my own, a missing ear, a hand covered with burn scars. I glance up again at the Dynasty, this time long enough to note all the garbage chute openings along the side of the hull. If we’re going to shimmy our way up into this airship, we’re going to have to do it fast.
Soon the elevator comes. We take the nauseating ride up the diagonal side of the pyramid, then wait at the top while everyone else files out. We exit last. As the others scatter to either side of the top hall leading toward the airship’s entrance ramps, Kaede turns to me.
“One more flight for us,” she says, nodding toward a narrower set of stairs at the end of the hall that lead up to the pyramid’s inside ceiling. I study it quietly. She’s right. These stairs go right up into the ceiling (and probably lead up to the roof), and all along this ceiling are mazes of metal scaffolding and crisscrossing support beams. From here, the docked airship’s back side casts a shadow across the ceiling that swathes this part of it in darkness. If we can leap off the middle of this last flight of stairs and climb up into that mess of metal beams, we can make our way over to the airship undetected in the shadows and climb up the dark side of the hull. Plus, the air vents are noisy this close up. That, along with the noise and bustle of the base, should mask any sounds we make.
Here’s hoping my new leg holds up. I stomp down on it twice to test it. It doesn’t hurt, but there’s a little pressure where my flesh meets the metal, like it hasn’t completely fused yet. Still, I can’t help smiling. “This’ll be fun, yeah?” I say. I’m almost back in my element, at least for a moment, back where I’m at my best.
We make our way up into the shadowy stairs, and then each of us takes the short leap up into the scaffolding and climbs into the beams. Kaede’s first. She struggles a little with her bandaged arm, but manages to get a good grip after some shuffling. Then it’s my turn. I swing effortlessly up into the beams and weave my body into the shadows. Leg’s good so far. Kaede watches me approvingly.