I need to burn something to get ash. But what? Everything is made to last forever now. Parts don’t rub off or break or splinter or burn. My dress is inflammable, as are the curtains and rug and everything else in the entire city. Then I glance down at the notebook. I am holding perhaps the only thing on the planet that can still burn. I can’t bring myself to rip out another piece, so, reluctantly, I pull out the paper with the code and tear off the bottom half. The sound is just as painful this time.
I turn my digi-pen to the maximum heat setting, the one reserved only for emergencies, and focus the beam on the paper in my hand.
I realize a second too late how stupid that was, as the heat instantly burns a hole clear through the paper and keeps going. I yelp as my palm turns red and the skin actually sizzles. I ball up the wet hem of my dress and clutch it in my palm to ease the pain. A second later, though, the pain is gone. The medi-bots in my cells have done their job. I unclench my fist. The red spot has completely faded away.
More carefully this time, I burn the paper until I get a pile of ash big enough. I wring out a few drops of water from my dress and stir. Using the tip of my fingernail, I try not shake too much as I copy the code from the letter. The color is darker than the original ink, and the ash smears a bit on the page, but it will have to do. I’m not entirely certain that I got all the numbers and letters correct, either.
I calmly tape the notebook back in place, already missing the feel of it in my hands. There’s no longer a reason to hurry. Or to sneak out the back.
So I walk straight out the door into the dark, empty hall, fully expecting a guard to jump out before I make it to the elevator. But no one does. Odd. I keep going. No one is in the elevator, either. I consider taking it to the first tunnel, then the second, but I let the elevator continue to descend until I’m on the ground floor. I haven’t been alone on the surface in years. Maybe ever.
As I step out into the stagnant night air, now misty from the rain, it’s all I can do not to laugh. This is absurd! The lights of the few hovercars nearby twinkle only a few yards above my head. If I didn’t know better, I’d say I had to be dreaming. But my dreams are always scattered things, snippets of scenes from the brain-numbing events I’d been made to sit through that day. I couldn’t possibly have dreamt up a night like this.
Then again … there is the pesky matter that no one has come to arrest me for theft, or even stopped me for sneaking around in the middle of the night where I don’t belong. I straighten my dress and grin. I’m just going to pretend it’s a dream and finish out the mission. Otherwise the fear will overtake me. I walk down the dark streets toward the spot where I’m supposed to drop off my digi-pen, grinning like a fool. Unbelievably, I spot the same strolling couple that I saw earlier in one of the tunnels and give them a wave. They wave back. They are friendly dream people. Not like the ransackers. They weren’t nice at all.
I may be losing my mind, but I’m so very tired. I’ve never been awake for this many hours in a row. It’s messing with my brain.
I soon reach the fake tree and take a minute to delete all my personal data. Every image I’ve ever snapped, every song I’ve sang, everything I’ve ever written for school, even feed me feed me feed me is recorded in there. I blink back tears. Even though my life isn’t what I’d hoped it would be, it’s still mine.
And now it’s all gone, leaving only the scanned code from the notebook page. I bury the pen in the fake soil and cover it up. Wiping my hands on my torn, wet mess of a dress, I turn toward home. I’ve made it two blocks when I see Grandmother, of all people, absently strolling down the opposite side of the street.
She looks up as I rush over to her. I’ve never known her to wander down here before, certainly not in the dead of night, but of course I’m always asleep at this time. Her squished-up forehead relaxes as soon as she sees me. “Let’s go home, Grandmother,” I tell her in my most soothing, relaxed voice. It surprises me to hear it after so many hours of speaking to no one. She links her arm through mine and squeezes.
So she won’t be scared, I chat as we walk, sharing the gossip from Ivy, joking about the lovely sunny day. We’re in front of our building when a bright light shines directly in my face and we freeze. My hand flies up to protect my eyes. “Marian Fitzwalter,” a guard’s voice says, checking a screen in one hand, no doubt looking at the grid for my name. “I’m going to have to bring you in for breaking curfew.”
My mouth goes instantly dry. Before I can choke out a word, the guard swings the light over to Grandmother, who continues to look calmly ahead. He drops the light almost immediately.
“Oh, excuse me, ma’am. I didn’t realize it was you.”
Grandmother waves her hand and gives him a small, patient nod like you would to a child who has tracked fake dirt on the rug. The guard steps aside and we enter. I’m shaking so badly I’m not sure if I’m the one leading Grandmother up to our apartment, or if she’s leading me.
When I wake up in the morning my wet, torn dress is gone, and Ivy is her usual chirpy self as she dresses me for the day. I only catch a few words, as my head is swirling with the events of the night. I absently rub the center of my palm. My brain can remember the searing pain as it burned, but it’s as smooth as it ever was. I’m so, so very tired, though. All I want to do is crawl back to bed.
But of course my full schedule forbids that. When Ivy leaves me to gather my things, I check my tablet and am relieved to find no follow-up message and no trace of the one from yesterday. I shake my head. It’s almost too easy to believe it really was a dream.
It doesn’t take long to rid me of that notion. I arrive for breakfast to find my mother still in her bathrobe, a sight I haven’t seen since I was four years old and she was having a bad hair day and refused to leave our apartment until the finest hairdresser in The City arrived.
“But who did this?” my mother shrieks across the table at my father. “Who could just go in your office and destroy it? Isn’t this what the grid is supposed to protect against?”
“Apparently there was a malfunction,” my father replies, rubbing his forehead. “It has never happened before.”
“What about the surveillance cameras?” she asks.
My lungs literally stop the intake of air. Surveillance cameras! I hadn’t even thought of such a thing!
“They were down, too,” he says. “All over the city.”
I resume breathing while she shakes her head.
“Unbelievable. Was anything … stolen?” She says the word like it’s too insane a concept to consider.
He shakes his head. “Not that I could see when security called me earlier. Housekeeping has already straightened up.”
“Well, whoever did this must have been looking for something.”
My father hesitates only for a split second before he stops pacing and shrugs. “Probably just kids letting off steam.”
I know it wasn’t kids. He probably knows it, too, but it’s always best to avoid feeding into Mother’s dramatic nature.
It seems I’ve escaped detection. My sigh of relief must be audible, because they finally notice me standing there. My mother pushes my plate across the counter toward me. Father plants a kiss on my cheek. “Don’t worry about all this,” he says. “It’s just grown-up stuff. It’s all taken care of.”
Inside I’m screaming, This is your fault. You’re siding with the enemy. But I just nod and eat my vita-squares. I think they’re supposed to taste like eggs and bacon, but I really couldn’t say.
My first stop after breakfast is a clothing designer’s studio, where two women gush over me and I actually let them. I start giggling when they measure my waist — and I am not a giggler. But I’m feeling pretty good now. Almost giddy. If what I did will help King Richard somehow, it was worth the risk.
“So, is there a special guy?” one of the women teases while the other finishes sewing a skirt they made me. “You have such a lovely voice. I bet all the boys are in love with you.”
; I shake my head. This question used to embarrass me, but now I don’t mind. Most of the other kids in my social circle are paired up, mostly thanks to their parents’ meddling. But to my mother’s credit, she has never rushed me in that department. Four boys in my class are possible contenders, but when it comes down to picking which one, it won’t be my choice. I’ve honestly never given it much thought.
It’s interesting watching the designers work. They obviously enjoy creating their clothes. In the hour that we’ve been here, they’ve transformed a flat piece of cloth into a stylish skirt, scarf, and gloves. They’ve even added a belt to Ivy’s maid uniform. I laugh as she turns in circles in front of the mirror, admiring her new shape.
When I walk into my classroom, in a better mood than I’ve probably been in years, everyone stops talking. It takes me a few seconds to register the hush that has now fallen has to do with me. I stop before I reach my desk and look around. Every single student is watching me. Their expressions are not unkind — well, most of them aren’t — but I keep a low profile in school, so this type of attention is totally unusual. Unless …
Unless they know about last night! What if everyone in the class got that letter, and I was the only one crazy enough to obey? Maybe it was some kind of elaborate joke that everyone was in on except for me? Did someone find the scrap of paper hidden deep in the toe of my boot?
Do I run out of the room? Do I play dumb?
While I’m frozen with indecision, a girl named Sarena, who is in a lower social class but has always been nice to me, jumps up from her chair. She lunges toward me and throws her arms around my neck.
I stumble back in surprise and almost fall across my desk. I untangle myself and step away. “What’s going on, Sarena?” I ask.
“Haven’t you heard?” she says.
I hesitate, then shake my head. Guess I’m going with the “play dumb” strategy.
Eyes sparkling, Sarena exclaims, “You were picked to go to Earth Beta! I was, too! We’ll get to go together!”
My eyes widen. This is truly the last thing I am expecting to hear. It can’t be right. So I ask her to repeat it.
“We’re going on an airship!” she squeals. “You, me, Asher, and Gareth!”
I shake my head as my stomach flips over. My parents will never allow this. “It must be a mistake,” I say weakly.
My teacher points to a list of names posted on the holo-screen tethered to the front of the classroom. My name is definitely on it. And next to my name are my parents’ signatures. Both of them. But they know I’ve never wanted to leave the planet. Not that it was ever an option before — or at least, I’d always been told it wasn’t. Asher and Gareth are also in a lower social class, roughly equal to Sarena’s. I don’t know either of them too well — Asher is tall, pale, and blond, and I know a lot of the girls have crushes on him. Gareth has black hair that he wears long and pulled back. He’s good at math and quiet, while Asher talks enough for the both of them, always wanting to prove how much he knows about everything.
I glance at my classmates and finally recognize the expression on their faces: jealousy. And, on a few, suspicion. I’m not the only one who believed that kids of government officials don’t go off-world.
Because of that, I’ve never paid any attention to the selection process, or even bothered to pay attention to when it took place, but some kids have been waiting all year for the announcement. I didn’t even realize it was today. People have been sucking up to the council for years to get these four coveted spots.
The teacher announces to the room, “Usually we wait a few more months for the announcement, but the council has decided to send the next group early this year. Marian, Asher, Gareth, and Sarena, you will be dismissed from class today to pack and say your goodbyes. You leave tomorrow.”
Loud murmuring rings out from the class, joined by gasps from the four of us.
“So soon?” Asher asks, standing up from his seat. “Don’t we need time to train?”
“You’re fast learners,” the teacher snaps. “You’ll pick it up as you go along.”
The others are already hugging classmates and gathering their supplies. I know I should be grateful that the incident at my father’s office has gone unmentioned — or most likely was covered up — but it’s hard to focus on that right now. I lick my lips nervously and whisper to the teacher, “Maybe someone else can go in my place?”
She leans toward me and, through gritted teeth, replies in a kinder voice than she’s ever used with me, “This is an opportunity of a lifetime, Marian. Don’t blow it.”
It’s hard to be upset when you’re flying through the air while your not-blood-related cousin aims vita-squares at your mouth.
Uncle Kent, Will, and I have all reacted differently to yesterday’s revelations. Will spent the rest of yesterday and most of this morning looking like someone just tossed his hoverboard out into the vacuum of space. I repeatedly tried to convince him that he will always be my cousin — and my best friend — no matter what. I don’t think he fully believed me until I did something I’d vowed never to do, something that goes against the magician’s unspoken code: I revealed how I always know what card he’s going to pick when I do a card trick. It was a bold move, but I knew I had to go big. It worked, so it was worth it.
As for Uncle Kent, he essentially abandoned his post after I told him about the boxes. This means that whenever it’s Uncle Kent’s shift, everyone and everything who isn’t strapped or bolted down is spending a lot of time in the air. The commander (who is normally a pretty decent guy) warned him that if he doesn’t leave the back of Shane’s garage in the next fifteen minutes he’s going to lose his job. Will and I are flying/swimming there now to try to convince him to go. It’s a slow way to travel, but our hoverboards don’t work in zero-g, so we have to make the best of it, grabbing onto walls to propel ourselves along.
And as for me, I sat alone on that bench on the observation deck for hours after Will and Uncle Kent went back home. My emotions were all over the place, which is not how I like them to be. First learning I had parents in the first place, then finding out only moments later that I didn’t have them anymore. That would mess with anyone.
“Robin!” Will calls back to me as we enter the front of the shop. “You swing your left leg down and I’ll use it to catapult myself over the top of the shelves.”
I do as I’m told, and he flings himself over the shelves and does a perfect in-air somersault. His high-jump skills come in handy in zero-g. He lands right above the table, which, like all the furniture at the station, is nailed to the ground. I follow soon after, but not nearly as gracefully.
The poker players are strapped into their chairs, and they’ve rigged up these nets over their cards and chips. It’s pretty clever, actually. Not much would make these guys call off a game.
“Dad!” Will shouts. “You’ve got to stop giving away your paycheck. What if I want to go to college some day?”
The men (and one woman) around the table guffaw at that.
“Hey!” Will says, crossing his arms. “It could happen.”
“I don’t always lose,” Uncle Kent mutters without looking away from his hand.
He’s clearly not budging. All we can do is watch until the game is over and try to reason with him then. The playing cards are spinning into the nets quickly, clinking as they hit one another. Shane’s managed to build up quite a collection, all from mismatched decks. If a pilot on one of the transport ships wants to be dealt into a game, he or she has to pony up something of value. They all know Shane needs cards, so they stock up for when they come here. The cards are all made out of plastic, of course, which makes them very sturdy. I once did a project for school on the history of playing cards and was surprised to know that they were once made out of paper and cardboard, which sounds very flimsy to me.
Beep beep buzzzz. There go the sirens! That means the next shift is about to begin. Will and I hook onto the backs of the players’ chairs with our fe
et and slide ourselves to the ground. A few seconds later, the gravity generator turns back on and our bodies feel sluggish and heavy for a few minutes while we adjust. One time I ignored the sirens for a second too long and plunged to the ground. I won’t make that mistake again.
When the game is over, I stand behind my uncle’s chair and whisper, “I’m going to open the boxes now. Do you want to come or not?”
He doesn’t answer at first, then pushes his chair back angrily. “I told you last night, I’m not ready.”
“That was last night,” I point out. “This is an entirely new day. I’m going.”
He makes a noise that’s a combination of a growl and a grunt. “Fine. We’ll go together.”
But when the three of us get to the cargo bay, the boxes aren’t against the wall anymore. Uncle Kent gives me a skeptical look. “They were right here,” I insist. “They must have moved them to one of the storage rooms.”
But the storage rooms are empty, too, except for three rubber tires and a bag of nails. It’s been a slow few days at the station.
I throw up my arms. “Where’d they go?”
We head back into the main cargo bay just as Vinnie comes in from the other end. He sees Uncle Kent first and scowls.
“I’m getting real sick of the zero-g.” He points his finger at Uncle Kent’s chest. “If you don’t like your job, find another one. Life’s too short and I’m tired of wasting mine on the ceiling.” Then he spots me and Will, and his face darkens even more. “Shouldn’t you both be in school?”
Uncle Kent swats the foreman’s hand away. “Just a minute, Vincent.”
Vinnie scowls again. He hates being called his full name. Will and I stifle a laugh.
Uncle Kent steps in front of us. “We’re trying to find a stack of boxes that arrived yesterday. Said Property of Locksley Manor on them. I believe they belong to me.”
The foreman shakes his head. “Do you see any boxes?”