Not my brother.
He’s trying to speak, but his lips are red and slick.
Like Wes. Just like Wes. Not a brother by blood, but a brother just the same. I wasn’t man enough to save him.
Shots ring out, but this time they’re different. Not hammers in my ears but punches in my chest. Sharp pressure. My legs fail me. The last sounds I hear are muffled and unreal, like maybe this was all a dream. A very bad dream. A nightmare.
Screams and growls and cracks like thunder.
Just a nightmare. A bad dream.
Go back to sleep, Dazz.
But they’re screaming—the children and the people and my sister. They’re all screaming.
Just a dream. I close my eyes and sleep.
Everything goes black.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Adele
I know I’ve overslept when I hear a noise outside my drawer. The door opening with a click. My intention was to sneak in a few hours sleep and creep out before anyone was the wiser.
I don’t move, just blink in the dark, listening.
“We’ll have to finish with this one and get the place ready for a large intake,” a woman’s voice says. “Just in case there are casualties.” Casualties?
“But I thought the mission was scheduled for later today?” another woman says. I close my eyes, concentrating on not missing a word. What mission?
“It is, but we have to be ready early. You know how Lecter likes things.”
A laugh. “Don’t we all. Clean and organized. A clean city is a happy city. I’ve heard the ads. Hey, you want to grab a coffee before we get started? I feel like it’s going to be a long one.”
“Sounds perfect.”
I hear the door close, and once more I’m alone in silence. No time. I’ve got to move now or I might not have another chance.
I guide my hands along the top of the drawer, pushing myself out. My skin is cold, but I feel refreshed. Ready.
My friend the corpse-woman hasn’t moved since last night, which is a good thing. Eyes closed or not, I try not to look at her.
I’m about to exit, when I see them. A pile of white linen clothes that weren’t there the night before. Brought by the women I heard talking. Preparing for a potentially large intake. These must be the clothes they dress the bodies in after they’ve finished each autopsy. They don’t look all that different than what the cleaning woman was wearing as she mopped the floor, singing to her baby…
I’ve never undressed so quickly. The first set of clothes is way too big, covering my hands and feet. The second: perfect, or close enough, the sleeves plenty long enough to cover my cut arm. Do I take my dirty, bloody, and torn soldier’s uniform with me? If someone asks me about it I can probably lie my way through an interrogation, but I’d rather have my hands free. And what about the weapons? Do I take those?
The clock is ticking…
Making a split-second decision, I use a knife to cut off a piece of fabric from one of the other white clothes, wrap it four times around the blade of the knife, and shove it inside my boot. Unfortunately, there are no shoes to wear, so I’m stuck wearing a dead soldier’s boots until I can find something else. But for now it makes a good spot for the knife. Everything else—the uniform, a couple knives, and the guns I took from the drugged, bound and gagged soldiers in the electrical room—I shove in the highest corpse drawer, hoping they won’t be found anytime soon.
When I turn to leave, the door handle rattles, turns and…the door opens.
I freeze.
“I heard the president bathes three times a day,” a woman says, looking back as she enters. Her hair is bright orange and tied up in a bun. She’s somewhat wide, but it’s more pudge than muscle. Right away I know I can incapacitate her if I have to.
“I heard four times,” another woman says, her voice carrying through the door. The two from before, back with their coffees.
“Oh!” I exclaim, trying to sound as surprised as possible, which isn’t that hard considering my heart is in my throat.
The woman turns sharply, her coffee spilling over the side and onto her hand. “Dammit!” she says, cradling it with two hands and pushing it onto one of the tables. “What the hell are you doing in here?”
The other woman—as skinny as a rod, her dark hair also tied up and away from her face—rushes in behind her, immediately grabbing a towel to wipe up the mess.
“I—I—” I stammer. I should’ve been born a sun dweller. I could’ve been an actress.
“Well, spit it out, girl,” Meaty-Bun says, kindness absent from her voice.
“I’m sorry, I was under the impression there might be a large intake today, that this room needed to be cleaned and prepped,” I say, staring at my feet. Eye contact shows strength, and strong people draw attention. I want to be like a piece of furniture, just part of the room.
“You heard right, but that’s part of our job,” Skinny-Bun says, her tone less serious. “It’s not a normal cleaning job. It takes a special kind of training.”
“Oh,” I say again, like I’m an idiot who barely understands the simple concepts she’s explaining. “I’m sorry. Really sorry. I’ll check with my supervisor to see what I’m supposed to be doing.” Like I can’t think for myself, requiring direction for every little menial task. Do I even have a supervisor? I hope so.
“What’s your name, girl?” Meaty-Bun says. “I’ll have to report this.” Uh oh. Don’t make me introduce you to right-fist.
“Aw, c’mon, Sandy,” Skinny-Bun says, “there’s no need for that. It’s probably her first day on the job.”
“It—it is,” I stutter.
Meaty-Bun frowns, but waves her hand. “Fine, fine. I don’t have time to file a report today anyway. Those forms are so damn long. Just don’t come back, you hear me?”
I nod sheepishly. “Th-thank you,” I say as I’m opening the door and slipping through. Before the door closes I hear the fat one say, “Must be a star dweller,” and then they both laugh like it’s the funniest thing they’ve heard all day.
Unable to control myself any longer, I slam the door and bolt down the hall. How can there be so much ignorance in the world? A star dweller? Just because I acted a little simple, a little scared, a little shy? I’ve met star dwellers who could outthink sun dweller engineers if given the chance. Hell, my mother is an honorary star dweller, considering how much time she spent in the Star Realm. And Trevor…a burning bubble wells up in my chest and I have to take a deep breath to push it away…Trevor was a star dweller and one of the smartest, most capable people I’ve ever met. Quick-witted and sharp-tongued. Another casualty of ignorance, a life—if it was ever really a life to begin with—cut far shorter than it should’ve been.
I turn a corner, feeling queasy, following a sign for EXIT. Pass a woman in a white coat who doesn’t bother to look up at me from the papers she’s reading. Dressed like a cleaner, I’m invisible.
My thoughts continue to roll and tumble and spill over each other. Why have we rebuilt the world this way? Was it ever different? Did people ever just accept each other, regardless of race, religion, gender or social status? If the President Nailins of the world were born in the Star Realm, would they turn out differently? More tolerant? Better? Does something as simple as the place you’re born change everything about you, determine what kind of person you’ll be? As my face grows hotter and hotter, I know I’m losing control, which is something I cannot afford to do. Maybe my questions have no answers, or answers I’ll never be willing to accept.
One more turn and I see the exit, a set of glass-paneled double doors, bright outside light pouring through them. Closed, locked, impossible to push through. There’s what appears to be a chip scanner on the wall, next to a sign that says, “Do NOT exit building without scan.” Feeling light-headed, I slump against the wall, right next to the scanner.
There’s a beep and the door opens. A man enters, striding past me as if I don’t exist. I wait a second until he’s fur
ther down the hall, and then grab the nearly closed door, holding it open. I slam through with a shoulder, gulping at the air, my hands on my knees. Trying to get control.
Someone pushes past me, into the building. “Watch where you’re going,” he says gruffly, and I almost laugh.
The ridiculousness of everything I’ve seen—from the squalor the star dwellers are forced to live in, to the bright-costumed and well-perfumed lives of the sun dwellers, to this new world, stark and sterile and cold-hearted, the home of the earth dwellers—snaps me out of my temporary funk, because despite all that, there are people out there like my mother, like Roc and Tawni, like Tristan—who had it all and gave it all away—who are on the right side. And regardless of the mistakes I’ve made, the people I’ve failed along the way—Cole and my father and Trevor and my little sister, Elsey—I’m on the right side. If nothing else, that’s a truth I can cling to when I’m feeling weak at the knees.
So I stand up straight, take a deep breath, and march on, more determined than ever to bring down Lecter.
~~~
This is a strange place. Beautiful, in a way, with the sun shining through the glass dome, raining down in spots on the pavement as it penetrates the massive sun shade that runs along the curving atrium. But it’s ugly, too. Almost too clean, everything brand new and untarnished. From the paved, unlittered streets to the clear, shiny glass windows on the buildings—constructed of light-colored stone and white-painted metal—the New City is pristine. It almost looks…unlived in, like everyone’s just a visitor, like me.
Evil wears many disguises, some that can be mistaken for beauty.
I shrink against the wall of a building to let someone, dressed similarly to me, pass by, using some kind of machine that appears to be cleaning the already spotless street. He winks at me as he passes, as if he knows just what I’m thinking.
“Excuse me,” I say, and he stops. As he shuts off the machine and turns, I wonder where he’s from. The Star Realm? The Moon Realm? Could he be from the subchapter I grew up in, number fourteen? The possibility excites and scares me.
“Yes?” he says. “Are you okay?” His eyes flick to my battered face.
“Oh yes—yes. I just fell yesterday, I’m fine. I’m sorry to bother you, but I’m sort of lost. You see, my chip is malfunctioning and I need to get it replaced. Do you know where I can do that?”
The man chuckles. He has a friendly face. “Are you new around here? I thought the Lower Realms were done sending workers.” Definitely not a sun dweller. His subtle use of “Lower” rather than the derogatory “Lesser” Realms tells me that much. Someone I can trust perhaps?
“You could say that,” I say. “Seems I’m always the last one to arrive.”
He takes it as a joke, his thin, brown beard chasing his cheeks into a smile. “And to think, I thought I’d won some lottery!” he says. “I guess it was, in a way. This place isn’t exactly what I was expecting, but it sure beats the darkness of the Star Realm.” So he’s a star dweller. Or was, I guess. “I’m Avery,” he says.
I shake his offered hand. “Uh, Tawni,” I say, grabbing onto the first name that pops into my head, the name of my good friend. “Tawni Sanders.” I lock it into my memory. Can’t change it now.
“Nice to meet you, Ms. Sanders. I have a daughter about your age. If our paths cross again, I’ll have to introduce you.”
“I’d like that,” I say. “About those directions…” I’ve got to get going; I can’t linger here, chip-less and exposed. Several other people have passed in the few short moments we’ve been talking.
“As I’m sure they told you during initiation, the city’s set up in blocks, numbered and lettered. Not the most interesting way of doing it, but it makes getting around easy enough. You’re at the corner of twenty-sixth and J, and you want to get to thirty-third and P.”
“Sooo…” I say, looking up and down the road.
“That-a-way,” he says, motioning down the road I was heading. “Seven blocks, turn right, and then…”—he looks at the dome above us, his lips moving as he counts—“…uh, another six blocks. There’s a big sign on the door, ‘Get Chipped!’” He pumps a fist in the air, which makes me smile. “You can’t miss it.”
“I remember now,” I lie. “Thank you, Mr…Avery.”
“You’re welcome. And it’s just Avery. See you around, Tawni Sanders.”
He turns his machine on and begins pushing it down the road, toward the army medical building.
I go the other way.
~~~
I don’t talk to anyone else until I reach the “Get Chipped!” building. I take in as much of the New City as I can along the way. The sights—uniformed kids walking with their arms folded reverently in front of them, eyes forward, lips closed; soldiers patrolling the streets with automatic weapons held with both hands, like they’re expecting to have to use them any second; cleaners, going about their business, keeping the city scrubbed and buffed to gleaming perfection—to the sounds—the whir of huge turbines set in the dome above, pumping in fresh air that’s apparently gone through some sort of filtration system, probably something similar to what we’ve used for centuries in the Tri-Realms; the hum of various cleaning machines being used by window cleaners, and street cleaners, and everything-else cleaners; the clear clop of the parade of people moving down the streets, rarely stopping to talk, or even look at each other.
The whole thing is giving me the creeps, so I’m glad when I reach my destination.
I enter through a spotless glass door.
A woman with a pointy nose and thick horn-rimmed glasses looks up from a screen. “May I help you?” she drones in a dull, nasally voice, as if she hopes the answer is no.
“Yes…please. My chip was malfunctioning, you see, and I—”
“Name?”
“Uh…Tawni. Tawni Sanders. I went to the medical center and they—”
She silences me with a finger in the air, typing with her other hand. “There’s no Tawni Sanders listed. Spelling?”
“My chip was malfunctioning, deleting inform—”
“Spelling?” she repeats, as if I hadn’t been talking.
I spell it for her and she taps at her keys, with both hands now. “No. Not here. Proceed to the right, to malfunctioning chips.” She goes back to her screen. I take the whole experience as a win.
The door to the right doesn’t have a window. The room beyond is—surprise, surprise—white and sterile, without even a splash of color anywhere. And empty, save for a little window with a circular hole cut in it.
Behind the glass, a balding man with two chins and a bulge in his neck looks up at me. “Name,” he says.
“I already told the other lady my—” I start to say.
“Name,” he repeats. I’ve really got to stop fighting this, just go with the flow.
I sigh. “Tawni Sanders.” I spell it for him before he can ask.
“You’re not in the system.”
“I was,” I say. “My chip was—”
“Your chip must be malfunctioning,” he says. “Doesn’t happen very often, but it does happen. The specialist will call you in shortly.”
He goes back to his screen, but I can’t imagine what he could be looking at considering I’m the only one here. For all I know he might be sending a message to security, who could crash through the door at any moment, fully prepared to shoot me on the spot, a team of cleaners behind them, ready to mop up the blood and gore before it even hits the mirror-like tiled floor.
I sit down thinking about my blood and guts on the floor and wondering whether someone will come by to clean the plasticky chair the moment I remove my butt from it.
Probably.
As I wait, I remember what Avery said, about how this might not be the best place to live, but that it’s better than living in darkness in the Star Realm. Is it really better here? I’ve been to both places, and, although it took some getting used to, I still might choose the Star Realm. At least the people t
here are real. Dirty and messy and real. Everyone here, except for the cleaners I’ve spoken to, are more like clones…or machines. Inhuman. Fake.
But if Avery likes it here enough to prefer it to his old life, would I really be helping him by removing Lecter from power? By helping the Tri-Tribes win the war? Yes, I think, nodding to myself. Why can’t the people have everything? A good place to live and a life they enjoy, one that makes them truly happy. That’s what this is all about, isn’t it? Giving all people what they deserve?
A door opens next to the window and a tall man with a long neck sticks his head through. “Tawni Sanders?”
“Yes,” I say, standing.
“You’re not in the system.”
“So I’ve been told,” I say sarcastically, drawing a strange look from the guy. Blast my loose tongue. “I mean, I know. My chip’s malfunctioning.”
He nods. “Come with me.”
I follow him through the door and down a wide hallway. He leads me into one of a half-dozen rooms off to the side. Gestures for me to sit on a paper-covered cot.
“What seems to be the problem?” he says.
I consider pulling up my sleeve and ripping off Tristan’s makeshift bandage, but I think better of it, and explain things first. “My chip wasn’t working, it was—”
“Malfunctioning,” he says, nodding, as if he’s already two steps ahead of me.
“Yes. Malfunctioning. Wouldn’t scan. Kept deleting my information, my identity. So I went to medical.”
“That’s not protocol,” he says.
“I didn’t realize,” I say, “but that’s what I did. They cut the faulty chip out of me, and then sent me here.”
“That’s not protocol either,” he says.
“I know, but the guy was new and I’m new and we messed up.”
“Messed up?” he says, cocking his head like I’ve just said something so impossible that he can’t comprehend it, like I’m a hundred and twenty years old, or my father’s President Lecter.