“What is it?” I blurt out.
The agent gives me a puzzled look and closes her mouth as if she’s debating how to respond. Ultimately, she says nothing, and her mask of composure quickly returns.
“That information is classified,” she says brusquely. She surveys the crowd that has edged up behind me, all semblance of a line forgotten, vying for a look at the valuable machine. The agent summons a stony-faced, brown-haired guardsman forward. “Guardsman Brant will escort you home, Ms. Rhodon. You may go.”
Brant’s green eyes are wide as he approaches, flashing with something that almost looks like recognition as he searches my face, but he says nothing. He simply grips my arm and pulls me away from the crowd of onlookers, many of whom are still sending angry glares in my direction. Just before we turn out of the square, I look back to see the agent pick up the machine and walk directly inside the recycling center, shutting the doors behind her.
It appears Collection Day is over.
Chapter 3
In an attempt to hide my shock, I force Guardsman Brant to take me home by way of the Marketplace. Despite his protests, I insist on picking up the few items that I had intended to purchase after what I thought would be an ordinary payout. My hand shakes as I hand it to Mr. Copper, my favorite stallkeeper, to scan.
“What’d ya do this time?” he asks jokingly, looking pointedly at Brant.
“Evidently something outside the usual, Copp,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady. He chuckles as he runs the credit scanner over my palm. My breath hitches when my credit balance flashes over the register, and Copp’s eyebrows shoot straight up.
“Time to go, Miss Rhodon,” Brant says brusquely, shepherding me out of the stall before another word is exchanged.
I leave the Marketplace with Mica’s school supplies, half a dozen freshly purified water canteens, and my much-needed boots, feeling the burn of a dozen pairs of eyes on my back.
The walk home has never felt so long. I try asking Brant some questions once the shock wears off a little—why did they close the recycling center early, had he ever seen anything like my machine?—but I receive nothing in response.
“It’s just a few blocks down,” I say to Brant as we finally near my apartment complex, “you can head back now.” His silence, though typical for a guardsman, has left me tense and anxious. If he won’t answer any of my questions, the least he can do is leave me alone with my thoughts.
“I have instructions to escort you home, Miss Rhodon,” he replies, polite but perfunctory.
“I know, but we’re basically there already,” I persist. “Really, it’s fine if you go. I’m a big girl.” Brant raises an eyebrow and gently places his hand on my shoulder as if to prevent me from running away. I feel the blush burn in my cheeks; I’m being led like a child.
He escorts me inside my apartment building, and only releases his grip once we reach my doorstep. As I fumble to find my keys, he suddenly reaches out and grabs my wrist. I look up at him, indignant, only to find him darting his head from side to side to ensure we are alone.
“Be careful,” he whispers, his eyes full of urgency. “They won’t like you asking so many questions.” Before I can ask him to explain, his stoic expression has returned. He turns and paces away without another word. I’m not sure if he meant it as a warning or as a threat, but either way, his words leave me with my breath caught in my chest.
* * *
I manage to avoid talking to Mica about my discovery and the resulting payout when he returns from school. The next morning, I head back to the reopened recycling center before he wakes. They’ve extended the Collection in light of yesterday’s early closure, and I have too many questions about this sudden, unprecedented wealth to let him get too excited just yet. Brant’s warning echoes in my head, but I need answers: Is this legit? Why did they insist upon escorting me home—all the way home? Am I in danger? More importantly, is Mica in danger? And, in the back of my mind, less urgent but still there: What in the world was it that I found?
“If you do not have goods to drop off, you have no business at this plant,” the guardsman tells me, his face vacant.
“Just let me talk to someone. The Collection Agent from yesterday, or Guardsman Brant. I just have a few questions, it won’t take long.
“Do you have goods to drop off?”
“Well, no, but—”
“Then you have no business here,” he repeats.
“I’m not leaving until I get some answers,” I say, crossing my arms stubbornly. I hear a sigh, and look over to see today’s Collection Agent, a young man with wavy, chin-length brown hair and a crystal stud in his ear, seated at the drop-off station, watching me. He squints to study my face from the distance. After a moment, he holds a finger up, instructing the next scav waiting in line to hold on, then beckons me over. The scav scowls at me as I approach.
“Who is it that you insist on seeing?” the agent says.
I bite the inside of my lip before answering. “Brant,” I say after a moment. “I need to speak with Guardsman Brant.”
“Jarvis!” The agent summons the guardsman I’d been arguing with. “Call up the main office. Get Brant out here.” Jarvis nods, then walks into the recycling center with his hand at his ear. “You can wait until he gets here, and then you will need to leave. You are being very disruptive.”
I nod, and walk around to the side of the building, away from the glares and murmurs coming from the people standing in line. Eventually, a black transport vehicle rolls up in front of me. Brant steps out of the vehicle, a weary expression already on his face.
“Miss Rhodon,” he says guardedly as he approaches.
“Brant,” I respond.
A tense moment of silence passes between us.
“Well?” he says finally. “I assume there is a reason you summoned me?”
“I have some questions about what happened yesterday. My… my payout. My find.”
“You should leave it alone, Miss Rhodon,” Brant says sharply. With the smallest head movement possible, he checks the peripheral area for onlookers. I look around too. Even though we’re out of sight from the scavs waiting in line, there are still quite a few people around.
“Is there somewhere more private we could speak?” I ask.
He shakes his head, though it seems more like an indication of his exasperation than an actual response.
“I… I’m nervous,” I say quietly. “All that steel, it’s not normal. I have no idea if this whole thing is legitimate; nobody will even tell me what I found. And after what you said yesterday, I just thought—”
“You have been compensated for your discovery. Leave it at that.”
“That’s all I get? You’re not even going to explain why you were suddenly assigned as my protection detail? Or what the hell your little warning meant? I deserve to know if I’m at risk from the Black Traders, or if there’s some other reas—”
“We’re done here.” He cuts me off and turns back to the idling transport. Without so much as another glance, he gets into the vehicle and takes off. My eyes follow the path of the transport in disappointment as I walk back around to the front of the building. An unfortunately familiar voice echoes out from the crowd.
“Back for seconds, Rhodon?” Yttria Coal cries, her harpy-like voice burning in my ears. I search the line until I see her, standing next to her father, her jet-black hair tied up in a tight topknot on the crown of her head. Our eyes meet and she starts toward me, her open jacket flapping violently, revealing a stomach-baring cropped top underneath. Arc Coal clucks disapprovingly, but makes no motion to stop his daughter.
“Take the hint,
Terror
,” she says as she gets close to me, breathing so hard that I can see her stomach muscles flexing under her caramel skin. “Why don’t you and your precious little bro take that undeserved payout and use it to get out of our lives?”
“Mind your own damn business, Yttria,” I say quietly. There are far too many ears listening for me to say what I really want to. Maybe that’s a good thing, though. Holding my tongue is still something I’m working on. Had I been smart enough to do so when I caught my father sneaking around with Yttria’s mother, maybe she wouldn’t hate me so much.
“Oh, I will, when you finally keep your cheating scav paws out of
our
business so the rest of us can make a living too.” She storms back to her father. I shake my head, turning to leave, but not before I see Arc place his arm reassuringly around his daughter’s shoulders as she sidles up to him.
Not everyone eyes me with hostility as I head home. I’ve barely made it back across the road when I am greeted by an old acquaintance of Gran’s, an elderly woman I have seen maybe twice before in my life.
“Ah, Terra, my dear!” she cries, a wide, toothy grin decorating her wrinkled face. “You look wonderful, darling, simply wonderful! You certainly have grown up well. A little skinny, perhaps, but you are becoming more of a beauty each day!”
“Er, thank you, Mrs…” I trail off, having vaguely recognized the face but fully blanking on the name. She is hunched over slightly, hobbling as she falls into step with me. I slow my stride so she can keep up as I continue down the road. Her white hair is tied back in a wispy bun, and she has a purple scarf draped over her clean blue dress. Around her neck hangs a fine silver necklace that is suspiciously lacking in tarnish.
“Why, it’s Gem Kuipers, child! Surely you haven’t forgotten me? I was the very closest of friends with your old Gran.” She flashes another smile. “Oh yes, I was there when you were just a tiny little thing.”
“Of course, Mrs. Kuipers,” I reply politely. “How are you?”
“Oh, my sweet girl,” she says, her face falling dramatically into a frown. “You’re so sweet to ask, but I’m afraid I’m not very well at all. My Frankie—well, you remember my son Frankie, of course!—he’s laid up at home with a broken leg. He can’t make it twenty feet outside the wall these days, and with my stall not doing very well these past months…”
She continues on for another few minutes as I sympathetically nod along. I use the time to prepare myself for the question I know she—and everybody else—will be asking.
“So you see,” she says finally, eyeing me cautiously, “all we really need is a bit of steel to tide us over until he’s all healed up and the spring sales have begun. And when I heard that you had the good fortune to come into a little extra—why, it’s just the talk of the whole town, you know!—I just knew that you would be more than happy to help out your Gran’s dear old friend!”
“Oh, Mrs. Kuipers…” I begin awkwardly.
“Please, my dear, call me Gem.”
I respond with a hard smile. “Mrs. K—er, Gem. I really am sorry to hear about your troubles.” She stares at me eagerly. “It’s just that I think there’s been a little confusion with my credit balance, so I’m afraid I’m not really in a position to help right now.” I brace myself for the backlash.
Her filmy eyes narrow and I grimace at the look that flashes across her face. It only lasts a moment, though, and before I know it, her kindly mask is back.
“Well, of course, my dear,” she says, her voice alarmingly chipper. “I completely understand. I’m sure that Frankie and I will survive somehow, don’t you fret about us one bit. It was lovely to see you.” She touches her fingers absentmindedly to her necklace as she turns to leave. “Do give my love to darling Miko!”
“It’s Mica,” I call after her, but she is already gone, taking strong steps with a straight back as she weaves through the crowd.
Before I’m even halfway home, three more of our “friends” stop me “just to say hello.”
At least I don’t have any real friends to refuse,
I think grudgingly as I finally reach the sanctuary of the apartment. I keep busy by cleaning the entire apartment, eager to distract myself while I wait for Mica to return from school. I need to tell him everything. The news of our payout is traveling fast, and I’d rather Mica hear it from me than from a nosy neighbor. As soon as he bursts through the door, however, it’s clear that I’m too late.
“Terra!” Mica shouts as he pulls his backpack off, dropping it carelessly into the middle of the room. “Guess who I sat with at lunch today?”
“Prime Whitlock?” I ask sarcastically, retrieving his bag and tossing it back to him playfully.
“Juniper Coal,” he says excitedly, plopping onto the couch and ignoring my jibe. “And Lark, and Brim, and Cyrx!” Aside from Juniper, I’ve never heard of these kids before, but Mica’s enthusiasm makes it clear enough that they must be a big deal around the schoolhouse.
“They were practically fighting over me,” he continues. “
Juniper Coal!
She even told me to call her Junie.”
“You’re practically royalty,” I tell him, rolling my eyes heavily.
“Don’t take it out on me, just because
you
were never this popular.”
“Sorry, Mic,” I say, sitting down next to him. I furrow my brow and try to choose my words carefully. My little brother, who has always been just a little too smart to really fit in, even without our family’s reputation dragging him down, is suddenly the star of his class. Mica, who usually stalks through the door at the end of the day sullen and despondent, is finally feeling the glow of popularity. It breaks my heart a little to know why.
“Something happened yesterday,” I begin tentatively.
“Yeah, woulda been nice if you had, you know, told me we’re rich and famous now.” Mica’s face suddenly lights up, as if he’s been struck with an idea. He springs up from the couch and walks quickly to the kitchen, where he starts to pull cans of Rations from the cabinets.
“We’re not
rich and famous
. I still don’t know if this is all some kind of mistake or not,” I say, my tone serious as he bangs a cabinet door closed. I understand his excitement, but I don’t want to encourage it. We’re sitting on more steel than either of us have ever seen. More than Gran left to us, outside the worth of the apartment, and far more than we got when our father left us in her care. Granted, that isn’t saying much.
Mica ignores me, and continues to root through the cabinets.
“Chill out, would you?” I call from the couch. “I’ll make dinner soon.”