The Pearl Wars (11 page)

Without a goodbye, he leaves the table and heads out the door. Eva’s the next to go, darting from the meeting room without making eye contact with the teachers. Everyone else shuts off their memo-pad and chats quietly. I only pick up the occasional phrase. It doesn’t matter.

Avery lets go of my wrist. “Seattle,” she whispers. “They found you in Seattle?”

I shake my head, unable to form words. I feel like I’m gonna puke right over the vent so it’ll fall on top of the so-called “teachers.” The lying teachers.

My air vent fueled claustrophobia disappears as a bazillion questions attack my brain. Seattle. Chemicals. Bombings. Key.

“Jesse?” Avery scoots closer. “Are you okay? Look, maybe this wasn’t such a good
idea.”

I close my eyes—really shut them hard—and clench my
jaw, hoping to snap myself out of this bad dream. But when I open them again, I’m still in the vent. The teachers are still in the meeting room, whispering about me. I shake my he
ad and turn around, motioning for Avery to follow me back to the closet.

I drop down into the maintenance room first, and move to grab the doorknob. Avery lays her hand on my shoulder.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

I shake my head, keeping my eyes fixed on the door.

“Look,” she starts, “I’m sorry if it was too much to hear.”

“It’s not your fault,” I mutter.

“But I—”

I open the door and leave before she can finish her sentence. She doesn’t try to follow me. I spend the rest of the night in my room, replaying Alkine’s words over and over in my head until my body finally surrenders and I fall into a fit
ful sleep.

14

Cassius awoke on Skyship Polaris pressed against a hard, springy mattress on the second floor of the Shangri-La Inn, a garish building resembling a miniature version of the Taj Mahal. Why people needed to pretend they were sleeping in a palace when they were actually staying in a cheap, dirty hotel, he’d never understand. He left the establishment as soon as check-out would allow him.

The sun had barely risen, perched somewhere below the ship as he stepped out onto Polaris’s empty, faux-cobblestone pathways. He stopped to take a glance at the ship’s outer perimeter—an unobstructed view of the stars. Bundles of light hung in the distance from Skyships far away, like tiny galaxies nested in the darkness.

It had been a relatively short trip across the country to Polaris, plagued by a crying baby in the seat directly behind him. Twice he’d been tempted to reassemble the pistol and fire it right into the thing’s head. Cold-hearted, sure, but the thought alone gave him some satisfaction.

He stepped into the city, which seemed to be modeled after some grotesque theme park. An electronic brochure on the shuttle ride over had proudly described the top level as “six square miles of nonstop action!” In reality, Polaris had expanded to its limit. The Shippers were running out of room to add more junk. If it wasn’t for Pearls, the entire ship would have come crashing down years ago. Skyships were designed to run on solar power and biomass. Pearls had allowed them to expand without consequence.

He weaved through Saturn Market, a crowded area of street vendors and performers erected at the northeastern corner of the ship, and the best place to buy illegal Serenity in the Skyship Community. Or so he’d heard. Everyone was still asleep, the stalls and tents boarded up until late morning when the market would be packed once again. He passed by an old man dozing on a stool, a ramshackle sign strung around his neck with an arrow pointing up to the heavens and the words “keep your eyes on the stars” scrolled in messy black ink. A member of Heaven’s Rain, most likely. Even the crazies were sleeping.

Surrounding the market on all sides were bizarre, decadent structures that sprung from the ground like neon monsters. Last night he had stopped to marvel at the flashing glitz of the casinos. The largest one, a fake castle christened “Fortunato,” sat in the very center of the ship. He could see the tips of the flagpoles from where he stood now. The cobblestone pathways below his feet echoed the medieval theme, though it was more like gaudy, electric castle-land than a historically accurate depiction of the Middle Ages.

He exited the market and walked under a wire structure designed to resemble the Eiffel Tower. The town had an odd, ghostly feel at such an early hour. He expected to find fog settling across the streets, but had to remind himself that he was
above
the clouds now. He wasn’t technically outside, either, though the environment had been created to fool his senses into thinking he was.

It took several minutes to find the nearest entrance to the elevators. He stepped inside the open chamber and descended to a curved corridor at the bottom level, joined by a handful of quiet travelers. He suspected the rush didn’t start until late morning.

He’d be traveling by school-chartered sky taxi to the Academy, set to depart from Docking Bay Seven. If he had taken the right elevator, it’d be just around the corner.

He checked his suit’s inside pocket for the small pouch containing the three pills Madame had given him back at the infirmary. As if he didn’t have enough to worry about, he had to consider the possibility that the incident in his dorm room would repeat itself, that coming close to Jesse Fisher would trigger the fires again. It was a possibility he couldn’t risk.

He passed Bay Six and continued until he came upon the next open door. Confirming he was in the right place, he entered and looked around for the school shuttle. Last night, the parking area had been abuzz with activity. It had been almost impossible to move. This morning, the shuttles lay silent in rows before him—a graveyard of commuter vehicles.

Then he spotted it. Alone in the far left-hand corner, framed by a blanket of early morning sky, stood the school taxi. Letters on the side of its long, thin body read
SkyWave 557
. Smooth and flat, it was little more than a giant white rectangle with landing gear—built for simplicity rather than power. It was probably cramped inside too. He wondered how long the ride would be. And if any babies would be onboard.

He trudged toward it, careful to act like a normal, clueless student. A few kids had already gathered around the front end of the taxi with their parents. A man in a navy, buttoned-up uniform stood next to the entrance with a clipboard.

Cassius felt several pairs of eyes latch onto him as he approached. He had to remind himself that nothing about him stood out. Nobody knew he was from the Surface. Still, he kept his face low as he walked. When he was within striking distance, the driver glanced up from the clipboard.

“Morning,” he yawned. “Identification, please?”

Cassius nearly thrust his hand forward to show the man his Surface ID code, but caught himself and removed the doctored passport instead.

The driver flipped the passport open, comparing the picture on the inside cover to the boy standing before him. After a moment of consideration, he nodded and returned it.

“So you’re Michael, our late registration.” He checked off a box on his clipboard. “No parents, siblings, or relatives with you today?”

“No,” Cassius responded. “No parents.”

“Very well. I’ll take your bag and you can have a seat with the others while we wait for everyone to show up.”

Cassius gripped tightly to the strap of the pouch. “Is it okay if I take it on with me? It’s just a small school bag. There’s some reading I want to go over on the way.”

The driver frowned, then craned his neck to glance behind Cassius’s shoulder. “Fine. It’ll fit below the seat. You’re okay.”

“Thank you.”

Relieved, he stepped to the side of the shuttle and moved toward a red-headed boy. The kid was engrossed in a book held inches in front of his face. Only four students had shown up so far. One girl and three boys, counting Cassius. He kept the bag close to his body as he sat on the ground next to the kid, avoiding eye contact.

The boy shut the book immediately. “I’m Colin.”

Cassius groaned inwardly. He should have brought earplugs.

Colin scooted closer. “You just registered, yeah?”

He nodded, looking at the ground.

“So’d you just find out about the Horizon College recently or somethin
g?”

“Yeah,” he whispered.

“What’s your focus?”

He turned around and met the kid’s eyes for the first time. “My what?”

“You know, what are you into? Philosophy? Literature? Art criticism?”

“Oh,” he started. “Philosophy, I guess.”

“Me too!” Colin grinned. “I hear Horizon’s the best. So as a fellow academic, I’ve gotta ask, who’s your favorite?”

Cassius stared at the kid’s pasty, overeager face, wondering if he should even attempt a response. Philosophy was one of the Wasted Subjects on the Surface. Didn’t do anybody any good.

Colin leaned closer. “Sartre? Descartes? Hypatia?”

He could have been making up words for all Cassius knew, but he realized he had to play along. “Yeah,” he started. “He’s good.”

“Who? Hypatia?”

“Sure.”

“Hypatia’s a woman.” Colin frowned.

Cassius cursed mentally, but didn’t miss a beat, summoning the best fake smile he could. “Of course she is. It’s a joke.”

“Oh.” Colin scratched the back of his head. “Funny.”

Cassius bowed his head, sighing. He had a suspicion the entire flight was going to be “funny.” He hoped he wouldn’t be tempted to use the pistol in his bag before landing.

“Hey,” Colin grinned. “We should be seat partners.”

Cassius sighed. The pistol was sounding pretty good right about now.

15

I wake with a sharp yelp as something hits the back of my head. In a panic, I realize that I’m sitting at my desk in the middle of Mrs. Dembo’s class. She pauses her lecture mid-sentence as everyone turns to stare at me. Did I really just yelp in the middle of class?

Barely concealed snickering spreads from the back of the room as Mrs. Dembo’s dark eyes latch onto me. I keep my head inches from the top of the desk. Teacher stares are the creepiest things ever. The longer they do it, the creepier it feels. This stare is like a marathon.

After thoroughly inspecting me, she throws a death glare at the gigglers in the back of the room and continues her lesson.

It’s not like she can blame me for falling asleep. After all, it’s her fault that I didn’t get any quality shut-eye last night. Her and the other teachers.

When Dembo’s not looking, I spin around to meet August Bergmann’s smirking face. He sits at the de
sk behind me, a rubber band spinning around his finger. Congratulations, moron. You managed to humiliate me for the umpteenth time.

“No girls around to protect you now,” he whispers.

I glare at him, though it’s not like I’m gonna do anything. I’d just get in trouble. After all, he’s not the one who fell asleep in the middle of class. He’s not the one all the teachers are secretly watching. “Leave me alone.”

He shoots me an I’m-so-much-better-than-you-times-a-million look. “You and me Fisher, tonight outside the rec room.”

“Wait,” I smirk, “you asking me out on a date?”

“You come alone,” he sneers. “We’ll see how tough you are without Rodriguez there to save you.”

I turn and lay my head on the desk. It’s the first time the two of us agree on something. Eva Rodriguez is officially banned from being my friend, if she ever was in the first place.

They’ve got thirty of us crammed in here. Normally we’re in smaller pull-out groups, spread around the Academy, but today we have to look all prestigious for Visitation. That’s why I’m wearing this irritating, too-tight-in-the-shoulders suit and the whole cla
ssroom’s decorated with artsy posters and fake writing assignments and schedules. All of us kids are crammed onto the sixth floor while the adult agents get to lounge around in the lower levels. Our visitors won’t see any more of the Academy than Alkine wants. Of course the way I’m feeling right now, I mig
ht just jump on my desk and holler like a madman. “We steal Pearls from the government, kids! Come join our top secret organization—so secret that the teachers will lie to
you
, too!”

That’d show Alkine.

I fight to keep my eyes open. It gets harder with each endless word that spills from Dembo’s mouth.

“Please open your textbooks to page 276,” she says.

I groan, lifting the heavy textbook from under my desk and halfheartedly flipping through the pages. It’s ridiculous. We never use textbooks, especially ones about “the use of predicate logic.” As far as I know, the Academy’s only got one set of books for each class, dragged out unceremoniously each Visitation Day.

Eva—a.k.a
. traitor friend—sits to the side of me, diligently running her fingers through the pages of her textbook. She stops only to flash me quick, disapproving glances as if to say, “Can’t you just
try
, Jesse F
isher?”

After what Avery and I found out last night, I’m not sure I see the point in trying to be the perfect Skyship student.

Avery met me outside my room this morning, still mass apologetic for dragging me up into the vent. I told her I wasn’t mad. Not at her.

“Jesse.” Mrs. Dembo shifts her attention straight to me. “Care to start us off?”

I glance over to Eva’s book to see what page we’re on before looking up to Mrs. Dembo.

She frowns. “The text, Jesse. Read us a few paragraphs aloud.”

I nod through clenched teeth. We don’t usually do a lot of reading out loud here, especially in classes with this many people. With August sitting right behind me it’s just asking for trouble.

I labor through, clearing the first paragraph well enough, understanding next to nothing. But just as I’m starting to
feel pretty confident, the words run together on the page. I stumble on the next sentence. August chuckles.

My vision blurs. I blink, shaking my head and trying again.

The words won’t come out.

Then something explodes inside my chest. Like, literally, explodes.

The jolt of pain stops me cold. I freeze, staring at the front of the room, eyes wide, mouth hanging open. Lightning bolts spread from my chest, coursing through my body with the force of an electric chair.

“Jesse?” Mrs. Dembo approaches me. “What’s the matter? Are you all right?”

I can’t speak. I close my eyes and focus on breathing. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale.

I’ve gotta get out of here—escape the pain.

Inhale. Exhale.

I try to stand, but topple back onto my seat. The electricity turns mass cold, like I’ve been shot with a freeze ray.

“Jesse!” Mrs. Dembo rushes to my side, kneeling beside me. The room falls silent. Every last eye is focused on me.

I start to shake. So cold.

“Somebody call the medical staff,” Mrs. Dembo shouts. Eva bolts from her desk and runs to the door, ripping a communicator from the wall.

“Get it out,” I mutter, too quiet for anyone but Dembo to hear. There’s a polar icecap growing in my stomach. Before too long I’m gonna be frozen from the inside out.

She grabs my wrist. “Get
what
out? What’s happening, Jesse?”

I clutch my chest, mouth open.

Mrs. Dembo squeezes my arm. “Tell me what’s happening.”

I shake my head. Inhale. Exhale. All I can do is breathe and hope the pain goes away.

Then, relief. My arm goes limp in Dembo’s grip. As suddenly as it had started, the insanity snaps away. My body temperature stabilizes. The shaking stops.

Mrs. Dembo lets go and motions for Eva to put the communicator back. I sit up in my desk. The entire class crowds around me. Nobody says a word.

My breathing’s staggered. I keep my eyes peeled on the front of the room, wishing I could disappear.

“What was that about, Jesse?” Mrs. Dembo whispers.

I rub my chest, debating what to tell her. If I say what really happened she’ll tell Alkine, and who knows what he’ll do. So I lie.

“I’m fine,” I mumble. “I didn’t get much sleep last night.”

“You don’t look fine,” she responds. “I think we should send you to the infirmary.”

“No.” I meet her eyes, pleading. “No, I’m good.”

She sighs, clearly not buying it. She stares at me another moment before speaking. “Okay, here’s our deal, then. You stay here for now, but if you start feeling ill it’s straight to the medics. And I’m going to march you down there as soon as our visitors leave.”

“Fine,” I mutter. “Can I finish up the reading, then?”

She shoots me one final, disapproving glance and stands to motion for the rest of the class to get back to their books.

I c
ontinue the paragraph, making sure not to look at a single person in the room. Nobody pays attention to the words coming out of my mouth. I feel their eyes on me. I hear the whispers. I’m a walking canister of toxic waste. Even August Bergmann won’t dare hit me with a rubber band now.