Authors: Nick James
9
Two a.m. Any sane person would be asleep by now. I am decidedly
in
sane.
I sit upright in my bed. I gave up on sleep twenty minutes ago. My body wants to droop into the mattress and shut down, but my mind’s going 300 miles per hour.
Every time I close my eyes I’m filled with images of that dead, mist-clogged city—the key around my neck, the figure behind me.
I glance around my darkened bedroom. Shadows cover the walls like toothed monsters. The floor’s dotted with piles of clothing and junk. It’s an obstacle course to get to the bed without stepping on something.
I toss the covers from my legs and throw on the first pair of shorts I can find. Time to roam the corridors until I’m too exhausted to move. Time to fool my body into submission.
Slipping out the doorway, I turn down the hall past dozens of closed doors and make my way to the outsid
e corridor. Moonlight streams in through the wall of curved windows. The stars are impossibly bright.
I head up the stairway to the fifth level, in search of another night owl whiling away the early morning hours in one of the rec rooms. After clearing the first flight of stairs, I freeze.
Rumbling. Just beyond the entryway to the fourth level, echoing along the hallway. It sounds for a second longer—low, crackling—and stops. Footsteps.
I tiptoe to the entryway and peer around the side of the wall, staring down the empty hallway. Level Four’s mostly living quarters, but at its center sits the largest of the Academy’s three research laboratories.
Just as I’m about to move, the rumbling returns, softer this time. I step forward, inching down the hallway in pursuit of the sound. For a second I wonder if it’s coming from a bedroom. It sounds like snoring, but the dorm walls are much too thick. No one snores
that
loudly.
No, it’s coming from the end of the hallway.
The rumbling stops again. I pause and glance around the vacant hallway, expecting someone to jump out and grab me.
Silence.
I venture forward, turn a corner and head deeper into the center of the ship. A lighting tube crackles above my head, burnt out. I listen for the sound, but everything’s quiet. Quiet as the stars.
Then I see movement at the end of the corridor. A door opens. A person steps outside. I flatten against the wall, hoping I won’t be seen. But it’s too late. The figure takes a few nervous glances around and sneaks down the hallway, right toward me.
There’s nowhere to hide, so I step out from the shadows and shove my hands into my pockets, trying to look as nonchalant as possible. The figure freezes as soon as it notices me. It’s dark, and the person is too far away to make out facial features.
“Hey,” I mutter, hoping that it’s a student and not a faculty member. After Alkine’s little lecture last night I’m not dying to be alone with a teache
r again.
“Jesse?”
I step forward and watch as the figure fumbles with something in her pocket. “Avery?”
Avery comes into view. Her hair’s pulled back in a ponytail. There’s a smear of black grease on her cheek. “Jesse, what are you doing out here?”
I shrug. “Couldn’t sleep. Did you hear that noise?”
“Noise?” She rubs her cheek.
“Yeah. Rumbling. Kinda loud for two in the morning.”
Her eyebrows raise. “Could’ve been the water reprocessor.”
“You can hear that all the way up here?”
She frowns. “If everyone’s quiet enough, I guess.”
I crane my neck around her outline and peer down the hallway. “Where were you? I thought your dorm was on Level Thre
e.”
“It is.” She rests her hand on her hip. “Um … you know Phoebe, right? She was in my year, back when I was still training. We were friends. Well, kind of … but anyway, she needed to talk about, you know, girl stuff.” She glances at her watch. “I guess we got a little carried away.”
I look down the row of closed doors. “I didn’t know you hung out with Phoebe.”
“Uh huh.” She runs her hand through her hair. “I can have other friends, you know. They may not be as flaunt as
you
, but still … ”
I rub my eyes.
“I thought Year Nines had curfew,” she says. “Shouldn’t you be in your room?”
“I could ask you the same thing.”
She chuckles, pushing past me to the corridor. “You forget. I may not be an agent, but I still work here. I can come and go as I please. I am a god among men. No, strike th
at.
Goddess
. Tremble in my wake.”
“Yeah, yeah.” I follow her into the corridor, staring at her moonlit face. “I swear I heard rumbling.”
“You’ve got an active imagination,” she replies. “I didn’t hear a thing.” She pauses, fumbling with her pockets before turning her attention back to me. “Nice shorts.”
I look down. They’re so baggy that they reach well past my knees. “They were Skandar’s once. He likes them …
uh … roomy, I guess.”
“Right.” She yawns. “So what’s up? I hardly saw you today.”
I lean against the windowpane and push my thumb against the fiberglass. “Oh you know, the usual. Got yelled at in math for talking to Skandar. Got knocked out in Bunker Ball. Mr. Wilson said I had too much sympathy for the enemy, that I hesitated instead of ‘stickin it to him.’” I frown. “Wilson’s words. Not mine.”
Avery crouches at the edge of the corridor, her back to the stars. “Sometimes sympathy’s not such a bad thing. Missions aren’t easy when feelings are involved. Trust me.”
I sit next to her. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
She shrugs. “Just saying. Emotion compromises a person. You’ve gotta choose between your brain and your heart.” She smiles. “Heart should always win, I think.”
“I wasn’t emotional. I wanted to win that stupid game as much as anybody.”
“Yeah? Well, I want a flying dog that barks the alphabet backwards. Some things just ain’t gonna happen, kiddo.”
“Don’t call me kiddo,” I mutter.
She ignores me. “So what’s the real reason you’re up so late?”
I play with a loose thread on the bottom of my T-shirt. “Bad dreams, I guess.”
Avery nods. “Gotcha. After your little Surface adventure, I’m not surprised you’d have nightmares. Pearlhounds can be pretty scary.”
“You’ve fought them?”
S
he chuckles. “If running away is considered a form of combat, then yeah. It was my junior year, right after tran
sferring from Mira. I hadn’t had much Surface experience so they stuck me with a few of the more promising students in my grade. It wasn’t a Fringe trade like you guys did yesterday. A Pearl had fallen outside of Tallahassee … pretty far from the nearest Chosen, so we thought we could grab it before the Pearlhounds showed up.” She smiles. “They swore we’d be able to handle it.”
I grin. “I’ve heard that one before.”
She nods. “You guys were lucky to get dropped up north. You wouldn’t have believed the bugs, Jesse. Clouds of them. We had face masks, gloves—covered from head to toe. You’d think the insects would have been enough to keep the government at bay, but Madame’s people locked onto the Pearl’s trail and showed up fifteen minutes after our shuttle landed. We bolted. Sometimes running is the only way to stay alive. Like I said before: there’s more to life than Pearls.”
“You ran away? You guys didn’t even try to fight them for the Pearl?”
“I convinced my crew that it was the best decision. From a tactical standpoint, of course. Really, I was just scared.”
I shake my head, laughing. “I bet Alkine was pissed.”
She grins. “And did I care? Not really. See, Jesse? You’re not Skyship Academy’s biggest screw-up. I’ll totally own the title. No worries.”
I stare at her face. Her green eyes glint in the moonlight. “You’ve got grease or something on your cheek.”
“Do I?” Her brows furrow as she reaches up to rub her face.
“You and Phoebe doing arts and crafts?”
She wipes off the rest of the dark grease with her finger and smears it on her jeans, frowning. “Yeah. Something like that.”
“I’m headed to the rec rooms. Wanna watch a movie or something?”
She pulls herself from the ground. “It’s late, Jesse. I should be going. You need to sleep.”
I sigh. The last thing I want to do is go back to my tiny, messy room and sleep.
Avery stretches and yawns. “See you tomorrow?”
“Sure.” I give a slight smile. She starts off along the corridor. Another minute and she’s gone.
10
Cassius arrived on Skyship Atlas late the next afternoon. The enormous ship, located directly above the dark ruins of Washington D.C., functioned as the Seps’ East Coast stronghold. Their capital city, if one could truly call the flying fortress a city. Madame had piloted them up from the Lodge herself, taking the opportunity to point out Surface landmarks along the way: notable Fringe Towns, the Appalachian colonies.
After landing in Atlas’s docking bay, they were ushered through security checks. Madame’s bodyguard stayed close to her the entire time, eyeing the scanners as Skyship guards analyzed her briefcase. When they were given clearance to go forward, a guide escorted them through a crowd of barely contained protestors and into the next corridor. Cassius tried to ignore the angry shouts of the Shippers as he passed, keeping his face forward the entire time.
Now the four of them stood inside a spacious elevator, traveling up to the Tribunal Building on Atlas’s main level.
From what Cassius had seen earlier from the cruiser window, Atlas was a vast gray triangle, suspended impossibly in the middle of the sky. Pearl Power kept it aloft. Stolen, no doubt.
The inside corridors were well-maintained, with careful attention to details. Modernized Renaissance columns and arches gave the ship a bizarre, avant-garde aesthetic.
Madame leaned closer to him. “Dramatic, isn’t it? These ships were our last great masterstroke before we were force
d to refocus our efforts. A pity they were taken over by the Seps.”
Their escort flashed Madame a dirty look but stayed quiet, turning away to face the elevator doors. A noticeable tension filled the elevator, the whirring of gears above them the only sound. Cassius fidgeted with the black bag slung over his shoulder. Passport. Pistol. Suit. Somehow it had all made it through security undetected. Madame knew what she was doing.
The elevator came to a stop and the doors pulled open, revealing a large plaza. They marched along the marble stonework at a hurried pace. Madame ignored the guide, taking the lead and sizing up the approaching Tribunal Building like it was an enemy to be defeated. Cassius gazed up at the clear sky. Though he knew there was a large dome stabilizing the air pressure around them, it was invisible from the ground, leaving the air open and uncluttered. No Bio-Net, no chemical smog. He expected to feel dizzy from the altitude. The dome controlled
that
as well.
He caught quick glances at the city as he followed Madame. Everything hunkered low to the ground. The tallest building he could see was only three levels high. There appeared to be roads, but no cars or chute system like in the Chosen Cities. The only vehicles were small buggies, no bigger than golf carts, that whizzed silently across the plaza. He avoided eye contact with the drivers.
They continued around an impressive, three-tiered fountain and advanced onto a narrow, tree-lined pathway that led to the two-story Tribunal Building. It had been modeled after the White House, of course. A mini version.
“One last security measure,” their guide stammered as he regained the lead and ushered them up a staircase. Three bulky security guards patted them down at the top before they were allowed into the building. Cassius winced, convinced that they’d find the disassembled pistol sewn into his pack. But they moved quickly, brushing against the three pieces, assuming they were part of the reinforced corners of the pack. Madame was right. They were easily fooled.
Madame wore a disgusted expression as the guard touched her. Once cleared, she pushed past their escort and stepped into the entryway, heading up a second set of decorative stairs.
Cassius followed her into what looked like an old-fashioned courtroom. In place of a judge’s seat, there were three wooden podiums. Behind each sat a member of the Tribunal, their party’s icon etched into the wood beneath them. A Democrat, a Republican, and a Libertarian—two men and one woman. All three were older than Madame by at least a decade.
Cassius followed Madame down the aisle between rows of empty seats and to a table directly below the Tribunal’s watchful eyes. Madame motioned for her bodyguard to set the briefcase in front of her, then took a seat, clasping her hands and waiting. Cassius pulled up a chair beside her and sized up each Tribunal member.
“Good afternoon, Jessica.” Democratic Representative Leone spoke first, rubbing the stubble on his chin. His droo
py, glazed eyes gave the impression that he could fall asleep at any moment. “It’s nice to see you again.”
Cassius glanced over at Madame, expecting to find outrage. Nobody used her real name.
Her expression remained stony. “I would ask you to please honor the title my party has given me during proceedings such as these.”
The old man smiled. “Of course. We wouldn’t want to humanize things.”
Republican Representative Buchanan, a portly woman wearing an expensive red jacket, leaned forward in her center seat and met Cassius’s eyes directly. “Is this your son, Madame?” Her voice was thick with a hint of a southern acc
ent.
Cassius gripped the edge of the table, waiting to hear Madame’s answer.
“Yes,” she responded.
Buchanan smiled, her heavily colored lips prodding full cheeks. “How beneficial for him to witness the outcome of the Hernandez Treaty firsthand. What are your impressions of Skyship Atlas, boy?”
Madame grabbed his wrist, whispering to him. “You don’t have to answer that.”
Libertarian Representative Chandler, the youngest of the three, cleared his throat, producing a stack of papers from under his podium. “I believe you’ll find all of our reports are in order. Military engagements, energy consumption … it’s all there.”
Madame nodded, motioning for her bodyguard to grab the papers. He quickly transported the stack from the Tribunal to the tabletop, then moved behind her once more.
She opened the briefcase, removing an ink pen from a small pouch inside. Cassius knew that she had to read and sign each document in the presence of the Tribunal. The ritual was bound to drag on for a few hours at least. He was counting on it. Boredom was part of the conceit that would allow him to escape.
Madame flipped through the first document, adding her
signature to the bottom. “A group of your schoolchildren were seen on the Surface the other day.” She spoke without looking up. “Collecting a Pearl from a group of Fringers.”
Cassius watched as the members of the Tribunal exchanged furtive glances.
“Impossible,” Leone muttered.
Madame smiled as she ran her fingers along the text. “Impossible that they were down there? Or impossible that they were seen? This is in direct violation of clause three of the treaty, as you well know.”
Chandler leaned back in his seat, hands clasped. “And you have proof? Photographic, documented proof?”
“Of course not,” she responded, flipping through another document. “I don’t believe you’d be so careless as to offer us proof. No, I have my suspicions, as always.”
“Suspicions won’t hold up in a court of law.” Buchanan crossed her arms. “Even one as … unified as yours.”
“I just wanted you to know, Representative. Don’t get sloppy. We are waiting.”
Buchanan shook her head. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
M
adame’s eyebrows raised as she ran her finger across the top of a page. “I’ll have to put on my glasses to read such tiny print. One would think that you were trying to squeeze some
thing past us here.”
Leone frowned. “We have no secrets.”
“No, of course not.” She dug through her jacket pocket and pulled out a pair of spectacles. “That was a lovely little circus downstairs, by the way. I don’t remember the crowds being as large last time.”
“We can’t help the way our people feel.”
“No.” She finished scanning through the document and signed at the bottom. “I suppose you can’t be blamed for the actions of your people. They were contained well enough.”
Buchanan glared down at Madame. Cassius watched as the red of her face deepened. “Listen, Madame. People don’t like the idea of a dictatorship being allowed to flourish right under their noses.”
Madame set the pen down on the table, clasping her hands once more. “It is not a dictatorship.”
The woman scoffed. “What is it, then? It’s certainly not the three-party democracy the people voted on.”
“Your democracy died along with the White House,” she replied. “Tragedy unified us. Finally. After years of partisan bickering we were free to get on with it, to unite and preserve our way of life. If you would care to float down from your cloud and visit one of our Chosen Cities, you’d realize that our people are quite happy—and very well taken care of.”
Buchanan controlled her expression, taking a deep breath before responding. “Does that include the people outside of the Net? The people in the Fringes?”
“You mean your
friends
down in the Fringes?” Madame smiled.
“No. The people you’ve forgotten. The people your cities are killing every day.”
Madame sighed. “Despite what you may think, we cannot control the human will. It’s true, some people opt out of our environmental tax program and choose to stay in the Fringes.”
Buchanan laughed. “Poor people, sick people, nonconform—
”
“It is a choice,” Madame interrupted. “Without the funds collected from the tax, there would be no Bio
-Nets.”
Chandler held up his hand. “From what I hear, Fringers don’t like you very much.”
Madame scowled. “I’d be careful what you say, Representative. One might get the impression that you’ve been spending more time on the Surface than is legally allowed.”
“Please.” Buchanan sneered. “Why would we want to go down to the Surface? You’ve ruined it. As if taking care of your so-called terrorists wasn’t enough.”
Madame grabbed her pen, returning to the stack of papers. “Retaliation was necessary.”
“Killing millions of innocent people? When is that ever necessary?”
She signed and dated the next sheet. “Our country was destroyed. They would have done it again.”
“Oh, here we go.” The lady grabbed the edge of the podium. Her nails matched the red blazer. “Revenge, revenge, revenge. It’s always the same with you people.”
Cassius shifted in his seat. Madame flipped to the next page.
But Buchanan wouldn’t stop. “You know what I think? I think you were all ashamed. All of your anti-terror initiatives weren’t enough. After everything you asked the American people to give up, you didn’t even see it coming. Nobody did. No terrorist organization ever claimed responsibility for the bombings. You and I both know that.”
Madame pushed
her chair back, standing up and meeting the Republican head on. “Who else, Representative? What would you have had us do? W
ait? Wait until they destroyed the rest of the country? They would have done it again.”
“They didn’t.”
“Because we didn’t give them a chance.”
Buchanan rested her chin in her hand, smiling. “And now look what you’ve done. It’s karma. The planet’s becomi
ng more unlivable by the day. Your Unified Party can hide behind monikers as long as you’d like. But someday soon the people are going to know what you did. And heaven help you then.”
Madame sat down, clearing her throat. “We have Pearls now. Nobody need suffer anymore.”
“There’s no telling how long Pearls will last,” Leone replied. “Your control is weakening.”
Madame returned to the documents. Cassius knew he wasn’t supposed to move on with the plan until halfway through the meeting, but he couldn’t stand to sit and watch the Tribunal antagonize her. So he leaned over and whispered in her ear.
She nodded, glancing back up to the three podiums. “My son needs to step out and use the restroom.”
“Of course.” Chandler motioned to the far door. “There’s one down the staircase in the hallway to your right.”
Cassius stood, the black pouch clutched tightly at his side. He looked down at Madame, knowing he wouldn’t see her again until he’d captured Fisher.
She kept her face forward, ignoring him. “Would it be all right if he stays downstairs for the remainder of the meeting? I don’t wish him to be subjected to any more of this.”
Buchanan chuckled. “You brought him up here.”
“And I regret it.”
“Sure.” Chandler flashed Cassius a patronizing smile. “There’s a waiting room in the same hallway with some old Wi-Fi pads. Make yourself at home.”
Cassius nodded, then looked back to Madame. He waited for a show of support. A smile. Something. Her eyes never left
the papers in front of her.
Rather than wait around, he turned and walked away, moving down the aisle until he exited the meeting room. Once down the stairs, he found the restroom and darted inside. Although it was empty, he stepped into the nearest stall and locked the door behind him just in case. Then he quickly unbuttoned his jacket and slipped into the plain suit he’d brought with him.
Stuffing his government clothes into the now-empty
bag, he quickly checked the skin graft on his right wrist that covered his hexagonal identification socket. If it peeled
off during his stay in Skyship Territory, he’d be instantly revealed as a Surface inhabitant.
Next, he ripped the light blue passport from the lining of the bag and placed it in the breast pocket of his suit. He was now Michael Stevens, born and raised on Skyship Orion. His life could depend on remembering that information.
His heart raced as he realized the full ramifications of what he’d just done. He was no longer an invited guest on Atlas. He was an undercover agent. If he was caught before finding Fisher, he’d be punished like one, thrown into one of the prison ships down south.
Still, what had transpired back in the meeting room made him even more anxious. Madame had often talked about the Tribunal and life after the bombings, but had never offered details outside of what was written in the instructional databases. He’d never seen her so angry before. So angry that she hadn’t even paused to pat his shoulder or smil
e at him.