The Rift Uprising (23 page)

In a good way.

Ezra takes his hands off me and asks for the Harry Potter book. We rearrange the pillows on his small bed. I turn off the podcast. He asks me to lay my head on his lap. I'm not sure I am ready for this. I know this will put me in very close proximity to an area of his body that just days ago I wouldn't have dared to go near. I have to have faith in myself, in Ezra, in us together. I do as he asks. I lie down on his thigh. He starts to read from the book, and as he does, he once again gently touches my hair and my face. I close my eyes. I don't even need to say the mantra anymore. I feel safe. There is such a tenderness in the way he moves his fingers over my skin that it leaves little room for me to feel anything else. He reads to me for almost half an hour. There is a heaviness in my bones. I am weighed down by the nearness of him, with the possibilities of him. I am sure that if I lifted myself up and touched him, kissed him even, we could take this further . . . except that even thinking of that makes my body immediately tense. I am getting better, but the Blood Lust is still lurking, still hiding out in some forgotten corner, tucked away in the back of my mind. It's a sleeping monster. If I try to wake it too quickly, it will pounce.

Though Ezra was right about going slowly, again, how he knows what to do and how to do it is beyond my reckoning. It amazes me how smart he is, just on his own without being screwed with like me. He's a leader. I didn't realize that until just now. He has a quiet strength and self-confidence that is inspiring. For some reason, though, his self-assurance fuels my self-doubt.

How can someone be so
sure
?

I wonder how much he cares about me. It's hard not to. For one thing, he owes me. He's hiding out in my house. I helped him get out of the Village. He could have easily told me what needed to be done and then opted out. That would have made us pretty even. Or he could have told me what I wanted to hear, read my emotions and simply used me to escape, and already be on the other side of the world by now. But neither seemed like options for him. Because he's here now. He
wants
to be the one touching me and getting close. Maybe I am being naive, but I was lying to Edo when I said one of the skills I've always had is being able to read people. I'm not some lovesick kid infatuated with blue eyes and ripped abs. Maybe it's not love—and hell, I'm not even sure I can call what I feel
love
—but I know he truly likes me. And I think that's what has got me worrying so much. Because this is great—whatever
this
is. But I wonder, once we get past this, once these few days are up: Where will we go from here?

I sit up. I don't want to think about that now. Things have turned so quickly. I used to be afraid of him getting anywhere near me. Now I'm afraid of what will happen when he's gone.

Okay—maybe I am a little lovesick.

Ezra announces that we are done for the night, and as glad as I was for our moment together, I'm equally glad to get out of this little room for a bit.

I go downstairs to make dinner. When it's ready, I bring it up.

I admit I'm nervous. About the future. About us. About the Blood Lust and The Rift and my team and the Immigrants and a million different things. But—as if Ezra senses that—we don't talk about any of those things. Instead we talk about normal things. About our lives and our pasts. He talks about his grandparents in Morocco and his holidays with them. He speaks vividly, moving his hands, describing Marrakech in such detail that I can almost hear the call to prayer and smell the jasmine and oranges. I talk about the lying, how exhausting it is all the time. I admit how sad I am that my parents don't really know me. I talk about guilt. I speak about blood and death and the first time I shot someone, how I threw up beside the body and how Vi held me the whole night as I cried, and how I did the same for her a month later when it was her turn.

We probably could have sat there all night sharing stories, but there is an unspoken acknowledgment that time is against us. Ezra has a mountain of work to do and I need to learn another language. We both agree that the Karekins fit somewhere into this puzzle. They know something about how The Rift works, and whatever it is, they are willing to die to shut it and ARC down. When the smoke clears after a Karekin attack, there is never a single one left alive, ever. But each time they come through they get a little farther past our defenses. I need to try to corner one and ask what they know.

I leave Ezra's room, even though it's the last thing either of us wants. Ezra is a soldier now, too. He understands that our individual needs can't outweigh the mission. I go down to my bedroom. The progress we made in the attic fills me with a new determination. I clean my room up quickly. I don't dwell on what I did to it. After a short while, it's done, and after a
quick snack, I start to learn the difficult, nuanced language of the Karekins. The most bizarre thing about it is that there is something familiar, not in the words necessarily, but in the cadence and the lack of certain common linguistic features. It's right there, but I can't place it; no matter how hard I try to nudge the answer, it eludes me. Ezra continues his own work, focusing less on the algorithms and more on breaking a cipher-coded file that he thinks might hold some answers.

It isn't until I've been reading and speaking to myself for four hours that I wonder, if we've never captured a Karekin prisoner, who has?

And how in the hell did ARC get them to talk enough to get an entire lexicon out of them?

I try to hide just how distracted I am at work the following day. I think I do a pretty good job, or at the very least, my team instinctively knows that I need some space and is giving it to me without asking me a bunch of questions or—in Boone's case—making smart-ass remarks. We are in the reserve unit, way back from the deep action of The Rift. It's a good place to be if I want to go all stealth commando, but nothing threatening comes through. I never thought in a million years I would actually want a Karekin invasion, but somehow I need to find a way to get close enough to one of them. Today is not the day.

Before I can make it into the training gym, I am told by a blank-faced soldier that I have to report to Applebaum's office. Violet, Henry, and Boone look at me with concern. They must be nervous about our time at the intake session. I wish. That's the least of my concerns. I tell them not to worry and act like
it's all no big deal. Inside, though, I am spooked. I don't think Applebaum knows that Ezra is at my house, or they would have already gotten him. How much
does
he know, though? That's the question. Edo, Audrey, Levi, Kendrick—any one of them could have said something that would get me into trouble regardless of who's hiding out in my attic. Applebaum's office door is open, but I knock swiftly on the door anyway and wait for him to tell me to come in.

“Close it,” Applebaum says sternly.

I do as he says and stand at attention.

“At ease, Ryn.” I relax my posture but remain standing, vigilant. In just two or three strides I could be over at his desk to snap his neck. I can't help these dark images that bloom inside my head. I know that he didn't come up with the idea of brainwashing us into killer sex machines, but he enforced it. How many consecutive life sentences would he serve if our cases were prosecutable? Child molestation, child endangerment, assault, kidnapping (in a way)—he would get thrown in jail until the end of time. Instead, he's the one in charge here. That's not justice. If one thing is clear, though, it's that ARC couldn't care less about justice. The rules are simply different for them. I know they would execute me if I killed Applebaum. They would have no trouble concocting a lie to sell to my parents. It would be a lie so convincing and with so much evidence that my parents wouldn't even question it. Of course, they'd have to hunt me down on foot—no handy kill switch to throw—but I have no doubt they haven't planned for that contingency.

I can't think of anything more dangerous in the world than a rogue Citadel. I'm sure ARC can't, either.

“I'm going to cut to the chase here, Ryn—we know you've been in the Village.”

My face muscles do not move. I already knew they were aware. I might have been far away when Ezra broke out, but I still had my implant in both times that I was there. I can't help but think about the chip now, hidden in one of my flak pockets, protected by the leather of my uniform.

I don't say anything. I just look at him. What does he think I'm going to do? Cry? Confess? When I don't speak, he continues, “You think you're the first Citadel to break into the Village before you turn eighteen? Hardly. It happens more than you think. You're teenagers. You're curious. I get it. We always let it slide. Except with you, it wasn't just once, but twice.” He keeps waiting for me to say something and I can tell by the way he's biting down on his jaw that my silence is grating. Good. “I'd like an explanation. Now.”

“No,” I say calmly.

“Excuse me?” I wonder if it's healthy to have your complexion turn purple so quickly.

“Sir, as a Citadel, I believe I have earned the right to go where I want, when I want. After all, I put a lot of people in there.”

Applebaum laughs, though it sounds wrong coming out of his throat. It booms awkwardly. At least his face is turning a normal shade again.

“Oh, so you want me to believe that it's compassion that made you go there? Like you need to make sure all those poor souls are okay? We both know you don't give a shit. Violet—I might believe something like that coming from her, but you? No way. You don't have it in you. In fact, I would question your humanity at all if it weren't for the fact that you were there to see a boy.” He looks so smug sitting there. It's taking everything I have not to leap over there and beat him down. How dare he question my humanity? If I'm fucked up, it's because of him and ARC in the first place. What an asshole.

However I feel, I betray nothing. My body remains unmoving. I don't blink. I don't swallow. “If you have all the answers, then why am I in this office?” I'm not going to give him the satisfaction of seeing any part of the real me. He doesn't deserve a single emotion of mine, not even anger.

“Well, the funny thing is, that boy is now missing.” He waits for me to react. I'm sure they brought up and tracked exactly where I was during the time frame that Ezra escaped. I was nowhere near the Village. Because I know this, I smile at him coldly.

“Good,” I tell him honestly.

“So you're not going to cooperate at all, are you?” Applebaum has stopped laughing. Oh my God, did he actually think I would help him? Seriously?

“I
did
see Ezra in the Village. I
was
curious about what happened to the Immigrants there. I found him to be charming and smart. I don't think he felt the same way about me. I think he was fascinated by me, and curious. I mean, he
is
a scientist. But mostly, he was scared of me. He didn't trust me, probably because I basically put him in that place.” I am such a good liar, sometimes I surprise even myself.

“So what did you talk about?” Applebaum pushed. “What was your exact conversation?”

“Nothing that he didn't already know or wasn't able to figure out by himself. He's human. He's smart and he disappeared. So what? What do you think he's going to do? Tell the world? No one would believe him. He'd get locked up in a psych ward before anyone would take him seriously. Let him go and live his life. I doubt you'll hear from him again.” Now that I am able to actually say these things to Applebaum, I'm glad he called me in here. Maybe I can convince him to let it go. Let Ezra go.

And maybe they'll shut down The Rift, reverse my conditioning, and let me leave with a million dollars.

“It doesn't work that way. Immigrants cannot live outside the Village. Period. They are too much of a security risk. Eventually, we're going to catch up to him,” Applebaum promises.

“I don't know,” I counter. “The guy is pretty much a genius. If he gets access to a computer, I don't think you have a chance in hell of finding him.” Again, Applebaum laughs. This time, it's even more unsettling.

“What do you think this is?
The Bourne Identity
? You think we're Homeland Security and we have to rely on facial recognition software and CCTV cameras? You think we have to trace a call? We don't need that stuff. We have . . . other ways. So now, is there
anything
you'd like to tell me?”

Shit. What is he talking about? And for the record, I think this is a little too much like
The Bourne Identity,
actually, but I can't say that to him.

“No,” I reply stonily.

“Fine. You can go. Just one more thing . . .”

I look at him and I see something cross his face. It's not exactly concern, but something close. I narrow my eyes without even thinking about it.

“If you think that I can protect you from Christopher Seelye, or any of the bigwigs at ARC, I'm telling you that I can't. You don't want to get on the wrong side of them, Ryn. I see you as an asset. They see you as a number.”

I gulp, but hopefully not loud enough for him to hear me. None of it matters now. There's no going back. I don't expect protection from anyone but my own team. “All right, sir. Thanks.” I turn on my heel and stalk out of his office.

For the rest of the day I train with Beta Team. I am fiercer than I have been in a long while. My punches and kicks in
the gym land with both accuracy and brutal force. When we get out into the forest, I am pleased. I haul out, full steam. The team has to work to keep up with me. I am worried. I am anxious and this manifests in my body. I leap higher, somersault cleaner, and balance on branches without making them move even a fraction. I let the power of my body take control because I know that
it is my body.
Technology is not allowing me to have this strength—it is all my own and knowing that makes me feel stronger.

It's an amazing feeling.

I tell Violet, Henry, and Boone that Applebaum got me in his office and asked if there was something going on with me. I don't give them specifics, but they assume it was the intake and I let them believe this. I tell them not to worry, that I can handle Applebaum. I lie as good as I fight, but my close friends aren't going to buy what I'm selling them for much longer. They are too smart. As I head home I begin to form a new plan. I race up the stairs and into the attic. When I get into the room Ezra looks at me and for the first time I see that he has fear in his eyes.

I rush toward him. “What? What is it?”

“Remember all this time that I've been saying that there's a lot more going on here than we thought? Yeah. I was right. Like, horribly, terribly, right. And I don't know that I can do much more on my own.”

There are papers scattered everywhere. Furiously written formulas are on the whiteboard and crossed through with black ink. Clearly, Ezra has spent the day getting increasingly frustrated.

There's no point telling him my news without hearing his first. “Explain,” I say softly.

“These formulas they had us look at and the algorithms
they wanted us to write? It's not a map. I cracked the cipher on the file I stole. If I had just concentrated on that in the first place, I could have been much further along. I was so sure . . .” Ezra sighs heavily and then rubs his eyes with his thumb and forefinger.

I don't move to sit on the bed or the floor. I remain standing so that he knows I am serious. “It doesn't matter—just tell me what you figured out. I can't help you unless I know what's going on.”

“Okay, I know it's not a map because that didn't make sense anyway when I really thought about it. Why map out trillions upon trillions times infinity of Earths that could be of little to no value? It's not logical. There isn't enough time, there aren't enough people to go to each one to survey it. That's not smart—and the people in charge here? They are very smart.”

I shrug my shoulders and roll my eyes.

“No, Ryn,” Ezra says, his voice rising, “I mean it. I'm a quantum cryptologist and even I feel like a preschooler trying to read Shakespeare. Do you get that? You can't underestimate these people.”

“All right, I won't.
I don't.
” I say gently, “Go on.”

“It's not a map. The algorithms are a trail. A trail of bread crumbs, and each bread crumb is a key.”

I look down to the floor and narrow my eyes as I take in what Ezra has said. “A key to what?” I ask finally.

“A Rift. The equations are passkeys, skeleton keys. With the right equipment they can open a Rift
anywhere
.”

“So let me get this straight—it's a way through a Rift from here
into
the Multiverse so that you can get to
another
version of Earth?”

“Yes, but it's not as simple as that. You see,
you're
the one leaving a trail. Well, maybe not specifically you, but it's
a quantum signature leaving it. Every different Earth in the Multiverse has its own unique quantum signature. They
haven't
found a way to lock on to a version of Earth and get there right away. All they can do is follow that quantum signature, but it's not a straight shot. Their technology will continue to open Rifts that have similar signatures until they find the exact right one.”

I sigh. I'm getting frustrated. I don't get it. “I'm sorry, Ezra. I haven't done the calculations. Break it down for me like I'm a total civilian?” I ask, trying hard to keep my voice calm. Even still, I begin to pace.

“All right. Imagine that each version of Earth is a musical note. ARC is looking for an Earth, just the same way a musician would look to tune a string on their guitar pitch-perfect. Most people don't have perfect pitch. They need help to make sure the note is one hundred percent in tune, so they use a tuner. You pluck a string and then you turn the machine head, the silver knobs at the top of the guitar, until you get to the right note. That's basically what this system ARC is using does. If each unique quantum signature is a note, their technology basically wobbles with the pitch—or the signature—until it gets close enough to open a Rift. If it's looking for a B-flat, it can eliminate all the other Earths that don't resonate to a B-flat. Then it begins to eliminate the Earths that aren't a
perfect
B-flat.

“Now, in order to really get this concept, you have to imagine that there aren't just twelve notes but an infinite number of notes—each one distinct—and you're trying to tune the thing in a room full of other music. That's why they can't get exactly to the Earth they want to go. There is too much noise. They have to narrow it down. Each little tweak of the machine head would be a jump into another Rift. They have to go
through multiple Rifts to get where they are going. Maybe it's ten, maybe it's one hundred—I don't know.”

I take a minute to consider what he's saying and then I give an outward groan. “Oh. My. God. You're a musical prodigy. On top of everything else.
Of course
you are. Is there anything you can't do?”

Ezra shrugs a little, but he doesn't confirm or deny the allegation. “Well, I'm not so good with the punching and the kicking and the stabbing people,” he offers. No, he's not a fighter the way I am, but he's still a fighter nonetheless. It makes me think about what he'd be like as a Citadel. He's already probably smarter than any of us, without the genetic modifications, but if he could kick ass the way we could? Man, he'd be unstoppable.