The pack of droids that had been sent into the wreckage to search for survivors was just now emerging from the smoking rubble.
“Well?” the general asked as they settled into formation in front of him. He actually sounded anxious. “What did you find?”
Chatine inhaled sharply, expecting the worst. She always expected the worst. It was how she’d lived her life. In constant preparation for the worst possible outcome.
And now it had come.
The only difference was, this time she had chosen it herself.
“No human remains found,” one of the droids reported in that chilling robotic tone.
Chatine exhaled.
“What?!” the general thundered. “How is that possible? Did they escape? Were they somehow tipped off?” He tossed a scathing look toward Chatine.
“Unknown,” the basher replied. “The structure appeared to be completely abandoned, apart from a storeroom filled with illegal bottles of weed wine, which were mostly destroyed. There was no evidence of Vangarde activity.”
The general wheeled on Chatine. His face was no longer the stoic statue she had come to recognize from the Universal Alerts. It was now as angry as the fire raging behind him. “So you’re saying this old bateau was not the Vangarde base?”
Chatine honestly couldn’t tell if the general was speaking to her or to the droid. But it didn’t matter. She curled her lips into her signature goading grin. It was probably the last time she would ever grin in her life. She had to make the most of it. “Oh, I’m sorry, General,” she began, feigning confusion. “Did you want the Vangarde base? I thought you said the Délabré base. Oops. Wrong bad guys. My mistake.”
The anger in the general’s face deepened, and the storm in his eyes grew more violent, until Chatine was certain she was about to get slapped. Or worse. But she held her ground. She didn’t stir. She didn’t even flinch. She just stood there and, once again, prepared for the worst.
The general’s hands balled into fists. The tendons in his neck swelled. But when he opened his mouth, all Chatine could hear was sadness. Sadness and disappointment. “Arrest her,” he said with a shake of his head. “Get her out of my sight.”
As the lead droid stalked toward her, Chatine noticed it arming its weapon and hoisting it up, in case she tried to run. And of course they would expect her to run. The old Chatine would have run. Théo would have run. But where was she going to go now? There was nowhere left to run.
So she let the basher bind her wrists. She let it lead her away from what was left of the Grotte, toward the awaiting Policier patroleur. She let herself be guided inside.
Because this was her fate.
This had always been her fate, since the day she was born. Since the moment the médecin had implanted the Skin in her arm and the audio chip in her ear, this had been decided as her final stop.
Regardless of all the dreams she’d built, all the trinkets she’d stolen, all the plans she’d made to one day make it to Usonia, somewhere deep inside, Chatine had always known she was destined to end up on the moon.
As the patroleur sped away from the run-down docks and the smoking remains of the Délabré headquarters, Chatine could see the colossal, shadowy outlines of the Frets looming in the distance. Still just as hideous. Still rotting away like corpses in the wet ground. But still standing.
And, for the first time in her life, the sight of them made her smile.
- CHAPTER 76 -
ALOUETTE
ALOUETTE GLANCED UP AT THE starless black sky. Just in front of her, she could see the shadowy, jagged edges of the roof that had once covered the huge cargo freightship that now served as the marketplace for the Frets. The ceiling had almost completely rusted away.
Her heart, Alouette realized, was like that roof now, with a huge, irreparable hole right at its center.
He was gone.
Her father was gone.
And she had stayed.
In spite of the inconsolable ache in her chest, she knew she’d done the right thing. She did belong here. Her place wasn’t on the foreign, frozen lands of Reichenstat. Her place was on Laterre with the sisters.
She pulled her devotion beads out from the front of her tunic and stared at the engraving on the metal tag, remembering Jacqui’s words to her.
“You’re one of us now and you’re strong, Little Lark.”
From this day forward, Alouette was going to be the sister she’d always dreamed of being. A good and diligent sister. A loyal and truthful sister. Just like the women who’d raised her. She would devote herself to a life of peace, contemplation, and study. And when she was considered ready, Alouette would help maintain and protect the Chronicles of the Sisterhood.
But most of all, she would protect them.
The sisters.
This would now be her most sacred task.
Alouette would make sure nothing disturbed their home or their safety. Nothing interfered with their simple life of thought and books and the written word.
Alouette glanced up again to see the color of the sky starting to turn from the darkest black to a soft, silvery gray. Dawn was here. The night was over. The sisters would soon be waking up. They would be hungry and needing a good meal before they went into Assemblée. And Alouette would be the one to give that to them now.
She laid a single kiss on her devotion beads and dropped them against the front of her coat. Then she continued into Fret 7 and navigated down the long hallways and dark corners that had once seemed like an endless maze. Her feet were already starting to remember the way. Her mind was starting to understand the pattern. She could sense when the mechanical room was getting closer.
And she could also sense the footsteps behind her.
Rhythmic and mindful. Like a hunter stalking prey.
Limier.
Her pulse quickened.
She knew she had to lose him. Alouette picked up her pace until she was running. She turned corners at random, climbed stairwells she’d never been in before, and dashed down corridors that all started to blend together.
But she could still hear those footsteps behind her at every turn, on every step. They were echoing the sound of her own pounding heart. Thump. Thump. Thump. They were getting closer.
Alouette berated herself for leaving the Renards’ rayonette back at the graveyard. She could have used it again now. She reached into her tool belt and fumbled for the first thing she could find. Her screwdriver.
She stopped in her tracks.
The footsteps halted an instant later.
She spun around, wielding the screwdriver like a weapon, before dropping it to the floor.
“Marcellus.”
His name slipped out like a whisper, and for a moment, the briefest of moments, Alouette felt as if the hole in her heart had closed over just a little. But then something unsettling occurred to her. He seemed to have been waiting for her near the mechanical room. But she’d never told him where she lived.
“How did you find me?” she asked.
He walked toward her. But there was something hesitant and guarded about his step, as though he were the one afraid of her.
“I followed the blood,” he replied vacantly.
“The blood?”
“That first time we met in the hallway. You told me you’d followed my drops of blood. That’s how you’d found me. They’re mostly gone now. Dried up. But I could still make out traces.”
Alouette’s heart started to race again as she remembered the little crimson droplets leading out from the mechanical room. Had she already failed in her new sacred task? Had he already found the Refuge? Were the sisters in danger?
Sister Jacqui had said something earlier about Marcellus not being a threat to them, but how could she possibly know that? She didn’t even know him.
Alouette desperately studied Marcellus’s face, searching for clues. But his expression was soft, almost pensive. As though he were in some kind of trance.
He stopped in front of her
, reached out, and gently scooped the end of her devotion beads into his palm. He stared down at the metal tag. “Little Lark,” he said aloud, like he was piecing something together.
Alouette swallowed, now certain there was something wrong. Suspicion flashed in his eyes.
“Marcellus, are you all right?”
He blinked and finally looked at her. “You were afraid of me,” he said flatly.
“What?”
“Back at the Défecteur camp, when you found out my grandfather was General Bonnefaçon, you looked genuinely afraid. I thought it was because you were a Défecteur and you were scared I would report you and bring you in.”
“A Défecteur?”
Marcellus shook his head. “But it turns out you’re not a Défecteur, are you? You’re something else.” He spat out the last word. “So why? Why were you scared back there at the camp? That was the only part that didn’t make sense to me.”
The same fear he was talking about was suddenly back inside of her, tearing and knotting its way through her chest.
“I don’t underst—” Alouette began.
“And this,” he said, nodding toward her string of devotion beads. “You showed it to me. You made me read it. You revealed your nickname willingly.”
Alouette’s brow furrowed. “Marcellus. What are you talking about?”
Marcellus latched on to her gaze and stared at her with such a deep intensity that, for a moment, Alouette felt light-headed. “You really don’t know, do you?” he said.
“Don’t know what?”
Then something else flashed in his eyes. It looked like anger. “Don’t mess around with me! I can’t stand to have anyone else lie to me. Especially not you. I can’t . . .” His voice broke and Alouette saw moisture spring to his eyes. He dropped her devotion beads and swatted at his tears with the back of his hand.
“Hey. Shhh. It’s okay.” She reached up and rested a palm on his cheek. At first he startled at her touch, but then he seemed to shudder into it. Like her small, delicate palm was the only thing holding him up.
“What’s going on?” she asked.
“I just came from the Precinct. Where we’ve detained two Vangarde operatives.” His voice was hesitant, halting. As he spoke, he watched her face with vigilance, as though waiting for her to give him permission to continue.
“Yes,” she prompted.
His eyes narrowed. “The Vangarde is a long-time enemy of the Regime.” He paused again, scrutinizing her. “They are the ones responsible for the Rebellion of 488. Seventeen years ago. You know, the one led by Citizen Rousseau?”
Questions bubble and churned inside Alouette. Had the boy lost his mind? What on Laterre was he talking about? A rebellion? The Vangarde? Citizen who? She’d never read anything in the Chronicles about that. If there had been a rebellion on Laterre, the sisters would have told her about it. Principale Francine would have made her study it to exhaustion. Analyze all the angles. The politics, the economics, the strategy. Just like she did for all those wars on the First World.
Marcellus sighed, reached into his pocket, and pulled out a strange object. To Alouette, it looked like a folded-up piece of paper. But when he unfurled it, swiped against the surface, and made it glow to life, Alouette realized it was a TéléCom, the device the Second Estate used to communicate.
He tapped the screen a few times and turned it around to face Alouette.
“Do you recognize these women?”
Alouette took one look and sucked in a sharp breath. Sister Jacqui and Sister Denise were staring back at her from the screen. Except they didn’t look like themselves. Their faces were stony and grim. Jacqui’s twinkly smile was gone.
Alouette shot a scathing look at Marcellus. “What is going on? What did you do with the sisters? Why do you have pictures of them on your TéléCom?” Then she felt a lump form in her throat. “Was it me? Did you find them because of me?”
“Alouette,” Marcellus said in a sharp tone that felt like a slap. “These are the operatives that we detained. They were captured last night, trying to break into the warden’s office at the Ministère. They were attempting to hack Bastille’s security systems.” He nodded down at the screen and then stared back at Alouette. “There’s no doubt. These women are members of the Vangarde.”
Break into the warden’s office?
At the Ministère?
To hack into Bastille’s security systems?
But that was nonsense! Sister Jacqui and Sister Denise couldn’t go to the Ministère. That was in Ledôme, and only the First and Second Estates and authorized members of the Third Estate could enter Ledôme. The sisters didn’t even have Skins. How would they ever have gotten past the Policier and droids at the checkpoints, let alone the ones posted at the Ministère?
But then, for a moment, Alouette flashed back to the last time she saw Jacqui and Denise. It was only yesterday. Alouette was sitting on Jacqui’s bed, watching the two sisters leave, asking to know where they were going.
“That, I’m afraid, I’m not allowed to tell you,” Sister Jacqui had said.
Alouette shook her head. No. She would not believe it. She refused to believe it. The sisters were . . . sisters. They read and studied and ate meals in Grateful Silence.
They weren’t operatives of this Vangarde whatever.
They didn’t try to hack security systems or lead rebellions.
“Give me that,” Alouette blurted out.
But as she grabbed the TéléCom from Marcellus to get a better look, the device vibrated in her hand and suddenly the two pictures of the sisters disappeared into a haze of pixels.
“Where did they—”
The words caught in her throat because, just then, like a puff of steam from her father’s kettle, the pixels rearranged themselves and a message blinked onto the screen.
When the lark flies home, the Regime will fall.
Alouette’s disbelieving eyes darted across the bright white letters.
“What is that?” Marcellus asked, and before Alouette could even start to comprehend what the message meant, Marcellus had grabbed the TéléCom back.
But as soon as it was in his hands again, the letters evaporated.
Marcellus shook and prodded the device. “Where did it go? What was that?” His eyes darted up to meet Alouette’s. “It was some sort of message, wasn’t it? What did it say?”
Frustration bloomed in Alouette’s chest. Frustration and fear and confusion. “I’m the one who can read”—she yanked the TéléCom back from him—“so give it to me.”
The TéléCom vibrated again, and then there it was.
That same cryptic message.
When the lark flies home, the Regime will fall.
What did it mean? Was she the “lark” it was referencing? Alouette’s mind whirled with questions as her gaze roved back and forth over the words.
The meaningless words.
“The operative,” Marcellus blurted out, as if a realization had suddenly dawned on him. “The one with the scars on her face. She did this. She did something to my TéléCom back in the interrogation room. She must have hacked it. She told me to find you. She was sending you that message. Let me see that.”
Marcellus lunged forward and yanked the TéléCom back from Alouette. The words evaporated yet again. Curiously, Marcellus moved the TéléCom toward Alouette. The message returned.
“Your beads,” Marcellus said absently.
Alouette’s gaze snapped up, her fingers reaching protectively toward her devotion beads. “What?”
“They’re triggering the message somehow. Look.”
Both of them watched silently as Marcellus continued to move the TéléCom back and forth. Each time the device got closer to Alouette, the mysterious words would appear, only to disintegrate into a mist of pixels again when he pulled it away.
Marcellus shook his head. “The metal tag must have some kind of sensor implanted or—”
“Stop!” Alouette jumped back, away from the
TéléCom. “Arrête. You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Alouette,” Marcellus said, trying to take a step toward her, but she retreated farther. “I’m sorry. I thought you knew. I thought you were working with them. I thought you were sent to—”
“No! Please stop! This is just some big mistake.”
“Alouette, there’s no mistake. I—”
But Alouette didn’t wait for him to finish. She pushed past him and took off down the hallway. Suddenly it was like a force from somewhere else was moving her. She had to get away from him. Away from his piercing eyes and ridiculous accusations.
“Alouette. Wait!” she heard Marcellus shout behind her. “Please. Stop!”
But she didn’t stop. Not for a second. She kept running. Back down the corridors and stairwells that had led her here. It was like the mechanical room—the Refuge, her home—was a target and she was a beam of light heading straight toward it.
She unlocked the air vent and shot down the ladder, barging into the Refuge. She knew exactly where she was going. She knew exactly what she needed to do to prove Marcellus wrong.
The main hallway of the Refuge was empty. The sisters must still be asleep. She charged forward, toward the heavy wooden door at the end. The one that had always remained closed to her. The one she’d never been allowed to pass through.
“Not until you’re a sister,” she’d always been told.
Well, she was a sister now. She’d been given the beads. She had every right to enter the Assemblée room. She passed by the hallway that led to the sisters’ bedrooms. She passed by the entrance to the common room. She passed by the kitchen.
But her gaze never left that door.
Principale Francine suddenly appeared from the dining room, her eyes red-rimmed and fatigued. As though she’d been up all night.
“Alouette,” she said in her usual stern tone that left no room for negotiations. “Please, come with me.”
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