Mirror's Edge

by Scott Westerfeld

  I fire twice—pfft, pfft.

  “Take it easy!” the girl cries.

  She’s wearing body armor … in bed.

  I aim for her legs.

  “Stop it, Frey! I’m helping you!”

  The sound of my own name freezes me.

  I stare at her familiar face.

  “Really?” she says. “You don’t recognize your old friend Demeter?”

  I squint, remembering my hundreds of hours spent watching Rafi’s parties—Demeter was always there. We’ve even met a few times, like the night before Col and I escaped from Shreve, our engagement party.

  “What are you … ?” I shake my head. “What’s going on?”

  Demeter sighs. “My mom’s out cold in her bedroom. I used this thingy on her.”

  She gestures at the bedside table, where an old electric stunner sits. An intimidating black rod—crowd control from Rusty days.

  “You’re welcome,” she says. “For everything.”

  “Oh,” I say.

  Demeter is one of Rafi’s best friends, part of the inner circle of rich and powerful kids of Shreve. She’s well connected, ambitious.

  And also our spy, it seems.

  We gather downstairs. It’s almost midnight, eleven minutes before the military diversion begins.

  Demeter starts tea on an old-fashioned flame stove and offers us cookies from a plate.

  “I baked just for you,” she says.

  Zura stares at the cookies. “Nobody touch them.”

  “Hah!” Demeter sits down at the head of the table. “Like poison snickerdoodles would be my endgame?”

  “Fair point.” Col picks up a cookie, takes a bite, and talks with a full mouth. “If I die, at least the rest of you will know not to trust her. Wow, these are good.”

  Zura only sighs.

  “One question before we start,” Demeter says. “Did I see you on tonight’s Shame-Cam, Frey?”

  The others all look at me, wondering what she’s talking about.

  “False accusation,” I say. “So you’re our spy? All the way back to helping me and Col escape?”

  “Not just me.” A ping sounds, and Demeter stands, lifting the teakettle from the flame. “The other first families have had it with your dad’s nonsense.”

  “We were starting to get that idea,” Col says. “You’re letting the system fall apart on purpose.”

  “We’re loyal to our city, Col.” Demeter pours the hot water into a teapot. “But we don’t want to spend our lives under siege!”

  It’s strange, Demeter recognizing his new face. But she was the one who created these identities, I guess.

  But that doesn’t explain one thing: How does she know that I’m Frey, not Rafi?

  I look at Zura, who’s been coordinating with the spy—or spies, I guess—from the beginning. Why would she reveal my true identity to an anonymous source?

  She looks back at me, holding my gaze as if I’m the one who needs to explain. I guess we’ll have that conversation later.

  The tea’s orangey aroma fills the kitchen, mingling with the smell of the grass floor, the forest scents drifting through the open windows.

  “If you’re all against my father,” I say, “then why knock Kessa out?”

  Demeter gives me a tired look. “Mom’s not going to let some rebel boss walk out of her jail. The crumblies don’t want foreign intervention—they want to push your dad out gradually. They want Shreve for themselves.”

  “But you and Rafi’s friends have other plans?” I ask.

  “We don’t care who the free cities put in charge. We just want to be normal rich people. We have parties to go to and no one invites us anymore.”

  I fall silent, wondering if she would mind that Diego wants me in charge.

  “You’re missing a few parties,” Col says. “Spoken like a true revolutionary.”

  “Don’t be sense-missing, Col Palafox. You want the same thing we do—for the world to go back to normal, with you and your family in charge of Victoria!”

  “I think we can do better than the way things have been,” Col says. He looks like he’s about to say more, but Zura cuts in.

  “You did all this without help from your mother? She doesn’t know anything about our mission?”

  “She has no clue. All I did was borrow her software.” Demeter pours herself tea, glancing at the shelves full of antiques. “Smuggling is super profit-making here—giving crims new identities is part of that. Mom also taught me how to crash the dust in this house. This table is where the families meet when they’re treason-making. Tea, anyone?”

  “Yes, please,” Col says. “So you and your friends, you’re a revolution within a revolution.”

  Demeter’s eyes light up. “Yeah. That’s the title for when they make us into a feed drama!”

  It’s like everyone in Shreve is thinking about their place in history. Which makes me wonder …

  “How much does my sister know about you and your friends?”

  Demeter sips tea. “You should ask her.”

  I stare at the girl. Does that mean Demeter isn’t sure what Rafi knows? Or that she’s not supposed to tell me?

  “This is all fascinating.” Boss Charles turns from Demeter to the rest of us. “But we’ve got three minutes till the next stage of our mission begins. So here’s my question—does finding out that our spy is a useless rich kid change the plan?”

  “Useless?” Demeter protests. “Beg to differ.”

  Zura looks around the table, waiting for someone else to make a point.

  When nobody speaks, she shrugs. “We knew the spy was someone in the regime. We just expected someone older.”

  Someone not connected to my sister would be another way to put it. But I don’t say a word.

  “I’m a month older than Frey,” Demeter mutters.

  Zura ignores her. “So we follow the plan. Lodge, grab Kessa, take her to the garage. Yandre and Boss Charles, set a few charges around the house. Take out every cam and datapoint, just in case. You two are with me, up on the roof.”

  Col takes my hand. We’re about to see some fireworks. The others spring to their feet, heading off to do as they’re told.

  “What about me?” Demeter asks.

  Zura smiles. “That’s easy.”

  She raises her rifle and, with perfect aim, shoots Demeter in the arm.

  “Ow,” Demeter says, dropping the teacup to the floor. “Rude.”

  “Long live the revolution,” Zura says.

  Demeter’s eyes flutter, and she falls with a cringe-making thud.

  “Well,” Col says. “That’s one way to forge alliances.”

  Zura shrugs. “Makes her look innocent.”

  “For now,” I say. “But there’s plenty of evidence in this house, if my father starts looking. Those smuggled antiques, the ID-making software …”

  “Not our problem.”

  “Well, I’m taking this,” Col says, standing up and heading to the shelves. From between two dueling pistols, he lifts a hunting bow.

  Zura rolls her eyes. “All of military history, and you want a bow and arrow?”

  My eyes scan the antique weapons, but there’s nothing as useful as my variable blade.

  Maybe Rafi knows me better than I know myself.

  Then I see it—a pulse lance. Like my old pulse knife, but its blade can extend to the length of a spear. Boss X’s preferred weapon.

  I check the diagnostics and smile.

  Kessa Shard keeps her antiques charged.

  “Upstairs,” Zura says. “The attack starts in three minutes.”

  The roof is as luxurious as the rest of the house—a fireplace, tall grass and a handful of trees, a second swimming pool.

  It also has a view of my father’s tower, and the solid, imperturbable skyline of Shreve.

  “Where do you think they’ll hit?” Col asks. He’s busy with his arrows, rolling them along the roof parapet to test for straightness.

  “Diego neve
r gave us any details,” I say.

  Zura raises her field glasses. “We’ll know in about thirty seconds.”

  A nervous shiver goes through me, and I reach for my feels, but for once, my fingers aren’t sure which emotion to choose. Those reflexes are fading at last.

  Zura lowers the glasses and looks at me. “I suppose you noticed that Demeter called you Frey.”

  “Of course. You told them my real name?”

  She shakes her head. “Why would I do that?”

  It finally hits me. “Because they’re Rafi’s friends. If they thought I was her, I could give them orders. You didn’t want me taking control of their revolution!”

  “That’s ridiculous,” she says. “I had no idea who I was communicating—”

  “Let’s figure this out later!” Col cuts in. “Three, two, one … ”

  The attack arrives with uncanny precision—a spray of light across the sky. Each bolt from orbit splinters into a dozen shrieking drones, leaving a dazzling trail, like pitchfork lightning.

  The drones flare as their reentry shields fall apart, the sonic booms arriving a few seconds later, tardy thunder. The whole thing is magnificent and heart-shuddering.

  For the first time, the free cities have struck at Shreve directly. This isn’t some blockade, an embargo, or aid to rebel proxies. It’s an unmistakable act of war.

  “Those are underground factories.” I point at the brightest fires on the horizon, then swing my arm from left to right. “That’s the main barracks, and the greenhouses …”

  A stray thought hits me—Ran was right to worry about his ration card.

  The rain of orbital drones continues, until the night sky is zigzagged with fire. Every dust chimney around us goes up, struck with thermal warheads that billow burning clouds into the air. The free cities are blinding my father, killing his dust.

  I wonder what the AI is thinking now. After a decade of fighting rudeness and littering, how is it coping with a rain of fire from the sky?

  The Shreve fleet finally rises into the air, adding to the display.

  “This is more than we expected,” Col says softly.

  Zura lowers her glasses. “A lot more. I’m starting to wonder if—”

  There’s a stuttering flash, and then the hovercraft pens near my father’s tower ignite.

  “Cover!” Zura cries.

  I crouch behind the parapet, and seconds later, the air buckles. A vise closes tight around my chest, my ears, the liquid in my eyes. The shock wave isn’t a mere sound—it’s my skin transformed into the membrane of a drum.

  I can’t hear or think. The world takes long moments to pull itself back together around me.

  Zura shouts above the ringing in my ears. “That wasn’t a drone! That was a railgun, straight from orbit!”

  I blink—the entry trail is still there, a glowing column in the sky, air turned to plasma by the projectile’s passage.

  Railguns fling down chunks of metal at a tenth the speed of light. The result is simple and cataclysmic, like being hit by a meteor.

  This is a Rusty-style attack, using everything short of city-killers.

  As far as I can tell, no houses have been targeted. But lots of civilians work at those greenhouses and factories …

  My heart is beating wrong in my chest. This is my city, and it’s burning before my eyes.

  “This doesn’t look like a diversion,” Col says softly, ignoring his scattered arrows. “What if we’re the diversion?”

  I shake my head, uncertain of anything.

  Would the free cities have committed to this attack if they knew my father was trying to build nukes? Or would they have hit him ten times as hard, so he never gets the chance to retaliate?

  Maybe they found out somehow, and this is the result …

  “Frey,” Col says, taking my hand. “I’m so sorry.”

  We’ve watched a city bombarded like this before—Victoria, the night my father destroyed Col’s home.

  But the place where I grew up is still standing tall.

  “If the free cities are going all in, why is the tower still standing?” I ask.

  “They’re worried about what happens if he dies,” Zura says.

  My breathing goes shallow—mutual destruction.

  My father must have done something with that nuclear waste.

  The free cities have not only started this war; they’ve pushed it to the brink of cataclysm.

  “Down to the garage,” Zura says. “Security will be calling in Kessa Shard.”

  No one says a word in the hovercar.

  We all know what a full-scale war looks like. Something much larger than expected is unfolding, which means the free cities have hidden their true plans from us.

  But there’s nothing we can do except focus on our mission.

  Boss X is still at Security headquarters, and there’s no telling how long his prison will remain intact around him.

  Most of us are back in the passenger section, hidden under the seats. Zura and I are in the front, with the unconscious Kessa Shard. I’m up here for my local accent, Zura for her reflexes, in case the ruse fails and we have to fly straight back out.

  Hopefully, everyone at Security HQ will be too overwhelmed to give the boss’s car a second glance.

  The sky is still alight above us. The clouds flicker and flash, reflecting explosions on the ground.

  The Shreve fleet has found its footing at last and is fighting back against the invaders.

  I wonder if the Futures understand what’s going on. Do they think we betrayed them? Or is all this destruction only sharpening their sense of historic drama?

  “Set your clothes,” Zura says.

  “Right.” I adjust the controls on my sleeve, and my hiking thermals turn the deep blue of Security. There are no campaign patches and my borrowed shoes are wrong, but it’s close enough to fool a hurried glance.

  Security HQ rises up before us, a giant hexagon, black against the forest. They’ve doused every light in the building, but hovercraft are streaming in and out of glowing entry bays, silhouetted against the flickering sky.

  “Eye-scan,” Zura orders.

  I reach over and gently open Kessa Shard’s right eye, then lean her toward the rearview monitor. The car’s AI chirps, just like when we started up its engines.

  The running lights on our car blink in a new pattern—the commander is aboard. As we approach an entry bay, the guards wave us through with a crisp salute.

  But a few meters inside, an officer steps in front of us. The car’s collision sensors ping and glide us to a halt.

  Zura’s hands tense on the flight stick.

  “Hold on, everyone,” she mutters over her shoulder. “We might have to back out fast.”

  I check the rearview. “Nothing’s in the way.”

  The officer—two chevrons on his shoulder, a captain—comes around to my side of the hovercar. He has a data wafer in his hand.

  He makes a sign with his fingers. The car’s AI reacts, the window sliding down.

  “Eyes-only data dump for the commander,” he says, handing me the wafer. “Sent on a hard line from the tower.”

  “Thank you, Captain,” I say in my crispest Shreve accent.

  He leans a little lower, saluting Kessa Shard sitting motionless beside me, her eyes closed. When he frowns a little, I almost warn him that she hasn’t had her coffee yet.

  But he’s not looking at Kessa—he’s looking at me.

  His eyes widen. “Were you … ?”

  And it hits me. In the course of my city going up in flames, I’ve forgotten that my face was on all the feeds tonight.

  “My big sister,” I tell him. “An embarrassment to the family. But the commander is in a hurry, Captain.”

  He leaps back with a sharp salute. “Ma’am!”

  The window slides closed as we drift ahead.

  Zura drops the flight stick, letting the car fly itself into the commander’s parking rack.

  She lo
oks at me. “Your big sister? What was that about?”

  “One of the Futures decided to play a trick on me, on a feed show called Shame-Cam. It could be a problem, if anyone sees my face.”

  “Shame-Cam.” Zura frowns. “Public humiliation, right? Does that mean you’re a crim now?”

  “Sort of.” I sigh. “More like an ethics-missing rubbish person.”

  “Perfect,” Zura says with a smile. “Car, open the dash.”

  A dashboard compartment pops open, and she rummages inside it for a moment.

  She pulls out a pair of wrist cuffs. “You’re my prisoner now, Islyn. Which means I need to take you to wherever prisoners are held.”

  I groan. “People who are shamed don’t get arrested, Zura. It’s worse to be free, where everyone can see you.”

  She shrugs. “The city’s under attack. I’m declaring martial law.”

  “They think I stole some shoes. Why would anyone make me a priority?”

  “A crim’s a crim. This will work, trust me.”

  I sigh. We don’t have time to argue, and maybe she’s right—in this confusion, the story won’t matter. All we need is for people to point us at the holding cells.

  I set my hiking thermals back to civilian colors and hold out my hands, wrists together.

  As the cuffs shut, an acid trickle of memory cuts through me. The snick of the lock is too much like the bomb collar my father made me wear the last time I was in Shreve.

  “Take the key,” Zura says, offering me a gray fob. “Just keep it out of sight.”

  “Don’t need it. The variable blade Rafi gave me can handle these.”

  “Fine.” She puts the fob away. “Your sister gives interesting presents.”

  “It’s weird,” I say with a smile. “All I ever get is weapons.”

  When X rescued me and Col, he presented me with a pulse knife, exquisitely wrapped. I’m glad I’ve brought him something in return, the lance heavy in its hidden holster.

  X is somewhere in this very building, and soon we’ll both be free again.

  The car slides to a halt. Instead of a parking rack, stacked with the rest of Security’s craft, Kessa Shard’s space is in a quiet corner of the bay. Beside it is a door marked with the three stars of her rank.

  Hopefully, an eye-scan from our sleeping passenger will open it.