by Megan Lynch
“What are you doing here?” she asked.
“I followed you.”
She narrowed her eyes. “I took three buses to get here. Why didn’t I see you?”
“Oh,” he said, “I came on that.” He pointed to a small motorbike parked on the far side of the square.
“You drove that thing here? Where’d you get it?”
“A friend loaned it to me.”
“There’s that knack for making friends again. What does this one want? What’s the price of driving this friend’s motorbike twenty miles outside the city in the freezing cold?”
Taye clicked his tongue. “You can act like you’re still mad at me for not knowing that the Scots actually read books, but it turned out to be a help to our cause. So why not trust me?”
“That was lucky for you,” said Samara, but she was smiling.
“Nah, I have good instincts. My mom always said so. And let me take that.” He slid her backpack down her arms and onto his own back. “Oh my God, what do you have in here?”
“Raw materials. I’m going to build myself a castle.”
Taye unzipped the bag and took out a book. His fingers barely fit around it. “A Brief History of Scotland.” He dropped it back inside. “I wouldn’t want to see the unabridged version.”
“It’s important to know your history.”
“Those who don’t know their history are doomed to repeat it.”
“Yes, that’s what they say.”
“But those who do know their history have to sit around chewing on their nails while they watch everyone else repeat it.” He swung his arms through the straps, keeping the backpack on the front of his body. “I don’t know how you wore this on your back the whole time. It hurts my back just to think about it.”
Samara snickered and glanced back up to the empty podium. She wanted to tell Taye that the speech would be starting soon, but before she had a chance, she became aware of a group of men staring at her and Taye. Only they weren’t just staring; they were seething. With their arms crossed, they shifted their weight back and forth as if they were preparing to strike. They took turns looking their way, spitting on the ground, and gritting their teeth. They were too far away to pick up any words, but whatever they were saying was tinged with a growl.
“Taye?”
“I see them. That’s why I came. This is a Monroe Macintosh rally—did you really think the people here would be happy to see us?”
The crowd erupted in cheers as the man of the hour stepped out of a black transport and onto the little bandshell. He took his time, waving and smiling, before shuffling some papers on the podium. The journalists in front of Samara and Taye raised their cameras. Two raised their watches to record his speech. Seeing people with watches in Scotland was rare enough that Samara never expected it. The surprise always hit her just a minute too late, as if her brain was telling her that all was normal, all was well, just before jolting her back into reality.
“My friends!” said Macintosh, and the crowd stopped their yelling and leaned in to listen. “I can’t tell you how pleased I am to see such a gratifying turnout. Together, I know you and I can reclaim Scotland for our people!”
Taye stepped half an inch closer to her, and Samara stepped a full inch away. She was a grownup, and this is what she expected. And if Daniel and the rest of the Red Sea trusted her enough to go to this rally alone, then she could handle it alone.
Macintosh continued, “You see all these terrible things happening in the news: the unstable United States sending its people here without any thought to how this might affect our resources and revenues. And these people are quite unlike the hard-working, brave, proud people of Scotland.”
Taye groaned. “We escaped an oppressive system and somehow survived a mass murder by the government, but we’re not hard-working or brave or proud or anything. Nope.”
One of the journalists turned her head slightly to bring her ear closer to their conversation.
“Not so loud,” Samara whispered.
“And now,” said Macintosh, his voice gathering nourishment from the sounds of approval in the crowd, “We have one of them who is painting his ugly symbols of his own political thoughts on the walls of Edinburgh. Just walk around the city! You can’t walk two blocks without seeing this graffiti, put up by a foreigner who wishes to brainwash our people with American propaganda!”
“Throw them out!” the men beside Samara started chanting. “Throw them out! Throw them out!”
One of the men lunged at Samara. “Throw them out on their brown asses!”
Taye threw his arm in front of Samara, and the man, who might have mistaken it for an aggressive gesture, punched Taye in the stomach. Taye stumbled backward, but the man who hit him howled in pain—instead of Taye’s stomach, his fist had hit A Brief History of Scotland. The media was suddenly upon them, many of them pointing their cameras and watches on Taye.
Samara heard the words did you see what he did to him somewhere in the crowd, but she didn’t know which him was which, and had a nasty feeling they weren’t talking about the man who’d thrown the first punch. Another man from behind him took Taye’s jaw in his hand and hit him, close-fisted, across his face. A flash of an old camera coincided with the sound of the strike. Samara threw her arms around Taye and dragged him away as the others leered for them both. She went through the journalists, who gave them a wide berth as they limped away as quick as they could. Taye found his feet, and the crowd cheered as they broke into a run, away from the square and down the nearest street.
Taye coughed. “The motorbike—”
“We’ll get it later. Don’t worry about it now.”
“I have to make sure it’s okay. It’s not mine.”
“I know. Now, shut up and let me look at you.” Samara stepped in front of him and lifted her chin to look at his face. “Not too bad. The blood makes it look worse than it is.”
“Very reassuring.”
“Let’s walk round for a little while, then we can go back and let Nurse Sue take a look.”
“Nah, I’ll go straight to the aid workers. They’ll have the medical stuff Nurse Sue will need anyway…”
“They’ll also have questions. I think we should be more strategic about who we involve in all this and when.”
Taye said nothing, which Samara took as an agreement, and they walked around the little village. Surprisingly large homes loomed; not as large as they could get in the United States—Samara had been in Two neighborhoods before. She’d originally mistaken the homes there for hotels. As they walked on, Samara was amazed that these people were so fearful; they seemed to have everything, and yet they were still afraid that even a small part of it would be taken from them. And that fear was enough to compromise the lives of human beings.
“Can I ask you something?” Taye asked suddenly.
“You just did.”
“Stop. That’s what I—why do you always have to be right about everything? Why is every idea I have the wrong one until you decide it’s right?”
“Are you still talking about the book?”
“Not just that, but yes, the book was a bad idea until you reconsidered. So was me coming with you today. And in case you wondered, I haven’t told you what I’ve swapped for the motorbike yet because I know you’ll just shoot it down. Why can’t you trust that other people have ideas of their own?”
Samara gaped at him, but only for a moment since the weather insisted on constant movement. All this moving irritated her. “I’m just…I’m tired of making things up as I go along. What I really want is for someone to tell me what to do! I just want to feel safe again.”
“Like you felt safe under Metrics?” Taye asked, his voice quiet and his words slurred by his swollen jaw.
“Yes! When I thought they were just out to protect me and give me a suitable life for my tier, it was actually pretty nice! Now I have to question everything before I act. Do you think I like being this way? It’s exhausting.”
They both turned their faces toward the pavement again, walking quickly but aimlessly down the row of beautiful homes. Samara sighed.
“What was it?”
“What?”
“What did you swap for the motorbike?”
He touched his lips before he spoke. “I promised I’d get your boyfriend to paint a canvas for this guy down at the Plum Tree. He thinks Bristol’s about to become the next big thing in the art world.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
Denver had been here before. Every morning this week, she’d awoken the same way she’d gone to sleep: in an empty bed. She could tell that Stephen had been there because of the ruffled bedclothes and the scent of him still on them, but as she doubled her time spent asleep, he halved his own.
She knew he was working on a plan with the Red Sea, but she didn’t know what it was. The last time she’d witnessed him overworking, he’d been disguising his work as games on his watch to make her believe that he wasted his days playing video games when actually he was working to gather information about the relocation and lead Unregistered citizens, including her brother, to freedom. At that time, he’d been hiding his work from her to protect her—she was working for Metrics while she was finishing her studies—but there was no reason to hide his activities now. So what was going on?
She’d hardly seen him all week, and the time never seemed quite right to ask. He’d eat dinner with all of them in the dining hall and give her a peck on the cheek before inhaling his meal and taking off again in the direction of the library, Daniel’s house, or Parliament. Samara insisted she didn’t know what he was doing, but that the Red Sea was trusting him with something important.
Important was one thing, but dangerous was another. Denver needed to keep Stephen around, not only for sentimental reasons, but for practical ones as well; he was about to become to father of her child. He couldn’t go on risking his life as usual.
After dinner that evening, she rose from the table with him when he’d finished his meal.
“I don’t want to rush you,” he said.
“You’re not. I want to come with you tonight.”
“I’ll be pretty late.”
“I’ll come back if I get tired. I don’t mind.”
Stephen looked uncomfortable, but he couldn’t force her to stay and he knew it. She’d already brought her coat down from their room and pulled it on. She was already getting thick around the middle. She didn’t yet look like an expectant mother, but she didn’t look or feel like her normal self, either. She zipped her coat with some difficulty and followed him out the door. Either she was also getting slower, or he was walking abnormally fast. She struggled to keep up as he weaved through streets and alleyways.
“Just in case we’re being followed,” he said over his shoulder.
They eventually came to a university. The brick building’s facade was imposing, especially in the half-light of dusk, and the steps leading up the door were steep. Denver was winded by the third one, but continued to the top. Stephen stopped at the door and waited for her.
“Stephen,” she said, winded, “what is this?”
“Training.” He barely moved his mouth when he said it, yet his eyes were actively searching her.
“Oh. What are we being trained on?”
“We’re not being trained on anything. We’re the ones doing the training.”
She waited for him to explain, but he just walked through the door and down the hall. She made an involuntary growling nose in her throat and followed.
Eventually, he stopped and held a classroom door open for her. About twenty people held their own conversations among each other in desks facing the front of the room. Daniel was there, too, along with a woman Denver recognized from TV—someone from Parliament. She and Daniel were chatting and greeted Stephen warmly when they saw him. When Denver walked in, neither of them bothered to hide their surprise.
“Mrs. Steiner?” asked Daniel. “Nice to see you again!” His eyes traveled conspicuously from her face to her belly and back again.
“It’s Denver,” she said. “Nice to see you, too. And I don’t believe we’ve met.” She reached a hand out to the woman whom she knew by sight but not by name.
The woman shook it. “Melinda Terry. I am so glad you decided to join us tonight. Your insight will be very valuable.”
“I’m sorry, but I don’t know exactly—”
“Let’s get started,” Stephen said and cleared his throat loudly enough to stop the ambient voices. The people in the seats, Denver noticed for the first time, were not the usual white Scots that she was now used to seeing, but mixed-race, like herself.
“As usual, we’ll do the culture part of training first, then Daniel and Melinda will take over for strategy discussions. Tonight, we’ll start with practicing our American accents. We’ll practice having a conversation with our partners about popular TV shows. We’ll do these first as Twos, and then as Threes, and then as Fours. Did everyone bring the slang cheat sheets from last week?” Several held up copied paper sheets. Denver felt her heart rate quicken in her veins as Stephen’s plan dawned on her. “That’s great. Let’s get started.”
After Stephen’s portion, the class took a bathroom break. She leaned in to Daniel and Melinda. “I’m getting tired, but I don’t want to walk home alone. Would you mind if I stole Stephen back to walk me home?”
“Of course not!” said Daniel. “We’ll muddle through without him tonight.”
“See you tomorrow night, Mr. Steiner,” said Melinda.
Denver thanked them and gave Stephen a sharp look. They walked away together in silence until they were out of earshot. Instead of following the hallway back outside, Denver led him into an empty classroom and shut the door.
“What the hell is going on, Stephen?”
He sighed and sunk into a chair, deflated. “The justice department here has a plan to liberate the United States. They obviously won’t tell me all of it, but they asked me to help.”
“They asked? Or you volunteered?”
“They asked.”
“Why you?”
“Maybe because I’ve been working for the Red Sea since I was a teenager!”
Denver hadn’t heard him snap like that before. She wanted to snap back, but she needed him to open up, so she softened her face. “Just tell me what’s going on. I’m entitled to that much.”
He rubbed his shoulder with his opposite hand. “Those people in there are the UK’s spies. They’re going to the US in a few months to infiltrate Metrics. Like I said, I don’t know the whole plan, but I hope they can overthrow Metrics and give the US its democracy back. It’s been a long time coming, and we can be a part of it.” His eyes were wide and pleading. “I know the timing’s not right, but I didn’t choose it.”
“Why now?”
“It’s the Bird. He knows we’re here, and he’s working with the UK to provide an insider connection to Metrics. He usually addresses the group by hologram at the end of these meetings. Us coming here might be the key to liberating the US.”
Denver pursed her lips and looked down at the floor. Little specks of purple and yellow were randomly splattered on each tile; an homage to fashionable interior decorating of the previous decade. “You’re planning on going with them.”
“I haven’t decided yet.” His voice was hoarse. “I do have to go to London next week to start training the rest.”
“Were you going to tell me?”
“Of course.” He stood, took her hands, and pressed them against his forehead. “I just hadn’t found the right time.”
“Tell them I’m coming with you.”
He nodded his head slowly at first, then with more conviction. “I think we can do that. I’ll tell them that you can help. You know the Threes much better than me, and most of these people are going into Three positions—”
“I’m going to London with you, yes. But I’m also going back with you, if that’s your choice.”
Blood
drained from Stephen’s face. Denver planted herself firmly and watched him, almost enjoying his trepidation. Serves him right.
“You can’t.”
“I can.”
“You would put our child in danger?”
“Our child has always been in danger. It’s the air he breathes now. I won’t let you go alone.”
Stephen stared at the ground for a long time, not moving except to blink. Samara continued to watch him, enjoying it less with every passing moment. Finally, he said, “We’ll go to London together. I do think you can help if you want. And I’ll talk to some of the others about finding a replacement to go back with the recruits. I can gamble with life; I can even afford to lose someone else’s, if it came to that. But yours, and our baby’s…”
Denver closed her eyes and pressed her fingertips on them. It did feel different now. Bristol had always depended on her somewhat, but it was nothing like this new life. Still, was it fair to tell someone else they had to go instead?
“When do we leave?”
“Monday morning.”
It would be their first train ride together since the trip they took on the hospital express when they escaped Metrics. This time, though, it would probably be her, not Stephen, who would be sick to her stomach.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Bristol looked over his itinerary for the day. He had an interview with an art magazine at ten, and then a lunch meeting with a gallery owner. After that, it was back to Olympic Village to work a bit, and finally a cocktail reception in the evening. Though the agent who’d met him and Samara at the Scottish Museum of Contemporary art had been kind and asked him to think over her offer for a few weeks, she’d called every day afterward to push him into signing a contract with her. Samara seemed happy with her persistence and told him it would be good for the cause, so Bristol had accepted on the third day. Now, only a few days later, she was concerned less with his art and their cause and her eyes sparkled when she talked, and she talked of nothing but his career.