“Ethan, if we don’t drown, will you help me work on some of my hand-to-hand combat skills when the rain lets up?”
The smile he turns on me is warm and genuine. “Sure.” He fiddles with the cuff of his sleeve. “You know, I can’t blame you for skipping Norvis’s class. He really is a cretin.”
We’re stuck under that tree for a day and a half, hungry, fireless, and sleeping under shared jackets for warmth. It’s not altogether unpleasant, but we’re both pretty cramped by the time the sun comes out. Ethan checks the weir and I break open a few rotting logs until I find one with dry punk inside. Then I show Ethan how to start a fire by striking my knife against a quartz rock from the stream. It takes some time to start the punk without any dry fluff or charred cloth, but eventually I get it going. We keep adding punk till the wet wood begins to dry.
The rest of the week holds more purpose than the first half. Perhaps more than any of the past five weeks. Ethan’s not such a bad teacher when he loses the attitude, and my reflexes and timing improve dramatically. I’m tired at the end of the day, and a little sore, but I smile more and I laugh a lot. And as I knock apart my weir before we head back up the mountain, I find I’m glad Caedmon didn’t come after all.
TEN
Caedmon meets us as we disembark from the aeropod. “Willoughby wants the two of you in his office immediately.”
Ethan’s back straightens as soon as his feet touch the dirt, his stride becomes measured and precise, and efficiency drops over him like a cloak. But he holds the door for me, and I feel a light touch at my back as we enter Willoughby’s office. The friendly, relaxed atmosphere we carried back with us has not vanished completely.
“Ah, good morning, Jack, Ethan,” Willoughby greets us. “You are both looking fit. Did you have a good week?”
Ethan stiffens to attention beside me, but I hear the smirk in his voice. “Yes, sir. I managed to keep Miss Holloway alive.”
I roll my eyes and push him away with one elbow.
Willoughby peers over his glasses, his eyes flickering between us curiously. “Indeed. Well, congratulations, Jack. Your training has successfully concluded.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Ethan, your help in this matter has been appreciated. I commend you for a job well done.”
“Does this mean I’m reinstated on the electromagnetism project?” he asks.
“Not quite yet. I thought you might be interested in the latest reports gathered from my sources at Macron. Jack, I’d like you to hear this too. Please have a seat.”
Ethan takes the sofa, and I curl a leg beneath me as I sink into the plush chair.
“You’ve missed an interesting week,” Willoughby begins. “While you were gone, I’ve received word of a number of kidnappings in Epson City. Mostly girls, ages fifteen to eighteen.”
Every bit of frivolity drops from the room. “You think they’re related, sir?” Ethan asks.
“Well, that would be my first thought. Wouldn’t you agree?”
“It seems likely. Are there no others beyond Epson City?”
“None that follow this pattern.”
Willoughby presses a button, and a holoscreen appears in the center of the room. Four rows of smiling, fresh-faced girls flash onto it.
“Of our sixteen victims, nine are acclaimed ball players, one is skilled in archery, three run, two row on teams, and five swim competitively.”
“All athletes,” Ethan muses. “And all very pretty.”
“And each one has received academic honors. These are smart, accomplished young ladies. They’re not the type to run away or be taken in by shady characters.”
Ethan’s eyes have narrowed. I can practically see his brain analyzing the data. “What castes are they from?”
“Mostly Uppers and Middles. A few Lowers.”
“Were there any ransom notes?”
“None. This doesn’t seem to be about money.”
Ethan rubs his chin absently with a finger and thumb. “How did they go missing?”
“Every one of them disappeared after school or after a school-related activity.”
“Any suspects?”
“Well, that depends whether you consider them suspects or fellow victims. One of the girls disappeared with her boyfriend. Another with a young man with whom she maintained a close friendship. Neither of the boys has shown up since.”
Two more pictures appear on the screen. The boys, one age sixteen, the other seventeen, also look fit and athletic.
Ethan jumps to his feet and begins pacing right through the holoscreen. “I want case files on all of them—where they were, what they were doing, who they were with, when they left, when they were expected home, their usual routes, their dog’s names, their grandmother’s hair color, and their favorite lollipop flavor.”
Willoughby simply folds his hands over his desk. “I’m sure that data is readily available. The Military is circling this thing like buzzards around a dead body, but they won’t solve it from the outside. I want someone there. In the city. On the inside.”
Ethan is silent for the span of three heartbeats. “You want me to go undercover?”
“Yes, I do.”
More silence. “Sir, what about my other project?” I can tell Ethan desperately wants to return to it.
“Yes, the mysterious circles of electromagnetic radiation. Very curious.”
A muscle in Ethan’s jaw bulges. “I believe it will prove much more than a curiosity, sir.”
“As do I. Which is why I am so pleased with the way Miss Markle has been monitoring it in your absence. In fact, this past Monday, she reported that the wavelengths from one of the sites shortened significantly overnight.”
“Which one, sir?”
“Epson City.”
Ethan drops onto the sofa. His eyes fix on a piece of lint on the carpet. Thoughts flicker across his face so rapidly I can’t hope to guess at them. “When would you like me to leave?”
“How soon can you be ready?”
“I’m ready now, sir.”
Willoughby chuckles. “I’m afraid I haven’t made any specific arrangements for you quite yet. Take an hour to shower and get some lunch. By that time, I should have a ride, an apartment, and clothing ready for you. You wear that and everyone will know you for Military.”
“Of course, sir.”
“Will that be enough time, then?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And you, Jack?”
I sit upright. “Me?”
“I would like you to accompany Ethan on this assignment.”
I stare in shock.
Ethan turns toward me, his face tight with anger. It holds no trace of the camaraderie we shared moments ago. “I would like to request a new partner, sir,” he says.
“And who would you suggest?” Willoughby asks mildly.
“Caedmon.”
“I’m afraid we need her to monitor the project.”
“Someone from Military then. Someone other than Miss Holloway.”
Willoughby appears amused. “May I ask why? The two of you looked quite chummy as you entered my office a few minutes ago.”
A muscle jumps in Ethan’s jaw. I can feel my own body tensing with indignation. It’s the same arrogance, the same lack of confidence that I thought we had outgrown.
Ethan flicks another glance my way. “Miss Holloway is a very good woodsman, sir. But she has no experience in the field.”
“I’m sorry to contradict you, Captain Alston, but Miss Holloway is fresh off this field. You’re still young enough that we may be able to dress and shave you down into an acceptable disguise, but she won’t even require one.”
Ethan tries again. “Her weapons training is abysmal, sir.”
“I grant she could use some more practice, but she’ll have you to cover for her. She is highly qualified to join the cross country team and make friends among the possible victims, which is exactly what I’m going to ask of her.”
“I’m happy
to, sir,” I snap, glaring at Ethan.
“And if the kidnappers make an appearance?” he asks, his eyes burning right back into mine.
Willoughby smiles. “You’re the best we’ve got.”
I am furious as we leave Willoughby’s office. As soon as the door closes, I’m in Ethan’s face. “What do you mean by undermining me like that? You act like I’m some kind of child who can’t take care of herself.”
“We’re not going to the woods, sweetheart,” he says condescendingly. “This assignment is far beyond your means.”
“You heard him. I’m perfectly capable of playing the part of a schoolgirl.”
“You are a schoolgirl. How long have you been out of class, seven weeks? Eight?”
I lift my chin. “Then I should be convincing.”
Ethan squints his eyes down at me. “Do you understand what’s happening here, Jack? It’s likely a trafficking ring, and Willoughby wants to use you as bait. And when the bad guys show up, what are you going to do? Hit them with your purse?”
Could that really be what’s bothering Ethan? My safety? Or is he just looking out for himself? Because all the objections he made are true. I’m eighteen, barely out of school clothes, playing make-believe with guns and weapons. The only defense I have is my ability to outrun most attackers.
“You heard Willoughby.” I squeeze Ethan’s bicep and smile up at him sweetly. “I’ve got you.”
He’s not amused. He grabs my wrist and drags me into the doorway across the hall. “Have you ever been to a city before, Jack?”
“No, but I don’t think that should disqualify me from this case, either.”
“Of course you don’t. It wouldn’t occur to you that you have no street smarts, no knowledge of city culture, no experience with the kinds of people we’ll meet there.”
“We’re not going to be prowling around back alleys after class, Ethan. We’re going to school.”
“You don’t know where this assignment could lead, Jack. We might very well end up in some dangerous areas. And if we do, I want someone with me who can watch my back. Not someone I need to protect.” He lets his breath out in a mad rush of frustration. “I can’t believe Willoughby stuck me with you. It’s like babysitting, round two.”
My eyes tighten down so hard the muscles in my cheeks ache. “I am an adult, I graduated first in my class, and I passed every Military test except the five-mile, which I missed by three seconds. I’ll try not to let all my deficiencies interfere with your investigation.” And I stomp off toward the dormitories to take a much-anticipated shower.
***
We don’t talk much on the ride to Epson City. Ethan glowers out his window and I sulk out mine. It’s like the pleasant week we just shared never happened. Like I haven’t spent seven days proving I’m resourceful, I’m capable, and that I’m actually better at some things than he is. No, I’m back in square one, an object of disdain, worthy of no respect whatsoever.
The aeropod drops us off at the airfield, and Ethan commissions an autopod to take us to our apartment. The vehicle is a tiny, driverless oval that hovers above the street like a floating bubble. I’ve never seen anything like it. In Settlement 56, vehicles are heavy, cumbersome things that run on fossil fuels, like the truck that carried me out of the mountains. I want to laugh at this smooth, sleek, weightless toy.
Ethan rolls his eyes when I can’t figure out how to open the door. He flips the latch, and we load our luggage in the back seat and squeeze in behind the curving front window. The compartment, tighter than the cave beneath the toppled tree, crams our shoulders together. Ethan pushes a button that activates a holo screen, types in our destination, and the autopod smoothly floats us into the street. I refuse to ask him how it works, but he must see my curiosity is killing me. Either that, or he considers my ignorance another liability.
He sighs heavily. “Sensors beneath the ground guide the autopods. The holoware of each one connects to a city mainframe. We enter where we want to go, and the system regulates our speed and position in relation to all the other pods in the network. It’s quite safe.”
I try to look unimpressed as we navigate out of the airfield and into the city, but I can’t manage it for long. I am very, very impressed. I finally drop all attempts at reserve and gawk out the window like a little kid. I wonder if Will was this agog when he first arrived in Macron City.
Buildings that looked impressive from the air appear absolutely massive from the street, rising up one hundred, two hundred stories. They’re shiny and modern, finished in metallic tints of blue, purple, red, and green and built with no visible seams so that it looks like someone just lowered them onto the ground in one solid piece. The downtown area contains little greenery. Only clean, shiny glass and metal, glinting with sunlight and reflecting the passing clouds like perfect mirrors.
After a few turns, we take a street that looks altogether different. On one side, fresh, new monoliths; on the other, destruction. Here, buildings with boarded-up windows list to one side, gouges scooped out of their faces. Collapsed roofs, missing walls, toppled high-rises—the skyline looks like a row of broken teeth.
“That’s the Warrens. Part of the old city. Only Lowers there. Best to avoid it altogether.”
The autopod dives back into the comfort and blissful ignorance of the new city. I watch the jagged horizon vanish behind the street’s sleek facade.
We stop before a green-tinted apartment complex, a squat, round-edged block that rises up two dozen stories. “We’re home,” Ethan says, opening the door and pulling out our luggage.
I step onto the street, arms akimbo, and stare up at the building. “How many people do you suppose live in a place this size?” I ask. We could easily fit all of Settlement 56 inside.
“A few hundred.” He sets my suitcase beside me. “It’s an Upper- and Military-only building. There’ll be room to sprawl.”
“I’m not Upper or Military.”
“You’re with me.”
“So what are we supposed to be? Upper or Military?”
“Upper, of course. Military doesn’t attend public school.”
“Oh.” Silly me.
We go inside, and my eyes bulge at the grandeur of the place. Marble floors, twenty-foot ceilings, archways, carved pillars, fountains, live grapevines hanging with heavy clusters of fruit. It’s a castle right out of one of Miss Whaley’s fairy tale books.
“Pick your chin up off the ground and try to pretend you’re not fresh from the hills, or the apartment manager’s going to think I’m slumming it with some hooker from the old city.”
I snap to attention and put on the haughtiest manner I can manage as Ethan shows our fake IDs to a man behind the desk, fills out some paperwork, and accepts a pair of keys. But I’m rubbernecking again as he leads me out of the lobby to a set of elevators down the hall.
“Is this how you grew up? In a building like this?” I ask.
“One pretty similar. Not in this city, though. I’m from—”
“Macron City. Caedmon told me.” We cross over a bridge with a real stream of babbling water flowing beneath it. “I guess we know why you never learned to build a fishing weir.”
The elevator carries us to the fifteenth floor. I drop my suitcase at the door and whistle through my teeth. The flat is approximately the size of Opal’s backyard, with three different sitting areas, two high-definition holoframes mounted on the walls, and a myriad of tables and planters and objects for which I can find no practical purpose.
“So, why’d Willoughby put us up in a place like this? Seems like an awful lot of money for a single assignment.”
Ethan chuckles. “This is how most of the world lives, Jack.”
“Not where I come from.” I flop onto a ginormous sofa. The place makes Willoughby’s office look like a fisherman’s hovel.
“We’re Uppers, remember? We have to play the part. Besides, with any luck, we won’t be here more than a few weeks.”
Ethan pulls his suitcase
past a table long enough to seat an entire shift at the cannery and toward an office area beyond. There, he clicks on his holoband and syncs it with the apartment’s mainframe. A short beep tells him he’s in. “I’m going to print off some of these case files. Pick the bedroom you want.”
Two doors open off the central living area, one on each side. I try the left one first. It’s as luxurious as the living room, but in a masculine way, with deep colors and a lot of gleaming wooden surfaces. It even smells masculine, a sort of cinnamon, lemony smell.
I try the other door. Here the colors are more muted—fleshy—and there’s far more paisley in the fabric patterns than I appreciate. For such an upscale place, the designer gets a giant fail. But it smells of home. I inhale deeply. Pine, earth, a hint of sun-baked grass, and that fresh tang that says outdoors. I close my eyes and the ugly disappears. I want this one.
My bathroom is big enough to service thirty people, with an elevated whirlpool tub located front and center before a panoramic view of the street. I question the modesty of this arrangement until I remember that from the street I couldn’t see through the metallic green glass. With the smell of the forest and view of the sky, bathing here must feel an awful lot like skinny-dipping.
I go back out to the living room to fetch my suitcase and toss it on the bed. When I return, Ethan has piles of papers stacked on the conference table. “I think we should go over the files before we meet with Principal—” He glances at one of the papers. “—Pringle Monday morning.” He approaches a panel of buttons on the wall. “What do you want for dinner?”
“What are my choices?”
“What would you like?”
“I’d like chocolate cherry ice cream, but I need to know my choices before I can choose.”
He pushes a few buttons and leans against the counter to peruse one of his files. I watch suspiciously. A minute later, I hear a soft whooshing sound, and Ethan lifts a metal door. A pint of chocolate cherry ice cream sits in a silver bowl.
My mouth drops open. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
Ethan rolls his eyes again and walks over to deliver it. The bowl even contains a silver spoon.
Recompense (Recompense, book 1) Page 12