“Acting? I’m absolutely good.”
“You’d better be.” She looks at her personal. “Lockdown’s been lifted. I’m out of here.”
“Where are we going?”
“You’re not going anywhere. You need to study for tomorrow.” She crosses to a computer on the little white desk against the wall and keys in something. The screen comes to life.
“Why do I need to study but you don’t?”
“I’ve been studying for days. I’m going out.” She fluffs the gold tutu-like miniskirt that’s wrapped around her like tinsel on a Christmas tree, then heads out the door. It closes with a click.
I run over and try the door—the knob turns but the door won’t budge. It’s locked. Only I don’t see a lock. If I can’t see it, I can’t pick it. Someone will have to let me out.
I tap my personal, praying it hasn’t actually been deactivated.
The face comes to life—it works!
“Tag Huckleberry protocol twenty-eighteen.”
DICTATE-RECORD ACTIVE blinks in the window.
“Flyx, are you there? It’s Allie.” I keep my voice low, just in case.
FLYX: here
“Are you okay? What happened?”
FLYX: fine, thanks to your warning. Can you meet?
“Uh, things got complicated. Dietrich was going to recycle me.”
FLYX: what?!?
“Long story. I got away, but then some ASPs caught me, which was actually kinda lucky. Now Dietrich can’t recycle me because they think I’m a diplomat.”
FLYX: gods. Where are you?
“Locked in Bel’s room in Dietrich’s chambers. Can you get me out?”
FLYX: rot, that’s public sector. If I’m caught there they’d do worse than recycle me
“I’ll see if Sharrow can help.”
FLYX: is that a good idea? Do you know for certain she’s on our side?
I sit back. Could she have been in on it? Did she know what her mom was doing? “You don’t think we can trust her?”
FLYX: wish I knew her well enough to say
“I guess I’d better stay put.”
FLYX: if you’re in danger, I’m coming anyway
“No, don’t. I’ll be safe until the president’s visit. But after that…” There’s nothing to keep Dietrich from recycling me, I finish silently.
FLYX: I’m not going to let that happen
You said I was safe before. I push the thought away. I have to. “Tell me what happened with the wormhole machine. Did you get in to see it? Can you fix it?”
FLYX: later, okay? I’ll find a way to get you alone, someplace safe
He wants to get me alone. That twists me up. I want to be alone with him, but at the same time I know I can’t. Not in that way. I really have to tell him. “Tomorrow?”
FLYX: affirm. razing this convo now
Razing?
The words on my personal screen vanish. I try scrolling back, but there’s nothing there.
I wake up with my face on the keyboard of the computer, spikes of pain arcing through my back. I check the time on my personal—ugh, it’s morning. I rub my crusted eyes, cursing Bel for leaving me to study all night.
There’s a sound at the door. I shove the personal under my sleeve, even though it’s supposed to be invisible.
Bel enters and eyes me at the desk. “You look like crap.”
“Screw you.”
“Get changed. We have stuff to do.”
After suppressing a growl, I change into a puffy tan shirt that makes me look like a toasted marshmallow. I can’t say I like it, but it has long enough sleeves to cover the personal. I don’t bother to change the high-waisted black pants I slept in. I slip on chunky black shoes that remind me of combat boots, only without the boot part. They’re the best thing in all the clothes yesterday.
In the attached lav, I brush my teeth. I almost leave my hair a rat’s nest to spite Bel, but think better of it and brush out the knots.
“Come on,” she says.
I follow her out of the bedroom. “I need breakfast.”
“All you think about is food.”
“You left me here all night without dinner. Now I’m not going anywhere without pancakes and coffee.”
She looks over her shoulder at me. “Seriously?”
I stop, planting my feet in the middle of the living room.
She sighs. “Fine.”
Really? I won’t believe it until I smell the pancakes.
We exit through Dietrich’s office rather than the hidden door in the yellow wall. Dietrich’s not there, and we pass through to the lobby. There’s a different woman at the reception desk now. She doesn’t smile or say anything as we pass.
Bel keeps walking, right past the hallway I came in yesterday—the one to Montgomery Station. She sees me eyeing it.
“Forget you ever saw that part of the complex,” she says.
I follow out a door into a beautiful enclosed garden. It’s filled with potted trees and flowers, and a smattering of benches. I look up expecting to see sky, but there’s a ginormous dome overhead.
“What is this place?”
She glances at me with a dramatic eye roll. “The atrium. You’d better start acting like all this is familiar or you’ll raze our cover, and I’m not going down with you, nafe.”
Across the way is a tall brick wall sprinkled with doors and windows. It looks like the outside of a building. If I had to guess, the atrium used to be outdoors.
Bel heads straight for the middle door and enters, letting the door slam on me. I’m expecting this and catch it before it does any damage.
Inside are tables decked out with tablecloths and silverware. A woman in a burgundy waiter uniform bustles over to us.
“Table for two?” she asks.
Bel issues an exasperated huff, but before she can say something rude, I step forward. “Yes, thank you.”
Once we’re seated, I order the full breakfast special. Minutes later, pancakes arrive along with scrambled eggs—or rather, egg substitute—and “bacon flavored protein strips.” It’s all surprisingly tasty, and I gobble it like the Cookie Monster from Sesame Street. Bel picks at her oatmeal. Maybe it’s a skinny-girl thing. I don’t care enough to ask.
When my plate’s empty and I’m nursing the last of my coffee, Bel pushes aside her mostly full bowl and looks at me.
“So you’re ready for today?”
“About that…I’m not clear what we’re doing today, specifically.”
“You were supposed to study,” she seethes.
“I did! The entire stupid tutorial.” Right up until I fell asleep. “But it said nothing about today.”
Bel sighs like I’m the dumbest person on the planet. “We’re meeting with the ASP envoy to finalize the plans for the president’s visit tomorrow. This is the meeting that didn’t happen yesterday due to your theatrics.”
“What am I supposed to do in the meeting?”
“Listen and keep your mouth shut.”
“Okay, no problem.”
She looks like she doubts that’s true. Given my history, I guess I can’t blame her.
Chapter Thirty
The meeting with the ASPs is in a conference room near Dietrich’s office. The colonel and weasel-woman sit on one side of a rectangular table. I’m sandwiched between Bel and Dietrich on the opposite side, almost like they don’t trust me.
I should be paying attention, but my mind wanders as they talk through the security details of tomorrow’s visit. What if Flyx can’t get the wormhole machine to work? I need a Plan B. But what? Pray for a real earthquake? I’ll be recycled long before that happens.
“Allison.”
I tune in to find everyone staring at me.
“I’m sorry. I was…” What excuse can I give? I can’t exactly say I was bored and daydreaming about time travel. “I was wondering….” I say the first thing that pops into my head. “What are the president’s daughters’ names?”
Dietrich’s eyes go wide for a split second and Bel hits my leg under the table. Apparently that was the wrong thing to ask.
“How could you not know?” Weasel says, her voice laced with suspicion.
“Oh, I know their names,” I say, trying to cover. “I’m wondering what we should call them. Like sometimes my friends call me Allie Cat, and I call Bel ‘Belle of the Ball.’ You know, like that.” I giggle, hoping this girlie routine works.
Weasel’s scowl deepens. “Nicknames would be highly inappropriate. Call them Miss Liddy and Miss Maisie.” She narrows her already-narrow eyes at Dietrich. “Are you sure she’s the right person for this?”
Dietrich opens her mouth to speak, but the colonel interjects. “I believe this concludes our agenda regarding the president’s daughters. Now would be an appropriate time for the young ladies to demo tomorrow’s route.”
Bel and Weasel push back from the table, so I do the same. As Weasel exits, Bel gives me a sharp look. I can’t tell if she’s warning me to keep my mouth shut or cursing me for calling her “Belle of the Ball.” Either way, I figure I better stay quiet.
I do pretty well keeping my mouth shut as we go through the tour route on fast-forward. The Atrium, a classroom, lavatories, a game room, a gym. But when we enter the science lab, a “wow” slips out of my mouth.
Weasel wheels on me. “Wow what?”
Bel shoots me a hate-glance.
Crap. I backpedal. “I was surprised it looks so good in here. All cleaned up for the visit.”
“You don’t normally keep an orderly workplace?” Weasel says.
“Allie’s exaggerating,” Bel says. “Always so drama.”
“Guilty,” I say.
Seriously, Bel had to cover for me? I’d never let my attention lapse like that pulling a con. I need to get my head in the game.
“What exactly do you do here?” Weasel asks.
I look to Bel. No way I’m venturing into that territory.
“We monitor pressure in the San Andreas Fault with ground-displacement sensors,” Bel says. “This is where much of the experimentation was done previously as our scientists tried to relieve the pressure. But since that didn’t work, we’re continuing to test theoretical models, hoping to find a way to eliminate the increasing threat.”
“Sure you do,” Weasel says under her breath.
“You disagree?” I blurt.
“Of course I disagree. The president’s entire science team disagrees. That’s what this whole visit is about.”
“I don’t understand why this is even an issue,” Bel says. “We’ve provided all the data and analysis to the president’s scientists. The numbers clearly show the pressure is continuing to build. Without relief, there will be another catastrophic quake. It’s too dangerous to return to the city.”
“You’re here,” Weasel says. “Why isn’t it too dangerous for you?”
“Our work is dangerous,” Bel says. “But we know the risks when we sign on, and we believe it’s more important to ensure the public’s safety than our own.”
“Your work? What exactly do you do?” Weasel asks.
“I told you, we monitor the pressure and—“
“I heard the party line. I want to know what you do. Show me,” Weasel says.
“You know we’re under strict orders not to perform work while we show the president’s daughters the facility.”
“I want you to show me,” Weasel says. “Consider that an order.”
“I don’t take orders from you,” Bel says, standing up to Weasel both literally and figuratively.
“The girls aren’t going to care about this lab,” I say, trying to divert them from their pissing contest. “Don’t you think they’ll be more interested in our bedrooms and clothes and stuff? I mean, that’s what I’m more interested in.”
“You’re right, Allison,” Bel says, sending a shockwave through the universe by agreeing with me. “That’s why it’s last on the tour, right after the boring lab. We want to end on a positive note.”
“Let’s go there now and get this over with.” I start for the door, motioning for them to follow.
“Why, is there something else you need to do?” Weasel asks, like that’s a crime.
“Lunch. I’m hungry,” I say, figuring that’s a safe answer.
“Do you ever not think about food?” Bel says.
Back at Dietrich’s office, I shrink under the colonel’s scrutiny as Weasel delivers her report and Dietrich concludes we’re ready for tomorrow’s visit. I keep my gaze unfocused as we say goodbye, clasping my hands behind my back to avoid shaking the colonel’s hand. He gives me the willies.
Once they’re gone, Bel turns on me. “What the heck is wrong with you?”
“What?” I thought I did a great job.
Dietrich glares at me. “What did you do?”
“Nothing,” I say.
“You were supposed to keep your mouth shut,” Bel says. “You could have razed everything.”
I’m about to argue, but I get an idea. It’s a long shot, but I don’t have anything else. “You’re right, Bel. I’m sorry. I’m just so stressed out by all this. You know, if I could blow off some steam, I’d do a lot better tomorrow.”
“So go to the gym,” Bel says.
“Exercise equipment never works for me. The only thing that helps is dancing.” I really hope they can’t tell I’m lying. “Plus I need to see my friends.”
“What friends?” Bel snarks.
“Sharrow and Flyx and Daum.” I turn to Dietrich. “The ASPs are off the premises, so it should be okay for me to go to the club as long as I’m back by morning, right?”
Dietrich frowns.
I plow forward before she can say no. “I know how important tomorrow is. We can’t risk me blowing it. I promise, going dancing with my friends is exactly what I need. Please? It’s not like I can get into any actual trouble, right?”
Dietrich cocks her head like she’s considering it. I can’t believe this might be working.
“Mom,” Bel says, “you’re not actually—”
“Actually, I am,” Dietrich says. “I think it would do you both some good.”
“Both?” Bel and I say at the same time.
“Both.”
“Thanks!” I say before Bel can argue. “See you in the morning.”
“No, I want you back in my chambers by midnight,” Dietrich says. “I need you fresh for the tour.”
I’ll take what I can get. “No problem.” I head for the door.
“Bel, don’t let her out of your sight, understood?”
“Understood,” Bel says, sounding a lot like Eeyore.
Bel exits into the reception area.
“Why are we going this way?” I whisper.
“The more convenient route is closed thanks to you.”
“Your mom was going to recycle me. What would you have done?”
“There are worse things than being recycled.”
“Like what?”
Bel turns and I follow her down a short hall. There’s a drinking fountain and three doors labeled “women’s,” “men’s,” and “janitorial.” She opens the janitorial door. It’s a supply closet. “Get in.”
Is she punking me? “Uhhh, no.”
“What happened to being anxious to see your friends?” She says “friends” like it’s a euphemism. “Fine. I’ll go first.” She pushes past me and steps inside the closet with the brooms and buckets. “Satisfied? Now come on.”
This must be more camouflage. I step in and Bel pulls the door shut.
It’s dark, then the flashlight on Bel’s personal comes on and she holds it to a wall. The wall pivots outward and she steps through the opening.
I follow the glow of her personal into the dark space. The door swishes shut behind us, and a greenish florescent light comes on—the hum reminds me of the Main, bringing a wave of homesickness.
We’re in a small room—a laundry room—with a utility sink and stacked washer-
dryer on the left, a narrow table and laundry basket on the right. No windows, no other doors.
I’m hoping this is double-subterfuge to throw off the ASPs. The alternative is she’s going to stuff me in the dryer.
Bel crosses to the washer-dryer and squeezes into the gap behind it, disappearing from view.
I poke my head behind the unit and see an opening in the wall. I squeeze behind the machine and look through the opening down into a dark, narrow shaft that smells like sewer. Bel’s head is outlined in the glow of her personal as she descends on metal rungs embedded in the wall.
She looks up. “Come on.”
“No way.” I hold my hand over my nose and mouth.
“You’re the one who insisted we go dancing.”
“I changed my mind.”
“Too late,” Bel says. “You can’t get out of the laundry room without my personal. So follow or stay there. Up to you.”
Looks like I’m climbing into the sewer pipe.
I breathe through my mouth as I climb down the rungs. My tongue feels like sandpaper, but I don’t dare breathe normally.
I know Bel’s punking me—climbing down a sewer drain is too disgusting to be a standard route, plus someone like Spires would never fit. Bel’s probably enjoying the heck out of making me go this way. At least she’s not immune to the stench.
“Take your time,” Bel says, dripping sarcasm.
When I reach the bottom, she’s already walking away down the dark, reeking tunnel. I jog to catch up, trying to avoid the trickle of liquid on the ground. Thank God I have real shoes now.
“Where are you taking me?” I ask.
“What, doesn’t this look like a club?”
After what feels like four hundred miles, Bel stops. It doesn’t look any different here than at any other point. Maybe her personal has a nav system? She holds it to the wall and a doorway appears, and we head down another dang tunnel.
“Are we actually going somewhere or are you screwing with me?” I ask.
“Hold your dogs, nafe. We’re almost there.”
Shake Page 17