I was surprised I hadn’t heard anything at work. According to the rules, theft was a serious offense that often led to the perpetrator being transported to Haven or Prima Feminary, which I’d learned was considered a punishment.
“There were two inspections three days ago,” answered a woman. “Several items have disappeared from the women’s dorm. If you have anything valuable, you’d better lock it up.”
I wasn’t worried. My most valuable item was the carved necklace that I wore all the time.
A short whistle-blast sent us back to our rooms. Our belongings lay in piles on the beds, our closets empty. I threw my possessions back into my cupboard and fell into bed, too tired to care about crumpled sheets.
Next morning, I wasn’t the only one late for work. Dench gave us a warning but didn’t levy a fine. That night, I skipped the recpod, went straight to the dorm and slept like a newborn.
The morning brought clarity and purpose. I needed to talk to Jarryd about the note he’d given me. I stopped at a screen outside the dorm and sent him a message. If I didn’t hear from him during the day, I’d go to the marketplace and find Marta.
On the way to work, I joined the crowd of workers shuffling through the hallways. They walked in twos and threes, engaged in low conversations, going silent as they passed a security camera. I lowered my head and pulled my hood forward when I noticed patches of fresh beige paint dotting several walls. They were reminders that Hypor no longer lived up to its claim as the well-ordered city of the future.
The media lab bustled with activity. Overnight, Premier Delio and the council had issued numerous proclamations that required translation into various languages. Some were assurances of council control with vague references to a threat not yet confirmed. Others were warnings to the vandals, who threatened the peace of Hypor.
The lab grew unusually quiet as the day went on. After a few minutes, I lost interest in the translations until Carrot thrust a paper marked urgent under my nose.
“Look at that,” he whispered. “We’ll be a police state soon.”
The ruling council was enhancing what they called safety measures by increasing the contingent of armed guards. My stomach knotted. Gasps and exclamations of disbelief sounded around the room as Carrot proceeded to tell others of the council’s actions.
I wondered what my father thought about the graffiti. He was a staunch believer in order and fairness. I suspected he wouldn’t like the idea of vandalism, but his response wouldn’t be violence. Delio’s actions gave evidence of his state of mind. Increased armed guards and extra security pointed to fear.
The tension in the room lasted most of the day. I looked forward to six o’clock.
My final translation was almost complete when the media lab went black. I stopped and listened in the silence. Seconds later, emergency lights blinked an eerie glow across the surprised faces of my colleagues.
“What’s happening?” Suck up Sue gravitated to the supervisor’s office.
“Consider yourselves lucky,” said Dench. “You get off half an hour early. Everyone out.” There was no further explanation. I could hear others discussing the blackout. No one had an answer.
With only a few halos of light in the hall, it was difficult to see who was leaning against the opposite wall.
“Swimming, Brynna Bokk.” Weyland moved into a spotlight.
Laughter from a nearby huddle drew my attention. Calia stood with several people from another lab and sent us sneering glances. “I guess that’s the best she can do,” she said in a loud voice before strolling away with her cronies.
“Brainless and petty.” Weyland’s comments were succinct.
“And dangerous,” I added, thinking of her connection to Prince Delio.
“Recpod,” Weyland insisted.
“We can’t swim in the dark.” The thought terrified me. “But I do need to talk to Jarryd. Maybe he’ll be there. Have you spoken with him?”
Weyland shook his head.
A large gathering of unfamiliar faces crowded the entrance to the recreation pod, presumably wanting to escape the blackness. Even this late, there would be some natural light inside. Fortunately, the lights powered up and the throng dispersed. Weyland nudged me forward. My excuse to avoid swimming lessons faded with the growing light.
Before approaching the aquatics area, I did a lap around the track, scanning for my brother. There was no sign of him. I fought back fearful thoughts that threatened to overwhelm my common sense. He must be okay. If anything had happened to him, I’d be first to hear about it. Wouldn’t I?
There was no sign of Marta either, so I faced the inevitable and donned a swimsuit, then grabbed a pair of goggles. I couldn’t take a chance on losing my blue lens.
The suits were similar in style to the women’s exercise outfits, but the sleeves and legs were six inches shorter and the fabric was shiny and slick. There was also a matching red swim cap.
The men’s suits were blue and didn’t flatter Weyland’s thin build. He loped toward me.
“In the water, Brynna Bokk.” He dove in.
There was no way I was jumping into the pool, even if it was only five feet deep. Then, I noticed him pointing to an access ladder. I eased myself in, keeping one hand firmly clamped to the bottom step. As the water rose up my body, I shut my eyes and hesitated.
“Mind over matter, Brynna Bokk.”
I took a deep breath and another step down until I touched the floor of the pool. There was comfort in feeling solid ground with my head still above the surface.
“Cup hands, pull one arm behind shoulder then to front into water. Repeat with other arm.” Weyland demonstrated the movement. It took several attempts to meet his exacting standards. Next the legs, kicking while holding the side of the pool. These were the easy parts. The difficulty was convincing myself that these motions would keep me afloat.
“Arms, legs, breathe.” The intensity of his instruction was fatiguing but successful. By nine o’clock, I had stroked my way across the pool and back several times, without touching the bottom.
“I can’t believe it.” I wiped the water from my face. “I’ve conquered my fear.” Well not really. I’d definitely progressed, but the idea of swimming in the deep part was still frightening.
“Mind over matter.” He beamed. “Tomorrow, more practice, more breathing.”
“Didn’t I just learn breathing?”
“Hold breath longer, deeper.”
I shuddered at the childhood memory of being swallowed by water. “Why would I need that?”
“Steepchase.”
I questioned if it was worth going through more agony just to get into a game—if I could qualify. The goal seemed trivial in light of what was happening on Hypor. But perhaps that was just a residual fear whispering in my brain.
Weyland pointed to the far side of the pool. “One more time across then we’ll go.” His voice echoed in the quiet. I noticed we were alone.
Halfway across the pool, the lights went out.
Glaring emergency lamps shot through the darkness. Uneasy and eager to get out, I stood up and walked toward the lip of the black pool, but I misjudged the direction and stepped into a watery void. All of Weyland’s instructions failed to register as I sank deeper. I clawed at the water. In the terrifying darkness, I expelled the final bit of breath I’d been holding. My limbs succumbed to a paralyzing fear.
Weyland’s bony fingers pushed against my ribcage. “Breathe, Brynna Bokk.”
Sour fluid stung my throat. I turned my head as a gagging cough spewed the liquid I’d ingested. A snort forced water through my nasal cavities. They burned when I tried to pull in a breath. It was several minutes before I realized I was lying beside the pool. The main lights were still out. I let exhausted tears flow. I was safe.
“Thank you, Weyland. You saved my life.”
“Not me,” was his cryptic denial. “We must go, Brynna Bokk.”
I attempted to stand but couldn’t. He pulled my arm
across his shoulder and hoisted me up. We stumbled slowly through white halos of emergency lighting.
“Faster.” He took most of my weight on his shoulders in an attempt to hurry.
My brain was still foggy and my footsteps unsure.
“What’s causing the lights to go out?”
“Sunspots. First indications of CMEs.”
Coronal mass ejections. The threat. It was real.
I’d prayed it wasn’t, but the power outages and the certainty in Weyland’s voice extinguished any doubt.
“How—”
His hand clamped over my mouth and he dragged me toward a low hedge. “Quiet,” he whispered. We crouched, our bodies pressed against spiky branches. “Something happening.”
I jerked forward to escape the jutting points that speared my flesh but froze when a dozen shadowy figures crossed our view. They ran in zagging patterns, dodging the halos of light. We remained hidden until they disappeared. Weyland stood, and to my surprise, he pulled me onto his back and ran, keeping in the shadows. I hoped his night vision was better than mine.
He opened the door of the women’s change room and pushed me through. “Meet at the entrance. Go.”
Inside was silent and dark. I groped my way to my locker, donned my juba and found my way to meet Weyland. We approached the recpod entry doors, but they didn’t swish open.
“No power.” He released a lever above the doors and opened them by hand.
In semi-darkness, we trod silently back to our dorms. The incident at the pool had sapped my energy. I stumbled several times but refused Weyland’s help. I didn’t like feeling helpless. Listless and worn out, I pushed on but trailed my hand along the walls for support. Nearing the dorm, I grabbed his arm.
“Why did we have to hide? Who were they?” I couldn’t see his face in the shadows.
“Can’t say, Brynna Bokk.” Weyland turned into the men’s dorm entrance.
Did he mean that he didn’t know, or that he didn’t want to tell me? The question nagged at me as I crept into my room.
Two of my roommates were asleep. The third bed, where Rebecca slept was empty, but her leg braces were propped against the end wall. As I drifted into sleep, another question arose that I’d forgotten to ask.
If Weyland hadn’t saved me from drowning, who had?
15
The Premier Strikes Back
Next morning, the power was restored.
The dorm lights flickered on at seven o’clock. There was no sign of Rebecca, but the braces had slipped to the floor during the night. I leaned them against her bed, trying to decide if I should report her absence. I chose to wait. Privacy was important to her. Also, I didn’t want to draw attention to myself.
I sent another message to Jarryd and one to Marta before heading to work. Several of us exited the lift and spied Dench at the media lab door, barring entry. “There’s a general assembly announcement. Go down to the fifth.”
Unsure of what was happening, I followed the others.
The fifth floor had no internal walls except for those surrounding the lift. Harsh artificial lighting sterilized the setting. Rows of benches paralleled an immense viewing screen. Helmeted sentries were spaced around the perimeter. Their anonymous presence was daunting. They directed the women to one end of the room, the men to the other.
The shuffle of feet echoed through the space as hundreds of workers slid onto benches, packed together like frightened marmots in a burrow. I poked my head up trying to spot Jarryd’s blond hair among the rows of men but couldn’t see him.
Stale air and hot, heavy breathing contributed to the oppressive atmosphere. Threads of sweat ran under my juba. The woman to my right wiped her face with a sleeve that came away wet.
When everyone settled, I spotted Calia sitting against the dome wall beside Prince Delio. As if holding court, she postured regally on a thin metal chair but fanned her face. Even in her privileged position, she couldn’t escape the moist musty air.
There was a collective gasp when the room blackened and the video screen flashed to life. Premier Delio’s head filled the display. His earlobes hung like ripe fruit at the sides of his neck. The pendulous discs were half the length of my baby finger. How had I missed noticing them before?
“Good day, citizens of Hypor.” His voice boomed. Several people discreetly covered their ears. “Due to extensive vandalism at the recpod last night, it is with great sadness that I must announce further measures to ensure the safety of our populace.”
Several groans, some shouts, and hushed whispers followed.
“Silence!” yelled Prince from the darkness.
The Premier resumed. His lobes swayed as he gestured, emphasizing his words. “Until the vandals have been arrested, the council will institute a curfew. All citizens without the required authorization will be in their dorms by nine o’clock in the evening.”
Protests erupted again, and again Prince yelled for silence.
“After eight o’clock each evening the recpod will be accessible to security personnel only.”
Irate shouts of ‘dictator’ and ‘despot’ exploded from the men’s area. Prince surged from his seat in an attempt to identify who had interrupted the presentation.
The women were silent, but their faces in the screen’s reflected light were angry and resentful. Mine was no different. Where was Father in all of this?
The Premier ended the short presentation by assuring the listeners that he and the council were doing everything possible to thwart the vandals and return Hypor to the safe and productive city it had always been.
The screen went dark.
“What are they doing about the solar threat?” The strong, deep voice cracked through the black silence. Light flooded the room and the guards moved toward the men.
“Who said that?” Prince demanded as he strutted through the flank of taller men. “Speak up.”
No one answered.
Frustrated, he waved one arm at his minions. “Get them out of here.”
Calia scuttled after him as he strode to the lift.
Only the scuffing sound of feet was heard as the fifth floor emptied, but conversations resumed as people flooded from the elevator one floor up. Most whispered, but the tone was clear. People were fuming, bitter. The Premier had inflamed rather than calmed.
“How about you?” Carrot confronted me in the hall with Stick beside him. “Your father is big on the council, what do you know about the solar threat?”
I cringed inwardly. “No more than you.” I managed to brush off his question.
A few people joined our group and began to talk but my thoughts were on the previous night. The figures we’d seen at the recpod must have been the vandals. Was Jarryd involved? Was he risking his life again? I swallowed hard to displace the fear that clogged my throat.
“Well, I think Delio is hiding something,” Stick added his opinion.
Several others voiced their agreement.
“And,” said Stick, emboldened by the group’s attention, “I think the vandals have the right idea. The council isn’t being honest with us.”
No one voiced support this time. Instead, the group thinned and drifted into work. I followed Stick into the media lab, but not before noticing that Calia was lurking at the fringes, listening, her eyes narrowed.
Later that day, Stick received a summons to Dench’s office. He didn’t appear again until the hall door opened and six guards entered.
Helmets masked their faces. Their heavy boots thumped across the floor. I trembled and backed up against the wall. So did everyone else.
“What’s going on?” Stick yelled. Two sets of hands grabbed him. He struggled, his heels scraping the floor as he was wrenched from Dench’s office and dragged out the door.
Carrot slouched into his chair, white-faced with shock. The silence pulsed with resentment and fear. One of our own was a victim of the Premier’s enhanced security.
I glanced at Calia. She didn’t hide her smirk as she
watched the doors close behind Stick and the guards. She lifted her chin defiantly when she caught my eye. I had no doubt that she had informed against Stick.
Carrot jumped from his seat and smashed his hand onto his desk. “Damn you, Calia. I see you laughing. You’ll pay for this,” he growled, eyes wide and wild.
Fear flashed over her face but was quickly replaced with contempt. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Fists clenched, he stomped toward her.
“What’s going on?” Dench screamed from his office doorway.
Carrot stopped, but the interruption galvanized Calia. She ran from the media lab despite the supervisor’s command to halt.
Dench yelled again for an explanation.
“Calia felt sick,” I answered. “With fear,” I added under my breath so only Carrot could hear.
His slight smile acknowledged my support. I’d covered for him, and Calia, hoping he’d be safe from her wrath.
After the morning’s excitement, the workday seemed long and slow. The only translations were the council’s statements confirming the curfew and recpod restrictions. In the afternoon, Dench left for a meeting. I listened as others discussed the vandalism, but the new regulations were their primary concern. Some suggested petitioning the council, but the abruptness of Stick’s arrest underscored their trepidation to act. By the time the six o’clock bell rang, an air of frustrated hopelessness had settled in.
“I guess there’s nothing any of us can do,” said Carrot as the group dispersed.
“There must be something.” I couldn’t stop myself responding. Although I’d avoided the earlier discussion, I was determined to fight the lethargy that had developed. “We’re all scared, but we can’t let the council dictate our lives.”
Carrot shrugged his shoulders and my resolve intensified.
As I hurried to the recpod, I made some decisions. I’d find a way to contact Father even if I had to invade the executive floor. There must be peaceful ways of getting the restrictions removed. If Jarryd was one of the vandals his life was in danger. But he wasn’t the only one. The larger menace threatened the survival of every living thing.
The Last Singer (The Falcon Chronicles Book 1) Page 11