Some of the residents glance at us, but no one says anything. Maybe they can’t see who I am, but they can see her clearly. How many of these people knew Bianca before? Were they told the same lie—that she died? The more people the Directorate lied to about her fate, the more likely their lies would come undone.
“We need to take the alleys,” I whisper after two blocks.
Bianca nods, and when we don’t see anyone else around, the two of us disappear into the shadows of the alleyway.
Unlike the alleys in Pax, these are meant as mini roads for the residents, and the alleys all lead to garages—all of which have vehicles in them, unlike any other borough.
“I need you to make me a promise,” I say, keeping my voice low in case anyone is in their backyard.
Bianca glances at me but doesn’t respond.
“No more killing. Not the DMA recruits, at least. Some of them had no other choice but to join. They don’t deserve death.”
Bianca grimaces. She’s Somatic. Her Power is in her strength, and I’m getting the feeling that it includes killing as a result. But it isn’t right. And it isn’t Bianca.
“Please?” I really need her to say yes.
Bianca sighs. “I will...try.”
“Promise?”
“I promise. Unless I’m left with no other choice.”
I nod. I suppose it’s the best I can hope for under the circumstances.
After a few blocks, the scent of sarsaparilla reaches for me like a familiar caress. The houses on our street are in far better condition than I remember. Maybe it’s the shock of seeing the way that others lived in Pax that makes these houses seem too elegant, too bold. The scent of the gardens in a few of the sprawling lawns doesn’t calm my nerves like it used to. Still, the aroma is familiar. Like home.
Bianca’s steps slow, then halt completely once her former backyard comes into view.
The lights are on inside, like many of the houses in Salas—another distinct difference between here and Pax.
I reach for her hand to offer support, but she pulls away and strides forward. I quickly follow, wondering how we will break the ice. Maybe a “hey look, your daughter isn’t dead, and your son is an evil dick.”
Bianca’s hand trembles as she reaches for the knob on the back door. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her tremble. It’s the first real sign that she isn’t as much of a programmed robot as she seems.
“We could knock,” I offer, keeping my voice low.
Bianca shakes her head. This is home. Knocking doesn’t seem right. “You had better be right, Powers.”
I flinch at the dangerous edge in her tone. Even now, on the back doorstep, she doubts me.
With a surge of confidence, she turns the knob, and as I follow her through the back door, I glance once more at the sky to discover a single light pulsing brilliantly.
Is that a warning or validation?
36
The television adds the only sound to the house as we enter through the kitchen, and a sense of dread gives me a shiver. A dim glow over the kitchen sink is the only source of light in the room as we step inside and close the door. Bianca’s hand slides over the clean granite countertop as she moves toward the light in the living room. There’s a sense of intimacy in her touch.
I follow Bianca toward the front of the house. This place is familiar to me, like a second home. I spent a lot of my childhood playing here as much as in my own home. It should make me comfortable, at ease, but instead, the house does the opposite.
Mr. Pond never much cared for me, the boy across the street who was far too interested in his daughter—later to become that Powerless boy who had no worth. Mrs. Pond had been fond of me though. If only she were the one running the network. Instead, I will have to beg for help from the guy who would rather see me disappear from his daughter’s life. I can only hope that the spark of true investigative journalism still burns within his heart and mind. That desire for the truth will be critical to me swaying him to help.
But if he thinks Bianca is dead, what does he think of me? Does he blame me? Paragon can’t have released much information about what happened. Maybe they don’t even realize Bianca died helping me.
One can hope.
Bianca freezes in the broad living room doorway, staring at her parents with wide eyes. Sensing the motion, Mrs. Pond turns her head away from the television and lets out a squawk as she clutches at Mr. Pond’s arm while he furiously sends messages to someone on his phone. He follows her frozen gaze to the two of us in the kitchen entryway, and his own eyes pop.
No one notices me at first. Not that they should. They obviously thought their daughter was dead, judging by the sudden paleness of their faces and frozen shock. Yet here Bianca stands, alive and well.
“Bianca?” Mr. Pond’s brows pull together, and he eases his wife’s hand off his arm to rise.
Bianca’s voice cracks. “Dad?” The lines on her forehead tighten together, a genetic trait she shares with her father, and her arms fall like lead to her sides. “Mom?”
Mr. Pond breaks from his trance and rushes across the room, sweeping her into his arms in one of the fiercest hugs I’ve ever seen. In moments, Mrs. Pond joins them, and the three just cling to each other crying tears of joy and disbelief.
I step back to give them a little more space, carefully inching toward the window and peering cautiously out into the street. The black vehicles almost blend into the darkness. Almost.
Across the street, my house is dark. Mom went underground at least a week ago, and even though I know she isn’t there, the urge to go across the street and confirm she isn’t there tugs at my feet.
I glance back at Bianca’s family, and my stomach twists in knots. I want that kind of reunion, but I wouldn’t get it. Mom isn’t there.
The television is tuned to the news, as it usually is in this house, reporting on the radical attacks in Pax. The spin is focused on how the radicals attacked a DMA transport vehicle, murdering all the troopers inside, proceeding to destroy several houses, killing residents as they fought off DMA reinforcements before escaping. They escaped!
The media spin is never truthful, but the Directorate wouldn’t want to report a fake escape of the very people they want to capture if it weren’t true. If anyone was detained in the fight, or even killed, the Directorate would want it reported for everyone to see, like saying “look at our success.”
“The death toll continues to climb,” the reporter says—not Elpida, further confirming what Jayme said about her earlier tonight. “And the DMA is calling for anyone who has information to report it immediately.”
My friends won the battle, but the war isn’t over. I glance back at Bianca.
Mrs. Pond kisses Bianca’s forehead, holding her daughter’s face in her shaking hands.
“My girl…” Mrs. Pond’s voice trails off.
Bianca quivers as her dad slides his arm around her shoulders.
“How…?” he asks. “Forrest told us you died. He…” Mr. Pond seems unable to finish, unable or unwilling to put the pieces together.
“He told me the same about you,” Bianca says, her voice thick with a mixture of joy and anger.
Mr. Pond shakes his head, utterly confused. “But why?”
Mrs. Pond looks up as if seeing me in the room for the first time, then takes a step back. “What is he doing here?”
It stings. She was the one I expected a little support from.
Mr. Pond looks me over, frowning. “Gloria, get my phone.”
Mrs. Pond takes half a step toward the couch, where he left the phone, but Bianca grabs her arm. “Please, Mom. Don’t. I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for Ugene.”
Mr. Pond glares at me. “What do you want?”
I take a desperate step toward him, thankful that the shades are closed for the night. “Please, sir, we need your help.”
“Why would we help a radical terrorist?” he asks, puffing up his chest.
“Wait, why do yo
u think I’m a radical terrorist?”
“Because of the crimes you’ve committed,” he continues, a snarl turning up his lip. “They say you are responsible for what happened at Paragon, and you are now leading a group of radicals against Elpis and may be behind this attack tonight. Anyone who helps you will be sent out of the city.”
“Dad,” Bianca says. “I’m not sure that’s true.”
Mr. Pond flinches.
“He risked everything to bring me here and prove the DMA lied to me…that Forrest lied to me.”
“Forrest knew?” Mr. Pond’s face screws up in anger.
A spark of hope alights in my chest and I take a cautious step toward him. “You know something is going on, that the reports the Directorate and DMA are feeding you aren’t completely true, but you can’t prove it.”
His mustache quivers with indignation…but he hesitates.
“Families are torn apart,” I continue, hoping I’m getting through to him. “I’ve seen it with my own eyes just this morning. People go missing with no explanation—like Elpida. What happened to her, Mr. Pond?”
His gaze darts to Mrs. Pond, and they share a knowing glance. It happens too quickly. I almost miss it.
“You comprehend more than you’re letting on,” I say, “even if you can’t be certain how much of it is true. You were there during the transition when the former Directorate Chief mysteriously died and Seaduss took office. As all of these changes happened and new laws passed, you were given information that deep down you knew was at least partially false. If you are even the least bit suspicious, even the slightest bit curious about what happened to Elpida, don’t you think others are as well? And you have the power to bring the truth to light.”
Mrs. Pond joins her husband, taking his arm and casting an imploring gaze at him.
Mr. Pond stares into his wife’s eyes, then shakes his head and turns his attention back to me. “Even if I wanted to, we can’t help you.” He waves at the television. “If we don’t report you, the Directorate will order our arrests.”
“Do you think I don’t realize what I’m asking of you?” I adopt as casual and non-confrontational a pose as I can while displaying the urgency at the same time. “None of this is easy. But it’s right. We’ve all acted like sheep, blindly following the herd and leaning on our Powers in lieu of knowledge. But knowledge is what could save us.”
Mr. Pond goes still, raising his chin as he considers, and his gaze flits around the room as if uncertain where he should look.
“Daddy, Ugene helped me.” Bianca takes her dad’s hand. “Now we need to help him.” She nods to me. “Show him, Ugene.”
I swallow, reaching for the zipper of the jacket lining. What if this is a mistake? What if I hand all of this information over to him and he turns it in along with me?
“Ugene,” Bianca says with urgency.
I pull out the papers. “This is why they are after me.”
Mr. Pond doesn’t move toward me at first. His lips compress, and he stares at me for so long I fear he may not even give me a chance. Then I realize he isn’t staring at me. He’s Reading my aura. Mr. Pond is a Divinic Aurologist, but unlike how Celeste could read people’s futures through auras, Mr. Pond can sense emotional reactions and trauma—and on rare occasions, he can read moral alignments. He’s trying to gauge whether or not I speak the truth. Thankfully, I have no reason to lie.
Finally, with a huff of irritation, he strides toward me and snatches the papers so fiercely it makes me flinch. As he lowers his head, he takes a moment to cast a challenging gaze at me. I swallow and rub my arm.
Lowering his glasses from the top of his head, Mr. Pond flips through the pages. His scrunched-up, angry face shifts. His jaw goes a touch slack. Then his copper eyes—so much like Bianca’s—dart up to me. “Where did you get this?”
“Dad left it for me.”
“And what am I supposed to do with this?”
“I need you to share it,” I say, hope blooming in my chest. “People need to know the truth about what’s going on in the Directorate.”
Mr. Pond’s brows shoot up. “You want me to report on this? If all of this is true, and they are trying to cover their tracks, the DMA will break down our door and kill us, then spend the next week spinning the report to make us look like we were part of the radicals all along!” He shoves the papers back at me. “No. I won’t risk my family.”
I step with urgency toward him. “Sir, I don’t think you understand this fully.”
“No, boy, I don’t think you do. I can’t use reports like this to try and discredit them. Reports like those can be fabricated, and if there is no other evidence of their existence elsewhere, as some of those scribbled notes suggest, then it makes that claim so much easier. It’s unusable on its own.”
“That’s not all I have,” I say quickly, fumbling in the jacket for the drive from Miller and holding it out between us. “This is from Paragon. It shows the experiments they are performing on test subjects. Deadly experiments. Formulas, project notes, test readings. It’s all there. Most of the data is encrypted, so I can’t unlock it.”
Mr. Pond grimaces and takes the drive. “Just like that, huh? You’re just handing it over.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
I glance at Bianca. “Because I trust Bianca, and she trusts you.”
He takes a moment to regard that drive, turning it in his fingers. “Encryption isn’t an issue. I have someone I trust with a Power that should be able to crack it.”
“You should know, though, that…” I shift, glancing over his shoulder at Mrs. Pond. Releasing those videos will destroy their family. “The researcher performing the experiments…it’s Forrest.”
Mrs. Pond sucks in a breath, covering her mouth with her hand.
I feel terrible, but they deserve to know the truth before we move forward. “And it isn’t easy to watch.”
Mr. Pond’s expression shifts to anger. “You are telling me you bring one child back to us only to rip the other one away?”
“I’m sorry.”
Bianca pulls away from her parents and moves to my side. “I trust Ugene, Dad.”
“Of course you do.” He turns away and starts pacing the living room. “You’ve always trusted him. Even when he led you into trouble, you trusted him. But this…Bianca, this will tear our family apart and put all of us in grave danger.”
“I don’t know him,” Bianca says, which draws confused looks from both her parents. “He says I do, that we grew up together, but I only met him a day ago. Still, he is the only person who has been honest with me, and who trusted me when—by all rights—he shouldn’t have. I owe him the same.”
“They did something to her, sir,” I say. “Experiments. I’m not sure the extent of it, but Paragon somehow selectively erased some of her memories—her time in PSECT at Paragon, me—and implanted some false memories, like your deaths.”
Mrs. Pond takes her husband’s hand.
“Experiments?” he says, looking at Bianca.
“I died,” Bianca nods. “And Paragon did something to bring me back. They also somehow enhanced my Power to make me their super soldier.”
“We have to do something,” Mrs. Pond says. “She’s our daughter, Nick.”
“And what about Forrest?” he asks, clearly torn between his love for his children and what is right. “He’s our son.”
Mrs. Pond opens her mouth, but nothing comes out.
“It’s possible Paragon has somehow corrupted Forrest,” I say, though I don’t really believe it. The idea could give them some sense of hope for their son. It’s a terrible thing to ask parents to choose between their children, but what Forrest is doing is wrong. It needs to be stopped, even if he is being used.
“Please.” I dare to step closer. “All I’m asking for is five minutes of airtime to share the truth and deliver evidence.”
He shakes his head.
“Sir, the Directorate is using the Consumption T
ax to force people into these experiments. I also suspect they are injecting something into those they select for DMA service. Something to brainwash them, like they brainwashed Bianca. Directorate Chief Seaduss is making a power move to purify the population. And if the people don’t join willingly, he is using the DMA—with numbers bolstered by those same people he wants gone—to carry out his plan. If we want to stop them, we need to make sure everyone knows the truth. Letting me speak to them is the best way to do that.”
My hands slip into the pockets of my jacket, and my fingers brush against the second drive—the one Dad left.
Giving Mr. Pond everything is a huge risk. I don’t have copies of any of this data. But he is my best chance at using the numbers of the population against the Directorate like we used numbers at Paragon to overwhelm security.
I press my lips together and pull out the second drive, holding it toward him.
“What’s this?” he asks, hesitantly taking it from me.
“Plans for the DMA Purification Project.” It’s hard letting go as he grabs it from my fingers. “It was with the stuff my dad left.”
Mr. Pond turns the drives in his hands, scowling. He is trying to put the pieces together, clearly deep in thought.
I shift my feet as I wait, wondering if he will agree or not. The longer he thinks, the more thoroughly my hopes are dashed.
Mr. Pond is in a terrible position. I can only hope that his desire for the truth and that doing the right thing will motivate him.
“Ugene, a word…alone.” Mr. Pond walks into the kitchen, expecting me to follow.
I stuff both hands deep into my jacket pockets, glancing at Bianca and Mrs. Pond before hanging my head and trailing him.
Mr. Pond waits on the other side of the island, both drives lying on the papers on the countertop. But his gaze is fixed sternly on me. This can’t be good.
“It’s time you learn that nothing in life is free.” He leans forward, his hands flat against the granite. “So, here’s what I’m offering you. No negotiations.”
My stomach twists, but I nod.
“I will give you five minutes. My team will meet you at the broadcast location. After it’s done, you leave. If you delay in the slightest, you will put everyone at risk. Even with someone using their Power to scramble our location, the DMA will close in on the block quickly. Is that clear?”
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