by Julian North
“With the information I have given you, the chip bill is finished. The presidential election is still a year away. She can be stopped—one defeat will lead to another,” Jalen proclaimed.
Alexander didn’t look convinced. “Virginia won’t be so easily beaten. President Ryan-Hayes kept her down; my father slighted her. Those things have changed her, and not for the better. Once she was ambitious. Now she is dangerous.”
“More than dangerous,” I said. “There are people like her in the barrio—people who have fought and hated and lost so much that they become … empty inside. And blackness fills the void. Virginia is one of those, but worse, because she has power, and because she pretends to be civilized—at least in the manner you people consider civilized. I’m sure she’s the one who gave weapons to my brother and his friends and got them to fight, just like she wanted. People are just pieces in her game.”
“Riots in the streets play into her hands. That’s how she got the SPF in place to begin with, combined with Hoven’s naivety. In the end, people demand order above all else.”
“People in Manhattan demand order. People who control vote allocations demand that. In the barrio, we just want heat, food, and to be left alone.”
Jalen ignored that point. “If you care about the men and women in Bronx City, and Boston, and elsewhere, you should find a way to keep them off the streets. Find a way to keep them from attacking Authority property. I checked up on your brother—he is a prominent gang leader. Persuade him to help you.”
Anger surged in my eyes. “People have been stepped on. They have been used. You can only push people so far. Of course, they will fight to survive. The guns were just fuel, but the inferno was already lit.”
“You do not think there must be order?” Jalen asked pointedly.
“Your ‘order’ is our oppression,” I shot back.
“What would you have us do? Allow destruction and killing in the streets?”
“Treat us like human beings. Treat us as equals.” I pounded two fists on the table, leaning toward him so that our faces were a two-finger length apart.
Jalen shook his head, as if disappointed in me. “People were never equal. The rise of the highborn merely made that obvious to all.”
Fire flooded through me. Alexander’s hand was on me, urging calm. I wasn’t interested in being calmed. “So, you are no different than Virginia Timber-Night? You would see people like me enslaved, killed, or obedient? All because a doctor didn’t fiddle with our genes in the womb?”
“Of course not, Daniela. I merely accept the world as it is. My point is that there was never equality. All people are not created equal. You are the best evidence of that. You may not be highborn in the traditional sense, but your abilities separate you from other nopes. That is a fact, however much you protest it. But I’m nothing like Virginia. Being better does not give us the right to oppress those who are less than us for our own benefit. Quite the opposite. I believe that superior advantage binds us to greater generosity. But I do not condone chaos—it benefits only the wicked. Something must be done about disorder, and so it shall. That is our responsibility to everyone. We highborn were made to rule over those who are less.”
I was reminded of something from Script class. It had been just words to copy earlier today. But now I knew they were more. “‘The higher we are placed, the more humbly we should walk.’”
Jalen’s thin smile emerged. “Cicero, yes, I have read him. He has been dead a long time.”
I moved even closer to him. I wanted him to feel my anger. “I think old Rudolph Banks had it right: ‘Power’s like shit for a hog.’ Dress it up however you like. Noblesse oblige. Genetical superiority. Whatever. The highborn love power.” Our eyes were no more than an inch apart.
Alexander pulled me gently away from Jalen. “Daniela, Jalen is my guest.”
“It’s all right, Alexander. I like to understand the people I am dealing with. I have learned a lot from this meeting.” Jalen stood without haste, rigid and proud. “We do not have to agree on everything to be allies. We need only to act with honor for a common purpose. Shall we now do so?”
He extended his hand to Alexander, who took it without hesitation. Next, Jalen turned to me, palm open. I stared at the hand. I was reminded of the day Havelock made his offer to come to Tuck. Here was another elite who wanted to use me. I didn’t know precisely what Jalen wanted, but I knew it was something. But I didn’t see any other choice. I took the outstretched hand. His fingers closed in on mine.
Jalen turned to go, then stopped, as if remembering some minor detail. “You still haven’t told me how you got the controlColonies out of Rose-Hart.”
I spoke before Alexander had a chance to. I wasn’t going to risk Jalen knowing the truth. “DNA. Once we had Landrew’s genetic identity, it was easy.”
“Easy? To penetrate the Rose-Hart Advanced Development Complex?”
“We had other advantages. An inside man, highly placed.”
He peered at me, then Alexander. “I see.” Another empty smile appeared on his lips. “It is good to have resourceful allies. Perhaps one day we will trust each other enough to speak the whole truth. I hope we can get there quickly.”
Jalen turned his back to us. Alexander shot a grimace at me.
“Jalen, one more thing,” I said. He stopped but did not turn to face me. “Can I trouble you for a ride to Bronx City?”
Chapter 18
“I should go with you,” Alexander told me.
I rolled my eyes. “I’m already chaperoning Nythan. I can’t have two of you along. Stay here and start making use of the information Jalen gave us. Get control of Rose-Hart and let Nythan and me find out what’s happening in Bronx City.”
“Nythan isn’t a fighter.” I snorted, even though I shouldn’t have. “And you are? You are fast, but that’s not the same as being ruthless. The barrio is ruthless. Anyway, you underestimate Nythan. Don’t forget, he’s been going up there almost every day for weeks, setting up that clinic, working, helping people. He’s learned to blend in—as much as Nythan can blend in anywhere. I think the Trinitarios actually like him. You might be quick, Alexander, but not as quick as force blast.”
The azure of Alexander’s eyes clouded. He was actually worried about me. It was ridiculous, but I didn’t mind. I smiled, forgetting Alissa’s warning for a fleeting moment.
“I have something for you,” he said, flicking a couple of fingers on his visered hand. “I know Nythan and Jalen’s vehicle will be here for you soon, but I think we have enough time for this.”
I tilted my head. Alexander had never gotten me anything. I told him early on I didn’t want anything from him, and he had taken it to heart.
Gibbs came in holding a rectangular velvet-covered box. Alexander took it and held it before me as his servant withdrew. He opened the lid with a flourish. I gaped at the glittering object within. It was a viser.
“Rose-Hart’s latest model. It is not a Tyrell prismPulse, but quite an impressive machine nonetheless. I prefer it over the Tyrell model, although I’m biased. It's metallic hydrogen and organics. Light as a feather. Once coded to you, the encryption is unbreakable. And it’s waterproof.” He smiled at the last. It was good to see. I smiled back. For a moment, I forgot the weight on my shoulders and the fist clenched around my heart. I took the viser from its case without guilt. It was freely given, with nothing expected in return. With Alexander, I was sure of that. A true gift.
I removed my busted antique viser to make way for the new glittering sleeve of technology. It slid onto my arm like a Tuck skin, adjusting itself until it fit perfectly. Its surface was initially cold, but it quickly warmed to match my body temperature. I flicked a finger to activate its screen, then gave my consent for it to code itself to me. I drummed my fingers like a piano virtuoso. It was far more sensitive than my old device.
I looked up at Alexander and was greeted by a sea of calm blue. “Thank you.” I wrapped my arms around him, and he did the sa
me for me. He was warm, steady, and comfortable. I was going to ruin that.
“I’m glad you like it. I was worried you wouldn’t accept it.”
I pulled back, that fleeting moment of harmony gone. The weight of Alissa’s knowledge returned. I didn’t want what she told me to be true. But I knew it was. I just didn’t know how to reconcile that deception with the person standing in front of me. Time was short, but I couldn’t keep this in any longer. I had to know.
“What is wrong?” he asked as my jaw became taut.
“Did you meet with an agent from California two days ago, while I was in Bronx City?”
Alexander took a step back from me. Even his stony face didn’t completely conceal his shock at my words. “What are you talking about?”
“Did you meet a man named Harrison Elias-Arkin two days ago, when you were trying to get me out of Bronx City?”
“How do you know about that?”
My heart pounded. He didn’t deny it. “I asked first.”
Alexander looked at his feet. It was a mournful pose. I didn’t understand. “He was at a meeting that I had with the headmaster. But that man—Harrison—has nothing to do with you.”
My eyes narrowed. “You answered, but you told me nothing. Have you been traveling to California in secret?”
Alexander picked his head up again; lines of burden appeared on a face where they had no rightful place. “Is this something you truly must know?”
I should’ve found it within myself to just trust him. But I didn’t. I couldn’t. “Yes.” The word felt sour on my lips, but I didn’t back off.
I might have imagined the disappointment that flashed in Alexander’s eyes. Or not. Alexander's head moved reluctantly in confirmation. It was more of a bow than a nod.
My breath left me. My voice was little more than a whisper. “Why?”
Alexander’s eyes shut. Rarely did he show such emotion, but there was no mistaking the pain at my question. He turned away from me. For a moment, I thought he was going to walk out of the room. But he didn’t.
“It’s not what you think. This has nothing to do with politics. At least not to me.” I barely recognized his voice. This wasn’t the Alexander I knew. This was a painful place for him. “My mother,” Alexander told me. “It was for her. She is in California.”
My knees felt weak. It was the one topic we never discussed. One thing he never shared—with anyone. Why couldn’t I just have believed in him?
My viser vibrated. It was Nythan. I had to leave. Jalen’s transportation wouldn’t wait.
“My father put her through something… unspeakable,” Alexander said. “She blamed herself. She couldn’t stay near him. Near any of us. She went away. But I never forgot about her. I never stopped looking for answers or trying to help her. She made me who I am.”
Again, the viser summoned me. There was no more time. A flick of my fingers told Nythan I was on my way.
“But how does being in California help your mother?”
“It was out of my father’s reach. And other reasons.”
“I don’t understand.”
A series of red pings shook my arm.
“You had better get going,” Alexander said. “If Jalen gave you a deadline, he means it.”
I took two steps toward the door, my fingers instructing the elegant viser wrapped around my arm. The viser Alexander had given me. I stopped.
“Alexander… I’m sorry.”
He stared at me, his gaze freezing me in place. My heart rammed at my chest. The viser screeched.
“Find Kortilla. Help those you care about. And be safe, Daniela.”
I left, regret heavy on my shoulders.
“What happened?” Nythan asked me as I slid into the car beside him. The vehicle looked like a U-cab, but it wasn’t. The seat coverings were wrong—too slippery. The interior dimensions were off. The destination selection interface was slightly larger than it should’ve been. But it was close enough to fool the Authority surveyor drones. Jalen had lots of little tricks, it seemed.
“Why do you think something happened?”
I couldn’t see Nythan roll his eyes, but I knew that he had. “You reek of distress.”
“Huh?”
“Yeah, and you’re biting your lower lip. It’s one of your tells. Don’t bet your lunch in a poker game.”
I forced my jaw to relax. “I asked him about California.”
“And?”
I sighed, knowing Alexander wouldn’t want me to say anything about his mother to Nythan. He hadn’t wanted to talk to me. But I had kept pushing, of course. Like I always did. At least I could keep his confidence. “It didn’t have anything to do with what’s going on.”
“Did he go there or not?”
I glanced down at my viser. “We’re going to be late. Jalen said eight thirty exactly.”
“Fancy toy you’ve got there,” Nythan remarked. “We’ll make it. We’re close.”
The U-cab glided east through the night, away from the residential towers of the rich, away from their luxury stores and pleasure centers. We turned onto a wide street. Squat, mostly windowless buildings stood sentinel on each side of the road. Most were commercial warehouses with loading docks. We pulled into one such structure, passing beneath a glowing redwood tree as we entered. A heavy door slid down behind us.
Sealed plastika crates stacked atop rectangular pallets lined the spartan warehouse. Those packages were a familiar sight in the barrio—they contained fabricated rations. Autoloaders hummed along, rearranging the stacks, moving pallets into a pair of waiting ground transports. An oversized digital time display gazed down from one wall, while the rest were bare. Ceiling cameras monitored it all. There weren’t any people.
“Are we late?” I asked.
“Two minutes to spare. Did the exalted Jalen say anything other than that we should be here at the appointed time?”
“No. I just assumed someone would be here to meet us.”
Nythan huffed knowingly. “He doesn’t want to get his hands dirty in case we are caught. A human being can be questioned, made to talk, no matter how naively loyal. I bet those cameras have mysteriously malfunctioned. He’s ensuring ArgoGood and himself plausible deniability if something goes wrong.”
“Or it’s a trap, and he intends to turn us in,” I suggested. Jalen needed Alexander. He didn’t need me. I was just a nope to Jalen. His words were still an open flame in my gut. The highborn were not born to rule. Let us see who runs the streets at the end of all this, Jalen Aris-Putch.
Nythan and I exited the vehicle. The loading machines paid us no mind as we crossed the warehouse; they kept humming, performing their tasks with precision. It was like walking across a dance floor. Nythan led us over to the nearest transport and peeked inside its open rear hatch.
“This one is almost full. I’d say it’s about ready to depart. That must be our ride. Based on what Jalen told us, the thing will be on the road to Bronx City in less than two minutes, loaded with government rations for a not-so-grateful populace.” He motioned elaborately toward the crate-filled interior. “After you, Miss.”
I stepped out of the way of an outbound loader, then crept cautiously into the truck. Every available inch of space had been taken by the crates, except for a two-foot gap at the top between the cargo and ceiling of the transport. I scrambled upward, using the wall and a few crate handles to assist my ascent. Nythan followed, unhappily.
“Sons of Kobol!” he screeched.
I looked back down. Nythan had lost his footing. His fingers were precariously gripping the edge of a plastika food crate. His legs dangled beneath him. Loaders were shuffling the bits of cargo into the truck. He’d survive the fall if he hit the ground, but I wasn’t sure what would happen if he fell on the hard top of a loader, or if he got caught on the ground in front of one. Their safety protocols seemed to have been turned off—we were invisible to them.
“Stop kicking your legs,” I told Nythan as I lowered myself do
wnward until I could reach his arms. I grabbed him by the armpit and yanked upward. He was heavier than he looked. I yanked again. “Get your feet set again.”
After a couple of failed attempts, Nythan managed to get one foot planted, then the other. We resumed our ascent. I kept close to him this time. When my fingers reached the top crate, I swung myself over the top, into the narrow space beneath the ceiling. There was just enough space for me to lie there without my back brushing against the metal roof of the truck. I helped Nythan over with a hard yank. He slid up next to me, panting.
“I love to travel in style.”
The slamming of the rear door punctuated Nythan’s words. A claustrophobic darkness enveloped us. The transport started moving. No turning back now. Either Jalen was a man of his word or he wasn’t. I’d find out soon enough.
Nythan flicked on his viser’s light. “Jalen is thorough. He will have left us someplace better to conceal ourselves in case the Authority has got sensors on the bridge.”
Nythan was right, as usual. A couple of minutes of crawling and knocking revealed two empty plastika crates, their lids unsealed. Alexander never would have fit. The crate walls had been lined with a metallic film.
“Flexilead. It’ll throw off the sensors,” Nythan said, even though I hadn’t asked. “My viser signal is scrambled inside the box. There’s a bag of sliced coins too, plus a few pieces of silver. Jalen knows the barrio well enough to leave us untraceable currency.”
“Or someone advising him does, at least.” My viser’s light illuminated the top of the box I was lying on. “Bronx City survives off the rations on this truck. The dispensaries sell us just enough food, just cheap enough, for people to live.”
“That’s no accident,” Nythan said. “The Orderists know that hungry people will do anything. Chinese emperors or American dictators, it’s all the same rule—you’ve got to keep people fed or they have nothing to lose and will eventually revolt. The government may not care much about those people and their puny vote allocation, but they don’t want constant uprisings. Subsidized fabricated food is cheaper than Authority soldiers. The most efficient, cost-effective way to deliver such goods is a single contract for mass production and distribution.”