“I just found out today. Jordan wants to hide me away and keep me safe. But I can’t sit around and wait eight more months for my life to begin. I need to do something.”
“Then let’s deliver a message, you and me. Off the grid. To one of those addresses — the one you said was Omar’s friend. Then you’ll know how to deliver a message. You’ll have to figure out who else to send them to on your own, though.”
“Okay. Thank you, Kendall.” Perhaps Shaylinn would think of another way to get names without having to ask Omar.
Shaylinn asked for a sheet of paper and wrote a message she felt would be encouraging to a young man who was thinking of joining the rebellion.
I believe in the sun, even when it is not shining. And I believe in love, even when there’s no one there. I believe in God, even when he’s silent. I believe through any trial there is always a way. “We are hard pressed on every side, but not crushed; perplexed, but not in despair; persecuted, but not abandoned; struck down, but not destroyed.” Do not lose hope. You are not alone.
A messenger
“That’s beautiful,” Kendall said.
Shaylinn beamed at the praise. “Jemma says I’m a good encourager.” She put the message in an envelope and addressed it, using Chord’s original message envelope. Then she and Kendall took a cab to make the delivery. It was a little after 10:30 p.m. when they set out.
Charlz Sims lived in the Twister in part of what Kendall said was her Old Town messenger route. The taxi made quick work of the journey, and Kendall paid the tab.
When Kendall knocked on door 322, a young man answered, wearing a gray jumpsuit that had Midlands Public Tasks embroidered on the front pocket. He was built like Jordan but had crusty skin, buck teeth, and the number 6X on his face and right hand. “Isn’t it a little late for messengers?” He looked down at the message, then at the girls. “Off-grid, huh?” He stepped back and held open the door. “Come on in.”
Shaylinn and Kendall glanced at one another, then slipped inside.
“Go ahead and sit.” He motioned to a table cluttered in several types of stunners. “Sorry about the mess. I’m cleaning my guns.”
“You sure have a lot of them,” Shaylinn said. Maybe one of them shot more than electricity. Maybe one of them had killed Chord.
No, she was pretty sure Rewl had killed Chord.
“I collect them,” Charlz said, digging through a pile of papers on a shelf. “Here we go.” He carried a box of envelopes to the table and sat down. He pushed back the guns to make a clear spot and set the box there. He ripped open the card and read it. “What’s this supposed to be?”
Kendall shrugged as if she had no idea. “We just make the deliveries.”
“Right, sorry.” Charlz flipped over Shaylinn’s message and scratched a marker over the back. He wrote, “Enforcers asking questions. Tap me.” He refolded the message and put it in the envelope. He wrote “Dane Skott, 607 Outrunner” on the outside and tossed it on top of the pile of guns.
“They following you too?” Charlz asked.
Shaylinn’s eyes widened and met his. “Who?”
“Enforcers. They keep passing by my place.”
Clearly Charlz thought they were rebels. “I don’t think so,” Shaylinn said, suddenly concerned that enforcers might swoop in and catch her.
“Chord thought he was being followed too,” Charlz said. “Where is he, anyway? I haven’t seen him in a week.”
He didn’t know about Chord? “He — ”
“We don’t know,” Kendall said, shooting Shaylinn a warning glance.
Charlz chuckled, and it was a dopey, snorting sound. “You femmes don’t know much, do you? Aw, it’s probably better that way. Then if they catch you, you can’t give up any secrets, right?”
“Right,” Kendall said.
Now Shaylinn wanted to leave. Too much talk of enforcers catching her.
“Why did you join?” Charlz asked Kendall. “Because they took your baby?”
The blood drained out of Shaylinn’s cheeks. He recognized Kendall. As much as her face had been displayed everywhere this past year, it shouldn’t have come as a surprise. At least he didn’t seem to recognize Shaylinn.
“It’s okay. You don’t have to say.” Charlz handed Shaylinn the envelope. “You femmes be careful out there.”
“Thanks,” Shaylinn said.
They left the apartment. The cab had gone, so they made their way to Gothic to hail another. Shaylinn’s eyes were peeled for enforcer vehicles.
“What do we do now?” She was ready to go back to the cabin.
“We deliver this.” Kendall held up the message Charlz had given her. “Normally, when someone gives me a message, I use my scanner to print a code on the envelope, imputing each message into the grid. Off-grid messages are against Safe Lands law.”
“So if a neighbor leaves a note on your door, that’s breaking the law?” Shaylinn asked.
“I doubt the Guild would prosecute for that, but they could if they wanted to.”
Kendall waved a cab, and they rode to Dane Skott’s Outrunner apartment. The girls went up to the sixth floor, found apartment 607, and knocked on the door.
A short young man with long, frizzy hair opened the door and looked them up and down, a wide smile claiming his face. He had the number seven on his face. “Well, hay-o, femmes.”
“Dane Skott?” Kendall said.
“Oh, you’ve heard of me. I’m not surprised the femmes are talking.”
Oh, dear. Shaylinn never knew what to say to such bold and confident males.
“Messenger office.” Kendall handed him the message.
“Oh, right.” Mr. Skott held out his fist.
“That’s not necessary, Mr. Skott,” Kendall said. “This message wasn’t coded.”
“Off-grid. How ghoulie.” He waggled his eyebrows and opened the message. After he read it, he slid the paper back into the envelope and looked at Kendall. “Walls, femme. You look familiar. Have we paired up?”
“Of course not!” Kendall said. “Would you like to send a reply?”
“Yeah, you would have remembered it, I’m sure. You femmes want to come in? Or how about the three of us meet up later? Drinks at Nob Hill, then dancing at — ”
“We don’t dance,” Shaylinn said.
“Okay, just drinks then. We could come back here after, or there’s this place in the park where couples can — ”
“Tap the MO if you decide to send a reply, okay?” Kendall said, walking away.
Mr. Skott stepped out into the hall. “Hold on! Is there a reason why you femmes won’t come out with me?”
“Do we need one?” Shaylinn asked, running after Kendall.
Mr. Skott pushed out his bottom lip in a pout. “It’s a little prude not to give one.”
“Call us prudes, then,” Kendall called from the elevators.
“But I’m a lot of fun,” Mr. Skott said. “Some women say I’m gratifiable.”
“I’m sure you are.” Kendall stepped into the elevator, Shaylinn alongside. “Thanks for using the messenger office!”
“Maybe this was a bad idea,” Shaylinn said once the elevator doors had closed.
“No, you did fine,” Kendall said. “But if I were you, stay outside, even if they invite you in. I only went in Charlz’s place because you said he was Omar’s friend. Normally, I’d never go inside anyone’s residence.”
“I didn’t like Mr. Skott,” Shaylinn said. “He reminded me of Ewan the harem guard.” She didn’t want to bring him another message. At least not when he was home.
“Eww. Ewan gave me the ghoulies,” Kendall said. “Always staring. Safe Lands men can be like that. Kind one minute, beastly the next. That’s why Omar intrigued me so much when I met him. He was such a gentleman. I kept waiting for him to make a move, but he didn’t.”
Everyone gave Omar a hard time, but Shaylinn had always known he was kindhearted. “I think Omar is adorable.”
Kendall waved another c
ab. Shaylinn asked to be dropped off outside a house on Kokanee Lane and said good-bye to Kendall. Once the cab’s taillights vanished in the darkness, Shaylinn made the trek back to the cabin. She half expected to find Jordan prowling out front, but the cabin was dark. No one had missed her.
It didn’t seem like Charlz had even read her message. Maybe it was because they’d been watching him. But then he’d used the paper to write to Mr. Skott. Her plan seemed pointless if people weren’t going to actually read her words. But she wasn’t ready to give up yet. Who else could she send messages to? She knew the names of the rebels who attended Bender’s meetings. And she’d met some people who tasked at G.I.N. and Café Eat in the Midlands. Energy coursed through her at the idea, and she wanted to write down the names before she forgot.
Levi and Mason had their plans to free the children, and now Shaylinn had a plan for herself that just might make the next few months bearable.
CHAPTER
9
At exactly 11:00 a.m. on Friday, Mason rang Ciddah’s doorbell and waited, moving his hands behind his back to hide the red rose he’d bought her.
Jemma had insisted he bring Ciddah a single red rose.
The backpack he wore felt heavy on his shoulders. He’d spent all week planning this day, and, though he didn’t want to admit it, he was terribly nervous.
The door swung in, and Ciddah stepped out. She was wearing a bright blue shirt with long, poufy sleeves; a pair of black crinkly pants; and knee-high boots with flat soles. She’d painted blue on her eyelids and outlined her thick eyelashes in black. “Hay-o, Mason.”
Mason held out his flower. “This is for you.”
Her eyes widened and she grinned. “Oh, it’s lovely.” She took it from him and smelled it. The red petals were bright against her pale skin. “Let me put it in some water.” She went back inside, leaving the door open.
Mason stepped into the doorway and drummed his hand against the side of his leg. He could hear water running. She hadn’t asked him in, so he didn’t dare cross the threshold, but a quick glance showed a heap of clothing falling from the couch to the floor, dirty dishes cluttering the surface of the coffee table, a stack of file folders on the end of the counter, and two G.I.N bags filled with cans sitting on the floor just inside the door, a lone shoe beside them. He’d been to Ciddah’s apartment only once before. It had been spotless then.
She came to the door and shut it quickly. “Did you see my mess?” she said, closing the door behind her and smiling sheepishly.
“Did something happen?” He imagined enforcers tearing apart her home in search for some prohibited object.
“Oh, no. I’m just messy. You’ve seen my office.”
Which was always a disaster. “But the night of Lonn’s liberation …?”
“I hired a cleaning service.” She slapped her hands against her sides. “So now you know my secret. Do you still want to go out?”
Uncertain whether or not that had been a rhetorical statement, Mason said, “Why should your lack of organization affect our plans?”
Ciddah bit back a smile and looked away. “So where are we going? To a play?”
He hadn’t thought to take her to a play. “No. You’ll see.”
They walked to the elevator and rode to the lobby. For some reason, neither spoke. The awkward silence finally prompted Mason to say something. “Did you know elevators are twenty times safer than escalators? They’re also safer than vehicles.”
“You sure do know a lot about elevators,” Ciddah mumbled.
“I read about them in the History Center one night.” But her dry response made him realize he’d done exactly what Jemma had warned him against: spouting useless trivia. He needed to ask questions of Ciddah and then be a good listener.
They left the Westwall and started across the parking lot. The day was clear and already quite warm. He hoped they wouldn’t get too hot out in the sun. He had taped his official SimTag to his hand with an adhesive bandage today so that he could pay for things and be seen, if anyone was watching.
“We’re walking?” Ciddah asked.
“To the train station, yes.”
“Tell me where we’re going. To the Noble Gardens?”
“Stop being impatient,” Mason said. “You’ll know when we arrive.” The train station was only a short walk from their apartment building, but Mason’s conversation attempts made every moment grueling. Zane had given him several safe topics. He could ask about her task aspirations, classes she’d taken at the Highland Civic Center, or foods. “Have you eaten an orange?” Mason asked as they got on the train.
“Um, yes.” Ciddah walked to a pair of seats and took the one against the window.
Mason sat beside her. “Do you like them?”
“Oranges? Sure, they’re okay.”
“I’d never eaten one until I came here. I’d read about citrus fruits, but I understood that they only thrived in tropical locations. I was surprised to find one in the G.I.N. Are oranges imported?”
“I don’t know.”
“Oranges cannot be grown outdoors in this climate, but with Safe Lands technology, a regulated greenhouse might create the perfect environment for such tropical — ”
Ciddah grabbed his hand, which had been absently tapping his leg. “Mason, stop.”
He looked at her, wondering what he’d done to offend her. Zane had said food was a safe topic.
“Relax,” she said. “I know you’re clever. There’s no need to continually try to prove it.”
Mason slouched and stared at the back of the seat in front of him. “I wasn’t trying to be clever. Only to start a conversation. Food seemed like a safe topic we might not argue about.” He glanced at her. “You said I always argue.”
She fought back a smile. “So you wanted to know my favorite food?”
He shrugged, discouraged. “I don’t know.”
“My favorite food is steak. That’s why I made it for you.”
“Oh.” That made sense. “My favorite food was raspberries, but now it’s oranges.”
She laughed and said, “How surprising.” Then her expression sobered. “So, what other safe topics do you want to talk about?”
Mason took a deep breath. He could do this. “Classes you’ve taken at the Highland Civic Center?”
“Only cooking classes. One on how to bake bread and one on how to bake cakes.”
“Before or after you burned the spice cake?” he asked, recalling the charred cake in Ciddah’s kitchen sink.
“Before.” She elbowed him. “I also took a dancercise class.”
“What’s that?”
“Exercise by dancing.”
“You like to dance or exercise?”
“Dance.” She wrinkled her nose. “But only when no one’s watching. Have you taken any classes there?”
He shook his head. He didn’t even know the location of the Highland Civic Center. “Any suggestions?”
“Classes for Mason Elias, who already knows everything … hmm.”
“Ciddah, I don’t know every — ”
“Shh, I’m thinking.” She tugged on her bottom lip. “There are science classes … speed math. You might also like the wonders of nature course, though knowing where you grew up, you could probably teach it. I had a friend take a robotic craft course that sounded fun for … smart men. But I think your favorite class might be brain fitness.”
“What does it mean, ‘brain fitness’?”
“It’s a class that teaches techniques on focus, memory skills, concentration, reaction time, and reshaping your brain through plasticity — things like that.”
“Fascinating. And what’s plasticity?”
“Neuroplasticity, actually. It’s the brain’s ability to be changed, modified, and in some cases, repaired.”
Retraining the brain was certainly plausible, but modifying? “Are you certain it’s not a brainwashing class?”
She chuckled. “If you ever go, I suggest you avoid the classes on
seeing into your past lives. I don’t think you’d like that very much.”
“That much is certain,” Mason said.
The train stopped at Champion Park South Station, and Mason stood. “This is our stop.”
“We’re going to the lake?” Ciddah asked.
“Stop guessing. You’ll know soon enough.”
They exited the train and walked across the platform toward the stairs. Mason flew down the steps to street level.
“Mason, wait up!” Ciddah called from behind.
He stopped and turned to wait, realizing he’d already forgotten most of the tips Jemma and Zane had given him. When Ciddah reached his side, though it went against every instinct in him, he reached out and took hold of her hand. “Sorry,” he said.
She beamed at him, then bumped her cheek against his shoulder. Mason marveled at the power human touch had over this girl. She’d touched him often when they’d first met, but after Lonn’s liberation, she’d kept her distance. Who could comprehend females?
They walked into Champion Park, which was a half mile of forest, lake, and concrete walking trails. There were quite a few people out, many walking dogs. In the distance, the north side of the park ran along the Highlands-Midlands wall. If not for that eyesore, Mason might have felt like he was back in Glenrock.
They walked to the docks and a rowboat rental shop. Mason paid for the rental with his SimTag.
“We’re going in a boat?” Ciddah asked.
“Yes, is that acceptable?”
“Sure. I’ve never been in one.”
“Me either.”
They both put on life jackets. Mason helped Ciddah into the boat first, then he stepped in. The craft rocked under his feet. Ciddah grabbed his arm to steady him, and he managed to sit on the bench seat, facing her, without capsizing the small craft.
Mason had used the grid to research how to row a boat, and he did his best to do so confidently. He rowed toward the island in the center of Lake Joie, enjoying the breeze and the view.
He asked Ciddah her task aspirations next, and while she told him about wanting to rank a level twenty medic, he practiced stints of five seconds of eye contact, marveling at her beauty. He knew eyes did not glimmer, that such an effect was produced when light reflected off the cornea, but Ciddah’s eyes seemed to be proving otherwise. And her skin … Some Safe Lands women looked painted, but not Ciddah. She had a little makeup on her eyes and lips, but besides the slight fade to the number seven on her cheek, he couldn’t tell she was wearing Roller Paint at all. If he hadn’t seen her tears wash it away the day of Lonn’s liberation, he wouldn’t know now. She was perfection.
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