Shatter City

by Scott Westerfeld

  “Did those coded messages tell you anything else?” I yell to Col.

  “All I got was a few key words—north, gas attack, collar scan, and something about a snake.”

  “A snake?”

  Then I see it below us, stretched out across the farm belt …

  The Cobra mag-lev line.

  It used to be Shreve’s main trade route, until the rest of the world started its boycott against us. Now the train shoots past the city every morning, never stopping at our fancy new station, ignoring my father’s wealth at three hundred klicks an hour.

  Faster than an armored hovercraft.

  Another crunch rings through the cabin—one of our escorts giving us another shove. The limo slews beneath me until I wrestle it back under control.

  We don’t have long. The mag-lev train is there in the distance, right on schedule.

  “Col!” I shout. “Did you ever find those bungee jackets?”

  A third arc of white shoots into the sky, striking another of the escort craft.

  The tendrils burst across its airframe, and soon its engines are jammed and smoking, the car falling. We’re almost free, but flashes fill the northern sky in front of us—my father’s fleet going after the rebels.

  We can’t count on more help from them. And it won’t be long before more Shreve hovercraft are on us.

  I jam the flight stick hard, heading east toward the approaching mag-lev train. Our escorts stay in close pursuit, but the two still flying aren’t enough to hem me in.

  Col crawls back into the front seats, wearing a bungee jacket, holding another for me. I let go of the stick long enough to shrug it on.

  “Where do we jump?” he asks.

  I grab the flight stick again, pointing with my free hand.

  “That train line’s called the Cobra. You’re the nature expert—that’s a kind of snake, right?”

  “Um, yeah.” He tightens his straps. “But jumping onto a mag-lev … is that a thing people do?”

  “Not really.” I’ve heard of people jumping onto trains from hoverboards, but never from the air. “Are you sure Yandre likes you?”

  Col sighs. “They have an exaggerated notion of my courage.”

  “The trick to bravery is not having a choice,” I say. We reach the rail line, and I bring us around, lining up over the tracks. Our escorts take the turn slower, their armored frames making them sluggish.

  My maneuver is too clean, though. It’s only a matter of time before someone realizes that we aren’t really out of control.

  I don’t know what happens then. Would my father really give an order to shoot Rafi down? Or does he detonate our collars and pretend it was an accident?

  “I’ll see if I can get a door open,” Col says.

  “Open both!” At top speed, this limo’s going to spin if we try to fly with the doors open.

  Again, I wonder if this is just a rebel plan to create chaos.

  But then I see it—

  Toward the end of the mag-lev train, some kind of dish-shaped object is mounted on top of a railcar. Tiny figures crawl around in its lee.

  But what is it? A magnet strong enough to reel us in?

  Whatever their plan is, I’m pretty sure the rebels haven’t tested it on actual people.

  “Got it!” Col says. “Doors opening in five, four—”

  “Wait! Let the train catch up!” I glance at my rearview monitor, making a quick calculation. “Count to fifteen and then—”

  A vast agony hits me then, burning though my nerves like a lit fuse. My muscles spasm, spine arching, lungs squeezing a gasp from my lips. Every centimeter of my skin lights up like I’m on fire.

  It lasts seconds, or forever, or no time at all. The eternal, perfect, blistering expression of pain.

  Just as suddenly, the wave passes.

  I gasp. My clenched fingers have sent us skidding off course. I wrestle our flight path back over the tracks.

  Over my shoulder, Col’s in a shuddering pile, his fingers at his throat.

  Of course—the collars.

  A warning from my father:

  You can never leave me.

  I lock the flight stick and scramble over the seat, screaming Col’s name. His body goes limp.

  “Col!” I turn him over. His eyes are open, but his breath comes in ragged gasps.

  “Frey,” he manages.

  “We have to jump before they hit us again! Can you move?”

  He raises himself gingerly, pulls a flash grenade from the guard’s belt. “If they think we’re dead, they won’t shock us again.”

  “Right. You ready?”

  Col’s eyes are glazed, but he says, “Let’s go.”

  He pulls open a floor panel marked with an override symbol and yanks a pair of levers inside.

  Both doors swing up, sending a gale-force wind through the cabin. Champagne glasses rattle frantically in their racks, then break into fragments that whirl through the air. The limo starts to shudder and roll, the blurred landscape shooting past the yawning doors.

  I glimpse the mag-lev track and the engine of the train, just starting to overtake us. Col throws the grenade into the front seat.

  The flash burns my eyes, and the limo goes into a hard roll. Land and sky gyrate past the open doors. We’re dropping fast enough that the metal shriek of the rails builds above the wind.

  Col wraps his arms around me.

  We roll out the door into the reeling gray sky.

  The wind hits like a fist, knocking the air from my lungs. We tumble madly, clutching each other while the world spins around us.

  A beeping in my ears—our bungee jackets warning that we’re too close to each other. Their magnetics will interfere.

  I push Col away, spreading my arms to steady myself in the air.

  A pop comes from the limo—its windows blowing out, spraying glass in all directions. The machine drops past us, trailing smoke and the smell of burned plastic. It hits the ground before we do, scattering wreckage beside the train.

  The roof of each railcar is marked with a coiled snake.

  Our bungee jackets take hold, using the tracks below to slow our fall. But I doubt they’re designed for jumping out of an aircraft at top speed.

  The rebels’ plan has to work, or we’ll wind up blotches on the landscape.

  My jacket stiffens around my torso. Not the jerk of a hoverbounce—something more controlled.

  The magnetic dish passes beneath us, and suddenly we’re accelerating.

  At three hundred klicks an hour, the wind is a hurricane in my face. My eyes are forced almost shut, but I can make out Col just ahead of me. He’s rolled into a cannonball to reduce his drag.

  Falling faster now, he almost hits the ground, but his bungee jacket hoverbounces him up from the metal tracks.

  I try a different strategy—my arms out in front, like a mountain jumper in a wingsuit. Every movement of my body sends me veering, but the magnetic dish pulls me back on course.

  I am a descending hawk, inescapable.

  I take it all back—the rebels are pretty bubbly sometimes. I let them reel me in.

  Long seconds later, both of us are coming in for a landing atop the train. The rebel crew, riding the railcar with crash bracelets and magnetic shoes, grab me and Col. They take us down through a hatch into the dull roar of the car.

  It’s all luxury furniture down here, tools and electronic parts piled onto the fancy tables. Too many familiar faces to register at once.

  My hand goes to my throat. Our collars haven’t hit us again.

  Maybe word hasn’t gotten back to my father yet that we jumped. For a few minutes, he’ll think that his precious daughter is dead.

  At last I’ve really hurt him.

  “Chica.” Yandre’s voice is right beside me. “You made it!”

  They take my arm, gently sit me down. A handset at my neck—the click of my collar opening. It clatters to the floor.

  I’m free again.

  Half an h
our later, Col and I are in a private passenger car, drinking bubbly with rebels and Victorians.

  The magnetic dish has been dismantled and brought down—its pieces are scattered on the floor. The train’s staff has dropped by to yell at us. Apparently, hoisting an unapproved device atop a speeding mag-lev is frowned upon. The wardens in the next city have been notified.

  But then the train captain herself comes back, sees me and Col, and realizes what’s just happened—an incident that will rock the feeds tomorrow. The rail staff stops bothering us, except to bring more champagne.

  The rest of the world still hates my father, it seems.

  So many old friends are here—Zura and Dr. Leyva from Victoria, the rebel bosses X and Andrew Simpson Smith. But it’s not quite the celebration I expected.

  “Rafi isn’t here?” I ask.

  “Why would she be?” Dr. Leyva says. “She’s no commando.”

  I smile. “What lucky person got to tell her to stay behind?”

  Leyva doesn’t answer.

  Even without my sister, freedom pulses bright in my veins. The missing weight of the collar around my neck is like floating. I’ll never have to pretend to be Rafi again.

  No one else seems to share my mood. Col still looks shaken from the jolt the collar gave him. He listens gravely as the Victorians brief him on how the war is going.

  The news isn’t great.

  “We’ve been hacking the Shreve agriculture domes,” Dr. Leyva is explaining, speaking in English for my benefit. He’s the head of tech for the Victorian resistance, a handsome gray-haired crumbly who used to host a science feed before the war. “Disrupting their food supply, here and there.”

  Col’s grim expression doesn’t change. “We can confirm a shortage of caviar.”

  “Yes, the other cities have stopped selling them luxuries,” Leyva says. “No champagne either. But no one wants to starve the citizens.”

  “A tragedy for Rafi’s rich friends,” Col says. “But shutting off Shreve’s supply of bubbly and truffles isn’t going to free Victoria.”

  Everyone’s silent for a moment. Despite this victory, they’re still a ragtag guerrilla force, outmatched by the might of Shreve.

  The rebels look bored with the discussion. They’re used to being insurgents, harassing more powerful enemies.

  All the Victorians wear crisp uniforms, fresh from a hole in the wall. But the rebels are in their usual skins and furs, the smell of the wild all over them.

  This alliance was never a comfortable one. The rebels want to protect the wild from humanity; Col’s people just want their city back.

  Luckily, my father excels at uniting his enemies.

  Zura, captain of Victorian House Guard, speaks up. She’s a Special, optimized by surgery not only for combat, but also terrifying beauty, like an avenging angel.

  “Having you back will give our people a huge morale boost, sir.”

  Col smiles a little. “Is that why Teo wanted to rescue me? For my propaganda value?”

  Leyva and Zura give each other a look.

  Col apparently thinks his fourteen-year-old little brother, the next Palafox in line, has been in charge. Somehow I doubt it’s working that way in practice. Teo isn’t even here.

  Col hasn’t accepted that every day my father holds his city, the Palafox name means less and less.

  “Teo is safe, back at the base,” Zura says diplomatically. “This operation wasn’t any one person’s plan. After our attack on Shreve, we haven’t had a traditional command structure.”

  No one looks at me, but I feel it in the room—I’m being blamed for their weakness. As a hostage, I was the key to my father’s schemes against the Palafoxes. They dropped their guard because they thought he would never risk Rafi’s life.

  Even after I joined them, the disastrous attack on Shreve was my idea. I convinced Col to risk everything, because I wanted to free my sister. And since then, they’ve all watched me on the feeds, steadying my father’s regime. I’m surprised they bothered rescuing me at all.

  Dr. Leyva speaks carefully. “We’ve adapted to the situation.”

  “So we’re just another gang of rebels now,” Col says.

  Yandre laughs. “Don’t say that like it’s a bad thing! You should have seen Zura convincing everyone to back this operation. She’s a natural rebel.”

  Col looks pained again. The rebels are like pre-Rusty pirates—electing their bosses, voting on every mission. Still, I can imagine Zura convincing a rebel crew to do anything. Whenever she fixes me with her beautiful, blaming stare, I want to fall down and beg her forgiveness.

  “Whoever’s plan it was, we’re free,” Col says. “Thank you all for that.”

  “You should thank Frey too,” Yandre says. “We wouldn’t have risked it if she hadn’t stayed behind with you.”

  Col gives his old friend a look. “You mean, I’m not worth the trouble?”

  “Chico, you never would’ve have jumped out of that limo without a push from Frey. You two are stronger together.”

  Judging by their expressions, Leyva and Zura don’t agree.

  Col takes my hand in front of all of them. “Thank you for giving up your freedom, Frey. You saved me. Everyone here knows that.”

  I should say something stirring now—that leaving him behind was never an option. But every time I open my mouth, there’s a chance I’ll sound like Rafi. I haven’t spoken in my own voice for so long.

  The awkward silence stretches out.

  Then Boss X stands and raises his glass, almost brushing the ceiling. He’s taken his rebel love of the wild to an extreme, becoming a surgical cross between a wolf and a man. His voice is a low growl.

  “To Frey.”

  The other rebels take up the toast—they still love me. They thrive on calamity, and that’s what I am.

  Hearing my real name on all those lips at once is strange and wonderful. When I finish my glass, Boss X refills it, a smile on his wolf-surged face.

  “Did you lose anyone?” I ask.

  X shakes his head. “Automated launchers up north, and down in the city we never even opened fire.”

  “We knew you two could make it on your own,” Yandre says. “You just needed a diversion.”

  “Knockout gas, antiaircraft fire, and a passing mag-lev train,” Col says. “It was all very diverting.”

  “It worked.” Andrew Simpson Smith raises his glass again. He’s the oldest of the rebels, with a massive beard, like a wild man come in from the forest. There are rumors that he fought alongside Tally Youngblood herself. “To freedom.”

  This time, Leyva and Zura share the toast.

  My father is still alive, but my plan to kill him doesn’t seem important now. What matters are the collars missing from our necks, and seeing my sister again.

  “How long till we get back to base?” I ask. “Rafi must be bored of impersonating me.”

  Dr. Leyva hesitates, turns from me to Col. “This train will take us to Paz, where the fleet is recharging. We’ve left the White Mountain. Shreve captured too many of us in the attack. Someone might have spilled the location.”

  Right. One more thing that’s my fault.

  “So where are we headed?” Col asks. “Paz won’t let us stay, will they?”

  “No, sir.” Zura looks at me. “We’ve found a spot farther south, in the deep Amazon. Teo thinks you’ll like it there. But there’s not much hot water, compared to the volcano.”

  “Rafi must hate that.” I switch to my sister’s annoyed voice: “‘Camping is why we inventing buildings.’”

  The rebels laugh at this, but not the Victorians.

  Leyva leans back in his chair.

  “Actually, Frey, your sister isn’t with us anymore. She ran away a week ago.”

  “She came with us to Paz,” Leyva begins his explanation. “When we were preparing for this rescue.”

  “She begged to come along,” Zura says. “As you said, Frey, she wasn’t one for camping.”

 
; “But why would Rafi run away?” I ask. “Someone must’ve grabbed her!”

  Leyva shakes his head. “She left a note: Don’t follow me.”

  I stare at them. This doesn’t make sense.

  “She was on the feeds just a few days ago,” I point out.

  “Yes, after she ran away,” Leyva says. “But she delivered the code words as scheduled. Rafia still wanted to help your rescue.”

  I swallow my next words—my father’s people spotted that she was on the streets of Paz. Did she simply get sloppy? Or was that deliberate somehow?

  Why isn’t my sister here to welcome me to freedom?

  A low growl comes from Boss X. “Our enemy’s daughter, who knew all our plans, ran away? And you didn’t tell us?”

  “The operation was too important to abort,” Zura says.

  “You should have let us decide that!” Yandre says.

  X snorts in disgust. “You ’Foxes never change.”

  They keep arguing, but it blurs into the roar of the train.

  My sister has run away. She’s out there somewhere, all alone for the first time.

  Why? We’re supposed to be together.

  I’ve studied Rafi my whole life. How she speaks, walks, thinks. Sometimes I know what she’s about to say before she opens her mouth.

  But this has blindsided me.

  “Listen, everyone!” Col shouts, cutting through the bickering. “I wasn’t here for this decision, but I apologize on behalf of House Palafox. We won’t betray your confidence like this under my command.”

  “I doubt you’ll have the chance,” Yandre says.

  Col stares at his old friend. The rebel bosses are silent. Dr. Leyva sits back and crosses his arms, annoyed at being second-guessed by Col. Zura’s perfect face is unreadable.

  “We all have the same goals here,” Col says. “We need to trust each other.”

  There’s a tense moment of silence, and then Boss X stands to his full height. He grabs two bottles of bubbly, overturning the ice bucket.

  “I’ll be in the luggage compartment,” he says. “You can trust me to be drunk soon.”

  The other rebels all follow him, even Yandre. We can only watch them leave.