Shatter City

by Scott Westerfeld

  “A little of both.” They smile. “In any case, the occupation of Paz will fail.”

  Those last six words send something through me. My feels may have crumbled, but I can still recognize a win. The rebels at the mountain didn’t die for nothing.

  Shatter City might finally start to become whole again.

  But the feeling doesn’t quite reach my heart.

  “My father still killed a hundred thousand people,” I say.

  “Who must be avenged. That’s the reason for our visit. To tell you that our deal remains in place, Frey of Shreve.”

  I shake my head. “Rafi’s the better choice.”

  “We just met her down there, pretending to be you. We do not concur.”

  I stare down at the bash. “She’s a born leader. Look at all these rebels wrapped around her finger.”

  “A city is not a crew, Frey.”

  “Maybe not. But I don’t know anything about running either!”

  The avatar waves its hand at the night around us. “Frey, this is all your doing. Paz whispered two words in your ear, and this peculiar web of alliances formed around you. You saved a city.”

  “Not me. It was Yandre, Rafi, X, the Vics. A whole bunch of other crews.”

  “But you linked them.” The avatar stands, still looking down at the bash. “The heirs of two first families, a dozen free cities, and the largest gathering of rebels since Tally Youngblood disappeared—all allied against your father. Only you could’ve made those connections.”

  “I didn’t connect anything. You had me locked up when all this got started!”

  “And your friends rescued you—allies are a strength.”

  “Not mine,” I say with a sigh. “The Vics are coming apart at the seams.”

  “Dysfunctional, yet they freed you from our custody, and we are very resourceful. And didn’t Teo Palafox take a bullet for you? That’s what he told us, anyway. Several times.”

  I feel a smile on my face, then remind myself not to be charmed by this machine. They are not my friend, just the enemy of my enemy.

  “Fine, I have lots of allies. But the rebels only want chaos, and their best leader’s just fallen. And my father still has that earthquake weapon. No one’s safe from him.”

  “Agreed. That’s why our deal still stands.”

  I take a long swig from my bubbly. “The Pazx will hate it, having their walls watching them. Even if it’s their own AI instead of Shreve.”

  Diego gives an inhuman shrug. “They’ll get used to it. My people did.”

  Essa won’t, and neither will Primero. But rather than give their names to this machine, I change the subject.

  “Do you really think you can kill my father?”

  The sovereign city of Diego turns and walks away, for a moment ignoring the question. But then that vast, empty smile glitters from the edge of the darkness.

  “One of us will have to, Frey.”

  Half an hour later, the vertical-takeoff jet lifts into the sky again. Not a rebel craft after all, but Diego taking Paz’s backup away. Maybe to the same building where they kept me.

  I’m alone for a while, letting the bash flow over me. That distant happy noise is like my feels trying to sputter to life again—as weak as watered-down bubbly.

  A hoverboard climbs the hill toward me. I’d recognize the rider’s stance anywhere, because it’s my own.

  A muted pulse of dread goes through my body. I haven’t told her yet.

  I don’t even have Calm to help me.

  “Avoiding the bash, little sister?” Rafi steps off her board, the feathers in her hair silhouetted against fireworks.

  “I lost crew today.”

  “So did our friends down there.” She sweeps her arm across the party. “Some lost every scrap of tech they own. That’s why they need this. You do too.”

  “I don’t have to go to parties for you anymore,” I say.

  “This isn’t for me—it’s for you.” She sits, puts an arm around me. “What if you made yourself happy?”

  So Rafi knew about my feels too.

  I show her my wrist. “Not an option anymore.”

  She stares closely, until a rattle of fireworks lights up the burned-away faces.

  “Oh, right. The nanos.” Rafi takes my hand gently. “I’m so sorry, little sister. I really thought they’d help.”

  I turn to face her, frowning.

  “Wait. You requested the surge in Paz. Did you want them to wind up on me?”

  She gives me her sweetest smile, the one I’ve never managed to get right.

  “Seriously?” I yell. “How did you even know I’d wind up in an autodoc?”

  “This is you we’re talking about, silly.” Rafi laughs. “You’ve been injured once a week since we were seven years old.”

  I can’t argue that one.

  “And you needed help, Frey. You put a bomb collar on—willingly!”

  “To save Col.”

  She rolls her eyes—and in that moment, the difference between the two of us cuts through me, as cool and sharp as a touch of Philosophical.

  Rafia will never risk herself for someone else.

  Except maybe me.

  I hand her the half-empty bottle. “If you thought I needed help, why not stick around in Paz? Why not be there for me?”

  “News flash, Frey: Your big sister is not a paragon of stability.” She takes a swig from the bottle. “And I was furious at you for leaving me alone. Also this bubbly is warm.”

  She throws it away. The bottle doesn’t smash, just rolls, wobbling out into the darkness.

  Rafi looks disappointed. “Didn’t the feels work at all? Didn’t they make you happy sometimes? Fill you with Joy? Paz told me they’d help.”

  “They did, for a while. You should try them sometime.”

  I expect her to argue, but she only says, “If you think I should.”

  We’re silent for a while, and I realize it’s time.

  “Rafi, I have something to tell you.”

  She groans. “Don’t tell me you’re going away again. Even when I’m furious at you, I hate us being apart! We can go wherever you want now. To the jungle with Col. Or somewhere with hot and cold running water, like Diego …”

  “It’s about our brother.”

  That silences Rafia of Shreve.

  The sky crackles again, filling with the glitter of a thousand small explosions while I choose my words.

  Not carefully, it turns out.

  “Boss X knew him.”

  “Knew him?” Her hand squeezes mine tight. “Frey, no …”

  “He was the assassin, when we were fifteen. I killed him.”

  The words leave me like a shudder, tearing something along the way.

  I turn to face her.

  Other than my name, Rafi is all that I have that stretches back to my childhood. My sister is still half of who I am, even when she’s on the other side of the continent. If she decides to hate me, I’m not sure what happens.

  She stares at me for a while, then turns to watch the bash.

  The empty space where my feels used to be burns, and I imagine all the chords of emotions I could play now. Manic and Elucidation to tell her everything. Cherish to think what might have been if there were three of us.

  Or maybe just a straight touch of Grief.

  The only trace of Seanan left in the world was on Boss X’s pendant, and that was taken with him.

  Finally Rafi sighs and puts an arm around me.

  “So we’re alone again.”

  My mouth is dry. “You’re not mad at me?”

  She laughs.

  “At you, little sister? You were just protecting me, like always.” A shrug. “Besides, the little fool might’ve shot us.”

  “He was our brother, Rafi.”

  “Exactly—our father’s son.” And just like that, the sadness leaves her face, as if drained by a long touch of Philosophical. She starts pulling off her rings one by one, throwing them into the dark
ness.

  The metal strikes the stones out there with little pings.

  I can only watch, dumbfounded. When X was angry at me for killing Seanan, it made sense, even if it was logic-missing.

  This is the other way around.

  Maybe I won’t ever understand my sister.

  “It really felt like there were three of us.” She takes off the last ring. Drops it on the ground. “But I suppose you can’t always trust your feels.”

  “I’m sorry, Rafi.”

  “It was supposed to be a surprise for you,” she says softly. “The best present I could ever give. A way to make you happy. You’re always so sad.”

  Languish moves in me, muted, but as vast as the fall of Paz.

  “Oh, Rafi.” I take her hand.

  “At least I can stop being a rebel now.” My sister pulls a feather from her hair, holds it up to my face. “Do you want my crew, little sister?”

  “Your crew?”

  “Yes, take them all.”

  She’s right—I could become Boss Frey, with my own loyal rebels to fight against our father. Flush with this victory, all the assembled crews down there would follow me.

  With the resources of a dozen free cities behind us.

  “Maybe that’s a better present,” Rafi says. “Instead of one rebel sibling—hundreds.”

  She slides the shiny feather behind my ear. Exactly where she was wearing it.

  “We’ll need a wig,” she says. “Or I can shave my head in solidarity, just before we switch. I’d do that for you, little sister.”

  Of course—to pass as Boss Frey, I’d have to become my sister again. Walk like her, talk like her. Play the dark queen on Rafi’s underground throne, full of charm and guile.

  I shake my head. “All I want is my name back. Just stop being me.”

  “Really?” She rolls her eyes. “I offer you an army, and you want your name?”

  “It’s the only thing I have that’s really mine.”

  She groans a little. “You don’t even remember where Frey came from, do you?”

  I look at her. “It’s what they called me. Same as any name.”

  “Oh, Frey.” My big sister stands up, straightens, like she’s giving a speech. “All right, let this be my present for you—the story of Frey.”

  I stare up at her, confused.

  “You had some other name until we were four,” she says. “I can’t recall what. Just some word Security came up with.”

  “You mean Mirror. That was my code name, like you were Gemstone.”

  “Of course! Except Mirror was your name, little sister. At least until Sensei Noriko started to teach me the ancient art of handwriting.”

  My fingers reach for Focus, but it’s not there.

  “I don’t understand.”

  “The first thing Noriko taught me to write was Rafia. I tried to teach you too, under the covers that night. Only you weren’t very good at it.”

  I frown. “My handwriting’s still terrible.”

  “True. But at least you can get the letters in the right order now.”

  Something passes through me. “Stop, Rafi. This isn’t true.”

  “It’s not only true, it’s wonderful,” she says, her eyes wide. “You named yourself, little sister—even if it’s just my name, sideways and misspelled. I can’t believe you forgot. It was your first victory.”

  I stare at her, uncertain if she’s lying.

  I remember being called Mirror. But at some point they stopped, even though they still called my sister Gemstone during lockdowns and emergencies.

  There’s no way to find out if she’s lying. Everyone who would know the truth is my enemy now, in a fortified city half a continent away.

  “I love you no matter what you call yourself, little sister.” Rafi turns to face the party. “But this is my last rebel bash—you should enjoy it. Please, for me?”

  “I don’t want to.”

  I am Frey.

  “Suit yourself.” Rafia lets out a frustrated sigh. “By the way, Diego was looking for you, just before they left. Seemed important. Did they find you?”

  As I open my mouth, the smallest tremor of warning goes through me.

  “No,” I say.

  It’s lonely up on the ridge, but I still don’t go to my sister’s bash.

  There’s only room for one Frey down there.

  With my feels missing, melancholy comes stalking—the certainty that I’ll always be here on the outside, looking in. Like when I was little, watching recordings of my sister’s private birthday parties to memorize the faces of her friends. I knew their names, but they weren’t supposed to ever know mine.

  Maybe someday I’ll get my feels put back in, for nights like these.

  Just when gloom is about to hit, he finds me.

  “There you are” comes Col’s voice from the dark. “I was starting to think Rafi was kidding about you being up here.”

  I hold out my hand, waiting for him to take it.

  He’s warm from the climb, and a little wobbly as he sits beside me. He smells like bubbly and dancing and bonfires.

  The Vics got their win, after all.

  But he’s too good an ally to crash his good mood against mine—my war didn’t go well today.

  X is dead or taken.

  Col wraps an arm around me. Same as he did after I told him about Seanan this afternoon. And, same as then, he lets me keep my silence for a while.

  I try to feel something simple with him—like in the first days of the war. But so much is burned away now.

  My feels. My brother.

  Even my name feels flimsy now.

  Col is here, but my heart itches for a long touch of Cherish. That warm, full completeness in my chest, while I lean against this boy beside me.

  Maybe that feeling is out there somewhere, and I can get to it again.

  “How’s Teo?” I ask.

  “In bed, bored. The autodoc says he shouldn’t breathe bonfire smoke with patched lungs.”

  “It’s my fault he got shot. He was shielding me.”

  Col squeezes me. “You went in and saved him. He knows that.”

  That makes me smile.

  I keep worrying that the Vics aren’t strong enough to fight beside me. That there are fewer of them every time we meet. That not all of them trust me.

  But they keep sticking around. Allies to the last.

  More silence. Maybe this is everything I need right now—Col’s steady presence next to me.

  Maybe I don’t always have to feel so much.

  But when the next big volley of fireworks lifts our eyes, he says something nerve-rattling.

  “There’s good news from Shreve.”

  I turn to him. Diego can’t have struck at my father already.

  “That’s a contradiction in terms,” I say. “What happened?”

  Col hesitates. “I have to confess something first. Remember Bossier Fountain?”

  “Where we got rescued by butterflies and knockout gas? That may seem like a hundred years ago, Col, but it’s a hard thing to forget.”

  He nods. “It was a surprise appearance.”

  I cast my mind back. My father wanted me and Col together in public, to prove to the world that our love was real. And Dona Oliver only told me the day before …

  “A late addition to the schedule,” I murmur.

  But the rebels and Vics showed up with gas, antiaircraft, those flying masks. They even had time to get Yandre an invitation to our engagement ball.

  “I see what you mean. How’d they find out before we did?”

  “Someone made contact with Teo three months ago, a few days after we were captured.”

  “Someone …” It starts to come clear in my bubbly-addled head. “Someone in Shreve?”

  Col nods. “A spy, close to your father, who wants him taken down.”

  My brain spins for a moment, wondering who it could be. One of my trainers? Dr. Orteg? Someone in Security?

  Definit
ely not Dona Oliver. She loved having a new, compliant Rafi.

  “When did you hear about this?”

  “That meeting on the Cobra, the one you weren’t invited to.”

  I pull away a little. “You never told me.”

  “There wasn’t time. And the truth is …” He takes a long breath. “You could’ve been captured in Paz, interrogated by Shreve. It was better for everyone if you didn’t know.”

  “Col, your secret meeting was before I decided to stay in Paz. You can’t use that …” My voice fades—and I see at last that the Vics were right.

  I was someone who could leave Col. Someone who would run off to find her own sister, fight her own war, expose herself to capture, even with the dictator of Shreve searching everywhere for her.

  Like X said, I am chaos.

  Leyva and Zura knew me too well, and Col listened to them.

  “Okay,” I say. But it stings.

  Even in victory, here we are again, fighting different wars.

  Allies, but never perfectly aligned.

  “Frey …” Col runs his fingers across my bristly head. With my hair this short, his touch shimmers on my scalp. “We’re going to be happy again. We just have to fix the world.”

  A little shiver goes through me. But his words …

  I’ve been Jubilant, Ecstatic, Sublime, and all of them are burned away.

  How am I supposed to be happy again?

  “No more secrets from each other,” he says. “No more separations.”

  “How can you know that, Col?”

  “Because that’s what we both want, right?” His touch lingers on the back of my neck.

  “Well, the city of Diego did admit you Vics are pretty good allies.”

  “You are too.” He leans forward to kiss me, the scent of fireworks on his clothes, of bubbly on his lips.

  And I feel safe. Like happiness is out there somewhere.

  Our lips part, but only for a moment—the next kiss is slow and buzzing, the distant chaos of the rebel bash washing over us like rain.

  Like the missing feels on my arm are just another scar.

  “So what was the news?” I murmur.

  Col pulls back a little, his dark eyes reflecting the fireworks crackling in the sky.

  “The spy,” he says. “They contacted us again. Boss X is alive.”