by Tania Hutley
When it comes, the explosion sounds like a long rumble rather than a bang. It’s quieter than I expected, perhaps because we’re a long way up and the sound is muffled. As the rumble starts, a cloud of dust rises from the wall, blocking our view of what might be happening beneath it. The floor moves under my feet, the enormous scraper swaying.
Sentin draws in a sharp breath, bringing both hands up to the glass. His attention is totally focused on what’s going on outside. He doesn’t see me move behind him.
As the dust billows higher and the rumbling grows louder, I gather all my strength and shove him as hard as I can into the window.
Sentin doesn’t know that when this pane of glass was replaced, I told them to use normal glass instead of the extra thick, bullet-proof stuff he had installed in the rest of the windows.
The glass shatters and we both fall through it.
Chapter Twenty-Three
For a panicked moment, I’m falling just like Felicity did, and pure, icy-cold terror floods my brain, wiping out all thought.
Then I grab for the edge of the window. Broken glass slices into my hands, but I manage to close my fingers around the window frame. Hanging below the window, I dangle in the howling wind.
Below me, President Morelle falls.
If I wasn’t so strong, there’s no way I wouldn’t fall too. As it is, it takes every bit of my strength to haul myself back inside. Long before I manage to struggle to my feet in the living room, the president has disappeared far below, lost in the dust and smoke that’s still billowing from the Deiterran wall.
Wincing, I pick slivers of glass from my hands, then strip the cover from one of the couch cushions and press my palms into it to soak up the blood.
There’s no time to clean myself up any more than that. I need to get out of here.
In the elevator on the way down to the ground floor, I realize I’m trembling. Sentin must have opened his eyes in his human body by now. Just like me, he must be flesh and blood again.
My Leopard Skin is probably still in the Phoenix Industries building, in the place I was standing when Sentin wiped my chip. I have no way to transfer into it anymore, and no scanner to recode my chip. Besides, President Morelle already announced a total ban on Skins. I imagine the stompers will collect it, and destroy it. The thought is terrible, but I feel numb, like too much is happening too fast for reality to sink in.
The wall has come down.
Even though I’m the one who planned the destruction of the wall, I can’t believe it’s happened. I took a guess at what might happen to Triton without it, but there’s no way to know. I doubt even Sentin could predict what might come next.
When I get to the ground floor, I walk quickly away from the Morelle scraper, keeping my head down and using the stolen cushion cover to hide my bloody hands and the fact I have no band.
A small crowd is gathering at the side of the scraper, where the president’s body must have landed. After a fall from that height, there won’t be much left of her. She’ll probably only be identified by the band that was on her wrist, and I doubt anyone will be able to tell she was a Skin and not a real person.
More people are heading toward where the dust and smoke are still rising, and I join them, trying to mingle with them though they’re New Tritoners and I don’t look like them. Still, I make it away from the scraper without being stopped.
The bullets that take passengers down to Old Triton are jammed full, with lines of people waiting to board. Even the long twenty-eight-floor stairwell is packed, but eventually I make it down to Deiterra, forcing my way through the crowd. It seems like everyone in Triton wants to see what’s going on for themselves.
The closer I get to the Deiterran wall, the thicker the smoke and dust become. It’s gritty in my throat, and so dense that many of the people I’m walking with give up. They turn back to where the air is clearer, presumably to watch and re-watch footage of the explosion on their bands.
I pull my T-shirt up over my nose and mouth and keep going, though my eyes are streaming and I’m coughing into my shirt. I don’t stop until I’m in front of the rubble that used to be the Deiterran wall.
A figure emerges from the gloom and stops in front of me.
“Hey,” says Cale, his voice muffled by the cloth he’s wrapped around his nose and mouth.
“Hey yourself.”
He steps forward to wrap me in his arms, and I bury my face in his shoulder. Through the cloth over my nose, I catch a sharp chemical smell on his clothes. The same scent that was in the Beast’s weapons room.
We stand like that for a very long time, holding each other without talking while the smoke and dust gradually settle.
As the air gets slowly fresher, more people start emerging from the darkness of Old Triton, gaping at what’s happened to the wall.
I twist in Cale’s arms so I can see it for myself, and he lets me go. He fumbles for my hand, but I wince and draw it away.
“You’re hurt,” he says.
“Only scratches.”
His brow creases and though I can only see his worried eyes above the cloth still wrapped around his face, I can tell he wants to make a big deal of my bloody hands.
“Come on,” I say, picking my way toward the still-hazy pile of rubble. “Let’s take a look.”
Somebody brushes past me, a woman who’s hurrying toward the wall. More people are behind her. Cale and I join the flow, clambering over rocks and giant chunks of concrete. Cale sticks close beside me, and we both see it at the same moment. His intake of breath is audible through the cloth over his mouth.
So much of the wall has come down, the fields of Deiterra are clearly visible beyond it, and Old Tritoners are starting to pour through the ruins, scrambling over the rubble and climbing down into the open space beyond. From our vantage point, I can see some have already reached the giant trees and are staring up into their branches, or reaching out to touch their trunks.
Cale and I follow them, finally getting clear of the smoke and dust as we cross to the other side. With more and more people passing us from behind, it feels like a flood rushing into Deiterra. The sun is hot and bright like it is in New Triton, highlighting the dirty grey clothes and sallow skins of the sinkers around us.
Cale pulls the cloth off his face. “They’re going to eat the Deiterrans’ food and trample on their crops.”
With my own face exposed, I drag in a deep breath of fresh air. “It’ll be chaos for a while, but we’ll have to find a way to co-exist without a wall.”
In front of us, in the shade of one of the giant trees, an old woman is swaying as though she’s going to fall over. Tears are cutting tracks through the dirt on her face.
“Are you okay?” Cale takes her arm.
The woman’s face is weathered and her hands are twisted claws. Broken veins spread thin red lines over her cheeks. She reeks of street brew. A rough sleeper, no doubt, and my guess is her body won’t hold out much longer.
She blinks at Cale, then turns her filmy, bloodshot eyes to me. “It’s so beautiful.” Her hoarse voice is barely louder than a whisper. “Has this always been here?”
“It has, Gama,” I tell her gently.
“If I’d known…” She doesn’t say what she might have done, but sinks to the ground and tugs a bottle of street brew out of her coat. She offers it to us, but we shake our heads.
Cale and I leave her sitting under the tree, and walk a little further, drawn to the rows of plants as though we’re seeing them for the first time.
“What happens now?” he asks.
I run one of my uninjured fingers over the top of a leaf. “Old Tritoners will have a choice to make. Stay in Triton, or take their chances in Deiterra.”
“I don’t think Deiterra is ready for an huge influx of people.”
“The stockpiles of food we found in the Beast’s building will help for a while, and I bet we can find more stockpiles in the buildings of his cronies. There are five more industrialists in the c
onsortium. It’s about time they shared their supplies.”
Cale is silent for a while. He’s running his own fingers over the tops of the plants, staring intently down at them as though they can give him all the answers he needs.
“What about the factories?” he asks.
“The Fist owns all of President Morelle’s factories now. They’ll need to offer good wages to attract workers. And so will the other factory owners.”
He shakes his head, looking back at the Old Tritoners still pouring through the gap in the wall. “Otho isn’t going to like this.”
“We’ll help him handle it. Tori’s with him, and she’s resourceful. And that intensive farming you were talking about? We need to get it working.”
“There’s a lot to do.”
I nod. “We’ll need to all pull together and help. You and me, the Fist, Otho, Tori, and everyone else we can recruit. The wall is gone now, and we can’t put it back. We have no choice but to make this work.”
“You know what?” he says slowly. “I think we can do it. Not that it’ll be easy, but we can find a way.” His gaze meets mine and in the sunlight, his eyes look pure gold. They’re tiger’s eyes.
My heart lifts, and I smile back at him. “Of course we can. We’ll do it together.”
Stepping forward, he runs his hand over my cheek. I barely notice when his fingers brush my scars. All I can think of is how warm his eyes are, and how much I’ve missed the feel of his lips on mine.
And when his face bends to mine, I can think of nothing at all.
Epilogue
“We’ll have vegetables,” says Ma. “With creamy potatoes.”
Fussing in the kitchen of her new house, she looks so happy, it makes my heart feel light.
“Not stew?” I make a show of slumping in my chair at the dining table, pretending to be disappointed. “I really wanted stew.”
“Vegetables,” she repeats, her smile getting wider. “I want the freshest I can lay my hands on for tomorrow night. Have you tasted vegetables from Deiterra? I might be able to get some at the market. Never mind the expense, this is a special occasion.”
I exchange a glance with Cale, who’s sitting beside me.
“Has William actually said he’s coming?” Cale asks carefully.
“I spoke to him yesterday, and he promised.” Ma brings a pitcher of sweet tea to the table and pours us all a glass. Her grey hair is neatly trimmed in a new style, and she looks a lot less exhausted than she used to. She has a smudge of white powder on her cheek from whatever cake is currently in the oven, producing such a delicious smell.
Since moving into her small one-bedroom apartment in New Triton, Ma’s cooked so much food, it would take us months to eat it all. And still, she keeps up filling up more storage containers. Pretty soon we’ll need to start giving food away.
And as tiny as it is, she’s filled her apartment with plants, until there’s barely enough room to move around. Pots line every windowsill, their leaves embracing the New Triton sun. The aromas that drift from the herbs in her kitchen compete with her cooking smells in the best possible way. No wonder she looks so happy here.
“Does William know Cale and I are coming for dinner tomorrow?” I ask.
“Of course, love. I told him.”
“And he still said he’d turn up?”
“Seven o’clock sharp.”
“Okay.” I pick up the cold glass in front of me and take a sip. Ma makes the best tea. It has just the right amount of sweetness. Just like Ma herself, who’s determined not to let William and me stay angry with each other. And all her cajoling and bullying is working. William and I aren’t friends yet, but maybe one of these days we’ll surprise ourselves.
“The tea is delicious.” Cale taps his band, checking the time. “But I’m afraid we can’t stay long. We asked Keren to meet us here. We’re going to a meeting—” He’s cut off by a knock at the door. “That must be her now.”
When he opens the door, Keren comes in. She looks more drawn and tired every time I see her, but I guess that’s to be expected. She and the other Fist members have been working hard, trying to cope with all the changes. I don’t envy her the job of running the Morelle Corporation, but she’s been handling it as well as can be expected.
“I’ll see you tomorrow night, Ma.” I kiss her cheek and give her a hug. She hugs me back fiercely, as though she’s not going to see me again for months, though I make sure to visit her at least three times a week.
Then Cale, Keren and I head out to the elevators. As we ride down to the ground floor, Keren turns to us with a serious expression. “Did you see the latest news?” She activates her holo and a face appears above her band.
It’s Sentin. He’s not wearing his glasses, and his angular face looks darker than it used to. His hair is slicked back, and he’s wearing a suit.
“Times have changed,” he says in his slow, New Triton accent. “We must change too. A vote for me is a vote for a united future.”
A woman’s voice speaks from off-camera. “You were late announcing your candidacy. Why do you think you’ve become so popular in such a short amount of time?”
Sentin appears to ponder the question for a moment. Then he says, “People still remember that I won the Skin Hunter Contest. They know I was instrumental in negotiating the peace treaty with the Deiterran imperator that ended the war and saved thousands of innocent lives. They understand that I can continue to navigate our changing relationship with Deiterra. And they trust me to succeed when it comes to steering the future direction of Triton.”
“You’re campaigning on the promise of a more tightly controlled border, giving only selected entrants the opportunity to move to Deiterra.”
He inclines his head. “The current border controls have been instrumental in stabilizing the economies of both Triton and Deiterra. However, they don’t go far enough. Stricter borders will ensure the long-term prosperity of both Deiterra and Triton. The imperator and I are in mutual agreement on that point.”
“I have one last question,” says the woman. “And it’s an odd one, but I think you’ve seen the persistent rumor that keeps cropping up on the feed. Will you address it once and for all?”
“You’re talking about the gossip regarding my apparent suicide while in Deiterra?” Sentin chuckles. “Reports of my death were greatly exaggerated.”
Keren flicks the holo display off, and we step out into the brightness of a New Triton day. “He’s only just announced he’s running, and he’s already leading the polls,” she says.
She must have called a cab, because it’s waiting for us outside Ma’s building. As we approach, its door opens. We pile inside, Cale and I sitting next to each other, with Keren facing us.
As the cab glides smoothly into traffic, I say what I’m sure we’re all thinking. “Sentin will be elected.”
Cale nods. “I think we can count on it.”
“Should we be worried?” asks Keren.
Cale looks at me, his eyebrows raised, waiting for my opinion.
“I’m not sure.” I admit. “Maybe. But Sentin did tell me he wanted what was best for Triton and Deiterra. I believe he really is trying to make the world a better place, at least as he sees it.”
“How can you be certain he was telling the truth?” Cale asks. “After everything he did, and what happened to Felicity, doesn’t it seem like he just wanted as much power as he could get?”
“I guess we’re about to find out. In a few weeks he’ll be president of Triton.”
“I wish you’d run for the job,” mutters Keren. “You’d have a real shot at beating him. Everyone listens to you.”
I give her a weary look. We’ve had this conversation a dozen times, and I’m not going to change my mind. “Maybe it’s a good thing Sentin’s going to be president.” I tell her. “At least he’ll keep us on our toes.”
“It definitely won’t be boring,” Cale agrees with a laugh.
“We could do with the excitement,”
I add, just because I love the way his eyes sparkle when he’s amused.
Keren lets out a huff of breath, shaking her head at us. “Will you two stop it? And Milla, are you going to talk to Tori today?”
“Don’t I always?” Tori’s still in Deiterra with Otho, but now we’ve expanded the network, it’s easy enough for us to talk everyday. It’s not like we’re short of things to discuss. They’ve had their problems with the influx of Tritoners pouring over the border, but things are settling down now the flood’s turned into a trickle, and Old Tritoners are showing the Deiterrans how hard they’re used to working. It’s been a crazy few months, but hints of equilibrium are starting to appear.
“Is their water supply still running low?” asks Cale.
Keren frowns. “Can you ship them desalinated water from the coast?”
“We can, and we will.” That’s my answer for most things, and it’s working so far. The Fist doesn’t have a single leader anymore, but Cale and I are on the committee. We both took responsibility for fixing a wide variety of problems, and we’re slowly managing to work everything out.
I lift my hand to my face, scratching my hollow cheek though my scars don’t itch nearly as much as they used to. Most days I forget they’re there at all.
Sometimes I need to remind myself that I’m just Milla. I’m still stronger than most, but otherwise I’m a regular person. Once I felt vulnerable all the time. Now, I can handle anything. Especially when Cale looks at me like he’s doing right now.
The cab gets to the bullet, slows a little to connect with the track, then plunges down to Old Triton. Shadows close over us as we descend, but our cab’s interior lights brighten, making the cramped space seem cosy rather than gloomy.
Old Triton’s still dark, but other things have changed. The streets aren’t crowded anymore, or as dangerous as they used to be. There are no rough sleepers. The shelters barely house the limited numbers they were designed for, because wages are high enough that many workers have moved to apartments instead.
The ex-knights I charged to make Old Triton safer did just that. Once out of their Knight Skins, they remembered they were human. Sure, there were a few exceptions. But mostly, they did even better than I’d hoped.