by Nick James
I don’t know what she means by that. It sounds like a mild threat, even coming from her. But maybe that’s just me being paranoid.
I watch her leave in silence and kick the heels of my feet against the couch. When she’s gone, I bend forward and pick up the largest shard of glass I can find. I run it across my finger, not strong enough to cut, but firm enough to feel. Then I chuck it at the door, hoping that maybe it’ll stick. It doesn’t. I watch it fall to the ground. Everything’s silent.
4
Cassius pulled his head from the water and took a gasp of breath. He ran his fingers through his wet hair and used the splash to cleanse his shoulder. The bullet had only grazed his skin, leaving a shallow wound. Still, he couldn’t afford an infection. The worst of it had closed throughout the evening. Even so, the cool saltwater stung.
He sat with his bare, calloused feet dipped into the Arctic. He’d found a sheltered area, a secluded grassy outstretch from one of the city’s lesser-known waterfront parks. Trees surrounded him on all sides, save for a narrow walkway behind him that offered a brief snapshot of the city skyline.
The sunrise beamed a shocking orange, lifting from the edge of the skyline so close that it seemed like its fire could reach out and touch him. Back home, the chemicals in the Fringes obscured much of the sky’s color, dulling sunsets and sunrises. The Polar Cities were lucky that way. By the time the chemicals from the Scarlet Bombings made their way up north, they were so dilute that they had little impact. A ten-degree climate increase, fifteen at the most.
He stared at his reflection in the ocean, trying to understand the face before him. Beyond the scratches and bruises, he’d lost close to fifteen pounds since running from New York. He looked more like Fisher now. Skinny. Or skinnier, at least.
It was just after three in the morning. The sun had been down for exactly one hour and twenty-seven minutes. He’d been keeping track. This time of year it was light almost all day and night in the Polar Cities. He’d tried getting some rest, but every time he closed his eyes, the thought of that Unified Party gas bomb shocked him awake. It killed him not to know who threw it. They’d done him a favor, finishing off those slum assassins. They could have easily killed him, too. Instead, they sent gas. They wanted him unconscious, but not dead.
And they hadn’t followed him into the city. He wasn’t sure if he should be pleased or petrified.
He snapped his fingers and ignited a tiny flame that hovered above his hand and evaporated what beads of water were left. He played with it for a minute, quivering it sideways, expanding it, adding heat. Then he clenched his fist and extinguished it altogether.
There was a time, not too long ago, when the fire controlled him—built inside until it tore through his skin, triggering an explosion capable of destroying a room, a train car, a building. Now he could snuff it out with his bare hands, not that it had done much for him back in the slum building.
Madame had called it a sickness, tried to convince him that there was something wrong, that he needed to shoot and kill to fix it. And in the end, that’s exactly what he’d done. Maybe it hadn’t been with a gun. Maybe it hadn’t been by his hands directly, but he’d left her in Seattle, buried under the rubble. His mother, or the closest thing to it for twelve years, dead because he hadn’t come back to save her. He couldn’t face the thought of the murder he’d aided, even if it had been to save his own brother, so he remained up north. But even that had its dangers.
Providence was one of twenty-five Polar Cities the U.N. had nestled along the Arctic Circle decades ago in preparation for intense global warming. They all had fancy, quasireligious names like Arcadia and Assumption. Most were in Canada and Northern Europe and functioned as normal cities had before the bombings. No Bio-Nets constantly stabilizing the environment. Rent was expensive and real estate even more so. The North Coast was incredibly desirable, and with a Unified Party ID socket carved into his wrist, finding legitimate work had been impossible. He’d managed to find shelter in the basement of a condemned building on the outskirts of town, dead in the middle of slum territory. Hardly beach-front property, but it had been hardwon regardless. Of course, the problems far outweighed the perks. Cassius didn’t search out trouble, but it was difficult to walk through the slum lands without finding it. Narrow escapes, arguments that intensified to fistfights—they had all become part of the norm these past few months.
He didn’t spend much time indoors. Most days he roamed the city, familiarizing himself with every nook and cranny. Boredom compelled him, as well as the need to erase the past. And then there was his brother. Fisher.
Cassius carried his communicator with him everywhere he went. It was an older model, the last before the new line of com-pads made long-range contact more convenient. But it was untraceable. He and Fisher could talk candidly, and Fisher certainly had a lot to talk about.
He took things harder than Cassius, or perhaps he was just less afraid of discussing them. While Cassius spent most of his energy worrying about Madame and the Unified Party, Fisher had only one thing on his mind each time they talked. Pearls.
He’d become obsessed, but it was understandable. While Cassius could only store and manipulate the broken Pearl energy into fire, Fisher had the power to break the things open—liberate those from his home planet. Restore life, in a way.
It was suitable. Fisher could give life. All Cassius could do was take it. It had always been this way, from the murder of the Year Nine teacher back onboard the Academy to the massacre on the chute from Seattle to Spokane. Death followed him around like an old friend.
His stomach grumbled. Food was an issue. Without credit, he’d been forced to steal—especially at first. At the height of the summer he’d found a reasonably steady job loading and unloading smuggler’s boats at the east-side dockyards. Pay had been under-the-table, and he hadn’t needed to identify himself. He’d had steady payment for five weeks until the local authorities had raided and shut down the organization.
He lifted his feet from the water and breathed in the fresh morning air. The city lay quiet and still. He pivoted to stare at the bright, looming metropolis behind him. All Polar Cities had humble beginnings, but after the climate changed in America, they’d grown exponentially. A skyline of silver towers laid before him, nearly uniform in height and sprawled over the land in a vast sculpture of boulevards, catacombs, and wide sidewalks—the complete opposite of the smashed together Chosen Cities he’d grown up in.
He ran his fingers over the scar on his wrist, just below his identification socket. Before breaking through the U.S. border on his trek to Canada, he’d been forced to carve out the microchip Madame had embedded inside his arm. A tracker, tossed to the ground somewhere in the Fringes, left to throw the Unified Party off track. Yet someone had still found him.
Around the opposite wrist wrapped a seamless black band, a gift from his home world fused to his arm after he and Fisher had learned of their past in Seattle. It felt like stone but with a heft no greater than a ring of paper. Alien in nature, he was sure. It’d been completely useless so far, but impossible to remove. Another reminder of things he’d rather forget.
Shaking the water from his feet, he slipped on his shoes, stood, and started into the city. His government suit—minus the seal and anything else that could identify him—had seen better days. It served as his main set of clothing since he’d arrived, and it frayed at the edges. A thumb-sized hole slowly unwound near the waist where it’d gotten stuck on a splintered beam a couple weeks ago. And now the shoulder, blasted straight through.
The trees rustled to the left of him. A bristle ran up the back of his neck. Carefully, with as little sound as he could make, he rubbed his feet dry against the grass and slipped on his boots.
There was no wind this morning. No reason for the trees to shift like that.
Someone was here, watching him.
Panic flooded his body. He stood, fists balled at his sides. He could run if he wanted to, but then he’d
never know what was happening.
“Who’s there?” His voice came out a hoarse whisper.
Trees surrounded him on two sides—a hundred perfect hiding places for anyone wishing to spy.
He could hear breathing. Most people wouldn’t even notice, but his senses had been heightened through years of training at the Lodge. A good quality in a soldier. Even better for a runaway.
Still, he couldn’t help but doubt himself. Was this paranoia? Too much time spent alone, running things over in his head—it could make a person go crazy.
“Stop hiding,” he continued. “I know you’re there.”
A branch snapped. Cassius spun to face it.
Nothing.
He felt his right fist ignite. He hadn’t meant for it to happen, but now that the flames had erupted, his body followed suit. He felt his skin heat up. The invisible, organic generator inside of him produced more fire, drying any saltwater left on his face.
“Leave me alone!”
Before he knew it, fire spilled from his fingertips, bursting forth in a torrent as bright as the rising sun. Trees cracked and bowed as they caught ablaze. The fire spread fast, surrounding him within moments. Plumes of smoke rose into the air.
There were no screams. No footsteps or gunshots. Only fire.
Taking a choked breath, Cassius watched in horror as the blaze continued to spread. He’d done it again, let his fear and anger drive him to destruction. Whether or not there had been someone watching him, he’d lost his cool. And there wasn’t time to fix it.
Keeping his head low, he bolted from the fire. Trees fell behind him. He forced himself to ignore the sound. He couldn’t be linked to this.
He needed to disappear. Grab his communicator and leave the Polar Cities for good. But as he sprinted across the grass, he knew he couldn’t run forever. They’d find him. They were the best, and the best don’t give up, no matter how many of them he set on fire.
5
I sit at the edge of the bed in my dorm room, staring at the wall, scared to go outside for fear of what everyone else will say. Their eyes are scarier now, the way they dissect me. The corridors of the Academy seem endless. It’s not just the faculty. It’s the students. The families. Everyone.
There are two things they can’t take away from me, and they’re both in this room now. One winds around my wrist and the other sits securely in a safe below my desk, accessible only by my identification card.
The first is a black bracelet, weightless but solid as stone. It’s fused so perfectly against my arm that it feels like a part of my body now. It was a sort of gift from my parents, meant for when I’d first landed on Earth more than twelve years ago. But Madame managed to hold that little party back until last spring. I still don’t know exactly what it’s supposed to do, but if nothing else, it’s proof that my homeworld exists. Cassius shares this proof. He also shares what’s in the safe—a direct line of communication between the two of us. The second of my untouchable objects.
If Alkine had his way, he’d take them both. Luckily, the bracelet won’t come off. And the communicator? Well, there’s a reason I’ve got it locked up. Everybody gets to keep a secret or two. I have so few left.
I itch to head back to the core reactor and break the new Pearl they’ve got spinning in there now. My knee shakes. It’s hard to keep still.
Avery would know what to do. If I could wish anything and have it be true, it would be for her to be here now, safe beside me on this bed. She’d know what to say. She’s the one person I know who’s worked for both the Academy and the Unified Party. It took me awhile to trust her again after learning that, but I believe her now. She’s on my side. She would’ve died for me in Seattle.
Maybe she has.
The Unified Party took her back. To reenlist her or to kill her—I have no way of knowing. Either way, the only person who really cared about me is gone.
I’m supposed to meet Eva and Skandar for lunch, but I honestly don’t know if I’m up for it. Sure, they’ve been two of the only friends to stick by my side these past few months, but after spending the morning in the gray room I’m not exactly thrilled to face them. It’s embarrassing, the way I am now. The way I feel.
A knock at the door jerks my shoulders back in surprise. My stomach sinks. My breath quickens. This is my home, my room. It shouldn’t be like this.
I don’t move. I wish I had a camera that could show me who’s standing on the other side of the door. Caller ID for people too lazy to stand up.
Another series of knocks. Maybe it’s Skandar. That would be alright, I guess. Then at least I’d have someone to walk with up to the canteen.
I take a deep breath and work up the courage to stand and open the door. But before I can, it swings open and a man steps into the room. He stops just past the frame, arms crossed. I’ve probably seen him before—one of the hundreds of young agents onboard—but I have no idea who he is. Twenty-something, I’d guess, with a broad eagerto-please smile on his chiseled face. Cropped brown hair, button-up shirt and tie, the whole Agent look. In short, a vision of exactly what I have no hope of becoming.
His eyes are bright and focused. I must look like an absolute mess in comparison. He leans on the open door, feigning a casual, at-ease persona. At the very least, he’s not all that threatening. “Hey, buddy.” His tone is overeager. “How’s it going?”
My shoulders slump. I turn to look at him. “Who’re you?”
His smile widens. “I remember when I was a Year Ten.” He glances around the room like he’s appraising a castle. “Level Two dorm rooms. Good times. Of course, that was back before they installed the content shields on the e-feed network, if you know what I mean.” He moves from the doorway and sits beside me on the bed, almost shoulder to shoulder. After a moment, he holds out his hand in expectation that I’ll do the same. “Agent Morse.” I get the sense that if I grabbed it, he could throw me over his shoulder and chuck me all the way down the hallway.
I stare at him with an expression that can’t help but come across more than a little insulting. “Um … this is my bed.”
“Oh.” He jumps to his feet. “Yeah. Sorry, man. I didn’t mean to intrude or anything.”
“Then you shouldn’t barge into someone’s room.” He laughs. He thinks I’m being funny.
I keep my eyes pinned to his face. “Did Alkine send you?”
He walks to the far window, dodging piles of clothing on the way. An agent like him probably has a mass clean room, probably folds his sheets with a straight-edge. “It’s a beautiful afternoon up at Lookout Park, Fisher. You shouldn’t be cooped up in here.”
I glare at him. Does this guy realize where I just spent my morning? I’d point it out, but I don’t think the irony would phase him.
After another moment at the window, he turns back to me, his crisp suit at odds with the clutter around him. “Let me walk you to lunch.”
“That’s okay. I’m already meeting—”
“No,” he says. “I insist.”
“You know, there are privacy laws. Breaking into someone’s room and—”
“Privacy laws?” He chuckles. “On Skyship Academy? Good one. They told me you were a joker.”
“I’m already meeting friends.”
He shakes his head. “I insist.”
I scoot away from him, fingers forming fists. “What are you gonna do?”
Agent Morse holds his hands above his shoulders in innocence, that perma-smile still affixed to his face. “Whoa, calm down little man. I’m not here to hurt you.”
Little man? Any chance of me listening to this guy is blown as soon as I hear these words. Tells me all I need to know. He’s like all the others. Patronizing. He thinks I’m a kid. Maybe I should break a Pearl in his face and see if he still thinks I’m little.
He crosses his arms. “The Captain told me you’d have this reaction.”
“Wonderful.”
His posture eases. “He asked me if I would kind of, well, check up
on you. You know, like a mentor program. He knows the way it’s been between the two of you recently.”
I stand and grip the door handle, seconds away from slamming it shut in his face. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“It’s not a punishment.” He eases closer. “And it doesn’t mean you’re a … loser or anything.”
“Gee, thanks.”
“It’s just that you’ve got a different situation going on. And sometimes it helps to have someone to talk to. Someone who’s a little older. Someone who’s been through things.”
My grip tightens. “You’ve got no idea.”
“So fill me in. Over lunch.”
“I already told you. I’m meeting people.”
His brows raise. “I’d like to meet them, too.”
I shake my head. “No way. The moment we step out that door and people see me walking around with someone like you, they’ll think something’s up. Like, that you’re walking me to the brig or something.”
He sighs. “You really think people don’t know already? Do you think the other students in Dr. Hemming’s lab this morning didn’t realize you were gone? Attendance hasn’t exactly been first rate this term, has it? People know something’s up.”
My shoulders tense. “They don’t know all of it.”
“No. You’re right. Hell, I don’t know all of it. But I know you’re different. I know that something happened back there on the Surface that changed the way we think about Pearls, and the way the Captain thinks about you. And, if I can be frank, from the rumors I’ve heard floating around the ship, you’re lucky that Alkine’s letting you stay onboard like this, protected.”
I scoff. “Lucky.”
“Yeah,” he replies. “If I’m being honest. But I’d like you to prove me wrong. I’d like to discover that the file I read about a funny, good-hearted kid wasn’t just a lie. He’s in there. I can see him.” He sighs. “Just give it a chance. It’s like a big-brother thing. You’ve always wanted a brother, right?”