Crimson Rising

by Nick James

  “Oh no.” I back up, nearly crushing Eva’s hand in the process.

  Skandar flattens against the rock. “Don’t say it, man.”

  “They saw me.” I risk another glance in the agent’s direction, only to catch him tromping forward. “They’re coming.”

  Skandar winces. “But we don’t have any weapons.”

  “They’re Academy,” Eva whispers. “We shouldn’t need weapons!”

  I shake my head. “You’re wrong.”

  And I know it in that instant. I know exactly what we have to do. Alkine and the others have been treating me this way for a reason. I am dangerous. I am treacherous. The way these guys are looking at me? They wouldn’t do that unless they considered me a threat. And when Skyship Agents target a threat, they defend themselves.

  I turn to the others, hands shaking. “Something’s wrong here. We have to fight.”

  14

  Eva crouches in front of me, eyes wide. “Hell no, Jesse. Sneaking out is bad enough. You’re talking about turning against our friends!”

  “That agent shot the Drifter.” I shake my head. “He might’ve killed it.”

  “We’re too far away. You could’ve seen anything. Calm down a second before you—”

  “Uh, guys?” Skandar glances over his shoulder. “We don’t really have a second.”

  I turn. The agent barrels toward us, closer than I expected. Instead of arguing with Eva, I break into a sprint and head in a wide arc, keeping my distance from the agent while heading toward the fallen Drifter.

  The agent extends a gloved hand. “Stop!” He doesn’t recognize me in the darkness, though I wouldn’t be surprised if he’d attack knowing full well who I am.

  I freeze. I’m in the center of flat land, totally exposed. Eva and Skandar duck beneath the rocks. I catch my breath and glance to the side. The bigger agent’s got the Drifter halfway into the ground. There’s no way to reach him in time.

  Instinctively, I hold out my left arm. The closest agent reaches for his holster. I ignore him. I’m not sure what I’m going to do without a Pearl, but I have to do something.

  I hone in on the energy surrounding the Drifter. It’s not hard. It’s the only light available on the island. But I’m not worried about seeing it. I need to feel it.

  Something clicks. Connects.

  The hairs on my arm bristle and pull toward the light. I close my eyes and forget everything else around me. If I can manipulate Pearls, I can do the same with Pearl energy. I’m sure of it.

  When I open my eyes, I know that I’ve got it. The tips of my fingers pulse. I tense my hand, pull it inward, and watch as the green light streams from the Drifter’s body into the air. A band of energy snakes through the sky, curving downward with the slight guidance of my fist. I bring it in a figure eight, gain momentum, and send it slamming against the nearest agent.

  My index finger points forward. The energy follows suit, gaining speed as it shoots in a straight, bladelike path above the dirt and connects with the second agent. He topples onto his back, unconscious.

  My concentration fractures. The energy splits into pieces, bursting in all directions. The field’s a brilliant green flash until the last of it dissipates. Then, darkness.

  Skandar and Eva run up beside me. My breathing’s fast, exhausted.

  “This is bad, Jesse,” Eva says. “Imagine how this is going to look.”

  I ignore her. “I’m going under. I want to see what’s down there.”

  Before she can argue, I take off toward the Drifter. He hangs halfway out of a wide manhole. I notice a metal cover laying in the sparse grass off to the side before turning my attention back to the body. He’s unconscious, at the very least. Maybe dead. I can’t look for long. I don’t know how much time we have, and I need to see what’s down there before Alkine sends reinforcements.

  I grab the Drifter’s hands and pull his legs from the opening. The hole is a well of darkness below.

  I turn and let my foot fall until it makes contact with what must be a railing. Cautiously, I descend, grasping the rungs of a side ladder to steady myself. It’s impossible to tell exactly how far I’m going.

  The moonlight disappears overhead, replaced by a soft glow emanating from somewhere below me. Seven steps and I reach a dank ledge of dirt. I release my hold on the rungs and step backward. My shoes connect with concrete.

  I spin and focus on the light. It’s dull. The hallway before me is twisted, obscured by mazelike walls. The glow probably seems farther away than it is. I extend my arms and walk forward, right into a wall. Using the stone as a guide, I shift sideways and head deeper underground. I hear someone descend the ladder behind me. Hopefully Eva or Skandar.

  Another twist, then another. All the while, the light grows stronger. I push my back against the wall and quiet my breathing. The silence is more concerning than reassuring. I expect to feel something—the pull of a Pearl, the bristling of my skin. But all I really feel is cold.

  I tiptoe around the corner of the wall and arrive in an open room. Three chairs are scattered unevenly around a table. Behind it, several yards deep, runs a dark, semi-transparent wall. If I stood close, I might be able to see through it. Or maybe it’s not transparent at all, but reflective. Either way, it’s not natural. Not underground like this. A row of bulbs flicker softly overhead, casting the empty bunker in a dim spotlight.

  I rush to the strange wall and lean my forehead against it, staring in. At first I can’t see a thing, but as I focus, outlines appear. Soon, I’m looking at an entirely different room, twice the size of this one. But it’s not the room itself that I notice.

  A man sits right in the center, quiet and still.

  His back is arched, his legs crossed under him. And his eyes are closed. Even with the shield of the dark wall blocking my vision, I recognize his face from conference calls. From the Kansas rooftop last spring.

  Ryel.

  This is where Alkine’s been keeping the Drifters.

  I bang on the wall with my fist in hopes of getting his attention. It must be soundproof, because his expression doesn’t change. His eyes clamp shut as if in meditation. His hands clasp in his lap.

  He wears all white, like when Cassius and I had first met him. He doesn’t look as though they’ve been mistreating him, not too thin or weak. No shackles or cuffs. But this is a cage all the same. I can feel it.

  Ryel.

  They don’t have last names, these people. That’s one of the few things I’ve been able to learn since spring. They have numbers. Rankings. But no last names. Ryel’s the 7,085th to bear his name. I saw it once on Alkine’s memopad. I think the numbers must be mass important to them. Something to do with their place in society.

  The Academy’s given him an age of forty-five, though I don’t know if Drifter years are the same as ours. To me, he looks younger.

  I lay my hands on the wall and take another look, praying for Ryel to open his eyes. I can’t get over how human he looks, at least from the outside. They all look this way, at first. It takes a closer analysis to spot any differences. I overheard Dr. Hemming saying that their arms have a different ratio to them. Shorter at the bicep, longer forearms. Flatter nose. Slightly dilated pupils. A greater arch to their backs. None of it’s enough to make them stand out in a crowd, but up close you can tell that they’re foreign. Not quite right.

  I guess I’m not quite right, either. I always wondered why Alkine had insisted on so many medical checks when I was a kid. Turns out that while I might seem like a normal teenager on the outside, inside’s a different story. Again, not enough to ring alarms, but different. Like Hemming said, it’s all in the proportions.

  “Jesse.” A hand pulls at my elbow, breaking my attention from the second room.

  I jump and turn to see Eva standing before me. “What?”

  “I think I heard something.”

  I glance around, searching for figures, shadows, anything. “Where’s Skandar?”

  Her eyes widen as s
he scans the room for him. “I thought he was right behind me. Maybe he—”

  Footsteps interrupt her. Skandar rounds the corner, scratching the back of his neck.

  Eva’s whisper intensifies. “Where were you?”

  “Rifling through the agent’s side pack,” he whispers. “You know, Alkine always says to use what you’ve got. Most of the guy’s stuff was standard issue.” He holds up a palmsized, semicircle device. It looks like some kind of remote. “Except for this. It’s got buttons.” He shrugs. “It must do something, right?”

  I grab the device from his hands. “I’ve never seen anything like this.”

  Skandar’s eyes fall on the wall in front of us. “Wow. That’s different, isn’t it?”

  I step back and analyze the remote. There are three buttons on top—hardly complex. Of course, there’s no telling exactly what they’ll do. Knowing my luck, I’ll push one and end up setting off some kind of explosion. But I’ve got to try.

  Before Eva can push her way in to have a look, I press each button in turn.

  Nothing happens.

  Eva shifts beside me. “You know, we shouldn’t—”

  “Wait.”

  I watch as a border of blue light appears from the darkness, illuminating the edges of the wall. The line spreads from the corners and stretches across the boundary of the floor and ceiling. Once the two pieces meet in the middle, the light changes course—moves vertically and splits the wall like someone’s cutting it open with an invisible blowtorch. Without a sound, the pieces slide apart. The light fades and we’re left with two slabs pulling across the ground, retracting into the walls. I haven’t seen technology like this in the Academy. Unified Party, maybe, but not our dinky little ship.

  Ryel doesn’t notice the movement at first. His eyes remain closed until the walls are halfway retracted. When they open, he has a sort of glazed look on his face, like he doesn’t know where he is or who we are.

  Then, as if a switch has been triggered, his mouth falls open and he realizes.

  I can tell by how quickly he moves that he knows it’s me. Even though we’ve barely seen each other—only once in person—there’s recognition in his wide eyes.

  He bounds from his seat on the concrete, barefooted. “Please don’t tell me I’m imagining this.”

  He speaks perfect English. It wasn’t like that back on the rooftop, but Pearl transport energy allows for language recognition and processing. He doesn’t have any discernable accent, more like he’s studied every different way of speaking and crammed it into one voice.

  “Ryel.” I stare at him, unsure what to do. Shake hands? Hug him? Bow?

  He stops several feet in front of me and takes a moment to survey what’s left of the walls before refocusing on my face. “I’m going mad. I’ve had visions of shadows. Don’t know if they’re real or not. Are you real?” He clutches my shoulder. “Jesse Fisher?”

  I glance behind me at Eva and Skandar. “We’ve gotta get him out of here.”

  “There are more of us,” he motions past the retracted wall, “in the holding chambers.”

  Eva cringes. “I told you this wasn’t a good idea.”

  “You’re here,” Ryel continues. “You’re standing right before me.”

  I step back. “Yes. It’s me.”

  He presses his hands together as in prayer, allowing himself a smile, though it looks more like a strange grimace. “The others! Our brothers and sisters.”

  I peer over his shoulder, expecting an agent to rush from the darkness and tackle us. “Yeah. Okay.”

  “Guards.” Eva steps between us, expression tense. “Alkine’s bound to have them.”

  “There’s one room,” Ryel says. “Halfway down the corridor, secured. They’re sleeping, now.”

  “Go back to the entrance,” I tell Eva. “See if you can grab some weapons from the side pack. Then meet us down here.”

  “I am not pulling a weapon on one of our own people.”

  “They’d pull one on you.”

  Skandar retreats, pulling her with him. “Don’t worry, Jesse.” They disappear around the corner.

  Ryel’s head cocks to the side, his posture unusually rigid. “Do you hear it?”

  I shake my head.

  “The agents are coming. My plan … it won’t work.”

  The corners of the room erupt in a flurry of activity. Six agents burst from the hallways beyond, each armed and decked in full battle gear. They come at us quick. Too quick.

  I grab Ryel by the wrist and pull him forward. “Run!”

  As we push forward, I fiddle with the remote in my hand in the hopes that it’ll do something. It’s too late to close the wall again, but maybe I can trip some emergency security system.

  We sprint through the mazelike corridor on our way to the escape ladder. I grab the closest rung and climb. My arms still ring from the Sophomore Tour. The agents will have a harder time negotiating the ladder with all their gear. I saw the weapons they were holding. No stunners. That was lethal force. They wouldn’t shoot me. They can’t. Not if they know what I mean to Alkine.

  I reach the surface and emerge on the dirt gasping for air. Ryel follows, struggling to his feet.

  “Jesse!” Eva stands next to the fallen agent, brandishing a small pistol. Skandar crouches beside her, digging through the guy’s weapons pack.

  “They’re coming.” I stagger from the hole. “We’ve gotta get back to the shuttle.”

  Skandar stands. “All this guy’s got is stunners.”

  “It doesn’t matter. Which way’s the shuttle?”

  Eva consults the stars before pointing behind her. “There.”

  I take off in a sprint, followed by the others. Ryel runs beside me, easily matching my pace.

  A shot fires into the sky behind us. It’s meant to intimidate. All it does is tell me where the agents are. They’ve made it up the ladder.

  We jump across rocks—over ridges and through plots of mud. All the while, the agents pursue us. I can’t even see the outline of the shuttle yet. With each step, escape becomes more unlikely. Without a Pearl, I’m helpless.

  Skandar bumps into Eva. “Give me the stunner.”

  She resists, but he grabs it from her hand and sidesteps away.

  “What are you doing?!?”

  “Get to the shuttle!” Skandar shouts. “I’ll hold them off!”

  As my lungs scream for air, our shuttle pulls into view. I look over my shoulder and watch the agents approach, closer and closer. A second shot breaks the silence. I cover my head, expecting to be hit.

  Instead I see Skandar freeze and pivot in the grass, brandishing a stunner in each hand. It’s tricky enough to accurately shoot one of those things in training modules. Trying to stun a guy through full body armor is near impossible.

  “Skandar! No!” Eva slows, desperation in her face.

  He doesn’t listen. He stands his ground, waiting for the agents. “Go! Go!”

  The shuttle grows closer. We’re almost there.

  Skandar fires—two darts laced with tranquilizer. One connects. I hear a body fall.

  I slam into the side door of the shuttle and plug in the code to open it.

  More shots. The agents’ attention is diverted. Skandar’s bought us the seconds we need. They better not hurt him.

  The door opens. We scramble inside. Ryel follows us.

  Eva cranks up the engine before she has a chance to sit. I watch the skirmish through the side window. A pair of agents tackle Skandar to the ground. His stunner flies from his hand. He’s defenseless. We could shoot—harness what meager defense equipment this shuttle has—but then we’d risk hitting him. Shuttles don’t fire stun darts. We could kill.

  The landing gear retracts. We bolt into the air. I half expect the agents to open fire. Maybe it’s because we’re in an Academy vehicle. Maybe they did recognize me back there. Whatever the case, they keep their weapons still.

  We gain speed and pull away from the island. It’s only
when we’re a safe distance from land that Eva turns to me. “They’ve got Skandar, Jesse.” She chokes on the words.

  “I know.” I pace uneasily. “What have we done?”

  “They’ve got him,” she repeats. Her eyes widen. “They—”

  She can’t finish the sentence. It finally happened. She can see what the Academy’s become. Otherwise she would’ve chosen different words.

  They’ve got him. They. Not we.

  They.

  15

  Cassius relished the chance to leave his cell, to move freely without shackles pulling him back.

  The Unified Party Cruiser landed in the Fringes several minutes ago, opening its door to a world far different than the temperature-controlled room inside the Lodge. Madame surprised him earlier in the morning, arriving in place of the usual breakfast lady. “We’ll be going on an errand,” she’d said, and left it at that. It was like old times. She never revealed more than she had to.

  His wrists had welts on them from being restrained for so long. He walked with a slight limp. His leg cramped.

  Keep moving.

  Madame’s voice echoed in his mind. She hadn’t actually spoken, but the device on his neck relayed her commands.

  They were at the edge of a Fringe Town. Syracuse, just a short distance from the Lodge. Cassius couldn’t think of a more uncomfortable place. Every time he breathed, the air felt thick and sandy. Sweat dripped from his neck, staining the collar of his shirt. A dry wind ripped like sandpaper against his skin. And the sun … it was unstoppable. Syracuse, more than any other Fringe Town, had special significance. It was where everything had started, where he’d first met Fisher and triggered his power, where Pearls stopped being energy and became something else. He hadn’t been back since.

  The town could be dangerous. The lawlessness of the Fringes wasn’t too far off from the slum lands back in Providence, though they were far emptier. Every time he’d ventured outside in the past, something had gone wrong. Fringers, like Slum Lords, were not to be trusted. Even though he’d denounced the ways of the Unified Party, he could still become a target. No Fringer would be happy to see someone like Madame walking through their town, not after the government all but banished them to a life in this hellish wasteland.