What Tomorrow May Bring

by Tony Bertauski

  The girl is even more excited now, flapping her arms as if she’s ready to fly off to find my sister. “You’re her sister! You’re her sister!” she exclaims.

  “Yes, now please go tell her.”

  The girl starts to race off, but then stops, whirling around to retrieve the ball before scampering back behind the orphanage. Smart girl.

  We wait against the wall, expecting an Enforcer to appear at any second, having been ratted on by the sweet little clever girl.

  Instead, like a mirage, my sister appears, running so fast her legs are a blur, her jet-black hair swishing around behind her. My day is a rollercoaster of emotions. The demon drop of Cole’s story has given way to a higher high, practically bursting through the cavern roof. My heart is literally soaring, rising out of my body and smiling upon me from above.

  Elsey slams into me with such force that she nearly topples me over. Although we’ve only been apart for six months, a mere blip in our lives, it feels like we haven’t seen each other in years. She seems to have grown, both physically and in maturity. Only ten, her pale face looks wizened, young but worn.

  “Oh Elsey,” I sigh, holding her tight against my chest, her legs wrapped around my hips. She’s still a child, above all. Forced to endure far more than a child should have to endure. Far more than anyone should.

  I want to hold onto her forever, but time is short.

  “Let me have a look at you,” I say, gently lowering her to the stone slab alley. My breath catches as I gaze on her face. She’s breathtaking, has always been, with doll-like features that are so perfect they must have been carved by a master sculptor. She’s always been more beautiful than me, but I don’t mind, for she is a pure spirit. I can tell by the way her jaw sticks out now that six months in this place has hardened her, but in her violet eyes I can see the same pure energy she’s always had.

  “You’re a sight for sore eyes, Elsey,” I say, tearing up slightly.

  “I’ve missed you so much, Adele,” Elsey says earnestly. “I couldn’t believe it when Ranna said you were here. I ran as fast as I could.” She scrunches up her face, like she’s making a wish. “Are you here to get me out?” she says hopefully.

  I nod. “Yeah, but we’re not exactly allowed, so we’re going to have to do it sneakily.”

  “I knew you’d come!” Elsey exclaims. “Big John kept telling me I was crazy, that you were stuck in the Pen forever, but I always said he was wrong, even when he called me names. I was right, wasn’t I?”

  “Of course, but there’ll be time to talk about all that later. We’ve got to go.”

  “But I’ve got to say bye to Ranna!”

  “There’s not time, El, I’m sor—”

  I’m cut off when Ranna tears around the corner, hissing, “Miss Death is coming!”

  Elsey seems to understand the urgency of the situation. With a conviction that has been her trademark for all ten years of her short life, she hugs Ranna, pulling her friend’s head into her heart. “I’ll never forget you, Ranna,” she says. “Our hearts are one.” If you don’t know Elsey you’d think she was crazy. But that’s just Elsey. Everything is dramatic, although in this case it’s probably warranted.

  “I’ll never forget you either,” Ranna parrots, like a miniature version of El.

  I grab El’s hand and we run back down the alley. Tawni is already over the wall and Cole is waiting to give Elsey a boost. We follow closely, hearing a cry from behind just as we slip over to the other side. Miss Doom, or Death, or whatever, I think.

  “Quick, I know a shortcut,” Elsey says, running in the opposite direction we’re planning on going, simply assuming that we’ll follow her. We do.

  And it’s a good thing, because at that moment I hear a yell from far back, out on the street where we’d been heading. I half-turn, curious as to who is pursuing us.

  I’d recognize that demented face anywhere: Rivet.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Tristan

  Roc and I have been walking for over an hour, making our way to a spot on the map. We hope it will give us a shot at finding her.

  It’s the middle of the night. We’re tired. Neither of us speaks as we force ourselves to put one foot in front of the other, time and time again, trudging onwards.

  Through the first part of the suburbs, people are out of their houses, wearing sleeping tunics or just undergarments, watching the fireworks in the distance, speaking in hushed voices. They’re so transfixed by the scene before them that they barely pay us any attention. We’re just a couple of wandering nomads.

  After a while we see fewer and fewer people, as the explosions dull to a distant rumble, not loud enough to wake the sleeping. We march on, passing through a ritzy neighborhood—at least by Moon Dweller standards—with bigger houses and well-kept streets. Whoever lives in this neighborhood has done something to please my father, that’s for sure.

  We transition into a lonely slum, littered with garbage in the streets and cracked sidewalks. It’s a bit scary, to be honest. Even when I visit the Star Realm, I stay in the finest they have to offer, not really witnessing the true living conditions. Without speaking, Roc and I pick up the pace, moving swiftly through the downtrodden neighborhood.

  We pass a lonely orphanage, named The Forgotten Kids. True, but a bit pessimistic, especially for the kids. It’s weird to think how different my own childhood was. In a way, I was forgotten, too. Growing up, I was always the last of my father’s priorities. He always had something very important to attend to. I guess no matter what conditions you live in, you always have complaints—your bar is just set at a different height.

  We make it through the slums without event. The map shows at least twenty miles of sparsely populated terrain. Within it is a network of caves called the Lonely Caverns. But we’re far too tired to attempt it tonight. We find a couple of large boulders and seek shelter behind them, rolling out our bedrolls and hoping for sleep.

  I doze fitfully, having alternating nightmares of explosions rocking the night and the girl’s sad face. Both send shards of glass through my back and head. Even my dreams have become a series of pain and mystery.

  I awake to find Roc sitting up, studying the map.

  “Morning,” he says, noticing my movement in his peripheral vision.

  I notice that he doesn’t add good to the beginning of his greeting. I guess compared to our normal breakfast routine—Roc bringing me fine meats and fruits in bed, and then me sharing it with him—there isn’t much good about this morning. All we have to eat are dried fruits and nuts, and a few blocks of thick wafers, which we managed to steal from the army storehouse before we left. And the change from our soft palace beds—ugh. Splinters of pain shoot through my back, the consequence of the dozens of sharp rocks beneath my bedroll. I shrug it off and focus on the positive.

  “Good morning,” I reply cheerfully. For, despite our modest breakfast and sleeping situation, I’m ecstatic. In fact, I’ve never been happier. For the first time in my life I’ve woken up without the weight of my father on my shoulders. And I’m doing something I want to do. I know it’s selfish, but my whole life I’ve been doing whatever my father asks of me, and I desperately need a chance to live my own life. Even if it’s only to find out about…

  “A girl?” Roc says into his map.

  My head snaps up from our pack, where I’m rummaging through for food. How does he do that? I think. How does he always seem to know exactly what I’m thinking? “Huh?” I say, trying to hide my amazement.

  “Are we seriously risking our lives all for a girl? One who you’ve never met?”

  Roc’s tone sounds angry. “I’m sorry, Roc. I just have to know why I faint every time I see her. I know it’s a lot to ask of you, but—”

  “No, it’s fine, Tristan,” Roc says, finally making eye contact with me. “I volunteered, remember? I’m just a little tense, that’s all—not used to all this dangerous stuff. I agree there’s something to it all, I just don’t know what. It’s
worth exploring. I just wish she’d stop and let us catch her.” He grins and the tension melts away, but I’m not sure if the discussion is really resolved.

  “Thanks,” I say. “Think of it as part of your training. A very real part of your training. How about we practice with the real swords for a while? It might help you to relax.”

  “Sure.”

  For the next hour I show him the subtleties of using a real sword. By the end, he seems more confident, performing the various maneuvers with ease. It’s just the basics, but it’s a start.

  “What time is it?” I ask when there’s a break in the action.

  I don’t bother to look at my watch. Usually Roc is responsible for dragging me to anywhere I need to be.

  Roc says, “Early afternoon. Why?”

  “We should get moving,” I say, worried that we’ve tarried in our hideaway for too long.

  “First we need to find out more about our quarry,” Roc says. “Remember Chip’s and Coral’s advice?”

  “Who’s Coral?” I ask.

  “The lady who led us down to that cellar. Well, I don’t really know her name—she never told us—but I thought she was deserving of a name anyway, so we don’t forget her.”

  Funny Roc. But he’s right, of course. We have no idea where she might be headed—we’re just guessing at this point.

  “Okay, let’s move along the edge of the caverns. Maybe there will be a shop or something where we can find a telebox.”

  We travel for more than two hours before we come to a large cave mouth, near the southern entrance to the Lonely Caverns. Sure enough, there’s a small stone shack with a stand, set up just outside the caves. A middle-aged man with a long, salt-and-pepper beard dozes in a hammock, an unlit pipe dangling from his chapped lips.

  All around him are piles of goods, some used, some new. All for sale. It seems a bit out of the way for a shop, but he has plenty of inventory, so I assume he gets some business. There’s also a decent selection of preserved food, like dried meats and fruits.

  As we slalom through the piles of stuff, I hear the low murmur of a voice. I head toward the sound. At the very back of the area, sitting on a table, is a small telebox. It’s hard to believe the man has sufficient electricity to operate a telebox, and yet, there it is, broadcasting the news.

  I move closer, tilting my ear to pick up the low volume, when I hear a booming voice from behind. “What can I do for ya?”

  I spin around to find the man standing close to us, much smaller than his voice suggests. He eyes us warily, as if he thinks we’re thieves looking to capitalize on his midday slumber.

  “I’m very sorry, sir,” I say. “We didn’t want to wake you. We were hoping to watch your telebox for a few minutes, if that’s okay? We’ve heard lots of rumors about the bombings, but we wanted to hear it for ourselves.”

  “Customers only,” he says, pointing to a sign above the telebox that I hadn’t noticed.

  “Of course, of course,” I say. “We have Nailins.” I motion to Roc, who promptly unzips the pack and extracts a handful of gold coins.

  The man’s eyes widen. “You look familiar. Who the hell are you?” he asks.

  “Customers,” I say simply. “Now, we’ll take ten packs of those dried meats and twenty of the fruit. What will that cost?”

  “Usually my customers just barter,” the man says, almost to himself, “but I guess that would be about five Nailins.”

  “Give him ten,” I instruct Roc. “For the exemplary service and use of the telebox.”

  I turn my attention back to the screen. I massage a knob to raise the volume, not worried about the man’s reaction. He’ll probably let me to do anything I want after the tip he just received.

  We’ve already missed the latest report on the bombing, which, not surprisingly, is the lead story. But a close second is the report on the guests who escaped from the Pen. First they show a guy, Cole something, large and dark-skinned. In his mug shot he appears angry, which isn’t that surprising considering he was convicted of murder and sentenced to life in prison. The thought of the Moon Dweller girl traveling with him scares me. The report notes that the Cole character has no family left and therefore, he’ll probably try to get out of the subchapter.

  Next they show a girl named Tawni, with stark-white hair and long, thin features. I recognize her immediately as the girl who was sitting next to the dark-haired girl the first time I saw her. Tawni is painted by the media as a good kid who made some bad choices, the latest being her choice of companions in the escape from the Pen. Her parents are prominent, wealthy figures in the subchapter 14 community. They show a photo of her house.

  “Oh my gosh,” Roc says, watching over my shoulder, “we passed by there last night!”

  I glance at him. “You think they might’ve been hiding out with her parents?”

  “Possibly,” Roc says.

  “We’ll check it out before we go into the caves.”

  Finally they show her. Her sad, green eyes suddenly fill the screen, and then the rest of her features follow as they pan out of the strange choice of close-up.

  She’s even prettier than I thought. Her face is flawless. Her lips are in a tight line, but behind them I can feel the warmth of a smile that hasn’t been used in a long time. Her cheeks are pale, but well-constructed. Her hair is radiant black, cascading down from her head and in front of her shoulders. Not only beautiful, she looks capable, a more important trait in the world she lives in. But her beauty is meaningless to me. I need answers. Seeing her on the screen, I don’t feel the pain I did when I twice saw her in person. Curious.

  At least now she has a name. For the few days since I’d first seen her, she’s just been a face, an idea, but now the name Adele Rose shivers through my mind and body like the wings on a moth.

  She was in the Pen for treason, although the report doesn’t provide any details on what she had done specifically. Her parents are noted as traitors, too, but no information is given on their whereabouts, and one can only assume that they’ve been executed in accordance with the law. But I know differently.

  She has a sister, too, ten years old and living out her childhood in an orphanage in a rough part of town. A slum. The slums.

  Roc and I look at each other at the same time. “She’s headed for the orphanage,” I say as Roc nods vigorously. “Maybe already there and gone.”

  “You don’t know that. We have to check,” Roc says.

  “Let’s go.”

  Roc settles up with the shop owner and shoves the food into our pack. I’m already halfway down the path, back the way we came. The lights above the majestic cavern are dimming, simulating the impending darker gray of dusk. I feel warmth in my skin, although there’s a chill in the air. I think it’s the warmth of determination. Although I was determined before, now that I know her name, it’s like she’s finally become real to me, more than just a bearer of pain or wielder of psychic power.

  Roc catches up with me at a slight jog and I immediately match my pace to his. We make our way back to where we camped, hoping we’ll be able to find safe passage into the slums. The news story motivates us, and we make it back in half the time. Just as the large boulders we’d camped behind appear in the distance, we hear the scurry of frantic footsteps approaching from the path that leads to the slums.

  “Down!” I cry, not that either of us need to hear it. We’re both already diving for the rocks, flattening ourselves and crawling behind the biggest stones we can find on the barren landscape.

  Just as we hide, a form bursts from behind a large boulder, racing along the track dangerously fast. He’s big, man-size, dark. A second shape emerges, with white, flowing hair and long strides. Big, dark-skinned guy, white-haired girl: it doesn’t take a mining engineer to figure out who they are.

  I hold my breath, watching the entrance to the slums, hoping and praying she will emerge. No, not she—Adele. I’m shocked when the third figure scrapes from the path, short legs pumping wildly, dark
hair pulled into a ponytail. My first thought is: she’s much shorter in person. But then I realize my mistake when a fourth figure appears.

  There’s no mistaking her this time. Athletic strides, fiercely determined expression, piercing green eyes—it’s Adele. Icy tentacles stab at my back, but not as fiercely as the last time.

  My mind is a black hole; my heart is a stallion. The stallion in me wants to jump up, say, “Adele, we have to talk,” but thankfully my mind’s black hole implodes upon itself, evaporating and returning clarity of thought.

  The orphanage. Her sister. A small girl who resembles Adele. It’s clear what has happened. They’ve broken her out. And the way they’re running—like the wolves of hell have been unchained behind them—means that someone is chasing them. Enforcers perhaps. Or orphanage security, if there even is such thing.

  Wrong and wrong.

  The Devil himself emerges behind her, running with purpose, perfectly balanced and efficiently functioning, like a machine. A very evil machine. I know that face, that form, all too well. Rivet. The best of my father’s special purpose unit. And the most evil. The most like my father. He’s chasing Adele and her friends.

  Behind him is the rest of his unit: half a dozen special purpose personnel with big guns and sharp swords. Death on twelve feet.

  Adele and her friends look like they might turn toward us, but then they veer left, up a slight rock hill, heading for the mouth of one of the Lonely Caves.

  Rivet is gaining.

  Without thinking, I stand up and run hard, cutting the distance between them like a knife, willing my legs to fly. I ignore a blast of thunder in my skull as the headache returns. My hand draws my sword instinctually, using small movements to conserve strength. My heart is pounding, not from the urgency of the run, but because I know Adele is so close, and yet she might never know I’m even here. I hear footsteps behind me and know right away that Roc has my back. He and I both know he’ll be no match for the highly trained soldiers, but he’s my friend—a true friend—and he’ll go down fighting, whether to the grave or to a prison cell. Just like me.