by Zoe Cannon
She knew who Micah was.
A year and a half ago, she could never have condemned Micah to death. Not knowing what she knew. Not seeing the gentle idealist alongside the future torturer.
She didn’t have that luxury anymore.
He didn’t deserve to die any more than her mother did. But it didn’t matter. What she felt for him didn’t matter. Ending the reeducation program—that was all that mattered.
Hundreds of future prisoners. Thousands. Maybe tens of thousands. How could she choose one life over all of theirs? How could she even consider it?
She couldn’t.
Even if that one life belonged to the person she—
It doesn’t matter.
Micah had stopped talking. She wondered how long he had been waiting for her to answer.
She wrapped her arm tight around his shoulders, savoring the connection, offering what little comfort she could. Hating herself for her duplicity. “You’ll be okay,” she assured him. “You will.”
Maybe it was for the best that she probably wouldn’t survive this. Because she didn’t think she could live with herself after what she was going to do.
Chapter Fourteen
Becca took slow, measured steps across the parking lot and into her apartment building. Even now that she was alone, even now that she had left her coworkers’ whispers behind, she didn’t let the mask fall. It was easier this way. These days, letting go of the facade took almost more effort than keeping it up.
The rumors had reached 117. She had known it would happen soon enough; she just hadn’t expected it to be the very next day. No one asked her about it directly. They just averted their eyes when they saw her coming, or grew deathly quiet as soon as she got within earshot, only to resume their whispering when they thought she was too far away to hear.
The Enforcers hadn’t come for her in the night, though. They hadn’t hauled her out of her chair at work. Maybe Heather hadn’t—
Her thoughts slammed to a halt as she turned the corner.
Milo Miyamoto was standing in front of her door.
He swept his gaze over her in an assessing glance as the sharp bite of his cologne washed over her. “Heather Thomas spoke to me about you today. She had quite a bit to say.”
Becca froze before she could stop herself. But only for a second. Then she carefully relaxed, maintaining her pretense of neutrality. “Like what?”
The two of them were alone in the hallway, and no telltale Enforcement vans had been parked outside. He hadn’t brought Enforcement with him. That had to mean something, didn’t it?
He took a step closer to her door. “Why don’t we have that conversation inside?”
She hesitated.
His face softened. “I’m not here to arrest you, Becca. Heather asked me to help you, and that’s what I intend to do. But I can’t help you unless you let me.”
Becca let her breath out slowly. Right. Heather had said she would talk to Milo if Becca told her the truth. It felt like so long ago now—but despite Heather’s frantic flight from Becca’s car last night, apparently she had held up her end of the deal.
She unlocked the door and stepped inside. Milo followed. His gaze swept over the room, taking in the apartment’s conspicuous emptiness, but he didn’t comment.
He settled into a comfortable pose, legs apart, arms crossed. “As I said, Heather came to me about you today. She insisted that your mother was innocent, and that rather than searching for evidence of dissident activity that doesn’t exist, I should be defending her against these misplaced accusations.” There was a hint of disapproval in his voice. “I can only assume you sent her to speak on your mother’s behalf.”
There was no point in denying it. “I knew you would listen to her.”
“Your mother is a dissident,” said Milo. “That is a certainty. And I intend to make sure she faces justice for what she’s done. But you don’t have to share her fate. I’ve done my best to protect you, but if you start defending her, there’s only so much I can do. Even now, some very highly-placed people in Processing are attempting to convince Investigation 212 to reconsider your innocence. They don’t want to see their shining star fall, and they would be only too happy to let you pay the price for your mother’s mistakes.” His lip curled, as if he had smelled something he didn’t like.
She had known her reprieve might be a temporary one. But if he had come here to tell her this, then it wasn’t just some theoretical possibility. It was real.
Nine days until she could follow Micah to the reeducation center. Then more time to piece together her plan. Would it be enough? How long did she have before Milo couldn’t hold Enforcement back anymore?
“Why are you protecting me?” It was the only thing she could think of to say.
Something changed in Milo’s face. A wall between them fell away, one she hadn’t realized was there until it disappeared. “My father was executed seven years ago.” His voice was quieter now. “I had only been at Investigation 212 for a couple of months. That was before the backlash against children of dissidents started in earnest, of course. If the atmosphere back then had been anything like the past year or two, I would never have gotten to where I am now. Even so, I had to fight for every bit of progress I made. I had to prove every day that I wasn’t going to follow in my father’s footsteps.”
He stared into the distance, as if haunted by a distant memory. “I didn’t deserve to be judged by my parents’ mistakes. Neither did Heather. And neither do you.” He came back to the present, back to Becca. “I haven’t been able to completely shield Heather from the fallout of what happened to her parents, but I’ve done what I could. I can do the same for you. If you let me help you, I can ensure not only that you won’t be arrested in your mother’s place, but that any existing black marks are removed from your record. After the arrest, I can arrange for you to be transferred to Investigation, where I will extend my influence to you to the best of my ability.” He inclined his head to her. “But you’re going to have to do your part.”
Cooperate with the man responsible for the destruction of the resistance. The man responsible for Jameson’s death, for his unborn baby’s death.
But she would be doing it for them. To complete their mission. To save Jameson’s daughter.
She hesitated for only a second. “What do I need to do?”
“Your mother will be arrested,” said Milo. “It’s only a question of when. All I need you to do is provide me with information I can use to prove that an arrest is necessary. As her daughter, your word will carry a lot of weight. I can make sure the right people in Public Relations see it, and if that happens, it won’t matter what Processing does to try to discredit you.”
She went cold. “You want me to give you evidence against my mother.”
“A spoken statement would be enough. With relevant examples, of course.”
No. No. She would do anything she could to shut down the reeducation center, but not this. Her mom wouldn’t be under investigation in the first place if not for her. She couldn’t condemn her any further, couldn’t drive the final nail into the coffin she had built.
But.
If she was arrested, no one would stop the reeducation program in her place. There was no one else, not anymore. The program would become official, and the Reeducation division would take its place next to Processing and Investigation and all the rest. There would be no hope of shutting it down then, even if someone were around to try.
She had already made the choice to sacrifice Micah’s life for this.
Could she sacrifice her mother’s life?
No. I can’t do it.
But she had to.
One life against the lives of every current and future child trapped in that place. No matter whose life was on the other side of that equation, the answer remained the same.
A year and a half ago, she had saved her mother’s life.
But things had been simpler then. Back then, the choice had been one life for another. Jake�
�s life for her mom’s. And she had done what she had thought was right.
Now her conscience screamed at her to accept the consequences of what she had done, to die in her mother’s place. But this wasn’t about her anymore.
It was about saving the people she had joined the resistance to save.
Slowly, as everything in her resisted the movement, she nodded. “I’ll do it.” She managed to get the words out without choking.
False confessions for the greater good. Hadn’t her mom tried to explain this to her once?
“I know this isn’t easy for you,” said Milo, almost gently. “But you’re doing the right thing. There’s no reason to let your mother bring you down with her. You deserve a bright future, and I’ll do whatever I can to make sure you get it.”
Bile rose in her throat.
“Let me take you down to Investigation 212, and we’ll get this over with.” Milo started toward the door. “The sooner you do this, the easier it will be. Trust me.” He paused with his hand on the doorknob.
No. Not yet. She needed time to plan, to reconsider, to find some way out of this…
But the longer she waited, the worse the danger would become.
And whether she betrayed her mother now or a week from now, the end result would be the same.
She nodded numbly. She didn’t speak. If she said aloud what she was about to do, she might lose her nerve.
She followed him out of the apartment. Each step brought her closer to her betrayal.
She pictured the kids in the reeducation center. Pictured everything that would happen to them and countless more if she didn’t do this. She called up Jake’s face in her mind. It won’t happen to anyone else. I won’t let it.
She still felt like a traitor.
* * *
Investigation 212 was quiet this time of night. There were no other cars in the parking lot when they arrived, and inside, the lights were dimmed to half their normal brightness. Becca’s footsteps echoed like thunder through the empty corridors. She could almost hear her mom making some derisive comment about Investigators who thought dissidents were no longer their problem after 5 p.m.
She jerked away from the thought as if it had burned her. She couldn’t think about her mom. Not here. Not now.
They stopped at a door with Milo’s name across the front. He pushed it open and flicked on the light, and the room was flooded with the brightness of day. Becca had to blink a couple of times before looking around.
Where Anya Riverstone’s office had been a well-worn sanctuary, Milo’s office felt like… like Becca’s apartment. No clutter. No pictures. Just a lean metal desk and a pervasive sense of sterility. As if he thought his time here wouldn’t last.
He dragged his chair out from behind the desk and motioned Becca to it. As she sat, he dug through drawers until he pulled out a slim recorder. He stood opposite the desk from her, setting the recorder down in front of him.
“Are you ready?” he asked.
She would never be ready for this.
She pictured Jake’s face—It won’t happen to anyone else—and nodded.
He pressed a button on the recorder. A small red light winked on to meet Becca’s gaze.
“What is your relationship to Raleigh Dalcourt?” he asked, his voice suddenly a shade more formal.
“She’s, um.” She swallowed. Her throat was too dry to speak. “She’s my mother.”
“Are you aware of the accusations against her?”
That one was easy. “Yes.”
“Do you have information pertaining to these accusations?”
She swallowed again. Focused on the image of Jake until it almost—almost—blocked out her mother’s face. “Yes.”
“What do you believe Internal Defense should know about Raleigh Dalcourt?”
She’s a loyal citizen. I’m the dissident. I did all of it. For one panicked second she thought she had spoken those words aloud. She cleared her throat. “She… she told me… she said she had killed a prisoner in 117. Someone who could have identified her as… as a…” I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. “As a dissident.”
“Continue.”
No. She couldn’t. She couldn’t do this.
“It’s all right, Becca.” His voice lost a little of its formality. “You’re doing fine.”
She hadn’t gotten a chance to figure out what to say, aside from those few minutes in the car on her way here. But by now she had plenty of practice at lying. “She was working with with a local dissident group.” Her voice steadied as she tightened her mask around her. “Internal found the dissidents. One of them was arrested. She arranged to be the one to interrogate the prisoner.” Her voice cracked.
You have to do this. Do it for Jake. For Kara.
“She faked an interrogation, to make sure no one would suspect her. Then she went back to his cell and shut off the cameras, and she k-killed him.” Jameson’s futile gasps against her hands. His weakening struggles. Don’t think about it. Not here. “She told me that if I reported her she would have me arrested. She knew her word would be worth more than mine to Internal.”
She glanced up at Milo. As she watched, his lips curved in a satisfied smile.
He nodded and switched off the recorder. “I shouldn’t need anything more than that. Thank you, Becca. I know this was difficult.” He offered her a hand. She ignored it and stood on her own. Her betrayal crawled on her skin like a layer of filth.
“After the execution,” he promised her, “you’ll be transferred to Investigation. I’ll make sure you’re recognized for your loyalty.”
Becca wanted to throw up.
“If there’s anything else I can do for you, don’t hesitate to ask.”
“Just take me home,” she mumbled. “Please.” She had to get home. She had to scrub the filth off her before it could sink any deeper into her skin. But she knew it was already too late.
Chapter Fifteen
Thirty knives waited in the trunk of Becca’s car, tucked inside an old suitcase, the kind with the wheels on the bottom. Kitchen knives, bought a few at a time from five different grocery stores, because trying to buy that many real weapons would have sent up a red flag with Surveillance. But they would work well enough. And by this time tomorrow, she would know where the reeducation center was. After she had seen the place, after she knew more about it, she could figure out what to do next.
That was what she thought about as she lay in bed, unable to sleep, afraid of having another dream about transcribing her mother’s interrogation. She rolled the plan over in her mind, tested the weight of it. Told herself it outweighed her betrayal.
Tried not to think about all the locked doors that still lay between her and success, or about the possibility of catching her first glimpse of the reeducation center and knowing with bone-deep certainty that it would be impossible to breach.
Tried not to think about her mom.
In the nine days since she had spoken to Milo, nothing had changed. Enforcement hadn’t come for her mom—but they hadn’t come for Becca, either. Maybe her mom knew more about what was going on. Every day, Becca thought about asking her, about going to see her before it was too late. But she couldn’t do it. She couldn’t face her, couldn’t look her in the eye. Not after what she had done.
When the phone rang, her first thought was, It happened. She’s been arrested; she’s been executed. Guilt rushed as thick as blood through her veins as she blinked fuzzily down at her phone.
Then she blinked again as the name came into focus.
She brought the phone to her ear. “Heather?” Her voice was bleary. She looked over at the clock. After midnight.
“Sorry.” Heather’s voice was shy, almost deferent. “I didn’t mean to wake you. I thought it was earlier.”
“No, it’s okay.” Becca woke up more with every word. “What’s going on? When you rushed out of my car like that… I was worried. And I haven’t been able to reach you since.”
“I’m sorry I haven�
��t been answering your calls. I wasn’t ready yet. I couldn’t deal with… you know. Everything. But I think I’m ready now.” Heather paused. “Can we meet someplace and talk? Tonight?”
The last time they had talked, Becca had been ready to do anything she could to help Heather. But Heather’s hesitation, the courage it clearly took for her to even have this little nothing conversation with Becca—and after almost two weeks of silence, including that horrible night of pacing and waiting—made her angry in a way she didn’t quite understand. Was she the enemy now, in Heather’s mind? Heather had wanted to know the truth. Becca had only given her what she had asked for.
She sat up and flicked on the light, then squeezed her eyes shut at the sudden brightness. “Yeah. We can do that. Where?”
“How about your playground? Can you meet me there?”
“It’s gone. Internal tore it down.”
“Then where? The park? It should be pretty empty this time of night. Or we could go—”
Becca was too tired to play this game of hiding spots and secret meetings and whatever private drama Heather was creating for herself. “Just come over to my apartment. We’ll talk here.”
Heather hesitated. “Are you sure it’s safe?”
For someone so concerned about safety, it didn’t seem to occur to Heather that a question like that was exactly the kind of thing that would make Surveillance suspicious. “As safe as anywhere else.” Just get off the phone before you get us caught.
“I’ll be there soon,” Heather promised.
It took less than five minutes for Heather to arrive. For the first time, it occurred to Becca that Heather probably lived right on this street, in Internal housing. Maybe even in the same building as Becca’s mom. Strange to think that she had been so close all this time.
As soon as Becca opened the door, Heather scurried inside and shut the door behind her. “No one followed me,” she said, out of breath.
“If anyone were suspicious enough to follow you over here, we’d probably both have been arrested already.”