I usually hate the way my name sounds—my ludicrous, cheap, terrible name. But Nancee said it with a joy that made it feel warm.
The woman—Nancee’s so-called owner—was frozen in fear, her face both horrified and horrible. She was heavily made-up, but in a haphazard, ghastly way. Makeup styles are Patented and Trademarked, just like hairstyles, but she must have applied hers after the WiFi went down. Most Affluents used a MakeUpper™ mask that showed the user how to replicate those styles, but it was obviously useless without a connection.
As we came closer, she backed herself into a pile of things she was hoarding: sculptures, fine bedding, a food printer, a gold medallion and a mound of different makeup and beauty products. She threw out her arms to protect it all.
“You! You’re not supposed to talk,” the woman said, gaping at me. “You’re that Silent Freak™!”
I ignored her and released Nancee from the chair.
“Hi, Nancee,” I said, for lack of anything better.
“You’re talking!” Nancee gasped and hugged me. “I thought you were going to be mad that I was talking, but I had to—”
“It’s okay,” I said. “Henri, take the inks.”
“You can’t!” the woman insisted. She put a hand on her printer to protect it and the inks inside. Henri lifted her hand up as politely as possible and looted her ink tank. In response, she began tapping furiously at her Cuff in a futile effort to sue us. “I’ve caught you talking! When the WiFi comes back on—”
“If the WiFi ever comes back on,” I said, rolling my eyes, “thousands of reports about us will all hit the system at once.”
Margot sighed and looked at the woman sadly. “Your little report will not matter at all.”
Margot went over to the makeup and swept it into her bag.
“That’s my makeup!” the woman shouted. “My inks! My girl!”
“What about them?” I scoffed.
“They’re my things!” she cried.
My insides boiled with rage. “They aren’t!” I shouted. I couldn’t find the words that might show her how preposterously unjust this whole system was. I doubt she’d have listened, anyway.
Instead, I said, “Without the WiFi—without a connection to Central Data and its lists of who owns what—you own nothing.”
Henri gave me his best smile. Margot pushed through the woman’s pile of things, gathering up whatever she thought we might need. The rest, we left her with, including her precious gold medallion.
Healthspital™: $4.99
“We took whatever seemed useful,” I said to Saretha, recounting Nancee’s rescue. I held a flat, sealed package out to her. “I grabbed this for you.”
Saretha sat up in her Healthspital™ bed and looked blearily at the package in my hand.
“Is that a cookie?” she asked. Her eyes were deeply bloodshot from all the shocks they’d received from her screaming after Sam’s death. The shocks were a punishment, doled out instantly for speaking without a Cuff.
The Rights Holders demanded payment, and if they didn’t collect it in money, they extracted it in suffering. An angry pride surged through me that I’d cut off the Rights Holders’ access to our eyes.
“It is a cookie,” I answered her. “A chocolate chip cookie Sealed-With-Freshness™.” The package warmed the cookie when you opened it. I’d never tried one—they were far too expensive to waste on anyone in the Onzième, even on their Last Day.
“We should save it, right?” Saretha asked, licking her lips a little.
“No,” I said, tearing from the notched edge. The package released a tiny breath and instantly heated in my hand. I waited the requisite ten seconds for the cookie to warm and soften, then pulled it out of the foiled interior and handed it to Saretha.
“But...”
“Eat it while it’s warm,” I said, forcing a smile. I knew it would be better not to give her a choice. I felt like an impostor, faking Sam’s role in our family. He’d somehow managed to be mischievous and encouraging at the same time, and that always cheered me up. I wanted to do that for Saretha, but I know we both felt the holes left in our hearts. I quickly brushed back a tear so she wouldn’t see.
Saretha took a nibble, closed her eyes, smelled the aroma and smiled. She split the cookie and handed half back to me. I waved it off.
“You have to try it,” she said, as if we were in an Ad. She broke into a perfect, beautiful, Ad-worthy grin, tarnished by a slight gritting of her teeth at the pain she was in. She used to make herself look Ad-worthy so the Ad screens would record and analyze her and maybe offer discounts—or, she’d dreamed, a part in a movie with Carol Amanda Harving.
That would never happen. We didn’t know, back then, that my sister was Carol Amanda Harving. Or, at least, Carol Amanda Harving was nothing more than an illegally tweaked digital version of Saretha.
“I already had one,” I lied, pushing the cookie half back at her.
Saretha paused, and then her smile faded. “You can’t do that,” she said. Her movements got twitchy, and she sat up farther. “You have to let me be the big sister. You can’t do everything.”
She jabbed the half cookie at me again, and I took it, slightly stunned. Was that how she felt? As if I’d stolen her role in our family?
Saretha leaned back, like I’d used up what little energy she had. I wondered, not for the first time, how so much distance had come between us.
“When you’re healed, we’re going to find Mom and Dad,” I said in the most inspiring voice I could. I wanted her to have something nice to focus on. I wanted her to share the desire for us to be whole again.
Saretha nodded absently, only half listening. “You’re not trying it,” she said, pointing at the cookie.
Blood rose to my ears. I had to remind myself that it was hard for her to concentrate with the pain. Maybe she didn’t see how things had changed between us. She’d been a prisoner in our home for almost a year, after all. I hadn’t been able to even hold her hand to comfort her.
I reached for her hand now and gave it a gentle squeeze. She squeezed back, and I let myself feel the warmth of still having some family left.
I took a bite of the cookie to placate her. The flavors and warmth threw my thoughts into disarray. I had to close my eyes to fully appreciate the warm, caramel-y dough and the deep, gooey bits of chocolate. You couldn’t print food like this, and I’d never had real chocolate before. I’d delivered chocolates as a Placer, but never with any idea of what I was delivering to the unappreciative mouths of the Affluents. I had no way to know if it was truly rare, or if, like gold, it was something the rich kept for themselves because they could.
“We’re all going to be together,” I said finally, finding my footing in the conversation again.
Saretha nodded weakly, but not because she was tired. “Except Sam,” she said quietly, pulling her hand away to rub at her eyes. The cookie turned to concrete in my stomach.
At least she wasn’t unaware of what had happened. She knew things could never be the same. Our family would never be whole. I wondered how much she blamed me—and how much I deserved it. My chin quivered, and I tried to blink the tears from my eyes.
“Mrs. Harris said our parents are on a farm in Carolina called Crab Creek,” I went on hoarsely, focusing on what was important.
“Crab Creek sounds nice,” she said.
Did she believe that? The name was obviously meant to sound idyllic, but I found it creepy. Our parents were forced to work every day out in the blistering sun, climbing trees with small brushes, pollinating peach, plum and sour cherry trees—at least, that was what they told us. The few times we’d spoken by screen call, Dad tried to make it sound like it was all fine, but his face told a different, weary story. My parents were always nervous and careful with their words. Saretha and I had long speculated they told us as little as they could—
or maybe as much as they were allowed. The company they were Indentured to restricted how often we could speak and what they could say. They couldn’t reveal proprietary details, like their location, or their exact crops and pollination cycle.
Now, with the WiFi down, we would never see them again if we didn’t go and find them ourselves.
Saretha drew a quick breath, like a shock of pain had jolted her. I glanced down at her legs under the sheets. I didn’t know how she was going to walk again, let alone how we would free my parents. The BoneKnitters® needed trained people to operate them, and the Healthspital™ staff had fled. In any case, the equipment wouldn’t work without WiFi, and whatever medical knowledge the workers might have had about healing broken bones was strictly proprietary.
From the hall, I could hear a few scattered groans from other patients. This, too, was my fault. Rog had warned me about the suffering in store without the WiFi tether.
Then, suddenly, I heard the sound of music. The voices of Birdo and Neckfat singing “We Three Litigators” echoed from a speaker somewhere down the hall.
“Yes!” someone shouted. The music cut out for a moment, then came back, and the whole Healthspital™’s intercom turned on with a crackle. All at once, the music was everywhere, and a broad smile broke out over my face.
“They found the key!” someone shouted from the hall. Footsteps came running toward Saretha’s room and Penepoli appeared in the door, wide-eyed and grinning. “They found the key!” she repeated.
Saretha’s head cocked, not understanding.
“They broke the DRM!” I said, feeling hope rise again inside me. “We’ll be able to get the food printers working. We’ll be able to heal you.”
Saretha looked down at her legs. Suddenly everything seemed a million times more possible. Penepoli rushed over and pulled me into a massive hug. “We’re going to do this!” she squealed. “We have to let everyone know!” She raced off.
“We’ll get you fixed up fast,” I said to Saretha. “Then we can leave and find Mom and Dad!”
“Do you think we’ll see the ocean?” Saretha asked.
I swallowed. The ocean—not our parents, I thought. Was the pain distracting her, or was she trying not to get her hopes up that we might be a family again?
I wrapped my arms around her in a hug—one that was free and yet more valuable than the Rights Holders could ever imagine. “I know we will,” I said, and I vowed that I would do anything to make it happen.
Cracked: $5.99
A small group was waiting for me outside the Healthspital™. Nancee, Penepoli and Itzel Gonz all bubbled with a feeling of triumph and optimism. Sera was with them, but hung back a bit. In my opinion, she didn’t belong. Nancee and Penepoli had always been good friends to me. Itzel had made the sign of the zippered lips to me at school to show her support while I was silent. Sera, on the other hand, had tried to break my arm to make me speak. And I couldn’t forget the part she’d played in Sam’s death.
We all moved off to a nearby garage where I’d stashed Silas Rog’s Ebony Meiboch™ Triumph. I wanted to be the one to tell Kel the good news, and the car was the fastest way to reach her at the southern exit. There was so much I needed to do, but at least I had some hope now. The printers would be up and running soon, Saretha would be healed and then we’d get out of Portland’s dome and find our parents.
Kel would know where to find Crab Creek. She would know what to do next.
The dome was brightening above us. I could see a beautiful cerulean sky through one of the holes in it. That felt like a hopeful sign.
“Cerulean,” I said, because I could.
“Azure,” Nancee responded. Before our Last Day, she, Penepoli and I had delighted in speaking the expressive words we knew we would never be able to afford. It felt good to share that bond again.
I gave Nancee my Placer bag to hold. Kel had instructed me to keep it on hand at all times. It had food rations, a pony bottle of sleep gas, tools for opening magnetic locks, and some first aid supplies.
“This is so exciting,” Nancee said, though her eyes were shadowed by weary dark rings. Penepoli nodded in agreement. Sera knit her brow at us.
“Where are we going?” she asked. Itzel cocked an eyebrow at her. Apparently she hadn’t forgotten the day Sera had attacked me in the school hallway, either.
I wanted to tell Sera there wasn’t room in the car, but there obviously was. The Meiboch™ was designed to cart around three corpulent Affluents in the wide back seat, as well as anything they might wish to buy. We probably could have fit eight people inside without too much cramming.
“I need to tell Kel what’s happened,” I said, sliding into the driver’s seat.
“That doesn’t exactly answer my question,” Sera said. “I don’t know who Kel is.” Her voice felt very close in the car. The interior was soundproofed, like a Squelch. A knot of irritation tied up in my gut. I’d have bet anything that the inside of the car had been designed to keep the WiFi out, just because Rog could. It bore all the signs.
I wanted to ask what Sera thought she was doing with us, but I just said, “She’s at the southern exit,” and listened to how the car absorbed my words. If anyone in the world didn’t need a mobile Squelch, it was Rog. I felt a little vindictive pleasure in knowing we had taken something from him.
“Why do we need to see her?” Sera asked.
“God, Sera, chill!” Nancee said. She knew how awful Sera had been to me.
Margot and Henri had joined Kel in going building to building, looking for more useful supplies and assessing the state of chaos in the city. I could have said this, but I didn’t have the patience to explain myself to Sera. I was looking forward to spending time with Penepoli and Nancee, and I relished the opportunity to have a new friend in Itzel. But Sera had made her choice the day she tried to force me to speak.
I pulled the Meiboch™ parallel to the outer ring, but didn’t drive down onto it. Even though that route would have been faster, I didn’t want us mistaken for Affluents trying to escape. Instead, I took a route through the side streets, thinking this car might be just the thing to take Saretha and me out of the dome and down to Crab Creek.
People stopped to stare when they saw the car. This was Silas Rog’s signature vehicle, and its impenetrable black glass made it impossible for anyone to see who was inside. Too late, I realized how that could be a problem.
Something hard slammed against the windshield, bounced and skidded off into the road. Someone had thrown an abandoned Cuff, undoubtedly hoping it would detonate the battery. I slowed the car to a crawl.
“Are you crazy?” Sera asked. “Get us out of here!”
“We should just go,” Nancee said, gritting her teeth as if it pained her to agree with Sera. They were both leaning forward, like that would speed us up.
“Why would they do that?” Penepoli asked, bewildered.
I shook my head. “They can’t see who we are,” I replied, tapping at the glass. From inside it was gray, but outside, it was a glossy pitch black. There was probably a way to clear the glass and let them see us, but I didn’t want to waste time fiddling with the Meiboch™’s controls.
“They should know we’re not trying to escape,” I said, bringing the car to a stop. “We should tell them the DRM is cracked, and that the printers will be working soon—spread the word. The only way to pass information along now is to talk.”
Itzel nodded slowly. “Is that what you want us to do? Get the word out?”
Was that what I wanted? Itzel was two years ahead of me in school. It felt strange that she was looking to me for direction. “We need to let everyone know,” I said, a smile forming on my lips. “So...yes.”
I opened my door, hoping the four kids would be glad to hear our news. But as soon as I stepped outside, they rushed toward the car—or started to. When they saw it was me, the Silent Girl,
they all pulled up short.
One of them made the sign of the zippered lips. Then they all stood and stared at me, expectant.
“Silents,” Nancee whispered, and she made the sign, too.
I took a deep breath. I’d been avoiding the Silents because Kel had warned me the ones still refusing to speak probably didn’t want to hear my story. I didn’t understand why. A boy in the group, who was maybe thirteen, made the zippered lips sign again, fiercely, eyes blazing.
“You don’t have to—” I started to explain, but he cut me off.
“You do,” he snapped. The other Silents around him tensed, like he wasn’t supposed to speak—and neither was I.
“Are none of us going to talk?” I asked.
Sera, in the back seat, ducked down. Itzel stepped out to support me.
Nancee came out from behind me and touched my arm. “Speth,” she whispered. “I think we should get back in the car.”
“Don’t you see? Our power now is in talking to each other,” I protested, my face getting warm. They didn’t seem to believe this, so I tried a different tactic. “We’ve got a way to get the printers working.”
“You said our power was in silence!” the boy growled. A taller boy standing behind him twitched at the boy’s words.
“I never said that,” I replied carefully. How could I have? After I turned fifteen, I never said anything until the night we destroyed the WiFi.
“Stop talking,” the boy said. He moved closer, his hands balling into fists.
I opened my mouth to speak again, but before I could say a word, he came at me. He swung, and I ducked. Being a Placer meant my reflexes were fast. I pushed him back. He was small and thin—probably hungry. I could take him, but not all of them—especially not if Sera was going to cringe in the back of the car. I didn’t know if Nancee was of any use in a fight. She seemed frozen, her eyes full of fear. Only Itzel looked prepared, though not to fight so much as to withstand what was to come.
The two girls suddenly rushed at me. I withdrew a couple of steps and used the open car door to flip myself backward onto the roof. Sera screeched at the thud. The Meiboch™ rocked. Everyone stopped cold, gaping at me.
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