The hatred started when he’d been told the test pilots of the first human flight of his quantum jump drive had died, and his employer didn’t care. The apathy started when Meridian had been taken over by Kadokawa, and they’d forced him to continue his work. Meridian had been a smaller corporation with aspirations to be one of the big three. Bryson had worked for them since getting out of university. After the failed flight, Kadokawa had stepped in and taken control of Meridian’s assets.
The fear was more recent. He wanted to think it started when he was kidnapped outside the Chinese restaurant, or maybe when he’d met Ms. Peters. He’d been scared then. Who wouldn’t have been? But the turning point had come when she called in the guard with the cricket bat to beat the information out of him. His instinct had been to run, to get away as fast as he could. The only problem was, there was no place to go.
Once he’d scurried to do what she’d asked, the guard was sent away. But she made it quite clear he wasn’t far. Bryson had sat in the folding metal chair, answering all her questions, holding nothing back. The interview had gone on for hours.
Ms. Peters had taken the memory chip he’d created before escaping from Kadokawa. It contained all of his research and data on the quantum jump drive, including the information on the working system. It had become corrupted somehow. Maybe it had happened when he’d created it—he’d been so panicked about not getting caught that he hadn’t double-checked after it had been written. Maybe it happened when he’d been mugged outside the Hotel Ruby.
The screen in front of him flashed back to life. The computer had finished its calculations. Values swam across the screen as the general background noise of the lab cut through Bryson’s meandering thoughts. He forced himself to focus on the output until the numbers stopped looking like gibberish.
Without the information on the chip, he had to recreate his experiments that had led to the data. In theory, the work should have been moving faster, but between trying to get the other people in the lab up to speed and his general feeling of malaise, it was slow going. The delays were turning Ms. Peters into a demon.
As if on cue, the inside airlock door opened and everyone stopped talking.
Bryson didn’t turn around to see who it was; only one person had that effect. Instead, he leaned closer to the screen and started tracing columns of numbers with his middle finger. It was his way of giving it to Ms. Peters without, hopefully, her catching on.
The sound of high heels clicking on the raised tiles of the floor stopped behind him. The blood in Bryson’s veins turned to ice as the constant fear he lived with ratcheted up a notch. He kept his eyes on the screen.
“Mr. Searls.”
The calm voice cut through the silent room like a knife. He let his hand drop and leaned back in his chair, rotating it to face her.
“Mr. Searls,” she said again. “My experts say this chip was purposely scrambled. Made that way to stop anyone from being able to read it.”
She held the chip between her thumb and forefinger, arm stretched out to where she almost touched his face. Bryson jerked back, rolling the chair into the desk so it pushed through the webbing and into his spine.
“You have nothing to say, Mr. Searls?”
“I . . . I didn’t do it.” He couldn’t keep the whine out of his voice and hated himself for sounding so scared. “It wasn’t me.”
Ms. Peters arched an eyebrow as if considering what he had said. “No? Then who did it, Mr. Searls? Perhaps someone took it from you, scrambled it, and put it back in your pocket without you noticing?”
“I told you about the mug—”
“We followed up on that. It was just a mugging, plain and simple. The nitwit that did it didn’t have the brains for anything more.”
Bryson noticed the use of past tense in her words and tried to hide the shiver that went through his frame. What had she done to him? “It could have happened at the restaurant. The old Chinese guy—”
“We don’t think so. There wasn’t any equipment on-site that could do this kind of damage, and they didn’t have the time to take it with them. No, Mr. Searls, we believe you did it before you left the Kadokawa lab. That means you can unscramble it. What is the key?”
“I didn’t . . . I wouldn’t . . . it wasn’t me.”
“We’ll see.” She beckoned over her shoulder and the two guards at the airlock moved to Ms. Peters’ side. “Bring him with us.”
The guards advanced, and before he could stand on his own, they grabbed his upper arms and hoisted him from the chair. Bryson barely got his feet under him before they dragged him back to the airlock. Ms. Peters was already waiting for them, an impatient look on her face. The door opened at their approach and she spun on her heels to lead the way into the small airlock. He was hauled after her.
As the airlock door closed, one of the guards reached for a cricket bat leaning against the wall. The guard didn’t turn, didn’t make any excess motion, but Bryson’s insides turned to mush. His face flushed with shame as warm fluid ran down his legs.
LOS ANGELES LEVEL 4—MONDAY, JULY 3, 2141 2:23 P.M.
I drove the truck down the ramp, going as fast as I dared without drawing too much attention. It still felt like I was on the edge of losing control as the walls flashed past the windows. The body beside me, now half on the seat and half on the floor, shifted again, wedging against the dashboard. I risked a peek. His neck was bent at a weird angle, smashed against the dash, and was the only thing stopping the body from sliding all the way down. Bile rose in my throat. I swallowed it.
The bright lights of the ramp’s exit came into view and I dragged my attention back to the road. As the truck made the transition to level ground and the walls disappeared, I glanced around the cab, avoiding the passenger side. A worn picture sat jammed into a crack on the dashboard, right beside the built-in comm unit. Smiling back at me were the cheery faces of a young boy and girl. I tore my gaze away from the picture when the comm unit built into my helmet crackled to life. I answered it.
“Drive three more blocks to Cant Street. Turn left and head for the transfer elevator.”
I did as I was told. The elevator’s doors were wide open. I slowed as I approached and was waved in.
Transfer elevators were only supposed to be used by people and emergency vehicles; no other traffic was allowed. It felt wrong to drive right in, but I followed the instructions. The only other time I’d taken one of these had been with Ian, when he’d saved me from Meridian’s assassin, Quincy, almost a year ago. Back then we’d ridden in on his motorcycle and gone from Level 2 to Level 4. This time, I was the one driving, and we were heading in the opposite direction. I made sure to keep my visor down to hide my face from the cameras in the elevator. I wasn’t sure the insurgents had disabled them, or had the ability to do it.
The elevator ride gave me a chance to examine the picture again. Was the man I’d pulled from the truck’s cab their dad? Would two kids be without a parent because of what we had done? There wasn’t supposed to have been any shooting. There weren’t supposed to have been two people in the truck in the first place, and definitely not one with a gun. They’d brought it on themselves.
I felt bad even thinking it.
Still, we had families to feed as well. We had sick children who weren’t getting the medication and the food they needed. What we were doing was right . . . wasn’t it?
Ever since the war had started, those of us on the lower levels had paid the price. If we were healthy enough to fight for the corporations, we were pulled off the streets in massive sweeps and drafted. Our kids were left as alone and scared as the truck driver’s kids would be if he ended up dying.
It didn’t make what we had done to get the food right, but it sure as hell didn’t make it wrong either.
The elevator doors opened up behind me, and I slammed the truck in reverse. The cab hadn’t even cleared the doors w
hen there was a knock on the window. This guy I recognized. I’d seen him wandering the halls at the building the insurgents used for a base camp. I didn’t know his name. I rolled down my window.
“I’ll take over from here,” he said.
I put the truck in park and opened the door. As I slid off the seat I grabbed the picture of the kids and shoved it into my pocket. If the driver died, maybe there would be something I could do for them.
“Your bike should be here in a few minutes. Thanks for taking over up there. Our backup was too far away to help quickly.”
They weren’t backup if they were too far away. Before I could respond, he jumped in and drove back into the elevator. The doors began to close and I skipped between them as they clanged shut. I had no idea where the food was going, or how it was to be distributed, but I hoped it would end up in the right place. Where it was needed most. That’s what the insurgents were supposed to be about, helping the people.
As promised, someone rode up on my bike and parked around the corner from the elevator. I got on and started the ride back to my room. The blood on my pants had hardened into a shell, and I desperately wanted a shower. I knew I wouldn’t get one. The best I would get was a bit of water and a cloth. We’d all rather stink than die of dehydration.
I wished I could have stayed with the truck, to see where it went. There was no point to it, really, but it was a strong urge. I’d learned to not trust people in charge over the last year. First, I’d been sold out by Dispatch, my old boss when I was a courier. Even if she hadn’t really been aware of it, she’d still allowed herself to be manipulated by Quincy. And paid for it. After that I’d blindly followed ACE, going through the training and indoctrination, only to be betrayed by them as well.
No one had known Jeremy was at the head of ACE, no one except William and maybe a few others. It didn’t matter. Because of ACE, because of the rot that had started the whole damn thing, Ian was dead. The fact that ACE was gone now, destroyed by their own decayed core, didn’t make it any better.
I wasn’t going to let something like that happen again. The insurgents and I seemed to be on the same side now, but if I even saw a hint of what ACE had become, I would be gone. I didn’t know if I could deal with it again.
I rode my bike into the inter-level parking for our building and left it in my assigned spot. The place they’d given me was better than the one I had last time I lived on Level 2, but not by much. At least the bed was more comfortable than the ones at boot camp.
As I climbed the last set of stairs to my fourth-floor room, what I had done finally cut through the anger I always carried with me. What if the drones had seen me get off my bike and pull the driver from the truck? I’d had my helmet on, and I’d changed my ID, but could they trace the bike? And what if the driver had tried to shoot me? Would I be lying on the street in a pool of my own blood instead of him?
What scared me more was that I wasn’t sure I cared, except for the baby.
LOS ANGELES LEVEL 2—MONDAY, JULY 3, 2141 2:47 P.M.
Pat could see Kris tense, start to build the wall that had kept her and Kai so far away since Ian Miller had died. She swept down the short hallway outside Kris’s room and pulled her into a tight hug, trying to take some of her pain into herself. It wasn’t going to work, it never would, but it was what Kris needed. A friend, someone that was there for her. They stood by Kris’s door, holding onto each other as if their lives depended on it.
When Kris had finally relinquished control of the truck to another driver, Pat had excused herself from the situation room. She wasn’t supposed to be there in the first place. If Jack, the guy in charge of this insurgent cell, had seen her there, she would have been kicked out.
It was bad enough that Kris had insisted on getting back into the field, but when she’d been given a part in the second hijack attempt, Pat had gotten angry. When Kris had taken over the driving of the truck, Pat’s anger changed to fury.
Dammit, the girl wasn’t even eighteen yet, and she’d lost everybody she ever cared for. Miller had been—still was—the worst loss of them all. Pat didn’t even want to think about what it was like to lose your first love like that, and then blame it on yourself. And that was the problem.
What had happened wasn’t Kris’s fault. It wouldn’t have mattered what she did, whether she had decided on the solo or group rescue or to let Miller defend himself, the end result would have been the same. There was nothing Kris could have done to change it, though she’d gotten damn close.
Something else was going on as well. Back at camp Kris had always been the first one to get up in the morning. She’d head out to the cliffs and climb until the rest of the camp had woken up. Now, she locked herself in her room until late in the morning, and when she finally emerged, she looked like shit.
If Pat didn’t know better, she would have thought Kris was pregnant. Hell, she did know better. But it didn’t matter. Everything pointed to the same conclusion. If it was true, why hadn’t Kris told her? Because she was still a kid. She didn’t have the tools to know how to deal with it. Hell, most adults wouldn’t.
She was in no state to send out on a mission of any kind. That was the reason Pat and Kai had agreed to look for Bryson, to make sure Kris wasn’t heading out on her own. To keep an eye on her. That hadn’t worked out too well.
Once Kris had her mind set on something, it was tough to change. She was like a dog with a favorite toy, clamping its jaws down tight and fighting with anyone who tried to take it. The problem was, if the dog lost the toy, it could always get another one. If Kris lost her life, that would be it. Some days, Pat was pretty sure that was what Kris wanted, and the thought scared her.
On days like today, the fear only enhanced the anger.
Pat had been ready for a confrontation, ready to yell and scream, to plead with Kris. Take some more time. Get help. Wounds like this don’t heal in two weeks. And Pat knew that some never healed. But when Kris had walked out of the stairwell, she’d looked beaten and tired and worn out. There was blood on her jacket and pants. Her helmet swung from her fingertips, looking like it would to slip off and smash onto the floor.
Kris was the first to break off the hug. Her eyes were puffy and some of the dried blood from her coat had flaked off and transferred to Pat’s shirt. She brushed off the flakes absently.
“I can stay with you for a while, if . . .”
Kris shook her head. “I just want to get cleaned up, you know. Get into some fresh clothes and maybe lie down for a bit.”
Pat knew how Kris felt. There’d been times—but now was not the place for those memories. Now she needed to be here for Kris.
“Will you come down for dinner?” Pat gave a small smile. “We have fresh vegetables.”
“I thought that was meant for the families . . .”
Pat saw a flicker of fight in Kris’s eyes, a bit of the old Kris coming back. “It is, but we have to eat too. We’re no use to anyone if we don’t stay healthy. Some of it stayed here, but most of it went back out. I don’t think it was enough.” She almost said it was good for the baby if Kris ate well.
Kris just nodded and moved to her door.
“So, we’ll see you at dinner?”
She leaned her head against the doorframe, and for a moment, Pat didn’t think she was going to get an answer.
“Yeah, I’ll be there.”
Pat put a cheery tone in her voice, hoping it masked her concern. “I’ll hold a seat for you!” She watched as Kris unlocked her door and closed it gently behind her.
That girl was in trouble.
LOS ANGELES LEVEL 2—MONDAY, JULY 3, 2141 2:57 P.M.
I shut the door behind me and leaned against it, my ear pressed to the thin material. I stayed there, not moving, until I heard Pat walk back down the hall. She meant well. She always did. At least this time she didn’t try to tell me I wasn’t ready, that I
should take more time. I constantly wavered between thinking she was trying to control my life and that she was a good friend that I didn’t deserve.
There were a lot of people dead because of me. Friends, family. People who meant even more than that to me. They were dead either because of something I had done, or something I had failed to do. I’d felt like this before, certainly not for the same reasons, but shitty enough that I wondered why I even bothered to stick around, breathing the recycled air and eating the limited food supply.
In the past, whenever I was in the dumps, I’d always ended up at Northern Dragon Chinese Cuisine. Kai’s place. In the few years I’d known him, Kai had become like a grandfather to me. Someone who listened, only offered advice when it was asked for, and made me laugh no matter what the circumstances. That had all changed a couple of weeks ago. I’d found out how he knew my mom and dad, how he had been there when they’d been killed. He’d been their friend.
Through all the time I had called him a friend, he had never once told me. Never even hinted at it. At first I was mad, especially after I’d learned he’d run when my parents had been attacked. Then I realized I’d done the same thing to Ian, leaving him in the rubble for ACE—for Jeremy—to find.
After Ian died, Kai left on a mission for the insurgents while also starting a search for Bryson. Some days I missed Kai desperately, on others he was a faint memory in the back of my mind. Today was definitely one of the miss days. He’d been back; knocking on my door, asking if I was okay. I should have answered him, let him in. Instead I just rolled over in bed and ignored him. He could have tried harder.
Pat and I had become friends at the training compound, but things had changed here in the city. When we talked, she would offer advice and cajole me into doing something. Usually something I didn’t really want to do, and I’d cave in, not willing to put up a fight. It was probably what helped her to get through some of her worst times, but it wasn’t what worked for me. I wasn’t sure what did.
The Rebel Page 2