by Zoe Cannon
“You’ll stop them,” Becca agreed.
Scenes flashed through her mind. Enforcers dragging her people away—Meri, Peter, all the informants whose names she didn’t know. Locking them away on the underground levels. Taking them into a little room, one by one, and shooting them in the head. A hundred shots. A hundred lives.
Vivian, moments from execution, tearfully explaining how she had sabotaged Investigation’s plan from the start, her confession televised for everyone in the country to see.
It would be one or the other.
One life for a hundred.
An easy decision.
Her sight cleared. Now all she could see was Vivian—the real Vivian this time.
Easy.
She couldn’t get into the files. It didn’t matter. She would find another way.
I don’t have a choice.
* * *
“Pink,” Heather decreed. She picked the bottle up off Becca’s coffee table and waved it in the air. “Red will make people think of blood, and that’s the last thing you need. You already look too much like your mother.” She made a come-here motion. “Come on, give me your hand.”
Becca eyed the nail polish. “It’s very…” She took another look at Heather’s face. She knew that look. Heather wasn’t going to take no for an answer.
She gave an inward sigh. “It’s perfect.” She held out her hand, and made a mental note to scrub off the polish before the next resistance meeting.
Becca had forgotten this from high school—the way Heather would move Becca’s hand around like it belonged to a doll, spacing each finger out perfectly on the cloth she had spread over the table. The way she would cluck disapprovingly if Becca jerked back at the sudden cold of the brush landing on her first nail. Back in high school, Becca would already have started complaining—What’s the point of this, anyway? Who’s going to care what color my nails are? Now she held her hand as still as possible and let Heather work.
These nights with Heather—they happened about once a week these days, maybe a little less—weren’t for her. Not anymore. At the beginning, they had been—back when Heather had finally begun to heal from her parents’ deaths, back when they had first started to rebuild their old friendship. Back when Becca had finally started remembering how to live instead of waiting for Internal to kill her. For the first time since high school, they had been Becca-and-Heather again—sensible Becca and passionate Heather, talking and arguing and laughing late into the night as if their friendship had never ended. And with each of Heather’s infectious smiles and every high-school memory shared, Becca had come back to life a little more.
Becca hadn’t stopped caring about Heather when she had chosen to become the leader the resistance needed. But things were different now. She didn’t have the luxury of the kind of friendship they used to have, but she still had a responsibility to Heather, a responsibility she had taken on when the rest of Heather’s friends had abandoned her for having dissident parents. And she wouldn’t forget about that just because she had other responsibilities now.
So she still spent time with Heather—and unlike pizza at Lucky’s, it had nothing to do with her cover. Instead, it was about giving Heather an ear to listen and a shoulder to cry on; it was about watching out for her to make sure she was okay. It was about being the friend that Heather needed.
If that meant putting up with pink nails every once in a while, so be it.
“I’ve been thinking,” said Heather. She glanced up at Becca before quickly looking back down. “I need to do more.”
Becca adjusted her hand, earning her a frown from Heather. “More what?”
Heather puckered her lips in concentration as she filled in a spot near the tip of Becca’s thumb. “You remember that bombing at the shoe store last month?”
Becca nodded.
“Someone who worked there had a father who was arrested for distributing pamphlets last year.” The movements of the brush started getting jerkier. “My department was supposed to be investigating, but as soon as they found out about her family, the others called in the arrest to Enforcement and went home. I tried to get them to at least look for evidence, but nobody cared. Her dad was a dissident, so she must be a dissident too, right?” The brush flew sideways across Becca’s finger, spreading polish in a jagged line. “Sorry.” Heather blotted at the mistake with a corner of the towel.
“But you’re staying safe, right?” For the past three years, Heather had been waging a doomed battle inside Investigation against prejudice toward dissidents’ children. Never mind that Heather’s parents had been dissidents themselves. Never mind that if someone decided they wanted her to shut up, all they had to do was point to the record of her parents’ executions and Heather would be locked up in 117 without a word of protest.
Heather had never understood risk very well.
It wasn’t that Becca didn’t support Heather’s cause. Of course she did. But…
But after everything they had been through, losing Heather would be like losing one of her people. After everything they had been through, Heather was one of her people, as much as anyone from the resistance.
And Becca couldn’t let her people die.
“I’m fine, don’t worry. I’m being careful.” With the hand holding the brush, Heather waved away Becca’s concerns, scattering drops of polish across Becca’s piles of mail in the process. “That’s the problem. I’m being careful, and it’s not working, and people are dying.”
“You’re already doing too much. If you say the wrong thing to the wrong person—”
“If I had Vivian’s position, they’d have a reason to listen to me.” Another quick glance up at Becca. “You heard Ramon the other day. They want to make her a hero. People are going to listen to her. They’re going to want to be on her good side.” She paused; the brush went still. “I could help the people I needed to help.”
“If she succeeds,” Becca pointed out. “If she doesn’t—” She cut herself off. It was hard enough thinking about what would happen to Vivian—no, it’s an easy choice, it’s easy—without imagining Heather in Vivian’s place.
Heather gave another gesture of dismissal. “I wouldn’t have to bring down the resistance. I’d just have to look good trying. Maybe Vivian doesn’t know how it’s done, but I do. You don’t get to be popular in high school without knowing how to play the game.” She looked up again. This time she held Becca’s gaze. Something swam behind her eyes, some emotion Becca couldn’t read. “Look, I know what you’re going to say, but… but I can’t stand by and watch these people die anymore. I can’t watch you—” She swallowed. Her grip tensed around the nail brush; Becca heard the sound of cracking plastic. “I can’t.”
“Sometimes you don’t have a choice. Sometimes you have to watch people die.” Becca pulled her hand away. The pink-slicked nails looked like they belonged to somebody else. “Sometimes all you can do is save yourself.”
Bodies slumped against a concrete wall, a neat bullet wound at the base of every skull…
The dissidents from that transport were dead by now—either that or wishing they were.
But Becca had kept her people safe.
“It wouldn’t take much to convince the right people that Vivian wasn’t up to the job. And that I’d do better as the hero of their story than she ever could.” Heather’s eyes held a message Becca didn’t understand. “I wouldn’t have to bring down the resistance,” she repeated. “And I’d have access to everything.”
Did Heather mean… did she mean she wanted to…
Another look at Heather told Becca she had heard correctly.
Heather. Working against Internal.
Heather. Putting herself in danger.
No. No. No.
Becca finally found her voice. “You’re talking about helping the resistance.” Heather didn’t even believe in what Becca was doing. She knew about Becca’s resistance involvement—she was the only person outside of the resistance who did—but she ha
d made it clear that she wanted nothing to do with Becca’s rebellion. And now she was talking about risking her life for—
No.
Heather shook her head violently. “Not the resistance. I’m talking about helping you. You and everyone I’ve been trying to save for the past three years.”
Becca took a deep breath. She tried to clear the emotion from her voice, from her thoughts. “Vivian will be in enough danger if—when—she fails. If you take her place, and Internal finds out you’re actively feeding information to the resistance, you’ll die. You’ll die. Do you understand that?” Heather in a cell on the underground levels. Heather in an interrogation room. Another deep breath. Another.
“I’m not stupid, Becca.” Heather slammed the pieces of the brush down onto the table. “I get it. But I heard the way Vivian was talking about this plan. She thinks it’s going to work. If no one stops this, you’ll be the one to die. You’ll die like—” She stopped, mouth open, as if the words had lodged themselves in her windpipe.
When she spoke again, Becca could barely hear her. “You’ll die like my parents did.”
“Internal’s plan won’t work,” said Becca. “I’ll find a way to stop it.”
“You don’t know that.”
Becca lowered her voice. “You’d be turning on Vivian. Betraying one of your best friends. Think about that.”
“I know, okay? I know.” Heather’s voice wobbled. “But Vivian would find a new job. This is your life.”
“And this is yours.” Becca reached her unpainted hand across the table toward Heather. Listen to me. Please. “You don’t understand the danger. You’ve never understood. You think you can complain about the treatment of dissidents’ children all you want, feed me all the information you want, without—”
“I understand just fine.” Heather placed her hand over Becca’s. “But some things are more important than staying safe. I’ve lost enough people already. I won’t let it happen again.”
Heather slumped against a concrete wall…
“You’re not going to die for me!” Becca jerked her hand back. It hit the open bottle of nail polish; a pink river poured out onto the table, pooling around the stacks of envelopes before dribbling onto the carpet.
Too late, she brought her voice back under control. When she spoke again, the words could have been her mother’s. Calm. Cold. Resolute. “I forbid you to help me. Do you understand?”
Heather stood.
“Fine. If you want to die that badly, fine.” Heather’s face was white. Her hands were shaking. Not with fear, Becca realized. With anger. “But don’t expect me to stick around and watch.”
I don’t want to die. I just want to protect you. “Heather—”
Heather flung the cloth, which had somehow escaped the spill, at Becca. “Clean up your own mess. You’ve made it clear how you feel about my help.” She stalked to the door.
I have a responsibility. Don’t you understand? “Heather, wait.”
The slam of the door was Heather’s only response.
Chapter Six
The others were going to want to talk about the prisoners from the transport.
Becca could see it in the way they looked at her across the circle of chairs. She could feel it in their tense stillness as they watched the door of the support-group room, waiting for Jared to arrive and the meeting to begin. Alia’s clenched jaw revealed her anger; Meri’s downcast eyes made her grief plain. The look of betrayal on Peter’s face needed no translation.
Becca didn’t need them to tell her what had happened. She had watched the executions last night, the same as them. She had listened as, one by one, the prisoners listed their crimes in front of that familiar white backdrop, as they offered apologies for their disloyalty with broken voices.
She closed her eyes, preparing herself. They had to talk about the spies tonight. About Ryann Peters. And they couldn’t do that if the others derailed the meeting to argue about something they couldn’t change.
None of us wanted it to happen, but it’s over now, she would tell them as soon as they brought up the prisoners. Or, We need to focus on protecting the resistance—speaking of which, there’s something we need to discuss. Or—
“Who the hell are you?”
Becca’s eyes snapped open.
Jared stood by the door, impassive as ever, looking to Becca for guidance as Alia flew out of her seat to confront him.
No. Not him. The person behind him.
Kara.
The sight of Kara brought it all back. The blackmail. Terrence’s death.
Get out. You have no right to come here. She clamped her lips down on the words. Forced down the anger. Forced down the impulse to shove Kara right back out the door.
Why had Jared brought her here?
Kara stepped around Jared to face Alia. “My name is Kara Jameson.” She spoke calmly, with no hesitation. Her voice filled the space as if she belonged here. “I’m working with the resistance.”
“Nobody told us about any new members.” Raising a skeptical eyebrow, Alia turned to Becca for confirmation.
That’s because she isn’t working with— Halfway to snapping out her answer, Becca stopped herself. If she told the others Kara didn’t belong here, they would regard her as a threat. Kara had seen their faces, after all; she knew where they held their meetings. But if she held off their worries by giving them Kara’s background, they would ask why Becca didn’t want her here.
And if she explained—if they found out about the blackmail—
They would know that Becca had risked her people’s lives—lost her people’s lives—for a mission that meant nothing.
They would know that for one night, Becca had lost control of the resistance.
So she nodded to Alia. “Kara is the one who told me about the spies.”
The mistrust in Alia’s eyes faded. “That’s good enough for me.” She held out a hand to Kara; Kara solemnly shook it. “Welcome to the resistance.”
Sean turned an accusing gaze on Becca. “You should have warned us you were bringing new people in.”
I would have, if I had known. Becca turned to Jared, a question in her eyes.
“I assumed you wanted her here to discuss the situation with the spies,” he said in a low voice. Worry began to creep into his expression. “Was I wrong?”
No matter how quietly Jared spoke, Becca knew everyone had heard his question. And they would hear her answer, as well.
She shook her head. “You did the right thing.”
Jared’s lips twitched in what, for him, amounted to a smile. “Good.”
A thought made her tense up. “How did you get her past security?” The camera in this room wasn’t a problem, but the ones in the corridors would have gotten a good view of Kara. And then there was the reception desk. How had Jared gotten her through without an Internal ID?
“I arranged new identities for both of them yesterday,” Jared explained. “They’re set up to look like undercover Surveillance agents. It won’t hold up under close scrutiny, but…”
“But no one wants to risk getting on Surveillance’s bad side by looking at one of their agents too closely,” Becca finished.
Jared nodded. “Precisely.”
“And Micah?”
“Given his current notoriety, and his history with 117, we thought it would be best if he stayed behind. If you’d prefer him to be here—”
“No. You were right. It wouldn’t be safe.” Not only was Micah a wanted fugitive, he used to work in this building; even if the receptionist didn’t recognize him, someone he passed in the halls likely would. “I’m sure Kara can tell us everything we need to know.”
With another nod, Jared took his seat. Kara stayed where she was, surveying the room as if she owned it. Becca shot her a warning look. Don’t start thinking you belong here. Not after the way you used my people.
The room’s silence grew charged as the others looked from Becca to Kara. Waiting.
“W
e need to talk about the tra—” Alia began.
Becca spoke over her before she could finish. “We need to talk about the spies.”
“We could have saved—”
“We need to save the resistance,” Becca interrupted. “Which is why the spies have to be our first priority.”
Kara opened her mouth to speak—maybe she thought that was her cue. With a slight shake of her head—you don’t have the right to speak to them—Becca stepped forward. “I’ve learned a few more things since I spoke to you last.”
Quickly, she laid out what she had discovered. The cooperation between Investigation and Reeducation. Her relationship with Vivian, and her failed attempt to access the files. The number of spies Investigation claimed to have inside the resistance.
And Ryann Peters.
“We don’t know enough to determine whether or not she’s a threat,” she finished. “For now, we’re going to wait and gather more evidence. Meri has her informants in Surveillance looking into it. We have to figure out what kind of information we need on her, and how we’re going to find the other spies in the meantime.”
“We’re going to wait,” Alia repeated, voice flat. “Because waiting worked out so well for those prisoners.”
“We’re not just waiting.” Becca kept her voice steady. “We’re gathering evidence.”
“And in the meantime she could kill us all.” Alia made a disgusted sound in the back of her throat. “This is what you’re willing to risk the resistance for? Not to save innocent people, but to ‘gather evidence’ on some Internal spy?”
“Ryann is a valuable informant, and has shown a level of dedication we can’t afford to lose. And she’s one of us. We won’t take any action against her unless we’re certain it’s necessary.” Calm. Confident. Don’t give them room to doubt. Even if she wasn’t sure herself. Even if she didn’t know whether those were the real reasons she had agreed to wait, or whether Ryann simply reminded her of the person she used to be. The person she wasn’t supposed to think about anymore.