by Zoe Cannon
“No.” Meri shook her head. “You know I want to save Ry— the girl. But not at that cost.”
“This isn’t about saving her. This is about saving the resistance. If we don’t do this, we’ll be sorting through useless surveillance reports until Internal—” No. She didn’t allow herself to finish the sentence, not even in her mind. This will work. I will protect them.
And what if Ryann handed them over to Internal? How would she protect them then?
I don’t have a choice.
“This is our best chance,” she assured Meri. This is our only chance.
“You need to bring this to the others,” said Meri. “This isn’t the kind of decision you can make on your own.”
Becca had gone over that question again and again in the days since Ryann had made her offer. Should she discuss this with the others or not? But the answer remained the same. “Alia will oppose it because it came from me. Sean will want to kill Ryann on the front steps of 117 to prove a point. Peter won’t be able to see beyond his idealism. And Jared will try to bully everyone else into agreeing with me, because that’s worked so well in the past.” She shook her head. “This has to be my decision.”
Meri’s lips tightened into a disapproving line. “That’s never been how we’ve worked. And when they find out you handed my network to a self-admitted spy, after you refused to risk a handful of lives to save the prisoners in that transport… you know how they’ll react.”
Becca’s chest clenched. She ignored it. “I stopped them from going after that transport to protect them. The same reason I’m doing this. They’ll understand.” I’ll make them understand.
“Think about what you said a minute ago,” said Meri. “Think about your reasons for not bringing this to them. The resistance is already coming apart, and you know it. If you do this, you’ll lose them for good.”
“Then I’ll find something else to tell them. Something they’ll accept.”
Meri was looking at her with an expression Becca had never seen from her before. Something between disapproval and… and fear, she realized.
“Listen to what you’re saying.” Meri spoke too softly, like she was soothing a rabid animal. “You want to lie to them. Put their lives in danger. Do things you know they’ll object to. All for their own good. You’ve heard these justifications before.” She paused for breath, as if working up the nerve to say the rest. “You’ve heard them from Internal.”
This is different. This is necessary.
Was that her voice or her mother’s?
“If this doesn’t work, they’ll die.” The words came out harsh. Rough. Afraid. “I can’t—I don’t know what to—” She snapped her lips closed before the rest of the confession tumbled from her lips. Her ragged breaths filled her ears.
Stop.
She forced her attention to Meri. To the growing apprehension on Meri’s face.
This wasn’t the way to lead them. Not if it made Meri afraid of her. Not if it pushed her away.
Be who she needs you to be.
Carefully, she lowered herself to the couch. She counted her breaths; she didn’t allow herself to speak until they grew steady and even. “I think we need to do this,” she said. “I don’t think we have a choice. But I won’t force you. If you’re not willing to take the risk, we’ll find another way.”
Meri didn’t speak. She sat in silence, staring down at her hands.
Becca waited.
“Are you sure this is our best option?” Meri finally asked.
Becca clamped her mind down on her doubts. “Yes. I’m sure.”
“This may be the hardest thing you’ve ever asked me to do.”
“I know.”
Another long silence.
At last, Meri looked up at Becca. “No names. She can speak to them, but she won’t know who they are. And she’ll be supervised for every meeting.”
Becca let out a breath she didn’t know she had been holding. “Thank you.”
Judging by the tension still running through Meri’s body, she didn’t share Becca’s relief. “I’ll meet with her tomorrow.”
“We’re going to protect them,” said Becca. “Your network. Everyone. That’s why we’re doing this.”
Meri’s face showed all the doubts Becca couldn’t allow herself to indulge. “I hope so.”
* * *
Two nights later, as Becca entered her mom’s apartment, her one consolation was that this would be easier than her conversation with Meri.
She hoped.
“I’m sorry about dinner,” she said. “Something came up at work.” Her mom couldn’t object to that, not after how many times she had said the same thing to Becca over the years.
“I’m just happy you made it,” her mom answered from the couch. “I was beginning to think you had forgotten about our talk.”
“There are still three days left until the end of the month,” Becca pointed out.
Her mom sighed. “This isn’t a chore, Becca. I don’t want you thinking of it like that. I’m on your side.” She patted the space on the couch next to her. Reluctantly, Becca crossed the room and sat.
The scene echoed with an eerie familiarity, bringing back dozens of similar moments from her childhood: the moon shining through the window, letting Becca know she should have been asleep by now; her mom, still dressed in her work clothes, relaxing on the couch before bed; Becca sitting next to her, ready to confide in her about whatever was weighing on her mind. Once, she would have squeezed in close and told her mom everything. Her mom would have stroked her hair and comforted her and given her a few bits of advice, and Becca would have gone to bed content.
Now Becca had come here for an interrogation.
“You don’t need to be nervous,” said her mom. “We’re just talking. That’s all.”
How many prisoners in 117 had heard those same words from her?
Don’t think about it. Give her something that will make her happy and get out.
Becca took a deep breath and launched into the story she had rehearsed.
“It started after the breakout.” She lowered her gaze, hoping her mom would see it as a sign of emotion. “Before it happened, I didn’t think what I did made that much difference. I went in every day and did my job, but it didn’t feel…” She gave a calculated shrug. “It didn’t feel important.”
She snuck a glance up to see how her mom was taking it so far. Her mom’s face was a careful blank as she listened.
“Then the prisoners escaped, and I started to understand.” Becca tried to inject a note of feeling into her voice. “The fight against the dissidents isn’t just happening out there, or down in the underground levels. It’s everywhere. It’s there in my evaluation room every day. I could turn in the wrong person. I could let the wrong person go. If I get it wrong, someone dies because of me.” She ran her hands along her pant legs, an imitation of a nervous gesture. “I hardly sleep anymore. Whenever I try, all these pictures start running through my head. Pictures of…” She let her voice trail off. “Every time I do an evaluation now, I wonder if this is going to be the one I screw up, and what will happen if I do.”
It was a good story. Plausible. Half of 117 had been on edge since the breakout. It shouldn’t take much for her mom to believe it had affected Becca too.
At least, that was what Becca was counting on.
“That’s close,” said her mom. “Now tell me the real reason.”
Becca’s heart plummeted to her stomach.
It hadn’t worked.
It hadn’t worked—and she had no other story to give. Nothing that would sound convincing, anyway.
She hesitated a little too long. Her mom sighed. “You promised you would talk to me, Becca. You promised me that you would be honest.” She paused. “But if you’ve decided you’re not willing to do that, the other option is still on the table.”
Talking to the directors. Telling them to watch Becca more closely, to take her support groups away. Cutting her off
from the resistance.
No. I’ll make her believe me. I’ll make this work.
She tried for innocence. Prayed for her mom’s willful ignorance to kick in. “I don’t know what you—”
“Stop, Becca.” Her mom sounded simultaneously frustrated and disappointed—the kind of disappointment that only a mother could get right, the kind that could make Becca feel ashamed despite herself. “Do you think I don’t see what you’re doing?”
Becca’s blood froze in an instant of blind panic before her mom continued.
“You’re dancing around the edges of the truth, while carefully leaving out the most important parts. You’re giving me a story you rehearsed a hundred times at home. The prisoners try the same thing on me every day—did you really expect me not to notice?” She shook her head. “I thought you respected me more than that. I thought you trusted me more than that.”
“I’m sorry.” Becca’s mind raced. She had to give her mom something. There had to be something…
Her mom straightened her back and set her jaw like she was preparing for battle. “I’m going to help you, Becca.” Something in her voice made the skin on the back of Becca’s neck prickle.
Excuses ran through her mind. I still haven’t gotten over Micah. No. It’s just work. You know how it is. She had tried that already, a dozen times over. Working so close to the prisoners scares me. Her mom would see through that. Her mom would see through all of them.
Her mom softened her voice. “I happened to read through the records from the breakout the other day. I thought I might find something that would help me with one of my prisoners.” She spoke slowly, carefully, as if her words walked a tightrope. “I never knew, back then, who had handled the evaluation of the dissident responsible for the security breach.”
For a second, Becca’s heart stopped. Then it slammed against her ribcage so hard her body rattled.
She doesn’t know anything. She brought her breathing under control. She doesn’t know the part that matters.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Becca couldn’t read her mom’s voice, couldn’t tell whether that tone she heard was concern or accusation.
Becca stared down at her hands, willing them not to start shaking. “There wasn’t any reason to. The investigation didn’t go anywhere.”
“The investi…“ Her mom wrapped her arms around her belly like someone had punched her in the gut. “I could have helped you through it. I could have told you—you and everyone else—that you weren’t responsible. I never even knew you were being investigated.” That strange note had returned to her voice. “I would have put a stop to that so fast—”
“I told you. It didn’t go anywhere.”
“That’s not the point—” Her mom stopped herself. Becca could almost see her forcing back the naked pain in her eyes, replacing it with sympathy. “All this time,” she said. “All this time, you’ve been imagining it was your fault, haven’t you?”
It took Becca a second to realize what had just happened. What her mom had just done.
Her mom hadn’t discovered the truth. No—she had handed Becca a better excuse than Becca could ever have dreamed up on her own.
“I don’t have to imagine.” Becca said it like the simple fact it was. “I caused the breakout.”
Meri, of all people, had come up with the plan. I have an idea, she had told Becca one day, face pale with excitement and guilt. I think we can rescue the prisoners from 117.
Which prisoners? Becca had asked.
All of them.
Convincing the rest of the resistance had taken a month of arguments and pleas. Convincing the resistance member whom Meri had suggested for the mission had taken no time at all. We’re considering you for a special assignment, Becca had told her. Your contact recommended you highly. This will be the most important thing the resistance has ever done—and you’re our best chance of making it work. The girl had eaten it up. Younger than Becca, passionate in her idealism, she had been ready and willing to help the resistance however she could.
She had been ready and willing to die.
The plan hadn’t been that complicated, really. You’ll go to 117 and apply for a job. After your interview, they’ll send you to me for your initial evaluation. Read this. Memorize it. This is what you’re going to say to me. The girl had read back the script exactly as Becca had prepared it. She had said everything necessary to justify Becca classifying her as a potential threat and recommending her immediate arrest.
When you’re interrogated, you’ll need to hold out as long as you can. Long enough to make it believable. She had held out for two full days, in the end. Longer than Becca would have been able to manage, if it had been her. You’re going to confess to being part of a plot to bomb 117 to the ground. We’ll provide the evidence. Internal will think they can’t stop it in time. They’ll evacuate the prisoners—and we’ll intercept the transports.
One life in exchange for almost a thousand.
An easy choice.
“Oh, Becca.” Her mom stroked Becca’s hair, like Becca was five years old again. Becca stiffened, but didn’t let herself pull away. “I wish I had known. I wish you had said something.”
It’s okay, Becca wanted to say. It’s over. It doesn’t matter. But that wouldn’t help her here. She needed her mom to believe that this guilt haunted her.
“I want you to listen to me very carefully.” Her mom cradled Becca’s face in her hands. “I read the evaluation transcripts—someone trained that girl very well. Yes, she tricked you, but if it hadn’t been you it would have been someone else.” Becca braced against the assault of sympathy in her eyes. “Sometimes the dissidents win, Becca. Sometimes we do everything we can, and they still win.”
“It didn’t have to happen. If I hadn’t made that one mistake, everything would be different now.” Her pulse beat jaggedly against her mom’s hands. She forced herself to keep still.
“And what about her interrogator? What about the analysis team that reviewed the evidence? Yes, you made a mistake. But you didn’t make it alone.” Her mom gripped her hands harder. “You are part of Internal, but you are not Internal. You can’t win—or lose—this fight on your own. None of us can expect that of ourselves, and no one expects it of you.”
She pulled Becca into a hug. Her familiar smell enveloped Becca—the smell of soap and skin and the underground levels. For a moment, Becca could almost forget that this was an interrogation.
But she couldn’t allow herself to forget.
“You don’t have to hold on to this anymore,” her mom murmured. “You can let go.”
Let go. The same thing Micah had said.
Becca wrenched free.
“I’ll try.” She gave her mom the best imitation of a smile she could manage. “Thank you for talking with me. It helped.”
“Hold on.” Her mom reached for Becca again. “What happened just now?”
Becca shifted aside before her mom could touch her. “Nothing happened. I said I’d try.”
“We were getting somewhere. And then you just… shut off again. Like someone flipped a switch.” She paused, scrutinizing Becca’s face with narrowed eyes. “You have no intention of letting go of this, do you?” The sympathy in her voice had changed to helpless frustration. “You’d rather let this eat away at you until you collapse.”
“We talked. It helped. I don’t know what else you want.” She cut off her defensive tone. Replaced it with another smile.
“I want you to be the Becca you used to be!”
The outburst startled both of them into silence.
Her mom spoke first. “You can’t go on like this, Becca. You can’t go through life as this… this zombie you’ve become. You need to come to terms with what happened, and you need to let—”
“And what about you?” Becca interrupted. “When are you going to let go of what happened to you three years ago? When are you going to even admit that something is wrong?” She met her mom’s eyes, waiting for her mom to
look away.
But her mom held her gaze. “Yes, I was arrested. I was interrogated. I was nearly executed. But I don’t bear any grudge against Internal for that. They did the right thing, given the information available to them at the time—I would be a hypocrite if I said I wouldn’t have done the same. They offered their apologies three years ago, and I accepted. It’s over, Becca, and it’s been over for me for years.” Her voice didn’t waver; her eyes were sincere.
Becca could almost believe she was telling the truth.
“Right,” said Becca. “That’s why you don’t sleep anymore. That’s why you punched the wall so hard it left a dent.” Her voice rose. “You think the only reason I don’t come here anymore is that I don’t want to hear you asking me what’s wrong? Sometimes I see something in your eyes that I don’t even—” She clamped her mouth shut. Took a breath, and another.
When she spoke again, her voice was clipped. “You can’t tell me to let go until you’re willing to do it yourself.”
Her mom went utterly still. Like a statue carved from ice, like a snake poised to strike.
“This has nothing to do with me,” she bit out, each syllable as cold as the night outside. “This has nothing to do with three years ago.” Her voice dropped another few degrees. “Do I make myself clear?”
Becca barely stopped herself from nodding against her will.
Her mom continued as if Becca had agreed. “Now drop these childish attempts at changing the subject and listen to me. This has gone far enough. You’re going to sit right there on that couch until we work this out. You are not leaving this apartment until I see my daughter—my real daughter—sitting in front of me again, do you understand?”
Becca’s phone buzzed.
Her mom glared at the phone as if she could shatter it with her gaze. “Don’t answer that.”