The Remnant

by Laura Liddell Nolen

I placed a hand over the lightpad soundlessly, then ended up pressing it a little harder than necessary when it didn’t respond. Finally, I slapped it in frustration, and the lights clicked on. My jaw dropped, then flapped shut.

  We were surrounded.

  Four faces popped into view, each staring openly, and I stopped breathing.

  I gave in to my lesser judgment and reached for Isaiah, speaking to him in a whisper. “So, we’re—”

  “Welcome, Mr. Underwood,” said the man seated directly before me. A woman stood next to him, and the room was flanked on two sides by uniformed guards. “Adam informed us of your change in plans.”

  “Shan,” Isaiah said pleasantly.

  He steadied his arm without forcing me off it, so that my hand was resting in the crook of his elbow. The motion was smooth, as though we’d planned it that way. Like he was escorting me to a waltz or something.

  Like I wasn’t terrified.

  He continued. “May I introduce Charlotte Turner, our newest ambassador. Charlotte, this is Shan Hui, Ambassador to the North American Ark.”

  I cleared my throat. “Uh, they have guns pointed at us.”

  Isaiah’s jaw tightened. “Ah.”

  “Yep.”

  There was an awkward pause while I collected my wits. Well, awkward for me. Everyone else in the room seemed perfectly comfortable, if oddly quiet. The others continued to stare at us, as though taking our measure.

  “I must say, I am surprised to welcome you here in person, Mr. Underwood,” Shan said at last. “May I introduce An Zhao, my assistant?”

  An bowed. “A pleasure.”

  Perplexed, I imitated the motion, looking back to Isaiah for guidance. He appeared pleasantly relaxed, so no help there. I squared my shoulders and met Shan’s eye. After a moment, he stood.

  “You have heard about our little reception this evening. I am pleased to inform you that the Imperial has decided that you should be allowed to state your case.”

  Isaiah nodded. “Good.”

  “I am afraid that, as you are here without permission, you will be detained until your appearance.”

  Neither Isaiah nor I were inclined to respond to that, so Shan motioned toward the door. “If you please,” he said, and we preceded him into the hallway.

  Now, our arms were positioned so that I was leading Isaiah. We couldn’t have choreographed it better.

  Whatever grace I’d mustered up to that moment didn’t last long. As I passed the first guard, he grabbed me by the hips.

  So I elbowed him in the chest.

  “Hey!” said Isaiah.

  “I’m afraid you are under arrest,” said Shan. “And while we don’t wish to restrain you, Mr. Underwood, we really must insist on searching Miss Turner.”

  “No need. She has a gun. Probably a knife, too. Char, if you wouldn’t mind,” said Isaiah.

  The men looked at me in silence.

  I looked right back at them, but they didn’t budge, so I finally sighed and slid the gun out of the nest of wire behind my back and plunked it onto a nearby table. “All right. Fine. Here.”

  Shan examined it calmly before pressing it into his robe and returning to his patient stance.

  “It’s not a knife,” I said awkwardly, sticking my hand down the front of my shirt and pulling out the wire cutters. “There. Happy?”

  “Certainly,” said Shan. He nodded at the guard, who produced a shiny set of silver handcuffs.

  On hearing their familiar clink, Isaiah frowned.

  “No,” I said. “No cuffs.”

  “I really must insist,” Shan repeated. “For Miss Turner, pending our dispensation of your organization’s legal status.”

  “She is a diplomat,” Isaiah said in a low voice.

  “She has no official standing, Mr. Underwood, and neither do you. Furthermore, she just smuggled a gun onto our sovereign territory. Now, I’m willing to forego any reasonable security measures for yourself, but I really must in—”

  “No cuffs,” I repeated, coating the room in a glare. I laid a hand on Isaiah’s arm to remind them of whom I’d showed up with, invited or not.

  The two guards waited, expressionless, while the four of us wordlessly assessed the invisible power structure in the room. Shan glanced back at his assistant, whose expression barely shifted from the look of politely detached concern she’d adopted when the first guard assaulted me. Then he locked onto Isaiah, who, to my horror, didn’t seem half as outraged as I thought he should be. After all, I realized, he’d gotten what he wanted: a meeting with the Imperial. I kept right on glaring, for all the good it did me.

  “Go ahead,” said Isaiah finally.

  “No!” I shouted, my voice about eight steps higher than I’d intended. “Go to—”

  “Remember our conversation, Charlotte?” said Isaiah. His jaw relaxed, but the tension had spread through his usually-smooth forehead.

  The balance was weighed, and my vote was as consequential as a sack of feathers. Shan lifted my wrist off Isaiah’s arm with surprising gentleness and clasped the cuffs on as though they were a pair of delicate silver bracelets. I revised my glare to a slight frown. It usually hurt enough to leave a mark.

  Didn’t mean I had to like him.

  No one had touched Isaiah yet, which I supposed was a good sign, so I squared my shoulders as I was prodded forward through the door.

  I nearly gasped at the sight before me. A bright red carpet led us out of the tiny hangar. I couldn’t help but notice the differences between my Ark and this one. In the North American Ark, only the Guardian Level could be described as decorated. Here, on the outermost edge of the Asian Ark, the path was already beautiful.

  Shan stopped, expecting Isaiah to walk with him. Isaiah gave a nearly imperceptible twitch of his lower arm, signaling me to release him, and I realized I’d taken his arm yet again. As we walked, An fell into step beside me. For awhile, we walked in silence, watching the men converse, but unable to hear their words.

  I began a mental catalog of everything I saw, so that I could repeat it all to Isaiah later, but I was quickly overwhelmed. The biggest immediate difference was the lighting. It was a trick of the eye, of course, but the lights appeared to be completely natural: open flames alternated with elaborately painted lanterns. The ceiling itself seemed to glow. It was white, along with the walls and the floor beneath the carpet.

  The next thing I noticed was the calligraphy. On either side of the red carpet, rows of perfectly balanced symbols lined our path.

  “Poetry,” said An, noticing the direction of my eyes.

  “It’s beautiful,” I said honestly.

  “You read Japanese?”

  “I—no, not at all. But it’s very pretty.” I squinted at the symbols. The artist had pressed the brush hard, leaving the edges rough, in spite of the precisely equal weight he or she had given each word. This was a calligrapher who could easily have produced smooth edges, vanishing the mere idea of the instrument’s individual bristles, but had chosen otherwise. As I stared, I could almost feel the artist’s frustration. “It seems almost… angry.”

  An rewarded my observation with another sweeping glance, landing this time at my eyes, but she didn’t comment on my thoughts directly. “Each culture has contributed literature to this path, which begins on the outer edge of the Ark and spirals continuously to the center. In many places, the inscriptions are still being created. It is the same on every level, but the words are different.” She gave me a sharp look. “We believe we have found unity in spite of our differences.”

  This time, I met her gaze. “I see.”

  “I am told you speak no Mandarin?” she asked, holding up a hand to stop me. A guard opened a panel in the inner wall, revealing a black stone tunnel lined with torches.

  We turned into the tunnel as the conversation continued. It was perfectly straight, so that I could see almost to the center of the ship. “No,” I said. “My education was more… erratic. Did you bring much art from your continent?”


  An considered that. “The construction of the Ark itself is art. A perfect circle. Each floor has precisely the same gravity as the others. Our homes are each the same, except the Imperial’s. He lives in the center of the guidao.”

  “Guidao?”

  “The spiraling path that reaches every room on a level. You are on a lujing, a path that cuts through the coil and leads to the center. The lujing are for official use.”

  As we walked, we passed directly across the spirals of the guidao, its white and red scheme contrasting with the dark stone walls of the lujing. “This is beautiful, too.” I reached to touch a part of the stone and saw that it was made from actual stone, cut from the depths of the Earth. My handcuffs clinked, and I pulled my sleeves over them, wishing I could make them disappear.

  We bustled down the hall, but I couldn’t help squinting at the stone. It had an iridescent shimmer, as though it were specifically responding to the light from the torches. On a whim, I reached up and touched an open flame, allowing my sleeves to fall back from my wrists, exposing the cuffs. They caught the light of the fire, which set the silver dancing. The flame was cold.

  An spoke again. “The light is art. It comes from within the ceiling. It is not generated from a single point, but radiates through the rooms like a coil. At night, the torches burn brighter, and the ceiling is dimmed. I sometimes walk at night, just to see the flames.”

  I nodded. “Well, I can see why it’s your favorite part. It’s very… peaceful.”

  She smiled. “It is. Although, it’s not my favorite part. That is the water.”

  “Is that in the coils, too?”

  “It is beneath us.” She paused, considering her words. “Maybe I will show you tomorrow, when you’ve recovered from the party. It would be a good thing to show the other delegations as well.”

  “Other delegations?” I asked, at the risk of sounding like a parrot.

  “We’ve sent a signal to the remaining Arks. The others should be here soon. Each has a right to see how your case is stated. If one Ark goes to war, we are all affected.”

  She had a point, but I couldn’t help thinking that the whole reason we were here was to put an end to any secret dealings with the Commander. I was sure the other Arks hadn’t been consulted about blowing a hole in a ship, no matter who owned it. I turned back to Isaiah, and he sensed my glare.

  “How are you doing back there, Ambassador?” he asked, smiling.

  “Oh, just fine. I’m especially jazzed about meeting all the other delegations.” Hopefully not in handcuffs, I added silently.

  Shan gave An a helpless look, but Isaiah seemed not to mind. “Of course,” he said easily.

  We reached a large wooden door, and I stepped back, expecting it to swing open, but Shan slid a keycard past the pad, and it sucked open, just like back on our Ark, revealing a wide, circular room with red walls and flooring.

  “These are your quarters,” Shan said. “I regret that you will not be able to… explore during your stay. I am told that your Arkhopper contained cargo. Your things should arrive shortly.”

  “After you’ve search it,” I said.

  He hid his annoyance well, speaking mildly. “We’re proud of our way of life here, Ambassador. Every man on this ship knows that it is only by chance that he lives, while his neighbor does not.”

  I leaned in to Isaiah and spoke in a voice that did not invite the others to join in. “Okay. It’s kind of a small, round room with a red carpet, a red couch, and a little glass table,” I began. “Everything’s red, actually. Walls, ceiling. Different shades, though.” I stopped, noticing that Shan and An were listening with great attention. “It kinda works, though,” I added, returning their gaze openly. “Definitely doesn’t look as bad as it sounds.”

  There was a soft rap at the door. “Enter,” said Shan in a booming voice.

  The door sucked open silently, and I continued to narrate for Isaiah. “It’s like, eight more guys with four boxes.”

  “Shall we sit?” said Shan pleasantly, making himself at home in one of a pair of chairs that faced the bright red couch in the center of the room.

  I guided Isaiah to the back of the couch, and he slid around it and into the center seat. I joined him, resisting the urge to put my feet up on the low glass table that split the seating area.

  “Thank you, Mr. Underwood,” said Shan as I settled onto the couch next to Isaiah. “I trust you find your quarters not too uncomfortable?”

  He leveled a pleasant look at Shan. “Red’s my favorite color.”

  An raised an eyebrow, then motioned toward the box behind her. “May I?” She gestured at the table. Shan gave a small nod.

  “These first two boxes are the cargo from your Arkhopper,” said Shan. “I’m having them sent to your respective bedchambers just now.”

  The men carrying the first two trunks filed back out of the room upon completing their task. The men carrying the two smaller boxes remained in the little round room, backs to the wall, awaiting instructions from the ambassador.

  “Thank you,” Isaiah said evenly.

  “This one is, ah—” the ambassador continued. “Let’s set it there,” he said to his staff, motioning at the table.

  The box sprung open, and I suppressed a gasp. It was full of food: fruits, nuts, little cakes. There were baskets stuffed with potstickers and even a little tea set, which An set up delicately.

  “It’s food,” I whispered. “So much food. And a teapot.”

  “I gathered,” said Isaiah. “Smells just right. Here, Miss Zhao. Allow me.”

  Isaiah took the piping hot kettle from An and carefully poured the tea into intricately decorated teacups. His long fingers skated quickly across the thin porcelain rims. “How many?”

  “Three will do,” said An, cutting him off before he could pour a cup for her.

  I took the first cup, holding it gingerly by the foot, but waited until she took a sip before tasting it. Something about the way she was acting set me ill at ease, as though she were trying to butter us up before throwing us in a fire.

  The tea, on the other hand, was heavenly, like drinking hot flowers with a hint of spice. “Mmm. That’s great.”

  “Yes, thank you, Ambassador. An,” said Isaiah, touching his lips to his cup. He fixed An with an open gaze behind his glasses, allowing the momentary silence to ask his next question for him.

  The ambassador uncrossed his legs quickly, reminding me of a nervous defendant, and waved at the final box, which was small, square, and black. The men carrying it set it on the glass table next to the food and departed.

  An touched an invisible catch, and its lid sprung open. Inside, lying on a bed of black velvet, were two thick, flat gold bands. “So, they’re some kind of bracelets?” I said. “And they’re really pretty. They have a little jewel on one side. There’s also a stick-thingy. Like a screen stem, maybe?”

  “Kuang bands,” Isaiah said impassively.

  There was a visible shift in the posture of the Asian delegation. “We prefer to call them truth bands.”

  “Let me guess,” said Isaiah. “The Imperial will require them at the meeting.”

  Shan met his blind gaze silently.

  “The ambassador is happy to comply,” Isaiah said at last, his voice perfectly even. I looked at him questioningly, but he didn’t offer an explanation, so I held my tongue.

  An and the ambassador observed my reaction with interest. When Shan stood at last, his entourage moved toward the door. He inclined his head toward Isaiah as he left. “An encouraging development. I leave you to it. I will return at eight to escort you to the party. Do order an hour or two of sleep, should you require it. A pleasure, Madam Ambassador, Your Majesty.”

  “Thank you, Shan,” said Isaiah, as their group departed. “We look forward to the Imperial’s gathering with great interest.”

  Ten

  Once we were alone, Isaiah explored our space with careful attention, and I embarked on a serious effort to c
onsume the entire contents of the massive picnic box on the coffee table. Except the olives. Obviously.

  “Were you raised in a barn?” he called from across the room. “Seriously, Charlotte. Look into chewing.”

  I opened wider and added a potsticker. “Depends if the Upper Regional New York State Juvenile Correctional Facility counts as a barn. Although there were plenty of cows.”

  He snorted and continued to ooke around. I pulled out a basket of hot rice. One prison was much the same as another, if you asked me.

  “Okay. Two rooms,” said Isaiah, when he returned to the couch.

  “Mm,” I said through a mouthful of grapes, in spite of our mutual irritation. “They put the trunks in there. You’ll never guess the color of the wallpaper. Safe guess the beds are red, too. Here, try one of these.” I squished a steaming shu mai precariously between my chopsticks and aimed it at his face. “Hold still. Seriously.”

  He laid a hand on my forearm, lowering the dumpling toward my plate. “I’m sorry about the hardware,” he said abruptly.

  The cuffs were tight enough that I couldn’t slip out of them, short of breaking my thumbs, but loose enough that they never quite warmed up to my body temperature, so that every time I shifted, they were cold and sharp against the soft part of my wrists—a biting reminder of the life I’d never escape, no matter how far I ran.

  So I left his apology unanswered, and it floated untethered through the bright red sitting room.

  “Remind me again why I’m here, Ise,” I said quietly.

  “Relax. It’s not like you’re giving the main argument, anyway. I’ll do that.”

  “Why am I giving any argument? Why me?”

  “Look here, little bird. I have artists. I have teachers. But I don’t have anyone I know like I know you. We’ve been through a lot together, Char. I know what kind of person you really are. That’s why you’re the best I’ve got. I know that, deep down, you love the Remnant. You understand us. And you’re smart. You can talk your way out of almost anything, when you feel like it. So talk.”

  We sat in silence for a long moment. I wasn’t angry, exactly, but I wasn’t dumb enough to fully trust him, either. I considered his words. Did I really love the Remnant as much as he seemed to think? I wasn’t sure. “Yeah, well, I know you too, Isaiah. You’re not telling me everything. You’ve got something else planned, or I wouldn’t be here.”