Coda (17 page)

She puts the headphones over my ears and presses buttons. I just wait, my knuckles turning white on the arms of the chair. This isn’t for fun, and I don’t get to choose.

Soothing, computer-generated sounds fill my head. This is different than the music I make. The collection of samples and tones sounds like a dream, or like I imagine space would sound—each note the bright flare of a star as I fly past.

The pain in my throat fades; energy fills my limbs. It’s only temporary, a feeling I get to borrow for a little while before I pour it back into the Grid, but knowing that doesn’t take the pleasure away completely. My body is grounded in this chair, everything else inside me is soaring, my own music in my head.

“Better?” Tango asks when the track is over and she’s pulled the headset away.

“Yeah.” I put my hand on her arm. “How’s your friend?”

“Doing okay.” She smiles sadly. “Thanks for asking. Drain-level
four for you.”

The day is normal after that, filled with the complex book I’m reading and a break for awful food. My thoughts are still in the club—which isn’t unusual—and on the experience of last night, which is. I don’t know how the audience felt, or what they must be thinking right now, but I know what being on that stage was like for me. The power and electricity, the sensation of being omniscient and an insignificant part of something massive and uncontrollable, all at once.

I want to scream about it on the streets and tell everyone I know.

Tell Haven. Pixel’s question comes back to me, the same one I’ve been asking myself for a long time given a different voice. One that’s harder to ignore because it’s not mine.

I should tell her. I can only imagine how she’s going to react if we get bigger, start that . . . revolution. I still can’t escape Mage’s word. Haven should know before then.

Even to myself, I’m reluctant to admit why I’m holding back. I love her. I need her. I would do anything for her.

I trust her, right?

Opportunities present themselves all week: at my kitchen table, the park, on walks home from the club. But even the inhibition-erasing high isn’t enough to loosen my tongue.

Maybe it’s better to wait. I want her to see us play well, comfortable on that stage; I want to convince her I can really do this. Yes, waiting is good.

She knows I’m hiding something. I catch her glancing toward my father, eyeing the twins. If only my secret were something that easy.

More people come to the club on Sunday. I’m itching to get out there and guess how many are creating the hurried, heavy rush on the other side of Pixel’s office door, but there’s business to take care of first.

“This is Crave, guys.” Pixel gestures to the guy he’s just brought in. Taller than me, his long, curly hair is entirely a natural shade of brown. The smile he aims at me is kind of cute. I shake myself.

“Hey,” I say, pushing myself from the couch to shake Crave’s hand. “Anthem. That’s Phoenix, Mage, and Scope.” The others nod from their spots, scattered around the room. “You’re in a band?”

Crave shrugs. “Well, sure. We’re not as good as you guys—no real instruments or anything, don’t have the credits. But we’ve been going for a while. Practice in an abandoned building up in Three.”

“How many of you?”

“Four, like you.”

Like we are
now
. Fuck, I miss Johnny. He’d know the right questions to ask. “Okay. Next week, come early. All of you. We’ll see how you sound. Are you cool with all of this?”

It’s vague, but he gets it. “Dude, the Corp needs to be stopped. I’ve got a family to look after, a wife and little kid of my own.” Well, that settles that—not that it was more than a fleeting thought. “But some things are bigger, you know?”

“Yeah. What do you do?”

“I’m a guard.”

Phoenix whirls away from the fridge. “What the hell? Pixel?”

He opens his mouth, but I interrupt before he can say anything. “Phoenix, most of us work for the Corp. I’m a conduit. Mage is a coder. Pixel runs this place. But,” I pause, staring at Crave, “you’d better not be thinking of doing anything stupid.”

“Hell no. I just gotta pay the bills, same as everyone else.”

“And we’re just going to take his word for it?” Phoenix demands. I find Scope and see him nod, no more than a tiny jerk of his head. Mage is more confident.

“Yeah, we are. Just like we all trust each other, and Johnny trusted all of us.”

She deflates against the fridge door. “Whatever.”

I reach out and grip Crave’s palm again. “Okay, man. You play next week.”

“Awesome. What’s the plan?”

“For now, gathering as much info as we can on the Corp. We’ve already learned some from people who came last week. Schedules, ranks of higher-up employees, that kind of thing. Mage, you found anything new?”

He purses his lips. “Getting there, but I could use some help, honestly. The system’s huge, Anthem.”

“You know who we need,” Scope says.

I glare at him. “Don’t start. Crave, can you give a hand with guard stuff? Shift changes, weapons in the armory, anything you think we’ll need to know.”

“Can do.”

The discussion shifts back to music. Mage asks about their gear, predictably most interested in what they use for percussion. Like us—like most or all of the hidden bands around the Web, I guess—their instruments are salvaged, self-constructed. Crave tells us they use old power tools like drills and chainsaws to add to their sound. Scope’s eyes spark.

It’s almost time. Today feels different than last week because I have a taste of what to expect. I want it now, even more than I did seven days ago. I want to make that crowd move and teach them lyrics to keep in their heads. A secret from the Corp.

Yellow Guy reappears to wish Scope and the rest of us luck. He gives Crave a quick, appraising look before I kick everyone out. It’s too early for traditions, and the concept of that word is weird to me anyway, but this time with the band before we go out there feels important.

This time, I don’t need to ask if they’re ready. I can tell they are. I’m sure they see the same on my painted face, in my taut muscles, in my boots rocking onto my toes. Phoenix fidgets with her skirt, Scope taps his thigh to the rhythm of our first song, and Mage’s hands clench around his drumsticks so tightly his nails turn white.

The noise that erupts when Mage appears in front of the crowd is so much louder this week. It swells even more when Phoenix and Scope take their places. I close my eyes, just for a second and let the sound wash over me, giving me back some of the energy I surrender every day.

My steps aren’t uncertain. My heart races, but this time I relish it.

I climb the stairs.

President Z’s voice comes from the TV, strident and mechanical. I freeze, the spoon halfway to my father’s mouth.

But it’s nothing. Just more crap I don’t care about. What we’re doing hasn’t made it to the ears of the Corp. I’m sure when it does, President Z will speak and promise the good citizens of the Web that they will stomp out our amusing little rebellion—or that they already have, though in that case I doubt I’ll be watching the news.

Someone knocks on the door and I look up, blinking. Alpha and Omega pause in the middle of the story they’re telling our father. “Is Haven coming over?” Omega asks.

“Maybe she wanted to surprise you.” I smile, crossing the room and opening the door just as another knock starts to rattle the thin wood. “Hey—”

All the blood drains from my face, sucked out by the flat black of the uniforms. “You two, go to your room.”

“Ant—?”

“Now.” I wait until I’ve heard them go before I face the two guards standing in the hallway. “Can I help you?” I don’t hear my own voice over the rushing in my ears.

“You are Citizen N4003?”

I nod. “Yes,” I whisper. Shit. This is it. I clench my teeth so they don’t chatter.

“We have received intelligence that your tracking level is borderline. Is there a problem with your console?”

“What? No.” No. Thank fuck. I chance a small, relieved breath. Okay. I’ve been through this before. “I’ve been busy?”

The taller of the two eyes me carefully, then glances at his
partner. “He look nervous to you?”

“He does,” the other guard agrees, stepping toward me. My legs start to shake, and I lock my knees. His face is inches away; his vile breath is hot on my face. “What’ve you got to be worried about, Citizen?”

“I—Nothing. Just need to track more, right?” I ask, pasting on a falsely bright smile.

“If you know what’s good for you,” the tall guard says. “Consider this a friendly warning. You don’t want a visit when we’re feeling
un
friendly. Trust me.”

I do.

“C’mon,” he continues to the other one. “We’ve got twenty-seven more on the list to do tonight. Be careful, Citizen.”

“Yes,
sir
.” I almost choke on the word. It takes three tries to close the door with my sweaty hand. I collapse against it, the wood rattling again.

It’s okay. We’re still okay. The twins run out of the room and stop by my knees.

“Who was that, Ant?”

“Just some guards checking on something,” I say. “They’re gone now. Why don’t you get ready for bed, and I’ll come tell you a story in a minute.” I slide to the floor and stay there until my pulse returns to normal.

The fight can’t come soon enough. We’re not strong enough yet, but we’re closing in. On my pod rides to work, trips to the depot, and regular nights at the club before I’m too high to notice, I catch the eyes of strangers who nod once and move on. Every week it gets better. They understand it now, the single, many-headed creature on the dance floor. They absorb the hatred for the Corp that spews from my mouth and out of my hands. Every thrashing chord I play is a
fuck
you
to the bastards who say I shouldn’t have this. That what I’m doing is wrong.

I tell myself it’s only been three weeks, and it’s a hundred years since the Corp took power after the war. But I know that people are putting on headphones in their bedrooms and falling, maybe with no one to find them. We’ve heard of at least five more since we started, all people who somehow broke the law. One of them was at the first concert, and I don’t believe in coincidence anymore. The Corp’s method is changing. I might be running out of time. Consoles across the Web have become murder weapons. I want to fight
now
.

Patience
.

Crave’s band is pretty good. They played before us on Sunday, rougher and harsher than our sound, their energy more brutal. My envy that they got to go on in front of a crowd already prepared for what they’d hear disappeared when the chants for us got louder, needier. Still, every day it feels like the different parts of myself—brother, father figure, musician, rebel, conduit scum, drug addict, the
me
I am with Haven—are growing further apart.

I’m holding myself together with hands callused by strings.

The front of the Citizen Remembrance Center in Two is flashing green and bathed in late-afternoon light. I don’t know why Haven tabbed me, asking me to meet her here of all places, but I come without questioning it. None of her family will be in here. They’ll all be in cabinets up in One, where the rich sit and look down on the rest of us.

She’s standing in the lobby, head tilted so she can look at the artwork on the walls. That’s one creative expression the Corp still
allows, probably only because they haven’t figured out how to make paintings addictive yet. Anyway, there aren’t many people around who do it; paint is expensive.