Rebellion (9 page)

There is something strange about the ocean surface. Most of the water is bluish green and clear, but there are faint streaks that almost look like blood here and there. It takes a minute for me to realize what it must be: moonshine.

Back at headquarters, the scientists took a reading in the valley to see how much leaked into our air before Charlie put the shield back up. They said 5 percent of the air concentration was lethal acid—more than double the amount of carbon dioxide, and moonshine is far more potent.

The concentration is likely to go down. After all, it seeped into our atmosphere before the protective shield was built, and eventually neutralized. But we don’t know how long that will take. It could be months, years, decades. Long enough for a lot of people to die, if they’re exposed to it.

Charlie must’ve known this would happen. But when he shut off the shield, he didn’t care about the loss of lives. All he cared about was recovering his precious bomb so he could rip our world into pieces, fly his Core battleship away, and destroy Marden’s civilization. All this so he could build a new empire far away.

I tilt my head to the sky. There are no stars out yet, but I can picture them the way they were beyond the shield: brilliant and numerous. Like something out of a dream.

Marden is out there, orbiting a distant sun. It’s been roughly four centuries since we sent our battleships there to wipe out the Mardenites, and three since they planted their acid generator on our moon in retaliation, if the stories Fred told me in Karum are true. We lost contact with them not long after that, during the Great Rebellion, and we haven’t heard from them since. Most of the citizens of Kiel don’t know Marden exists.

The Mardenites have either forgotten us too, or they believe their poisonous moon permanently removed us as a threat. In all likelihood, they have no idea our commander still wants to wipe them out and build his own regime on the ruins of their civilization.

Surely Charlie hasn’t given up. He could’ve already started construction on another bomb. He has Fred, the original constructor, in his custody, and I’m sure he has the necessary supplies, so he has the means to re-create the one we used against the moon.

But he’s clearly up to something else too. Instead of ignoring everyone in the outer sectors, he’s moving them belowground. I bet the people in the work camp, especially, think he’s saving them. They will be safer from moonshine, yes, but I don’t believe they’ll be safe from Charlie. He must’ve realized they’ll be more useful alive; he needs them for something. But for what?

I need to understand his full motivation. Whatever his new plan is, we need to stop it.

*   *   *

Someone shakes my shoulder, and I open my eyes abruptly. My face is covered in a sheen of sweat. I had another nightmare, where I was back in Karum, and a nurse was shoving a tube down my throat. The tube had insects inside it—silver-and-blue bugs with sharp pincers. They crawled out of the tube into my esophagus and slowly chewed my insides while I screamed and screamed and the nurse whispered, “It’s going to be okay,” over and over.

“You okay?” Logan asks. His hand’s still touching my shoulder.

I give him a tight nod. That’s easier than lying through my teeth.

The transport rumbles beneath me. It’s still windy outside. I look out the window. The moon is half shadow tonight, and a thick layer of clouds hides the stars from view. The clouds are so dark, I wonder if it’s going to rain.

One of the flight pods hovers into view through my window, traveling alongside us. Blue dots of light blink on its hull. I focus on the light until my eyes adjust and I can see the gray shapes of cacti and tumbleweeds below us. We’ve reached the desert. I don’t remember leaving the ocean; I must’ve fallen asleep before we passed over Karum.

“Where are we?” I ask.

“We’re almost there,” Logan says.

Ahead of us, the force field shimmers in the distance. The barrier around the Surface settlement. It’s faint at first, a thin band of emerald like an aurora, but it grows brighter as we near it.

I can almost see the city beyond: the high steel towers still a few miles away; the dot of light flying above it that must be a ship. The city must not be empty, at least not yet.

I dig my nails into the seat upholstery. In a few minutes, we will be in Charlie’s territory.

The ship-comm crackles on, and Skylar’s voice rings through the ship: “We’re about to cross over the Surface settlement line.”

In the row in front of me, Mal gets up from his seat and moves to the cockpit door.

“The security team in the city is likely to spot us immediately and send out patrol ships,” Skylar continues. “But we have friends on the inside. We’re hoping to contact them before the patrols reach us, so we can get clearance to the city. In case that falls apart … please stand by.”

The comm link shuts off, and the compartment falls silent.

I stare at the closed cockpit door, which Mal just disappeared through. If he was working in the security hub two days ago, he has the proper communication codes. He must be the one helping us contact the patrols.

A bad feeling curls my insides. Mal helped Darren and Cady escape the city, yes, but he could’ve had an ulterior motive. He could’ve lied; he could still be working for Charlie. He could be leading us straight into a trap.

I need to be up in the cockpit when he helps us contact the patrols. I need to do something, if I can.

The ship is still shaking a lot, and it might not be smart to move around. But I don’t care; I unbuckle and stand. I can’t sit here and wait for something bad to happen.

“What are you doing?” Logan asks as I squeeze past him in his seat.

“Going to talk to Beechy.”

He opens his mouth like he’s going to say something, but shuts it, changing his mind.

I move down the center aisle and press the button to open the cockpit door. A gust of cold air washes over me as I step inside. The compartment seems small with three people crowded inside. Skylar sits in the pilot’s seat with Beechy in the seat beside her and Mal standing to his right. The force field shimmers in the distance, drawing ever closer through the window.

“You’re sure no one’s changed the code since you left?” Beechy asks Mal, tapping a sequence of numbers into the comm box.

“They change it once a week, and they’d just changed it the day I flew away,” Mal says.

“You’d better be telling the truth.”

“I am. I swear.”

I stare at the back of Mal’s ponytail, wishing I could see his face. Then I might be able to tell if he’s lying.

“Can I help you?” Skylar asks, swiveling in her chair.

I was hoping I’d be able to talk to Beechy instead of her. I’m pretty sure she still thinks I’m not entirely stable—and she’s probably right.

“Um.” I use the first excuse that pops into my head: “I was feeling a bit sick. I thought it might help to look out a bigger window.”

The slight pinch in Skylar’s cheeks tells me she’s annoyed I came in here. But the flush in my cheeks must be passable as real sickness, because she presses her lips together and turns back to her controls. “Take a seat. Just don’t throw up on any of the flight mechanisms.”

“I’ll try not to.” I pull out the passenger seat from the back wall of the cockpit and sit and secure the safety straps. Out the window, the force field shimmers directly ahead of us. It’s a bright and brilliant emerald from this close up.

For what feels like a hundred seconds, it floats before our transport.

We could still turn back. We could still try to find another way.

Then it’s too late. We’ve passed over the force field, and the settlement line is behind us. Before us is an open stretch of sand, dust, and rock spanning at least a mile, maybe more. There’s nothing to hide us. Three dots probably just popped up on the radar screen in the security hub. Whoever’s on duty knows we’re here now.

A beeping sound comes from the comm box.

“We have contact,” Beechy says. The muscles of his arms and back form ridges beneath the fabric of his safety suit.

“You should let me talk to them,” Mal says. “I covered all my bases when I left. They should give me clearance.”

Slowly, Beechy hands the comm to Mal. “Be careful.”

Mal twirls a blue knob, and there’s a crackle.

A deep voice cuts in: “This is the Surface security hub. Pilot, we do not recognize your ship. Please identify.”

“This is Cadet Malcolm, citizen H63587,” Mal says without a pause. “I’m returning from a supply run in Sector B-7.”

“Stand by while we confirm.”

I fidget with my hands. I stare out the window, at the faint outline of trees in the distance. Drops of water speckle the window as the rain starts.

It was raining the last time I was here too, the morning I said good-bye to Logan.

I remember the officials dragging him away; I remember boarding the ship afterwards; I remember thinking I was safe.

There’s another crackle through the speaker. “Cadet Malcolm,” the voice says, “you are not authorized to go farther without an escort.”

“Cadet Demetrius gave me authorization,” Mal says. “As I said, I’m returning from a supply run. I assure you, I don’t need an escort.”

“Cadet Demetrius is not available to confirm,” the voice says. “I repeat, you are not authorized to go any farther. Stay at your current position. Patrol ships are on their way.”

Mal hisses through his teeth. Beechy cuts the comm link.

“I’m sorry,” Mal says. “Demetrius always runs the night shift. He must’ve run into trouble.”

“Or the operation’s already under way, and most of the guards are at the departure station,” Skylar says.

Tension runs through Beechy’s jaw, but he doesn’t say anything.

Half of me believes Mal is telling the truth and this isn’t his fault. The other half feels like stringing him up and throwing him in my old Karum cell.

“What’s our next move?” Skylar asks.

“We need some cover,” Beechy says. “The patrols will be here soon. Head for those trees, and make it fast.”

“Copy that.” Skylar pushes the thrusters forward, speaking into her ear-comm: “Pilots, we’re switching to Plan B. Stay close behind me.”

I grip my armrests as we speed up, until we’re going full throttle. Mal hurriedly takes the other passenger seat so he won’t fall over.

The ground is a blur below us. Lightning flashes across the sky above the city, turning the clouds purple.

I hope Skylar is wrong and the operation isn’t already under way. If the last transports leave for the lower sectors without us, our plan is ruined whether or not we evade the patrols.

The floodlights appear when we’re almost to the forest. Three small pairs of white lights; three patrol ships rising from between the distant skyscrapers.

Skylar nose-dives our transport toward the trees. We’re flying too fast. We’re going to crash; we’re going to hit the branches and spin out of control.

But Skylar pulls us up at the last second, easing off the thrusters. We glide above the trees. I stop gripping my armrests so tightly.

“Should I go lower?” Skylar asks.

“Put us down where the trees are thickest,” Beechy says, unbuckling and moving toward the cockpit door. “Tell the other pilots to do the same, but leave their engines running. I think I have a plan.”

9

Rain splashes on my safety helmet and turns the forest floor to mud. I crouch low, my spine pressed against a tree trunk, gripping a gun in my hands. The gun feels heavy, much too powerful. I don’t know if I trust myself to use it, after what I did the last time I controlled a gun, but I have no other choice if I want to help the Alliance reach the lower sectors.

Logan crouches behind a tree a few feet away. Mal, Skylar, and another pilot, Jensen, are still on board our transports. The rest of us are hidden around the clearing.

The roar of the patrol ship engines is loud. They’re almost here.

We have the advantage, I remind myself. We are the ones the patrols should fear, since my friends and I have outsmarted Charlie and his men on more than one occasion. We are the ones who can’t be controlled by his serum.

He can’t control me, either. As long as I don’t panic; as long as I remember I am stronger.

I squint to see the clearing through the branches. The lights of our ships are still on, and the engines are humming.

Light floods the branches above me, and I look up. The ships hover low, sending wind rustling through the trees. A flash of lightning fills the clouds above them.

A loudspeaker comes on:
“Come outside your ships. Surrender your weapons.”

I snap my teeth together. We need them to land and come out of their ships. We need them to try to board us, but I’m afraid they’ll shoot from the air.

“I repeat, come outside your ships with your hands in the air, or we will shoot.”

I can’t see the clearing well enough from where I’m standing. I need to get higher.

Clutching my gun in one hand, I straighten and reach for the lowest branch of the tree I’m under.

Logan notices too soon. “Clementine, please don’t.”

“I just want to see what’s going on.”

He looks like he wants to argue, but all he says is, “Be careful, okay?”

“I always am.”

He mutters something in reply.

Ignoring him, I heave myself up onto the branch. It’s difficult with only one hand, but at least the gun is smaller than the one I held the last time I climbed a tree, in Phantom, the war game I played in the Core. I had trouble shooting a gun then too, though it was only a simulation and my targets couldn’t really die.

But that was a game. This is real life, and if I have to shoot someone to defend myself and those I care about, I will do it.

I can’t see much until I’m a few branches higher. I balance on the one below and lean against the tree trunk so I won’t fall. Brushing aside the leaves in front of me, I peer into the clearing. The back of the passenger hovercraft has opened and the ramp has lowered. Someone in full-body armor is walking down it with his hands over the helmet on his head, one arm slightly bent in injury.