Rebels (33 page)

Polite, I've decided, is a waste of everyone's time.

No one asks the real questions, of course. The ones that matter.
How do twins end up perfect strangers?
I want to ask.

And where are we going?

Instead, we learn about the pipe. How it's part of an abandoned water drilling facility. “Of course, there is no water to be drilled anymore,” Roscoe says. “Not from the Lower Levels. We depleted those resources long ago. Which, of course, is the very reason Indra moved upward. All water is now stored in the Aero-Crown.”

Shut up
, I'm thinking. Or say something that matters. Something I didn't learn in Indrithian History.

“Are you okay?” whispers Kane.

“No,” I say. He looks worried. “I'll be fine.”

He nods, but I can tell he'll keep asking.

This guy, Roscoe, just turned everything upside down, and now he won't stop talking about pipes.

“These pipes are key to Lower Level survival. They act as transport for scavenged items, though much of the Lower Level is self-sufficient.
No one above suspects, of course. The pipes serve no purpose, and therefore do not exist.”

Right now, I wish he didn't.

“Others,” he continues, “have been appropriated to siphon water from the City of Indra's supply, bringing it to the populace below. Only fair. An eye for an eye.”

“Where is that from?” asks Kane.

“It is from a book,” Roscoe tells him.

“
The Book of Indra
? I don't think so.”

“No,” says Roscoe, smiling, “A real book. One of many we keep in our possession.”

“There are no real books,” I say, annoyed. “There is only
The Book of Indra
.”

“ ‘There is more on heaven and earth than are dreamed of in your philosophy.' That is from another book that is not
The Book of Indra
, but what the scribe means is that much has been kept from you.”

“No kidding,” I say.

I stare at him, waiting for the rest of the story. For him to talk about my birth, my family, my existence.

There's more than the sister part, that's for sure. Though that is plenty already.

Nothing. He just keeps walking.

“Okay,” I say. “Tell me something, then. Something kept from me.”

Roscoe smiles at me. The kind of smile you give a child.
A child who infiltrated the IHC
, I think.
Who can fly a stolen PCF patroller. Who can outsmart a whole unit of Population Control's finest. So ease back, old man.

“Then show me these books,” I say. “Prove it. In fact, I think it's about time you start proving a lot of things.”

“You remind me so much of your mother,” he says.

Cheap shot, and it totally works. For a second I lose my words. All of them.

I look at Livia, and she turns away. But I know what she is thinking.

Our
mother.

“Ah,” he says, before I can regroup, “we shall continue this later. This, my friends, is our destination.”

I wait patiently for Roscoe to unlock the mysteries of the universe, but we have only reached a small cavern. He and the other rebels have a quick, hushed exchange before they leave us alone. Lex stands by herself, sullen and despondent, barely looking upward when one of them addresses us. Roscoe is tall and sleepy-eyed, and has removed his PCF attire, revealing an ascot and waistcoat. The kind Proper Gentlemen don for formal occasions, only his is rather filthy and fraying.

“I wouldn't worry too much,” he says to us all, though his shy smile is directed toward me. “I once heard it's like giving birth. You forget the pain after it's done.”

With these words, Lex returns to us, her fierceness stronger than ever.

“Forget the pain after . . .
what
? What are you talking about, Roscoe? You have till ten to tell me what's going on or—”

“Or you'll what?” says Zavier coolly. He's watching her with narrowed eyes and a far from amused expression. “Haven't you realized by now? None of us want you harmed.”

Except you
, I think, sensing something beneath his collected exterior.

“He's correct,” says Roscoe.

“They risked their lives for us, Lex,” says Kane. “Vipsinia is still up there.”

Lex turns to me, meeting my eyes for the first time since entering the cavern. She glares at me, yet I know this is an excuse; she is searching for an answer in my face.
They are telling the truth
, I say with my eyes.

“Well?” she says, turning back to them. “What do we have to do?”

They don't want us harmed, that much is clear to me. Yet I feel something else that unhinges me: they're worried. Deeply, profoundly worried.

And what will happen in that cavern will be deeply, profoundly unpleasant.

Livia trusts them. I see it in her face. And I figure I have no other choice.

I turn my back to Zavier. “Well,” I say to Roscoe, “what do we have to do?”

“Lexie?” interrupts a voice. I turn. A girl stands at the entrance. “Is that you?”

“Lex,” I tell her. She stares at me. She is around my age, I think. And something in her face stops my fury cold. Stops everything cold.

“It
is
you!” she says, breaking into a huge smile. “I knew you'd correct me if I called you the wrong name.”

Then she does something completely crazy. She hugs me.

And even crazier? I let her.

I don't exactly hug her back. Just stand there, my arms stiff at my sides.
Second hug in one day
, I think.
This is getting ridiculous. Everyone needs to learn to keep their hands off me.

Yet I don't push her off either.

She finally steps back. “I know you hated every second of that. But I couldn't help it. It's been so long.”

“I don't know you,” I tell her softly. I don't want to hurt her feelings. I'm not sure why I even care.

Part of me wishes I did know her. There is something about her that calms me.

“You do,” she says. “Look closer.”

She is a normal girl, nothing special. Except the glow, maybe. It seems to come from under her skin.

“Her name is 374,” Roscoe says. “She also goes by Samantha. In fact, she has not been 374 since you last saw her.”

“I'll always be 374,” she responds, smiling at Lex. Lex, if you can believe it, smiles back. It isn't a big smile, but it's genuine. Like a child's.

They both have numbers. They were both in the Orphanage.

“I didn't know the two of you were connected until I was planning your rescue. That's when Samantha told me of a Lex she had known. What a strange, small world!” Roscoe smiles at Lex, who is still in shock. “I'm sure you have a great deal to discuss and there will be ample time to reconnect later. But we thought, for now, perhaps, having Samantha here might make the process easier.”

The girl, Samantha, leans over to Lex. The others pretend not to listen. “I will tell you everything later,” she says. “For now, you must do as they ask. There isn't much time. But I'll be right here with you. I could even braid your hair.”

Lex simply nods, entering the room by her side without question. Kane and I follow, and for a second, I feel almost jealous. This quiet young woman has the power to calm Lex, a gift I had thought not possible.

That
, it occurs to me,
is how one would treat a sister
.

Then again, how was I to know? I've had a sister for only a few hours and our history together has mostly consisted of attempts on each other's lives.

But it seems even Samantha's powers have their limits.

“We have a
what
in our
what
?” Lex shrieks.

Samantha holds her hand, and now Lex squeezes back so hard I can almost feel a phantom pressure on my own palm.

“Mandatory temporal lobe implant,” says Roscoe. “In layman's terms, a small chip, barely the size of a fingernail.”

“In
our brains
?”

“Yes,” I say, understanding all too clearly. “Somewhere between the optical nerve and temple, if I were to make an educated guess. The part of the brain that controls memory.”

“You,” Roscoe says, “are so very much like your father, Livia.”

“So you say,” I fire back. He peddles memories that are of no use to me right now. They dull my focus. I try to soften my approach. “Perhaps I am right to assume this chip chronicles every moment of our existence. And that information is used to store our history in the Archives.”

“Yes,” says Roscoe. “Among other uses.”

“Other uses?” asks Kane.

“The chip also monitors your whereabouts, your location, at every moment.”

For a second, I wonder if I will vomit right here, in front of all of them. The sickness in my stomach is overwhelming.
My whole life has been monitored
, I realize.
I have been watched, just as I felt I had been, only not quite in the way I imagined.

They have been watching from inside my own head. I have thought millions of terrible things. Have they seen it all?

“That is how the PCF knew where to find us,” I say. “But if this proves true, how would we have escaped? Why the lag time in locating us?”

Roscoe nods. He's impressed with my questioning, though flattered is the last thing I feel. Horrified is a more apt description.

“As I'm sure you are aware, you and Lex are of a unique genetic configuration. I assume it took them longer due to the complexity of your psychological makeup and brain functions.”

“They did find us, nonetheless.”

“Yes, and will again. Even with your curious genetics and the distance we've placed between ourselves and Indra, eventually you will be discovered. And then they will come for you. We cannot risk going any farther toward our headquarters until it is removed. And we are prepared to do just that here.”

“And Kane?” I ask, noticing that he has gone silent and rather pale.

“Kane is lucky enough that his was extracted at the Independent High Council.”

“Lucky,” says Kane quietly, “is not the word I'd use.”

“They'll have sent it away for full analysis,” Roscoe says. “Standard detainment procedure. In the hopes of understanding the motivation of those who defy Indra and preventing future crime. You were rescued before they could reimplant it, I assume?”

Kane shrugs. “If they did, I don't remember.”

“Then he must be reexamined,” Zavier says abruptly.

“I bet you're enjoying this,” Lex says.

Haunted, I decide, is a perfect way to describe his expression. “The opposite, if you really want to know. I despise this. Everything about it.”

“Why is he even here?” Lex asks.

“Because,” says Roscoe, “he will be performing the procedure. He is the only one who knows how.”

Samantha hasn't said a word the whole time. Just holds my hand tight. When I try to pull away, she just clutches harder.

Now that I'm stretched out across a makeshift sleeper, she's still holding on.
I'm right here
, she seems to be saying.
I'm not going anywhere.

I wish I could, though. Go anywhere else but here.

◊  ◊  ◊

They just shoveled out some dirt and put up a door and called this a room. We had better in the Orphanage. The walls are packed earth, the floor rocky and uneven. In other words, exactly the place you don't want an experimental medical procedure.

Not that we'd been given an option.

Zavier explains that when they found the room it was filled with bones, probably dating back to the Separation—when the colonists extricated themselves from the Lower Levels to build the Upward City of Indra, as it was first known. There were drill rigs stripped for parts and shattered skulls beneath the soil.

Livia's first. She sits on the exam table while Zavier runs a buzzing paddle over her head. The paddle's connected to a weird contraption that I'm surprised even functions. This, I'm told, is her initial scan.

“Strange,” says Zavier, checking the monitor. “She's only at twenty percent. I've never seen that before.”

Roscoe nods. “I take it you have uncommon sensory abilities, Livia, am I correct? To intuit beyond everyday surface emotions?”

She nods.

Ha
, I think.
That's how it feels
.
When someone can see into your head. Not so great being on the other side, huh?

“Well, then we are doubly fortunate. The procedure is not necessary in your case. At thirty percent or less, they do not have clear access to your inner workings.”

Livia looks relieved. Of course, she got off easy. This is the story of her life.

“Perhaps you will have good news, too,” she says in passing.

That is hardly the story of mine. Zavier lifts the paddle and I imagine the worst. The scanning process is slow and torturous, but entirely without pain, so far.

“Seventy-four percent,” he says.

Roscoe is not so quick to declare anything this time.

“Great,” I say. “Let's get to it then. Bust open my brain. Just hurry up before I change my mind.”

◊  ◊  ◊

“Livia and Kane can stay with you,” Roscoe tells me. “As can I.”

“You don't have to do that.” I don't want them to see me like this.

He tells me it will be fine. I want it to be, but I'm not sure. I find no qualities in him that make him better than any other leader. They all use fear as a weapon to control, and right now I fear it's working. I don't want anyone to see me afraid. Having Zavier do this is humiliating enough.