Rebels (37 page)

He stops outside the Red Dog Saloon. “This is the place you were brought here to see.”

◊  ◊  ◊

There's a long table along one wall. Behind it, a woman pours thick liquid from a bottle. A sign hangs above her head: “Dirt Fuel by the Glass.”

He brought us all this way for a drink?

On the other side of the table, every stool is occupied, almost shoulder to shoulder. A half-dressed woman sprawls across an old man's lap. His beard reaches the floor and she twirls it with her fingers, laughing. Two men hold cards. One slaps down a handful and the other groans.

A little man at the far end notices us and his eyes widen. “They're here!” he yells.

The lady stops twirling the old man's beard. The men look up from their game.

“C'mon,” says Zavier, ignoring the new attention the loudmouth got us as we pass. Zavier smacks the tar wall with his fist. Two taps of his elbow to the left, a swift kick to the right.

The wall relaxes. A door swings open a half inch and he pushes it open the rest of the way.

Better than a sim
, I think, though I'd never tell him. In fact, the idea of speaking to Zavier is just too much for me.

We head down a rocky tunnel, and I start hearing footsteps that aren't ours. I glance over my shoulder and see that they're following us. All of them. Some still clutching their glasses of green brew. We've become curiosities to them. Don't they realize following us could get them killed? It's not up to me to change their minds. Maybe, just maybe, we owe them something more.

We continue to descend and at the end we reach another wall.
Smack, tap-tap, kick
.

Just like that, we are on the inside of the Rebel Base. Now we get to see what the fuss is all about.

◊  ◊  ◊

Hundreds of feet above our heads, the cavern finally crests. At intervals, there are levels cut into the rock, which signify the progress of their forebearers in the long, long ago. The surfaces are worn and smoothed by age. There is a warren of passageways that disguise the true inner workings of this place. We are wound through one and another; perhaps they're trying to disorient us, I'm not sure. Trust must extend both ways, I understand. No matter where we pass, I get peeks into these rebels' lives. They are not all warriors. They're just people. They're a community.

Some stock and organize their supplies. Nearby there are those that prepare food, food that looks nothing like rations, that has color. There are those that mend clothing and patch uniforms and repair blasters. Some of the young train together and practice combat exercises. Their classmates sit on the sidelines and observe. In rooms we can't see, I'm sure some sleep and dream in this place that has no days or nights, just like how I grew up. But there is the greater hope that here children have room to play and be happy.

Then I hear a note, and thankfully it isn't from a singing sword.

A man holds an instrument. He runs his hands across the strings and its face, and the melody soothes me in a way I have never experienced. He sings and people gather to listen to him in an intimate dining area. I want to sit down before him.

Next to me, Livia is breathing faster. She's as stunned as I am.

“Lex! Livia!” Kane flags us down and leaves the area to join us. “I was worried.”

“I'm fine,” Livia says. “We're both okay.”

“I lost you. And then I heard there were mutations and I didn't know if—”

“Look at me,” she says, holding her hands up for him to see. “In one piece.”

His panic turns to relief. Then something else. An expression I've never seen, not even for me. He takes her hand and she squeezes his back.

Fury is bubbling up inside me. My face is hot with it.
He's mine
, I think.
Kane belongs to me. Who are you to just come in and snatch him?

I break them apart by hugging him so hard he's forced to drop her hand to keep his balance. He doesn't need her, not as much as he needs me.

Not as much as I need him.

She's had everything she wanted her whole damn life. But the airgirl can't have . . .

“It's okay, Lex,” Kane says, and I can feel all my emotions colliding so hard I can't even tell what I'm reacting to anymore, and I hide my face in his shoulder. “We've made it. We're finally here.”

When I look up, I'm looking right at Zavier—and he's looking back.

Instantly, every hair on my arms rises. My face goes from hot to burning. I don't have control anymore. Not over my words or my own body.

Now Livia is staring at me. I wish everyone would just stop. I turn away so no one can see my face. I turn toward the cavern.

That's when I notice they're watching me. Us. They're staring at Livia and me.

All of them. Every face in the core-low cavern. They've emptied into the hall and watch us and whisper. The whispers are rising.

“I think that will do,” Roscoe booms. “This is a momentous occasion, I know, but our visitors have had a long and difficult journey. Let us allow them time to adjust.” They murmur in agreement and go back to pretending to ignore us.

I still feel their glances, shot from the corners of their eyes. They talk, just as before, but I'm pretty sure the discussions have taken a new direction.

“Enough!” I say. My outburst surprises them. “No more of this. No more talking like I'm not here. Like I'm not right in front of you.” I look at Livia. “Like
we
aren't right in front of you.”

“You must understand—”

“I
must
do nothing, Roscoe. I've already taken enough of your orders. Let you put a spike in my head, gone through your so-called
Safe
Zone and watched my friend die. Now I want answers. And someone better give them to me, or
we'll
be out of here before you have time to argue.”

I look at Livia. She nods. “Yes,” she says calmly. “We have proven our strength and survived, both with and without you. So perhaps now you will fulfill your end of the agreement.”

“So,” I say, tearing the cloak from my shoulders and tossing it aside. “Where do we start? Because my sister and I have some
serious questions
.”

I hadn't planned to say it. It just fell out of my mouth.

Sister
.

My sister
.

I have never known anyone who has a sister, or a brother. How these relationships are managed have never been illustrated for me. The depth of the bond and what our obligations to each other are cannot be anticipated. However, now I can see that protectiveness is one of them.

I understand that, while how she feels about me at any given moment will change, we will forever share something that no one else does.

We are bonded, whether we like it or not.

Kane is Lex's friend, I know that. And yet I reached for him because that is exactly what I wanted to do. I held his hand, and if she were not there, I would've done more.

She's my sister, but she won't dictate my actions. I have spent a lifetime having others tell me how to live, and now that lifetime is over. I feel Kane's eyes on me. I'm not shy about looking at him, either.

However, it's hard to ignore Lex at this very moment. She's standing there with her hands on her hips. “Are you ready, then? Are you ready to answer our questions?”

Roscoe gives a deep sigh, then nods. “Yes. That is only fair. But we should conduct ourselves in private. Follow me. I'm sorry,” he says to Kane, “but it's best if you wait here for now. Zavier, show him where he can get something to eat. We've all had a long journey.”

Kane grabs my hand. “I'll be all right,” I tell him. “After all, you are the only one here who's tried to kill me.” I don't bother to mention my altercation with Lex earlier.

He's ashamed, I can tell. He should be.

Yet at this moment I want him to surprise me with a kiss. As soon as I'm sure he won't try to poison me again, he wouldn't dare, I would kiss him back and hold it until I'm satisfied. Perhaps if I made the first move?

Lex glares at me. Let her do that all she wants. It won't change a thing about how I feel or what I want.

I follow Lex and Roscoe, though I allow myself one last look at Kane. His lip curls into a smile.

Improper. Most Improper.

Some things
are
better down here.

◊  ◊  ◊

It's constantly warm here. We no longer need cloaks. There's a ventilation system that circulates the air and keeps the electrical systems from overheating, but it's a far cry from the climate-controlled islands.

Roscoe leads us through a tunnel that glows with fluorescent lichen and moss. It has been cultivated into long strips and circular patches that provide constant illumination. “We try to avoid excessive energy use,” Roscoe explains. “Our mechanical systems are severely outdated, and a dampened heat signature prevents our detection, especially this far into the planet's heat wells.”

The meeting room is circular, its floor a collection of area rugs. At the center are comfortable-looking reposers. They're upholstered with fabrics I have never seen. I run my fingers along one covered with the softest deep blue material, and I feel a wave of exhaustion. I imagine, for just a moment, spreading out across the softness and closing my eyes and escaping everything—mutations and blasters and parazips and rebels. I have never felt exhaustion like this before.

Of course, this is not possible. I know they would still be there in my dreams, overtaking me. The faces of the fallen on both sides: Hep, Durley, Jefferson. The dead PCF, zinger cutting through his chest, sprawled beneath the holo-image of my father.

Samantha.

I'm reminded of their sacrifices.

I turn to Lex for comfort, and that's when I see what she sees: books.

Entire shelves of them, arranged so neatly, in every size and color imaginable. Some are dusty and ancient-looking, others as though they have never been opened. Books that have never even been touched! I have a feeling
The Book of Indra
is not among them.

“My study,” says Roscoe, smiling at me. “And please, my dears, make yourselves feel at home.”

“Roscoe,” I say. “Lex and Livia are more appropriate.”

“Of course.”

“Can we start already?” Lex says.

“By all means,” Roscoe replies.

“Since you took that thing out of my head, something's different.”

“As is normal. By placing a chip in that certain location of your cortex, the IHC believes they can control certain emotions, like joy, and can then release the amount they deem fitting.”

“They really control how much
joy
I feel?”

“Yes,” he says. “Too much, they believe, is dangerous. Though they feel the same about too little.”

I feel the horror rising up inside me.

“They control pain in the same manner. Now, Livia has already felt those emotions. And so have you, Lex. Just to a slightly lesser degree.”

“And now I'm normal? Is that what you're saying?” Lex asks.

“Those last few blocks have been removed, along with your chip. Now you will feel more depth of emotion. Your happiness more extreme,
your sadness more intense. Removing the chip has made you who you truly are. At the core. As for normal, here is my assessment: you will never be that. And neither will you, Livia. Normal is not in your genetic makeup. You were both unique from the moment you were conceived.”

“That's what I wish to know,” I say, my voice shaking. “About being born. About my mother and father. Our mother and father. How it came to pass—”

“That you were sentenced to an island prison?” he asks. “And Lex to the darkness below?”

“Exactly,” I say. Now my hands are shaking as well. Every part of me, especially my insides, jangling with energy.

“I have been waiting to answer those questions,” he says, reaching into his sleeve, “for longer than you could possibly know.”

He holds something in his open palm.

“Archive access chips,” Lex says softly.

“The only ones, I believe, in the entirety of Rock Bottom. They are my most valuable possessions. Ones for which I would give my life.”

“What are they?” asks Lex.

“Memories,” says Roscoe. “I have kept them all these years. Kept them for the two of you. To be presented upon your arrival.”

“You knew we would come?” I ask.

“It was in your natures to seek the truth. And I have been here to make sure you found it. Here,” he says, holding up chips, “let me just show you.”

◊  ◊  ◊

I'm spread out across the reposer. It's as comfortable as I imagined.

Sleeping, though, is the last thing on my mind.

Roscoe sits to my left, Lex in a chair across from me. Her body is rigid, her face tense with worry. We have each built up stories in
our heads on how this is supposed to go. Who we are supposed to be. Who our parents were. Answers we've searched for our entire lives—even if we didn't know it consciously—are here and it worries us both. The truth isn't always welcomed.

Each of us holds an access chip in our cupped hands. Roscoe has violated another of Indra's rules and duplicated a citizen's memories.

“Shall we?” he asks.

“Yes,” says Lex.

Perhaps I nod, but I cannot be sure, for the room is spinning with my excitement, my head and body throbbing with anticipation.

“Then let us enter,” he says, “into your father's memory. It is time you met him.”

Lean back. Two quick taps. Thumb to wrist.

The last thing I see is Lex. We are there for each other, at this moment when we need it most.

Ready?