The Interrogation of Ashala Wolf (The Tribe) (6 page)

I woke in an unfamiliar room. Blinking groggily, I tried to work out where I was. White ceiling above me. Uncomfortable mattress beneath me. Small barred window in the wall in front of me.
Some kind of cell?

I sat up and instantly regretted it when my head seemed to explode into a million pieces.
Guess it’s no surprise that I have a headache.
Groaning, I collapsed back onto the bed and closed my eyes against the bright glow of the morning sunlight. I could feel the smooth coldness of rhondarite against my neck, so at some point Connor must have put the collar back on me. He’d probably replaced it pretty quickly when I’d passed out — either Grey’s stay-awake drug had worn off or my desire for unconsciousness had been stronger than whatever was in the vial. I tried to remember how I’d gotten here and realized that Connor must have carried me.
Wonderful
. As if I hadn’t been humiliated enough.

I reviewed the rest of yesterday’s events, trying to work out exactly what information I’d revealed.
Jaz.
They knew he’d been one of us. Since he was gone, though, that didn’t really matter. No one could hurt him anymore. And I’d told them about the pact. But Ember had thought that it was possible that the rabbit killing had been an attempt to mess with the pact, which meant news of our agreement with the lizards had already leaked. It wasn’t the kind of thing anyone would have made a special effort to keep secret, because we hadn’t believed it could be used to hurt us, and it
shouldn’t
have. Contrary to what the government had assumed, the presence of a few dead animals wouldn’t have been enough to make the lizards think we’d betrayed them. If only Jaz hadn’t eaten the rabbit!

I tried sitting up again, more slowly this time. I still didn’t want to move, but my bladder was insisting I did, so I staggered across the room to use the toilet on the far wall. I was washing my hands in the basin beside it when there was a high-pitched wailing from outside. My pulse quickened in excitement.
An alarm?

I pushed down the toilet lid and climbed on top so I could reach the window. I couldn’t see much — a patch of ground, the smooth composite walls of surrounding buildings, and some administrators strolling calmly along. Disappointingly, they didn’t seem concerned about the wailing noise. Whatever was happening, it wasn’t any kind of emergency.

I examined the window more closely, testing the strength of the bars and wishing I could access my ability. I’d have no trouble escaping if I could manage to Sleepwalk. When I Walked, I moved through the world in an unconscious state, seeing everything as part of a super-intense dream. The cell might appear to me as some kind of wily monster, holding me in jaws filled with long teeth like the bars on the window. All I’d have to do was smash those teeth in my dream and my fist would shatter the bars, setting me free. But I had no chance of Sleepwalking with rhondarite around my neck.

I made my way back to the narrow bed, where I rested my pounding head in my hands and tried to regain some strength. I’d been sitting there for what seemed like ages — and not feeling any better, either — when the cell door swung open and a familiar voice said, “You’re awake.”

Connor stood in front of me, carrying a flask in one hand and a small rectangular package in the other. He scanned my face, and something jagged and wild flashed across his eyes, like lightning in a clear sky.
Anger?
But I could see no reason for him to be mad.

He held out the silver flask. “Drink this.”

“What is it?”

“Medicine from Dr. Wentworth.”

To keep me strong enough to continue the interrogation.
I took the flask wearily and edged back on the bed so I could lean against the wall. A spark of rage flared up inside me, as if I’d been infected by Connor’s bad mood. I didn’t have the energy to be truly angry, but it was enough to inspire me with a certain obstinate defiance. Moving with deliberate slowness, I drank some of the medicine, then counted to thirty before I took another swallow. Then sixty before drinking again. Then ninety. I’d gotten all the way up to one hundred and fifty seconds between sips when Connor finally spoke. “You have to drink all of it, Ashala.”

“Make me.”

He looked exasperated. “You don’t want me to do that.”

That was true enough. The petty satisfaction I was getting out of annoying him wasn’t worth having the medicine forced down my throat. Besides, even the small amount I’d had was doing wonders for the ache in my head. I took a few decent swigs. “So what’s bothering you this morning?” I asked. “Don’t tell me you didn’t get that big promotion after all!”

“There is nothing bothering me.”

Is, too
. I studied him intently as I continued to drink, noticing he seemed tired. “Having trouble sleeping? You should see Wentworth about that. Although I doubt she’s got anything for a guilty conscience.”

A muscle jumped in his cheek. “My conscience is clear.”

“Oh, yeah? I guess you must be proud of everything you’ve done, then. I mean, being the one to capture me would have been enough for most enforcers. But,” I added with savage sarcasm, “it takes a
special
guy to tie me up and watch my mind get pulled to pieces.”

Something fierce leaped to life in his face, and was gone again just as fast. When he spoke, he sounded coldly resolute. “I told you before. I will do whatever I must.”

“I know.” I held his gaze. “Only that doesn’t mean you like all the things you’ve had to do.”

His expression was unreadable. The fact that he didn’t reply, though, was enough to tell me that I was right.
I think I won that round
. Not that I expected him to have a sudden change of heart — he was too deeply committed to his beliefs for that — but the knowledge that he was suffering even a tiny bit over this was enough to cheer me up.

Basking in my victory, I took another swig of Wentworth’s syrupy concoction. The soothing sensation of the medicine was spreading throughout my system, and I felt light, almost giddy. I guzzled the rest of it, making sure to get every last drop. Connor waited until I’d let the empty flask fall to the bed, then handed me the rectangular package. “Eat. This is breakfast.”

His voice had returned to something approaching his usual smooth tone, except it was a bit ragged around the edges, instilling me with a desire to provoke him further. I ripped off the wrapping, found a cream-colored block inside, and made a show of examining it from every angle before shaking my head. “Oh, dear. I’m afraid you’ve gone and mixed up the food supplies with the building supplies.”

“It’s a protein bar, and it’s perfectly edible.”

“How do you know? Bet this wasn’t what you had for breakfast.”

“It was, actually.”

“Really? Were you being punished for something?”

“I realize it might not seem very appetizing, but it contains all the nutrients you require.”

I started to toss the bar from hand to hand. “What if I don’t want it? It’s going to be much harder to get me to eat this than it was to make me take the medicine.” I threw it back and forth one last time, then waved it at him threateningly. “Plus I’m armed now. This thing’s so hard that if I hit you with it, I could probably kill you.”

Connor didn’t respond.

“What, no smile?” I asked flippantly. “Not even to acknowledge my plucky resilience, my gutsy defiance in the face of overwhelming odds?”

He retained his statue-like composure for a second longer. Then his lips twitched, and he
did
smile, a sudden flash of brilliance that sparkled across his eyes like light over water. “Ashala, please eat the protein bar.”

With effort, I tore my gaze away from his face.
Breathe, Ash. Just breathe
. It wasn’t fair that a being of such imperfection could look so perfect. Why couldn’t I see the flaws in his character running through his features, like hairline cracks through marble? Feeling awkward in a space that seemed too small for the both of us, I searched around for something to say. “Um . . . what’s that noise outside?” Even as I spoke, I realized that the wailing had stopped some time ago. But Connor understood what I meant.

“It was a test.”

“A test of what?”

He glanced at the bar. I sighed and took a bite. It was completely tasteless, but food was energy, even when it came in unappealing block form.

“Wait, let me guess. It was the oh-no-the-detainees-are-escaping alarm? Or the better-run-because-Miriam-Grey-needs-a-new-test-subject alarm? Or,” I added witheringly, “is it the alarm that goes off if a government employee ever has an independent thought?”

“It’s the fire alarm.”

There was a disarming hint of laughter in his voice, and it was making me uncomfortable. I wanted him to be angry or annoyed, to create some kind of distance between us. “What, doesn’t it work properly? I bet the Inspectorate will have something to say about that on their big visit on Friday!”

“The alarm works fine. We’re simply running a systems check to ensure that everything is functioning as it should.”

“Sounds like Neville’s worried they’re going to find something wrong. Like a memory-reading machine, for example.”

As I’d expected, he had nothing to say to that. I knew he’d never admit out loud that Neville had been keeping secrets. I took another mouthful of the bland bar and retreated into silence, thinking about the Inspectorate and wondering if I could find a way to tell them about the machine.

The creation of the Inspectorate had been the first major victory the reform movement had achieved. Pro-Illegal groups like Friends of Detainees, together with concerned Citizens throughout Gull City and its associated towns, had put so much pressure on the government over detainee treatment that they’d appointed an independent Citizens’ committee to inspect detention centers. Problem was, although both the current Inspectorate members were known to be sympathetic to Illegals, they were required to announce their visits well in advance. This particular inspection had been scheduled for weeks, which meant Neville would have already worked out how to hide what he didn’t want seen.

Only I know something he doesn’t.
I knew that two days from now, on the same day the Inspectorate would be here, an Illegal with a ridiculous alias would launch an attack. Unfortunately, the Serpent wasn’t attacking the center itself. He was aiming for something in the mountainous terrain that bordered it on two sides. The Tribe had known for a while that something was happening in the Steeps, because enforcers kept going out there, even though there was nothing for them to patrol except rocks. The Serpent had refused to share information with us, though, so I had no idea what he was attacking. But if the Serpent was going to use his reality-bending ability — however that worked — or if there was any kind of explosion, people might be able to see the attack from the center. It would be a good distraction, if I could find a way to take advantage of it.

Connor’s voice broke into my busy thoughts. “Ashala? You need to finish the bar.”

My lack of enthusiasm must have shown on my face, because he added, “Once you’ve eaten it, we can go outside for exercise.”

“Exercise?”

“You are to receive half an hour of exercise every day.”

“I didn’t get half an hour yesterday.”

“Yesterday you were a patient in the hospital. Today you are a prisoner in the cells.”

Rules
. The government loved its rules. Although I couldn’t complain this time since they were working in my favor. I’d barely been outside since I’d come here, and it would be useful to get an idea of the center’s layout. I polished off the bar and rose, only to find myself standing not more than two paces away from Connor. I almost sat down again, wanting to escape the unwelcome proximity — or, rather, wanting to escape the fact that it
wasn’t
as unwelcome as it should be. But before I could do anything, he turned and strode out the door.

I followed, making sure to keep some distance between us as we began to walk down yet another white corridor. My thoughts drifted back to Friday. I seemed to have a lot of small pieces of information, which altogether might add up to a big opportunity.
The Inspectorate, the Serpent, the fire alarm.
Something was stirring in my mind. Something that was almost a plan.

And I didn’t know why, but I had a weird feeling that I’d thought of all this before.

This is very odd.

I was sitting on a bench, looking out over, of all things, a
park.
Stretching out in front of me was a grassy oval with spindly young trees, gleaming composite benches, and a whole lot of shiny play equipment at the far end. If it wasn’t for the high wire fence around it, and the rest of the center beyond that, I could have been in any park, anywhere. It was all so strange that I felt slightly dizzy.

There were saurs screeching in the distance, loud enough that some of them must still be in the part of the grasslands that was nearest to the front of the center. The lizards had apparently decided the large number of staff moving into this place constituted a potential threat to their territory, and they’d been stalking about for weeks now. The direction of their screeches let me know roughly which way the main gates were, but other than that, I had no better idea of the center’s layout than before. My sense of direction was usually pretty good, except every time I’d thought I glimpsed a pattern to how the structures were set out, it slipped away, as if the knowledge wouldn’t stick in my head. All I could say for certain was that there were lots of buildings, far more than seemed necessary for a detention center. It was making me suspicious that Neville had plans for this place I hadn’t begun to fathom.