The Rift Uprising (13 page)

Liseth walks into the van and tells her people to follow. They clamber up into the separate vehicles. Kendrick looks at me, holding his electronic pad close to his chest.

“That was nicely done, Ryn,” he says with approval. “Good job.”

Before he can turn to go, I ask, “When they get to base, will there be another Sissnovar there? Someone who can speak their language at least, to reassure them?”

Kendrick's neck jerks back slightly. He tilts his head. “I'm surprised to hear you ask. Usually you guys just sort of dump them with us and go back on duty.”

“Yeah . . .” I begin, aware that I don't want to come across as sarcastic or even overly curious. Who knows how anything
I do will be interpreted? But I also don't know what else to say. “Well, today I'm asking.” I realize that I am doing the very thing Ezra asked me to do and not just to myself, but to someone else at ARC. He got to me. I was the one who was supposed to be doing the getting to. I realize with a sinking heart that things have changed.

Shit.

That seems to satisfy him, though. “They will watch a recording of a very well-adjusted and confident Sissnovar, who will explain all about The Rift and what they can expect if they cooperate and what will happen if they don't. All their testing will be done in their own language. Sissnovars tend to adjust pretty quickly. It's usually only after they've just come through when there's any sort of problem.” The motors are running and I can tell that he is in a hurry to get out of there. Greta taps on the window and then her watch. I wonder how someone's face alone can be annoying, but hers is.

“Okay, thanks, I was just wondering. That's all.”

Kendrick is smiling, but his smile is signaling something else: caution. “That's good, yeah.”

I step back and he gets in one of the vehicles and they all slowly caravan out.

“Seriously, Ryn?” Boone asks. “Did you just watch that little arm move on an episode of
Star Trek
and hope for the best?” He isn't mad. None of my teammates are, but they are wondering. I kick the ground a little bit with my boot.

“Actually, it was
Doctor Who
,” I say innocently with a toothy grin. Before Boone can respond, a jeep comes barreling down the unpaved road.

“Applebaum,” Henry says with no emotion. I wish I had Henry's detachment. I feel like I'm about to need it.

“Ryn!” the colonel screams at me, and hops out of the car
before it comes to a complete stop. I watch as he comes toward us and I swallow hard when I see Christopher Seelye slowly climb out of the passenger seat. My team and I look at each other. It's one thing to piss off Applebaum, but the president of ARC? The most powerful entity in the world? It's not looking good for me.

Damned if I'm going to let that show, though.

“Yes,” I respond coolly, though my pulse begins to race as Seelye casually makes his way toward us.

“No weapons? No backup? And of all the days, Ryn! When Mr. Seelye is here.
Jesus
.” Applebaum starts to pace in front of me. He's holding his arms so rigidly behind him that they look shackled. “What were you thinking? It's not just that you put your entire team at risk, but those poor snake bastards, too. Had they attacked, well, I don't need to tell you what would have happened.” His hair, military short and streaked with silver, is unmoving in the light breeze and his steel-gray eyes are sharply condescending. Seelye is saying nothing. He's just watching and staring. It unnerves me more than I'd like to admit. “Well?” Applebaum demands.

“But they
didn't
attack, sir. I believe I handled things quite diplomatically, so what's the problem?” I say, crossing my arms. Regardless of who is in front of me, I refuse to be intimidated. Sometimes things aren't black and white. Sometimes there is no clear right or wrong, but in this case, I know I'm right.

“Let me ask you a question: Do you
think
you're diplomats? Is that what you think?” Applebaum barks.

“No!” I bark back, and he retreats just a fraction of an inch.
Oh, yeah. He
should
be afraid of his freaky Frankensteins
. “Let me ask
you
a question.” I hear Boone whistle. I look at the rest of
my team. They are shocked. I'm so far in it that it doesn't matter anymore, so I press on. “Because of the little black box you guys shoved in my head, I can speak fifteen languages, so why not Sissnovar? Or Damalla? Or Ter-Kush or even Karekin? Are we thugs? Assassins? Because it seems to me we might be able to get a whole lot more accomplished without violence if we spoke some more languages.”

Applebaum's body shifts in an instant as he lets out a menacing chuckle. Seelye's face, on the other hand, gives nothing away.

“You're soldiers. You follow orders.
My
orders. That is all you need to know. And if you don't like it, I can happily yank out that implant of yours and take all of your superpowers away.”

I stifle a laugh of my own. “Oh. No. Please. Don't,” I respond robotically.
Is he for real? Is that his threat? That I get my life back?
What a joke. He is bluffing, and we both know it. I am a soldier, and because of that, I understand strategy. I know you never start an intimidation tactic with your worst possible outcome because then there's nowhere to go. I don't actually know what their worst is, so I think it's best, for now, to keep my mouth shut.

“You're this close, Citadel,” he says as he shows me the fraction of a space between his thumb and pointer finger. “Maybe a week doing survival training at the Siberian Rift might help you remember how to do your job.”

My face does not change. His threat does not register. I have nothing against Siberia and seven days near the Arctic might not be the most fun, but it would get me away from all of them. When he sees that I am not going to give him anything, he tries a different tactic.

“This is a system that works, Ryn.” Applebaum's voice
becomes softer, though it scrapes in a tone of condescension. “It works because people a lot smarter than you have figured out the best way to deal with the Immigrants. Now, I know you believe, as a teenager
and
a Citadel, that there is no one smarter than you, but trust me, there is. I'm warning you officially to follow procedure. Are we clear?”

“Yes, sir,” I say with just the barest hint of a shit-eating grin on my face. He turns and immediately walks to his car. Seelye remains. He smiles and looks at me with those cold eyes of his.

“You really are a special girl, Ryn,” Seelye says, emphasizing the word
girl
. He has an edge to his voice that's peppered with affection.

The effect is nauseating.

“A Citadel like you, who's so smart and capable, needs special attention. I'm going to give that to you. I'm going to watch you more closely, help you navigate all that talent of yours.” He squeezes my bicep and I feel it tense. Coming from anyone else, his words would have been validating. Out of Seelye's mouth, I know it's a threat. He casually walks over to the vehicle and it speeds off. I let go of a breath I didn't know I was holding.

“Oh, that's just great, Ryn,” Boone says with an eye roll. “So it's not enough to piss off the people here, but you have to go straight up to the top of the food chain. Well, at least we'll know the reason if you go ‘missing' all of a sudden. Don't you get it?” Boone says, switching his tone to a more serious one. “They want you to be smart but not too smart. They don't like it. It makes them nervous.” I know exactly what he's saying because I said the same thing to Ezra.

“You're such a weasel, Boone,” Henry says with disdain. “Ryn is who she is, and it's what makes her such a good
leader. She'll put her neck and everything else on the line to make something right that isn't.” Henry puts a hand on my shoulder. “It's good that you spoke up. We
should
know the languages and some of the customs of the Immigrants. More peacekeeping, less blood.”

I'm a little surprised that it's Henry and not Vi who says this. Henry always seems down to fight, but then again, we're all liars. How well do any of us really know each other?

“Audrey,” I whisper as I come closer to the metal fence that she is guarding. Her back is to me. She's standing in a metal alcove at a computer hub, presumably double-checking that the electric fence is up and running again. With her help, I was able to break in much closer to the entrance. The pen I jumped into was filled with huge mounds of dirt. I thought at first it was a type of prairie dog hab until I saw one totally emerge from a hole in the ground. Up top, cutesy furriness; bottom half, earthworm. I had to check my gag reflex.

Getting to the gate was easy enough, but I wanted to give her fair warning it was me. It's never a good thing to sneak up on a Citadel. Audrey turns away from the computer and runs over to me, kissing me on both cheeks.

“Salut, chérie, Ça va? Aucune problème, non?”
she asks cheerily. I thought all French people were supposed to be
supercool and act bored all the time. Not Audrey, though. She's . . . chipper.

“No. No problems,” I assure her.

Audrey makes a little
tsk
sound with her mouth and arches an eyebrow. “You are sneaking in to see a boy?”

“Umm.” I don't know how much to tell her. I fear the more people I speak to, the more danger I put everyone involved in.

“
Ça ira,
it's okay,” she whispers conspiratorially. “I remember the first time I kissed a boy, he got ten stitches in his cheek and a broken ankle. But I'm sure he would agree that those few seconds we managed to . . . what do you say here?
Make out,
was well worth it.” Audrey is smiling broadly with a glint in her eye.

I am sort of shocked at her admission. Citadels in general do not offer personal information of any sort to others.

“And how bad were you hurt?”

“Pffft, not me.” She waves her hand away like she is shooing a fly. “He was a civilian. I wouldn't risk taking a Citadel away from his duties because I am tingling between my legs.”

I think for a moment I've misheard her, but no, she seems genuinely nostalgic about beating a boy senseless for a little kiss. Audrey's bizarro vibe is creeping me out.

I can feel my heart thump a little faster in my chest. She is off, this Citadel, and I need to get out of here without giving her any additional information or showing any wariness. I need for her to think we are both still totally on the same page. “No, that's not in the cards for me. I wouldn't . . . I'm not going to . . . uhhh . . .”

Suddenly, Audrey grabs my elbow, just a little harder than I would like her to. “No girl should go unkissed. It's not natural. You should at least try. Maybe you won't hurt him too bad. If you do, come tell me. I can dump his body in with
the dinosaurs. It wouldn't be the first time an Immigrant got curious, ha!”

I stare at her in silence. She's serious. I think? Shit, she is full-on crazy. Is that what happens to all Citadels once they reach their twenties?

“You know,” I say, walking toward the gate, deliberately keeping it cool, “if I ever need to move a body, I think you would be the first person I would call, Audrey. Thanks.”

Audrey pulls out her swipe card. “Of course, we're friends. We do each other favors. I'm helping you now, then one day, I will ask you for a favor. Maybe you move a body for me, or maybe I save that favor for something really hard. Ha!” She is well and truly cackling now. I seriously can't tell if she's messing with me or is totally out of her mind. She swipes the card and I hear the metal latch on the gate. As I run away I can still hear her laughing. Now I owe her. Great. I could kill Levi for involving this unstable person. What was he thinking?

Then again, what am I thinking coming back here?

I run swiftly past the habs. It's dark, so there isn't much in the way of sightseeing. I begin to push it. I am speeding down the pavement. I know I am running faster than the golf cart took Levi and me, but it feels like it's taking longer. Eventually, I end up in the Village proper and slow down. I expect it to be deserted, but it isn't.

The first thing I notice is that the entire town is decorated for Halloween. There are black and orange berry garlands running up every streetlamp. On each lamp is a basket of dark-petal dahlias and marigolds. The main street itself has staggered strings of plastic ghosts and witches hung between the buildings. There are pumpkins in front of every business and each window has a creative display of some spooky yet vintage-looking Halloween scene. The graphic
Humanity
posters
have taken on the orange-black of the season. One of them has a Sissnovar in a mask with the word
tradition
in the same bold lettering. I love Halloween, but why should the Sissnovars? It's not their tradition. It's one thing to ask a culture to tolerate another peaceably, but to ask them to feel the same way about the things we love? That we grew up with? How can they? It's not logical.

I take my time to slowly walk and look at the shops that Levi sped through before. There are cute clothing boutiques, a Mexican restaurant all decked out in fairy lights and sugar skulls. There's a hardware store, a furniture store, a garden center, a knitting store, another restaurant—a fancier-looking one. There's even a candle shop. On top of everything else, there's a Starbucks.

Mind.

Blown.

There are people and other species wandering the street. The weather is still mild, and I suppose when you can't leave your town, staying home on a Saturday night has a whole other meaning. There are more than a couple bars. One is open air, and I see folks seated at tables around a few outdoor fireplaces that I can smell burning from the street. There's another bar that looks to be more of the dive variety. The front is covered in hubcaps, bottle caps, and twinkling lights embedded in the exterior stucco walls. Music blares from the entrance. People party in the Village. Wasn't expecting that, either.

It all seems so perfect. Too perfect. I think it would piss me off after a while. Are people happy here? From this vantage, it seems like it. Maybe they are all just making the best of their situation. Maybe it's a hell of a lot better than wherever they came from—there's that idea, too. I notice two other Citadels on patrol. I duck into the dive bar entrance. I get a bizarre
look from the guy at the door, and by
guy,
I mean a Maribeh. I wait for the Citadels to pass, and try to look official while I'm inside listening to what I think is a Beyoncé impersonator. I look at the walls, covered in notices and flyers, and then nod gravely to the Maribeh and run out.

Once I get into the neighborhood district, I assume it will be quieter, which it is, but only marginally. Through open windows I hear laughing and music. I suppose because there are so few children here, the adults have the freedom to stay up late and entertain their friends.

What is it about the Village that seems so wrong? People and other people-like beings are interned. That's not ideal, certainly, but it's more than that. I place myself in their shoes for a minute. What if I was sucked into The Rift and ended up on an Earth totally unlike my own, like, for example, a Hobbit Earth? Sure, the meadows and glades would be lovely and those cute little Hobbit houses would be cozy and all, but it might as well be a different planet. Which, okay, technically it would be. I wouldn't be able to speak English or celebrate my own holidays or have my own traditions or eat my own food (what do Hobbits eat? Pizzas? Tacos? Dandelions?). Then I imagine a Village that is a great, big, loud town made up of all the different cultures and foods and languages of all the species that come through The Rift. What would that look like? Less boring, for sure, and also less fake. And I think that's what bothers me so much: So what if it hurts to keep your own identity knowing you can never go back to the place where you got it from?

Because wouldn't it be better to feel like you're home in your actual home? Or at the very least have a choice in the matter? What is it that scares ARC so badly about the Immigrants that makes them insist on humanizing? What's so great
about humanity? We caused The Rift in the first place, and history has proven time and time again that humans can be the most terrifying monsters of all.

I think about all this stuff as I walk into New York and all the way up to Ezra's apartment. It dawns on me that I've been justifying my coming here because he asked me to, because this is what he wanted. I lie and lie, to myself most of all. Standing here in front of this door, I cannot escape the truth of it. Ezra has only an idea of who I am and what I'm capable of doing, but
I know
. It costs me, spending time with him. I exert more energy keeping a safe enough distance and my mind in a platonic place than I do fighting a horde of Karekins. If all goes well tonight, and he doesn't take my hand or brush up against me too hard, triggering the Blood Lust, then I shouldn't come back. I don't want to hurt this beautiful boy. This will be the last time . . . but his beckoning door keeps getting in the way of my own delusions. I can tell myself that I won't see him again, but it would only be another lie. I'm awful. I should walk away right now, but I can't. My feet won't turn around. My hand knocks on the wood in front of me before I can stop it. My body wants what it wants, despite my best intentions. I hope he's awake. And wearing clothes. The door opens swiftly, and thankfully he's dressed.

“Ryn, hi!” Ezra is surprised, and extremely excited. “This is great. I didn't know when you would show and there's a ton I need to talk to you about.” He does a quick sweep of the hallway with his eyes and then pulls me inside. I have to spin around quickly so that he makes contact with only my uniform for a millisecond. I grit my teeth. I have to find a way to warn him without scaring him more and leaving him feeling even more betrayed. It's just . . . he
cannot
do that again.

“Yeah, sorry it's so late, it's just . . . I had to wait for this girl to come on duty. Audrey. By the way, she is French and probably a psychopath so, like, don't engage if she tries to talk to you. Especially if she's flirty. No
bueno
.”

Ezra looks sideways and tilts his head as if I'm the crazy one. He walks to his kitchen and lifts up a plate of chocolate chip cookies. “Got it. Want some coffee? Tea? Cookie?”

“Did you . . . make those?”

“I did, yeah. Baking calms me down and also helps me think better. Many great men have been bakers, so don't judge.” He grabs a couple cookies and puts them on a paper towel.

“I get it. I myself am a knitter. So. Yeah. It makes sense to me. I'll have some coffee, if you're making it.” I sit down on the couch and angle my body so I can watch him in the kitchen.

“You knit? Really? No offense, but it's hard to picture you knitting. Do you knit in your uniform? Or . . .” Ezra bangs around, opening cabinets. He runs the faucet and then after a couple minutes he joins me on the couch with the cookies. I choose to ignore his judge-y knitting comments.

“Okay, don't freak out, but—” he begins.

I shoot out my hand. “Please don't start a conversation that way. It never goes well when someone starts a conversation that way.”

Ezra bites his bottom lip and pauses. “All right, I'll just jump in. I'm going to escape and I need your help. Or rather, I would like your help . . . please.” Ezra grins.

I remain stone-faced. I don't say anything, but I do stare.

“What?” he asks finally. “I asked nicely.”

“Are . . . are you
insane
? Are you medicated on your Earth and need more here? You cannot leave. You will die. What part of this whole experience are you not getting yet?”

“Actually, I think it's you who's not getting what's going on . . .” He lets the last word trail off.

I am probably wearing my resting bitch face, which can and has shut down many a conversation. I open my mouth to say something, but he gets a new, fixedly determined look on his face as he holds up his hand. So I sit back, arms crossed in front of me.

“Listen,” he begins slowly, knowing that he is walking on a thin sheet of verbal ice, “I won't die. Or at least, I probably won't with your help. But even if you don't help, with enough time, I won't actually need it. I've been working in the admin building here. It's the main hub that runs the entire show. The whole place is filled with computers that
aren't
quantum ones, just normal binary.” He gives me a knowing look. “Binary ones that are totally easy for me to hack into.” Now he's smug. He even crosses his arms.

I just stare at him.

The smell of coffee begins to swirl around the room, and Ezra's satisfaction turns into incredulity, like one of us is a total idiot—and I don't think he means him.

Obviously he's wrong about that.

“You still don't seem to understand,” I say. “You cannot get out of here without a retinal scan. So unless you're planning on gouging out someone's eyeball, you can't leave.”

“That's not the only way out or in. That's not how you got here.” Again with the smug look. I almost want to punch him, he's being so dense.

“I jumped down, over a massively tall electrified fence. I'm the one with all the crazy superpowers, remember? You're . . . well, normal,” I insist.

By way of an answer, Ezra scrunches up his shirt and shows
me a bandage on his arm. “Please,” he says dismissively. “I may not be able to catch an ax being flung into my face, but I am far from normal. I've already started. See?” Again he lifts up his arm.

“Are you going to dress up like a mummy and scare open the doors? What is it with the bandage?”

“No, but that would be amusing. Look: I took out my tracking device.”

They tag them? Just one more thing I didn't know about Immigrants
.

As if reading my thoughts, he confirms them and says, “I've been in the room where they track all the thousands of Immigrants. It's got this massive flat screen with red dots superimposed all over a map of the Village. Including one that used to be mine.” He walks over to the kitchen and leans back against the counter, waiting for the coffee to finish.