The Rift Uprising (17 page)

“Jesus, Ryn, what the hell?” someone says—Boone, I think—from somewhere behind me. I hear a thump, and the weight of the man who was between my legs is gone in an instant. I struggle to look around, but it's impossible with my eyes closed. I want to open them, but I don't have the strength. I feel pressure on the wound on my neck and some other loud voices. I want to tell them all to shut up so I can sleep, but my mouth isn't working, either.

I drift in and out of consciousness. I feel myself being lifted off the battlefield and onto a stretcher. The medic shoves a needle into my arm, I assume to replenish the blood that has been taken. I feel the movement of the van. We are speeding back to base. The momentum of the car makes my body sway. It's almost like being rocked. I manage to open my eyes once I am in the infirmary. I catch a glimpse of Edo. When I hear the click of the disk over my implant, I smile weakly.

“Do not try to be brave, Citadel Ryn. You have lost much blood.”

I see the concern on her face. I don't care about the blood. I don't care about whatever pervy thing just happened out there by The Rift. The first part of my plan has worked—not, I'll admit, that it was much of a plan. Edo and a doctor begin repairing the vein in my neck. I don't even feel the sutures they are sewing. There's nothing more that I can do at this point. I know they have drugged me to keep me from moving. This is part of my plan, too. I give in to the blackness that has wanted to take me ever since the vampire first put his mouth on my neck. I sleep.

For hours.

It takes only a few seconds for me to get my bearings once I wake up. Loss of blood is not the same as a bump on the head, which is good—I need to be on my game. Edo. She looms over me; her eyes are so blue they look neon. It is hard to read the face of someone who has so little expression. Edo's features are set somewhere between exasperation and worry. I think.

“Citadel Ryn, you were injured most grievously,” Edo rasps. The gorgeous face of the vampire flashes through my mind. I shift my body uncomfortably. He's probably dead now. “Why did you not use a weapon? Why did you try to fight him with nothing?” Edo's small, childlike hands flutter around her.

“Let me
ask you
a question,” I say, staring directly at her, “where do you live?”

She pauses for a moment and then cocks her head to one side. “I live here, at Camp Bonneville. Seventy-three Roones came through all those years ago, and we are scattered equally among the fourteen Rift sites. Why?” She has taken a step back. The concern, or what I may have taken for concern, has left her face.

“Why don't you live in the Village?” I ask her directly.

Edo sighs impatiently. “Because our talents are needed here. Why are you asking these questions when you should be resting? Why does it matter where I live?”

“Because you're a person. Because we did something—us,
perfect
humans that ARC is trying to turn every sentient Immigrant into. We sucked you out of your world and put you in this place, this prison, where you aren't even allowed to speak your own language. Doesn't that piss you off? Why do you even help us?” I hadn't meant to say that. I basically just admitted that I'd been to the Village. It must be the drugs. My words are embers, like shooting sparks. I shake my head. I need to shut up, but when I look at Edo, I feel unsure about everything.

“I am surprised, Citadel Ryn, to hear you speak this way. It was the Roones, after all, who placed the device in your body that made you what you are. Made you into the kind of girl who, for a few short seconds of intimacy, would wrap her legs around a blood-sucking creature who might well have killed her. In the face of that, what difference does it make where I lay my head at night? I rarely sleep.”

I turn my head away, wincing slightly at the pain in my neck. I feel the tears well up, but I keep them pooled beneath my lids. Clearly I am sensitive right now—I guess the pain,
blood loss, and drugs will do that. I have to keep it together. I have to get home today.

“Ryn,” Edo says, and I feel a slight weight on the edge of the bed. “We all have our parts to play in this. The Immigrants in the Village give up their customs and beliefs. Citadels give up their adolescence; sometimes they even give up their lives. We Roones give up every spare moment we have to find the best solution to each new problem The Rift presents us with.”

I clench my eyes shut and then rub them with my thumb and index finger. Does Edo really care about me? I want to believe it so bad. I want to believe that all of this is for the greater good. And since she's not lecturing me about the Village, it must mean she doesn't care that I broke in there. But if Ezra is right, then the Roones must be helping ARC with whatever it is that they are hiding. Because clearly the biggest problem with the Rifts—the fact that they exist at all—isn't being worked on by anyone, let alone the Roones.

“Well,” I concede quietly, “I guess the Citadels are a necessary evil. Emphasis on
evil
. It's torture. But I am not convinced that every other species that comes through The Rift should have to give up who they are to feed into some grand delusion ARC has, or that by doing so they'll become less threatening. Why are they so afraid of everyone who's different? It doesn't seem smart, not if you're playing the long game.”

Edo stares off and looks past me, as if she can see through the wall behind my head. “Fear can be good, Citadel. Fear drives the instinct to run from a fight you cannot win.”

“Agreed,” I say as I sit up. “But fear creates monsters. Fear created me. Fear fuels angry mobs, starts wars, and lets the powerful keep the powerless down. Ethically . . . wait, do ethics even apply anymore?” I huff out my breath in a single
laugh. “I'm not sure we're the good guys. I don't think what we are doing with the Immigrants is right.”

“The Village is not a bad place. Humanity has its flaws, but for the most part, you are a good and honorable people. I have seen far more of the other species, in much more detail, than you have. I have studied them at length, and so my opinion on this matter is based on both observation and research. The concept of humanization creates community and cohesion. It allows an Immigrant to focus on our shared similarities instead of highlighting our vast differences. Humanization is the best solution.” Edo is smiling without showing me her teeth.

“You're lying,” I tell her abruptly, because suddenly I don't feel like dancing around some version of the truth. For some reason, I want her to know that I see what others can't or won't. I don't know why. Maybe I'm testing her. Maybe I'm just tired of hiding so much of myself away. When I think about it, it's probably a version of both.

Edo stands up and backs away from the bed. “What?”

“You. Are. Lying. Your super-ninja box-chip thingy has given me many gifts, but the ability to lie and to catch the lies of others—that's my own special talent based on both
observation and research
, not to mention years of fieldwork. You aren't being honest with me, and that's okay because it doesn't really matter what either of us thinks. We can't change anything. We can only do our jobs.”

Edo looks away and with a single finger taps the electronic pad she is holding. She is making it clear she no longer wants to have this conversation, which works for me. “I need to go to the bathroom.” I sit up fully and swing my legs over the side of the bed.

“I can help you, or I can get a nurse.”

“No.” I cut her off harshly. “I can manage on my own. Take the IV out. I don't need it.”

Edo looks me up and down, studying me as I stand here. She walks over and removes the tape from the skin on my arm and then slowly slides out the needle.

“Thank you,” I say, and I mean it. It really doesn't matter if she is being honest with me. Edo has always been good to me. She has always been kind when the other Roones have only been cold and condescending.

I walk to the bathroom and close the door. I sit on the toilet and start to pee. I reach back and grab the disk from my neck. I was hoping that maybe I would have been injured just enough to keep my uniform on. No such luck; they must have removed it in my sleep. I am in a hospital gown. There is nowhere for me to hide the disk. Thankfully, I had a contingency for this, too. I take some toilet paper and wrap it around the small silver piece of metal. I relax and shove the wad of toilet paper up inside of me. It feels like a tampon, sort of. I am annoyed that I have to resort to this. I wait a few seconds, flush the toilet, and open the door with a contrite look on my face.

“I'm so sorry, Edo,” I say genuinely.

Immediately she is suspicious. “Why?”

“I forgot I had the disk on my neck and I went to feel my wound and it went flying. I looked all around for it. I heard it drop. I thought it dropped on the floor but I think it flew into the toilet. I flushed it while I was looking around the bathroom. I could be wrong, but I don't see it anywhere.” This is a good lie. I am calm. I am genuinely sorry because I don't like lying to Edo. But I'm good at it regardless. I maintain eye contact. I make sure my facial expression matches my words. I do not blink rapidly or look away or fidget.

“That's all right, Citadel. We have many. Do not worry yourself about it.” Edo really doesn't seem to mind at all. There is something, though, a look in her great big luminous eyes, that doesn't sit well with me. Maybe she knows I'm lying and is happy to cover for me. Maybe it is something else entirely.

“I'd like to go home,” I tell her.

“That's fine. I have recommended to Colonel Applebaum that he should give you and your team the day off tomorrow. It was a particularly difficult fight this morning.” Edo is checking her pad; she has a small frown on her brow.

“Is everyone else on the team okay?” I ask, mentally chiding myself for not asking sooner.

“Bumps and bruises. Citadel Boone was distraught when he saw the parasite sucking on your neck. He was quite afraid you would become ‘a creature of the night,' whatever that is. I requested the time off for psychological reasons, not physical ones.”

I walk toward the small wardrobe to the left of the bed. When I open it I see that my street clothes have been put inside.

I grab the pants off the shelf and quickly pull them up, under the hospital gown. “Oh, yeah. I guess I
could
turn into a vampire. But wouldn't I need to have had some of his blood? I mean, I don't feel any different, but given what I'm already capable of, maybe I wouldn't even notice.”

“The species you encountered today was born with a chromosomal deficiency that requires them to ingest the additional white blood cells found in blood to boost their immune system. There is nothing supernatural about them. We tested your combatant's body for several diseases that could be transmitted via saliva and found none. I do not understand the mythology around this species. I apologize.”

I quickly throw on my sports bra and T-shirt. The first guy I ever kissed and now he's dead. I hope it's not some kind of an omen.

“Great. Thanks for checking and sewing me up and everything.” I walk toward the door.

“Ryn,” Edo rasps softly, and I turn. “Be careful.”

“Be careful with what?” What
exactly
is she talking about?

“You aren't completely healed. That's all. Try to rest.”

She smiles at me. I walk out of the room. Edo has just lied. Again. I can't say how or why I know, but she wasn't talking about my injuries.

I walk through my front door in the late afternoon, and even though I am not remotely hungry, I remember that I am sharing my house with someone. I will just order a pizza. I don't have the energy to reheat something, let alone cook. My phone has been going off since I retrieved it from my locker. The team wants to know how I am, wants to know if they can come over. They also want to know if I have a sudden aversion to crosses and garlic. That's mostly Boone. I have put them all off, as nicely as possible. They cannot come here. They also cannot know why.

I lock the door behind me and climb up the stairs. I go to the bathroom, remove the disk, and then go to my bedroom to change into sweats. I pull down the ladder to the attic and make my way up loudly enough to let Ezra know I'm coming. When I get to Ezra's room he looks up at me and smiles with
obvious relief. There are papers everywhere. The whiteboard he asked me to get him is already covered with formulas. He is so beautifully disheveled that I have to clench my fists just to fight the urge to touch him somewhere, anywhere—I've lost too much blood already today. I manage to keep a safe distance.

“What happened? Are you okay?”

I can see that he, too, is having a hard time staying in his seat, not getting up to check me, hug me. I flush when I see his concern, but of course, I have to ignore it.

“I'm fine.” I show him the bandage on my neck. “So . . . it was vampires. Today. I mean, I'm pretty sure they don't call themselves ‘vampires.' But that's what they looked like. One of them bit me.”

He immediately gets up off his seat and folds his arms. Then he cranes his own neck to look at mine. “Seriously?” He doesn't even try to hide his amusement. I can tell that he is struggling not to laugh.

“Yes, and if you call me Sookie I will hit you in the face.”

Ezra does nothing but raise his eyebrows. “Were they like Nosferatu vampires, or Count Dracula types, or eeesh . . . Were they sparkly?”

“They were extremely good-looking, pale-skinned people with fangs. And I don't want to talk about it.
Ever.
I got the disk.” I open my palm and he walks over to me and grabs the quarter-sized object. He holds it up and squints at it.

“Huh,” he manages to say.

“Well . . .
That's
a super-encouraging observation. Please tell me that I didn't let some guy suck me off for nothing.” I wince as soon as the words leave my mouth. “That came out wrong. You know what I mean.”

Ezra grimaced. “Unfortunately, yes. I know exactly what
you mean and, also unfortunately, there is no way that I can unhear that sentence or unsee the lovely visual that accompanied it.” Ezra circles the silver disk with his thumb. “I'm going to need some time with this. I have to find a way to take it apart and run some diagnostics. It's a good thing I asked you to get all those ‘nerd tools,' as you called them.” Ezra takes the disk back to his desk and begins examining it under a large magnifying glass, the round kind, with attached lights.

“No, I think it was actually
you
I was calling a nerd and a tool.”

“Ha, funny. I want to get started on this right away. Why don't you take this flash drive with all the Immigrant languages files you asked me to hack? I know you'd probably prefer me to just download them into your brain
Matrix
-style, but since you have a photographic memory, it might actually be quicker for you to go the old-school route. I also printed out that list that you wanted, which I kind of wanted to ask you about. But first, should I sharpen this pencil into a stake?” he says, holding up a no. 2. “Just in case you don't like my line of questioning?”

“Aww, honey, if you want me to break your fingers, all you need to do is run them through my hair,” I say with a sadistic grin on my face.

Ezra pales.

“Too much?” I ask, only half joking.

“Yeah, a little.”

“Sorry. It was a weird day. Ask me whatever you want.” Ezra gets up once again and walks toward me with some papers and the flash drive.

“You wanted all the names of the Immigrants in the Village who have been charged with at least one violation of non-cooperation
of the humanization agenda. I just want to know why. I mean, I think I know, but I also think it's important for us to be absolutely clear and up front about everything.”

I take the papers from his hands, as well as the flash drive. “I'm not going to free them, if that's what you're wondering. At least not yet.” There are a few seconds of silence as Ezra eyes me warily.

“Come on, Ryn,” he sighs. “People like me—actual people—okay. But snake people? Praying mantis guy? Out in the world they would create absolute chaos. I'm not saying I agree with how the ARC is handling this, but I don't think the species in the Village should just be let out to fend for themselves. They wouldn't last five minutes out in the real world.”

I stare at him in disbelief. “Wow. Stockholm syndrome much?” I shake my head and put out my one empty hand as if to stop him from speaking further. “So only ‘actual people' deserve freedom? On one hand humans are supposed to be the pinnacle of evolution, but on the other we can't trust them with the idea that there are other species on this planet without them all turning into KKK members? Which is it? You've spent time with other Immigrants: Do you think you're better than they are?”

Ezra's lips disappear into a thin, firm line. “I never said that. Don't put words into my mouth.”

I'm frustrated and tired. It occurs to me that I am taking this out on Ezra. I have to stop making assumptions. I have to start being more empathetic but somehow stay unemotional. How am I supposed to do that? At the moment, everything feels impossible. “Look, I'm sorry . . . I don't know what you think. I don't even know what
I
think for sure. Relax—I'm not going to go all freedom fighter tomorrow and throw open the gates of the Village. But I don't like it there. The whole thing
feels wrong,
instinctually.
And seeing as their best hope is a map to the Multiverse—which, let's be honest, could be years away, if ever—all I'm looking for is intel. If you get caught, if you have to go back, it might be nice to know that there are people there who we can trust.”

Ezra nods his head slowly and then goes to sit back down. It's not good for us to be so close when the discussion is this heated. “Good call,” he concedes. “Strategy. You're a soldier and I get that's what you do. I also know that you aren't used to people questioning you, but I'm always going to speak up if I feel like you're making a mistake. I don't follow orders. I take polite suggestions.” Ezra grins charmingly, immediately lightening the mood.

“Great. I'm going down to my room. I'll bring up some dinner in a couple hours, so get cracking.
Please
.” I start to move the bookshelf and then I turn away again to face him. “We've only got about fifteen or sixteen hours left before they realize you've gone. Ticktock, Ezra.” I know I am being brusque, mostly because he's right. I'm not used to being questioned. I'm not used to feeling like I don't know what's going on. And I'm especially not used to feeling powerless.

I retreat into my room, put some music on, and look at the list. I don't recognize any of the names, except one: Zaka. This makes me smile. I knew there was something about him I liked. In honor of him, I start with the Sissnovar language. Ezra had been right. Although I would have preferred a direct download into my chip, I do have a photographic memory and an excellent ear. This will take time, but all things considered, maybe it should. Lately I've been thinking that I take entirely too much for granted. It's immature.

I start with the simple translations of nouns. I work up to verbs. I order the pizza and deliver it to Ezra, who has opened
the disk but is so absorbed in it that he barely looks at me when I drop off his food. I work on the reptilian language through the night. I listen to the pronunciations included in the lexicon, saved as an endless stream of MP3s. I wonder about how this information is coded onto our chips and then routed through our brains. How does it work? It's so complex. How in the hell is Ezra going to figure it out in just a few days?

After about six hours, I have a solid grasp on the language. I could start another, but I decide to close my eyes for a bit. I think about what a crazy day it's been and mentally run through it. I stowed a hot guy fugitive in my attic, had my first kiss, was bitten by a vampire, got stitches in my jugular, and learned a new language. Impressive. I spend so much time being annoyed at having to lead a double life that it is only just recently occurring to me that it is actually twice as full as a regular person's life. I didn't choose it, but maybe it's time to start enjoying the things I can choose. I fall back on my bed and close my eyes. I am asleep in seconds.

I GUESS I MUST HAVE
gotten a couple hours of sleep in when I hear Ezra's voice at my door. Wisely, he has chosen not to enter my room. He has not shaken me awake. I guess he's seen those movies, too, the ones where the war veterans always almost kill someone whenever they are awakened abruptly. I wouldn't have done anything—unless I was having a really saucy dream, which I'm pretty disciplined about not having. It's good that Ezra is following protocol with the not touching, although it might just be a few short hours until that's a thing of the past.

I know—I shouldn't let myself hope. But I do just the same.

“Ryn, wake up and come upstairs. I'm ready to run a diagnostic with the disk.” I hear the exhaustion in his voice. I can
only imagine how sleep deprived he must be. Once we're done, he has got to get some rest. I'm going to insist he gets at least ten hours. He probably won't listen to me, though. I'll have to ask nicely. Hey, if this works maybe we can get in bed together. Not for sex or anything, just holding and cuddling . . .

I roll my eyes. Not even I believe that one.

“Okay, I'm coming.” I go to the bathroom and brush my teeth. I quickly examine the bandage on my neck. My super-stellar healing powers have kicked in. There is more suture than wound. Good. I know Ezra wants to get started, but we both need some coffee and food. I yell up into the attic that I'm going to get some and then I go down to the kitchen. I quickly assemble some toast and cereal. I put it all on a tray with the coffees I've made. I notice that Ezra has been down here at some point because little things are out of place. I check the dishwasher, where he has dutifully put his plates and cups. I'm so relieved he's not a slob. I had never really imagined what it would be like to share my life with a guy. Now that these odd circumstances have made that happen, it's hard for me to believe that I would even notice something as mundane as dirty dishes, but I'm a neat freak. I suppose your basic personality doesn't change even when you're thrown in the deep end of life-altering change.

It's not easy to manage the tray on the tiny ladder. I get near the top, then put the tray on the floor and shove it forward with my hands. I get the rest of the way up and retrieve the tray, backing into the bookshelf so that it swings open. I place the breakfast on the bed and notice that Ezra has set up the desk chair away from the monitors. Immediately, I wonder what it is that he doesn't want me to see. I have been happy this morning, hopeful. Now, looking at that chair, scuffed and wood worn, I realize that I might not like the answers
Ezra finds. There is a secret in my brain and it could reveal itself to be much darker than I ever imagined. I shouldn't be happy. I should be nervous as hell, and suddenly I am.

I say nothing as I sit down. I take my hair and scoop it up in my fingers, twisting it into a bun so that it's perched on the top of my head. Ezra stands in front of me. He's grabbed the coffee and is holding the mug in his hands. He looks worn. The purple smudge of bags beneath his eyes makes them look even bluer.

How is that even possible? How can exhaustion make this guy look even better?
I'm
supposed to be the superhuman here.

“First of all, I want to manage your expectations,” he begins grimly. “I don't have an MRI machine or medical equipment. I won't be able to see the actual synapses firing in the exact locations inside your brain. What I have been able to do, though, is write a very basic program that will allow me to see—in binary only—the information that is being transferred from the disk. It will take me a while with that data to understand it enough to write more code. Nothing is going to change today. Baby steps.”

I sigh. Of course. I don't know why I let myself get so excited. I look at Ezra, and the way he's looking back at me, and then I remember why I let myself get so excited. I sigh again. Ezra's going to need to hook me up several times to understand the complicated software in the chip.

“But you did manage to figure out how to use the disk to get my chip to talk to your computer. That's impressive, Ezra. It must have been difficult. Thank you.” I hope he can't tell exactly how disappointed I am.

“It's a pretty complex little system, but what I'm going to do now, in layman's terms, is kind of like a jacked-up Bluetooth. Okay?” I nod. “Good—here we go.” Ezra puts down his
coffee and then picks up the disk off the desk. I know his first instinct is to attach it to me, but that would be a very bad idea. I don't want Ezra anywhere near the back of my neck. I hold out my hand and raise my eyebrows. He nods silently and I attach the disk. I hear the magnetic part of it make a little click. I sit very still.

Ezra moves behind me. I hear him typing. Over and over again his fingers tap on the keyboard. I wait five minutes and then ten. Ezra mutters to himself. His finger strokes seem to be more aggravated.

“Well,” he says finally. “Shit.”