Liberty (21 page)

Berrett had dragged the sailboards into the open air lock by the time I had finished landing the shuttle. He handed me one and opened the external door. I threw down the sailboard, propped up the handle bar, snapped in my boots, and kicked the engine into gear with my left heel. I kicked a secondary switch with my right heel and began hovering above the ground. I nodded to Berrett, who was levitating beside me, and grabbed the accelerator with my right hand. The two of us flew out into the bright Parisian morning. Berrett used his Cuff to close and lock down the shuttle from his sailboard. I nodded my approval. “You are pretty handy.”

He smiled at me. “I do what I can.”

I hung on to the handlebar that spanned across the sail and rode the air currents, adjusting my weight to change directions. My dad had told me once about skateboards, something kids used to ride over a hundred years ago. It seemed like such a quaint way to move around, not to mention slow, but I imagined the guiding principles were similar. I leaned backward until I was dangling upside down over the Seine. I reached my hand out and let the water lick my fingertips for a moment before spinning back up again. Fears of what I would find when we got to Bell’s
chateau
rolled through me, but I couldn’t let them overtake me. I had to be tough. I distracted myself by kicking my thruster pedal and shooting forward ahead of Berrett, spraying him with mist as I blew past. I laughed, right up until he pulled up beside me and dipped the side of his board into the water, spraying me head to toe with his wake.

“Berrett!” I screamed.

“Hey, you mess with the bull, you get the horns.”

“Ugh!”

We weaved through a massive hospital complex and past the cathedral of Notre Dame, then crossed another arm of the Seine and headed into the heart of Paris. We wound through the city streets, past cruisers, tourists, and strangely dressed locals. I couldn’t get over the gaudy, ridiculous fashions of the package-laden shoppers and carefree pleasure seekers. Their hair came in every possible shade, often done so ornately that it didn’t look real. High heels and corsets, brocade dusters and short-shorts, top hats and spiked collars—I saw it all as we sailed toward the Luxembourg. The pressure of the wind against my face and the distractions of the city around me eased my growing anxiety, but not even sailboarding through Paris could quell it completely.

We rounded a corner and sailed through the park. Birds were singing away the morning as the sunlight filtered through the trees.

“Her house should be coming up on that far corner. It’s an enormous
chateau,
twelve bedrooms and a courtyard. I’ve seen pictures. It’s been in her family for generations. It’s just on the other side of tha—”

My voice caught in my throat.

Where Bell’s
chateau
should have been standing was a smoldering heap of ashen rubble.

“All that’s holy,” I whispered.

“Y
OU DON’T KNOW ANYTHING YET,” SAD BERRETT. “DON’T
jump to any conclusions until we get there.”

I nodded, but internally I unleashed a torrent of self-loathing and should-haves. I should have known that a week was far too long to give the SUN ... or was it Eira? Maybe Max had gone ballistic? I couldn’t keep track anymore of the people who wanted my vial—or who wanted me and everyone around me dead.

I shut down the sailboard and let it fall to the ground. Walking into the middle of the ashes, I picked up a cracked picture frame. I rubbed the soot away and could barely make out the childish face of my friend.

A beggar woman wandered past the rubble and I ran to her.

“Excuse me, can you tell me what happened here?” I asked.

“‘Ouse fire. Three days ago. Everyone inside died.”

She started to totter away as I staggered backward. “Who ... who was inside?” I cried after her.

“The Bell family.” She turned and extended her hand for money I didn’t have and then snorted in disdain and stalked away.

My arm flailed out, searching the air for Berrett.

“Berrett ... I can’t ... I can’t breathe ...”

He grabbed my arm and pulled me into an alleyway behind the house. I started choking then shaking uncontrollably. I was never supposed to have the vial. I was supposed to grow up happy in the light of my parent’s love. I never wanted to be a pilot, to be so fueled by selfishness and anger and hate that I would literally fly around the System just to get what I wanted. I never wanted to be the kind of person who would be responsible for the taking of innocent lives. The weight of what I had done, of the cost of freedom, pressed down on my body with a force I could hardly explain. It was a physical sensation, real in every way, a powerful anvil of anguish that threatened to break me forever.

In the end, Berrett had to cover my mouth with his hands to hold back my screams.

In my mind, I could hear the voice of Eira, reminding me that the bodies were beginning to pile up. Over and over again I asked myself if it was worth it. If all the lives of the people I loved were worth sacrificing so I could have my chance at living in a world that was free.

There was no possible way to move forward, and I certainly couldn’t go back. I had no hope left that somehow the rest of my crew would be safe.

There was only one choice left. I went for my knife, but Berrett grabbed my hands and held me tight.

“Hey! No, don’t even go there. Just breathe, Dix. Come on, breathe. Stay with me.”

“I ... I can’t ....”

Berrett grabbed my chin with his hand and pulled my gaze up to his. “Look at me, Dix. Look at my face. It’s gonna be okay.”

I shook my head.

“Yes it is. I can see it in your eyes. You’re already starting to calm down. Come on, Dix, breathe. In, out. In, out.”

My breaths came in wheezes, but they did come, to my surprise.

“That’s it, you’re doing good. Just breathe.” Berrett pulled me close and held me tight. I let myself relax in his arms, and slowly the fog rolled in and blocked the thoughts from my head.

“
Vous parlez français, mon garçon
?”

“Huh?” Berrett replied. I turned my head slightly to see who had asked the question. There stood another beggar, covered in filth and filling my nose with smells so flarking awful I wanted to vomit. The man personified exactly the reality of the System—the reality the SUN so desperately wanted to hide.

“Vous parlez français?
No? What a shame. It is a lovely language. One day you learn,” he said. He pressed a book into Berrett’s hands. “You must remember what I say. Three, ten. Twelve, six. Eight, two.” The man tottered away and disappeared around a corner.

I pulled out of Berrett’s arms and saw the ratty cover of
The Unauthorized History of the Third War.
My heart skipped a beat when I saw a bright pink bookmark with cheap jewelry dangling from one end. Berrett and I flipped frantically through the pages.

Fountain.

Of.

Mars.

“Oh, great,” said Berrett. “Back to Mars we go.” He stuffed the book into his jacket pocket, grabbed my hand, and pulled me back to where Bell’s house had stood.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

“Bell said the Fountain of Mars, so I assume we’re going to Mars to get her.”

I sat down on the stone steps, which were all that remained of Bell’s family estate. “I don’t think that’s it. There are fountains on Mars, but they’re not special or named or anything. Mostly they’re part of the governor’s estate. It’s gotta be someplace where she’s hiding out, but I don’t even know where to begin looking. The Fountain of Mars could be a code name only certain people know about.”

“But you’re not one of those people.”

“Shut up, Berrett, you are not helping me think.”

Just then, I saw a well-dressed vacationer walk past with a bag bearing a bright red circle that seemed to ripple in the center. Emblazed across the front were the words
Fontaine De Mars.

I leapt off the steps and ran toward the stranger. Berrett probably thought I had finally lost what little brain power I had left, but I didn’t care.

“Excuse me, where did you get that bag?” I asked.

The stranger looked at me as though I had just stepped out of the Amazon. “What did you say?”

I pointed. “The bag? Where did you get the bag?”

“Ah, a restaurant on the opposite side of the Seine. It is so divine, you must try it.” He eyed my clothes, which were still sort of wet, and now covered with ash and dirt. “I felt a bit like I was slumming it at first, but the food was so good it didn’t matter. And in your case, I definitely think that won’t be a problem.”

“Okay, great.” Heedless of the insult, I almost took off running, but Berrett wrapped one arm around my waist to stop me. “What’s the address of the restaurant?” he asked.

Oh, yeah. Oops.

“One rue de Charonne. Just across the river.”

We ran for our sailboards, kicked on the engines, and bolted full speed through the city and across the river. This time there was no splashing, no joking, and no enjoying of the scenery. There was only one thought in my head.

Save Bell.

In less than ten minutes, we were running down rue de Charonne. At last we came to the Fontaine de Mars. It was dingy, in a well-loved kind of way. I had no doubt that it had been quite posh before the war. A small contingent of wealthy tourists lounged at the tables outside. Berrett walked up to the host. I hung back, hoping against hope that there wasn’t some secret red button under the podium that would alert the whole world to my whereabouts.

“We’d like a table,” he said.

He took one look at us and scrunched up his nose. “I am so sorry, but the Fontaine de Mars only accepts reservations.” He pointed to the outside tables, which were all full.

“But can’t we at least take a look around? My mother proposed to my father here, and I’d like to see the booth where they sat, if I can.”

“I didn’t know your parents came to Paris,” I said.

“That’s because I never told you,” he replied, slowly stepping down hard on my toe.

“Oh. Right. True.” Both of us turned our pretty-please eyes to the host.

He frowned, and then rolled his eyes and sighed loudly. “Very well. You have five minutes.”

We brushed past him and into the restaurant. I forced myself to walk slowly as I scanned every patron in the room, looking for Bell.

“You see her?” whispered Berrett.

“Nope.” I caught the host looking at me and I stopped at a booth that was being cleaned between patrons. “Is this the one?”

“Uh, yeah, yeah it is,” said Berrett. “Look, they even carved their initials.”

There was nothing on the table but the typical scratches and dings. “Don’t get carried away, Berr-berr, you’re not that good of a liar.”

I looked back over at the host, who was busily helping another customer. “I know this has to be it, where is she?”

Suddenly, someone who was not Berrett grabbed my hand. I whirled around and saw that a figure cloaked in black had Berrett’s other hand and was proceeding to drag us into a back room.

“Do not struggle!” she hissed.

“Bell?” I whispered.

“Shut up!”

“Sorry.”

We said nothing until we had made our way to the back of the restaurant where a large brass ring lay in the middle of the floor. Bell’s face peered out from beneath the hood of her cloak as she knelt down to lift up the ring. “Inside.”

Berrett and I stumbled down a ladder into a dimly lit room. “What is this place?” he asked.

“It is a very old hiding place for people in danger,” said Bell as she pushed the hood away from her face. I was so happy to see her that I lost all self-control and wrapped her in an enormous hug. “Glad to see you too, Captain,” said Bell. “Who is the new boy?”

“Berrett. Jordan Berrett.” He extended a hand, and she shook it. “You must be Bell. Dix has told me so much about you.”

“Dix?” she asked. “Ah, your real name. You could ‘ave told me. There are many things you could ‘ave told me.”

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I told you as much as I could. I’ll explain more later, there’s no time now. I’m just glad you’re alive. Where’s your family?”

“They are safe—for now. What about the rest of the crew?”

“We’ve got Hobs and CiCi, but these people chasing me are willing to kill anyone I’m connected to in order to get to me. We have to get to Neptune, get Porch and Rivera, and pray that Hobs has done his job by then.”

“There is less time than you know. President Forsythe made an announcement yesterday giving Eira Ninge total access to any resources she needs to track down Tabitha Dixon. There is no limit to ‘er power now.”

Suddenly, the trap door lifted up and a stream of French I couldn’t understand came cascading down the steps.

“Flark!” said Bell. “They followed you ‘ere.
Allons-y!”
She threw flashlights at Berrett and I.

“What?” asked Berrett.

“It means let’s go. ‘Urry up!”

She ran to the far end of the room where a finger and retina scanner had been installed. “This should buy us a little time.”

A hidden door popped open and the three of us raced inside.

“We’ve only got two sailboards, so you’ll have to ride with Berrett.”

Her eyes lit up. “Oh, drat, that just sounds awful.”

Bell was much more in touch with her girliness, something I had no innate desire to access. Flirting was, in my case, utterly pointless anyway. Love was right out for the accursed. But who was I to deny her?

Still ... I didn’t like it.

We scampered through a series of tunnels that had to be centuries old. I shined my light onto the walls. There were layers on layers of paint, graffiti I couldn’t understand, and a strange combination of smells that I really didn’t care to identify. “What is this place?” I asked.

“They are called catacombs, but not all the tunnels were built for the dead.”

“The what?” asked Berrett. His voice cracked. I smiled in the dark.

“Are you afraid of ghosts, Berrett? These tunnels are filled with them. Ghosts of the young, the rebellious, the artists, the repressed. We ‘ave used them for centuries to escape oppression. My people seek freedom above everything else. That is why the old statue of freedom stands in New York City.”