Terra (22 page)

“What? Now?” I say frantically. “You can’t. You can’t just take me
up there
. I haven’t done anything! What about being processed? What about protocol?”

Titan says nothing else, and my frustration and confusion reach their tipping points. The tears that have been looming in my eyes finally spill over, cascading down my cheeks in waves. I feel helpless. Will they even bother telling Mica what has happened? Or will I just be gone?

Illegal technology
? I think, recalling Agent Pyke’s words. What does that even mean? All I did was try to turn in the same kind of machine I had turned in before. Adam’s machine.

Adam.

My chest heaves violently and a sob escapes my lips. What will he think has happened? Will they tell him the truth? Will he think I… ran away from him? From Mica?

Will he be able to help?

My panic escalates as we speed north, away from the settlement, toward the Skyline Transfer.

“Please…” I say, catching Titan’s eye in the transport’s rearview mirror, one last desperate plea for mercy. For a moment, it feels like I’m back in the Dead Woods, pleading with the raider, Locke. Like maybe there is still hope.

But where Locke’s pity was my saving grace, all I get from Titan is a solitary glance, his eyes cold and unyielding.

I turn around to face out the back window, clutching my jacket tightly around me. Tears fall as I watch the black walls of Genesis X-16 fade into the distance.

* * *

“We’re here.” Titan’s rough voice wakes me from an uneasy sleep. I look out the window and my eyes meet a darkening sky. A quick glimpse at my watch confirms that it’s almost evening. We’ve been driving all day.

“Move it,” he says, pulling me roughly from the transport. We are in a parking area at the back of the Transfer complex. I guess this is where they take the people they don’t want the paying passengers to see.

Titan shoves me forward, forcing me to walk ahead of him as we approach a large set of metal doors. He knocks twice, pauses, then knocks twice more. A slot in one of the doors slides open, revealing a set of familiar green eyes. The rest of the door opens a second later.

“Brant!” I cry, relief flooding over me. “Brant, please. There’s been a mistake. You have to help me.”

Brant turns to Titan, ignoring me.

“Transfer authorization?” he asks, holding out a tablet.

Titan places his palm on the screen and holds it there until it beeps. “Transfer complete,” he says brusquely. Without so much as another glance in my direction, he leaves.

Brant ushers me inside. Several other guardsmen are lined up in a windowless hallway, the fluorescent lights overhead casting harsh shadows on their faces. Aside from the color—a light, cloudy gray—their uniforms are identical to those worn in Sixteen. I realize that Brant’s is gray as well.

“When did you get promoted here?” I ask him quietly.

His arm is on my shoulder, holding me in place the same way he did That Day, when he escorted me home. He tightens his grip for a moment, but stays silent.

Maybe it wasn’t a promotion
.

We weave through a maze of hallways, all lined with guardsmen who seem like they’re waiting for something. It’s not until we pass through a set of swinging doors and into an empty hall that Brant finally opens his mouth.

“What did you do?” he asks, quiet but desperate. He yanks me by my arm into a tiny room off the main hallway. A closet, maybe. He shuts the door behind us. “How did this happen?”

“I’m not even sure
what
happened! One minute it’s Collection Day and I’m turning in another one of those machines, and the next thing I know I’m being arrested for ‘
possession of illegal technology
’ and being dragged out here,” I hiss, making air-quotes with my fingers. “Care to enlighten me?”

“What do you mean, another machine?” he asks.

“I found another machine, like the one I turned in before,” I say, leaving out Adam’s involvement.

Brant shakes his head sadly. “Why did you do that? You didn’t realize you were already on their radar?”

“On
whose
radar?” I ask, my voice rising hysterically.

Brant shushes me. “Calm down. If they catch me…” He sneaks a furtive glance towards the door. “All right. Listen. The Tribunal has been… interested in you since you turned in that machine. It’s technology that should never have been found by anyone, let alone a scav. The Tribunal meant your initial payout as more of a pay
off
, except it quickly became clear to them that you weren’t interested in dropping the subject. And when you disappeared that day…” he trails off, no doubt remembering his terse interrogation during our last encounter.

“We have instructions to expedite your transfer,” he continues. “You are to be sent up to Korbyllis on the very next shuttle, which happens to be a luxury liner. Keep to yourself, don’t fight, don’t give them any other reasons to keep you. Once you’re up there…” he trails off again. “Terra, listen to me. They are going to want answers. I don’t know what really happened that day, and I don’t want to know. But stick to your story, okay? The one you told me. You never even set foot across the quarantine line. Got it?”

“I don’t think I—,” I start, but Brant cuts me off.

“I don’t know how you’re going to explain this second machine, but you have to try.”

“I just don’t understand why this is happening to me.”

“This isn’t about you, Terra! This is much bigger than you. It’s not about the machine. It’s about what they think you
know
.”

“But I don’t know anything,” I protest.

Brant pauses. “I believe you,” he says after a moment. “But they won’t.”

He checks the black watch on his wrist. “We have to go.”

“I’m not ready,” I say weakly.

Brant puts both hands on my shoulders and squeezes them reassuringly. “You’re strong,” he says. “They just want their answers. Prove that there’s no reason for them to keep you, and they’ll let you go.”

Brant ushers me back into the hallway and toward a heavy sliding door with a sign nailed to it that reads “Loading Dock.”

“It’s just through here. Another guard will accompany you on the shuttle. I don’t have the clearance.” With a grunt, he slides the metal door open and, without walking through it, beckons me forward. It opens up into a tunnel with clear walls; outside, the silhouette of mountains frames the brown and barren landscape. I know there’s nothing around for a hundred miles.

A gleaming white shuttle with polished wings waits at the end of the tunnel. The ship’s body is oval, dotted with double-decker windows, and comes to a point at the hull. Its wings balloon out at the backend, giving it the appearance of a giant spade.

I step through the doorway but turn back to Brant just as he begins to pull the door shut.

“Why are you helping me?” I ask through the remaining sliver of open doorway.

Brant looks at me, his green eyes burning. “Be strong,” he says, his voice shaking. “Your father would want you to be.”

The door slides shut and locks into place with a finite click. I stare at the closed wall of matte metal in front of me, my jaw agape. I want to shout through the door at Brant, to force him back here and make him explain. How does he know my father? How does he know what my father
would want
of me? Before I can do anything, however, my outraged thoughts are interrupted by the hollow sound of boots stomping toward me.

“Terra Rhodon?” says the guard, a stocky woman with tightly braided blond hair and a heavy brow. Her high, sparkly voice is a total disconnect from her appearance. “Come with me.”

Chapter 20

When Brant said that this was a luxury shuttle, he wasn’t kidding. The ship is possibly the most elaborate thing I have ever seen. Upon embarking, I am immediately led into a small elevator with shiny gold doors. We ride up a single level, then exit into the main cabin. The velvet-lined walls are a deep shade of pink, the lower half stamped with a golden leaf pattern. Ten neatly coiffed female attendants stand against the walls, ready and waiting. Wearing starched yellow blouses with pink crossover ties neatly folded under the collar, they look as much a part of the ship’s decoration as the sparkling crystal chandeliers that hang overhead.

The shuttle’s upper level is sectioned off into individual seating compartments, separated by embossed half-walls that come up to my stomach as I walk past them. While someone could easily see into the stalls on either side, one could just as easily ignore whoever might be sitting inside.

I am led straight through the main area to a small, plain booth tucked far into the back of the cabin, situated between the restrooms and the galley. The use of the booth becomes clear when I see a pair of attendants enter a similar one on the other end of the cabin. A staff compartment. While the other compartments boast plush, cream-colored benches, this one sports a pair of metal chairs with seats that fold up when they’re not in use. The guard who is escorting me leads me to the chair next to the window. She buckles me into my seat before sitting down next to me. The half-walls of our booth are slightly higher than those surrounding the regular compartments, but if I sit straight up in my chair and tilt my chin, I can still observe the rest of the cabin as the other passengers begin to board.

I expect there to be some sort of forward motion or pressure as we lift off, but all I perceive is a slight jingling from the chandeliers. I lean as far away from the window as possible. I don’t need the constant reminder that everything I’ve ever known is thousands of feet below me, getting farther away every second.

My escort’s name, as she happily informs me, is Akryn.

“They don’t even showcase the inside of this class of shuttles on TV,” she says brightly, flicking a piece of fuzz off of her uniform. “You are very lucky to experience it for yourself.”

“Sure,” I mutter sullenly. “Lucky.”

“To be honest, I was surprised to learn you were to be taken up today,” she says. “I know another shuttle wasn’t scheduled to arrive until the day after tomorrow, but still. Shuttles like this are generally reserved for the most elite skydwellers. You know, coming down to go on guided tours of the settlements, see the monuments and landmarks of the old world, that sort of thing.”

“Well, of course,” I say. “Who wouldn’t want a tour of our beautifully barren wasteland?”

Akryn continues without missing a beat. “You know, I bet you’re the first lawbreaker in a hundred years to get this kind of treatment. You might as well make the most of it.”

I’m not exactly sure what treatment she is referring to. The brown-eyed staff has been steadfastly ignoring us since we boarded. They must already be aware of my status as a detainee. I watch them as they bustle about, serving the other passengers with broad smiles on their faces that disappear whenever they glance in my direction.

I watch one of the attendants, a petite brunette woman with a frilly apron wrapped around her waist, pour out a glass of champagne. She hands it to a man in a pinstriped business suit seated in the compartment in front of ours. I wonder what it takes for someone from Sixteen to get a job like hers. Not as abysmal as working on the trash barges, not quite as degrading as being some businessman’s personal aide. In fact, this is probably the closest thing to skyborn life most of us could hope for.

An older woman in the compartment next to the pinstriped man’s has a catlike creature sitting in her lap. I try not to stare too overtly, but it’s hard to look away; this is the first pet I’ve ever seen in real life. The woman strokes the animal’s fluffy white fur between its floppy ears, then adjusts the yellow ribbon tied around its neck. It chirps happily in response—a pleasant, uplifting tune that could only have been engineered in a lab.

The attendant with the champagne retreats to the back of the cabin. As she passes our booth, she glances at me for a second, her brow furrowed, before heading into the galley behind us; she returns with a small cart in tow and a bright smile plastered on her face. As she pushes the cart past us, she pauses and looks at me more decidedly, her smile plummeting into a conflicted frown. She quickly pulls a small covered tray from the cart. She offers the tray to Akryn, who smiles politely but waves it away.

I watch the attendant deliver the tray to the pinstriped man instead. He lifts the cover, revealing half a dozen miniature cakes, each roughly the size of his palm, lining a shining silver platter. I feel a pang of annoyance at Akryn as I watch the man bite into a flower-shaped cake with overlapping peaks of purple frosting. I bite the inside of my cheek to remind myself that I shouldn’t want the cakes anyway, even if Akryn had accepted them. I avert my eyes to the floor and fold my hands in my lap, running my thumb along the links of the watchband around my wrist.

It only takes a few hours to reach Korbyllis—I spent more time in the transport with Titan than I have onboard the shuttle—though the thoughts running through my mind make the trip feel much longer. When I’m not consumed with what might be happening on the ground—is Mica safe? Is Adam with him?—I’m desperately trying to plan what to say when I’m processed. I’m still formulating the details of my story when I feel the shuttle begin to slow. I lean closer to the window and peer outside just in time to watch us dip below the sprawling metropolis, then jut straight up into the Skyline Transfer terminal from underneath.

After the other passengers have disembarked, Akryn ushers me out of the shuttle and into a spacious hangar. It is completely bare, aside from a scattering of workers in neon green shirts running to and from the shuttle’s docking bay. On the opposite end of the hangar a second docking bay sits empty. We exit the hangar into a bustling terminal with a vaulted glass ceiling. When I look up, I can see the stars.

A robotic voice blares from speakers that dot the smooth white terminal walls. “Last call for Skyline train passengers traveling to Daedryl.” The main terminal is long and shaped like an oval, with doors that mark individual hangars dotted along both sides. Akryn and I step onto a moving sidewalk and I read the names of the hangars as we glide past.