City 1 (3 page)

KEVIN STOOD SILENTLY AS GRENNEL BRIEFED RO ON KEVIN'S SKILLS.
He'd been forced to skip dinner and it looked as if he'd be expected to work through the night. It was clear that his training was being put to work as they readied the camp for battle. He'd be assisting the tech officer, a short, thin man named Stebbins, with the warning that if Kevin got lazy he would be put on grunt work for the camp.

As the moon crossed the sky, Kevin spent an hour with Stebbins fixing two broken ear comms, some frayed portable gridlines, and a power supply for a burst rifle that wouldn't recharge. He tried to keep up a pace that was quick enough to keep him away from any manual labor—he didn't want to dig latrines—but not so slow that he looked incompetent.

Kevin soon realized he didn't need to worry. Stebbins was busy taking apart two vidscreens and was ignoring Kevin completely. He rubbed his eyes, fighting sleep.

Kevin was studying the rifle's power supply—he had already repaired it, but had a tenuous idea for boosting its power—when Clay and Grennel returned from a camp meeting.

Stebbins jumped to his feet. “General,” he said, offering an awkward salute.

Clay grimaced. “We don't salute, if that's what that was,” she said.

“Yes, uh, sorry,” said Stebbins.

Clay glanced over at Kevin, who quickly looked down at the rifle power supply, pretending to be tinkering with it. He saw, in his peripheral vision, that she continued to stare at him for a few moments before turning back to Stebbins.

“Grennel,” she said. “The Wall unit.”

Grennel handed the Wall unit to Stebbins, and Kevin's heart began pounding harder. He listened carefully, and watched as closely as he could without staring.

“As we discussed,” she said, “I need this adapted to cloak an individual as quickly as possible.”

Stebbins nodded, already absorbed in examining the unit.

“Stebbins,” Clay said.

He pulled his attention away from the unit and looked at her.

“End of the day,” she said. “You have until the end of the day to show me something good.” She took a step closer to him.
“I will not be happy if you fail. And if I'm unhappy, you will be extremely unhappy. Understood?”

Stebbins, suddenly pale, nodded.

Of course
, Kevin thought. Clay was trying to cloak a person. It was exactly the kind of use that Clay would want for his grandfather's technology—the ultimate camouflage gear. Perfect for attacking a City.

Stebbins spent the rest of the night and into the next morning examining the Wall unit and weaving conduction wire into a helmet and hunting vest. Kevin spent a few hours sleeping with his head on the table, and the rest of the time spying on him while pretending to be fixing the tech he had already repaired.

From what Kevin could see, it looked like Stebbins was trying to create a limited circuit for the cloaking field. But—
rust
—what would the cloaking field do to a person? Wouldn't it kill them? The Wall at the Island wasn't damaged by the cloaking energy, but a wall wasn't alive. The metal pylons in the Wall probably had served to ground the energy, as well as provide structural support. But how could Stebbins create body armor so the wearer didn't get electrocuted? And also, how would Stebbins make sure the power didn't overload? The control unit was designed for a huge wall, stretching across a mile of perimeter—that much juice would be massive overkill for a single six-foot person.

But Kevin kept his thoughts to himself. It wasn't as if
Stebbins was asking for his help; if Kevin said anything, he'd just end up digging ditches, or worse.

As the sunlight began to fade, Clay and Grennel came, as promised. Clay brushed past Kevin without even looking at him. Grennel nodded as he strode past, but Kevin didn't acknowledge him.

Stebbins jumped to his feet. Clay was a full head taller than him and looked down at him with her hands on her hips. “Status report,” she said. “Make me happy.”

Stebbins cleared his throat. “Just finished a first prototype,” he said. “I'll need a more elegant way to patch into the control. It's kind of clunky right now, and I still have to figure out how to disperse the field across multiple units without being tethered to the control unit. . . . I'm not sure if that's even possible, really. . . .”

“Does this one work?” interrupted Clay. “Give me one working unit first, and then we'll worry about the other problems.”

Stebbins nodded slowly. “Yes, I've tested it very briefly, just for a few seconds. . . . I didn't want to damage the control unit—that probably wouldn't have made you too happy.” Stebbins tried to smile and chuckle, but he turned the laugh into a cough when he saw Clay's glare.

“And the cloak worked?” said Clay.

“Well, the vest and helmet disappeared, yes,” said Stebbins.

“And the person wearing it?” said Clay.

Stebbins frowned. “Well, it hasn't been tried on a person yet.”

Clay said nothing for a moment, then said, her voice tight with controlled anger, “This needs to get done, Stebbins. We can't just sit around and wait for you.”

“It's ready,” said Stebbins, hoping to placate Clay. “I'm sure of it.”

“Let's see, then,” said Clay.

“Yeah, uh, yes, of course,” said Stebbins.

“Now,” said Clay.

Stebbins carefully slipped on the vest and set the helmet over his head. Kevin, dropping all pretense of working, took a step toward him for a better look. He could see, now that he was able to directly study Stebbins's worktable, that he had created a lattice within the vest that clipped to the helmet for a complete circuit. And the gear was patched directly to the control unit with a thick conduction cable that ran like an animal's tail to the rear of the vest.
The energy field should definitely generate
, Kevin thought—the person would be invisible. But what was he using to modulate the power? Kevin couldn't see any external control or power soak. He felt a sudden queasy burst of unease. Could Stebbins really be so dumb that he was going to run the full power of the unit through this tiny circuit? With himself inside it?

“Step back, please, for your safety,” said Stebbins. He had a line of sweat running down his cheek. He looked like he'd
rather be just about anywhere else. Clay and Grennel moved back.

Kevin looked over Stebbins's work again. It was true—there really didn't seem to be any kind of damper on the power. He knew he should say something—it could be dangerous—but he kept quiet. This was his grandfather's technology, technology that had been stolen from him. That he had been murdered for. Why in the world should Kevin help Clay?

So Kevin said nothing as Stebbins took a breath, then flipped the switch on the control unit, which was attached to his vest by a short wire. There was a hum that set Kevin's teeth on edge, and Stebbins disappeared. Clay yipped and clapped her hands. Then, echoing her shout was a loud crackling
pop
and burst of light that momentarily blinded Kevin. He flung his arm over his eyes reflexively, and when he lowered his arm, blinking painfully, he saw Stebbins's convulsing body. “Turn it off!” he yelled.

Grennel rushed forward and switched off the unit. Stebbins stopped flopping, and lay motionless. Grennel reached down and felt on his neck for his pulse. “Dead,” he said, standing up slowly.

Clay rushed forward to the control unit and began examining it. “If that idiot damaged the unit . . .” she said. She set it back down after a few moments. “It's okay, I think,” she said, with relief.

Kevin stared down at Stebbins. The acrid smell of burned
hair and skin reached him. For some reason, he had still thought Stebbins would be safe. People don't die for reasons like this—if only Kevin had opened his mouth and stopped Stebbins, the man would still be alive. But instead . . .

Clay whirled to face Kevin. Kevin tore his eyes away from the body of Stebbins to meet Clay's stare. He forced himself not to flinch.

“What did you do?” Clay said quietly.

“What are you talking about?” Kevin said, confused.

“Did you sabotage Stebbins?”

“No!” said Kevin. “He didn't modulate the power. The idiot didn't even try to modulate the power.”

Clay stared at him. “And you said nothing,” she said. She hesitated, then smiled that vicious, unsettling smile of hers and tapped Kevin on the chest with her finger. “You've just got a promotion,” she said. “Head of tech development. You're going to build a new suit, and you're going to test it on yourself, so I hope you do a better job than that fool over there.” She gestured down at Stebbins.

Kevin realized he had been played, and he cursed himself for being so blind. It had all been a test to trap Kevin into creating the ultimate betrayal to his grandfather. The breeze shifted and the smell of Stebbins's body hit him again—the sulfurous burned hair, the charred flesh—and he had to swallow hard and clench his fists to keep himself from throwing up.

ERICA'S EXECUTION HAD BEEN DELAYED WITH THE ARRIVAL OF CLAY,
but still, any day now, she'd be dead. Unless Nick could figure out some way to help her.

Nick leaned against a tree while he watched Erica twenty yards away. She sat on the ground, legs crossed, forearms on her knees, staring unfocused at the distance, a shock collar glinting on her neck. Four metal posts formed a small square perimeter around her, and one guard, a man everyone called Rabbit, stood outside the perimeter. Rabbit was small, but Nick had seen him fight—both against bots and in a camp fistfight after a card game—the man was lightning quick. Probably why they called him Rabbit.

Rabbit looked bored, leaning against his burst rifle that
was propped on the ground. He didn't have much to do. . . . If Erica stepped outside the perimeter her collar would trigger and she'd be unconscious, if not dead, within seconds.

Erica turned her head, saw Nick, and gave him a thin smile and a nod. Nick nodded back, resisting the impulse to wave—that would have been dumb . . . to wave at a girl who was waiting to be executed. Instead, he took a deep breath and walked toward her. She stood, brushing the dirt off her pants.

Rabbit perked up from his glazed boredom when he saw Nick approaching. “No visitors, Nick,” he said.

“You okay?” said Nick to Erica, ignoring Rabbit. “They treating you all right?”

Erica nodded. “Good enough,” she said. She didn't say anything else, but she continued to stare at Nick.

Damn, Lexi
, thought Nick,
it is true . . . she does have pretty eyes.

“I said no visitors,” said Rabbit, his voice picking up an edge of anger. He stepped between Nick and Erica, rifle in hand.

“Sorry,” Nick said, looking down at Rabbit. He wondered if he could take the man in a fight. Rabbit was wearing a comm bracelet—it was probably patched into Erica's shock collar controls. If Nick could get the man down, maybe even knock him out, he could take the bracelet and figure out how to turn off Erica's collar, and Erica would have a chance to escape.

Rabbit apparently saw something in Nick's face that he
didn't like, and he took a small step back and moved his hand closer to the trigger of his rifle.

Nick saw the subtle move. “No problem, Rabbit. I'll go.” It had been a stupid thought. Even if he could take Rabbit down so quickly and quietly that nobody else noticed, the comm bracelet was most likely bio-flagged to work only for Rabbit. And if he somehow figured out how to power down Erica's collar, what then? When Rabbit woke up, Nick would find himself the one inside a shock perimeter, with a collar around his neck.

“Hang in there, Erica,” Nick said.

Erica sat back down and resumed staring off into the distance. “It's all right,” she said, without looking at Nick. “I did what I thought I had to, and now Ro is doing what he thinks he has to.”

Nick said nothing. Erica had been working for the bots, it was true. Because of her, rebels were dead . . . and Nick could have been dead, and Cass, and Farryn. He should have felt nothing but anger. He should be looking forward to her execution. But instead, he understood. He truly did. She was doing everything she could for her family. It was wrong, it was selfish, but it made sense. He came to a decision.

“And I'll do what I have to do,” he said.

Rabbit tensed, and put his hand on the trigger of his rifle. “Don't,” he said. But that wasn't what Nick had in mind. He turned away without another word and walked off.

Nick found Ro at the southern edge of the camp. With General Clay. The two were looking at a vidscreen Ro held, discussing something quietly. Nick hesitated, then continued forward.
Might as well take it all the way to the top
, he thought. He had only taken a few more steps forward, however, when a strong hand clamped down on his collarbone and spun him around. Nick found himself looking up, way up, at Grennel. Nick could see that the big man had a thin, pale scar that ran along his right cheek, just above the line of his beard.

“Where are you going, son?” said Grennel.

Nick tried to shrug out from under Grennel's hand, but Grennel just tightened his grip and held Nick in place.

“I need to see Ro,” Nick said, gritting his teeth against the pain.

“He's meeting with the General,” said Grennel. “I don't think she'd appreciate the interruption.”

“I should see her, too,” Nick said. He tried again to pull away from Grennel but almost went down to his knees from pain as the man dug his fingers around Nick's collarbone. “Let me go,” he hissed.

“Happy to,” said Grennel. “If you're planning on turning around and walking away.”

“Ro!” Nick yelled. “We need to talk!”

Ro looked up, frowning, and Grennel gave another twist into Nick's skin. Nick gasped and this time he did find himself on his knees, trying to pry Grennel's vicelike grip off him
before his collarbone snapped. He could feel his muscle grinding against the bone. . . . Something was going to give.

“Grennel! Let him go!” It was Clay who spoke.

Grennel immediately released Nick, who took a moment to get to his feet. His right arm hung numb and useless. Nick tried to rub feeling back into his shoulder and arm.

“You'll be fine in a few minutes. Just pinched the nerves a bit,” said Grennel.

“Come!” said Clay, gesturing at Nick.

Nick, still rubbing his dead arm, glared at Grennel, then turned and walked to Clay and Ro.

“What the hell are you doing, Nick?” said Ro.

“It's all right,” said Clay, holding up her hand. “I've been meaning to speak with you.” Ro crossed his arms over his chest, obviously angry, but he kept quiet.

Nick began to feel electric tingles in his arm, which was good—the feeling was coming back. He stopped rubbing his shoulder, and, meeting Clay's stare, suddenly wondered what he had gotten himself into. General Clay, up close, was just as intimidating as from a distance. It wasn't her physical presence, though, although she was tall and leanly muscular. She was even, in a certain harsh sense, attractive. It was her eyes that made Nick afraid. They were, in their own way, just as strong as Grennel's grip. She expected respect; you could see it in her gaze. Obedience. Discipline. And she looked utterly, wildly confident . . . like someone who had never had a moment of self-doubt in her entire life.

“I want . . .” Nick hesitated, then reminded himself,
This is the right thing to do
, and pressed on. “I want you to reconsider Erica's execution.”

“She's a traitor, Nick,” said Ro. “It doesn't matter what history you may have with her—”

“Enough,” said Clay. Ro cut himself off in midsentence. Clay walked toward Nick, stopping just a few feet from him. She smiled, and Nick flinched briefly before catching himself. “Why should I spare this girl, Nick? She was passing intelligence to the bots. She is a traitor.” Clay spit the word out like it was a curse.

“They have her brother,” Nick said. “The bots were going to kill him. She was just trying to protect him.”

Clay scowled. “At what cost? She keeps her brother alive as a slave to the bots, and in return, she betrays all humanity.”

“It's not that simple,” said Nick. “She's not a bad person. She saved my life. . . .”

“No, it is simple, Nick,” Clay said. “Everything in this screwed-up mess of a world is simple. It all boils down to one question: bots or humanity. She chose bots.”

Nick was silent, at a loss. There was nothing he could possibly say to change this woman's mind.

“Nick,” said Clay, “you have a family?”

It took a moment for Nick, confused by the subject change, to respond. “Yes,” he said.

“A brother?” Clay said quietly.

Nick hesitated.
Rust
, he thought. This was going badly. . . . Kevin had been adamant that Clay not know about Nick and Cass.

Clay didn't wait for Nick to answer. “Kevin is your brother, correct?”

“No,” said Nick. “Kevin, he's just someone I knew from my old Freepost. Not my brother.”

“Yes,” said Clay, nodding. “Interesting. More Winston brats.”

“Really, he's just an old neighbor,” said Nick, sounding false even to his own ears.

“Enough,” said Clay, with an edge in her voice. “You're starting to insult me.” Clay turned to Ro. “This traitor, Erica. We are scheduled to execute her tomorrow?”

“Yes,” said Ro.

“Good,” said Clay.

“Wait!” said Nick, struck with a desperate idea. He turned to Ro. “We still have her comm device, the one we took out of her leg?”

Ro nodded.

“Put it back in her,” Nick said.

“I don't understand,” said Ro. Clay raised her eyebrow, but remained silent.

“Keep her alive. Let her plant false intel with the bots. She can be useful.”

Clay smiled coldly. “Okay, Nick Winston. I'll keep your
traitor friend alive, for now. We'll see how useful she can be. But”— she paused, cracking her knuckles—“her behavior, and her usefulness, is on your head. You'll be guarding her. If she damages our cause again, I will kill her. And I will probably kill you, too.”

“You're welcome to try,” Nick said. It was stupid, and Nick knew it—but after all he had been through, he was not going to be bullied. Not by bots, not by humans. He could feel his cheeks burning and waited tensely for Clay's reaction, shifting his weight to the balls of his feet, clenching his fists, ready to fight or run.

Instead Clay just laughed. “Wonderful!” she said. “I like your spirit.” She poked him in the chest with a finger, hard enough to make Nick flinch. “Your brother is the smart one, and you're the brave one.”

Clay came closer to Nick's face as something new caught her attention. She looked directly into Nick's eye. “Nice piece of hardware you have in your face, there,” she said. “How'd you get it?”

“The bots,” Nick said.

“Care to elaborate?” Clay said.

Nick knew he couldn't lie, but he wasn't about to tell Clay his life story. “My Freepost was destroyed, and I spent some time in a City before I escaped. The bots fixed my blind eye.”

“Very generous of them,” Clay said. “I've been briefed by Ro. Apparently you're quite the marksman. Because of the eye?”

Nick just shrugged.

“Let me ask you something, Nick,” Clay said. “What if both your eyes were bot technology? And let's say you lost your arm, and they gave you a lase arm to replace it? Would you be a person, or a bot?”

Nick said nothing.

“I asked you a question,” Clay said.

“A person,” Nick said. “I'd be a person.”

“And what about your legs?” Clay said. “What if they blew off your legs when they attacked your Freepost, and they gave you some nice new bot legs to walk around on?” Clay tapped him on his chest again. “And what if you had a heart attack when you watched your home being destroyed, and they cut you open and put a fancy bot ticker in there? What then?”

“Then, I don't know, I mean . . .”

“How much of you can they take away and replace, and still leave you human, Nick Winston?”

“It's just an eye,” Nick whispered.

“Yes, right,” Clay said. “Well, I'll be keeping my eyes on you. Both of my human eyes.”