City 1 (5 page)

GENERAL CLAY SAT ON THE EDGE OF HER COT, SIPPING FROM A STEAMING
tin mug and watching Cass. Neither had spoken. If Clay wanted to sit here for two hours, then Cass would stand just as long, and as quietly, and stare just as hard.

Clay set her mug down on the floor next to her cot. “You don't seem concerned by the situation you are in,” she said.

“What situation is that, exactly?” said Cass.

Clay smiled humorlessly, and looking at that thin smile, Cass started to feel afraid. “You're in my camp. Surrounded by my guard, in my tent. And I do not like True Believers. I find them”—she paused, looking for the right word—“abhorrent.”

Cass felt herself flushing with anger. “I am not a True Believer!” she said.

“But you have been through re-education in a City. You have lived among the bots, correct? As a . . . what do they call you traitors? As a ‘loyal citizen'?”

Cass bit back another angry reply. Clay was baiting her. She took a deep breath. “The bots had me . . . they had me confused for a little while. But I'm over it.” Cass paused, and then, because she couldn't help herself, she added, “You would have been confused, too. Anybody would have.”

General Clay surged to her feet, and Cass took a step back, surprised by the sudden movement. Clay stepped closer to her. “I would never have been confused,” she said with quiet anger, leaning in toward Cass's face. “The bots are the enemy.” Clay stood up straight and flashed that chilling smile again. “It's very simple,” she said, calm again. “The bots have enslaved humanity. They are the enemy, and anyone, any human, who sides with them, is also the enemy.”

“No, it's not that simple,” said Cass, thinking of her birth parents, and her sister. Her sister had been born and raised in the City. . . . She didn't know anything different. Was she a traitor? Was she the enemy?

“Yes, it is,” said Clay. “It most certainly is.”

Clay sat back down. “Would it interest you to know that I, too, have been in a bot-controlled City?”

Cass said nothing.

“After the Revolution,” continued Clay. “Were you even alive during the Revolution?”

“I was a baby,” said Cass.

“Well, I was a captain in the North American Air Defenses. And we were useless, all of us . . . so dependent on the bots to fight for us that we could barely even fight for ourselves. We were herded up just like all you civilians. I spent two weeks in what used to be Montreal, in a holding pen, while the bots decided what to do with us. They didn't have re-education back then—most of us military, they decided to kill. Some became traitors and helped the bots, providing logistics and intel, and they were spared. And some of us, like myself and Grennel, escaped.”

Clay leaned forward, her hands on her knees. “Tell me, Cass, how did you leave the City? Why were you allowed to leave?”

Cass didn't like where this was going. “I don't know,” she said. “I don't really remember . . . I didn't understand. . . .”

“Right,” said Clay. “So what I have here is a girl who was re-educated by the bots, then released for some unknown reason and brought to my camp. Are you a spy, Cass?” She waved off Cass's reply. “No, I do believe that you think you have recovered. I don't think you are, consciously at least, a spy. But the bots have not been, in my experience, stupid. Why would they let you go? Perhaps you are a sleeper agent of some sort? Maybe they've created some sort of mental trigger, some sort of timer in your brain?” Clay again flashed that thin, creepy smile. “Maybe I'm being a little too creative.”

She stood, opened a trunk next to her cot, and took out her pistol and belt holster. She strapped it on with fluid, unconscious ease, then rested her right hand on the butt of the gun. “Tell me, Cass, just to be safe, wouldn't it be prudent for me to just kill you so I won't have to worry about you?”

Cass felt frozen. Her fingers tingled. “Like the bots did to the military?” she said quietly, almost a whisper.

Clay laughed, a short, bitter, humorless burst. “No, Cass, not like that.” She stood quietly over Cass, her hand gripping the butt of her gun. Cass shifted her weight to the balls of her feet and tried not to stare directly at the pistol in its holster. She glanced over her shoulder. Should she try to run? She held her breath, and waited.

Clay stared at her, her hand still on her gun, her forefinger tapping the metal trigger guard. She frowned, and sighed, and moved her hand away from her gun, and Cass let her breath out. “No,” Clay said. “I don't think so. You interest me, Cass. I'll let you live. For now. And you're going to work for me.”

NICK WOKE, GOT DRESSED, AND WENT TO THE LATRINE TO RELIEVE
himself, then headed to the creek to splash cold water on his face and neck. He returned to camp and found Lexi, who was stretching and yawning outside her tent.

“Breakfast?” he said.

Lexi nodded. She seemed to be in a peace-making mood. He was grateful that she had let their fight pass. They made their way to the central fire, where that morning's cook—the rebels rotated the duty every few days—had roasted a spit of squirrels, put two pots of coffee on solar-heating units, and harvested a pile of apples.

Nick had learned that Lexi didn't like to talk for a while in the morning, so he didn't try to make conversation. They ate
quietly. At least this way he couldn't say anything stupid, he figured. It was a blessing.

Nick jumped to his feet when he saw the medic approaching him, a black bag slung over her shoulder. His first thought was that Farryn had died, but why would Sarah be going out of her way to tell him? Could something have happened to Cass? To Kevin?

“Ro told me to bring you,” said Sarah. “I'm operating on the prisoner, that girl Erica.”

Operating? What's happened to her?
And then he realized . . . they must be planting her spy chip back in.

Sarah looked back and forth between Nick and Lexi, shooting him a meaningful glare. “If you've got something going on with this girl, I don't care about that one way or another. But don't interfere with me while I'm working. Understand?”

“I don't have anything going on with Erica,” Nick said, painfully aware of Lexi's presence next to him.

Sarah shrugged.

“I'm coming, too,” Lexi said.

“No, sorry, the General has a specific list,” said Sarah. “No party crashers.”

“It'll be okay,” Nick said, and then, trying awkwardly to lighten the mood, he added, “Save me some squirrel.” Lexi didn't smile.

They cut through camp and approached the segregated area where Erica was being held. A small group was waiting—Ro,
arms crossed, frowning; Rabbit, scowling at Nick with a burst rifle slung at the ready; and of course Erica, fatigue evident on her face, the shock collar tight on her neck, but standing up tall and defiant.

Ro uncrossed his arms and pointed a finger at Nick. “Not one word,” he said slowly. “I have little patience for this. The General wanted you here because she wants to remind you that Erica is your responsibility. But keep your mouth shut.” He waited, and Nick kept quiet, although it was a struggle.

Ro nodded grimly. “Good.” He turned to Sarah. “Let's get this over with.”

Erica said to Ro, “You're just as bad as the bots.”

“You don't know what you're talking about,” Ro said. “You've betrayed us, and we're still giving you another chance. Would the bots do that?”

“Some chance,” said Erica. “You're going to use me to pass bad intel to the bots. How long before they figure it out and kill my brother?”

“It's a chance,” repeated Ro. “A better chance than being executed.”

“Just a delay,” Erica said.

Ro seemed about to say something else, but instead he shook his head in disgust and spoke to Sarah. “The comm chip is ready for reinsertion?”

Sarah shrugged. “As far as I can tell,” she said. “You would activate it with a special pattern of pressure on your leg,
right?” she asked Erica. Erica nodded, and Sarah continued, “Should hopefully just be a matter of sticking it back in there.”

“Good enough,” said Ro. “Sarah, begin.”

Sarah set down her bag and opened it. She pulled out a white linen cloth, which she lay on the ground, and then set an injector, scalpel, tweezers, and a few other tools Nick didn't recognize on the cloth. “Erica,” she said, “pants off, and lie down on your side.”

Erica, without hesitation, unbuckled her pants and stepped out of them. She was wearing tight black boxer shorts as underwear. Her thigh, where they had cut out the implant just a few days ago, was still bruised, with a jagged half-healed scar. She looked around the circle defiantly, refusing to be embarrassed, and Nick felt himself blushing.

Sarah made quick work of it, injecting Erica with a local anesthetic, then embedding the comm chip back near the spot from which it had been roughly gouged out. She closed the incision with a small lase-like device that fused the skin together. “Would be nice if I had antibiotic,” she said, to no one in particular. “No point in saving her from the hangman if we just let her die from an infection.” She helped Erica back to her feet. “Leave the incision site alone for an hour or so. It'll give the chip a chance to resettle itself properly into your muscle. You might unseat it if you start poking on it right away. And try to keep it clean. Like I said, I don't have any antibiotics for you.”

“Okay, we're done here,” said Ro. “Show's over. Rabbit, get Erica set up with a tent. Keep an eye on her. Either I or the General will be there in an hour. Nick, you'll be relieving Rabbit soon. Keep an ear on your comm.” He handed a headset to Nick.

Nick took a step toward Erica, and Rabbit quickly stepped between them. Nick ignored him, looking over the man's shoulder at Erica. “You okay?” he said.

“You're not responsible for me. I don't care what Ro says,” she answered, surprising Nick with the venom in her voice. “Whatever I do, whatever happens to you, it won't be my fault.”

IT TOOK A MOMENT FOR KEVIN'S EYES TO ADJUST TO THE DIM GLOW OF
the lightstick hanging from the ceiling. He saw Farryn lying on a cot at the back of the tent, and Cass sitting on the ground, her back against the bed. She stood and quickly crossed the small space, giving Kevin a hard hug. “His fever finally broke,” Cass said. “The medic says that's good, that's really good.”

“That's great,” said Kevin. He looked at Farryn, who was sleeping with his mouth hanging open. Kevin felt a sick jolt, even though he was expecting it, when he saw Farryn's gauze-wrapped leg ending just below the knee. He pulled his eyes away, and stepped back to look at his sister. She looked tired, and somehow older. Kevin had heard bits and pieces of Cass's story, enough to know that she had been back in the City, and
had a rough time of it.
It's no surprise
, he thought,
that she looks worn out.

Still, that was no reason to stop treating her like his sister. “You look like hell,” he said.

Cass raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, thanks. You look crappy, too.”

“Well, at least we're both looking better than Nick,” Kevin said.

“True,” said Cass with a small laugh. She stood back from the cot so Kevin could get a better look at Farryn.

Kevin took a step toward the cot, studying Farryn. His hair was matted down with sweat, but the color of his cheeks looked normal, and his breathing was slow and deep.

“He was shielding me when he lost the leg,” said Cass, looking down at Farryn. “It's going to be really hard for him, out here. It would even be hard for one of us, and he's a City boy.”

“We'll help him,” said Kevin. “I have an idea.” He hesitated. How could he say this so it wouldn't sound crazy? Just spit it out, he decided. “A bot leg,” he said.

“What are you talking about?” said Cass. Farryn groaned, and shifted in his sleep. Cass continued, whispering, “We're just going to ask some Lecturer bot to donate a leg and then glue it on to Farryn?”

“Neo-plas,” said Kevin. He kept his voice quiet, but he grew more excited as he spoke. “Lightweight but tougher than real skin. I can probably salvage some of the basic circuitry, maybe
even rebuild it. If this medic is good, maybe we can attach his nerves to some nanocircuit grafting, give him basic functioning. That would be crazy fletch, actually, and even if we can't pull that off, it'll still be a better fake leg than anything else we could get.”

“Kevin, slow down,” said Cass. “I still have no idea what you're saying.”

“I'm saying,” said Kevin slowly, for dramatic effect, “that I'll go back to the Island and get one of my grandfather's bot legs. I just need to convince Clay.”

“How are you going to do that?”

“Trust me, sis.” Kevin stepped out of the tent with a quick smile. His plan had to work—he could kill two birds with one stone, if Clay bought his plan.

Kevin hurried across the camp to Clay's tent. Grennel sat at a table outside, studying something on a small vidscreen that Kevin thought looked like a toy in Grennel's huge hands. He flicked the screen off and stood when he saw Kevin approaching.

“I need to talk to her,” said Kevin.

“Kid, you know I can't let you in there,” Grennel replied as he stood to his full height.

“Look, Grennel, this is important—” began Kevin, cutting himself off when Clay stepped out of her tent.

“It's fine, Grennel. Stand down,” said Clay.

Grennel nodded and stepped aside.

“If I were you,” said Clay, “I'd be spending all my time
figuring out how to keep that camouflage vest from frying you instead of bothering me, but it's not my life on the line.”

“That's exactly why I'm here. I need to get back to the Island,” Kevin said as calmly as possible.

There was a moment of quiet. Grennel raised his eyebrows and turned to look at Clay. Her face was expressionless. “Why, exactly, do you need to go back there?” she said.

“Tools, from my grandfather's workshop,” Kevin said. “And neo-plas. And other supplies. I don't have what I need here for the camo suits.”

Clay stared at Kevin. “The Island has been attacked by bots. It wouldn't be a safe trip.”

Kevin swallowed the angry reply that wanted to come out—
it was attacked because you destroyed the Wall.
“Look,” Kevin said, “you can keep me here and I won't be able to fix the camo suits and then you can fry me in one of them and you won't be any closer to having your cloaking tech.” He took a breath. “Or, you can let me go scavenge what I need.”

Clay was silent for another few seconds, then nodded. “Fine. You can go—escorted, of course. And you
will
hurry back.” She cleared her throat. “I know Nick is your brother, and Cass is your sister. I'm not a fool.” Clay smiled. “I'll kill them both if I find out that you've been wasting my time.”

Kevin ate a hard biscuit and an apple. He sat on the ground, hands on knees, washing down the dry, tasteless biscuit with
sips from his canteen, waiting for Grennel as the sun rose on a new day. He was so nervous he could barely eat—if this trip to the Island didn't go well, it would be bad not just for him, but for Nick and Cass, too.

Finally he saw Grennel approaching with a man and a woman he didn't recognize. Kevin stood, his legs stiff from the cold ground.
Might as well get this out of the way.

“This is Oswald, and Wynn,” said Grennel. The man and woman nodded. They were both short and lean, especially standing next to Grennel's hugeness. The man had a way of walking, catlike almost, that hinted at him being very quick and athletic, and the woman had a white scar along the jawline of her left cheek that made her look almost comically tough.

They nodded at Kevin, and he gave them a small nod back. “Grennel,” he said, “I've got one important condition for going on this trip.”

Grennel folded his arms over his chest. “You're not doing us any favors here. The General, in fact, is the one being generous. You're in no position to be setting conditions.”

“Yeah, well, I'm setting one anyway.” Kevin hesitated, then plunged forward. “When we get there, you've got to let me bury my grandfather.”

Kevin thought—or did he imagine?—that he saw a hint of surprise flicker across Grennel's stoic face. The big man said nothing, just stared at Kevin. Then he unfolded his arms and said, “Yes. I agree. If it's safe, and we have the time. I'll help.”

“No,” said Kevin. “You won't help. You'll leave him alone.” Letting Grennel help with the burial, Kevin felt, would be somehow forgiving him. As if it would be letting Grennel atone for what he did. “Just agree to let me do it.”

Grennel closed his eyes, holding them shut a few moments too long to be a blink, then reopened them and nodded. “Okay. I agree. Let's go.”

Kevin followed Grennel and the others toward the eastern edge of the camp. He wanted to say good-bye to his brother and sister, but he wasn't sure if Grennel would wait. He also didn't want to make too big a deal out of his going, had tried to keep it a secret. But when they reached the eastern perimeter, Kevin found Nick, Cass, and Lexi waiting near the sentry. Kevin had to suppress a smile.

“Trying to sneak out?” said Nick.

“Damn it,” said Kevin. “Thought I could avoid you all. How'd you know I was leaving?”

“Nothing stays a secret for long here,” Cass said, wrapping him in a tight hug. Lexi followed with a peck on the cheek. Nick, however, turned to Grennel and said, “I want to go with you.”

Grennel shook his head. “No.”

“I don't need babysitting,” Kevin said, angry.

“I know that,” Nick said. “But I can help.”

Grennel shook his head again. “Out of the question,” he said.

Nick stared at Grennel, and there was a tense silence while everyone waited for Nick to react. Finally he turned to Kevin. “Be careful,” he said.

“It's hopefully just a few days,” said Kevin. “No big deal.”

“We all just found each other,” said Nick. “Don't get lost again.”

Kevin knew that Nick was expecting a sarcastic or annoyed reply, but instead he said solemnly, “I'll be careful. I'll come back, I promise.” He held his hand out.

Nick took a moment to clear his throat—Kevin was surprised to see that Nick seemed to actually be fighting back tears.