Ixeos: Book One of the Ixeos Trilogy (14 page)

“
Oui
. You will be back soon, though, I am sure.” Gilles picked up her hand and kissed it, smiling up at her. Neahle could feel her cheeks getting pink. The boys in Beaufort hadn’t prepared her for this.

Turning out of the courtyard in the back of the house, Hannah headed south through a maze of courtyards and service alleys, emerging on Rue de Petits Ecuries.

“We went north yesterday. We’ve got to go a good way south today to get to Rebel Two. Hopefully we can spend tonight there; it’s not too much further south to Rebel Six. That puts us by the river; we’ll meet Vasco at the end of the day. We hadn’t planned on coming back up here to Seven, but they’ve got to be moved. Or we might head back home so he can talk with Abacus about where to put them…” She shrugged. “We’ll just have to wait and see. That’s assuming all’s gone well for everyone else.”

“Are the boys in danger, too?” Neahle asked.

“Any time we’re out of the tunnels we’re in danger. Your brother is probably the least of your worries. He and Samson will stay at the Depot and tinker with bikes until it’s for us time to swing by and get them, after we meet Vasco. Marty may get some excitement… Not while he’s on the computers but on the way there or back. But he’s with Vasco, so…” She smiled at Neahle. “That’s about as good as it gets.”

The girls walked along the streets and alleys, their hoods up and their hands in their pockets, feeling hot in the warm sunshine. They could have taken the Rue d’Hauteville and moved four times as fast, but they stuck with shadows, abandoned buildings, alleys and trees. The Boulevard de Bonne Nouvelle was fully tree lined on the north side; they turned west and followed it to Rue Vivienne, which ran south.

“Straight south from here is the Royal Palace,” Hannah said, pointing down the street.

“Do the Firsts use it?” Neahle asked, looking at the deserted road.

“No, it’s definitely not modern enough for them. We’re going to wind around it, mostly going south. There are some huge buildings along the way and not many places to hide. Awhile ago a gang set up a meth lab in one, but it blew up. I don’t think the Firsts even investigated the fire. We’re gonna steer clear and try to get south of all that as fast as we can. Same old, same old—head down, hood up, follow me. If we get separated though, you go to the Palace. You can’t miss it; you can hide there until one of us comes to get you.”

Neahle shook her head, although she wasn’t saying “no” to anything. She just wasn’t used to feeling adrenaline and nausea coursing through her. She adjusted her hood and followed Hannah, watching her shoes. Unfortunately, this wasn’t doing her any good in the “learn your way around Paris” challenge, but since the alternative was probably throwing up, she went for it.

Hannah had been right—the buildings were getting massive. They slipped through the trees lining the Rue de Richelieu and had to cross a six lane road. Reaching the other side, they jogged between small blocks of big buildings, then through a square park with a fountain in the middle. There were several blocks with tiny alleys between large homes and shops, and then they were back on the Rue de Richelieu, but without the lush tree covering.

“The Palace is just beyond these buildings,” Hannah said softly, pointing as she looking around her hood. “Just there. If you need it.” Neahle nodded and kept going.

“Okay, we’ve got a theater and an opera house, which means a big open space to cross, but there are trees. Stay under them. We’re heading west from there.”

They crossed the big intersection and headed west, up Rue Saint-Honore. After two blocks they slipped into an alley on the south side beside a red brick building. Behind it was a courtyard; the back of the building turned like a J. Hannah ran up to a dark wooden door at the short end and knocked.
Tap. Tap Tap. Tap. Smack.
The door opened a crack and Neahle saw a bit of gray hair, and then Hannah slipped through, beckoning her to follow.

Chapter Eighteen

M
arty had never been so
happy in his life. He was surrounded by computers of all shapes, sizes and capacities, and he had full permission to break whatever laws he wanted. Well, he guessed there weren’t laws anymore, and he figured the punishment for getting caught would be pretty bad. But at least he had a tunnel that would take him halfway around the world if he needed to escape, and that was more than he could say for his bedroom in Virginia.

Jack and Travis, the two guys who seemed to live in the vault, and Marissa, who was seventeen and obviously a genius, were each sitting on a side of the large square table, tapping away. It was perfect symmetry—he made the fourth side. He grinned happily. After being shown a spot and told a little bit about the Firsts’ network, he was let loose on it. He spent the first six hours tentatively worming his way around, trying not to set off alarms anywhere along the intricate networks he was traveling.

“Doin’ okay?” Marissa called over. “Ready for some eats?” Tall and painfully thin, Marissa had a small face, thick glasses and thin lips; she also had glorious dark red curly hair pulled up into a messy ponytail that cascaded glossy curls in all directions.

“Um, sure.” Marty pulled out of his latest exploration and idled his computer. “What’ve we got?”

Marissa looked over at boys. “What’s on the menu, Travis?”

“Beans, rice, some greens for a salad. Maybe a few tomatoes left, not sure.” The man never looked up, staring intently at the thirty-inch screen in front of him.

“There ya go,” Marissa said to Marty.

“Sounds familiar,” he said.

Marissa laughed. “You get used to it. Some of the others get some pretty good food when they go on missions, but since we stay here all the time that’s what we get. Beans and rice, fruit and veg, sometimes bread if there’s enough or Will makes us some special. Come on.”

She led him from the vault up a flight of stairs to a suite of offices. These had been converted to three bedrooms, a sitting room, and a kitchen. Marissa showed him around and pointed to a mattress on the floor in one of the rooms.

“That’ll be yours. Travis and Jack have a room, I have a room, and visitors use this one sometimes. I guess it’s our guest room.” She smiled. “Let’s heat up the beans and rice. There’s not much I despise more than cold, hard rice. Want a drink?”

Marty followed her into the kitchen and sat at a huge executive desk that had been converted to the dining table. “Sure, that’d be great. What’ve you got?”

“Water, water or water.”

“Ah, water would be nice.” He laughed.

“Sometimes we have tea. Out of bags just now.” She opened a small dormitory refrigerator and pulled out containers. Seeing his astonishment, she handed him a cold bottle of water. “That’s one perk of being in here all the time. We’ve got electricity. Fridge, cooktop, TV, lights. Sometimes we watch movies.” A small sad smile ran across her face, then was gone.

“Where are you from?” Marty asked her.

“Florida. Small little town on the east coast near Cape Canaveral. Everyone knows where that is, at least.” She stirred the pot. “You?”

“Virginia. Richmond. I got here with my cousins. They’re from North Carolina. I was visiting on summer break…”

“Some vacation, huh?”

“No kidding. But this place is awesome. Computers are kinda my thing,” he said.

“Figured. Vasco wouldn’t have brought you otherwise. You must have just got here. I was back in the tunnels for a break about… Wow, I don’t know, two months ago? Something like that. We don’t get out much.”

“So… have you found a way in? Like, to the head guy or the president or whoever’s running the show?” Marty sipped his water, hiding his excitement. He wanted to be the one to do it; he knew he could if it hadn’t been done yet.

She shook her head, her curls bouncing around and reflecting the light. “Nope, no one has. There’s not like a premier or a king or whatever. There’s not even a, you know, congress or anything like that.”

“Well, who’s in charge? Someone’s got to be.”

“Yeah. There’s this guy, Simon Lockwell. He seems to be in charge, but it’s hard to tell. He’s either here in Paris at La Defense or else he’s in London or New York. Most of them don’t travel much, even though they have that transporter thing. It’s the same thing that moves the prison and got them all here in the first place. Here.” She put a bowl of red beans and rice in front of him, followed by a small bowl of mixed greens that he didn’t recognize, chopped tomato, and bottles of oil and vinegar. She sat down with her own bowls and dug in.

“Okay, so this Lockwell guy. Does he have, like, email? Skype? Text messages?”

Marissa laughed. “I wish! They do use email and video conferencing, but it’s all boring, at least the stuff we’ve found so far. The big comm center is in the center of Paris, but we don’t get anything interesting from it. It’s generic stuff—production schedules and weather reports and stuff like that.”

“What about the prison’s schedule?”

She shook her head again. Marty was transfixed by her hair for a moment, but she didn’t notice. “Nope. If it’s there, we haven’t found it. Trust me, we’re looking. We’re all looking.”

After dinner, Marty worked another four hours on the computer before heading to bed. He had no idea what time it was, although he thought it must be morning. Vasco and Monkey had left after getting him settled and he had no idea when they would be back. He hadn’t brought enough clothes for a two month stay, so he assumed he wasn’t living here for the foreseeable future. Although he wouldn’t mind hanging out with Marissa.

He got ready for bed quickly and settled onto the mattress, pulling the down comforter up to his waist and crossing his arms behind his head. Simon Lockwell. That guy had to know what was going on with the prison. All he had to do was find him online and figure out how he was communicating. Somewhere there was a secret. He was sure he was the man to find it out.

Marty slept for four hours and then took his place in front of the computer monitors. As the systems were warming up, he turned to Travis. “Tell me about Simon Lockwell. What’ve you got?”

The young African American man smoothed down his big afro before making a few more clicks, then sat back in his chair. “Head turd. If they weren’t so dangerous, they’d be the most boring creatures in the universe. The Firsts are plodders, man. No imagination.”

“But they developed all this technology,” Marty protested.

“Sure, somewhere along the line, on their home planet. But those dudes who thought up the transport system must be long gone. Or else they stole it from some other planet. Their whole society is structured on… What’s it called? Status quo. The reason they want to set up the breeding facilities and get rid of all the original humans is because we screw up their status quo, you know?”

“No… Like what?”

“Well, like the rebels. Like Darian. Like thinking for ourselves and being creative in fighting them. Look, what they want is to have slaves grow their food, do their chores, that kind of stuff. All
they
want to do is science. Look at crap under a microscope, look at crap through a telescope, experiment on anything and everything. Or everyone.”

“Experiment?” Marty asked.

“Trust me, dude, you don’t want to know. You know all that stuff you learned about Nazis in school? Well, the Firsts were good little students of all that. Who knows, maybe they were even the teachers. They don’t see humans as any different than lab rats, and they’d love to be able to turn off whatever part of us makes us… well, human. You know, emotions and creativity and all that. They’ll probably figure it out, too, one day.”

“If we don’t stop them,” Marty said, turning to his monitor.