Secret Worlds (561 page)

The longhaired guy nods. “More and more. It’s becoming a boomtown.”

“Do they have a say in the voting?” I ask him.

“Probably.” The longhaired guy raises his mug. “Hey, may the best person win.”

“I second that,” Blane exclaims.

We end up clinking glasses, all toasting each other. The red-haired girl is Haddy, the longhaired boy is Tib and his friend wearing glasses is Van. People in Vegas-by-the-Sea might be almost as well off as the ones from Baronland South but they’re super-friendly, and it makes me want to move here even more.

Bea, Radius, Blane and I waddle out of Crab House Delights like stuffed lobsters punch drunk on mead. Axiom’s white limo glider ferries us to the Skye Ride at the wharf. Stepping onto the seaside dock, I’m aware that I’m stepping into my longtime dream: to finally see the sea dazzle with its infinite blues. Breathing in its marine scent, I picture starfish, octopi and waving clusters of anemones below—a paradise of creatures that I’ve only read about in old books.

The sun is setting. Gold and pink crescents of sky reflect blithely on the ever-moving waves. The shimmering curves make their way out to the horizon until they disappear beyond it.

“Ocean!” I call out, lifting my arms in joy.

“It’s beautiful!” Bea calls out behind us.

“So are you,” I hear Radius tell her.

Blane steps up to me. “It’s so vast.” A troubled expression casts a shadow over his face.

“What?”

“Nothing, it’s just …”

“Thinking of your family?”

He gazes over at me, pain evident in his hazel eyes. “Reminds me of how the waves took them. The tsunami. Oh, god, Ruby.”

“It’s over, it’s safe now.” I slide my arm around his waist. I don’t need to wait for him to take the lead. He needs someone to care about him, and I do.

Our Skye Ride whooshes down for us. It’s a white hovercraft with a cab just big enough for two and a rounded, high-arching top. This cab is attached to a great looped track in the sky, as the other cabs are. The ride master opens the door and, with another swipe of his arm, invites us in. “Belt up,” he advises.

Blane helps me in and I arrange my red dress under me and cinch the seatbelt. Suddenly, I’m tingling with anticipation and fear, and my heart is rapping hard against my ribs.

We’re borne up, soundlessly and more grandly than in any mere glider. We soar so high that the wharf and the people walking on it look like tiny beetles. Turning around, I see Radius and Bea snuggling in the hovercraft behind us. We wave.

Higher and higher. Delicious songs play inside my head, like the thrumming of the Fireseed. Only it’s the humming of my own heart, filled with joy and lightness. Or is it? I hear it again, exactly like the Fireseed:
pretty one, pretty one, pretty one.

Ocean, ocean, ocean!

How is that even possible, all the way out here on the coast? We’re hundreds of miles from Skull’s Wrath. Can the Fireseed sense me here, flying above the sea? How could the message be as strong as it would be if we were back at school? There are no sure answers.

Blane presses me to his side, and I feel his heart throbbing against my arm. Relaxing into his shoulder, I nestle there. What would he think if he knew what I was now? I’m afraid to tell him, but do I really need to?

He nuzzles my forehead, planting soft kisses on it, and moving his lips down to kiss the tip of my nose, and then each wind-burned cheek, and finally grazing his lips softly over mine, like a velvety leaf. With his tongue, he playfully guides my mouth open. We kiss until flames lick at my entire body.

We’re flying in the heavens now, the city so many radiant specks below, the ocean a filmy, celestial blanket.

But the humming gets louder and more insistent. Abruptly its cry turns pleading.
Help me, help me, help me!
In my mind’s eye, I see a tiny Red, fluttering, trying in vain to stay aloft in the powerful bluster, but falling, falling, falling. Falling away.

Looking down, I search for a real set of red wings. I swear I see them, spiraling lower, and my breath catches in a frightened gasp. When I jerk my head upward, and look over at Blane to see if he’s seen the Red too, the corner of my vision catches on something else outside the other window. It’s enormous and curved, pearly and anonymous, and I lean toward it. A monstrous orb is floating right next to us, the size of an entire small planet. It’s way, way too close, as if we’re about to crash.

“Blane!” I scream.

He whirls around to see where I’m looking, and squints out the window. “What, Ruby?”

“It was there. Now it’s gone, behind the mist. I don’t know … I swear that I saw something.”

“What, Ruby? Describe it to me.” Now Blane is fully upright, his eyes wild, scanning the darkening sky in all directions.

“It, it’s gone.” How could a huge glowing orb just disappear? Or how could I have seen an actual Red, all the way up here, out on the coast, struggling against these violent air currents? How could any of this be happening? “I’m going crazy.”

“Ruby, talk to me.” Blane grasps me by the shoulders.

“I’m scared,” is all I can utter.

“Scared of what?”

“Scared something terrible is happening.” The humming is back, inside my head. Not humming exactly, more a shrieking. It eats at my heart.

“What?” He’s holding his own terror in, but he shudders under his glaze of control.

I shake my head, as much to get the bad omen out as to shake sense in. “I don’t know, Blane, I don’t know. Just hold me. Please.”

What is this strange screaming static? Is it some kind of radio interference from that orb I just saw? Or is Thorn in some kind of trouble back at home? Is it the stromanet sending a message? No, the noise is nonsensical now. There’s no language attached to it like there was with the Reds, with the Fireseed. Could it just be my amplified fear at being a mile above the ocean?

Blane wraps me in his arms and lets me sink into him. “It’s okay now,” he whispers. “We’re okay.” I breathe his scent of spice and sweat and a fledgling kindness—clean and flowing in, stronger and stronger. The static in my head lessens and I see no more glimpses of that ghastly orb—as if was a stark, frozen nightmare that evaporated in our warmth. I want to forget it, let go of my past troubles. We stay entwined for the rest of the ride. From abject terror to a sense we are solid; I’ve never felt so loved or safe.

Back at the hotel, Radius slips into my room to be with Bea, and I slip into the guys’ room to be with Blane. In the wide bed with silky sheets there are more sweet, passionate kisses, and tender hugs, but we’ll heat up the bed another night. Tonight, Blane knows what I really need is to be held and protected, and I know what he really needs is to feel love, respect and that he has an unshakable ally.

“Blane Tralfant, representing The Greening,” calls the announcer.

Stepping onto the stage, Blane sets up his holo demonstration in front of Axiom’s large white demo screen. The bars and graphs of Blane’s design shimmer in three-dimensional complexity. He’s wearing his best suit, a beige solar cell one with a melon color shirt, which sets off his freckles in the most charming way. I’m nervous for him as I glance around at the excited crowd of kids, judges and city officials in this luxe auditorium that overlooks the ocean.

Blane clears his throat. “I’ve been researching the genetic formation and structure of Fireseed,” he starts. “You see, my mother was a geneticist, and after my family perished in the great East Coast Sector flood, well, I …” He glances over at me, and I nod to egg him on. “I feel the desire to carry on my mother’s work.” So he was telling the truth about her! It wasn’t just his mad boast. I lean forward, eager to catch every word.

“You see, Professor Teitur, the marine biologist who created Fireseed, used very special ingredients in his hybrid. We all know he needed a plant that withstood extreme heat and harsh conditions. But it might surprise you that he also wanted to create a
smart
plant. And one that had strong
emotions
.” The audience has an immediate and loud response to this news.

So that’s why the Fireseed bent down and stroked my back that first night at The Greening. That’s why it hums when it’s happy and screams when it’s scared. And why the Fireseed might destroy itself if it gets upset enough.

When we settle down, Blane continues. “To that effect, Professor Teitur blended his own human DNA with plant RNA.” More shocked gasps. I look around. People are exchanging heated remarks with their seatmates. “This human-plant hybrid mutated into a new species entirely. One that feels emotions, thinks, even talks in its own way.” More loud exclamations from the audience. “And because Teitur created Fireseed to have amazing powers of reproduction, it now produces transgenic chimera. What does this mean exactly?” Blane pauses for maximum effect. “It means that Fireseed can breed with humans to create varieties of human-plant beings. My holo software not only maps the gene sequences but through its unique algorithm it predicts at least twenty more varieties of chimera.” With this, Blane taps a glowing button and twenty kinky images fill the screen, from the kind of hybrid I am, with greenish blood, to a variety where the being’s skin is actually vibrant green, with leafed out hair.

The audience bursts into spirited chaos. Dr. Varik told us that we’d mutated, but no one knew that his father had already created a mutated being on
purpose
so many years ago!

I’m proud of Blane. With this, he’s a sure winner. I’d like that prize money, but wow, he deserves it too.

Utilizing his floating graphs, Blane describes the genetic codes, which I can’t begin to comprehend. I’m no geneticist, but I
do
know that Thorn, Dr. Varik and I are all living proof of Blane’s theory. The Reds too. How did Blane determine all of this just from the Fireseed leaves? Clearly he compiled major data from Teitur’s experiments as well.

I underestimated Blane, that’s for sure. He’s not the person I thought he was; he’s a lot smarter, a lot more soulful. Maybe now I can tell him the truth about who I am,
what
I am. Will he be fascinated or repelled?

I’m so deep in thought that I hardly hear the audience clap and the next student come up to talk about his project. In fact, a string of students from Spokane Way and Vegas Central come up, present, and sit back down, and it barely registers. Until a guy in a stiff navy suit from Baronland South steps up to the podium. They call him Alex Dean. He has a high forehead and a humorless, waxy expression.

“The Fireseed is a perfect military tool,” he starts. “It’s strong, easily reproducible, of amazing genetic material, as we’ve heard Mr. Tralfant of The Greening explain.”

“Let me demonstrate.” From a large cargo bag Alex Dean extracts what looks like a thick white target. He sets that up on the back wall. Then he takes out a hollowed Fireseed stalk, injects something in one end and aims it at the target. A shuddering blast startles the audience, and the target starts to break down like hardened sugar in water. Gradually, the target dissolves into thin air. The audience bursts out in reaction.

“Forget about drones that damage huge swaths,” he says, “just pick your target and dissolve
only
that target. This can be done from a long way away, as the Fireseed-based material has intelligent tracking ability. Imagine what power you’d have against an enemy.
Your
enemy.” With this, Alex Dean stares out into the crowd, a dare etched in his blocky chin and steely eyes.

I break out in cold gooseflesh. This guy scares me. What enemy do we have, and do we really want to vaporize anyone who gets in our way?

The audience erupts into a furious discussion. Bea leans over to me. “Since when were we supposed to design military weaponry?”

“I know. Disturbing.” I think of my own salve that can incapacitate someone. But that’s not for war, that’s for medicinal purposes, or calming a rowdy criminal … and it’s temporary.

I look over at the judges, half expecting them to disqualify this guy. They’re deep in whispered discussion. But they only thank him and call me up next!

My knees knocking, I present my elixirs. The stage is so vast that even my most dramatic demonstration—temporarily freezing the Spatter Lizard in one position—can hardly be seen at such a distance. I wish I’d set up an oversized demo like Blane. Even the burn on my arm—the second red, puffy burn that hurt like anything this morning as I prepared—seems so insignificant compared to what he revealed. Nonetheless, people are leaning forward, squinting their eyes to get a good look at the burn as it transforms into pink, fresh skin.

There’s a respectable smattering of applause. Still, I leave the stage deeply disappointed. No way will I be able to afford my fantasy blue house in Vegas-by-the-Sea, not even a tiny studio apartment. I’ll never get the money to help my family and friends back home escape. When I sit back down, Bea pats me on the back and tells me what a great job I did. She’s a good friend, but her glued on smile can’t fool me.

Bea’s up next, so there’s no time to mope. I’m glad for that. The time whizzes by as I hurry into one outfit only to shrug out of it into another, and burst out again on the red carpet catwalk that Bea’s set up onstage. There is thundering applause for Bea, and the female students are clapping especially hard. I bet they would all love to dress in her fashions. This bodes well for her chances to win. No doubt, sales of Bea’s clothes would be brisk and bring in boatloads of cash to this city, and for Axiom, even after he doles out the prize money. Nevada would win the bonus to fix up The Greening as well.

We sit through about four more presentations, including Radius’ small hovercraft. He has a hard time with one of the wings, which keeps sagging to one side. Still, he earns an enthusiastic response when he gets it to rise unsteadily above the stage.

Afterwards, we’re steered into a ballroom, filled with steamy teas, coffees, crumpets and cookies while we await the judges’ determinations.

A crowd of mostly guys huddles around Alex Dean. Bea and I eavesdrop. He says that he hails from a long line of military brats.