The Vault of Dreamers (22 page)

“Watch that ninth step,” Otis called.

Linus worked the key in the lock, pushed open the thick door, and held it for me.

Inside was a dim, dusty stairwell that smelled of cool stone and old wood. I moved
farther in to peer up the center column of the stairs, liking the ascending, octagonal
spiral.

“I should have brought my video camera. You know all the coolest places,” I said.
“Are we still on the show in here?”

“Of course,” he said, and pointed out a camera. “Only people who have Otis’s permission
can come in the tower, though.”

“So you had to use your special connections.”

“That’s right.”

Our shoes made hollow noises on the steps, and the railing was dusty under my fingertips.
With each window I passed, the scene outside dropped lower. One window showed foreshortened
little people between the dining hall and the student union. The next overlooked the
infirmary roof. At the top, the staircase ended in an open lookout area and as I turned
to meet Otis, I found he had turned one of the long-range cameras inward to aim at
me. The black lens was as big as a pie plate.

“Hello,” I said.

The old man shifted from behind the camera. “Forgive the overkill. I don’t usually
have guests,” he said.

“Otis, this is my friend Rosie Sinclair,” Linus said. “Otis Fairwell.”

“How are you?” I asked.

“Fine, thank you,” Otis said. “It’s a pleasure.”

He made no move to shake hands, and I wondered if he was deliberately staying off
camera or if he was naturally shy. Short and thin, he was dressed in a thick camo
jacket and baggy trousers. His eyes were sharp, with deep squint lines, and he wore
a typical Forge earphone. A hunting cap, the same gray hue as his mustache, fit his
scalp with worn familiarity.

At his feet, a sleek golden retriever panted at me and gave a thump of its tail. Its
nose was gray with age.

“This here’s Molly,” Linus said, and crouched down to rub the dog’s furry neck. “Hey,
girl. Good dog.”

“How old is she?” I asked.

“Fourteen,” Linus said.

“She has trouble with the stairs,” Otis added. “Linus carries her up and down for
me. Go on, now. Admire my view.”

I braced a hand on the railing and peered out. “Oh, wow.”

“Nice, right?” Linus said.

The air was incredibly fresh. The land stretched away for sweeping miles all around
us. Far out on the horizon, a streak of sunlight dropped down and lit up a shimmering,
narrow patch of prairie green. In the other direction, to the west, black clouds piled
high over a giant, slanting curtain of gray rain.

“I don’t allow any other view in all of Kansas to be prettier than that there,” Otis
said. He flicked a match and cupped it to light a cigarette between his lips.

“Can we see your house?” I asked Linus.

He pointed toward Forgetown. “It’s that gray one, the second one behind the water
tower.”

“With the dog house?”

“Yes, and the black shutters,” he said.

“Nice,” I said.

Linus smiled at me, and then turned to Otis. “Want a hand with the windows?”

“Just those six,” Otis said, pointing. “Leave the other two up.”

Linus reached to unhook the big windows, which swung down on their hinges, and I helped
to fasten them closed. As we finished the sixth, a wash of drops darkened the sidewalks
and roofs below, and the sound pelted against the glass.

“Fun,” I said, laughing. “Has the tower ever been hit by lightning?”

“Thirty-three times that I’ve recorded,” Otis said. “We’ve got a rod. It’s safe enough,
but you can feel the shake of the power, that’s for sure.”

I believed him. A framed photo of Otis with his arm around another man’s shoulders
was nailed to a post. Down a couple of steps, behind a tidy curtain, I glimpsed a
little washroom with a sink. Another corner had a minifridge, a Hot Pot, and a spindly
begonia. A hammock was looped on a hook.

It struck me that this was the place Linus called me from when we were talking on
our walkie-hams.

“It must be nice up here at night,” I said.

Linus smiled. “It is.”

He came to stand beside me as we looked out one of the open windows. I bunched up
the sleeves of the jacket Linus had loaned me and slid my hands into the pockets.
My fingers came up against a hard ridge.

His swipe key was in the right pocket.

Excitement flared inside me before I realized I would be stealing. I had no idea how
mad he would be if I took his key. Probably very. Guilt hovered in my fingertip but
I already knew what I was going to do.

A rumble of thunder shook the windows.

“Your lips are a little blue,” he said. His eyes frowned while his mouth smiled. “Let’s
see.”

I tipped my face up for his inspection and hoped he couldn’t see my agitation about
his swipe key. Then I felt his finger touch lightly to my lower lip.

“They don’t feel cold,” he said, and brought his mouth to mine.

I could never get used to kissing Linus. He was sweet and unnerving every time, especially
now, when I felt a twinge of shame for what I was going to do. He shifted both his
arms around me, snuggling me against him. My feet went pigeon-toed to fit between
his. Where his jacket on me came open between us, the feel of him made me suck in
my stomach and want to be even closer.

A discreet “ahem” alerted me to Otis standing there with his monstrous camera, not
ten feet away.

“Ignore him,” Linus said.

“I can’t,” I said, blushing.

I leaned my forehead against Linus for a moment, and then I glanced over my shoulder
at the old man. “Does Linus bring all his girlfriends up here?” I asked.

“Yes,” Otis said.

Surprised, I spun back to Linus.

“Are you going to explain for her, Otis?” Linus asked.

“You’re doing a good enough job explaining, I guess,” Otis said.

Linus kept me near. “You’re the only one.”

I studied him. “Really? Wait, I’m the only girlfriend you’ve brought here, or the
only one you’ve had?”

“Both,” he said simply.

I was still uncertain. “But you kissed somebody before. I distinctly remember you
telling me that,” I said. “These things matter, Linus.”

Linus laughed. “She wasn’t exactly a girlfriend. She was more of a neighbor, looking
to practice.”

I just bet she was.

“It’s better practicing with you, needless to say,” he added. His hand slid to my
waist under the jacket, and he kissed me once more. At the next rumble of thunder,
he leaned close to my ear. “Would you please stay awake tonight and call me?”

I jumped inside.

“Are you afraid of thunder?” he asked at normal volume.

“Only when it’s really loud,” I said, and when another crash of thunder came just
then, I laughed and covered my ears.

“We should go,” Linus said. “Chef Ted expects me back. Your friend’s waiting for you
in the library, too.”

I’d forgotten about Burnham, but Linus was right.

“Thanks for having me up here,” I said to Otis.

“It’s funny. I’ve only met a handful of students over the years,” he said. “I think
I know you from the cameras, but it’s different once you know me back, even a little.
Come up again anytime, with or without Linus.”

His invitation surprised me. “Thanks.”

Linus gave Molly another friendly petting, and we started down the stairs.

In the dimness, it was simple to move his swipe key to the pocket of my jeans. When
we reached the bottom, I opened the door and paused at the prospect of all the rain,
now that I was going to have to run through it.

“Otis liked you,” Linus said.

“I liked him, too,” I said. I slid off Linus’s jacket and passed it back to him.

“No, keep it. You’ll get all wet,” he said.

“I’m fine. Really,” I said. “You have to go to work. You don’t want to be wet all
night, and I can run back to my dorm and change and get my own jacket.”

“That’s ridiculous. I’m two paces from the dining hall.”

I backed up, smiling, and stepped into the rain so I was already drenched. “Too late,”
I called, and I took off sprinting, with his swipe key in my pocket.

*   *   *

Back in my dorm, I was able to hide Linus’s swipe key under my clean sweatshirts while
I was changing, and once I was in dry things, I took an umbrella and headed back to
the library. Burnham had loaded all of my footage onto the computer and organized
it in my editing program so I would be able to watch it efficiently. I hardly knew
how to thank him.

We went over to dinner together. When we were joined by Janice, Paige, and Henrik,
I liked the relaxed friendliness of our circle, especially when one of them teased
me about my blip rank. It had risen into the thirties again without any special effort
from them. Once, I looked up to see Linus working in the kitchen, and I felt a complicated
hitch of guilt, half for him being an outsider, and half for stealing his swipe key.
I didn’t know when he would notice either.

Later that evening, when Orly came by with the pills, I faked swallowing mine for
the first time in nearly a month. As soon as she was gone and the lights were out,
I took the pill out of my cheek and put it in my pillowcase. Then I closed my hand
around my walkie-ham, weighing my options.

On one hand, Linus had asked me point-blank to stay up and call him. I could picture
him in the lookout tower, surrounded by Otis’s gear and the stars, waiting for me
to connect. The problem was, I’d stolen Linus’s swipe key. He might even be in trouble
for losing it. I didn’t think he’d tell on me. Not at first. But I might only have
one chance to use it before it was deactivated, assuming it wasn’t already.

If I called Linus, I would have to admit I’d done something wrong and face his anger.
I knew he’d tell me not to use the swipe key. But I had to use it. The news of Ellen’s
death disturbed me, and I couldn’t get past the idea it might be connected to what
was happening here at night.

I needed to know where they took our sleep shells. Just that much. If I could figure
out that one thing and see for certain that no one was harming us, I promised myself
I would let the rest of my suspicions go.

I left my walkie-ham off and tried not to think of Linus waiting futilely for my call.
After midnight, when I knew that the techies would leave for the night, I quietly
got up and peered out the window. All the floors of the dean’s tower, including the
fifth and the penthouse, were dark. The only illumination was a slight glow from the
corner of the sixth floor, where I had seen Dean Berg once before.

I could only hope he’d been lulled into inattention by all my nights of obedient sleeping.

Quietly and swiftly, I pulled on my jeans and tucked in my nightie. I threw on a sweatshirt
and shoved my feet into my sneakers. Grabbing Linus’s swipe key and my video camera,
I hurried out the door and down the stairs to the basement. I passed the elevator,
and this time, when I came to the service tunnel door, I slicked Linus’s pass through
the crevice. The light stayed red, for locked. I turned the key over and swiped it
again. The light blinked once, and then turned green.

I was in.

I gripped the handle, caught my breath, and pushed the door open.

A concrete corridor flickered to life before me as motion-detector lights came on
above. They buzzed faintly. Gray paint was chipping from the walls, but the floor
was smoothly swept, and the cool, musty air held a familiar hint of ammonia.

The door closed behind me with a click. I checked quickly for cameras, but the walls
and ceiling had none. I was offstage, invisible, and that alone was worth a smile.
I hurried until I came to an intersection of more corridors. The three new hallways
all led toward darkness, and no signs gave any directions. Behind me, my corridor
was going dim as the lights turned off, one by one.

The last light above me went off, plunging me into darkness, and as my other senses
sharpened, the combination of mustiness and ammonia brought me an odd awareness: I’d
been here before. This scent had penetrated my sleep, which meant I’d been wheeled
this way before, in my sleep shell.

I waved a hand to make the lights go on again, and trusting instinct, I turned right.
Lights kept coming on above me, and soon the next corridor ended at another steel
door. I put my ear to the cool metal, hearing silence. Then I turned the handle and
pushed.

I’d arrived in a wood-paneled hallway, with an elevator, a staircase leading up, a
set of bathrooms, and a couple of empty vending machines. I checked quickly for camera
buttons and found none, which meant I was still offstage. But where?

The elevator dinged.

I bolted back. As the doors whooshed open, I squeezed behind the nearest vending machine.

“Don’t mention it,” a woman said. She had a crackly, high voice. “I don’t mind waiting.
It’s better than walking back with you-know-who. Good gracious. Would you believe
it? Still?”

A bang came against the vending machine and I jumped out of my skin.

“I don’t know why we even try,” said a second voice. “They never fill these machines.
Why do they even have them if they never fill them up?”

“I have to use the can before we go. Coming?” the first voice said.

“This has been the longest day.”

A door was opened, and their voices receded into the echoey space of the bathroom.
I squeezed sideways a little farther behind the vending machine and tried to peer
down past my shoulder so I wouldn’t bump into a plug and electrocute myself. The two
vending machines were side by side, presenting a united front, but the second machine
was farther away from the wall, concealing a narrow, upright space in the corner of
the room. Not counting a furry layer of dust, it was the perfect place to hide.

As I slid in farther, my hip bumped against a ridge in the wall. I squirmed to see
it was a hinge, and upon close examination, I found the outline of a door cut in the
wooden paneling. An unused, secret door was hidden behind the snack machines. It had
no handle or keyhole. Intrigued, I pushed the door, and then I palpitated it to see
if it would open on a bounce, but it didn’t move.