Atlantia

by Ally Condie

  And again she has to answer.

  I think.

  I’m almost sure.

  But I’m never completely sure, when it comes to Maire.

  Tell Ennio, Maire says, that he owes me a favor, and that I’m calling it in on your behalf.

  “Will he believe me?” I ask.

  If you tell him a name, Maire says, he will.

  “What’s the name?”

  Asha, Maire says.

  I almost ask who Asha is, but then I decide I don’t want to know. I have too much to hold in and keep back as it is.

  “Thank you,” I say to Maire. “Do you know why I want the air?”

  Yes, she says. Of course she knows. She isn’t stupid. She knows what I want to do. But she doesn’t know how I’ll do it.

  “Is there a better way to the surface?” I ask. “If my voice is strong enough, can I just tell the Council to put me on a transport and send me Above?”

  The Council doesn’t tell the public this, Maire says, but the transports are controlled by the people Above. They are kept at the surface except when in use.

  “Then what is the best way to go Above?”

  The best way to go Above is with me.

  Her voice sounds small and strained. I can barely hear it. Even Maire’s power has its limits, and she is growing tired.

  In a strange way, I trust the mines in the water. They are made to do something and they do it. They’re not alive. They’re not complicated, like my mother and Maire and Bay.

  There are more questions I want to ask Maire. Do you know who killed my mother? and Was it you?

  But I don’t. Something stops me. Maybe I don’t want to hear the truth. Maybe I’m afraid she’ll find a way to lie to me. Or I’m afraid that if I ask her those questions, she won’t answer any others, and there is so much I need to know.

  “That’s all,” I say, after a few moments.

  It’s not a question, so Maire doesn’t answer. The shell is silent, except for the sound that’s always there, the ocean or the wind.

  I put down Maire’s shell and pick up Bay’s instead. I know Maire told me the sounds were captured earlier, but it’s easy to imagine that Bay really is singing to me, missing me, right this moment. I whisper a question for Bay. “Why did you leave?”

  She doesn’t answer. She keeps on singing.

  I lean back and close my eyes, thinking of all that Maire can do. Like all sirens, she has the ability to persuade, but she can also mimic voices perfectly, ask questions that people from the past have been waiting to answer, and save what someone has said inside the small world of a shell.

  The woman speaking from the past was right.

  It is beautiful and terrible to be a siren.

  CHAPTER 11

  “I thought of something,” True says. “They’re not quite ready for you to use yet, but I’m pleased with them.”

  He’s brought his cart all the way over to the racing lanes again, and he takes a bucket from one of the shelves at the back. “Thanks to your last swim, I’ve had some more interest in my fish,” he says. “I thought I’d bring the cart right down here to take advantage of that. I’ve sold seven already. We’ll have that ring back for you soon.”

  He hoists the bucket up onto the top of the cart. “I wish I were having better luck talking to Fen’s family, though. I’ve been trying, but they’re still distraught and they don’t seem to know anything. And Caleb’s told me everything he can.”

  “Bay spoke with my aunt before she left,” I say, “but so far I haven’t been able to find out much about what they said.”

  “We’ll keep trying,” True says. “We’ll get there.” Then he reaches into the bucket and pulls out something silver and sinuous.

  “You made an eel,” I say.

  He nods. “I thought of it after I saw you swim.”

  “You’re comparing me to an eel?”

  “Yes,” True says, grinning. “It’s a compliment.”

  He winds the mechanism on the eel and drops it into the water, and it swims, beautiful and smooth, undulating the length of the lane. True was right. If I swim anything like this, it’s a compliment.

  The eel bumps into the wall, turns, and swims back.

  “Touch it,” True says as it gets closer. I do, and a little jolt of electricity fires through me.

  “You did it,” I say. “Already.”

  “I couldn’t sleep this morning,” True says. “So I got up and worked on them. I made five. But I need more time. The charge on this one seems fine, but I haven’t been able to test the others enough to be sure they’re safe.”

  But what we don’t have is time. The crowd gathering near us expects more than what I did before. We have momentum and we need to build on it if we can.

  “So it was fish last time,” someone calls out. “What today?”

  “More fish,” True calls back, and someone boos.

  “We’ve already seen that!” someone else shouts.

  I need this to work. I’m not ready to trust Maire to get Above. “This one works fine,” I say. “I’m sure the others are safe, too.”

  “I think they are,” True says, “but I need to make sure. It won’t take long. You can use them tomorrow.”

  I turn my back on him and climb on the starting block near the lanes, holding up the dripping eel in my hand. “These,” I say to the crowd as loud as I can without losing control. “I’ll be using these today.”

  “What do they do?” one of the bettors asks me, coming closer. I drop the eel in the water and it swims.

  “Like the fish,” the bettor says, sounding unimpressed. Which makes me angry. Because even without the electrical charge, even without me trying to swim around them, these inventions are beautiful. True’s workmanship should be worth something all on its own. People should be lining up to buy things from his cart.

  So I tell the bettor, “Touch it,” and when he does and steps back, surprised at the shock, I smile.

  “See,” I say. “There’s more to it than you think.”

  “I’ll tell the others,” he says grudgingly. “But can you feel it through your wetsuit?”

  I dip into the water and touch the eel with my elbow, which is covered by the suit. I feel a slight push of pressure, but most of the shock is absorbed by the material.

  “Not much,” I admit. It would be better if I could. I think fast. I need a full wetsuit to get to the surface. But I have an extra—I have Bay’s. “Do you have a knife?”

  “We’re in the deepmarket,” he says. “I’m sure there’s someone who does.” He goes out into the crowd and a few moments later he’s back, before True can even finish the speech he’s giving me about how dangerous this might be.

  I take the knife into one of the dressing stalls, remove my suit, and cut the fabric so that my arms and legs will be mostly exposed. I put the suit back on and walk out, and the bettor smiles as he takes the knife. “Yes,” he says. “That’s better. And you’re the Minister’s daughter?”

  “Oceana’s,” I say. “Not Nevio’s.”

  This makes him laugh. “Right,” he says. “People will like that.” He walks over to the others and starts talking and gesturing with them, and I wonder what he means. Does he think that they’ll like seeing Oceana’s daughter risk injury because they didn’t love her, or that they’ll find me interesting because they cared about her?

  True looks unhappy and angry. “This isn’t a good idea,” he tells me in a low tone. “What I have is a prototype, not a finished product.”

  “They’re going to leave if I don’t do something new,” I say. “I need to impress them today.”

  “Give me another day,” True says.

  “It has to be now,” I say. “Or they’ll forget. You wouldn’t believe how fast people can forget about someone.”

&n
bsp; People are climbing into the stands. It’s time.

  I reach down and pick up the bucket of eels and fish. True grabs the bucket, too, his hand over mine. His grip is strong and he’s not smiling. “I’m sorry,” he says. “But they’re not ready.”

  “True,” I say. “Please.”

  I can’t put anything I really feel into the word, but True draws in a deep breath, almost as if I have. His fingers tighten on mine for a moment, and I see small burns on the backs of his hands, which must have come from working on the eels and the fish. Did he get any sleep at all?

  And then True lets go of the bucket. Neither of us speaks but I wish I could thank him the right way, with my real voice. I start winding up the fish and eels and dropping them back into the water.

  They’re lovely. He has done perfect work. It’s a pleasure to see.

  True folds his arms. He doesn’t climb up into the stands—he stays right down by the lane to watch. When I glance back at him, his eyes lock on mine. He’s trying to understand me, but he never can, because I’m holding back too much of what he needs to know.

  I climb up onto the platform and realize that Aldo is still among the bettors, preoccupied with making money. He’s forgotten that he’s supposed to announce my race. I feel a rush of panic. I’ll have to do it myself. I should have told the bettor to stay here and call out for me. I’m going to take all the excitement away from my performance if I announce it in my flat, false voice.

  Then True steps up onto the platform next to me. I think he’s changed his mind, that he’s going to try to stop me, but instead he raises his arms, and the crowd goes quiet. And then True calls out, “Rio Conwy, racer and risk-taker.”

  That sounds all right. This might work.

  True’s face is very animated, and his voice carries well as he tells the audience about the eels. I like watching him speak from this perspective, from the side, when I see his mouth move and his eyes smile from a different angle.

  True makes what I’m about to do sound more dangerous than it really is. He talks about the eels and how they’ll burn my skin if they touch it. He tells the spectators that the fish aren’t charged, but they still represent a hit. He says the bettors are taking bets on how many hits I take in one pass down the lane, and on how fast I can go. I see a flurry of activity in the stands as people make their wagers.

  “Rio Conwy,” True says again, to finish. He shouts my name. Cheers it. Invites everyone to look at me.

  I raise my arms into the air, a gesture foreign to me, but it feels right. I hear a smattering of applause and a few whistles from the stands and I almost smile. It’s easy to perform in front of people when you don’t have to say anything.

  And then, into this moment of buoyancy, I feel that sudden, deep despair creep in.

  This is never going to work, a voice says to me. You think metal fish can replace mines? You think that an air tank will be as good as a pressurized transport? You’re going to die, Rio Conwy. You’re pretending to be a showman, and you’re pretending you can get to the Above on your own, and the only one you’ve tricked is yourself.

  You’re never going to get Above.

  People keep cheering. The official timer in the stands holds up his arm, raising the red flag that means I’m about to begin.

  “Be careful,” True says.

  I’m the last, I think. The last siren.

  The timer lowers his arm.

  I jump in and swim.

  I’m the last, so there’s no reason I shouldn’t also be the first. The first to get Above.

  That argument makes no sense. It doesn’t have to. I’ve seen the black line, and I swim. I’ll see the black water, and I’ll go up.

  Only three fish hit me, but the eels are faster, and I have several burns on my arms and legs. I pull myself out of the water and stand dripping next to True.

  “It could have been worse,” True says. He’s shaking his head and looks worried, but there’s also a trace of that expression I’ve seen once before, when he said I was beautiful.

  The spectators loved it. They cheer loudly and come down from the stands to surround me. I can hear them calling out questions, especially the bettors, who have a new race on their hands: Rio Conwy vs. Rio Conwy.

  I’m about to say thank you when I remember that my voice will ruin the spell.

  “Tell them I don’t speak before or after the performances,” I whisper to True. “Tell them it’s part of my routine. It’s better that way. You know. You’ve heard me. But tell them this is just the beginning. We’ll get more eels. I’ll be faster next time. There will be more at stake.”

  True gets a strange look on his face; he seems almost sorrowful. But he nods and turns to intercept the crowd while I hold my head high and walk away to the changing rooms. Once I’m inside I stay quiet and listen to the crowd outside. All of that noise is for me.

  “This won’t interest them forever,” I say to True, after everyone else has gone. I keep thinking about my mother and what she said about people liking a spectacle. “I need to do something big before they get tired of me. Build up to some kind of final event, take their money, and be done.”

  “Like what?” True asks.

  “I’m not sure yet.”

  We dry off the fish and the eels, cleaning and oiling them and wrapping them in soft cloths so they’ll stay in good shape between swims. We bundle them up like babies, and that makes me smile. And then True touches my hand to get my attention.

  “How much more dangerous do you plan to make this?” he asks. He turns my hand over, carefully, so that we’re both looking at a small, red burn on my palm. It happened when one of the eels swam too close to my face and I had to push it away. I know exactly when I got that injury, though I can’t pinpoint the moments when I came by all the others.

  “I don’t know,” I say.

  CHAPTER 12

  I’ve been promoted. Josiah meets me at the door at work the next morning and tells me that it’s time. “We’re moving you to the ocean room today,” he says.

  “Congratulations,” Elinor says as I stop near our table to say good-bye. She works quick and capable, and I wonder why they didn’t move her to the ocean room long ago.

  “I like it here,” she says. My face must reveal what I’m thinking, or else it’s a question others have asked before. “I’ve requested to stay. The ocean room is—too much.”

  I think I can see what she means. Through the window that separates us, I’ve watched the people in the other room and I’ve noticed a tension there that isn’t in the sky room, a striving among the workers. You can see it in the way they work and interact. I wonder if it’s the proximity to the sea, and the fact that real water can be glimpsed through the window in the portal door. I think the ocean can make people anxious. It’s like seeing a real sky. It’s seeing the world as it is, not as we made it to be.

  When I sit down at my new workstation, I hear Atlantia breathe deep and even around me.

  Somewhere, far away, I think I hear a voice screaming. But when I try to listen more closely, to narrow my hearing down to that sound alone, it disappears.

  It’s your imagination, I tell myself. You’re remembering what Maire thinks she can hear.

  Bien watches me from her table, her gaze clear and unkind, and I drop my eyes. I still can’t control people, not without revealing myself. I need to be careful.

  The morning passes quickly. Josiah shows me the screens that demonstrate and diagnose the more complicated drone injuries that we fix in the ocean room, and it’s easy to see how to repair them from the graphics. My hands are capable and I feel confident as I clamp my visor down and get back to work.

  Everyone except Bien is friendly enough, which is to say they ignore me and concentrate on their own work. The damage on the drones is fascinating—ashy scars of injury, torn wires jutting out of their metal bel
lies—and it turns my stomach when I think of what the mines could do to a person.

  That won’t happen to me, I tell myself. I won’t let it.

  I wish I could show True the drones. He’d love them.

  After work everyone walks to the nearest wishing pool and throws in their coins for me. Elinor comes; Bien, too. People are polite, but they don’t know me well and I never have much to say, and after Elinor leaves, I sit alone at the well looking down at all the glittering coin. It’s a great deal of money, and I find myself touched that they’d do this on my behalf. Of course they might have used the wish for themselves, the way I did with Bien, but I don’t mind that.

  I count fifty-three coin, and the amount makes me wonder. Is there a way to gather all of this up? It’s illegal, of course. The money is supposed to go to the people Above. I glance around. The plaza is almost empty, except for an occasional worker or peacekeeper walking across.

  And someone else.

  Maire sits down next to me on the rim of the pool. She reaches into her pocket and takes something out. I can’t see what it is.

  “I thought you were in prison,” I say.

  “The Council had something they needed me to do,” Maire says, her voice dry. “They let me out.” She’s unescorted—no peacekeepers, no Council members in sight. So they trust her enough—or need her badly enough—to let her free, even after the incident at the floodgates.

  “What was it they wanted from you?” I ask.

  She smiles. “Don’t you want to save these questions for the shell?”

  “No,” I say.

  “That’s good,” she says. “Some things are better discussed face-to-face.” She opens her hand and there’s a coin sitting in the middle of her palm. “Take it,” she says. “Make a wish for yourself.”

  “No,” I say. “Thank you.”

  Maire shrugs and tosses the coin into the water. Fifty-four. She gives no outward sign that she wishes for anything.

  “I want to know more about the sirens,” I say. “Is it safe to ask you about them here?”