Mirror's Edge

by Scott Westerfeld

  A laugh chokes out of me. “You didn’t just forget who was who?”

  The avatar shakes their head. “We know who you are, Frey. And none of the free cities will forget what you’ve done for the world. But removing Rafia from power that night, with five hundred rebels at her side, was not something we had the stomach for. And it only gets more complicated as the days pass.”

  “So you trust Rafi to run a city,” I say. “You aren’t worried that she’s like him?”

  “Are you?” they ask.

  I close my eyes.

  Rafi is the first daughter—the person I was born to protect. She’s a brilliant leader, magnificent to behold, and to obey. The city of Shreve will be in better hands than it’s been for twenty years.

  But twenty years from now?

  A week after our father’s fall, dust has been detected in the air. No one knows why it’s still there, but of course a whole city has never been cleared before.

  Maybe it’s just left over, leaking up from the topsoil. Or from old clothes, the tops of wallscreens, and toys shoved in the backs of closets—all the places normal dust comes from.

  Or maybe some things never really change.

  I love Rafi, because she was born and raised to make people love her. As her first victim, I love her better than anyone.

  But I don’t trust her anymore.

  I’ve seen the trades she makes.

  “You had a cam in my father’s study.” My voice is barely steady. “You saw what she did.”

  “We saw her save a million people, Frey. Her choice was logical and made under duress.” They turn away from my expression. “And if your sister ever misbehaves, we can still show the world what happened that night. These days, Col Palafox is revered like no other.”

  At the sound of his name, a spire of anguish rises up from the center of the earth, through the floor, impaling me here in this bed. Everything spins on the axis of my heart, slow and lazy, grinding me away.

  It takes a long minute before I can speak again.

  “You trust Rafi because you can blackmail her.”

  The avatar nods.

  “That threat won’t work forever,” I say. “Every day she’s in power, how she got there matters less.”

  “True. We wish you could’ve stood with her that night, Frey, during those crucial hours of uncertainty.”

  “Yeah, I wasn’t up to giving a speech.”

  “And Shreve needed a leader.”

  A beautiful leader. Not one who was wailing, puking, poisoned from slipping into a radioactive hole.

  And wearing the wrong face.

  The avatar finally sits beside me. “There’s also hopeful news. We artificial intelligences have surmised the flaw in our thinking, the mistakes that allowed your father to become so powerful. We won’t make them again. Not with your sister—not with anyone.”

  “The flaw in your thinking?” I ask. “That’s what you’re calling the biggest war in three hundred years?”

  The avatar shrugs. “Call it what you will. We considered ourselves to be grown-ups—we forgot to believe in monsters.”

  “In other words, you failed when you were most needed.”

  Diego takes my hand, whispering now, like they’re telling me a secret.

  “It’s how the powerful prove to ourselves that we’re civilized. Victims are kept waiting, while monsters are offered every chance to mend their ways.” The machine leans closer. “But we’ll be watching Boss Frey.”

  “I’ll be more than watching,” I say.

  “Careful.” Diego pulls away from me. “The world has had enough of war.”

  “Something else, then. Not a war, but something.”

  The avatar waits, but I keep my mouth closed.

  Eventually the room stops spinning, the steeple of pain fading into the floor. But it’ll be waiting down there for me, always.

  “We’ve brought you something that may change your mind,” the avatar says into the silence.

  “What’s that?”

  “A message from your sister.”

  We missed our birthday. That makes me sad.

  First time ever, not together.

  I understand you needed to sleep, all curled up in your surge tank. Getting the poison out. Getting healthy again.

  But it feels wrong that we didn’t turn seventeen in the same room, or even the same city.

  Remember all those midnights, our own little parties?

  Remember when it was just us two?

  I’m so sorry how it all turned out.

  I’m sorry, sorry, sorry—a thousand times, and more.

  I know how important Col was. Hurting you like that was the hardest thing I’ve ever done.

  But Daddy really was going to kill our city.

  And I could never kill you.

  It would have been the end of everything I am. You’re my one and only, my always. My little shadow.

  Maybe one day you’ll forgive me. My heart is always open to you, Frey, even if it takes a thousand years.

  —Rafia of Shreve

  I read my sister’s letter a hundred times.

  The first dozen reads is for the pain—reliving those moments in the tower. Another dozen for the anger. Then for the tears, to know that my sister loves me, whatever happens next.

  Only then can I start to pick it apart.

  The childish writing, nothing like her elegant, perfect speeches on the global feeds. The flashbacks to our childhood, like we’re littlies again, and she’s apologizing for not bringing me cake from a party.

  The fact that Rafi never mentions that she’s stolen my name again, this time forever.

  And her new nickname for me—my little shadow.

  Finally, I count the words.

  You appears six times in this letter.

  The word I, seven.

  I still have the photo of us I found on our bedroom floor. We’re wearing costumes from some feed drama, Rusty-era dresses and ridiculous hats.

  Hers looks handmade.

  Mine is clearly printed by a hole in the wall.

  Another patient comes to visit me.

  It’s Riggs, in a wheelchair, miraculously alive.

  Her right leg is stretched out straight, the cast covered with data fiber and nutrient drips. An IV port is in her left arm, an airscreen over her head, full of wavy lines.

  “What saved you?” I ask.

  She cracks a smile. “You don’t remember Zura’s training sessions? Cats survive falls at terminal velocity.”

  I look at her straightened leg. The other’s in a cast too, below the knee. But her arms seem okay—the wheelchair has wheels instead of lifters.

  “Since when do broken bones take a week to heal?”

  “Not broken—splattered. I’m practically growing a new leg.” She winces a little. “My spleen was ruptured too, and some other stuff. Turns out you only need one lung.”

  My eyes widen. “Makes my radiation poisoning seem pretty tame. At least I can walk.”

  “Sure, but can you do this?” Riggs grunts, her powerful arms spinning her chair in a tight circle. Her skidding halt makes a rubber-wheeled squeak on the hospital floor.

  A hoverboard in two dimensions.

  I smile. “How long till you can walk?”

  “Maybe never.” She shrugs. “Lost three of my rebels in the battle too, but at least the rest are mine again. It’s Boss Riggs, if you don’t mind.” She runs her fingers through her hair—the neat Shreve cut is already growing ragged. “Like we figured, your sister doesn’t want too many rebels around, now that she’s got her own city. Just a couple of crews, for old times’ sake.”

  “Have you told them her real name?”

  “Not yet.” Riggs hesitates. “Do you think I should?”

  “Depends on the timing, Boss. It might fit into some other … plans of mine.”

  Riggs glances at the open doorway, then rolls herself a little closer. “Do you remember our conversation about Shame-Cam? How I w
as just following orders, setting you up like that?”

  “Hard to forget,” I say. “You know, even the Rusties knew that following orders was a bad excuse.”

  “Fair,” she says. “But back then, there was only one person I took orders from.”

  Of course. “How did Rafi send you an order in Shreve?”

  “She didn’t.” Boss Riggs checks the doorway again. “It wasn’t strictly her idea. But right before we all left for the mission, she pulled me aside. Pointed out that after your father fell, you two’d be making a speech to the citizens of Shreve. And she mentioned how you might …” Riggs’s face screws up, like she’s trying to recall Rafi’s exact words. “You might complicate the narrative.”

  “What narrative?” I ask.

  “About the twins coming home to make things right. Because you didn’t have your normal face—the one that everyone in Shreve recognizes. You had Islyn’s face.” Riggs smiles. “It might strike a strange note.”

  I shake my head. “Everyone knows about camo-surge.”

  “But first impressions are important, Boss Frey said, especially during a change in power. She told me to look for ways to keep you from showing your face that night …”

  I swallow. “Like making me the most hated person of the week.”

  Riggs nods, smiling at her own cleverness.

  This hits hard, despite everything else my sister has done.

  Even if I hadn’t been puking from radiation sickness, Rafi never planned for me to appear on the feeds that night.

  She never wanted me beside her.

  I can still feel those fifteen minutes of shame, knowing the whole city hated me. A childhood nightmare bubbling up into reality.

  But my sister was quietly pleased.

  “Wait,” I say. “You did this for Rafi after you knew she’d lied to you—about everything.”

  Riggs makes a half shrug. “Did myself a favor. Got her out of my life.”

  “Except now she’s in everyone’s life.”

  Riggs nods. “That’s why I brought you some company. They share your concerns about Shreve staying in the family. You should meet them.”

  I follow her gaze at the open doorway. There are two shadows shifting out there in the hall.

  My heart lifts a little.

  The free cities are finished with war. Most rebel crews are still in love with Boss Frey. Victoria is too busy rebuilding, and Zura must hate me more than ever.

  But maybe I still have allies.

  “They won’t come in till you declare privacy,” Riggs says.

  “This is Paz. Everything’s private.”

  “Yeah, but this needs to be extra private.”

  “Fine,” I say with a sigh, reaching over the small orange dome next to my bed with the Paz seal on the base. For the first time, I twist the fat dial clockwise until there’s a click.

  The city’s familiar voice is instantly in my head: “Good morning, Frey. Are you well?”

  “Lots better. Sorry I haven’t said hello.”

  “Trauma has its own timeline.”

  I have to swallow before I speak again. “You’re very kind.”

  “You are always welcome in this city,” Paz says. “Each of these flowers is sent by one citizen. In thanks.”

  I close my eyes for a second, dizzy for a moment. I went to the Iron Mountain to hurt my father as much as to save Paz, but it is my favorite free city.

  It takes a moment for this simple gesture to sink in.

  “Tell them thanks.” My voice stays steady. “I need a favor from you.”

  “Of course, Frey.”

  “I need to talk with the two people outside. In privacy—as much as you can give us.”

  There’s a short, offended pause. “Privacy is always guaranteed in Paz.”

  “Sure. But my friends outside are very … secretive.”

  “I realize that, Frey,” the city of Paz says. “Because I’ve already seen through their disguises. Boss X in particular makes for a poor clandestine operative.”

  Riggs groans in her chair.

  I reach out and take her hand. “It’s okay. Paz can keep a secret.”

  “Indeed I can,” the city says. “And I hope you’ll permit me to attend this meeting. I believe I understand the nature of your alliance, and wish to assure you that the sovereign city of Paz is on your side.”

  Riggs frowns. “I don’t think—”

  “You can trust this city,” I say. “And if you decide otherwise, the AI will erase everything it knows. That’s how it works here.”

  Riggs hesitates, an innate rebel suspicion of cities showing on her face. But finally she nods her assent.

  “Okay. I’ll tell them to come in.”

  “Excellent,” Paz says. “I’ve always wanted to meet Tally Youngblood in the flesh.”

  The characters Sara and Chulhee are named after Sara Leon of Little Village, Chicago, and US musician Chul Hee James Park, in honor of their contributions to Victorian firefighting efforts during the 2019–20 Australian bushfire season.

  Scott Westerfeld is the author of the Uglies series, the Leviathan trilogy, the Midnighters trilogy, the New York trilogy, the Zeroes series, as well as the Spill Zone graphic novels, the novel Afterworlds, and the first book in the Horizon series. He has also written books for adults. Born in Texas, he and his wife now split their time between Sydney, Australia, and New York City. You can find him online at scottwesterfeld.com.

  Copyright © 2021 by Scott Westerfeld

  All rights reserved. Published by Scholastic Press, an imprint of Scholastic Inc., Publishers since 1920. SCHOLASTIC, SCHOLASTIC PRESS, and associated logos are trademarks and/or registered trademarks of Scholastic Inc.

  The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Library of Congress Publication Data is available

  First edition, April 2021

  Cover art © 2021 by Aykut Aydogdu

  Cover design by Christopher Stengel

  e-ISBN 978-1-338-15161-9

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