Rebellion

by K A Riley

  Before I have a chance to figure it out one way or another, her voice morphs into Caldwell’s: We want to belong, but we’re taught to keep others out.

  It’s another memory. Kind of. But it’s also something more. Caldwell said these very words to Manthy back in his lab while I was listening in from the hallway. So what are his words doing here in my head? I try to shake them out, but they’re embedded and immovable.

  While I’m contemplating this strange turn of events, Caldwell’s voice is replaced by a third one: They call you the Kakari Isutse…the girl who dreams in raven…They think you can save them, save all of us.

  It’s Cardyn this time. It’s a voice I’ve known since I was six. A voice I know as well as my own.

  And then it turns into Rain’s: It’s just another way of being in the world.

  Which transforms into Manthy’s: I can’t be me without you.

  A fist-sized knot forms at the base of my skull as I try to sort out what I’m hearing, what’s happening to me, and why. These aren’t just repeats of things I’ve heard before. The voices are here right now, in my ears and in my mind, and they’re talking to me, talking urgently, like they aren’t casual comments anymore, like they want me to pay careful attention to them and listen with all my heart to what they have to say.

  The voices overlap for a second and swarm around inside my head, carrying with them each person’s intentions, feelings, and consciousness. It’s a surprisingly beautiful buzz, and I think my mind must be the hive.

  The buzz is interrupted by Brohn’s voice cutting through the static. He’s calling my name, louder and louder.

  Snapping out of whatever daze I’ve been in, I blink myself back into full focus mode to find Brohn still hovering across from me, only now he’s wide-eyed and looking at me like he hasn’t seen me in ten years.

  “Kress,” he gasps, and I get the sense he’s been holding his breath.

  “I’m okay.”

  “What happened?” Brohn asks. “You were out for a long time.”

  “I was?”

  “Hours.”

  “Hours? How many?”

  “I don’t know. It’s not like Ekker’s got a clock hanging on the wall. Maybe eight hours. or ten.”

  “Ten hours?”

  “Give or take.”

  “It felt like a minute, tops. A very strange minute.”

  “I guarantee you—It wasn’t a minute. So, what happened? Did you connect with Render?”

  “I-I don’t think so. But maybe more than that. Something different than that.”

  Brohn tilts his head.

  “I think maybe I connected with everybody.”

  Before I have a chance to explain further, the door whooshes open. I’m expecting Ekker. Maybe his mysterious female sidekick with the red coat. Or maybe just some anonymous soldier skulking around on guard duty who’s been sent to check on us.

  It’s not any of these.

  The person standing in the open doorway was once the painfully shy, constantly-disheveled girl I grew up with back in the Valta. Now, it’s my enigmatic, empathetic, and suddenly very heroic friend, Manthy.

  I gasp her name, and Brohn twists his head as far around as he can. “Manthy?”

  After whispering for us to be quiet, she places one hand on the input panel on the wall by the door and slides the other under her hair and behind her neck like she’s trying to keep her head steady as she concentrates. As gently as an autumn leaf dropping from a tree, the sphere-cell floats down onto the small black landing pad on the floor, and Brohn and I drop down with it, our boots landing with a thud that sounds frighteningly loud from in this hollow white box of a room.

  A vertical sliver of yellowish-white light appears around the sphere, and the transparent orb splits quietly open like a carefully-cracked egg.

  Over by the input panel, Manthy’s eyes roll back, and she starts to stumble to the floor. In a flash, I leap out of the orb and skid to a stop just in time to catch her, my arms hooked under hers. Brohn is right on my heels and is just reaching out to help me with Manthy when none other than Wisp, her trademark fluorescent green hoodie replaced by a sleek black one, comes bolting into the room. She slides to a stop and goes slamming right into Brohn’s chest. He winces as his little sister gives him the world’s biggest hug.

  “Wisp!” he cries out. “How—?”

  “We have time to talk or time to run. Take your pick!”

  Brohn holds Wisp by her shoulders and gives a fast look around before offering up a chirpy laugh and saying, “Let’s get out of here!”

  With Manthy wobbly but sticking with me, I follow Wisp and Brohn out of the room. As we cross the threshold out into the corridor, I can feel Render in my head, and I feel myself in his. I breathe a sigh of relief. It’s the first normal breath I’ve taken since waking up in this cell.

  “We don’t have much time,” Wisp urges. “Olivia found out what happened, and Render helped create a distraction to get us inside. He and a squad of Insubordinates are over on Julian Avenue right now kicking up a major fuss. Ekker will be back here any second. With reinforcements.”

  Together, the four of us bolt down a long hallway, around a corner, through a metal door, and clamber up five flights of narrow stairs. Wisp leads us through another door, and we find ourselves on the top floor of the Armory. I recognize where we are from Render’s aerial reconnaissance missions. From here, it’s a quick scamper up a black metal-runged access ladder to the roof.

  Brohn takes the lead and scrambles up into the dark. We hear a dragging screech of metal on metal, and Brohn calls down, “Got it!” The access door opens, the shaft is flooded with light, and we scurry up the ladder and step out onto the flat roof.

  Crouching down, we skitter along the perimeter of the roof. Far below, Patriot Army soldiers are racing around. Some are checking out the commotion over on Julian Avenue where Render is circling overhead with a rag-tag group of Insubordinates kicking up a ruckus below.

  I look over the side and count the number of floors. “It’s got to be fifty feet down.”

  “At least,” Brohn adds. “Where to now?”

  Agitated, Wisp spins in a quick circle, scanning the expanse of the Armory’s roof. “The intel you gave us said there’s supposed to be a garbage tube of some kind around here.”

  “A yellow waste disposal chute!” I cry out. “But it’s on the east side of the building!”

  “Come on, then! This way!”

  Wisp bolts. She’s a blur, and, as small as she is, it’s hard for the rest of us to keep up with her.

  Sprinting along the outer edge of the rooftop, Wisp finally comes to a stop by a low metal railing around the large, jointed yellow construction tube I remember so well from my scouting mission with Render.

  One at a time, the four of us plunge feet-first into the chute and slide down to the ground level. The riveted joints of the long chute are a literal pain in the butt. But I’m more than happy to pay the price for being free. Landing with a painful crash in a deep bin of discarded rebar, synth-steel scraps, broken roof tiles, coils of frayed wires, and heavy sacks of assorted debris, we clamber out of the large blue garbage container and land in the shadows behind a lumbering yellow and black mag-loader floating idly on its parking pad.

  Peering around the back corner of the massive machine, we look out across the field toward the street where a group of soldiers is milling around with their backs to us. The young men, armed to the teeth, appear to be confused. They’re engaged in an argument of some kind, probably about what they should do in the middle of the gunfire zinging through the air around us and the large, predatory black bird circling menacingly overhead.

  Taking full advantage of their confusion and of the chaos around us, we run as fast as we can back around the Armory and sprint down a small side street where we find Cardyn and Rain, fully armed and decked out in black and gray military gear.

  “Talk about a sight for sore eyes!” I cry out. Cardyn and Brohn excha
nge a hard, back-slapping hug.

  “Great job!” Wisp tells Cardyn and Rain. “No problems with the Insubordinates?”

  “They performed like pros,” Cardyn brags. “If this is a preview of Friday, we might actually stand a chance.”

  “Which way?”

  “This way!”

  As we run, I swipe my tattoos to connect with Render.

  “Uh oh.”

  “What is it?” Brohn asks over the clomping of our boots on the polished pavement.

  “It’s Ekker. I can see him through Render. He’s figured out what’s happening! He’s got a dozen soldiers with him. They’re in mag-jeeps.”

  Wisp calls us all to a halt, and we come to a skidding stop, almost colliding with a San Francisco police officer who looks less than amused when we cause him to nearly spill his coffee, but he doesn’t say anything.

  “This way!” Wisp cries.

  We sprint again, and I’m far too terrified to pay attention to the soreness in my legs or to the burning in my chest as I try to suck in air to soothe my burning lungs. If what Brohn says is true—and I have no reason to doubt him—he and I might have been immobilized for as much as half a day. That’s a long time to go without the supporting presence of gravity.

  Zipping down one alleyway, out across a street, and down a small access road between two towering buildings, Wisp slides to a stop and turns in quick circles, analyzing our position. “Where are they?” she asks me.

  I concentrate for a second to orient myself to what Render is seeing. “That way!” I shout, pointing back the way we came. We start to run again, dodging around pedestrians and weaving between mag-cars as we bound frantically across street after street. We’re just turning a corner when Render sends me another image. “Wait!” I call out to Wisp who has gotten far ahead of the rest of us. “They’re up ahead, too!”

  “You’re sure?” she asks, calling back to me over her shoulder.

  I point behind us and in front of us. “Three open-top mag-jeeps that way. Two more up ahead. Gas-powered. Six soldiers on foot just crossing Van Ness right now. They’re armed with sniper rifles and fully-loaded 2040s. Yes,” I insist. “I’m absolutely sure.”

  “There’s a safe house on the other side of the park,” Wisp cries out. “If we can get to it, there are people who can help us get off the streets and back to the Style.”

  The five of us follow Wisp on a dead run. Through Render, I hear the whoosh of the mag-jeeps gaining on us. I see every detail on the face of every man with a gun trained on us. And I can see Ekker.

  He’s clever. He anticipated our direction and is about to cut us off.

  We dive into a nearby all-night bakery with Manthy flinging the door shut behind us.

  Ignoring the stunned customers, we dash down a corridor past a couple of washrooms and through the kitchen. Two women and a man wearing white aprons gasp as we fly past. Shouting back our apologies, Wisp leads us through another door and down a hallway lined with neat metal shelves filled with assorted breads and a colorful display of pastries.

  “This way!” Wisp calls out as she leads us to yet another door, this one apparently leading to the outside. We crash to a halt behind Wisp, who grumbles about the door needing an input code for it to open.

  “Manthy?”

  Manthy is wide-eyed and out of breath. To her credit, she shakes off the terror and fatigue of the moment and tries to connect with whatever tech is controlling the door, but the thunderous sound of boots and the shouts from the soldiers storming into the bakery and heading our way is too much. She can’t concentrate.

  Brohn gestures for the rest of us to stand to the side, which we do as he runs full-tilt at the door. Leaning his shoulder into it, he knocks it nearly out of its frame. The steel door never had a chance. It hangs by a single hinge like a child’s loose tooth.

  Still following Wisp, we bolt down an alleyway, dodging a string of hovering organic and compost bins before emerging onto a wide sidewalk lining an even wider, tree-lined avenue.

  “Not good!” Cardyn exclaims. “Nowhere to hide! Where to now?”

  Dodging more mag-cars, which, thankfully, appear programmed to avoid collisions, Wisp leads us across the street.

  We’re just safely on the other side and getting ready to make a run for the small park Wisp is leading us to when Ekker and his men explode out of the alley we just came from. They raise their guns, and we don’t stand a chance. There’s nowhere left to run and no place to hide.

  No shots are fired, though.

  Out of nowhere, Render dive-bombs at top speed into the line of soldiers. He rakes his talons across Ekker’s face as he streaks by in a flurry of black feathers.

  Distracted, the other soldiers try flailing at Render with the butts and barrels of their guns, but he’s far too clever for them and way too fast.

  Seizing the momentary distraction, Wisp calls out, “This way!” and we follow her down the road before leaping over the low stone wall lining the perimeter of the park. We roll to a stop at the base of a small cluster of trees. All around us, people are starting to figure out that something dangerous is in the air and begin shouting and scattering in a frenzied panic.

  When a shot rings out, I look back to see Ekker firing at Render. It’s a repeat performance of his attempt back in the Armory the other day.

  Only this time, it’s no casual episode, and Ekker doesn’t miss.

  Struck full-force, Render looks like he’s slammed into a wall. His black body stops abruptly mid-flight, and he hurtles toward the ground.

  “Wait!” I scream out to Wisp and the others. “Render’s been shot! I have to go back!”

  Brohn grabs my upper arm in a vice-like grip. “No, Kress! If you go back, you’ll get killed, too.”

  I’m shaking and crying from rage and indecision. Brohn’s right, of course. Ekker and his men, already confident in their first kill of the day, are turning toward us, weapons raised, as they prepare to take us down, too.

  But I can’t just leave Render.

  Sobbing, I let Brohn lead me by the hand as we bolt down the road, across another street, down a sidewalk, and into a storefront that turns out to be a small church.

  Wisp talks fast with the man, who was in the middle of mopping the lobby floor when we burst in. He waves us over frantically and hustles us one by one to a broom closet and urges us through a small hatch in the floor, down a rope ladder, and into a poorly-lit tunnel.

  “This’ll get us back to the Style,” Wisp promises, leaping to the ground from the make-shift ladder. We start to jog down the tunnel when Wisp calls back, “It’s a bit of a hike, but at least we’ll be off the streets, and…hey! Where’s Manthy?”

  Wisp skids to a stop in the cold tunnel, and Brohn, Cardyn, Rain, and I plow into her, nearly knocking all of us down in the process.

  Cardyn whips his head around back and forth. “Where’d she go?”

  Wisp pushes past us and takes a few quick steps back the way we came.

  Brohn calls out for her to wait, but Wisp starts to head back up the rope ladder we just came down.

  She’s halfway up when the door at the top bursts open, and Manthy’s silhouetted figure appears.

  She’s holding Render in her arms, pressed tight against her chest, and, even in the dim light, I can see that his head is hanging low and that Manthy’s shirt is wet with his blood.

  17

  I dash over to Manthy, scolding her and thanking her at the same time for going back.

  “That was a crazy and dangerous thing to do!” I gush.

  Manthy gives me a slightly disappointed frown, which I can’t interpret, but I’m too overwhelmed with an amalgam of disbelief, relief, and sorrow to care.

  She hands Render to me, and I hug him close. He’s cold to the touch. His feathers are sticky and mud-caked from where he must have fallen, and, although I can tell he’s putting all his effort into it, he can barely manage to shuffle his wings or lift his head.

  Although he
weighs only about six pounds, he’s normally a strong bird, powerful and swift. In the air, he’s all strength and grace. On the ground, he’s an alert, head-bobbing hunter. In my arms right now, sagging from shock and dragged down by numbness, he feels shattered and like he weighs a ton.

  “He’s alive,” Manthy assures me.

  “I can feel it,” I say. “But he’s confused and in pain. I think…I mean, I’m afraid he’s going to give up.”

  “We can’t let him!” Rain shouts, and her voice rings out in the tunnel like a command causing the rest of us to shake off our own shock and spring into action.

  Everyone gathers around me and Render and reaches out a hand to place on his quivering body. The warmth and energy of our overlapping hands seem to give him a small boost and alleviate some of his pain and fear. He raises his head, his black beak open, as if in thanks.

  “It’s bad,” Manthy says. “But he’s alive.”

  “He seems stronger with us around,” I cry.

  “How’d you manage to get to him without getting yourself killed?” Rain asks Manthy, her panting breath, like the rest of ours, making small puffs of fog in the cold, damp tunnel.

  The thin light coming from small slits in a drainage grate above our heads shrouds Manthy’s face in dappled shadows. She flashes a cryptic smile at Rain from behind her hair. “Easy. I turned invisible.”

  Brohn, Cardyn, Rain, Wisp, and I all stand frozen, our mouths hanging open. I’m recalling what Brohn said to me back in the orb-cell about us Emergents making the impossible possible, but this—the idea of Manthy being able to turn invisible—is beyond impossible. Forget tough skin or telempathy. Those are just extensions of normal. Being able to turn invisible is as abnormal and, frankly, as impossible as you can get.

  Cardyn is the first to shake off his stunned reaction. “You’re kidding, right? Invisible?”

  Brohn raises an eyebrow. “This is life,” he insists. “Not a comic book.”