by Julian North
I walked away to a different part of the locker room to get ready. Anise might have been trying to help like she said, or she might just be keeping her options open. I wasn’t sure.
I took my time changing and was the last person onto the track. The rest of the team jostled and joked with a mutual ease that I would never share. Beautiful smiles and rich laughs surrounded me. They reminded me of Arik. These people would inherit the world, and they made a superficial show of being brothers and sisters, but not to me. I would never be one of them, nor did I want to be. Their affection was jack. They never spoke about our former teammate Drake Pillis-Smith being gone. His family said he had suffered an aneurism—the closest medical explanation for having his brain destroyed by trilling. To the team, it was as if he had vanished from collective memory. But he lingered in my mind. Drake was evil and mad. But we had killed him, Alexander and I. We never spoke about that either.
My mind wandered to Kortilla, to Mateo, to Aba, and all the other people I had left behind in Bronx City. The people Arik taunted as being “cleaned.” My people. I could do nothing to help them if I was there instead of here, but it still felt wrong to be at track practice while enforcement drones shot up BC. I needed to know who benefited from fighting in Bronx City. School wasn’t the place for that discussion, and I was anxious to be gone.
I didn’t notice Anise walk up next to me until she spoke. “You all right?”
“Yeah, fine.”
“You look a million miles away.”
“Fewer than that.”
Coach Nessmier strode onto the track gripping his golden whistle like a talisman. His beady eyes noticed me for a single unhappy moment before he addressed the team.
“The unpleasantness that occurred on Sunday evening should in no way diminish your satisfaction of what you have accomplished. You are the Manhattan track champions.” A cheer went up from my teammates. I struggled to keep my face impassive. Unpleasantness?
“However, the national competition is a mere two weeks away. We will be meeting the best the country has to offer in Ember-Mare Stadium in Chicago. They’ll all be gunning for us, trying to knock Manhattan off its perch as the five-time champion. But we aren’t going to be the team that stumbles.”
More shouts. A wave of nausea swept over me. I hadn’t known any of the dead from the previous night except Kristolan; I hadn’t even known of them, except for the late president. But these people around me had. The murdered highborn were their acquaintances, their neighbors, and sometimes even their relatives. Yet, my teammates still pumped their fists, consumed by their own triumphs and those yet to come. I’d noticed the same thing in school today. Death was something to gossip about, like the latest netcast. It was part of the game to them; enforcement drones were something to watch on the net. Alexander stood stoically through it all, revealing nothing. I knew he hadn’t forgotten the force blast that had missed him by an inch.
Coach Nessmier droned on about preparations, about the track surface at Nationals, about a dozen other things. Then we had practice. Usually I could find a measure of peace when I ran, but not today. Instead, I remembered the sound of force weapons firing, the sight of spray guns reducing entire buildings to dust. The vision of Mateo with a force pistol in his hand left me trembling on two occasions. Mona Lisa actually beat me in a test sprint—I never let that happen. I was glad when practice ended.
Afterward, I didn’t wait for Alexander. I itched for news beyond Tuck’s data wall. I changed and hurried outside. Nythan was at the exit, waiting. His face was taut with tension, the corners of his eyes strained.
“Nothing good,” he said, already knowing my thoughts.
I walked past him, my eyes fixed on my viser, anxious to get out of jamming range. The major reports carried derivations of an official Authority statement that “minor law and order” operations continued in BC. Public travel remained restricted to essential personnel. No images were available. Something hard and cold slithered around my heart. The BC channels and sites were all unavailable. Even the individual data diaries hadn’t been updated since Sunday.
“How is this even possible?” I asked Nythan. “How can they block so many sites, so many channels?”
“It’s easier than you think.” He pushed his snowy hair from his eyes. “They can flood the most popular feeds with fake traffic. Bots hunt down the rest. Effective for the short-term—a few days.”
“So how do we get in touch with Kortilla?” I already knew Aba would be unreachable. She never answered her ancient handheld comm even on regular days.
Nythan lowered his voice to a near whisper. “I could try to impersonate an official communication and get through to her viser. But she wouldn’t be able to respond.”
I looked around warily. We were standing on the corner of Eighty-Ninth Street and Park Avenue. A few pedestrians passed, but no one paid us any attention. We looked like we belonged there. A drone hovered several blocks south. Too far away to overhear us. At least I hoped so.
“Enforcement drones are shooting people in the streets, Nythan. Can you get her out of there?”
Nythan winced, as if in pain. “I would if I could. But Alexander got you out, not me. And anyway, would she even come? I doubt it. Her family is there.”
He was right. Kortilla wouldn’t duck out in the middle of a fight. Unlike me.
“Nythan, people have force weapons. And they’re using them. I saw them take out a drone. That’s never happened before. The black boots are going to retaliate. Hard. Who gave them guns?”
“I don’t know. I just know the obvious: someone who benefits from fighting in Bronx City.”
“I intend to find out—any way that I can. Who would know?”
Nythan glanced at his viser, then up at his familiar hovering nearby. “I detect no surveillance right now. We are in Manhattan, so unauthorized snooping is dangerous even for the Authority.” He sighed with frustration. “I understand you want to help, but I don’t think you should. It’s dangerous for you.”
“I don’t intend to do nothing, Nythan. You must know me better than that by now.”
He released a heavy sigh. “I know you are uniquely able to obtain the information that you need. But your talents…” He let the words trail off.
Heat rose inside me. “Get to the point, Nythan.”
“Don’t forget the risks of using your abilities. I still don’t understand the cause of the symptoms you told me about—no one does. How are the headaches? The visions?”
I gritted my teeth as if that would keep the waking nightmares at bay. “It’s nothing.” I regretted confiding in Nythan. I wouldn’t have done it if I’d realized the storm that was coming. “Answer my question: who would know about the fighting in BC?”
Nythan’s eyes fixed on something behind me. I turned to find Alexander and Anise walking toward us. My eyes found Alexander’s. His eyelids hung heavy. I reminded myself that I wasn’t the only one with problems.
“Conspiring on the corner?” Anise asked, her tone hinting at mockery. If she only knew.
“I’m sure Daniela is worried about what’s going on at home,” Alexander said. “What is happening?”
I glanced uneasily at Anise. She had been a good teammate, almost warm at times. Certainly, she was a cut above the rest of the highborn at Tuck. But she was still one of them; she knew nothing of the world beyond her own. Nythan must have felt something similar toward her. He too kept quiet.
“The net is silent. Too silent,” I offered after the pause became uncomfortable. I reminded myself that Anise was my teammate and Alexander’s friend.
Anise flicked through the feeds. “BC and Queens are still shut. The PA is probably being cautious ahead of the state funeral tomorrow. Transit is still shut down.”
“Yeah. The Authority is quite… cautious. That’s the right word.” My face was blank.
“Why don’t you stay with me until this blows over?” Anise offered with something like a smile. “It’s a lot less s
candalous than bunking with Alexander, even if he has fifty rooms in his house that he’s never seen. And I’ve got everything a woman needs, of course, including something a lot more suitable to wear for tomorrow than that drab fabricated thing you had on this morning.”
I blinked several times in surprise. Alexander looked at Anise with curious eyes, although I got the sense he approved of the gesture. Very proper of her. I chewed on my lip as I mulled it over. I couldn’t get back home, so I did need someplace to stay. And I needed yet another borrowed dress for the president’s funeral that I was now obligated to attend. Alexander’s place wasn’t the best choice. Things were strange between us right now.
“Thank you, Anise.”
She really did smile this time. To Alexander, she said, “Why don’t you join us for dinner? I know my parents would love to see you again.” Belatedly, she turned to Nythan. “And you as well, of course.” Her smile seemed warm, her voice genuine, which surprised me.
“Your hospitality is appreciated, both by myself, and I’m certain by Daniela,” Alexander said stiffly. “Unfortunately, I have a meeting with Warden Alridge-Payne this evening, followed, no doubt, by consultations with my own lawyers, so I won’t be able to join you. I hope we will all have another opportunity in the future.”
“Of course,” she said, smiling over her disappointment. “And Nythan?”
“Ah, yes, dinner with the Titan-Wind family. That would be a first.” I shot him a pleading glance. No dice. “Alas, I too must decline. Critical business, you understand.”
He was being petty, but Anise merely nodded, highborn style. Despite the brave face she put up, I suspected she didn’t want him there any more than Nythan wanted to attend.
“Then let’s get Daniela settled. It’s getting cold out here, even with the skin’s heat jammed up.”
Alexander gave me an “are you all right?” look, to which I merely nodded back. He hadn’t mentioned the meeting with his Warden or spoken much about the fight for control of Rose-Hart of late. But he was worried. And if Alexander was concerned, there was probably a good reason for it. Arik had seemed too confident back on the stairs. It was selfish, but I couldn’t help thinking about what it would mean for the clinic if Arik won control of Rose-Hart. We were already desperately short of resources. Despite Nythan’s bluster, he couldn’t handle the Waste on his own. We needed money, equipment, and researchers that only Rose-Hart could provide. Mateo had given up, but I hadn’t.
I let Anise lead me away. We walked south on Park Avenue beside century-old façades of elegance. Meticulously clad doormen kept vigil outside their buildings. Many nodded warmly, smiling, or even bowed slightly. My uniform was a passport of acceptance.
“Hi, Henry,” Anise said to the gray-haired minder at the entryway of her own building. The doorman had a friendly round face and a belly that pushed at the seams of his maroon uniform.
“Welcome home, Miss Titan-Wind.”
We passed through an ancient rotating doorway into a lobby of faded white marble and stained wooden walls that remembered when people counted newborns’ fingers and toes at birth rather than their genetic signatures. An elderly couple, too old to be highborn, waited for the lift beside us.
“Ah, Anise, so nice to see you,” said the wife. Her coat was mink. Real fur.
“Hello, Mrs. Linters. How are you today?”
The old woman gave a brief chuckle as the elevator door opened. An attendant stood inside the ancient contraption, operating the controls manually. A man whose job it was to take people up and down in an elevator.
“It is getting too cold for us,” the old woman explained, as they shuffled inside the lift without a glance at the operator. I followed hesitantly, hoping that old-world charm didn’t preclude the use of durasteel lift cables. “We’re headed to Palm Beach next week. You and your family should join us for a visit. You know you’re welcome anytime. Plenty of room.”
Anise gave them the Tuck smile. “I know my parents would enjoy that. We keep looking for time. Unfortunately, my father is always working it seems.”
The attendant opened the elevator door, and Mr. Linters placed a gentle hand on his wife’s back to urge her along. He gave Anise a bland stare when his wife wasn’t looking, his eyes flicking suspiciously at me. Then they were gone, and we resumed our journey upward. Anise rolled her eyes, as if I understood the subtleties of the conversation I had just witnessed. Or cared.
The lift door swung open again, and we stepped into regal splendor. Anise’s home had no obvious doorway—the elevator opened directly into a foyer of marble so polished that I could see my face on the floor. Murals of seas and forests unknown to me had been rendered by hand onto the walls. A winding staircase with gold-trimmed steps dominated one side of the room, leading up to a second floor. Chandeliers dripping with crystals hung from the ceiling. A lonely table sat in the center of the spacious room, the entire piece carved from a glittering wood that had somehow been fused with platinum. The emptiness of the space wasn’t lost on me: We have so much, we can waste this entire room.
A servant with tightly cut black hair and skin the color of my own welcomed us. He helped Anise take off her coat and took her Tuck bag as I gaped. I stepped back as he went to do the same for me. I expected to see kinship in his eyes, but I found only surprise, and maybe disdain. Anise led me further inside.
The Titan-Wind home sprawled. Inside, the floor turned from marble to a dark, polished wood, real stuff taken from some dwindling forest. There were a lot of closed doors. The few open ones led to bedrooms, two media centers, bathrooms, a utility room, and one space where every wall, including the floor, was covered with screens. Matching marble busts of men from antiquity stood vigil at that door.
“Dad’s home office,” Anise said in response to my puzzled look. “Specialized feeds from all over the world, plus the usual Bloomberg financial data. Markets never sleep. And neither do our family’s clients.”
“What about the statues?”
“Roman. Dad collects them and other things that remind him of the old empire. Caesar, Sulla. It’s a hobby. He thinks it impresses visitors.” Anise’s tone made it clear she didn’t agree.
She kept walking. Oil paintings of scenes of ancient Rome hung on the walls, one of a volcano devouring Pompeii, and there were antiques on display as well: coins, copper helms, cutlery—items that had probably once been in some long-vanished museum. Even an uncultured observer like me understood the casual arrogance of the display. We passed a kitchen with two cooks hard at work.
“Here you are,” Anise told me, motioning into a doorway.
The room was in a more modern style than other parts of the apartment, with a terminal and two wall screens, as well as an immense four-poster bed that could accommodate four of me. The bedframe was made of the same strange wood as the entryway table. Anise did a backward hurdle onto the mattress, coming down hard and jumping back into a sitting position.
“Ah, finally some peace,” she proclaimed. “Practice never seemed to end today. I bet you feel the same way.”
“Why do you say that?”
“You lost a race to Mona Lisa.”
She was probing at things I didn’t want to talk about. Instead of answering, I ran my hand up the bedpost. “What is this?”
“Kaliwood. Pretty, huh?”
“Yes, but what is it.”
“The future, Daniela. At least according to my father. Of course, he says that about all his investments. It’s a living organism, a hybrid of bacteria and plant. But it behaves like a metal. Or it will eventually. In case you haven’t heard, the world’s running out of economically extractable ores. We are spending huge sums on technology looking for more—that’s a big part of our business. But one day we’re going to grow our metals. That’s the idea. Right now, it’s an expensive research project. But everyone who walks through our door asks about it. Quite a few invest. And my father takes a cut.”
“Your father makes this stuff?”
/> “No. I think I told you, our family does earth surface research. We use satellite imaging, data mining, subsea mapping, even submarines to help people find resources like methane hydrate, ores, whatever. We sell the data to allocators and corporations for use in their businesses—that information is useful for everything from commodity speculation to mining. But my dad is always looking for what comes next. He always has plans, and he’s rather daring in his bets.”
“Is he worried about… well, with so many people getting killed on Sunday…”
Anise waved away the question. “Dad controls perhaps ten thousand votes. To give you some context, Rose-Hart, as one of the largest companies in the country, has an allocation of around eight million. Being small occasionally has its advantages, I suppose, even if it bothers my father.”
“My grandmother has one vote.”
“Then she’s safe from political assassins.”
Anise smiled at my dark glare.
I thought about what was happening back in BC. “Who could kill so many people and get away with it? Who would dare to kill the president?”
“I told you, the Titan-Winds don’t take sides.”
“Back at school, you mentioned something to me about the “game,” as you call it. You seemed to understand it very well. Survivors always understand. You must have a guess.”
Anise’s eyes narrowed. “In BC, when do you start a fight?”
“When I must.”
“True. But when do other people start fights? People who aren’t genius track stars. When do those street gangs intentionally start a fight?”
“When they think they can win.”
Anise nodded.
“So who won this fight among you highborn?”
Anise shrugged. “Survivors don’t guess. They join in when victory is assured.”
“Then you won’t help me?”
“I am helping you. I’m going to get you an amazing black dress to wear tomorrow—real silk.”
