by Julian North
I held in a gasp at the mention of chipping. But Alexander seemed concerned about something else he’d said.
“What do you mean, extractions? The Timber-Night family owns a few second-rate tech ventures through various companies but nothing in the mining or hydrate extraction sector. Her Aunt, Marilyn Cohen-Blatt, and several other allocators back her financially.”
Rudolph gave a snarl. “You don’t follow the financial news closely enough. The Board of Directors of Tyrell Industries was ousted in a proxy contest at a special meeting called last month by a group of allocators, the most prominent of whom was Virginia’s auntie. The new Board are her picks—meaning they are loyal to Virginia. Tyrell is hers now. That chipping law Virginia introduced will be worth a fortune to Tyrell and the other miners if it passes. No more labor wages or safety regulations to deal with if they have chipped workers.”
Alexander still looked perplexed. “Tyrell is a conglomerate, but even their extraction business is mining-related. They don’t do hydrate or other energy extraction. Too capital-intensive.”
“Nevertheless, it’s Tyrell ships that have been snooping around my methane hydrate fields in the North Atlantic. And some mysterious bidder snatched up several of our extraction leases last month. It has to be Tyrell. They bought themselves a giant drill rig from the Norwegians and plunked it several miles south of our biggest production field a few weeks ago. We surveyed that area and never found anything economically extractable. But they wouldn’t have put a billion-dollar rig down if they weren’t on to something. There must be something huge down there to spend cash on a platform like that. Got patrol boats keeping everyone away, though.”
I wasn’t interested in the details of the energy business. Chipping most likely meant my people becoming slaves. That was what I was worried about. “Hoven is the president,” I said. “He’s against chipping, and he knows Virginia is his enemy. Why would he allow this to happen?”
“I love the man, but he’s no match for Virginia Timber-Night.” Rudolph threw back the rest of his drink. “We’ll see what kind of fight he’s got left in him, though. Sometimes the chihuahua bites the mastiff. I’m always rootin’ for the chihuahua.”
Alexander shook his head, his voice a harsh whisper. “Why talk like this in the open?”
Rudolph smiled. It was an ugly, yellow-toothed thing. “Because I like a good fight. Even if it’s my last. And most importantly, because I’ve had too much to drink.” He waved his empty glass at me. “I need to be getting home.” He dipped his head like he was going to give me some highborn bow. But instead he took my hand and kissed it. “That’s the way we used to do it.” Rudolph ambled away, chuckling. My mouth was open, but it quickly turned into a smile.
“Hoven’s staunchest ally,” Alexander grumbled under his breath. “Excellent.”
“I’ll take him over Jalen any day. At least you know where he stands.”
We met other distinguished guests, all with long names and carefully coifed hair. A few knew who I was and my connection to Alexander—those were the true players of this game of power. I looked for Rudolph again but didn’t see him. Instead, I found Virginia Timber-Night’s cat-like eyes peering through her crowd of sycophants at me. I looked away.
“I think we can leave without giving offense, if you would like,” Alexander offered after several hours of agony had passed. I yanked him toward the exit rather than reply with words.
A chauffeured sedan waited for us at the south gate. I slid into the plush leather seats as if human-driven luxury cars were my usual mode of transport. Alexander sat against the far window. I flicked on the privacy screen.
“What a nest of vipers,” I said.
“All players of the game,” Alexander replied. “But dangerous ones, yes. But you wanted to know more. The answers to what is going on in Bronx City may well be in that room, somewhere.”
“What was going on with you and Jalen? You two shot ice beams at each other. Then he offers to help you prepare for a race?”
“Our families have a blood feud—it is expected we behave in a certain manner. It is important that others see it. The feud demands it.”
“But it’s just an act?”
Alexander’s eyes darkened. “It’s not an act. His father tried to kill mine, by poison. He was a man without honor. Jalen is his only son. Highborn do not forget.”
I wondered what would’ve happened if Landrew Foster-Rose-Hart had been killed back then. Perhaps the Waste would not have been unleashed, although I doubted that. Highborn were highborn. They looked the same; they acted the same. “Why would Jalen’s father try to poison yours?”
“According to what Kris told me, it was during President Ryan-Hayes’s first year as president. Ryan-Hayes squeaked into office, but litigation raged over the vote count—there were allegations of fraud. The courts were politicized but still relatively independent in those days. It was still one vote per adult as well. My grandfather was ill, and my father had just taken over running Rose-Hart on a day-to-day basis. Jalen’s father, Garryson Aris-Putch, was a major Rose-Hart shareholder then, with a seat on the Trust Council. My father hadn’t taken a position on the Orderist administration yet. He met Garryson on the Aris-Putch yacht. But Garryson didn’t just want support—he wanted control of Rose-Hart. When my father refused his buyout offer, he shot my father with a poisoned K-dart. But my father was highborn—quick and strong. Even with the poison in his system, he managed to reach Garryson and do what had to be done to defend himself.”
“Your father killed Garryson with his bare hands?”
“Broke his neck. Remember, my father was highborn.” Alexander sounded rather distant as he spoke, considering that he was discussing one man killing another. “Jalen’s mother, Galena, never accepted those facts, even though the Authority found the dart launcher implanted in Garryson Aris-Putch’s wrist and the matching poison in my father’s body.”
“And your families have been enemies ever since?”
“There have been other incidents as well,” Alexander said, shifting his feet uncomfortably.
I arched a brow. “Such as?”
“Their company, ArgoGood, has often backed competing bids for key Rose-Hart procurement contracts. Galena may have arranged the maiming of Kristolan’s favorite horse, although there was no direct evidence. My father used his influence to keep Jalen out of Tuck.”
I whistled. “So that’s why the great Jalen Aris-Putch isn’t among us.”
Alexander looked embarrassed. “He pretends not to care. But I think he does.”
“But you don’t sound angry. You’re doing as honor demands, is that it?”
“I do not race with emotion; I don’t play the game of politics with emotion. Such things cloud judgment. The fact is that Jalen and I have a common enemy. Jalen knows that as well. But the White House was not the place to talk. It would be foolish to show anything in front of Arik and his mother. The longer they think we hate each other, the better.”
I gazed out the window, looking at the elegant towers of Manhattan, at the spotless streets. A playground for the highborn and their machinations. I turned back to Alexander. “So, you two intend to unite against Virginia Timber-Night? He avenges his mom; you strike a blow against the people who are trying to steal Rose-Hart. All for the greater good of the country, of course.”
“Perhaps.”
“What does that mean?”
“Maybe we’ll be allies. Allies are not friends. There is still much unsettled between us.”
I nodded. “That’s what he meant by helping you ‘train for Nationals,’ I presume. Not running, but negotiating.”
“Yes. He thinks he has something to offer me.”
“And what does he think you have to offer him? You said yourself, even if you use the controlColonies we stole as leverage—and as I told you before, you should use them—you may not be able to win control of Rose-Hart.”
We were getting closer to Alexander’s house. “I’m not sure. He may be overe
stimating me. But more likely not. He knows exactly what he wants. And I’ll find out what that is soon enough.”
“When are you meeting him? I want to be there.”
Alexander turned away from me without answering. It wasn’t because there was anything interesting outside the darkened window. He didn’t want me to come. But he needed me—he just didn’t know it.
“You are a person of honor, Alexander. Your enemies are not.” My lips tightened. “And neither am I.”
His head snapped toward me, his eyes sharp.
“You had my back when we needed to get Kortilla. Let me have yours now.”
Alexander kept his face still. “Tomorrow morning at dawn, at the Reservoir in Central Park. He’ll meet us there.”
“How do you know?”
“That’s what he meant by ‘let us race toward a new dawn tomorrow.’ That was the time. Then he mentioned water when he spoke about Nationals, and he mentioned the late president’s wife as he bid us goodbye. That was a reference to the Jacqueline Kennedy Reservoir—still its official name. He’s probably worried that his communications are being monitored. Although the White House is probably one of the few places Virginia’s tentacles don’t yet extend. He knew I’d understand the message.”
“You two must think you’re rather clever. You probably each are—in your own way. But Virginia Timber-Wood is el gato que manda en el callejon—the cat that rules the alleys. Beware of her.”
Alexander didn’t reply immediately. His brows furrowed as he considered my words. Finally, he said, “This was not how I hoped things would be. After we saved Kortilla… I thought things would get better. For everyone, and for us.”
He looked at me with a beautiful storm of blue, pure but troubled.
“No excuses,” I reminded him.
The car stopped. We were in front of Anise’s building.
The door swung open. Cold air flooded the car’s warm interior. I didn’t want to get out.
“Meet me outside the Ninetieth Street park entrance before dawn. Jalen will have some security with him. We’ll have none. Be ready.”
I took a last, hard look at Alexander before I left. I would be ready. Blood takes care of blood.
Chapter 13
I awoke in darkness.
My viser lay on the night table beside the lush bed in Anise’s guest room. I looked at the display: 5:53 a.m. Silence reigned. It was never this quiet in BC—the walls were too thin, the streets too dangerous. Anise and her family slept on the floor above me. I dressed in a Tuck athletic skin, which was all I had available, and headed to the door.
I maneuvered through the house by viser light alone, making my way to the exit. I picked my steps carefully, placing each foot gently upon the ground. I thought I had been silent. A deliberate cough somewhere in the dark sent my heart into a flurry. I pointed my viser’s light at the sound. Anise stepped out of the kitchen into the corridor ahead of me. She was dressed in an outfit that mirrored my own.
“I thought I might join you,” she said as if we were in school, and I hadn’t been trying to sneak outside.
Deuces. I had told her last night that I couldn’t walk to school with her because I’d planned an early run. She hadn’t seemed interested in joining me then.
“You scared the hell out of me,” I told her. “I didn’t think you were interested.”
“If I want to run like you, I guess I need to pick up some of your good habits.”
“About that, Anise… this isn’t really a habit…”
Anise folded her arms across her chest. “You don’t want me running with you.” Anger hung around her words.
“It’s not that…” I struggled with how much to say. Alexander wouldn’t want anyone else there. He didn’t even want me there. Jalen certainly would not tolerate her being there.
“What’s your deal, Daniela? You act like the oppressed girl—like we highborn are some kind of snobbish elite constantly attacking you, but you’re the one at the White House, the one who always needs to go it alone.”
She was hurt. I got that. Anise had tried to be my friend, she had opened her home to me, and I’d snubbed her. Yesterday after the funeral, and again this morning.
I took a deep breath. “Anise, I’m sorry about how this looks. I’m not running for practice. It’s something else. I-I can’t talk about it.”
Anise stepped toward me. Her eyes glittered like a cat’s in the faint light of our visers, and they scoured me for clues. “Politics,” she whispered, her eyes growing wide. I didn’t say anything. Anise took my silence for confirmation. “You are a quick study.”
“I need to go.”
“Daniela… even for the best runner, conditioned events can be dangerous if you aren’t experienced. Don’t try to do this alone. Remember your tryout when you started at Tuck.”
“I remember. And you shouldn’t forget, I won my first conditioned meet.”
Anise’s gaze followed me out the door.
Alexander met me by the ancient stone wall that stood at the boundary of Central Park. Streaks of cobalt had begun to invade the dark sky, but the brightest lights were the distant crimson flashes of Authority surveyor drones passing in the distance. The air was cold, my joints stiff. There was no need to talk. Alexander took off at a steady warm-up pace; I matched his speed, the space between us narrow enough for me to feel the warmth emanating from his arm. In a few minutes, I felt limber and comfortable, my mind clear.
The only people inside Central Park at this hour were runners. We acknowledged each other with the briefest of glances, we of this fringe community who were compelled to push our bodies to its limits. It was my first time running inside this place of privilege since I was a small child on special trips with my mother. If I’d been to the Reservoir with her, I didn’t remember it.
Alexander led me across undulating pathways lined by great magnolia trees, their branches clinging to the last vestiges of autumn. Dried leaves crunched under our feet as we ran. We came upon the Reservoir quickly. A twist and a small hill, then a manmade basin of pristine water appeared like a hidden treasure. My rhythm broke slightly as I gazed upon its expanse. It was beautiful and unexpected—this fortress of nature holding out amid man’s greatest city. Alexander noticed my stare; he glanced over with the hint of a grin at the edge of his lips. I wanted to tell him that I was glad to see this with him, but there wasn’t a chance. His attention shifted away, scanning the runners transiting the one and a half miles of track encircling the water. I did the same.
For a few minutes, it was a pleasant morning run. The air was chilly, the park quiet. Our pace was respectable but comfortable. Adrenaline pumped through me, and I was sucked in by the pleasure of the moment. It didn’t last. We found Jalen as the path turned westward. He wore a nondescript running suit of gray. His footfalls were light and effortless. Alexander pulled abreast of him. I hovered behind them. Jalen appeared to be alone, with not even a familiar following him.
“Two verses one, it seems,” Jalen said. I could just hear him; his face was invisible to me. I couldn’t tell if he was annoyed at my presence.
“I’m sure you’re not alone, Jalen,” Alexander replied.
“Almost alone. Anyway, he’s too far away to do any good if you mean me ill.”
I craned my neck around. The Reservoir track was huge, so Jalen’s security would either be around the water or on the running path with us. If Jalen only had one bodyguard, that person had to be a runner—that was the only way to keep Jalen covered at all times. Once I figured out what to look for, the man was easy to spot: square face, broad shoulders, running with a military cadence. He was about twenty feet behind us, his eyes alert.
“I’m willing to trust you,” Jalen continued. He glanced back at me without breaking stride. “Both of you.”
“And I you,” Alexander replied pointedly. The air between the two young men crackled with tension.
“Let us not waste time, then,” Jalen said. “Your fight to contr
ol Rose-Hart is hopeless if you continue alone. Arik’s mother is quickly becoming the most influential person in the country. Ambitious people recognize that President Hoven is no match for her. And the Rose-Hart’s Trust Committee is filled with ambitious people.”
Alexander huffed. “It is not as hopeless as you may believe.”
Really?
“Perhaps you refer to the stolen controlColonies. Perhaps you have possession of them, or know where they are. You may think that will be enough to sway the trustees. But you are wrong.”
I didn’t need to see Alexander’s face to know he was shocked at Jalen’s words. How could Jalen know so much?
“What are you talking about?” Alexander replied, his voice calmer than mine would’ve been.
Jalen made a sound that was close to a snort, but more dignified. “I thought we were going to trust each other. People know the Rose-Hart controlColonies are missing. The company’s acting management has been trying to cover up their loss by secretly buying recombinant bacterial inventory from other sources and repackaging it as their own, but that wasn’t going to work for long. Tyrell Industries is backing Virginia Timber-Night with everything they’ve got. And Virginia dangled access to Tyrell’s newest Sentient-7 parent controlColony in front of the trustees like cheese for the mice. You’ve heard the net ads: guaranteed that every viable subject will achieve Aptitude Tier thirty or higher, superior coordination—the best on the market. The most you can offer is the return of second-rate merchandise, I’m sorry to say. If that’s your ace, you’ve already lost. She’s dangling too tasty a carrot. Worse, Tyrell’s new prismPulse viser is about to go into full sales mode. Rumor has it that they are based on stolen NortelICE tech from California. It will devastate Rose-Hart’s market share in the visers business. She’s threatening to sell them at a loss just to finish Rose-Hart off if the trustees don’t back Arik.”
He knew about the controlColonies being missing. But did he know about DN10-191? About trilling? No. Or he wouldn’t have placed himself here, among two people who could control minds. Some minds, anyway.
