by James Bow
Drama program. She could act. That was good to know.
Above us, the footsteps faded away. Rachel breathed a sigh of relief.
“Why did we have to do that?” I hissed. “Why is there a spyhole in my apartment?” My voice rose. “What in sunlight is going on?”
She smiled sympathetically. “What question do you want answered first?”
I stared at her. “Who are you, Rachel?”
Her smile was brief. “I’ll show you.”
She swung a rack of chemicals away from the wall and pushed on a latch behind it. The whole thing opened: a hidden door.
CHAPTER SIX
THE GROUNDERS
We stepped through and Rachel pulled the disguised door closed behind me. Before we could move, someone pulled on a light chain. I blinked at the sudden brightness, then stared in astonishment. “Aaron?”
He’d gotten a haircut, but his smile was the same as when we’d been at school, back when he was telling me about his dream of becoming an astronomer. “Hello, Simon,” he said.
“What are you doing here?”
“Well,” he drawled, “would you believe I’m really, really lost?”
Aaron always knew how to make me laugh. “No way.”
The room was cluttered with … props, I realized. It was a prop room. There were stacked-up chairs, false walls piled six deep, a bust of Caesar that looked more like a potato farmer. It was a big room, jam-packed. There was a little space cleared in the middle, around King Arthur’s Round Table — saved from a production of Camelot I’d seen years ago — and a single low-watt light overhead. Around the table stood Aaron, Rachel — and Michael Dere.
“Um,” I said. “Hi.”
Michael looked awkward. “Hi.”
“Michael is our newest recruit,” Aaron said. “Joined two months ago. He’s been a great help finding private places to meet.”
Michael grinned sheepishly. “I liked to explore a lot as a kid. Always got into trouble, being found in the service ducts.”
“Simon,” Aaron said, suddenly more serious. I noticed the quill insignia on his uniform: he’d become a teacher. He was downright Socratic all of a sudden. “You’re probably wondering why Rachel brought you here.”
I stared at him a moment. Secret meetings, spy chases through the corridors. I realized what Rachel was. And Aaron. And Michael. These were my friends. How could they be involved in something like this? “Are you … Grounders?”
Aaron looked me in the eye. “Yes. We’re one cell. There are others, but we don’t all meet in one place, so we don’t attract attention. And you know us, Simon: me and Rachel. We grew up together. That should tell you that we wouldn’t do anything to put the colony in danger.”
“I’m sorry,” I said, “but that doesn’t tell me anything of the sort.” I was keenly aware that I was accusing him — him and Rachel, and possibly my dead brother — of something close to murder. “You never told me you were Grounders. You didn’t trust me enough to tell me, so why should I trust you?”
Everybody stared at me. I was almost used to stares, but from strangers. Friends mostly looked away.
“Look at it from my point of view.” I was desperate to break the silence. “I saw a steam pipe burst with my own eyes. Breakdowns are disrupting the city and getting worse. Everybody’s saying it’s sabotage. And here you are, hiding out of sight of security. What am I supposed to think? Who else could be responsible for all the failures?”
Rachel looked uncomfortable. “Simon, Isaac believed—”
My hand shot up, a warning. “Isaac’s not here. And I’m not bringing him into this.”
She drew herself up. “Well, I am! Whether you want to bring him into this or not, he was one of us. Isaac was a Grounder.”
“And so was your mother,” said a voice behind me.
I turned sharply, not only because of what was said, but how it was said. The voice sounded familiar. The face it belonged to was familiar as well. The man behind me was short, balding, in his early sixties, his remaining hair well on its way to grey. In spite of his lack of height and his age, he reoriented the room with his presence.
He was familiar, but I couldn’t instantly place him.
He nodded at me, not quite smiling. “Hello, Mr. Daud. It may be a bit earlier than intended, but it’s good to meet you at last.”
“Simon, meet your new boss, Gabriel Falm,” said Aaron.
My jaw dropped. “You’re the CommController!”
Well, whatever was wrong with the pneumatic tubes, it wasn’t that CommController Falm was senile. His eyes, despite the hint of cataracts, were like steel.
But a Grounder? It made the sabotage theory even stronger.
And then there was what he had said. “You knew my mother?”
Gabriel nodded. “Hagar was a fine woman. She joined us soon after your father’s death. She introduced me to you and Isaac when you were both much younger, though we were careful not to talk shop in front of you.”
That might be why he looked familiar. “But—”
He cut me off. “Mr. Daud, Ms. Caan says you’re smart, and that you’ve been asking questions. You requested a report on your mother’s death. You’ve accused us of sabotage. Believe it or not, that’s good. You know something’s not right in this colony.”
“How did you know I requested the coroner’s report?”
He gave me a smile that was halfway between sympathetic and smug. “Most official communications go through the pneumatic tubes and the Communications Hub.”
“You’ve been reading my mail?” I spluttered.
“Mr. Daud — Simon,” he went on, as if I hadn’t spoken. “You know these breakdowns are a sign of something bigger. You wondered that about your own accident.”
“A faulty battery.” Rachel looked bitter.
Gabriel waved her silent. “You’re thinking the breakdowns might be sabotage. But besides the damage the breakdowns have done, they also start rumours. More and more, these rumours are being aimed at us.”
“The Grounders have been around for years,” said Aaron. “And yet the breakdowns started only now. We aren’t the ones who have changed.”
“We wouldn’t do anything to hurt this city!” Rachel’s voice rose. “Michael and I dealt with dozens of people scalded by that steam burst. We wouldn’t wish that on anybody.”
Michael was nodding.
I was suddenly surrounded on all sides: Rachel and Aaron earnestly pleading their innocence, Gabriel looking firm, Michael looking awkward. I knew three of the four in this room. It was hard to think of them as saboteurs.
I raised my hands against the tumult. “Then what do you want?” In the silence that followed I lowered my hands. “Why are you here?”
Michael looked at the others. “I wanted answers.”
Aaron nodded. “I joined because of Isaac. I had questions, and he pointed me here.”
“I also joined because of Isaac,” said Rachel. “I think he joined because of your mother. He wanted answers, too.”
I think she was murdered, Simon.
“Answers,” I said. “About what?”
Gabriel laced his fingers together. “The point is, we ask questions, Simon. You probably know the big one by our reputation,” he said. “Why are our cities tethered to the cliffs? Why do we fear the ground?” He raised his hand as I opened my mouth. “I know: the ticktock monsters. But here’s a question you don’t often hear asked: Why has the ticking stopped?”
I blinked at him.
He smiled. “We’re not completely off the ground. As you know, we have the stem, and we have the compound around it to grow enough plant material to make our plastics and our paper, and supplement our fruits. We have people who go down to the surface to tend that plot, protected by the electric fence. Those people say they haven’t heard ticking in years. The monsters have gone quiet.”
My brow furrowed. “Why haven’t I heard about this?”
“Nobody’s asked.” Aaron
grinned ruefully. “Except us lunatics, and we’re easy to ignore.”
“That’s one of the questions your mother wanted answered, after your father died,” Gabriel went on. “Throughout history, the human race has been at its best when it’s asked questions and pushed beyond itself. But asking questions isn’t in fashion right now. For the past sixty-two years, the people of Icarus Down have focused on staying alive.”
“There’s a lot about this colony that doesn’t make sense, Simon,” Aaron cut in. “We only want to know why. And I think these breakdowns are happening on purpose, to discredit us.”
That seemed like the best answer I was going to get. “Okay,” I said. “That’s why you’re here. But what do you want from me?”
“I need your help at the Communications Hub,” Gabriel said. “Rachel said you were available, and sympathetic.”
I looked at Rachel. She smiled at me, nervous.
“Either way,” Gabriel continued, “when I contacted the flight master and asked her to reassign you to me instead of to the battery boys, I wasn’t just being kind. I have a job for you.”
“The best way to stop these rumours is to figure out what’s causing these breakdowns in the first place,” said Aaron.
“If we can find that evidence, we can prove our innocence,” said Rachel. “Yours too. That spyhole was put in your apartment by the security office.”
My mind flashed to Nathaniel Tal, asking me about Isaac and the Grounders. I knew the answer, but I still had to ask. “Why?”
“Because of Isaac. Because of your mother,” she said.
And there it was. Because I was a Daud. It wasn’t fair.
“So, Simon,” said Gabriel. “That’s who we are, and that’s what we want from you. Will you help us?”
Again they were pressing forward. Wanting this from me. I was in the centre of something, in a way I hadn’t been for a long time. It made my stomach clench. Should I say yes and throw my lot in with possible saboteurs? Or say no and disappoint Rachel, not to mention letting Nathaniel Tal pursue her friends for crimes they might not have committed?
“Yes,” I said.
Aaron and Gabriel patted my shoulder. Michael shook my hand. Rachel … smiled. I valued that more than anything else.
But Michael and Rachel had shifts to attend to, and they couldn’t be late without arousing suspicion. The meeting broke up, with Gabriel telling me that I’d see him in his office tomorrow. Aaron escorted me back to the projection room and glanced out the window before letting me out into the Great Hall.
I caught his arm. “How long were you …” I glanced around for listening ears. “… you know.”
Aaron grinned. “You want to know if I was a Grounder the whole time I knew you?”
I nodded.
“No,” he said. “I didn’t meet them until about two Nocturnes ago. Do you remember the last time we talked?”
I remembered that night, when Rachel had chosen Isaac. I’d bumped into Aaron. He’d looked like he’d seen a ghost. “You’d just been up in the observation booth of the semaphore tower,” I said. “You … you claimed you’d seen a star.”
Aaron grinned. “You claimed I was drunk.”
“Well, yeah, but—”
“I wasn’t drunk, Simon,” said Aaron. “I really did see a star.”
“But … how?”
People passed us on the path, and Aaron looked uncomfortable. “Not here. We’ll talk about this later, Simon. I promise. Let’s deal with the breakdowns first.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
HEATSTROKE
Cane clicking, I arrived at the Communications Hub the next morning.
People were lined up at the public window, holding packages or paper. Two people served them: a man with light brown skin whose nametag identified him as Ethan, and a woman with long, dark hair in a braid down her back. Her nametag said Marni. Above them, along the ceiling, incoming canisters whipped through translucent tubes, disappearing into the wall.
I got in line and waited. Ethan smiled at the elderly woman in front of me. “It’s still a couple of days before Solar Maximum, ma’am. This will be off to Octavia long before the semaphore goes offline.”
The two turned to me, and their eyes widened slightly — a common enough sight in response to my scars. But Ethan opened his mouth to say something, and nothing came out. It was Marni who said, “Hello, sir. May we help you?”
I cleared my throat. “Yes. I’m Simon Daud. I’ll be, um, working with you?”
Ethan lunged across the counter to pump my hand. “Simon Daud! It is an honour, sir!”
Marni looked embarrassed, but Ethan wasn’t done. He disappeared into the Communications Hub, shouting. “Hey, Jachin! It’s Simon Daud! Hey, everybody! It’s Simon Daud! He’s here!”
Marni levered up a section of the counter and stepped through to shake my hand, gently. “It’s good to have you join us,” she said. “Ethan’s—” She coughed. “Excited. We don’t get much excitement here.”
“I can see that,” I said.
“Come on! I’ll introduce you.” As she stepped back to let me in, she paused and looked at me. “Have you seen what we do here?”
“No.” I’d been sick the day of the field trip.
“Well, then…” With the air of someone sharing a secret, she said, “Welcome to the Communications Hub.” She waved me through.
I knew the Communications Hub was one level above the Great Hall. I hadn’t realized it was as long and as wide as the cavernous hall beneath it. Only the ceiling was low; I could touch the tangle of pneumatic pipes by raising my hand.
And the place was full of people. Dozens stood at a long table sorting canisters into pyramids. There was a constant rumble as people slammed receptacle doors, juggled canisters, plunked them on tables, or shoved them into intake tubes to be whooshed on their way.
People looked up as Ethan called everyone over, and suddenly I was surrounded, everyone reaching to shake my hand. They pressed on all sides, their enthusiasm like sandpaper on my scars.
“We read about the crash and how you survived it,” said Jachin. “It’s not every day a hero shows up here.”
Another young woman spoke over him. “It must have been terrifying, having to bail over the fog forest.”
“Well,” I said, and stopped there. I wasn’t prepared to think about it, let alone talk about it. Ethan, to his credit, saw my discomfort and looked embarrassed. Marni shoved forward. “Guys! Give him room!”
At that point, a red canister swooped overhead, veered off from the tubes going into the sorting room, and went through the single tube toward the door marked COMMCONTROLLER. Like parts of a clockwork mechanism, the clerks swivelled to watch it. Behind the CommController’s closed door, the access hatch banged open and shut.
The clerks scattered, leaving me with just Ethan and Marni.
“It’s from the mayor’s office.” Ethan’s voice was low.
“Today’s report on the misdeliveries,” Marni explained.
Behind the CommController’s door a grumble rose like a steam valve about to blow.
The clerks bent over their work, getting ready to duck and cover.
The door burst open.
And there stood the CommController, as I remembered him from yesterday. His glare cowed the room. Then his steely gaze focused on me. “Who the devil are you?”
For a moment I wondered if he actually had forgotten me, but then I realized that he had to make it look like this was the first time he’d seen me.
I cleared my throat. “Simon Daud, sir. I’ve been reassi—”
“Walk with me.” He jabbed a stubby finger at Ethan and Marni. “You two! Back to work!” They scrambled to comply.
Gabriel strode on ahead while I, cane clicking, struggled to keep up. We walked and walked, Gabriel leading the way through the chatter, barging past dozens who had to stop and duck behind us as we passed. Finally, we reached a wall, and a door labelled FILM TRANSFER. Inside, we walked past
ancient video equipment — pre-crash ancient. We detoured around a film camera that was pointed at a screen showing cars racing around a track. It was hard to tear myself away.
“You make the movies here?” I said in awe.
“We lend space to the drama department. They keep the machines going,” Gabriel replied. “Bread and circuses, as the saying goes. Personally, I can’t imagine Nocturne without the sunset film.”
Film — using chemicals to print images on celluloid — is technology from Old Mother Earth, almost lost until we found need of it when the electromagnetic wash made transmitting video nearly impossible.
We salvaged a handful of video screens at planetfall, shielded them and kept them running as best we could. We also made films of our own, like the image of the setting sun that was the centrepiece of Nocturne. In reality it was last year’s sunset, timed to match the real one outside. A bit of sleight of hand, but we clung to it. In a world where night comes once every fourteen months, a sunset was something everyone needed to see.
Gabriel opened the door at the other end of the room, and we entered a darkened service corridor. There were fewer people here. He slowed down as he walked, and the tension eased from his shoulders.
“Welcome to the team, Simon,” he said quietly. “I’ve been through your record. I expect you’re disappointed to find yourself working in the Communications Hub versus piloting an ornithopter.”
What was I supposed to do, agree with him? “I’m hoping to be of use, sir,” I said. And found, surprisingly, that I meant it, stiff though it sounded.
“Good,” he said. “Good man.”
We reached an elevator. Gabriel pulled a lever and, far away, a bell jangled. I heard the whine of distant and approaching motors. The doors parted. We stepped on board. Gabriel flipped a switch on the panel and pulled the lever. The doors closed, and we were on our way. Finally, we could talk.
“So … You got a report from the mayor’s office?”
Gabriel’s expression soured. “Yeah, I did. The stats are horrible. I’m surprised people aren’t burning me in effigy. But they have a convenient scapegoat. Ironically, that scapegoat would also be me, if they knew it.”
