As Henri finished removing the bodyguards’ two Cuffs, I glanced up to see the Silents standing right before us. They didn’t move or make any threat. They just watched. Henri, being Henri, grinned at them. He held up the device and made a motion, showing them he could remove their Cuffs, too. They all put their arms out to him.
I glanced at the Cuff in my hands and then at the office. Seeing no other choice, I clamped the woman’s Cuff around my own arm. It was loose at first, but then its interior inflated with a wheeze, gripping my wrist securely.
Congratulations, Alora, you’ve lost 40 pounds! Why not treat yourself to a fine dinner at LoLoRu™? Featuring a fine selection of BeefMilk™ cheeses, wine-poached quince and Botanical Squeezlings® from hand-pollinated harvests...
I flicked the message away. Several health notifications popped up, probably because the Cuff registered the sudden change in weight and body composition. I dismissed them, too. Not too far away, a couple in blue shirts spotted us, looked at each other and turned the other way. I tugged at Henri’s sleeve, even though he had two more Cuffs to remove. We needed to get out of sight before anyone else spotted us.
Alora’s Cuff buzzed with another call from Irene, which I flipped away. The Silents watched me expectantly, and I realized they might be able to help. I hesitantly made the sign of the zippered lips and felt a wave of hope when they zipped back to me. The Cuff on my arm buzzed with a charge—apparently that gesture was no longer in the public domain. The idea irked me, but what did it matter?
I pointed to the three unconscious bodies and made a sweeping gesture, hoping they would understand my mute request. The crimson boy and two other Silents immediately started to drag them toward the alley nearby. Henri finished removing the last Cuff and turned to me. I gestured to the real estate agency, and he nodded. We had to move.
A Geographic Raid: $11.98
With a wave of my arm, Bullion® Real Estate opened right up. The offices were airy and lushly carpeted, with a few very impressive desks that looked like real wood. There were two posh seating areas, both locked behind glass. It made sense that brokers would want to pamper wealthy clients while going over properties.
Within seconds, three real estate agents scurried out from the back in blue suits with crisp white shirts and ties that turned marigold as they entered the room, to match what I assumed was Alora’s favorite color.
“Mrs. Clepeti!” One man with a Pad and a wide grin offered his hand. My Cuff popped up his name and picture. Norman Keene. The other two, who didn’t appear to be related to Norman or each other, were identified as brokers Thomas Keene and Vincent Keene. That struck me as odd, but I didn’t have much time to dwell on it. Vincent peered at me, then down at his Cuff. He nudged Norman, showing him a picture. I didn’t match the woman’s image in their system. Their faces contorted in confusion.
I turned to Henri. “I told you the Barbara Van Trine™ would only confuse people,” I said, forcing a laugh.
Henri cocked his head at me. My Cuff buzzed harshly with the charge and a warning message: Vocal Pattern Mismatch.
“Barbara Van Trine™,” Norman acknowledged with a nod, forcing himself to admire my makeup. I didn’t know how common a crime it was to steal a person’s Cuff, but it had to be rare. I prayed I could get them to accept the deception.
“A little makeup, some digital effects,” I said, gesturing to myself. I could have sold it better—my voice wasn’t very convincing. The Cuff buzzed with another warning:
Visa™ Fraud Department—An attempt to charge $636.44 in words has been flagged by a voice identification error. Tap CONFIRM here to verify charges by fingerprint identification.
My stomach flip-flopped. The Cuff felt like it was warming, or maybe it was my whole body. It emitted a low, pulsing buzz now, waiting for me to respond.
“How can we assist you?” Norman asked, his smile looking less than genuine.
“You’re all brothers?” I asked.
“No,” Norman replied with a small laugh, because he had to pretend Affluents were delightful.
“But you’re all named Keene,” I said, letting my curiosity get the better of me.
“Anyone with any sense is a Keene,” he said, narrowing his eyes.
I glanced across the room at an enormous dark wall screen, curved for private viewing. I could imagine brokers pulling up maps, showing their clients all the options they had for places to live and sights to see. I had longed to see things like this when I was younger, but Mrs. Harris had told me in her usual clipped tones that I should be satisfied with what I was fortunate enough to see in movies.
Even now, the demeaning injustice of it stung. Our guardian truly believed we were worth less than a woman like Alora Clepeti—less than nothing, if you examined her calculations. To her and people like her we were nothing more than our debts. If I wanted to sell my disguise I had to treat these “Keenes” like I believed it, too.
“Anyone with any sense?” I screeched. “I am a Clepeti, you dolt. Keene indeed!”
“My apologies,” Norman said, momentarily stunned.
“I’d like to browse,” I said, forcing a sneer and gesturing at the screen. My Cuff buzzed again and let out a shrill warning beep.
Visa™ Fraud Department—An attempt to charge $1,093.41 in words has been flagged by a voice identification error. Tap CONFIRM here to verify charges by fingerprint identification or service will be discontinued and the authorities notified.
A sixty-second countdown began. The Cuff was definitely getting warmer.
“You wish to browse...our listings?” Norman asked, raising his head. All three agents now squinted at me. This wasn’t going to work.
I turned to Henri. I showed him the message, holding my Cuff out to him. It was listing all the legal ramifications of a Cuff theft.
“What is this?” Norman asked. Thomas and Vincent began to back away. Henri pulled out his Cuff remover and ran it over my forearm. Vincent gasped. The Cuff cracked open and beeped now with each second that ticked off the countdown. With my free hand, I pulled out my sleep gas and held it out like a gun in a robbery.
The three brokers stared at us, bewildered.
“Where’s your Squelch?” I demanded, suffering the shocks to my eyes now that the Cuff was off. It beeped away at my feet. I needed to cut it off from the WiFi before the countdown ended—I wasn’t sure what would happen then, but it couldn’t be good.
“Squelch?” Thomas asked.
Henri took his pony bottle out and advanced on Thomas, looking more threatening than I’d ever seen him. It was easy to forget how big Henri was sometimes because he was such a sweet, gentle person. Not knowing him like I did, Thomas staggered back and pointed to a panel on the wall.
I glanced out the wide window. If anyone looked in, we’d be exposed. But the only people outside were the five Silents, who were now standing with their backs to the agency, obscuring the view inside. I felt a surge of gratitude for their protection.
The three Keenes seemed baffled. “There is nothing here to steal,” Vincent said pleadingly.
Henri pressed the panel and it popped open, revealing a Squelch beyond.
“Are you Silents?” Thomas asked, his eyes on the window as Henri forced him into the Squelch. I picked up the beeping Cuff. Fifteen seconds left.
I shot him a look, and sprayed him and Vincent first.
“This is all being recorded,” Norman warned, holding up his Pad. He backed up into the Squelch.
I sprayed him, too, letting Henri guide him gently to the floor. Then I yanked Henri out, tossed the Cuff in and jammed the panel shut before the countdown finished. Inside, the three brokers would sleep, and the Cuff would send out a signal that wouldn’t make it past the Squelch wall until they awoke. I’d bought us a little time, but we were still working in an open storefront.
I realized, too late, th
at I should have grabbed Norman’s Pad, but I couldn’t open the Squelch now.
I rushed into one of the private seating areas and tapped the curved display. The Bullion® logo lit up, sparkling like gold, though slightly hazy because I was so close to the three-dimensional image. It was designed to be viewed from across the room, probably because Affluents didn’t work the controls themselves—they were simply shown things.
The logo rose and settled into place at the top of the screen as awards for excellence flew past like shimmery 3-D ghosts. Flat on the screen, three options appeared: HOMES, RENTALS and STAYS. I chose the last of these, because it was likely meant for Affluents looking to travel.
A list with the names of the fifty domes populated the screen. I recognized only a few. We’d never been taught them all, so the list didn’t mean much to me. I’d never heard of Cincinnati®, Ford™ or Raleigh™, for example. I certainly didn’t know if any of them were in Carolina—or even if Carolina had domes at all. What if it was all farms, like the one where my parents were Indentured?
My only choices were the listed domes. At random, I selected Jefferson™, because I remembered it as a name from my history class.
The screen filled with a beautiful aerial image from inside a round dome not unlike the one I’d come from, with smaller buildings around the edges and massive ones at the center. A bright, warm light seemed to fill the city and I didn’t know if it was because such a light was a feature of the city, or merely a manipulation to make the image appealing. The screen highlighted properties with thin yellow lines and linked to a dozen pictures of opulent rooms Affluents could stay in. They were all in the center of the city, which made me think Jefferson™ was a lot like home, with poor folks scattered out on the rim.
Henri stood at my side, still silent. He squinted, like an old man trying to read something too close.
I selected a property at random, and the picture enlarged. The room was lovely, with bookshelves and scalloped trim. A band lowered into the frame and listed an average nightly price—$1,999—and offered buttons for PEDIGREE, TESTIMONIAL, AMENITIES, MATCHSCORE™ and ROUTE. The last button was the one I needed. I tapped it. The image faded, and a map appeared.
My whole body suddenly felt like it was flying. It was partly the 3-D effects as the map drifted into place, but mostly it was the dizzying realization of how big the world was beyond the borders of Portland. I never could have imagined that a group of squiggly lines would make me feel an awe that bordered on fear.
Keene sat at the bottom of the state of Vermaine. I could see the road we’d traveled on, or part of it—the line representing it curved outside the frame, and I couldn’t see Portland. Most of the map detailed what was in the other direction—west.
A path scrawled down through the Dome of Springfield in Connectix™, through a swath of New York™ and a dome labeled Generalec™. It continued through the state of Sylvania™ and into Indohio™, where it came to rest in the Dome of Jefferson™.
Henri moved in closer, placing himself in the center of the curve to take in the entirety of the map. I didn’t see Carolina. The huge area was still only a piece of America®. The only dome I recognized besides Springfield and Mandolin™ was in the lower right-hand corner. The Dome of NYC™ rested on a rectangle of land labeled The Printed Lands, whose green borders jutted into an ocean of blue. The ocean was right there, like I could touch it. A little below was a label for the Dome of Delphi™ and, within that, a different tag: Central Data.
I swiped a finger upward, and the map scrolled up slightly to reveal Portland. It bore the same tag, but in red with tiny text that said Off-line. Margot and Kel had been right.
I backed out to the list, wondering if I should look for the third Central Data location, but instead I pulled up a search box and typed in Crab Creek, Carolina. The screen buzzed harshly, and my shoulders hunched at the sound.
No listings at this location.
Of course there weren’t. No Affluent was going to vacation down with the Indentured. The system offered a list of alternate suggestions, and I tapped on Nanolia™ because it sounded familiar.
The map zoomed out further to accommodate the vast distance between Keene and Nanolia™. I now had a much better overview of the country. The route went through Mandolin™, past the Dome of Law and nearby DC to Raleigh™, ending at the southern tip of Carolina, where Nanolia™ rested.
Nanolia™ was next to a gray factory dome labeled NanoLion™. Above these and off to the west were several other gray domes, labeled Agropollination™ 1, Agropollination™ 2 and so on. The name gave me a shudder. Agropollination™ was the company that owned my parents.
I stared at the empty green space between the Agropollination™ domes. The farms had to be there. Crab Creek had to be among them. My skin went cold. I didn’t see Crab Creek, but what I did see stunned me.
Gray domes peppered the landscape across the map with names like MonSantos™ Cornworks & Chromosome, Factory Consortium Dome 4 and Food Processing Dome L. No Affluent would ever travel to these places. They were all industrial, and the scale and number was staggering. I tapped one and got the same harsh buzz as before.
No listings at this location.
Henri didn’t see it—not the way I did. He was staring off into space. I tapped his shoulder, pointing to the screen and the map. We needed to memorize this, but I was having trouble focusing on that task. How could the world be this way?
I swallowed and tried to appreciate the fact I had a better sense of where to head now. My parents’ farm was somewhere between those Agropollination™ domes. I was quite certain. But I was also chilled to my core by the realization of what was out there. There were far more gray domes than just the fifty white ones I’d been told about in school. Who lived in them? Were they all filled with Indentured people forced to work off their debt inside them every day?
Growing up, I’d thought we were the victims of bad luck. I’d thought the kids who lived in the Onzième got the short end of the stick because so many—most—of our parents ended up Indentured. Mrs. Harris had implied for years that parents in the Onzième just weren’t good people. But I was starting to realize how much of what she’d told us wasn’t true—and that we’d been fed lies on purpose.
Silas Rog’s words echoed in my head: “Generations of your family Indentured. Generations.” At the end, right before I’d taken him down, Rog had threatened to force Saretha and me to breed in “litters” for the rest of our lives. “Generations of Jimes to pay your ceaseless debt,” he’d said.
I felt sick. How could there be so many domes filled with workers? How had they filled them? I tried not to think about the possibilities, but I couldn’t help wondering how many kids out there had Indentured parents, or whether Rog and his ilk had carried out that sickening plan against others.
A pounding interrupted my dark thoughts. The Silents were banging on the glass with their fists, still facing away. They were trying to warn us about something. A bright light shone outside, and I heard the sound of raised voices.
I tapped the interface closed, then realized how much evidence I’d left behind. I punched at the screen, but it was stronger than I expected. Henri understood. He shattered it with his fist, yanked out its memory chip and handed it to me. He’d taught me this technique the first night I’d met him.
We tried several doors in back before finding one that opened to the alley where the Silents had dragged Alora and her bodyguards. The two enormous men had been laid out in a line with the woman in marigold, like they were going to be boxed up and shipped out.
I took out my grapple, shot up a line and zipped up to the rooftops as a voice called out, “Halt!”
Three buildings over, I paused and held up a hand for Henri to stop with me. I listened. The police wouldn’t work very hard to chase us if they didn’t have a sponsor. Words cost money. Pursuit cost time. The only way they’d have so
meone footing the bill would be if Lucretia Rog had connected us to Keene. Unfortunately, lights still flashed in the street behind us, and someone yelled, “Fan out!” That wasn’t a good sign.
Unlike Portland, the Keene roofs offered little cover. The buildings didn’t really vary in height, so anyone on a nearby roof would be able to spot us quickly. We had to get out of sight. I motioned for Henri to follow me and zipped a few roofs over to a particularly ornate apartment building with gilding on the sides. Running my lock pick over the roof hatch, I yanked it open and dropped down into a darkened service room. Henri followed, closed the hatch and looked at me with an expression of deep concern. He pointed up, like he wanted to go back out. I shook my head. If we didn’t let things cool off, we’d risk getting caught—or worse, leading the police back to the car and compromising everyone.
I cracked the service room door and peeked into a dimly lit kitchen. This was familiar. It felt like we were on a Placement, only we had no product to Place and no Pad to map the area and tell us who was home. The counter appeared ready, though, with an open space that people who adored Placements would often leave.
I tiptoed out and listened. Henri followed, as silent as me. An archway led to a wide dining room and then a hall with two doors. I didn’t have a Pad or a floor plan, but I’d been in enough homes to surmise the doors led to bedrooms. Everything was dark. Whoever lived here was either asleep or away. I scanned the wall for signs of a hidden door that might lead to a Squelch and found a thin outline in the corner of the dining room. Running my lock pick over the line resulted in a telltale click.
I pulled the door open and pushed Henri inside. We’d be safe here for a bit, unless someone woke up to have a midnight chat. Henri closed the door and the message from Kel, still running under my vision, winked away. I realized that, now, Henri and I were finally free to talk.
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