Burn

by Sarah Fine

  Kellan’s pace quickens, and a few of us stutter-step to keep up. My head is a little foggy. The jolts of fear and menace keep clearing the cobwebs, but I’m so tired that it doesn’t take long for them to regenerate. I won’t be able to go without sleep much longer. “Is the dorm building on the same circuit system as the main building?” I ask as Kellan breaks into a jog.

  Next to me, Sung takes a wheezing breath, not yet fully recovered from the smoke inhalation. I’m wondering if he should have stayed in the infirmary. Graham is grim and silent as he takes smooth strides, but he’s sweating in the cool mountain air, and by the tension in his arms, I can tell he’s hurting. Why did they leave the infirmary? Did they really see someone running down the hall? Did they want to steal the scanner, or are they feeling as protective of it as I am?

  When we reach the dorms, all is quiet. A few windows are lit, but most are dark.

  “Is there a guard on duty?”

  “At the front desk,” Kellan says, yanking the door open and marching through a large entryway toward what resembles the lobby of a very swanky hotel. “But the first-floor hallway has another exit. Someone could come down the stairwell and exit that way without being seen by the guard.”

  Sung runs his hand over his buzzed black hair. “If they have the same seven-minute gap in surveillance feeds that you had in the main building, we might be screwed.”

  Graham curses. “We came here because it was supposed to be this technological fortress, but you guys can’t even manage basic surveillance.”

  Kellan lifts his chin. “Can you? Those Sicarii got two of your people, and you led one of them right to our doorstep.”

  Graham’s mouth twists, and I’m betting he’s about to remind Kellan that they got George, too, but Sung nudges his arm, and he simmers down, thank God. “What’s your plan? Are you going door-to-door?” asks Sung as we enter the lobby.

  Kellan motions for the guard at the front desk to stay where she is. Then he looks around, and his posture sags a little. “I guess.”

  There’s a brief flash of sympathy in Graham’s eyes. He’s used to being weighed and measured—and found wanting. “It’s a place to start,” he says to Kellan. “Let’s get it done. We have the scanner now, and we can dissect this tomorrow, after we rule out the obvious. Maybe we’ll get lucky.”

  From Kellan’s expression, I can tell that he wouldn’t perceive finding a traitor among The Fifty to be “lucky.”

  A hallway to my left has a metal plate on it that reads:

  BISHOP

  BELAY

  BEARDEN

  ARCHER

  ALEXANDER

  ACKERMAN

  ABE

  I guess my family suite is down there—as is Brayton’s, Rufus’s, and Dr. Ackerman’s. Sung and Graham stare at the nameplate while Kellan questions the guard at the attendant’s desk.

  The elevator in the lobby dings. “Tate!” comes a shriek as the doors open.

  My head swings around so fast that I’m dizzy. “Christina?” My heart hammering, I watch her emerge with two guards on either side of her. One of them has a gun aimed at her head.

  I stride toward her, my hands up. “She’s with—”

  “Caught her near the stairwell a minute after you called, Kellan,” says the guard with long brown hair pulled into a tight knot at the base of her neck. “She won’t say who she is, and none of us recognize her.”

  Kellan switches on the scanner, and Christina winces as her skin flashes red. His broad shoulders tense as he realizes she’s H2. “What the hell are you doing in this building?”

  “She’s my girlfriend,” I snap, shoving past the guards, beyond caring whether they aim at me. “Step away from her.”

  Christina looks like she wants to reach for me but is afraid to move. “I was in Leo’s suite and kept hearing people coming back from the meeting. I was coming down to see if you were in your room,” she says to me in a broken voice.

  “Is she some undercover Core agent?” the female guard asks.

  I want to hit something. “Did you hear what I just said? She goes to my high school. She, like two-thirds of the population of this planet, is H2 and a civilian. Not every H2 is Core, and you know that.”

  “She’s not one of ours,” says Graham.

  “We’re wasting time,” I say to Kellan. “I’m taking her to my suite, and you’re checking each one, right?”

  Kellan seems to note the edge in my voice. He’s still regarding Christina with suspicion, but the guards are holstering their weapons. “Yeah.”

  He stalks toward the hallway, and I offer Christina my hand. Wearily, she takes it. We follow the others down the hall, reaching the Bishop suite first. I’m tempted to walk right by and let them handle it, but it’s clear they’ve already hit a snag. Kellan is banging his fist against the door. “Mr. Bishop, just for a minute. We’ve had a security breach, and I need only a moment of your time.”

  “I can see the Core agents out there, boy,” shouts Rufus from the other side. He must have his face pressed to the peephole. “If you think I’m coming out, you’re insane.” This is followed by a long string of threatening and colorful curses.

  “Mr. Bishop, we need everyone’s cooperation—”

  “If you think those aliens are cooperating with you, you’re even more stupid than the rest of your family!” Rufus shouts.

  Kellan’s cheeks darken. “Sir,” he says, his voice turning gravelly. “I’m going to have to order—”

  More curses. Kellan looks helpless. Purely out of impatience, I snatch the scanner from his hand and wave it over the door. Despite the barrier, it flashes blue. The thing can scan through walls and doors.

  Sung’s dark eyebrow arches as he notes the device’s capability. “Good to know,” he says.

  I nod and hand the scanner back to Kellan as Rufus shouts, “You think the scanner protects you? Those H2 don’t need to scan orange to do damage.”

  “Neither do you,” Graham calls.

  “It’s all you’re going to get tonight, dude,” I say to Kellan. “Just do your scanning, and we’ll sort the rest tomorrow.”

  He moves away from Rufus’s door as Brayton Alexander emerges from his room at the end of the hall. “What’s going on?” he asks, smoothing his rumpled blond hair across the top of his head.

  “Someone tried to steal the scanner, Mr. Alexander,” says Kellan.

  Brayton’s eyes go wide, and then he scowls. He closes his eyes as Kellan scans him blue. His cheeks still look sunken with fatigue, and I swear there are new streaks of gray in his pale hair, though that may be the light. “Obviously the thieves didn’t succeed,” he says in a tight voice. “And equally obvious, it needs to be guarded more closely.”

  “Agreed.” I tuck Christina a little tighter to my side. “I’m betting they’ll try again,” I say. “Speaking of, Brayton, you must know the security and surveillance systems of this compound pretty well, right?”

  I look to Graham and Sung, who said they saw someone running down the infirmary hall. Graham shrugs and looks at the floor as he mutters, “It was dark, and the guy was moving fast.”

  Brayton leans back against the wall, his face pinched with anger. “I do know the system well.” He leans forward and glares at Kellan, the circles under his eyes making him look like a ghoul. “But I don’t appreciate being under suspicion, especially since we both know the surveillance cameras would have detected any intruder.”

  Kellan stands his ground. “That’s what we’re talking about, Mr. Alexander. They were hacked.”

  Brayton blinks at him. “What?” He pushes himself off the wall. “I can take a look if you’d like.”

  “We’re just trying to scan everyone in the building right now,” says Kellan. “Then I’m reporting to Angus.”

  Brayton slumps a little. “Tomorrow, then,” he says quietly, and Kellan
nods.

  I’m about to remind them that we might not have a tomorrow because the scout ships could come for the scanner at any time, but Christina leans on me like she agrees with them, and my own fatigue is making me feel so heavy that I’m about to sink to the floor. And suddenly, I realize I’m not holding Christina up—it’s the other way around.

  “Gentlemen,” she says, “if you’re done with me and Tate, I’m taking him to his room. He hasn’t slept in nearly two days, and I’m sure you can manage without him, seeing as it’s your job.”

  Graham snorts with laughter, and he, Sung, and Brayton step out of the way. “You want me to let you know if someone scans orange?” Kellan asks.

  “I’m sure the gunshots will give me a clue,” I mumble. Because I’m done. Someone on this compound tried to steal the scanner, and the surveillance that protects it is inadequate, and all of that will have to be figured out. And if I’m really lucky, someone else will handle it so I don’t have to. I have enough to do.

  Christina is digging in my pocket. She pulls out my ID card and slides it into the card reader at the door of the Archer suite, then guides me inside. “I have to go back to the computer lab and work on bringing those satellites online,” I say.

  Christina puts her arm around my waist and leads me toward the bed. “Doing that won’t stop the scout ships from coming here.”

  “But it could keep the invasion force from taking over the planet.” I try—and fail—to stifle a yawn. “I have to figure out the password to activate the satellites. One password.” Something I’ve done dozens of times in the past, and it’s never been this hard. Possibilities flash in my brain and then evaporate. I’m too exhausted to hold on to a single one.

  “Tate, if you try to keep going, you’re going to pass out,” Christina says, placing her warm palms on my cheeks. “You’ve been awake for almost forty-eight hours. You’ve been through so much.” She draws me down and gives me a featherlight kiss. “You’re not at your best.”

  “I’m sorry I left you alone for so long,” I say as she gives me a gentle shove onto the bed. This is a huge suite, with several bedrooms, an office, and a kitchenette. I force myself not to think of the fact that my dad was the last person to spend the night here. “I had to try to figure it out. I should go back right now and keep trying. It’s not just the satellite shield. It’s the combat vehicles, too. I have to—”

  “You will, Tate,” she says softly, pressing a glass of water into my hands. “After you rest.”

  “What if I fail?” I whisper, closing my eyes as I sip the water, then concentrating hard to set it on the bedside table without dropping it.

  “You won’t.” The bed dips as she settles her body next to mine. She gently lays her head on my chest. “Go to sleep. Please. Just for a few hours. We’re all right at the moment, and we’ll figure out the rest when you wake up.”

  I want to argue, but I’m so exhausted that I can’t even open my mouth. I’ll only sleep for an hour, then I’ll wake up and figure this out. It’s the last thought in my head before my brain shuts down and takes the world away.

  THIRTEEN

  I WAKE SLOWLY TO MORNING SUNLIGHT FILTERING through the curtains. “Shit!” I bolt upright and scrabble for the phone by the bed, frantically checking the time. It’s nearly nine. There’s a note on the pillow next to me. Went to breakfast with Leo, but wanted to let you sleep.

  A jolt of frustration makes me crumple the paper, but then I notice something written on the other side:

  Please don’t be mad ~ C

  My fingers trace the initial she used to sign off, realizing, as I look again at the date display on the phone, that it’s Sunday morning, and our prom was last night. That was where we were supposed to be, laughing and dancing and being stupid with our friends. And instead of getting a hotel room and hoping for the best, I was here. Christina was with me, but it wasn’t exactly the romantic scenario I’d envisioned.

  This last week has stolen all my hopes for a normal, carefree end to my junior year. What it hasn’t stolen is how I feel about Christina. That’s only stronger every time I look at her, which makes it both awesome and terrible that she’s here.

  I get up and shower quickly. As I dress in some of the clothes my father left in the drawers, I remember all the simmering tension of the night before, the hair-trigger suspicion of the Black Box guards, the way they collared her just for being a stranger, the way they looked at her when they discovered she was H2. As I walk to the main building, where the cafeteria is located, I call my mom. She doesn’t pick up, so I leave a message. “Just checking in. I hope everything’s all right.” I wonder if she ever left the morgue last night.

  The guards at the main entrance don’t scan me, and I’m not sure what that means.

  I make it to the cafeteria in time to catch Leo and Christina finishing their food. Christina gives me a nervous look, but when I smile, she relaxes. They’re at a table with Angus, Race, and Congers, and for a moment I pause, struck by the weirdness of that sight. Christina still has stitches in her head because one of Race’s agents shot her last Tuesday. And now she’s listening politely to something he’s saying while she sips her coffee.

  I grab some cereal and milk and join them, noticing that the scanner is sitting in the middle of the circular table like a centerpiece. “Why aren’t we scanning people as they enter the building?”

  Race wipes his mouth with his napkin. “Everyone on the compound was located and re-scanned by six this morning. Now it’s a matter of priorities. There’s a lot we don’t yet know about the device, and we’re wondering if our time wouldn’t be best spent trying to figure out whether it has additional capabilities.” He runs his fingers down the side of the scanner, across those little ports. He’s noticed them, too.

  Congers, his hair neatly combed with a perfectly straight part, looks around at the people in the cafeteria. Several factory workers, wearing gray coveralls, hunch over their scrambled eggs while they stare coldly at a group of Core agents quietly eating their own breakfast at a table across the room. The agents’ tense postures tell me they’re glad their weapons have been returned. “I’m not sure any amount of scanning will reassure either side.”

  Angus pulls his napkin from his lap and drops it over his half-eaten plate of food. “It’ll take more than a day to resolve centuries of mistrust. It has nothing to do with the scanner or the Sicarii.”

  “But maybe it should,” I say. “I’m not saying one has to be a Sicarii to try to steal the scanner; I’m just saying we shouldn’t rule it out completely. There’s a lot we don’t know about how they operate.”

  Angus shrugs. “All we know is that everyone is accounted for and no one scanned orange.”

  “Are we going to figure out what happened to the surveillance system?” Leo asks, using the bottom of his shirt to clean his glasses.

  “It’s on a long list of things we have to do.” Angus rolls his head on his neck. “I have a team on it. Rufus is leading it up.”

  I nearly drop my spoon. “What?”

  Angus scrubs a hand over his face and scratches at his beard. “He’s an expert in the kind of power grid we have here, Tate.”

  “My point exactly,” I snap. “He wouldn’t even come out of his room last night. How do you know he’s not hiding something?”

  “I’ll be providing oversight,” says Congers.

  Leo’s eyes get wide. “Oh, man. Rufus won’t like that.”

  “We need the mutual accountability,” says Angus, putting his enormous hand on Leo’s skinny shoulder. “If each team is a mix of humans and H2, we have a built-in watchdog system. Neither side is going to cover for the other.” He gestures from the Core agents to the factory workers. “It means we’ll have less of this mistrust.”

  “Or more of it,” says Christina softly, staring into her cup of coffee.

  I touch her leg unde
r the table, and she takes my hand. “Are there Core agents helping in the defense stations?” I ask. “It might be good to have fresh eyes on the horizon.”

  Congers nods. “There are also agents working in the factory, to build the mobile attack units your father designed.”

  Angus runs his thick knuckles along the underside of his chin. “There’s been a lot of debate about the plans. It calls for a hole to be cut into the roof of each vehicle, to allow for the placement of that giant lens. Some folks on the design team think it’s a flaw.”

  “They haven’t been able to determine the intended purpose for those lenses?” I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. My dad designed for himself. He didn’t bother writing explanations so everyone else could keep up.

  Angus shakes his head. “Some of the design team want to eliminate that part of the modifications. I can’t say I disagree. It seems like a risk to have a giant glass lens in the roof of the vehicle—especially if you’re fighting something that’s flying overhead.”

  Race frowns. “Do you realize what Frederick Archer accomplished before he was killed?” As soon as that word comes out of his mouth, he cuts me an uneasy glance and clears his throat. “He was working with alien technology more advanced than anything on Earth. And he not only figured out how to make it functional—he extrapolated an entire defense system that might be the key to protecting this planet from total annihilation.” He leans forward, and his voice rises. “And he basically accomplished all of it with a blindfold on. No plans, no explanations, and almost no context. Yet still, he did it. The scanner. The satellite shield. And these mobile attack units. The building blocks are all in place—all we have to do is figure out how to put them together and use them.” Race sits back, his nostrils flaring.

  Angus blinks at him. “I guess you’re of the opinion that the lenses should stay,” he says with a bemused chuckle.

  Race looks at me. “I’m saying that if Fred Archer had designed a weapon using peacock feathers and rubber bands, I’d build it and trust that it would do the job.”