by Zoe Cannon
“If you could take care of it on your own, you would have done it a long time ago.” Her mom paused. “Becca… if you don’t let me help you, I’m going to the directors.”
“The directors,” Becca echoed. Steady. Unafraid. “About what?” Her mom couldn’t know the truth. If she did, they would be having a very different conversation right now.
“About the fact that you need help,” her mom said, almost gently. “About the fact that it would be irresponsible to let you continue in your current position.”
She doesn’t know. My cover is safe. But her relief lasted less than a second as she realized the implications of her mother’s threat.
The directors would listen to her mom. Even if she only told them Becca needed help, at the very least Becca would face increased scrutiny… the kind of scrutiny that would make it all but impossible for her to do any kind of resistance work. And if she went further than that, if she told them Becca couldn’t do her job, Becca wouldn’t just lose her primary means of recruiting new resistance members. She would lose the support groups—and with them, the ability to hold meetings without attracting suspicion.
If her mom went to the directors, Becca would lose the resistance.
She flattened her fear. Flattened her anger. Neither would help her here. “I’m capable of doing my job. If you go to the directors, you’ll only make us both look unprofessional.”
“And what if you make a mistake in an evaluation because you’re too tired to concentrate? What if you say the wrong thing to one of your support group members and end up creating a new dissident? You can’t go on like this. Not without a cost. I know what breaking looks like, and you’re halfway there.”
Becca had nothing to offer her. No explanation to give. Nothing but, For the past three years I’ve led the resistance group you’ve been trying so hard to stop.
But a childhood spent with her mother had left her more than able to tell when her mom’s threats were empty and when she meant them.
She meant this one.
“All right,” said Becca. “We’ll talk. But not tonight.” She needed time. Time to figure out what to say. Time to think.
“I’m done with excuses, Becca,” her mom warned. “You’ve avoided this for too long already. You’re not going to put it off again.”
“I just need a little time.”
Her mother regarded her for a long moment. Then she nodded. “I’ll give you until the end of the month. Then I’m going to the directors.”
“The end of the month,” Becca promised. “We can have our dinner then, too. Tonight you should get back to your prisoner.” She couldn’t stay here any longer. Couldn’t sit under her mom’s watchful eye and wonder what she was giving away. Not without a plan.
“I don’t mean this as a threat, you know. I only want to help you.” A look of pain passed across her mom’s face. “I used to be able to help you.”
“I know.” I miss it too. But she didn’t say it. It didn’t matter.
“We’ll talk soon,” she promised instead, already heading for the door and her escape.
Chapter Four
Becca ducked into Lucky’s Pizza as an Enforcement patrol—the second one she’d seen in her short walk from the parking lot—passed by on the sidewalk behind her. She held out her ID to the waiter standing inside the door. Lucky’s had started checking IDs a couple of months ago, along with every other business downtown. If a band of dissidents ever decided to infiltrate every pizza place in town, Internal would be ready.
The waiter glanced over Becca’s ID with glazed eyes before he bothered to look up at her face. When he saw her, he grinned. “Becca! Good to see you.” He waved in the direction of the corner table. “The others got here a while ago. They ordered your usual.”
Nearly three-quarters of the restaurant’s tables sat empty—even more than last week. Nobody wanted to go out for pizza with fugitives on the loose and dissidents out killing Enforcers. But her friends still sat around their usual table, huddled in conversation as they pulled apart a pizza piled high with half the toppings on the menu.
Three years ago, even one year ago, she would have smiled at the sight of them. Now the thought of sitting down at that table and making small talk for two hours only made her more tired than she already was.
She used to count the days until their weekly pizza night. She used to call them up just to talk—not about the important things, the things they could never know, but about everything else. All the meaningless trivia of everyday life that friends talked about. They had kept her sane in the early days of rebuilding the resistance, once she had gotten over her fear that they would see through her. They had given her a small slice of normalcy in a life full of responsibilities she didn’t know how to handle.
But in the aftermath of the liberation, she had looked at the resistance—at the scope of this thing she had built, at the noose that tightened around them by the day—and she had known she couldn’t lead them. She wasn’t enough. She was too young, too scared, too… human. She could keep on being her old self, with her fears and her weaknesses and her furtive doses of normal life, or she could become the leader they needed.
It hadn’t even been a choice.
These days she only came here to maintain her cover. With Internal on high alert, she couldn’t afford to make any drastic changes to her routine. Besides, anything that made her look more like an ordinary citizen worked in her favor.
Or maybe she just couldn’t bring herself to give her friends up completely.
The table fell silent as Becca approached. Their heads jerked up almost guiltily; they pasted careful smiles onto their faces.
They had been talking about her.
Was this about the resistance? Had they—
No. If Vivian and Ramon had discovered the truth, Heather would have found a way to warn her. She studied Heather’s face, searching for hidden messages, but found only sympathy there.
She slid into the chair across from Heather, trying not to betray her tension. “What’s going on?” She tucked her hands, bandaged to hide the blisters, into her lap.
Vivian met her eyes almost defiantly. “Investigation offered me a promotion.”
Ramon shot Vivian a reproving look. “You could have, you know, eased into that a little.”
Becca had to be missing something. She looked from Vivian to the others, confused. “Isn’t that good news?”
“She’s not going to take it,” Heather assured her. She turned to Vivian. “Go on, tell her you’re not going to take it.”
Vivian scowled. “I haven’t decided yet.”
“You’re not going to take it.” Heather spoke with the easy confidence of someone who knew her friends wouldn’t dare question her. It had been three years since Heather had begun to recover from the deaths of her parents, three years since that confidence had come back, and sometimes it still took Becca by surprise.
“The two of you do realize Becca has no idea what you’re talking about, right?” Ramon pointed out, raising an eyebrow.
“It’s Micah.” The scowl didn’t leave Vivian’s face. “If I take this job, I’ll be working against Micah, okay? That’s what’s going on.”
Micah had been the final member of their circle, right up until he had disappeared with the prisoners from the reeducation center. As far as the others knew, he had betrayed both Becca and Internal that day, revealing his dissident sympathies and breaking Becca’s heart in the process. Even now, they didn’t like bringing up Micah in front of her. They thought her refusal to get involved with anyone new meant she still hadn’t gotten over him. She let them believe it—it kept them from looking too closely for another explanation, and it meant Heather only tried to set her up on a date every few weeks instead of every few days.
“They want you searching for Micah?” This could actually work in her favor. Vivian had no experience as an investigator; the odds of her tracking down the resistance safehouse were approximately the same as the odd
s of her leaving Investigation and joining the resistance.
“Not exactly.” Vivian poked at her pizza. “Investigation started up this new program a couple months ago.”
Prickles of apprehension began to crawl up Becca’s spine.
“I can’t give any details—”
“Believe me, she won’t,” Ramon interrupted. “We tried. Raleigh Dalcourt wouldn’t be able to pry that information out of her.”
Vivian shot him a glare. “As I was saying,” she continued, “I can’t give any details, but it’s about finding the dissidents who got all those prisoners out of 117 last year. And it could work, guys. If Investigation can pull this off—and I think they can—all of this will finally be over.”
The spy program.
Internal wanted to make Vivian part of the spy program.
“They didn’t want to devote too many people to the program, in case it didn’t work out,” Vivian continued. “But now that they’re sure, they want to put together a bigger team.”
Becca made sure her tone gave nothing away as she spoke. “And they want you on it.”
Vivian lowered her eyes. “They want me to lead it.”
“But she’s not going to do it,” Heather cut in. “Not now that Micah is back in town. None of us support what he’s doing, but he used to be our friend. That means something.”
“They shouldn’t even have picked me,” said Vivian. “It doesn’t make any sense. There are people in that office who have been working there for twenty years. They have experience. They have reputations. And instead, the directors pulled me out of filing and handed me the single most important job in the history of Investigation 212.”
“It makes perfect sense.” Ramon tilted himself back in his chair. “The whole idea probably came from Public Relations. I’ve worked there for three years now—I know how it’s done. Investigation’s reputation still hasn’t recovered from what happened with Milo Miyamoto three years ago. They want the country to trust them again. And the best way to do that is to give people a story they’ll like.” He waved his pizza crust in the air with a flourish as his voice took on a theatrical tone. “The story of a promising young investigator, stuck sorting files in the basement for years when she was capable of so much more. Armed with only her wits and stunning good looks, she singlehandedly brings down the foe that has eluded the best minds in Internal for over a year.”
Vivian shook her head. “Then they should have picked someone who can actually do the job.”
“It doesn’t matter anyway,” Heather reminded her. “Because you’re not doing it.”
“I have to say, I agree with Heather,” said Ramon. “Don’t get me wrong, I want to catch those guys as much as anyone else. But after he disappeared, didn’t we all say…” He lowered his voice. “…that if he needed our help, we would give it, dissident or not?” He shook his head. “Investigation gave you the option to turn it down. Take it.”
Becca opened her mouth to agree. If she asked Vivian not to work against Micah, Vivian would listen. And then Becca wouldn’t have to live with the knowledge that one of her best friends was helping to torture her people and turn them against her.
She stopped.
Vivian running the spy program.
Vivian with access to everything Investigation knew.
And Becca with access to Vivian.
“You’re right.” Vivian gave a short sigh. “All of you are right. No matter what he is now, Micah was one of us once. We owe it to him to protect—”
“No,” Becca interrupted. “This is too important. If you have a chance to end this, you need to take it.”
Vivian stared. “You want me to do it.”
“You’ve seen what these dissidents are capable of.” For once, Internal’s propaganda could actually work in her favor. “You have an opportunity to stop them. You can’t throw that away for one person. Not even for him.”
Ramon shook his head slowly—whether in admiration or disapproval, she wasn’t sure. “Impressive logic. I didn’t know you could be that… calculating.” He quirked an eyebrow at her. “And you say you don’t take after your mother.”
“I’m not her,” Becca snapped. She took a deep breath and pushed the emotion to the back of her mind. As long as she did what had to be done, it didn’t matter what he thought of her.
Ramon held up his hands. “Hey, I meant it as a compliment.” A rare solemn expression crossed his face. “I admire people like the two of you. I wish I could be as…” He struggled for words. “As principled as that.”
“Principled,” Heather repeated. “Helping arrest one of our friends is principled?”
“Maybe,” said Vivian. “If it means doing what we joined Internal to do. I mean, we keep talking about protecting Micah, but what about the people he’s hurting? We got into this to keep them safe.” She met Becca’s eyes. “You really think I should do this?”
Vivian, who had broken through her self-imposed isolation and shown her how to have friends again. Who had helped her hold herself together in those first months.
Working against her. Deciding which of her people to brainwash. Choosing how best to use them against the resistance.
But Becca couldn’t let this opportunity disappear.
Becca nodded. “I think you have to.”
“Then I’ll do it.” Vivian smacked the table, making her plate rattle. “I’m doing this,” she said, louder this time. “I’ll give them the paperwork tomorrow.”
Heather’s face darkened. “And what if Micah dies because of you?”
Vivian flinched.
Becca answered for her. “Then she’ll still have done the right thing.” She remembered standing in her living room, telling Kara she couldn’t help her. “It’s part of doing what we do.”
Her phone buzzed against her hip. She jumped.
She glanced down at the screen. Meri.
She went cold.
The resistance had protocols in place for when and how they could safely contact each other outside of meetings. But that didn’t make it safe. If Meri was willing to risk calling her, something was wrong.
Her phone buzzed again.
“I have to get this,” she said, already stepping back from the table. “It won’t take long.”
In the corner by the restrooms, standing in the shade of a plastic plant, she answered. “Hello?”
“Becca. I’m glad you’re there.” Meri’s voice gave nothing away. “I was wondering if I could see you tonight. I know our support group meeting is only a couple of days away, but I’ve been having some nightmares and was hoping I could talk them out with you.”
Becca unclenched the fist she didn’t remember making. Nightmares were the code for “serious, but not urgent.” An issue that should be dealt with right away, but something that could wait until the next meeting if absolutely necessary.
“Of course,” she said, slipping into her soothing support-group-leader voice for the benefit of any Surveillance agents listening in. “You remember where I live. Meet me at my apartment in half an hour.”
“I’ll be there,” Meri promised. She hung up.
When she got back to the table, Vivian and Heather were staring each other down like a pair of alpha dogs. Vivian’s eyes flashed as Heather spat something vicious-sounding in tones too low for Becca to hear. Neither of them seemed to notice Becca’s approach.
Ramon looked up. “Who was it?” His eyes focused on something near Becca’s waist.
“Support-group emergency,” said Becca shortly. “I have to go.” With a wave over her shoulder, she hurried down the row of empty tables and out the door.
Only after she left did she realize Ramon had been studying the bandages around her hands.
* * *
“I may have found one.”
Meri sat on Becca’s couch, hands gripping her knees like she was afraid they might get up and walk away without her. She pressed her lips together until they turned white as her feet tapped out a nerv
ous rhythm on the carpet.
Becca lowered herself to the couch beside her. “One what?”
“Resistance members in their teens and early twenties,” Meri recited. “People who disappeared for a few weeks and then came back, maybe with a story about narrowly avoiding arrest. That’s what you told us to look for, isn’t it?”
“You found one of the spies.” The weight that had been sitting on Becca’s chest ever since her conversation with Kara lifted a fraction, enough to let her breathe. One down. Nine to go. And if they had found the first one this quickly, the others couldn’t be far behind.
Maybe the situation wasn’t as bad as she had assumed. Maybe in a week or two this would all be over.
“Good.” She gave Meri a nod of approval. “Give me the name. I’ll take care of it.”
She didn’t let herself linger on what that meant. It would keep the resistance safe. That was the only part that mattered.
But Meri didn’t look like she shared Becca’s relief. She looked like she wanted to throw up.
“I said maybe.” There was a defensive note to Meri’s voice, almost as if she didn’t want Becca to believe she had succeeded. “It’s hard to say for sure.”
“How likely?”
“That’s the thing. I don’t know.” Meri gripped her knees tighter. “We’re separated by a few layers of contacts, so it was hard to find out much, especially on such short notice.”
“Tell me what made you suspicious.”
“A couple of months ago, she disappeared. Her contact assumed she had been arrested. Then, two weeks ago, she came back, and had her contact set her up with a new identity and a new place to live. She said the Enforcers had come for her, but that she managed to get away in time and go into hiding. She claimed she hadn’t been in touch because she wanted to cut off all contact with the resistance until she was sure it was safe. But I haven’t found a way to confirm her story. And she’s the right age for reeducation.” Meri squeezed her lips into a single chalky line.
