“I know the Palace Wing like the back of my hand. There’s no one more qualified for this than me.”
“If you can remember your way around,” she says.
I only stare at her.
She eyes my shoulder. “That’s not healed. It’s going to slow you down.”
I shrug, trying not to wince at the sharp pain that zigzags across my shoulders. “Not as much as you think.”
She opens her mouth to argue, but Gavin’s voice sounds from the living room.
“Everything okay in there? Do you need any help?”
Giving Macie a look, I call back through the door. “We’re fine. Just getting some hors d’ouevres put together. Macie likes to throw a party when guests come to visit.”
She forces a laugh. “I can’t help it. Guests are a rare thing for me lately.”
Gavin doesn’t respond, and I hope he hasn’t caught the strain in her voice. Either way, I need to hurry. “Macie. Please. Where’s your maintenance entrance?”
She sighs, then gestures for me to follow. She leads me back toward the bedroom and then points to a section of the wall. She presses her hand to the side near the corner and there’s a soft click. The wall swings toward us without a sound.
“Thanks,” I say as I slip through the opening.
“Wait! What do I do about your boy?” she asks with a smirk. “I can’t stay in the kitchen forever.”
I glance back at the door. “Tell him the truth. That I went to fix our problem. Just don’t show him how to get to the tunnels.”
“What if you don’t come back?”
I meet her eyes. “Then I’m asking for another favor. Please figure out a way to get him out of here. Alive.” Then I pull the door shut. And while the click is practically silent, it echoes in my head like the hammer on a gun.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
There is a need for something special. To make the Citizens better than they are. But it must be kept secret. I fear the critics will not understand if it’s revealed too soon. Meet me in your lab at 1800 to discuss it.
—MOTHER, IN A NOTE TO HER MOST TRUSTED SCIENTIST
These tunnels are different than the ones I used before, brighter and not as musty smelling. There are no red lights in these. Water drips off the mess of pipes and wires running along the ceiling. And this passageway is large enough that I can stand easily. It’s so tall, I’m sure even Gavin could stand easily. At the thought of Gavin, guilt tugs at me, but I ignore it. I’m doing this for both of us. I just have to hope he’ll understand.
The other difference is that these tunnels are used regularly, while the others are only used in case of a problem. Mother found the sight of dirty, grungy workers unpleasant, so she created these to keep them out of view. In essence, they are the city’s servants’ tunnels.
I tread as quietly as I can, which isn’t easy. The ground is gritty and the soles of my shoes make crunchy, scratchy noises with every step. Although I’m sure it’s not all that loud, probably no louder than a soft whisper, I’m convinced that it’s as deafening as an alarm and that Enforcers are going to pop out of the shadows at any minute.
There are no signs to guide me on my way—probably because these tunnels are used so frequently, people don’t really need a guide—so I use my instincts to lead me in the right direction. They’ve worked for me so far. Here’s hoping they don’t give up on me now.
Within ten minutes, I find myself thoroughly lost. I’ve gone down at least four flights of stairs and I quite literally don’t know if I’m coming or going. Even when I sit down and try to get my bearings, it’s useless. The tunnels all look the same and there are so many junctions, I don’t know which one to take. The heat and humidity is making it difficult to breathe, and sweat is creating sticky trails all along my skin.
I close my eyes and picture where I came from and how I got to where I am. If I’d gone the normal way, I would have had to travel southwest. But I don’t know where I am now. I don’t even know if I’m still in the Residential Sector.
Guilt blooms again when I worry about being found and what will happen to Gavin if I don’t return.
I decide to risk detection and take a peek to find out where I am.
Opening one of the doors carefully, I leave only a gap large enough to peer through. It doesn’t take me long to realize I’m near the Square and Festival is in full swing.
Apparently I’ve been heading in the right direction all along. After I close the door, I follow the tunnel until the next junction, then take it to the left, keeping straight until I hit a place where I can only go left or right. I take the left and continue down that path. When the tunnels get brighter and cleaner and cooler, I know I’ve made it to the Palace Wing. Only there would Mother care what the tunnels looked like. And that’s only because she wouldn’t want the servants tracking dirt all over the marble floors.
Since there aren’t any turrets in the Palace Wing, I feel it’s safer outside the tunnels than in them. I know my way around the Palace Wing a lot better than I know the tunnels and I can find a place to hide if need be. I step carefully into the open and breathe in deeply, inhaling the sweet scent that fills the air. Mother always insists that lavender flows through the oxygen recyclers in this area. It’s so familiar to me, it instantly calms my scorched nerves.
I glance around to get my bearings and am happy to note I am not far from Mother’s rooms, or mine for that matter. Just up a few flights of stairs and a decision to go right or left. I debate whether or not to just go to my rooms. I can do everything there that I can from Mother’s computer and no one would be the wiser.
Except that I’m sure Mother is waiting for me to do exactly that. So Mother’s rooms it is. Knowing Mother, she probably thinks I wouldn’t dare try to use her computer.
I creep down the corridors, and at first I’m concerned with the lack of life. There doesn’t seem to be anyone around. Then I remember it’s Festival. Everyone should be at the Square, including Mother and Father. They’ve never missed a Festival and I’m sure they won’t miss this one. Not now that a Surface Dweller has broken in and stolen the Daughter of the People. They’ll want to present the illusion that everything is fine and just like it was before.
With that thought, I walk more confidently down the halls and up the stairs. I should be able to hear anyone coming before they can get to me.
Maybe I should stop by my rooms, I think again at the junction where I would go left for Mother’s room and right to go to mine, but while I’m more confident I can sneak in and out without being caught, I’m still fairly certain going to my room is not a good idea.
It’s only one more corner and then I’m standing at Mother’s door. I place my hand on the door to open it, but then quickly yank it back. Memories of beatings for stepping into Mother’s private quarters without permission swim in my head.
More Conditioning.
My breath hitches as my skin crawls and I’m bombarded by glimpses of other memories.
I swallow hard and take several deep, calming breaths before I’m able to push aside the terror and open the door. But even then, staring at it, I can’t force my feet to take a step in a forward direction.
The room itself is fairly large—about twice the size of my own. The walls are covered in what I know is silk wallpaperings. All except the recess in the wall to the left that houses her computer and hologram equipment.
The large, canopied bed takes up a large portion of the other wall, with two ornate nightstands on either side. The bed is made up perfectly and there is nothing left out on the desk or nightstands. Mother doesn’t tolerate any kind of sloppiness or mess.
The wall that is host to the door also boasts her vanity, complete with mirror. And like mine, hers is littered with perfume bottles. Unlike mine, however, all her bottles are beautiful, cherished treasures. There’s no sign that she actually uses them or the vanity. There are no makeup pots or tubes, and while there’s a silver brush, comb, and hand-mirror set, I’m sur
e they’re all for show. The only thing that seems out of place is the picture tucked into the side of the large mirror.
Directly across from me is a sliding wall made entirely of glass that leads out to a balcony with a magnificent view of the lava flows and the ocean. The balcony is where Mother usually takes her breakfast. Alone, of course.
I don’t have much time, so I force myself to take those initial steps into her room. When nothing happens, I shut the door behind me, leaving it open a crack so I can hear if anyone comes. Then I walk to her computer and boot it up.
Only the blue glow from the computer and the orange glow from the lava flows outside Mother’s window light the room. The computer immediately asks for a password. At first I panic. I have no idea what to do. One wrong move and I’ll set off a chain of events that will give me a one-way ticket to those lava flows. I close my eyes and take a deep breath to relax, then open them again, letting my instincts guide me on what to do.
But still, I barely breathe while I fight the computer.
My fingers fly over the holographic keyboard and my arm aches like a bad tooth, but I don’t dare stop. Even though I’ve never done this before, it’s like the codes and sequences are all there in my mind just waiting for me to use them. Somehow I know how to peel down each wall of security as if it’s an orange. Another lost memory? I don’t take the time to think on it. With every step I take forward to break the code, the more concerned I am the computer will tell Mother what I’m doing. Finally, just as another drop of sweat dribbles down my back, the desktop appears on the holoscreen. I cracked the password.
Breathing a sigh of relief, I do a search for the DNA files. I expect them to need passcodes as well and, when I finally find them, I’m not disappointed. I stretch my fingers and pop my knuckles. This is going to take more finesse. If I know Mother, she’s got fail-safes on them now. In case I find a way to get to them.
I start slowly tearing down each section of the security until finally—almost thirty minutes later and with stiff and aching fingers, head, and joints, including my shoulder that’s back to feeling like someone’s pressing salt into it—I’m looking at a list of every Citizen that has ever lived in Elysium. As Daughter of the People, this is the same list I look at every request day, to verify credentials for coupling. The only difference is this is the master list and can be altered, while my file was always just read-only, which gives me an idea. I do a search on Gavin’s and my names and put us back into the system.
Then I back out of the program, re-implementing the security around it, but changing the passcode. It’s not permanent, but depending on when Mother tries to get back in here, it should buy me enough time to escape Elysium. Well, at least, I hope so.
Then, even though I know this could backfire, I go and re-approve Macie’s Coupling License and stamp it. Then I even assign Nick and Macie new quarters. That way, by the time Mother figures it out, things will already be in motion and Mother will either have to go along with it or admit there was a clerical mistake. Something that never happens.
I smile. “Explain that one away, Mother.”
Now, I go after the gold. To find out the reason I’m still being Conditioned and the real way out of here. Like I told Gavin, I know she’s got to have a list of potential emergency exits. And baring that, maybe she has information on what exactly that EMF is at the exit and what it does, if anything. Maybe it’s just another of Mother’s scare tactics.
Finally, I find a folder labeled GENE MANIPULATION DATA.
I click on it. It brings up file after file after file of scientific jargon. Most of which is far above my head, but one of the files has my name on it.
Instincts humming, I open the file.
It brings up several more files. I click the first one dated several months before my birth.
SUBJECT 121:
Implantation of the female embryo, hereafter referred to as Subject 121, has proven successful. The host, while feeling the normal physical complications of gestation (i.e. morning sickness and fatigue), appears healthy. I will continue to monitor the host and embryo carefully for the rest of the first trimester, but if all goes well, we will continue medical exams as normal.
I know I’m not going to have time to read it all, so I scrounge around Mother’s desk until I find a data cube, then slip it into the data slot and hit copy on the file. I’ll read the rest later when I have more time.
While it’s copying, I search the computer for more damaging files against Mother, clicking copy on everything I think is relevant. I pause when I see a map of the facility. The entire building that makes up Sector Three is red. Staring at it, I ponder what that means, before hitting copy on that as well.
I glance back at the computer. Just as it finishes the download, I hear the telltale click of Mother’s shoes on the marble. I yank the cube out of the slot and then look for a place to hide. I’ve barely pulled my feet under the bed when she walks in. My arm is on fire and I can feel blood trickling down my arm, but I don’t even look at it. I don’t want to make a sound.
My heart pounds in my ears, but I’m still able to hear her muttering under her breath as her Maid flutters around her, telling her the details of the party she is to attend for Festival.
“Mr. Hummel will be there, and he’s requesting an audience with you to discuss some more funding allocations for his new project,” the Maid says.
“Yes, yes. That’s fine. Just not tonight. Make sure to schedule something for tomorrow.” Mother makes a sniffing sound and I wonder what she’s doing.
“Yes, ma’am. Also, Ms. Blackner will be there with her daughter, Seri.”
“And?” She sniffs again and pauses.
“You wanted me to invite them so you could look at the girl, in case…” She swallows audibly, and says, “She’s the one who aced Med Spec exams.”
“Oh right, right. Yes. Thank you.”
After several more minutes of this, Mother stops, but apparently the Maid doesn’t know because she slams into the back of her. A glass shatters on the floor, spilling red wine.
I stop breathing. It has landed just millimeters from the tips of my fingers. The Maid immediately bends to clean it up, apologizing.
Mother, obviously having had more than a few drinks, just laughs it off. “Leave it. Just fetch me a new glass, will you? And bring the bottle.” She waves her away.
The Maid rushes out the door, still apologizing.
Mother, still chuckling, sits at her vanity. I’m able to peer up enough that I can see her reflection in the mirror glass. She brushes her hair—not surprisingly using the more practical brush that was in one of the drawers—and adjusts her makeup, also pulled from one of the drawers, before she touches a finger to the corner of her eye. Then she reaches the same hand out to the picture on the mirror. It appears to be a picture, but I can’t see of whom.
“You left me, too. Why does everyone always leave?” she whispers.
My eyes widen when she pounds a fist onto her vanity, knocking down one of her perfume bottles. When it hits the floor, it breaks, sending the smell of lilies all over the room. She pushes up quickly, and kneels to clean it up.
She only picks up a few pieces of glass before she jerks her hand above her head and throws the handful of glass onto the ground full force. Most of it shatters on impact, sending shards flying in every direction. Then she stands and starts screaming, yelling words I can’t understand because of the crashing and breaking of glass that accompany it, as she tosses stuff around her room.
She tosses another of her perfume bottles and it shatters centimeters from my head, nicking my face and arms. It burns like hellfire from the alcohol in the perfume, but I bite my tongue to stop myself from crying out.
When she finally stops, the floor is littered with what used to be the decorations and furniture in her room. My heart hammers so loudly I can’t believe Mother doesn’t hear it. But even over it, I can hear the sobbing gasps of her breath and I know she’s weeping.
The Maid returns and stops short in the doorway. “Oh, my! What happened here?” She rushes to Mother and I wince, expecting Mother to freak out on her. She pauses and I hear her intake of breath. “Oh, no, ma’am, you’ve cut yourself.”
“It’s nothing. Just a small cut. From the perfume bottle.” From my vantage point, I see Mother grasp the Maid by the upper arms and her voice cracks when she says, “Don’t let anyone see this. I can’t let anyone see.”
“I won’t, ma’am. I’ll take care of this personally.”
“This is Evelyn’s fault. She left me for a Surface Dweller. Everyone always wants to leave.”
“I know, ma’am. And after everything you’ve given that child. After you saved her from her failure. Gave her another chance to be something special. Let’s get you to Dr. Friar. He’ll know just what to do.…”
They walk out the door and the Maid’s voice slowly fades away.
My mind whirls. What in Mother’s name was all that about?
CHAPTER NINETEEN
What was once just a spark of an idea in Mother’s head became all that you see and know in our wonderful city. Mother created Elysium so that she, and those like her, could live in peace, far away from the greed and intolerance raging war on the Surface.
—HISTORY TEXT, YEAR FIVE
I lie underneath the bed long after they leave, my breath haggard. It’s several minutes before I feel it’s safe enough to risk venturing out. When I do, I’m astounded. Even though I heard the damage she’d done, I had no idea of the full extent of it.
Everything that could be lifted was broken. Broken glass and splintered wood litter the floor. Every single one of her precious jeweled bottles lay shattered on the dresser and floor. Bits of colorful glass are everywhere. Even in my hair. Her china dolls—her most prized possessions—are broken and strewn about the room like the victims of the footage of the Surface I was forced to watch in Mother’s Daughter of the People lessons.
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