by Nick James
She squints, crossing her arms. “That a government badge?”
“Madame’s finest.”
She chuckles. “I’m so sure.”
“So you’re the one with the Pearl.” He steps forward. “Hand it over, then.”
Her chuckle devolves into a full-blown snort. “You’ve gotta be kidding.”
His response comes in the form of a gunshot aimed an arm’s length from my head. I wince as the bullet slams into a building behind us. Cassius smiles. “You may be shooting to stun, but this is the real thing. Hand it over and I’ll let you crawl back to wherever you came from.”
I wait for Eva to react, to dupe him into thinking that she’s packing more than stun darts. Instead, she looks over her shoulder with an expression that would make a baby cry. “Your fault, Fisher,” she whispers, “your fault.”
She slips the pack off her shoulder and tosses it to Cassius. With it, we lose all hope of passing our super-secure mission. Not like dying’s a better option, but returning to the Academy empty handed isn’t exactly high on my list either. Mr. Wilson’s counting on this Pearl, and now because of my supreme lameness he’s gonna have a handful of nothing instead. Maybe death by road-splatter isn’t such a bad fate after all.
Cassius catches the pouch by the end of the strap and slings it over his back, keeping his aim steady. For a second I’m convinced he’s gonna shoot, but I guess he’s got some screwy sense of honor because he backs away instead and darts into the nearest alleyway, out of sight.
I wait until he’s gone to whisper to Eva. “Are we going after him?”
She turns to me, frowning. “With what? You’ve lost your entire arsenal, remember?”
“But the training mission-”
She sighs. “You didn’t seem too concerned about it twenty minutes ago when you left me alone in the alleyway with the Pearl Traders. Besides,” she takes off at a brisk pace through the empty street, “I’m not going to have you killed. Even for a Pearl.”
“Where are you going?” I follow.
“Skandar. We find him and we get out of here.”
“Oh.” I point to a rotting wooden door a few yards away. “He’s in there.”
Eva stops, resting her hands on her hips and looking at the entrance to the building. Like all structures in the Fringes, it’s a sorry reflection of what it used to be. Long planks board up the windows. The paint is mass faded and cracking. Two columns that had once supported a portico now stretch into the air, weathered down to round stubs at the top.
A fat, dark rectangle stains the space above the doorway where a sign used to hang. In its place is a black “x” about two feet in each direction, paired with a confirmation code designating Syracuse as a Fringe Town-part of the forgotten lands after the government set up the Chosen Cities. Several lines of spray paint cover the code numbers.
“Charming,” Eva says. “I can see why you two had to scurry off and explore this treasure trove.”
“It was Skandar’s idea,” I mutter as she pulls open the shaky door.
My eyes take a moment to adjust to the darkness as we step into the entryway. Little more than strings of sunlight poke through cracks between the ancient, dust-caked blinds. Whittled-down skeletons of chairs lie in one corner of the room. On the opposite side squirms Skandar Harris, his hands and feet bound together by plastic bands.
He pauses as he notices Eva and me. Dirt from the ground covers his brown hair. A pair of cracked goggles hang around his neck. The floor’s been long since stripped of carpet. Only the wooden boards remain.
Eva shakes her head as she walks to the center of the entryway. “I’m surrounded by idiots.”
He frowns, renewing the struggle with the bands around his wrists. “I nearly had him. Showed up outta nowhere.” Only a sliver of his British accent remains after living at the Academy for so long. Now it’s just a weird Skandar accent.
Eva kneels down next to him. “Maybe we should drag you home like this, roast you over a spit.”
He rolls over to smile at her, his faint freckles covered in a layer of dust and sand. “Have mercy, Eva.”
Her eyes narrow. “We lost the Pearl.”
His face hardens and he tilts his head to look over at me. “It was his fault. What’d you run up to the rooftop for, Fisher? It’s a dead end.”
“No duh,” I shoot back. But he’s right. I should have known better.
Eva sighs as she pulls a knife from her pocket and flips it open. “You were trying to lose him, right Fisher?”
“Yeah.” I stare at my feet. “That’s what I was trying to do.”
“Sure,” Skandar rolls over so Eva can cut the bands behind his back. “Take his side.”
“Trust me,” she lowers the knife and begins sawing through the plastic. “I’m not on anybody’s side. I’m embarrassed to be seen with the both of you.”
Skandar pulls his hands free as Eva moves on to his ankles. When she’s finished freeing him, he wobbles to his feet and shakes the feeling back into his hands. Red marks encircle his wrists. He only made them worse by struggling. I’d call Skandar Harris many things, but a quitter isn’t one of them.
“Hey Jesse,” he rubs the dust from his face. “How did you get out of the building? I never saw you come back down the stairs.”
Eva puts her knife away, glaring at me the whole time.
“I fell.”
He stands still for a moment before busting out laughing. “Off the rooftop? Good one.”
“No, it’s true. It didn’t even leave a-”
“Time to go, gentlemen,” Eva interrupts me. “And I use that word in the loosest of ways.”
She marches out the door without another sound. Skandar and I follow, resigned to our fate. Sure, I’m feeling mass lucky to be escaping with my life after all that just happened, but the trip back to the Academy isn’t gonna be filled with ice cream and sing-alongs. This was a test. I failed miserably.
“You really fell off the roof?” Skandar whispers as we shield our eyes from the baking sunlight.
“Yeah.”
“Like, from the top of the building?”
“That’s the one.”
He pushes my shoulder, nearly sending me flying onto the pavement. “You’re such a weirdo.”
I want to press the issue, but then I realize how ridiculous it sounds. Jesse Fisher, least promising agent-in-training at Skyship Academy, falls off a twelve-story building without a scratch on him. I’m not so sure I didn’t imagine the whole thing myself.
“Next time.” Skandar shakes his head. “We’ll have our revenge next time, right Fisher?”
Eva checks the nearest alleyway for trouble before entering. “With our track record, there won’t be a next time. Now keep on alert. Apparently this city isn’t as deserted as Wilson said it was.”
Skandar stops in his tracks. “Fringers?”
“Fringers,” she replies, “unfriendly ones. Fisher already got a taste.”
He crosses his arms. “You got to have all the fun, didn’t you mate?”
“Yeah,” I mutter. “Fun.”
I plug my nose as we make our way through the alleyway. Trash litters the ground. The heat enhances the already rotten smell, cooking and congealing mystery liquids that run into the dirt in thin streams. We step around the worst of it and funnel into the next street. Patches of brown, crinkly grass sprout from cracks in the pavement before us.
As we cross an empty intersection, I keep my eyes peeled for Fringers, hoping that my attackers were an anomaly-an angry street gang from a neighboring town. The Pearl Traders were friendly enough, content to exchange their discovery for the rations and purification tablets inside our shuttle. Now that we’ve lost the Pearl, all those crates of Skyship food will be marked as lost inventory. Lucky Fringers. Not-so-lucky us.
The top of our transport shuttle comes into view. I half expect it to be decimated. After all, if those guys were so keen on grabbing my belt, they’d lose their marbles over our ship.
The shuttle’s saucer-shaped with three retractable, rusty legs resting on the pavement. It’s the only dash of color on the street-a deep red.
Despite my aching body, I run through the street, eager for the cool, climate-controlled air inside the shuttle. When I reach the front end, I slide open the plastic guard and punch my authorization code into the keypad. The door lifts and three steps tumble out from the bottom. I barely use them. The recycled air hits me immediately. Sanctuary.
Eva and Skandar follow, shutting the door and taking their seats. I fasten my belt as Eva grabs the wheel, flipping the ignition and retracting the landing gear. Then we’re off.
I recline and watch as Syracuse pulls away from us. My eyes linger on the hotel rooftop for a few moments. It juts from the flat brownness, taunting me. Something happened back there. Something unexplainable. That Cassius guy felt it too. He’d looked as unsure as me before he escaped. It wasn’t part of his plan, and it sure as heck wasn’t part of mine.
I close my eyes, letting the adrenaline wash off my body. First trip down to the Fringes and it nearly killed me. I managed to disappoint my teammates and utterly fail our mission objective. Maybe Mr. Wilson will be more forgiving than Eva. Wishful thinking, sure. But wishful thinking is what I live on.
3
Rochester, New York-Chosen City #17
Headquarters of the Unified Party’s Department of Energy Acquisition
Cassius Stevenson strode through the halls of the Lodge with a noticeable swagger. Slung over his shoulder rested the brown pouch containing the Pearl. He hadn’t let it out of his sight since leaving the Fringes. He hadn’t stopped to shower or change clothing. A trail of dust followed him through the hallway. The custodial crew would clean it up.
Even through the burlap, he could feel the warmth of the Pearl on his back. It didn’t burn like the undiluted sun outside. It was a different kind of heat. A mother’s touch, maybe, or a loved one’s embrace. He didn’t have a lot to compare it to, raised the way he was.
He’d been lucky to stumble across a Pearl so easily. Madame would be exceedingly proud, enough to forgive him for breaking the rules and sneaking outside of the Net to get it. On the way to Syracuse, he’d considered turning his ship around several times, but days of tedious simulation training had taken their toll. He needed to get out. Plus, it was fun to see if he could bypass security and do it.
Cassius couldn’t remember life without Pearls. They’d been falling from space since he was a small child, drawn to the parched Earth. Charity from the stars. Some people, like the evangelists of Heaven’s Rain, considered them God’s gift. But Cassius didn’t put much stock in Pearl-worshippers. To him the space rocks were a natural resource, as simple as oil. Back when oil existed, of course.
Pearl energy powered the Bio-Nets that protected and cooled the Chosen Cities, which separated the order and comfort of his home from the blazing chaos of the Fringes. Just one Pearl could power a city for months. He grinned and clutched the bag tighter.
Window after enormous window framed the Lodge’s lush manicured lawns as he continued down the corridor. The sprinkler system had shut off for the evening. The sun lingered at the edge of the horizon.
He knew he was privileged to live where he did, on the outskirts of the city. Those who didn’t work in energy acquisition made do with government-approved living quarters-300 square feet per family. The Bio-Nets were only so big, and cramming everyone into the fifty Chosen Cities required more than a little sacrifice for most folks.
But the extravagance of the Lodge wasn’t without a price. Inside, candidates were prepped to enter the Pearl Retrieval Squad, and harvesting Pearls could be dangerous, especially when Skyshippers found them first.
Cassius scowled. Shippers.
There had always been separatists, even before the bombings. Rebellious factions began to make themselves known mid-century, upset with the government’s increasing secrecy. They were small in number and unorganized, just as the Fringers were now. All they needed was a rallying cry-an event significant enough to bring them together.
The Scarlet Bombings changed everything.
Named for the enormous red clouds that engulfed the six largest American metropolitan centers on that afternoon twenty-two years ago, the chemicals not only killed millions, but continued to plague the country decades later, vaulting the temperature in the Fringes to dangerous levels. Folks back then assumed the clouds were red because of all the blood in the air, the way the chemicals dissolved people. As far as Cassius was concerned, that was a bunch of fear-mongering. Blood wouldn’t float in a cloud.
Regardless, when everything finally settled, the country was left without its leaders. Worse yet, there was no telling when it would happen again, or why America had been attacked in the first place.
The Unified Party sprung from the ashes, an anonymous, efficient protector of an increasingly fragmented country. Retaliation was swift. The President ordered a full-scale assault on all terrorist-harboring countries, blasting entire chunks of Asia and Eastern Europe into rubble.
Cassius knew it was the right call, protecting the country from another attack, but others disagreed. The Separatist movement demanded evidence that retaliation was necessary. When the Unified Party refused to comply, the Seps hijacked the government’s Skyship Program weeks before it was christened and founded a nation above the clouds-the Skyship Community. There was fighting. Some called it a civil war. Then came the Hernandez Treaty. Things hadn’t been the same since.
The conditions of the treaty kept Surface folk and Skyshippers apart-a pair of sovereign states separated by the International Skyline. Travel across the border was unlawful without proper clearance, but for as long as Cassius could remember, he’d been part of a rat race between the Surface and the skies. All for Pearls-the ultimate energy source.
The treaty, of course, was nothing more than a piece of paper. Shippers ignored it, sneaking down to harvest Pearls that legally landed in Surface territory, or trading with Fringers. The President of the Unified Party buried his head in the sand, as nameless and anonymous as when he’d first been appointed. If Cassius knew who the guy was-if anybody knew-he’d know who to blame for ignoring Skyship's growing threat. But no one could talk to the President. He spent his days giving orders from secret bunkers stationed around the country. It was up to people like Madame to put words into action.
Cassius rounded the corner, suddenly wishing he’d been less compassionate with the Shippers back in Syracuse. Next time.
Ahead of him lay another lengthy hallway, identical to the one he’d come from. A newcomer might assume the Lodge stretched on forever in this way, but Cassius knew better. After all, he’d spent his whole life here.
It was irregular, him growing up in the Lodge. New trainees didn’t arrive until after their thirteenth birthday, when they were transferred from their schools after scoring high on skill proficiency exams. For many years, Cassius had been the only child under the age of thirteen in the building. Those were the best years, when he garnered Madame’s full attention. Now she was always so busy.
He’d never met his real family. His mother disappeared quickly after childbirth, hooked on black market Serenity. Any other infant would have grown up in the workhouses or been tossed into the Fringes, but Madame had found him first. Though she’d never declared it outright, Cassius had always considered her his adopted mother, even when she didn’t act much like one. Most Surface kids grew up in blissful ignorance, spending weekends with their friends, hooked up in one of Rochester’s twenty-five online pavilions. Cassius had been raised amidst stealth and weaponry-frantic calls to the President in the middle of the night.
A few more steps and the dark mahogany doors of Madame’s office came into view. He hesitated a moment before knocking.
Silence.
He stared at the ornately carved designs on the panels of the door. Within the familiar lightning bolt emblems were cut hundreds of names-high-ranking offic
ials that died when the terrorists blasted the White House into a pile of dust.
“Cassius, come in.” Madame’s soft, hypnotic voice startled him. He looked up to see a round speaker above the door. “You’re always welcome.”
Clutching the burlap pouch closer, he dusted off his sport coat, pulled on the silver door handle, and entered. Madame always knew who stood outside of her study. She’d had the entire Lodge covered in cameras and microphones ages ago-a necessary precaution for the head of the Chronic Energy Crisis Commission.
She sat at her large rosewood desk at the end of the room. Her dark hair was pulled back behind her in a fastidious bun. A pair of spectacles rested on the end of her tiny nose as she set down her personal reading device. The Lodge’s students had a standing bet on her age. Late forties seemed to be the consensus, though her latest Face Freeze kept her ageless.
The curtains behind her were drawn shut in anticipation of the impending darkness. Bookshelves bordered three walls of the small room. Traditional books were outlawed in favor of electronic files, but Cassius knew that Madame had a penchant for antiques.
Madame leaned forward, eyes slit, and stared intently at his face. “And to what do I owe this pleasure, Cassius?” Her calm expression soured as she noticed the state of his clothing. “You’re filthy.”
He allowed himself a smile. “Yeah. Sorry.”
“Just… don’t drag it all over the rug. It’s Persian, or so they tell me.”
He stopped in his tracks, momentarily flummoxed. “I’ll go around.”
He tiptoed to the side of the oval rug, careful not to press too hard on the ground with his dusty feet. His Fringe stink choked the lavender scent hanging in the air.
Madame’s gaze followed him the entire time. When he was within reach of the desk, her eyes darted down to the pouch. “Bearing gifts, are we?”
Without an explanation, he gently set the bag on the ground, unbuttoned the flap, and lifted the Pearl out from within. It weighed very little, but instantly illuminated the darkened room with a shimmering green glow, casting hypnotic waves of soft light along the walls.
