Steel Lily (The Periodic Series)

by Megan Curd

  “Mark her as being here.”

  The man argued as I saw their boots leaving. “But she was missing last night.”

  “I know, but we have her friend. It’s only a matter of time before he buckles and gives us the information we need.”

  “And if he doesn’t?”

  The woman laughed. “Then we send him on a duty he won’t come back from.”

  The cold cement floor stung my cheek, but I lacked the energy to get back up. My eyes rolled back in my head.

  Darkness enveloped me, and I welcomed it.

  ***

  I awoke with drool around my mouth, my face aching from being pressed against the concrete for so long. What time is it?

  My old watch said it was two o’clock. I’d missed Elemental Concepts and Histories of America was in fifteen minutes. I pushed myself off the floor, my limbs shaking from the earlier overexertion.

  I rushed down the two flights of stairs to the education wing of Wutherford. At least I didn’t have to get across the dome. The floor was wild, busy, and loud as students pushed against one another, attempting to reach their classes. I didn’t have it in me to fight against the tide, so I let them push me to the end of the hallway where my class was located.

  “Hey, Avery! Wait up!”

  Alice’s voice carried over the busy hum, and I forced myself to hold my ground as I waited for her to catch up.

  Little turd. She promised to lie low today.

  I smiled as she bounded to my side. “So much for you keeping your promises, brat. What are you doing here?”

  Her eyes were bright with excitement as she practically levitated. “I got permission to attend a class with you!”

  “Really? How’d you manage that?”

  “I appealed to my boss at the seamstress shop, and they agreed to allow me some education,” she said, mimicking the woman’s voice from her work. “I got to choose one, and I wanted to do Histories of America, so here I am!”

  “Of all the courses I take, you wanted to take Histories of America? It’s the dullest class I have.”

  Her eyes darkened, but she kept her smile from faltering. “I wanted to know about the war. Haven’t you ever wondered if something might pop up about your parents? Maybe they were part of the Alliance. You never know. It’s been eight years since they disappeared. I bet they were part of the Alliance and had to go fight against the Resistance. Maybe that’s why the Polatzi can’t find them.”

  I pulled her with me into our classroom. “Don’t talk about that stuff here,” I murmured. “You don’t know who’s listening.”

  Her eyes widened, confused. “I didn’t think you cared what the government said we could and couldn’t talk about…”

  “I don’t want to give them any reason to take you. I’m an Elementalist,” I smiled sardonically, “They have to tolerate me.”

  “And that doesn’t apply to me,” she said, sadness seeping into her voice. “I’m a seamstress. A Traditional.”

  Without another word she passed by me, handed her paperwork to our professor and took the seat he pointed out. The desk was the one farthest from me. Figured. She gave me an apologetic glance as she opened her tattered satchel.

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” Mr. Wallace, the professor, called out, “today we’re going to be watching a film on the war. ‘What war?’ you may ask.”

  As if we really needed to. There was only one war anyone talked about, and we were only allowed to discuss it in government-sanctioned education classes. Otherwise, we swept it under the rug, as though living in a glass dome were normal.

  He looped his pudgy fingers through his black suspenders and rocked on his heels. “The only war that matters—the one that put us in this predicament. World War III. Can anyone tell me anything about it?”

  Of course we couldn’t. Rather, we didn’t want to appear to know too much. Those who spoke of it without permission went missing, and if they came back, they returned with a healthy respect for the rules.

  He motioned to a tattered sheet partially taped to the ceiling, its ripped portions swaying in the gentle breeze of the oxygen purifier humming in the corner of the room. An old film projector sat between the desks in the center of the room, modified to run on steam.

  My stomach clenched. Not again. Not today.

  Mr. Wallace gestured to the film projector, his eyes resting on mine. “Well, Miss Pike, if you could be so kind as to rev up our projector, we’ll see what devastation the war imposed on us.”

  “It’s not my responsibility to provide steam for your class, Mr. Wallace,” I said, hoping my voice came across stronger than I felt. I didn’t want to use my abilities, but I didn’t need him angry with me. I’d already pissed off my quota of people today.

  His smile fell slightly before he hitched it back into place. Menace laced his words. “You are the only one in the class capable of making this machine run, Miss Pike, and I plan on teaching this course today.”

  It wasn’t the first time he’d made me his own steam provider, and I was tired of being used like some on-demand tool. “Maybe you should have planned how you were going to provide the course a little better. I’m not your personal generator.”

  His face turned red as he puffed out his chest and fought in vain to keep his smile. He stalked to the back of the class, each student’s head turning to follow his movements. His plump hands came down on the front of my desk gently, and he pushed down, lifting the back legs of my chair off the ground. I slid forward, forced to inhale the stench of coffee and cigarettes that impregnated his clothes and breath. His voice was dangerous and quiet. “You’ll do as you’re told, Miss Pike.”

  My fingers gripped the sides of the desk. I longed to strangle him with his stupid bow tie. I forced a smile. “Of course, sir.”

  The legs of my desk shattered the silence as they hit the floor.

  “Now,” he whispered.

  I pushed out of the chair and stood by the projector, my fingertips tracing the lip of the rusty tin can sitting on top of a burner beside it. I peered into the can filled with dirty, debris-ridden water. A dead fly floated belly up, its legs curled inward. The water stank of refuse. I crinkled my nose in disgust.

  Mr. Wallace sat an elaborate glass seal on the top of the can. Clear tubing ran from the top of the convex seal into the mechanisms on the side of projector, waiting for the fuel to move the pistons. He looked at me expectantly. “Well?”

  I closed my eyes and rested my hand on top of the glass, focusing on the miniscule amount of water within. Professor Evans had taught me that thoughts were powerful; mine could manipulate elements when I willed them to, though we didn’t understand completely how it worked.

  My ability had attracted a lot of unwanted attention, Mr. Wallace being a primary culprit. His hot breath tickled the back of my neck, raising my hairs straight up. With all my might, I focused on the task at hand. The sooner it was over with, the sooner he’d leave me alone.

  I willed the steam to multiply, feeling what little energy I had drain from my body, as if providing steam took some of my life force each time I called on my ability. My knees grew weak. My hands trembled, and I steadied them by leaning on a nearby desk. When the pistons began to crank on the side of the projector, I broke the connection. Haphazardly, I slid back into my seat, my fingers gripping the edges of the desk for support.

  I hated the after-effects of using my ability. Every fiber in my body felt stretched beyond their natural limit, and I was exhausted. I’d never had a hangover, but it was the first thing that came to mind when I tried to explain the feeling to Alice.

  Sounds crackled from the side of the projector. Words ran together, and the images on the screen slid in and out of focus. I’d seen Legs’s dad after his alcohol binges. This was definitely hangover-like.

  World War III was caused by the greed of men. When oil prices rose in 2075 and fuel became scarce, the Resistance originated in Europe under the belief that a singular government would solve the probl
ems of the world. Not everyone agreed.

  I glanced over at Alice, who sat enthralled, her hands propping up her chin as she leaned forward. The words droned on and the images showed men in military garb, marching in unison while flying the Resistance flag, consisting of a black fist ensconced in a white circle at the center of red fabric.

  When the Resistance attacked the Alliance, the side that believed in the good of man, it was by surprise in the dead of night. They set off a nuclear bomb that took out thousands of civilians and soldiers alike and also ruined the soil. The survivors of the attack in 2078 banded together and created what were called domes, each an enclosed area that we as a population attempted to make inhabitable. Only one dome remains. That is Dome Four, where you live. Now in 2088, we simply aspire to live with a reasonable oxygen level. We must survive. We must be resilient. We must rebuild our world.

  The last three sentences were the slogan every inhabitant of Dome Four could recite. Over and over the government drilled it into our heads until it became our mantra. The screen flickered again.

  While not much is known about the leaders of the Resistance, we do know…head of…and was an excellent doctor before…

  The words faded out along with the film. Mr. Wallace flicked on the gas lamps and looked pointedly at me with his arms crossed. “Class is dismissed. Please take this worksheet to fill out over the film and note that what you do not know will be counted against you.”

  The class groaned in protest.

  For a large man, he weaved his way swiftly between the desks back to mine, but I refused to give him my attention. His breath was hot in my ear as he growled his hateful venom. “You’re an orphan, Pike. That’s all you are. You’re an orphan and a government tool. Don’t ever think you could amount to more.”

  He might have been right, but I would never reveal how deeply his words cut me. I would make sure I amounted to more. I wouldn’t be anyone’s tool.

  ONCE WE WERE out of the classroom and far enough away from everyone, Alice pushed me against the concrete wall. “What do you think you’re doing? No wonder the power in the dome has been hit or miss if people are making you do them favors.”

  The coolness of the concrete seeped through my clothes and made me shiver. My head was still aching, and the flickering lights didn’t help. I rubbed my eyes to avoid her gaze. “There’s not a lot I can do to stop it.”

  “I didn’t know you were being used like some illegal generator.” She kicked a spare bolt that lay on the ground. It skipped down the hall, echoing as it went. She wrapped her arms around me protectively, as she usually did when trying to cheer me up. “Anyway, you’re not an orphan.”

  “Last time I checked, I didn’t have a mom or dad.”

  “They could still be alive. And you know what I mean. You’re not alone, and you’re more than an elementalist. You have friends. You’ve got me.”

  In my heart I knew Alice was right, but I missed having a family. It hurt to watch the kids in the market with their parents. I wondered how things would be different had mine not disappeared. My thoughts wandered to her predicament. “It’s lucky your parents sent you and your brother here, and we crossed paths. Do you ever wonder why they didn’t come?”

  She huffed and poked me in the shoulder. She didn’t like talking about her past. “You’re doing it again.”

  “Doing what?”

  “Avoiding talking about yourself by putting it back on me. You always do that when you don’t want to talk.”

  “Alice…” I felt bad. She knew me better than I gave her credit for.

  “Don’t worry about it. I have to get home. Don’t give anyone else steam, please.”

  “Sure, sure.”

  The bell tolled at the top of Wutherford Tower, signaling three-thirty. People filled the hallways once more as they set out for their next destination. The din of footsteps, conversations, and excitement reverberated off what had moments before been cold concrete walls. I looked for my opportunity to disappear into the crowd.

  “New World Remedies starts in fifteen minutes. I’ll see you afterward.” I left her in the middle of the hallway with her arms crossed, visibly irritated. She’d get over it; she always did.

  As I navigated the throng, a black-gloved hand curled around my shoulder, and I turned to slap it away. The man before me was seven shades of strange. He was easily six-seven or six-eight before considering his tattered black top hat. His pants and jacket were a matching tweed stripe in dark grey and inky black, and his jacket tails were long enough to drag on the ground. The train of dust accumulated behind them was astonishing.

  But strangest of all wasn’t his attire.

  His right arm was enveloped with brass, copper cogs, wheels of all sizes. He leaned casually on his cane covered in odd carvings, and the gold monocle over his right eye made it look three times larger than the other.

  His arm sprang to life as he smiled at me. He extended his hand, but the whizzing and whirring made me wary of touching him. The cogs turned as though they knew his every desire.

  Is he made of cogs and bolts inside, too?

  “Avery Pike?”

  I narrowed my eyes. If this was a Polatzi trick, I wasn’t going to fall for it. “Who wants to know?”

  “Not me, I assure you, but I have been sent here to fetch her, and whether or not you’re her, I’d suggest we both duck…now!”

  Before I could argue, his mechanical arm shoved me to the floor. A large hunk of metal fluttered past my head. I popped back up and looked around for the source, ready to dodge another attack. The assailant quickly identified herself by unleashing an ear-splitting screech of indignation.

  “You rude old man! You have no business here, and certainly have no business telling me whether or not my clothes are too tight! I made these myself!” screamed the same fourth year that had complained to me about her goggles. It was always Erin causing a scene. The girl lived for drama.

  Good, someone else thought she looked as if she had to drop into her dress from three stories above. The man seemed thoroughly amused, and I couldn’t help but laugh. “You seriously told her that her dress was too tight?”

  He waved his hand dismissively. “Pish posh, really. I merely commented she could find more flattering attire. It was out of genuine concern.”

  His normal hand reached into the inner breast pocket of his jacket and pulled out what looked like a marble, except the interior swirled like storm clouds. He winked at me. “Let’s stage our exit, shall we?”

  He flicked the ball into the air, and it burst on contact with the floor, filling the hallway with thick smoke. Pandemonium broke loose.

  With his monocle off, he donned a pair of goggles, one eyepiece green and the other brown. It reminded me of my own eyes. He tugged my hand before disappearing into the smoke, gesturing to the exit one final time. “You don’t really want to be sitting at the end of this hall when the smoke clears, do you? I can offer a better situation for people of your talent. That is, if you’re Miss Avery Pike.”

  I didn’t believe him, but he was right about one thing. The last place I wanted to be when this infernal smoke cleared was here. I took his hand without further hesitation.

  Once we were out of the smoke-filled hallway, he released my hand. He dusted his jacket, as though a couple gentle pats would knock away the years it must have taken to accumulate the dust and grime that penetrated his clothes. He took off the goggles and hid them in his pocket, then dug into his overcoat to reveal an oxygen mask. With as many contraptions as he had, a kitchen sink could possibly be hidden in a pocket somewhere.

  He shook the mask at me, still smiling as though nothing could possibly be as fun as this little adventure. “You might want to don yours. I assume you’d like to collect a few belongings before we embark on our journey? I’ve already cleared you from your next class, so no worries of being accused of skipping.”

  I eyed him with trepidation. Who was this man? I’d never seen him around the dome. The
longer I stared at him, the more eccentricities I found. I tried to formulate the questions rattling around in my mind. “Who are you?”

  “I am Mister Atticus Riggs, director of Chromelius Academy, a school dedicated to young elementalists such as yourself.”

  “Never heard of it.”

  He pointed a long finger at me, his smile full of secrets he seemed to be begging to share. “Ah, but that’s because you’ve never left the dome.”

  My stomach turned over. “Never left the dome? Of course not!”

  “Haven’t you ever wondered if there were any other people in the world?”

  “They told us we were the only survivors.”

  “My dear, you must broaden your horizons. That was a blatant lie. There are many other domes such as this—quite similar, in fact—that interact and trade goods to survive. This dome is structured to run on steam. It’s based on what Detroit was known for, industrialism. I know of a dome based in Cerritos, California that runs on solar power. So you see, each dome has its talents, and we must work together. There are approximately thirty-five domes throughout the world.”

  Thirty-five places like this. I felt ill knowing more people had to live like this. I eyed Mr. Riggs curiously, afraid to display too much emotion. “And you say at this place of yours there are students like myself?”

  “Just like you. Although, if the stories I’ve heard are true, you may be the best and brightest of them all.”

  He leaned down to get a better look at me and tapped me on the nose as a father would their favorite child. “My dear, don’t you want to be somewhere you can learn your full potential without being a test subject? Without being an outsider?”

  His words oozed concern and sincerity, although my instinct warned me they were probably false. No one ever had pure intentions, I’d learned.

  “These people I train with are elementalists like me, and I’m still the outsider.”

  “Oh, ho, ho, my love!” he said, waving both arms excitedly up and down, creating an unholy racket as the mechanisms around his arm protested his sudden movements. “You’re much better than a simple elementalist. They can manipulate the elements as you can, sure, but I believe with practice, you’ll be able to do much more. If people such as yourself and my other pupils properly educate themselves, we may very well be able to fix what the war destroyed.”