Soon I come to Parallax Pond, where hybrid penguins waddle and slide across the ice. I make my way across Binary Bridge and over Aurora Falls—the world’s highest and coldest man-made waterfall. Finally, just beyond Satellite Ravine, I reach my silent, stunning destination.
The Star Deck Observatory.
The highest point in the whole Kingdom. The place where, on clear nights, visibility extends for miles. Past the ski chalets and the biosphere springs. Past the Narwhal Nursery, where the Kingdom is breeding a new generation, and the Fox Tundra. Past the ponies and the northern lights, and even beyond the boundaries of Magic Land.
“Eve?” I call, taking the icy stairs slowly, so I do not slip. Even with night vision lenses, it can be difficult to navigate the observatory. There are no lamps installed here—light pollution, after all, weakens the stargazing—but I quickly spot Eve’s silhouette in the moonlight. The sight of her almost takes my breath away. Eve, First Fantasist, forever the image of perfection, is a mess. Her gown, muddied and torn. Her hair, tangled and loose around her shoulders. Her posture, disastrous. “Are you okay?” My breath turns to frost the moment it leaves my lips. “Eve? What are you doing way up here?”
“I just wanted to see the stars.” She leans limply against the starlit rails, her voice trembling. “I wanted to see them—but they’re so far away.”
Silently, I follow her gaze across Winter Land’s vast, snowy expanse … and beyond. Past the snowcapped slopes, and the glimmering Crystal Château, and the high, frozen walls of the Woolly Mammoth Enclosure. Far across the distance, I see the loops of the Steel Giant. The soaring towers of Princess Palace. The lush, sculpted hedges of the Unicorn Maze. In fact, the night is so clear, I can see all the way past Paleo Land’s volcano to the reservoir, where a pale green light blinks in the distance like a lonely, faraway planet.
The Green Light.
“We can’t see it, can we?” Eve whispers. “We’ll never really know.”
I know what she is saying. There is no way for us to know if what we saw on the phone tonight was real. This is as close as we’re ever going to get.
“Where are the labor camps?” Eve says. “Where are the checkpoints, and the slums?” She shakes her head. “Why would they lie?”
Lies are forbidden.
Lies are not routine.
“I’m not sure,” I reply. After all, I can still see the sparkling cities. The pristine beaches. The rolling parks and manicured homes. I can still see a world beyond our gateway that is safe, happy, free. But the pictures aren’t what’s bothering me the most.
If the images on the phone are true … my mind flashes to Kaia and the Investors … what other things might be true as well?
Suddenly, there comes a startling beam of light. It cuts through the darkness like a knife, blinding us momentarily, though I can still hear the sounds of someone drawing nearer—the hollow, squeaky thud of boots crunching snow. When my lenses adjust, I spot two figures beyond the beam, watching us.
Security guards.
“Hey!” one of them calls gruffly. “It’s past eleven. Aren’t you girls supposed to be at the dormitory by now?”
Right away, I see Eve switch into Safe Mode. “Is it?” She smiles sweetly and calmly straightens her tiara. “Oh my stars. I’m afraid we lost track of time.”
“Ana?”
I blink when I hear a second voice, its earthy tone and lower frequency familiar. I shield my face and motion for him to lower his flashlight. “Yes?”
Before I know it, the second guard is jogging up the steps toward us.
Not a guard.
Owen.
“What are you doing here?” he asks when he arrives on the deck, red-cheeked and out of breath.
I stare at him in shock. The question is: What is he doing here? I look back and forth between him and the security guard. Is it possible they tracked us here on the wireless map?
But why?
“We were stargazing,” Eve answers without missing a beat. “The Saturn and Venus simulations are particularly stunning in the summertime.”
The wind blows from the glass dome’s ceiling vents high above and I shiver slightly, the cold air seeping uncomfortably into my skin. That’s odd, I think. My regulators must be off. In a flash, Owen removes his parka and drapes it over my shoulders, its lining still charged with the warmth of his body. I gaze at him in shock. Suddenly, despite the near-freezing temperatures, I feel as if I am on fire.
This is now the second jacket he has given me.
“Thank you,” I murmur. “That is very kind.”
When I look up, Eve is watching me with an expression I have never seen. Her hazel eyes, wide and staring. The corners of her mouth turned decidedly down. I scan my Facial Indicators Database, but the search quickly fails.
Anger? I try to guess. Envy?
The wireless signal here, just like in the woods, is weak.
“I’m tired,” Eve announces. She turns to the older guard, who has by now joined us on the Star Deck, and bats her eyelashes. “Would you be so kind as to escort me home to Magic Land, sir?”
The guard’s face, already red from the cold, blushes a deeper shade of crimson. “Yeah.” He laughs, like he can’t believe his luck. “I’d be glad to.”
“Ana?” Eve turns back to me, her eyes laser-focused. “Are you coming?”
I hesitate.
Fantasists are programmed not to want. But I don’t move to leave. I want to stay here with Owen.
“I can take you back,” Owen offers suddenly, his dark eyes meeting mine. “I’ve gotta check on the penguins anyway. It’s no trouble to get you back to the dorm after.” He shrugs. “If you want.”
That word again. Want. Inside my chest cavity, sensory electrodes fire in every direction.
I turn to Eve. “I’ll see you at home.”
“Wonderful!” She flashes her dazzling, signature smile. “See you later!” Before I know it, Eve and the guard disappear down the hill, leaving Owen and me on our own beneath the silent, starlit sky.
“Ana?” he says, after a moment. “Do you mind if we go inside now? I’m freezing.”
I remember I’m wearing his jacket. “Oh my goodness,” I say, “I am so sorry.” I grab his hand and start to pull him toward the Arctic Enclosure just a few minutes away, feeling a strange lightness—like I could float the rest of the way down the mountain, if I wanted to.
When we arrive, I pause before letting go of his hand.
“So what were you two really doing up here, anyway?” Owen asks, scanning the two of us inside. “Aren’t you kind of pushing it to be in Winter Land past curfew?”
“We just came to see the stars,” I tell him, remembering Eve’s words.
Not quite the truth.
But not a lie, either.
Owen accesses a panel hidden behind a decorative plant and hits a button. Suddenly, a warm glow comes up over the Arctic Gift Shop. “Are you sure?” he says, closing the panel. “I couldn’t help noticing Eve looked a little upset.”
I do not answer.
He rushes around for the next several minutes—checking the pool temperature, feeding the penguin hatchlings—pausing every few minutes to scribble notes in a small electronic notebook I notice he keeps in his back pocket.
“What are you writing?” I ask.
“Nothing.” He keeps his head down. “Just work stuff.”
“Are the hatchlings okay?”
“They’re not eating,” he says. “I was worried this might happen. The Supervisors shouldn’t have pushed for another round of chicks so late in the season.” He shakes his head. “Idiots,” he grumbles.
Quickly, I turn my head toward the small device suspended from the ceiling. Motionless, minus the blink of a tiny red light every seven seconds. “You should be more mindful of what you say,” I whisper, barely moving my lips. “The cameras are always watching.”
Owen looks up sharply. “What did you say?”
I dart my eyes up
to the camera meaningfully, then smile. “My, how many birds are in the trees.”
He follows my gaze to the ceiling. Slowly, he shakes his head. “That’s just what they want you to think.”
A small warning bell rings inside my ear.
Order. Wonder. Beauty. Compliance. Safety.
His words aren’t safe.
“I don’t understand.” I pause. “What do you mean?”
“Just what I said.” His eyes meet mine. “The cameras up here aren’t cabled full-time to the network. They can’t see us. Not right now.”
His words do not make sense. “Why wouldn’t the cameras be cabled to the network?”
“Because of the altitude. And anyway, this is a low-risk zone. Not like the main gates, or the monorail, or the stadiums.” Owen motions to the sleeping chicks. “Nothing that exciting happens here.”
Goose bumps break out suddenly across my skin.
“That’s why Mr. Casey brought us here,” I say, my gut twisting. “Because he knew they wouldn’t see.”
“Yeah.” Owen nods, after a pause. His tone darkens. “Pretty sure.”
So he remembers. He remembers seeing me here that night.
“What did he do to her?” I ask him. “What did you see?”
“I didn’t see anything and I’m not sure exactly what he did,” Owen hesitates. “But … I’m pretty sure it’s happened before.”
Just like the pictures on the phone, his words burn into my brain, overwriting many things I know to be true.
1. The world is different than what we have been told.
2. The Kingdom’s gateway cannot always keep us safe.
3. Happy endings are only stories. And stories are lies.
We sit for several minutes in silence, though inside my mind, it is anything but quiet. Thoughts and words, pictures and memories, voices and feelings fly at top speed—crashing, colliding, exploding together with such force I feel a sharp pressure building behind my eyes. “Why?” I ask softly. “Why would somebody tell a story that isn’t true?”
“Maybe because it’s fun to believe in a fantasy. Stories can help people feel better about their own lives.” He pauses. “Even if the story doesn’t end well.”
“But the best ones do,” I insist. “Stories are supposed to have happy endings. Everybody knows that.” Even as I say the words, they feel bitter on my tongue.
Just because Mother believes a thing, does that make it true?
“Romeo and Juliet doesn’t end well,” he says. “And it’s one of the best there is.”
In an instant, a holographic image flashes before my eyes.
A girl, gazing down from a balcony.
A boy, hidden in the shadows.
“Were they locked in, too?” I ask. “Is that how they knew they were in love?”
Owen goes quiet. “Love is when everything is a prison,” he says, “except the place where you want to be.”
I gaze at him, his words echoing through me.
A prison?
He looks up. “You know … you can talk to me. If you ever need a friend, or whatever.”
A friend?
For some reason, though in truth, I barely know a thing about him, I believe what he’s telling me. I believe he is interested in what I have to say. “Why would the Supervisors tell us the world is terrible if it’s not?” I ask softly.
“That’s easy,” Owen scoffs. “Because they are liars.”
“But lying is wrong.”
“They don’t see it that way.”
“What way?”
“Look.” He sighs. “I think … I think maybe they just want to protect you.”
The lump in my throat gets bigger. “Protect us from what?”
Owen looks once more at the hatchlings, their tiny chests rising and falling as they sleep. “From wanting something you can never have.”
* * *
His words stay with me long after I return to the dormitory and Mother has dimmed the lights. Thankfully, and to my surprise, the Supervisors are very understanding that I’ve broken curfew, given it’s never happened before and Owen has confirmed a problem with the lifts. For hours I try to process everything that has happened, beginning with the images on the phone. I think about stories. I think about lies. I think about Romeo and Juliet, and how they fell in love even though they weren’t supposed to. I even think about Owen.
What did it mean when he held my hand?
Who is he?
And is that what happened to Nia? Did she want something she could never have?
I search the farthest reaches of the network for answers but find nothing.
The firewalls are too strong.
Hours later, just before Waking Light, Eve stirs, mumbling something about princes. Ponies. Princesses locked in towers.
Locked.
I look down at my bed straps.
Locked, because they love us.
For the first time ever, I attempt to pull my arms free, but the straps are fastened so tightly they do not budge. In fact, the harder I pull, the tighter they become. And the deeper the fabric cuts into my skin.
I uncurl my fists.
They built the gateway because they love us.
But what is it called, when you love a thing so much it hurts?
I glance at Kaia, across the room. I look at Eve, to my right. Then I look at the bed next to mine. A bed where—once upon a time—a different sister slept.
Maybe there is no word for it, I tell myself.
Maybe there is only a feeling.
33
TRIAL TRANSCRIPT
MS. BELL: Please state your name.
DR. CRUZ, SECURITY CONSULTANT, KINGDOM CORP.: I’m Dr. Joanna Cruz.
MS. BELL: And what do you do?
DR. CRUZ: I currently work as a consultant at the Kingdom Corporation.
MS. BELL: Which division?
DR. CRUZ: Security.
MS. BELL: How long have you been under contract with them?
DR. CRUZ: About eighteen months.
MS. BELL: What did you do before?
DR. CRUZ: I worked as a behavioral psychologist specializing in combat trauma with the United States Department of Veterans Affairs.
MS. BELL: And why, exactly, would the world’s most beloved, family-friendly entertainment park need a trauma psychologist on staff?
DR. CRUZ: I was brought in as part of a heightened security initiative following several high-profile incidents at the park.
MS. BELL: For what purpose?
DR. CRUZ: Mainly, to collate and assess data looking at the hybrid response to high-stress situations.
MS. BELL: You mean attacks?
DR. CRUZ: I wouldn’t call them attacks, no.
MS. BELL: Why not?
DR. CRUZ: The word “attack” suggests moral intention. Motivation. Both of which require feeling. And hybrids do not feel. They follow a program.
MS. BELL: How do you know what they feel or don’t feel?
DR. CRUZ: It’s a simple matter of function and design. The girls scan and identify human emotion and respond appropriately—that’s paramount to building trust with our guests—but they do not experience emotions for themselves.
MS. BELL: Again, how do you know?
DR. CRUZ: [Smiles.] Fantasists can scan emotions and respond with incredibly human-like accuracy—that’s what makes them seem so human. And that’s all due to their highly advanced FOS, or Fantasist Operating System. But that was the point, after all—to make them as human-like as possible without actually being human. So you have the nuanced facial expressions, the gestures, the eye contact. But feeling emotion in the sense that it is tied to one’s inner self or one’s hopes and dreams?
[Shakes head.] Hybrids have no inner self, Ms. Bell. They are merely programmed to react to a broad spectrum of stimuli. Light. Sound. Taste. Touch. Praise. Punishment. Kindness. Cruelty.
MS. BELL: What about love?
DR. CRUZ: They re
act quite positively to warmth and affection, yes.
MS. BELL: No. I mean can they love?
DR. CRUZ: Oh. [Hesitates.] No.
MS. BELL: I’ll ask you again, Dr. Cruz. How do you know?
DR. CRUZ: Because of the Proctor’s reports.
34
OFFICIAL COURT DOCUMENT 19B
From: Proctor 1A—Fantasist Division
To: All Staff—Security & Training Divisions
Subject: Ana
Date & Time: July 12, 5:11 p.m.
As we near the three-month mark of Pania’s incident at the lagoon, Ana continues to exhibit behaviors, both on set and during our one-on-one interviews, that fall within the spectrum of mild to acute anxiety, including, but not limited to: fixation on Pania’s absence, reduced eye contact, missed social cues, glitches in global positioning, issues with body temperature regulation (blushing), and an occasional lack of awareness or concern for her own safety.
To date, my team has seen no empirical evidence that Fantasists are capable of the big-picture integration required to experience complex grief—or, for that matter, love—but as we head into Phase 2 of our study, we will continue nudging Ana away from her routine, away from what she’s always known, carefully measuring both her biological and digital hormonal response to test exactly how much unpredictability her OS can handle before defaulting—as Pania’s did.
35
THE JULY OF THE SWIFT FOX
FOURTEEN MONTHS BEFORE THE TRIAL
In the dark, I can see his energy all around me.
Little bursts of neon light—icy blue and fire red—swirling off his skin like gamma rays into the space between us.
A space that is, with every passing second, closing.
“Ana?” Owen whispers, the sound of my name on his lips sending ripples of warmth dancing through my system. We are sitting together at the top of the Steel Giant. The ride is powered down for the night. Below us, the park sits entirely empty. A sprawling world of happily ever after.
The Kingdom Page 11
