A Rift Between Cities (Arcera Trilogy Book 3)

by Liz Delton

  Alice, Colin, Lena and Talia sidled into Oliver’s office behind them.

  Now Oliver pinned them with a look. “You know what you’re getting yourself into?” he questioned.

  Atlan nodded. “We all do.” He met eyes with each of the others, assuring himself that they truly understood. He did not have to explain to Oliver the closeness of initiates who went through the Trials together.

  Oliver paced over to his chair, but didn’t sit down. “She’s seen the vids and knows Sylvia has been taken,” he murmured. “But as it’s not affecting Seascape, she’s waiting to see how it plays out—the consensus of the island is still against interfering.” His tone wasn’t accusing, but it was close.

  “She’s going to be a bit surprised how it plays out in the end, I think,” Emrick offered with half a grin.

  “My father said you could help us?” Atlan asked.

  Oliver took a steadying breath and got down to business. “Right. Well, I’ve already loaded maps onto the datastrands you’ve got, Atlan, but I think our biggest problem is observation. I’ve pulled up the feeds for all the camera sensors down where you’re going,” he gestured to the large looking-glass perched on his desk. “When you link me, I’ll tap into them and alter the vid feed, putting it on a loop until you’ve walked past.”

  At the impressed silence from Atlan and the others, Oliver went on. “I’ll also be monitoring her earlink activity, and will do my best to jam any transmissions from those down below. Once you’re clear of the city, you should be relatively safe. The surprise alone should delay anyone from following, for a few hours anyway.”

  Atlan nodded. A few hours’ head start would have to be enough.

  “What about Sylvia? Do you know where they’ve taken her inside the city?” Lena asked.

  “Well, as you might know,” said Oliver with a glance at Emrick, “The drones around Skycity are now recording on a closed vid system. From what I’ve seen, they took her through the city and into the Citizen’s Hall. She hasn’t come out since.”

  Atlan fidgeted with the stunner at his belt. “We better get going,” he said, thinking back to how long ago they had entered the pub. “The other Black Knight might be wondering where we are by now.”

  Oliver quirked an eyebrow. “Do I want to know what happened to the first one?”

  “He’s fine,” Atlan said with a shrug. “Just tied up.”

  “And spitting mad, most likely,” Talia added.

  A sage nod from Oliver. He held out his hand and shook Atlan’s with reassuring firmness, then pulled him into a quick hug.

  “I wish I could help more,” he said so quietly Atlan almost didn’t hear.

  “You’ve helped more than you can imagine,” Atlan murmured as his companions started moving toward the door, offering quiet thanks to Oliver before they spilled back into the entrance hall.

  “I’ll take care of the vids,” Oliver confirmed before Atlan left the office, “Link me if you run into any trouble. And—say hi to her for me,” he added with a sad smile.

  It was late, so the castle was mostly deserted. Atlan led them down the clean white corridors following the live-map Oliver had given him. He had noticed some other data stored in the strands of the borrowed datawoven uniform, but hadn’t had time to look at it.

  If they didn’t make it down to the hydrojets soon, the Lady would have the Black Knights start searching for him, he knew from experience. The castle would be the last place he would have escaped to, but they couldn’t take any chances. They needed to get to Sylvia.

  They had to trust that Oliver was altering the vids as they went. They moved cautiously, but they grew more confident after a time when no Black Knights came to stop them. Atlan held his breath as they scurried past the corridor that led to Lady Naomi’s rooms, and down another set of stairs.

  They had descended quite far when Atlan located a nearly invisible slit in the far wall of yet another pristine corridor. He had never been down here before, since these lower levels housed mostly workstations, storage or training rooms.

  The gap in the wall led down an ancient stone stairwell. It was narrow and cold, the old stones laid long before Castle Tenny had been built, Atlan thought. They slipped down the narrow staircase, a tight spiral winding deep into the earth. It was so quiet, Atlan could hear every footstep, every breath of his companions.

  Light soaked the bottom steps. He braced himself, and unclipped his stunner. He turned back to the others, who had similarly armed themselves. He was glad to see that Emrick had the other stunner. Lena hefted a tiny yet wicked axe stolen from the Black Knight, while Talia gripped a baton, and Alice a cord of wire, its ends capped in metal hand-holds. Colin’s hands were empty.

  “Share, will you?” Colin hissed at him.

  “Oh,” Atlan exclaimed quietly, then looked down at his full weapons belt. He aimed a silent question at Colin.

  He gestured to Lena, who held the axe. Atlan unclipped his own, sharp and heavy, and handed it over Emrick’s shoulder to Colin.

  Satisfied that they were as ready as could be, Atlan sunk into a crouch to get a look into the hallway. The smell of dust was thick upon the air, which was cold and a little drafty.

  There was no one in sight. He descended the last few stairs to find himself in the beginning of a cramped hallway of similar build to the stairs. The light came from a series of glass orbs hung from the ceiling, which extended so far he couldn’t see the end. It was completely deserted. He let out a shaky breath and urged the others forward.

  There wasn’t enough room to walk in anything more than single file, so they trotted down the hallway, careful of the uneven stone floor. Atlan’s ears were pricked for any sound ahead or behind, but all he could hear were their steps on the stone. Consulting the live-map in his datastrands kept him steady.

  At the end they found a room. It was entirely modern, with white floor and walls, ceiling glowing with light panels. It seemed like it belonged in the sterile halls above them. It was also empty.

  Atlan was growing nervous now. Though outwardly happy he didn’t have to fight off any of Lady Naomi’s men, he had no idea if it was normal for this part of the castle to be unguarded.

  On the far right wall were a set of doors, metallic with glass panels. Behind them, the cabin of a train slumbered on hidden tracks. Just as his father had told him. They had reached the sub-trains of Seascape.

  Twenty-Seven

  Talia and Lena gasped audibly, and Colin gaped appreciatively at the sight of the sub-train, another well-kept secret since the beginning of Seascape, according to Ingram.

  The trains above ground were well enough—running at all hours of the day for any of Seascape’s citizens to get from place to place, but this train was much different than the boxy black ones that roved the surface.

  Through the glass they could see its sleek white metal, a smooth curve that fit into its tunnel perfectly. Atlan knew it must have been left over from before the world wars that had spoiled everything above ground.

  He approached the doors timidly, eyes searching for the panel on the wall that he needed.

  Silver glinted at him to the left of the doors, and he strode toward it. Silvery datastrands were exposed there in a square the size of his fist, strands stretched tightly together into a bare panel.

  He held out a hand, finger outstretched, but stopped. It had been thirty years since his father had been through here. What if entering a false code set off an alarm?

  His mind darted to the inner reaches of the connection with his earlink and he sent out a thought to Oliver.

  Oliver?

  I didn’t think you had the code, Oliver immediately replied, and Atlan felt the back of his neck tingle as he realized Oliver must be watching them. He quirked a smile.

  Oliver seemed to sigh over the link. Six, seven, two, zero, he recited, and Atlan traced the numbers onto the strands.

  After a bright flash from the panel, the doors slid apart with a hiss. Atlan stepped into the
train, the others close behind him.

  It was white and sterile-looking, with more silver datastrands just inside the door. Lighting panels glowed at the ceiling, and comfortable fabric benches lined the walls. The others circled him as he faced the datastrands.

  “How do we run it?” Emrick muttered and the others voiced similar questions in mute tones.

  “I’m linking with Oliver,” replied Atlan in a whisper just as low. He, like the others, felt this was a place to be quiet—like a library.

  Oliver piped up over the earlink.

  You must go as quickly as possible now. The few sub-trains are heavily monitored, and someone is bound to see this one is moving. Enter five-five-five-five—Atlan did so, and with a flash of the panel, the sub-train immediately shuddered into speed, the doors sliding shut—and there you go, Oliver concluded.

  With a few exclamations of surprise, most of the others sank into the benches that lined the walls, but Atlan and Emrick remained standing.

  How far do we go? Atlan asked Oliver as the sub-train rapidly picked up speed. And how do we stop? he added.

  You’re seven stops away. There’s specific codes for each station, but I don’t think you should use them—if they tap into the strands, they’d be able to see where you’re going.

  There’s another code to simply stop, once you reach the st—

  Atlan’s link with Oliver severed abruptly, and he shuddered as the connection broke. His eyes grew wide and he audibly drew breath.

  “What is it?” Lena demanded, rising.

  “I was linking with Oliver and before I—They must know we’re moving,” he realized. Oliver had said they would.

  “Perhaps someone else linked to him, so he closed mine off, or maybe...” he didn’t even bother finishing the words. Losing consciousness was another way for a link to close, Atlan knew. He saw the looks on the others’ faces, and sat down.

  They were all silent for a moment as the sub-train sped on down the dark tunnel. A series of round windows ran the length of each wall, which showed them only a blur of black and grey. Then came a brilliant flash of white as they passed the next station. Atlan leapt to his feet.

  He beelined for the datastrand panel, and tried the code his father had told him to use, what felt like ages ago during their careful planning. They had probably already been discovered, so if it didn’t work, it didn’t matter.

  The panel gave a weak flash, and nothing happened. Clearly the codes had been changed since his fathers’ time. They wouldn’t have even gotten into the train without Oliver’s help.

  Atlan tapped his fingers against the wall. Another station flashed by. “We don’t have the code to stop,” he blurted, whirling to face the others.

  “Oliver was about to tell me before the link broke, and the one I had didn’t work,” he finished lamely.

  Colin and Emrick got to their feet. Lena cracked her knuckles. Atlan quickly explained the meager information Oliver and Ingram had given him about the sub-train’s operation.

  “Four digits?” Talia repeated, and earned a nod from Atlan. “I don’t think we have enough time to generate a random number program,” she mused aloud, fingers wandering over her datastrands. “And I don’t have anything in my strands...” she trailed off and conferred with Lena while Atlan returned to the panel and began to enter numbers at random.

  He had no idea how extensive the sub-train rail system was—whether it ran in a massive circle around the island, or whether they might come reeling to a crash at the end of the line. It would be a miracle if they even stopped at the correct station.

  First he tried quadruples of each digit, as the “go” code had gone, to no effect. Then he tried birthdays—his own, Lady Naomi’s, Ingram’s. Nothing. He pounded the wall with his open palm.

  “That’s the fourth station we’ve passed,” Alice reported from the windows.

  Emrick took over at the panel while Atlan composed himself and tried to think.

  While he watched the panel glow in dim denial after each of Emrick’s attempts, Atlan wracked his brain, sinking down onto one of the cushioned benches and pressing his temples.

  Out of the corner of his eye he saw Lena glaring at him. She had given up the bench to stand by the windows, still tracing commands onto the datastrands at her wrist, facing out at the dark tunnel.

  There had to be something they could do to stop it. He hadn’t even seen an input panel like this one in years—everything was done by link now, and with personal datastrands.

  He was on his feet again, and at the panel in an instant. Colin and Emrick were taking turns entering numbers, to no avail.

  “Hold on,” Atlan interrupted. They all looked at him. “Let me try and link to the strands, these panels are outdated anyway, maybe I can—”

  “Hack into its commands?” Talia interjected excitedly.

  “Exactly,” he said, and closed his eyes, bracing his palms against the wall for balance. The others were silent, and all he could hear was the speeding of the train along the rails.

  Inside his mind, he sought the glowing light he imagined as his active earlink. In a set of well-practiced mental steps, he felt the beginning of the connection to the strands slip inside his awareness. Before he could grasp it, it slipped away, but not before he glimpsed the thing that made his eyes snap open.

  “It’s huge,” he uttered. The others exchanged glances. “The datastrands—they must run the length of the train,” he mumbled as he shut his eyes again, and gave it another try. He wasn’t surprised that the older strands had less storage capacity, and therefore took up more room, but it was a lot to wrap your head around—while it was inside your head.

  Dimly he heard Alice count the fifth station. For a second time, he made the connection, this time expecting the size of the datastrands, and was triumphant for a moment. The link hummed pleasantly before dropping away.

  He huffed loudly, and moved closer to the panel, actually placing his whole hand on the strands this time.

  The difference was immediate. The flash of light that confirmed his connection could be seen through his closed eyelids. His mind soared along the strands, which did indeed run the length of the train, holding all of the data it took to operate the sub-train system.

  He followed the silvery strands, mental fingers sifting through the data, searching out the codes. His heart leapt into his throat as he stumbled across a code, but it was only to adjust temperature. He dug further in this section of the data, searching past the mundane codes, seeking the one he needed.

  “Six.”

  Atlan’s other hand tapped rapidly on the wall. He found more nonsense in the data, and shoved it to the side, his heart pounding as though he might be running.

  And much too soon, there came a resigned, “Seven.”

  “Already?” Talia hissed.

  Atlan’s palm pressed hard into the panel, and he cringed as he continued to sift. It was too much. There was so much useless data stored in the datastrands, he doubted if he would ever find it before the train crashed or was commandeered by the Lady’s men. He just wanted it to stop. Stop. STOP!

  He didn’t need to open his eyes to know that his internal plea had somehow worked, but he did anyway, and looked down at his hand on the panel. Of course. How stupid of him! The older panels had almost no security. With a direct link to the strands, he had mentally overridden the commands.

  The train slowed at a reasonable speed, and he watched the dark tunnel walls move by at a snail’s pace until at last they shuddered to a halt.

  Every head was turned, and every eyebrow raised at him.

  “I just told it to stop,” he said with a grin, and shrugged. Alice and Talia fell into nervous giggles. Lena, however, was not impressed with the situation, if Atlan was reading her face correctly. She crossed her arms.

  “And now we’re stuck in the tunnel. Can you tell it to go back?” she said, a little haughtily.

  Feeling silly, Atlan put his palm to the panel and linked w
ith the strands again. Back, he ordered, trying the same intonation as before. Nothing. Reverse? he tried next.

  He was saved the awkwardness of answering by a loud metal bang.

  His eyes flashed open and he stared down the train, where Colin and Emrick were trying to remove the back door panel. Relieved, Atlan dropped the connection and went to join them without a word to Lena.

  Colin brought his axe down onto another bolt that held the bar over the emergency door. Atlan was glad when no one suggested he try and open it with the datastrand panel.

  Instead, he helped them pry the bar off once enough bolts had been beheaded. It hit the floor with a clang. Emrick nudged the door open, and in rushed the smell of stale earth.

  They could see the station glowing further down the tunnel. Everything was silent.

  Alice joined them at the door, followed by Talia and Lena, who narrowed her eyes at Atlan. He rolled his eyes after she’d passed. If she wasn’t content with the way he was doing things, he could do nothing about it. He hadn’t forced anyone to come with him.

  With one last look inside the bright sub-train, Atlan climbed down the metal rungs outside the door and hopped onto the tracks.

  They clung to the wall closest to the station as they approached. The silence unnerved Atlan, who thought it could be for two reasons: either the Black Knights who guarded the hydrojets were not concerned that this was their destination, or they were waiting to ambush Atlan and his companions.

  When they came upon the platform, empty of all personnel, he found himself rather surprised. He exchanged suspicious looks with his team.

  A metal service ladder, not unlike the one at the back of the train, led from the tracks to the top of the platform. Before mounting the rungs, Atlan drew the stunner from his belt. He thought it better to have an awkward climb than arrive unarmed.

  His eyes drew level with the floor. Still no one appeared, and the unease in his stomach grew to a sickening churn.

  He had an urge to reach out to Oliver, but remembered their unexplained disconnect. What had happened? Had they arrested him for helping Atlan escape? How much did the Lady and her Black Knights know?