“Every morning since he took over as Director, I think. That’s what Jag said.”
“What else did Jag say?” My voice came out an octave higher than normal. If he was telling anyone important information, it should be me, his second-in-command. Or Indy. Now that she had returned, we shared the job. Plenty needed to be done, and Indy had an iron will as well as a way of sugar-talking people into doing what she wanted.
Except for Jag. He always did what he wanted, everyone else be damned. At least I knew Vi and I would be able to find common ground on that point.
Saffediene didn’t answer. The silence between us weighed heavily now. I listened to the breeze cut a path through the prairie grass so I wouldn’t have to think about anything Jag related.
After a while Saffediene’s fingers traced a line up my forearm, gently moving my arm away from my body so she could lay her head on my chest. “You’re wound too tight, Zenn.”
All my muscles tensed at the sound of my name. It was so . . . different from when Vi said it.
Saffediene’s body curled next to mine felt different too.
Different, but not bad.
I allowed myself to cup Saffediene’s shoulder in my hand. “I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
“Being wound so tight.”
She hummed in her throat. “It’s fine. You’ve got a lot going on right now.”
I wanted to laugh, but couldn’t. “I always have a lot going on.”
“More now than before,” she said. “What with Jag back and all.” She must’ve noticed the way my body spasmed in anger. “I’m so sorry, Zenn. I know you love her.”
I nodded, the back of my head sliding over the grit on the ground. She cleared her throat. “I’ll give you some time.” She started to get up.
“No,” I said, my hand tightening. “No, stay.”
She settled back down, and the silence surrounding us infused me with a peace I hadn’t felt in a long, long time.
Director Benes paced on the roof of a short building inside the city limits of Harvest. His dark, gel-coated hair stood stiffly on his head. I couldn’t decide if we could trust him or not. Which Benes were we seeing? The Insider? Or the Director?
I let Saffediene lead so I could catalog every detail. She spoke with the Director in professional tones. She explained everything. He asked questions; she provided all the answers.
“Mr. Bower will cut the power to the generators using the elements. That way you’ll be able to cite a natural disaster as the reason for the loss of control. Then you’ll need to input this code”—Saffediene tipped the journal toward the Director—“and we’ll be on our way.”
“And my city will . . .” Director Benes trailed off, his concern clear. He didn’t glance around, a sign that he was not worried about anyone overhearing—and he wasn’t hiding anything. I relaxed and stepped closer to Saffediene.
“The new code will allow you to cancel all recordings the Association normally collects. Essentially their data will be cut off.” Saffediene smiled a little, and I found myself staring at her mouth.
Director Benes drew my attention with a sharp scoff. “They’ll send someone to fix it.”
“Don’t worry,” Saffediene said. “Once you upload this code, we’ll send them a prerecorded feed from our headquarters. They’ll never know anything is wrong. All you might—might—have to explain is why the generator went down in the first place.”
Nine minutes later, I’d caused a windstorm to take out the main generator, Director Benes had typed in the new passcode, rerouting the feed through our systems, and Saffediene and I had remounted our hoverboards.
I kept glancing down as we flew above Harvest. Flocks of people were all headed in the same direction. Excited herds of people. Something squirmed in my gut. Large groups usually spelled trouble.
I automatically slowed, craning my head to see where they were all going, but the high-rises prevented me from finding their destination.
“Zenn?” Saffediene asked from next to me.
“All those people,” I said, “where are they going?” I swung my board to follow them. Saffediene mirrored my movement.
We sank lower and lower into the streets as we drew closer to the crowd. I touched down in a side alley and leaned my board against the wall. At the end of the alley, the street opened up into a square.
Men and women stood on a raised platform to my right. They spoke into an amplifier so everyone could hear.
“Citizens! It is time to read the results of the vote!” cried one woman.
A vote? The word didn’t hold much meaning for me, but unease squirmed inside.
The woman passed the amplifier to a man, and he read from an e-board. “The majority of the polled population in Harvest has voted in favor of . . .” He paused for dramatic effect.
I could practically taste the tension in the air. A couple of people sparked tasers into the air, because of excitement or nerves, I didn’t know.
“Major Duarte as the next Director of Transportation!” the man concluded.
Half the crowd erupted into cheers.
The other half didn’t. In fact they gravitated toward each other, pushing and winding their way through the celebrators until they’d formed a crowd directly in front of me.
Simultaneously they all pulled tasers from their pockets, activated them, and raised them above their heads, sending a battle cry into the air.
Jag
13.
Vi knew about the capsule. Somehow she knew. Words failed me. Vi searched my face for answers. I felt deflated and completely out of my element.
I always knew what to do. What to say.
The only other time I’d felt like this, I’d ended up getting buried alive.
So I started small. “Vi?”
Something foreign flashed across her face. Deception. I’ve seen it a thousand times on a thousand different faces. But never hers.
“I think you better tell me,” I said as calmly as I could. My uncertainty was giving way to frustration, which would bloom into anger.
She fidgeted, her fingers on my biceps flitting around like they didn’t know where to settle. I felt a strange mix of longing, desperation and fear coming from her.
“I won’t be mad,” I coaxed.
“Yeah, you will.” She closed her eyes. “I’m afraid you’ll be furious.”
Like that had stopped her in the past. I took her flighty hands in mine to calm them. “Guess I’m not the only one with a secret. Wait. That’s not entirely true. You seem to already know mine.”
“It’s not my fault,” she said, with a defiant plea. “I can’t help what I can do.”
“And what is that, exactly?”
She stood straighter as she took a deep breath. “I can sort of . . . well, sometimes I can . . . I don’t know how to explain it. I mean, I can . . .”
I waited out her silence. I didn’t know what she needed, so I couldn’t give it to her.
She pulled back. It seemed to help, so I released her and sat on her bed. “Please,” I said.
She shuffled backward until she crowded the doorway. I kept my eyes down. I knew her words would hit me hard.
“I can see inside your head,” she said.
“That’s not new knowledge,” I said. Nice try, I wanted to add.
“While you’re asleep,” she clarified. “I can experience your dreams . . . as if I were you.”
“What?” I whispered.
Her words rushed out, unordered, but each statement made it more difficult to breathe.
Things like “I saw Blaze die in Freedom” and “I know you watched your parents’ deaths” and “Because you dreamt it, I saw Zenn leave the Resistance before I even knew he was in it” and the real kicker, “I know you were buried alive. I’ve experienced that capsule too.”