Icons (31 page)

“Once?” I ask, looking at him.

He nods. “Like I said, you’ll never be free. Not until you’re dead.”

“You make it sound so easy.”

Fortis holds up his wrist. On it I see a leather cuff, exactly like the one Lucas wears.

“Did you—?” I point to the cuff.

He nods. “One a my earliest designs.” He raises his voice, speaking into his wrist. “What do you say, Hux? Can you hook a mate up?”

“Yes, Fortis.”

As I look over the edge of the boat into the black depths,
I think of how many times I have come so close to making the digital record real. A stray bullet could have found me, instead of the old fortune-teller. The Icon could have killed me, instead of the boy at the fence. I could have drowned in this dark water, sinking down until the cold and quiet consumed me.

I am lucky to be only this kind of dead
, I think.
Who knows what lies ahead?
I pull myself out of the thought and back into the boat. My knuckles are white as I hold on to the seat.

“How long will it take, Hux?” Fortis looks grim.

“Doloria will die in four minutes. The record will reflect this.”

A wave hits the side of the boat and I grip tighter. “Super.”

“As the deceased, do you have a preference as to the terms of your tragic loss? A heroic narrative? A casualty of battle? Bringing what the ancient Greeks would call
kleos
, the eternal glory that awaits all warriors?”

I consider. “Just something simple.” A simple death for a simple Grassgirl.

“There are so many choices,” Hux offers, affably. “An electrocution. An explosion. A decapitation. A drowning, I believe, is the most appropriate.”

I imagine each in turn, overwhelmed. I don’t respond.

“I will include the digital record of your chestpack. We
will find it at the site of the accident. Digitally speaking.”

I don’t know what to say. “Thanks, I guess.”

“All right. I understand. Sarcasm. The discourse of human cessation is typically thought to be uncomfortable to humans.”

“Exactly.” I turn to Fortis. “One more thing. Why me? Why did you say me, more than the rest?”

“You haven’t figured it out?”

I shake my head.

“Just wait. You will, Doloria Maria de la Cruz.” He grins, but his eyes aren’t smiling. “It’s something you carry within you. The most important thing. The one thing that I hope will save us all.”

My mind flickers to the old fortune-teller, and the girl he spoke of. The one who matters—who is not me. I put her out of my thoughts, because in this boat, in this bay, there is no room for anything else.

“And that’s why I have to die?”

He’s not making sense, but he keeps going. “They know it too—or they will, soon. And when they do, they won’t stop until they find you. Trust me, little Grassgirl.”

Trust me, Dol.

I know Fortis is speaking but the voice in my head is Lucas’s.

“Doloria,” says Doc.

“Yes?”

“I have digitized and catalogued the contents of your chestpack, according to the data from your last night at the Embassy. They will be recorded in the Embassy Wik.”

“Okay,” I say.

“And Doloria?”

“Yeah?”

“I will be sorry to end your life.”

I smile and look at Fortis, who seems more and more like the human twin of Doc. Or maybe his brother.

“I know, Doc. I’m sorry, too.” I realize how distressing it is, just as my death becomes official.

Maybe Fortis is right. Maybe I do have something inside me, something to offer.

I hope so.

“I am searching my drives for something appropriate to say, to mark this event.”

“I’m not sure there’s anything in the classics that applies here, Doc.”

“How about goodbye?”

I shake my head. “I don’t like that word. Sometimes I feel like it’s the only word I know.”

My eyes are watering.
It must be the air
, I think.
I would never cry at my own funeral.
At the same time, I feel a new connection to my parents, to the millions who have died since the Lords came. I think of the meaninglessness of their deaths.

I promise to make this one count. “No goodbyes, Doc.”

I hear the voice crackle. “In that case, how about hello?” I take the wristband from Fortis’ hand and hold it up to my ear. It’s all I can do to nod.

“
Salve
, Doloria Maria de la Cruz. I will see you again, soon.”

“
Salve
, Doc.”

“It is done. Your files have been deleted and replaced. As far as the world knows, Doloria Maria de la Cruz dies tonight. The Grass Rebellion was to blame.”

I stare down at the dark, churning water and wonder if he will be right.

Handwritten notes transcribed as follows:

WHAT HAVE THEY DONE
—

HOW CAN THEY KILL ENTIRE CITIES
—

WOMEN, CHILDREN, INNOCENTS
—

MISJUDGED INCOMPREHENSIBLE CRUELTY OF LORDS’ METHODS
—

NOBODY MUST KNOW
—

WHAT HAVE I DONE
—

—A
CCELERATING RESEARCH
—

MUST GATHER THE CHILDREN
—

TEST
—

TRIGGERS
—

NO TIME, MUST JUMP-START
—

THEY AREN’T READY BUT
—

THIS MUST BE STOPPED
—

I MUST STOP IT

6/6 6/6 6/6 6/6 6/6 6/6

Fortis turns to me. “Now. Open your chestpack.”

“Why?”

“I need to take a look at the shard.”

“The what?”

“The broken bit of the Icon. The piece you brought back to Santa Catalina.”

“How do you know about that?”

“Hux was the first one to notice. You think you can bring somethin’ like that into the Embassy without settin’ off a few bells and whistles? He scanned it for me, straightaway, and we’ve been usin’ the data to plan our attack.”

I open my pack.

There it is, luminescent in the moonlight. It’s not very
long, but I can feel its peculiar weight the moment I reach for it.

“There you are,” Fortis says, with a gleam in his eye. I hand it to him. Fortis rolls the shard through his fingers—then kisses it.

“This little beauty is absolutely critical. We’re not sure what it is, exactly, but we’ve been tryin’ all sorts of explosives against its data profile. I think we’ve finally gotten it right—light enough to carry, but causin’ enough damage to do the trick.”

Ro sits forward. “Military grade? There’s an abandoned base near the Mission, I know there’s a lot of good stuff there.”

Fortis nods. “Believe me, I’m fully aware of your Grass contacts, Furo. Half those crazy buggers are with my people now.” Ro grins. “We’ve got a plan in place, all right. When we get to the Cathedral, you’ll be able to talk to our munitions team about how it all fits together. And how the Icon will come apart.”

Tima is bouncing nervously. “I’ve thought a lot about how the Icons work, and I’m pretty sure they’re all connected, somehow.”

“That’s what we think,” Fortis offers.

She takes a deep breath. “I read about the initial invasion, how the Icons landed a few days before 6/6. The Day.”

“To link up,” Fortis muses.

She nods. “Like a web, covering the planet. Once they hooked up—it was all over.”

I turn to Tima. “When I was there—really close—I had this creepy feeling it was alive. Like it was aware of me, or something.” I know how it sounds, but feel like I have to say it. “And, well, living things can die, right?”

Fortis nods. “Clever girl.”

Tima is so excited she jumps up and almost falls out of the boat. “I don’t know why we didn’t see it before. It’s obvious. We need to disconnect them.”

“It’s possible you’re right.” Fortis strokes his chin.

Ro looks up. “So what you’re saying is, if we take them out one by one, the network is weakened. And eventually the whole network comes down.”

“As far as we know,” says Tima.

“How many are there again, anyway?” Ro looks at Fortis.

Fortis frowns. “Thirteen.” The word is like a death sentence. But I refuse to accept it. I’ve already died once tonight.

So instead, I smile. “Fine. Number one, here we come.”

We don’t say a word about the House of Lords. About silver ships disrupting our horizon, sliding over our city and across our sun.

About the very real possibility that we could fail—that we could find ourselves responsible for sentencing the Hole to become a Silent City of our own.

Human death by inhuman hands, and on a catastrophic scale.

We don’t talk of retaliation.

I try not to even think the word.

Why should I?
I tell myself.
What are words to a Silent City?

But the things we don’t say tonight are louder than the things we do.

The Cathedral is alive with activity. We can barely keep up with Fortis as he makes his way through what once was the chapel.

“We’d hoped to have a bit more time to prepare, of course, but Lucas gave us a new deadline when he had his little heart-to-heart with dear old Mum.” Fortis sighs. “They won’t be able to move on us without GAP clearance, but we need to go now.”

“Right now?” Ro is hopeful.

“Before first light, my friend.”

Tima catches up to Fortis. “I agree. And Dol’s death won’t stop them from increasing security around the Icon, soon enough.”

Fortis nods. “Sad but true. People ’ave no manners.” He claps Tima on the back. “No time to lose, then.”

Fortis points to a group around a wide table. “Maps, schematics, communications. Tima, you’re with them.” She nods and heads off in that direction.

Fortis takes Ro by the arm and gestures to the other side of the room, where people are stocking backpacks. “Gear, camo, explosives. Arm up and get ready.” Ro disappears.

“What about me?” I’m hesitant. The whole room is overwhelming, tonight.

“You? Clear your head. You’re the one with the big finale.”

“Me? What do I do?”

“You blow the place up, love.”

With that, Fortis is gone.

I look around the crowded hall, trying to get my bearings. Everything is different from the last time I was here. The people are moving with purpose. Crates are stacked in one corner, full of salvaged equipment. In another is a makeshift kitchen, where what was formerly an altar is now lined with bread and plates, surrounding what looks like potato-cheese stew.

My favorite.

I breathe in the smell with a pang of regret, as it takes me back to the Mission. My birthday dinner seems like a lifetime ago.

Ten lifetimes.

An older man with graying hair shuffles by on his way to eat, and I notice him stealing a glance at me out of the corner of his eye, like he knows who I am.

Like I’m something special.

I smile at him and he smiles back, standing up that much straighter. The feeling I pick up from him—from the entire room—is so positive, I try not to fight it. It’s almost like, for the first time, I’m helping people. Looking up, not down—forward, not back.

What’s wrong with a little hope?

I don’t answer, and instead grab a hunk of bread.

Three hours remain.

Three hours until we go to face the Icon. Someone has erected a countdown clock, fixing it in place with twine wrapped around the organ, over by the front altar.

Every time I go to look for Tima or Ro, they’re somewhere new. Our lives have immeasurably broadened, just like that, in the span of a few hours.

Tima talks to five people at once, while reading maps and drawing grids and making neatly inked rows of calculations. Based on my description of the Icon—and the scans Doc made of the shard—Tima works with Fortis to make final adjustments for the optimal explosive and placement. The perpetual motion of her body, the flightless flight of her fingers, have suddenly found a purpose. She is radiant, beautiful in a way I haven’t seen before. Her newfound confidence suits her. I wish Lucas could see her like this.

I wish Lucas were here to see all of this.

Ro’s not one for the main table. He’d rather keep to the side, finding his way to the edges of the crowd. He finds other things there, too. Soldiers. Scavengers. Rebels—some of his old friends from the Grass. Ro is bright as a candle, full of energy. He circles around the place learning everything he can, getting ready to take the Icon himself—with or without the rest of us. He studies triggers, ranges of impact, detonators.

This is his time. I don’t get in his way. These are his people. People to burn with.

Not me.

But I see how his energy is infectious. I imagine a fire spreading inside the Cathedral from person to person, and I know Ro is the origin.

Two hours to go. When I approach Tima at Fortis’ wide table, she almost seems happy.

“There’s so much to do,” she says, looking up at me. “Strategically speaking.”

“Is there?”

“Tactical. Munitions. Support. We’ve got to get you in and out before they notice. You and Ro. Before the Embassy can deploy.” I can see her mind racing.

Me. Ro. They.

Of course. Of course it’s us. Only an Icon Child can
get close enough. It’s us against the Embassy and the House of Lords.