Impervious (The Ascension Series Book 1) (16 page)

Chapter Twenty Six

Fran sat frozen in the loft, hands clamped over her mouth to stop the scream that tried to burst forth. The viewing loft emptied of onlookers after a few city workers hauled a half-baked Pete to Holding. The face of the nameless Rebel haunted her thoughts. Would they do the same thing to Pete? What could she do to help him? Stage a rescue mission?

One Wolf against the Council? Hah!

She couldn’t just do nothing. But what? Without even feeling her own legs move, Fran rushed out of the courtroom to the nearest venting. A code entry, the hum of the cover, a headfirst dive, and utter darkness—an abyss as deep as the night sky with no moon or stars to light the way.

The tightness of space and blinding darkness sent a wave of claustrophobia through her body. Panic rose in her chest, and spiky pins moved down her legs like the very first time Chan led her through the short maze. She could hear his voice.

Calm down, Wolf. You got this.

She closed her eyes and tapped her finger, breathing in the dusty essence as she listened to the creaking and moaning. The schematics blossomed in her brain. She lifted onto hands and knees and began to skulk to the land of the Superiors.

Her head spun with memories of the last time she and Pete had spied on these hallowed halls. The idea came about after a day of sleeping and eating, when their boredom spurred on the idea of a midnight tunnel run. Fran choked back a weepy snort as she remembered Pete’s strange combination of fear and giddiness and the ditty he’d made up to honor their outing.

Cronies, Top-Dogs, Velvet coats,

Faces look like mother goats,

Eau de Crony fills your hallowed halls,

And the same smell lurks in the bathroom stalls…

              Fran hummed the tune, and a tear trailed down her cheek and dripped onto the metal. She snaked through the tunnels, trying to keep her mind clear. Too many outside thoughts equaled confusion. Confusion equaled chaos. And chaos? Failure.

She zigzagged her way up to the top floor and approached the super-long shaft that crossed the Agora. Suspended from the ceiling with thick wires, the tunnel swayed ever-so-slightly as she moved. The hustle and bustle from below echoed through the pipe, creating a maddening mix of noise. Between the sounds of confusion and the blinding darkness, she fell prey to the odd sense of unsteadiness that always accompanied this quarter-mile stretch.

Once across, she moved past the land of cybernetic vacation pods and caught glimpses of sandy seashores, virtual ski slopes, and evening gondola rides in the canals of Venice. Finally, she traversed the perimeter of the lobby to the Council Offices.

This air smelled different than the surrounding businesses, but not like Pete implied with his witty lyrics. More like a sort of musty, peppery smell. It looked different than the rest of the city too. Antique, plump furnishings weighed down the thick carpets, so different from the sharp angles and glistening acrylic furniture that spoke of modern day. Some sort of antiquated music emanated from hidden speakers.

She moved past the mismatched desks of the staffers and small offices of the lower ranking Superiors. To date, two-hundred cronies who had 'avoided the plague' made up the Council—the ones with such exceptional DNA they lived past the standard shortened life span.

Fran wondered if the Council members even knew of the sham or if they believed themselves to be genetically superior. The Seven, made up of Marcus and The Sons of the Generations as well as four of Marcus’ closest cohorts, were the big dogs. The revered ones. Genetically
and
politically superior. The thought nauseated Fran.

The Council Meeting Chamber sat behind the wall of offices in a mix of velvet, leather, and glossy wood. Smells of pipe-tobacco and hard liquor filled the air. Hundreds of high-backed chairs surrounded a central platform. Fran scurried past the first venting and took a few turns until she maneuvered to an optimal viewing space.

After a few quick minutes, a crony entered the room, holding a reader and mumbling, in conversation to a cohort. She couldn’t tell what they discussed, but then again, she really didn’t care. From the red suit jackets, she knew these guys weren’t the high rankers on the food chain—probably mid-hierarchy. If she remembered correctly from Social Studies, staffers wore green, middle-management red, and the top dogs―all black.

Just another visual opportunity for Marcus to assert status. As she waited, more and more red jackets filled the room. Some wandered about, greeting buddies with a hard slap on the back. Others sat in chairs examining readers or nodding off. Then, a hush fell upon the room, and the sea of red parted as a line of black jackets snaked through the center.

Marcus, the final man to enter, looked even more gruesome up close than Fran had imagined. Gravity wrestled with the skin on his face, pulling everything downward. Hundreds of lines meandered through leathery cheeks, and the sparse white hair on his head reminded Fran of wispy cotton. His rounded shoulders and jutting head created the illusion of a hunchback as he shuffled into the room and took his place on the platform. For the briefest of moments, Fran felt sorry for this pathetic man. Until he opened his mouth to speak.

“Members of The Council, please be seated.”

A shuffling ensued, followed by reverent silence. After a lengthy pause, Marcus continued.

“I will get right to the point. Two Unaccountable Rebels have been captured within the last forty-eight hours. Each Rebel had a DataJump on his person. After closer investigation, the DataJumps were found to contain notes from the life of Dr. Benjamin Leiben, our fallen brother.”

Mumblings and chatter rose from the sea of red coats, and Marcus waited for the wave to settle before he continued.

“As you know, Benjamin was a close friend of mine. One of the original creators of Impervious. However, poor Ben didn’t possess the same wherewithal of those of us gathered in this room. Too many years underground changed him, and he commenced with a rebellious behavior that still festers in our bunker today.”

Two hundred heads nodded and murmured their agreement.

“We can’t let his words infect our city. We must erase the existence of this madness. And I do believe I hold the key.”

Marcus nodded to his closest cohort, and the doors of the Council Chamber whooshed open. Fran gasped before she could clamp a hand over her mouth. Two guards ushered in Pete—bound and gagged, eyes bulging with fear.

“What we have here, Council Members, is an official Rebel rat.” Marcus’ venom spewed into the room. “Just like his brother from yesterday, he will be used to display to the city the fate of those who oppose the Council. Marcus clasped his hands together as if in prayer, and words hissed through tight lips.

“My subordinates have been working a technology I’m sure you will find as delightful as I have.” He laughed. “And, the Rebels have nothing. No weapons, and certainly no leader who could battle against us. I daresay, unless every single Rebel came forth and stormed the stage, the group has no recourse.”

Marcus’ gaze rested on the vent. Fran could have sworn his aged eyes locked onto her own for the briefest of moments.

“Please present yourselves to the viewing loft at 1400. I think you’ll be interested to see what I have in store.”

Fran clamped her lids and leaned deeper into the shadows of the pipe. Was her mind playing tricks on her? Like when she had assumed Retter to be a cannibal? Or did Marcus somehow know of her presence? With eyes shut tight, she inched backwards and then scurried deeper into the tunnel.

Marcus didn’t think the Rebels shared the common thread of unity? Fran begged to differ. She maneuvered back through the venting, fashioning a plan that would blow the Council’s dirty socks right off their knobby feet.

She moved to the first point. The place Folsom always camped near the East side of the Agora. No yellow light illuminated his space and Fran panicked.
Please be sleeping, Folsom.

She plowed into him. He yelped and growled.

“Folsom. It’s me, Wolf.”

“Wolf? I thought you were back on the grid.”

“I am.”

“Oh really?” Folsom chuckled. “I like you, Wolf. You’re always up to something.”

“Listen, I’m here for Pete.”

“Prankster Pete? I heard you and him―”

Fran interrupted. “―Folsom.
Listen
to me.” She wanted to shake him but opted for a deep breath. “Pete’s in trouble. I have a feeling if we don’t step up, we’re going to lose him to the Council. We need everyone on board. Round up the Rebels from Zones One through Six. I’ll get the rest and meet you back here.”

As Fran inched backwards, she heard a soft snore. She banged on the metal with her boot.

“Folsom.
Now
.”

Fran scurried off banging the metal walls and whooping through venting. It was a siren of sorts. One her Rebel brothers would recognize. As she reached the first “T” she heard responsive banging.

“Sound off,” she demanded, just like Chan used to.

“Offrey,” The Rebel stated. “What’s with the excitement?”

“They’ve got Pete, Offrey. We need everyone to come together.”

A lighter tapping announced another Rebel.

“It’s Derrick,” a voice shouted before being addressed.

“Newbie?” Fran inquired.

“Yes.” Offrey and Derrick’s voices collided.

“I’m putting you guys in charge of the Southeast sector. Grab everyone you can and meet me back here in one hour.”

A short time later, a heavy sweat ran down Fran's back as she moved. A dozen rebels moved in line behind her. Would this plan even work? At least Marcus had sounded afraid it might. Every petitioned Rebel had joined the cause. Julias, Fenwick, and Jasmine she knew. The rest of those behind her, were new, however. It didn’t matter. Everyone loved Pete. He’d made a name for himself in a very short time—his laughter like balm on weary Rebel hearts.

They met up with Folsom at the large “T” right by the East Side, and the group moved as a unit into the HVAC Systems Hub—a land of twisting tubes, mammoth fans, and the one-ton filtration system. The space was loud and crowded. Fran arrived first and stood by as each and every Rebel exited the pipe. The mood of the Rebels seemed a bit off putting.

“What are we here for?” Fenwick snipped.

“I don’t know,” said another. “I just followed you all here.”

Jasmine rolled out of the vent and readjusted her snug tank. “I hope there’s food.”

Fran waited until they had all exited before climbing onto an elevated shaft. She counted thirty-one Rebels total, including herself and Folsom. Would it be enough? If they stormed the stage, would they outnumber the available Graphies? At least they had the element of surprise on their side. She shouted out to the assembly.

“Thank you for coming everyone. In case you haven’t been told, we’re gathering today to help a fellow Rebel fight the Council.”

“Prankster Pete, right?” A voice called out from the throng.

“Yes. Prankster Pete.” Fran smiled. “He made us laugh, so how about we return the favor?”

An unexpected silence followed. Then Derrick shouted out. “But we’ll be risking house arrest right?”

“That’s insanity,” another Rebel added.

Soon, the rest of the crowd began to raise their voices and Fran couldn’t be heard. She looked at her downtrodden, rag-tag brothers and sisters. She’d been where they are and understood… they were hungry, and tired, and feared the Council.

Fran also realized she had the advantage. She now knew what the fight was for—blue skies, fresh air, green grass and flowers. Breezes that tickled her cheek and fresh water that tasted strange, but had the power to heal. And just as the refreshing dip in the warm springs had renewed her spirit, knowing she was being given a new life, free to live with the ones she loved most? Well it was like being born all over again. She’d witnessed the truth and knew without a doubt what awaited above ground. They, however, had yet to witness the Epoch.

She squatted low on the pipe and pounded on the metal. She shrieked her loudest, “whoop!” All eyes rose to her perch. As the chatter died, Fran dug deep into her soul—deeper than her fear, and around her typical sarcasm—and felt the spirit of her mentor rise.

“We are not gathered today to wage a war but rather to stop the battle of insanity that has raged on far too long.” She yelled to be heard over the fans. “We have no weapons. We have nothing to our names, but I have news for you, brothers and sisters.”

Fran took a deep breath and shouted, “The Epoch has arrived. The air is clean, and our suffering is almost over.”

Murmurs rose like a wave, and Fran continued. “I tell you, truly, I have seen it. I have walked upon the green grasses and felt the warm sun on my shoulders.”

A few gasps rang out, and a handful of questions shot forth.

“Were there any Geiger ghosts?”

“Was the sky gray and cold?”

“How did you get out?”

“Are you contaminated?”

“I know you must have a million questions. I know because I did before I saw it with my own eyes. But you must take it on faith. The open-air is safe. It is bright, alive, and will blow your mind. True healing awaits us out there, and that, my brothers and sisters, is the truth. Though the Council may have the ability to harm our flesh; they cannot take the truth from us. Stand firm in that knowledge as we move forth and see this to victory. When Pete is in our midst, we will all walk out of this place, and we will be healed. We are equipped with the truth, and we must wear it like armor as we face the Council. Remember, we are not here to harm the people of this city but to disarm the evil that holds us all hostage. We are heirs to the world, brothers and sisters. Although we may stand here as outcasts and paupers, this earth was bought and paid for by our ancestors.”