Terra (21 page)

“Why, getting sick of me already?” Adam jokes.

“Of course not, man. Having you around is great.” Mica sinks his voice down to a faux-whisper. “Makes dealing with her much more tolerable.”

I ball up the jacket and throw it at Mica’s head. He catches it with a taunting laugh.

“No, but seriously,” he continues, tossing the jacket back at me. It misses me by a long shot and drifts lamely to the floor. He shrugs unapologetically as I get up to recover it. “Isn’t there someone up there wondering where you are?”

Adam glances at me. “I’m sure they’ve been surviving without me.”

“I’ll be right back,” I say. I walk to my bedroom and close the door behind me. I lean against the back of my door, clutching the jacket to my chest. I suck in one deep breath, then another. Despite all my effort spent trying to resist my attraction to Adam, despite what I told him barely an hour ago—what I told
myself
barely ten seconds ago—the thought of him leaving still hurts more than I want to admit.

I pull my dresser drawer open to put the jacket away and a glint of metal catches my eye. I push aside a sweater to reveal the broken machine. It feels like ages since I unceremoniously shoved it into the drawer. I can’t believe I almost allowed myself to forget about it.

I eagerly pull the machine out to take a good look. What had Adam called it? A bio-something converter? Whatever the hell that means.

I bounce the converter in my hand, familiarizing myself with its weight and worth again. Despite letting the machine momentarily slip to the back of my mind, my timing is still on track. Collection Day is tomorrow. I put the machine back in the drawer and lay my new jacket on top of it. Just one more day of secrets.

As I close the drawer, my heart starts to race with my reinvigorated plan. I’ve been so distracted by Adam and accompanying him on his exploits across Sixteen, I’d almost forgotten the reason this all happened in the first place.

Not anymore,
I think.
Time to get back on track.

Chapter 18

I wake early the next day. Collection Day.

Tomorrow is Mica’s birthday and I want to wait until then to surprise him with my plan for his schooling. I form a loose script: I’ll say I need his help running a few errands. He’ll be annoyed, which will only make the revelation sweeter. Eventually, I’ll bring him to the Skyline ticket office where an undated shuttle pass with his name on it will be waiting for him.

I sit up in my bed and smile as I imagine Mica’s face shifting from confusion to comprehension; from irritation to excitement.

God, I hope he’s excited,
I think. Even with my determination to block out any thoughts of Adam, I’m finding them difficult to shake. I could really use a boost.

There’s no better time to make sure that the second machine will get us the additional steel we need to make it up top. I can’t risk making a promise to Mica I won’t be able to keep. If I get to the recycling center early enough, at least I won’t have to deal with the dirty looks. People will still hear about it, of course. They always do. But hopefully I’ll be back, safe and sound, before I have to deal with them. Once the steel is safely in my account, there’s nothing anyone will be able to do about it anyway… provided I stay out of the Black Traders’ line of sight.

I get ready slowly, taking the time to brush back my hair and fasten it in an intricate bun. I slip on a pair of slimly cut pants that are cropped at my ankles, and throw my new jacket on over a white tank top. I roll the sleeves up to my elbows and leave the front unzipped.

I slip the machine into my jacket pocket, pleasantly surprised to find how deep the pockets are. The machine’s weight pulls one side of the jacket down, but it’s not in any danger of slipping out. The bulge isn’t even that noticeable.

I creep out of my bedroom and glance at Adam splayed out on the couch. The back of the sofa blocks most of him from view, but his feet hang clear off the end. They dangle over his pack, which is propped up against the side. I tiptoe over to the door, hopeful I’ll be able to slip out unseen, then silently curse when I realize my shoes are sitting at the foot of the couch.

I creep over as quietly as possible, trying not to wake him. My plans are immediately foiled as I peer around the corner of the couch and find myself staring directly into his wide-open eyes.

“Morning,” he whispers.

“Damn, you’re a light sleeper.”

“Where are you off to?”

“I have to run a quick errand.” I keep my voice low so as not to wake Mica.

“Want company?” Adam says, sitting up.

“I thought you were mad at me,” I say.

“I was,” he says, shrugging. “Maybe I still am. But I think it’d be a good chance for us to talk.”

The machine suddenly feels very heavy in my pocket. “I figured you’d be taking off this morning,” I tell him, careful to keep the emotion out of my voice. “You’ve been all over Sixteen and back now. There’s nowhere left to see.” I glance at his new jacket, bundled up in a ball next to his pack. “You even got a souvenir.”

“Doesn’t mean my business here is done,” he says earnestly.

“We’ll talk when I get back,” I say casually, trying to mask my uneasiness. “I won’t be gone long, and Mica will be getting up soon anyway. Maybe you can make breakfast for once, huh?”

I quickly turn away to hide my reddening face. I’d counted on him leaving today, so he wouldn’t find out about the second machine. Then again, why should I care if he does find out now? Maybe the revelation will be just the push he needs to leave us behind.

“Wait a second,” he says, gently grabbing my hand. I immediately pull it back, a reflex. “I have something for you.” He throws his blanket off, revealing he slept in nothing but his boxers. I immediately throw my eyes to the ceiling.

Adam reaches into his pack and pulls out a small, rectangular box.

My eyes widen in surprise. I cock my head to the side, looking at him curiously. “What is it?”

“Just open it.”

I lift the lid to reveal a shiny glint of silver. Inside is the round-faced watch I’d ogled at the jewelry store.

“Wait, this is… How did you…?”

“Observing is kind of my thing.” He lifts the watch out of the box.

“Adam, this is—”

“This isn’t anything,” he says, his voice even. “Don’t make this a bigger deal than it is. I’m just returning it to you, and that’s all.”

“Returning it?”

He flips it over and hands it to me. On the back of the watch face is a scuffed inscription. I tilt the watch until the light hits the metal at the right angle for me to read the words.

To my wife, my love, my life. Yours always, Auron.

“How did you… know?” My words catch in the back of my throat as I turn the watch back over and observe its ticking second hand.

“His name is stitched onto the labels of some of his clothes,” Adam says, taking the watch from me and hooking it delicately around my wrist. “I couldn’t be positive it was your father, but I figured it was worth taking the chance.”

I take in the shape of my mother’s watch as it sits on my wrist, the silver gleaming against my skin. “I don’t know how to thank you,” I say, my eyes glistening as I look up at Adam.

“No thanks necessary,” he says quickly. “I was just getting it back to you, like I said.”

I look at him pointedly, weighing his words against the obvious significance of his actions. The machine feels like lead in my jacket pocket, and guilt bubbles up from the pit of my stomach.

“Is the time on this correct?” I ask, finally acknowledging the practical purpose of the timepiece.

“Should be.”

“I really need to go. But… I agree, we should talk. I’ll be back soon.”

“Well, now you can time yourself,” he says with a lopsided grin.

* * *

The walk to the recycling center is quiet, giving me no choice but to work out the thoughts buzzing around noisily in my head. Adam’s words and actions, my feelings… everything inside me feels conflicted. Going from red-hot to icy-cold to normal—whatever normal is—with him so quickly has wreaked havoc on my emotions.

Even at this early hour, it is surprising how little movement there is on the streets. When I reach the Center itself, the roads are completely dead. There isn’t another scav in sight. I think guiltily about Mal and the other guys—going on about their lives under the Tribunal’s new restrictions, while I eat boxes of ten-credit crackers with a skyboy.

Just another reason to get things back on track,
I think, though when I look down at my mother’s watch, I wonder if I mean it.

A solitary Collection Agent sits at the drop-off station, flanked by the standard guardsmen on either side. I don’t recognize any of them, and I have to stifle a giggle as I approach. The contrast between the guardsmen is ludicrous. The one on the left is tall but incredibly thin, with hair as black as night and a pointy jaw. He looks so gangly, I can’t imagine how he was accepted as a guardsman at all; I’ve heard the physical requirements are pretty demanding. The other guardsman must be three times the width of his partner. The muscles in his arms bulge under the sleeves of his uniform, and his shaved head is almost perfectly square. Neither of them pays me any notice as I walk up to the station.

“Hey there,” I say amiably.

The agent, a young-ish man with spiky hair that’s so blond it’s almost white, looks at me condescendingly with turquoise eyes. Spending time with Adam has made me much more comfortable around skydwellers. I’m sure the agent is rarely addressed so genially.

“I have a drop-off contribution.” I stick out my hand and the agent robotically picks up his tablet.

“Name?” he asks as he runs my palm over the screen.

“Rhodon, Terra.”

A beat passes while the agent reads the information on the tablet. His jaw is stiff as he looks back up at me.

“And what is it that you are dropping off?” His eyes are wider, but his voice remains steady.

I glance around again. Not a soul in sight. The guilt bubble in my stomach returns as I pull the machine out of my jacket pocket and lay it on the table.

The agent presses his lips into a hard line as he scans his computer over the machine. I stare at him expectantly, waiting for the startled look of shock when he sees the value of the machine, followed by the hushed announcement of my payout. Instead, the tablet starts to beep.

I freeze, dumbfounded, but the agent does not seem surprised.

“There seems to be an issue with this device. Please wait here for a moment.” He stands abruptly, leaving the machine on the table, and half-walks, half-runs into the recycling center.

I stare at my mother’s watch, and the minutes tick by as I wait. Five minutes. Then ten. There continues to be a distinct lack of other scavs lining up for the Collection, which is disconcerting. By now there should be at least a few early risers coming to stake their spot in line. With each tick of the second hand, my anxiety grows.

The guardsmen watch me with tempered expressions; their white uniforms remind me of Brant and his warnings. Maybe this was a mistake. Just as I am considering leaving, however, the Collection Agent returns. In one hand, he carries a square container with a clear lid. The tablet is hooked under his other arm and continues to beep relentlessly. He carefully picks up the machine, places it inside the container, and locks the lid in place.

“What’s going—”

The agent cuts me off with a flourish of his white-gloved hand. A signal. Before I can react, the lanky guardsman has swooped in on me, pinning my arms behind my back.

“Hey!” I protest, struggling against his grip. “What the hell are you doing? Get off me!”

“Terra Rhodon,” the agent says with an authority that was previously absent from his voice. “You are under arrest.”

Chapter 19

“You are under arrest for the possession of illegal technology. You have withheld information from the Tribunal, and have attempted to leverage this knowledge for personal profit,” the Collection Agent reads from his still-beeping tablet.

“What?!”

“You are to be transported to the capital city of Korbyllis to await further judgment.”

“Korbyllis?” I repeat in a strangled voice. Judgment and punishment are almost always handled directly by the Council here in Sixteen. It’s rare that a lawbreaker would commit a crime that warrants being sent to Korbyllis. Even when a Black Trader gets caught, he doesn’t get sent up top.

The agent flourishes his hand again, and the guardsmen sweep me off my feet and cram me into the back of a waiting transport vehicle.

“You can’t do this,” I yell. “You’re making a huge mistake. Let me go!”

The second the transport’s door slams in my face, I jiggle the handle. Locked. I pound on the window with my fists, then lie back on the seat and slam my feet into the door, hard. It doesn’t budge.

Angry tears well up in my eyes as I watch the agent issue instructions to the two guardsmen. The thin one runs off in the opposite direction with alarming speed, while the brutish-looking one walks around to the other side of the transport and wedges himself into the driver’s seat. I catch a glimpse of his badge as he settles in: Titan. How appropriate.

I begin hurling as many obscenities as I can muster through the gated partition between the front and back of the vehicle. Steadfastly ignoring me, Titan turns on the transport and we take off.

“Help!” I cry, pounding again on the window as we drive through the shopping district, where more people are out on the street. Whether it’s because the passers-by can’t hear me, can’t see me, or are simply choosing to ignore me, I don’t know. Not a single person we pass even bothers to look at me.

After a few minutes, the transport slows down. For a moment, I think we’re going to turn into the parking lot at the Town Hall—where the local guardsmen’s office is housed—but Titan drives right past it. Instead, he heads straight toward the North Gate.

“Wait,” I say, lowering my voice in the hopes that he’ll respond if I’m calmer, “where are you taking me?”

“As Agent Pyke said, you are being transported to Korbyllis.” His voice is low and rough, like chunks of gravel are rolling around in the back of his throat.