The Pearl Wars (2 page)

2

I land hard beside a metal dumpster with a sickening thud. Whatever’s inside reeks. The fact that I can smell it at all is more than a little surprising.

For a moment I’m sure that I’m dead. I can’t feel anything. Not my arms, not my legs, not even the intense heat swirling around me.

I look up at the rooftop. From down here it seems a mile away. No way could I survive a fall like that.

And death isn’t really all it’s cracked up to be. I may not be able to feel, but nothing’s changed around me. Same old dustbowl Fringe Town. Beyond depressing.

I try to push my body up off the ground, but every
thing’s gone limp. My mind tells me my arms are moving in the dirt, but there’s nothing pressing against my skin. I can’t feel the wind pushing on my face either, or the sun frying my jacket. But I can smell the dumpster. And I can see.

Then, out of the corner of my eye, I watch three lanky teenagers dart out from a nearby alleyway and run over to me. Their hair is cut short—nearly shaved to the skin. They
wear mass filthy, hole-ridden tank tops over rail-thin bodies. Their dark arms are blistered. The “Surface Tan,” we call it.

Suddenly I know I’m not dead. There aren’t any Fringers in the afterlife.

One look at their faces and I can tell they’re not like the peaceful Pearl Traders we met outside the abandoned hotel fifteen minutes ago. These guys are lawless. They’re out for blood.

Another moment and they’re on me. I watch helplessly as one grabs my neck, lifts me up, and throws me against the wall, knocking the feeling back into my body.

The fall catches up to me, or maybe it’s the wall slamming into my back. I fight to stay conscious as the pain tingles down to my feet. The second Fringer grabs my arm while the first releases my neck and pins my left side tighter against the brick.

“Search him!”

The third rummages through my pockets, stopping at the belt under my jacket.

I kick at his shins. My nerves cry out with a sharp pain each time I move my leg. I’m so dizzy and uncoordinated that I nearly topple back to the ground before I can do any damage. I’m mass threatening.

The Fringer manages to unbuckle my belt and rip it out of the loops, whipping it into the street. I watch as my com-pad flings out and rolls into the dirt, along with my surface goggles. They’ve got the taser now, too. Even on my best days I’m no match for three angry Fringers. Without a weapon I might as well just crawl into my casket now.

“Pockets are empty,” the Fringer mutters. His breath smells as bad as the dumpster.

The guy on my right leans his torso against my arm and grabs my cheek with his free hand, pushing the side of my face into the hot brick. My skin roasts on the wall. I bottle up a screa
m.

“Not used to the heat, are you sky boy?”

The second guy moves down to my hand, forcing it onto the wall. “We don’t need no vultures coming down here and picking from our scraps.”

His friend pushes harder on my cheek, spreading the skin up to my eye. “Maybe we’ll fry you up and pick at
your
scraps.”

I wince at the thought of it. I wanna defend myself, but I can’t even talk. My mouth’s pulled at such an awkward angle.

Just as the guy’s about to crack my skull open, an explosion rattles the street.

All three Fringers release me and spin around. I crumple to the ground, face on fire.

Framed by their tense, ready-to-pounce bodies, I see the silhouette of Eva Rodriguez. A trail of sandy smoke winds up into the air beside her like a serpent. It came from a detonator, the spherical shell of which lies on the cracked
pavement in front of her right foot.

She looks older than her fifteen years, and far more intimidating than me with her crop
ped hair and well-practiced battle scowl. A bulky burlap pouch hangs over her shoulder, barely containing a radiant green glow. Resting inside is the Pearl we were sent down to retrieve.

Before the Fringers can move, she pulls a pistol from her belt. It’s only a stunner, but there’s no reason for them to know that. Her brown skin glistens in the sun. Her arm is five times as buff as mine.

“I’ve got more where that came from.” Her dark eyes lock onto each of them as she moves the barrel of the pistol from one to the other. “Leave. Now.”

The Fringers exchange glances before realizing that it’s not worth it. Snatching up my belt from the dirt, they take off. Eva watches them disappear around the corner of the nearest building before walking over to me. “I was looking for you.” She reaches out her hand. “I should have known to follow the screaming.”

I grab her wrist and lift myself to my feet. “Remind me why we trade with them?” My voice comes out muffled and scratchy, like I’ve swallowed a ball of dust.

She holds up the pouch. “Pearls. Besides, you know they’re not all violent. The ones in the alley were nice enough. You should have stayed and talked for a while instead of wandering off.” She squints and grabs my chin, pushing it to ex
amine the side of my face. “That’s gonna hurt tomorrow.”

“It hurts now.”

She frowns. “Where the hell were you, Fisher?”

“I just—”

“And where’s Skandar? This is why we stay together. You know it’s dangerous out here.”

“Mr. Wilson said this city was deserted.”

“Well, he was obviously wrong.” She straps the pistol onto her belt. “They got your stuff too, didn’t they? Thank god you’re not authorized for stunners yet. You’d have shot yourself in the foot.”

I rub my cheek, wishing I had some cold water. “Hey, as far as I’m concerned, we shouldn’t even be here. I mean, leave the combat missions to the adults.”

She sighs. “If you and Skandar would have stayed in the alley like you were supposed to, then this wouldn’t have turned
into
a combat mi
ssion. I know this was your first time in the Fringes. I know Skandar’s a bad influence, but you need to think of the consequences, Fisher. This isn’t a game!” She lays her hand on the pouch, further muting the green glow from inside. “This is what it’s all about, Jesse. Not your nursery-school curiosity.”

I ball my fists, eager to punch something. “Yeah? Well … ” I struggle to find a comeback, something to get her off my cas
e. “I just fell off a building!”

Her face falls flat. “That is the dumbest thing I’ve ever—”

“No,” I start. “It’s true.” I point to the rooftop. “See that bui
lding? I ju
st fell from the very top all the way to the ground and I don’t have a scratch on me. What do you have to say about that?”

She glances up, then back to me, and shakes her head. Then she punches my left shoulder. Hard.

“Ow! What did you do that for?”

“You’re not invincible, Fisher. Grow up.”

I rub my shoulder, glaring at her.

“Now let’s find Skandar and get out of here before you bring the whole Unified Party down on us.”

A gun cocks in the distance. Eva spins around immediately, stepping back until her shoulder touches mine.

Halfway down the block stands the Pearlhound, Cassius, pistol in hand pointed in our direction. Just my luck.

Neither of us heard him approach. He’s in one piece, though his shirt’s untucked and his tie juts down at a screwed-up angle. He takes two steps forward and stares at me, ignoring Eva.

“What did you do up there?” he sneers, eyes narrowed.

I shake my head. It’s all the explanation I’ve got.

Luckily, Eva’s all words. “Who are you supposed to be?”

His eyes meet Eva’s for the first time. “You must be the third Musketeer, huh? I’m sorry your teammates let you down, gorgeous.”

“You call me gorgeous again and I’ll rip your face off.”

That’s Eva. Mass charming.

She squints, crossing her arms. “That a government badge?”

“Madame’s finest.”

She chuckles. “I’m so sure.”

“So you’re the one with the Pearl.” He steps forward. “Hand it over
, then.”

Her chuckle devolves into a full-blown snort. “You’ve gotta be kidding.”

His response comes in the form of a gunshot aimed an arm’s length from my head. I wince as the bullet slams into a building behind us. Cassius smiles. “You may be shooting to stun, but this is the real thing. Hand it over and I’ll let you crawl back to wherever you came from.”

I wait for Eva to react, to dupe him into thinking that she’s packing more than stun darts. Instead, she looks over her shoulder with an expression that would make a baby cry. “Your fault, Fisher,” she whispers, “your fault.”

She slips the pack off her shoulder and tosses it to Cassius. With it, we lose all hope of passing our super-secure mission. Not like dying’s a better option, but returning to the Academy empty handed isn’t exactly high on my list either. Mr. Wilson’s counting on this Pearl, and now because of my
supreme lameness he’s gonna have a handful of nothing instead. Maybe death by road-splatter isn’t such a bad fate after all.

Cassius catches the pouch by the end of the strap and slings it over his back, keeping his aim steady. For a second I’m convinced he’s gonna shoot, but I guess he’s got some screwy sense of honor because he backs away instead and darts into the nearest alleyway, out of sight.

I wait until he’s gone to whisper to Eva. “Are we going after him?”

She turns to me, frowning. “With what? You’ve lost your entire arsena
l, remember?”

“But the training mission—”

She sighs. “You didn’t seem too concerned about it twenty minutes ago when you left me alone in the alleyway with the Pearl Traders. Besides,” she takes off at a brisk pace through the empty street, “I’m not going to have you killed. Even for a Pearl.”

“Where are you going?” I follow.

“Skandar. We find him and we get out of here.”

“Oh.” I point to a rotting wooden door a few yards away. “He’s in
there.”

Eva stops, resting her hands on her hips and looking at the entrance to the building. Like all structures in the Fringes, it’s a sorry reflection of what it used to be. Long planks board up the windows. The paint is mass faded and cracking. Two columns that had once supported a portico now stretch into the air, weathered down to round stubs at the top.

A fat, dark rectangle stains the space above the doorway where a sign used to hang. In its place is a black “x” about two feet in each direction, paired with a confirmation code designating Syracuse as a Fringe Town—part of the forgotten lands after the government set up the Chosen Cities. Several lines of spray paint cover the code numbers.

“Charming,” Eva says. “I can see why you two had to scurry off and explore this treasure trove.”

“It was Skandar’s idea,” I mutter as she pulls open the shaky door.

My eyes take a moment to adjust to the darkness as we step into the entryway. Little more than strings of sunlight poke through cracks between the ancient, dust-caked blinds. Whittled-down skeletons of chairs lie in one corner of the room. On the opposite side squirms Skandar Harris, his hands and feet bound together by plastic bands.

He pauses as he notices Eva and me. Dirt from the ground covers his brown hair. A pair of cracked goggles hang around his neck. The floor’s been long since stripped of carpet. Only the wooden boards remain.

Eva shakes her head as she walks to the center of the entryway. “I’m surrounded by idiots.”

He frowns, renewing the struggle with the bands around his wrists. “I nearly had him. Showed up outta nowhere.” Only a sliver of his British accent remains after liv
ing at the Academy for so long. Now it’s just a weird Skandar accent.

Eva kneels down next to him. “Maybe we should drag you home like this, roast you over a spit.”

He rolls over to smile at her, his faint freckles covered in a layer of dust and sand. “Have mercy, Eva.”

Her eyes narrow. “We lost the Pearl.”

His face hardens and he tilts his head to look over at me. “It was
his
fault. What’d you run up to the rooftop for, Fisher? It’s a dead end.”

“No duh,” I shoot back. But he’s right. I should have known better.

Eva sighs as she pulls a knife from her pocket and flips it open. “You were trying to lose him, right Fisher?”

“Yeah.” I stare at my feet. “That’s what I was trying to do.”

“Sure,” Skandar rolls over so Eva can cut the bands behind his back. “Take
his
side.”

“Trust me,” she lowers the knife and begins sawing through the plastic. “I’m not on anybody’s side. I’m embarrassed to be seen with the both of you.”

Skandar pulls his hands free as Eva moves on to his ankles. When she’s finished freeing him, he wobbles to his feet and shakes the feeling back into his hands. Red marks encircle his wrists. He only made them worse by struggling. I’d call Skandar Harris many things, but a quitter isn’t one of them.

“Hey Jesse,” he rubs the dust from his face. “How did you get out of the building? I never saw you come back down the stairs.”

Eva puts her knife away, glaring at me the whole time.

“I fell.”

He stands still for a moment before busting out laughing. “Off the rooftop? Good one.”

“No, it’s true. It didn’t even leave a—”

“Time to go, gentlemen,” Eva interrupts me. “And I use that word in the loosest of ways.”

She marches out the door without another sound. Skandar and I follow, resigned to our fate. Sure, I’m feeling mass lucky to be escaping with my life after all that just happened, but the trip back to the Academy isn’t gonna be filled with ice cream and sing-alongs. This was a test. I failed miserably.

“You really fell off the roo
f
?” Skandar whispers as we shield our eyes from the baking sunlight.

“Yeah.”

“Like, from the top of the building?”

“That’s the one.”

He pushes my shoulder, nearly sending me flying onto the pavement. “You’re such a weirdo.”

I want to press the issue, but then I realize how ridiculous it sounds. Jesse Fisher, least promising agent-in-training at Skyship Academy, falls off a twelve-story building without a scratch on him. I’m not so sure I didn’t imagine the whole thing myself.