The Pearl Wars (3 page)

“Next time.” Skandar shakes his head. “We’ll have our revenge next time, right Fisher?”

Eva checks the nearest alleyway for trouble before entering. “With our track record, there won’t be a next time. Now keep on alert. Apparently this city isn’t as deserted as Wil
son said it was.”

Skandar stops in his tracks. “Fringers?”

“Fringers,” she replies, “unfriendly ones. Fisher already got a taste.”

He crosses his arms. “You got to have all the fun, didn’t you
mate?”

“Yeah,” I mutter. “Fun.”

I plug my nose as we make our way through the alleyway. Trash litters the ground. The heat enhances the already rotten smell, cooking and congealing mystery liquids that run into the dirt in thin streams. We step around the worst of it and funnel into the next street. Patches of brown, crinkly grass sprout from cracks in the pavement before us.

As we cross an empty intersection, I keep my eyes peeled for Fringers, hoping that my attackers were an anomaly—an angry street gang from a neighboring town. The Pearl Traders were friendly enough, content to exchange their discovery for the rations and purification tablets inside our shuttle. Now that we’ve lost the Pearl, all those crates of Skyship food will be marked as lost inventory. Lucky Fringers. Not-so-lucky us.

The top of our transport shuttle comes into view. I half expect it to be decimated. After all, if those guys were so keen on grabbing my belt, they’d lose their marbles over our ship.

The shuttle’s saucer-shaped with three retractable, rusty legs resting on the pavement. It’s the only dash of color on the stre
et—a deep red.

Despite my aching body, I run through the street, eager for the cool, climate-controlled air inside the shuttle. When I reach the front end, I slide open the plastic guard and punch my authorization code into the keypad. The door lifts and three steps tumble out from the bottom. I barely use them. The recycled air hits me immediately. Sanctuary.

Eva and Skandar follow, shutting the door and taking their seats. I fasten my belt as Eva grabs the wheel, flipping the ignition and retracting the landing gear. Then we’re off.

I recline and watch as Syracuse pulls away from us. My eyes linger on the hotel rooftop for a few moments. It juts from the flat brownness, taunting me. Something happened back there. Something unexplainable. That Cassius guy felt it too. He’d looked as unsure as me before he escaped. It wasn’t part of his plan, and it sure as heck wasn’t part of mine.

I close my eyes, letting the adrenaline wash off my body. First trip down to the Fringes and it nearly killed me. I managed to disappoint my teammates and utterly fail our mission objective. Maybe Mr. Wilson will be more forgiving than Eva. Wishful thinking, sure. But wishful thinking is what I live on.

3

Rochester, New York–Chosen City #17

Headquarters of the Unified Party’s Department of Energy Acquisition

Cassius Stevenson strode through the halls of the Lodge with a noticeable swagger. Slung over his shoulder rested the brown pouch containing the Pearl. He hadn’t let it out of his sight since leaving the Fringes. He hadn’t stopped to shower or change clothing. A trail of dust followed him through the hallway. The custodial crew would clean it up.

Even through the burlap, he could feel the warmth of the Pearl on his back. It didn’t burn like the undiluted sun outside. It was a different kind of heat. A mother’s touch, maybe, or a loved one’s embrace. He didn’t have a lot to compare it to, raised the way he was.

He’d been lucky to stumble across a Pearl so easily. Madame would be exceedingly proud, enough to forgive him for breaking the rules and sneaking outside of the Net to get it. On the way to Syracuse, he’d considered turning his ship around several times, but days of tedious simulation training had taken their toll. He needed to get out. Plus, it was fun to see if he could bypass security and do it.

Cassius couldn’t remember life without Pearls. They’d been falling from space since he was a small child, drawn to the parched Earth. Charity from the stars. Some people, like the evangelists of Heaven’s Rain, considered them God’s gift. But Cassius didn’t put much stock in Pearl-worshippers. To him the space rocks were a natural resource, as simple as oil. Back when oil existed, of course.

Pearl energy powered the Bio-Nets that protected and cooled the Chosen Cities, which separated the order and comfort of his home from the blazing chaos of the Fringes. Just one Pearl could power a city for months. He grinned and clutched the bag tighter.

Window after enormous window framed the Lodge’s lush manicured lawns as he continued down the corridor. The sprinkler system had shut off for the evening. The sun lingered at the edge of the horizon.

He knew he was privileged to live where he did, on the outskirts of the city. Those who didn’t work in energy acquisition made do with government-approved living quarters—300 square feet per family. The Bio-Nets were only so big, and cramming everyone into the fifty Chosen Cities required more than a little sacrifice for most folks.

But the extravagance of the Lodge wasn’t without a price. Inside, candidates were prepped to enter the Pearl Retrieval Squad, and harvesting Pearls could be dangerous, especially when Skyshippers found them first.

Cassius scowled. Shippers.

There had always been separatists, even before the bombings. Rebellious factions began to make themselves known mid-century, upset with the government’s increasing secrecy. They were small in number and unorganized, just as the Fringers were now. All they needed was a rallying cry—an event significant enough to bring them together.

The Scarlet Bombings changed everything.

Named for the enormous red clouds that engulfed the six largest American metropolitan centers on that afternoon twenty-two years ago, the chemicals not only killed millions, but continued to plague the country decades later, vaulting the temperature in the Fringes to dangerous levels. Folks back then assumed the clouds were red because of all the blood in the air, the way the chemicals dissolved people. As far as Cassius was concerned, that was a bunch of fear-mongering. Blood wouldn’t float in a cloud.

Regardless, when everything finally settled, the country was left without its leaders. Worse yet, there was no telling when it would happen again, or why America had been attacked in the first place.

The Unified Party sprung from the ashes, an anonymous, efficient protector of an increasingly fragmented country. Retaliation was swift. The President ordered a full-scale assault on all terrorist-harboring countries, blasting entire chunks of Asia and Eastern Europe into rubble.

Cassius knew it was the right call, protecting the country from another attack, but others disagreed. The Separatist movement demanded evidence that retaliation was necessary. When the Unified Party refused to comply, the Seps hijacked the government’s Skyship Program weeks before it was christened and founded a nation above the clouds—the Skyship Community. There was fighting. Some called it a civil war. Then came the Hernandez Treaty. Things hadn’t been the same since.

The conditions of the treaty kept Surface folk and Skyshippers apart—a pair of sovereign states separated by the International Skyline. Travel across the border was unlawful without proper clearance, but for as long as Cassius could remember, he’d been part of a rat race between the Surface and the skies. All for Pearls—the ultimate energy source.

The treaty, of course, was nothing more than a piece of paper. Shippers ignored it, sneaking down to harvest Pearls that legally landed in Surface territory, or trading with Fringers. The President of the Unified Party buried his head in the sand, as nameless and anonymous as when he’d first been appointed. If Cassius knew who the guy was—if
anybody
knew—he’d know who to blame for ignoring Skyship's growing threat. But no one could talk to the President. He spent his days giving orders from secret bunkers stationed around the country. It was up to people like Madame to put words into action.

Cassius rounded the corner, suddenly wishing he’d been less compassionate with the Shippers back in Syracuse. Next time.

Ahead of him lay another lengthy hallway, identical to the one he’d come from. A newcomer might assume the Lodge stretched on forever in this way, but Cassius knew better. After all, he’d spent his whole life here.

It was irregular, him growing up in the Lodge. New trainees didn’t arrive until after their thirteenth birthday, when they were transferred from their schools after scoring high on skill proficiency exams. For many years, Cassius had been the only child under the age of thirteen in the building. Those were the best years, when he garnered Madame’s full attention. Now she was always so busy.

He’d never met his real family. His mother disappeared quickly after childbirth, hooked on black market Serenity. Any other infant would have grown up in the workhouses or been tossed into the Fringes, but Madame had found him first. Though she’d never declared it outright, Cassius h
ad always considered her his adopted mother, even when she didn’t act much like one. Most Surface kids grew up in blissful ignorance, spending weekends with their friends, hooked up in one of Rochester’s twenty-five online pavilions. Cassius had been raised amidst stealth and weaponry—frantic calls to the President in the middle of the night.

A few more steps and the dark mahogany doors of Madame’s office came into view. He hesitated a moment before knocking.

Silence.

He stared at the ornately carved designs on the panels of the door. Within the familiar lightning bolt emblems were cut hundreds of names—high-ranking officials that died when the terrorists blasted the White House into a pile of dust.

“Cassius, come in.” Madame’s soft, hypnotic voice startled him. He looked up to see a round speaker above the door. “You’re always welcome.”

Clutching the burlap pouch closer, he dusted off his sport coat, pulled on the silver door handle, and entered. Madame always knew who stood outside of her study. She’d had the entire Lodge covered in cameras and microphones ages ago—a necessary precaution for the head of the Chronic Energy Crisis Commission.

She sat at her large rosewood desk at the end of the room. Her dark hair was pulled back behind her in a fastidious bun. A pair of spectacles rested on the end of her tiny nose as she set down her personal reading device. The Lodge’s students had a standing bet on her age. Late forties seemed to be the consensus, though her latest Face Freeze kept her ageless.

The curtains behind her were drawn shut in anticipation of the impending darkness. Bookshelves bordered three walls of the small room. Traditional books were outlawed in favor of electronic files, but Cassius knew that Madame had a penchant for antiques.

Madame leaned forward, eyes slit, and stared intently at his face. “And to what do I owe this pleasure, Cassius?” Her calm expression soured as she noticed the state of his clothing. “You’re filthy.”

He allowed himself a smile. “Yeah. Sorry.”

“Just … don’t drag it all over the rug. It’s Persian, or so they tell me.”

He stopped in his tracks, momentarily flummoxed. “I’ll go around.”

He tiptoed to the side of the oval rug, careful not to press too hard on the ground with his dusty feet. His Fringe stink choked the lavender scent hanging in the air.

Madame’s gaze followed him the entire time. When he was within reach of the desk, her eyes darted down to the pouch. “Bearing gifts, are we?”

Without an explanation, he gently set the bag on the ground, unbuttoned the flap, and lifted the Pearl out from within. It weighed very little, but instantly illuminated the darkened room with a shimmering green glow, casting hypnotic waves of soft light along the walls.

Consuming no more space than a fortune teller’s crystal ball, it rested comfortably in the palm of his hand. Beneath its surface pulsed a raging, chaotic hurricane of energy—strands of light constantly in motion. He could stare at it for hours if she let him, but he placed it into her eager hands instead.

Her expression remained still as she laid both hands on the Pearl, examining it. But Cassius recognized the familiar glow in her eyes. She hungered for it, just as he did.

After a moment of silent admiration, Madame’s gaze wandered back in his direction. “This is quite a surprise, Cassius. We haven’t authorized you for Pearl exploration. You went outside of the city to get this, didn’t you?”

He clasped his hands together behind his back. There wasn’t any sense in lying. “I got bored. I took a tracer with me and it picked up an energy trail outside of Syracuse.”

“A Fringe Town.” She cradled the Pearl in her arms. “I see.” She sighed. “Now, I know the teachers go on and on about your progress but that doesn’t mean I like the idea of you going out there on your own. It’s dangerous, especially wearing a government uniform. You know how they feel about us on the outside.”

“I was ready.”

“You keep this up and you’re going to make my department look bad. How could we have missed a Pearl falling right under our noses?”

“I … uh … I don’t think it
fell
in Syracuse,” he responded. “It was
transported.”

“Ah.” She leaned back in her chair. “Skyship agents?”

“Not exactly. They were kids.”

“Kids?”

“Teenagers. It was an exchange, I think. With Fringers.”

“Kids.” She shook her head. “Skyship’s audacity never ceases to amaze me. It’s bad enough that we’ve got adults crossing the Skyline without clearance, but children? Can you imagine being asked to do such a thing, Cassius?”

He bristled at her words, being called a child. He wasn’t. Not compared to the morons he trained with.

Madame drummed her fingers on the edge of the desk, then stopped suddenly. “How many?”

“Three.” He met her eyes. “Pathetic, though. I mean, it was embarrassing.”

“I’d expect as much. They undoubtedly haven’t benefited from the intensive field experience that we have. You know, when we first passed the Skyship legislation to ease the population, we never dreamed it would be used against us like this. This is how it starts, Cassius.”

“How what starts?”

“War,” she said. “It’s a trickle, at first. Small, seemingly unconnected moments. You hardly even notice them. Then there’s a warning sign, like the terrorist attacks on New York City at the turn of the century. Ignore that and … well, look where we are now.” She frowned. “I was never a fan of the Hernandez Treaty. We gave them too much power.”

A moment of uncomfortable silence hung in the air. Cassius tried to think of a clever response, a way to engage in intelligent political discourse.

Madame didn’t give him the chance. “I spoke to the President earlier today. Seems Representative Fifty-Four had to jet across the Atlantic for an emergency meeting with the remnants of the Commonwealth. So, the timetable’s made its rounds and it looks like it’s my turn to speak with the Tribunal. I think I’d like you to accompany me.”

“Go up to Skyship?”

“To Skyship Atlas, yes. It’s simply procedural—collect their activity reports, sign some papers. Dull, monotonous details. I’m required to bring two others with me. My bodyguard will be joining us, of course, but I’d like to offer you the second spot.”

Cassius tried to contain his smile. He’d never been invited to participate in important government meetings before, especially ones off-Surface. “Why me?”

She clasped her hands in front of her. “I’d like to give them something to think about.”

Cassius shifted uneasily, unsure of what she meant.

“But we’ll save that discussion for tomorrow.” She
cleared her throat. “The meeting’s not until Thursday. Now, back to the matter at hand. It won’t happen again, will it? Going outside of the Net without clearance, I mean.”

He shook his head, though he knew he couldn’t promise it. Being cooped up inside the Lodge all day was so boring.

“Good.” Madame’s attention returned to the Pearl. “Though I can’t argue with your results.” Her fingers danced along the top, mirroring the weaving energy inside. “Marvelous little baubles, a
ren’t they? To think that we ever lived without them. I still remember that first winter after the bombings. Seventy-six degrees in the middle of December. In Boston, no less.” She chuckled. “People thought it was great. Impromptu vacations. Christmas at the beach. That was before the insects started multiplying and crops began to die. I wish you could have seen it, Cassius, the way it was. Real snow, not that nonsense the Weathermen program into the Bio-Nets. Just pure white, stretching out as far as the eye could see.”

Cassius strained to imagine it. The only large-scale weather event he’d ever experienced was the arid, dusty wind of the Fringes.

Madame smiled. “You know, I’ve never been a very religious person, but every time I hold one of these in my hands I feel like we’re not alone in this universe.”