5

I guess this is my wedding night.

And it stinks.

Rolan brings in a gang of goons to turn my cell upside down. They search every inch, trying to find the Veritas tunnel I used to get into Garrett's room. They inspect the table that is attached to the wall and finally remove the busted chair pieces. They even drag in two new chairs. I guess my place is going to be my wedding suite too.

The goons run their hands over the tiles in the shower stall, then go back over them, pressing each square. They pry out the drain and stare down into it. One of the them even inspects my towel, as if I could throw it over my head and vanish through one of the fluffy terry nubs.

I'm all smuggish about how stupid they are until they unbolt the bed from the wall. I look away at first, so I don't freak out and give anything away, but when I look back, I'm just as shocked that there is no gaping opening. The wall looks like a wall and that's it. I can't even see where the opening is, and I'm the one who went through it. I try not to stare too much, but I'm thinking that Garrett is right. Now that I've used it, the tunnel has probably been sealed off forever. The room feels like a corset to my lungs and I'm especially breathless knowing that my secret passage--my one hope of escape--is gone.

I try not to shiver as I watch a man with a braid duck down to run his hand over the patch of wall, exactly where the tunnel opening is located. I swear he does a tiny pause as his pinky catches on some invisible bump in the plaster, but his hand continues its arc. After he gives Van a disappointed shake of his head, the braided man glances at me. It is only long enough to see the very edges of his lips twitch upward, but now I know.

We have another ally.

Every time one of Rolan's search squad reports that there's nothing to report from wherever they're looking in the cell, Rolan gets more and more aggravated. And I start enjoying the search. I even wonder if any of these men, besides the man with the braid, are really looking that hard at all. When they're on the second go around, Rolan charges across the room and barks in one man's face, "Look this time! There's something here! I know it!"

The braided guy is on his knees now, inspecting the floor by the toilet. He glares up at Rolan.

"How do you know there is actually something?" the man growls. "It seems like you know something more than what you're telling us."

Rolan settles down. He only explains himself with the return growl, "I am using my instincts. They are infallible."

The braided guy goes back to looking very busy, but I notice he's really doing hardly any real searching at all. I stand around, sent from spot to spot like some awkward chess piece, as Rolan's crew feels up every inch of my cell again. When they're finally finished, Rolan fumes at coming up empty while his search party files out of my cell. Rolan is the last out, the door slamming behind him.

As much as I'm glad to see them all leave, I hate how the loneliness creeps in after they go. And I don't like being in the dark about what's coming next. I pace around in a weird limbo, itchy and anxious.

I could've travelled to Pluto and back by the time the door opens again. I'm a racquetball, ready to ricochet off the walls, until I see who walks in. The immediate shift I make out of attack mode sends me stumbling backward. I get tangled up in my own feet and land on the floor.

I swear, if I ever see actual combat, I'm doomed.

"Well, kiddo," the Addo says as he crosses the room with a foil covered plate, "I heard we're having a binding. Now don't look so surprised to see me. You know I'm not missing out on the cookies."

After all this time of not seeing him, of wondering if he's really dead or alive, the relief lands on me like bricks. He's my family and he's alive.

Addo's sandals scuffle over the floor to me. I feel his hands on my shaking shoulders as I reach out to grip his knee-sock-encased toe that pokes up between his leather sandal straps. I can hardly believe he's real, the way he just walked right in, like it's nothing. I break into sobs at his feet until his voice flows into my head.

Come on now. Crying ruins the fun of cookies and we certainly don't need that. Besides, you'll get puffy and who wants to be bound when they look like a puffer fish?

How did you know about the binding?

It's kind of my only job, getting the skinny on all the shenanigans you yahoos are up to.

How did you get in here?

I walked in.

But they said you were gone. They said...

Oh ploppity flop buckets. He laughs. They say all kinds of things, you know that.

Yes, but... I don't know what I'm even supposed to be doing anymore. I don't know who's on our side and who's not, or what I'm supposed to say or not say or do. Look at me... I really go to sniffles as I look up at him. I'm a train wreck on top of a car crash on top of a bicycle pile up. I am the worst Contego you have.

He smiles down at me. "You know, kiddo, my eyes have been garbage for years. No matter how much I squint, I still can't see any of your faults very clearly."

That just makes me sob harder.

Addo finally coaxes me onto my feet, insisting we both need a cookie to fuel our strength. When I stand, he peels back the foil from the plate in his hands, waggling his eyebrows, as he reveals two enormous cookies. They're weird looking--dotted with blue bits that remind me of chewed bits of spray-painted foliage. If the bits are actually sprinkles, they're a fail, but chances are, they're some variety of bleu-cheese-and-spinach health food cookie. The Ianua are good for that kind of thing, but I'm a little surprised that the Addo would be excited about them too.

We sit side by side on the mattress and he balances the plate in his lap with both hands, watching the cookies as if they're going to jump off the edge and slide down his leg to escape. He finally slips one off the plate and motions for me to take one too. I don't.

"So," he says with a bite, "how's life?"

My face is puffy from crying, but now I'm just down to hiccups. I put my hand over my mouth after a loud one, but Addo's grin just wrinkles the skin at his temples as he chews.

We should probably talk this way, I project my words to him, in case anyone is listening in.

Yes, it's not always easy to tell who's being nosy. Have a cookie. He gives me a wink and lifts the plate of cookies to me, but I just tip my head, confused. Can anyone eavesdrop on a projected conversation? I thought that was impossible, except for the Veritas.

I've been trying to, uh...call you? Why haven't you answered me?

Addo shoves the plate a little closer to me, but I turn him down again. His eyes skip around the cell as he answers. Freddie had the walls packed with Manga as a precautionary measure. Nothing's getting through. A Veritas and I couldn't even speak, unless we were face-to-face, if you know what I mean. I have no idea what he means. He doesn't elaborate. He takes another bite of his weird cookie, lifting the plate slightly off his lap. It's a stink pot that we're even here. Cookie?

No, really. I don't feel that great.

My mother used to say that a cookie could cure anything.

My mom used to say chicken soup would do that.

You're mother wasn't as much fun as mine. He taps my elbow with the dish. Have one.

I smile at him, but shake my head slightly. He really doesn't seem to get how serious I am about throwing up. This time, the nausea is more complicated. It's not just about his creepy cookies, but also because every time I think I've finally become a real Contego, I seem to blow it by dissolving into a sobbing, snotty mess of nerves all over again. I can layer all kinds of badassery and skills on top of who I am, but at my core, I'm still just petrified and weak ol' Nalena. Still just The Waste. And there's nothing more sickening than that.

You really, really should trust my mother. She was a good lady and these are delicious. Addo says. I groan and he drops his chin to his chest. Puppy eyes.

Addo is always pushy about cookies, I know that, but this is especially pushy, even for him. I grimace, to show him how badly I really don't want a cookie, and he grins as if he's ready to sit here and keep bugging me for the rest of his life. He really wants me to eat it. Like, really really. I grab a cookie off his plate and hope I don't totally barf it on him, if I can even cram it down past the clenched muscles in my throat.

I take a nibble and chew it to a pulp so swallowing will be easier. The cookie tastes like pickled gym socks.

"You're hardly even enjoying it. Come on now. These are delicious!" He takes an ambitious bite and chomps while grinning. A spray of crumbs rains down onto the chest of his gray sweatshirt. Ugh. He's not going to let up on me. I take a real bite this time and feel the sick creep up my throat. The blue bits are the worst and the rest of the cookie hardly masks it. Instead of swallowing it down, I just keep chewing, hoping the sweetness of the chips will make it better.

Something happens.

Each time I chew, there is a gentle crackle in my ears, as if they are adjusting through static to find a new radio station. The static is soft, like listening to a bowl full of noisy cereal. I feel the skin around my eyes tighten as I turn my astonished eyes on Addo.

Yes! Addo squeals inside my head and I almost fall off the edge of the mattress. You can hear me, can't you? Always another miracle we didn't even see coming!

I squint. I can hear him, but to do it and to project thoughts back at him, it's like I have to think differently. Lighter, or more pleasant, or something. There has to be the feeling of a smile on my brain to do it.

That's right, yes, you've got it! Addo slaps his knee, taking another bite. Eat more! When you finish your cookie, we've got about ten solid minutes to talk in private!

What the... I toss the rest of the cookie into my mouth and chew like a machine. I choke and cough out a few crumbs. Addo pounds my back with a laugh.

Oh yes, I forgot. You're my impulsive one. He chuckles as I pinch my eyes shut in order to gulp down the last sour mouthful. Addo continues to babble. Heema made them for us, talented girl. She was able to locate some Desino leaf. A very rare plant indeed, it makes the most incredible cookies. You see, when two people ingest the same leaf, from the same Desino plant, a curious thing happens. They can speak directly to one another and there is no way to syphon off their projections, or eavesdrop on their brains, if you will. Kind of like that clever little contraption up there allows.

Addo's eyes roll up to the ceiling. It's only when I focus that I see a tiny metal cone, the size of a thimble, lodged in the plaster overhead.

That thing collects everything I'm thinking?

No. It collects everything you may be projecting. Like calls to your cavalry or blabbing spy info. But the jailer out there has to also be wearing the special ear piece if they want to listen in. Please flick the lights if you can hear me, Heema. I wait for the lights to flicker, but they remain strong. Addo tips his head toward his shoulder and his eyes roll across the ceiling twice before he finally looks back to me. Nope. She was projecting to me before, but the cookies must have kicked in.

What if mine haven't?

Sometimes, kiddo, you just have to have a little faith and hope for the best. But in this case, try projecting to Heema. I like to think I've taught her everything she knows.

I try, which seems harder to do, because I have to keep the smile on my brain while trying to send my thoughts to someone I hardly know. I have to dredge up a solid memory of Heema's face and send the thought right to the middle of her forehead, but I don't know Heema that well and it's hard to recall all the little details of her face without her standing in front of me. She doesn't answer, but I'm not even sure I'm doing it right.

After the fifth try, I just shrug at the Addo. He trusts Heema, but he doesn't want her listening in to our conversation. I wonder why.

I'm sure we're the only ones on the party line now, so let me tell you what's going on. You know that everything's gone a little whizbang since the ambush. The Curas have become more like the bullies with a neighborhood baseball teams. The new captains are busy picking the people they want most onto their sides, some folks are teaming up without waiting to be asked and some are off crying in the corner, scared to do anything.

Right now, everyone is playing nice. They're all trying to figure out where they stand before anyone makes a move. The important thing for you to remember while I tell you about everything that is going wrong is this: all is not lost. Think you can hang onto that?

I nod. Addo nods in response and continues.

There are not many of us left. That makes the Reset more important now than ever. Rolan has formed a group of his own. He says it is the Ianua, but it's really his version of the Ianua, with changes that benefit him directly. He is riling up the troops, calling for new leadership. The way things have always worked, the Veritas balance the energies, the Addos manage the Curas, the Procella watch over the Contego, the Alo handle the influx of Memories. The Emen take care of the loose ends. The cycle goes round and round beautifully, until we threw an overload of human nature onto the hamster wheel.

We got our human mitts all over it and blew the balance. You can see it all around us. Alo complain they have too much work. Contego complain about paying all the bills. Everyone wants to be one of the Procella. The Addos get sloppy and spill secrets at the annual Indiciums. The Emen clean up more than just the loose ends...

Addo picks at the crumbs on the plate, dabbing them up with his fingertip.

So Rolan has a group of his own. He wants to lead them. Some people think it's a good idea, since we're so low on Addos. But what he wants is to organize the Ianua under his personal control. He still wants people working for the greater good, but he wants them working the way he thinks they should. The control he wants, well. Seeking control like that generally aims a man right down the path that leads straight to The Fury.

And then there's still The Fury themselves. Buggers. They're sailing around on their sinking boat like a bunch of crazy pirates, and they've got Van at the helm. I don't even know which group I should be more worried about. The Fury that still know what they're doing, or the ones who have climbed out of their gourds.

We both do that thing, dropping our shoulders in defeat. A sigh, without the noise.

Either way, we're really up against it now, kiddo, he continues. That's the big-ticket reason I'm here to talk to you.

What are we going to do? I ask. Addo adjusts the elastic that holds the cuff of his gray, sweat-pants in place above the rim of his fully-extended knee sock.

That's why I'm here. Heema snuck me in so I could chance this meeting with you and she gave us these cookies, because what I need from you has to stay between us.

I dip my chin. Alright.

We need to go after the Reset, Nalena. There's only one way to say it: we're screwed. The whole human race is on the verge of kaput here. We need a Reset before The Fury take over completely.

He didn't say just 'before The Fury take over'. He said 'before they take over completely'. I notice that.

Okay. What do you want me to do?

I want you to go to the Core.

Wait. The Core? Me? I nearly choke on the thought before I can project it to him. You mean me and Garrett, right?

Core, yep yep. Garrett, nope nope. If Garrett disappeared on his own, or if the two of you cleared out of here together, it would send up flags. Garrett is my Lead Procella's son. Nothing smells of a mission more than that.

Mission.

To the Core.

I don't know what Addo is thinking. At my own core, I'm still The Waste. I don't know if a mission can change that. Especially one as important as this. The weight of it is like a real thing, pressing on my lungs. Addo taps my knee to refocus my attention.

Luckily, The Fury underestimate you, Nalena. But I don't. If you escape, chances are good that they'll hold back on sending out a full blown search party. They'll assume you're too young of a Contego to make it out there, let alone to pull of what I'm proposing. You should still fly under the radar, just in case they decide to be clever, but if I only have one shot at this, I think you are my best bet.

I don't know, Addo. I don't even know where the Core is. How would I find it?

I have no idea. It's the Earth's Core, kiddo. The Veritas don't hand out directions unless you are the one that needs to know.

What if they don't think that I'm the one that needs to know? I throw my hands in the air, to show him how impossible this is.

Things have a way of working out when you go with the flow.

That's what you're going with? You're sending me out to who-knows-where on the crystal-ball-idea that things will just magically work out?

That and how Nok already mentioned he would tell you where to go. He did, didn't he?

My mind races back to when Nok was in my cell, saying we couldn't all get out, but that I could. He said he would tell me how to get out of the Celare, but he hasn't.

If he said he will, then he will.

He puts both sandals flat on the floor. I put my feet flat on the floor too, expecting that Addo's going to take me to Nok's cell, but Addo remains seated.

Wait! Even if all the planets align and all the unicorns show up, what am I supposed to do if I actually find the Core?

Addo chuckles, the sound of it humming in my head. Hit the Reset button, of course.

There's a button?

He chuckles again. Oh, that's doubtful. We're talking about resetting the world here, kiddo. But a button would be convenient, wouldn't it?

I rest my head in my hands. I don't know, Addo...this sounds way too big for me. I don't even know what I'm looking for and I'm positive Zane would tell you I need a lot more training to do whatever it is that we don't know I'm supposed to do yet. The way things are in here and out there, I might not even make it out of the hotel. Somebody else might be a better choice...probably anyone else.

Addo chuckles and swings close, tapping me with his shoulder. I look up at him.

At some point, Kiddo, you're going to realize that you're not like anyone else. Hopefully, at that point, you'll also realize that no one is like anyone else. We can't pick each other's locks, to either help or hinder, so there's no sense in trying. Addo presses his palms to his knees to heave himself up with a little groan. Unfortunately, Heema's shift is almost over and I've got to scramola.

What does any of that mean? And I still have a bunch of other questions!

He smoothes his hands down the front of his gray sweatshirt, flattening the fabric to his round middle. It means you've got to do what you've got to do. Now ask your questions fast, before they catch me and hang me by my toenails.

Are the Reeses okay?

Yes. For the most part. Miranda is a little crabby. Van is quite smitten with her, so she's been keeping an eye on him, by tolerating his courtship.

His courtship? I howl in a direct line to the Addo's forehead. He set her husband up to be killed! You're making her date him?

Addo grips his temple. Easy there, hot shot. Don't kill the carrier pigeon. I didn't roll the dice on that one. Miranda decided on her own to run surveillance that way.

I hate him! Garrett's going to kill him!

Addo's brows rise, his eyes drop, mulling over what I said. Hate's a powerful word. Especially when it's accurate.

Oh, it's accurate! And what about Iris and Brandon and Sean? And Mark? And Grace? Are they okay?

Fine, everyone's fine.

What about Milo?

Rolan's got him cranking out Memories, although it's not his place to insist on that. Milo's furious! He'd rather laze around all day in his jammies. Addo chuckles, shaking his head. We all seem to have our funny little high horses, don't we? And we try our best to convince everyone else to take a ride.

So which side is Rolan on again?

His own, I think.

My insides sink. What about Wojtek?

Ours. He sighs and I know he doesn't have time to go down the list with me. He moves toward the door and the urgency to ask all my questions before he's gone sends every one of them swirling into some memory incinerator. I struggle to pull up even one question, but it seems like they're gone forever until Addo lifts an eyebrow and all I get is one possibility, a worry more than a question, that drifts back to me like ash.

Is Grace an Addo?

He pauses, turning back to me. He grins.

An Addo?

Is she?

Oh that would be interesting, wouldn't it?

Some of the Procella said they also thought Sean was a traitor because they found out he's not an Addo.

Yes, Addo groans. It was a mistake. Heema had to hide me too far from Sean and I couldn't project my abilities on him. But Van thinks Sean's turning to The Fury now, so Sean's not a threat anymore.

So what about Grace? You're not going to say, are you?

I would, he says, tipping his head to the side as he squints up at the tiny metal thimble embedded in the ceiling. But our time is up.

As if he'd called her, Heema opens my cell door and light from the outer hall floods in, although the glass wall of my cell is still pitch black.

"Come out, Addo," she says. "They will be here soon."

He nods to her, stepping over the threshold. Then he turns back to me.

"Don't forget what I told you, Nalena," Addo says.

"Don't kill the carrier pigeon?"

He shakes his head and leans in with a smirk. "All is not lost."

The minute he's gone, I turn our conversation over in my head.

Addo doesn't know where the Core is or how to do the big Reset. Aside from wondering how he thinks I'm going to figure it all out when he doesn't have a clue himself, I also know, he isn't really confident that I'll make it either. I'm his long shot, the last ditch effort since he doesn't know what else to do. He's sending me on an impossible mission, hoping I'll pull a rabbit out of my sock and save us all.

No pressure there.

The door scrapes opens and Heema comes in with food and a cup of something. She crosses the room without looking at me. The sharp lines in her cheeks accentuate the firm set of her closed lips. I still push my luck and try to get her talking.

"Heema?" I begin, but she only picks up the other tray from the table and walks out with it, shutting the cell door behind her. A moment later, the lights in my cell dull from bright to a dusky shade. It must be evening and the food must be dinner. Or maybe the lights are dimmed because the cuisine is shady. I still sit down at the table and pull the tray to me.

It looks like a cafeteria lunch, except, healthy. There's a fork and a spoon wrapped in a paper napkin, sitting beside a small mound of brown rice and red beans. A heap of green beans at ten o'clock, mixed fruit at two. But the important thing on this tray is in the little dipped part of the tray right in the center. There is one cookie with brown chips and blue leaf flecks at high noon.

I don't know why Heema would put another Desino cookie on my tray, except that she wants me to keep it, in case I need to speak with the Addo again. I set it aside.

When I open my napkin, a plastic straw rolls out with the silverware. I unwrap it and stick it in the cup beside the tray. I lick my lips after a sip and the liquid is a little sweet. Coconut water. Not sure why I couldn't just drink out of the cup, but the straw works too. I eat the food and afterward, I slip the cookie into the napkin.

My eyes roll up to the ceiling, to the little metal cone. I wonder if there is any way to project to the one person I want to talk to most: Garrett. The first thing I have to do is get rid of the eavesdropping cone, but it's way too high to reach. Standing on the table, even if I somehow could balance the chair on it, I'd still be too far off center to get at it.

I consider putting the chair on the bed, but it's the same problem. The cone is at the very center peak of the ceiling. The only way I might be able to reach it is if I could tip the bed on end, but Rolan's Snoop Squad re-bolted it to the wall before they cleared out. Knowing that I'm probably being watched over like a Sunday afternoon fishing pole, I can't even chance getting near the bed and casting any suspicions in that direction.

I push away the tray and stow my napkined cookie in my pillowcase before I blanket-teepee myself on the toilet again. My cheeks burn with shame the entire time. Hate is becoming a very accurate word. When I'm finished, I go over and lie on my bed, staring up at the little cone in the ceiling. The lights eventually dim to a murky version of a moonlit night. I just keep focusing on the cone, waiting for some genius plan to fall into my head.

There's something about where it's at. My brain keeps climbing over ways to get to it, ways to stopper it up with cookie chunks, but I can't figure out how to get close enough to vandalize it. I circle the track of ideas for hours and still, I haven't come across one that might even be close to working. Frustrated, I drop my hand behind my head, bunching up the pillow under my neck as if that will get me closer to figuring out the cone. The cookie crumbles inside my pillow case. Dang it.

I slip my hand inside the case and feel the pieces scattered inside. I brush the crumbs and chunks toward the bottom seam and remove the useless wad of napkin.

And it hits me like a line drive straight to the forehead.

I try not to jump off the bed. I try to seem casual as I cross the room and retrieve the spoon and the straw from my food tray. I am careful to hold the straw so it runs up my arm, as if I'm not carrying it at all.

Climbing back into bed, I stick the spoon in my mouth and lie there, molding my tongue around the bowl. Then I push it out to the tip of my lips, trying not to drop it or catch it with my hands. I hold it between my teeth and flick the handle with my finger, letting it vibrate between my teeth. I hope someone is watching.

The plan has nothing to do with the spoon, but at least if anyone's watching, they might assume I'm just playing with it because I'm bored. While I do tricks with the spoon, I unwrap the straw beneath my blanket. I tear off a bit of napkin. Turning my head to the side, I remove the spoon only long enough to put the tiny wad of napkin on my tongue. The spit wells up in my mouth and soaks the napkin. I turn it with my tongue like bread dough until the clump is a perfectly shaped, soggy little spit ball.

I turn my head again, removing the spitball and loading it into the end of the straw, beneath my blanket. Locked and loaded, I place the straw in my mouth, beside the spoon, hoping the handle will obscure my weapon of destruction. I lift the spoon just out of my mouth while I clench the straw between my lips and fire.

I focus my eyes and ears, watching the spit ball fly toward the ceiling. It hits with a goopy splurt.

And it's not even close to the cone. Dang it.

When no one comes running to wrestle away my straw, I repeat the steps: locking, loading, and firing, until the ceiling is splattered with spitty napkin splurts. I have to focus hard on the cone each time, to see if one made it in there, but it takes nearly the whole napkin before I get my lucky shot.

It goes straight into the cone, skaaaaaploot!

I let the spoon and straw drop right out of my mouth, onto the pillow beside me.

I did it.

Holy crap, I did it.

Now I have to see if it works.