six

LOS ANGELES LEVEL 2—TUESDAY, JULY 4, 2141 7:00 P.M.

THINGS HAD GONE all wrong. Pat and Kai sat in the dining hall, alone in the large space. Neither of them spoke. Rows and rows of empty tables spread across the room, waiting for the morning crowd to turn the silence into noise. The place used to be an auditorium for the residents of the block, but had been converted into the hall.

They had tossed around ideas, come up with plans, figured out ways to get Kris back. None of it mattered. Levels 6 and 7 were sewn up so tight it would take weeks just to find a way through. If they could find a way. None of Kai’s contacts had responded to his pleas. If Doc Searls still had access, they could have used him. But he’d lost that. Getting up to Level 5 would be possible using the inter-level corridors . . . as long as they could avoid the military patrols.

Even if they could get access, unless they could get Kris outside the base, they didn’t have a hope.

“We have lost her,” Kai said. “We both know the base is only a temporary stop. They will fly her out to the SoCal training camps and brainwash her into being whatever they want.”

“She’s smarter than that. She won’t fall for it.”

“She did at the compound.”

Pat stayed quiet. She had believed in ACE for so long that she was still uncomfortable when someone said negative things about it. She’d been brainwashed along with the rest of them during basic training, and her years of work had added to the loyalty. That was why she still wanted to defend them, even after she knew what they had become. Was it bad that all she really wanted right now was to go back to being a camp cook?

She nodded in response to Kai’s statement.

“The insurgents have people in SoCal. No one in the military, but once she comes out of training, we should be able to find her,” he said.

“And what will we be able to do then? What if they send her to Mars, or up to one of the Sat Cities? How do we get her back? Will she want to come back? What about Jack? He doesn’t trust her now. It’ll be worse if we can get her.”

Kai shrugged.

The man sometimes infuriated her. He was sitting here as calm as could be while all she could feel were her insides being torn to shreds. The sense of helplessness reminded her too much of her time in France when she had been a prisoner. She jumped to her feet, pushing the plastic chair away from the table. Her body couldn’t take being stationary anymore, she had to move, had to do something.

Kai reached a hand up and placed it on her arm. “We have no choice but to wait.”

“I can’t wait. It’s not how I was designed. We have to get up to Level 7 tonight and find a way to get her out of there.”

“You want to sneak into Level 7, break into a military base of one of the largest corporations in the world while they are on war standing, scour the place until you find where they are keeping Kris, and get back out again? Do you know how impossible that is?”

Kai’s words were a knife in her heart. Of course she knew it was impossible. She collapsed back in her chair and placed her head in her hands. For the first time in years, the tears that flowed down her face weren’t from reliving memories of the past, but from what was happening in the present.

“Come. We are both exhausted. Tomorrow, our minds will be fresh and perhaps we will figure something out. We will talk with Doc Searls, and have more ideas to work with.” He stood and waited.

She knew he was right. There was nothing they could do. Even if they slept for weeks, nothing could be done until she came out of basic training. Then, if they got her, they could begin the process of bringing back the real Kris. The one who had been there before SoCal changed her. They would change her. No one was strong enough to resist what they could do. ACE had managed to bring Pat back from the edge of insanity. If they could fix her, there would be a way to fix what was left of Kris. There had to be.

She rose from her chair, bracing her hand on the back to help lift her, and dragged herself to the door. Kai put his arm around her, preparing for the slow climb up to her room.

LOS ANGELES LEVEL 7—WEDNESDAY, JULY 5, 2141 3:28 A.M.

The door to the room opened and light flooded the center aisle between the beds. I had only been half-asleep, and the noise of the lock opening pulled me wide awake. I lay as still as I could.

Two soldiers entered the room and I saw the shadow of a third still in the hall. Through my eyelashes, I watched as the soldiers pulled shock sticks from their belts. When they started yelling and banging on the sides of the bed frames, I almost jumped. Forcing myself to stay still, I watched as they repeated the procedure down the entire room. No one moved. No one woke up.

When they reached the end, the tips of their shock sticks came to life, glowing in the dim light. As they walked back, they pressed the sticks into the mattresses of every sleeping person.

“Looks like they’re out.”

“We’re not done yet.”

“Yeah, yeah. I’ve done this with every batch. You want to know how many I’ve found? None. I think the whole spy thing is a load of crap. They just don’t want us to sleep on our shift. This is your first night, you’ll figure it out.”

“Shut up and keep going.”

Two beds away from me, someone made a sound when they touched the mattress.

“Well, what do we have here? Someone that isn’t asleep when he’s supposed to be.”

The soldier pulled a man from the lower bunk. It was one of the guys that had stayed up talking when the lights were turned out.

“Spy crap, eh? You think this guy didn’t drink the water because he wasn’t thirsty?”

The man swung, connecting with the soldier’s jaw and dropping him on the spot. The second soldier didn’t hesitate, clubbing the man with the shock stick. The third soldier stayed at the doorway. By the time the man was down, the first soldier was back on his feet. He hoofed the man in the chest, pulling his foot back for another kick.

“Stop.” The voice from the door was calm. The soldier stopped. “Check the other beds and let’s get him out of here.”

The soldiers continued their search. My bed was next. I tensed, exhaling all the air in my lungs and waited. The shock stick touched my mattress.

All I felt was a slight tingle.

The soldiers grabbed the man on the floor and dragged him out, leaving the door unlocked behind them. I guess there was no need when everyone was drugged.

I sucked in a long slow breath. What had just happened? I waited, listening to the sounds of sleeping people. When I was sure no one else was faking it, I hung my feet over the edge and dropped to the floor.

The first thing I did was check the man’s bed. He hadn’t placed one of the blankets under him, choosing to stay warm and to sleep directly on the mattress. I ran my hand over top, feeling a metal lining under the thin material. It wasn’t much, but it would pass the shock from the stick to whomever was lying on it.

I crept to the door. I couldn’t hear a thing. We were the last room in the hallway, so it stood to reason that we would be the last room searched. I pulled open the door and waited.

Nothing happened.

That huge door they brought us in through couldn’t be the only way in or out of this place. My guess was they used it as a psychological tool to keep us in line. There had to be another way. I walked down the hallway in my bare feet, hugging the wall. Each door’s keypad was green. Unlocked. Did that mean they’d be coming back?

I went down the first hallway I found that I didn’t recognize. It ended in a single door. Another electronic lock glowed red. Through the small window, I watched as soldiers threw a man into a room. They came back my way.

The sound of my feet slapping the floor bounced down the hallway as I tried to find a place to hide. I rounded the corner barely ahead of the door opening.

“Okay. Let’s collect the doc and get these guys ready for tomorrow.”

I ran back to the room on tiptoe, closing the door behind me and climbing back into bed.

It took them another half hour to get back to my room. The soldiers were more relaxed, standing by the door as the doctor went to the first bed across from me and injected something into the man sleeping there. He moved to the next bunk.

“How long you been working here?” a soldier asked.

“Four weeks. I’ve got two more before my next rotation. Where were you before you came here?”

“Protection detail on Level 1. We watched over the food trucks being loaded at the ports and covered them on the way up here.”

“Level 1? Must have been a crap job.”

“Nah, it wasn’t bad. You’re not on Level 1 for too long. The ports are way better than anything else down there, just like a base up here really. On the way back, you’re riding in the trucks. Used to be better though. There would be three of us in a truck. Now with everyone going off to fight, we don’t have the manpower anymore. Now it’s the driver and a couple of mannequins to make it look like we have a full complement. Makes the trip pretty boring.”

“Sounds like a stupid idea to me.”

“Nah. They’re not that smart on the lower levels. Besides, we were augmented with extra drones. They flew above the Ambients where no one could see them.”

“I thought that was impossible.”

“Just shows what you know. Won’t last long anyhow, they’re moving to transports to fly everything up. Less risky.”

I tuned them out when the doctor reached me. I didn’t want anything to do with his injection, but there wasn’t anything I could do about it, unless I was willing to get beaten up and thrown in a cell like the guy. I didn’t flinch when the needle went in.

This time when the soldiers left, they locked the door.

LOS ANGELES LEVEL 7—WEDNESDAY, JULY 5, 2141 6:00 A.M.

I spent the rest of the night tossing and turning in the narrow bed, fading between sleep and a half-awake state where my brain churned at light speed, fed by my subconscious to create vivid dreams of blood and dead soldiers. Whatever I’d been injected with was making me go into overdrive. My best guess was it was an antidote to whatever they tried to make us drink last night.

The sound of an electric buzz and a lock chunking back dragged me from the latest vision of a loud boisterous man having his face peeled off in a single jelly-like piece while he begged for mercy.

The lights came on and half the people in the dorm groaned.

“Everybody up.” It was the man that had yelled at us the night before, still loud and commanding. “You have ten minutes to get ready. Your beds will be made and you will be standing at the end of it when I get back. Is that understood?”

Everybody responded in unison. “Yes, sir!” I lay on my bed with my mouth shut.

Once we were locked in, people began to stand, shuffling off to the business end of the room. I followed.

Everyone milled around for a few seconds, not quite sure what to do, before one woman walked up, pulled down her pants, and sat on a toilet. She didn’t make eye contact with anyone. Soon there were lines as everyone waited their turn.

I went to the sinks between the beds and the toilets and turned the tap. Fresh water flowed cool and clear. It was more of a catalyst to the people in the room than the exposed toilets had been. Those near the end of the lines followed me, running their fingers through the cool liquid, cupping their hands and drinking as much as they could hold, until some of them threw up. I restrained myself, taking only what I thought I needed. SoCal would steal from the lower levels to make sure we had enough.

I wasn’t worried about being drugged this time. They’d want us on our feet so we’d be easier to move.

When I was done, one of the toilets was empty. I went as quickly as I could, staring at my knees the whole time.

We were all back in the main room by the time the door buzzed again. Every one of us made our beds, some too scared not to, others doing what they were told, already resigned to their fate. I made mine because it was the best way to stay under the radar, inconspicuous as I tried to figure out how to get out of this mess, or at the very least, how to get through it in one piece.

Habit almost made me make the bed the way I had been taught at the ACE compound, but after watching some of the others, I realized I couldn’t do that. Some pulled their blankets up, placing the pillow on top of it. Others at least tucked the blanket in at the bottom. Very few tucked it in all the way around. No one made neat, square hospital corners. I discreetly pulled my blankets apart again, making sure to be messy.

At the sound of the door opening, we all scrambled to stand at the ends of our beds. A woman stood in the doorway, one I hadn’t seen before. Her uniform looked like it had been starched that morning. She didn’t even bother to walk in the room.

“You will now have breakfast,” she said, her voice projected to the back wall. “We will give you twenty minutes to get your food, eat it, and return your tray to containers at the front of the mess hall. After that, you will line up single file with the rest of your group. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir!”

“Follow me.”

We walked back down the hallway I’d snuck through last night, except this time each of the doors was open. As we left the barracks area, the smell of bacon wafted through the air. Despite myself, my stomach grumbled in response. The insurgents had fed us, but bacon hadn’t been on the menu. Maybe we could have eggs and toast!

The mess hall reminded me of the one in the insurgents’ building, except for the lack of chairs. Each table had a built-in bench on either side, permanently attached. Another group of draftees was finishing up at the food line as we walked in.

Everyone was talking, some to the people at the table they were at, others to tables across the way, comparing notes on how they had gotten here and what had been done to them. I grabbed a tray and a plate, waiting my turn in line. The place was packed. There were more men and women here than had been picked up with me. Lots more. I figured there were at least five hundred, all of them sitting twenty to a table, just like us. I ignored them and started examining the food in front of me.

It looked and smelled really good. There were scrambled eggs, bacon, pancakes with syrup, fresh fruits, and fried potatoes. More food than I or anyone else in the room had seen in a long time. People loaded up their plates and were given plastic spoons. I moved some bacon and eggs and a couple of pancakes onto my plate. At the end of the food line was coffee. I filled two cups and balanced them on my tray before sitting at a long table with the rest of my group.

As we were eating, soldiers walked the room, one per aisle, and two extra at each wall. Their guns were holstered and a clip held them in place. If I’d tried to get to one, I’d have to undo the clip before pulling the weapon out. By that time, any of the other soldiers would have had time to put a bullet in my back. I’d have to wait.

When we were done and our trays returned to the bins at the front, we all went back to our tables and waited. The woman who had led us here stood at the front.

“Line up.”

Each of the soldiers monitoring the room stood at the back wall. Behind the woman, by the doors we walked in through, was the man that ordered us around last night. Each table was led out one at a time.

When it was our turn, we followed the woman again. One of the soldiers at the back wall came after us. The woman led us down yet another hall that ended at a single door and made us stand up against the wall. The first person was let through the door while the rest of us waited. When they came out, the next one went in. The woman on my left leaned to whisper in my ear.

“What do you think they’re doing in there?”

“Maybe the doctor they told us about last—”

The soldier who had followed us jumped in front of me. “No talking.”

He leaned in closer, trying to threaten me by being taller. I smiled and looked away. After a while, he just left.

I waited for my turn, walking through the door without really knowing what to expect.

The inside was a regular office with a single small desk and an examination table. The man behind the desk pointed to an empty chair and read from a pad.

“Kris Merrill?” He sounded bored.

“Yes.”

“You’re seventeen?”

“Yes.”

“According to your chart, your birthday is in two months, is that correct?”

“Yes.”

He put the pad down and leaned on the desk. “Too young to be in the military, I’m surprised they kept you. They must have figured you were close enough that it didn’t matter.” He paused. “Did you know you were pregnant?”

“Yes.”

“And you didn’t tell anyone when they picked you up?”

I snorted. “Have you ever been through a draft? They don’t give you much time for talking.”

He stared at me before responding. “I guess not. I’d kick you out of here on your age alone, though I’m not sure they would let me. They don’t have a choice about your pregnancy.”

Tears welled up in my eyes and I slumped back in the chair. I hadn’t realized how much getting out of here meant to me, until there was a chance it could happen.

“Now how about you get up on the table and we check on you and the baby? I’m guessing you don’t have a doctor, most from the lower levels don’t.” His voice had switched to all professional.

I kept my mouth shut and wiped the tears away.

SOCAL SAT CITY 2—WEDNESDAY, JULY 5, 2141 9:00 A.M.

Last night’s simulation runs had all worked perfectly, narrowing the critical band down to a few nanometers. The results were even better than they had been last time he’d run them on Kadokawa. Bryson rubbed the sleep from his eyes and let out a huge yawn. He had finished testing around one in the morning, and when he was finally escorted back to his quarters and crawled into bed, sleep became an evasive beast, constantly shifting and moving, forcing him to chase after it. It had taken him at least a couple of hours of tossing and turning before he fell into a sleep filled with equations and test results.

He had woken up exhausted and on the edge of burnout. His alarm went off at the same time it always did, and he’d forced himself out of bed and into a warm shower. It didn’t help. He was on his second cup of tea when the alarm went off again. It was time to go to work.

The atmosphere in the lab was as quiet as it ever was. No one knew about the test results, how the world was about to change. Hopefully for the better, but he was too jaded to believe that for even a minute. Not this time. He sat in his chair and stared at the blank screen before calling over one of the other physicists in the room. His interactions with everyone here had shown her to be the quickest study, the one he could rely on to double-check everything, and do it right.

“Ailsa, could you come here please?” The entire lab went quiet. He rarely called anyone over to his desk.

“What can I do for ye?” Her Scottish accent was quiet, but definitely there.

“I need you to check these results. Make sure I didn’t miss anything.” He handed her a memory chip with the base data. “You’ll need to set up your own tests and run it through the simulator.”

“I can do that.” She took the chip and went back to her desk.

It would take her a few hours to complete. Bryson went to the corner of the lab that contained a small kitchen and poured himself a cup of coffee. He wasn’t normally a coffee drinker, but the tea wasn’t working. He sat on one of the small couches and sipped the hot liquid. Bringing food or drinks back to his desk was against lab policies, and rules were important.

He’d just drifted off when the lab door whooshed open and silence fell, bringing him back to full wakefulness.

“Where is he?” Ms. Peters’ voice cut through the silence.

No one answered, but he saw a single hand point in the direction of the kitchen. He stood and waited for her.

She walked across the lab, the familiar sound of her heels clicking on the raised tile floor. “Tell me about last night.” The regular pair of soldiers followed her.

“I made some changes and ran some tests.”

“I know that. Tell me about the results. Are they valid?”

He shrugged. “I’m having Ailsa redo my tests from the base data. If she can duplicate them, I can tell you if they are valid. Or not.” Her question proved one thing at least . . . the lab network was being monitored. That brought the virus to the front of his thoughts. If she could look into the lab network, then there was a potential path back out the virus could use. It would all depend on how well the path was firewalled, and how good the network virus scanners were. He imagined they would be very good. But from what he could understand of the virus, so was it.

“How long will that take?”

Bryson read the clock on the wall. “Maybe another forty-five minutes?” He must have done more than drift off.

“Good.” Ms. Peters’ comm unit rang and she pulled it out of her jacket pocket. “Hello?”

“Are you sure?” she asked, waiting for the reply. From her body language, he could tell something was wrong. “And they let her go?” More waiting. Her entire body had tensed up and she turned slightly away from him, her movements stiff and unnatural. “I sent out that memo yesterday afternoon. They should have known—”

Bryson smirked. Even with her back turned, he could tell she was furious. She wasn’t used to being cut off.

“I don’t care. Get her back and do it now.” She closed the link and faced Bryson. He stopped smiling. “You have an hour to get a report to me.”

“That won’t give me—”

“I don’t care. Start writing it now. Two versions if you have to, one for if that girl’s tests duplicate yours, and one if they don’t.”

With that she turned and stormed out of the lab, her two goons following her.

It bothered Bryson that she had called Ailsa that girl. Ailsa had a doctorate in quantum physics, just like him, and that alone should earn her more respect.

LOS ANGELES LEVEL 7—WEDNESDAY, JULY 5, 2141 12:05 P.M.

The back of the truck was almost empty. There were no soldiers with guns guarding the door, just empty seats and the same single strip of light in the middle of the roof. The only other occupant besides me was a man hacking up a lung. He kept talking to me and apologizing. I moved to the far corner.

We were told SoCal was letting us go—they didn’t want us. I don’t think I’d ever been so relieved not to be wanted in my life. We didn’t get our clothes back; they’d been destroyed. We did get to keep the ones they gave us. I was already chafing from the bra that didn’t fit.

The relief didn’t last long. The truck turned the wrong way when it left the down-ramp on Level 6. I remembered the route we’d taken to get up, and I was sure we had taken a different turn. Was it my memory that was wrong?

The guy in the corner couldn’t stop coughing. He’d given up all pretense of covering his mouth. His face was haggard, with sunken eyes and pallid, yellowish skin. I’d seen this before. This was the severe withdrawal of a Sweat addict. I was told it was a hell of a high, but when you came down, things got really tough. Without warning, his hacking turned into choking, and whatever he’d managed to get down his throat during breakfast came back up. The truck braked and then accelerated. I lifted my feet away from the putrid stream that slid down the length of the floor.

It didn’t take long before we hit another down-ramp. Level 5. We stopped almost right away and the back door opened. The soldier reeled away from the stench and held the door open at arm’s length. I jumped out without looking back, wondering why they dropped us off behind their checkpoints. I guess since we’d scanned clean, they weren’t too worried. That was good to know . . . they trusted their data. Maybe too much.

They had dropped us off at McConnell Park. The place looked worse than it had a year ago. There was gray scum over the little water left in the pond. It looked thick enough to walk on. I couldn’t believe I’d used it to clean myself up last time I was here.

The trees had lost most of their leaves, and the grass—if you could still call it that—churned more gray dust into the air with every step. I sat on a bench by the water and watched an old couple on the path across from it. There were no mothers with baby strollers, no people walking and enjoying what little nature this part of the city had to offer.

I missed my mountains and blue sky with a ferocity that was completely unexpected. My soul yearned for the hard, warm rock pressing against my skin with Ian beside me. Talking about the little things that barely mattered then, and now mattered so much. Tears coursed down my cheeks and I bent over, my arms wrapped around my knees, and rocked, holding in the pain and the memories.

How I wanted to lock the memories away with the others. How I wanted to forget everything. His soft, gentle touches. The taste of his lips. The blood in the back seat of the car.

But not this time. Not for Ian. I would remember all of it, let it shape me into a mother who told stories to her son. Stories of how great his dad had been, how strong, how loving. We couldn’t be a family, but he would still know his dad.

I wiped my nose with the rough sleeve of my shirt and rubbed my face free of the tears. I had a son to fight for, and the next step of that fight was getting home.

I walked from the park past the statues of men on horses. They were always men, never women. I guess women were never important enough to get a statue.

The restaurant Mikey had dragged me through when we’d been trying to lose Quincy was gone, its windows boarded up and the sign cracked and missing pieces so I could see the light fixtures behind it. Keeping a restaurant open when food was scarce was a stupid idea. I hoped the owners had gotten out before they lost everything. It had happened so fast, I doubted it.

Walking to the transfer elevator would take me about a half hour, and that would get me down to Level 3. If it was open. For all I knew, they closed all access to the elevators when they installed the new checkpoints.

From there, it would take most of the day to walk to Level 2 Chinatown. At least it was daytime. The streets had gotten worse at night; desperate people often did desperate things. The proliferation of drugs had expanded, everything from everyday Sweat to whatever could get people high.

I guess it was easier than facing the new reality for some.

SOCAL SAT CITY 2—WEDNESDAY, JULY 5, 2141 8:30 A.M.

Janice woke up from one of the best sleeps she’d had in a long time. The bed was firm, but comfortable, and the sheets were clean. It was a far cry from the alley outside of Chinatown. The first thing she had done when they put her in the room was double-check the door. They had locked her in from the outside, and this lock was a good one. The second thing she did was strip down and take a shower. They had cleaned her up in the hospital a bit, but not as well as fresh hot running water and soap would. She’d stood under the flowing bliss until her skin wrinkled, using more water in thirty minutes than she had seen in months.

Life in the Sat Cities wasn’t too bad. She could get used to it.

She had dried off and padded to the double bed, wriggling under the cool sheets until they were up to her neck. Sleep took over before she’d realized.

The clock on the bedside table showed 8:30 in the morning. The table in the corner held a thermos and fresh fruits and vegetables. Someone had been in the room as she’d slept. Janice knew it should have bothered her, but it really didn’t. In fact, they were treating her pretty good. Today she would find out what SoCal planned to do with her. The way she saw it, they would give her three options: start working for them, put her back in the hell that was San Angeles, or kill her.

Killing her seemed to be a distant third. There was no way they would waste water and food on someone they were planning on getting rid of. She didn’t want to be dumped back into San Angeles with the rest of the garbage. Out of all three, the first option was the best scenario she could think of. She’d be employed again, and maybe, just maybe, she’d be able to get above Level 5 and get to follow through on her retirement plan. Things were looking good.

Her outlook changed when her door opened. She’d gotten dressed in her old dirty clothes and eaten breakfast when the two soldiers walked right in. Both had holstered stun guns and batons. One stood by the door while the other grabbed her and walked her out of the room. They didn’t say anything.

“Where are you taking me?”

They didn’t even look like they heard her.

“I want to see John Smith.”

She tried to pull her arm away, and the other soldier grabbed her as well. They closed the door and marched her down the hall. What was going on? Her fingers tightened into fists with her arms locked to her sides.

The hall was as empty as last night. It looked like an apartment complex, but each door had an external lock, just like hers, and the exit at the end was guarded.

John met her past the door.

“Let her go,” he said. When the soldiers hesitated he turned to them. “Let her go. Now.”

They did as they were told.

“Now, Miss Robertson, come with me.”

Janice didn’t hesitate. Anything was better than being hauled around by the soldiers like a common criminal. “Where are we going? Back to see Ms. Peters?”

John smiled. “No. If you ever see her again, you will either be in serious trouble or exceptionally high on the corporate ladder. I don’t think you would like to be either of those.”

Little did he know. Her goal in life was to get comfortable enough that she would never have to do anybody else’s dirty work for them. No more contracts, no more guns. Just some peace and quiet under the Level 6 roof. She had never liked the open sky. If she needed to go full corporate to do that, so be it.

“So where—”

“All in good time.” He walked faster, forcing her to pick up her pace until they reached an elevator.

They got off on a floor that looked like every office building she had ever been in. Sconces reflected light off a ceiling painted white or light gray, and the floor was tiled with something easy to clean. Every few feet, a closed and unlabeled door led off into parts unknown. She counted the doors they passed until John stopped in front of one that was like all the others. Number thirty-four.

“Go on in,” he said. “I have some other errands to run. If all goes well, I’ll see you again.”

“And if it doesn’t?”

He opened the door and placed a hand between her shoulders, pushing her in. The door shut automatically behind her.

The room was small, set up for a single interview. Behind the scrawny man with a shirt that billowed around him was a mirror, no doubt two-way. She’d been in enough interrogation rooms to recognize one. Her best guess was that John was behind it, watching everything. Maybe even Ms. Peters. The man sat behind a small table permanently attached to the floor. She took the only other chair without being asked, anxiety rising through her. She tried not to show it, but her leg bounced despite her attempts to stop it.

The interview was short. The man knew more about her than she knew about herself, everything from where and when she was born up to the day she had started working for Jeremy. He read it off like a litany of offenses, something to be atoned for at all costs. He ended it with an offer. Work for SoCal.

She grabbed at it like it was life preserver. It probably was. It was also far too easy.

“Good,” he said, standing up and reaching out to shake her hand. “Normally we have a training stage, but with your time at Meridian and ACE, we’ll bypass that. Instead, you’ll be working with a more seasoned person. Your job will be to find and monitor Kris Merrill and the insurgents. Nothing more. Your partner will be in charge. Consider this your only chance. If you screw it up . . .”

“So you’re sending me down to Level 2?” It was a stupid question to ask.

He picked the pad off the table. “You may go.”

“Where?”

It seemed as though the question puzzled him. “Out the door, of course. I have work to do.”

She shrugged and left the room the same way she’d walked in. He followed her out, the door closing behind him, and walked down the hall, away from the elevator. Should she follow him? Was that what he wanted? She was saved the decision by John coming out of the door beside her interview room.

“Good. Let’s go. I’ll introduce you to your partner and send you on your way.”

LOS ANGELES LEVEL 2—WEDNESDAY, JULY 5, 2141 9:35 P.M.

I walked through the bright flickering neon of Chinatown. What once felt like home now felt like a stranger’s place you had visited once before. Everything you expected was there, but it was somehow different and foreign. It took me a while before I figured out exactly what it was. Sure, there were more homeless people on the street, and it was quieter than I ever remembered it being. But what was really different was the smell. Gone were the wonderful odors of cooking and the fragrances from the open markets. The smells I had always associated with home, the reason I had moved back here as soon as I could.

The quietness of the street was disconcerting. There was no hustling of people shopping, living, laughing. The place was a ghost town despite the lights and the homeless. I was a stranger where once I had belonged.

The after-dinner lineups were gone, and the food tables had been moved off the road. The Ambients had already dimmed for the day, further slowing the long walk from Level 5. At least the elevator had been open, though no one was allowed on when the doors opened on Level 3.

I continued through Chinatown to the home base of the Los Angeles insurgents.

Security had been beefed up since I had last been here. Shadows of people on the rooftops slid outside my vision, and inside the main entrance were two extra guards, and the gate to the parking garage was closed. Something had changed. Was it because of Janice finding me at the greenhouses, or had something else happened? I was stopped at the door.

“What are you doing here?”

The woman’s question surprised me and I took a half step back. I knew I should have recognized her, but her name refused to bubble to the surface. I wanted my bed. It had been a long day of walking.

“You were caught in a draft. How did you get out?”

I still didn’t respond, too exhausted to care.

“Kris, it’s me, Selma. We met at dinner.”

“Right, Selma.” The memories of the last time I’d met her flooded through me and my face got hot. “I just want to go to my room and sleep.”

“I can’t let you in.” Her voice was apologetic. She turned to the other guard. “Go get Pat Nelson.”

“Where is she?”

“I don’t know, just go find her.” The second guard took off. “You need to wait here. I can’t let you in. I’m sorry, I . . .” She pulled me over to a wall. “Here. Sit and rest. I’m sure Pat will be here right away.”

I put my back to the wall and slid to the floor. What the hell was going on? Why was I being treated like the enemy? It felt like an hour had passed before Pat and Kai came running into the lobby.

“Kris? Oh my god, Kris.” Pat pulled me to my feet, and they grabbed me in a three-way hug. “We thought you were caught in the draft. We tried to get you, but the trucks went through to Level 5 before we could do anything.”

I untangled myself from their grasp. “I was. They let me go. I walked down from Level 5.”

“They let you go?” asked Kai. “Why?”

I just shrugged.

“They had to have given you a reason.”

Pat had already guessed why, but she was staying quiet. It was because I was pregnant. Did she really expect me to say that in front of Kai and everyone? Fuck that. “I’m underage.”

They both looked at me as though I wasn’t fooling anyone, especially Pat. “You won’t be in a month or so. They really let you go because of that?”

“Not just because of that.” I knew it was time to let them know the truth, just not here. I started walking to the stairs.

“Hey! I can’t let you go up there,” Selma said. She moved to step in front of me.

I must have seemed ready to take a swing at her. She took a step back and apologized.

“I’m sorry. I’m just doing what I was told.”

“You were told to keep me out?”

“No! No, just to keep anyone out that didn’t belong. I mean, you were drafted, and—”

Pat stepped in. “I’ve got this one. Come on upstairs. We didn’t reassign your room yet, so it’s still yours.”

Kai started to follow us, but she held him back and whispered something to him. He looked hurt, but stopped following.

We were quiet as we walked up the four flights of stairs to my room. Pat stayed behind me, one hand on my back as I plodded up each step. She followed me into my room.

“Talk to me,” she said.

I lay on the bed, too worn out to even get under the covers. Pat came over and took off her jacket, placing it over me, and sat on the edge. She brushed hair from my face, but didn’t say anything more.

I closed my eyes and started talking, reliving what had happened. I told her about getting caught in the draft, what I knew of the route we’d taken, the process we’d gone through when we got there. I paused when I got to the quantity of water and food they had, letting it sink in for both of us. A full debriefing.

It was time to tell her more.

“Do you remember when I went to Doc Searls for my fractured rib?”

She seemed a bit taken aback by the sudden switch. “Yeah.”

“He did some extra tests, and . . .” I didn’t know why I was still hesitating. I blurted it out, opening my eyes to see her reaction. “You were right. I’m pregnant.”

I don’t know what I expected. Anger, an outburst, quiet resignation. What I got was a knowing nod.

“Why didn’t you want to tell me?” She shook her head as if changing her mind and caressed my cheek before grabbing both my hands. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah. I am. It’s a boy.”

“How far along?”

“About eight weeks.”

She was quiet for a while longer. “I guess that’s why you’ve been looking like shit in the mornings?”

I chuckled.

“Tomorrow we’ll change your diet, make sure the baby’s getting everything he needs.”

“This is between you and me, okay? I . . . I don’t want everyone to know. Not yet. It’s . . . it’s too soon anyway. You’re supposed to wait until three months, right?” It was turning into a protective mantra.

“What about Kai?”

“I’ll tell him.” Pat’s eyes widened and I could tell she didn’t believe me. “I will. I don’t want anyone else to know. It’s too soon.”

“We’ll have to tell Jack, at least. Maybe get you off the more dangerous jobs, into something less stressful. He needs to know why they let you go.”

I laughed at that. “Less stressful? I work the food lines and do the occasional surveillance. How less stressful do you want it to get? Any less stressful and I may as well stay in bed. Besides, shouldn’t that be my choice?”

She paused again, staring at the wall before coming back to me. “Okay. It is your choice. But you need to remember you’re thinking for two now. It’s not just you anymore.”

“I know that.”

“You’ll start to show pretty soon. Everyone will know then.”

“I know that, too.”

“Okay.” She grabbed her jacket. “You get into bed and get some rest. I’ll come and check on you later.”

“Wait! I overheard some of the soldiers talking about the food trucks from the military ports on Level 1.”

She listened as I told her what I had heard.

“You think it’s true?”

“Why would the guy lie? Neither of them knew I was awake.”

Pat rested a hand on the doorknob. “I agree. Now go to bed.”

I reached for her and held her back. “Thanks.”

“Get some rest,” she said with a smile.