14 - REMY

Spring 79, Sector Annum 106, 12h18

Gregorian Calendar: June 6

It’s high noon and shadows are scarce by the time we make it to The Elysium. I have no idea if Snake will even be here; the smoke den is closed and the sign on the front says it won’t open until 17h00. And from what I understand, Snake works the late shift.

I hear Vale whispering something to his C-Link. I lean into his shoulder to catch his words.

“Abandoned houses, untouched vacation homes, old factories, industrial junkyards—anything that will provide us a bit of shelter,” he says. I can’t hear her response, but I assume she’s searching the four quadrants of Okaria for something that will meet Vale’s criteria. “Unguarded and forgotten.” He quiets for a moment, focusing on an invisible spot across the street on The Elysium’s elegant wood-paneled exterior.

I survey the building. There’s one entrance from the front and no windows, which contributes to the otherworldly, underwater feel of the interior. My heart sinks. I doubt anyone is here now, and I don’t even know Snake’s real name. How am I supposed to tell him about Meera?

Meera. What did she tell me those first few days I was staying with her? If you ever need to run, there’s a safe house on the outskirts of Okaria. Big, empty, comfortable.

“My grandfather’s house.” Vale looks at me, surprised, and I realize I’ve said the words out loud. “Meera told me weeks ago I could stay there if I ever needed a safe place.”

How could I have known that by the end of the day, I would need two more seeds—one for Meera’s death, and one for her life?

I grab instinctively at the burnished metal that lives in my pocket, the compass that was once my grandfather’s, and then Tai’s, and then Vale’s. Memories wash over me. Picking fresh fruit off the trees in his yard. Drawing the lotus blossoms in his fountain. Learning how to fillet fish, knead dough, slice an onion without crying too much—all contraband activities, declared illegal over forty years ago. The Okarian Agricultural Corporation and the Board of Health and Diet consolidated into the Okarian Agricultural Consortium in response to a bioterrorism threat from the North Pacific Federation. The new OAC outlawed home cooking and food preparation, declaring such activities “unsafe.” My grandfather didn’t care about those silly laws, though, and because of his integral role in developing so many medicines and human modifications, no one bothered him about it.

“Wow,” Vale says, his voice hushed. “That’s the perfect place.”

“Have Demeter do a scan, just to make sure.”

A few seconds later, Vale nods.

“She says the last aerial photograph of the house was taken over a month ago, and it was totally abandoned.”

The thought of returning to my grandfather’s house for the first time in five years is almost too much to take. I focus in on the challenge in front of me, so as not to be overwhelmed: how do I find Snake?

“We need to get in there.” I nod at the door in front of us.

He shakes his head.

“No,” he says. “He’s probably not there right now. Tell me everything you know about him, and I’ll have Demeter run it through Personhood. Maybe we can get an address for him.”

“Purple hair and eyebrows. About thirty, thirty-five years old. Sharp nose, round chin, high cheekbones, very pale, like Soren. He works at the Elysium, he’s the manager, or at least he sets the—”

“Demeter’s got him,” he says. “His name is listed as Sen Priorat in Personhood. Currently resides in Sector housing—South quadrant, Rue du Vent, Building 39, number 17.”

I brighten. “That’s not far at all. Let’s go.”

I turn and set off. Vale keeps pace with me, and I wind my fingers into his. He leans into me as a triad of professionals in golden OAC lab coats walk by. It’s safer to look like a couple. People are less likely to notice you if you look happy.

As we walk, I hear a rescue drone zoom by, followed, as always, by a medevac truck. The green and red lights flare as the truck blazes through the streets. I follow it with my eyes, but it’s long past us in a matter of seconds. Not five minutes later, though, there’s another one—a drone followed by a medevac team. It turns down the same road we are, zipping past us, and then down a side street. When Vale and I make it there, I can see the truck stalled, its bay doors open, and two nurses carry a stretcher up a set of stairs.

“Meera said there’s some kind of bug going around where she worked,” I mutter to Vale. “Is that why there are all these ambulances?”

Vale stops and stares for a moment, watching the medevac team suit up in sterilized gear. But he shakes his head, turning away.

“It’s just a coincidence. Seems doubtful something could spread so quickly.”

We walk on.

A few minutes later, we’re at Snake’s building. The Sector provides residential buildings for unmarried men and women who are either recent transplants to the city or who do not have well-paying jobs. Sponsored housing is very low security. The palming mechanism is heat-sensitive only, so neither of us will risk identifying ourselves. There’s no doorman—only a small security drone, not even equipped with a Bolt.

“You stay outside,” I say. “Dangerous for the cameras to catch us together.” Since Vale escaped, I can only assume that all drones, Watchmen, and soldiers will be on the lookout for us, moving together, working in tandem. He nods. I hand him my plasma and he leans against the wall of the building, pretending to be engrossed in something on the screen.

I head in.

The drone barely registers me. I’m sure the video feed is automatically recorded and relayed to someone in the Watchman organization, and if they recognize me, there will be hell to pay. But until then, I’m safe. And with the remnants of my body paint on, and Vale’s hasty makeup job outside of Bunqu’s neighborhood, I feel safe.

For now.

I walk past the drone and palm open the door to the stairwell instead of the elevators. I race up the stairs and exit at the second floor, where Snake’s apartment, number seventeen, is on the right. Instead of ringing the bell—which might prompt me for a biomarker so the system can announce me properly—I knock. Loudly. When no one comes immediately, I knock again, pounding at the door with my fists.

A few minutes later the door swings open, and a very fit man with dark brown skin and only one item of clothing on stares at me blearily.

“Couldn’t have bothered to ring, could you?”

“No,” I say, somewhat awed by his physique. “Is Sen Priorat here?”

The man lifts an arm to rub his hair, the color of black walnut, and narrows his eyes at me. He looks like he was cut from stone, like a god or hero from an ancient myth. He gives me a once-over, and then turns inside and calls softly.

“Sen, there’s another girl here for you.”

Another girl? How many suitors does Snake have?

“Which one?” I recognize Snake’s voice. Which one?!

“The one who ordered the green apple indica,” I shout back, not waiting for the man to reply. He frowns, but doesn’t say anything. A few seconds later, Snake appears at the door, as bleary-eyed as his companion, and in a similar state of undress. His purple hair juts up in all directions, and it’s clear that both men just got out of bed. But his eyes go wide when he sees me, and he immediately grabs a jacket slung over the back of a chair and pulls it on. He pushes past the other man with a whispered word and comes out into the hall with me. He shuts the door firmly behind him.

“Sparrow,” he says, using my Outsider code name. “What are you doing here? How did you find me?”

“Friends in high places,” I say in a rush. “Listen, Meera’s dead and Onion’s been arrested. There was a scene at Onion’s house, and Meera got stabbed. I watch as the expression on his face morphs from surprise to horror, but I press on. “She left us a note. It said, ‘If you find this, follow the acorns to the tree.’ Do you know what that means?”

Snake’s green eyes, wide with shock and sadness, zero in on me, intense and bright.

“Yes,” he says. “Maybe.”

“‘Maybe’?” I demand, my voice rising slightly. “What do you mean, ‘maybe’?”

“Hush, and I’ll tell you,” he says. “The Wayfarers use a kind of technology to communicate between themselves based on tree roots. The acorns—your friend has one, doesn’t he?—signal to each other, and to the Wayfarers’ astrolabes, using that same technology. For decades, though, there’s been a myth that there’s more to it. That the acorns did more than just communicate with each other. That they led somewhere, if you could just string them all together and follow the clues. I always thought it was just an invented treasure hunt.”

“What was the myth?” I ask, my voice rising in urgency.

He shrugs, holding his hands up.

“Nothing more than that. There was never much substance to it. That’s why I never believed it. But—” and here his voice grows even quieter, so soft I have to lean in and focus to hear “—we Outsiders are very good at keeping secrets. Usually, I’m very good at finding those secrets. But it may be that I simply haven’t uncovered this one. Maybe Meera left that note for you because it’s your turn to be a seeker of secrets.”