Chapter Six

August 20X6, Pittsburgh

We exit the lofts through the lobby into a climate-controlled dome augmented with lush potted palms and a colorful mosaic tile floor. Plush couches piled with pillows are arranged around a rectangular pool and it’s as if we’ve been transported to Marrakesh. All is silent and still at this hour, but we hug the brick building, inching along the perimeter of the dome until we reach the end of the wall.

Garrett pulls me to a stop.

“All clear?” I whisper, rocking in place, my jittery legs incapable of holding still. To get to the street-level door from here we need to cross the open courtyard and I’m on alert for signs of movement, ready to run at the first sign Kyran is waiting in the shadows.

“We’re alone. For now.” He points to the FR camera over our heads, reminding me to keep my head down before taking my hand. Even though we’re disguised as Unrankables and shouldn’t be traceable, we’re not taking any chances with Pittsburgh’s facial recognition grid.

Garrett is dressed in a fitted black t-shirt that shows off his defined frame and cargo pants. His face is obscured by large round goggles with lenses the color of the sunset and he wears a black bandana that attaches near his ears and covers his mouth and chin. Meanwhile, my newly blond hair is hidden by a long gray wig with pink and blue gradations, and I wear my black catsuit and an onyx bead mask attached to cat-eye glasses that drapes over my nose and cheeks. It should be enough to keep us off the grid but cameras are always advancing. Some are starting to have x-ray vision and map bone structure. We can’t be sure Pittsburgh hasn’t upgraded.

“Ready?” His fingers find mine.

“Always say die.” I drag him forward.

Lowering our heads, we keep our backs to the camera and dart across the deck. We make it to the door without incident, exit the dome, and disappear into the crowds spilling out of the seedy bars lining the street, easily blending with the revelers who prefer anonymity at this hour. Garrett keeps his grip on my hand and leads me into a club, weaving us through a throng of dancing bodies cast in throbbing strobe lights to the center of the dance floor.

“Do you know where we’re going?” I whisper loudly into his ear over the pulsating music, certain no one will hear—or care—what I’m saying. “Maybe we should ask directions.”

He looks at me and I can’t see his expression, but I can feel his death stare telling me to shut up. Pausing only long enough to press a finger over the part of his bandana covering his lips, he drags me out a back door and into an alley. It’s quiet enough for us to have a conversation out here, but all he says is, “I have a better way,” before ushering me through a kitchen door that is propped open.

We dip in and out of bars, shifting across dance floors only to disappear into an alley and reappear in the center of the next club. Our trajectory is a choreographed dance, in sync with the pounding music that changes with each scene, revving me up. Adrenaline clears my sinuses and I’m in my element. It reminds me of running through the forest after we stole the algorithm and if Kyran is tracking us, good luck.

Finally, we end up on an abandoned corner that probably would be augmented to look like a green space if we were wearing AMPs. AMPs would also connect us to the internet and help us easily navigate to the sort of store we’re looking for, but that would put us on the grid. Fortunately, this corner possesses a long-forgotten beacon of hope. A payphone.

Garrett picks up the handset and deposits a few antique coins then presses a strange string of numbers on the keypad.

I have no idea who he’s going to call—Ghostbusters?—but I memorize the phone number in case it’s important.

A cluster of laughing Unrankables—or Rankables who want to keep their night off the Networks—pass by on their way to the next bar. I dig the scrambrella out of the small black backpack I wear. Before we left, Garrett helped me ready the safehouse so I can leave to catch the Hyperloop back to California immediately after listening to the tape. I packed the disguise that corresponds with the cover identity registered to my Hyperloop ticket into the backpack along with the sketch I stole and the tools that don’t fit into the compartments in my catsuit. Everything else that helped me transform into Willa and rob the Warhol ended up going down the recycle shoot where it will mix with the castaways of every other loft in the building.

“Hey, it’s Westley. I need the location of a junk store in downtown Pittsburgh,” Garrett says to whoever picked up the other end of the line. “I’m on 21st and Waterfront.”

I push up the scrambrella to shield us in case the group thinks it’s weird we’re using the phone, but they look past us like we don’t exist, probably mesmerized by whatever their AMPs are displaying. Unrankables may not be allowed on the Networks, but everyone is welcome to spend their stipends on the newest technology.

Garrett listens to whatever the other person is saying before continuing. “Cool. Thanks.”

Another group approaches. Worried we’ll be obvious to Kyran—who else but a Disconnect would use a payphone—I watch them from under the scrambrella, tapping my foot. Their masks hide their faces, but I don’t detect anything familiar about their stature or gait. Unless Kyran decided to go barhopping with a bunch of new friends, we’re still safe.

“Who are you talking to?” I whisper to Garrett.

“The Crypt-desk in the Vault.” He holds his hand over the phone’s mouthpiece. “It’s like calling information, but you can ask anything you want. It’s manned 24-7.”

“Why don’t I know about this?” I frown at how much I still have to learn.

He shrugs. “You haven’t been initiated yet. You get the phone number and your code name after you complete your Initiation heist.”

“And your code name is Westley?”

“If you’re lucky, maybe you can be Buttercup.” He elbows my arm.

I glare at him. “You wish.”

He leans casually against the phone booth. “You forgot the ‘as.’”

I can’t see his eyes underneath his goggles, but I imagine they’re twinkling.

Only a Keystone Disconnect could quote from the long-forgotten The Princess Bride movie, and hating the warmth flooding my brain that there is another human in this world who gets it, I minutely shake my head. “No. I didn’t.”

Why does that human have to be Garrett?

He laughs as a voice squawks on the other end of the phone. Sobering, Garrett turns his attention to whomever he’s talking to.

“416 Smithfield. Got it. Thanks.” He hangs up before linking arms with me. “There’s a place that’s not too far. And it’s Unrankable owned, so it should be easy to break into.”

“Fun.” I hide my smile even though he can’t see it, pretending I’m not enjoying being on his arm, and allow him to lead me down the road toward the river. “Who were you talking to at the Crypt-desk?”

“Stewart, actually. Initiates work the desk before they lead their heist— You’ll work it this year, too.” He pats the top of my head like I’m a child. “That’s where I was going last year most of the times you thought I was making out with Chloe.”

I flinch and my ears get hot, embarrassed I was so obviously jealous. “Sounds like a handy hotline.” Disentangling my arm from his, I dismiss the Chloe comment and fake interest in the cityscape across the river. “Why are those building covered in plants?”

Half the buildings have exterior walls teaming with plant life. The others—like my safehouse—are sad brick boxes awaiting demolition as the city transitions toward full connectivity. They’re probably augmented by AMPs, so nobody has to be reminded of the past. I wonder how much longer that payphone will be there.

“They’re new Maker and Laborer micro-cities. Pittsburgh wants all of their buildings to create enough oxygen for the people who live in them, so they’re mandating that new buildings also be vertical forests. Those skyscrapers contain everything you could ever need. The people who live there never have to leave.”

“But hopefully they can leave if they want to,” I think out loud. “For all we know Quinn could tell them to upload their minds to the mainframe and then poof. Micro simulations.”

We look at each other, and I shiver.

The real reason we’re here sobering us, we hurry down a short flight of stairs to the Riverwalk that will take us downtown.

It’s nearly three in the morning and the trail is dead at this hour. Twinkle lights that crisscross over the path illuminate as we approach, brightening the meandering trail that zigzags through terraced gardens along one of the three rivers the city is known for. The only sound is a chorus of crickets. If Kyran is following us we’ll hear him coming, but if he jumps out of a bush, nobody will hear us scream. I wince at the morbid thought.

“What’s that face?” Garrett asks, his feet crunching on the sandy path as we stroll.

“How can you tell I’m making a face?” I ruffle my fingers through my beaded mask.

He tilts his face skyward. “I know you. And I was worrying about Kyran, too.”

I sigh, both vexed and comforted that our thought patterns are so similar. “Aren’t we targets down here with these lights announcing our next move?”

“He won’t try anything as long as we’re together.” He shakes his head. “Think about it. He’s never once beaten us when we’re a team. And he’s a pickpocket. If he were after the tape, we’d have a problem, but he’s not. He’s after you. He’ll wait until you’re alone.”

A warm, earthy breeze washes over my skin, but I rub my arms, chilled to the bone. “You’re going to have to leave me alone at some point.”

“Yes, but I won’t leave unless I’m positive you’re safe. And let’s not think about that. I want tonight to be fun.” He loops his arm back around mine. “This is actually my idea of the perfect first date.”

My heart stalls for a second before galloping back to life. With the sparkling bridges and colorfully lit cable cars bobbing over the water serving as our backdrop, it is almost romantic.

“Yeah? Breaking into a junk store to save the world? It definitely takes the pressure off worrying if there’s going to an awkward kiss at the end of the night.” I keep my voice light to cover for the increased blood volume rushing through my veins.

“You don’t have to worry.” He nudges my side. “I don’t kiss on the first date.”

Goose bumps race up my arms and I raise my eyebrows. “But this isn’t… We agreed not to…” I stumble over my words, my insides just as jumbled with anticipation of the heist as the sharp longing to go back to the loft and be back in his arms—for good.

“Besides,” he continues, ignoring my babbling, “I never thought kissing you was awkward.”

“We said we weren’t going to talk about this.” I grit my teeth.

“You said you weren’t going to talk about it. I only agreed to starting over.”

I scowl. “Because you want a fresh crack at torturing me?”

“No. Because you don’t trust me.”

That shuts me up. He’s wrong. My instincts still say I can trust him— I just don’t trust my instincts right now.

Up ahead the bridge we crossed during our escape from the Warhol Museum sparkles with white lights, its yellow suspension cables extending gracefully like ballerina arms, and we exit the path, cutting up a short flight of stairs into the city.

I study Garrett’s profile as we walk, trying to read his mind, but with his expression hidden beneath his disguise, he remains a mystery. Rolling my eyes, I finally respond with sarcasm, my defensive default setting. “I trust you.”

He cocks his head to the side. “Then prove it. I told you why I’m here, but you never told me who sent you.”

We wind our way through silent streets and I contemplate if it’s safe to tell him before I decide it can’t hurt. The answer is obvious. I don’t know anyone outside of Keystone.

“It was Allard. I’m taking the tape back to Keystone,” I admit. “I’m not sure why she wants it, or if she’s giving it to someone. Maybe it will end up in the Vault.”

“Maybe.” He doesn’t react to my revelation or seem surprised, but he does pick up his pace.

“Do you have any idea what’s on the tape?” I’m practically jogging to keep up with his long strides.

“No. My parents didn’t tell me anything, either.” He shrugs. “But my guess is it contains information that will benefit the Disconnect movement.”

“We’ll find out soon, I guess.”

“Like, now.” Garrett comes to an abrupt halt, stopping us in front of a skyscraper covered in green tubes filled with some sort of mossy plant that cascade over the sides, like it’s wrapped in giant octopus tentacles.

“This is it?” I do a double take. “What’s growing on it?”

“It’s algae.” He lets go of my arm and moves toward the building for a closer look. “It not only creates oxygen, it can also be used for biofuel. But this building isn’t what I’m talking about.”

He points to the uniform row of retail shops at street level, their bulging glass window pods displaying one-of-a-kind artisan wares—everything from cheese to lampshades. The front-door screens are all blank, having been shut off for the night, but I imagine by day the doors cast images specifically catered to the pedestrians that pass by—images of their personal avatars modeling the latest fashions that await inside—intuitively knowing what will lure them into the shops. Garrett shows me to a small gap between the last two stores where we find the entrance to a cramped corridor. The threshold is framed with bleached wood and the hairs rise on the back of my neck when I run my fingers over the umbrella symbol branded into it.

I suck in my breath. “What does it mean?”

“It’s the entrance to an Unrankable neighborhood that is Disconnect friendly. We should be off the grid once we’re down there, but we’ll still have to get past the shop’s security to be able to listen to the tape. This way.” Taking my hand, he guides me into the whitewashed brick passage that feels like a portal to another time.

“This city is pretty old and instead of tearing down buildings, they built over some of them.” An unlikely tour guide, he ducks to avoid hitting his head on the low ceiling. “There are places like this all over the world, but most people can’t see them. They either look right past them or they’re too distracted by screens and augmented reality to notice what’s right in front of their faces. This town has probably been here for a hundred years, but it’s mostly forgotten.”

“And this way nobody has to look at the undesirable Unrankables.” My throat tightens as the path slopes and we descend underground. I keep close to him in the narrow corridor.

“Exactly.”

We emerge in a lost city, a maze of uneven cobblestone streets and dilapidated buildings that look up to the ground floor of the skyscraper instead of the sky, a behemoth trying to squash the ugly past. It’s like we’ve stumbled onto a black-and-white movie set dimly lit by old-fashioned streetlights. The crumbling storefronts could be facades, their windows painted with the offerings of a lost era. A barber, a furniture upholsterer, a tailor. But they aren’t. People really live like this.

Garrett hunts for addresses while I trudge across the dusty street, my legs heavy. I come to a stop in front of a three-story brick building bearing a sign that reads TJ’s Electronics scrolled in faded neon.

“I think I found our junk shop,” I quietly call to Garrett.

He crosses the street and peers over my shoulder.

“What is all of that stuff?” I point to the right of TJ’s peeling green front door at a small window display showcasing a dusty old computer monitor, some speakers the size of my head, and a bunch of wires and boxes with buttons.

“It’s how people used to play games and listen to music before the internet, before you could hear or play anything you wanted just by blinking.” He kneels in front of the door and examines the lock. “Simple deadbolt. Easy enough. I’m sure there’s an alarm, but the good thing is the police won’t monitor it. They don’t care about an Unrankable store. Probably only the owners will get notified.”

“Can we get in and out before they show up?” My palms start to sweat, and I eye the street, worried they might be sneaking up behind us.

“Doubt it. My guess is they live up there.” He gestures to the windows above the store. “But let’s see what we’re dealing with.”

I watch the curtains up above for movement, but all is still. Satisfied we aren’t being watched—for once—I follow him around to the back of the building.

Garrett easily finds the utility box and picks the lock. “Oh. Wow.” He illuminates the exposed wires with his pen light. “They have fiber-optic cables connecting their system to the internet.”

“They don’t have Li-Fi?”

His chin jerks up and he schools the spoiled Influencer that still exists in me despite my attempts to erase her. “Li-Fi is for the rich. The inability to afford access to information is what keeps Unrankables in their place.”

I clamp my mouth shut, knowing he’s right.

Sitting on his heels, he shines his light down the alley. It glides over cinder-block walls, proving we’re alone except for a pair of rats that skitter away. After opening his backpack, he pulls out a thing that looks like one of those giant brick-cell phones I’ve seen in old movies, but with wires dangling from one end.

“What is that?” With my nerves stretched taut, I check again to make sure nobody is coming. It’s dead quiet down here so I’m sure we’d hear footsteps but I stand poised, on alert, ready to run if we need to.

“It’s a lineman’s handset. The alarm probably has cut-line detection and will alert the owners if the security signal goes down. But if we cut the line and attach this we can reroute the signal to us.” He shows me where to clip the green wire inside the utility box. “And they’ll never know we’re inside.”

“Do you always carry retro internet equipment in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?” I shake my head at the strange device, the vastness of how much I have to learn again stretching before me. He’s been training to steal his entire life while I’ve only been at it for a year, but still.

“I do a lot of research before a job and I had a hunch it would be useful.” With a shrug, he clips the other end of the wire to the clunky contraption.

I raise my eyebrows. “A hunch?”

“You’re not the only one who acts on instincts.” I can’t see his face, but I can hear the smirk in his voice, and I glare at him even though he can’t see my expression, either.

“What else do you keep in that thing?” I point at his backpack that he must have been wearing under his jacket when he was disguised as Professor Humbolton.

“Wouldn’t you like to know.” He unzips the bag and concentrates on digging for something inside it. “I like to save some mysteries for later. Besides. We don’t have time right now. You have a Hyperloop to catch.” He produces a pair of pliers and finally looks up at me. “Be my lookout?”

I check my watch—it’s nearly four in the morning—and nod. “Okay.”

I turn my back on him and walk to the end of the alley where I peek around the corner, searching for signs of life. It’s a ghost town down here. I wave at Garrett, signaling the coast is clear, and watch from a distance as he snips the green wire with the pliers and connects it to the wires from the lineman’s set with a clip. He presses a couple buttons before setting the tool inside the utility box, closing the door and standing.

He heads toward me.

“Ready?” he asks, gripping my arm and leading me away from TJ’s.

“Aren’t we going in?”

“We should wait a few minutes to be safe—make sure it worked and nobody shows up to see why the lines are down.”

“Okay. Where are you taking me?” I look around the cement alley, hoping to avoid hiding behind an overflowing trash can.

He points to an old black ladder that winds up the side of the building across the street. “The fire escape?”

“Works for me.”

We creep across the deserted street and climb the ladder. When we reach the second story of the building, we squat on the iron landing, sitting side-by-side, positioned between two windows. From our vantage point we have a perfect view of TJ’s front door.

“How long do we wait?” I rest my head against the brick wall. I haven’t slept in nearly twenty-four hours and I should be exhausted, but somehow, I’m humming with energy. Nothing makes me feel more alive than a heist. And being with Garrett. But I dismiss that thought as soon as it enters my mind.

“Three to five minutes should be enough.” He settles in, making himself comfortable against the wall.

We sit in silence, looking out over the forgotten city. Full of forgotten people. It makes me wonder if anyone besides my parents remembers Ella Karman. I’m a forgotten person, too.

“Maybe we’re all destined to be forgotten,” I say aloud, needing to voice my connection to this place. “If only you know, it’s enough.”

“It’s gotta be.” He turns to me. “Do you ever miss it?”

I glance at him out of the corner of my eye without moving my head. “Miss what?”

“Your old life? Your parents?”

Okay, mind reader. But I don’t let him know how in tune he is with my thoughts. Instead, I chew my lip, figuring out how to explain my complicated former life. It’s weird being able to talk openly about my past. I haven’t had anyone to talk to who knew my secret in nearly a year besides Professor Allard, and she’s only interested in resolving my past to improve my quantum brain functionality. Talking to someone my own age about it is unheard of. Even in my old life I couldn’t talk freely with Deena, who’d been my best friend since I was five, so I’m not sure how much to confide.

But Garrett waits, watching me from behind his goggles, and some of the tension releases from my shoulders. He’s safe. I can feel it in my bones. And I want to tell him everything.

“This probably sounds terrible, but I don’t miss them as people,” I finally say. “It’s more that I miss the idea of them, of having parents who actually care what happens to you. Everything they did was a show for their Network feed, including having a daughter.” My throat strains against the well of unshed tears I’ve long carried. They threaten to rise up, and afraid Garrett will be my undoing, I keep my attention on TJ’s door. Even though I’ve been working hard to come to terms with my past, the reminder that I’m alone in this world still stings. “They were terrified I’d ruin their ratings so I was practically a prisoner—I only mattered when it was convenient, when the algorithms said I could make them relatable to their audience by, like, being an impossible teenager and tragically dying.” I dare a sidelong peek at him.

His face hasn’t left my profile. “For what it’s worth, I’m glad you faked your death.” His voice is quiet. “My life is a lot more fun with you in it.”

A pang shoots through me and I’m grateful for the beaded face covering that hides the heat rising in my cheeks.

“Would you ever want to go back to being an Influencer?” he asks. “If it could be on your own terms?”

“No way. I had my fifteen minutes of fame and it was plenty.” The beads on my mask clack as I turn to fully face him. “Being an Influencer may look like fun from the outside, but trust me, the parties I go to with you—where we’re on a mission that’s not just to make it look like we’re having fun for the Networks, that has real consequences beyond how many hearts we get—are way better.”

Even though I can’t see his expression beneath his bandana and goggles, I can perfectly picture his lips twitching as he tries to hold back his smile.

“No pressure for our second date or anything.”

My pulse spikes and I freeze. But as soon as I regain my faculties, I change the subject. “I don’t think anyone is coming.” I gesture at the empty street below us.

He laughs. “You’re right. We should probably get on with the first date.” Standing, he pulls me to my feet. “Let’s hear that tape.”