26

I wake to a drop of water hitting my nose. The darkness disorients me. I have to blink many times before I have some sense of where I am.

This isn’t the first time I’ve woken this way. When I was younger, some bullies threw me into the muck of a sewer one night. I woke the next morning and wandered until I found my way into the sunlight.

Wincing, I rise until I’m sitting as best I can, with the walls narrow and close over my head. My head feels clearer, but my body aches with every movement. I try to ignore it. I set my palms on the wet steel of the drain floor and crawl to the opening.

Through the bars, I don’t see anyone or hear anything. It feels late at night, or very early in the morning, though of course I have no way of knowing. There must still be people looking for me.

I’ll pretend they don’t exist. That’ll make this easier.

Still, I’m slow and careful as I remove the drain cover. I start to climb out, then stop, thinking better of it. I untie my laces and tuck my shoes and socks behind me in the passageway. I flex my toes and sigh in relief. I missed the freedom of bare feet.

The corridor lights flicker overhead as I climb out of the drain and replace the cover. I stand and take soft, shaky steps, and peer around the corner to the elevators. The place is empty.

There’s a creak. I slam back against the wall. Out of the corner of my eye I see the lone silver door to the left of the main Restricted Division entrance.

It’s open.

I stare, my heart thrumming in every part of my body. A door like that could only be open on purpose. This must be a trap.

If I were smart, I’d run. I’d find somewhere to hide. But this might be my only chance to get inside and find KIMO’s blueprints. I might be crazy, but I have to take it, even though it’s dangerous. They’re going to catch me, anyway. There’s nowhere to hide.

The door’s metal edge is cold as ice. There’s only darkness beyond it. I pull the door open another inch and take a step.

A spotlight turns on.

Instinct screams at me to run. There are security cameras in here. Someone must’ve heard that or seen it.

But I won’t be a coward.

I clench my fists at my sides and step into the room. Thick smoke shrouds the place, full of darker spots the light doesn’t hit. It smells clean and crisp, like wet metal, or the fog that collects over the Surface camp when the clouds are low. I step through the haze, and it parts for me, giving me passage to what the spotlight shines on. My eyes widen.

It’s a spaceship. It’s massive, even bigger than the hovercrafts I used to travel in on the Surface. It’s shaped like an oblong disk. The cockpit window faces me. Above the cockpit, farther back on the roof of the craft, sits an enormous steel ball. It looks like an escape pod that could be jettisoned.

I walk slowly forward, squinting so I can see the pod better. There are blue letters on the side of the escape pod. They spell out K-I-M-O.

This is the transport ship. The bomb must be on it.

I take a step back.

This was way too easy to find. Someone’s here. Someone’s watching.

I want to turn and run and get the vrux out of here before they come for me, but I can’t. I found their bomb. I have to see if there’s anything I can do to slow it down or disable it.

Pale lights flicker off to my left through the fog. I catch sight of an edge where the floor drops away between me and the lights. It looks like the Pipeline, or a passage connected to it for launching. As soon as the Core can survive without the other sectors, all the Developers have to do to set off the bomb is fly this transport ship to the gap between Lower and Core and start the countdown.

A simple click of a few buttons, and they will destroy most of the world.

There are footsteps through the door behind me. Voices too.

I tense, looking wildly around for a hiding place. I don’t have many options. Stumbling forward, I hurry around the ship to a luggage bin against the far wall. I squeeze into the space behind it and crouch low, wrapping my arms around my legs. My heart beats so fast, I’m sure whoever’s coming will be able to hear it.

The footsteps stop abruptly. “Who left that door open?” a man says.

“My apologies, sir,” says a voice I recognize. Sam. “That may have been me. I was just in there checking that the bomb is still secure.”

My brows furrow. Sam left the door open?

The first man sighs. “Lieutenant, please be more careful next time.”

The lights turn off in the room, drowning me in darkness. Sam’s response fades away as the door closes.

I’m too frightened to move for a long time. This could still be a setup.

Finally, I slip out from behind the luggage bin and take careful steps toward where the ship was before. I can barely see a thing. The only lights left on are tiny blue ones dotting the ship’s rim.

I feel my way to a set of ladder rungs on this side of the ship. I squint to see where they lead. I’m pretty sure it’s to the roof, and the escape pod. I might as well learn what’s up there, since the pod is the part of the ship with K-I-M-O on its side.

I find a foothold and pull myself off the ground, then reach for the first rung.

If I had the bomb blueprints, I could study them and figure out exactly where the missile is being kept on the ship. I could find the right wires to switch off the system, but there’s no time for that. Instead, I run on pure adrenaline, hoping luck is on my side for once. It’s a horrible, helpless feeling when I think about it too hard.

So, I don’t think. I climb.

When I reach the sloping roof, the ladder continues up a few more rungs, close to the steel ball. It’s clearly attached to the ship by a short tunnel rising from the bridge, so it must be an escape pod. A tiny red light blinks on the pod’s control panel, through the window.

The K-I-M-O imprint is on the other side of the pod. There’s something odd on this side of it, jutting out of a circular space in the hull: the tip of a rounded cylinder, like a torpedo.

I suck in my breath. The tip is even bigger than I expected; at least half the size of my whole body. It does look a lot like the missile heads I’ve seen pictures of before. But could this really be it? It seems like a strange choice to embed a missile this size in an escape pod. Unless the pod plays a key role in the detonation. Unless the pod was designed specifically for this mission.

I adjust my hold on the last ladder rung, breathing hard. There might be a disabling key on the pod’s control panel. I need to get inside the escape pod, but how? There’s no exterior door. I’d have to enter the bigger transport ship first, but I have no idea how. It seems like a surefire way to get caught.

I don’t feel the official’s fingers touch my ankle until they squeeze and drag me down. My hand slips from the ladder. A scream escapes my throat.

I grab hold of a rung and kick as hard as I can at my attacker. It must be an official—someone who knew I’d come in here, who was waiting for me.

His fingers squeeze my ankle again. His nails dig into my skin and wrench my leg. My palms grasp at nothing, and I fall.

The ground slams into me, and my body slumps.

I come to, coughing. The boy drops beside me and reaches for my face. Snarling, I aim a kick at his abdomen, but of course he is too tall. I still can’t make out his face.

He kneels on top of me, pinning me. He shoves a gag into my mouth.

Tears of weariness gather in the creases of my eyes, and my chest heaves as I draw a breath. My attacker slams his fist into my neck, and forces me onto my stomach. I cough and cry. The gag wedges firmly between my teeth.

The spotlight in the room comes back on, and my attacker forces my head back. I see the knee-high boots of another official marching toward me. I see legs, a torso, arms, and a face.