What did I look like? I put a hand to my face, and she laughed again.
“You must hate Rog something fierce,” she said, patting my hand. “I can read that in you. Don’t blame you one bit. What a turd that man is. You and I can both hate him all we like inside, eh?”
She nudged me.
“Anyway, Rog fought for what he called the peoples’ basic liberties. Said the next thing Rossi & Speight would Copyright was breathing. The news said Rog was a hero. Put the American? flag right behind his pixeled head and talked about how he defended all of us. Rog probably set the whole thing up. I heard a rumor Rossi & Speight was a fake Law Firm he dreamed up just to do it. Of course, Rog got the Commander-in-Chief Justice to officially rule that words only have meaning because they are assigned a connotation in the database. He claimed that without the Word$ Market?, words are actually meaningless—like our brains would stop understanding them!”
She finished eating her bar and crumpled the wrapper up.
“Rog doesn’t give two figs about freedom. He wants to write the rules himself. That man knows just how far to push without causing...” her voice dropped, and she looked a little sick “...revolt.”
The word came out like she’d retched it. She looked sorry, or embarrassed, and held her hand to her mouth.
“I shouldn’t say such things,” she whispered. “I put too many ideas into Beecher’s head that way. I don’t know what I’m talking about. That’s what comes from having freedom.” Her eyes went glossy with tears.
Or maybe that’s what comes from not being able to share it, I thought. I considered taking hold of her hand. I was sure our serotonin levels were low enough that my Cuff wouldn’t charge. But I worried about what might happen if the Cuff made a mistake or tripped some alarm looking for hers.
“You should go,” she said, wiping her eyes. “Please.”
I did as she asked and left by her roof. I found the nearly invisible spot where the Agency had printed my locker, just a building away—one quick leap. I didn’t need to tap or thumbprint it. Kel had made it work using a small slip of metal with uneven teeth. I just put it in a slit on the door and turned. Kel said it was a key, which struck me as funny, because I didn’t know a key could be a physical thing.
I changed inside the locker and headed off to the Irons? Warehouse roof to wait for the others. When I arrived, I laid my body flat, settling against the hard plastic, and looked up at the dome. I felt awful for Mrs. Stokes. A soft, wet lump formed in my throat. I told myself I was overtired.
I had been instructed in many things over the past weeks, but Kel never said a word about how to manage sleep, work and school. Locker or no, until I was assured of this job, I was not going to drop out like Beecher. I had to fit in sleep when I could, with naps after school and again after Placement, before school began. I also had not been instructed on how to manage Sam’s and Saretha’s suspicions, which were growing by the day.
I closed my eyes. My mind drifted. I thought about how great it would be if I could just tell Sam and Saretha what I was doing. I fantasized about convincing Kel to recruit Saretha, and then, a bit later, recruiting Sam. I imagined all of us doing Placements together—my own team. It might not change the way of things, but at least it could save us.
It was foolish and childish, but the dream lulled me to sleep.
*
When I awoke, Henri was standing over me. He appraised me as I yawned, his broad grin welcoming me back to consciousness. Margot made a sharp tsk sound behind him. Kel took off, and Henri and Margot broke after her. I collected myself and followed them, darting from rooftop to rooftop, swinging across wide gaps. The thrill brought me back to life.
It was a simple Placement that night. Sounds? Bars. They could be placed in any room, so long as the location was prominent and a single spotlight lit them. We worked in quick rhythm, in part because we had to—the simplicity of the job meant we had sixteen Placements to make that night. Henri seemed to stick closer to me, but I could not figure out why.
We made it halfway through our target before 3:00 a.m. Below us, the bars were letting out under a Law that was centuries old. We were used to this, and traveled with extra care as the drunks staggered their way home.
I would not have stopped if the light beneath us hadn’t suddenly grown so bright, but the white flare-up was distinct and unmistakable. Someone’s Cuff had failed.
I’d only seen this happen twice before, not counting Beecher’s Cuff and the one Henri threw from the roof the night he found me. The howling below was inhuman and made me want to flee.
We were several stories up. I peered out over the roof’s edge, though even from the height of the rooftop, the sight made me sick. A man writhed in pain, his clothes charred on one side and, beneath his Cuff, a flash of bright red skin.
A crowd had gathered, but no one dared touch him. No one wanted to get burned or sued. They shielded their eyes, but looked all the same. The only hope for him was to move his arm out, so the Cuff and the white-hot, failing battery inside it were as far from his body as possible. He would lose the arm, but he might, at least, survive if someone did something.
Kel pulled me back from the edge, to spare me, perhaps. Were we really going to leave him down there to die? I could not ignore the screaming. It seemed to pierce right through me. I pulled off my mask and black jacket and dropped my bag. Kel’s eyes went wide. She held up her hands, signaling me to stop. She did not want us involved.
Henri tugged on Kel’s arm and gestured to the trouble. He probably thought Kel did not understand. Margot peeked back over the building’s side. Her lips curled. Henri pulled off his mask, too.
Kel shook her head, no. What if she had said no when Henri asked to save me? What would my life have been like after the attack in the alley? Would I have been alive at all? Would I have given up and screamed?
There wasn’t time to debate. I had to do something. I rushed for the rooftop stairs and pulled at the door. It was locked.
Kel stomped over, her eyes flashing fury. But something in my gaze must have changed her mind. She unlocked the door and turned away.
I broke into a run, down eight flights of stairs, taking them two at a time. By the time I reached the bottom and emerged onto the street, the screams had stopped. The battery burned more brightly. I couldn’t see the man through the light—only his legs, which did not move. I moved toward him, trying to cover my eyes, as everyone else in the crowd moved back. My heart bottomed out. I looked down, stunned and sickened. I was too late.
A siren sounded in the distance. Henri put a hand on my shoulder and pulled me back. I slowly turned away.
*