Icons

28

ALL FALL DOWN



Fortis turns to me. “Now. Open your chestpack.”

“Why?”

“I need to take a look at the shard.”

“The what?”

“The broken bit of the Icon. The piece you brought back to Santa Catalina.”

“How do you know about that?”

“Hux was the first one to notice. You think you can bring somethin’ like that into the Embassy without settin’ off a few bells and whistles? He scanned it for me, straightaway, and we’ve been usin’ the data to plan our attack.”

I open my pack.

There it is, luminescent in the moonlight. It’s not very long, but I can feel its peculiar weight the moment I reach for it.

“There you are,” Fortis says, with a gleam in his eye. I hand it to him. Fortis rolls the shard through his fingers—then kisses it.

“This little beauty is absolutely critical. We’re not sure what it is, exactly, but we’ve been tryin’ all sorts of explosives against its data profile. I think we’ve finally gotten it right—light enough to carry, but causin’ enough damage to do the trick.”

Ro sits forward. “Military grade? There’s an abandoned base near the Mission, I know there’s a lot of good stuff there.”

Fortis nods. “Believe me, I’m fully aware of your Grass contacts, Furo. Half those crazy buggers are with my people now.” Ro grins. “We’ve got a plan in place, all right. When we get to the Cathedral, you’ll be able to talk to our munitions team about how it all fits together. And how the Icon will come apart.”

Tima is bouncing nervously. “I’ve thought a lot about how the Icons work, and I’m pretty sure they’re all connected, somehow.”

“That’s what we think,” Fortis offers.

She takes a deep breath. “I read about the initial invasion, how the Icons landed a few days before 6/6. The Day.”

“To link up,” Fortis muses.

She nods. “Like a web, covering the planet. Once they hooked up—it was all over.”

I turn to Tima. “When I was there—really close—I had this creepy feeling it was alive. Like it was aware of me, or something.” I know how it sounds, but feel like I have to say it. “And, well, living things can die, right?”

Fortis nods. “Clever girl.”

Tima is so excited she jumps up and almost falls out of the boat. “I don’t know why we didn’t see it before. It’s obvious. We need to disconnect them.”

“It’s possible you’re right.” Fortis strokes his chin.

Ro looks up. “So what you’re saying is, if we take them out one by one, the network is weakened. And eventually the whole network comes down.”

“As far as we know,” says Tima.

“How many are there again, anyway?” Ro looks at Fortis.

Fortis frowns. “Thirteen.” The word is like a death sentence. But I refuse to accept it. I’ve already died once tonight.

So instead, I smile. “Fine. Number one, here we come.”

We don’t say a word about the House of Lords. About silver ships disrupting our horizon, sliding over our city and across our sun.

About the very real possibility that we could fail—that we could find ourselves responsible for sentencing the Hole to become a Silent City of our own.

Human death by inhuman hands, and on a catastrophic scale.

We don’t talk of retaliation.

I try not to even think the word.

Why should I? I tell myself. What are words to a Silent City?

But the things we don’t say tonight are louder than the things we do.


The Cathedral is alive with activity. We can barely keep up with Fortis as he makes his way through what once was the chapel.

“We’d hoped to have a bit more time to prepare, of course, but Lucas gave us a new deadline when he had his little heart-to-heart with dear old Mum.” Fortis sighs. “They won’t be able to move on us without GAP clearance, but we need to go now.”

“Right now?” Ro is hopeful.

“Before first light, my friend.”

Tima catches up to Fortis. “I agree. And Dol’s death won’t stop them from increasing security around the Icon, soon enough.”

Fortis nods. “Sad but true. People ’ave no manners.” He claps Tima on the back. “No time to lose, then.”

Fortis points to a group around a wide table. “Maps, schematics, communications. Tima, you’re with them.” She nods and heads off in that direction.

Fortis takes Ro by the arm and gestures to the other side of the room, where people are stocking backpacks. “Gear, camo, explosives. Arm up and get ready.” Ro disappears.

“What about me?” I’m hesitant. The whole room is overwhelming, tonight.

“You? Clear your head. You’re the one with the big finale.”

“Me? What do I do?”

“You blow the place up, love.”

With that, Fortis is gone.

I look around the crowded hall, trying to get my bearings. Everything is different from the last time I was here. The people are moving with purpose. Crates are stacked in one corner, full of salvaged equipment. In another is a makeshift kitchen, where what was formerly an altar is now lined with bread and plates, surrounding what looks like potato-cheese stew.

My favorite.

I breathe in the smell with a pang of regret, as it takes me back to the Mission. My birthday dinner seems like a lifetime ago.

Ten lifetimes.

An older man with graying hair shuffles by on his way to eat, and I notice him stealing a glance at me out of the corner of his eye, like he knows who I am.

Like I’m something special.

I smile at him and he smiles back, standing up that much straighter. The feeling I pick up from him—from the entire room—is so positive, I try not to fight it. It’s almost like, for the first time, I’m helping people. Looking up, not down—forward, not back.

What’s wrong with a little hope?

I don’t answer, and instead grab a hunk of bread.


Three hours remain.

Three hours until we go to face the Icon. Someone has erected a countdown clock, fixing it in place with twine wrapped around the organ, over by the front altar.

Every time I go to look for Tima or Ro, they’re somewhere new. Our lives have immeasurably broadened, just like that, in the span of a few hours.

Tima talks to five people at once, while reading maps and drawing grids and making neatly inked rows of calculations. Based on my description of the Icon—and the scans Doc made of the shard—Tima works with Fortis to make final adjustments for the optimal explosive and placement. The perpetual motion of her body, the flightless flight of her fingers, have suddenly found a purpose. She is radiant, beautiful in a way I haven’t seen before. Her newfound confidence suits her. I wish Lucas could see her like this.

I wish Lucas were here to see all of this.

Ro’s not one for the main table. He’d rather keep to the side, finding his way to the edges of the crowd. He finds other things there, too. Soldiers. Scavengers. Rebels—some of his old friends from the Grass. Ro is bright as a candle, full of energy. He circles around the place learning everything he can, getting ready to take the Icon himself—with or without the rest of us. He studies triggers, ranges of impact, detonators.

This is his time. I don’t get in his way. These are his people. People to burn with.

Not me.

But I see how his energy is infectious. I imagine a fire spreading inside the Cathedral from person to person, and I know Ro is the origin.


Two hours to go. When I approach Tima at Fortis’ wide table, she almost seems happy.

“There’s so much to do,” she says, looking up at me. “Strategically speaking.”

“Is there?”

“Tactical. Munitions. Support. We’ve got to get you in and out before they notice. You and Ro. Before the Embassy can deploy.” I can see her mind racing.

Me. Ro. They.

Of course. Of course it’s us. Only an Icon Child can get close enough. It’s us against the Embassy and the House of Lords.

Us against Lucas and the Ambassador.

Just as it always has been.

“Right,” I say, so she doesn’t notice I’m trembling. “Where are we going in?”

“Pretty much retracing your route from last time. Through the gate, up the hill, straight to the Observatory, to the Icon. If we’re lucky, the Ambassador won’t have moved on it yet. Fortis and I have come up with a plan, and it’s sort of brilliant. Though it would help if Lucas were here.”

“We can do this. We’ll be fine.”

I catch a glimpse of Fortis through the crowded space of the Cathedral. He’s deep in conversation with Ro.

“Tell me, what do you know about Ro and his contacts with the Grass Factions?” Tima leans in closer, so no one can hear what she is saying.

“Nothing. He doesn’t like to talk about them with me.”

“Can they be trusted? Now that they’re here? They say they have explosives, but I’m not so certain.”

“I don’t know.”

She looks at me steadily, taking my hand. It is tiny and cold and flutters beneath my fingers. “Yes, Doloria. You do know. Or at least, you can know. Check it out for me, will you?”

I don’t want to; I don’t like to do it to Ro. But Tima doesn’t let go of my hand, and I know she is only trying to help, so I do it anyway.

I calm my mind and reluctantly allow myself to feel. I open my heart and am flooded, drowning in the sadness inside me, all around me. The tears come, and I close my eyes and reach for him. All the way across the hundreds of people in the dimly lit room, which smells like candle wax and smoke and dirt and chickens. Mission smells. Grass smells.

I let the smells fade first, then the people.

They disappear, one by one, until it is just Ro standing there. Ro and me.

I see the flashes in a fraction of a single moment.

The Padre’s pistola. A cellar beneath an old cafe. Bundles of dynamite and bricks of something that looks like clay, where there should be wine. A ratty group of men and women, crouching around a table scattered with junk tech and industrial scraps and spools of wire.

Ro’s mouth twists into a smile, and he nods at me from across the room. I open my eyes.

“Yes,” I say. “You can trust them. I do.”

Tima pulls me toward her in an awkward, jerky hug. It’s a strange sensation, like being gripped by a stick. “Everything is going to be all right.”

“I know,” I say, though it’s a lie.

“Better. At least, better.” When she pulls away, I see that her eyes are bright and wet. “He’ll come back.” Tima says it without looking at me.

I nod, but we both know that’s a lie, too.


When only one hour remains on the clock, Fortis calls the three of us over to the munitions area.

“Try to measure twice and cut once and all that. You can’t uncut, and you certainly can’t un-explode, so let’s do this right.” He looks at Ro. “You have everything you need, then?”

Ro holds up two large backpacks stuffed full of plastic explosives, and a second, smaller bag. “Explosives and detonator.”

Tima gives him a sketch of the Icon. “Here’s where you need to set the charges.” She hands me a map. “Here’s the route—you know the way, so you lead.”

Fortis nods. “Once you get there, Dol, you need to keep an eye on the entrance, make sure no surprise visitors stop by. We don’t know what the Lords will do, or if they even monitor the Icons around the clock. We don’t think so, since there already is a sort of foolproof defense in place—”

“You mean, the whole dropping dead thing?” Ro winces.

“That’s it. But they’ve surprised us before.”

I remember the lifeless plants, the bones, the desolation. “I don’t know who they could send in to stop us. Lucas and I could barely handle it ourselves. No Sympa could.”

Then Tima and Ro and I raise our eyes to each other, at the same moment.

Lucas.

“You don’t think he would, do you?”

“He’s the only one who could,” Tima says, grim.

“I hope he does.” Ro shakes his head. “Lucas, Sympas, the Lords themselves. Bring it. We’re doing this.”

“Tima and I will be in communication as long as possible. As you know, once things break up, you’re on your own.” Fortis softens. “Don’t worry, duckies. You’re more than prepared. Everything in your lives has brought you to this point.” He leans closer. “I’m not a sentimental sort, but I won’t deny it’ll be a bit sad if you blow yourselves up along with the Icon.”

“Gee. Thanks, Fortis.” I’d laugh, if it weren’t true.

Fortis grins. “Yeah, all right. Just stick to the plan, and stay alert, and try to come back alive.”

Ro looks at me. “It’s a promise.”


Five minutes later, we are saying our goodbyes.

The ceilings of Our Lady of the Angels are so high you would think they could hold anything. It’s not true. They can barely contain the noise. What begins as shifting and muttering becomes stamping and shouting. Now Fortis is banging a fist against the old altar. It is no kind of service the Padre would recognize, and Fortis is nothing like a priest. I wonder what the Padre would say if he could see me here, tonight.

Fortis raises his voice to be heard over the others, in our new congregation. “Tonight’s it, then, my friends. We’ve worn their collars and carried their yoke long enough. Thanks to a strange twist of providence,” he says, looking at us, “we’ve got one shot to take the Icon down, an’ show the No Face we haven’t given up yet.”

He raises his glass first to Tima, who stands next to him—then Ro and me, who stand side by side. “To the human race, then.”

Ro finds my eyes in the dim light and hooks on to me.

“There,” he says.

There, I think.

We can do this. We’re together—just like always, like the Mission.

Home.

But now it is finally time to go. Ro and I are surrounded by those whose most desperate wishes for the future go with us. “You can do this,” Fortis says, clasping one hand to my shoulder. “You too,” he says to Ro.

“I’ll be right there with you,” Tima says, shoving my headset into place behind my ear. “Until the very last second before the pulse cuts us out.” She smiles at me, a quick and rare thing. “Don’t be scared.”

“I won’t,” I say. “I’m not.”

I look at her eyes and see that she is crying.

“You were meant for this, you know.” She wipes her face with her hand.

“So were you,” I say, nodding toward her own headset. I put my hand on her shoulder and squeeze it. “See you soon.”

She turns to Ro and holds out her hand to him—but instead, he flings his arms around her in a massive bear of a hug, until her feet lift right off the ground.

I smile, but I can’t stomach any more goodbyes. So without waiting for Ro to catch up, I step out into the night.


I touch the walls beneath Our Lady, carved in the stone. In the night, her halo becomes lost in shadow. I think of Lucas vanishing on the distant shore, of Tima and her bloodred thread. My mother’s necklace. Ramona. The Padre. Everything disappears, sooner or later.

Anything can go, anytime.

That’s the thing about triggers and feelings, I guess. Colonel Catallus was wrong. The trick isn’t having them. It’s keeping them. Owning them.

They don’t make you weak or sad, angry or afraid, even heartbroken.

They make you.

I am powerful because of who and what I am. Not because of who I am not.

I’m not going to apologize for what I feel.

Not anymore.

How we feel—at least, for Ro and Tima and me—is our only chance to win back our freedom.

And after tonight, the only thing gone will be the Icon.

That’s what I tell myself, anyway, as Ro emerges from the Cathedral behind me, and we disappear into the darkness of the Hole.



I am really here, and I am really carrying a backpack stuffed full of bricks of plastic explosives, salvaged from abandoned military bases. CL-20, according to Ro, Fortis’ explosive of choice. It looks like putty or clay, something that would belong to a child, not a troop of guerilla warriors.

The pack feels heavy, but I don’t mind the weight.

Ro, who hasn’t taken a breath or a break since we started walking, is so far ahead of me he disappears around the bend.

“Hurry up. We don’t have much time.” I hear his voice floating behind him. “What’s wrong with you? You’re never this slow. I’ll race you to the top.” He takes off running, even with his heavy pack. He’s excited, and his loping gait reminds me of our childhood together, of racing and playing in the Mission hills.

Making forts, not bombs.

He’s right, I’m never this slow.

But I don’t hurry. Something feels wrong.

I stop.

Because the moment I step into the moonlight at the corner of the trail, I see a dark figure sitting on top of a boulder in front of me. Before my eyes can adjust, I know who it is.

I’d know him anywhere.

I’m frightened and overwhelmed and it’s all I can do not to start sobbing.

“Lucas?”

As I approach, he slides off the boulder, looking more like a young boy than I have ever noticed. He’s wearing Sympa camos and carrying a pack. “Dol. I’ve been waiting for you.”

Instinctively, I back up. I hear Ro and Fortis and Tima in my head.

Lucas can come inside the radius of the Icon.

Lucas is the only one they could send to stop us.

Lucas can’t be trusted.

He steps up toward me in the darkness, and tries to slide his arms around me in an awkward hug.

I push him away, because I don’t know if he’s here to help me or kill me.

What a trio we are.

Me, recently dead. This boy, who just wants to be loved. The other boy, who races me up the hill. Who decided we were the ones who had to shoulder this burden? What business is it of ours, what happens to this place? For that matter, to the Hole itself, our people, our planet?

I don’t know what to say, so I turn and walk until Lucas falls into step next to me.

“Why are you here, Lucas?”

“I came to try to talk you out of this. One last time.”

“Message received. Now beat it.” I keep walking.

“Look,” he says, catching up, “I got you out of the Pen, right? I came all the way out here to see you. But my mom knows everything.”

“Thanks for that.” I don’t look at him.

“They’ll be here soon, in force. The Embassy, or worse.”

The Lords.

He doesn’t have to say it. We all know.

“So go home.”

“No.” Lucas grabs my arm, and I yank it away as hard as I can.

“Lucas. Of course your mom doesn’t want this to happen. She doesn’t want the Lords upset—maybe they’ll decide she’s expendable.”

“That’s not what this is about.”

“I get it. She’s comfortable. She’s got you to think about. Why wouldn’t she do everything she can to keep things the way they are?”

“You don’t know my mom,” Lucas says quietly, but I can see my words are sinking in.

“I know she held us hostage. I know she’s trying to keep us from doing what—if Tima is right—we were literally born to do. I know she works for the Lords, Lucas. The Ambassador, and the whole Embassy. GAP Miyazawa, all of them. I know they aren’t keeping us safe.”

“Yeah, then what are they doing?” Bright spots of red appear on his face.

“They’re keeping us enslaved—because they’re afraid to let go of the small amount of power and privilege they’ve got. And you—”

I realize I’m shouting.

Lucas looks at me, daring me to say it.

So I do.

“You’re not as different as you think.”

It’s too late for this or any other kind of conversation. We’ve chosen our sides, and they’re not the same. I’m tired of pretending the truth is not true.

Lucas doesn’t give up, though. He doubles his stride, until he’s practically backing up in front of me, along the trail.

“Please, Dol. Listen to yourself. You say we were born to do this, but you don’t know why. We don’t know who engineered this. This isn’t destiny, it’s a joke. A cruel joke. We have a choice. You were born to be Doloria de la Cruz, and nothing else. Walk up that hill, and you’re making the choice to end it all. And I can’t bear to see that happen.”

“Maria.” I stop walking.

“What?”

“Doloria Maria de la Cruz. I’m named after my mother, and I’m doing this for her.”

I see his face in the moonlight and realize he is crying.

“For my father and my brothers. For the Padre, and Ro. Tima and Fortis. Bigger and Biggest and Ramona. For all the Remnants who got shipped off to the Projects.”

I look at him.

“And for you, Lucas.”

I see his face falter. With those words, I realize I’m done talking. From the quiet that surrounds me, I see he’s done following.


The Observatory comes into view in front of me. The white stone domes, the obelisk, the wide steps—all of it dominated by the ugly scar of the Icon. Beyond the crumbling debris lies the cool sweep of the city, mostly dark where it should be light. Only the far, far distance, where the thin, rugged line that is Santa Catalina Island, glistens with moonlight.

Ro must already be inside.

The closer I get, the louder the hum of the Icon echoes in my mind. It seems stronger than before, buzzing like an angry wasp, like it knows why we’re here.

It becomes more difficult to walk, and my pack feels heavier, but I don’t stop.

I refuse to stop.

“Dol, wait—”

I turn to see Lucas running after me. I wave him away; I don’t have the energy for him anymore. “It’s too late. You can’t keep this from happening.”

He stops next to me, breathless. “Dol. I don’t want you to get hurt. I couldn’t—I don’t want to live with that.”

“Lucas. Please.”

“It’s too dangerous.”

“One of us has to do it. I’m not afraid. I’d rather it be me.” I turn and walk away, because as I say the words, I know they’re true. I don’t want anything to happen to Ro or Tima. Or Lucas.

Even now.

“Okay, fine. You’re right,” I hear behind me, his voice cracking. I stop and look at him.

He raises his voice. “I’ve been a coward. Too afraid of losing what I have—and disappointing the Ambassador.”

“Your mother.”

He nods. “Everything I did was because I was afraid of what would happen if things changed.”

“That doesn’t make it right.”

He nods again, rubbing his eyes with his sleeve, and takes a deep breath. “There’s more. About my mother,” he says. “When you left, I went to her private office. I went straight to her safe, the one hidden behind our family portrait.”

“And?”

“Private digi-text. The files my mom had re-Classified, rerouted to her office. Doc cracked the safe. It had something to do with calculating the average time each of the numeric tabs had been pushed. There’s some kind of digital imprint that remains. Apparently each time a touch pad is activated, there’s this—”

“Get on with it, Lucas. I have to keep moving.” I don’t have time to hear it.

“I found another box of drives. It might as well have been labeled ‘everything I never want Lucas to read.’ There were records, more than you want to know. Things I wish I didn’t know, still.”

“Like?”

“Tima was right.”

“About our parents?”

“About everything.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means there’s more to us than we thought. More than what Tima knows. And more than Fortis is telling you.” His face darkens.

“What are you saying?”

“We’re not just meant to be a weapon. Like Tima says, whoever made us also made a bargain with the House of Lords. And like she didn’t say, I think the Ambassador knows who it is.”

I freeze. The hair on the back of my neck begins to prickle, a thousand tiny needles in my skin.

How is it possible? How is there a kind of humanity this low? So low it doesn’t even deserve to be called human?

“What kind of bargain?”

“The kind that brought the Lords to our planet in the first place.”

Is it true?

Could it possibly be?

I want to cry but I push it back. We can’t stop now. I’m sure of that, more determined than ever.

I look at Lucas. “You’re telling me we might have something to do with the very reason the No Face came?” He nods. “Then we’ll also be the reason the No Face leave.”

He says nothing.

We watch the moonlight reflect on the white stone of the building before me. My head is pounding, but my heart aches at the sight.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it? Too bad we’re going to have to blow it up.” I tighten my pack.

“We?”

“Ro and me.”

“How?”

I motion to my pack. “I have enough CL-20 in here to rip this side of the mountain in half.”

He shakes his head. “You can’t.”

“Don’t start. I told you. I can, Lucas. I have to.”

“Not without me.” He reaches for my pack and slings it over his own shoulder.

I smile, in spite of everything.

“You’d do that? Stay and help?”

He shrugs. “Not much for me back at the Embassy. Seeing as, according to them, I helped three fugitives escape the Pen.”

We take off toward the white domes.

“Don’t worry,” I say. “You get caught and I’ll come back for your trial and testify. The truth is, you were really no help at all.”

His laugh dies out as the pulsing of the machine noise takes over my brain. I try not to wince as we cross into the thick, buzzing atmosphere of the ruined building. Every cell in my body starts to writhe.

I want to scream.

Hell, I think. That’s what this is.

I would almost rather be dead.


“Buttons? What’s he doing here?” Ro holds a thick tube of plastic explosives in each hand. He looks so surprised to see Lucas, I’m afraid he’s going to drop one. Or hurl it at Lucas.

“It’s fine, really. He’s here to help.” I look over at Lucas. “Right?”

Lucas motions to Ro’s ears, where the blood is spattering down to his shoulders. “Let’s just get this done before our heads explode.”

Ro considers him for a long moment, then hands him Tima’s map.

One by one we place the thick cylinders of explosives.

One bound to each of the snaking, cylindrical black tendrils that work their way down into the rock and soil of the cliff beneath the building.

We attach most of them to the body of the Icon itself, jammed into the pressure points that Tima has so carefully mapped out. Like some kind of art project, everything is placed just so.

We shove all the remaining cylinders at the base of it, just to be sure.

One detonator, strapped to that.

Ro lays it gingerly in place, a carefully constructed contraption, spring-loaded and running on a mechanical timer—no electricity. With a sense of pride, Ro explains the process as he adjusts the trigger. “Fortis is a genius. Because Icons interfere with chemical reactions, he designed the detonation to work incredibly fast, before the Icon’s field can interfere. Once the detonator is tripped, the chain reaction will take over, and everything will go off before the Icon can shut it down. It won’t know what hit it.”

All we have to do is set the timer and get out.

The three of us stand there, for just a moment. It feels like madness—standing this close to an Icon, with the power to destroy it. I hold only a stopwatch in my hand. A coiled spring, like the detonator. Very simple. The technology is more than a hundred years old and still reliable.

“Ready?” says Ro.

“Ready,” I repeat.

Lucas nods and says nothing.

“Detonation will be in one hundred twenty seconds, on my mark.” Ro’s voice—steady and sure—ripples over everything we do and say.

“Mark.” Ro flips a switch and stands up, satisfied.

I click the stopwatch. The numbers spin past me, sprinting down the screen.

One press of a button, and everything has changed.



We run. I don’t look back as I tumble through the hall and down the concrete steps, or as I race past the brass plates of the planets in our solar system embedded in the walkway, or as I cross the grass near the obelisk that marks the way to the deserted parking lot.

I keep running until I am halfway down the shortcut, the back side of the hill, toward the place where Tima promised she would meet us, to take us to a Rebellion safe house.

No Freeley. No Embassy Chopper. Not tonight.

Lucas is right behind me, and we both turn to look back. “One minute,” I say, almost to myself. “This whole place is about to be a cloud of ash.”

I turn to Lucas and wipe the blood dripping from his nose with my hand. Then I push a strand of hair out of his eyes.

Ro comes tearing after us, breathless.

“What are you doing? Come on!” He grabs me by the hand and pulls as hard as he can. I go flying. He doesn’t even notice Lucas. He doesn’t care if Lucas comes or not.

Ro keeps running, pulling me after him. He’s not stopping for anyone, not now.

We sprint down the hill, outside the fence, and away from the Icon. We run well clear of the blast zone, and duck behind a big rock.

I look at the stopwatch.

10



5



1

All we get is silence.

There is no smoke and ash, where there should be smoke and ash.

“Something’s wrong. The first blasts should have come by now. I staggered the timing. One supporting leg at a time.” Ro can barely say the words.

We’re all panting.

“Maybe you hit the wrong time. Maybe the detonator misfired. Maybe there’s a loose connection.” I try not to imagine the worst, that the Lords discovered what we were doing and found a way to stop it. “It could still go off any second. And the Embassy will be here soon. We have to go. We can always try again.”

“No,” Lucas says. “We’ve gone too far, risked too much, to leave without making sure this is going to work.”

Ro tries his earpiece. “I got nothing.”

I tap mine, but I can’t get reception.

Lucas raises his wrist, shouting into his cuff. “Doc, Fortis, what’s going on?”

We hear static, then Fortis’s voice erupts into the air. “Well, my darlings, I think the better question is what’s not going on, and why.”

More static.

Fortis speaks up again. “Hux, you ran the numbers over and over, what’s wrong?”

I hear a loud buzzing sound—then Doc’s voice. “It’s quite possible the assumptions underlying my calculations were off. I’ve tested the Icon sample—and done extensive measurement of the Icon’s effect—but there is always a small margin of error.”

There is only silence on the line.

Silence and static.

I grab Lucas’s wrist. “Doc? Fortis?” I finally hear Fortis.

“Yes, Dol. I’m not going to lie. This is a bit of bad news.”

“What are you saying?” I can barely think. “There must be something we can do.”

I hear Fortis hesitate, through the static. “It’s up to you. I can’t make you do it. The only way it will blow is—”

“One of us will have to blow it.” Ro says the words.

“That’s it. Manual.”

My heart sinks. Lucas drops his head into his hands. Ro stands.

“I’ll do it. It’s my responsibility.”

No. Not Ro. Not my oldest friend. I can’t bear to imagine life without him, even if the Icon is destroyed.

“Fortis, it’s not worth it. We need to figure out something else.” I tap my earpiece, over and over. “Tima, you there? Doc?”

No one answers.

Ro takes my hand. “Dol, don’t. You know there’s not another way. It has to be one of us. It’s not going to be you, and I’m not going to let Buttons here get all the glory.”

“Come on, Ro.” Lucas is ashen.

Ro won’t even look at him. “Shove off. This is my fire. I need to light it.”

I yank away my hand. “Ro, listen to me.”

Then I stop, because I hear something.

“Is that—”

Ro listens. “Barking?”

“Here?” I think of the dead Sympa, and the blood coming out of our own ears. Nothing could survive where we have been. We barely did.

But it’s true. The sound is coming from one of our packs. Ro bends down and opens the nearest one—and Brutus sticks his head out and licks Ro on the mouth. “What is Lucas doing with the dog?”

“How is that dog even alive?” It’s a miracle, I think. Curled in the pack on Lucas’s back, that small, mangy dog survived the Icon.

“Brutus!” Tima appears on the hill behind us. She’s dragging a handful of face masks, and what looks like a pack of medical supplies. I recognize the cross on the gear.

Tima pulls Brutus all the way out of the bag, and he licks her face with a howl. “Good boy. How did Lucas get you here?”

She turns to me. “What’s going on? Why is there no explosion? Where’s Lucas?”

Ro and I look at each other in shock.

Because Lucas is gone.


Tima picks up in a heartbeat what is happening. “No. Absolutely not. He can’t do it. I won’t let him.”

Before I can say anything, she shoves Brutus into my arms and takes off running, faster than I knew she could. She disappears up the hillside into the dark, scrambling toward the Observatory.

Brutus howls.

“Wait!” Ro shouts and climbs after her.

“Ro, stop.” I pull his arm toward me. I can’t let him go. “Please, Ro, it’s too late. We’ll never stop her, and Lucas is too far ahead.”

He stands, fists clenched, jaw tight. “This isn’t happening.”

I pull him down, no longer able to stand. The dog clings to my chest, whimpering.

“It is. And I am not going to let you throw your life away. Not yet, anyway.”

He slumps next to me, defeated. I put my arms around him and utterly and completely lose it.

I can’t take it anymore. I no longer have the will to protect myself from the pain of my sadness, and it all comes crashing in.

My parents, the hundreds of millions of people who have died, the Padre, Ramona, and now Lucas and Tima. I feel the power of the sadness grow, bigger than myself; I can’t contain it.

I weep.

I don’t stop when I hear the first explosion. Or the next. Or the next.

I don’t stop when the debris rains down around us, and I first smell the smoke.

I don’t stop when Ro, covered with ash, stands up to see if the Icon is still standing.

Or after that—

The silence.





EMBASSY TELEGRAM


GENERAL MESSAGE CLASSIFIED TOP SECRET

From: GAP Miyazawa

To: All Icon Ambassadors



All,

I received the following message from the Lords regarding Project productivity. They are not happy. Orders are to increase Project staffing 20% to bring up production. I don’t care where you get the people.

If you value your position and your life, make it happen. Amare and Rousseau, I’m talking to you.

—M



BEGIN MESSAGE


CURRENT ICON PROJECT PRODUCTION IS UNSATISFACTORY.

GLOBAL OUTPUT AT 84.7%.

MINIMUM IS 90%.


LOS ANGELES: 78%

NORTHEAST: 95%

LONDON: 84%

PARIS: 75%

MOSCOW: 81%

SHANGHAI: 89%

TOKYO: 91%


END MESSAGE





Margaret Stohl's books