Ascend (The Cure Chronicles Book 3), page 4
I can’t think of Finn as a was, as something that existed only in the past. In my mind he’s still my future, as impossible as it seems right now. But Rys is right—whether he’s dead or alive, his voice still lingers in my head. Urging me to find strength, to fight for a cause greater than any of us.
“How are we going to get our hands on these Batts of yours?” I ask. “Since we’re supposed to be looking to the future, tell me how you plan to get them.”
“You’ll see soon enough,” Rys tells me. “But for now, get ready—we’re about to get off this Conveyor. I may have the cameras disabled, but there are still people roaming these halls, and they have eyes.”
Just before we step through the sliding doors in full disguise, Rys fidgets with the Inhibitor in his hand, scrambling the cameras in the corridor just long enough for us to get to the door of my temporary residence.
When we’ve entered the apartment and shut the door behind us, I breathe a heavy sigh and head into the small bedroom to change into the silver uniform Finn gave me.
As I slip it on, a shuddering array of hideous recollections infects my mind. All of a sudden I don’t want it touching my skin—I want to destroy it, to tear it apart piece by piece for what it represents. But I remind myself that this uniform saved me once by concealing me from searching eyes, and I may well need it to do so again.
When I’m dressed, I head back out to the living space where Rys is waiting for me. “Are you ready to head to the King’s domain?”
“What—right now? You can’t be serious.”
I’m exhausted. Spent. I want nothing more than to lie down, weep into my pillow, then let sleep overtake me.
Rys nods. “What better time than now? The Directorate is probably getting ready to command their Cyphers to start killing innocent people. We need to put a stop to the madness as soon as possible.”
“So you and I are going—alone—to the King’s property, to steal something incredibly valuable that’s probably guarded by a hundred members of the Directorate Guard. Just the two of us.”
“It’s not as nuts as it sounds. I know those grounds pretty well—and how to gain access. What’s going to prove difficult is lifting the Batts. Those things weigh a ton.”
“We used to fetch giant jugs of water on our own with a rickety old wagon. I’m sure we can move some freaking batteries.” As I say the words, a smirk plays its way across my lips with the memory of simpler times, when our greatest worry was making sure we had enough to drink and eat. Those days were a struggle from day to day, but at least there was the occasional flicker of happiness.
Or maybe it was just that in those days, I hadn’t yet fallen in love, only to have my heart wrenched from my chest.
“You’re right,” Rys says with a smile. “We’re stronger—and smarter—now. So, let’s get those Quantum Sources and get the hell out of this awful place. We have a revolution to lead.”
Newly energized, I nod.
But the thought of escape is bittersweet. Getting out of the Arc means accepting Finn’s death and leaving him behind for good.
It means acknowledging not only that I’ll never see him again, but that I’m the one who robbed the world of his presence.
It’s a reality I know I’ll have to confront eventually.
But right now, I force myself to focus my energy on helping our allies toward victory.
“Level Three-Hundred,” Rys says, “is heavily guarded by a small army of trigger-happy Directorate Guards that the King and Queen love to dress up in fancy medieval-looking gear. But I should be able to get us past them. The bad news is that much of the holographic landscape—the hills, the woods—everything—changes daily in order to confuse would-be intruders. There’s no such thing as a map of the Palace Grounds. The only thing that remains constant is the King and Queen’s chateau, but I can tell you the Batts aren’t in there. All the important tech is kept in hidden buildings around the property. We just need to find the right one.”
“Great,” I lament. “So we’re about to walk into a holo-labyrinth guarded by a band of psychos, and we have zero idea what we’re looking for.”
“Yup,” Rys says with a smile and a wink. “Sounds like fun, doesn’t it?”
5
The Toymaker
With the gleaming silver dagger Finn gave me at my waist and my uniform’s cloaking setting activated, I accompany Rys, who is dressed in his dark gray Directorate uniform, out of the residence.
We arrive a few minutes later at the bustling level known as the Escapa. A getaway for the Arc’s many wealthy residents, it’s made up of a multitude of districts, each representing some part of a foreign country where tourism flourished in the days before the biological weapon known as the Blight stole so many lives.
We emerge in the Italian district, which smells of freshly-baked pizza, herbs, and a faint hint of dark, rich chocolate. It’s enough to make my mouth water—and remind me I haven’t eaten much of anything in the last few days.
I shadow Rys as he pushes his way through the crowd. The Arc’s tourists part when they see his uniform as if they’re convinced accidental contact with the Directorate’s rose will burn them alive.
“We should probably keep the chit-chat to a minimum,” Rys whispers over his shoulder. “Your Inhibitor will prevent the Directorate from listening in, but it won’t prevent the crowd from hearing us talk to one another.”
“Okay,” I whisper back. “Just one question, then. Are you going to tell me what we’re doing in the Escapa? This is the last place I expected to come today.”
“We’re here to pick up a toy.”
“A toy?” I hiss, but Rys quiets me with a cautionary wave of his hand.
He’s having far too much fun with this extremely dangerous game of his. Admittedly, part of me wants to play, too, to take pleasure in defying the Directorate. Little would give me more pleasure right now than breaking their laws right under their noses, under the menacing surveillance drones that hover and patrol the Escapa like flying sentinels.
But the moment proves impossible to savor. The smells meeting my nose, the sounds, the sights of this place—they all remind me too much of Finn, of the ill-fated date we once shared here. He’s all I can think of, and right now I find myself craving his face, his touch, his lips, more than ever. Hunting for toys, regardless of how useful they might be, seems futile in the face of what I’ve lost.
Besides, what happens when we acquire it? Am I supposed to believe we’ll simply hop on some Conveyor, head to Level Three-Hundred and ask the King and Queen to hand over the priceless Quantum Sources?
The more I think about it, the more this plan seems like utter folly.
But I follow silently, marveling at how quickly the Escapa’s tourists seem to move out of Rys’s way, how eager they are to appease him. I see fear in their eyes as they glance at the rose on his chest.
But there’s something else in their eyes, too.
Hatred.
It’s the first time I’ve seen that expression on the faces of anyone in the Arc other than disgruntled Dregs. Maybe the rumors are true—maybe talk of rebellion really has made its way to the masses. Maybe these people are beginning to understand what the Directorate has done to them—to all of us.
Hatred is a luxury reserved for those who have abandoned fear.
And many of these people aren’t afraid anymore.
Rys finally stops in front of a small shop called Vittorio’s Couture. In its window is a large display of elegant, hand-stitched dresses for sale, made of printed silks and cottons. All of them are exquisite, and no doubt expensive.
As we step inside, Rys fingers the corner of the silk sleeve of a jacket and mutters, “We’re here.”
“Where’s here?” I whisper. “This is no toymaker’s shop.”
But before Rys can reply, a man who must be the shop owner approaches us. He’s short and dark-haired, and the smile on his face relaxes me a little…though it proves short-lived.
“See anything you like?” he asks in a thick, lilting accent.
“I like everything,” Rys tells him. “But it’s what I don’t see that interests me more. I’m wondering if you have any red silk in your possession.”
The merchant offers up a solemn nod and says, “Come with me. I have an item in the back I believe you’ll enjoy thoroughly.”
“Very good.”
Holding my breath for fear of being detected, I follow Rys to the back room, where our eyes meet a vast rainbow array of fabrics. The shopkeeper nods silently toward several rolls of red silk stacked in the far corner. “There,” he says. “I have saved it just for you. But it’s the play-thing under the bolts that you will like even more.”
“Thank you, Vittorio,” Rys says. “I owe you. Many others do, as well.”
“Something tells me you’ll pay me back soon enough. When I see the sky over my head once again, I’ll call us even.”
“What the hell was that about?” I whisper when the man has disappeared into the front of the shop.
“Vittorio is an ally who happens to despise the Directorate. He knows what’s at stake here.” Rys pulls his chin up as the sound of a patrol drone buzzes somewhere in the distance, pauses, then continues along its way.
“I seem to recall that you like silk, Ash,” Rys says, gesturing toward the bolts of red fabric. “Why don’t you take a look?”
“I suppose I do like silk,” I tell him, irritated and confused. “But what are we doing here, Rys? I feel like we’re wasting our time.”
“Just trust me, for once.”
I step over and pull at the first bolt of fabric. Aside from being a pretty piece of silk, I see nothing special about it. It’s only when I lift the entire roll up that I spot a strange black box underneath, gleaming as bright and shiny as some of the Arc’s high-gloss floors and walls. It’s about the size of the old microwave oven we had in my house in the Mire, except that it’s completely featureless.
“What is it?” I ask, hesitant to touch the container for fear of marring it with my fingerprints.
Rys reaches down and pulls away the rest of the silk to reveal that the box is more than it appears. It’s sitting on six wheels, for one thing, ringed by thick, ridged tires. As I step forward to examine it, a thin line of white light around its edges flares to life and the box begins to roll toward Rys’s feet, stopping before it reaches him.
“I designed the Bug some time ago,” he tells me. “And Vittorio built it. In another life, he was a successful engineer.”
“What is it?” I ask, still confused.
“It’s a more sophisticated version of our rickety old wagon from the Mire. It’s for transporting undetected contraband through the Arc. It can’t be scanned by any of the Directorate’s systems, so they can’t possibly see what’s inside. The Bug is small enough to fit into the tinier service Conveyors…which means it can travel through the Arc all on its own. It’s bulletproof, laser-proof, and can withstand a pretty powerful explosion. And the best part is that it will find its way to almost any destination, regardless of what—or who—tries to stop it. Though I’ll admit it’s not great at navigating over tree roots, so dense woods aren’t exactly ideal. In the Arc, though, it’ll work like a charm.”
“How does it know where to go?”
“The same way my birds do.” Rys rolls up his sleeve to reveal the white panel that doubles as a control system for his army of avian drones. “If we manage to get our hands on the Batts—and that’s kind of a big if—the Bug will help get them where they need to go—even if you and I were to meet an untimely end.”
I smile, hopeful for what feels like the first time in days. “I don’t know about you, but I have no intention of meeting an untimely end anytime soon.” I don’t say what I’m really thinking: I refuse to die before I find out once and for all what happened to Finn.
“Good.” Rys rubs his hands together and leans forward to speak to the Bug. “We have a job ahead of us. A dangerous one. You up for it?”
As if in answer, the small vehicle pulls away from its hiding spot and begins to charge its way across the floor, expertly navigating its path between the shelves.
“And you?” Rys asks, turning my way. “Are you ready, Ash?”
“Ready? No. Absolutely not.” I pull the silver uniform’s mask away from my face and narrow my eyes at him. “But I’m ready to take down the Directorate, once and for all.”
6
The Palace Grounds
Pulling the silver fabric down to cover my face, I become Rys’s shadow once again. But instead of returning through the throngs of bobbing tourists in the Italian sector, we weave our way behind the vendors’ shops and booths until we reach a part of the Escapa I never saw when I was with Finn, though I immediately recognize what looks like a Paris neighborhood.
Elegant gray buildings with black, sloping roofs and tall windows loom up before us. Cafés occupy every corner, complete with charming outdoor tables and chairs. The scent of fresh croissants, coffee, and cigarettes meets my nose as we move, and I find myself envying the people sitting casually, enjoying a relaxing afternoon of leisure without a care in the world.
We walk in silence until we arrive at a courtyard large enough to display a massive glass pyramid several stories high. Surrounding the courtyard is what looks like an enormous chateau of exquisite stone, a host of beautiful windows and classical details accenting its façade.
“The Louvre,” I whisper as I sidle up next to Rys. “I’ve only ever seen it in pictures. That’s what this is—isn’t it?”
“Yes,” Rys says quietly, pulling his chin up as if studying the structure. “It’s a pretty good replica, don’t you think?”
“It’s insanely good. I feel like we’re actually in Paris.”
I mean it. It feels surreal to stare at the building before us, which must match the one in France perfectly, right down to its sprawling size. The enormity of the Arc has never hit me so hard as it does at this moment, and I find myself awestruck.
“Let’s go inside, shall we?” Rys says with a mischievous grin.
“We don’t have time for sight-seeing,” I hiss under my breath. “And I have no desire to stare at the Mona Lisa. I thought we were after Quantum Sources.”
“We are. And I’m well aware we’re in a rush. That’s why we’re here.”
Surrendering, I sigh and follow along as Rys guides us down a long ramp leading into the depths below the glass pyramid—the entry to the museum itself.
The guard who looks like she’s meant to take Rys’ ticket bows her head reverently when she sees the symbol on his uniform and gestures to him to enter.
As I follow closely behind, almost invisible to the naked eye, I find myself wondering once again how my old friend managed to climb so quickly through the Arc’s ranks. How he convinced the Directorate and all who serve them that he is worthy of access to the most secure locations in this entire, gigantic complex. It has to be more than just his betrayal of my family. Then again, he’s Rys. He’s conniving and clever, and has always been a charmer. Even when I’ve hated him, some part of me couldn’t help but like him.
He leads us past a line of tourists waiting for their tour guide and we continue to walk until we reach a door marked with the Directorate’s gold rose and the words, “Directorate Guard Personnel Only.”
Rys presses his palm to a white panel on the door’s right, and it slides open, eager to please. Trailing invisibly, I stay close as we make our way down a narrow corridor to a waiting Conveyor.
When we’re inside with the doors sealed, Rys pulls his face up and speaks, but not to me.
“Rystan Decker initiating weekly testing protocols on the King’s Aggressor Drones. Palace Grounds access requested.”
When a small, shiny red object detaches from the ceiling and floats down to hover in front of him, I feel myself pressing back against the wall for fear of being seen. But the small ladybug-like flying machine scans Rys’ face then lets out a cheerful, “Authorized,” before flitting up to its nest as the Conveyor begins to shoot us upward.
I don’t dare speak for the entirety of the ride. We’re playing with fire right now, and I’m all too aware that one wrong move could result in death for us both.
When the Conveyor halts at Level Three-Hundred, the doors sweep open to reveal a stunning sight: a long expanse of perfectly trimmed grass guiding my eyes up to what looks like an exquisite castle in the distance. Flanking a gravel pathway that leads toward the structure is a series of elegantly sculpted green topiaries pointing in perfect symmetry at the artificial sky.
I inhale the scent of fresh-cut grass, my mind convinced that I’m standing outdoors and not inside an enormous building filled with synthetic versions of nature.
Rys shakes his head just slightly as he steps out of the Conveyor, sensing that I’m about to say something. “No talking,” he mutters out of the corner of his mouth.
I follow as he strides not toward the castle but in the direction of a small stone building about twenty feet away, where two guards stand at attention. Behind us, the Bug motors along like an obedient dog sticking close to Rys’s heels.
“Rystan Decker,” he tells the guards. “Authorized to complete my weekly check of the Aggressor Drones in the Royal Level’s Eastern Sector. I need all personnel in that area evacuated, all drones disabled for inspection.”
When he notices the guard eyeing the Bug, Rys turns, leans down and opens its lid to reveal a series of silver tools. “Easier than lugging a tool box around,” he says with a smile. “I injured my back a few days ago, so this seemed like a good alternative.”
“If you’re injured, maybe someone should go with you.”
“No need. My back’s almost at a hundred percent. I just don’t want to aggravate it. You know how it is.”
