Ascend (The Cure Chronicles Book 3), page 5
“Very well.” A look of extreme boredom has taken up residence on the guard’s features. “Take the glider.”
The guard nods toward a vehicle that looks like a larger, sleeker version of the old golf carts I used to see people use back in the days when people actually played golf—only instead of wheels, it seems to hover half a foot or so above ground.
Rys hops into the driver’s seat and like a whisper on the air, I climb in next to him. The cart takes off down what looks like a narrow asphalt road and we travel in silence for several minutes before we finally arrive at what looks like a security gate. A man waves Rys through, saying, “All drones disabled. You have an hour, Decker. Be sure to check out when you’re finished.”
“Of course.” Rys nods, hitting the gas when the gate opens to allow the glider through.
It’s a couple of minutes before he dares to speak again.
“This section of the Arc is the most heavily-guarded there is. The only reason they give me access is that I understand their drones better than they do, and I’m better at fixing them than anyone else. I monitor them every seven days, make sure their systems are up and running and that no one has tampered with them.”
I’m about to ask if he ever tampers with them himself when the sight before us grabs my attention.
Rolling green hills draw my gaze into the distance, some of them trimmed with tall, white wooden fences. Contained within the fields are herds of beautiful horses, exquisitely powerful-looking and elegant, their necks arching as if they’re showing off.
“Are those…real?” I ask. “Or holograms?”
“Very real,” Rys replies. “As is the grass. So strange, isn’t it, to think of horses way the hell up here. It feels wrong to keep them inside…though I have to admit, the grounds designers did a great job of making the land as authentic as possible. That grass they’re grazing on is top-notch, and the UV rays piped in from the phony sky above us means their environment is highly realistic. It’s possible the horses really don’t know the difference between this and the great outdoors.”
“They’re so beautiful,” I say. “Why do the King and Queen keep them here?”
“What’s a Royal family without horses?” Rys asks with a snicker. “Those bastards are all about status, appearances. Of course, they hunt, too—the King, Queen, and that grotesque son of theirs.”
“Hunt what?”
Rys winces. “I’m not sure you want to know, Ash.”
“You’re not serious,” I mutter as a chill makes its way over my skin.
“I think you know the answer to that.” Rys lets out a deep breath. “In the early days of the Arc, whenever the Dregs misbehaved, they brought them up here and released them. The King and Queen—and a few invited guests like our friend, the Duchess—would mount the horses and pursue them. Oh, they gave them a head start of a few minutes, but…”
“But…”
“I’ve seen some of the footage from those days from the surveillance feeds on the grounds. The Aristocrats used guns sometimes, but also crossbows, spears, lances, you name it. It was all very…inhuman.”
“Why am I not surprised?” I ask. “Those gorgeous animals being used to chase down innocent people. Teenagers, even. There’s literally no bar too low.”
When we finally arrive at an elegant set of matching stables, Rys pulls the glider over to the side and cuts the engine.
Beyond the stables, a thick forest leads my eyes into the distance. Thousands of trees that are likely nothing more than an invention of the Arc’s clever holographic designers.
“You can come out of stealth now,” Rys tells me. “Remember, all cameras and drones are disabled, so no one will see you. Plus, you’re kind of freaking me out, Invisible Woman.”
“I’ll give you my face, but that’s it. I’m too nervous to show myself.”
“Whatever makes you happy.”
I peel back the fabric to reveal my features, grateful when I reach down and feel Finn’s dagger still at my waist.
A swell of nausea hits when I remember it’s not my only weapon. There’s also the one deep inside my flesh and bone—the weapon called the Surge. As I recollect the last and only time I used it, I feel a strange tingling in my fingers, my palms, as if my body is itching to unleash it once again. A desire overtakes me to find out just how powerful I could be if I learned to control it, and I wonder with a frisson of terror how much damage I could do against a group of the King’s soldiers.
But I shut down the thought, telling myself I don’t want to know. What happened in the Arenum was a horror I don’t care to revisit.
“My research tells me,” Rys says, “the Batts—the Quantum Sources—are kept in the woods not far from the stables. The only problem is that I have no idea where.”
“Well, that’s super-helpful. How the hell are we going to find them? These woods look like they go on for miles.”
“We’ll start in there,” Rys says, nodding toward the stable.
“You think the Batts could be in one of the stalls?”
“No. But there’s something inside that will help us find them. Two somethings, actually.”
I stare at him, convinced he’s joking. But apparently I’m wrong.
“Can’t we just take the Glider?”
“The Glider only runs on magnetized roads. If we tried to drive it over the grass it would crash to the ground after after a millisecond.”
“Funny that you should mention crashing to the ground, because I haven’t been on a horse since I was five. And that was a tiny freaking Shetland pony. The King’s horses are enormous.”
“They’re just big Shetland ponies,” he shrugs. “They’re no different.”
“Except the ground is a lot farther away when you’re on their backs. Which means the sudden stop hurts a lot more.”
Rys crosses his arms and lowers his chin. “Ashen Spencer, I’m surprised at you. I’ve never known you to shy away from a challenge.”
“I’d be less likely to shy away if I weren’t worried about a broken arm, neck, or back. Something tells me the Arc’s hospitals wouldn’t exactly go out of their way to help a Dreg murderer in need of a body cast.”
“If you shatter a bone, I’ll splint it myself. Promise.”
“I’d rather die.”
“You’re not going to die, you wuss. Come on.”
When we’ve stepped into the stable, Rys turns and opens a side compartment in the Bug to extract what looks like a small metal orb. I only realize when he cups it in his palms and strokes his fingertip along a fine line down its center what it actually is:
A silver egg.
The orb cracks open and inside is what looks like a perfect little sparrow, who immediately flies up into the support beams under the stable’s roof.
“Klondike will be our eyes out there,” Rys says, nodding toward the broad, open doorway. “He’ll scan for any sign of a storage unit. We don’t have a lot of time. In less than an hour, every camera and drone in this place will be reactivated, and we’ll be screwed.”
I look up to see the sparrow twitching, his head moving in every direction as he bounces on his feet, surveilling his immediate surroundings.
We quickly locate the stable’s tack room and carry out two polished saddles. Rys selects two horses—one a dark brown gelding with a black mane and tail, one a deep chestnut mare—and opens their stalls.
“That one’s a bay,” I say, gesturing to the brown and black one, whose shoulder is higher than the top of my head. “I remember that from my brief horse-crazy phase when I was a kid.”
“Impressive,” Rys replies. “Here’s hoping you remember how to ride.”
“Like I said, I never knew how to ride. Other than get on and hope for the best.”
“Hoping for the best is all we can do, Ash.”
Rys slips the saddle on and tightens the girth, and within a few minutes, we’ve sorted out how to get their bridles on, though I’m anything but confident in our plan.
We guide our mounts outside and Rys helps me onto the chestnut before hoisting himself onto the bay’s impossibly high back.
Reaching down to stroke my horse’s neck as she twitches under me, I silently plead with her not to throw me.
“We were too poor to afford lessons when I was a kid,” I tell Rys, “and I never did learn much, other than that you’re supposed to keep your heels down when you’re riding. Oh, and don’t pull on the bit any more than necessary. I’m pretty sure there’s a lot more to it than that, though.”
“Controlling a fifteen-hundred-pound animal? How hard can it possibly be?”
“We’re about to find out.”
I wait for Rys to lead the way then let the chestnut follow, my hands gripping the front of the saddle for dear life.
We head down a narrow path into the woods with Klondike flying overhead. Rys rolls up his sleeve, consulting his arm band now and then to see if the sparrow has spotted anything that may prove useful in our search.
The ride is mercifully smooth. The chestnut moves evenly and calmly under me as my eyes scan the woods, my mind trying to determine if what I’m seeing around us are actual trees or mere projections. Given the grim silence and lack of scents meeting my nose, I determine that nothing but the grass can possibly be real. If these were actual woods, surely the King would have imported some kind of wildlife—squirrels, birds, rabbits—but there’s nothing here but static decor.
After a time, Rys holds up a hand and tells me we’re stopping. “Klondike has spotted something—a silver shed at three o’clock. We’ll have to head off-trail to get to it.”
He leads the way and I follow silently, looking around warily, fully expecting a crossbow bolt or worse to come flying at my head.
We arrive at our destination after five or so minutes. It looks like a typical garden shed, except for the fact that it’s constructed of strong-looking, shiny steel. Unlike the trees, its façade is unmistakably real.
“How are we going to get inside?” I ask.
When he pulls up, Rys leaps off his horse and strides forward to study the door. “A simple lock,” he says. “I’m surprised, honestly, considering what might be in there. But I should be able to get in easily enough.”
He pulls a device from his pack and inserts it into the lock, twisting it until it clicks open.
I dismount, allowing the chestnut to graze as I join Rys inside the shed, which turns out to be entirely empty.
Its walls are bare, its floor smooth concrete. There’s not so much as a hook on any of the walls. No cobwebs, even.
Just…nothing.
“We’ll have to keep looking,” I sigh. “There must be other buildings around here.”
“This doesn’t make sense,” Rys says absently as we walk out.
“What doesn’t?” I ask.
“An empty shed,” he says, turning to stare at its façade. “Why bother putting this here, without tools, or feed, or anything else inside?”
“A misdirect, I guess? In case anyone comes snooping around. You said yourself the lock was a simple mechanism. There’s no way the King’s people would store Quantum Sources in a place that was so easy to get into.”
Rys shakes his head. “No. But…”
“But what?”
“This shed exists for a reason. It has to be more than it appears.”
“You think it’s another illusion?”
“The lock and door are real,” he says, stepping inside again. As I follow, he adds, “I felt them with my own hands. But…”
I watch him stalk forward until he reaches the back wall.
“I hear something,” he tells me. “A buzz. Low frequency. Almost like…”
“Like what?” I ask, but even as the words come out, Rys steps forward again…right through the wall, the Bug following at his heel.
In the distance, his echoing voice cries out, “Ash! You have to see this!”
7
Hidden
The sight that awaits us on the other side of the holographic wall is a shock to my system.
I have no idea how, but Rys and I are standing inside a massive, cavernous warehouse filled with storage crates of all shapes and sizes.
Klondike, seemingly eager to explore, disappears into the rafters to begin his reconnaissance mission.
“This doesn’t make sense,” I say, gasping at the enormity of the place. “How did we not see it from outside? I’m shocked our horses didn’t plow right into it.”
“The horses know their way around—they would have avoided the outer walls, even if they were hidden from us. From where we were, all we saw were the projections of trees set in place to shield this place from view. It’s clever, really. Like you said, the little shed is nothing more than an optical illusion.”
With those words, my mind goes to Finn. I’m still holding out hope that his death was as clever a ruse as this warehouse’s concealed location. A trick of the light, a well-executed misdirect.
Anything but reality.
But I shake the thought off, forcing myself to focus on the present. Finn wanted us to find the Quantum Sources. He wanted us to succeed, even if it cost him his life.
We must succeed.
With the small glass screen in hand so he can monitor Klondike’s progress, Rys leads us at a brisk walk through the warehouse, which is brightly illuminated by rows of halogen lights far overhead.
“There’s really no one here?” I ask, puzzled once again. “I have to say, this all seems a little too easy. I would have expected some sophisticated internal security system.”
“I guess the Directorate is arrogant enough to think their little illusion will keep would-be thieves away.”
“True,” I concur. “Still, we should get what we’re looking for and get out as fast as possible.”
I follow him down what seems like a never-ending aisle all the way to the far end of the warehouse. The multitude of shelves overwhelms me, each covered in containers that hold anything from weapons to grain to machinery.
“What exactly does one of these Batts look like?”
“They’re not very big,” Rys tells me. “The type we’re looking for is about the size of a stick of butter.”
“But I thought they were heavy,” I protest, remembering what Finn said when he described them to me.
“That’s the tricky part—they are. Extremely. Deceptively. It’s one reason I wanted the Bug with us,” he says, nodding down to the black box that’s still accompanying us everywhere we go. “It can hold several hundred pounds without its suspension collapsing under the weight.”
After a few minutes, we come to a corner of the warehouse that glows brighter than the rest. I look up at the ceiling, trying to figure out why. But the simple halogen bulbs are the same type as elsewhere.
It takes me a few seconds to realize the air itself is glowing, as if enhanced by some invisible, powerful force. A throb works its way through my head, a dull, slow-burning ache overtaking my insides.
“I’m beginning to understand why the King wouldn’t want the Batts in his home,” Rys moans, pressing his fingers to his temple.
“The Batts are doing that to us?”
He nods. “But don’t worry—they’re not dangerous. Just very powerful.”
“Oh, good. I’m glad to know I’m not about to melt into toxic human soup.”
“Here,” he says, chuckling as he gestures toward a shelf made of thick, reinforced steel. On its surface are what look like a hundred or so tidily layered black bricks.
I reach out for one, but Rys cocks his head skeptically. “Good luck lifting it,” he snickers.
“You’re forgetting,” I reply, wrapping my hands around it and pulling it off the shelf with ease, “I’m wearing Finn’s uniform. Heavy doesn’t mean much to me.”
Rys raises an eyebrow and smiles. “All right, I’ll admit that’s pretty impressive.”
Holding the Batt in one hand, I watch as Rys lifts off the top section of the Bug to reveal a hidden compartment. “In there,” he says, and I set the Batt gently down before turning to reach for another one.
Rys tries to follow suit. He grunts, shifts one of the Batts about half an inch on its shelf, then turns to me with an exaggerated frown. “I guess I forgot to do my pushups this morning.”
“Yeah. I’m sure that’s all it was,” I scoff.
When I’ve slipped three more Batts into the Bug, Rys says, “We should get going. Our time is running out.”
Klondike joins us as we make our way quickly back to the other end of the warehouse. We slip through the holo-wall into the small shed, but Rys stops me before we’re outside.
“Klondike—scan the area for threats,” he commands, and the sparrow takes off like a dart into the artificial treetops.
“All clear?” I whisper after a few seconds.
“So far, yeah,” Rys tells me, rubbing his eye.
“You seem agitated,” I say when I detect a note of worry in his voice. “That’s not like you.”
“We’ve been out here a long time. We need to get back.”
We slip out of the shed and grab hold of the horses’ reins, readying ourselves to mount again when above us, Klondike begins chirping wildly.
“Oh, God,” Rys spits.
“What is it?”
“A member of the King’s Guard,” he replies, pointing toward the path ahead. I can just barely make out movement among the trees in the distance. “On horseback—which means it’s one of the Knighthood.”
“Knighthood?”
“You’ll see.”
Instinctively, I pull my uniform’s shielding mask back down to cover my face, hideously aware that Rys will now have to explain what he’s doing at the shed with not one, but two of the King’s horses.
“Should we mount up and try to get away?” I ask in a whisper, my voice shaking.
“No,” he says. “These men are expert riders. He’d catch us in seconds. Let me handle this.”
“Rys…”
“Don’t say another word, Ash.”
He barks an abrupt command at the Bug, which begins wheeling away rapidly in the direction of the Conveyor where we first entered the Palace Grounds. Its thick, grooved rubber tires allow it to easily navigate the terrain, but I have my doubts as to whether it will reach its destination before being confiscated and eventually torn to pieces by members of the Guard.
The guard nods toward a vehicle that looks like a larger, sleeker version of the old golf carts I used to see people use back in the days when people actually played golf—only instead of wheels, it seems to hover half a foot or so above ground.
Rys hops into the driver’s seat and like a whisper on the air, I climb in next to him. The cart takes off down what looks like a narrow asphalt road and we travel in silence for several minutes before we finally arrive at what looks like a security gate. A man waves Rys through, saying, “All drones disabled. You have an hour, Decker. Be sure to check out when you’re finished.”
“Of course.” Rys nods, hitting the gas when the gate opens to allow the glider through.
It’s a couple of minutes before he dares to speak again.
“This section of the Arc is the most heavily-guarded there is. The only reason they give me access is that I understand their drones better than they do, and I’m better at fixing them than anyone else. I monitor them every seven days, make sure their systems are up and running and that no one has tampered with them.”
I’m about to ask if he ever tampers with them himself when the sight before us grabs my attention.
Rolling green hills draw my gaze into the distance, some of them trimmed with tall, white wooden fences. Contained within the fields are herds of beautiful horses, exquisitely powerful-looking and elegant, their necks arching as if they’re showing off.
“Are those…real?” I ask. “Or holograms?”
“Very real,” Rys replies. “As is the grass. So strange, isn’t it, to think of horses way the hell up here. It feels wrong to keep them inside…though I have to admit, the grounds designers did a great job of making the land as authentic as possible. That grass they’re grazing on is top-notch, and the UV rays piped in from the phony sky above us means their environment is highly realistic. It’s possible the horses really don’t know the difference between this and the great outdoors.”
“They’re so beautiful,” I say. “Why do the King and Queen keep them here?”
“What’s a Royal family without horses?” Rys asks with a snicker. “Those bastards are all about status, appearances. Of course, they hunt, too—the King, Queen, and that grotesque son of theirs.”
“Hunt what?”
Rys winces. “I’m not sure you want to know, Ash.”
“You’re not serious,” I mutter as a chill makes its way over my skin.
“I think you know the answer to that.” Rys lets out a deep breath. “In the early days of the Arc, whenever the Dregs misbehaved, they brought them up here and released them. The King and Queen—and a few invited guests like our friend, the Duchess—would mount the horses and pursue them. Oh, they gave them a head start of a few minutes, but…”
“But…”
“I’ve seen some of the footage from those days from the surveillance feeds on the grounds. The Aristocrats used guns sometimes, but also crossbows, spears, lances, you name it. It was all very…inhuman.”
“Why am I not surprised?” I ask. “Those gorgeous animals being used to chase down innocent people. Teenagers, even. There’s literally no bar too low.”
When we finally arrive at an elegant set of matching stables, Rys pulls the glider over to the side and cuts the engine.
Beyond the stables, a thick forest leads my eyes into the distance. Thousands of trees that are likely nothing more than an invention of the Arc’s clever holographic designers.
“You can come out of stealth now,” Rys tells me. “Remember, all cameras and drones are disabled, so no one will see you. Plus, you’re kind of freaking me out, Invisible Woman.”
“I’ll give you my face, but that’s it. I’m too nervous to show myself.”
“Whatever makes you happy.”
I peel back the fabric to reveal my features, grateful when I reach down and feel Finn’s dagger still at my waist.
A swell of nausea hits when I remember it’s not my only weapon. There’s also the one deep inside my flesh and bone—the weapon called the Surge. As I recollect the last and only time I used it, I feel a strange tingling in my fingers, my palms, as if my body is itching to unleash it once again. A desire overtakes me to find out just how powerful I could be if I learned to control it, and I wonder with a frisson of terror how much damage I could do against a group of the King’s soldiers.
But I shut down the thought, telling myself I don’t want to know. What happened in the Arenum was a horror I don’t care to revisit.
“My research tells me,” Rys says, “the Batts—the Quantum Sources—are kept in the woods not far from the stables. The only problem is that I have no idea where.”
“Well, that’s super-helpful. How the hell are we going to find them? These woods look like they go on for miles.”
“We’ll start in there,” Rys says, nodding toward the stable.
“You think the Batts could be in one of the stalls?”
“No. But there’s something inside that will help us find them. Two somethings, actually.”
I stare at him, convinced he’s joking. But apparently I’m wrong.
“Can’t we just take the Glider?”
“The Glider only runs on magnetized roads. If we tried to drive it over the grass it would crash to the ground after after a millisecond.”
“Funny that you should mention crashing to the ground, because I haven’t been on a horse since I was five. And that was a tiny freaking Shetland pony. The King’s horses are enormous.”
“They’re just big Shetland ponies,” he shrugs. “They’re no different.”
“Except the ground is a lot farther away when you’re on their backs. Which means the sudden stop hurts a lot more.”
Rys crosses his arms and lowers his chin. “Ashen Spencer, I’m surprised at you. I’ve never known you to shy away from a challenge.”
“I’d be less likely to shy away if I weren’t worried about a broken arm, neck, or back. Something tells me the Arc’s hospitals wouldn’t exactly go out of their way to help a Dreg murderer in need of a body cast.”
“If you shatter a bone, I’ll splint it myself. Promise.”
“I’d rather die.”
“You’re not going to die, you wuss. Come on.”
When we’ve stepped into the stable, Rys turns and opens a side compartment in the Bug to extract what looks like a small metal orb. I only realize when he cups it in his palms and strokes his fingertip along a fine line down its center what it actually is:
A silver egg.
The orb cracks open and inside is what looks like a perfect little sparrow, who immediately flies up into the support beams under the stable’s roof.
“Klondike will be our eyes out there,” Rys says, nodding toward the broad, open doorway. “He’ll scan for any sign of a storage unit. We don’t have a lot of time. In less than an hour, every camera and drone in this place will be reactivated, and we’ll be screwed.”
I look up to see the sparrow twitching, his head moving in every direction as he bounces on his feet, surveilling his immediate surroundings.
We quickly locate the stable’s tack room and carry out two polished saddles. Rys selects two horses—one a dark brown gelding with a black mane and tail, one a deep chestnut mare—and opens their stalls.
“That one’s a bay,” I say, gesturing to the brown and black one, whose shoulder is higher than the top of my head. “I remember that from my brief horse-crazy phase when I was a kid.”
“Impressive,” Rys replies. “Here’s hoping you remember how to ride.”
“Like I said, I never knew how to ride. Other than get on and hope for the best.”
“Hoping for the best is all we can do, Ash.”
Rys slips the saddle on and tightens the girth, and within a few minutes, we’ve sorted out how to get their bridles on, though I’m anything but confident in our plan.
We guide our mounts outside and Rys helps me onto the chestnut before hoisting himself onto the bay’s impossibly high back.
Reaching down to stroke my horse’s neck as she twitches under me, I silently plead with her not to throw me.
“We were too poor to afford lessons when I was a kid,” I tell Rys, “and I never did learn much, other than that you’re supposed to keep your heels down when you’re riding. Oh, and don’t pull on the bit any more than necessary. I’m pretty sure there’s a lot more to it than that, though.”
“Controlling a fifteen-hundred-pound animal? How hard can it possibly be?”
“We’re about to find out.”
I wait for Rys to lead the way then let the chestnut follow, my hands gripping the front of the saddle for dear life.
We head down a narrow path into the woods with Klondike flying overhead. Rys rolls up his sleeve, consulting his arm band now and then to see if the sparrow has spotted anything that may prove useful in our search.
The ride is mercifully smooth. The chestnut moves evenly and calmly under me as my eyes scan the woods, my mind trying to determine if what I’m seeing around us are actual trees or mere projections. Given the grim silence and lack of scents meeting my nose, I determine that nothing but the grass can possibly be real. If these were actual woods, surely the King would have imported some kind of wildlife—squirrels, birds, rabbits—but there’s nothing here but static decor.
After a time, Rys holds up a hand and tells me we’re stopping. “Klondike has spotted something—a silver shed at three o’clock. We’ll have to head off-trail to get to it.”
He leads the way and I follow silently, looking around warily, fully expecting a crossbow bolt or worse to come flying at my head.
We arrive at our destination after five or so minutes. It looks like a typical garden shed, except for the fact that it’s constructed of strong-looking, shiny steel. Unlike the trees, its façade is unmistakably real.
“How are we going to get inside?” I ask.
When he pulls up, Rys leaps off his horse and strides forward to study the door. “A simple lock,” he says. “I’m surprised, honestly, considering what might be in there. But I should be able to get in easily enough.”
He pulls a device from his pack and inserts it into the lock, twisting it until it clicks open.
I dismount, allowing the chestnut to graze as I join Rys inside the shed, which turns out to be entirely empty.
Its walls are bare, its floor smooth concrete. There’s not so much as a hook on any of the walls. No cobwebs, even.
Just…nothing.
“We’ll have to keep looking,” I sigh. “There must be other buildings around here.”
“This doesn’t make sense,” Rys says absently as we walk out.
“What doesn’t?” I ask.
“An empty shed,” he says, turning to stare at its façade. “Why bother putting this here, without tools, or feed, or anything else inside?”
“A misdirect, I guess? In case anyone comes snooping around. You said yourself the lock was a simple mechanism. There’s no way the King’s people would store Quantum Sources in a place that was so easy to get into.”
Rys shakes his head. “No. But…”
“But what?”
“This shed exists for a reason. It has to be more than it appears.”
“You think it’s another illusion?”
“The lock and door are real,” he says, stepping inside again. As I follow, he adds, “I felt them with my own hands. But…”
I watch him stalk forward until he reaches the back wall.
“I hear something,” he tells me. “A buzz. Low frequency. Almost like…”
“Like what?” I ask, but even as the words come out, Rys steps forward again…right through the wall, the Bug following at his heel.
In the distance, his echoing voice cries out, “Ash! You have to see this!”
7
Hidden
The sight that awaits us on the other side of the holographic wall is a shock to my system.
I have no idea how, but Rys and I are standing inside a massive, cavernous warehouse filled with storage crates of all shapes and sizes.
Klondike, seemingly eager to explore, disappears into the rafters to begin his reconnaissance mission.
“This doesn’t make sense,” I say, gasping at the enormity of the place. “How did we not see it from outside? I’m shocked our horses didn’t plow right into it.”
“The horses know their way around—they would have avoided the outer walls, even if they were hidden from us. From where we were, all we saw were the projections of trees set in place to shield this place from view. It’s clever, really. Like you said, the little shed is nothing more than an optical illusion.”
With those words, my mind goes to Finn. I’m still holding out hope that his death was as clever a ruse as this warehouse’s concealed location. A trick of the light, a well-executed misdirect.
Anything but reality.
But I shake the thought off, forcing myself to focus on the present. Finn wanted us to find the Quantum Sources. He wanted us to succeed, even if it cost him his life.
We must succeed.
With the small glass screen in hand so he can monitor Klondike’s progress, Rys leads us at a brisk walk through the warehouse, which is brightly illuminated by rows of halogen lights far overhead.
“There’s really no one here?” I ask, puzzled once again. “I have to say, this all seems a little too easy. I would have expected some sophisticated internal security system.”
“I guess the Directorate is arrogant enough to think their little illusion will keep would-be thieves away.”
“True,” I concur. “Still, we should get what we’re looking for and get out as fast as possible.”
I follow him down what seems like a never-ending aisle all the way to the far end of the warehouse. The multitude of shelves overwhelms me, each covered in containers that hold anything from weapons to grain to machinery.
“What exactly does one of these Batts look like?”
“They’re not very big,” Rys tells me. “The type we’re looking for is about the size of a stick of butter.”
“But I thought they were heavy,” I protest, remembering what Finn said when he described them to me.
“That’s the tricky part—they are. Extremely. Deceptively. It’s one reason I wanted the Bug with us,” he says, nodding down to the black box that’s still accompanying us everywhere we go. “It can hold several hundred pounds without its suspension collapsing under the weight.”
After a few minutes, we come to a corner of the warehouse that glows brighter than the rest. I look up at the ceiling, trying to figure out why. But the simple halogen bulbs are the same type as elsewhere.
It takes me a few seconds to realize the air itself is glowing, as if enhanced by some invisible, powerful force. A throb works its way through my head, a dull, slow-burning ache overtaking my insides.
“I’m beginning to understand why the King wouldn’t want the Batts in his home,” Rys moans, pressing his fingers to his temple.
“The Batts are doing that to us?”
He nods. “But don’t worry—they’re not dangerous. Just very powerful.”
“Oh, good. I’m glad to know I’m not about to melt into toxic human soup.”
“Here,” he says, chuckling as he gestures toward a shelf made of thick, reinforced steel. On its surface are what look like a hundred or so tidily layered black bricks.
I reach out for one, but Rys cocks his head skeptically. “Good luck lifting it,” he snickers.
“You’re forgetting,” I reply, wrapping my hands around it and pulling it off the shelf with ease, “I’m wearing Finn’s uniform. Heavy doesn’t mean much to me.”
Rys raises an eyebrow and smiles. “All right, I’ll admit that’s pretty impressive.”
Holding the Batt in one hand, I watch as Rys lifts off the top section of the Bug to reveal a hidden compartment. “In there,” he says, and I set the Batt gently down before turning to reach for another one.
Rys tries to follow suit. He grunts, shifts one of the Batts about half an inch on its shelf, then turns to me with an exaggerated frown. “I guess I forgot to do my pushups this morning.”
“Yeah. I’m sure that’s all it was,” I scoff.
When I’ve slipped three more Batts into the Bug, Rys says, “We should get going. Our time is running out.”
Klondike joins us as we make our way quickly back to the other end of the warehouse. We slip through the holo-wall into the small shed, but Rys stops me before we’re outside.
“Klondike—scan the area for threats,” he commands, and the sparrow takes off like a dart into the artificial treetops.
“All clear?” I whisper after a few seconds.
“So far, yeah,” Rys tells me, rubbing his eye.
“You seem agitated,” I say when I detect a note of worry in his voice. “That’s not like you.”
“We’ve been out here a long time. We need to get back.”
We slip out of the shed and grab hold of the horses’ reins, readying ourselves to mount again when above us, Klondike begins chirping wildly.
“Oh, God,” Rys spits.
“What is it?”
“A member of the King’s Guard,” he replies, pointing toward the path ahead. I can just barely make out movement among the trees in the distance. “On horseback—which means it’s one of the Knighthood.”
“Knighthood?”
“You’ll see.”
Instinctively, I pull my uniform’s shielding mask back down to cover my face, hideously aware that Rys will now have to explain what he’s doing at the shed with not one, but two of the King’s horses.
“Should we mount up and try to get away?” I ask in a whisper, my voice shaking.
“No,” he says. “These men are expert riders. He’d catch us in seconds. Let me handle this.”
“Rys…”
“Don’t say another word, Ash.”
He barks an abrupt command at the Bug, which begins wheeling away rapidly in the direction of the Conveyor where we first entered the Palace Grounds. Its thick, grooved rubber tires allow it to easily navigate the terrain, but I have my doubts as to whether it will reach its destination before being confiscated and eventually torn to pieces by members of the Guard.
