The Rift Uprising, page 10
Levi continues. “Okay, so you know that there are fourteen Rifts and only seven Villages worldwide. Two of them are here in the States. For now, we have about a dozen different habs for the species that are unlikely, if ever, to humanize. Those particular species are here, though, because the climate of the Pacific Northwest is the closest to what they lived in on their Earth. Of course, the number of habs could change if we get an influx of another species through a Rift. Most of these species Rifted through from other locations and were shipped here.”
I look out at the terrain of habs. It looks like a twisted version of an amusement park with different worlds. We drive by one with a giant crane holding a massive tube about sixty-five feet in length over a forested area. The tube is shooting out steady droplets of water as it swings back and forth. It looks like a giant sprinkler.
“That’s for the Grenillys. Have you seen them? They’re kind of like toad people. Very big, very slimy, very large gross factor. They can’t talk much, either, and when they do it’s like . . . remember when you drank soda as a kid and burped the alphabet? They sound like that.”
“Lovely,” I respond, but I am looking at the Grenillys’ hab, trying to suss it out.
“They need lots of rain, so ARC rigged up this system. They also built a bunch of ponds in there. I’ve only been in once, to deliver some insects.” I must have looked at him funny, because he laughed. “Seriously—two dozen crates of crickets and stuff. Had nightmares for a few days after that. They’re just so disgusting. I can’t imagine they’ll be worth a fraction of the effort we put into keeping them so fucking happy.” I stare at the crane and the fence surrounding the hab. I doubt very much that they are happy.
“Do you ever actually listen to the words that come out of your mouth?” I ask him while keeping my voice at a steady pitch. It’s taking a hell of a lot of willpower not to call him on his—well, I guess it would be human supremacist bullshit. “We put the effort in because they are a sentient species and our actions brought them here. The fact that ARC makes sure they are as comfortable as possible is pretty amazing considering it’s ARC—not the most moral organization.”
Levi lets out that loud, cruel laugh he’s perfected. He looks at me and then laughs again. “Seriously? You can’t possibly be so dumb. Is that part of your deal? Like, you let people think you’re stupid so they’ll underestimate you? Is it a strategy thing?”
I stare at him. He’s not joking. He’s serious. I’ve been accused of many things, but being dumb has never been one of them. Now I’m pissed. “I don’t know, Levi. Let’s each of us call our friends and ask them how smart they think we are. Ohhh, right. You can’t do that because you don’t have any friends. So you tell me. Who’s the dumb one? Because in our line of work, it’s very, very good to have friends.”
“Whatever,” Levi snorts, but I can tell my comment stung. “It’s just stupid to think that ARC is noble in any way. They keep the Grenillys alive because one day they might figure out that their skin cures cancer or some shit.”
The Grenilly paddock is behind us now. Still, Levi seems to be driving pretty slow for someone on a schedule. He’s so hard to figure out, which is clearly, based on his statement to me, something he feels gives him an advantage. It’s a dangerous way to think when you’re part of a team. “Don’t you ever get sick of it?” I ask him sincerely. “Being so aloof and guarded . . . the Tim Riggins of it all? Don’t you ever just want to relax and not be a dick all the time?”
“I’d rather know my enemy. All of my enemies,” Levi snaps.
“How exhausting for you.”
He gives me a look. A look that might be “Fuck you” or “Thank you for noticing how hard my life is.” I can’t tell which one it is, so I turn my head away. We sit in silence for a few seconds.
“So what do you know about the Villages?” Levi asks. I suppose that’s his idea of an olive branch and, for now, it’s one I’ll happily take.
“I know the other American Village is in the Everglades, built specifically for species, and people, too, I guess, who prefer hot and humid. The other Villages are in Africa, Australia, Lapland, Canada, and Brazil. Everyone wants a posting in the American Villages, though, because of how close they are to actual civilization.”
We don’t really get to choose for those years when we are supposed to be in college. We go where they tell us. But we do get to choose which of the fourteen Rifts we want to settle. Or we can choose a Village. That’s what they say. They could be lying about all that, too.
Who knows.
“Yeah, well, there aren’t as many humans in the other Villages outside this country. The weather is pretty extreme. It just depends. Those Vikings you picked up the other day. They want to go to Lapland. It happens. Though the whole idea of nationalism in an internment camp seems pretty fucking stupid.”
I blanch. I have never heard anyone call a Village what it really is. The casualness of it is a little scary.
We get past the habs, and what looks like a small town begins to emerge. This is so not what I thought it was going to be at all. It does actually look like a little village. There are stores and restaurants and all manner of people and species coming and going. It all looks . . . quaint. Eerily so. I mean, if you’re the type of person who thinks Star Trek can be quaint, which I am.
On the walls of buildings and posted to streetlights are large, graphically illustrated posters depicting different species all dressed like humans and doing very human things, like riding a bike or having a picnic. There are words like peace and solidarity printed at the bottom in a big, bold font.
“I don’t get it,” I blurt out. “It’s cute.”
Levi gives me a snide look and huffs. “This is the commercial area of the Village. As you can see, it functions a lot like a Main Street in any other small town.” He slows the golf cart and I watch the collection of picturesque buildings as we glide by. I immediately notice that there isn’t one distinct style of architecture. Rather, there’s an odd assortment, bound together by a similar color scheme so that it is pleasing to the eye. An adobe apartment sits beside a Tudor building. A modern, modular box (what I pictured, really, when I thought about the Village) seems to fit perfectly with a southern farmhouse, complete with a wraparound porch. The farmhouse is a bookstore, and, bizarrely, I have a hankering to stop and go inside, as if I was a tourist or something.
“There is an industrial and manufacturing area just northwest of here, and beyond that are the farms,” Levi explains.
“Industrial? I don’t get it. They make things here? Isn’t everything just shipped in from somewhere else?” I ask, still not grasping the scope of what I am seeing.
“The people, human or otherwise, that come through The Rift all have skills. Furniture makers, artists, journalists, actors, math teachers. They can’t be expected to just sit in their houses all day. That would be bad for morale. ARC gives everyone a job, a place, a function so they can contribute to their society. Otherwise there would be thousands of disgruntled Immigrants itching for a fight.” I let that statement sink in. It makes sense. If I had to control a vast population of people who were, in effect, prisoners, the smartest way for me to go about doing it would be to make them forget that they are prisoners at all.
“We are going into the neighborhoods now. Each neighborhood is reflective of a city here on this Earth. There’s a Marrakech, Kyoto, the Cotswolds, Siena, Stockholm, Tel Aviv, Shanghai, and two American neighborhoods, New York City and Cape Cod.” As Levi is speaking, the Marrakech neighborhood comes into view. It’s amazing. There are small winding alleys and streets and large stucco buildings with gorgeous Moorish tilework and intricately carved wood panels on the doors. I know enough about this part of the world to guess that each of these big buildings must be, in fact, riads—large structures containing small apartments or rooms around a single courtyard.
“It’s like Epcot, right? I mean, that’s what this all reminds me of,” I say out loud with a heavy dose of awe in my voice. “Is Ezra here? In Marrakech?
“You think he would be, with a last name like Massad, right? But that is one of the rules—you can decide which neighborhood you want to be in as long as you don’t really belong to that culture. It’s all about integration, right? Though they are pretty lax when it comes to other versions of Earth’s Americans choosing either the U.S. neighborhoods or the U.K. one. Americans get preferential treatment, though they swear they aren’t supposed to.”
We get past Marrakech and into the quaint adorableness that is the Cotswolds. The cottages look like something out of a fairy tale. Row upon row of the cutest little houses I have ever seen. Most have gardens in front and rustic fences. I decide that if I was in the Village, this is where I would choose to live. “Why not? I mean, we are in the United States. Aren’t we paying for all this?”
“Yes. But almost every country in the world contributes to the enormous cost of the Villages. We are here to humanize the Immigrants, not Westernize them. We have a synagogue, a mosque, different churches, and temples. All religions are welcome, but fundamentalism of any sort is not allowed. For example, a woman cannot veil in anything more extreme than a hijab. They don’t put up with that burka shit, so at least there’s that.”
I myself find burkas misogynistic, but I don’t pretend to understand all the cultural implications of wearing them. Levi dismissing them so out of hand just rubs me the wrong way. There is no point in getting into this with him, though. We are so naturally combative with each other that I think we would each take opposing sides just so we could argue.
“I suppose it would make you one way or the other, wouldn’t it?” I say instead, changing the subject. “Going through The Rift would make you either super religious or an atheist.”
“I think just working there does that,” Levi says with a little more laid-back tone. We leave the Cotswolds and pass through a bunch of lovely modern houses and apartments with pagoda-like tiles on the roofs. I assume this must be Kyoto.
Then suddenly we are in New York. I do a double take just to make sure. I’ve been to New York a few times with my parents to visit their old friends, and I swear to God, I feel like I am in a residential street in the West Village. Row upon row of brownstones with tons of character line a wide street. There are stoops and fire hydrants and open windows with curtains fluttering out. It is so bizarre.
“Your boyfriend lives half a block up there. The address is 675 and it’s apartment 3B. I can’t take you any farther because this is the one place on the street where there is a blind spot for the cameras, but please don’t tell him that. When you walk, angle your body so that the video won’t pick up on the fact that you don’t have a weapon. Technically, I am running errands for a superior officer, but I don’t have all day. So be as fast as you can.”
“Thanks,” I say genuinely, but then have to add, “and he’s not my boyfriend. Jesus.”
I get out of the golf cart and walk around it. Levi grabs my arm as I pass him. His fingers dig into my uniform. So much for the not-touching thing. “Please remember your promise to me, Ryn. I’m trusting you and I don’t just do that. For anyone.” Now he looks concerned. I want to sigh out loud. It’s insulting that he thinks so little of me.
I gently pull my arm back. “I made a promise to one of my own, Levi. That means something to me. I wouldn’t screw you over and I wouldn’t put this person’s safety at risk. I’m not like that. I don’t know what else I can do or say to assure you.”
Levi gives me a brief, reluctant smile. “Okay. You can’t blame me for being paranoid, though.”
“You don’t have to be. Not with me. Not ever.” I start to walk away, and I realize what I just said was true. He can always trust me. But I can’t get into Levi’s bizarre drama right now. I have to focus. I walk up to Ezra’s building. I open the door and take a deep breath. Now that I am here, I half wish I wasn’t. I practiced many things that I would say to him, but since I have actually seen the Village with my own eyes, I’m not sure that any of those things apply. If he’s looking for further explanations, about anything concerning this place, I cannot provide him with any.
I whip up the three flights of stairs and find his apartment easily enough. I bite my lip and steel myself. This is so crazy. Why am I doing this again? I shake my head, hoping to clear it, and I hesitate for a moment before knocking on the door. This is a person I’m attracted to, and I’m about to be alone with him. Right now, ARC is not the immediate danger—I am. If I slip up, if I allow myself to get distracted even one time, I will kill this boy. I try to concentrate on the idea that not every encounter where there is chemistry leads to romance. Sometimes the attraction takes a different path and ends up at friendship. That has to be my goal right now. Ezra and I are going to be friends. I repeat this a few times to myself and then I knock on the door. It takes a second or so for someone to answer, and the door swings open. Now Ezra Massad is standing right here in front of me. Good Lord, he looks gorgeous.
Shit, my whole friendship theory just went down the friggin’ toilet.
This stupid choice I’ve made to come here practically hits me in the gut. My body tenses the way it does right before The Rift opens, but instead of fighting, words start to pour out of my mouth in an awkward rapid fire. “Hi! I promised you I would come and see you and here I am!” The smile I have planted on my face has got to look ridiculous. My eyebrows are arched up practically to my hairline and my body is so rigid, I’m not sure I can get my feet to move into his apartment.
“You are, yes,” Ezra says, giving me a quizzical look. He does not seem happy to see me. Maybe this is because I am so over-the-top happy for both of us.
“It’s Ryn,” I offer, wondering if somehow he’s forgotten me. Maybe he’s blocked that whole Rift day from his mind, which wouldn’t be surprising. “Can I come in?” I say eventually, because I’m not sure he is actually going to invite me to do so.
“Sure.” Ezra opens the door wide enough for me to slip through and I now find myself in a man’s apartment. Alone. I hadn’t considered that.
“This is nice,” I say, and I mean it. There is exposed brick on one wall and a large flat-screen TV on the other. There is a fairly simple couch and an open-concept kitchen with a couple bar stools at an eat-in counter. The appliances are stainless steel and I notice there are a couple more doors at the other end. A bathroom, presumably, and a bedroom. It would probably cost a million dollars or more if it was actually in New York.
“It came like this, but they tell me that after I get a few months of work in I’ll have enough creds to make it my own.” Ezra smiles for the first time. It’s about as genuine as my weird Cheshire cat grin was at the door. Mine was because of nerves, however. His is sarcastic. There is an awful, awkward silence. He does not offer me a seat or anything to drink. It is pretty clear from his body language that he does not want me here. This stings. I didn’t expect he would be happy to see me. But I didn’t expect he would resent my showing up, either.
Actually, no, I did think he would be happy to see me, because he’s the one who asked me to come.
And now I’m just a bit pissed off.
It’s not like I didn’t just have to ask a favor from someone who drives me crazy, or have to sneak past my own people, and basically risk everything just to say hey.
But I am here, and it seems stupid to have gone through that simply to get into a fight. “I just . . .” I begin, and then stop. I want to choose my words carefully. I scratch my neck and bite my lip again. “I just wanted to make sure you’re okay. That you’ve settled in all right, I guess.” This is not a lie. This is the absolute truth. It isn’t the whole truth. I didn’t mention that I hadn’t been able to stop thinking about him, but mentioning that part would only increase the awkward factor to an intolerable level.
“Oh, yeah,” Ezra begins with mock enthusiasm. “I love it here. It’s awesome. First I was poked and prodded in places that no eighteen-year-old heterosexual guy—and I’m pretty sure most homosexual guys—should be poked and prodded. Then I was interrogated for days like I was at Guantanamo, which was super fun.”
“Ezra, stop—” I try to speak, but he’s opened the floodgates now and is all riled up.
“Then I was tested like a lab rat and put through a bunch of machines that are still making my head buzz. Then I had to take actual tests like the SAT times a thousand. So amazing. And then they bring me to this psycho ‘Stepford meets It’s a Small World’ village and tell me how great it’s going to be here—get this—for the rest of my life. Oh, yeah, it’s so wonderful here that I’ll never want to leave, which is really great because if I try to, I will be shot on sight. I’m okay, Ryn. I’m fucking brilliant. How are you? How’s your special skill set doing?” Ezra’s breath is rapid. He is furious. There really is nothing to say to any of that except one thing.
“I’m so sorry, Ezra, that this happened to you.” I hope I sound genuine, because I really mean it.
Ezra folds his arms. Clearly my apology isn’t going to cut it. “Not sorry enough to warn me what was coming.”
I can’t hold back anymore. Don’t you get it! I want to scream. Instead I say, “And then what would you have done? Run? We would have tracked you down. Fight? You would have gotten your ass handed to you. Jump back through The Rift? You could have ended up on an Earth totally devoid of life. There are no happy endings when it comes to The Rift. There are just best- and worst-case scenarios. You got a best-case scenario. I’m not saying you should be thrilled about it, but you’ll adapt. Because you’re still alive, and some people that come out of The Rift can’t say that.”
Ezra shakes his head and the anger ebbs away from him, but it has turned into frustration.
“I don’t want to adapt. I don’t want to just be alive. I want to live. I want to travel and have a family and see my parents again. This place might be pretty, but it’s a prison. I am a prisoner here.” His magnificent blue eyes are so sad. I can feel myself begin to pull apart. All the walls over the years that I have built, brick by brick with lies and loneliness, don’t feel nearly as solid as they did before I walked into this room. It’s as if I am taking his pain and making it my own. And while this idea terrifies me, I am also grateful that I have the ability to feel anything so real and so deep. I honestly didn’t think I was capable. I can’t think of anything to do other than sit down for a moment. I place my palms on the back of my neck and press hard. It is a force of habit. When the implant felt like it was burning my skull I used to do the same gesture. Now I find myself doing it whenever I hurt.
