Mirror's Edge: Impostors 3, page 8
The first star is flickering on my badge.
‘We don’t even know what kind of clique we’re meeting,’ Zura says quickly. ‘Jax said they’re sense-missing. What does Future even mean?’
‘Maybe that they want a better future. You want to tell Col and Yandre we’re giving up?’
‘There won’t be a chance. Just say you’ve picked a different spot to camp. They’ll trust you.’
Col is still the heir to House Palafox, and Zura his loyal soldier. She’d rather lay this decision on me than disobey him directly.
‘This campsite.’ Zura taps her location-finder, where Sara put in coordinates. ‘It’s close to that construction zone.’
‘The valley that’s off-limits?’
‘Not just off-limits. Dangerous.’ Zura’s voice goes softer. ‘Those digging machines, their drivers were wearing hazard suits.’
I come to a halt in the street. ‘What for?’
Zura checks her badge before answering. The first star is almost solid, and she whispers now. ‘Radiation? Chemicals? Nanos? Whatever’s out there, I’m not letting Col anywhere near it.’
She pulls me back into motion.
In the silence, Rafi’s warning goes through my head again.
He’ll be ready with something.
A little mutually assured destruction.
What’s my father up to on the outskirts of Shreve?
I put on the glasses again. Almost every doorway is marked. Half with drawings of a hand, others with wide, unblinking eyes. People who’ll help you in a pinch? Those who are spies for Security?
In the last few hours, I’ve learned so much about Shreve, all the shades of complexity that were invisible from my father’s tower. But I still hardly know a thing.
Like the palimpsest itself, there are layers upon layers here.
By the time we reach the station, sunlight slants through the broken clouds, revealing that the dust haze has returned. The air has that heavy smell again.
Three solid stars on my badge.
The rest of our crew is huddled at the station entrance, in a vigilant circle around our gear. When they see the pack in Lodge’s hands, they relax a little.
‘Just a misunderstanding,’ I say.
‘So no change in plans?’ Col asks. ‘We’re still trying that new campsite?’
I hesitate, feeling Zura’s eyes on me. The sensible step is to go back to the original plan. Let Victoria take care of itself. Stay away from cliques and crims, and even farther away from anyone in a hazard suit.
Rescue Boss X. Let the free cities handle Shreve.
I open my mouth.
‘You bet we are. It sounds like fun.’
PART III
FUTURES
What is history? An echo of the past in the future; a reflex from the future on the past.
— Victor Hugo
18. PAST THE MACHINES
Our train is running on time.
We stand out even more now, seven muddy campers with a vaguely foreign air. Being soaking wet is noticeable in any city, but here in Shreve it tells a story—we went out in the rain to escape the dust.
We’re not the only soggy passengers, though. The train is divided into wet and dry, rebellious and obedient. Glances travel across the aisles. Suspicion, even a little fear, but mostly a steady resolve to ignore each other.
Maybe the good citizens of Shreve just want to stay out of trouble until we’ve all gone our separate ways.
The real tension on the train is between Zura and me. Her cool expression reminds me of my tutors in the month before I went to live with the Palafoxes. When I used the wrong fork for the hundredth time, they sighed with what a disappointment I was. But they also knew that my missing manners weren’t my own fault. My big sister was born for elegance and style; I was born for havoc.
To Zura, I’m nothing but an unlucky roll of the dice, a complication in Col’s path back to his rightful place. Boss X once told me that I owed the world nothing but chaos.
Lately I’ve been paying my debts in full.
‘End of the line’s an hour away,’ Col tells me. ‘If we hike fast, we can make the campsite before sunset.’
He leaves a question in his voice, like a friend seeking approval for vacation planning. He’s sensed the tension.
With the dust listening, I don’t know how to reassure him.
‘That’s great, Arav. We’re all pretty tired.’ Before I can say more, the voice of the city interface is in our ears.
‘Sometimes a change in plan turns a trip into an adventure! Sorry the construction got in your way. These two train journeys will be merit-free.’
‘Thank you, sir,’ we both say.
We’re silent for the next few minutes, as if waiting for an unwelcome passerby to leave us alone. But the Shreve AI isn’t going anywhere.
It doesn’t ask us what happened during the downpour. Maybe it doesn’t worry about the gaps in its omniscience.
The rain is the rain.
Soon the terrain begins to climb beneath us. This slice of the greenbelt is for real hikers, a string of rocky hills and heavy forest.
We’ll wind up roughly where we’d expected to tonight—this detour hasn’t put us behind schedule yet.
‘Funny how plans never work out quite how you think,’ I say to Col.
He smiles. ‘Where’s your sense of adventure, Islyn?’
I wonder how adventurous he’d feel if he knew that Jax tried to steal from us. Or about the hazard suits.
Col sees my disquiet. He takes my hand.
‘Have I ever told you about my dog? When I was five?’
For a split second, I freeze—we don’t want the AI checking the detail-missing records of our early lives.
But the dust is only ten years old. Col can say anything he wants about when he was that little.
‘I don’t think so,’ I say.
‘His name was Teo.’
I smile. Col’s telling me a story about his little brother.
‘Teo used to get in all kinds of trouble. Once I was chasing him, and he led me down into the basement.’
My head spins, trying to decode Col’s story. The two brothers grew up in House Palafox, more a mansion than a house. By the basement, he must mean the oldest part—built of ancient stone in the pre-Rusty days.
‘We found some family heirlooms down there,’ he goes on. ‘Things I wasn’t supposed to know about.’
‘So Teo was a … bad dog.’
Col smiles. ‘No, a good dog. One of those antiques turned out to be very handy later on.’
Of course—the pulse knife that Col and I stole from his family’s collection. Without it, we couldn’t have escaped after my father’s forces attacked Victoria. It kept us alive until we found what remained of Col’s army.
‘Since then,’ he says, ‘my philosophy’s been simple. Sometimes the place you aren’t supposed to be is exactly where you’re supposed to be.’
I expect the Shreve AI to reprimand Col for this unruly doctrine. But it remains silent. Maybe his story was too vague for the AI to understand. But the meaning is clear to me.
Col is happy to risk broadening this mission—reconnaissance, rebellion, whatever blows against my father we can land. He wants to double down.
I suspect that Riggs, Boss Charles, and Yandre would agree. Lodge and Zura, absolutely not.
As always, my allies are in disarray.
But Col is on my side.
I reach out and hold him, taking in the feel of his body, still new and unfamiliar. Our false identities might be registered with the city as romantic partners, but it’s still strange, kissing with the dust watching.
Col seems not to care—he pulls my lips to his.
I remember what he said in the recovery room, when we first saw each other with these new faces. Islyn and Arya, two normal people in love. No armies, no allies.
The world at war around us, but not our war.
I try to switch off my reflexes—all those years of being my sister’s bodyguard. Checking the exits, scanning the crowd for dangers. Islyn lets the dust worry about all that.
I try to feel small and safe, there in Arav’s embrace.
And for a moment, I become part of Shreve—one ordinary life lived against the backdrop of bloodshed and tumult …
Until the city speaks softly in my ear. ‘Your public display of affection has made others on the train look away.’
Because they’re uncomfortable? Or simply polite?
The Shreve AI doesn’t threaten us with demerits. Maybe so few people kiss in public here that it doesn’t have the data to make a judgment.
Col and I pull apart, looking at each other.
What would Islyn and Arav do?
Maybe they wouldn’t worry about it. This dust, this dictatorship, this war, none of it has to matter right now.
I kiss him again, daring the world to stop me.
19. HIKING WITH NEW FRIENDS
We make camp in the greenbelt, exhausted, uncertain about what happens next.
In the morning, I wake up to noises outside our tent. It’s barely dawn—my brain is fuzzy.
Col is still asleep, so I leave him and crawl out into the rosy light.
Zura and Yandre are already up, but the noise wasn’t them.
Out in the morning mist, three figures are making their way toward us. Kids, too young to have had surgery.
They halt at the edge of our camp, wary and silent. The one in the center pulls her hoodie down—it’s Sara.
Col crawls from our tent, sleepily taking in the scene. He touches my right hand, and I realize that it’s clenched into a fist.
I relax, grateful that I didn’t summon Rafi’s birthday present by accident. Zura is already intimidating enough in her camping thermals, her Special muscles unmistakable.
One of the new kids wears glasses—he’s scanning the campsite, our tents, us. After a moment, he nods at Sara.
She steps forward, a sly grin on her face.
‘Want to see something bubbly?’
Riggs, Lodge, and Charles are still asleep, but our new friends don’t wait around. They head off into the woods without another word.
We follow.
‘Hiking with new friends!’ the Shreve AI exclaims. ‘Two merits per kilometer.’
‘Thank you, sir,’ we all say.
We head east, back toward the off-limits valley. Every step is bringing us closer to the construction zone, and those hazard suits.
The boy with eyeglasses is scanning our route. When I slip on my own pair, I see the hidden signs—arrows on the trees.
They lead us into the brush. Brambles tear at our clothes and skin, the ground rising steeper into the hills. Then a new path opens up, barely wide enough for us to walk single file. It’s not signposted like the official greenbelt trails.
Soon we’re scrambling up a rock face, using our hands and feet. Through the glasses I can see the marks guiding us.
Then a battered old sign appears.
RECLAMATION AREA
WARNING: DUST GAPS
I remember this place now—when Rafi and I were little, one of my father’s strip mines was restored into greenbelt. He gave a speech here when the work began, with me standing next to him, sweltering in a lacy dress and body armor.
The sign is a warning. Up here, we can lie to each other. If we’re hurt, no med drones will come. If thieves and murderers are lurking, we’re on our own.
But my badge still shows two stars.
Our guides keep climbing.
The land bears the scars of strip mining. Huge machine-cut pieces of mountain are jumbled on each other, like a giant’s discarded playthings.
The three kids scramble through the rocks easily, familiar with every handhold.
We finally stop at the crest of the hill, in a triangular passage formed by three slabs of stone. One opening frames the wild beyond the city.
Our three hosts clamber up to sit together on a high ledge, staring down at us like the judges on Shame-Cam.
On my badge, the dust signal is now zero—the passage is channeling a steady breeze from the unpolluted air of the wild.
‘Check it out.’ Sara holds up her badge for the boys to see.
‘So that thing really works?’ the boy with glasses asks.
‘It does,’ I say. ‘And we can get you more of them.’
They all look at me.
Sara gives her friends a nod each. ‘This is Ran, and that’s Chulhee. They’re the founders of Future.’
‘We can’t tell you our names,’ Zura says.
‘Sure,’ says Ran, the boy with the glasses. ‘But you’re rebels, right?’ ‘Mostly,’ Yandre says.
That sends a flutter through them. Excitement, curiosity, and a hint of unease from Ran.
‘Are you here to sabotage the farms?’ he says.
Col shakes his head. ‘We don’t hit your food supplies anymore. Not since the earthquake in Paz.’
‘Tell that to my ration card,’ Ran says with a grunt.
‘You’re only hungry because no one wants to trade with Shreve,’ Yandre says. ‘Your city isn’t very popular right now.’
Sara and Chulhee burst into laughter at this, and Ran gives them an annoyed look.
‘I’m not a bubblehead,’ he says to Yandre. ‘I know the score.’
Sara gives the boy a thump on his shoulder. ‘Ran loves eating.’
At those words, my empty stomach rumbles, and the laughter spreads. Suddenly we aren’t two teams sizing each other up—we’re just a bunch of people who haven’t had breakfast yet.
Col turns to Zura. ‘Did you bring any food?’
She nods and pulls out a TogoBar, a precious gift from the free cities. It’s flavored with hand-grown chocolate from an agricultural syndicate in Africa.
Col takes the bar and breaks it into quarters, handing them out. ‘You have to try this.’
The kids each take a piece, and Col gives me the last one. When I bite, flavor flows across my tongue, crisp with hazelnuts and cashews, luxuriant with the dark flavors of chocolate.
For a moment, our new friends are stunned into silent chewing.
Then Sara speaks up. ‘How is this so good?’
‘Do you have more?’ Ran asks.
The other boy, Chulhee, still hasn’t said a word. But his eyes are alight in the pink morning sun.
I could tell them that this is what the rest of the world has to offer. That there’s a whole planet full of food and art and music out there. That not least of my father’s crimes is cutting his people off from the rest of humanity.
But I keep it simple.
‘Yeah, lots more. Maybe we can help each other.’
20. CLIQUE
‘Tell us about Future,’ Col says. ‘What does it mean?’
‘It’s a clique for people who worry about how history will see us,’ Sara says.
I smile—just what we expected. ‘So you’re tired of war and conquest defining Shreve.’
‘What?’ Sara shakes her head. ‘Don’t be silly—the war’s not our fault. We’re talking about our personal historians.’
We all just look at her.
‘You have … historians?’ Yandre asks.
Chulhee speaks up for the first time. ‘Everything that happens in Shreve becomes history. Other cities have privacy laws, but the dust keeps everything … forever. So when historians in the future want to study the past, they’re going to look at us.’
There’s a pause before Yandre asks, ‘No offense, but why would they study you specifically?’
‘Not just us,’ Ran says. ‘Everyone. One day there’ll be a dozen historians studying every person in Shreve.’
I must look dumbfounded, because Chulhee starts talking like I’m a littlie, every word slow and careful.
‘Since the mind-rain, humanity’s been growing—like back in Rusty days. In a century or two, there could be ten times as many people as now. And about one percent of all people are professional historians.’
‘Okay,’ I say. ‘So?’
‘So do the math!’ Chulhee’s eyes are lit up again, like he’s had another bite of chocolate. ‘That’s one historian for every ten people alive today. Except they can only study the citizens of Shreve. Nobody else’s lives are recorded!’
‘Future historians can watch every moment of my life,’ Sara says. ‘Rewinding, fast-forwarding. Like I’m their favorite feed drama!’
‘And we’re not just talking about one generation,’ Chulhee says. ‘Maybe a century from now, only one historian’s watching me, but in two centuries, another one gets interested. In a thousand years, maybe there’s a whole committee, all specializing in me.’
‘And you really think that’s … likely?’ Yandre asks.
Chulhee shrugs. ‘It’s just math.’
‘And it’s exhausting,’ Ran says. ‘You have to keep your life historic.’
Sara turns to him with a smirk. ‘Like when you spend the whole day eating in front of the feeds? Who’s gonna watch that?’
He sighs. ‘Don’t judge—we all make our own stories.’
‘And you have to balance good and bad,’ Chulhee says. ‘You don’t want to be on Shame-Cam all the time. But no one’s going to study you unless there’s drama in your life.’
Sara tugs at her climbing clothes. ‘Just getting dressed in the morning can be headspinning. How am I supposed to know what’s going to look bubbly a century from now?’
My brain is somehow connecting all this, recalling how Rafi fretted before our public appearances. Hundreds of people in the audience, thousands more watching on the feeds, all with different tastes, different backgrounds.
Somehow she was supposed to please them all. Those decisions were something I never envied my sister.
If the imperious Rafia of Shreve worried about that multitude of eyes, how can these three deal with centuries of being seen?
And why should they care about us?
‘Sara,’ I say. ‘Future wants to help us fight this regime, right? You were part of the protests, after the Revelation?’
‘Kind of.’ She gives me a sheepish smile. ‘That night was more about being historic. Like that picture of a nurse and sailor kissing, after the Rusty Anti-Fascist War ended. One grainy photo, and they live forever!’
