Meridian Six Part 3

I rolled my eyes. "That gate wouldn't keep an infant out."

A smile lifted the corner of Icarus's mouth. "Don't let it fool you. Saga has plenty of b.o.o.by traps throughout this place. Keep your eyes open and be ready to duck and roll."

The gate screeched a warning but offered no other resistance. Beyond it, as far as I could see, were mountains of trash. Rusted out cadavers of automobiles, wheel-less baby carriages, old clothes waving in the breeze like flags of surrender. Hills made of plastic bottles and used diapers. Aluminum cans, cereal boxes, containers made of something Icarus called Styrofoam. After years spent in the sterile halls of the dormitories and the crisp, modern palaces of the Troika's leaders, this pit of rot and decay was a shock to the system. A morbid museum doc.u.menting the consumption habits of pre-war humans.

As we pa.s.sed a tall pile of shoes, Icarus stopped and started digging. I looked down at my feet. By that time, the shoes the Chatelaine had given me were meager sc.r.a.ps that barely covered my feet. The places where they'd worn away were covered in weeping blisters and cuts from two days of walking. Still, I hesitated to dive in like Dare and Rabbit did the instant Icarus gave the nod. Rabbit emerged from the pile with a victorious whoop. He had a boot in each hand. The set didn't match--one was black, the other brown--but they appeared to be the same size. Without hesitation, he kicked off his threadbare sandals.

"d.a.m.n," the kid said. "Too big." He glanced around. Seeing that Dare was in the process of putting on some she'd found, his gaze shot to me. "Here." He thrust the prizes toward me. I hesitated. The kid frowned at me. "What's wrong?"

"Miss Priss probably thinks her tender feet are too good for second-hand shoes." This came from Dare. Hers matched, but that's about as much as they had going for them.

I avoided her too-knowing glare and grabbed the boots from Rabbit. "Thanks, kid."

They were still warm and gritty from his feet. I ignored my natural urge to recoil and shoved my foot in all the way. It was only when the leather cupped my heel that I realized the d.a.m.ned things fit like they'd been made for my foot.

"Ha! Look at that," Rabbit said, beaming.

I glanced down at our feet. Mine with the mismatched but well-made boots and Rabbits bare and covered in dirt and blood. Shame washed through me. This kid had never in his life known the luxury of new shoes. I smiled at him. "Let's find you some now."

"Here, buddy," Icarus called from across the pile. He tossed a pair of scuffed wingtips across. The kid looked like he'd been handed gold. "Wow, thanks Ick!"

I raised my brows at the nickname and received a grimace in return. "Put them on quick. Saga's waiting."

A couple of minutes later, Icarus led us to a pile of old cars. I glanced around, expecting a pack of junkyard dogs or a swarm of bats to attack at any moment. Even among the mountains of trash, we were way too exposed for my liking.

Ignoring my worried glances, Icarus took his time finding a stone from the red dirt. Once he found a specimen he liked he sucked at his teeth while he squinted at the pile. A split second before I opened my mouth to ask what he was doing, he threw the rock at the rusted hood of a blue car about halfway up the pile.

Just when I was ready to call bulls.h.i.t, a small mechanical sound reached my ear. Like small gears grinding. An instant later a headlight from a red car lower on the stack broke away from the car's frame. It rose up on a telescoping rod and once it reached about twelve inches up, the top portion flipped over to reveal a camera's eye imbedded inside.

I raised my brows and shot Dare a look. She shot back a s.h.i.t-eating grin. Then she mugged for the camera and gave it a wave. Icarus just stood with his legs braced and his jaw tight, which from what I could tell was his relaxed stance.

A red light blinked to the right of the eye, but no voices came from the cars and no armies appeared from the surrounding trash piles. Instead, another mechanical sound followed by a whoosh of air escaping some sort of airlock sent a puff of rusty dust up from the trunk of a large sedan.

Icarus motioned a hand toward the yawning trunk. "After you."

I considered suggesting he go f.u.c.k himself, but paused. We'd come to this place so I could be tested. Something told me to balk at going in first would earn me a failing grade before I'd even crossed the threshold. So instead of arguing, I raised my chin, adjusted my canteen on its shoulder strap and took a purposeful step toward the dark void.

"Watch your step," Rabbit warned. "That first one's tricky." The helpful suggestion earned the kid a knock on the shoulder from Dare. He shot her an annoyed look as he ma.s.saged the tender spot. "What? We don't want her to die before Saga gets his hands on her."

The way he said it implied that surviving to meet Saga might be worse than death, but I ignored it, shot him a nod of thanks for the warning and marched forward.

My new heavy boots clomped against the metal b.u.mper. The instant my feet hit the inside of the trunk, the bottom gave way and blue shadows swallowed me down a long, cold throat. Gravity tugged me down even as my stomach shot up to the back of my throat, blocking the screams that fought for freedom. My back hit something hard and then my side did too. I was in some sort of chute. I couldn't see anything and the air was clogged with dust and the cold, grey scent of clay. I could only brace myself, hoping that whatever waited for me at the bottom wasn't instantly lethal.

Soon enough, the world slowed down and then went still altogether. Before I opened my eyes, I did a quick physical inventory. When the pains in my arms, legs and back proved to be superficial, I listened for a moment. I could hear sounds, like arguing, echoing far above my head. The others were trying to decide who'd come in after me. But closer, down there where I lay on my side in the dark, I heard something far more menacing--the sound of an animal breathing.

"Be very still," a male voice said from maybe twenty feet away--hard to tell since the words echoed off the walls like we were inside some sort of cavern. "Polonius hasn't had his rations yet this day."

I opened my eyes and was pleased to find they'd adjusted to the dark enough to allow me to make out the outline of a bent-male form standing next to a very large four-legged animal. "Maybe Polonius should be careful, too," I said. "I haven't had any rations today, either."

A low chuckle reached me. "You hide your fear. That's good. But is it enough? We shall see."

I pushed myself out of my p.r.o.ne position to turn toward the voice. "Show yourself, old man."

A light flared. Pain burst behind my pupils at the sudden brightness. I covered them for a moment and then squinted toward the man. I had to blink a few times before the blurry form took shape, but when it did, I dropped my hand and let my lids open wide.

Standing next to the largest dog I had ever seen was the oldest man I had ever seen. Granted, in the post-Troika world, men rarely lived longer than their thirtieth birthday. Even those who'd been blessed (or cursed depending on your perspective) with a desirable blood type, still aged rapidly because of the constant demands on their veins. And those who worked in the blood camps literally were worked to an early grave.

But the man before me had to be at least double that, but I didn't really have much to judge by. His shoulders slumped forward, as if he was curling into himself. He had a long, white beard, which he'd braided into a long, thick strand. In contrast to the hair on his face, his scalp was completely free of hair and the dome shone dully in the lantern light. His clothes were simple grey homespun--clean from what I could see and functional but completely free of ornamentation. In his right hand, he held a lantern aloft and in his left was a wood staff taller than his own height. The wood was highly polished and topped with a metal symbol I couldn't make out from where I stood.

"Now that you've had your look," he said, "and I've had mine, you can tell me your name, stranger."

I licked my dry lips. "My birth name is Carmina Sargosa." I'd chosen to give him that name first because he seemed old enough to know the history of my mother.

His eyes widened. "Sargosa, you say? Hmm. And what name did they give you at the camp?"

"I don't come from the camps."

He pursed his lips. "Don't try to convince me you grew up in the resistance. You've got too many teeth in that mouth of yours."

My lips quirked. "I was raised in the Dormitories."

He stilled. "Which one?"

"Meridian."

"Let me guess--cell six?"

I nodded. He'd known who I was all along. Those questions had been a test of my honesty.

He c.o.c.ked his head. "What a coincidence. Someone named Meridian Six is wanted for attacking the Prime just two nights past."

I crossed my arms. "Shouldn't believe rumors." For that matter how in the h.e.l.l did he hear anything hiding as he did down in that pit.

Swishing sounds came from behind me, indicating the others were on their way down the chute to join us. Icarus appeared first, of course. Unlike me, he didn't flail out of the tube and land on his a.s.s. Instead he found his feet easily and came to join the old man and me. "What's the story?" he asked Saga.

He flicked too-shred eyes in my direction. "I'm intrigued. Bring her." With that he turned flicking a, "Come Polonius" over his shoulder.

The dog executed a wide turn and followed his slow master back through the archway leading out of the cavern. I looked at Icarus. "What now?"

Rabbit and Dare shot out of the slide a split second before he said, "Now we find out if you get to live."

As it turned out, the cavern I'd landed in was only a tiny part of what turned out to be an extensive underground bunker. Icarus and the others led me into a long corridor. The walls of this s.p.a.ce were covered floor to ten-foot ceiling with books. The musty scent of aged pages filled the s.p.a.ce, and I wondered how Saga managed to keep the books from rotting in the damp air. Icarus moved ahead to go talk to Saga, leaving me in Dare's keeping.

"What is this place?" I asked her. Because of her wounds, I had to slow my pace, which was fine given the judgment waiting for me at the other end of corridor.

She glanced at me but I could tell she wasn't happy to have to talk. "Saga considers himself a historian, of sorts. This is his library."

I glanced at the thousands of books. "What kind of historian?"

"Of the human race."

My eyes widened. I knew that when the Troika decided to take over the planet, one of their first moves was buying up all media companies, which included servers filled with the bulk of shared knowledge on the planet. When the actual war began, it was simply a matter of flipping a few switches to deprive humans of every electronic source of communication and information.

"Where did he get all these? I thought the Troika confiscated all the remaining printed books when they took over."

"They did. But Saga went underground long before the war began."

"What? Why would he do that?"

She sniffed, like my curiosity offended her. But before she could explain, Saga's voice echoed down the hall. "Because I never trusted the world wide web. Too many spiders."

My instinct was to declare the old man insane. But I knew all too well how easily the Troika had cut people off from each other because they'd sacrificed their freedoms to the G.o.ds of convenience.

Dare nudged me toward the doorway that Saga's voice had come from. I stumbled across the portal and gasped. I thought the hallway had a lot of books, but the--well 'room' was too pitiful a word--I'd just entered had more books than I ever imagined existed. The room was really a wide, round circle that rose dozens of feet in the air. Like a silo of books. Tall, rickety ladders leaned against the towering shelves and walkways were built at intervals up the walls. In the center of the room, a large desk stood atop a platform reached by a narrow bridge. Other bridges wagon-wheeled out at intervals to the shelves. The tunnel of books continued far below, as well, and those appeared to be accessed by ladders leading down from the bridges.

"Tell me, Carmina, can you read?"

I considered telling him to call me Six, but the twinkle in his eye told me he'd used my real name on purpose. "Of course." It wouldn't do for the Troika's propaganda doll to be ignorant.

"What is your favorite book?"

When a man who owns more books than the number of humans left on the planet asks you your favorite book it's not a casual question. This was the beginning of the tests. I raised my chin and went with the truth. "I've never read a printed book, and the majority of story-discs I was allowed to read were written by vampires loyal to the Troika."

"No doubt they were heroic tales about brave vampires who defeated hordes of dirty humans."

My lips twitched. "You've read Blood Bond, then?"

"Among others." He clicked his tongue. "Pedestrian writing, at best. At worst, they're terrifying windows into the psyche of our masters."

"What's your favorite book?" I asked him. Not that I knew the t.i.tles of many human novels, but I figured a man like Saga would jump at the chance to talk about his favorite stories. Maybe he'd appreciate it so much he'd go lighter on me in the trials.

"Fahrenheit 451," he said immediately. "You've heard of it."

I nodded. "Bradbury."

His eyes flared. "I'm impressed."

"Don't be. The only reason I know of it was one of my teachers preached it as the perfect example of how humans were begging to be dominated by a superior species."

"Oh." Saga's face fell. So did my hopes of pa.s.sing his tests.

Behind me Rabbit cleared his throat. "My favorite is Watership Down."

I frowned at him. "You can read?"

"Of course." Rabbit puffed up his chest. "I ain't a dumba.s.s."

I smiled at the kid in apology. "What's that one about?" I wanted to keep the kid talking in hopes it would help Saga forget I'd insulted his favorite book.

"Watership Down is about a group of heroic rabbits who have to leave their warren in order to find a new home."

"That's why he's called Rabbit," Dare offered with an indulgent smile at the kid.

I nodded politely, wondering how anyone could sound so loyal to a silly story about rabbits. "That's nice," I said when they all looked at me expectantly.

Saga's eyes narrowed. "What do you remember of your mother?"

The question was so sudden, so unexpected that hearing it felt like a physical blow. A sucker punch. Surely he knew. "That she was the leader of the human resistance at the Battle of Manhattan."

He pursed his lips and ran a hand down his beard. "Do you believe this information to be true?"

I raised my chin. "Doesn't matter what I believe. I know it to be true because I remember her."

"Are you certain?"

"Of course."

He smiled sadly, like one might at a misguided child. "Are you aware that the Troika has been doing experiments on humans for years in the work camps?"

I crossed my arms. "I've heard whispers, rumors."

Icarus snorted. "They're not just rumors." He sounded too confident for the information to be from hearsay.

I shrugged because I didn't have a response. They'd tell me what they wanted me to know soon enough.

Saga saw me mentally dig my heels in and smiled. "Isn't it possible they also conducted experiments on the humans they collected for the dormitories?"

I narrowed my eyes and tilted my head. "The Troika is capable of a lot of things, but they are not able to falsify memories or emotions. And if you know what is good for you, you will stop trying to convince me that the memories I have of my mother are lies." I delivered these words in a voice edged with steel. It simply was not an option to even entertain what they were suggesting. My memories of my mother were the only warmth I had to cling to when I was young and huddled in the cold, white dormitory bed at night. When it was dark and the sniffling of my cellmates punctuated the air and the loneliness pressed in so hard I could barely breath. The fact Saga even attempted to f.u.c.k with my head like this made me want to walk out of that book tomb and d.a.m.n the consequences.

"I wouldn't act on the thoughts behind those wild eyes of yours."

"You don't know what I think, old man."

He dipped his chin to acknowledge that he didn't have the ability to mind read. "I wouldn't presume to, but I can see the anger boiling there. But it is displaced. We aren't your enemies."

"Aren't you? Ever since the Chatelaine brought me to this group I have been treated like one."

"Do you know what the human rebels call you?" Saga asked. I shook my head. "The Troika's Concubine."

"Why dress it up in big words, Scribe? You meant to say I was the Troika's wh.o.r.e, correct?" I asked with a raised brow.

"I still say we shouldn't trust someone whose reputation is pro-Troika." Dare grumbled.

I couldn't afford for these people to see how their obtuseness over the reality of my life with the Troika affected me, so I tossed my hair back and raised my chin. "So why didn't you kill me on sight?"