Control

CHAPTER 17

IT’S SATURDAY. CRAP. I HAVE ONE DAY LEFT, and Marka won’t budge. That woman isn’t just tall, she’s got an iron will of stubbornness that’s too frustrating to be admired right now.

I have to let Micah know I can’t make it. I take the transport and stairs to the white dome of the stairwell, but the door to the agriplane is locked and glowing red. For the first time, I realize that red is an awfully irritating color.

“Oh shi—”

A crackly voice transmits near the door.

“Such language!” Wilbert snorts.

“Sorry. I just wanted to take a little walk.” I try to think of a good excuse that he’ll believe. “You know, get away from Cy. He’s been kind of . . .”

“. . . a cold fish? Harsh, cynical, and devoid of emotion?”

“Uh, yeah, yeah, yeah, and yeah. Anyway, I’m still locked out. I just want a few minutes. Can you override the door? I’ll bring Callie back some, er, compost or something.” Man, that was the worst bargaining ever.

“Sure. Just be back inside the tower in fifteen minutes. I have to lock up and double the perimeters. Okay?”

“Promise. Thanks, Wilbert.”

The door light goes green, and I push it open. The sun’s already dipped below the horizon. The expanding, infinite indigo that approaches is magnificent.

I walk into the rows of sunseed plants to distance myself from the tower. Is it true that someone in Carus is responsible for jamming everyone’s holo? I think about Marka and how little she wants me to leave. It makes sense, but I’m not sure what to do with my suspicions.

The air is chilly up here. Beneath the agriplane, everything is a steady 72 degrees year-round. In the winter, the agriplane acts like a greenhouse and in the summer it reflects the worst of the sun’s burning heat. Right now, the drop in temperature with the setting sun turns me into an ice cube. I hug my arms to rub away the goose bumps.

“Micah,” I call. “Micah, answer me.” I walk up and down the rows for a full ten minutes, calling for him, but my screen keeps switching to the weather channel.

I only have five minutes left. “Please,” I beg. “Talk to me.”

“All you had to do was say ‘please,’” Micah answers.

“Micah! What took you so long?”

“They wouldn’t leave me alone. I couldn’t answer until I got away.”

It didn’t occur to me that Micah is risking himself for me. I’ve only been thinking of myself this whole time. But now it’s time for Micah to talk.

“You never told me you used to be in Carus House.” It’s an accusation, the way it comes out, and I know he knows it by the silence that follows.

“Yes. I’m nineteen now; I left eighteen months ago.”

“I thought it was more complicated than you just leaving.”

“You’re talking about the Ana fiasco.” In the space of a sigh, I sense him organizing his memories for me. “She had this puppy-love crush on me. She’d talk in my head nonstop all day about how she wanted to leave Carus with me and live a real life. So when we went on that junkyard run, she figured it was time. She knew I would try to stop her, and I guess she hoped that would keep us together. I did everything I could to make her go back, but she wouldn’t.”

I’m too startled to utter my surprise. I can easily imagine Dyl in Ana’s place, doing the same for a boy she thought she loved.

Micah continues. “When we got caught by Aureus members, I told them I’d work for them, freely, if they let her go. I had nothing else to offer. She’d already gotten so sick so fast, from some condition tied to her trait. I made them believe she was too sick for us to keep, and she got sent back.”

“But the way Cy talks about you—”

“Cy hates my guts,” Micah finishes my thought. “Because I did the right thing for Ana, instead of her own brother. Look at him. Does Cy seem a little guilty about what happened to Ana?”

A little guilty? Cy’s got a monopoly on remorse.

“Zelia. Are you there?”

“Yes.”

“I wish I could tell you this in person.”

“You can’t. They won’t let me out.”

“You have to get out, Zelia. Do whatever it takes.”

“But—”

“I’m bringing Dyl with me.”

Oh god. “How?”

“You don’t want to know what I have to do to make it happen. But I know you want to see her.” A scrambling, shuffling noise interrupts Micah. “Oh no. I have to go. Meet me there at five thirty a.m. Bye, Zelia. God, I can’t wait to see you. I miss you.”

After his last words, my heart flies up into my neck. The screen switches to the news.

Micah is gone.

I’M TOTALLY FRAZZLED THE REST OF THE DAY. It’s so hard to concentrate on work when I know there’s a chance to see Dyl again. I can barely contain the infectious hope that I might bring her home with me.

In the lab, the dinosaur fragment reader finishes with some of the extra, special sequences of Dyl’s DNA. They turn out to be junk sequences, coding for nothing. A dud. Well, maybe by the time I’m back from my trip, the rest will be done. I’ll finally know what’s so special about my sister.

In my room, I study maps of Neia to find the best route to the west junkyards. It’s ten miles away, taking up a square mile of land. I can’t walk there, and I can’t take a magpod, obviously. Maybe Wilbert will let me use his char. And maybe he’ll keep a secret for me, and no one will notice me exiting the building in the middle of the night.

Maybe, maybe, maybe. This plan hinges on a lot of uncertainty.

It’s impossible to sleep that night, knowing what I have to do. I decide to swing by Ana’s room at midnight. I promised to come back. Ever since I’ve heard her whole story, I worry about her. The desolation in that little room of horrors is palpable, a dark punishment she’s received for wanting freedom and love.

The door to her room is open. Before I step in, Cy’s voice sounds from inside, halting my step forward. I peek around the corner, just enough to absorb the scene inside. Amid the maelstrom of paintings and broken furniture, Cy sits on Ana’s bed. Ana is curled up in a ragamuffin scrap of blanket next to him. Cy’s reading a shoddy book from her collection of abused tomes, but I can’t see the cover. He strokes her hair tenderly as he flips a page.

Ana touches his chin playfully.

“Maybe she’ll read to me too.” I hear her voice loud and clear in my head, more so than Cy’s voice.

“Who?”

“The one with the hair.”

I bite my lip, suppressing a yelp. I’m being ratted out.

“Zelia?” he asks incredulously.

“Yes. You like her, Cy. You think she’s pretty. You think she’s smart.”

Cy doesn’t say anything, but she pats his cheek and laughs. Could he be blushing? He grabs her hand, but gently. “You keep saying you don’t read minds, but maybe you’ve been lying to me.”

I feel like a girl in grade school that got passed an e-note reading “Cy U!” I’ve never gotten such a note. But here it is, and my heart feels like it’s ricocheting in my chest.

“I read other things.”

Cy waves his hand. “Enough. She’s not allowed in here.”

“I allow it.”

He sighs, and flips a page. “C’mon. One more chapter and then you really need to sleep.” I’ve never heard so much kindness in his voice before. Ana nods, reluctantly. Cy touches the page where he left off.

“There are few people whom I really love, and still fewer of whom I think well. The more I see of the world, the more am I dissatisfied with it; and every day confirms my belief in the inconsistency of all human characters, and of the little dependence that can be placed on the appearance of either merit or sense.”

“That’s like you,” Ana’s voice says sleepily.

“You think so?” he says.

“You don’t like anybody.” Ana rouses herself and pokes at a fresh tattoo on Cy’s bare forearm as if to make her point. “Not even yourself.” I can’t see the image from here, but surely it’s a tattoo of a person whose eyeballs are being eaten by harpies or something as horrifying.

“Don’t.” Cy pulls his arm away.

“I wish you’d stop.”

“I can’t.”

Ana sighs this time. I get the feeling they’ve had this conversation before. “We don’t both need scars.”

“I don’t make scars,” Cy says, and of course, he’s right. The few times I’ve seen his untattooed skin, it’s been so blemish free, more like creamy marble than flesh.

Ana’s moment of clarity only lasts a few seconds. Soon she’s singing a nonsensical child’s lullaby to herself. Cy puts the book on his lap and closes his eyes.

There is no peace written on his face. In fact, the whole room reeks of mistakes and regret. I don’t need to add mine, so I back away and head to Wilbert’s room. How can Cy face her, knowing what happened back then? Meanwhile, the person he seems to hate, Micah, is the one who’s willing to risk his life to help me right now. The one who already gave his life to Aureus, for Ana.

Wilbert’s room is bright and cheerful. Callie sleeps soundly on a fluffy dog bed in the corner and Wilbert’s curled up under a blanket on the couch. For once, he’s not working. A black-and-white movie plays on one of the twenty screens in his room.

“Casablanca?”

“What can I say? I’m a romantic.” He grins. “Wanna watch? I’m taking a study break.”

I return the smile, trying to be as natural as possible. “Actually, I can’t sleep. I want to get some air.”

“Oh. You want me to unlock the tower for you?”

“I want to borrow the char.” I sit down next to him on the couch.

“Oh, Zelia. I can’t do that. It’s . . . I’ll get in so much trouble.”

“No you won’t. I’ll be back quick as a flash.”

“I can’t.” Wilbert looks genuinely torn. “Marka told me you might do this. She took the keys.”

What? I steady myself and force some serenity onto my face. “Well, don’t you have a spare key?”

“No.”

“Oh, Wilbert.” The façade of coolness disappears in an instant. I can’t believe I’ve failed before even getting out of Carus. Dad would say I told you so. And now my chance to see Dyl again is gone.

I cover my face with my hands and start bawling. Of course, Wilbert must be thinking, Damn, she really wants some air. I can’t even tell him why I’m so upset.

“I don’t have a spare key.” He pats my knee. “But . . .” He gets up and walks to Callie’s bed. Wilbert shoves one hand into the mattress of the bed and Callie wakes up with a yelp, as only a rat-sized pig can. Wilbert continues to violate the bedding. He pulls out something shiny and dangling. “. . . I do have a spare char.” He wiggles the key. I suck up my sniffles in one big breath and stare at him, wiping the tears away.

“What?”

“I said, I’ve got another char. Marka doesn’t know it works. She let me get it for spare parts, but I’ve been putting it back together.”

“Wilbert!” I clap my hands together.

“Go on. You can take her out for her maiden voyage. I get the feeling you don’t want me along for the ride.”

I make a lunge for the key but he holds it back. “Promise me you’ll stay off the main roads AND—”

I yank the key away from his hand. “Oh Wilbert, you are the best!” I give each of his heads a big smooch and they turn pink in response. “I’ll be safe. I promise.” I read the imprint on the key. There is a little family crest with a running horse in the middle. The word Porsche runs over the crest.

“Is it fast?” I ask.

Wilbert puts on his most rakish smile and winks.

“Do I have two heads?”