Redux Page 9

  Ahead of me, strips of bright-colored light attached to backpacks indicate where Quentin and Violet are, lighting their grim outlines. I place one foot in front of the other, using the purplish light of the light-stick attached to my backpack to guide myself over cracks and tepid puddles.

  Bastian stays close. “Are you sure you don’t want me to take that?”

  “For the millionth time, no. I need to get used to it.”

  “I know,” he grumbles. “It’s just… Your leg—”

  “I’m fine,” I snap. Then, realizing I’m misplacing my emotions, I try to honey it by reaching out and touching his arm. “Really. I’m all right.”

  His eyes bore into me. He knows I’m lying. “You’re not.”

  I deflect what he’s really getting at because I don’t want to talk about it. I’ve managed not to cry about Gus, and I’m going to keep it that way because crying would mean accepting it’s true and I don’t want to. “You’d be limping, too, if someone shot you in the leg. It’s okay. I’m not bleeding, and I can’t get nerve damage or anything. It’s just some damage to the prosthesis.”

  Humoring me, he says, “They’re delicate instruments. You should take better care of them.”

  “I will,” I promise. “I’ll have Quentin take another look at it when we stop. Okay?” I should have had him do it before we left. But I just needed to go. I regret it now.

  He grumbles under his breath about something not being the point, but this seems to satiate him for the time being and he lets it go.

  Violet drops back to join us, and seeing that we’re all lagging, Quentin slows his pace as well.

  “This reminds me of a book I once read,” Violet says, voice breathy and crackly. I wonder if her lungs are all right with all this walking. “Back before we completely butchered the English language—all this misspelling and changing definitions of words and capitalizing things unnecessarily. Honestly, my mother would have rolled over in her grave—she was an English teacher. Anyway, this book was called Journey to the Center of the Earth. Marvelous little tale about a group of subterranean travelers, much like ourselves. Would you like to hear about it?”

  I grin, thankful for the distraction. She reminds me so much of Dad with his crazy Pre-War stories. “Sure.”

  As Violet regales us with the story of this group coming across all manner of strange adventures and people, we press on.

  After a few hours and a few more stories from a seemingly tireless Violet, my pack begins to feel like I’m carrying a progressively larger load of bricks, and it starts to knock me off balance so that I have to keep my hand against the cement wall as I walk. I grit my teeth against the pain and try to tamp down my frustration. This walk and the weight of a pack wouldn’t have fazed me in the game. But my Real World body is weak and tired. I’m sweaty and my dress clings around my legs, heavy and foolish in its opulent Neo-Baroque cut and cutting-edge synthetic fabric. I try to remind myself that I’ve endured far worse. Worse pain. Worse frustration. Worse loss and fear and emotional turmoil. At least now I know I’m doing something about it. Most of it. Who knows what to do about Gus and Delia.

  Eventually, the stories stop and we walk in dark silence for a long time. Quentin keeps a steady pace in the front. Bastian gains ground, coming even with Quentin. I can hear them talking, but not what they’re saying. I focus on the scuffing of my shoes, the feel of the cool stone under my fingers. Violet keeps pace with me, her wheezing a strange comfort.

  “I used to be able to do this without a problem,” she huffs. “Climbed Everest once.”

  “I don’t know what that is.”

  “A mountain.” She chuckles. “A big one. And now here I am, below sea level with a five-pound pack and I can’t even catch my breath. Don’t ever get old.”

  “I suppose I don’t have a choice in the matter.”

  “Sure you do. We all have choices. And let me tell you, when we stop I choose to sleep like the dead!”

  At my frown, she realizes her slip. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”

  I touch the tiny rectangular outlines of the chips in my pocket. “Did you lose anyone back in Evanescence?”

  Violet looks up at me, her purple eyes—maybe her namesake—lost and sad. “I’ve lost many people over the years. But I lost the important ones a long time ago. So,” she says, voice quiet, “I guess I can’t understand what you’re all going through.”

  “I don’t think that’s true.”

  “No?”

  I shake my head. “You’ve probably had more loss than most of us. You’ve had entire lifetimes of it.” I think about how old she must be. More than three hundred years old. How many husbands has she had? How many children and grandchildren? How many friends and coworkers? To have climbed a mountain, she must have lived through the war. Seen the opening and closing of the domes. To see that much death… Even when someone chooses to die, it’s still hard. I’ve been there. Gus sacrificed himself in order to help me advance in Nexis. It was awful knowing he chose to leave me alone. “What kept you going? Why’d you choose to stay alive?”

  Her pink lips fold up in a small smile. “Knowledge.”

  I knit my brows. “You’ve been alive this long just because you like reading the archival files?”

  She laughs. “No! Well, yes, I like to do that and there is so much literature and history, I could live for a thousand years and never cover it all. But it’s about what’s coming, not what has happened.”

  I stare at her, waiting.

  She glances wistfully into the darkness. “I wanted change. I wanted to be free from all that.” She waves her hand dismissively back the way we came. “After we fell, well, I saw what we became and it made me so sad. I told myself I’d stay alive and I’d remember. I’d help others to remember. I’ve been tutoring every President this city has had.” She gestures at Quentin’s back. “Some are better than others. I figured I’d hold vigil until we made something of ourselves again. I want humanity to realize it could be great again. To step outside the bubble and go back into the world.”

  “Like the old explorers,” I say. “Columbus and Louis and Clark?”

  She nods. “But not just here on land.” She looks up. “We once walked on the moon and sent probes into the stars. We’ve wasted so much time and effort on piddly things like immortality and odor-resistant fabric,” she notes, lifting her dusty-rose-colored skirts, “and we could have inhabited space colonies by now! That’s what I’ve always wanted. To go up into the stars.”

  I smile at her. A who-knows-how-old genetically enhanced woman with none of her original parts, and she’s holding out for a space adventure. Dad would have loved this woman. “My father would have called you an American Dreamer.”

  She giggles. “I’ll take that as a compliment. They built this world. The dreamers. Like your father. Now, he knew how to dream up a thing or two. I would have been proud to call him my son.”

  Part of me wishes she were my grandmother, that I could have some of her spirit as a natural gift, like I do my Programming skills.

  But I do have it, don’t I? I went into the game, explored entire worlds. Who cares that they weren’t real? They felt real. Dad made the places and people as real as he could. And now I’m on a real adventure. Off through the Undertunnel, off to see the Outer Block and another domed city.

  I smile at her. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

  She grins back, her eyes bright. “Immensely, dear.”

  I hitch my pack. “I’d enjoy this more if I were a little more fit for the task.”

  “At least you’re not an Aristocrat,” she comforts. “Naturals like you, me, and Bastian, we’re built for this sort of thing.”

  “If you’re a Natural, how come your eyes are purple?”

  “These?” She points to her face. “Liz Taylor. Always liked her; some say I look like her. When it came time for a new pair to be grown for me I couldn’t help indulging myself a little bit. I did that with quite
a few parts as I’ve aged. Have to keep up with the times.”

  Though I don’t know who Liz Taylor is, I get her meaning and I say, “Oh.” Then squirming, I adjust my pack again and mutter, “Quentin doesn’t look like he’s having much trouble.”

  Violet beams. “Did you think he was just another soft Aristocrat with implants to make him look brawny?”

  “I suppose I did.”

  “He’s nothing like the other Aristocrats, Ellani. You’d do best to remember that. He’s stronger than any one of them. He’s much more like his Dolls, though I daresay he’s a might bit better.”

  I wrinkle my nose in distaste.

  “He’s like you and me. A survivor.” As an afterthought, she adds, “I like survivors, especially handsome ones with good manners and devious little grins. If I were a few hundred years younger? Let’s just say there would be some debate on who would be breaking whose hip.” She cackles to herself and it echoes throughout the tunnel.

  chapter nine

  Post-American Date: 7/5/232

  Longitudinal Timestamp: 6:07 a.m.

  Location: Sub-Tunnel 6

  I don’t have a working flex bracelet, so when Quentin comes to a stop ahead of us, I’m not sure whether we’ve been walking for ten minutes, ten hours, or ten days. It feels like ten days. After Violet and I catch up, she pulls off her pack and leans against the wall. “Finally.”

  “Why’d we stop?” I ask.

  Quentin gestures to follow him. He leads me forward a few paces and holds his light-stick up so that I can see. I find myself staring out over a large chasm before us.

  “That’s a good reason,” I breathe, taking in the massive hole that stretches from one end of the tunnel to another. “How are we going to get across?”

  “We could try climbing down and up again,” Bastian offers.

  Quentin squints down into the abyss, offering nothing.

  I ask, “What are you thinking?”

  Instead of answering, Quentin spares me a glance then responds with a question, “What do you see down there?”

  I stare with him, the angle of my shoulders matching his so that I can see what he sees. “Rocks, I think.”

  His head bobs. “What do you hear?”

  I tip my head. “Water?”

  “Water,” Quentin agrees.

  I glance back and forth, trying to make sense of things. To either side of us, the tunnel opens up into darkness, the cement walls now a cascade of broken stone and dirt. “Earthquake?”

  “It’s possible,” Quentin concedes, his voice a low purr that skitters up my spine. Without thinking, I reach out and brace myself against the wall. “Or perhaps explosives. Someone purposely trying to destroy the tunnel.”

  “How would they even know it was here?” Bastian asks.

  “Perhaps they were looking for water,” Violet suggests. “It’s at a premium, since anything that’s out there would be poisonous.”

  “Wouldn’t that be true of what’s down here?”

  She shakes her head. “Possible the biospores haven’t gotten down this far. Possible an aquifer would be safe. Possible that people come down here to draw water or perhaps there’s a well drilled down here.”

  I say, “If it’s intentional, then we’re certain to come across someone down here.”

  Quentin turns. “I think we need to scout.”

  Violet’s hand shoots up. “I’ll go.”

  “Are you sure you’re up for that?” Bastian asks.

  She scowls at him. “I’m more experienced at rappelling than you’ll ever be, Pansy.” Violet turns and stares down into the abyss. “We’ll find caverns down there, no doubt. Maybe a network of caves inhabited by savages who’ve never had contact with other humans.”

  “Oh, here we go,” Bastian mutters and moves away. “Come on, Quentin, let’s get this ready and over with.”

  Humoring her, I cock my head. “You’re so certain?”

  I receive a glance over her shoulder and a smirk. “Not at all, but wouldn’t that be fun? If they captured us and scalped us?”

  I have no idea what scalping is, but by her mischievous grin, I don’t think it’s a good thing. “I wouldn’t want to meet anyone or anything down here.”

  She turns and plants her fists on her hips. “Where is your sense of adventure? Remember Journey to the Center of the Earth? You should come with me. We’ll go spelunking and find the diamonds and secret treasure before everyone.”

  I gesture at my leg. “I’m not sure what spelunking is, but I don’t think I’m in the best shape to do any sort of extensive exploring. I think we should focus on finding food and water for the others.” At her petulant face, I say, “Perhaps we’ll come back and look around some more. After we get everyone to safety.”

  She stares at me for a long moment, her eyes even more purple from the plum-colored light-stick I’ve got in my hand. “You can’t save them all. As soon as you accept it, the further you’ll get in life. You can’t make anyone happy but yourself.”

  I lick my lips. Violet is a conundrum of mischief and harsh reality, and her fluctuation from one to the other leaves me feeling like I’m losing my foothold on something very important. Looking away, I say, “I know.”

  “Being alive means leaving a trail of the dead behind you. That’s what it means to go on living—to walk away from death whenever it comes knocking. And I’m not just talking about physical death, Ella. Everything dies eventually. Ideas, relationships, lifestyles. You walk away from them, they walk away from you.”

  Her words feel too much like a reminder that I left Gus, and now he’s likely to leave me. I scrub my hands on my thighs and stare at the stone under my feet. “Walking isn’t the same as running. Walking is deliberate, thought out. Running is just panic. And I’ve been doing a lot of that lately. I really shouldn’t. I should be facing things head-on, fighting them or making a decision that they’re not worth the fight.” But by that logic, my walking away from Gus would mean that I don’t think he’s worth the fight, when that’s the complete opposite.

  I spent a year playing Nexis and Gus was with me nearly every moment of my daily six-hour limit. He taught me how to play, introduced me to the other Tricksters, brought me purpose, and helped me learn to love my Natural body when I’d been taught to hate it in Evanescence. My point in playing Nexis had been to experience the masterpiece my father had programmed, and Gus made that dream a reality. Scores of adventures, scores of battles and victories. Hardship, loss, love. Nights spent curled in each other’s arms. I trusted him with everything, knew he had my back no matter what. We shared all of that—together. I thought I knew him better than I knew myself. You don’t walk away from people like that. You fight for them.

  As if reading my thoughts, Violet says, “Look back all you want, Ellani, but keep moving. Even if it means leaving someone or something you love behind. You have to do it. To live. That’s what it means to overcome adversity.”

  I glance up at her. Violet is closer now, close enough that I can see the fine lines in her slowly aging face. She meets my shocked gaze, leans in. “I know that’s what your real goal is. Don’t lie to yourself by thinking anything else. You live. Even if it means leaving all of us in the dust. I can see what’s in you, and you’re worth more than any of us.”

  My chest crimps. “I can’t leave some things.”

  She smiles. “Love, you mean? Look, I’ve been alive a long time and if there is one thing I know, it’s that if something is meant to be, it will figure itself out. If you have to leave us in the dust, then do it. Maybe someone will follow you.” She steps parallel to me, places her hand on my shoulder. “I wish I had been born to be you. It would have made life far more exciting.” With a squeeze to my shoulder, she leans in, gives me a kiss on the cheek, and goes off to help Bastian and Quentin. “No, no, you’re doing it all wrong. Move over, boys, let a woman show you how it’s done.”

  Bastian takes a step back so that Violet can inspect the area for a good
place to anchor a rope. She chooses a thick, jutting loop of steel that’s sticking out of the concrete.

  I glance down the drop. “What should we do once we’re down there?”

  Bastian says, “You’re not going down.”

  “What?” I ask, looking back up. “Who’s going to stop me? Besides, he can’t go”—I point at Quentin—“he’s injured, and you can’t go. If you fall, Sadie will kill me.”

  Flexing his arm, Quentin says, “Nah, I’m fine. I heal fast.”

  I frown at him. Remarkably fast. What kind of experimental nanos are floating in his bloodstream? And what do they run on now that his G-Chip is down?

  “There’s no reason you should test that,” Bastian says. “I’m able-bodied and willing.” He fixes me with a glare. “I’m going.”

  “But you’re inexperienced,” Violet notes. “Both of you. This method is gonna be hard, and that’s a long drop to make a rookie mistake.”

  “So is he,” Bastian reasons.

  “Nonsense,” Violet says, tossing the coil of rope from her bag to Quentin. “Trained him myself. Kid’s a pro. Quent and I will go.”

  “We’re all going to go.” Quentin loops the rope around his now perfectly mobile shoulder. “We will get more ground covered and we’ll all have to go down eventually if this is the way out.”

  Violet frowns. “They can’t handle this.”

  Quentin gives her a steely glare. “They’re gonna have to. All of the Aristocrats are, so best brush off your tutoring skills by practicing on a couple people who are less likely to freak out about dust or complain about a broken nail.”

  And that seems to settle it.

  Violet goes down first and Quentin points out the way she’s standing, how the rope sits at her back, around her groin, and around her backside.

  “It’s gonna hurt,” he says. “You’ll be holding your own weight. You’ll get rope burn, but you can’t let go. As long as you keep the rope at this angle and let a little out at a time, you’ll be fine.”