I stand again. I can’t help it. I want to shout. I feel Eva grip my leg and pull, trying to get me back on the ground.
“You don’t know what you’re-”
I pull free and stumble two steps away to steal a better look.
It’s a mistake.
As the agents force the Drifter through the trapdoor, the closer one turns and sees me. I don’t know how- maybe they’ve got high-range specs or something-but the way he pauses and stares, I know I’ve been spotted.
“Oh no.” I back up, nearly crushing Eva’s hand in the process.
Skandar flattens against the rock. “Don’t say it, man.”
“They saw me.” I risk another glance in the agent’s direction, only to catch him tromping forward. “They’re coming.”
Skandar winces. “But we don’t have any weapons.”
“They’re Academy,” Eva whispers. “We shouldn’t need weapons!”
I shake my head. “You’re wrong.”
And I know it in that instant. I know exactly what we have to do. Alkine and the others have been treating me this way for a reason. I am dangerous. I am treacherous. The way these guys are looking at me? They wouldn’t do that unless they considered me a threat. And when Skyship Agents target a threat, they defend themselves.
I turn to the others, hands shaking. “Something’s wrong here. We have to fight.”
14
Eva crouches in front of me, eyes wide. “Hell no, Jesse. Sneaking out is bad enough. You’re talking about turning against our friends!”
“That agent shot the Drifter.” I shake my head. “He might’ve killed it.”
“We’re too far away. You could’ve seen anything. Calm down a second before you-”
“Uh, guys?” Skandar glances over his shoulder. “We don’t really have a second.”
I turn. The agent barrels toward us, closer than I expected. Instead of arguing with Eva, I break into a sprint and head in a wide arc, keeping my distance from the agent while heading toward the fallen Drifter.
The agent extends a gloved hand. “Stop!” He doesn’t recognize me in the darkness, though I wouldn’t be surprised if he’d attack knowing full well who I am.
I freeze. I’m in the center of flat land, totally exposed. Eva and Skandar duck beneath the rocks. I catch my breath and glance to the side. The bigger agent’s got the Drifter halfway into the ground. There’s no way to reach him in time.
Instinctively, I hold out my left arm. The closest agent reaches for his holster. I ignore him. I’m not sure what I’m going to do without a Pearl, but I have to do something.
I hone in on the energy surrounding the Drifter. It’s not hard. It’s the only light available on the island. But I’m not worried about seeing it. I need to feel it.
Something clicks. Connects.
The hairs on my arm bristle and pull toward the light. I close my eyes and forget everything else around me. If I can manipulate Pearls, I can do the same with Pearl energy. I’m sure of it.
When I open my eyes, I know that I’ve got it. The tips of my fingers pulse. I tense my hand, pull it inward, and watch as the green light streams from the Drifter’s body into the air. A band of energy snakes through the sky, curving downward with the slight guidance of my fist. I bring it in a figure eight, gain momentum, and send it slamming against the nearest agent.
My index finger points forward. The energy follows suit, gaining speed as it shoots in a straight, bladelike path above the dirt and connects with the second agent. He topples onto his back, unconscious.
My concentration fractures. The energy splits into pieces, bursting in all directions. The field’s a brilliant green flash until the last of it dissipates. Then, darkness.
Skandar and Eva run up beside me. My breathing’s fast, exhausted.
“This is bad, Jesse,” Eva says. “Imagine how this is going to look.”
I ignore her. “I’m going under. I want to see what’s down there.”
Before she can argue, I take off toward the Drifter. He hangs halfway out of a wide manhole. I notice a metal cover laying in the sparse grass off to the side before turning my attention back to the body. He’s unconscious, at the very least. Maybe dead. I can’t look for long. I don’t know how much time we have, and I need to see what’s down there before Alkine sends reinforcements.
I grab the Drifter’s hands and pull his legs from the opening. The hole is a well of darkness below.
I turn and let my foot fall until it makes contact with what must be a railing. Cautiously, I descend, grasping the rungs of a side ladder to steady myself. It’s impossible to tell exactly how far I’m going.
The moonlight disappears overhead, replaced by a soft glow emanating from somewhere below me. Seven steps and I reach a dank ledge of dirt. I release my hold on the rungs and step backward. My shoes connect with concrete.
I spin and focus on the light. It’s dull. The hallway before me is twisted, obscured by mazelike walls. The glow probably seems farther away than it is. I extend my arms and walk forward, right into a wall. Using the stone as a guide, I shift sideways and head deeper underground. I hear someone descend the ladder behind me. Hopefully Eva or Skandar.
Another twist, then another. All the while, the light grows stronger. I push my back against the wall and quiet my breathing. The silence is more concerning than reassuring. I expect to feel something-the pull of a Pearl, the bristling of my skin. But all I really feel is cold.
I tiptoe around the corner of the wall and arrive in an open room. Three chairs are scattered unevenly around a table. Behind it, several yards deep, runs a dark, semi-transparent wall. If I stood close, I might be able to see through it. Or maybe it’s not transparent at all, but reflective. Either way, it’s not natural. Not underground like this. A row of bulbs flicker softly overhead, casting the empty bunker in a dim spotlight.
I rush to the strange wall and lean my forehead against it, staring in. At first I can’t see a thing, but as I focus, outlines appear. Soon, I’m looking at an entirely different room, twice the size of this one. But it’s not the room itself that I notice.
A man sits right in the center, quiet and still.
His back is arched, his legs crossed under him. And his eyes are closed. Even with the shield of the dark wall blocking my vision, I recognize his face from conference calls. From the Kansas rooftop last spring.
Ryel.
This is where Alkine’s been keeping the Drifters.
I bang on the wall with my fist in hopes of getting his attention. It must be soundproof, because his expression doesn’t change. His eyes clamp shut as if in meditation. His hands clasp in his lap.
He wears all white, like when Cassius and I had first met him. He doesn’t look as though they’ve been mistreating him, not too thin or weak. No shackles or cuffs. But this is a cage all the same. I can feel it.
Ryel.
They don’t have last names, these people. That’s one of the few things I’ve been able to learn since spring. They have numbers. Rankings. But no last names. Ryel’s the 7,085th to bear his name. I saw it once on Alkine’s memopad. I think the numbers must be mass important to them. Something to do with their place in society.
The Academy’s given him an age of forty-five, though I don’t know if Drifter years are the same as ours. To me, he looks younger.
I lay my hands on the wall and take another look, praying for Ryel to open his eyes. I can’t get over how human he looks, at least from the outside. They all look this way, at first. It takes a closer analysis to spot any differences. I overheard Dr. Hemming saying that their arms have a different ratio to them. Shorter at the bicep, longer forearms. Flatter nose. Slightly dilated pupils. A greater arch to their backs. None of it’s enough to make them stand out in a crowd, but up close you can tell that they’re foreign. Not quite right.
