But the thought of losing him is too much to bear. I put my hand on his shoulder and start steering him inside. “Get to LA first. We’ll talk about this later. You better think this through, because if you volunteer for this—”
“I did think it through,” Eden replies. Then he pulls out of my grasp and steps back through the balcony door. “And besides, if they came for me, do you really think we could stop them?”
And then his turn comes. Lucy helps him step onto the subway, and I hold his hand for a brief moment before he has to let go. Despite how upset he seems to be, Eden still clutches my hand hard. “Hurry up, okay?” he says to me. Without warning, he throws his arms around my neck. Beside him, Lucy gives me one of her reassuring smiles.
“Don’t you worry, Daniel,” she says. “I’ll watch him like a hawk.”
I nod gratefully at her. Then I hug Eden tight, squeeze my eyes shut, and take a deep breath. “See you soon, kid,” I whisper. Then I reluctantly untangle his fingers from mine. Eden disappears onto the subway. Moments later, the train pulls away from the station and takes the first wave of evacuees toward the Republic’s west coast, leaving only Eden’s words behind, ringing in my mind.
Maybe I want to help.
I sit alone for some time after his train leaves, lost in thought, going over those words repeatedly. I’m his guardian now—I have every right to keep him from harm, and hell if I’m going to see him back in the Republic’s labs after everything I’ve done to keep him from there. I close my eyes and bury my hands in my hair.
After a while, I make my way back to the room where the Patriots are being kept. The door’s open. When I step inside, Pascao quits stretching out his arms and Tess looks up from where she’s finishing the bandaging of the wounded girl’s shoulder.
“So,” I say to them, my eyes lingering on Tess. “You guys came back to town to give the Colonies some hell?” Tess drops her gaze.
Pascao shrugs. “Well, it won’t matter if no one lets us back up there. Why? You have something in mind?”
“The Elector’s given his permission,” I reply. “As long as I’m in charge, he thinks we’ll be good enough not to turn against the Republic.” What a stupid fear, anyway. They still have my brother, don’t they?
A slow smile spreads on Pascao’s face. “Well. That sounds like it could be fun. What do you have in mind?”
I put my hands in my pockets and put my arrogant mask back on. “What I’ve always been good at.”
51.5 HOURS SINCE MY FINAL CONVERSATION WITH THOMAS.
15 HOURS SINCE I LAST SAW DAY.
8 HOURS SINCE THE COLONIES’ BOMBARDMENT OF DENVER’S ARMOR CAME TO A LULL.
WE’RE ON THE ELECTOR’S PLANE HEADED TO ROSS City, Antarctica.
I sit across from Anden. Ollie’s lying at my feet. The other two Princeps-Elects are in an adjacent compartment, separated from us by glass (3 × 6 feet, bulletproof, Republic seal carved on the side facing me, judging from the edges of the cut). Outside the window, the sky is brilliant blue and a blanket of clouds pads the bottom of our view. Any minute now, we should feel the plane dip and see the sprawling Antarctican metropolis come into view.
I’ve stayed quiet for most of the trip, listening on as Anden takes a stream of endless calls from Denver about the battle. Only when we’re almost over Antarctican waters does he finally fall silent. I watch how the light plays on his features, contouring the young face that holds such world-weary thoughts.
“What’s the history between us and Antarctica?” I ask after a while. What I really want to say is, Do you think they’ll help us? but that question is just silly small talk, impossible to answer and thus pointless to ask.
Anden looks away from the window and fixes his bright green eyes on me. “Antarctica gives us aid. We’ve taken international aid from them for decades. Our own economy isn’t strong enough to stand on its own.”
It still unsettles me that the nation I once believed so powerful is in reality struggling for survival. “And what is our relationship with them now?”
Anden keeps his gaze steadily on me. I can see the tension in his eyes, but his face remains composed. “Antarctica has promised to double their aid if we can draft a treaty that can get the Colonies talking with us again. And they’ve threatened to halve their aid if we don’t have a treaty by the end of this year.” He pauses. “So we’re visiting them not just to ask for help, but to try to persuade them not to withhold their aid.”
We have to explain why everything has fallen apart. I swallow. “Why Antarctica?”
“They have a long rivalry with Africa,” Anden replies. “If anyone with power will help us win a war against the Colonies and Africa, it’ll be them.” He leans forward and rests his elbows on his knees. His gloved hands are a foot away from my legs. “We’ll see what happens. We owe them a lot of money, and they haven’t been happy with us for the past few years.”
“Has the President ever met you in person?”
“Sometimes I visited with my father,” Anden replies. He offers me a crooked smile that sends unexpected flutters through my stomach. “He was a charmer during meetings. Do you think I have a chance?”
I smile back. I can sense the double meaning in his question; he’s not just talking about Antarctica. “You’re charismatic, if that’s what you’re asking,” I decide to say.
Anden laughs a little. The sound warms me. He looks away and lowers his eyes. “I haven’t been very successful at charming anyone lately,” he murmurs.
The plane dips. I turn my attention to my window and take a deep breath, fighting down the pink rising on my cheeks.
The clouds grow nearer as we descend, and soon we are engulfed in swirling gray mist; after a few minutes we emerge from their underbelly to see a massive stretch of land covered in a dense layer of high-rises that come in a wild assortment of bright colors. I suck in my breath at the sight. One look is all I need to confirm just how much of a technological and wealth gap there is between the Republic and Antarctica. A thin, transparent dome stretches across the city, but we pass right through it as easily as we sliced through the clouds. Each building appears to have the ability to change colors on a whim (two have already shifted from a pastel green to a deep blue, and one changes from gold to white), and each building looks brand-new, polished and flawless in a way that very few Republic buildings are. Enormous, elegant bridges connect many of the towering skyscrapers, brilliantly white under the sun, each one linking one building’s floor to its adjacent building and forming a honeycomb-like web of ivory. The uppermost bridges have round platforms in their centers. When I look closer, I see what seem like aircraft parked on the platforms. (Another oddity: All of the high-rises have enormous silver holograms of numbers floating over their roofs, each ranging between zero and thirty thousand. I frown. Are they being beamed from a light at each rooftop? Perhaps they signify the population living in each skyscraper—although if that were the case, thirty thousand seems like a relatively low ceiling given the size of each building.)
Our pilot’s voice rings out over the intercom to inform us of our landing. As the candy-colored buildings gradually fill our entire view, we zero in on one of the bridge platforms. Down below, I see people hurrying to prepare for our jet’s landing. When we’re finally hovering over the platform, an abrupt jolt jerks all of us sideways in our seats. Ollie lifts his head and growls.
“We’re magnetically docked now,” Anden tells me when he sees my startled expression. “From here on out, our pilot doesn’t need to do a thing. The platform itself will pull us down for the landing.”
We touch down so smoothly that I don’t feel a thing. As we step out of the plane along with our entourage of Senators and guards, I’m shocked first by how nice the temperature is outside. A cool breeze, the warmth of the sun. Aren’t we at the bottom of the earth? (Seventy-two degrees is my assumption, southwest wind, a breeze surprisingly light considering how high up from ground level we are.) Then I remember the thin, substance-less dome we passed through. It might be a way the Antarcticans control the climate in their cities.
Secondly, I’m shocked to see us immediately ushered into a plastic tent by a team of people in white biohazard suits and gas masks. (The news of the Colonies’ plague must have spread here.) One of them quickly inspects my eyes, nose, mouth, and ears, and then runs a bright green light across my entire body. I wait in tense silence as the person (male or female? I can’t be sure) analyzes the reading on a handheld device. From the corner of my eye, I can see Anden undergoing the same tests—being the Republic’s Elector does not apparently exempt one from being possibly contaminated with plague. It takes a good ten minutes before we are all cleared for entry and led out from under the tarp.
Anden greets three Antarctican people (each dressed respectively in a green, black, or blue suit, cut in an unfamiliar style) waiting for us on the landing bridge with a few guards. “I hope your flight went well,” one of them says as Mariana, Serge, and I approach. She greets us in English, but her accent is thick and lush. “If you prefer, we can send you home in one of our own jets.”
The Republic is hardly perfect; that much I’ve known for a long time, and certainly ever since I met Day. But the Antarctican woman’s words are so arrogant that I feel myself bristle. Apparently our Republic jets aren’t good enough for them. I look at Anden to see what his reaction will be, but he simply bows his head and offers a beautiful smile to the woman. “Gracias, Lady Medina. You are always so gracious,” he replies. “I’m very grateful for your offer, but I certainly don’t want to impose. We’ll make do.”
I can’t help admiring Anden. Every day, I see new evidence of the burdens he shoulders.
After some argument, I reluctantly let one of the guards take Ollie away to the hotel quarters where I’ll be staying. Then we all fall into a quiet procession as the Antarcticans lead us off the platform and along the bridge toward the connecting building (colored scarlet, although I’m not sure if it’s in honor of our landing). I make a point of walking close to the bridge’s edge, so that I can look down at the city. For once, it takes me a while to count the floors (based on the bridges branching out from every floor, this building has over three hundred floors—approximately three hundred twenty-seven, although eventually I look away to shake off a sense of vertigo). Sunlight bathes the uppermost floors, but the lower floors are also brightly illuminated; they must be simulating sunlight for those walking at ground level. I watch Anden and Lady Medina chat and laugh as if they are old friends. Anden falls so neatly into it that I can’t tell whether he genuinely likes this woman or he is simply playing the role of an agreeable politician. Apparently our late Elector had at least trained his son well in international relations.
The building’s bridge entrance, an archway framed with intricately carved swirls, slides open to greet us. We halt in a lavishly decorated lobby (thick ivory carpet that, to my fascination, bursts with swirls of color wherever I put my feet down; rows of potted palms; a curved glass wall displaying bright ads and what seem like interactive stations for things I don’t understand). As we walk, the Antarcticans hand each of us a thin pair of glasses. Anden and many of the Senators immediately put them on as if they’re used to this ritual, but the Antarcticans explain the glasses anyway. I wonder whether they know who I am, or whether they care. They certainly noticed my puzzlement at the glasses.
