Nick James - Crimson rising

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.

I guess I’m not quite right, either. I always wondered why Alkine had insisted on so many medical checks when I was a kid. Turns out that while I might seem like a normal teenager on the outside, inside’s a different story. Again, not enough to ring alarms, but different. Like Hemming said, it’s all in the proportions.

“Jesse.” A hand pulls at my elbow, breaking my attention from the second room.

I jump and turn to see Eva standing before me. “What?”

“I think I heard something.”

I glance around, searching for figures, shadows, anything. “Where’s Skandar?”

Her eyes widen as she scans the room for him. “I thought he was right behind me. Maybe he-”

Footsteps interrupt her. Skandar rounds the corner, scratching the back of his neck.

Eva’s whisper intensifies. “Where were you?”

“Rifling through the agent’s side pack,” he whispers. “You know, Alkine always says to use what you’ve got. Most of the guy’s stuff was standard issue.” He holds up a palmsized, semicircle device. It looks like some kind of remote. “Except for this. It’s got buttons.” He shrugs. “It must do something, right?”

I grab the device from his hands. “I’ve never seen anything like this.”

Skandar’s eyes fall on the wall in front of us. “Wow. That’s different, isn’t it?”

I step back and analyze the remote. There are three buttons on top-hardly complex. Of course, there’s no telling exactly what they’ll do. Knowing my luck, I’ll push one and end up setting off some kind of explosion. But I’ve got to try.

Before Eva can push her way in to have a look, I press each button in turn.

Nothing happens.

Eva shifts beside me. “You know, we shouldn’t-”

“Wait.”

I watch as a border of blue light appears from the darkness, illuminating the edges of the wall. The line spreads from the corners and stretches across the boundary of the floor and ceiling. Once the two pieces meet in the middle, the light changes course-moves vertically and splits the wall like someone’s cutting it open with an invisible blowtorch. Without a sound, the pieces slide apart. The light fades and we’re left with two slabs pulling across the ground, retracting into the walls. I haven’t seen technology like this in the Academy. Unified Party, maybe, but not our dinky little ship.

Ryel doesn’t notice the movement at first. His eyes remain closed until the walls are halfway retracted. When they open, he has a sort of glazed look on his face, like he doesn’t know where he is or who we are.

Then, as if a switch has been triggered, his mouth falls open and he realizes.

I can tell by how quickly he moves that he knows it’s me. Even though we’ve barely seen each other-only once in person-there’s recognition in his wide eyes.

He bounds from his seat on the concrete, barefooted. “Please don’t tell me I’m imagining this.”

He speaks perfect English. It wasn’t like that back on the rooftop, but Pearl transport energy allows for language recognition and processing. He doesn’t have any discernable accent, more like he’s studied every different way of speaking and crammed it into one voice.

“Ryel.” I stare at him, unsure what to do. Shake hands? Hug him? Bow?

He stops several feet in front of me and takes a moment to survey what’s left of the walls before refocusing on my face. “I’m going mad. I’ve had visions of shadows. Don’t know if they’re real or not. Are you real?” He clutches my shoulder. “Jesse Fisher?”

I glance behind me at Eva and Skandar. “We’ve gotta get him out of here.”

“There are more of us,” he motions past the retracted wall, “in the holding chambers.”

Eva cringes. “I told you this wasn’t a good idea.”

“You’re here,” Ryel continues. “You’re standing right before me.”

I step back. “Yes. It’s me.”

He presses his hands together as in prayer, allowing himself a smile, though it looks more like a strange grimace. “The others! Our brothers and sisters.”

I peer over his shoulder, expecting an agent to rush from the darkness and tackle us. “Yeah. Okay.”

“Guards.” Eva steps between us, expression tense. “Alkine’s bound to have them.”

“There’s one room,” Ryel says. “Halfway down the corridor, secured. They’re sleeping, now.”

“Go back to the entrance,” I tell Eva. “See if you can grab some weapons from the side pack. Then meet us down here.”

“I am not pulling a weapon on one of our own people.”

“They’d pull one on you.”

Skandar retreats, pulling her with him. “Don’t worry, Jesse.” They disappear around the corner.

Ryel’s head cocks to the side, his posture unusually rigid. “Do you hear it?”

I shake my head.

“The agents are coming. My plan… it won’t work.”

The corners of the room erupt in a flurry of activity. Six agents burst from the hallways beyond, each armed and decked in full battle gear. They come at us quick. Too quick.

I grab Ryel by the wrist and pull him forward. “Run!”

As we push forward, I fiddle with the remote in my hand in the hopes that it’ll do something. It’s too late to close the wall again, but maybe I can trip some emergency security system.