False Sight (12 page)

open my mouth to scream but no sound comes out. The horse collapses, head slamming the ground, legs tangled under it, skidding, churning up dirt. Peter skids with it

Two more arrows stab into the dirt near his head. Some - how he turns his second tumble into a controlled forward roll. He pops to his feet and reaches up. And I’m there, leaning down off my horse at near full gallop. All my focus on his outstretched fingers, knowing I won’t get a second chance at this. Our hands collide with our forearms and his weight almost pulls me off, but I bite down with my legs and swing him up, screaming against the pain in my shoulder.

The arrows are out of range finally. Peter’s chest heaves against my back as he takes deep gulps of air. I hear Rhys laughing from ahead. My shoulder is on fire, but intact.

I twist around to look at him, checking for arrows he might not be feeling yet. His eyes blaze with adrenaline.
“That’s two you owe me,” I say, and he laughs.

We ride on, deeper into the city. We pass wild dogs with stark rib cages. More cars are skewed in the road. The tires rotted away long ago. The horses stay clustered, breaking apart only to get around an obstacle. As the adrenaline fades, more of what I’m seeing makes its way to my brain. So many things made by man, long-forgotten and abandoned. People walked these sidewalks, ate in these restaurants. Cabs once packed the desolate roads. And behind everything is a possible future for my world. If we don’t stop Nina, this will be our future. A world of forgotten things.

Our pace slows after ten minutes of hard riding. We turned south a while back, and the buildings became slightly shorter, but just as dense. Every few blocks the angle is right, and I can see Gane’s version of downtown in the very far distance. I can’t tell what’s different.

The girl’s leg is soaked now, but the bleeding seems to have stopped. The stain doesn’t go past her knee. Dust sticks to the wet parts of her pants.

The street opens up into what was once a park. Some of the trees still stand, and one of them even looks alive. The rest sag, leafless, anchored in baked dirt. We ride the perimeter, staying clear of a hollow bus. Two buzzards perch at the front of the metal hulk, watching us.

“This is what you would know as Union Square,” the man in red says. “Here it was named Rowland Circle.” He takes the lead, guiding his horse into an enormous parking garage that has fared better than the buildings around it. We follow him inside and begin the descent, curling around pillars, heading deeper underground. The cars here are better preserved, but just barely. None of them have tires or windows. Every few feet, the man stops and holds a small remote in the air. The remote beeps, and we move on.

I count three levels down until the sounds from above are muffled and all I hear are the too-loud claps of our horses’ hooves on concrete. The last level is an apartment. Two cots are tucked in the far left corner, alongside a huge metal desk, cabi- nets, and a workbench. Various mismatched lamps hang from the supports in the ceiling, strung together with wire. Hay covers the ground right next to us, with a trough for water. In the middle of everything is a fire pit dug into the concrete.

I see it all, but I don’t understand. I already knew the two in red aren’t who they appear to be, but why bring us here? Part of me stays alert, but I release my doubt for a moment and focus instead on the warmth of Peter against my back.

“If you decide to leave, please let me know in advance so I can deactivate the security.” The man slips from his horse. He hasn’t yet removed his mask. He crosses to the girl and studies the arrow still in her leg. “Ah, we should’ve stopped.”

“Too close to the Verge,” she replies, wincing as his fingers barely touch the arrow shaft.
“You said you had our armor,” Rhys says, now alone on the horse he had shared. He does something with his feet and the horse takes a few steps back. “And I hope you have answers.”
The mention of our armor and the memory of what they contain is like a soft punch to the stomach. We have to be cut- ting it close on our memory shots.
Peter swings his leg off our horse and stands between me and Rhys.
“I said it was taken care of,” the man says. “Patience.”
Peter takes a step forward before Rhys’s mouth can get us into more trouble. “With respect, we don’t have any patience left. We’re running out of time. If we don’t get to our armor, we’re going to lose our memories. Do you understand?”
The man sighs and looks up at the girl, who I can see clearly now that we’ve stopped moving. She’s pulled the mask down around her throat. Her dark skin is flawless, which sur- prises me considering the world she lives in. Her face is thin and almost undernourished, and she doesn’t fill out her com- bat uniform. None of this keeps her from being beautiful. It’s stupid, but I immediately look at Peter to see if he’s studying her the way I am.
“Sophia, can you handle your wound?” the man says. She nods curtly. The man helps her off the horse, then watches her limp toward the open cabinets at the other end of the apart- ment. “You all right?” he calls after her. She just waves a hand behind her, keeps limping.
The man turns to us and pulls down his mask.
My mouth falls open.
He’s blond like Rhys, hair growing to the base of his neck, but I already knew that. His blond beard is short but thick. His irises are red, something I didn’t notice before. His face is what Rhys’s will look like many years from now.
Rhys makes a sound I’ve never heard him make before. A soft exhale of surprise.
The man smiles up at Rhys, and his lined eyes twinkle with tears.
“Hello, son,” he says.

None of us can. No one says a word for what feels like a minute. Rhys’s eyes are shiny. He never talked about his “father.” Rhys was part of the first Alpha team, the one a year ahead of ours. The creators raised and trained Rhys’s team themselves, as their children. Then one day Rhys’s father just disappeared. Rhys assumed his father had been killed. Instead he ended up here, working in the Verge....

“Where are we?” I say. Not that it isn’t crazy to see this guy in the flesh now, but we still have bigger problems. And I’m guessing he has answers.

Rhys Noble—I remember Rhys telling me his father’s name—takes a long breath. “The short answer is another uni- verse. One of many.”

If someone tells you you’re in another universe, it’s hard to go
Oh, makes sense now.
But instead of disbelief, I feel nothing. Another universe. Okay.

“My name is Rhys. You can call me Noble, to avoid confu - sion. As in my last name, not because I possess outstanding qualities.” He leads Sophia’s horse to the trough. I dismount and my horse follows automatically. “The girl is Sophia,” he says. “She’s of this world.” Noble waits until Rhys dismounts robotically, then he leads the last horse to the trough. “But let’s take care of your immediate situation.”

We follow Noble to one of the cabinets, where he pulls out our suits. The scaled black material is folded neatly. He hands one to each of us and says, “Leave your reserve shots in your suits, please. I have more. In the pouches you’ll find the track- ing devices you had in your suits.”

On the workbench is a glass case full of syringes. Each one is filled with the lemonade-colored liquid I’m so familiar with. Noble lifts the lid.

“When I saw who came through the Black, I made a batch,” Noble says, opening the case and pulling out three syringes.
Behind Noble, Sophia eases the arrow out of her thigh. She bites her lip and looks at the ceiling. The blood stain on her pants spreads past her knee.
“Where is Noah?” Noble asks me.
Suddenly he’s there at my side in his armor. He needs to stop popping up like this; I can’t take it.
No one speaks.
“That’s too bad,” Noble says. “I’m sorry. I’d given him something to help your team.”
“What did you give him?” I ask, as Noah says, “What did he give me?”
Noble picks up a rag off the bench and wipes his hands. “Six months ago I went into your world. I came across Noah in the woods outside Tycast’s base, and I incapacitated him. Then I implanted in him a directive to stop Nina if she ever showed up, accompanied by information and history that would help him—and all of you—to complete that task. I knew it was only a matter of time.”
Noah shakes his head. “I can’t remember. Tell him I said hi, and that he’s a dick because he didn’t have to knock me out.”
“Noah says hi,” I say. “I downloaded his memories and now his consciousness is in my head. So.”
Noble actually gasps. “That’s extraordinary.” He sees my face. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that. But the implica- tions . . . I had posited that two minds could share the same brain, but...Does he remember any of the information I gave him?”
“Bits and pieces,” I say. “He showed me what the Torch looks like.”
“Noble,” Peter says impatiently. “Let’s get to it. What are we?”
“I’m afraid we’re all the same thing,” Noble says. “Clones.”
“Explain,” Peter says.
“I’ll be fifty years old in the spring,” Noble says. “Yet the person I was cloned from looks no older than eighteen—like you, Rhys—and has lived for close to a thousand years. All of you have an Original too. The five of them make up the ruling body of the most powerful universe in the Black, called True Earth.” He looks at each of us and seems to be satisfied. His words are like bombs going off in my head.
“I was sent to your world decades ago, as a boy, with my team, to age, to learn the ways of your specific society, and to raise a group of soldiers—that’s you—who would become a new generation of peacekeepers in the world. Only that was a lie told to us by
our
creators. Instead of peace, there would be war.Theteamsweraisedwouldleadthevanguardofanarmy when it came time to purge your world. How’s that?” We were going to be the tip of the spear.
“Huh,” Rhys says.
Noble says, “Priority. Take your shots.”
We take them. The familiar sting in my arm is welcome. Noble studies us. It’s not a smart thing, taking drugs from a stranger, but there isn’t much choice.
“So what is the Black?” Rhys says.
Noble smiles, and it’s easy to see the scientist in him. “Think of the Black like a honeycomb, each universe cradled in a cell. It works as a lubricant, like how oil keeps two pieces of metal from grinding together.”
That should rock me, but after everything I just try to absorb it. It’s hard, because I’m stuck on this one idea. I’m thinking that if this is all there is, this endless journey of fight- ing and insane revelations, I’m in trouble. If the rest of my life is going to be devoted to fighting, I’m not sure I want that. No matter what I was made for.
“Let them dress, Noble,” Sophia says. She takes her vest off, then eases her pants down over her wound. She wears two wide strips of cloth to cover herself. Her muscles are hard and lean, like an animal pared down to the essentials. I watch the way she moves to see if she’s dangerous, if she could take us. Rhys watches for another reason.
“Of course,” Noble says. “I’m sure you’ll feel better in your armor.”
“Sure,” Rhys says absently.
I walk up to the next level of the parking garage and take off my rags and toss them against the wall. Then I step into my armor, and I feel safe again, even if I’m not.
On the way back I see Peter and Rhys changing. Rhys still looks dazed and doesn’t notice me, but Peter does as he pulls his armor over his hips. He doesn’t slide his arms through his sleeves right away. He smiles at me, as warm as it can be under the circumstances. My cheeks grow hot and so does my stomach, and it’s so good to feel something besides terror and anguish. I reach out and trail my fingers over his bare back. His skin is blazing, almost feverish. Then the moment is gone and I remember where we are.

When we get back to the living area, Noble is rummaging through a cabinet. Sophia has finished stitching the wound in her leg. She bends the limb back and forth, making sure the stitches won’t tear. Rhys watches her until she looks up and furrows her brow. Noah stands in front of Rhys, waving a hand in front of his face.

Noble stands up holding a memory band. “I thought it might be better to show you how I got here. And what we’re up against.”

No one speaks.
“Who wants to go first?” he says.
“Me,” I say. I’m sick of waiting for the truth.
I lie down on the nearest cot, and Noble slides the band