The Proving (6 page)

The Sebecus Specter’s mouth opened. A low, haunting moan echoed through the amphitheater. Gabriel felt a chill run down his spine. Murmurs drowned out the sound and he was thankful for it.

“Kill it,” he whispered. “Kill it.”

The Specter’s head turned. And then a flurry of blue proton bullets ripped through its ghost-like body. Its fiery glow turned blaze orange. Its long, uncannily human-like fingers dug into the earth as it broke into a silent run, its tail swinging left and right. By the gods, it was so
fast
. It opened its mouth again. It reached the boulders and landed on top of whoever was filming the carnage even as more proton bullets tore through its body. Yellow claws reached toward the camera. The camera lurched backward, revealing blue sky and the Ring, circling Earth and no doubt watching with bemusement at the carnage.

More bullets. The Specter faded to a dim yellow, then broke apart.

The amphitheater cheered. Gabriel felt a well of relief surge through him. He was angry at the creature, glad it had been destroyed, and wished he could see it die again and again.

Someone suggested commendations for the Coterie. The idea was quickly seconded.

“There are more in the area,” Molambique announced. “Clan Sparta has requested funding for an emergency cleanup operation.”

“It’s a waste,” said someone from the other side of the amphitheater. “More will fall from the sky and replace those. Killing Specters outside the city Xenoshields means nothing.”

Murmurs of agreement. Gabriel felt frustration well up inside him.

“Killing them always means something!” he shouted.

The crowd quieted, turning in his direction. The moment some recognized him, they began whispering amongst themselves. “Carmen’s son” spread like wildfire. He knew some — his mother’s enemies — would shut him out if he faltered, so he leaned on the barrier and raised his voice: “Every Specter on this planet poses a threat, shields be damned! And every dead Specter brings us one step closer to a free Earth!”

The din was increasing in volume. Even those who generally supported Gabriel’s mother couldn’t allow a non-delegate to monopolize the forum. He raised his voice louder: “Or have you all accepted Earth’s fate? Are you all hoping to claim a seat on the Ark and abandon this planet forever? Go, if that’s what you want! Abandon us, but please for the sake of humanity resign your post first! Let those of us who care about this planet make the decision of whether to save it!”

Cheers. Applause. Objections. Arguments. And finally: a voice vote.

“All in favor of approving financing for the Spartan operation?” Molambique asked. There was a chorus of ayes. “All opposed?” A much softer murmuring of nays. Molambique smiled up at Gabriel. “The motion passes. Clan Sparta has approval to remove any additional Specters in the immediate vicinity of the attack.”

Gabriel slipped past Armando, grabbing his coffee with one shaky hand. He could feel a rush of energy coursing through his body and walking fast was the only way to keep the giddiness at bay. He could deny his destiny all he wanted, but he couldn’t deny that he loved the thrill of the forum.

“Democracy strikes again,” Armando said, falling in line beside him. “Your mother will be none too pleased. The son of the Premier is just a citizen, after all.”

“This isn’t the first time her first son has crashed a forum,” Gabriel said. “And it won’t be the last. Give me a place to stand and I will move the Earth.”

“Homer? Bravo. But they have a point, you know. The Ring has an endless supply of Specters with which to torment us. Every time two chunks of ice crash into one another, Specters go flying like sparks from a dry piece of kindling.”

“The Ring is a finite object,” Gabriel snapped. “Building a massive ship and shooting it into another galaxy isn’t going to save humanity.
Abandoning Earth
won’t save humanity.”

They walked down the empty hall and through a pair of sliding doors, which led to the capitol rotunda, a large circular space in the center of the Parliament building. Gabriel walked to the marble railing and looked down: the rotunda was three levels deep, and below he could see other Neo Berlin Parliamentarians milling about near the railing. On the lowest level, a cleaner bot was dutifully polishing the glossy floors, spinning its circular body.

Above Gabriel’s head was a mural of Neo Berlin’s history, an old-fashioned painting that had been painstakingly restored only a few years ago. The images celebrated Neo Berlin’s achievements: a world peace agreement, the first Phenocyte reactor, the development of a gene therapy for PX54 cancer, and the heroic stand against the Specters in the town of Jericho, just west of the city.

“I hate that mural,” Armando said, leaning next to him and looking up. “Must we trumpet our successes?”

“Who else will,” Gabriel murmured.

“You forget about Carnivale.”

“I
can’t
forget about Carnivale,” Gabriel said with a smile. Last night’s festivities were supposed to mark humanity’s great “triumph” over its greatest threat: the Specters. But Gabriel no longer saw it that way. After all, what was a triumph when the last of humanity was sequestered inside invisible bubbles?

The entire world, celebrating. Pointing up at the Ring and laughing. Running through the streets trailed by Specters made of orange fabric and paper composite until the effigies were surrounded and violently lit on fire. Cheering. Sweat clinging to foreheads. Orange flames reflected in the windows of skyscrapers. Gabriel had seen it every year of his life, and last night he’d seen enough.

So he’d snuck away. The Martinez family was supposed to be at one of the “main events” where an effigy of a Specter was set ablaze, but in the chaos of the reveries it was easy for Gabriel to make like a ghost. The Metropolis of Neo Berlin may have embraced Carnivale, but that didn’t mean there weren’t quiet spaces. Spaces he could get away from the madness. Spaces he could hear himself think.

He went east, following a street named after a Persian inventor whose very cleaning bots were even now skittering along the wide sidewalk, sucking up confetti and littered cups. He walked between towering skyscrapers made of glass and steel — durable, even in earthquakes. And yet if the shield ever fell, the Specters would kill anyone hiding inside. They would kill everyone, passing through their bodies like ghosts and leaving grayed husks of rotting flesh.

That was when he found the Bridge.

Gabriel had known there was a small lake on the east side of the city, but the neighborhood was Persian, full of techies and tech companies and experimental bots roaming around like lost souls . . . not Gabriel’s cup of tea. But this area was quiet during Carnivale, and Gabriel had felt drawn to the silence like a moth to a flame. When he reached the lake, he was shocked to find that running across the center of the small lake was a bridge that dipped
into
the water.

Gabriel stepped closer until he was at the top of a small staircase leading down to the lakeshore. The bridge was made of some kind of concrete, dividing the lake in two like a channel. The concrete walls of the bridge were just tall enough to reach the surface of the water. Water poured over the sides of the concrete walls, but instead of flooding the walkway, the water disappeared into grates running along the floor.

Gabriel walked down, aided by the green light of fireflies floating over the water. They gave the impression that the dark water on either side of him was composed of entire galaxies, and he dipped his finger into the water. Ripples distorted the reflection of the green starlight. He walked across the bridge and he could almost feel the weight of the water on either side, so desperate to close this unnatural gap. This channel made of concrete.

But humanity had bested it. With a clever design and underground pumps and careful measurements, humanity had won.

It was beautiful.

“Gabe!”

He shook the memory from his head, spinning around at the familiar voice. His sister Wei was running toward him, trailed slowly by Margaret, her nanny. Wei was wearing an Ecosuit, just like him — she looked like she was ready to be shot into space. The Ecosuits always reminded Gabriel of the type of thin-layer spacesuit that would fit right in inside a space-and-Specters holo-flick. Like that new one, what was it called?
The Space War
or something like that. Awful movie with an awful moral message: shoot your way out of every problem.

“You look great, little stink bug!” he said, bending down so she could hug him. “Are you excited?”

“Of course!” she squealed. “Hi, Armando.”

“Hello, little princess,” Armando said. He gave Margaret a nod. The poor elderly woman looked flushed and out of breath. “Margaret, I must buy you a cup of tea.”

“Of course,” the nanny said. “That sounds like just what I need after our hurried entrance. Dear, I feel as if I may pass out at any moment.” She turned to Gabriel, sighing. “I can assure you she did not forget anything. And her suit fits perfectly.”

“Good.” Gabriel looked down at Wei. Her straight black hair was held back with little pink barrettes. “You look like the spitting image of a Spartan soldier.”

Wei put her fists on her hips, striking a pose. They all laughed.

“Well, let’s not keep our Coterie waiting,” Gabriel said.

Armando crossed his arms. “Yes, the Proving is such an important thing. We absolutely
must
send children out beyond the safety of the Xenoshield so that they may experience true danger blah, blah, blah, Democracy-this, humanity-that.”

“Sarcasm duly noted.” He looked to Armando and Margaret. “Wish us luck.”

Armando pecked him on the cheek. “Do be careful.”

“Something tells me this mission won’t be difficult,” Gabriel said, forcing a smile. “I doubt my mother would put either of us in mortal danger.”

“Your mother’s reach only goes so far,” Armando said with a hint of worry.

Gabriel reached down and grabbed his sister’s hand. “Come along, little soldier. It’s time to prove ourselves.”

“Please be careful,” Armando called out.

Gabriel felt just a twinge of empathy at the sound of his worried voice. “There’s nothing to worry about. I promise.”

Cleo woke to an alarm. Not her usual school alarm, which made an obnoxiously loud beep-beep-beep noise. This alarm was a gentle chime, just loud enough to wake her without the sense of urgency that accompanied a school day. Why was it going off again? She opened her eyes, blinking a few times and rubbing the crust away from the corners, then cursing Clan Athens for not inventing an eye drop that cured morning eye boogers. What did they do in those labs all day long? What was more important than a freaking eye booger cure?

She yawned and looked at the clock.

8:26.

“Sacrebleu!” Cleo cursed as she threw aside her covers. 26 minutes?! The gentle alarm had been going off for 26 minutes?!

“You dummy,” she told her brain, kicking aside dirty clothes to get to her closet. She tapped the panel on the wall and the closet door slid open. The light turned on. A gentle woman’s voice greeted her through the little speakers in the ceiling.

“Good morning, your majesty.”

The royal greeting was a hack. Her idea.

“Good morning, Lucrecia,” she murmured, grabbing her Ecosuit.

Lucrecia, also her idea, had just sounded like a good name for a computer voice.

“Reza!” she shouted, pounding on the wall a few times. “You’d better be up, you little butthead!”

Something was wrong. It was too dark. Darkness was bad in the morning. Darkness made Cleo want to crawl back into her warm bed. “Chi, open windows,” she instructed. A large poster of her favorite Disco Metal band (The Deranged Boogie-Woogies) rose up into the ceiling, revealing Takashi Park, the city’s northeastern park, bathed in golden morning sunlight. Below, people walked between the Athenian fruit trees. Little kids on field trips sat beside a tall marble fountain while a teaching hologram guided them through some lesson or other. Someone was flying a yellow kite. Others were jogging and completely ignoring the hideous Ring looming above like some glowing celestial buzz saw.

Free citizens who didn’t belong to a clan and could thus avoid the pointless Proving ritual.

“Chi, live feed off.”

The image blinked off. Now she could see her
real
view: the eastern edge of Neo Berlin’s downtown district. Tall skyscrapers that blotted out the sun and any view of Takashi Park and the world beyond the shield.

Across the street was the CP-Tech skyscraper, sleek and glassy and shaped like a staircase. CP-Tech had been started by Fen-ra Tawanabe, a member of Clan Persia. She’d taken a simple idea (ultra-violet computer processors) and turned it into a massive empire. Now, there was a CP-Tech building in every remaining city. CP-Tech was the dream. It was said that every five floors, there was a level filled with relaxation and entertainment devices. Holoscreens and virtual reality helmets and hammocks and libraries. Work, but don’t work yourself to death — that was the CP-Tech motto. Cleo dreamed of working there and writing a program (new GPS coordination for the delivery drones!) that would wow management. Cleo would be whisked into Mrs. Tawanabe’s office. The chairwoman would promptly commend Cleo and offer her a cushy job working with the totally amazing team that had developed the Artemis Bow, civilization’s best hope in surviving the Specter threat.