Everything goes black.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Adele

I know I’ve overslept when I hear a noise outside my drawer. The door opening with a click. My intention was to sneak in a few hours sleep and creep out before anyone was the wiser.

I don’t move, just blink in the dark, listening.

“We’ll have to finish with this one and get the place ready for a large intake,” a woman’s voice says. “Just in case there are casualties.” Casualties?

“But I thought the mission was scheduled for later today?” another woman says. I close my eyes, concentrating on not missing a word. What mission?

“It is, but we have to be ready early. You know how Lecter likes things.”

A laugh. “Don’t we all. Clean and organized. A clean city is a happy city. I’ve heard the ads. Hey, you want to grab a coffee before we get started? I feel like it’s going to be a long one.”

“Sounds perfect.”

I hear the door close, and once more I’m alone in silence. No time. I’ve got to move now or I might not have another chance.

I guide my hands along the top of the drawer, pushing myself out. My skin is cold, but I feel refreshed. Ready.

My friend the corpse-woman hasn’t moved since last night, which is a good thing. Eyes closed or not, I try not to look at her.

I’m about to exit, when I see them. A pile of white linen clothes that weren’t there the night before. Brought by the women I heard talking. Preparing for a potentially large intake. These must be the clothes they dress the bodies in after they’ve finished each autopsy. They don’t look all that different than what the cleaning woman was wearing as she mopped the floor, singing to her baby…

I’ve never undressed so quickly. The first set of clothes is way too big, covering my hands and feet. The second: perfect, or close enough, the sleeves plenty long enough to cover my cut arm. Do I take my dirty, bloody, and torn soldier’s uniform with me? If someone asks me about it I can probably lie my way through an interrogation, but I’d rather have my hands free. And what about the weapons? Do I take those?

The clock is ticking…

Making a split-second decision, I use a knife to cut off a piece of fabric from one of the other white clothes, wrap it four times around the blade of the knife, and shove it inside my boot. Unfortunately, there are no shoes to wear, so I’m stuck wearing a dead soldier’s boots until I can find something else. But for now it makes a good spot for the knife. Everything else—the uniform, a couple knives, and the guns I took from the drugged, bound and gagged soldiers in the electrical room—I shove in the highest corpse drawer, hoping they won’t be found anytime soon.

When I turn to leave, the door handle rattles, turns and…the door opens.

I freeze.

“I heard the president bathes three times a day,” a woman says, looking back as she enters. Her hair is bright orange and tied up in a bun. She’s somewhat wide, but it’s more pudge than muscle. Right away I know I can incapacitate her if I have to.

“I heard four times,” another woman says, her voice carrying through the door. The two from before, back with their coffees.

“Oh!” I exclaim, trying to sound as surprised as possible, which isn’t that hard considering my heart is in my throat.

The woman turns sharply, her coffee spilling over the side and onto her hand. “Dammit!” she says, cradling it with two hands and pushing it onto one of the tables. “What the hell are you doing in here?”

The other woman—as skinny as a rod, her dark hair also tied up and away from her face—rushes in behind her, immediately grabbing a towel to wipe up the mess.

“I—I—” I stammer. I should’ve been born a sun dweller. I could’ve been an actress.

“Well, spit it out, girl,” Meaty-Bun says, kindness absent from her voice.

“I’m sorry, I was under the impression there might be a large intake today, that this room needed to be cleaned and prepped,” I say, staring at my feet. Eye contact shows strength, and strong people draw attention. I want to be like a piece of furniture, just part of the room.

“You heard right, but that’s part of our job,” Skinny-Bun says, her tone less serious. “It’s not a normal cleaning job. It takes a special kind of training.”

“Oh,” I say again, like I’m an idiot who barely understands the simple concepts she’s explaining. “I’m sorry. Really sorry. I’ll check with my supervisor to see what I’m supposed to be doing.” Like I can’t think for myself, requiring direction for every little menial task. Do I even have a supervisor? I hope so.

“What’s your name, girl?” Meaty-Bun says. “I’ll have to report this.” Uh oh. Don’t make me introduce you to right-fist.

“Aw, c’mon, Sandy,” Skinny-Bun says, “there’s no need for that. It’s probably her first day on the job.”

“It—it is,” I stutter.

Meaty-Bun frowns, but waves her hand. “Fine, fine. I don’t have time to file a report today anyway. Those forms are so damn long. Just don’t come back, you hear me?”

I nod sheepishly. “Th-thank you,” I say as I’m opening the door and slipping through. Before the door closes I hear the fat one say, “Must be a star dweller,” and then they both laugh like it’s the funniest thing they’ve heard all day.

Unable to control myself any longer, I slam the door and bolt down the hall. How can there be so much ignorance in the world? A star dweller? Just because I acted a little simple, a little scared, a little shy? I’ve met star dwellers who could outthink sun dweller engineers if given the chance. Hell, my mother is an honorary star dweller, considering how much time she spent in the Star Realm. And Trevor…a burning bubble wells up in my chest and I have to take a deep breath to push it away…Trevor was a star dweller and one of the smartest, most capable people I’ve ever met. Quick-witted and sharp-tongued. Another casualty of ignorance, a life—if it was ever really a life to begin with—cut far shorter than it should’ve been.

I turn a corner, feeling queasy, following a sign for EXIT. Pass a woman in a white coat who doesn’t bother to look up at me from the papers she’s reading. Dressed like a cleaner, I’m invisible.

My thoughts continue to roll and tumble and spill over each other. Why have we rebuilt the world this way? Was it ever different? Did people ever just accept each other, regardless of race, religion, gender or social status? If the President Nailins of the world were born in the Star Realm, would they turn out differently? More tolerant? Better? Does something as simple as the place you’re born change everything about you, determine what kind of person you’ll be? As my face grows hotter and hotter, I know I’m losing control, which is something I cannot afford to do. Maybe my questions have no answers, or answers I’ll never be willing to accept.

One more turn and I see the exit, a set of glass-paneled double doors, bright outside light pouring through them. Closed, locked, impossible to push through. There’s what appears to be a chip scanner on the wall, next to a sign that says, “Do NOT exit building without scan.” Feeling light-headed, I slump against the wall, right next to the scanner.

There’s a beep and the door opens. A man enters, striding past me as if I don’t exist. I wait a second until he’s further down the hall, and then grab the nearly closed door, holding it open. I slam through with a shoulder, gulping at the air, my hands on my knees. Trying to get control.

Someone pushes past me, into the building. “Watch where you’re going,” he says gruffly, and I almost laugh.

The ridiculousness of everything I’ve seen—from the squalor the star dwellers are forced to live in, to the bright-costumed and well-perfumed lives of the sun dwellers, to this new world, stark and sterile and cold-hearted, the home of the earth dwellers—snaps me out of my temporary funk, because despite all that, there are people out there like my mother, like Roc and Tawni, like Tristan—who had it all and gave it all away—who are on the right side. And regardless of the mistakes I’ve made, the people I’ve failed along the way—Cole and my father and Trevor and my little sister, Elsey—I’m on the right side. If nothing else, that’s a truth I can cling to when I’m feeling weak at the knees.