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  “Don’t worry, it’s not so scary up there,” she says. Then the elevator stops just before we breach the surface and everyone but me steps off. As the doors close I watch the girl’s pigtails bounce away among the crowd.

  A5. A6. As I climb higher my mind imagines the air getting thinner, my lungs struggling to obtain oxygen, face turning blue. Ding. A7. I step out of the elevator into a long windowed hallway, the last rays of the real sunset shooting through my eyes like daggers. I crouch quickly to the floor and cover my face. Even the legendary Holo-sky can’t truly imitate real sunlight. I reach into my bag and pull out a pair of sunglasses. Once I have them on, the bright light fades until I can see the shape of the hallway, the walls painted a plain light blue, the floor layered with tile. Neutral paintings hang evenly spread down the hall between windows. I look at my crumpled paper again. A7. End of the hall. I start walking. At the end of the blue hall, the corridor curves until I can see the entrance to a restaurant. Dinner. He wants to have dinner.

  I see him before he sees me. He’s planted at a table for two—a window seat— looking out into the vast, dead city. He wears a smart suit with a black tie, still as simple as always. His blond hair’s a little longer, his jaw a little sturdier, but beneath the fuzz of facial hair and the expensive watch is the same little boy I’ve known since I was eight. I can see us playing in sandboxes in the small underground parks with fake trees and not an ant or worm in sight.

  I almost smile at this, but then my adult brain takes over and I’m rushed back to some of our last moments, when our friendship changed us into lovers, how David hated it even though they were colleagues. Nights out dancing, early morning breakfasts in bed, the pale light of dawn shining in. And then when it all ended.

  It’s been a long time, but my stomach still gnaws at me, those dreaded past emotions bubbling up. I’m about to turn around and leave when he notices me. We make eye contact and his mouth bursts into a wide grin. I walk over to the table, sunglasses still perched on my nose, and he stands to greet me. Then he stares me, hands in his pockets, and his smile slowly fades, his gaze dropping to the floor. I swear to myself. This is going to be awkward. Sadness lines his eyes and he chews his lip forcefully. An unspoken word lingers between us. David.

  “I’m sorry,” I whisper. I want to whirl around and run away. I don’t want to relive those fatal moments every time even a tiny memory is provoked. But Tor doesn’t let me run; instead he takes my hand and pulls me closer to him.

  “Don’t be. It shouldn’t be like this. Please?” I look at him, his pleading face, feel the almost desperate grip of his hand, and I wish so much that things could go back to the way they were before, but I know they can’t. Still, I squeeze his hand back, still sit down across from him, exploring those eyes I once knew so well but are now like a stranger’s.

  “How’d you find me?” I ask quietly. He sighs, but his lips tug a little at the corners, like he’s sharing a joke with himself. A tall, slim waitress brings us both goblets filled with clear, purified water.

  “I won’t say it wasn’t hard. At first, I thought Ichton was the last place you’d be, but then I just thought about you, figured you’d keep moving and changing. So I waited. For six months. Then I saw you going into Shelley’s, and here we are.”

  Here we are. If that isn’t a statement.

  “So what now?” I ask, bringing it all up front. There’s no point in rehashing old shit now. The Corp’s got me back in its lap now, sitting pretty like a dog, and there’s nothing I can do about it.

  “I need you,” he replies.

  My eyebrows rise in surprise.

  He stops himself, then clarifies, “We need you. Rupert needs you. A lot of shit has been going on. Attacks everywhere, above and below ground. We think they might be planning a massive revolt. We need all the manpower we can get, and let’s face it, you’re one of the best,” he says.

  I sigh deeply, first at the mention of the President of Elder Corp, Rupert Elder. His image comes to me crystalline, tall and foreboding, thick moustache, shiny, bald head, and ears littered with piercings. Rupert used to be a friend and mentor. Being one of the only Elders with actual experience on the field, he was valuable as a president and ally. After David, he wanted me to take a break, thinking my trauma would cause me to make bad decisions on the field. He was right, and now he wants me back. I almost want to laugh, or cry, I don’t know. I face Tor, but I can’t bring myself to look him in the eye.

  “It’s been a long time, Tor. Elder Corp is something I wanted to keep in the past. You know that I don’t want to come back, and yet you sit here, giving me a choice that I can’t actually choose. What exactly do you want from me?” I ask. He takes a moment to reply and we return to the same old scenario: is what he’s saying from his own mind, or from the Elder collective, the Pavlovian training that’s made him into such a viable Corp loyalist?

  “What can I say, Piper? The Corp needs you. Rupert will do just about anything to get you back, but it’s not just that. I miss you. I miss working with you. You took off so fast after everything, half the staff thought they’d never see you again. You’re my friend. You’ve always been my friend so I’m asking you to come back. Not for Rupert or me or the Corp, but for humanity. For your mom and Shelley and the families of all of the victims. You don’t know how critical things are getting,” he replies.

  “And David?” I say quietly. Tor’s expression fades, his eyes turn downward and his jaw clenches.

  “You don’t think David would want you to keep doing what you do best?” he asks. My eyes cross, the world around me fading as if into a deep fog. His words reverberate in my mind over and over. “Don’t trust them. Don’t trust them. Don’t trust them.”

  “Piper?” I snap back at Tor’s insistent voice and wave off his concerned look.

  “I’m fine. Sorry. Look, we both know there’s no point. You’ve got me now, so I’ll report in and do what I can, but we need to get one thing straight. I am not a dog of the Corp anymore. This is a private contract and my rates are very, very high,” I say firmly.

  The mood breaks as Tor bursts into laughter.

  “What?” I ask.

  “Goddamn. Rupert said you’d say that. Guess he knows you pretty well,” he says, his eyes tearing a bit as he chuckles.

  I want to growl in disgust but force out a tight smile instead.

  “When and where?” I ask.

  “Tomorrow, eight am, eighth floor, big office at the end of the hall,” he says.

  “Here in Ichton?” I ask. My heart’s racing.Not Central?

  Tor nods his head.

  “We think the core of the Harpy revolt is somewhere around here. Rupert’s still in Central, so here we report to Myra.”

  Myra Elder, the eldest of the Elders, and from what I’ve heard, a frigid and heartless bitch.Great.

  I nod and begin to collect my things.

  “Tell the cast I’ll be on at eight,” I say.

  Tor stands up before I can, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “You’re not staying? I thought we’d have a nice dinner. I’ve missed you,” he says. I look around the empty restaurant, at the neatly folded napkins, the vase of lab-grown roses, the tiny single-serve packs of sugar. All of these simple luxuries Corp personnel have while the people in the tunnels are dying. I stand.

  “I’m sorry. I can’t,” I whisper, then briskly turn and walk back the way I came. I walk fast enough that Tor can’t catch up with me, and fast enough that I won’t look back.

  Chapter Five

  I can’t sayI’m not a little disappointed that I won’t be going back to Central. Not because I want to see Rupert or any of my old colleagues, but it’s been so long and in the irony of my situation, now that the Corp has me back on a leash, I’m actually free to walk through the Capital city. Free to revisit the places that haunt my memories, our old dirty house in the tunnels, my mother. I think of her now and can only sigh. When David died, she didn’t just lose him, she lost me too. Ima
gining her in that house by herself with only the ghosts of the past as company makes me sick. I call her before I have to go back to the Elder Corp building, tapping my foot nervously as the line rings and rings.

  “Hello?” she answers. Her voice is soft and raspy.

  “Hey, Mom,” I say. I want to laugh because I’m shaking, imagining she’s going to give me shit just like when I was a kid.

  “Piper?” she asks. I keep my eye focused on the wall clock, knowing I’ve put this off too long and yet I need to leave in five minutes.

  “Yeah, it’s me,” I reply. She lets out a muffled sob and my heart breaks.

  “Where the hell have you been?” she asks, crying and laughing at the same time. I chuckle, but tears stream down my cheeks as well.

  “Would you believe me if I told you an extended stay on a hot fresh-air beach?” I say. She laughs again, knowing as always that there are things I still can’t tell her.

  “Baby, I’m so glad you’re okay. I’ve been worried,” she replies.

  “I’m okay, Mom. I’m in Ichton now, going to do some contract work for the Corp. Don’t give me shit, you know I don’t have a choice,” I say. There’s a pause, like she’s trying to choose her words carefully.

  “I know. Just keep your head up around them, alright? And call me and let me know that you’re alive more than once a year, okay?” she says. I exhale deeply. Wishing so badly that I was with her right now, to have her hold me again, like when I was little, but the clock’s ticking.

  “I will, I promise,” I say, “love you.”

  “Love you too, Piper,” she replies. I flip my phone shut just as Shelley wanders through the door, black streaks of mascara splotched down her face.

  “You’re home late,” I mention. She waves me off and grunts.

  “You’re up early,” she mutters. I stifle a laugh.

  “Rough night?” I ask. She plops herself onto a kitchen chair and nods.

  “Go big or go home, right? I had a good night, but I need to sleep. You’re coming tonight, right?” she asks. I check my watch. I need to leave.

  “Sorry. Coming where?” I ask as I quickly gather my belongings. Shelley tsks at me.

  “Craig’s concert, asshole. You’d better come,” she warns, but the effect is lost as she yawns deeply.Right. The concert.

  “Did I promise?” I ask. Shelley nods.

  “Yep, I made sure,” she replies.

  “Then I’ll be there, just as soon as today is over with,” I mutter. I leave, closing the door as Shelley calls,

  “Good luck!”

  I’ll need it.

  The elevator dings as I reach A8, and I exit with my sunglasses already protecting my eyes. I wear scuffed combat boots, dark pants and an old T-shirt, and I stand out like a sore thumb among the well-groomed, suit-wearing Corp personnel that shy away from me. I feel invisible and neon-bright at the same time. I know no one around me, but I catch their sidelong glances, probably wondering who I am and where I’m from and maybe even if I’m carrying something. I don’t blame them, really.

  I push my way through the crowded halls until I reach the end. An ominous black door appears before me, with more hallways spreading to its right and left. The door’s labeled Myra Elder, Director in large block writing. I take a deep breath before pushing the door open, the raucous sounds from the halls fading quickly into gentle silence. The small lobby is nothing like I’d imagined. When I think of Corp buildings, I picture institutional walls, white paint over concrete and sharp lines governing the sparse furniture. This lobby, however, boasts shining hardwood floors, warm, coffee-tinted walls and vases of red and yellow flowers blooming on every surface. I can’t help but wonder if the flowers are real or not. I eye the front desk secretary, who’s chatting on the phone and paying little attention to me. I kneel over the closest vase and inhale deeply. The sweet fragrance of living flora enters my nose and I shut my eyes. So they’re real. I don’t even want to imagine how much money it cost to have them transported.

  I open my eyes to find the secretary eyeing me suspiciously. She sports a short, dark pixie cut and takes a sip from her coffee mug, gaze never leaving me. I leave the flowers and walk up to the desk.

  “Can I help you?” she asks, her voice laced with a bitter but sugary tone. I look around as if there’s someone here who knows me, but the lobby’s empty.

  “I’m here to see Myra,” I say quickly. I try to picture the old woman in my mind. Even through the rumors of her staunch attitude and cold demeanor, I can’t help but feel just a little bit of pity. Being the eldest of the Elders, she should have had control of the Corporation, but instead her brothers Raul and then Rupert took over, leaving her with the smallest base, the tiniest of glories.

  “That’s Director Elder to you, sweetheart. I’m guessing you’re new?” the secretary replies. She doesn’t try to hide her true feelings; instead they nearly bleed from her eyes. Unacceptable. Inappropriate.

  “Right. Director. I need to see her, please,” I say, trying to be polite.

  Annoyance flashes from the woman’s eyes. “I’m afraid you’ll need to book an appointment. The Director is a busy woman and can’t be bothered for something trivial,” she nearly spits.

  “Look, Wanda,” I pronounce, placing my hands on the desk and reading her nameplate. Impatience roots itself deep within my stomach and I know I should calm myself down. I’m about to tell the lady off when I’m cut off by a scratchy, stern voice.

  “It’s okay, Wanda. Miss Madden may come in to see me whenever she pleases.” I glance over and see Myra Elder in all her uptight, gray-haired glory, giving Wanda a knowing look. I wonder what she’ll say about me. The missing Madden sister come to save the day, or a hazard needing to be contained?

  “Sorry, Director Elder,” the woman replies softly. Myra turns to me now, eyeing me sternly. Her hazel eyes are lined with the fine wrinkles that come with age, and her hair is smoothly combed into a gentle chignon. Like everyone else here, she wears a suit, though hers is characterized by a stiff pencil skirt and a soft blue dress shirt. Around her neck lies a simple gold chain clinging to an ornate locket. I nod to her, refusing the usual Hunter salute of lowering the eyes to the floor.

  “Follow me,” she says. She leads me through a corridor of offices until we reach the end of the hall. Ushering me inside, she closes the door behind us.

  “Please don’t scare my staff,” she says, moving her way through the office until she’s sitting at her desk. I was expecting a modern-built, toxin-free room filled with vid screens and prototypes for her to approve, but am surprised by an ancient-looking decor. The office is large, bigger than the ones in Central, with wide open windows and wall-to-wall shelving stacked with books. I take my time joining her, scanning the titles of her library. The Harpy and the Hunter. Winged Beasts. Ulysses. I wonder if she’s read every single one of them. There must be hundreds.

  “I’m not used to this kind of setup,” I explain, abandoning my curiosity and taking a seat in a plushy chair facing her. I resist the urge to stare out the open window and admire the lush green landscape and ominous looming mountains. It’s like a dream, seeing the beauty of the Fresh Air Zone still being harvested and grown just outside the downtown city walls.

  “It is beautiful, isn’t it? How long has it been since you’ve been outside?” she asks, gesturing toward the window.

  “A year,” I answer without a hitch. It’s been about a year since my life got twisted upside down. Not a particularly great anniversary to celebrate. I decide to change the subject. “I’m guessing Tor briefed you on my conditions for returning to the Corp?” I say. The tiniest glimmer shines from her eyes and her lips turn up into a tight smile. She leans back in her seat.

  “I’ve created a contract for you that binds you only to your independent duties, and I’m sure you’ll be satisfied with the pay. I don’t blame you for being hesitant to return after… everything that happened in Central. But things are different here, I can assure you
. I do not run such a rabid organization as my dear brother. Here we abide by a code of honor, of professionalism, and above all for humanity,” she says, quoting the Elder Corp slogan. I ignore the Corp b.s. and lean forward slightly, pursing my lips.

  “Honor?” I ask. She nods seriously, and motions toward some old photographs hanging on the wall. I recognize the younger Myra immediately—that same, tight gaze staring out from a group of men and women in flowing clothing, their heads shaved bald and bodies covered in gentle, spiraling tattoos. They’re monks of the Temple, wasteland dwellers who live in the mountains and survive through the hardest of conditions without any technology. I don’t need to continue questioning when I return my gaze to this Myra, older, harder, but that stern gaze filled with a different kind of wisdom.

  “I lived with the Monks for a time after Raul took over the Corp. Their ways are…so different from ours. When I left I vowed to use the techniques and wisdom I learned from them to shape the Corp in a new light. Obviously you know that Ichton is my only domain, but you’ll soon see how the teachings can change the way we fight, and if we’re diligent, even the way we exist,” she says. I absorb the information slowly. According to Rupert the Temple Monks are savages who kill without feeling and live like animals. But in this photograph, they don’t seem that way at all. They seem at peace, something I can’t say I’ve ever achieved for myself.

  “When is the debriefing?” I ask. Again, she flashes the smallest of smiles. She pushes a piece of paper from her desk toward me.

  “So you’ll join us?” she replies. I nod, scanning the contract quickly. It’s exactly as I’d specified, and the pay’s more than enough. I use a shiny black pen to scrawl my signature quickly. She snaps the paper back and files it in her drawers.

  “Good. We can always use an experienced Hunter from Central on our team. I’d advise that you figure out the building for now and acquaint yourself with your colleagues. Grier Lan is our top Hunter and I’m sure she’ll be picking your ear for some tips from the legendary Madden sister,” she says. I want to punch her. Even mentioning that word brings me screeching back to unsafe memories.