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  Chapter 7 – Beyond the Rings

  The swarm of men divided into groups of two and spread like a virus around the Main. Lynn and Marcus didn’t budge.

  “We need to get out of here,” said Vincent.

  “How?” said Jessica. She was still looking at the screen, eyes wide.

  Vincent tapped the wall’s surface so the Main shrank back into the checkerboard of its counterparts. The officers had begun to enter the other frames as well.

  “I don’t know,” he said. “But you might be able to find something in the feeds. I want to check something.” He turned away and started back for the desk.

  “Vincent it’s pointless to look for THE SIM if we don’t know how to–”

  “Just look,” snapped Vincent. “And tell me when they’re close.” He turned from her without another word and sat down once again at the desk. Behind him, Jessica shook her head but stayed where she was, her eyes trained on the screens. Vincent forced himself not to look at them. Instead, he sank down to his knees and felt along the underside of the desk. He paid careful attention to the area around the button that triggered the projection.

  “They’re starting up the first flight of stairs,” said Jessica.

  Vincent continued to feel the underside of the desk. There were no buttons but the first.

  “Brian is up,” she continued. “He must have heard them. It looks like he’s activating his Lenses.”

  For a moment, Vincent felt a spark of hope, but he knew it was foolish. Brian could do nothing for them now. If he was on their side, the best he could do was buy them a little time by not telling Marcus where they were hiding. If he wasn’t on their side, he could do much worse.

  Vincent abandoned his search under the desk and returned to the drawers, hoping he had missed something.

  “They’re breaking into Brian’s room,” said Jessica. “They’re saying something to him…”

  Vincent kept his attention fixed on the drawer he was searching, but out of the corner of his eye he saw Jessica tap Brian’s feed.

  “…no, they never came!” It was Brian. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Get off me!”

  Vincent allowed himself a look. Two officers were holding Brian in an impromptu interrogation, with one man behind him to hold his arms and the second in front, leaned in close.

  Jessica tapped the screen again and the checkerboard returned. Two other pairs of men had climbed the stairs. They disappeared into the rooms on either side of Brian’s.

  “They’ll be up here soon, Vincent. We have to do something.”

  Vincent stood from the desk and pulled the chair around so it faced the bookshelf. He climbed on top of it.

  “Vincent we don’t have time to–”

  “I’m not leaving without it,” said Vincent. “Just tell me when they’re coming.”

  Jessica opened her mouth to protest, then said nothing. Vincent had already pulled a book off the shelf at random. He rifled through its pages, ripping the majority as he turned them, scanning every crevice for THE SIM. He tossed the book to the ground when he reached the end and grabbed the next one. He started to flip once again.

  “They’re almost done searching the other rooms,” said Jessica. Panic was beginning to enter her voice. “And there are more of them coming to the second floor now.”

  Vincent didn’t dare look. He forced himself to focus on the pages. He tossed the second book down and pulled out a third, at random yet again. He repeated his method of fanning the pages out wide, all the while trying to ignore the dozen or more books that remained unchecked.

  “They’re leaving the rooms,” said Jessica. The words spilled from her in a rush. “They’re starting for the stairs. They're on their way. Vincent we need to get out of here.”

  Vincent cursed under his breath as he threw the third book to the ground. He would never have time like this. Desperate, he began flinging books from the shelf, not bothering to check their contents, simply hurling them to the ground. There were still almost ten more.

  “They’re to the top of the stairs,” said Jessica, frantic now. “Four of them, and they’re through the door. They’re coming down the hall. Vincent they’re coming.”

  Vincent flung the books with both arms now. He forced himself to keep his eyes straight ahead. He couldn’t afford to look at the wall. There were only a few books left.

  “Two of them went to the first room,” said Jessica. “The other two are headed this way.”

  Vincent bit down hard on his lower lip as he pulled the last two books from the shelf. But when they landed behind him, he heard something more than the normal thump. There was a smaller, lighter sound along with it. He jumped down from the chair and spun around to the desk. On its surface, lying amidst the papers and pointed slender sticks, was a thin, paper-width disc the size of an eye: THE SIM.

  “Vincent!”

  Vincent turned to the screen. Two of the Privacy Officers from the Main were standing right outside. With a lunge, and just before the door could slide open, Vincent grabbed the disc from the desk and forced it into his front pocket.

  The next moment, the officers were inside. They saw Jessica first and started for her. On instinct, Vincent surged forward and shoved the foremost man in the chest so the man stumbled backward. He started for the second man as well only for his head to explode with a splitting pain. He fell to the ground, holding the back of his head where the man had just struck him. Through bleary eyes he saw the same man wrap Jessica’s arms behind her in a single, fluid movement. A second later, the two officers from the room over were there as well. Vincent watched, blinking rapidly to chase the pain from his head, as they dragged Jessica toward the door, eventually lifting her from her feet entirely to avoid her wild kicks and untrained punches. Vincent could manage little more than a muffled groan as they dragged him along behind. The pain in his head was excruciating. The site where the man’s small club had landed had already risen into an unnatural lump. Every step they took was another painful jolt, and by the time they reached the stairs, Vincent’s vision had gone foggy with pain.

  When he heard the hissing breath of the door, Vincent fought through the fog over his eyes. They were back downstairs. Marcus and Brian’s mother, as well as Brian himself (with his own, miniature escort) were there waiting for them. Marcus watched as they exited the stairs. He clicked his tongue in disapproval.

  “What a shame,” he said, turning to Lynn. “You were the best Head of Product we’ve ever had. Fatrem will loath to replace you.”

  “He won’t have to,” said Lynn. Even through blurred vision, Vincent could see the lack of fear, of anything, really, in the woman’s eyes. By her crossed arms and impatient stance, she may have been in a particularly boring meeting.

  “I doubt that,” said Marcus. “Even you won’t be able to recover from this. Or Brian.”

  “Brian and I had nothing to do with this,” snapped Lynn. “You can use lie detection if you’d like.”

  “I think I will,” said Marcus. “But later. As you were just lecturing, I have other matters to attend to.” He turned to the men holding Vincent and Jessica. “Where did you find them?”

  “Third story.” It was the man holding Vincent who spoke. “In an office.”

  Marcus nodded, uninterested. Lynn, on the other hand, looked up at them. Vincent saw something pass across her face that reminded him strikingly of her son.

  “Very well,” said Marcus. “Take them.” Then, with a relishing look at Lynn: “All of them.”

  Lynn breathed out heavily, more annoyed than troubled. “You’d do better to focus on your own job,” she said. “Leave mine to me.”

  Marcus smirked at her. “I would if I felt safe in doing so.”

  Lynn shook her head but said nothing back. Marcus nodded to his men. “To the transports.” He glanced at Vincent and Jessica. “Get these two out of the management sector.”

  Jessica stared up at the man with a glare that would have made Mrs.
Farring cringe. Vincent knew without asking she was thinking of her father.

  “I’ll never understand the privacy privilege given to the first ring,” continued Marcus, ignoring Jessica. “There’s absolutely no excuse for anyone being off the grid.”

  Through the throbbing pain still beating at the back of his head, Vincent felt his mind clear. Those last three words echoed in his head so loudly they nearly muffled the pain.

  Off the grid.

  Vincent had heard that expression before. The echoes told him as much. Someone else had said them, someone recent. The only other person in the Seclusion who could have claimed anything to be off the grid.

  Simon.

  The developer’s words came back to Vincent in a flash. He had to get Jessica a message.

  The officers began dragging him across the tile, but he didn’t resist. He focused on his Lenses. Frantic, and fighting through the pounding in his head with each word he composed, he began to write.

  “Would you like me to drive Brian and myself?” asked Lynn. “We have nothing to hide.”

  Marcus laughed, callous and unpracticed. “We’ll be the judges of that,” he said. “As for Brian, I had almost forgotten. He can ride with the children.” He flicked his head at the officer holding Brian, and the man started forward.

  “I didn’t do anything wrong,” said Brian, struggling against the man. He looked back at Lynn, imploring. “Mother!”

  Lynn twitched at the lips, then remained stoic. Brian’s face fell, taking its usual composure with it, and he struggled harder than ever. Marcus merely grinned.

  Vincent could watch the scene unfold only in his periphery. He was too busy finishing the message. After a few final letters, he sent it with a flick of his pupils and watched Jessica’s face as she received it. For a single, betraying second, her eyes grew wide with excitement, then went out of focus, flitting from side to side in their sockets with wild speed. It took Marcus a moment to notice.

  “The girl is doing something,” he snapped. “Darken her Lenses.”

  An officer at Marcus’s side stepped forward with a short club and placed the tip of it on Jessica’s temple. Before she could pull away, he pressed a button on the bottom of the thing, and Jessica’s eyes went white. They stayed like that for a few seconds – completely devoid of their usual, rich brown – before returning to normal. When she could see again, she swayed where she stood, disoriented.

  “And the boy.”

  Vincent tried to squirm out of his captor’s grip, but it was too late. His vision exploded with a blinding white light, and his Lenses grew hot, burning against his eyes and spurring on the pain already firing in the back of his skull. And then he could see again. He sagged against the officer behind him, lightheaded. Through the blur, he made eye contact with Jessica. Almost imperceptibly, she nodded.

  “That will be quite unnecessary with Brian,” said Lynn. Her voice was shriller than usual, almost breaking at points. “He’s the son of a Department Head.” She straightened herself at this. Marcus glanced at her, then at Brian and the man with the club.

  “Load them,” he said, and Lynn relaxed.

  The officers resumed hauling the three of them toward the door. Vincent stole a glance back at Lynn, but her face was once again unreadable. A second later, she was gone altogether, and they were outside. The air seemed suddenly warmer. The edge of the horizon had just begun to shift from pitch black to a dark but revealing gray.

  “Put them in here,” snapped Marcus. He pointed to a large transport parked in front of the dome. The thing had three wheels and a long, egg-shaped pod in the center. The pod looked large enough to fit half a dozen people.

  “I’ll follow in a few minutes with Lynn,” said Marcus. “Meet in the Center.”

  Vincent saw the man holding him nod, and they started for the transport. He was released just long enough to be shoved inside, with Jessica close behind. A second later, one of their officers climbed into the seat next them. In the row in front of them, the man with the short club took the left seat and Brian the right. In the rearview mirror, Vincent saw the eyes of Brian’s escort go out of focus, then his lips curl downward. The man stayed like that for a moment, then, when the driver’s door slid open in the front row, he composed himself once again.

  No one spoke. Vincent doubted the gray-suited men were capable of speech at all. He chanced a glimpse at Jessica. Her eyes were fixed out the window to the right. Before Vincent could see what she was looking at, their officer escort shoved him against the seat, forcing his gaze forward once again. Brian was looking back at them. He was wearing the same look Vincent had seen on him during the simulation – the subtle trace of a reassuring grin, the unspoken message perched on his lips – and then he was facing the front again.

  When the officer in the driver’s seat propelled the transport forward, Brian kept his gaze straight ahead. The man next to him, however, was shifting in his seat. He had let his eyes slide out of focus a second time.

  Beside him, Vincent felt Jessica nudge his arm as she fastened her restraints. He made no move for his own. He was still watching the scene in front of him. The man was reaching down into his belt. He was removing his short club. He was raising it up. They were turning toward Ocean. He was about to take aim–

  Vincent’s head was slammed against the window to his left as the entire pod jerked to the side. They were upside down, weightless for a fraction of a second, rotating in midair. Vincent rose from his seat, unrestrained, his hands searching in vain for a hold. The pod jerked as it landed on its side, sending Vincent hurtling back downward, then jerked again as it came to a stop on the right side window.

  There was silence but for the spinning sound of a wheel no longer in contact with the path. Vincent blinked several times, dazed. He tasted the salt of blood smeared across his lips and felt a damp heat on the back of his head. The splitting pain there had tripled, and his vision came in spurts. He was on the ground, where the right window had once been, with his back twisted and stiff, as if cemented down the spine. The officer was next to him, motionless, his lips parted, his forehead gashed all the way across where the side of the pod had caved in against him. Above the officer, Jessica remained in her restraints. Scratches lined her face in grim streaks, and blood matted down the right side of her hair above the ear. She was blinking, slow and lethargic, but she was blinking. In the seat just ahead, however, in the middle right, where the pod had borne the brunt of the impact, there was no such movement. Brian was still. He remained in his seat, fixed there by his restraints, but his entire body was slumped to the side. His neck hung loosely from his shoulders toward the shattered window below. His head was turned at an angle so the blood dripped in a steady stream from his temple. His eyes, still open, faced the ground, as if watching the blood collect there, as if seeing anything at all.

  Vincent looked away. His breathing had shallowed. A knot had risen up in his windpipe. He forced his gaze not to return to the middle right seat. Instead, he shifted himself toward the front, but he had barely moved when his entire back erupted in pain. It lit his spine from his tailbone to his temple and parted his lips in a silent scream. It stabbed at him so sharply he grabbed onto the officer’s limp body for support.

  Catching his breath, and being careful not to move his torso, Vincent turned his eyes toward the windshield. It had completely busted, raining its shattered fragments inward like sharpened hail. The driver showed no sign of movement. The man behind him, however, somehow with his right hand still gripped around the club, was twitching at the eyelids.

  Vincent turned his gaze outside. Just visible through the shattered windshield, with its front spun to the left, was Simon’s transport. It was unmanned, summoned, just as Vincent had told Jessica in his message. It had taken surprisingly little damage from the collision. Its wheels remained firmly planted on the ground and its front – presumably the point of impact – was badly dented and bent at the frame, but otherwise unharmed. It looked drivable.r />
  Next to him, Jessica began to stir. She opened her eyes, calm at first, then frantic as she looked around them, drinking in the scene all at once. “Vincent?”

  It took her a moment to find him. When she did, her expression flashed to fear, but only for a second. She composed herself quickly.

  “We have to get out of here,” she whispered. “Are you ok?”

  Vincent tried to shake his head, but when he moved, he felt the promise of a second wave of pain. He stopped. “No,” he said instead. “I can’t move. But the transport is here. You can get out.”

  “So can you,” said Jessica. She started to undo her restraints. “We can help you.” She glanced at the middle right seat when she spoke. “Brian?”

  Vincent bit down on his tongue. “Jessica you don’t have time for this,” he said. “They’ll wake up soon.”

  “I’m waking Brian up now,” she said. “He can help pull you out.” She freed herself of the restraints and braced herself on the officer beneath her. “Brian.” Her eyes were on the boy by the window. Brian didn’t move. “Brian,” she said again, louder this time.

  “Jessica…” Vincent trailed off. He was shaking his head. “You have to go.”

  Jessica met his gaze for a moment, then turned back to Brian. She frowned, as if suspicious, as if the two of them were playing a joke on her, but when Brian didn’t move, the suspicion faded. Her eyes grew wide, and her bottom jaw fell open, slowly, and tremoring at the lip.

  “Jessica,” Vincent repeated.

  She blinked several times, then turned her head, a bit farther than necessary, to ensure Brian’s limp body was completely out of sight. “I can still get you out,” she said. The words sounded strained, as if she were forming them around a lump in her throat. “We’ll have to go through the front.” She crawled over the man in between them and onto the broken window next to Vincent. She reached out for his arm –

  “No don’t–”

  Jessica tugged on him, and the pain erupted yet again. It shot through him in a piercing wave, enveloping him, numbing him to everything but its stabbing embrace. When the world returned, he was gasping for breath, and his eyes were wet with tears.

  “I can’t. I’m sorry, I can’t,” he said. “Please just go.”

  Jessica squinted down at him for a moment, defiant. She glanced out at Simon’s transport. “Don’t move,” she said. “I’ll open your door from the outside.”

  Before Vincent could protest, she started for the opening in the windshield. But as she clambered forward, the officer next to Brian began to move. Jessica froze. The man was coming to. He was looking down at his hands, then around at the pod…then back at them. His face was barely recognizable – it was almost completely covered with blood. His head swayed on his neck as if it would droop forward at any second. Crimson droplets leaked down his cheeks and off his shoulder in a steady stream. He reached up as if to scoop the precious liquid back into his veins, but he didn’t touch the blood. He reached instead for the shoulder restraint. Seeing what was happening, Jessica increased her pace. She climbed into the middle row, past Brian, around to the driver’s seat and the open windshield…

  The man disentangled himself from the remaining coils of the restraints and started after her. She was still within arm’s reach. He grabbed her by the overalls of her jumpsuit and yanked backward.

  “No!” she struggled against his grip as he pushed her back into the middle row. “Let us go!”

  The man crawled past her, then over his companion in the driver’s seat, careful to keep his body between Jessica and the windshield.

  “Let us go!” she called after him again, punching at his legs, desperate.

  “Jessica you have to–” Vincent stopped mid-sentence when his spine threatened to erupt yet again. He could only watch as Jessica, eyes filled with tears, continued her ineffective blows against the officer’s back.

  “Please!” she shouted at him as he crawled through the broken glass. The man only grunted in response. He held her at bay until he could get through the opening and climb to his feet. He started for the left side door – for Vincent.

  Jessica pulled herself through the windshield, and she got to her feet as well, hysterical now as she tugged uselessly at the officer’s arms. He batted her away, though not quite as roughly as the others had in the dome.

  “Just leave us alone!” Jessica shouted at him again and tried to pull him back. Then, suddenly, Vincent felt a gust of cold rush into the transport, and he turned his neck as far as his back would allow. The officer had pushed the dented transport door three quarters of the way open.

  “Stay away from him!” Jessica called out from somewhere outside. “Vincent you have to try and move!”

  The officer was about to lower himself into the back row. Vincent wouldn’t stand a chance against him now. He wouldn’t have stood a chance with a functional back. He had to get out.

  Painfully conscious of the man’s grunting efforts above, Vincent bit down on his tongue and lifted himself from the broken shards of glass he was resting on. The movement shot another wave of burning pain down his spine. He bit down even harder and shifted another few centimeters, holding the wave at its crest. It forced him to a stop, forced his breath to remain in his lungs, then departed, slowly, and with a threatening echo in its wake.

  Vincent felt a set of arms wrap around him from above. The officer was inside the pod, with his arms dropped down into a cradle; he was pulling Vincent out.

  Vincent did his best to remain where he was – he had no intention of fighting through the wave once again – but the man was resolute. His arms were steady and unmovable as they pulled upward. Vincent scrambled for something to hold onto, something to stop the inevitable wave of pain, but before he could find anything, he was in the air, glass still sticking to his exposed wrists, and the wave was back. He wasn’t sure if he screamed this time, but when he felt the cool breeze of the morning wash over him, his mouth was open, and Jessica was wearing a look of horror.

  They were outside. The officer had climbed from the pod with Vincent slung over his shoulders like a large, unimportant sack, and they were sitting atop the transport, both of them panting.

  “What are you doing?” said Jessica. Her face was pale except where it was splattered red, and she swayed unsteadily at the hips. “Let him go.”

  The officer ignored her. He began to move again instead. Vincent braced himself for yet another wave, but as the man twisted around so they were facing the broken door, Vincent’s back stayed steady. The man was moving carefully, bracing Vincent the best he could, almost gentle.

  “Vincent,” said Jessica, her tone calmer, but still afraid. “Are you ok?”

  Vincent attempted to say he was but managed only a confirming grunt instead.

  The officer began climbing the meter or so down the side of the pod, using the transport’s undercarriage as footholds. He lowered them down gradually, cushioning their weight at each step.

  When they reached the ground, Jessica made as if to take a step toward them, then thought better of it. She glanced back down the path the way they had come, in the direction of Brian’s dome.

  “What are you going to do with us?” she asked.

  The officer said nothing. Instead, he began staggering forward. Vincent tried to tell Jessica to leave, but his tongue formed only a weak sounding groan.

  “What are you…”

  Jessica trailed off as she watched them walk. When Vincent looked up, he saw why: they were headed for Simon’s transport.

  The officer plodded doggedly on without a word. Jessica walked alongside them with her muscles tensed; she seemed ready to catch Vincent if the man decided to drop him. Vincent felt his heart sink as they neared the pod. He knew already what would happen: the officer would load them in the transport and drive them back to Brian’s dome. Or he would lock them inside and wait for help to arrive. Either way, Simon’s off-the-grid transport would be no use.

  Vincent
pushed the thought from his mind. They had THE SIM. They hadn’t come this far only to be locked in the back of some smoking transport.

  Careful not to alert the officer, Vincent dug in his pocket for THE SIM. With some luck, he might be able to gouge out the officer’s eyes, or at least do enough damage to buy Jessica some time. He was just pulling out the small disc when something down the path drew his attention. It was a light, bright and fluorescent, and it was getting closer.

  “What is that?” said Jessica. She had seen the light too. “Is that…is that a transport?”

  Vincent squinted into the light. When he did, he saw the split down the middle – headlights. His stomach sank. No one else would be driving this early. The officer wouldn’t have to lock them in Simon’s transport after all.

  Vincent looked up at the man carrying him. He raised the disc, on the verge of slicing it downward at the man’s eyes…then he paused. The man hadn’t slowed their pace to greet the transport; he had sped them up. His eyes flitted back and forth between the path and the headlights, with, if Vincent wasn’t mistaken, a touch of nervousness.

  “That’s them isn’t it?” asked Jessica, turning to the officer. “Please just let us go.” She was pleading now, her voice was cracking, her eyes darting between the officer and the lights. “Tell them we escaped,” she said, “anything. Please.”

  They were only a few meters from Simon’s transport. The officer pointed to the driver’s side door.

  “What?” said Jessica. “In?” The man nodded. He started for the opposite side with Vincent. Jessica didn’t move.

  “Go,” said Vincent. His voice was barely above a whisper. The lights were getting closer – they were moving quickly. “You have to go.”

  Jessica hesitated, then, looking at the lights, she started for the driver’s seat. Vincent clenched his jaw down tight as they rounded the pod for the opposite side. The officer’s increase in speed had threatened to reawaken the pain.

  In spite of the crash, the door slid open the same as usual when the man pressed the button. He bent at the waist so Vincent’s back entered the pod first. The wave rushed through Vincent yet again, sharp and fast, blinding as it passed through him, and then he was in the seat, reclined all the way back. The officer remained outside, panting and glancing over his shoulder. The lights were still several domes away, but they were closing fast.

  “West.” The man spoke for the first time. It was a low, deep rasp, and it sounded forced, as if each letter had to fight its way out between his lips. “We’ve disabled the border fence. Leave west for the city.” He grimaced on the last word, as if it pained him to say out loud. “Run.”

  He pushed the button, and the door slid closed. Vincent watched him as he staggered backward, suddenly wobbling. Carrying Vincent to the pod had cost him what little of his strength that had remained.

  “What’s he doing?” asked Jessica. She hadn’t made a move toward the controls. Her eyes were fixed on the officer.

  “Go,” said Vincent. “He told us to go.”

  “But he’s one of them. Maybe it’s a trap.”

  The lights were approaching them now. The officer was pulling the small club from his belt

  “We have to go,” said Vincent. “Now, Jessica. We need to move.”

  Jessica’s hands shifted toward the controls, but her eyes stayed on the officer. He was pointing his club at the approaching transport. There was something bright shining from the end, though not nearly as bright as the beams rushing toward him. They were seconds away from another collision.

  “Jessica go!”

  Jessica tore her eyes from the scene and thrust the accelerator forward. The transport shuddered for a moment, then lurched into motion.

  The officer was still standing with his short white club held out in front of him. The other transport was headed straight for him, but he didn’t move. It was going too fast. It would plow straight through him – Simon’s pod would take the brunt of the damage.

  “Go!”

  Jessica threw the accelerator forward as far as it went. They still wouldn’t move in time. The other transport hadn’t slowed down. It was meters away from the officer. It was going to hit him. The officer widened his stance. He raised the club with the glowing white tip, now stained with the grim tint of blood, and he plunged it down just as the transport wheels met his legs.

  Vincent looked away. He braced himself for the other transport to come hurtling into them. He held his breath…

  And he kept holding. The collision never came. He turned back to the window, and he saw the other transport. Only meters from where they had just been, it had skidded to a stop. Its exterior surged with a kind of electric energy, flickering slightly along its surface. The very front, where the tip of the officer’s club had made contact, was charred black, and the area just beneath it, near the transport’s undercarriage, was breathing smoke. The gray-clad men inside, blurred through the waves of heat, were motionless.

  “What happened?” asked Jessica, glancing back for the first time.

  “I don’t know,” said Vincent. “The officer…he stopped them somehow.”

  Jessica looked over her shoulder again at the site of the crash. Vincent thought she might be looking for the officer. For her sake, he hoped she didn’t find him.

  “Why would he do that?” she asked.

  Vincent shrugged, then winced from the movement – the adrenaline from the accident was wearing off. “The crash wasn’t exactly what I had in mind, you know,” he said.

  “I’m sorry,” said Jessica. “I…I didn’t mean for any of that to happen.” Her voice was shaking, and her eyes kept glancing up in the mirror at the wreck. Vincent followed her gaze. He knew she was thinking of Brian, of his limp form in the middle right seat, of the caved in portion of the pod pressing against his skull.

  “It’s not your fault,” said Vincent. “If it’s anyone’s, it’s mine. I told you to call it.”

  Jessica was shaking her head. Her bottom lip was quivering. “If we had just waited,” she said. “The officer would have helped us. Lynn or Brian must have told him. We should have trusted them.”

  “We didn’t know,” said Vincent. “We did the only thing we could.”

  Jessica nodded, but the tears in the corners of her eyes didn’t recede. She kept her gaze fixed forward, along the curved path of the first ring. She was still for several seconds while her breathing returned to normal. “So what now?” she said. She spoke in her usual, calm tone, but it wasn’t quite normal. Vincent was getting better at detecting the difference.

  “We leave,” said Vincent. “He said the fence is disabled.”

  “What if he’s lying?” said Jessica. “And if he’s not, where are we supposed to go?”

  “You heard him,” said Vincent. “To the nearest city.”

  Jessica raised her eyebrows. “But aren’t the cities dangerous?”

  Vincent looked at her, and she turned away, blushing.

  “I know here is dangerous too,” she said. “I just…I’ve never left the Seclusion before.” She turned from the road to look at him. “And our parents are here.”

  Vincent had thought of that too. He had half a mind to charge headlong into the Center where the Newsight campus was, but he knew it would be pointless. For now, leaving was their only option.

  “We can go looking for them,” he said. “But not now. We don’t know enough yet.” He pulled the small round disc of THE SIM from his front pocket. “We need to watch it as soon as possible.”

  Jessica saw what he was holding, but she didn’t seem relieved. “We can’t,” she said. “You can’t watch hard sims with dark Lenses.”

  Vincent deflated. Of course – the darkeners. Until their Lenses were reactivated, THE SIM was useless. Still, Jessica was staring at it, flitting her eyes between the disc and the road. She sucked her cheeks into her mouth. “Do you really think the Order exists?” she asked.

  “I don’t know,” said Vincent. “But ma
ybe someone in the city will.”

  Jessica turned back to the path in front of them. They were nearly around the Center. They would reach the other half of Ocean soon.

  “So we’re really going then?” asked Jessica.

  “I think we have to,” said Vincent.

  Jessica nodded without looking at him. She made the final turn back onto Ocean without lifting her eyes from the road. Behind them, a winding tower of smoke from the crash was still visible, and behind that, the gray line along the horizon had begun to soften into morning. Ahead of them, however, the night was still dark. The path was lit only by the cracked headlights of Simon’s transport. The light was weak, but it raced onward, away from the domes, away from the Seclusion, and west.

  Part II – The city