Forged(3)

It’s been years since citywide climate control was used in Pike, and while the protective dome keeps the streets free of snow, cool winter temperatures hit us as we step from the greenhouse. Cut off from the east, the Expats had to decide which assets were necessary to power and which they could go without. Their trolley system hangs inanimate, cars hovering on their tracks in random locations throughout the city. Instead of being plastered with electronic signage, the walls are plain cement and brick and wood and glass. But the biggest difference between Pike and Taem is the lack of the Order. There are no black-suited soldiers here, no forces storming through town with the Franconian emblem on their chests. Nearly half of Pike’s citizens consider themselves Expats, members of the group that years ago waged war on the East and still looks to eliminate Frank today. The others just shuffle along, wishing their people would finally accept defeat. We cut ourselves free years ago, I’ve heard them muttering. Why can’t we keep it like that?

Pike has a smell about it—salt from the sea that finds its way beneath the dome by clinging to people’s clothes. What can’t be grown within the city itself is hauled from the ocean and land beyond its doors, then sold in an open market. As we pass the street lined with vendors, I watch a boy not much older than Clipper wrap a fish in brown paper and toss it to a customer. She thanks him and carries on her way. I can see why some people here just want to forget Frank. They are set in their ways. Almost content.

And this is why I fear how idle we’ve been lately. If it weren’t for Emma or Kale or Claysoot, I could see myself forgetting the need to fight, happily uncurling my fists.

The Expat base comes into view ahead—a drab, sprawling building checkered with windows. The only sign of color on the entire facade is a red triangular flag hanging above the main entrance. Inside the triangle is a blue circle, and inside that, a white star. The Expat symbol. Not too different from the emblem Frank uses for his Order.

“Frank chose a red triangle for obvious reasons,” Adam said when he first showed us to the base, like we’d asked him for a history lesson. “A color of power and strength, and a shape with a sturdy base, near impossible to topple. Good in theory, but dangerous when you think that it is one man who rises to the top of it, and labels the whole as his own.” I thought of the cursive f in the center of the Franconian emblem differently after he said that. “So the Expats put a circle within that triangle, to represent balance and equality, and we chose a star rather than a label. All nods to our past, to what Frank’s forgotten.”

I’ve seen the symbol throughout town, sometimes a smaller version of this flag, other times a haphazard carving on a door, but always making the same announcement: This home/business supports the Expats. It seems silly to oppose the Expats—they’re largely responsible for keeping the city of Pike running—but unlike in Taem, people here don’t fear for their safety because they disagree with people of power.

Sammy stops just outside the base’s main doors to fish a pebble from his shoe, and we all pause with him. Bree again rubs her shoulder. I look at the spot she’s still massaging. I used to be able to touch her whenever I wanted—she welcomed it, even—and now, when she’s what I want more than anything, she’s so far away. Bree catches me watching and frowns.

“I miss you,” I say.

“I’m right here,” she responds sharply. “I’ve always been right here. That’s half the problem.”


The base is huge: an old military facility made up of training fields, weaponry stores, vehicle garages, barracks, and meeting and communication offices. We head for the smallest of the conference rooms, which is where Adam and Vik hold all their meetings. Or at least the ones we’re invited to.

“You might want to make yourself comfortable,” Vik says when we file in. He’s sitting on the far side of a long table, legs crossed. “The others are on their way, but I have them double-and triple-checking a few things first. Want to be sure.”

Vik is Adam’s opposite in nearly every way. Clean-shaven. Polished. Willowy and pale haired and charismatic. He’s a man of many words, with a bounce in his step that is almost graceful. When we first landed in Pike, I was surprised to learn that he leads the Expats. Adam is second-in-command and reports directly to Vik, but Adam looks the part in a way Vik doesn’t: rugged, worn, ready for a fight. I guess Vik’s pristine appearance could assure people that he’s organized and professional, but his build reminds me of Harvey—a touch delicate—and it’s surprising so many have put the fate of their battle behind someone who looks so . . . nice.

Vik stands when Adam strides in. “Well? Is it confirmed?”

Adam hurries over and they embrace the way they always have—a hug as intimate as if they were siblings. When they step apart something is passed between them in the silence, told with just the shifting of their eyes. Elijah and Clipper are in the room now. I didn’t even hear them come in. One look at them, and I know this meeting is not about taking action. It’s about something much, much worse.

Adam scratches the stubble on his chin. Vik smooths his pressed pants.

“I’m afraid we have some bad news.”





TWO


WE WAIT WHAT FEELS LIKE an eternity.

“We lost contact with Rebel headquarters earlier today,” Vik says finally. “A little before noon.”