Extracted

  ***

  By the time I reach the rift chamber, I’m hot again, but this time, it has nothing to do with quirky environmental controls. I try to keep my hands tucked into the pockets of my trousers, not just to keep them from shaking uncontrollably, but also to keep my palms from getting sweaty. Behind me, Ethan marches slowly, and Kara is at my side, clutching my arm so hard I can feel my heartbeat in it. She is staring straight ahead, her face stern. Only the lack of arrogance in her eyes betrays her fears. I can’t blame her. For all Kara’s bluster, this place is her home as much as it is mine. The idea of losing one of my friends, my family… well, it scares me even more than the idea of washing out myself, and my first solo rift will be the most dangerous.

  “Did Marcia test yet?” I ask. “Did she make it?”

  I look at Kara out of the corner of my eye. Her silence is my answer. My stomach flip-flops, but Kara looks impassive. Rifters are taught to be vague—to blend in, to never stand out. We have to be forgettable. Ordinary. I doubt Kara could ever accomplish ordinary. She’s gorgeous, smart, and one of the best fighters here. She’ll make it if I don’t. She’ll look after Ethan if I can’t. I have to let that be enough, because it’s all the reassurance I’m going to get.

  When we get to the door to the rift chamber, I come to a dead stop, trying to swallow the orange-sized lump in my throat before I bid my friends good-bye. They aren’t allowed to go in with me, but they will be allowed to watch from behind the safety glass of the observation room, where Flynn and the other teachers will be. I finally swallow, and it feels like a handful of razor blades slicing me as they slide down my throat.

  The technical name for the test is the Trials. There are a series of tests that have to be passed before you reach this point, and I’ve nailed all of them, but this is the big one. I will have to make my first unassisted rift, hit a specific mark, complete a task, and return to the chamber—all without being lost in the stream or ripping myself apart. That last bit is trickier than it sounds.

  So many things could go wrong that I can’t even count them. I try not to think about them, but every worst-case scenario is rushing into my brain. Without a Tether or some other way to control the rift, you can end up lost in time. I’ve heard rumors about kids who rift for the first time accidentally. I shudder, imagining how frightening that must be, just landing in the stream and not knowing how you got there. Even worse, the ones who are lucky enough to find their way out of the stream usually land in some random place in time with few memories of who they were or what they did. It’s those lost children the Hollows like to recruit. Strays, Tesla calls them. Mutts.

  Kara stops. Throwing her arms around me, she squeezes me tightly. I can feel the tears welling up in my eyes, but I manage to keep them from spilling over. All I can think is—what if I never see them again?

  So it’s a good-bye hug. As usual, Ethan joins in, throwing his arms around both of us. We don’t speak. There’s nothing to say. Over the large brass door is a floodlight. A chime sounds, and I glance up to see it has turned red. That’s my cue.

  “All right, get off me, you saps. It’s time.” I try to laugh, but it just comes out a dry cough. I wave good-bye, and they head up the stairs to the right of the door. Tugging the bottom of my vest, I straighten myself up, run a hand over my braid, and then press my palm to the door pad. It opens with a rickety groan.

  The chamber inside is cylindrical, reminding me of a picture I once saw of the Roman Coliseum. But the walls are smooth, grey concrete with metal plates, like windows, hung all around, all the way up to the tall-domed ceiling. In the center of the room is a brass pedestal with two arched handrails. Next to the door is a small wooden table covered with tech.

  The months I’ve spent studying how to use it all evaporates from my mind. As I stare at the familiar objects, my eyes begin to lose focus, softening everything around the edges. I’m breathing too hard, too fast. I grasp the table with both hands and lean over, squeezing my eyes closed. “It’s all right, Ember, take your time.” Flynn’s voice echoes through the chamber. Of course he is watching me. Everyone is watching me. I straighten up, forcing myself to let go of the table. I will not fall apart. I will not be seen freaking out like this. I am a Rom—

  The thought explodes like a grenade behind my eyes. I am a what?

  I try to recall the name that hovers in the back of my mind, just beyond my reach. But it’s useless, and I don’t have time to deal with my neurosis right now. Later, I promise myself.

  If I survive this.

  Shaking my head, I push it away, all of it, and look back down at the table. The holy trinity of Rifter tech sits on a simple piece of white cloth.

  I reach for the Babel Stone ring first. It’s cool as I slip it on my finger. Brass is coiled around a tiny round magnet, with one simple, grey stone that looks deceptively like a piece of common gravel set in the side. Such an innocuous-looking thing to give you the ability to speak and understand any language.

  Without hesitation, I move to the next object on the table, the Tether, and snap it onto my forearm like an oversized mousetrap. Copper wires and tiny hinges securely hold what looks like a massive watch face. There is a tiny pin with a spoke at the end that allows me to adjust the current date and time.

  I run my fingers over the final piece of hardware before I lift it into my palm. It’s the most impressive of the three and the most difficult to conceal. An Earwig. Carefully, I wind the tiny machine over my left ear and pull my long, chestnut hair free of the tight braid I usually keep it in. I run my hands through it and shake it loose so it will hide the tech now attached to my ear. Immediately, the tiny spokes and gears of the Earwig come to life with a series of chirps and clicks. Tesla’s thick voice rings in my ear. “Remote Tesla activated. Authorization code?”

  I clear my throat before answering, “Marconi is a fraud.”

  “Authorization code accepted.” Apparently, being a computer has not diminished Tesla’s heavy Austrian accent or his intense dislike for his former competitor.

  I walk on steadier legs to the platform and grab onto the rails, waiting for my assignment. “I’m ready,” I say, hoping my voice sounds stronger than I feel.

  Above me is the viewing booth, a large glass window where the teachers and other recruits are staring down at me. Below that is a series of ornate clock faces and a ticker board with red lights. A series of numbers flashes across the screen.

  “This is your assignment, your final test. Travel to this point and make contact with Flynn at the assigned location,” Tesla’s computer voice orders.

  I look at the screen. I’m going back to 1996. Not very long ago in the grand scheme of things—less than a hundred years. I’m not sure whether I’m relieved or disappointed. I plug the numbers into my Tether and nod.

  Closing my eyes, I feel the charge building in the room around me. My hair starts to lift off my head—even the metal buckles on my boots and vest hum. Then I feel a jolt on my arm, the connection to this time being made through the Tether. I breathe out slowly, but inside my head, I feel the heat build until it is unbearable, like melting inside. Taking a deep breath, I hold it, and then let go of the rails.