The Girl Who Dared to Think

I fought back a laugh at the forced casualness in his voice. But I couldn’t help it; I had to tease him. “Relax, Prince Charming. He’s a friend, and a good one. He didn’t abandon me when my rank started going down.”

  “Oh? Is he high?”

  “An eight,” I replied. “But don’t hold it against him. He’s just... one of those genuinely happy people. I don’t think he could think negatively about anything.”

  “He sounds like a gem,” he said flatly.

  “He’s a good guy,” I agreed.

  “I’m sure he is. What department is he in?”

  “Farms.”

  “Of course he is.”

  I laughed, as Hand males were generally known for their rugged build and handsomeness, working in the fields all day, which was an attractive quality to a lot of women in the Tower. There were rather distasteful idioms based around the phenomenon as well, whispered from mother to daughter. If Grey had remained a Hand, he’d likely have another thirty pounds of muscle sculpted on his frame. I, for one, was glad he didn’t have the extra bulk: muscular guys were not my type at all. I was a mind kind of girl.

  We kept walking, eventually ending up in an elevator, the conversation changing to other things: how his recovery was coming along, how Roark was doing, and how the supply of drugs was holding up.

  “I think we have enough to last forty people for a month,” he said speculatively.

  “Okay, but what’s the end goal? I mean... are there forty people who are willing to come with us? Will they help us get parts and things to build some sort of...” I paused, trying to think of an appropriate word or phrase to describe what I wanted. “Transportation device?”

  “Actually...” Grey smiled and stepped off the elevator. I looked up and realized we had gone up twenty floors to level 105. How we had gotten there was a mystery to me; I’d been focused on him and the way my heart had skipped a beat when I saw his flash of jealousy, and on feeling special—for the first time in a very long time. “Kind of, yeah. We aren’t sure how, yet, but that’s kind of the idea.”

  “What are we doing up here?” I asked, abruptly changing the conversation. It was a little rude, but we were clearly not heading for Cogstown, given that we were a hundred floors above it. I had assumed we were walking back there together, and I was reminded again that we shouldn’t be seen together like this. It had been too long, and we were being too intimate. If we were being watched or had been spotted...

  “We’re going to see someone who can help us, and definitely needs our help. She lives in Smallsville.”

  Smallsville was the nickname for Greenery 11, while their opposite greenery, number 12, was called Biggins. Don’t ask me why. Both greeneries specialized in most of the corn and wheat production in the Tower. Eric’s family had lived in Smallsville since the beginning of the Tower, although his father was a former Knight.

  It was also one of the most beautiful places in the Tower. It was a sprawling mess of green, and the air was humid and soft and smelled of wet grass. Water and dirt stretched out for what seemed like an eternity. Light from the sun shone brightly through the solar windows that encased the greeneries, just like it did outside. It provided the crops with precious energy without making them wither away and die from the extreme heat. Artificial wind generators—designed for pollination—blew periodically, making the long stalks of wheat sway and lean this way and that.

  As we stepped inside, I immediately smiled, closing my eyes and absorbing the feel of the sun and the smell of the earth. I felt comforted and infinitely serene in that one moment. I couldn’t help it—I loved it.

  “Let’s get this done quickly,” Grey muttered, breaking my tranquility. I looked over to see him stalking forward with his hands shoved into his pockets.

  I hurried after him along a dirt path, suddenly remembering that this had been his floor, growing up. Before he had been dropped.

  “Is it hard for you?” I asked. “Being back here.”

  He let out a humorless laugh. “Let’s just say I’d rather get out of here before anyone recognizes me,” he replied.

  He led me through a field of corn, which swayed to and fro in the artificial winds that danced across the floor. We followed a narrow path that twisted through it in slow-moving curves and bends; I knew from Eric that these paths were established randomly, so the corn could be tested to make sure it fit standards. As we pushed through, I stared at Grey’s back. His dark blond hair fluttered in the breeze, his head tilting back and forth as he surveyed his surroundings. His hands, however, had clenched into tight fists at his sides.

  “So,” I said, thinking to distract him, “tell me more about this woman we’re here to reach out to.”

  He blinked, looking back at me as if he’d forgotten I was there. “Her name is Sarah Thrace,” he said. “She’s just fallen to the rank of three. Her parents aren’t speaking to her, although she’s old enough to be independent, so they can’t drop her.”

  He spoke the last few words with such vehemence in his voice that I felt myself pale slightly. Then I reached out and grabbed his wrist, pulling him to a stop. He turned, his face dark with anger, and met my gaze.

  “Hey,” I said, slipping my hands around his. “I’m sorry that your parents did that to you. It wasn’t right, and it’s sad that they never took the chance to know and love the real you. I know how awful that feels, and I’m sorry.”

  Grey’s anger faded as I spoke, and after a moment his features had relaxed some. “Thanks,” he said, and the word, though softly spoken, carried the weight of a significant amount of gratitude.

  My chest began to feel warm, like something from within was glowing, as he stared into my eyes. A lock of his hair had fallen across his brown eyes, and I had the urge to reach up and push it aside, but I refrained, content just to stare at him. The kiss we’d shared reared up in my mind, and all I could think was that I wanted him to kiss me again.

  This time he broke away, craning his neck to look over my head. I followed his gaze and saw a woman in a green uniform making her way down the path behind us, and within seconds he was pulling me behind him via our still-conjoined hands.

  We walked at a fast pace for a minute, and then he slowed a bit, allowing me to come out of the half-jog I’d had to break into to keep up with his longer legs.

  “So... how do we find her?” I asked, panting slightly from the sudden exertion.

  He shrugged. “I have an address and a picture. We’ll pay her a visit, and see if we can’t... help each other out.”

  I frowned. Roark had told me that they offered Paragon to those who had fallen, and since then, I had found myself wondering how he did it. I wasn’t sure if I was comfortable with the idea of using Paragon as a bargaining chip, and now it seemed I was going to be able to see and judge firsthand the method the two men were using to gain support. I wanted to get out of here, but there were lines I would never cross, and one of them would be using Paragon to extort labor.

  We made our way through the fields and eventually came to a ladder that led down into the residential floors, through a hole cut in the floor itself, tucked against the shell. Normally, all residential areas had open access so that members of the Tower could come and go easily. Hands, however, had different concerns, and had sealed off the common entrances to their residential areas years ago, so that all visitors had to come into their homes via the greeneries. It was something about wanting everyone to appreciate the beauty and importance of the floors, and it was why people thought Hands were arrogant and self-serving (not Tower-serving).

  The ladder dropped us onto a catwalk that ran down the length of a long pipe that fed water into the fields. We followed it as it turned abruptly at a wall, and led down thirty feet in a series of steep ramps that rattled and squeaked as we descended them.

  We stopped to stand to one side as a group of Farmers moved past us heading the opposite way. A few cast curious eyes in our direction, and I managed a neutral face coupled with an occasional nod. O
nce they were gone, we started moving again, following the catwalk until it dead-ended against a wall, a hole cut into the steel. Markings etched on the side gave us the basic layout, and I was surprised when Grey studied it for a second, then looked sad.

  “Her quarters are just down a few levels.”

  Eric had told me about this: when Hands started to drop in rank, they were assigned worse and worse quarters, pushing them closer to the greenery (and exit, to be dropped from the department). I understood Grey’s sadness now; he knew she was close to losing her home, and he understood exactly what that felt like.

  “Let’s go,” I said, swinging onto the ladder and moving down.

  The hall we wound up in was brightly lit, with built-in shelves housing UV lights and plants, diagrams of root systems on screens below each one. The screens were interactive, so that Hands could brush up on plant care whenever they needed to. I stared—I had been to this floor several times, but I still loved seeing the simple dedication to life that existed here.

  Everything about the residential floors and the greenery above made me feel safe. In a place where suspicion and fear ruled, it was so odd that Hands lived in perfect trust with each other, and as a result, their doors were always open. Neighbors often went in and out of each other’s homes to chat or share dinner. Outside of a greenery, Hands were just as suspicious as the rest of us, but in here, they believed in each other. I loved that they had that sense of community. The Knights tried, with practice Tourneys and sparring competitions, but no one ever just came over to spend time with each other. No one actively visited their neighbors. Just a few words in the hall, and then it was over: bonding—done.

  Grey, it seemed, felt differently. He stalked over to an elevator terminal and practically punched the call button, glaring at it until the platform slid out of the wall. We stepped onto it, and began to drop.

  We heard the noises the moment we stepped out a few seconds later, two floors down.

  “I don’t care who you are,” a male voice spat from down the hall. “The second your number fell to a three, you should have been removed from crop-rotation management. I’ve filed a complaint with Boss Lynx, and he says that he is personally looking into the matter.”

  A soft voice began to protest, but a meaty thud cut it off. I heard coughing, then retching. I surged forward, intimately familiar with that sequence of noises after combat training with the Knights.

  “Liana!” Grey whispered as I moved forward, but I ignored it.

  Turning the corner, I saw two young men cornering a young woman against the wall. She was doubled over and clutching at her stomach. Looking up at them with pleading eyes.

  “Daniel,” she said. “Stewart. I know you. Have known you for years. Why are you doing this?”

  One of the men, a tall brute with a shock of dark hair, grimaced.

  “We can’t withstand a three in our midst,” he said in a soft voice. “You put us all at risk. You have to go.”

  Anger began to burn, and I clenched my hand into a fist, drawing even closer. I was still unnoticed by either of them, and glad of it. In the mood I suddenly found myself in, I wasn’t exactly going to give them a fair fight.

  And I didn’t feel bad about that, considering they weren’t playing fair either.

  The woman straightened, although it clearly cost her, and winced, looking directly at the men.

  “This is my home,” she said. “My place. My calling. You can’t just take that from me because my number—”

  The man drew his hand back and slapped her right across the face. Her words cut off instantly as her head was flung to one side, her hands clenching at her sides.

  “I won’t leave,” she stated, and I caught the sight of tears welling in her eyes. “Not even Boss Lynx can make me.”

  I wanted to applaud the woman’s bravery, but there wasn’t enough time. The men’s expressions were dark as they leaned closer, and I broke into a run.

  I had the satisfaction of seeing one of them look up at me, his eyes widening in surprise, and then I slammed my shoulder into his chest, throwing him back into his companion. They stumbled back, the force of my impact too much for their balance, and I stood over them, baton out.

  “That’s damned well enough,” I informed them coldly, making eye contact with both of them.

  The two men looked up at me, their eyes wide with alarm and surprise... and almost immediately became contrite. I watched it happen, but didn’t react, especially when that contrition morphed into alarm at the glittering nine on my wrist. A quick glance at theirs revealed a purple six and an orange five, respectively, and my anger tightened. If anyone should understand the plight of having a low number, it should be them.

  “Knight,” the one I had initially hit said, as he slowly picked himself off the ground. “We were simply attempting to—”

  “Beat a woman in front of her own home?” I asked, my voice dripping with cool anger. It wasn’t even an act. I was about three seconds from showing them both just how much a stun baton could hurt. “Yes, I can see that.”

  “She’s a three,” one of them muttered.

  “Yes,” I said. “And you’re a five. He’s a six. Neither of you is that much more devoted to Scipio than she is, are you? I wonder how long it’ll be before I’m down here to escort you to the Medica. I think a trip to the Citadel might be more appropriate, considering you’re doing work that is not for your department. Clearly you hit your heads and can’t recall that dealing with lower-ranking citizens is for Knights or Medics only.”

  The two paled and looked nervously at their numbers.

  “Hurt a defenseless unarmed person again,” I snapped, my anger a terrible thing, “and I will come down here personally to make your lives a living hell.”

  The two scurried away down the hall in the opposite direction, and I turned back to see Grey standing right behind me. He was grinning openly.

  “That,” he said as he came up beside me, “was very well done.”

  I flushed. “They made me angry,” I said. “They had no right to beat on her just because her rank was lower.”

  “I agree. Personally, I think you could have roughed them up more.”

  I probably should have, but it was too late now. I made my way to where the woman had collapsed upon her knees, trying to catch her breath. I looked at Grey, my eyes seeking confirmation that this was the three we were looking for, and he nodded.

  “Sarah?” I said. “Sarah Thrace?”

  Wet eyes brimming with frustrated tears met mine, and she pulled in a shuddering breath.

  “I don’t want to go,” she said. “Not to another floor. Not to the Medica. I can’t.”

  I put a hand on her shoulder, and found her shaking. Disgust roiled up inside of me at a system that would reduce anyone to this when they had tried, but weren’t quite good enough. I felt even worse when I thought about the fact that their torture ended with a trip to the first few floors of the Citadel. The entire system was rigged, just by its existence. It was impossible for a human (except for Eric) to be positive and dedicated to a system that just treated them like a statistic. And even his good nature only got him so far! To be a nine or a ten, you had to lose that bit of happiness, and fade away. Like giving over all free will to Scipio. What sort of choice was that? Death or blind obedience? I wasn’t sure there was a difference.

  “I’m not going to take you to the Medica,” I said.

  Her eyes widened as she looked between Grey and myself. “But you said...”

  I shrugged. “I know what I said. Is there somewhere we can talk? Somewhere private?”

  She nodded slowly, gesturing over one shoulder at the door a few feet away. “We can use my home,” she said, rising to her feet. “Come in.”

  21

  Sarah’s apartment was a wash of green. Every corner, shelf, table, and flat surface available contained a potted plant, and every plant had a precise label containing the scientific name, the date the specimen had been pla
nted, and how much water and light it needed. There were so many plants that they had begun to spread out into her living space, and she scurried about, lifting a few off the couch and dusting away any lingering dirt before motioning for us to sit.

  “Sorry it’s a bit of a mess, Knight,” she said, her face flushed. She glanced at Grey with a puzzled expression, then set about dusting off a nearby chair and settling down in it, looking at us with cautious eyes.

  I smiled, and then frowned as she closed the door to the hall using a button on her seat, almost as an afterthought. She was closing herself off from her own people—the ones who should be helping her, not hurting her—and I could see why. It was wrong of them to come down on her for her rank. The woman seemed amiable and pleasant, if a bit disorganized. I wondered what had made Scipio turn on her.

  “Thank you, Citizen Thrace,” I said.

  “Please, call me Sarah.” She looked down and away, a sad smile on her lips. “Thank you so much for earlier.”

  Grey sat down on the couch beside me and regarded the woman with a clinical eye. Sarah’s own eyes darted between him and myself, and I let out a little cough. Then Grey started talking, a broad smile blossoming on his face and reaching all the way to his eyes.

  “Sarah,” he said, “it’s a pleasure to meet you. My name is Grey Farmless.”

  “Yes,” she said, exhaling slightly and shifting nervously. “I’ve heard about you. It was quite extreme what your parents did. Most of the floor felt that way.”

  Grey’s eyes widened in surprise, but he hid it quickly, leaning back on the couch and placing an arm across the armrest. “I appreciate the sentiment. Thank you.” I could he tell he didn’t quite believe it, but we were here to convince her to do something big, and he wasn’t letting his emotional issues get in the way. Which impressed me. “Anyway, we aren’t here to talk about me. We’re here to talk about you and your ranking. You were an eight last month. What happened?”

  I blinked, new questions that I felt stupid for not having already asked him forming in my mind: How did he know that? How had he known how to find her, and how did he know about her rank history? Supposedly, the only people who had access to our rank histories were the Eyes. How did he know who she was, what her rank was, and what skills she brought to the table? Could Grey or Roark hack into Scipio? I made a mental note to ask Grey about this as soon as possible.