Metaltown

  “Jed Schultz must believe the same thing, otherwise he wouldn’t have started the Brotherhood,” she said, but it was too late.

  “Sorry, guys,” said Martin. “But some pay’s better than no pay.”

  One by one, they fell into their old conversations. Their old jokes. Their old fights. And Ty and Colin melted onto their barstools, defeated.

  “I got your back,” said Chip to Ty. “I’ll pledge right here.”

  “Pledge to what?” muttered Colin.

  “Pledge to the code,” he said, as if this were obvious. “Street code.”

  Ty smiled despite herself, and the movement hurt her face. Street code. That said you didn’t beat up on kids smaller than you. That if you didn’t call dibs, your stuff was up for grabs, and if you shared food with someone, they owed you later.

  And that said if someone said they had your back, they had your back.

  15

  LENA

  Lena’s room sparkled. Her clothes were refolded, or straightened on their hangers. The floor had been scrubbed. Her sheet music on the stand was organized and filed away. Everything was in its proper place. There were staff members to do the housework, of course, but with her mind reeling, Lena had demanded to do it herself.

  She scrutinized the mirror over the dresser, searching for streaks in the glass. Every time she thought it was perfect, she noticed another one and had to start over. It had been this way since Aja had driven her home from Metaltown the previous afternoon.

  From the cage before the window came a high trill. Lena glanced up—her yellow bird stood out sharply against the black night outside.

  “It’s not my fault,” she answered.

  The bird cocked his head to the side, then jumped to another wooden dowel.

  “It’s not.” She collapsed on the parlor chair, groaning at the tight muscles in her lower back. “Letting that girl go was the ethical thing to do. What if she’d hurt herself more? What if…” She balled her rubber cleaning gloves and tossed them across the room. She’d been so flustered by what had happened, she hadn’t even told Minnick he couldn’t call the employees rats. “Managers have to make tough decisions, that’s the bottom line. The Small Parts factory cannot afford to fall behind right now.”

  The bird trilled again, and she could hear the accusation in his song. Then why haven’t you told Otto or your father what you did? Why haven’t you been able to stop thinking about the look on Colin’s face when you fired his friend?

  “I don’t have anything to be ashamed of,” she said, hating the defensiveness in her tone. “In fact, I’ll go downstairs right now and tell Father.” The idea lifted her spirits—maybe this would show him that she cared more about the company than Otto. She quickly changed into some casual slacks and a soft, blue blouse, and was padding down the stairs barefoot before she remembered that she wasn’t wearing gloves.

  She hesitated, but didn’t stop. Riding high on momentum, she searched the second floor, not finding him in his bedroom or his office. Perplexed, she returned to the stairway, taking the steps down to the ground floor, and passed through the kitchen with its broad marble countertops and cherry cabinets. The sound of muffled voices in the parlor froze her in her tracks. It was late, but not unreasonable for her father to hold a meeting. Still, she was usually informed of such things so she would know to stay out of the way.

  Curiosity had her tiptoeing to the swinging door. She pushed it gently, ears attuned to the conversation in the next room.

  “For five hundred units, I’ll expect a little more, my friend.” There was ice in her father’s tone.

  “A little more,” sputtered another man. “I get the feeling it’s always a little more with you, isn’t it, Hampton?” Lena recognized the voice but couldn’t place it.

  “War’s expensive.”

  “That it is.” A sigh, and the clink of ice in a glass. “The business of war,” he mused. “Tell me, Hampton, are you as cunning with the Eastern Federation as you are with your own people?”

  Lena’s stomach tightened. Her father had no contact with the Eastern Fed. The two federations had been in hostile negotiations over food and water rights since before she’d been born. When he’d served on the Assembly, he’d supported legislation to increase the North’s military, to keep their way of life protected. A defensiveness rose within her. To suggest her father was communicating with the enemy was to imply he was a traitor.

  “My business with the Eastern Fed is my own,” answered her father. “Tonight, let’s focus on what we can do for each other.”

  The other man laughed, and placed himself in Lena’s memory. The stranger who had watched her sing and asked why he should enter into business with her father.

  “Very well,” he said. “In order to keep our little rebellion in action, we’ll need five hundred units of artillery, delivered by railway, in unmarked crates to Billington. It’s quiet there; we’ll run no risk of this going public. Oh, and without armed security this time, if you please. I’d hate to have our shipment steered toward your front lines. That hardly does us any good.” Another clink of ice within a glass.

  “General Akeelah was pleased with the last shipment, I take it.”

  Akeelah. Lena recognized the name. He was the leader of the Advocates.

  A cold dread whispered across her nerves.

  “I assume so. He did take the product, didn’t he?” The man gave a short laugh.

  The breath locked in Lena’s throat.

  The groaning of a leather chair—someone was getting up. “Half of the payment now, half upon receipt,” the man continued. “That ought to fuel this damn war for another eight months, at least.”

  Lena’s hand slipped, and the door whined softly on the hinges before she caught it. She eased it back on the jamb, wincing as a second passed in silence.

  “And if it doesn’t,” said Lena’s father, “then we’ll be in touch.” She could hear the smile in his voice.

  The meeting was drawing to a close, and Lena had heard enough. Heart pounding, she darted silently to the stairs, and ran up to the top floor. Only in the safety of her room did she finally release the breath burning inside her lungs.

  Billington was in the Northern Federation, near the border of the Yalan Mountains. Her father was arranging to ship weapons there, quietly, in order to support a rebellion. And not just any rebellion. He was supporting the Advocates, the very group responsible for destroying the Northern military’s supply train. The radicals who would see the North—her father’s own federation—fall, and turned over to a bunch of starving farmers who had no business running it.

  Even as she processed this, she doubted it. Her father was a powerful man, maybe the most powerful in the Northern Federation. He employed thousands of workers, and supported their military with weapons and supplies. He was a patriot. It made no sense to betray his own people—no sense to fund the group who would see him taken from power in the name of fairness and equal rights.

  Unless he then planned on sending more weapons the other way—shifting the tides back and forth at will.

  War was a business, as the man had said. Her ears could not deny what they had heard. Her heart could not deny the dread squeezing it.

  Hampton Industries was selling weapons to their enemies to keep itself in business.

  Business is good.

  Footsteps on the stairs stopped her from pacing, and automatically, she pulled back her hair and inhaled several deep, composing breaths. It was likely the maid, checking to see if she needed anything. She could not appear flustered. Nothing could appear out of order until she figured out what was going on.

  Two successive knocks, and her father pushed into the room.

  Lena’s eyes shot to the floor, and she concentrated on slowing her heart.

  “Up late, aren’t we?” he asked. “Oh. Are your gloves in the laundry?”

  She hurried to the dresser and slipped an extra pair on from the drawer. As she picked up her comb, her hands
shook. She couldn’t think of what to say.

  Her father wandered to the window, unbuttoning his suit jacket and leaning down to face her bird. “Do you remember when I got you this?”

  She unlatched her long braid and began combing through the strands, watching him in the mirror’s reflection. “Yes, sir.”

  “You were so happy that day. As a child should be. A songbird for my songbird.”

  Her shoulders lowered an inch. “We built the cage together.”

  He laughed. “Yes, we did. I’m surprised you remember.”

  “Of course I remember,” she said quietly. When he smiled, she felt the blush stain her cheeks. This was not the man she’d heard downstairs. In a surge of relief, she realized she’d misheard. Her father was a good man, a grateful man, like he’d told her. She was wrong not to trust him.

  “Your mother used to sing to you as a baby,” he said wistfully.

  Lena felt her heart skip a beat. He never shared anything about her mother. “She did?”

  “Yes,” he said. “You were so little. You’d fit right here, in my arm.” He crooked his arm to show her. “The first time I saw you, I couldn’t believe how much you looked like her. How fragile you were.”

  Lena’s hand had paused midstroke. Her father had never before spoken so tenderly.

  “You’re still so fragile,” he said.

  He undid the latch, and in a quick move, grabbed the bird, holding it firmly in his hand.

  The brush fell from Lena’s hand with a clatter, and she quickly righted it. Forcing herself to be calm, she crossed the room to where her father stood, a serene look on his face. Softly, he stroked the bird’s belly while its head twitched side to side.

  A sob rose in her throat.

  “Do you have what it takes to be a Hampton, Lena?”

  “Yes. Of course,” she said, her voice cracking. Her eyes stayed glued to her little yellow bird. The friend who sang with her, who listened when she needed to talk. Who she never once had dared to touch. His chest was rising and falling too fast.

  “Please,” she said. “You’re hurting him.”

  “You will hurt people, Lena.”

  “I can…” I did. Just this week.

  “I thought you said you wanted to learn about the business,” he said, squeezing tighter. “I thought you wanted me to teach you.”

  “Please, Daddy,” she pleaded, the tears stinging her eyes.

  “Then you must be willing to learn.”

  One clench of his fist, and the bird’s neck was broken.

  Lena’s hands covered her mouth, the tears streaming down over her covered fingers. She stared at her bird’s poor lifeless body as her father placed it back in the bottom of the cage, and latched the door, leaving it there for her to gaze upon.

  16

  COLIN

  In Ty’s absence, Minnick temporarily moved a kid named Henry up the assembly line until he could hire a replacement. Henry was big, Colin’s height, but built like a tree trunk. Perfect for Plastics, which was where he’d come from, but crap for the intricate work that fuses required. He was all thumbs, which meant Colin ended up doing both their jobs.

  He’d had it good with Ty. She was quiet, efficient, and dependable on the job. She knew when to talk and when to get busy, and best of all, he didn’t have to explain every little thing to her.

  Part of him thought he should just let it go. Meet half his quota, and blame the loss on Henry. Maybe they’d let Ty back then. But what did that prove? That he’d been all talk last night at Lacey’s. That he didn’t really give a damn about anyone but himself. Which made him just like all these other cowards who wouldn’t stand up for one of their own.

  Hell, if he was really Ty’s friend, maybe he would have quit with her.

  But two missing workers didn’t make an impact like fifty. Or a hundred.

  There had to be a way to get them to see.

  He was still mulling over options when Martin’s voice carried over from Batteries: “On the floor!”

  A moment later the foreman appeared, red in the face and practically steaming. He stomped down the stairs and yelled across the belt to Colin and Henry.

  “Think he wants you,” said Henry morosely.

  Colin tensed. Apparently this day could get worse. As much as he’d wanted to stand up for Ty, getting fired was about as much fun as a kick to the face. “Damn.”

  He grabbed his handkerchief from the table and stuffed it in his pocket, then wiped the white chalk on his hands off on his shirt. Minnick turned back up the stairs without an explanation, and as Colin followed, he tried to think of how he was going to explain to his ma why he couldn’t help her with rent.

  At the top of the stairs, he followed Minnick into the office, raising a brow at the big foreigner—Lena’s bodyguard—standing with his arms crossed across his massive chest.

  You’re lucky she doesn’t have you jailed for menacing, Ty had said. His muscles grew tight, his spine straight as a ramrod. Little greenback had sure taken her time telling Daddy. He never should’ve talked to her.

  “Let’s get this over with,” Colin said. No point in sitting down or making himself comfortable. Getting cut loose was one thing, but if she wanted him jailed she had another thing coming. He studied his exits, ready to bolt.

  “Someone wants to see you,” said Minnick. Not quite as freakishly happy as when the boss was around, but not his normal, sneering self either.

  “I can see that.”

  “Outside,” said the bodyguard. He looked angry.

  “Oh, right,” said Colin. “I get it. I just step outside and then what?”

  Minnick’s jaw twitched. “You tell us, kid.”

  “Miss Hampton would like a word with you,” said the man. “And you’ll treat her with the utmost respect.”

  “Or else?” Colin taunted.

  “Or else I’ll break your legs,” said the man.

  “Like that wasn’t the plan all along,” he muttered. He wiped the sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand. Lena wanted to see him? Right. More like this guy and a few of his friends wanted to send a message. Where was Ty when he needed her? He was glad his boots were already laced up tight, because he doubted they were going to let him go back to the lockers to get his knife.

  He might not have been a Bakerstown pansy, but he could still run.

  “Let’s go,” he said, adrenaline pumping.

  The man disappeared through the door that led to the front of the building, but before Colin could follow, Minnick snagged his forearm.

  “What’s your game, rat?”

  “I’d tell you, Minnick,” said Colin. “But I don’t think you’d understand.”

  Minnick squeezed Colin’s wrist until his fingers started to tingle. His other fist was ready to strike. If he was going down, he might as well go down in flames.

  “I understand that you’re stepping on toes, rat. Big toes. Jed Schultz kind of toes. Heard he’s gunning for you. What’d you say, huh? What’s got the white knight all riled up?”

  Colin jerked out of his grasp, feeling the blood drain from his face. “Don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  Minnick smirked. “Sure you don’t.”

  Someone had gone to Schultz after last night. They’d probably told him about the meeting, how Colin wanted to start his own Brotherhood. How he’d said he didn’t care what Jed thought. As if he weren’t on bad enough terms with the man already.

  Colin turned away and pushed through the door. This wasn’t the time to lose focus. He had more pressing issues.

  It occurred to him that maybe the Brotherhood was who would be waiting outside.

  Slowly, he entered the empty lobby of the building. There was nothing here for him to grab, nothing to use as a weapon. He looked outside, but the street was empty. Hiding, he thought. Someone’s out here waiting. But all he saw was that sleek electric car parked on the street, and the Hamptons’ man standing beside it.

  Warily, he p
ushed through the doors outside, feeling the cold air punch all the sweat-soaked patches in his shirt. His heart was pounding.

  He crossed the street.

  The man opened the car door.

  Inside was Lena Hampton.

  Word traveled fast—even the boss had heard what he’d said last night at Lacey’s. Doing one final survey of the area, he leaned down to face her.

  “You wanted to see me?” She was wearing a soft-looking sweater and pants that showed the shape of her legs. Her eyes were bright with worry, the kind that had had him talking to her in the first place. Still not altogether sure he wasn’t about to get jumped, he drew in a slow breath, and reminded himself to keep a safe distance.

  “Please sit. Colin.” The tentative way she tried his name on for size had him scowling. She patted the seat beside her with one satin glove, making him realize how little skin she showed. Just that thin, graceful neck and her pretty face.

  “I’m fine right here,” he said. Trouble followed this girl. She’d been the one to cut Ty loose, and was probably about to do the same to him.

  “Oh. Of course.” Her chin dropped. “I just wanted to return this to you.” She reached into the purse at her feet and removed the scarf he’d given her.

  Damn. He hadn’t thought she’d kept it, but seeing that she meant to give it back stung a little. Realizing it was best to get this over with quickly, he scooted in beside her, and pulled the door closed, feeling immediately warmer inside the small compartment. Outside the window, her man glared at him, and he raised both hands to show he wasn’t doing anything worthy of a leg breaking.

  She offered the scarf again, nearly shoving it into his lap.

  “It’s yours.” He wasn’t so sure he wanted to keep the memory of this encounter wrapped around his neck.

  “But you said you’d get it back when I saw you next.”

  “And I didn’t.”

  Her mouth formed a small O. She unfolded the scarf, refolded it, and then tried to hand it to him again. “I’m sorry for the delay. I’m sure you’ve been missing it.”