Forged (15 page)

IN THE KITCHEN, THE WEST-FACING
window frames a square of the Gulf like an oversized painting. I pause to watch the docks come to life.

“Did you eat?”

Emma.

She's in the mouth of the kitchen, hair wet from a shower. She tosses a biscuit at me, and in the time it takes to catch the small meal, she's joined me at the window. We stand there in silence, watching the gulls ride the wind along the shoreline.

“I don't even know what I'm fighting for anymore,” she says. “I climbed the Wall for answers about the Heist, which we have, and you, who I've lost and can't look at the same
even if I hadn't. So what now? What's the point?”

“The point?” I stare at her out of the corner of my vision. “Emma, this is where we change everything. Claysoot, your mother, Kale. Don't you want to get them out?”

“They're safest where they are. It's this world they should fear. Frank. Forgeries. A complete lack of freedom.”

“All the more reason to remove him from power.” She gives me a look that reeks of doubt. I don't know—or like—this person she's becoming. So pessimistic, so beaten. “And they aren't free, Emma. They're slaves.”

“To what?”

“The Heist. The Council. All those stupid rules they've created just to last another generation. We both hated the slatings. I don't want Kale to have to deal with that when she's older. I want her to be able to make her own choices. Remember the birds?”

She glares. “Do
you
?”

Of course. I might feel differently about her now, but the birds, that idea she planted in my mind of permanent pairs, is something I'll never forget. Emma changed me. She changed me for the better.

A group of gulls soars past, heading for the white-specked shoreline. One lands on the section of roof right outside our window and starts pecking at the shingles as though he can
drill his way into the first-floor rooms. I cup my hands at my mouth and though I expect nothing, I blow into my palms. The most feeble whistle cuts between us.

“Did you hear that?!”

I adjust my hands, try again. This time it's unmistakable. Not as pure and crisp as the cries Bree can produce, but audible.

“Ha!” I push the window open and stick my torso through. Clinging to the top of the frame, I pull my feet after. The gulls are screeching and the water is lapping and the world smells like salt and hope and possibilities. We're going to be okay. All of us. The Rebels, the Expats, our steadily shrinking team. My eyes stream from the fierce morning wind, but I stand on the shingled roof, my hands in position, whistling again and again to the loons that are nowhere to be found.

“Well, I'm glad one of us is happy with the way everything's panned out,” Emma mutters.

I turn around, but she's already gone. It's Aiden in the window frame now, one hand tangled in Rusty's copper coat. He refuses to move for me.

“Why'd you lie about Emma?” he asks.

“It's complicated.”

“I'm not letting you in until you tell me.”

I want to be honest with the kid, but the whole of it will
give him nightmares and leave me weak in the process. He puts a hand on the glass pane, threatening to lock me out.

“Aiden . . .”

He looks up at me. The wind whips through my shirt.

“Sometimes people lie because they're trying to protect you. They're trying to help.”

“But you made me think she was dead. All that did was hurt.”

“I'm sorry about that,” I say. “Really. I just didn't think we'd see her again.”

He taps on the pane, sucks on his bottom lip. Then: “Will you play a game with me?”

“Yes. Absolutely.”

He steps aside and lets me slip back into the house. I wish all negotiations were so simple.

After a few rounds of Rock, Paper, Scissors with Aiden, I head downstairs. Harvey and Clipper have rewritten portions of the code and pinned them up on the far wall. Select letters and symbols are circled, lines connecting them like cobweb strands.

“Did you guys get any sleep?” I ask.

“Barely,” Clipper says through a yawn. “But it was worth it.”

“You found something?”

“Think so.” He taps one of the pinned-up comment blocks, and I step closer to read.

“The Forgeries have specific zoning?”

“That part's not important,” Harvey says. “But
backtrack
”—he taps the word with a forefinger—“is the fail-safe function. It's embedded in the conditionals I was talking about last night. If it's initiated, that's the end of them.”

“Okay, so how do we initiate it?”

“We're still trying to figure that out. K492 is referenced only once in the entire program: here. In this comment.” Harvey tilts his head to the side. “What are you trying to tell me?” he asks the code.

“I thought the capitalization was weird,” Clipper says. “The way there's random letters capitalized in the middle of sentences.” He points to another scrap of paper pinned on the wall where he's listed them out.

M M O F Z C A R T F B F K

Harvey taps a pencil against the desk. Clipper and I stare at the letters.

“It's too quiet in here,” Harvey grunts. “I need music. I can't work without music.”

And right then, the letters jump at me. I've never seen the name written out before, so I could be completely wrong, but after Harvey broke through his programming from the same thing, it seems too much to be mere coincidence. I leap to my feet and grab the marker from Clipper.

“Forget the third sentence. Just look at the first two.” I cross out letters from the last sentence.

M M O F Z C A R T F

“We're trying to eliminate the Forgeries, right? So if you remove them . . .” I strike both Fs.

M M O Z C A R T

“. . . and remove the properly capitalized letters at the start of each sentence.”

M O Z A R T

“Holy. Shit,” Clipper says.

Harvey slaps the back of his skull. “Watch your language.”

“I saw it as soon as you mentioned music,” I explain. “That
is
how it's spelled, right?”

Harvey nods.

“So what song?”

“K492:
The Marriage of Figaro
. I don't know how I didn't see it earlier.”

“I don't get it,” Clipper cuts in. “If this is right, the fail-safe won't work.”

“Why not?” I ask.

“You guys already played this once in Taem. When you went after the vaccine, this piece—the overture—was used to stage a diversion, and it didn't wipe out any Forgeries then. Plus, it helped wake Harvey up at the Compound, not shut him down.” Clipper twists toward the scientist. “Maybe the fail-safe requires a different act?”

Harvey shakes his head, a lively smile creeping over his lips.

“No, I remember now, but gosh did I do a good job trying to hide it from prying eyes.” Harvey pins a fresh piece of paper on the wall and snatches the marker from me. He rewrites
Backtrack(Ø)
, then points at the zero.

“I think I purposely meant for the zero to be misleading. It looks like a natural parameter—a number would be passed through when the function ran—but I was only trying to remind myself that
Ø
means
Overture
, and
backtrack
is both the function to undo the Forgeries
and
the method in which to play the piece.”

None of this is making sense to me, but Clipper's eyes light up. “Play the overture
backward
.”

“Right you are, genius.” Harvey ruffles the boy's hair.

“So this is it?” I ask. “Play this piece of music backward and it will off every last Forgery?”

“That's the gist of it.”

“Is there any way to test it?”

Harvey rubs the back of his neck. “Not unless you have a collection of classic operas lying around. Plus, there's a good chance I won't survive a trial. We might only get one shot at this.”

“But you're already operating outside your programming.”

“I don't think you're comprehending my idea of a fail-safe, Gray. When the time comes, it won't matter whether I'm a free-thinking Forgery or Frank's most loyal man. There's no avoiding this shutdown sequence. It's integrated into every model.”

Clipper, suddenly understanding the true weight of Harvey's words, shakes his head. “Maybe there's another way. Maybe—”

“No, Clayton, this is it. Besides, how are you supposed to successfully fill my shoes if I'm still around?”

“I don't
want
to fill your shoes. I didn't want you gone before, and I definitely don't want it now!” Another swear follows.

“What did I tell you about that language?”

“You're not my father, Harvey,” Clipper snaps, and shoves his way out of the room.

The trapdoor slams and Harvey turns to me. “He'll come around.” Then he smiles. Like Clipper's blowup was over something trite. Why is this man always so content to sacrifice himself for others? Does he have no survival instincts, no drive for self-preservation?

“So,” he says, “how about we bring the rest of the group up to speed?”

AFTER WE'VE ALL GATHERED IN
the kitchen on the first floor, Harvey explains how the fail-safe is hidden within the Forgery's base code.

“Gray said you guys have a plan of your own—”

“Although he has none of the details since he avoided last night's meeting,” Bree interjects.

“—and we think if we coordinate our efforts with yours, odds for success will skyrocket.”

September's eyebrows are pulled down, making her already angled features appear even sharper. “Explain how this works again. I understand the audio will trigger the termination, but how do we get every Forgery to hear it?”

“Clipper?” Harvey says, giving the boy the floor. “It was your idea after all.”

Clipper glares at Harvey, arms crossed, looking angry enough to tear someone apart with his bare hands.

“I guess I can tell—”

“We override AmEast's alarm systems,” Clipper spits out, “and replace the standard sirens with the overture. Any domed city is bound to trip the alarm when a staged attack occurs, and then we'd be broadcasting the overture across speakers in every government building, public square . . . pretty much the whole of the cities.”

“Please tell me we can override the system from here,” Sammy says, but the tone of his voice suggests he knows this won't be possible.

“I can prepare from here,” Harvey explains. “I'll write a virus that will trick the alarm system into playing our audio, but it has to be uploaded to Taem's network manually, and then sent to the other domed cities as well.”

“Manually meaning
in person
? From Taem?” Sammy's face is growing paler by the second.

Harvey nods.

“This won't help with Forgeries stationed beyond the domed cities,” September points out.

“True,” I say. “But most of them are in the cities, and given
what I learned in the Compound, they're shipping more out as we speak. This could eliminate the majority of the forces in one fell swoop, giving us a huge advantage. And rounding up any surviving Forgeries later shouldn't be too hard.”

“We've got undercover forces already preparing in most domed cities,” September says. “And I've been prepping people here in Bone Harbor. Bleak's ready to spring on the Order folk in Pine Ridge soon as we give the word, and Heidi's heading for the borders.”

“Am I the only one who thinks this plan is absolutely ridiculous?” Bree straightens in her chair. “We can't do a test run, because we don't have a copy of the overture. But we're still going to get back to the most secure city in AmEast without being seen, while Gray's face is strung up all over the country and Harvey is probably the Order's most-wanted resource. And then, what? Ask to have a go at their alarm system? Take a few minutes alone in the labs?”

“We've done something like this before,” I say. “When we stole the vaccine in the fall, there were nearly as many risks.”

Bree turns to Harvey. “Let me guess. The only person who can manually upload this virus is you, right? Because it's complicated. And will need some fancy, superhard coding work at the last minute.”

Harvey looks wounded. “It would be easiest for me, yes. Clipper could probably handle it, but if we only get one shot
at this, I think I should be the one at the wheel.”

“Of course you do,” she sneers. “Of course.”

“How do we even get back there?” Sammy cuts in.

“The same way we did last time,” Harvey explains. “It's Gray's face on the wanted posters now. I'll escort him into Order custody and—”

Bree is out of her seat in a flash. She throws an elbow into Harvey's jaw, then wrenches his arm behind his back.

“You think anyone here is going to buy that?”

“Bree!” I yell.

“I've dislocated your shoulder before, Harvey,” she says, adjusting her hold on his arm. “I can do it again.”

“Dammit, Bree!” I have to use so much force to pull her off, I know she'll end up with a bruise on her bicep from my grip.

“You believe this?” she says, turning on me.

“It's the best opportunity we have.”

“It's the worst! There's no guarantee they'll bring you to Taem when they pick you up. You could end up back at the Compound or dead in a ditch. And even if you
do
get dragged to Taem, how convenient that Harvey is the only one who can execute this plan. Maybe the overture won't do a damn thing. Maybe it will make the Forgeries stronger. Maybe he'll put a bullet in you on Frank's behalf and then march into Union Central a hero.”

Harvey wipes at the corner of his now-bleeding lip.

“He's been helping us, Bree,” Clipper says. He looks almost annoyed that he's forced to defend Harvey so soon after their argument. “He's good.”

“And I've been alone downstairs with him,” I add. “If Harvey had it out for me, he could have slit my throat several times by now. Plus, if this
does
work, you realize what it means, right? Harvey will die helping us do this. He won't survive the overture.”

Eyes narrowed, Bree wheels on September and Sammy. “What about everything Adam and Vik were planning with Ryder before we lost contact? Our conversations with Heidi and Bleak last night? We just throw it aside?”

“The way I see it, this can only improve our chances,” September says. “We do it in conjunction with the existing plans. Plus, I finally heard from Vik this morning. I was waiting to tell everyone, but Elijah reported from Crevice Valley. They were hit. Hard. Nearly everyone's dead except for the few who made it into the underground fallout shelters. Ryder's alive. We're still waiting on a list of survivors, but based on what Elijah relayed, it sounds like no more than a hundred made it.”

Clipper sinks to the floor, his hand on his bracelet.

“The Rebels at Crevice Valley were supposed to be part of the organized strike,” September continues. “This blow . . .
it crushes our numbers in the East. We need an edge there now more than ever.”

Bree has not stopped shaking her head. “And Vik's okay with this plan?”

“I'll reach out to him,” September says, “but I'm telling you now he'll be on board. The Expats and the Rebels will act come the planned date, and this, if we pull it off, only tips the odds further in our favor.”

“It's too much of a risk,” Bree insists.

“No one who played it safe ever accomplished anything.”

Bree turns to me. “Gray?”

She wants me to agree with her. She wants me to say it's foolish and a long shot and dangerous. And it is. But it's also the edge we need, just as September said, and I want to see the look on Frank's face when he watches his Forgeries crumple. I want to be there when his last defenses no longer surround him so that I can look him in the eye and end his life for Blaine. For all of them.

Bree scowls at my silence.

“You don't have to be a part of the team that heads east,” September says to her. “You can stay here with me, help with the fight in Bone Harbor. It will be safer along the Gulf than in Taem.”

“You think that's what this is about? Me wanting to stay where it's
safest
?” She snatches her firearm off the table and
thrusts it into her waistband. “You're all idiots.”

I grab her arm. “Bree . . .”

“I know I told you to not feel bad about disagreeing with me. But I still expected you to use your brain.”

She wrenches herself loose and storms out.

The rest of us plan late into the evening.

It's exactly a week until Sunder Day, an AmEast holiday commemorating the anniversary of the West's official secession and the end of the war. A Sunder Rally will be thrown in Taem. Spirits will be up. Guards will be down. This is when we will attack. It is also, I learn, the date Adam, Vik, and Ryder were always working toward.

Every day now is precious.

Harvey will start work on the virus for the alarms first thing in the morning, and a day or two before the Rally, we'll let ourselves be spotted. Or rather, Harvey will turn me in. We won't have the virus on us though, not when it's likely we'll be searched. Sammy and Clipper will take it to Taem by car as soon as possible, then wait to make a transfer drop.

“What if Vik doesn't like our plan?” Clipper worries aloud.

“He will,” I say. “And if for some odd reason he doesn't, we move forward anyway. Go rogue. No one's around to stop us, and we're doing this.
I'm
doing this. We've done enough waiting for a lifetime.”

“I'll update Vik first thing tomorrow,” September assures Clipper. “Until then, how about we toast our new plans?”

A bottle of liquor is pulled out. Glasses are filled. I keep expecting Bree to wander into the kitchen and join us, even if only reluctantly, but when a second round is poured, it's obvious she's holding firm. What hits next is the paralyzing idea of carrying out these plans without her. I set my drink on the table and excuse myself.