The Rift Uprising (10 page)

“You must be Ryn. Hi! I'm Audrey. Have fun in there?”

I stop short. This I wasn't expecting. Audrey is nineteen or twenty with a French accent. She looks French, too, because somehow she has managed to make our basic uniform look chic. Maybe it's her hair, glossy brown and worn in a neat knot at the nape of her neck. It couldn't possibly be the bracelet alone, a slim silver braid around her wrist, but she definitely looks different from most Citadels. There is an exoticism about her, with the accent and all, but I think what sets her apart is that she seems, oddly,
happy
. It's weird. She must be here from the French Rift. It is a different country, but all Rift sites are supposed to operate the same. Maybe they don't. Maybe that's just another lie. “I'm sorry I couldn't meet you, but I can't leave my post. It's wonderful in there, though, isn't it?”

“Yeah,” I say skeptically. Where am I again? Aren't I supposed to be sneaking into one of the world's most heavily fortified areas? And here is this European chick offering me the entrance like I'm getting on a ride at Disneyland. What in the hell is going on?

“Well, I hope you find who you are looking for. I am on duty for another three hours. When you come back, I will turn the electric fence off and you can get back out into the forest. So don't be any longer, okay? Or else maybe you will have to spend the night with the monster cats. Ha!” I do not know what the monster cats are and I don't really care. I do know that she is joking with me, though, and I am not in a joking mood. I see Levi in a golf cart just behind her, throwing me a nasty look. Because of Zaka I am already about five minutes behind schedule.

Well, if Miss Frenchy Brighty Pants seems unconcerned, then he can chill, too.

“Okay, I won't be any longer. Thanks.”

Audrey swipes her card and I hear the click of the metal turnstile, so I can walk through. So far, this is not going at all like I expected. I sit down beside Levi and he begins to drive down a winding path, away from The Menagerie.

“You're late.”

“I know, sorry. I ran into an Immigrant and it required a soft touch to get away,” I offer as an explanation.

“Oh, that's just great. What was it?”

“You mean
who
was it?” I ask back, annoyed. I get that he is doing me a favor. But so far, me being here doesn't actually seem to be that big of a deal.

“Yeah, sure . . . who. Or what.” I can't help but sigh audibly. Does he always have to be such a jerk?

“Sissnovar. His name is Zaka.”

Levi relaxes a bit in his seat. “That's fine. When they aren't being pussies, they kiss ass big time. We don't need to worry about him shooting his mouth off.”

I bite my lip because I really don't want to fight with him, but, man, is he making it hard. Levi's anger seems to be a living
thing. It carries its own weight and casts its own shadow. I understand his anger, I know it. But it's just me. He doesn't have to be so hostile
with me
, right? We're all in the same boat here.

“He seemed nice enough, and not in an ass-kissy way.” I'm not sure why I am defending Zaka, but I feel for some reason I must. Not just for Zaka's kindness itself, but for Levi's sake, too. It's not smart, strategically, to underestimate anyone.

“Look, I'm gonna tell you how it goes because obviously you haven't gotten the memo. You don't trust
anyone
. You don't play nice. You can't be sure who is working who or what anyone's agenda is here and that can include—actually, it
especially
includes—ARC. Got it?”

Okay, so he wasn't underestimating Zaka. He's just paranoid. Well, I'm paranoid, too, but that doesn't mean I'm an asshole all the time. I'm done fighting his natural state, though, so I just say, “Sure,” and then look out at the road unwinding before us. Ahead, I see buildings come into view.

“The general layout of the Village is like this,” he says. “There are a bunch of different habitats—we call them habs. But almost everyone, regardless of species, eventually ends up in gen pop. The number one goal at the Village is humanization. They may have lived on their own Earth in caves or huts or tree houses or whatever, but it's hard to argue with a memory-foam mattress and HBO.”

I whip my head around to face him. “Seriously? HBO? They watch TV here?” The thought hadn't occurred to me. I suppose I was expecting everyone to be dressed in gray and living in concrete bunkers. Sure enough, I see large parcels of forest with dwellings up high in the trees connected by a series of rope bridges. There are people walking and jumping around.
People
is the wrong word—they look something like a cross between human-sized monkeys and koalas. Or maybe
it is the right word. Maybe what makes someone a person has little to do with being human.

I look at Levi and consider
his
personhood. He doesn't seem to notice.

“Those are the Cajas. They do better in their own habs. They aren't very smart. Small brains. Or, I dunno, maybe they haven't had a chance to evolve into something else on their Earth. We get variants of this species, some a little brighter than others.” We drive some more and pass large rock formations with pitch-black holes about twenty feet high.

“ARC made those mountains to look like cave entrances, and inside are actual caves—for the Hailee. You've seen them, right? Come through The Rift?”

I nod my head. The Hailee are batlike humanoids with furry rust-colored faces and bodies. Imagine Ewoks but bigger, with wings, and not as cute. They don't talk as much as screech, but they are smart. I can see why they would prefer to be on their own.

Levi continues. “Okay, so you know that there are fourteen Rifts and only seven Villages worldwide. Two of them are here in the States. For now, we have about a dozen different habs for the species that are unlikely, if ever, to humanize. Those particular species are here, though, because the climate of the Pacific Northwest is the closest to what they lived in on their Earth. Of course, the number of habs could change if we get an influx of another species through a Rift. Most of these species Rifted through from other locations and were shipped here.”

I look out at the terrain of habs. It looks like a twisted version of an amusement park with different worlds. We drive by one with a giant crane holding a massive tube about sixty-five feet in length over a forested area. The tube is shooting out
steady droplets of water as it swings back and forth. It looks like a giant sprinkler.

“That's for the Grenillys. Have you seen them? They're kind of like toad people. Very big, very slimy, very large gross factor. They can't talk much, either, and when they do it's like . . . remember when you drank soda as a kid and burped the alphabet? They sound like that.”

“Lovely,” I respond, but I am looking at the Grenillys' hab, trying to suss it out.

“They need lots of rain, so ARC rigged up this system. They also built a bunch of ponds in there. I've only been in once, to deliver some insects.” I must have looked at him funny, because he laughed. “Seriously—two dozen crates of crickets and stuff. Had nightmares for a few days after that. They're just so disgusting. I can't imagine they'll be worth a fraction of the effort we put into keeping them so fucking happy.” I stare at the crane and the fence surrounding the hab. I doubt very much that they are happy.

“Do you ever actually listen to the words that come out of your mouth?” I ask him while keeping my voice at a steady pitch. It's taking a hell of a lot of willpower not to call him on his—well, I guess it would be
human
supremacist bullshit. “We put the effort in because they are a sentient species and our actions brought them here. The fact that ARC makes sure they are as comfortable as possible is pretty amazing considering it's ARC—not the most moral organization.”

Levi lets out that loud, cruel laugh he's perfected. He looks at me and then laughs again. “Seriously? You can't possibly be so dumb. Is that part of your deal? Like, you let people think you're stupid so they'll underestimate you? Is it a strategy thing?”

I stare at him. He's not joking. He's serious. I've been accused of many things, but being dumb has never been one of them. Now I'm pissed. “I don't know, Levi. Let's each of us call our friends and ask them how smart they think we are. Ohhh, right. You can't do that because you don't have any friends. So you tell me. Who's the dumb one? Because in our line of work, it's very, very good to have friends.”

“Whatever,” Levi snorts, but I can tell my comment stung. “It's just stupid to think that ARC is noble in any way. They keep the Grenillys alive because one day they might figure out that their skin cures cancer or some shit.”

The Grenilly paddock is behind us now. Still, Levi seems to be driving pretty slow for someone on a schedule. He's so hard to figure out, which is clearly, based on his statement to me, something he feels gives him an advantage. It's a dangerous way to think when you're part of a team. “Don't you ever get sick of it?” I ask him sincerely. “Being so aloof and guarded . . . the Tim Riggins of it all? Don't you ever just want to relax and not be a dick all the time?”

“I'd rather know my enemy.
All
of my enemies,” Levi snaps.

“How exhausting for you.”

He gives me a look. A look that might be “Fuck you” or “Thank you for noticing how hard my life is.” I can't tell which one it is, so I turn my head away. We sit in silence for a few seconds.

“So what do you know about the Villages?” Levi asks. I suppose that's his idea of an olive branch and, for now, it's one I'll happily take.

“I know the other American Village is in the Everglades, built specifically for species, and people, too, I guess, who prefer hot and humid. The other Villages are in Africa, Australia, Lapland, Canada, and Brazil. Everyone wants a posting in the
American Villages, though, because of how close they are to actual civilization.”

We don't really get to choose for those years when we are supposed to be in college. We go where they tell us. But we do get to choose which of the fourteen Rifts we want to settle. Or we can choose a Village. That's what they
say
. They could be lying about all that, too.

Who knows.

“Yeah, well, there aren't as many humans in the other Villages outside this country. The weather is pretty extreme. It just depends. Those Vikings you picked up the other day. They want to go to Lapland. It happens. Though the whole idea of nationalism in an internment camp seems pretty fucking stupid.”

I blanch. I have never heard anyone call a Village what it really is. The casualness of it is a little scary.

We get past the habs, and what looks like a small town begins to emerge. This is so not what I thought it was going to be at all. It does actually look like a little village. There are stores and restaurants and all manner of people and species coming and going. It all looks . . . quaint. Eerily so. I mean, if you're the type of person who thinks
Star Trek
can be quaint, which I am.

On the walls of buildings and posted to streetlights are large, graphically illustrated posters depicting different species all dressed like humans and doing very human things, like riding a bike or having a picnic. There are words like
peace
and
solidarity
printed at the bottom in a big, bold font.

“I don't get it,” I blurt out. “It's cute.”

Levi gives me a snide look and huffs. “This is the commercial area of the Village. As you can see, it functions a lot like a Main Street in any other small town.” He slows the golf cart and I watch the collection of picturesque buildings
as we glide by. I immediately notice that there isn't one distinct style of architecture. Rather, there's an odd assortment, bound together by a similar color scheme so that it is pleasing to the eye. An adobe apartment sits beside a Tudor building. A modern, modular box (what I pictured, really, when I thought about the Village) seems to fit perfectly with a southern farmhouse, complete with a wraparound porch. The farmhouse is a bookstore, and, bizarrely, I have a hankering to stop and go inside, as if I was a tourist or something.

“There is an industrial and manufacturing area just northwest of here, and beyond that are the farms,” Levi explains.

“Industrial? I don't get it. They make things here? Isn't everything just shipped in from somewhere else?” I ask, still not grasping the scope of what I am seeing.

“The people, human or otherwise, that come through The Rift all have skills. Furniture makers, artists, journalists, actors, math teachers. They can't be expected to just sit in their houses all day. That would be bad for morale. ARC gives everyone a job, a place, a function so they can contribute to their society. Otherwise there would be thousands of disgruntled Immigrants itching for a fight.” I let that statement sink in. It makes sense. If I had to control a vast population of people who were, in effect, prisoners, the smartest way for me to go about doing it would be to make them forget that they are prisoners at all.

“We are going into the neighborhoods now. Each neighborhood is reflective of a city here on this Earth. There's a Marrakech, Kyoto, the Cotswolds, Siena, Stockholm, Tel Aviv, Shanghai, and two American neighborhoods, New York City and Cape Cod.” As Levi is speaking, the Marrakech neighborhood comes into view. It's amazing. There are small winding alleys and streets and large stucco buildings with gorgeous
Moorish tilework and intricately carved wood panels on the doors. I know enough about this part of the world to guess that each of these big buildings must be, in fact,
riad
s—large structures containing small apartments or rooms around a single courtyard.

“It's like Epcot, right? I mean, that's what this all reminds me of,” I say out loud with a heavy dose of awe in my voice. “Is Ezra here? In Marrakech?

“You think he would be, with a last name like Massad, right? But that is one of the rules—you can decide which neighborhood you want to be in as long as you don't really belong to that culture. It's all about integration, right? Though they are pretty lax when it comes to other versions of Earth's Americans choosing either the U.S. neighborhoods or the U.K. one. Americans get preferential treatment, though they swear they aren't supposed to.”

We get past Marrakech and into the quaint adorableness that is the Cotswolds. The cottages look like something out of a fairy tale. Row upon row of the cutest little houses I have ever seen. Most have gardens in front and rustic fences. I decide that if I was in the Village, this is where I would choose to live. “Why not? I mean, we are in the United States. Aren't we paying for all this?”

“Yes. But almost every country in the world contributes to the enormous cost of the Villages. We are here to humanize the Immigrants, not
Westernize
them. We have a synagogue, a mosque, different churches, and temples. All religions are welcome, but fundamentalism of any sort is not allowed. For example, a woman cannot veil in anything more extreme than a hijab. They don't put up with that burka shit, so at least there's that.”

I myself find burkas misogynistic, but I don't pretend to
understand all the cultural implications of wearing them. Levi dismissing them so out of hand just rubs me the wrong way. There is no point in getting into this with him, though. We are so naturally combative with each other that I think we would each take opposing sides just so we could argue.

“I suppose it would make you one way or the other, wouldn't it?” I say instead, changing the subject. “Going through The Rift would make you either super religious or an atheist.”

“I think just working there does that,” Levi says with a little more laid-back tone. We leave the Cotswolds and pass through a bunch of lovely modern houses and apartments with pagoda-like tiles on the roofs. I assume this must be Kyoto.