“What now?” Olin steps in between Zorrah and me, taking our hands.
I desperately want to question Zorrah further. Centavo knew the drug would show up in Olin’s blood test, and he wanted its presence kept secret. But why? What is the drug? What had Izel done to the buds and leaves from my mother’s garden? Even more disturbing, what will the authorities do with us if One and Two fail to conceal the drug’s presence?
Olin squeezes my hand and focuses me on the moment.
I suppose he’s right. There will be time to pick Zorrah’s considerable brain later, assuming we don’t get detained in the next few hours. With effort, I shove the thought out of my mind and concentrate on our surroundings. “It looks like a gym or a training facility.”
Olin points toward the far wall. “What are those doors? The ones with registrant numbers above them.”
I shake my head. “Zorrah?”
She hesitates. “I’m not sure. This is supposedly when we would be interviewed, so I guess—”
“Those are the interview closets.” Olin finishes her sentence.
We cram into a small pocket of space as the gym continues to fill. The smell of human perspiration permeates everything. But living in Worker City means being accustomed to body odor.
Many of the people around us are focused on a large scoreboard mounted high up the wall. I watch it long enough to determine it’s flashing a short series of registrant numbers.
“When the numbers disappear from the scoreboard, they show up over one of the interview closets.”
I turn toward a strange voice speaking directly into my ear and am surprised by a smiling girl with an outstretched arm. She’s not quite as tall as me, but with broader shoulders and a fuller figure—the sort of build all the boys drool over. She seems familiar, although I can’t place her face.
Most shocking is the total lack of suspicion in her eyes. Of the hundreds of teenagers we have passed, all of them either ignoring us or sizing us up, she is the only one who has made an attempt to be friendly. I accept her greeting, and we lock forearms.
“Cera,” she offers.
“Calli.”
“Bluehair.” The girl nods. “I recognize you from the market.”
The mention of the market jogs my memory. “Wild game. You’re the hunters’ daughter.”
Cera nods.
“I didn’t know you were registering,” I say.
“My parents didn’t talk about it. I’m the oldest, so I think it hit ‘em pretty hard.”
We both nod for a long awkward moment. If she knows me from the market, she knows I don’t have parents anymore. Then again, none of us have parents anymore.
She turns her attention to the scoreboard. “My number’s still a hundred away.”
I follow her gaze. The board shows a series of numbers starting with 628.
“But they go pretty fast,” she ads. “Who are your friends?”
“Oh,” I slap my forehead, “I’m sorry.” Turning around, I find Zorrah and Olin smiling politely and waiting to be included. “This is my brother, Olin.”
“Of course.” Cera grips his forearm. “I should have recognized you.”
“Don’t worry about it.” Olin shrugs. “I don’t stand out much.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t say that.” Cera winks while releasing his arm.
I continue the introductions. “And this is our friend, Zorrah.”
“Nice to meet you.” Cera grips Zorrah’s arm.
Zorrah stretches her lips into a thin smile.
I can’t tell for sure, but the tiny girl appears to shift her eyes back and forth from Cera to Olin, perhaps in an effort to mark her territory. Olin is already focused on the scoreboard, and Cera quickly transitions. “Have you guys heard the rumors?”
“Which ones?” I’m not particularly interested in the answer, but the polite conversation is a welcome distraction.
“Huatiani isn’t overseeing the interviews this year.”
I nearly choke on my spit. “Oh? I hadn’t heard that.”
“Yeah.” Cera lowers her voice. “Some are saying he’s dead, that someone in Worker City killed him.”
“Really?” Zorrah pipes up. “How? I mean, how could a mortal kill someone like Huatiani?”
Cera shrugs. “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe it was a psych-fighter who got lucky.”
Pretending to scratch my head, I glance at Olin. He meets my eyes, and I see fear there. I can’t blame him. This is bad news. If the rumor has spread this far, that might mean Huatiani’s replacement has begun the process of smoking out the ones responsible for the general’s death. Not to mention the possibility Huatiani identified us to others before…his disintegration.
Cera continues. “I talked to one guy this morning who says they plan on using the interview closets to trap whoever did it.”
Zorrah catches the flawed logic instantly. “How many psych-fighters are registering for Masa? Shouldn’t they be searching the underground for chadzitzin?”
“It seems to me at least a few fighters are registering.” Cera glances at the scoreboard where the numbers have reached 696. “I’ve even heard that the new champion, Yetic, is around here somewhere.”
Zorrah responds eagerly. “He is! We—”
I cut her off. “We saw him entering the stadium. But I think he’s from district three or four.”
“I was hoping to run into him before the placement tests.” Cera runs a hand along her particularly full braid. “You know,” she shrugs, “but I’m sure a guy like that already has plenty of friends.”
“And enemies too.” I raise a brow.
“Yeah.” Cera smiles. “You can hardly have one without the other I suppose.”
I nod. “Especially in a place like this.”
Cera glances at the scoreboard and back. She hesitates, a serious look on her face. “The gods know I could use more, friends that is.” She extends her arm. “I can tell you guys are smart, strong. I like to think I have a few talents. What do you say?”
I had seen her family’s wild game in the market. Top notch, never an arrow through the best meat. I know she can hunt. But there’s something more than that. She’s admitted her vulnerability without seeming weak. I’m not even sure why, but I like her. I glance at Zorrah and Olin.
Both of them are nodding.
I agree. Something about Cera’s easy smile is hard to resist. I grip her arm. “I heard a rumor Yetic’s going to claim the western hoop during the tests. We thought we might check it out.”
Cera grins wide enough to reveal shiny, white teeth. “Thanks for the tip. Maybe I’ll see you there.” She drops my arm and nods toward Olin and Zorrah. “My number’s almost up. It was nice to meet you.” Turning, she disappears into the crowd.
I check the scoreboard—729. The numbers are going fast.
Zorrah takes my hand. “I hope we meet more people like her.”
“Maybe it’s not as cutthroat in here as we’ve been told.” After comforting Zorrah, I lean close to Olin’s ear and whisper. “If the closet’s a trap, don’t you say a thing. Keep your mouth shut. I’ll find you. Remember, we’re in this together.”
He shakes his head.
“Don’t be axnohtic. You were right, Masa is my dream. If it turns into a nightmare, at least give me the chance to get you out.”
He doesn’t respond.
“Good. I’ll take that as a yes.” I watch as 741 flashes at the top of the board. “Let’s get a little closer.”
The three of us push our way forward as the numbers on the board tick ever higher. I’m glad I got my number last. This way I’ll be sure Zorrah and Olin at least make it to their interviews. I can only hope all three of us make it out the other side.
Zorrah shouldn’t be an issue. All she’s done is change her district. Olin and I are another matter. We’ve been residents of the underground for two years. We have ties to the most infamous criminal in Worker City. We were directly involved in a perimeter attack. Both of us have demonstrated illegal outbursts of telekinesis. Our records are complete forgeries. I’m wearing a regenerated braid. And Olin disintegrated a 1,000 year-old immortal.
I glance up as we near the wall lined with over fifty narrow doors. Zorrah’s number, 775, flashes. “Hey, what could possibly go wrong?”