The raised voices of the crowds of compound residents have softened—fear has descended from the sky like a flock of predatory birds. We catch the whispers as we move toward the front of the commune.
“The searches were authorized by the Council,” a man says. “It must be for our protection.”
An old woman, supporting herself on a gnarled cane, stands near the entrance to her ’wam.
“Protection,” she croaks, “is not offered in an eclipse of truth. We need to know what has happened.”
“Do you really want to know?” the man snaps. “If we have nothing to hide, then we have nothing to fear.”
The conversation shoots back and forth through the crowds.
“Maybe whatever it was didn’t get out of the labs. Maybe it got in from the jungle.”
“When has something ever gotten in from outside? Unless it was sent by the Faloii. They already killed that boy.”
The fear in their voices is like a new specimen that runs wild in N’Terra, overpopulating the compounds. Alma nudges me when we’re out of earshot.
“They’re talking about Jaquot.”
“I know.” I look over my shoulder at the group, still clustered together, muttering. I can’t help but think about what Dr. Espada said: Fear makes people stupid. “They’re idiots if they think the Faloii had anything to do with it.”
“People don’t know what to think,” Rondo says as we begin to climb the stairs toward the main dome. “This is what the Council has done by not sharing any information about the Faloii. People are bound to think the worst when something goes wrong.”
“They are sharing information,” Alma says. “The wrong information.”
The main dome is silent. We round a turn in the path and find ourselves behind the very tree Rondo and I had crouched behind the night Adombukar was brought into the compound. As usual, two guards stand on either side of the doorway to the Zoo beyond the tree line. I expect them to be on high alert with everything going on, but they seem relaxed: buzzguns in hand but held loosely, aimed at the ground.
“You’d think there would be more guards,” I whisper.
“The Council may have given the impression that the threat is contained,” Alma says. “With your mom and Dr. Espada in custody, they may not think they have anything else to worry about.”
“Or maybe they already found the kawa,” Rondo says.
“Another thing I have to find,” I say.
“We’ll worry about that later,” Alma says. “For now, we have to figure out how to get into the lab.”
I turn away from the Zoo, crouching behind the tree.
“Well, I think I have that part covered,” I say, holding up my hands.
“Meaning?” Alma raises her eyebrow.
“Long story. Remember when the wall in the deep part of the Zoo thought I was my dad? Not a coincidence. My mom actually reimprinted my hands.”
Rondo raises his eyebrows, impressed.
“Did she do that with hacking?” he says. “I wouldn’t mind learning that.”
“No,” I say, rolling my eyes at him. “She actually, you know, reimprinted them.”
Alma squints at me, the gears in her mind working.
“So the poison vine she says you touched . . .”
“Didn’t happen.”
“Oh,” she says, then pauses. “Your mom is good.”
“Yeah, well, the Council wouldn’t agree.”
“Obviously.”
“Okay,” Rondo says. “So you should be able to get into the labs, but those guards aren’t just going to let you walk right in. They know who you are. We need a plan.”
I think about this, turning to look around the dome without leaving the shelter of the tree. If this were the Beak, with its free-roaming specimens, we might have an easier time coming up with a diversion of some kind. But I don’t see much to work with.
I turn back to ask if anyone has any ideas and find Rondo with his slate out, the screen illuminated and his fingers tapping away. Alma peers over his shoulder.
“What are you doing?” I whisper.
“What he’s always doing,” Alma says without raising her eyes.
“What are you hacking?” I ask.
“The guards’ comms,” he says.
“You can do that?”
His fingers stop tapping and his eyes glance up at my face, one eyebrow raised. Of course he can. I can’t help but smile at him. When he makes that face . . .
“Are you going to talk to them?” Alma says.
“Yes,” Rondo says.
“What are you going to say?”
His fingers pause on the screen.
“I haven’t gotten that far,” he says, and looks up into the branches of the ogwe for inspiration. “Something about a specimen being loose? That would get them running.”
“No,” Alma says. “That will probably make the ones at the front come back toward the Zoo. We need them away, toward the front of the dome.”
“The egg,” I whisper. “Tell them someone saw the kawa outside. That will get them away from the door.”
He looks up at me. “You sure? What if they already found it?”
“I don’t think so. My dad was hyperventilating about it when I was in the ’wam. I doubt they’ve tracked it down.”
Rondo holds my gaze a second longer and then bends his head to the slate, his fingers making quick, precise selections.
“What are you doing now?” I peer over his shoulder. All I see are lines of code in two columns, one longer than the other.
“Monitoring their communication patterns,” he says without looking up. “I don’t want to use the wrong kind of language. They’d notice something was weird.”
He straightens his neck and taps the enter key.
“Aren’t you going to say anything?” Alma whispers.
“I did,” he says, pointing at the lines of code as if it’s obvious.
“But you didn’t say anything,” I say.
“I don’t need to say it.” He squints at the screen. “I took a voice pattern sequence and applied it to text. It will sound like the last person who said something on the comms. Watch.”
I can’t kiss him, so I reach down and squeeze his shoulder.
“They received the communication,” Rondo whispers, then kisses my hand.
“But they’re not moving,” Alma says, chewing on her thumbnail.
They’re not. The two guards listen to their comms, exchange a few words with each other—one shrugging—then go back to leaning. They show no sign of leaving their posts.
“What? What’s the problem?” Rondo mutters. He turns back to his slate, peering at the lines of code. “I don’t get it. My syntax is correct. I used the right sequence. Damn.”
Alma leans over his shoulder, her eyes darting left to right. Her hand leaps out to point.
“You forgot to translate your compiler. All they heard was static,” she says.
I have no idea what it means, but I snicker as Rondo’s eyes nearly jump out of his head. He holds the slate close to his face, lips moving wordlessly as he calculates, or reads, or both.
“You’re right,” he says. “How did you—?”
She shrugs. “Ever since you started digging into private files and stuff, I started learning some hacking on my own. It’s not that hard,” she says.
“Okay, okay, try again,” I whisper. He does, tapping a few lines of code, and then hitting enter once more.
We all swivel our heads around the trunk of the ogwe to look at the guards again. At first I’m afraid it didn’t work, and I’m already thinking of a backup plan when the guards crane their necks again, fingers to their ears, listening. Rondo looks at the screen of his tablet.
“It’s working,” he whispers. “It’s working!”
“Did you tell them to report to the front of the dome?” Alma says.
“Yes. Even said immediately.”
The guards speak a few words and then jog away. I move to the other side of the tree to watch their path toward the front of the dome, terrified that they’ll misunderstand the instructions and double back to where we hunker behind the ogwe.
“This is our chance,” Alma says, grabbing my arm. I’m up and running before it’s fully registered in my mind that we’re actually doing it. I think it’s my feet that are thudding on the ground as we dash toward the door, but it’s my heart, clamorous in my ears. It’s so loud I almost don’t hear the voices coming down the path.
“They’re coming back!” Alma hisses, and moves as if to sprint back to the trees. But Rondo throws an arm out, stopping her.
“Go with Octavia!” he whispers fiercely. “I’ve got this.”
And then he’s gone, running to the trees to head them off before they reach the end of the path. I place my shaking hand on the scan lock, praying that whatever my mother did to my prints hasn’t worn off or changed. The square surface illuminates blue as my flesh comes in contact with its cool surface; in the long pause that follows I think my heart might explode, or my arm will be torn off by Alma’s robotic grip. But the scanner turns green, my father’s stern face appearing on the screen above it.
“Welcome, Dr. English,” the automated voice says.
We throw ourselves through the door and against the wall inside. As the door slides closed, Rondo’s voice drifts to my ears: “I was just looking for my slate. It must have fallen out of my bag when I left my internship earlier.”
“So you came to look for it at night? I think we need to give Dr. Okadigbo a call. That’s your father, isn’t it?”
The door closes with a gentle thud and we remain pressed against the wall for a moment longer, frozen. I expect the door to open again immediately, the guards onto us. But it doesn’t. The long white hallway is empty and silent aside from our breath, the seemingly endless line of empty windows continuing down into glowing oblivion.
“Ready?” Alma says, her voice sounding as pale as the walls.
No, I think.