False Future by Dan Krokos Page A

says.
    “Where have you been?” O-9 demands.
    “Excuse me?” I say. Rhys quickly fits his own earpiece in. I know exactly how I’m going to play this.
    The silence on the channel stretches.
    “We had comm issues, which we’ve rectified now. Do you have a problem?”
    Another few seconds pass, then O-9 says, “No.”
    “Good. What is your status?”
    “We’re supposed to be on H10 duty as of fifteen minutes ago,” P-230 says. “We’re regrouping at the Verge. Seventeen new sightings of our target, all of which need to be confirmed.”
    N-7 actually laughs. “That’s a lot of buildings to burn down.”
    P-230 says, “I don’t know if this is the right play. These people are going to be angry if we keep turning their buildings into molten rock.”
    “We can control them,” N-7 says. “Did you forget?”
    “No, of course not. But do we really want to incite an organized rebellion?”
    “Leave the strategizing for the blue suits,” I say. “We’ll meet you in the dorm.”
    I touch the piece in my ear and hear the channel go silent. “Hello?” I say, but there is no response. Rhys does the same.
    Over Rhys’s shoulder I can see the windows on the other side of the apartment, the ones overlooking the Hudson. The glass thrums every few minutes as the attacks on the gun turrets start up again. The United States is lobbing missile after missile across the river, and the turrets are just shooting them out of the air. The Hudson is littered with floating pieces of wreckage. Parts of the river are on fire. Most of the lights in New Jersey are out, but it’s probably a precaution, the way cities in Europe would turn out the lights in World War II to make it harder for enemy pilots to hit their targets.
    I don’t see any activity across the river—True Earth’s quarry is here. For now, the rest of the world seems safe.
    “Let’s go,” Rhys says after watching for a moment.
    I follow him back into the cold. He’d parked the Thorn on the street, between two white box trucks. A little ways past, an ambulance sits with the flashers on, strobing the buildings with red. The EMTs eye us carefully while they tend to a few injured people.
    A shiver of disgust runs through me. I’m on your side, I want to shout to them. I just look like the bad guy. Then I notice three Roses in black standing on the sidewalk, next to the ambulances, watching the EMTs with folded arms. The Noah with them turns his gaze toward us, but we get into the Thorn before he tries to signal. At least the Roses are letting us tend to the wounded.
    Rhys drives us back to the Verge in silence. It’s not until he’s parked next to a copse of trees that he says, “Are you ready?”
    I can taste the fear in my throat, but also the relief that comes with having no other choice. This is what we have to do, if we’re going to have any chance.
    “I guess we’ll see.”
    Rhys puts his hand on top of mine, then curls his fingers around it. The scales from our suits scrape over one another.
    “Whatever happens, you know. Blah blah blah, sentimental stuff.”
    I put my other hand on top of his. “I know, Rhys. Likewise.”
    We get out and enter the Verge. Rhys goes ahead of me so we’re not together. We don’t want to arouse suspicion. I stop to watch the cranes pull a Thorn from the Black, and then another. As soon as their wheels touch down, the Thorns launch from the Verge, adding to the city’s chaos. Another Thorn rises from the darkness as I climb the stairs to the elevator.
    The elevator doors open, revealing a Peter. P-81, more specifically. A black suit. I make eye contact, but not for long—I feel like the lie is all over my face, and, truth be told, I don’t want to look at any Peter that isn’t mine.
    The Peter actually pauses midstep, and I think, Oh God, he knows.
    But then he just moves past me, his shoulder brushing mine. “Excuse me,” he says.
    “Sorry,” I say automatically, and he half turns back to me and does a kind