Fires of Invention Page 7

  Where should he put it? A trash can? An incinerator? A sewer pipe?

  Kallista’s face appeared in his mind, telling him that the tube was the only thing her father had left her. What if she came up to him one day asking for it, and he had to tell her it was really gone for good?

  A sudden thought occurred to him, and he got off the swing. He needed to get rid of the device. He didn’t want anything more to do with it.

  But couldn’t he leave it wherever he wanted to? Even inside the basement of an abandoned shop? He glanced toward the fire. The dancing hadn’t started yet. He could dig up the tube, drop it through the window of the repair shop, and be back before anyone missed him. With a quick glance around to make sure no one was watching, he ran to the bush and began digging.

  • • •

  Finding the shop again took longer than he expected. For one thing, it was across the border of North East—an area he wasn’t familiar with. For another, it was night, and he wasn’t used to being out with the streets so dimly lit. Mostly, though, he was terrified someone would discover him and ask what he was up to.

  With every step, the tube seemed to grow heavier and bulkier in his pocket. Each time he saw someone, he stepped into the shadows and went a different direction. He could easily imagine a suspicious security officer forcing him to empty his pockets. Trenton didn’t want to be caught the night before graduation with an unapproved device.

  The dance would have started by now, and Simoni was probably wondering where he was. No doubt Angus would hog every dance. Trenton had just about decided to toss the tube in the nearest trash can and run back to the park when he spotted the soaped-over windows. He paused, wondering what it might have been like having an inventor for a father.

  Had Kallista known what her father was doing? If so, had she ever considered turning him in? Trenton couldn’t imagine reporting his own father and seeing him sent off for retraining. Of course, he also couldn’t imagine the guilt of knowing his father had killed innocent citizens and that he could have prevented it.

  Anxious to get rid of the device, he started to cross the street, then froze. Was there someone down the block standing against one of the buildings? He squinted into the darkness. No, it was just a shadow cast by the streetlight. Still, the sooner he could get rid of the tube, the sooner he could stop worrying.

  He ran across the street, turned into the space between the shop and the damaged apartment building, and squatted by the wall. The basement window looked as dirty and unused as he remembered. Had Kallista returned since the day he’d called her the daughter of a murderer?

  He wished he could take it back. He felt like a coward sneaking here in the middle of the night. It was probably better that he didn’t see her. What more could they say to each other?

  He pulled up on the window. As dirty as it was, it opened silently—another testament to the fact that Kallista kept up her father’s shop. Or maybe she just didn’t want people to hear her sneaking in and out. He took the tube from his pocket, stuck his hand through the window, and paused.

  He wasn’t afraid of damaging the tube by dropping it. If the feeder belt hadn’t done that, nothing would. But unlike the workshop, the basement was dark and filled with debris. What if she didn’t notice it on the floor? What if she climbed through the window and slipped on it? She could break an ankle. He should go inside and place it by the door—it would only take a minute.

  His heart slamming in his chest, Trenton put the tube in his pocket, turned around, and slid backward through the window. His shirt pulled up, and his stomach scraped against the ledge before his feet touched the floor. Great. Like he needed to get blood on his clothes. His mother would only ask more questions.

  As he turned toward the door, something moved. A rat? Was someone there? A small flame lit up the darkness, and a voice said, “Look who’s come back.”

  “Kallista?” Trenton asked. “What are you doing here?”

  Kallista touched the lighter to the wick of a candle, and the room was bathed in a soft glow. “It seems like that’s what I should be asking you.” The wavering flame illuminated her pale face and reflected in her eyes. “What are you doing here? I hope you didn’t come to steal my father’s tools. It would be a shame to kill you right before you graduate.”

  “No, I . . .” Trenton backed up a step before realizing that she was joking. At least he thought she was joking. His hand closed around the cool metal in his pocket and pulled it out. “Here,” he said, holding it up.

  He expected her to jump up and take it, but she didn’t move. Her dark eyes went from the tube to his face. “Why?”

  He shifted his feet. Why did she have to make everything so awkward? “Because it’s yours. I knew that as soon as you showed me your father’s tools.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Of course it’s mine. But why give it to me now? Why go out of your way to help a murderer’s daughter?”

  Trenton felt himself blush and was glad for the darkness. “I’m sorry I said that.” He kicked a rusty bolt across the room. “Do you want it or not?”

  She got up and took the tube from him. By the light of the candle, he watched her turn it, first in one direction, then another. “It’s definitely his work. I’d recognize it anywhere.”

  “Well . . .” He took a deep breath. “I’m glad you have it back. And I hope it helps you remember him.”

  He turned to climb out of the window when she asked, “Don’t you want to see what happens when we open it?”

  He looked back at her. “We?”

  “Me,” she quickly corrected. “When I open it. You don’t have anything to do with this. If anyone ever asks, I’ll swear to it.” She turned the tube in her fingers. “I only thought that since you were the one who found it . . . But if it makes you uncomfortable . . .”

  He did want to see. And then never have anything to do with her again. And he definitely wouldn’t have anything to do with the device. But after all this time, a part of him would always wonder what happened when the star driver opened it.

  Kallista nodded. “Come on.”

  She led the way into her father’s shop, pulled out the case, and found the right-sized tip. She picked up the tube, started to slide the driver into it, but then paused. “You may want to back up, in case it explodes.” Trenton sucked in a breath, and she laughed. “Sorry. That was probably in poor taste.”

  Trenton shook his head and moved to her side.

  She placed the square tip into the slot in the tube and turned the driver. There was an audible click, and a smaller tube extended outward. The more she turned, the more the tube extended, each a smaller one formed by a segment that expanded from the device. The whole thing curved like a slightly bent finger until the sharp point clicked into place.

  “What is it?” Trenton asked.

  “I have no idea.” She removed the driver and turned the device, which was now nearly three times as long. It curved into a sharp tip and looked like a digging or scraping tool.

  Trenton noticed markings on the last segment. “What’s that?”

  Kallista carried the device to a magnifying glass mounted on the workbench. Together, the two of them peered at the markings: two squares, two circles, two more squares, and a rectangle. All of the shapes were outlines except for the second circle, which was filled in.

  She looked over at him. “I think it’s a code.”

  11

  Graduation was held at the City Museum. Chairs had been set up, glasses of fruit juice lined a table in the back, and a buzz of excitement filled the air.

  “I’m so happy for you,” his mother said as he wheeled her chair to a spot near the back. She reached up and hugged him. This was the happiest he’d seen her in months. “You’ve worked hard for this.”

  “Thanks, Mom.” Trenton looked around, hoping none of his friends were watching. He’d be starting training for a real job the next week. He was too old to be coddled.

  No sooner had he managed to wriggle o
ut of the hug than she grabbed his hand. “When I was your age, I had my heart set on administrative training. I was always good with numbers.”

  He never knew. She almost never talked about her childhood. But why was she telling him that now?

  “When I learned I was being sent to the mines,” she went on, “I was devastated. I couldn’t imagine a worse job. Two months after I started training, I met your father. Four years later, we were married.”

  All at once, he understood. She didn’t want him to go into mechanic training. She was trying to convince him that having some other vocation would be a good thing. She didn’t understand that with his high math and science scores, there was virtually no chance of them sending him anywhere else. Even Mrs. Staheli agreed.

  “Without machines, life wouldn’t be possible,” he said.

  His mother’s smile disappeared.

  His father stepped forward and clapped him on the shoulder. “I’m sure you’ll be great wherever you’re assigned. Why don’t you go find your friends? The ceremony will be starting soon.”

  Trenton gratefully escaped. He tried not to think about how upset his mother would be when the principal announced his training.

  He wove his way through the displays of early Cove life—paintings of people sick from outside air or disease, accounts of the many who had starved until the first farms were created, and, of course, the Articles of Incorporation and the City Charter drawn up by the founding citizens. On a pedestal at the top of a small set of stairs lay a large, leather-bound volume called the Book of Chancellors. It was a journal documenting events from the founding of the city to now. At the end of each year the current chancellor added a few paragraphs detailing what had happened over the last twelve months.

  Trenton tried to imagine what it must have been like before the founders of Cove dug the city out of the mountain and sealed the entrance behind them. The first citizens must have been so grateful to know that unapproved technology would never again endanger them or their families.

  Thinking of unapproved things made him remember his trip from the night before. In the light of day, it seemed like a foolish decision. What if the tube was something that could hurt more people? He should turn Kallista in—for her good as well as the sake of the city. Maybe a couple of weeks of retraining would help undo the damage her father had caused.

  But he couldn’t bring himself to do it. Not yet. After everything she’d been through, he didn’t want to cause her more pain. As a mechanic in training, he’d have a chance to keep an eye on her. If anything strange showed up, he’d turn her in to security without hesitation.

  As he looked for Simoni, Angus’s father edged over to him. The marshal was dressed in full uniform. “How was the graduation party?”

  “Good,” Trenton said, trying to move past. The head of security made him nervous, even when making small talk.

  “Didn’t stay out too late, did you?”

  Trenton felt a trickle of sweat run inside his collar. By the time he’d made it back to the park, the dance was over and most of the kids were heading home. “No,” he lied, sliding along the wall. “I was kind of tired, so I headed home early.”

  Marshal Darrow studied him with an intensity that made Trenton sweat even more. There was no way the man could know that Trenton had seen Kallista. So why the sudden interest in his activities?

  “Well, enjoy your graduation,” the marshal said. “Your life will take a big turn starting today.”

  “Right. I, um . . . Thanks for the advice,” Trenton said, hurrying away.

  He found Simoni talking with a couple of friends. “What happened to you last night?’ she asked. “One minute you were sitting on the swing, and the next you were gone. I had to dance by myself.”

  “I got a, um, a headache and decided to go home early.” He wished he’d come up with a better excuse. A headache made him sound like a little old lady, but he’d never been a good liar. “I’m sure Angus didn’t let you dance alone.”

  Simoni sniffed. “He disappeared right after you did. I wondered if I’d suddenly developed a contagious disease.”

  An icy finger traced a line down Trenton’s spine. Angus wouldn’t have followed him, would he? Even if he had, Angus couldn’t have remained unnoticed. He was strong, but subtlety wasn’t one of his talents. Still, what were the odds that he and Trenton would have left the party at the same time?

  “Everyone, please take your seats,” the principal said from the front of the room.

  Simoni took his hand. “Wish me luck in getting a job in food production.”

  “Good luck,” he said. “Wish me luck in going into mechanic training.”

  She laughed. “You don’t need luck. They’d be crazy to put you anywhere else.”

  True. But if they found out about his involvement with an unapproved device, he’d lose his mechanic job as quickly as he got it.

  Simoni’s last name was Bertram, so she moved to the front row with the As and Bs while Trenton found his seat in the second row with the Cs and Ds.

  As the ceremony began, Trenton glanced across the room at Marshal Darrow, remembering the figure he thought he’d seen before going into the alley behind the repair shop. It had to be a coincidence. Even if Angus had followed him to the shop, he obviously didn’t know what Trenton had been doing there or the authorities would have done something about it by now.

  He tried to tell himself that he was overreacting. And since he’d never be going back, last night didn’t matter.

  Instead of worrying about something he couldn’t change, he focused on the speeches. Jennifer Johansson, who graduated first in the class, gave a speech about the rewards of hard work. Kasie West, who graduated second, spoke about why they should all be grateful for the men and women who had founded the city as a place of peace and stability.

  The students were followed by the principal and several members of the faculty. They all gave speeches that seemed to spend as much time patting themselves on the back for the fine work they’d done as they did on congratulating the students. Throughout the ceremony, Trenton continued to have the feeling that someone was watching him, but each time he turned around, all eyes were focused on the podium.

  As Chancellor Lusk, the final speaker, got up, Trenton finally allowed himself to relax. He would experience graduation only once in his life. No point in spoiling it with worrying. The chancellor gave an excellent speech about the pride the graduates could take in knowing that they would be giving back to the city that had given them so much. He talked about the importance of sacrificing for the good of others and of the great things that could be accomplished when a large group of people worked together for common goals.

  He finished by telling the students that he had full confidence that under their direction, the city would flourish even more than it already had, and he promised them that one day their children’s children would remember them with the same gratitude they personally had for the founders of Cove. Pointing toward the Book of Chancellors, he said, “This year it will be my privilege to record that I have never felt better about the young men and women into whose hands the future of Cove will be placed.”

  As the chancellor finished, every man, woman, and child in the room burst into spontaneous applause. Trenton was surprised to find a lump in his throat and tears in his eyes.

  He wasn’t the only one. Many of the people in the audience wiped their cheeks with embarrassed smiles as they all stood and pledged to be gears and cogs in a magnificent machine. After they sat down, the principal walked to the podium and began calling up students to receive their diplomas and assignments.

  Trenton watched with rapt attention as the first ten students received their assignments—two medical assistants, three for mining, two for cleaning, a builder, an apprentice shopkeeper, and an accountant. He had no idea there were so many different jobs.

  Simoni was the last student in the first row, and Trenton couldn’t help but beam when the principal called out, “S
chool of Food Production,” and the chancellor shook her hand. She grinned down at Trenton, and he pumped his fist.

  Then it was the second row’s turn, and he was on his feet. Waiting in line, he glanced back. His mother and father waved, both looking proud enough to burst. This was worth every bit of hard work he’d put in over the last seven years. Scanning the audience, his eyes froze on a figure at the very back of the room, just inside the door.

  A girl wearing a top hat, dark glasses, and gloves. No one else in the room had her cynical expression. Kallista. What was she doing here? He hadn’t invited her, and he was almost positive she didn’t know anyone else graduating since she was from North East.

  She caught him watching her and made a clearly sarcastic clapping motion.

  He hoped the marshal or the chancellor hadn’t seen Kallista. He looked quickly away. If he ended up being questioned because of her, he wouldn’t hesitate to tell everything. He wouldn’t lose his job over her, no matter how hard her life had been.

  The girl in front of him took her diploma and was assigned to park maintenance. Trenton stepped forward.

  “Congratulations,” the principal said. “Your grades were exemplary this year.”

  Trenton’s throat felt like he’d swallowed a handful of gravel. “Thank you,” he croaked. “I learned a lot.”

  The principal handed him his diploma, and, as Trenton moved forward to shake the chancellor’s hand, called, “Trenton Coleman. School of Food Production.”

  Trenton spun around. He must have misheard. “You mean School of Mechanics.”

  But the principal was already handing the next student his diploma, and Trenton was forced to move forward.

  “Congratulations,” the chancellor said. “I’m sure your ingenuity will serve you well in growing plants and caring for our precious food stock.”

  “But . . .” This couldn’t be right. Trenton had the grades and talent to be a mechanic. How could they send him to the farms? He looked down at his parents. His father was scowling, but his mother wore a wide grin.