make everything. I see every manner of goods leaving their doors in carts.
I always knew, as did everyone, that the Federation was more advanced than Mara, that they had managed to learn a great deal more from the Early Ones than we did and put those inventions to use. They have always worshipped everything the Early Ones created, certain that they are the chosen ones to carry on that legacy. But seeing it all here with my own eyes leaves me feeling overwhelmed. How can we hope to defeat a nation this much more developed? What are we going to do?
Everything feels run with overwhelming efficiency—and yet, I can’t help but feel that things are off, that there’s an underlying tension beneath this bustle of economy and productivity. A moment later, I realize that tension comes from the imposing number of soldiers in the city, armed with guns at every corner, watching every interaction around them. And not just soldiers … ordinary citizens watch one another too, their eyes darting from one person to the next, as if no one can be trusted.
Adena points at the people. “Will we draw attention here if we stay dressed like Baseans?” she signs. She gestures down at the clothing that my mother and neighbors gave us, our high boots and linen shirts.
“We’ll attract more if we dress as anyone else,” Jeran signs back. “See how often the soldiers are stopping people on the streets?”
Right as he says it, we see a pair of guards gesture at a girl who looks lost at an intersection. She obeys, and when she does, one of them holds her hand out. The girl gives her a paper. The guard looks at the girl again, then nods and points down the street as if to show her the way.
“Basea has been conquered long enough that the soldiers shouldn’t be surprised to see some of us in the crowds,” I sign. “Jeran can translate. If anyone stops us, we’ll say we’re in the city to shop for supplies and ask for the nearest clothing store.”
As the train pulls to a stop, we slide out immediately and duck down underneath the train before the guards start coming around to unload their supplies. At first I wonder if the soldiers will do a close inspection of each carriage, but then we notice their boots hurrying past us all in one general direction. Somewhere farther up the train is a commotion.
My link shudders, and then a steady trickle of emotions—bewilderment, anger, a dull pain—pour into me from Red. Through it, I glimpse flashes of what he must be seeing. The dark interior of a carriage now flooded with light. A dozen hands reaching for him. He’s awake. I know immediately then that the commotion must be for him.
Are you here? Are you safe? Red’s voice echoes in my mind a moment later, and I close my eyes, overwhelmed with relief at the sound.
Yes, I tell him. Where are you? What are they doing to you?
There’s a pause before he answers with an image. And there, I see as if through his eyes a steel-bar cage yawning before me. His vision is shaky as soldiers shove him inside. Red tries to stand, but something they’ve given him has weakened his muscles, and he struggles to stay on his hands and knees. The bars close behind him, and then he’s locked inside, chains shackling his body tight to the cage so that he can’t veer in one direction or the other. All around him, soldiers shout in Karenese, and through Red, I can understand them.
“Back away, back away!” one yells, waving at the others with both arms. “He’s not completely drugged.”
“Straight there?” another asks.
A third nods. “Orders direct from the Premier. Don’t keep the Architect waiting.”
The mention of him sends a jolt through me. Of course, word of Red’s capture had been sent ahead of the train, and Constantine himself would be impatiently expecting the return of his prized possession. But their mention of an Architect brings me up short. We know so little of how the Federation’s experiments work. All I’m sure of is that this must mean they are going to take Red to their lab complex. Anticipation courses through me at the same time I feel a stab of fear.
What if we can’t get Red out in time?
We’re right behind you, I tell him. I promise.
He doesn’t respond, but I do feel a flicker of hope come through our link from