The Girl Who Dared to Think Page 18

  My best friend looked at me, the torn page dangling from her fingertips, and gave me a defiant look. “The book is too heavy,” she said calmly, folding the wide sheet. “And my father always told me that human lives were more valuable than books.”

  “He did not,” I shot back, and the corner of her mouth quirked up.

  “Fine, he never said that per se, but he did say something along those lines.” She slipped the piece of paper into a plastic bag that sealed shut, making it watertight, and then slipped the bag inside her uniform. She handed me the book, which I obediently put back on the shelf.

  “Let’s go,” she said over the hiss of the door, and I turned to see her already heading out. I quickly followed.

  “Zoe?” Her mother’s voice called from her room as we passed, and I hesitated, but Zoe didn’t, continuing back through the kitchen. I followed her, realizing that her mother had managed to whip together a stew while Zoe was looking for the pipe chart. It was bubbling on the stove, making my stomach growl, but I ignored it as I followed Zoe to the door.

  “Zoe.”

  Zoe pushed the button to the door, ignoring her mother’s insistent calls, and stepped out, almost plowing right into Eric. He reached out to steady her, and she froze, tipping her head up toward him. I slid through the space around them and closed the door before her mother could call her again, worried that Eric might wonder what was going on.

  The two of them stared at each other for a long moment, and I suppressed a sigh, looking around for a clock. I wanted my friends to finally admit their feelings to each other, but now wasn’t exactly the best time. Grey was waiting, without food and trapped against his will, probably scared and very much alone. Maybe it was insensitive of me, but we needed to speed this along—without getting Eric involved.

  “Hey, Eric,” I said, managing to put a teasing note in my voice. “What are you doing at Zoe’s house?”

  Eric blinked, the dreamy look on his face evaporating as he realized he and Zoe had a witness, and removed his hands from her shoulders so fast you’d have thought she was toxic. Running a sheepish hand through his hair, he looked over at me and forced a nervous smile on his face.

  “Hey, Liana,” he said. “Were you invited to dinner too?”

  This time Zoe blinked, and her face filtered through a series of expressions, from confusion to consideration to recollection, and in spite of the gravity of the situation, I found myself smiling. The awkwardness between Zoe and Eric was something I didn’t have time for, but I wasn’t really sure how to put a stop to it.

  “Dinner,” she groaned, placing a hand on her forehead. “I forgot.”

  There was a flash of hurt on Eric’s face, and I recognized the beginnings of an episode from one of their dramatic lovers-but-not-actually-lovers fights beginning to form. This was the best moment I was ever going to get.

  “She forgot to net you that her mother had to cancel,” I slid in smoothly, taking a step closer to them. “And that’s my fault. I showed up unexpectedly.”

  “Oh.” Eric ran his hand down his neck. “Do you want to come over to my place for dinner?”

  Zoe looked at me and then snapped her gaze back to Eric. “I can’t,” she said. “I want to, but Liana came by to ask me for some help.”

  “Oh? With what? Can I tag along?”

  My heart pounded, but Zoe didn’t panic. “No,” she said, an apologetic smile on her face, “because I already gave it to her.”

  “Oh.” He looked around awkwardly, shuffling his feet. “Then why can’t you come for dinner?”

  My heart stopped. It flat-out stopped as Eric picked apart Zoe’s statements, trying to find a way to squeeze in some time with her. It would’ve been sweet, but his timing was just so bad.

  “Because helping Liana set me back on my own work,” Zoe explained effortlessly, once again surprising me with the smoothness of her invented alibi. “I’ve got some parts that I need to take apart, clean, and repair before the next shift.”

  “Oh, well, I can help you with that!” Eric exclaimed, a broad smile on his face. I couldn’t stop myself; I grabbed hold of the first plausible idea I could to get rid of him as quickly as possible.

  “She’s lying,” I said, and Zoe gave me a wide-eyed look of warning that told me she’d be giving me a piece of her mind shortly, depending on what I said. I ignored her, focusing on Eric’s surprised face. “Sort of. I came over to talk to her about a boy.”

  I let the statement lie flat, and waited for Eric’s reaction.

  “A boy?” he asked, clearly confused.

  “Liana isn’t sure if he likes her, or likes her likes her, y’know?” Zoe said, and I nodded, thinking of Grey and borrowing some of the emotions that were there to bring a blush to my cheeks.

  “I came over to ask Zoe to, um... watch us interact and give me her opinion.”

  This time the blush was genuine. I couldn’t help it. The idea that I would ever ask anyone to watch me interact with Grey, or any boy I liked, was mortifying. The last thing I needed was my faux pas recited back to me.

  “Oh, now this I’ve got to see.” My head snapped up to look into Eric’s amused face. Anticipation was already gleaming in his eyes, and I froze, my mind fumbling for some sort of explanation.

  “Are you kidding me?” Zoe asked loudly, placing a hand on her hip. “How obtuse are you?”

  Eric blinked, his wide smile faltering and then disappearing as he looked at both of us. “I... What do you mean?”

  “Whatever Liana has with this guy is fragile! The last thing she needs is to show up with another guy around! It would send the wrong message.”

  “Oh. Yeah. I hadn’t thought of that.”

  We fell silent, and out of nowhere I thought of the perfect way of getting rid of him. “Yeah, imagine how you’d feel if you liked Zoe and then saw her standing around with some other handsome guy.”

  Zoe shot me a look that promised me a fiery death was in my near future, but I kept my focus on Eric’s horrified face. His eyes darted to Zoe, who managed to screw her features into a mildly neutral expression, and then back to me, his gaze filled with questioning reproach. I felt bad; I’d never insinuated anything about their feelings for each other in front of them both, but right now it was the only way.

  “I mean, if I liked Zoe... I guess I could see... Yeah... I never really thought... I mean, it’s not really my business who Zoe hangs out with, even if I did like her, so...”

  I smiled at Eric’s stammering, and then nodded. “I’m sorry if this disrupts your evening, but I’m sure Zoe will reschedule. Won’t you, Zo?”

  “Sure,” Zoe mumbled, looking at the toes of her shoes. “I’ll net you later?”

  “Sounds good,” Eric said, managing to collect himself. “Good luck, Liana. See you later.”

  I raised my hand in farewell, but I doubted Eric noticed it; he left so fast I would’ve thought his pants were on fire. I watched him go, then turned back to Zoe, surprised to find her standing right by my side, barely an inch separating us.

  “How could you do that?” she exclaimed, her voice loud. “How could you call me out like that?”

  Call her out? I blinked, trying to remember what exactly I had said to get rid of Eric.

  “How did I—”

  “You told him I was lying. Now anytime he looks at me, he’s just going to think, Oh, there is Zoe the Liar, with a capital L!”

  “I’m sorry,” I said, somewhat defensively. “I panicked. He was being pushy about trying to hang out, and in case you don’t remember, a man’s life is on the line. I’m really sorry if I embarrassed you, but if your dad said something along the lines of lives come first, then I think this falls under that.”

  Zoe gave me an affronted look and then sighed, her shoulders rounding out. “You’re right,” she said. “And you were right to get rid of him. I don’t want him getting hurt because of me.”

  “Neither do I,” I said, thinking of her five. We both fell into silence. I couldn’
t tell you what Zoe thought about, but for me, it was a moment in which I prayed that we could pull this off without getting caught. “Where are we headed?”

  “To the Citadel,” she replied, patting the pocket with the pipe chart, and I nodded. The fastest route back was automatic for me after years of coming down to visit Zoe. I began to move down the adjacent hall, but Zoe caught my arm and gave me a look. “We need to be outside the Citadel,” she added pointedly.

  I sighed and began rethreading my lashes to come out through my belt. I was going to need my hands, it seemed. From the excited look on Zoe’s face, we were going to do some climbing.

  Just before the Anwar’s Bridge—a gleaming black bridge that lay flat and wide to accommodate traffic from the nearby greeneries—we came to a stop. I examined the bridge and the people already lashing across it while Zoe pulled out the plastic bag containing the torn page of her book.

  “We’ll have to go down here,” she said. “You’ll lash us across under the bridge and down the side of the Citadel. We’re looking for hatch 3B.”

  I nodded absentmindedly as I pulled my lashes out, immediately attaching one to the black railing. There was so much traffic around the Tower that we likely wouldn’t be noticed, so now was a good time to get moving. Bending my knees, I waited for Zoe to climb on, and then took two steps forward and pitched us over the edge. Zoe sucked in a deep breath as we fell, but I was already moving, throwing my next lash out at the apex of our descent and disconnecting the first line. We moved at a steady rate, my arms flying to attach new lashes almost as soon as I disconnected the last, and within moments, I had taken us through the arches and columns and attached us to the smooth, slightly reflective surface of the Citadel. I looked around, studying the small marks along the side—designed for navigation and repairs—and began moving left and down, following the designations toward the hatch Zoe had named.

  “There it is,” Zoe said suddenly, adjusting her weight on my back so she could thrust out her arm and point to a spot a few feet below and farther left. I threw my lash to just past where the door would be and swung us over it, spreading my legs wide to brace our weight. I was studying the smooth surface, searching for a button or switch to open it, when Zoe reached over and inserted a long wire into a small, almost invisible hole between the 3 and the C. I felt something hard press up against my back but stayed still, not wanting to distract her from what she was doing. There was an electronic beep behind me, and then a door about three feet wide slid open.

  I realized it was a crawl space that ran between floors, and sighed as I lowered myself to let Zoe climb in first. She did so as gently as possible, but I still got her boot on my shoulder and neck for a moment as she pushed farther in.

  “Now that we’re here,” I grunted as I pulled myself in before retracting the lines, “you mind telling me what’s up?”

  Zoe had already pulled out the paper and unfolded it on the floor, a small light in her hand as she studied it and looked at the pipes running overhead. I looked as well, but still couldn’t make heads or tails of the chart.

  “You said they used a gas, right?” she asked, her eyes still darting around.

  I thought of the woman with blood streaming from her eyes and nodded, stomach knotted. “Yeah,” I said. “Why?”

  She seemed to find what she was looking for, then, because just after I asked the question, she started folding up the chart. “I’m not sure yet, but I think that if it’s coming out as a mist, they might have hijacked a water pipe to make the system do that. It’s not designed to, so they had to modify something somewhere. They’re probably using the pipes that put a small amount of humidity in the air.”

  “Oh. Wait, so they are using the humidity controls to distribute the poison?” I frowned, considering that approach and puzzling out the rest of what she was telling me. “What good is that going to do?”

  “I’m not really sure, yet,” she said with a tired sigh. “I have to see how they modified the system before I can figure out a plan of attack. But... I have a theory, and if I’m right, then I can make it so the poison is never introduced into the water in the first place.”

  God, I loved Zoe, but she clearly thought more highly of my cognitive abilities than was realistic. “Girl, can you please dumb it down for me?”

  “Literally no appreciation for what I do,” Zoe muttered as she began folding up the chart. “I think I can make it seem like the poison gas is coming out, but without any of the poison.”

  I blinked, considering her words. “So I press the button, but he doesn’t die?”

  “That’s the idea,” Zoe said, her eyes now glued to the pipes overhead as she began to crawl forward on her hands and knees. “There’s only one place they could do it from, and it’s in the junction up ahead. Did his cell have a designation number?”

  It did, now that I thought about it, but I had glossed over it both times I went in. I forced myself to remember the walk down the hall, and the door, and after a moment, it came to me.

  “5D,” I informed her, following her through the crawl space.

  The space went on for some twenty feet before it opened into a wide circular room, awash with pipes—both glass and lead—electrical boxes, wires, and cables. Zoe clicked off her light and looked around. The room was well lit with a bright white light... and she was already frowning.

  “Some of these pipes are lead,” she commented, consulting her chart. “But they shouldn’t be.”

  She was right, although it took me a minute to recall why. It was from one of our classes with another Diver, named Lester, several months ago, when he was explaining how to identify which pipes did what. The only reason to use lead was when the water was toxic, or lethal. Those pipes were only used below, in Water Treatment. No toxic water was allowed past floor forty, as a safety protocol.

  “Do you think that’s where the poison gas is?” I asked, eyeing the pipes.

  “No,” she said, lowering the chart and studying the pipes. “If it were already in gas form, they’d need a way to vent it in. I don’t see any sign of a machine to help them do that.”

  “They could be piping it in with the air?” I asked. “The mist is already coming through the vent.”

  She immediately shook her head. “Can’t be done without some serious overhauls to the ventilation system, as they are all connected. Besides, it wouldn’t be coming out as a mist if they were—the system is specifically designed to eliminate moisture inside of it to prevent it from deteriorating. The humidifiers are the only way they could pump it in and keep it contained.”

  “So then...”

  “Give me a second,” she said, taking a step forward and running her fingers against one of the pipes, following it. I fell silent, trying to be patient enough to let her work. I was grateful she was here, because it was unlikely I was going to make any sense of these pipes. And I needed to know what was going on. Grey’s life depended on it.

  “Ah, so that’s what they’re doing.” I looked over to see her kneeling by some wires, her homemade pad connected to them.

  “What are they doing?” I asked as she disconnected.

  “Well, the good thing is that there is water in those lead pipes.”

  “What’s the bad?”

  “I’ll get back to that,” she said. “In the meantime, we have to get up there.” She pointed to a wide lead pipe, and I could see now that most of the other lead pipes connected directly to it. The pipe in question didn’t even look right; it looked more like a collection or drainage tank than anything else, the way it dangled from the ceiling.

  We clambered up to the pipe in question, Zoe climbing up other pipes while I used my lashes. She squeezed into the space overhead, lying across the pipe, and began examining it, cocking her head this way and that as she read the mechanical notes on the side.

  I couldn’t help but feel useless as she worked. It wasn’t my area of expertise, of course, but I wanted to be involved somehow. I tried to recall more of my edu
cation in Water Treatment practices, but those had been basic, and this seemed far more complicated. Presumably, this was the sort of thing they would only teach to someone who had been fully accepted into Water Treatment.

  Zoe smiled. “I think I figured it out,” she muttered. “This isn’t a collection tank, although it’s meant to look like one. The pipe leads to a heating element, where the water inside is turned into steam. This other pipe is where the water comes from.”

  She pulled a wrench from her satchel and began turning a bolt on the pipe, and I held up my hand to stop her. “Wait!” I cried. “What if the water is toxic?”

  “It’s not—not yet, anyway. The poison is coming from somewhere up in here.” She patted the ceiling tile that the pipe she was working on came through.

  “Right. But explain to me how opening it up won’t expose us to the toxin?”

  Zoe stopped, clearly thinking about it, then shook her head. “Excellent point, but I misspoke. It comes through here. Hold on.”

  She turned the wrench, and the pipe popped free of the joint holding it in place, disconnecting it from the ceiling. I expected water or something, but it was bone dry. Zoe went to work on the ceiling grate overhead next, and I took it from her and balanced it on one of the electrical boxes. If it fell I could get it quickly, but for now, I needed my hands free to help Zoe.

  I turned back and saw that she was now standing on the pipe, bent at the waist and fiddling around in the space between the floor above and the grated ceiling in here. I heard tools clattering and banging, culminating in a loud “Aha!”

  She withdrew from the space, her hands and face smudged black with dirt, holding a silver valve the size of my fist. “This is something we can work with,” she said, dropping back down onto the tank and pulling out a screwdriver.

  “What is it?” I asked, trying to study the design.

  “It’s a directional valve,” she said as she set the screwdriver against it. “It is automatically controlled, and supposed to change between hot and cold, like in a shower. However, it isn’t where it’s supposed to be. I followed the two lines connected to it and identified one that funnels the water, and, presumably, one that funnels the toxin.”