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Either Leon had lied, or Sephie had chosen to serve the Enclave as a watchdog. Sephie drew her splayed fingers along her yarn to loosen it and resumed knitting.

Gaia s gaze flew to a second woman, who was lying on the farthest cot with a thin blanket covering her. The unfamiliar woman was sitting up slowly, one hand in a magazine, and her long brown hair slipped over her shoulder in a messy braid. She was a rotund young woman with heavy-lidded eyes, and not what Gaia expected in a political prisoner.

"Who is it?" the woman murmured.

"It's Masister Khol, you slugabed," Sephie said. "See if you can't make yourself presentable."

When the third woman, on the nearest cot, did not bother to roll over to see who had come in, Gaia s heart ticked faster with fear. Gaia set down her basket and stood by the door, afraid to do or say the wrong thing. With a quick glance upward, she located the tiny white box that matched the one shed had in her Bastion room earlier, and she knew it was the surveillance camera. It was more than probable that Mabrother Iris or one of his assistants was watching the room closely. She inwardly groaned.

"Come now, Bonnie," Masister Khol said, and her voice cajoling, almost tender. "See the sunflower seeds I found for you. When s the last time you ate a sunflower seed?"

The form on the bed did not move. "I'm not hungry."

Gaia's heart leaped at the familiar voice, and it was all she could do not to rush over to her mother.

Then, as Masister Khol urged the prisoner gently to sit up, Gaia saw something she could not believe: under her blue dress, her mothers belly was swollen with the round, expansive bulge of pregnancy. Gaia inhaled sharply. It could not be. Or could it? The truth hammered home: her mother was not the attending midwife here. Her mother was the political prisoner. Impossible

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as it seemed, Gaia's mother must have been nearly five months pregnant when Gaia last saw her outside the wall, without Gaia knowing. A tiny, left-out voice at the back of her mind wondered why her mother hadn't told her, and then empathy rose in Gaia to wipe out everything else. She took an involuntary step toward her before she could stop herself.

Gaia's mother lifted tired, apathetic eyes in Gaia's direction, and Gaia was shocked by the other changes in her. Her once vibrant, sunny mother looked exhausted and totally disheartened. Her arms, formerly strong and agile, were thin and bony. Her cheeks and lips were the same colorless hue, and deep rings underscored her lackluster eyes. Her long braid was gone, and instead her limp hair grew in straggly clumps to her neck. It seemed all the life had been drained out of her body and con' centrated into her belly to keep her child surviving, leaving only a shell of the mother behind.

"Who is this?" Gaia's mother asked in a dead voice.

"A boy from the market," Masister Khol said.

Gaia s mother looked vacantly away, and Gaia ached for her.

"Come along now," Masister Khol said. "We need a urine sample."

"We don't need anything." Gaia's mother turned to lie down again.

"No," Masister Khol said, quickly catching her. Sephie rose to help Masister Khol, and between the two of them, they brought Gaia s mother tottering to her feet. Sephie guided her feet into two brown slippers.

"It will just take a minute," Sephie said in a low voice. "Really now, Bonnie. You must. For the baby."

Bonnie's lips came tightly together, and she allowed Sephie to lead her into a little side room while Masister Khol hovered behind.

The awful truth hit Gaia again: her mother was pregnant.

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And terribly weak. How on earth was Gaia going to help her escape?

"All set, Bonnie?" Masister Khol asked.

Gaia tried to think why Masister Khol hadn't mentioned that her mother was pregnant, and then she realized Masister Khol would have assumed Gaia already knew.

"Let's give her a little privacy," Sephie answered. She closed the door as she came out, then resumed her seat in the rocker by the fireplace and took up her knitting. Her needles made a pleasant clicking in the little space, and as Gaia looked around the room for other ideas, she realized what an unusual cell it was. The room was almost comfortable. The curved walls were made of dark stone, but a small fire for cooking glowed at the back of the fireplace, and a soft, rose patterned carpet covered the floor. White curtains hung in three windows, framing the bright afternoon sky, and a cupboard held cooking gear and a few books. Above, from the apex of the conical, wooden rafters, a ceiling fan hung down and turned quietly, curving patiently into the air to stir it upward.

Sephie reached for a kettle that hung near the fire. "Care for a cup of tea before you go, Joyce?" she asked.

Masister Khol was rummaging through the basket Gaia had carried, and now she triumphantly lifted a little black tin and shook it. "I had a feeling you d ask," she said. "It's a nice blend with a hint of vanilla in it."

The other woman smiled and pushed her hair back. "You're a miracle."

While Sephie slid off the lid of the teapot and took the tin from Masister Khol to shake some tea inside, Masister Khol turned to the third woman.

"How have you been, Julia?" Masister Khol asked.

"I've had better jobs. This is a bore, mostly," Julia said. She was rebraiding her hair with deft fingers. "I thought she

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was supposed to be a danger to herself and everyone around her."

Sephie's eyebrows lifted once in what Gaia guessed was dismissive contempt for Julia. Sephie was laying out three cups and saucers before the fire when she looked again at Gaia, and her gaze narrowed suddenly.

"You, there," Sephie said.

Gaia's heart stopped. "Yes, Masister?" She kept her voice low.

Sephie frowned at her and Gaia waited anxiously She steeled herself to keep her gaze steady on the older doctor, and when Sephie silently angled her face to her left, Gaia resisted the urge to mirror her motion.

Sephie's eyebrows lifted, she winced briefly, and then she made a clicking noise in the back of her throat. "I had a helpful assistant once," she said lightly. Then her voice changed. "Make yourself useful, boy," Sephie said as she poured. "Pass these around. And then you should go."

Gaia's heart slammed on again in double time. Sephie must recognize her, but she wasn't initiating any alarm. Why not? Gaia suddenly remembered what Cotty had once said about Sephie: she did whatever was easiest. But what would be easiest for Sephie now, to raise the alarm against Gaia, or to wait and see what evolved? Gaia didn't know. She fingered the small white cubes in her pocket, wondering how quickly they would dissolve in hot water and, more importantly, how quickly they would work.

"You heard her," Masister said sharply. "Don't stand there like an idiot. Are you deaf?"

"He probably wants some sunflower seeds," Julia said, giggling. "I know I do."

The bathroom door started to open. "Wait, Bonnie," Sephie said, rising from beside the fire. "Let me help you."

When Sephie reentered the bathroom, Gaia knew she

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couldn't delay. Stepping near the fire, she picked up the first cup and surreptitiously dropped a white cube of powder inside. She handed this to Julia, and then repeated the maneuver for Masister Khol. As her mother reappeared, supported by Sepbie, Gaia turned her back to the camera and dropped the third cube into the last cup of tea.

Gaia s mother looked more exhausted than ever, and she sat on the edge of the nearest bed, her hands gripping the edge of the mattress as if to keep her balance. Gaia came forward hesitantly, holding Sepbie s teacup. When her mother reached for it, Gaia froze, withholding the cup until her mother looked up, questioning.

"No, Bonnie," Sephie said, taking the cup from Gaia s tight, trembling fingers. "The last thing you need right now is a diuretic."

Gaia almost laughed with relief.

Her mother was watching Gaia in a pulled manner. "Do I know you?" she asked her daughter.

Gaia clicked her jaw shut, shaking her head.

Sephie laughed. "You think you know every child in the Enclave just because you saw a few of them for an hour when they were born," she said. Then she turned to Gaia. "You've had your visit with our pregnant celebrity. Now, I told you to go."

Gaia understood: Sephie was allowing her a harmless glimpse of her mother, and nothing more. Gaia looked in alarm at Masister Khol, but she was calmly sipping her tea as if she had no interest in Gaia whatsoever. Despair shot through her, and she looked desperately at her mother. Her mother's head was hanging wearily.

Gaia's mind raced. "If she can't have tea, should I get her some water, then?" Gaia asked, keeping her voice low.

Sephie looked up, her eyes narrowing cautiously. Then, as if

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making a decision, she nodded. "Here's gallantry," she said, and pointed to a cup on the shelf. "Fetch her some."

While Gaia took the cup into the bathroom to get water from the tap, she tried to think how else to delay her departure. The women were talking of news outside the tower. Julia's voice was light, with occasional laughter, and Masister Khol's tones were lower and steadier. Water rushed into the little metal cup. If she could find a way to get her mother out while the women continued acting normally, she might buy time before anyone behind the security camera realized any thing was wrong.

"Pass me that blanket, will you, Joyce?" Sephie said to Masister Khol. "She's tired again. I think what she really needs is more iron, by the way. Not to mention a little sunshine. Bed rest doesn't mean she has to lie indoors every second."

"Do you want to tell the Protectorat or shall I?" Masister Khol asked.

Gaia came through the bathroom doorway with the cup of water.

"If he came up here, I'd tell him myself," Sephie said. "Since he doesn't, it'll have to be you." She dropped the blanket around Bonnie's shoulders, and with a pale hand, Bonnie drew it closer across her chest.

"I'm a little sleepy myself," Julia said, with a yawn and a stretch. "What I wouldn't give to walk around the market for a bit."

"Why don't you take another snooze?" Masister Khol said dryly.

Julia appeared to miss the sarcasm. "No, no," Julia said, laying her head on her white pillow. "I want to help Sephie." She tucked her feet up onto the bed and her face went slack with sleep.

"Well, of all the lazy nerve," said Masister Khol. A moment

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later, her head tilted back to rest against the back of her chair. Gaia watched in grim astonishment as her eyes began to close. Her teacup tipped, spilling liquid into her lap, but Masister Khol was so deeply asleep she didn't notice.

"You viper," Sephie said softly to Gaia. "I kept up your cover. I let you have your little visit."

Gaia watched Sephie stumble toward her rocking chair and grip the armrest as she sat heavily. She lifted her heavy lidded eyes to Gaia.

"Take her, then," Sephie said. "At least they can't blame me."

She was asleep.

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Chapter 23 Maya

WHAT'S HAPPENING?" Gaias mother asked, a new alertness in her eyes.

Her hands flying, Gaia bunched the extra blanket and a pillow into a heap on the bed and threw another blanket over them to fake a sleeping form.

"Quickly, mother," Gaia said, gripping her arm firmly and guiding her upward. "We have no time at all."

"Gaia?" her mother asked, her voice lifting in wonder.

"Please," Gaia whispered urgently, wrapping an arm around her waist and practically carrying her toward the door. "We have to get out. Now. Before they see."

"Oh, Gaia!" her mother said breathlessly. "I can't believe it's you!"

Gaia wrenched open the handle, pulled her mother out to the landing, and shut the door. The maneuver from bed to landing had taken no more than six seconds, and if anyone in surveillance had happened to look away during that instant, they might not see that anything was wrong with the people in the tower cell-- not until they looked closely at the women and saw they weren't talking, but sleeping.

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"Oh, Mom," she said, hugging her as hard as she dared. She inhaled the scent of exhaustion and desolation that lingered on her mothers skin, while her mother s bony, swollen body shivered under the thin fabric of her blue dress.

"I can't believe it's you," her mother said again. Her narrow arms pressed around her daughter, trembling. Then she peered into her face, gazing in wonder. She touched Gala's cheek. "What happened to your face?"

"Be careful. It's a mask. Quickly, we have to leave." She drew her mothers body alongside her own and held her firmly around the waist as they started down the steps.

"I'm so weak," her mother whispered. "I'm sorry."

"It's okay," Gaia said, her mind racing. She couldn't take her mother out the door she'd come in with Masister Khol because the guards would immediately be suspicious. But she had to get to Leon or Mace Jackson somehow. Her mother stumbled, and when Gaia caught her, she groaned.

"Are you all right?" Gaia asked.

"I've had some spotting," her mother said. "I've been on bed rest. This is the most exercise I've had in I don't know how long."

"How did this happen?" Gaia asked, helping her down another step.

Her mother gave a faint laugh. "In the usual way. A lifetime ago."

"But, I mean, it's Dad's, right?" Gaia asked. She had to ask. "Why didn't you tell me you were pregnant?"

As they approached an oblong window, her mother gripped the sill and the sunlight dropped on her pale hand, giving it a translucent blue color as she braced herself against the darker stone. Gaia couldn't believe how small and fragile her mother looked.

"I'd had so many miscarriages," her mother said, her voice

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thin. "I didn't hardly dare to hope myself. But we were about to tell you. Your father was so excited. It feels like a lifetime ago now. And then, when we were arrested, the baby saved my life. Your father-- "

A clattering noise rose from below. Gaia clutched protectively at her mother and could feel her trembling. Her mothers arm was slung around Gaia's neck, and she silently pressed her face against Gaia's right cheek.

A peal of laughter echoed up the tower staircase. "I can't believe you!" came a merry, girlish voice. "What kind of a present is that?"

There was the sound of a scuffle, and then a man's quiet laughter, and then a sharp, jingling noise.

"I mean it!" the young woman said again playfully.

There was an indecipherable grumble, and then a low voice: "You'll be the death of me, Rita. I swear."

"Shhh!" Rita said. And then, "Okay. Now."

There was a shuffling sound of footsteps, and then a thud of a door closing, and then silence. Gaia was certain she'd recognized the voice of the pretty girl Rita who had tried to warn her not to get involved with the executed couple. Her mother bent over suddenly and gasped.

"Oh, no," she groaned.

"What is it?" Gaia whispered.

Her mother turned beseeching eyes on her. "Leave me, Gaia. Leave me here. Hurry down and you can escape." She slid her pale, blue-veined hand under the curve of her belly.

"No," Gaia protested, resisting panic. Her mother couldn't be going into premature labor, not here, not now. She held her mother more closely than ever. "I'm not leaving you. We'll find a way."

Her mother came down a few more steps with her, then a half dozen more, and then Gaia felt her sag. Sweat broke out on

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Gaia s forehead under the mask, loosening it. What am I going to do? she wondered desperately. Her mother slowly sat on one of the steps, lowering her head into her hands and holding very still, as if concentrating in pain.

Gaia couldn't just deliver her mother's baby there on the steps. It could take hours, and soldiers would be coming as soon as one of the women in the tower above recovered enough to raise an alarm.

"Should I take you back up to Sephie?" Gaia asked. "Mom?"

Her mother shook her head. It was hardly a definitive answer, and Gaia was torn, trying to think what would be best for her mother.

"Are you sure?"

"I'm not going back," her mother said.

Below, Gaia could see the door that Rita and her boyfriend must have come through. It could only lead into the Bastion, to one of the upper floors, she guessed, since it was the first door they'd come to. It would lead them farther from freedom, but Gaia didn't see any other choice.

She hurried down the steps to touch the latch, and it lifted easily. She peeked out the door and saw it led to a hallway much like the kind she'd traversed on her way to the yellow room. The peaceful yellow walls and runner carpet looked deceptively welcoming.

"Come with me, Mom," Gaia whispered, beckoning.

"Where are we going?"

"We have to find a place to hide you," Gaia said, hoping she sounded more confident than she felt. "Are you okay?"

She nodded. "For now." She held one hand to her stomach, and Gaia reached for the other.

Gaia checked down the hallway once more and looked along the ceiling for camera lenses, seeing none. She had no idea how to find her way out, but she knew generally where the courtyard

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and the school she'd escaped through before must be, and she headed in that direction, north through the building. Her mother couldn't go far. When she came to a corner, she looked again for camera lenses and saw none. Either Mabrother Iris didn't see a need for surveillance in the secure, upper hallways of the Bastion, or the Bastions inhabitants insisted on their right to privacy.

They passed several doors, hearing nothing behind them, and then the hallway opened onto a long, covered balcony.

"Let me rest," her mother said, leaning over.

Gaia could see a courtyard three stories below. At Gaia's level, arched openings and pillars led all around the upper perimeter of the courtyard in one continuous balcony. Voices carried upward, and Gaia ducked down behind the balustrade, bringing her mother with her so they would be out of sight.

"Where are we?" Bonnie asked.

"Near the school," Gaia said. "If we can cross around to the opposite side of the balcony, we'll be above the school, and there might be another way down."

A whistle blasted and loud voices came from below.

"Attention! We have an escaping prisoner. Let no one in or out of the Bastion. All guards to your stations! Immediately!" The whistle blew again.

Gaia heard a flurry of footsteps along the hallway behind them, and when she turned, she found Rita and a young man skidding to a stop before them. Her red, sleeveless dress was askew, and the buttons of his brown shirt were half undone.

"Oh, no," Gaia whispered, sheltering her mother behind her where they crouched.

Rita's honey-colored hair was tumbled around her face, her expression grim. The young man hurriedly stepped forward, shielding Rita behind him.

"It's them!" the man cried.

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Beside Gaia, her mother moaned quietly again, and Gaia lifted pleading eyes to Rita. The man leaned toward the balcony, clearly intending to yell an alarm, but Rita clutched his arm.

"Not a word, Sid," she said in a sharp low voice. "If you call down, they'll find you and me together. Is that what you want?"

Sid backed away from the balcony, his expression openly confused and angry. "But, Rita-- !" he began.

"Be quiet," she snapped. Rita came forward and crouched beside Gaia. Gaia felt her frowning, penetrating gaze. "It's you," Rita said in a flat tone. "Why am I not surprised? Are you insane?" She scowled at Gaia's mother, and then back at Gaia. "What are you doing with her?"

"She's my mother," Gaia said.

Rita's almond eyes widened in shock, and then she glanced quickly at her boyfriend. "Give me a hand," she said. "Quickly."

Sid hesitated another moment with his powerful arms crossed, and then he angrily moved behind Gaia's mother. "You're going to get us both killed," he whispered to Rita.

Rita was leaning over. "No, you are, moron," Rita said to Sid. "Hey. She's in bad shape, isn't she?"

Gaia guided her mother up with Sid's help, and then pulled her mother's arm around her neck and braced her against her hip.

"Come on," Rita said.

But Gaia's mother let out another moan and her knees buck-led. Sid swore and scooped her up into his arms.

"Where to, genius?" he demanded.

Rita turned back the way they'd come and hurried them along a narrow hallway, then up another staircase. They were going farther from the only way Gaia knew out of the Bastion. Yet she had no other choice than to trust Rita, and a few moments

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later, Rita pushed open the door of a small room. Gaia, and Sid with his burden, followed her closely inside.

As Gaia shut the door, Sid knelt on the floor and gently laid Gaia's mother on the wood where she sagged, her face contorted in pain. Gaia was dimly aware that they'd entered a long, narrow room with shelves along the walls. She crouched beside her mother, taking her hands. "It's okay, Mom," Gaia said.

She glanced up at Rita, who was passing her a pile of white towels and sheets. "Here," Rita said. "We have to go. I'm sorry, but this is the best I can do. I have to get Sid out of here some' how. Sid," she said to him. "We're going past the library, to the school. You're going to be okay."

They heard more shouting noises and loud footsteps passing in the hall. Gaia saw Sid's face go chalky with fear, and she was certain hers was the same. Rita had her hand on the door' knob, waiting. As she tucked a strand of her blond hair behind her ear, Rita looked utterly unflappable.

"If you make it until dark," Rita said, frowning, "I might be able to come back. But don't count on it."

"Thank you," Gaia said. It was still hard to breathe normally. "You saved our lives." She slid several towels under her mother's head for a pillow and glanced up again at Rita.

"I heard what you did for that convict's baby," Rita said. "That was the bravest thing."

"What?" Sid said, obviously confused.

But as Gaia understood, she was filled with gratitude. "I just had to," she said.

Rita gave a determined nod, and her eyes flashed once more in Bonnie's direction. "Take care of her."

"What baby?" Sid insisted. "How do you know this guy?"

Gaia realized he had not yet recognized who she was.

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Rita took Sid's arm. "Are you ready, my sweet troglodyte?"

"You re the one slowing us down," Sid said.

Gaia watched them hesitate one more instant by the door, and then Rita opened it and they were gone.

As Gaia focused again on her mother, she saw that her eyes were closed. Her face was relaxed in the relief and exhaustion that came between contractions. It was frightening how quickly her contractions had started up, and how intense they were. Gaia knew, since her mother had had three children, that this fourth child could arrive more quickly and with less pain than the earlier ones, but she was also alarmed. She had no assistance and no tools to use during the delivery.

"It's okay, Mom," Gaia said softly, when her mother moaned again.

"Heaven help us," her mother said. "What have we come to?"

Gaia glanced more carefully around the room to see what there might be to use, and mentally thanked Rita again for her quick thinking. They were in a kind of laundry room or giant linen closet, with rows of shelves where towels, sheets, and blankets were neatly folded. At the end of the room, two large, white cloth bins stood on rollers, and from the way their sides bulged, Gaia guessed they were full of dirty linens. At the end of the narrow room, a tall, thin window let in enough sunlight for Gaia to see easily. A look at the door showed her there was no bolt. Anyone could come in at any minute to discover them.

Gaia took a quick look at her mother's closed eyes and hurried to the end of the room, near the window. She rolled aside the two bins and quickly layered blankets and sheets into a pad against the wall. Here, with the bins arranged to block the view, they would be shielded from a cursory glance into the room.

"Mom," Gaia said, and her mother opened her eyes. "Can you move with me, down there?" She pointed.

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Her mother nodded and held up a hand. Gaia gripped tightly, and helped her mother to a hunched, standing position. Carefully, moving slowly, they passed the shelves, and her mother sank onto the makeshift mattress. Gaia bunched fresh towels under her head, and collected the others from where they'd first come in. With the bins arranged at Gaia's back and the window above her mother, Gaia had the sense of being in a sort of laundry nest. She pulled off her jacket so the extra cloak and the rope fell out of her shirt. When she tossed off her hat, she felt a piece of the mask along her forehead break free with the brim.

"There you are," her mother said gently with a crooked smile.

"I'm sorry, Mom," Gaia said. Her throat tightened. "I didn't know you were pregnant when I came for you. You would have been safer if I'd left you with Sephie. Should I go back for her?" She remembered Sephie was drugged into sleep. "Or find another doctor?"

Her mother shook her head and touched a finger to Gaia's cheek. "I want to be with you," she said. "Couldn't be in better hands."

Gaia let out a choked laugh. "How early are you?"

"I'm around thirty five weeks. It'll be a small one. But it's strong." Her mother caught her breath, and Gaia put her hands on the bulge under her mother's dress, feeling the contraction tighten her belly. When it eased, Gaia gently lifted her mother's gown out of the way. Blood was seeping out of her mother, oozing onto the white towels. Gaia's heart froze, and then started up again in alarm.

"Don't worry, Mom," Gaia whispered. "I'm going to see how dilated you are, okay?"

She nodded, and Gaia examined her, feeling the hard knob of the baby's head. She forced herself to smile at her mom, and

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wiped her hands on a clean towel. Her mother had another contraction, visibly gritting her teeth with the strain. She stopped, panting.

"Fm almost there, aren't I?"

Gaia grabbed her hand, holding hard. "Yes," she said.

Her mothers face was an awful, pale color. The contractions came steadily then, one wave after another. Gaia helped as best as she could, waiting for the first moment her mother would cry out and knowing the noise would bring the guards. With a shaking hand, her mother reached for one of the towels, and before the next contraction, she put it between her teeth. When next the pain came, she bit into the towel, and at that moment, her baby's head slipped out. Gaia quietly encouraged her, and with one more contraction, the rest of the body slid out.

Gaia s mother collapsed backward in relief, turning her colorless face toward the light of the window. Gaia was concerned by the blue, mottled color of the baby, but awed by its astonishingly small, perfect shape. She swiped a finger through its mouth and rapped it smartly on its back. Nothing. Laying it on a clean towel, she compressed its chest several times, then covered its tiny mouth and nose with her mouth and breathed lightly. The baby jerked. Gaia breathed again and gave the baby one more smack, and then it cried, a tiny, mewing, peevish cry. Relief washed through Gaia, and her mother turned her face to see.

The baby's color began to change with each more assertive cry.

"Oh, Gaia," Bonnie said, reaching. "Let me have him."

"She's a girl," Gaia said, and passed her over.

Gaia's hands were trembling. She watched the loving, tender way her mother drew the little baby close to her face, and she smiled at the abrupt silence when the baby stopped crying

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and instead made a soft, smacking noise with her tiny lips. This was one of the smallest babies Gaia had delivered, and like other early ones, it was also covered with a cream' colored substance. Beneath, her skin was deepening to a healthy red.

Gaia refocused her attention on her mother, and saw there was something terribly wrong with the way blood continued to pulse slowly out of her. Gaia cleaned up the afterbirth and massaged her mother's abdomen, guiding the womb to con' tract. She did everything she knew to make it stop, but still the blood was coming, more than it should.

"Mom," she said. "You're still bleeding. What am I supposed to do?"

"Do you have any shepherd's purse?"

Gaia shook her head. "I don't have anything here. Nothing at all."

Her mother winced, and seemed to be holding her breath. She licked her lips and turned her gaze to Gaia, who couldn't bear it when her mother tried to smile.

"Come on, Mom. What else can I do?"

"It's all right, Gaia," her mother said.

But it wasn't all right. Gaia could see that. She massaged her mother's abdomen again, harder, and watched her mother's face crumple in pain. Gaia's guilt was an exquisite, piercing blade as she realized this was all her fault; if she hadn't tried to rescue her mother, if she'd left her in the tower, her mother would most likely be safely resting right now instead of hemorrhaging her lifeblood into the white towels.

"Let me go get you some help," Gaia said.

"No. Don't leave me."

"But this is all my fault. At least in the tower you were safe."

"You couldn't be more wrong. Now take care of this baby."

Gaia wiped back a tear with her knuckles and ripped off a narrow band of linen to tie off the baby's umbilical cord.

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Her hands were shaking, clumsy, but her mother only smiled at her.

"Sorry, Mom."

"You re doing a fine job," her mother murmured. "Pack a fresh towel against me, there, and let me rest."

Gaia rolled a clean, soft towel between her mother's legs and tried to make her comfortable. She had practically forgot' ten where they were, or that anyone was looking for them, until she heard a sharp clatter and a noise in the hallway.

This is it, she thought. And she was glad. Someone would help them now. Someone would save her mother. She leaned her face down beside her mother's, shielding her weary body with her arm, and curving her hand over her mother s where she held the newborn. In this position, she heard the door open and knew someone was looking into the room. Inches away, her mother's eyes flashed to meet hers and held, keeping her silent.

There was a disgruntled noise. "Man," somebody said. "They better catch up on this laundry."

"Is it empty?" came another voice.

The first voice was receding. "It stinks. Close the door."

As the door clicked closed, Gaia blinked at her mother, amazed.

"Idiots," her mother murmured, smiling.

"Let me get them," Gaia said softly, pressing her mother's hand. "They can bring a doctor."

"No, Gaia. I don't want anybody else."

Gaia wrapped her fingers in the sleeve of her mother's robe. "Please, Mom," she whispered.

Her mother exhaled heavily and closed her eyes, still smiling. "I want you to name her Maya."

Gaia bit back a sob and tipped her forehead against her mother's shoulder. "That's a pretty name," she said, trying to sound calm. "Why Maya?"

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"It means dream. She's my dream, all the things I never thought I'd see."

"Oh, Mom," Gaia said, her heart breaking with grief.

"Besides," her mother said with a little laugh. "It rhymes with Gaia. Your dad would like that."

Gaia felt her mom's fingers gently patting her hair, soothing. "Gome, Gaia. You've got to be strong."

Gaia sniffed and straightened up. Her mothers complexion had become impossibly wan, but her eyes were as vibrant as ever, even luminous in the diffused afternoon light of the little space. Gaia folded the towel more securely around little Maya s sleeping form. The skin of her mothers arm was strangely clammy and cool.

"Take care of her for me," her mother said. "Don 't let any thing hurt her."

Alarm shot along Gaia's nerves. "What do you mean?"

Her mother lifted a hand, and Gaia felt her cool fingertips against the skin of her left cheek. Somewhere during the birth, the rest of Gaia's mask had fallen away, and now her scar felt newly sensitive.

"I'm sorry about your face," her mother said.

Gaia felt a lump form in her throat and couldn't speak, but she closed her lips and shook her head, looking away.

"No," her mother said. "Look at me, Gaia. We thought it would save you. We never guessed how much you would suffer, in so many different ways. It was selfish, I know, but your father and I, after losing Arthur and Odin, we wanted so badly to keep you. The closer we came to the day we might lose you, the more we just couldn't take the chance, and it was the only way. Will you ever forgive us?"

Gaia swallowed thickly while loss and anguish warred in her heart.

"You hurt me on purpose?" she asked.

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"Oh, darling. I'm so sorry. So very sorry."

Gaia struggled to grasp, in a moment, all that might have been different if shed never been scarred, if she'd had a chance to be advanced, if she'd grown up without her parents. And it was inconceivable to imagine life without her parents' daily love.

"It's okay. You did the right thing. Just what I would have wanted," she said. "Don't leave me, Mom."

Her mother's face contorted in a moment of pain, and then her features eased again. She looked almost peaceful. "I want to be with your father," she said softly. "And now you've come to take care of Maya. Keep her safe for me. Promise."

"Mom, please," Gaia pleaded. "You can't. Wait, I found Odin here in the Bastion. He's tall and blond and a soldier. Sergeant Bartlett. Did you ever see him? I discovered who he was just a few days ago, and he got away. He left the Enclave, and he hasn't been seen again. We need you. All of us do."

But her mother patted her hand. "Are you sure?"

"He has Dad's twitchy fingers. He likes to sing."

Her mother let out a faint laugh. "If only I could have seen him. That's all I wanted, to just see him once and know he was all right. They kept promising, if I behaved, I could see my boys, but they never let me." She stopped to blink sleepily. "So many mistakes we made."

Gaia dropped her head down upon her mother's chest, hugging her frail body tightly. "No, Mom. Please."

She could feel her mother's gentle hand on her hair, patting smoothly. "Such a good girl," her mother murmured. "So beautiful."

Gaia let out a sob, squeezing her eyes shut. This could not be happening. Her mother's chest went very still, and Gaia lifted her eyes to gaze at her ashen, quiet face. A pulse throbbed in her neck, and she took a last, deep breath. Gaia watched her,

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waiting, hoping for another breath that never came. She glanced down at her mothers legs, and then quickly away. Blood had saturated the towel and the skirt of her dress. Gaia searched her mother's face again, willing her to breathe, but her gaze was fixed on the window above, unseeing, and when the baby wiggled a tiny hand against her mother's cheek, she could no longer respond. The pale skin of her neck was even, pulseless.

"No," Gaia whispered, closing her eyes again. "What was I supposed to do?" she said, her voice ragged with pain. There must have been some way to save her mother, something different she might have done. "I need you, Mom," she croaked, smoothing her face and hair. "Please." Her fingers trembled, and her heart overflowed with grief. She leaned back against the wall and hugged her arms around herself, while her mother's still body slowly began to give up its warmth.

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Chapter 24 A Perfectly Circular Pool

MORE THAN ANYTHING ELSE, Gaia longed to sink her head down beside her mothers and simply stay there, giving up the fight. But when her bleary gaze fell upon her infant sister, she knew the darkness would have to wait. She couldn't bear to look at her mother 's face, or the tender, worn skin of her knuckles. She could not stay there, beside her mothers body, for long. The guards might come back, or even the people who regularly took care of the laundry might come to deal with the bins of dirty sheets and towels. Most pressing of all, the baby would soon need sustenance, or she, too, would die.

Gaia shifted carefully away from her mother, and leaned over to gently lift the baby from her mothers lifeless arms.

"Hey, little sister," she whispered. Her mother had asked Gaia to take care of her, and she would. No matter what it took.

Maya was tiny in her hands, a wobbly parcel with solid weight but no coordination. Gaia wiped her as clean as she could and wrapped her securely in a clean white towel. She rested her on a pile of sheets, and then she looked down at her blood' stained trousers and jacket. No one would take her for a bakers

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apprentice in these anymore, but she had Pearl's cloak. She dropped the jacket in a laundry bin, followed by the last bits of mask from her face and the rope she'd never found a use for. She kept on the blue shirt, rolling up the cuffs to hide other smears of blood.

Quickly, she rolled up the legs of her trousers to the knees, and then she took one of the clean sheets and folded it in half. Ripping part of the seam for a tie, she wrapped the fabric around her waist to fashion a skirt and tied it tightly. It looked awful, but she could do nothing more, and at least it gave her the semblance of a skirt beneath Pearl's deep blue cloak. She picked up her sister and cradled her close.

Stepping to the window, she peered past the ghostly silhouette of her reflection to try to get her bearings. Clouds had moved in to obscure the afternoon sun. She gazed down at the solar panels on the roofs, seeing from their south-facing angles that she must be on the west side of the Bastion, far from the southeast tower and the school. She had no clear idea how to get out, or what to do once she did, but with a sort of numb urgency, she knew she had to try.

Gaia was keenly aware of her mother's body lying in a heap in the corner of the linen room, unnaturally still. When she was ready with the baby in her arms, she looked for a last time at her mother, and then bent down to cover her face with a clean towel. She couldn't say good-bye; the words lodged in her throat, but she knew this was the last time she'd ever be with her mother, and for a moment she slouched against the wall, overcome with grief. An invisible weight pressed in upon her from all sides, and she closed her eyes, unsuccessfully, against the tears.

Til try to be brave. She hugged her sister close and took in a deep, shuddering breath.

Then she turned away and pushed past the laundry bins to

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the door. She blinked hard, trying to concentrate and listen for noise outside the door. When she heard none, she pulled it open an inch, looking down the hallway. How can I do this? she wondered hopelessly. You must, came her own reply. She tip' toed stealthily to the end of the hall, fearing any second that another group of guards would come around the corner. And then she realized she was making a mistake: cowering was the last thing she should do if she hoped to escape detection. She must act like Masister Khol who strode with firm, unapologetic authority.

Drawing a deep breath, Gaia twitched the hood of her cloak forward and started down the hall at a steady clip. At the next staircase, she headed down, and when she'd passed several landings she arrived suddenly at a bright, sunny solarium with a high, arching, glass ceiling. It took her only an instant to recognize the French doors and realise that on the other side of them lay the foyer of the Bastion, where the grand double-staircase descended toward the main doors.

White, wooden arches framed the solarium, while the lush foliage of ferns and the gurgle of running water created an oasis of peace and rich beauty. The loveliness, contrasted with the horror of losing her mother, was almost more than she could bear. Gaia paused in an open archway, breathing in the fragrant, humid air and marveling sorrowfully that such a place could exist. Green leaves of every shape, colorful corollas, and tempting fruits spread in a vast array around her. Is this, she wondered, what the earth once was like? She was drawn irresistibly forward toward the sound of water and found, in the center of the solarium, a perfectly circular pool. Its serene surface reflected the undersides of the bordering ferns and a touch of sky. She'd never seen water used simply for beauty before, and it stirred a mix of resentment and awe inside her. She fingered a pale yellow bloom, dazzled by its fragile petals, and her

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gaze lifted to where a palm tree soared against the arching, glass paned ceiling. The water and energy needed to maintain this space defied her imagination.

A bird chirped, and then voices approached from her left. Gaia backtracked quickly. She skirted to the right down the nearest hallway and walked directly into the entrance foyer of the Bastion.

The familiar white and black tiles expanded before her feet like a minefield, where any single step could result in her detection. She teetered in one last, indecisive moment of fear, and then she decided to walk directly across it, in the direction of the school. She hadn't taken four steps before she heard voices coming down the stairs, and she glanced up to her left to see the family of the Protectorat descending, all dressed in impeccable white: the blond, teenage girl Gaia had seen once before, the older brother, Genevieve trailing a light finger on the banister, and beside her, the Protectorat himself. Gaia was halfway across the white tiles, aiming for an open doorway on the other side of the foyer, hoping desperately that no one would recognize her, when the front door on her right was thrown open and two guards rushed in with a loud shout. They threw a man to the floor before them so that he landed roughly on his knees and one shoulder. Gaia gasped, pressing back tightly to a pillar.

The girl on the stairs shrieked in alarm, and the Protectorat hurried down ahead of his family.

"What do you think you re doing?" the Protectorat roared.

"Mabrother," the guard said firmly, in a loud voice. "We found this man trying to break into the Bastion." He jerked off the mans black hat.

Gaia's gaze shot to the figure on the floor, the young man in rough blue clothing who even now was straightening upward, his hair a shock of dark brown and his blue eyes blazing.

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Despite having his hands tied behind his back, Leon Grey re' gained his balance and pushed himself up to his feet.

Genevieve gasped and Gaia instinctively took a step forward. Leons eyes flashed in Gaia's direction, taking in her clothes and the baby, and then with grim fury he faced his father.

"Gaia," Leon said. "I'd like you to meet my mother, Genevieve Quarry. This is my sister, Evelyn, and my brother, Rafael." His voice ground to an ironic undertone. "The Protectorat you already know."

He didn't call him his father. The Protectorat was a tall, distinguished man whose even features were accented by a black mustache. His salt-and-pepper hair was closely trimmed, and his white, tailored suit delineated a strong physique. Gaia had seen his image at the Tvaltar, projected on a screen twenty times larger than life, but he was far more commanding in person. Cool, calculating power emanated from him, as if he could charge the air particles around him even when he stood motionless. Every instinct in Gaia told her to shrink away, to run and hide, but she took one step forward and forced herself to stand straight.

"How do you do?" Her voice came out as little more than a whisper.

The man ignored her.

"Leon," Genevieve said, coming down the last few steps. Her voice was low with bewildered compassion. "What's happened to you?"

"Hello, Mother," Leon said evenly. His gaze never left the Protectorat.

"Stay back from him, Genevieve," the Protectorat said.

She paused beside the newel post, and her daughter joined her. To Gaia's left, the doorkeeper silently appeared with Mabrother Iris, closing the door behind him.

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"Take the infant to the Nursery, Winston," the Protectorat said quietly. "Then take the other two downstairs and shoot them."

Leon's face drained of color, and Gaia hurried across the tiles to stand beside him.

"No, Miles. You can't," Genevieve said quickly, grabbing the Protectorat's arm.

Winston was coming closer, and Gaia pressed nearer to Leon, guarding the baby in her arms.

"She's right, father," Rafael said. "He's the one person you can't eliminate. It would be political suicide."

Gaia glared at Leon's brother. It was no surprise that he bore no physical similarity to Leon. His even features and care' fully combed, light brown hair were familiar to her from the Tvaltar specials, but there was something in his intense expression that drew her attention. Perhaps it was in his bearing, or his innate sense of entitlement, but in some elusive way, the younger brother resembled Leon.

"I appreciate your concern, both of you," the Protectorat said dryly. "But I'll take my chances."

"Miles, think," Genevieve urged him. "He's more important than ever right now-- your own advanced son from outside the wall. He even has the freckles. He's the future. And Gaia Stone is practically a hero. Look at her!"

"Dad, please! You can't kill them!" Evelyn said.

The Protectorat's mouth closed in a grim line, and his flat eyes yielded nothing. Winston was hovering just behind Gaia, and when he put a hand on her arm, she jerked forward.

"You're despicable," Gaia said to the Protectorat, a catch in her voice. "A man who would kill his own son. How can you call yourself the Protectorat?"

The Protectorat barely looked at Gaia before turning to his wife. "He's not mine. He's never been mine. I tried to reason

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with him four days ago, and what did he do? He ran. He's a catastrophe waiting to happen," he said. "Not to mention that he's acquired a mouthy, low-born slattern from outside the wall."

Leon angled toward Genevieve and spoke softly. "How can you bear to stay with him, Mother?" he asked.

With two steps forward, the Protectorat backhanded his fist against Leon's jaw. Leon's face whipped to the side and he stumbled back.

"You'll be silent," the Protectorat said.

Gaia saw Genevieve's complexion whiten, and Leon's sister gasped, covering her mouth. A trickle of blood came from the corner of his lip, but Leon was straightening again with slow deliberation.

"Enough of this nonsense. Who is the baby?" the Protectorat demanded.

Mabrother Iris stepped forward and nervously adjusted his glasses.

"It's Bonnie Stone's child," Mabrother Iris said. "I was just coming to tell you we've located the body of the prisoner in the third floor laundry room. The infant, as you know, has as good a chance as any from Western Sector Three to have the suppressor gene. Just as the girl here does." Mabrother Iris turned to Gaia. "Is it a boy or a girl?"

"It's mine, you bastard," Gaia said. "You're not taking it."

The Protectorat turned again to Winston. "The girl was raised outside. You can see what she's like. Dispose of her already."

"But, Father. Think of the gene pool," said Rafael, coming to stand near his father. "You have to think of her genes."

To Gaia's alarm, the Protectorat suddenly grabbed her chin, jerking her so that she stumbled forward, her face clearly exposed for inspection.

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"Would you have this?" the Protectorat hissed at his son.

Rafael's gaze narrowed in a slow inspection while she stared defiantly back. Rafael's gaze faltered, shot briefly toward Leon, and then down. His answer was obvious: no.

And in spite of everything, in the face of all the other more important dangers that threatened her, it still stung that some' one, some boy, found her ugly. Gaia burned with sudden hate for all of them.

The Protectorat saw. He smiled slightly.

"I thought not," said the Protectorat, releasing her with a flick. He turned back toward his family. "I cant thrust her on any family I know, no matter what her genes are. She's a freak, not a hero. I'd rather make a hero out of Myrna Silk."

Leon had been standing tensely throughout this exchange. "I'd take Gaia," Leon said, his low voice resonating in the space.

Gaia caught her breath and turned to find him watching her with his steady, intrepid gaze. She realized he had hardly spoken a word in the Protectorate presence, as if Leon despised him and distrusted him so completely that he wouldn't give his adoptive father the satisfaction of seeing Leon try to defend himself. But Leon was defending Gaia.

Leon's father laughed derisively. "Perfect," he said.

"He's right, Miles. Can't you see?" Genevieve said. "Think how it would appear if we took them in. He'd be reclaimed, totally submissive, and she'd be the hope of the Enclave. They might even have a child, one of the children you need, all under our guidance, and we, we'd be the heroes."

The Protectorat's face hardened. "You forget what he did," he said bitterly.

There was a silence during which the baby made a small, sucking noise in Gaia's arms and wiggled briefly. She instinctively drew her closer, shushing her.

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"I haven't forgetten," Genevieve said quietly.

Gaia s gaze flew from one tense face to another. Genevieve's hands clenched to her chest, and a bit apart from her, Evelyn seemed lost inside herself Rafael, also standing aloof, had his hands buried in his pockets. The Protectorat was a stone. Finally she turned to see Leon s jaw rigid, his vivid eyes bright with defiance. For a fleeting moment, Gaia felt the presence of the missing sister, an absence as palpable as if a live twin had just descended the staircase beside Evelyn, only to vanish.

A touch of color rode high along Leon s cheekbones. "For the last time," he said softly. "I never touched her."

The Protectorat spoke distinctly and slowly. "You re a pervert and a liar. As far as I'm concerned, you might as well be a murderer." He abruptly turned away. "Do it quietly, Winston," he said. "Now."

Gaia felt Winston and the guards closing in on them, and Evelyn gave a shriek of protest. But Genevieve and Rafael had run out of objections, and Gaia realized with a shock that Leon stood frozen, doing nothing to resist, as if something his father had said proved he deserved to be killed. What was this insidious power his father had over him?

"No!" Gaia said.

On impulse, she pulled Leohs arm in the one unexpected direction, bolting forward toward the stairs. The Protectorat grabbed for them, but Genevieve lost her balance and pitched forward into his arms. Gaia shoved hard into Rafael, and when he gripped her arm, she jerked down and free. Then she and Leon ran up the great, curving staircase, gaining crucial seconds on the guards who wove through the family to follow.

Gaia sprinted up the stairs two at a time. Near the top of the staircase, Leon overtook her. His hands were still tied behind him, but he led rapidly to the right.

"Quickly!" he shouted to Gaia, and she flew after him,

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around another corner and bouncing off the wall of the hall' way with one hand for leverage. He slid to a stop before a small, half size door. "Open it!" he commanded, and Gaia jammed her thumb into the latch and yanked. She followed him out in a blind crawl, closing the door behind her, and for an instant she feared they were trapped on a balcony. A second look showed her they were on the roof of the solarium, and a narrow iron catwalk led over the arch of the glass panes.

Leon stepped out ahead of her. "Follow closely," he said. "Take my hand."

She reached to where his hands were bound behind him and felt the firm clasp of his fingers. If he slipped or lost his balance, he would have no way to catch himself before he crashed through the glass and fell fifty feet to the floor of the solarium below.

"I've got you," she said, and hitched the baby closer in her arm.

She forced her feet forward on the narrow rails. From be' hind came the noise of guards running in the hallway. She could only hope that they overlooked the little door. She and Leon reached the apex of the roof and started down the other side. Terror urged her to go more quickly than she would have dared, and she sucked in her breath as her balance teetered. Leon jerked her back in line and then wobbled himself while she clung to him.

"Forward," he said fiercely. "Now, Gaia. Don't pull me back."

They reached the far side of the roof with its corresponding little half door just as a voice called out behind her, and then a bullet blasted into the wall beside her face, scattering a spray of burst stucco.

"Hurry!" Leon urged her as she reached for the door handle, and then he was nudging her ahead of him. Gaia pulled him

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through, and then they were running again down another hall' way, to another staircase, one that spiraled downward into increasing darkness. Windowless walls of stone echoed the clatter of their hurrying feet. She stumbled once and gasped, slashing her hand against the wall.

"Gaia!" he called, turning back for her. "Are you all right?"

"Yes," she said, feeling the sting along her palm, and dimly perceiving a dark line of blood. She repositioned the baby in the nook of that arm, so her good hand was free. The air was cool and smelled stale, of old sawdust and onions. "Where are we?" she asked.

"It's the wine cellar," he said. "It should have lights. Ah." They'd turned the last corner, and a motion detector flicked on a light bulb, revealing a long, low-ceilinged room with mason' work arches. As she hurried behind Leon, twisting between a dozen tables and shelves loaded with old pots and potatoes and turnips, Gaia glimpsed catacomb like cavities filled with bottles and barrels. Leon gave a savage kick to a tall, wooden work' table that had a row of drawers.

"In here," he said to Gaia, over the rattling. "See if there's a knife."

Gaia glanced back at the doorway, hearing footsteps.

"Hurry!" Leon commanded.

She ripped open drawer after drawer, scattering their con' tents on the floor, until Leon tapped his boot onto a sharp, serrated knife. Gaia laid the baby on the table and grasped the knife. She slipped it into the rope that bound his wrists, and with three jagged tears, she had him free.

"Yes!" Leon hissed, curling his freed wrists in front of him.

Gaia snatched up the baby just as the first guard appeared. "Stop there!" he yelled.

"Here!" Leon said, grabbing her hand and ducking into one of the niches. A gunshot exploded, and another bullet hit the

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wall beside her. She hit the floor. Leon was yanking barrels away from the back wall, and she had a terrifying moment of suspecting he'd led them to a dead end, but then a deeper blackness opened in the wall and cool, dank air touched her face. Leon grabbed her shoulders and pushed, and she stumbled forward into nothingness, bracing her body to protect the baby as she fell against a stone wall.

She felt Leon fall against her, and then the door slammed shut behind them and they were pitched into the black of utter darkness.

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Chapter 25 The Tunnels

Gaia'S EYES WIDENED against the darkness, searching for any glimmer of light, but the black was complete. She could hear Leon shoving something by the door, and then sharp banging noises and muffled voices came from the other side.

"Help me push," Leon said.

Completely blind, she put out her hand and felt him wedging something solid and hard against the door. She put her shoulder beside his and pushed as best she could with Maya in her other arm. The door shuddered but didn't move.

"It won't hold them long," Leon said.

The baby felt even smaller in the dark, and Gaia wrapped both arms around her. "Where are we?" she asked.

"It's the tunnel from the wine cellar," he said. "Remember the map?"

She heard a scratching noise, and then brilliant light burst from the tip of a match. Leon's frowning face appeared in the glow before he lifted the wick of a candle. A violent, battering noise came from the door, and Gaia jumped. She saw they'd wedged a bench into the woodwork of the door, but already it was buckling.

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"They're following us!" Gaia said.

Leon grabbed a couple more candles from a box on a shelf, and then he was moving. He lifted the candle toward a narrow tunnel carved into the bedrock and shielded its flame with the cupped fingers of his other hand. "Hold on to me."

"Just go. I've got you."

She gripped the back of his shirt and flew after him. The one flame was enough to reveal the dark stone walls and ceiling of the tunnel, where, at intervals, wooden beams had been added to support the walls and ceiling. She once dared to look behind, where their forms cast a huge, frightening shadow back into the blackness. Once the tunnel forked, and Leon took the right tunnel. Then it forked again, and he went left.

There was a crashing, splintering noise behind them, and loud voices.

"Hold tight! Hurry!" Leon said, speeding faster so that the flame flickered wildly.

With each turn, the voices of the men fell farther behind.

"Quietly!" Leon said, slowing his pace hardly at all.

Gaia stumbled forward, gripping even more tightly on his blue shirt for balance.

He stopped. "All right?"

"Yes," she said, regaining her balance.

He started on again. As the distance between them and the guards increased, their voices diminished and then vanished entirely. Gaia could hear only her own labored breathing and her footsteps chasing Leon s over the uneven ground. In places, the tunnel had caved in, and they had to scramble over and around dusty rubble and stone. Maya gave a little whimper in her arms, and she saw Leon look back over his shoulder to her.

"All right?" he asked again.

"Are we lost yet?" she asked.

He let out a laugh. "Fiona and Evelyn and I used to play down

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here," he said. His voice had an eerie, muffled quality against the close walls. "Remember how you asked about hide-and-seek? Here. Take my arm now beside me. It's a little wider here."

"It's just kind of creepy," she said. A feather touch traced her face, and she looked up to see the ceiling was lined with spider webs, ashy thin in the darkness. She looked back the way they had come. "I don't hear anybody," she said.

Leon nodded and lifted the candle in the still air. "They'll come," he said. "They'll just be slower because they'll have to figure out which way we turned at each fork." He started forward again, shielding his flame. "Hold tight."

"Where are we going?"

"There's a place ahead where we can decide. If it's not caved in," he said.

She sped with him several more minutes in silence until they came to a widening of the tunnel, an area where the path diverged again. When Leon finally stopped, she released her grip on his arm and peered around her. Several wooden wine crates were arranged in a rough square, enclosing a little area beside the nearest wall. At her feet, an old gray cushion had been used for a mouse's nest, laced with black feces and seed husks. Leon was lighting a couple of fresh candles from the stub of the old one and he passed the first to her.

"Here," he said.

She lifted her candle to cast light into the crates. Shreds of chewed paper lined the boxes, the remains of comic books and magazines, and mixed in with these she saw the distinctive shapes of a yo-yo and a handful of scattered jacks. One shelf higher up contained piles of papers. A map of the Enclave and Wharfton, coded with colored marks and stained with damp, was fixed to the wall. The cool, earth's cented air was chilly to her, uninviting, and it was hard for her to imagine children playing here. Normal children, at least.

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"What is this place?"

"Command central. Our fort. Fiona and Evelyn and I used to hole up here, long ago." With the toe of his boot, he pushed at a tin container and marbles rolled inside. "Fiona was obsessed with figuring out who my true parents were and where they must live. Especially when I turned thirteen. That's when I had to decide whether to live outside the wall or not, but of course, no one ever does. It was a game with endless possibilities and no solution." His gaze shifted from her face to the map on the wall. "How ironic to be here now, when I finally know the answer. We only have a few minutes, but from here we have a choice which way to go. You okay?" he asked.

She nodded. "Good enough, considering."

"I take it you found your mother," he said.

Gaia tried to form the words to say she'd died giving birth, but they wouldn't come. Instead, she glanced down at the baby and saw her murky blue eyes were focused on the candle in a vacant, dreamy way.

"It was bad, wasn't it?" he said. With his sleeve, he wiped at the corner of his mouth, erasing the trace of blood from the Protector at's blow.

"I couldn't save her," Gaia said, and then stopped before her loss could overwhelm her.

"I'm sorry, Gaia. I wish I could have done something."

He had tried, she realized. He'd been caught trying to get to her. Later, maybe, she could let herself think of her mother, but now she had to save her sister. "Maya will need food soon," she said. "Where do these tunnels go?

He lifted his candle to the left. "This way goes northeast toward where the wall meets a cliff. It ends in the cellar of a bar. If we could make it out of the bar, we'd be close to the wall, and we could run for it." He nodded toward the right.

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"This way cuts a bit south and east, to the cemetery near Ernie's cafe where I saw you that day."

"Near the garden with the boulders?" she asked, stepping close to the old map on the wall. "The cafe's here on this little square?"

He nodded. "Yes. The tunnel collapsed in places, but we might be able to get through. When I was last down here, it was passable, but that was a few years ago."

"Who else knows where the tunnels lead out?"

"Half a dozen people, probably. My sister Evelyn, for sure. The Protectorat must know of the bar exit. This was an iron mine long before the Enclave was built here, but most of the tunnels have fallen in, and they're not safe."

Gaia had learned that the founders of the Enclave had drilled deep, deep below a defunct iron mine to reach a source for geothermic energy and steam, but she rarely thought about it. She tried to look down the tunnels for a clue as to which way to go. It sounded to her like they were trapped.

"Is there anywhere else?" she asked, examining the map.

"Only one other tunnel branches off this one," he said, "but it leads away from the wall, back toward the Bastion, to near the Nursery and the honey farm."

"The Nursery?" she said.

"Fiona found the way. She liked to go see the babies." He tapped a place on the map that was just north of the Bastion.

Gaia's gaze skimmed across the old colored markings on the map, mainly little X's scattered around Wharfton, and then she went still inside while her mind swirled. A terrifying, brilliant idea occurred to her. There was a faint, distant noise from behind, and she started in alarm.

"Leon," she said. "You wanted to find your birth parents when you were a kid, but what information did you have?"

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"None really, besides my birthday. Fiona was trying to find families outside the wall who had siblings a year or two on either side of my birthday, but no kids my age. It was like trying to find where there were not pieces in a jigsaw puzzle, with none of them put together."

Gaia nodded. "That was because you didn't know the in-formation about birth parents from outside the wall. You didn't have my mothers code."

"I know," he said. "Nobody had your mothers code. We searched through our family records, but there was no information about my birth parents. Sometimes I thought I could remember something from when I was an infant, but it made no sense."

"But there was information about who adopted you," she said.

The candlelight pooled around them, shifting across his features as he watched her curiously. "Of course. What are you getting at?"

She seized his arm. "All my mother wanted, all she really wanted, was to know my brothers were all right, but she couldn't find out who they were inside the wall. Oh, Leon." A thrill shot through her. "We have to get to the Nursery. I have to try to get the records of who adopted the advanced babies once they came inside the Enclave."

"Who they became inside?" he asked, with a flicker of pus' sled concentration.

There was another noise behind them, closer this time.

"It's the reverse of my mothers code," she said urgently. "It's the information we need for the people outside the wall, people like my mom. And there will be formula for Maya there. We have to go!"

Leon took her arm and sped down the narrowest tunnel.

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She gasped as hot wax spilled across her fingers and her candle went out.

"Sorry," he said.

"It's fine. Go ahead. I'll hold on again. Hurry."

She gripped his shirt again while he led the way with his candle. He veered left at another turn, and then, gradually, she had a sense that they were ascending. They passed the dried' out bones of a small animal, and then, just where the tunnel grew wider again, its condition became worse. Huge boulders tumbled in places where the ceiling had collapsed, leaving only narrow, jagged passages. Once Leon scrambled through first, leaving her in near darkness, and she passed the baby through a hole and climbed through after. Twice they stopped to listen for noises behind them, and all Gaia could hear was her rapid breath in the straining silence.

"What if they cut us off at the opening?" she asked.

"I don't know," Leon said.

In the dark, time lost meaning, and it seemed to her that she'd been scrambling forever over and around the twisted, ancient tunnels of the mine. Maya made tiny, plaintive noises, but rarely moved, and with only rare glimpses, Gaia had to trust that she was okay. Eventually, she thought she perceived a gray glow in front of her, and then they took another turn and she could see, far ahead and slightly higher, a reflection of gray light on the rock.

Leon blew out his candle, and they scrambled forward and upward. The tunnel narrowed again, turning, and the gray reflection expanded and grew brighter. The floor of the tunnel slanted upward as one great, uneven slab, with water trickling in its crevices. She had to crouch, bracing her free hand against the gritty stone wall, and Leon crawled ahead of her. They were in a natural cave, and when she turned around, she could

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see no evidence of the tunnel hidden behind. As they approached the light, the sound of water grew louder, into an echoing rush. The opening to the outside was hardly large enough to crawl through, and a tangle of roots and vines further concealed the opening. Through the roots, she saw a curtain of steady rain that poured loudly onto the hard ground, and beyond, barely discernable, the hunched, boxy outlines of hives.

"It's raining," she said in wonder.

It had been months since there had been any rain. Months! Rainwater transformed life outside the wall, like pure wealth falling from the sky. And the smell of it! She could taste the sweet moisture, as if the wet earth itself had become a spice.

"Leon, look," she said.

"I know," he whispered, his voice near her ear barely audible over the drone of the rain. He braced a hand on her shoulder in the tight space, and leaned toward the opening. "Let me check if anyone's out there. Wait a minute. I'll be right back," he said.

Before she could object, he was gone. A flash of lightning was followed closely by a sharp clap of thunder, and she jumped in her skin. The baby let out a tiny squawk of discontent. Gaia cradled her against her neck, wrapping the edge of her cloak around her as she supported the little warm head. A minute passed, and Gaia listened intently for the sound of a shot. Leon suddenly reappeared outside the opening.

"Don't do that again!" she yelled.

"Gaia! Quickly!" he said. "There's nobody's here. Come with me!"

She blinked as she crawled out into the dense rain, and by the time she scrambled to her feet she was deluged with water. She pulled at her cloak to cover the baby. Leon took her hand

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again, and they ran through the honey farm, passing between the hives and under the drenched trees. Lightning blazed the sky around them, and thunder crashed, stopping her pulse in her chest. She shrieked and let go of Leon to hold the baby more securely.

"Where do we go?" she asked, as they reached the edge of the farm.

"It's just ahead, a few meters," Leon said, yelling over the sound of the rain.

They ran down an alley and around a corner. Rain sloshed and poured around them, inundating Gaia's shoes. She could barely see the pavement in front of her, and the rushing tumult filled her ears.

Then Leon pulled her against him and pressed her hard against a wall. An overhang of low roof provided a few scant millimeters of shelter and she licked her lips, tasting rain. She glanced down at the baby in her arms and saw her sisters mouth pushed into a tiny pout.

"We're here," he said. "This is the Nursery."

She gazed along the length of the wall and upward to where the rain slanted against the upper windows. The Nursery was a small, white, two-story house, with dark green shutters and four window boxes of geraniums that had streams of rain pouring from the corners down into the street. Gaia was surprised. For some reason, she'd expected something larger, more institutional, but this looked almost friendly. The area where they stood contained several tall bins, and the distinct odor of bleach and soiled diapers mixed with the scent of rain.

"How did you and Fiona get in to see the babies?" She asked.

Leon pointed to a balcony that jutted beneath an upstairs window. "They're up there."

A flimsy trellis lined the wall, and Gaia gulped as she

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imagined climbing up there with Maya in one arm. "You climbed? Were you insane?"

"Fiona did," Leon said. He tugged her wet sleeve. "Come on. There's a back door."

She peered to the right as another curtain of rain washed down the street toward them, pummeling the wall and the ground and rattling on the overhang above them. He pulled her around the wall, pushing through a wooden gate to a narrow backyard. A couple of chickens let up a squawking noise from a coop along the back wall. Faintly, above the noise of the rain and the chickens, she heard a baby's cry. Leon led her around another corner to where a couple of steps led to a back door.

"I'll go in," he said. "I know where the office is. I'll see what I can find."

"We're staying together," she said. When he turned to face her, clearly ready to argue, she wiped the rain out of her eyes. "That's not negotiable," she added.

"You can't, Gaia," he said. "It's suicide. If anyone recognizes you, they'll call the guard."

"What about you? Aren't you wanted, too?" she demanded.

"I can talk my way out of things."

His arrogant certainty almost made her laugh.

"Really. This I'd like to see," she said.

"Masister Khol might be in there."

"I left her drugged in the tower."

"But that was hours ago," he argued.

Gaia had no idea how much time had gone by, but she knew she couldn't stand there in the rain with her baby sister a moment longer. She gripped the metal knob of the door and turned it, surprised when the door was unlocked. Waiting for no further invitation, she stepped inside and found herself in a dim, neat kitchen.

Leon came in behind her and closed the door, shutting out

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the deafening rush of the rain. In the vacancy of sound, a drip from the faucet was surprisingly audible. The counters and table were clear, except for a colander of beans that stood beside the sink. A braid of garlic hung from a hook by the window. The far wall was made of stone, with an inlaid oven and fire' place, and a wide, stone hearth. The room was pleasantly warm, and Gaia saw a small fire had been lit in the grate. A row of shallow boxes had been built in along one counter, and little blankets rested, some rumpled, inside them. Gaia's gaze focused in on a dozen glass baby bottles that stood drying upside down on a rack of spokes.

"Hello?" came a woman's voice. The sound was weary, but unalarmed, and her voice carried with a high, flutelike quality. "Franny, is that you?"

Leon moved toward the sound and at that moment, a young woman in a red dress came through the door, holding a baby against her shoulder and patting its back with firm, steady fingers. She stopped, obviously surprised.

"Can I help you?" the woman asked Leon. She has hardly more than a girl, only a few years older than Gaia, with full, rosy cheeks and plump hands. Her gaze scanned quickly from Leon to Gaia, and her expression softened when her eyes fell on the baby. "My name's Rosa," she said. "Have we met?"

"Is Masister Khol in?" Gaia asked.

Rosa inspected her wet garb curiously. "No. What happened to you? And what are you doing letting a baby get all wet?" She set the child in her arms in one of the crib boxes on the counter and curled a loose lock of her black hair back neatly behind her ear. Then she reached for Maya. "Come here, sweetheart," she crooned.

When Gaia instinctively backed away, Rosa looked up in confusion. She turned for a moment to Leon, and then her expression sobered. "You re Leon Quarry. Or Grey. Right?"

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Leon said nothing. Rosa's gaze flicked again back and forth between him and Gaia, and then she looked down at Maya. Gaia was about to speak, but Leon shook his head in warning.

The young woman cleared her throat and looked again at Leon. "Well," she said, and her voice was slightly lower, with a hint of knowing. "There's a first for everything."

Before Gaia realized what he was doing, he reached for a clay pitcher on the counter and lifted it in a quick, heavy arc to land against Rosa's skull. The impact caused an uncompromising thud, and he caught her as she began to fall. Rosa didn't let out the least bit of noise, not even a grunt of pain.

Gaia's eyes rounded with shock. "Is that what you call talking your way out of things?"

He shuffled Rosa's limp form to the ground and grabbed an apron from the back of a chair. Astonished, Gaia watched as he rapidly bound Rosa's wrists behind her back.

"Stay here," he said, picking up the pitcher again.

"But what are you doing?"

Already he was crossing through the door Rosa had entered, and a moment later, she heard his quick footsteps mounting the stairs. There was a brief cry, and then another sound of a body being dragged. Gaia was staring at the captive on the floor, trying to see if she were still breathing. Rosa's eyes were closed and her face was pallid in the firelight, but her lips were open and her chest moved.

Leon came down the stairs again and pivoted into the kitchen. "That's all of them," he said. "We only have a few minutes until one of them comes around. You get supplies for your sister upstairs, and I'll go through the office. I have an idea. Gaia?"

She dragged her eyes away from Rosa and hugged her sister tighter.

"Did you have to do that?" she whispered.

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He tilted his face, regarding her intently and without apology. She realized it shouldn't have surprised her how swiftly he'd acted. He was in the guard, trained. He'd always been capable of decisive violence.

"I'm sorry," she said.

He looked over his shoulder, listening, and then he took a step toward her and spoke more gently. "Do you want to take care of your sister or not?"

His reminder reawakened her sense of urgency. She dropped Pearl's soaked cloak on the back of a chair. She looked briefly at the baby in the crib on the counter to see it wasn't fussing, and then, side-stepping Rosa, she slipped out of the room and hurried up the stairs. Leon headed for the office.

Little natural light reached the narrow, steep stairs. At the top, two doors stood open on either side. The room on her left was darker, with a row of cribs. She turned toward some faint, indefinable sound in the right-hand room and stepped into a small, clean, low ceilinged nursery. A faint, fragrant scent of lavender soap and cotton laced the air. Rows of small cribs lined the walls, side by side, more than a dozen, but Gaia saw that only a handful were occupied by babies, all sleeping. What are the chances of that, she thought. Did they know how to keep infants on a schedule here? Rain streamed down two large, multipaned windows that let in the cool gray light. A flash of lightning flickered outside, followed shortly by a muffled boom of thunder, but the weather only emphasised how safe and warm it felt inside.

Then Gaia turned to the last corner of the room. An elderly woman clad in white lay slumped over in a rocking chair, her chin on her chest, her wrists tied to one armrest. In fascinated fear at what Leon had done, Gaia watched the woman closely to she see her chest rise and fall. Beside her stood a table that was piled with diapers and blankets and a basket half full of

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little clothes. One of the babies made a soft, sucking noise, and Gaia instinctively patted Maya. Any moment now, one of the babies would wake up, and the cries could wake the others, and then who would take care of them? Gaia didn't dare take the time to undress and clean Maya, but she wrapped two fresh blankets around her securely, then quickly snatched some diapers and blankets. She tossed them into the basket of clothes, and grabbing the handles, she hurried out of the room again as quietly as she could.

She tiptoed rapidly down the stairs.

"Leon?" she whispered.

She peered around another doorway. A cluttered desk stood in the middle of the front office surrounded by cabinets and shelves. A couple of empty cribs stood against the wall as if even here someone might need to set down a baby safely. The rain was a muffled drone, and a small, green-shaded lamp on the desk pushed back the afternoon grayness. Leon was seated at the desk, his fingers clicking over a keyboard, while the glow of the computer screen cast a pale blue light onto his cheeks and the backs of his hands.

"Have you found anything?" she asked.

"Not yet."

Gaia knew she should get formula, but Maya had drifted to sleep again and she couldn't help taking a quick scan around the room. There were notices posted on a corkboard over a cupboard, and in the right corner, a familiar booklet of paper that looked like an invitation, only thicker. She peered closer.

Summer Solstice 2409

Extant Members of

The Advanced Cohort of 2396

Are Hereby Invited to Request

Unadvancement

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Gaia flipped back the first page and saw columns of names. I' ve seen one of these before, she thought, trying to remember when. The print was small, and there were several pages. She calculated quickly and realized there were more than a hundred names.

"Leon," she said, plucking it from the board. "What is this?"

He typed a few more keystrokes and then stopped, his fingers poised above the keys. He glanced up and squinted at her, then at the paper in her hand.

"It's an unadvancement notice," he said. "The Enclave puts one out every summer for the thirteen-year-olds. It's a formality. For appearances."

"But isn't it a list? Of all the babies from a certain year?" A light dawned. "Didn't you find one of these in my father's sewing kit? Back when you first arrested my parents?"

He reached out a hand and she gave it to him. "We did," he said, considering. "It is a list. But it doesn't have any birth dates."

"What year was it from, the one my father had?"

"It was a notice from one of your brother's years. The younger brother, as I recall."

"So it wasn't just a paper for pins," she said. "My father had a list with my brother's name on it?"

"That's right. Maybe he hoped he could eventually figure out which name was the right one," Leon said, and then he turned his face, alert. Gaia held still, too, listening. A sleepy but distinct baby's cry came from upstairs, just once, and then fell silent. Leon's gaze riveted on Gaia.

"Oh, no," Gaia breathed. It would be only a matter of seconds before the baby let out a louder, more peremptory call, and then the other babies would start waking. "I have to find formula," she said.

"I'll be right there."

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Gaia was already running toward the kitchen as another, louder wail came from up above. As soon as Gaia stepped back into the kitchen, she saw that Rosa had moved closer to the gray stone fireplace. She had her legs curled for leverage and was trying to roll over so that she'd be able to rise. The red material of her dress was bunched awkwardly around her knees.

"Don't move," Gaia said.

Rosa turned her face in Gaia's direction. Her black hair fell half across her face, and a strand of it stuck in the corner of her mouth. "You have to let me go," she said, her voice still a clear soprano. "I have to take care of the babies."

The infant in the crib on the counter was waving one hand and making a gurgling, playful noise. Another cry came from above and was joined by a second baby voice.

"Where's the formula?" Gaia demanded, scanning the kitchen for likely containers. One wall was lined with cupboards and closets. She set the basket and Maya on the center table and began opening doors as fast as she could. The first cupboard held adult food, the second dishes, and the third was stacked with lidded clay canisters. Gaia pulled one out and lifted the lid with a sucking sound: cream-colored powder.

"Don't take that," Rosa said. "We need it."

Gaia dipped her pinky finger into the powder and tasted it, then grabbed one of the canisters and put it in the basket. Taking three of the bottles from by the sink, she filled them with water and twisted on the nipple tops as more cries came from upstairs.

"Leon!" she yelled, tucking the bottles into the basket with the baby blankets. She picked up her sister again and gripped the handles of the bulging basket. "Is there a list of the babies' birth dates?" she asked. "A record anywhere?"

Rosa let out a laugh. "You think I'd give it to you? You know they're going to catch you," she said, shifting again,

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inching her body toward the fireplace. "And they'll hang you right in the Bastion Square while I watch."

"Leon!" Gaia called again. She couldn't tell what distressed her more, the increasingly urgent wails of the babies upstairs or the sinister predictions in this girl's clear, high pitched voice.

He appeared in the doorway. "I can't find anything," he said. "It must all be restricted." He reached into one of the closets and pulled out a couple of red cloaks. "Take this."

"She knows where there's a list," Gaia said. "She won't tell me."

For a moment Leon looked into Gaia's eyes, as if weighing something important. Do it, Gaia thought. Do whatever you need to.

"You'll never get outside the wall," Rosa piped from the floor. "They'll have people watching out every window and guards everywhere."

Leon slipped a cloak around Gaia's shoulders, and she hunched into the warm, soft material. Then he dropped the other cloak on the table and reached for the handle of a knife that pretruded from a block of wood. Its sharp, short, serrated blade gleamed blue in the light from the rainy window. As the cries from upstairs grew desperate, he took a step nearer to Rosa, still bound on the floor. He aimed the knife in Rosa's direction.

"You wouldn't," she said. Her eyes rounded with fear.

Leon flipped the knife once in his hand catching it deftly. "Where's the list?" he said.

Gaia sucked in her breath, biting her lip. Rosa was pushing back from him as much as she possibly could. Her voice lifted even higher in alarm.

"I don't know!" she said. "I really don't!"

The baby on the counter began to cry, adding a grating, discordant counterpoint to Rosa's pleading.

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Leon took another step toward her and stooped to touch the point of the blade to the middle of her throat.

Gaia clutched her sister, terrified of how far Leon might go.

"Tell me," he said, his voice low and unflinching. "And I don't mean in the computer. A written record. I know Masister Khol would have a backup."

The blade stroked downward along the skin.

Rosa let out a gasp of fear. "Don't hurt me! Check the bottom drawer of the big cabinet. By the far wall," Rosa said. "I swear there are some ledgers. The bottom right drawer. Go look! Please!"

Leon glanced up at Gaia and nodded.

Gaia set her sister and the basket back on the table again and flew into the office. She wrenched open the lowest drawer of the biggest cabinet and there was a pile of thin ledgers. She flipped rapidly through the covers, seeing each book spanned five years, and a quick glance showed her there were names and birth dates inside in precise, small script. She swept the entire pile into her arms.

By the time she returned to the kitchen, Rosa had tears in her eyes. Leon hadn't moved a millimeter.

"They're here," Gaia said. "Leon. I've got them. Let her go."

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Chapter 26 White Boots

H IS COLD, steely eyes yielded nothing, but he turned the cusp of the blade away from Rosa's throat. She burst out a sob as Leon straightened to his full height. From the crib on the counter, the baby's cries subsided into a hiccupping, lonely noise, while the other babies upstairs continued to cry.

"You're a monster," Rosa said, half choking on her words. "A freak. Just like they've always said."

He tossed the knife on the floor. It landed just behind Rosa's tied wrists, where she would be able to reach it and work herself free.

"Come on," he said to Gaia, grabbing the handles of the basket and tossing the other red cape over his shoulders. He opened the back door, and she teetered with him for a moment on the doorsill, facing the cold rain. She shivered once, hard, all through her body and gazed up at Leon's unrecognisable face. How completely he'd changed, how ruthless he'd become during those moments he'd held Rosa at knife point. How much of that had been genuinely him, and how much of that had been him acting as Gaia's tool? She had to accept that some of the responsibility was hers, and she didn't like it.

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"You ready?" he asked, and she was relieved to hear his voice had lost its merciless edge.

She nodded. He took the ledgers from her and pushed them into the basket. With a twitch, he settled the hood of his cloak around his face, and the contrasting red made his cheeks seem even paler.

"You'll never look like a girl," she said.

He gave the faintest hint of a smile. "This way," he said, and led her around the building.

The rain was lessening, and with the dry red cloak around her, she no longer felt every raindrop pounding along her head and shoulders. She tucked Maya under the fabric, and hugged her close to her side.

"Where are we heading?" she said.

"To Mace Jackson s. Do you have a better idea?"

She didn't. But when they reached the turn for the street with the bakery, a group of soldiers stood at the corner, and Gaia stopped in alarm.

"Hey!" a soldier called.

"Quick! This way," Leon said, pulling her back with him. They ran down an alley, and then he pushed her through a narrow door into a garden. She flew past the sodden vegetables and into another little yard and out another gate. A staircase curved up the side of a building, and Leon took her hand to lead her up. At the top, a flat roof was covered with laundry lines, all bare now, and they ran to the other side. A cistern was full and overflowing with rainwater, and behind it a plank utility bridge accompanied a water main that crossed to an' other roof.

"Can you make this?" he asked.

Compared to the run over the top of the solarium, this was nothing, and Gaia held out her hand. They were across to the next roof in a flash.

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Gaia caught a glimpse of the obelisk and the Bastion towers, but then she and Leon turned down another staircase, and Gaia was back at street level, in another alley. They paused, looking for soldiers, and then they dashed across the road and up a lane. Leon stopped against a familiar metalwork gate.

He thrust his arm inside, and at that moment, Gaia recognized the walled garden where she and Leon had stopped once before.

"We can t," she said. "It's a dead end. A death trap."

"We have no other choice. We have to hide somewhere while we come up with a plan."

He shoved the gate opened, and she flew in behind him. The wet gate closed with a click, and she looked fearfully toward the house. Gray, blank windows merged with the rain-soaked stucco, and she looked to Leon, surprised. "They're gone?"

"They must be at my sister's birthday party," he said. He started toward the terrace, but Gaia shrank back.

"No, Leon. We can't go in there."

"We need shelter, Gaia. We have to figure something out."

She backed away, shaking her head. "Let's hide out here, in the garden, just until we can figure out a way to get out of the wall." She sniffed as a big drop of rain fell against her lashes, and then she wiped it away.

"If you insist," he said. "At least it should be dryer under the tree. Come on."

She barely recognized the garden as he led her toward the back, toward the big pine tree. Light from a streetlamp flooded over the wall in one place, illuminating the wild cascades of rain, and the pummeling effect of the rain on the bushes and flowers, but otherwise the garden was a maze of drenched shadows. A gust of wind blasted into her face, stealing her breath, and she leaned into it.

"Here!" he said, and she squinted into the gloom. They had

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reached the giant pine and the deep, dry shadow beneath. She had to hunch to move beneath the lowest, sloping branches.

Maya let out a cry, and with her open mouth, the infant rubbed her cheek against her towel, rooting instinctively for food. Gaia wiped her finger on the wet fabric of her cloak and put her littlest finger upside down in the baby's mouth. It was a trick shed learned from her mother, but it was still startling how hard the baby could suck.

"She needs a bottle," Gaia said.

"We don't have time."

"I can't exactly take a crying baby down the street."

He frowned toward little Maya and the finger Gaia had in her mouth. "What do I do?"

Gaia told him to dig out one of the bottles of water and explained about adding the powdered formula and shaking the bottle to mix it.

To her left, a sheet of gray rain marked the edge of the cliff, and she could just make out the blurred buildings below. With Maya in her arms, she huddled to the ground. A few streams of rainwater ran through the dead, fragrant pine needles. When Leon handed her the bottle, she nudged it into Maya's lips, and the baby latched on vigorously.

"Hungry little monster," Gaia said softly. She licked the rainwater from her lips.

He was sitting on his haunches beside her. "Did you notice the guards didn't take any shots at us back there?" he asked. "We were in range. I wonder if they have orders to capture us, not kill us. The Protectorat was willing to have us executed when he could do it quietly, but he might not want us gunned down in public."

She glanced up from the baby to find Leon's face near enough for her to see the individual drops along his cheek' bones. "That's good then, isn't it?"

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He squinted at her, nodding. "Yes. But they'll have guards combing every corner of the Enclave and all around the wall, too."

She thought this over and shivered.

He moved nearer and put an arm around her shoulders. "Gold?"

"Not so bad."

He gave her shoulder a squeeze and then pulled her a bit nearer so that she could feel the warmth of his torso along her arm through the wet cloak.

"I think we might have a better chance if we split up," he said.

"What?"

"They're looking for the two of us together. If you just go yourself, right up to the south gate, like you have business outside the wall, you might be able to get close enough and then run."

She blinked over at him. "You've lost your mind."

"What do you think we should do, then?"

Gaia didn't know. She wished there was a crowd. If they could get lost in a crowd, they might stand a chance. Maya was almost done with her bottle, and her eyes were closed as if she would slip right into sleep. "I don't know," Gaia said. "Isn't there any other way out of the wall?" She remembered the way she'd come in originally, and the guard tower just above it. That would be no good. "Didn't you say you got in by the solar grid plant?"

"That's clear on the other side of the Enclave. We'd never get that far."

"So there's no way out."

"Aside from blasting open our own hole, no."

"How about where the wall meets the cliff? Could we go down the cliff?"

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"Not unless you have a-- I don't believe this. Where's your rope?"

She let out a laugh. "I left it in the Bastion. With my mother."

"It wouldn't work anyway," he said. "There are guard towers along the cliff, too."

Gaia lifted her face as the rain lightened even further, and gazed out toward the cliff, to where she would see the unlake if the rain and the darkness didn't obscure it. Night was falling, and the gleams of streetlamps shone below. "So, we're stuck," she said. "Do you still have the ledgers?"

"They're right here," he said.

She gazed at the hastily assembled basket of supplies, realizing she might never have the chance to use them all, few as they were. It was almost funny, in a way, to feel so safe for an instant while guards must be closing in on them from every direction. Something slowed down inside her and grew peaceful, as if she'd accepted a great boulder.

"I would have liked to get the list outside," she said. "To the people in Wharfton. They have a right to know what happened to their babies."

"Gaia. You sound like you're giving up."

It didn't feel like that to her. It felt like she was facing her future realistically. She just hoped they could be killed quickly and not have to go through a scene in the Square of the Bastion with a formal execution. She wouldn't like that. "It's just reality, Leon. There's no way out. The only one who could get us outside the wall tonight would be the Protectorat himself, or maybe Genevieve. And I don't think they'd want to leave Evelyn's birthday to offer us an escort," she added wryly.

Leon loosened his arm from around her and stood. "Incredible," he muttered.

"What?"

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"We've been thinking like fugitives. We need to think like royalty."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Stay here," he said.

"You're not leaving me!" she said.

He crouched beside her again and gripped her shoulders. "Listen," he said. "It's the night of my sister's party, right? The wealthiest people from the Enclave are out tonight, heading toward the Bastion. The guards are looking for us in red, desperate and soaked. All we need to do is dress in white, Gaia. We just have to act like we're part of the guest list. Guards would never stop a couple in white."

The peaceful boulder began to break up around her heart, letting hope in again, and with it fear.

"But what about the baby? What about my face?"

Leon stood and helped her to her feet. "It will all work out," he said. "Gome on."

She gathered her sleeping sister more closely in her arms as he lifted the basket of supplies, and then they were hurrying through the garden toward the house. The rain had lessened to a drizzle, and a roll of thunder was more distant. Even though she knew that the house was lightless and empty, it still frightened her to creep up onto the terrace. With a stone, Leon made a sharp tap against one of the windows of a French door to break the glass. A moment later, he had the door open and they were inside. It was hard to see more than the forms of furniture and the openings of doorways, but Leon seemed to know his way, and she followed him up the stairs to a bed' room.

"How do you know this place?" she asked.

"One of my friends from school lives here. Tim Quirk. His family is friends with my family. I've been here a hundred times, though not lately." He was closing the curtains, blocking

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out the last bit of light, and a moment later she heard a click as he pulled a light switch in the closet. Gaia was afraid to touch anything, especially once she saw that everything in the closet was white with only the slightest other pastel shades for accents. There were special shelves for hats, and a dozen compartments just for shoes.

"Here," Leon said. "Pick something out. I'll get something from Tim's room."

"I don't have the least idea what to wear," Gaia said.

He turned to her, frowning, and she could just imagine the picture she made, dripping wet, in the red cape and with a baby rolled in blankets in her arms. Her hair was wet and probably messed, and under a layer of mud, she still wore Jet's bloodstained trousers and her improvised sheet skirt.

"I wish we had time for showers," he muttered.

She laughed. "Well, we don't. Let's not think that much like royalty."

Leon turned again to the closet and whipped out a long, slender, creamy sweater with soft, narrow sleeves. Next he pulled out a white dress that would sweep below her knees. "The style's probably not right for a young girl like you, but it's all we have. Here's a cape. I don't think it's waterproof, but the rain's stopping, I think, and it has a good hood. Can you pick out some shoes?"

"How about the boots?" she asked, pointing down at the row of boots, some tall, some ankle-high, all in spotless white.

"Let's hope they fit," he said, and pulled out a pair of the low ones. They reminded Gaia of cowboy boots from the Tvaltar, but shorter, dainty.

"Okay," she whispered, and let her red cape fall to the floor.

She couldn't wait to get out of her snug, water-soaked clothes. She set the sleeping baby on top of the bundle. As she reached for the dress, she looked over her shoulder to see if

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Leon had left yet. He stood by the doorway, his eyes scanning her body with unguarded interest, and she wondered for a moment if he were judging whether the clothes would fit.

"What?" she said.

His gaze flew to hers, and then he turned sharply away.

"I'll be right back," he said.

That was ... odd, she thought. To say the least. Gaia stripped off her wet clothes and pulled on the dress. There were but' tons along the back, and her cold fingers trembled as she snagged her hands behind her to reach them. In the dark, with only the light from the closet to guide her, she worked quickly, and then tiptoed in the little boots over to a full-length mirror that gleamed beside the bed. She looked over her shoulder to make sure she'd gotten all the buttons, and was surprised by the graceful way the white material clung to her form. She looked like someone else. Someone privileged. Especially with only the right side of her face to the mirror.

"You're perfect," Leon said.

She turned to see him in the doorway and smiled. Aside from his black boots, he was dressed in impeccable white, with a tailored jacket and trousers. He had hitched his blazer open to rest a fist on his hip, and she saw a short dagger that hung in a sheath from his belt: a fitting military accent. He gave his sleeve a twitch. "The coat's a little short," he said.

She laughed. "You look incredible. Certainly good enough to fool any guards. Now what about the baby?"

He produced a gilded bag made of paper. "I found this," he said. "She might fit inside for a present."

Gaia was doubtful.

"See if you can do something with your hair," he said. "Like put it up or something? I don't know. I'll see what I can do with Maya."

"Here. Let me do this much." Maya's blankets had come

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loose, and Gaia refolded them securely around her sister so that, from a compact little cocoon, only the baby's face showed.

"Thanks," Leon said.

Gaia stepped over to a dresser where she found a brush and a couple of clips. Hastily, she brushed the worst knots from her wet hair and swept the short strands up in back, securing them on top of her head as best she could. It felt strange to leave her face so exposed, but when she pulled on the sweater and then the white cape, she saw it looked passable. Her scar would only be noticeable to someone who looked directly into her hood, to her face.

"We're good," Leon said.

He was standing with a gift bag casually tucked in one arm.

"Can she breathe in there?" Gaia asked.

He tilted the bag to show her the baby's sleeping face was upward, and the ledgers were tucked in with her, too. She looked cozy, warm, and content. Gaia couldn't believe how tiny she was.

"It's a little bulky, and there's no room for formula," he admitted. "But if she stays asleep and doesn't move, we'll be okay."

We just have to make, it outside the wall, she thought. Nothing else mattered.

When he turned out the closet light, she naturally reached for his hand in the darkness. Together they crept back down the staircase and rounded the corner to the front door. Leon unlocked the door, and when he opened it part way, they looked out at a drizzle. A sconce light mounted on one of the entry way pillars lighted the path toward the road.

"It's almost stopped," she said.

"We should wait another minute," he said.

She nodded, postponing the next plunge into risk by standing in the temporary shelter of the quiet, dark home. He

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released her fingers to reach for a white hat on a peg behind the door, but then he took her hand again and brought her close to his right side, tucking her fingers into his elbow. The baby parcel looked secure in his other arm.

"This is how we 11 walk," he said.

"So you actually have a plan?"

She glanced up to meet his eyes under the white brim. He was regarding her with his usual concentration, but his mouth curved in the slightest smile.

"I have to say. I'm tempted to take you back to the Bastion and walk right into my sisters party. You belong there."

She let out a laugh. "Now I know you've lost your mind."

He tilted his face slightly. "I should have met you long ago."

"Outside the wall?"

"There shouldn't even be a wall in the first place," he said.

"But there is," she said, looking back out to the drizzle in the lamplight.

"Listen," he said. "If something goes wrong, if we get separated, I want you to go ahead with your plan to go into the wasteland. Head north."

"We're not splitting up."

"I know, but if we do-- "

"Leon," she said, gripping his arm. "It's not happening. We're staying together."

She expected him to nod, but instead his gaze was directed again toward the open door. She wondered if it really made any difference whether they waited a few more minutes or not. They were almost certain to get caught once they reached the wall, if not before. Still, she'd rather be caught this way than bedraggled and desperate.

"You should know something about me," he said quietly.

She gazed up at him, waiting.

"I'm not sure if I'm doing the right thing for you," he added.

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She touched back a strand of her dark hair, uncertain how to reply. "What do you mean?"

"I just want to be sure you're making your own choices. I'm not the best judge of what's right for someone else."

She loosened her grip on his arm. "What are you saying?" she asked.

Just beyond the pillars the rain was falling softly on the sidewalk and grass, washing everything with a gray, sodden hue. Leon seemed to be looking through the dimness to another time, and though in one way she felt like he was leaving her, she also felt she was on the brink of being closer to him than she ever had. He turned slowly to the narrow table that stood in the hallway, gently set down the gift bag with Maya inside, and crossed his arms.

"Two years ago," he said, "when my sister Fiona was only twelve, she and I were playing chess one night in the solarium. There was an enormous storm, like this one."

A cool mist came through the open doorway, but she felt an even deeper coolness within her as she sensed he was confiding something he'd never told anyone else. She tried to imagine what it had been like under that glass ceiling with all the rain pounding down. "Why didn't you play somewhere else?"

"She liked the storm," he said. "It felt like electricity charged the air, and she liked that. But then the power went out. There was nothing but black, as dark as the tunnel without a candle. Then these wild, random, crashing flares of lightning shot through the room. It felt like the glass of the ceiling was crashing down on top of us."

"It must have been terrifying."

He nodded. "Fiona completely freaked out. She was terrified, way beyond anything I'd ever seen. She couldn't even breathe. She climbed onto my lap and begged me to hold her. She was almost hysterical, and I was-- well, I was kind of

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laughing at her. I wasn't very nice at all, but I didn't know what to do with her. She'd become this crazy cat of a kid. And then she gripped me in a kind of panic, and then-- " He stopped.

Gaia bit her lips inward, waiting. His posture had grown stiff, and his face was aimed toward the rain again so that she couldn't read his eyes.

"She was my sister," he said, his voice low. "She kissed me. Not the way a kid does."

Gaia watched the strange, cold detachment that settled in his features, like a death mask. She could see he'd replayed this memory a million times. "What did you do?" she asked.

"I was in shock. I didn't want to hurt her feelings. I couldn't just push her away. She had me by the collar and I-- I was trying to back away when Rafael found us."

"Oh, no," Gaia said. Her instinct told her to reach out to him, but he stood aloof

"It gets worse," he said, his voice leaden. "She had a diary. She'd kept a list of every nice thing I'd ever done for her, no matter how small. She had developed a whole logic about how we weren't biologically related, so the laws against siblings marrying didn't apply to us. She'd imagined an entire life for the two of us, in a cottage, outside the wall." His eyes closed. "When Fiona saw what trouble I was in, she tried to deny it, but it was too late."

Outside the door, a gust of wind brought a shower of bigger drops from the nearby trees, spattering them into the puddles on the sidewalk.

"I think they would have believed us, eventually," he said. "But Fiona died."

Gaia shivered, drawing her cloak more securely around herself He finally turned to her, his eyes dark and troubled, his voice a low murmur.

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"Gaia," he said. "When my little sister came to me to apologize, when she wanted to try to make it right with me, I was furious with her. I told her she was sick. A sick little girl. And that's when she did it." His voice dropped to antagonized hush. "My sister killed herself because of me."

Gaia shook her head, disbelieving. It was too terrible to imagine. Fiona had been only twelve years old! And how could Leon blame himself for her death? Such a tragedy couldn't be blamed on one cruel comment.

"But it was an accident," she said.

"No," he said. "Evelyn saw it. She couldn't stop her. It wasn't an accident."

"I am so, so sorry," Gaia whispered. She could understand now how wild rumors had spread. Leon s family, shattered by the suicide of one twin, must have been completely devastated. In that tangle of disbelief and confusion, how easy it would have been to focus their rage and pain on Leon, to blame him. He'd absorbed it all in, every bit of it. How many people knew the real truth?

"The worst thing of all is, I think she really was sick," Leon said. "I've thought about it, and I think she needed help. I think she was terrified, and not just the night of the storm. Her moods were swinging crazier all the time. Some days she couldn't even get out of bed, and other days she had all this wild energy and she didn't know why. She was trying to ask me to help her, but I couldn't see. I just made it worse." He turned his face away again, peering toward a distance that Gaia couldn't see.

"What happened wasn't your fault," she said. "I don't know what was wrong with Fiona, but she should have been getting help from someone far more knowledgeable than you were. Did Genevieve know what was going on? Did the Protectorat?"

"You're missing the point," he said. "My sister is dead. If I

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hadn't mistreated her when she needed me most, she would be alive today." Leon's voice was low, with a hollowness that came from deep within him. "You once wondered why I became a member of the guard. Honestly? There was no point doing any thing else. There was no point doing anything, period. I took a job. I didn't question any rules or orders. I didn't care."

She twisted her hands together, and looked up at him, un-flinching. "That was your only mistake," she said. "Giving up yourself like that. You shouldn't have done that."

He let out a brief, bitter laugh and stepped away from her. "You're judging me?"

Gaia didn't know what to tell him, but she knew in her heart that his sister's suicide was deep enough of a loss, without adding his own guilt to drive it even deeper. Then again, she felt uncertain. How could she ever truly know what he'd felt? His whole family had been ripped apart by losing Fiona, and he'd been disowned when he must have needed them most. He'd had to grieve alone. She didn't know how she would ever handle such loneliness, such sadness. "I'm sorry," she said slowly. "You've lost so much, Leon. Not just Fiona." She thought sadly of her own parents and how she'd never see them again. Not even once, for a moment. It was more than she could bear. "I'm sorry," she whispered again. It was that simple.

From the present on the table beside her came a hiccup. Gaia glanced inside at the little infant, and then heard it again. Gingerly, Gaia extracted the baby from the gift bag and lifted her to her shoulder to burp her. The little, endearing hiccups vibrated through her hands, and she had to laugh, even though she felt broken inside. She glanced up to find Leon watching her, his gaze a mix of puzzled tenderness.

"You're good with her," he said.

Her lips curved. "She's my sister," she explained.

He shook his head, as if she'd said something remarkable.

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"See that? You know," he said. "I was fine, really. I was doing just fine until one night, when I was sent outside the wall to interrogate a difficult young midwife."

She caught her breath as a thudding started in her chest. "I wasn't so bad."

He laughed. "You were utterly fearless. And impossible. Look at all you've done," he said. "You got into the Bastion tower to save your mother. Who else could ever do that? I couldn't. Face it, Gaia. When you decide somethings right, there's nothing that can stop you from doing it."

"I killed my mother in the process," she said, her voice low. "Don't forget that."

"That I don't believe. And I doubt you really believe it, either. Would your mother blame you for anything that happened?"

She looked down at her hand, turning it slowly, as if it should have bloodstains on it still, but it was clean. "No," she said softly.

"See?" he said. "That's how we're different. You have nothing to blame yourself for. You never will."

She shook her head. "Don't turn me into some paragon, Leon. That's not who I am."

"No. You're more real than that." He lifted a hand against his forehead, tipping the hat back. Then he readjusted it again slowly and frowned. "I hated knowing you didn't respect me. Even when I could save your life, back when you were first arrested, it didn't matter to you."

She searched his face and the strange, uncertain loneliness behind his eyes.

"That's not why I respect you now," she said.

"Is that all you do? Respect me?"

In the dim light, his cheeks had turned a chalky, blue hue, but there was nothing cold about his expression. A fine tension

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emanated from him, like a soundless buzz, and he took a step nearer again. She was holding her baby sister awkwardly before her, strangely nervous, like she might drop her.

"Leon," she said. "I don't know what you want from me."

In answer, he took one more step, until the rim of his hat came just above her forehead. She knew that if she looked up, his eyes would be near.

"Who said I want something?" he asked, and took off his hat.

She could feel heat rising in her cheeks, and still she kept her gaze down. He closed the distance between them and slid his arms around her and the baby. When his warm lips touched the sensitive skin of the scar on her temple, she felt something give away inside her. She angled her face, bringing her mouth nearer to his, and then his lips touched hers in the lightest, most tender kiss. She inhaled a quick breath, and he kissed her again. An ache rose in her throat, and she lifted her chin, meeting his lips more directly. Outside, another loud spattering of huge drops fell on the bushes and sidewalk. Once she had wondered if anyone would ever kiss her, and if she would know what to do. Now she could hardly think at all. She felt Leohs hand shift to the back of her hair, and then his kiss deepened. She felt the world tip, and then her sister gave another hiccup.

Gaia pulled back. Leon was watching her under heavy eye' lids. "You are so, so sweet," he said tenderly.

"You re not supposed to kiss me," she said. She was surprised at how low her voice had become.

"I beg to disagree." His lips touched hers again.

She struggled to focus. "We have to get out of the Enclave."

His eyebrows lifted. "Right now?"

She pulled back more decisively, and he loosened his arms to let her go. "It's stopped raining," she said. "This is our chance."

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He glanced regretfully out the door. "You don't like me after all."

"Leon!" She socked him in the arm.

He smiled crookedly. "Okay. Just checking." Then he reached to help her settle baby Maya back in the gift bag. The paper was a thick, durable type, but it was definitely getting crinkled from handling. Gaia watched carefully as he repositioned the bag in his left arm. She wished it would look right for her to carry it herself, but it was logical for a gentleman to offer to carry it for her.

She fetched his hat from where it had dropped to the floor. "Here," she said. "There's a basic problem with our plan, you know. When we head toward the gate, we'll be going the wrong way, away from the party."

"You re getting picky." He put on his hat.

Gaia slid her fingers into his right elbow and before she knew it, he dipped near for another soft kiss on her cheek. "I wish we had more time, Gaia," he said.

She nodded, and passed with him through the doorway.

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Chapter 27 Trust

WITH HER HAND IN HIS ELBOW, Gaia and Leon walked down the wet streets, winding their way ever closer to the wall. When they came upon a group of soldiers, Gaia instinctively hesitated, but Leon drew her smoothly along, barely looking at them, and though she kept expecting every instant to be stopped, the guards gave them only a cursory glance.

Gaia exhaled in relief when they turned the next corner.

"See?" Leon said.

The sky had grown dark with nightfall, but an eerie luminosity glowed ahead of them as if a surfeit of white light was bouncing up to reflect off the low hung clouds.

"They must have the wall lit up," Leon said. "So the surveillance cameras won't miss anything."

"Are there cameras tracking us here?"

"There are cameras trained at most streetlamps," he said. "We've probably been picked up a half a dozen times already."

"So are we tricking them?" she asked.

"I don't know. They might just be waiting to pick us up by the wall."

They walked down another wet street and crossed to a

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narrow lane where the shop awnings reached out over the side' walks. Drips fell from the awnings, and Gaia ducked her head each time they passed beneath one.

"How's the gift?" she asked.

"Good."

They passed a second group of soldiers that appeared as unconcerned as the first, and Gaia began to feel some hope. But as they rounded another corner, she heard the sound of foot' steps behind them.

"Are they following us?"

"Don't look back," Leon said.

Gaia kept walking, turning with Leon onto a wider street that descended in a wide, gentle arc toward the south gate. White storefronts, streaked gray by the rain, lined the street, and street' lamps cast paths of reflections in the wet cobblestones. From some apartment above, the spicy scent of curried stew mixed with the smell of rain, and tauntingly reminded her that the rest of the world was going on with routine dinner preparations while she might well be walking her last steps. Gaia stretched her stride to avoid a puddle. There were guards on the parapet of the wall and in front of the gates, but the doors of the gate were wide open. Gaia even had a glimpse of Wharfton through the open archway, a row of drab, gray houses, wet and hunched against the night. There was motion out there, people passing by.

"It's a trap," Gaia whispered. "They're waiting for us."

"Keep steady," Leon said.

At that moment, a couple of men in white came out of a doorway on the left. They glanced curiously in Leon and Gaia's direction, and then one of the men stopped. He lifted his hand in a brief wave.

"Hey! Grey!" he called. "I didn't realize you were going to the party. You've been far too reclusive lately."

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"We have to go!" Gaia whispered.

But Leon released her and held out a hand to shake with the two men. "How've you been? We thought we'd get a look at the fireworks from the wall," he said.

"Are they still having the fireworks with the rain?"

"That's the plan." Leon said.

The men were looking curiously at Gaia. She kept her face turned toward Leon so they wouldn't see the scarred side of her face.

"You remember my friend Lucy Blair," Leon lied smoothly. "From archery class. This is Mort Phillips and Zack Bittman."

The men looked surprised, but they offered their hands to shake. "Of course!" the first one said.

"Nice to see you," Gaia said shyly.

"Are they really going to let you up on the wall?" Mort asked. "Looks like they're busy with something. Have you heard anything about fugitives?"

"Nothing lately," Leon said casually. "Good to see you. Let's catch up at the party."

"Sounds good," Mort said. He pointed a finger at Leon. "I still have that book you loaned me."

"Forget about it. I knew you'd never give it back," Leon said, his voice droll.

The men laughed and started up the road. Leon offered his elbow again, and Gaia slid her fingers into the corner of his arm.

"Do you know everybody?" she whispered.

He gave her a smile but his eyes were watchful. "Yes."

He's a far better actor than I could ever be, she thought. The guards behind them had stopped during Leon's conversation with his friends, and they had their heads together now. The guards down below had turned uncertainly toward their leader, a tall, white-haired man with a distinctive Adam's apple.

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"Even Lanchester?" Gaia asked.

"What?"

"I know the head guard, Sergeant Lanchester," she said.

They were almost upon the gate now, almost near enough to run through. Gaia thought her heart was going to beat out of her chest. The guards, more decisive now, were lifting their rifles. The ones on the top of the wall already had theirs cocked and pointed at Gaia and Leon.

"Do you trust me?" Leon asked.

"Yes."

She did. Implicitly. She met his intense, searching gaze with absolute certainty.

"Then take this," he said, and passed her the gilded gift bag with her sister inside. In the next instant, he grabbed her left arm and jerked it up behind her, twisting her hard up against him, and with the other hand, he bared a knife before her chin. She let out a shriek and instinctively struggled, desperately clutching her sister.

"Let me through or I'll kill her," Leon called.

"Let her go," Sgt. Lanchester called.

The men were moving into the archway to block the exit, their guns aimed at Leon and Gaia. They closed one of the massive doors.

"Clear out of the way!" Leon said. He wrenched her arm upward painfully and she let out another scream.

"Stop!" she said. "Oh, please! Stop!" And then she was silent because the knife was biting into her throat.

"Move!" Leon said again, edging closer to the archway.

"Step back!" Sgt. Lanchester said to his men. "Don't fire! Don't risk killing the girl! Gaia, is that really you?"

She was too afraid to speak. Leon was half carrying, half jerking her toward the great open gateway, and she was terrified that she would drop her sister. Already she was certain

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the bag was ripping. Leon jerked her arm again, and she gasped out as pain shot up her left shoulder. Sgt. Lanchester was shifting closer, his gun aimed at Leon s head. Leon held Gaia as a shield before him, and still edged toward the gate.

"Just let her go," Sgt. Lanchester said, his voice deliberately calm. "She never did anything to you. Just let her go, and we'll talk about this."

"Don't get any closer," Leon said. "Put up your gun."

But Sgt. Lanchester came even closer, and his pistol was leveled at them. Gaia could see down the black of the barrel.

"Don't shoot!" she begged. She felt tears brimming her eyes. She didn't think she could bear the pain in her shoulder any longer. She could feel her grip on her sister loosening, and still Leon was jerking her toward the archway.

"Please, Leon," she whispered. "You're hurting-- " she gasped again as another twist of agony ripped through her, and then she closed her eyes as her head began to spin with pain.

"Let her go!" Lanchester said again.

As she felt a minute yielding in Leon's grip, she opened her eyes and was stunned and to see they'd reached the archway. They were practically through the door. Practically free! He still held her pinned against him, his cheek alongside her ear, his knife at her throat. For an impossibly long moment, her hope was as intense as her raw pain.

"Run," Leon said softly.

She didn't understand.

He released her completely, pushing her stumbling out of the Enclave. She took half a dozen running steps before she realized he wasn't with her. She turned around and saw him swinging the door closed. With himself still inside.

"No!" Gaia said. "Leon!"

She stumbled back toward the door, but through the narrowing gap she saw a rifle butt crack hard into the back of

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Leon s head, and he was falling. For one, unblinking instant, Gaia couldn't think at all, and then she turned away from the lights and the wall. She gripped the ripping bag with her baby sister to her chest and ran blindly.

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Chapter 28 Returned Property

AS ANGRY VOICES from the top of the wall followed after her, Gaia ran tripping into a crowd of people. They called after her, too, reaching out for her, but she pulled away and ran. There were groups of people everywhere in the streets, sitting in lines along the curbs and on stools they'd brought outside. She nearly fell over a group of children, and their parents shouted at her as well. It was bizarre, surreal, and she couldn't pause to try to make sense of it. All she could do was keep to the darkness, avoiding any lights that might expose her to the surveillance system, and run as fast as possible. Her left arm was still limp with pain and almost useless. A shrill, interior screaming de' railed any normal thought in her mind and kept her fixated on the last glimpse she'd had of Leon falling, unconsious or dead.

"He can't be dead," she whispered.

She stopped to catch her breath and braced herself against a building. A light exploded in the sky and then a loud pop came from behind her. The crowd around her broke into a satisfied ^u Ooh!" She turned in amazement to look back in the direction of the Enclave, and saw a firework disintegrating in the foggy sky above the tower. As a second firework exploded, she

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realized finally what was happening: the celebration of Evelyn s birthday had gone on, uninterrupted, even as she and Leon had been scrambling to save their lives.

She peered around to get her bearings and realized her feet had brought her to Eastern Sector Two, near her old friend Emilys home. The moist air tasted of wood smoke. While more fireworks boomed into the sky behind her, she swerved left and ran down two more streets to a small house at the end of a row. She rapped on Emily and Kyle's door, gasping for breath.

When the door opened, she practically fell inward, and strong hands grasped her.

"Gaia Stone!" Kyle said in astonishment. "Emily! Come quickly."

She felt a strangled desire to scream again, and a new ripple of pain shot through her left shoulder joint. Kyle guided her to a chair by the fire. Emily was coming from the back room, wide-eyed. As he closed the door, the booming noises were muffled.

"Gaia!" she exclaimed. "What happened to you?"

Gaia turned back the bag in her arms, scrambling to get a clear look at her sister. The baby's eyes were open but other' wise she was still. Gaia let the ripped bag and the ledgers fall to the floor as she lifted the baby before her, holding her head gently in her palm. "You okay, Maya?" she asked.

The infant's eyes blinked, and she made a little pursing face with her lips. Gaia sighed with relief, and snuggled her sister closer into her arms again.

Emily and Kyle exchanged a glance, and Emily slid next to Gaia, wrapping an arm around her shoulder. Gaia winced in pain.

"Kyle," Emily said. "Go see if anyone's following her."

Kyle grabbed a coat from a hook. "I'll tell the others and get your father. Don't worry, Gaia. We'll watch for them. If the guards are coming, we'll get you out of here."

Gaia looked at Emily clearly for the first time and saw her

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face was fuller, her auburn hair longer than when she'd last seen her. Her eyes were the same rich blue and as full of concern as ever.

"Are you okay?" Emily asked. "What's happened to you?" She plucked gently at the fine white fabric of Gaia's cloak.

"I need to change," she said, slowly. She needed to think ahead. Leon wasn't with her. He wasn't coming. He couldn't. It was still only barely believable to her. "I need to leave as soon as possible. Do you have any formula? Any supplies I can take into the Dead Forest?"

Emily looked amazed. "Of course," she said. "But are you sure you want to go?"

Gaia hardly knew where to start, and when she tried to sum up everything that had happened to her since she'd gone inside the wall, she couldn't do it. There was too much: her father, her mother, Leon. "I can't explain it all," she said. "But I do know I have to go."

"We knew they were looking for you," Emily said. "They've been posting your picture on the Tvaltar, but they didn't explain why. What trouble are you in?"

"It's not safe for me here," Gaia said. "It's also dangerous for anyone who helps me. I just realized -- they know you're my friend. I'm sorry, Emily. I shouldn't have come here." She turned toward the door and started to rise.

Emily hushed her and pulled her down again. "Don't say that. You can't leave like this. We're glad to help, and I'm sure Kyle's got someone watching for us."

Gaia rubbed her left shoulder, trying to squeeze out some of the pain.

"You're hurt, aren't you?" Emily said. "Here. Let me help you into some other clothes. Does your baby need a bottle?"

Gaia's heart was still racing, but she was able to breathe more regularly now. "Not yet. She's my sister. Maya."

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"Your sister? Where" s your mother?"

Gaia gazed down at her sisters little face, infinitely sad. "She's dead."

"Oh, Gaia."

Gaia searched out her sisters little hand and lifted the fingers into the firelight. More muffled booms came from the Enclave. If she started thinking about her mother, the tears would start coming and she didn't know if they'd ever stop.

"I'm so sorry," Emily said softly. "She was a wonderful woman."

Gaia closed her eyes hard, feeling the tears start to brim despite her determination to keep them back. "Please," she said. "I cant think about her. I can't".

"Of course not," Emily said kindly. "Just wait right here. I'm going to put Maya in something clean and dry, and I'll grab some things for you. You want me to take her?"

Gaia nodded mutely. Carefully, she passed over the infant, and her hands felt emptier than they ever had. Emily passed quietly out of the room. Gaia slumped down onto the bench near the fire and let her face drop forward into her fingers. Every bone, every muscle in her body was weary from pain and exertion, but it was deep in her heart that she was most worn with misery.

There was a sharp burst of staccato explosions outside, and a glimmer of light outside the window signaled the finale. Soon the streets would be a madhouse as people headed for their homes. She reached slowly for the pile of ledgers that had fallen to the ground at her feet and settled them in a pile on her lap. They didn't seem like much of a prize when shed lost so much. She opened the top ledger and scanned the first page. It was the list of adopted babies, a simple line for each:

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Jan 4,2385 Healthy boy. Lauren and "Tom,

Tom McManus. Jr."

Jan 16,2385 Healthy boy. Zoe and Nabu "Labib"

Nissau.

Jan 17,2385 Healthy girl. Lucy-Alice "Joy"

Mairson and

Stephen Pignato.

And on and on, year after year they went. This was what she had to leave behind of her mother and fathers legacy: a guide, or a way to open the wounds of loss for every parent outside the wall who had ever wondered what had happened to an advanced child. Now, if they chose to, they could know who had adopted their children and, if they investigated further, if they were willing to risk pursuing information within the Enclave, they could discover if their children had thrived or died. How many parents, she wondered, would really want to know? Her Mom, of course, would have died for these records. In essence, she did.

Gaia flipped the pages and slowly ran her finger down the column of dates until she came to the one entry that still mattered most:

Feb 12, 2389 Healthy boy. Jodi and Sol Chiaro. "Martin"

That was her brother Arthur. He had become Martin Chiaro. Little good it did her to know; he was as lost to her as ever.

Gaia closed the cover, and as she did, she noticed something shiny on the floor, mixed in with the gilded paper and a blanket that Leon had tucked into the gift bag. She reached down and pulled at a bit of chain, lifting it into the glow of the firelight. At the bottom of the loop a familiar disk of metal rose and pivoted slowly in the golden light: her locket watch.

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"Oh, Leon," she murmured.

She could practically hear his voice insisting that it be' longed to her, especially now that she was free. She flipped open the tiny catch to see the words engraved within the cover: Life First. She wrapped the chain slowly around her fingers and gripped the cool watch, pressing her fist against her forehead. It was ticking. She would not cry. She would not.

"You okay?" Emily asked, coming in again with Maya and an armful of clothes.

Gaia shook her head. She was not okay. She didn't know if she'd ever be okay again. She wiped her wrist against her eye.

When she glanced up at Emily again, she noted the sway of Emily's back as she held the baby, and the subtle curve of her belly. Gaia frowned. "Are you expecting again?"

Emily laughed. "How like you to notice."

Gaia glanced around the room more carefully, seeing the simple furniture and a high chair in one corner. The sound of people laughing passed in the row outside. "Where's your baby?"

"Paul? He's down for the night." She smiled again. "Or so I hope. Here. Why don't you change? I mean, you look like a princess, but that's not very practical out here."

Gaia slipped off her white clothes and dressed slowly in a brown dress and a blue, white-flecked sweater. She had to be careful with her left arm, but it didn't feel like anything was broken.

"Here, you take her," Emily said, passing Maya back to Gaia. "I'll get you some stew."

"I'm not hungry. I don't have time. Honestly."

"You'll eat anyway."

Emily bustled around, taking away Gaia's white discards and bringing her a steaming bowl with a spoon. As her fingers closed on the spoon, Gaia founds she was shaky with shock and exhaustion.

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"What are those?" Emily asked, gesturing to the ledgers.

"I want you to take care of them," Gaia said. "They're the records of the advanced babies and who adopted them inside the Enclave."

Emily's forehead creased in disbelief. "Are you serious?"

Gaia lifted a spoonful of soup before her lips and blew gently on it. It did smell good, salty and rich with potatoes and meat. "Yes," she said. "Can you make copies somehow? Do you have people you can trust? Your parents?"

Emily sat beside Gaia and turned a few of the pages. "This is incredible," she said, nodding. "There are a few of us, not too many, but a few of us that have started meeting up." Her expression grew more somber. "A few weeks ago, something frightened me badly."

"When the raven was shot? On the shore?"

Emily turned to her slowly, her amazement obviously. "How do you know about that?"

"They were showing me," Gaia said. "They wanted to make a point."

Emily s voice dropped. "They made their point. They've gone too far, Gaia. Taking your parents, and then raising the quota to five. A baker was roughed up in Eastern Sector One the other day by a couple of guards. People are starting to talk. Fireworks are not going to be enough to keep everyone happy."

"You think there might be a revolt or something?" Gaia said, swallowing her stew.

"It's too soon to say. But this," Emily tapped the ledgers. "This could change things. What if people could actually take back their children?"

"And the baby quotas?" Gaia asked. "What about them?"

Emily settled her hand over her stomach. "I couldn't do it," Emily said. "I couldn't give up my baby. And I know two other mothers who feel the same way. I don't know what we're going

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to do if-- " She lowered her gaze. "I mean, I know it's your job," she continued.

Gaia set aside her stew. "No. Never again."

Emily looked surprised.

"It's out of the question," Gaia said.

Gaia gazed down at her sister, who had fallen asleep again peacefully. Her nose was still flattened, and she had only the faintest indications of eyebrows. A fierce, possessive power rose in Gaia as she cradled her sister in her arms. "I have Maya to look out for."

Emily drew her fingers into a fist on top of the ledgers. "This is an awful idea," she said. "But do you really want to take her into the wasteland? I could keep her for you. She'd be safe here."

She didn't have to spell it out for Gaia to understand: Emily believed they were going to die. Gaia couldn't think that way, and she couldn't leave her sister behind. She'd had enough of separating families.

"Thank you, but we're staying together," she said.

There was a quick knock at the door, and Emily rose to let in her husband. Behind him came Theo Rupp.

"Gaia!" Theo said. "Amy and I have been that sick with worry! Are you all right? Where are your parents?"

Gaia stood and felt his big arms encircle her and the baby in a great hug.

"Is anybody coming?" Emily asked Kyle.

"The guards are searching for you house by house," Kyle said to Gaia. "They lost you in all the crowds, but now they're coming. I've got Rufus watching outside."

"Then there's no time to lose," Gaia said, turning to Emily. "Help me get ready."

"I don't understand," Theo said. "What's happened?"

Emily set a hand on Gaia's arm. "Gaia's leaving, Dad. Jasper

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and Bonnie are dead. She wants to go to the Dead Forest with her sister."

The others exchanged looks, and then Theo took off his hat. He circled it in his big hands. "I'll go with you," he said.

Gaia shook her head. "You can t, Theo. You have your family here."

"But, darlin, do you even know the way?"

"Do you?" Gaia asked.

Theo's helpless expression was echoed in the faces around him.

"That's what I thought," Gaia said.

Emily's family began gathering things to put in a pack. Emily brought a sling of gray cloth that she had used with her son, showing Gaia how to arrange it over her unharmed right shoulder and down to her left hip so that she could carry the baby snugly in a pouch of fabric across her chest. Kyle packed a box of matches and a knife, a small pan and a sack of corn meal, a slab of mycoprotein, and a bag of pecans into the backpack. Then he filled a couple of water bottles and added those. Theo rolled a tarp and a couple of blankets into a tight bundle and attached it with straps to the outside. Emily added diapers, three canisters of baby formula, and two baby bottles, until the pack was stuffed full.

"Take this in case it rains again or gets cold," Emily said, handing over a clean gray cloak that swept to her knees. The fabric had been worked with beeswax to make it water' proof.

"You're better off traveling light and trying to make some distance," Theo said. "If you can get yourself far enough north, the wasteland changes into forest. There's water there. That's what you'll be needing most."

"The Dead Forest," Gaia said.

"Yes," he said. "That's what we've heard."

Gaia looked around at the cosy home and the strong, loving

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family, and she felt a pang that was half loss, half envy. She was leaving this place forever, and everything here that might have been.

"Thanks," Gaia said. "All of you. More than I can say."

"We'll take you as far as the edge of Wharfton," Kyle said, shouldering her pack.

She looked up at him, seeing his determination, and couldn't refuse. "Look after those ledgers," Gaia said to Emily.

"I will. I promise. And you look after yourself, will you?" Emily gave her a tight, fierce hug. "I'll miss you."

Gaia wordlessly hugged her back, and then she, Kyle, and Theo slipped out the door.

The rain had stopped completely, and the streets of Wharfton were quiet. Only a few groups of people still lingered after the fireworks. Mist clung in the air, and there was a tang of acrid smoke from the explosives. Once Gaia heard loud voices and knocking, but as they hurried farther from the wall and closer to the unlake, the sounds diminished. She and the men walked quickly, avoiding the few lights that might make them visible to a camera lens. Gaia had no doubt that Mabrother Iris was at his screen desk, watching for any flicker, ready to command his soldiers to converge upon them.

When they reached the unlake, they turned west. The expanse of the unlake was a heavy void of darkness on her left that sucked down the streams and trickles of water crossing beneath her feet. Soon they passed Sally Row and Gala's old neighborhood. For a moment, she remembered her old home, the shady back porch, the smell of fabric drying in the sun, the tinkle of the wind chime. She could hear her father working the treadle. She could see her mother rinsing out her blue teapot. She tried to picture what life would have been like if the guards had never arrested her mother, if she'd been able to stay home, pregnant and healthy, enjoying this late little baby

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girl with her husband. Then she looked in the direction of the potters field, invisible in the night, and wondered if they would bury her mother there, too, beside her father.

Gaia peered into the darkness, keeping her gaze forward, until they reached the last row, the last house, the last yard.

"This is good," she said.

Kyle transferred the pack to Gaia's back. She hitched it forward, settling the weight to minimise discomfort to her sore left shoulder, and checked that the sling with her sister in it was still balanced along her chest. She hitched her skirt up a bit, and laughed as she realized she was still wearing the 'white boots. At least they were comfortable.

"Good luck, Gaia," Kyle said softly. He gave her a quick hug and passed her along to Theo for another.

"You have everything?" Theo asked.

She felt for the locket around her neck, tucked inside her dress. "Yes," she said. "Give my love to Amy."

"And you know your stars?" Theo asked.

She looked up at the cloud-filled, dark sky. An area of pale glowing showed the moon was behind the clouds, and that they were moving fast. "I will," she said. "When they show up."

Theo gave her one last hug. "You re a brave girl," he said.

She didn't think so. She was just doing what she had to do. With a last wave, she headed out alone into the night, finding her eyes had adjusted and there was just barely enough light for her to avoid tripping over the stones and grasses. The road became rougher and narrower, then finally vanished altogether. Crickets sounded in the damp night. When she'd gone on for some distance, she turned back to see if the others were still watching her, but she couldn't make out anything but the lights of the Enclave, spreading up the hillside toward the Bastion.

She wiped a strand of hair out of her eyes, and her fingertips graced the familiar scarred skin of her left cheek. She adjusted

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the baby's warm weight in the sling, and then turned away again, lifting her boots carefully for each step as the ground began to rise.

Rain run-off trickled between the stones, and a fragrant, stone-scented mist was rising from the ground. She could sense the open expanse in the night ahead of her: not a tree, dead or otherwise, this side of the horizon.

At the top of the first rise, she paused one last time to look behind her. The white, curving line of the wall was clearly visible under the distant floodlights, dividing the hulking hillside into two sections. Below, there was a faint scattering of reflections and rare, isolated lights. Above the wall, pinpoints of light dotted the Enclave all the way up to where the towers of the Bastion reached toward the dark sky. From this distance, the lights looked cheery, welcoming, as harmless as fireflies, but Gaia felt a residual shiver of fear ripple through her.

Where is Leon now, she wondered. Had they put him in the tower where her mother had so recently been captive? Had they killed him?

He'd saved her. She did know that much. He'd given the guards a new target just long enough for her to get away. She couldn't help wondering how long he'd planned it, or if he'd known when he kissed her that he would be sending her ahead without him. She hoped, if he was still living, that he believed his sacrifice was worth it, and even more, she hoped she'd be worthy of it.

Leon had told her to head north, to the Dead Forest, to a place he didn't even believe existed. Maybe he'd decided he did believe. If ever he could find her and join her again, that would have to be where.

Gaia peered south, toward the unlake, and heard a bird chirp somewhere to her left. She pivoted right, and sensed the vast, open space of the wasteland stretching before her under

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the opaque sky, a darkness as thin and final as the velvet lining of a shroud. A touch of wind lifted against her cheeks and ruffled her skirt. The little bundle of her sister was solid and warm against her chest. "Let's start north, Maya," she said.

As she walked through the dark, stepping softly through the wet stones, she looked ahead to where the first cautious star managed to blink through the clouds.

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Acknowledgments

I wish to thank my students at Tolland High School, who make me want to write. I'm grateful to Kirby Kim, my agent, and to Nancy Mercado, my editor, who brought me deep into Gaia's story. Special thanks to Amy Sundberg O'Brien, Nancy O'Brien Wagner, and my mother, Alvina O'Brien, for input on the earliest draft. Thanks to Kate Saumweber for her midwifery insights. I thank my son William for his boundless encouragement, my son Michael for his wisdom regarding irony and the map, and my daughter Emily for insisting I not kill off babies.

Finally and always, I thank my husband, Joseph LoTurco, for everything.

Caragh M. O'Brien

March, 2010

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