push the
cabinet away from the wall and uncover an air vent on the floor. Lukas sticks
his fingers between the slats and pulls the grate off.
“Athel
discovered it,” he explains, whispering. “Hear those voices? They’re from the Kiva.”
I get down
on all fours and press my right ear against the vent. Lukas returns his
attention to the data feeder. He pulls more cables out of his satchel and
connects them to the various ports in his device.
I hear a
man’s deep voice, one of the Kiva Members most likely. “They’re waiting for the
full assembly to come in,” I say.
“Good.
That’ll give us a few more minutes.”
“What are
you doing?”
He
connects a tiny box with a two-inch antenna to his data feeder and then taps a
bunch of commands on the feeder’s terminal. “When I come with Athel, he pops
out his right eye and drops it down the vent. If he throws it hard enough, it
reaches the end of the vent and dangles down the ceiling, allowing him to see
what’s going on down there. Without him, we have to be more ingenious.”
I frown at
the tools he’s lined up on the floor. “What do you mean?”
“I left
the microtransmitter in his eye this morning. Once Kael came back wounded and
exhausted, you guys rushed to see Uli and I forgot to take it off. So now…”
He pompously
taps his thumb on the screen and leaves his hand suspended in the air, waiting.
The screen flickers, then a grainy image appears. It’s upside down from where
I’m sitting. I slide next to Lukas so I can properly stare at the picture. The screen
shows a raised stage in the middle of a large hall—the auditorium, I
guess. On both sides, slanted walls staggered by pillars converge to the stage
where, behind a cracked podium, a man sits on a big chair, his arms crossed and
his face a web of anger and disappointment. Two rows of empty chairs depart
from his sides. Behind him, a black screen hangs from the ceiling, split in the
middle by a deep gash.
If this is
the sacred Kiva Hall everyone talks about, it is deeply disappointing. The
walls are cracked and peeling, the chairs made of chipped wood. It’s no
different than the rest of the Tower, a subtle reminder that our future is
really in the past, the place we call home a mere ghost of what once was and
never again will be.
The camera
shifts to the right and I spot Uli hunched over at the end of the first row of
seats. Mom’s sitting in the row behind him, nibbling on the hook of her
prosthetic hand.
I think of
the hand we stole from the droid so Mom could have a brand new prosthesis for
her birthday. After what just happened, will Uli ever trust us again and make a
new hand for Mom like he promised us?
“Where’s
Athel?” I whisper. The image flickers again, panning back to the stage, and I finally
realize what’s happening. “Goodness, we’re in his head!”
“Not
quite,” Lukas replies. “But we’re seeing things through his eyes. Eye,
actually, the right one.”
We watch
on the screen and listen from the air vent. Athel turns to the Kiva entrance
and watches as two adults walk down to the stage, followed by two kids. One of
them turns and locks eyes with Athel, the bottom half of his face shining
eerily against the overhead light.
“Metal
Jaw!” I say. “What the heck is he doing there? Kiva is closed to anyone under
eighteen!”
“There are
exceptions,” Lukas replies. “Stealing is one.”
“It’s all
a mistake, my brother would never do such a thing!”
Right, Athel ? I almost message him but
then remember what he said earlier.
Any Kiva Member can tap into the network and
read messages as we type them .
“Shh!”
Lukas hisses and points to the screen. “Tahari’s about to speak.”
The man sitting
on stage rises. “Here are our witnesses.”
No way! Cal and Yuri … witnesses ?
About a
dozen men and women file up on the stage and occupy the chairs on either side
of Tahari. I recognize the elder who threatened Ash the other day. These are
cabinet away from the wall and uncover an air vent on the floor. Lukas sticks
his fingers between the slats and pulls the grate off.
“Athel
discovered it,” he explains, whispering. “Hear those voices? They’re from the Kiva.”
I get down
on all fours and press my right ear against the vent. Lukas returns his
attention to the data feeder. He pulls more cables out of his satchel and
connects them to the various ports in his device.
I hear a
man’s deep voice, one of the Kiva Members most likely. “They’re waiting for the
full assembly to come in,” I say.
“Good.
That’ll give us a few more minutes.”
“What are
you doing?”
He
connects a tiny box with a two-inch antenna to his data feeder and then taps a
bunch of commands on the feeder’s terminal. “When I come with Athel, he pops
out his right eye and drops it down the vent. If he throws it hard enough, it
reaches the end of the vent and dangles down the ceiling, allowing him to see
what’s going on down there. Without him, we have to be more ingenious.”
I frown at
the tools he’s lined up on the floor. “What do you mean?”
“I left
the microtransmitter in his eye this morning. Once Kael came back wounded and
exhausted, you guys rushed to see Uli and I forgot to take it off. So now…”
He pompously
taps his thumb on the screen and leaves his hand suspended in the air, waiting.
The screen flickers, then a grainy image appears. It’s upside down from where
I’m sitting. I slide next to Lukas so I can properly stare at the picture. The screen
shows a raised stage in the middle of a large hall—the auditorium, I
guess. On both sides, slanted walls staggered by pillars converge to the stage
where, behind a cracked podium, a man sits on a big chair, his arms crossed and
his face a web of anger and disappointment. Two rows of empty chairs depart
from his sides. Behind him, a black screen hangs from the ceiling, split in the
middle by a deep gash.
If this is
the sacred Kiva Hall everyone talks about, it is deeply disappointing. The
walls are cracked and peeling, the chairs made of chipped wood. It’s no
different than the rest of the Tower, a subtle reminder that our future is
really in the past, the place we call home a mere ghost of what once was and
never again will be.
The camera
shifts to the right and I spot Uli hunched over at the end of the first row of
seats. Mom’s sitting in the row behind him, nibbling on the hook of her
prosthetic hand.
I think of
the hand we stole from the droid so Mom could have a brand new prosthesis for
her birthday. After what just happened, will Uli ever trust us again and make a
new hand for Mom like he promised us?
“Where’s
Athel?” I whisper. The image flickers again, panning back to the stage, and I finally
realize what’s happening. “Goodness, we’re in his head!”
“Not
quite,” Lukas replies. “But we’re seeing things through his eyes. Eye,
actually, the right one.”
We watch
on the screen and listen from the air vent. Athel turns to the Kiva entrance
and watches as two adults walk down to the stage, followed by two kids. One of
them turns and locks eyes with Athel, the bottom half of his face shining
eerily against the overhead light.
“Metal
Jaw!” I say. “What the heck is he doing there? Kiva is closed to anyone under
eighteen!”
“There are
exceptions,” Lukas replies. “Stealing is one.”
“It’s all
a mistake, my brother would never do such a thing!”
Right, Athel ? I almost message him but
then remember what he said earlier.
Any Kiva Member can tap into the network and
read messages as we type them .
“Shh!”
Lukas hisses and points to the screen. “Tahari’s about to speak.”
The man sitting
on stage rises. “Here are our witnesses.”
No way! Cal and Yuri … witnesses ?
About a
dozen men and women file up on the stage and occupy the chairs on either side
of Tahari. I recognize the elder who threatened Ash the other day. These are
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