The Body Electric

Chapter 21

Great. I had one lead—one person directly connected to the terrorist attacks PA Young warned me were imminent. One. And instead of calling the police the second I saw him, I let myself be distracted by his lies and fall into a confusing world where nothing makes sense.

I need answers.

Jack’s idea of answers just led me to more questions. I can’t ask Mom; I can’t risk triggering an attack or making her upset. Ms. White knows as much as I do.

I need answers from the person pulling the strings.

***

A giant fountain rises up in the center of the plaza in front of Triumph Towers. Everything here—except the glittering steel-and-glass towers—is made of gray granite and marble imported from Italy—a stark contrast to the dusty brown limestone that nearly every other building in Malta is made of. And the water here, rather than the blue of the Mediterranean, is golden like honey. I’m not sure if the water’s been dyed, or if it’s just a clever trick of the light, reflecting the bronze base of the fountain up through the water.

I tilt my head back, scanning the roof of the tallest tower, wondering briefly if PA Young is up there, looking down at all of us.

If anyone can tell me what’s going on, it’s her. I’m just not sure how much I trust her. Jack’s digi strip was convincing—maybe there is something going on in that so-called Laboratory Facilities. And that’s government run—which means PA Young isn’t telling me everything.

But… how do you stride into the most secure building in the world and demand answers from the woman who runs the largest global government in history?

Auto-taxis from Mdina and Rabat crowd the corners of the streets, but no vehicles are allowed directly in front of the plaza—safety first. Nearly everyone in the plaza has their eyes glued to their wrists—some are on calls with others or going over their schedules or reviewing notes for the workday. The tourists are holding their wrists up, lining up photos on their cuffLINKs. The only people not staring at their cuffs or with silver eyes showing their nanobots are the security force. Dressed in all-black, the officers stand at attention, their eyes skimming the milling crowd for any trouble.

I twirl my own necklace through my fingers as I stand before Triumph Towers. Before, I had always looked at these buildings with a sort of patriotic pride—they’re gorgeous, skyscrapers that are both magnificently tall and also beautifully built. But now they seem ominous. Glittering in the sunlight, but still—ominous.

A piercing, high-pitched laugh echoes through the plaza, and I’m not the only one who spins around in the direction of the little girl in the neon-bright pink dress who’s half-hiding behind the statue at the base of one of the towers. An older man carrying two cups of a gelato lunges at the girl and she skitters away to her mother, laughing, before racing up to the man and snatching the chocolate gelato cup. I squint, but it’s not until the man turns and sits on the base of the statue beside his daughter that I realize who it is.

Representative Belles.

He looks so different here from when I saw him earlier, after the reverie. He seems lighter, somehow, as if he has no worries. The little girl in the bright dress doesn’t stop bouncing around and spinning as she eats her gelato, and the representative and his wife smile fondly at her. She tries to do a pirouette while balancing a huge dollop of gelato on the little shovel-like flat spoons the android vendors dole out, and chocolate plops down the front of her pink dress. She looks on the verge of tears until Representative Belles swoops down, whispering something in her ear and sending her into a gale of giggles.

The corners of my lips twitch up. The representative seems nice.

I hope he’s not a traitor.

I hear a small buzzing sound just before I feel a jab of pain in my hand. I smack my wrist automatically, and my palm comes away smeared with the guts of a fat bumblebee, the stinger embedded into my skin, already puffy and swelling.

“That looks like it hurts,” a voice says.

My stomach drops, and I swallow nervously as I lift my eyes.

And see Dad. Real Dad. My Dad.

I don’t know how I could have been tricked by the hologram tracker program earlier, even if for just a moment. It was nothing compared to Dad standing in front of me right now. He’s real. His hair moves in the gentle sea breeze, his chest rises and falls with each breath, a heartbeat thrums at the vein on his throat.

I leap up, throwing my arms around him. This is Dad. He’s warm and real and here.

“How… how?” I stammer, clutching the sides of his arms. “You… you’re dead.” I whisper the last word, dreading the sound of it on my lips.

“Ella,” he says, his voice trailing off. My name spoken in his voice is heaven; my heart leaps and I want nothing more than to live in this moment, me, holding onto Dad, real and in front of me and clearly, obviously, not dead.

“What happened?” I say. “Was it fake? Your death? Are you in hiding? Is that why you couldn’t come to me and Mom, why you disappeared? We thought you were dead, Dad, we thought—” My voice cracks, and words fade.

“Ella,” Dad says again, and something twists in my stomach, something sickening. A whisper of doubt rises in my mind, but I push it down, my fingers seizing against Dad’s linen jacket, holding him tight, keeping him here.

“What’s going on?” Tears are streaming down my face now. “You were dead, and now you’re not, and Akilah’s dead, and then she wasn’t.” A horrible fear enters my mind. “You’re not like her, are you? Do you remember me?” I giggle, a hysterical, bubbling sound. “Of course you remember me, you said my name. You’re real. You’re Dad.” I say the words for me as much as him.

I search his eyes. “You’re alive.” Saying the words makes me—finally—accept them as true. Nothing else matters. With Dad back, he can cure Mom. He can help me solve this terrorism problem. He can fix everything.

“Ella…”

“Please!” I cry, “Say something other than my name!”

“Ella.” Dad’s voice cuts through every other sound in the plaza. “Ella. You have to wake up.”