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The man pulls himself up next to me, grinning. He is taller than I am, which isn’t saying much. I notice, beneath the rags, his body is muscular and compact. He looks more like a soldier than the Sympas do.

“I’m Fortis.” He holds out his hand. It sits there.

I push against the door again, but it’s locked. Fortis surveys the room and returns to his conversation with himself. He wags his head as he once again answers his own question in falsetto. “Pleased to meet you, Fortis. I’m the little Grassgirl. Sorry about all the shooting right outside your door, eh? Didn’t mean to wake you. Or kill you.” He whistles to himself.

I don’t interrupt him and I don’t look at him. I’m too busy listening for guns. And I’m trying to pick out Ro from the mess of other emotions running wild, up and down the Tracks. He’s not just a spark, not anymore—he’s a blazing fire. And there are so many fires raging now, today, more than ever. The heat is overwhelming me.

But he’s there. I close my eyes. He’s still on the train. He hasn’t left—I can’t hear him, but I can feel him.

The Remnant, Fortis, whoever he is, moves closer to me.

I freeze.

“Here’s how it goes, Grassgirl. Way I see it, you’ve done something a bit special to get yourself upgraded to this fine, first-class cargo hold, on this set of Tracks.” He wags his head toward the door. “You’re not like the rest of the Remnants in the cars behind us, all headed to the Projects. You’re something else.”

Now I know what I have been feeling, apart from Ro. Why his anger was so hard to pick out from the other red-hot threads. Of course. The train is full of Remnants headed to the Projects, the work camps run by the Embassy. No wonder I sense so much rage. Nobody knows what they’re building out in the harbor. But it’s massive, and they’ve been building it for years now.

“Your mate Ro, he’s got his hands full. He can’t take the Tracks down alone—there’s not a person in all the Grass who can. Don’t have the right tools, do they? And I’ll tell you what about this place. You can’t bash your way in. You can only blow your way out.” He opens his rag coat and I see a collection of weapons tucked inside crude fabric loops. “Boom.” He taps a stick of dynamite, and buttons shut his coat, grinning. “Old school. Now. Let’s try this again. I’m Fortis.”

“Who are you?” I finally speak, and my voice sounds hoarse and low, nothing like his impression of me. “I thought you were a Remnant.”

“Not exactly. I’m not a Sympa Stooge either, if that’s what you’re after. I’m a businessman, and this is my business.”

“You’re a Merk?”

“What of it? Do you want me to help you or not?” Fortis looks impatient.

I shrug. “How much?” I don’t know why I even bother asking. Merks are notoriously expensive; they don’t care about anything or anyone—they can’t afford to. Which means they don’t work for free, and I don’t have any way to pay.

“A hundred digs gets you a minor explosion on the side of the Tracks. Five hundred digs, we’re talking a full-blown diversion. A thousand digs …?” He grins. “You an’ your boy were never here. You never existed, and they’ll never see you again.” He talks rapidly, like he’s trying to sell me bootleg books or miracle tonic or stolen Sympatech.

Still, it would be a tall order. Blasting your way out of the Tracks. Even for a Merk.

“How?”

“Trade secrets, Grassgirl.”

“I don’t have anything.”

He looks me over, up and down. Smiles. He reaches toward me, questioningly, and I blush as I feel his hand inside my waistband, just at my hip. I slap him in the face. “You’re disgusting.”

Fortis rolls his eyes, yanking my birthday book out of my belt, holding it up with a flourish. I had forgotten all about it.

“Didn’t think you were a Skin, love. You’re too, well, skinny.” He grins. “Be like givin’ a dig for a kiss from a carrot stick.” He shudders, trying not to laugh.

I’ve heard about girls who sell their bodies in the Hole. It’s a terrible thought. “Shut up.”

Fortis ignores me, leafing through the book as if it were made of gold instead of ragged paper. “Icon Children, eh? Looks handmade. Expensive. And highly illegal, by the way. I’d be doing you a favor, taking it off your hands. They’d give you extra time just for having it on you, Grass book like that.” He leans in again. “You don’t want the Ambassador to know you’re with the Rebellion, Grassgirl.”

“It’s just a book.” I shrug, but all the same, I hear the Padre’s words echoing in my mind. Don’t let it out of your sight. I stare at the precious paper in the Merk’s dirty hands.

“And you’ll be just a pile of bones before you get a chance to explain.” He looks up from the book.

“I’m not with the Rebellion. I’m not with anyone. I’m just …” I shrug, as if there is a word that can describe me. If there is, I can’t find it. I give up. “I’m nobody. Just a Grassgirl, like you said.” And as I say it, I realize he’s right. Without his help, I’m probably going to the Projects, or my death, or worse.

What does a stupid book matter now?

It is time to decide, and in that moment, I do. I grab his arm, yanking down as hard as I can. “I’m nobody, and I was never here. I never existed. Ro and me, both.”

He levels his eyes at me, gleaming blue behind his dirty face.

Like the sea. Like mine.

He nods at me, but I make him say the words. I want to be certain. “Take the book. It’s enough. Do we have a deal?”

“Not just a deal—a promise.” He tucks my book inside his jacket, and the story of me disappears among the handguns and homemade explosives. “Your secret’s safe with me, love. So is your book. Now get down.”

Before I can say another word, Fortis lifts the dynamite and lights the fuse.

RESEARCH MEMORANDUM: THE HUMANITY PROJECT

CLASSIFIED TOP SECRET / AMBASSADOR EYES ONLY

To: Ambassador Amare

Subject: Icon Origins

Text Scan: NEW ENGLAND JOURNAL

PLANET KILLER COMING OUR WAY?

December 29, 2042 • Cambridge, Massachusetts

Scientists at the Minor Planet Center in Cambridge announced today the discovery of a very large asteroid that is projected to pass dangerously close to Earth.

The asteroid, designated 2042 IC4, or Perses, has a targeted impact/arrival date of 2070–2090.

Scientists approximate the size of the asteroid at as large as 4 miles in diameter, which officials claim is large enough to create an extinction event.

Paulo Fortissimo, special scientific advisor to the president, says we shouldn’t panic: “I need to review the data, but the size and speed of the asteroid are merely an estimate, and the odds of this thing hitting Earth are still relatively low. Nevertheless, rest assured, we will keep a close eye on it.”

5

DIVERSIONS

The blast does more than blow open the door.

The blast has rocked the Tracks so hard, the car seems to have gone off the rails. My ears are ringing. The floor is no longer beneath me but next to me. The roof is gone, and through the jagged hole that remains, I can see the open air.