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  “I’ll make you a deal,” he said to the teacher. “That yellow pencil means a lot to the boy. I’ll give you two writing implements in trade for that one.”

  “Two for one? I don’t believe you.” The teacher’s eyelids closed to slits over her large globular eyes. “Where are these two writing implements?”

  Dominic smiled and opened his hands. “It stands to reason, as a teacher, you need a supply of writing implements. How long will one pencil last? Why not have two instead?”

  The teacher poked her nose in the air as if she could sniff out Dominic’s scam. “Show me.”

  “It’s obvious your mind is full of ideas.” Dominic gestured at the children. “You need to record your vision for posterity. Writing’s the way to do that.”

  “I don’t trust you,” the teacher said, but she was listening.

  Dominic felt a rush of the old pleasure in pursuit of a deal. He gazed at the teacher with affection, as a predator might gaze at its next meal. “Maybe your ideas will change the world someday. These students, they’re just the beginning. Think of what you could do if you write down all your thoughts.”

  The teacher squinted up at him. She was much shorter than Dominic, and her fleshy head lolled back between her hunched, rounded shoulders. She was wavering. Dominic played his favorite gambit—he turned to leave.

  “If you won’t trade, I have to go,” he said, disappearing through the door.

  “Wait.” The teacher pulled the yellow pencil out of her pocket and studied it.

  Dominic paused in the doorway, pretending to ignore the pencil, but from the corner of his eye, he observed her indecision. Benito struggled again to break free from her grip, but Dominic gave him a discreet hand signal to quiet down.

  “Two for one,” Dominic said again, very softly.

  The teacher glanced at her students. Her lips parted, ever so slightly, and her heavy shoulders rose and fell. When she exhaled, Dominic knew the deal was done.

  “Okay, I’ll buy,” she said. “Here’s your ratty pencil. Where’s my two?”

  In one motion, Dominic seized the pencil from the teacher’s hand and bent to the floor to sweep up the two broken pieces of chalk she’d dropped earlier. As he tossed them in her direction, he grabbed Benito and sprinted out the door.

  “You cheated me!”

  Dominic paused in the corridor and laughed. “All transactions balance.” Then he clasped the boy in the crook of his elbow and charged through the crowd.

  “Stop that thief!” the woman called out behind him.

  People turned to gawk as Dominic rushed headlong through the crowded tunnel. In his haste, he slammed into a woman who fell to her knees. Her belly was distended in pregnancy, and she carried a toddler strapped in a backpack. When Dominic offered to help her up, she started weeping.

  “Thief!” the teacher continued to yell in the background.

  Someone pointed at Dominic. “That’s him. He stole something from that mother.”

  “He stole her child!”

  “He’s a kidnapper!”

  Aghast, Dominic spun around. Everyone was staring at him. A circle widened around the weeping mother and Dominic, who still gripped Benito firmly in his arm.

  “Drop the brat,” the NP said. “You don’t always like my advice, but take it now.”

  “Hn!” Benito’s eyes were wide with fear. He scrambled up to grip Dominic’s neck.

  An object struck Dominic’s shoulder. It was a stone. Another hit his back. Then another. Dominic turned to face the stones. “I didn’t steal anything! This boy, he doesn’t belong to her. He’s…”

  When Dominic hesitated, more stones flew, and when one of them ricocheted off the floor and struck the woman’s leg, she shrieked.

  “Stop it, you stupid fool!” Dominic pushed through the crowd toward the teacher, who was throwing stones.

  Then several people laid hands on him, and someone tried to wrest Benito away. Dominic lost control. He swung and fought, blindly hammering his meaty fists at anyone who came near. He heard the brutal wet impacts of flesh against flesh, the ugly grants, the screams. Finally, he broke through the crowd and fled up the passage, sweat burning his eyes, no longer caring who got in his way.

  “Stop that man! He’s a thief!” the teacher yelled.

  “Drop the kid and run!” the NP shouted.

  Dominic ran full out, gripping Benito to his chest. He ran until he was gasping for air. Because he was taller and healthier than his pursuers, he eventually outran them. Their cries echoed and faded, and still he kept running. Then his long legs began to buckle, and when he spotted a dark niche in the wall, he slipped in to hide.

  Benito’s face was red and wrinkled. At first, Dominic didn’t realize the boy was quietly crying. He held him tight and stroked his bony little shoulders. “It’s all right. It’s all right,” he repeated, over and over, as he slowly recovered his breath.

  What had just happened? Those people accused him of theft, but he wasn’t to blame. He only took back what belonged to the boy. It was that teacher! He hadn’t intended to knock anyone down. Hardly ten minutes earlier, he’d been thinking how much he admired these protes. But that teacher!

  Dominic drew farther back into the dark crevice and waited for his heart to stop pounding. Would they have stoned him to death? For taking a pencil? These protes were more dangerous than he realized. Again, he silently blessed the major’s insistence on disguise.

  “Did you hear me, son? We gotta shut this place down. Surely, you see why.”

  “Yes,” Dominic said. He could still picture the pregnant young woman, weeping on her hands and knees, and the people circling around, pointing. The episode left him rattled.

  He leaned out of the crevice and looked both ways. No furious posse of vigilantes. Only a stream of haggard passersby. He wriggled out of the hiding place and started up the corridor, carrying the exhausted boy in his arms.

  They passed a shelter where an old man was stir-frying hardened cubes of Naomi’s pudding in a wok. He watched juvenile girls painting filigree patterns on their feet. The sight of a mother suckling her infant no longer disturbed him.

  He trudged on, fighting fatigue and trying to ignore the blisters rubbing under his foot rags. How long had he been walking? Time in this place seemed to stretch and wrinkle by rules Einstein never imagined. At some point, the boy wanted to walk on his own, and as they climbed four levels up a winding stone stairs lighted with candles, Dominic chanted a mantra, “Up. Up. Up.”

  When they dead-ended at a metal door, he leaned against the lever and pushed. He was beyond guessing what might be on the other side. The door opened into a large bright space with high ceilings and a bitter oily fragrance. Mechanical thrumming swelled through the air, and the dense ranks of fuel cells gleamed like polished cylindrical mirrors. Someone popped out from behind a cylinder, and Dominic saw the swing of blue-black hair.

  She said, “Freaker, Nick-O. What happened to your eye?”

  CHAPTER 14

  * * *

  DRAIN ON RESERVES

  THERE stood the major. Cocky and smirking as usual—curse her lying heart—she examined his bruises and giggled.

  Tired as he was, Dominic was incensed and would have said something rude. But then he noticed the woman standing beside her, a small, stooped woman with a plain face and calm, intelligent eyes. It was the little Asian woman he’d seen talking to Qi and the red-haired engineer in the stairwell that first day.

  Behind her, the colossal power plant whispered through its cycles, and dozens of workers moved with frantic haste, yet around this woman, a peaceful stillness reigned. A benevolent half smile played at her lips as if she had all the time in the world to welcome her new guests. Again, Dominic couldn’t help but feel there was something familiar about her. Something sweet and bitter at once. He even remembered her name. Ane Zaki.

  “You’re the electrician?” he asked.

  The woman bowed. “Hai. And you are the coin giver. Is
this your son?”

  Dominic blinked. Benito was clinging to his leg, making it impossible to walk, so he lifted the boy in his arms. “My son? No, he’s…”

  Right then, Benito did something which surprised Dominic very much. He gave Ane Zaki his treasured yellow pencil. Ane Zaki’s face glowed as she accepted the gift, and Benito made his happy noise. “Zzzh.”

  She examined the pencil and discovered with a gentle laugh how to make the lead retract. “How clever! Thank you, child. You have a generous spirit.”

  “Zzzh,” Benito gurgled.

  Then she offered it back to the boy. “But you will need this to make pictures. Keep it for me, yes?”

  Her pale face gleamed with faint moisture. Luminous, thought Dominic. She reminded him of someone, but he couldn’t think who. He couldn’t look away from her.

  “Please come, coin giver. You will perhaps want refreshment,” she said.

  The NP snarled, and sparks danced across Dominic’s vision. “The son I knew would never waste time like this! You have less than eight hours of air left. What if you pass out before you find the link?”

  Dominic ignored the sparks. “Call me Nick,” he said to Ane Zaki. Qi smirked.

  The tiny woman couldn’t have been more than forty years old, yet she walked with a slow, dragging step, and her uniform hung loose on her bent body. When a worker approached with a bow and an urgent whispered question, Ane Zaki touched her forehead and squeezed her eyes shut, then gave a brief answer that sent the worker rushing away. She smiled. “Forgive the interruption, please.”

  She led them through the power plant to an alcove in the back, little more than a closet. Dominic glimpsed a sleeping hammock neatly stowed away on a hook, a basket of folded clothing, and a low stool made, of course, from a crate. Along one narrow shelf, thumb-sized bits of trash had been arranged in a precise row. When Dominic leaned to see them better, he realized they were tiny tissue sculptures of winged animals, each one as finished as a poem. He was still examining them when Ane Zaki touched his arm and handed him a steaming towel. A precious gift. He held the cloth to his face and smelled its clean warmth.

  “The broadcast, remember? Market crash? Lawsuit? Divestiture?” The NP shot bright lights through Dominic’s skull.

  But fatigue had transported Dominic into a waking trance that verged on stupor. As he pressed the cloth to his eyes, he felt himself drifting loose from everything. In fact, he felt serene.

  He watched Ane Zaki’s hands. Slender and white, her hands opened and moved like blossoms. She unfolded another hot towel and washed Benito’s mouth and nose. The boy screwed up his lips and held still. When Dominic cleaned his own face, he was chagrined to find a thick stubble of whiskers covering his chin and cheeks. By the time he’d rinsed his hands, the towel was gray with dirt. He longed to scrub the rest of his body, but he was too self-conscious to do that in front of Ane Zaki. She smiled as she took the filthy towel, and Dominic felt light at heart. She asked if he would accept salve for his bruises.

  “Yes, Ane Zaki. I wouldn’t mind a little salve.”

  “Yes, Ane Zaki,” Qi mimicked. She gave his chin hairs a playful yank. “Hoo-hoo. Aren’t we cooperative.”

  “Salve!” the NP scoffed.

  Ane Zaki made him sit on the stool, and when she smiled, Dominic felt as if she’d singled him out for a special kindness. Qi paced outside the alcove. She seemed irritated, and Dominic vaguely wondered why. As Ane Zaki dabbed his cheek with cool green ointment, he caught her scent. Why had he thought her plain? She was angelic. All at once, he remembered whom she reminded him of.

  Dominic hadn’t known women in his childhood—he’d grown up among men. But once, as a boy, he had seen a woman’s photo in his father’s office. Richter kept photos of many women, like a collection of souvenirs, but this one was different. Not glamorous, not glittering with gems. This woman was plain. Why did Richter keep this picture among so many fashionable beauties? Dominic thought he knew.

  While his father wasn’t looking, the child Dominic stood on tiptoes, stretched his short round arms and took the photo off the shelf. He studied her face. She had soft, curling brown hair and mild gray eyes that seemed to speak to him. While Richter paced in front of the window and haggled in his video conference, the young boy cradled the picture against his cheek? He imagined telling this woman what he had learned at school. He imagined how she would smell. As soon as his father was free, Dominic stepped forward and asked with a boy’s hope, “Is this my mother?”

  Richter laughed, one short, hard syllable. Dominic could still hear it echoing. “You don’t have a mother. You grew in a tank.”

  Dominic remembered how he dropped the picture and ran, and how his father rushed after him. Richter tired to comfort him with words. “I made you outta my own flesh. It’s you and me, boy. We don’t need anybody else.”

  Dominic never saw the photo of the plain woman again, though for years afterward, he dreamed of her gentle face. Even when he knew she could not possibly be his mother, he still dreamed of her.

  “I’ll make you a little energy shot,” the NP said. “You’re tired, and you’re getting stupid.”

  Dominic barely heard. Beyond the alcove, workers moved steadily through the power plant, and he saw two children coming their way. The girl in front carried a steaming teapot by its handle, stooping and holding her arms out straight to keep it from bumping her leg. A smaller girl brought tiny cups and a rolled mat. When they saw Ane Zaki, they bowed and spread the tea things on the floor.

  Ane Zaki lowered herself carefully to the mat and invited the others to join her. Benito immediately curled in her lap. She laughed and stroked the boy’s hair, and Dominic found himself wishing he were small enough to sit in her lap, too. He nudged Qi aside and squeezed into the narrow space next to Ane Zaki, though he had to sit with his knees drawn up to his chin.

  “Comfy?” Qi stepped on his foot.

  Benito kept flashing his yellow pencil for Ane Zaki to admire.

  “Ah. Will you draw me a picture?” she said. “Please, draw here on the mat where I will always keep it.”

  Benito wet the pencil point in his mouth, then began to scribble, and Dominic found himself wishing he had a treasure to give Ane Zaki. On impulse, he drew the laser torch from his waistband, but men he didn’t know what to do with it. Ane Zaki didn’t need a broken laser torch. He put it away and drained the tiny teacup in one sip.

  Qi punched him in the ribs. “You wanna ask about fuel?”

  “Forget the fuel. You don’t need to ask these bitches anything,” the NP said.

  Ane Zaki took the cup from his hand. “Nick, this tea will restore your strength. May I show you my power plant?”

  “Yes please, Ane Zaki.”

  “Yes please, Ane Zaki. Hoo-hoo!” Qi sounded annoyed.

  Benito wanted Ane Zaki to carry him, but she was clearly not strong enough, so Dominic hoisted the boy onto his shoulders and offered Ane Zaki his arm. Qi stalked ahead, jerking her elbows as if she were jabbing her way through a hostile army. Dominic watched her. He would never learn to read the major’s moods.

  The floors of Ane Zaki’s power plant were spotless, much cleaner than Naomi’s supposedly “sterile” vat room. Recessed light tubes illuminated every corner with a soft indirect glow, and as the group strolled through the ranks of fuel cells, each cylinder gleamed as if polished by hand.

  Ane Zaki spoke with obvious pride. “These are solid oxide fuel cells, old technology but still very reliable. You hear how quiet the stacks are? That noise comes from our fans. And the air smells fresh, doesn’t it? Our cells don’t pollute. They even reuse their own carbon monoxide.” She paused and lovingly patted the flank of a cylinder. “They’re so elegant. No exotic catalysts. No hot liquid electrolyte to pump. They’re designed to run on ordinary synthetic petrol.” Here, she lay a finger across her lips and fluttered her eyelids. “Of course, we’ve made modifications.”

  As they walked on, Dominic felt every moveme
nt of her hand on his arm, like a precious, fluttering bird.

  “The equipment comes from both the Pressure of Light and the Jedes,” she said. “We integrated the two systems and hardened this cavern to withstand natural catastrophes. We mean to be permanent, Nick.”

  Another young worker ran up to Ane Zaki, bowed in obvious distress and blurted, “Stack ten is depleted, Obasan. What should we do?”

  Ane Zaki drew the worker a few steps away and spoke too softly for Dominic to overhear. The worker nodded and raced off, and he glanced back at Qi, who had fallen behind. She was humming a tune and sparring with her reflection in one of the polished cylinders. Apparently, she meant to ignore him. Crazy spook.

  Ane Zaki made a remark about the exuberance of youth, but her eyes glittered with strain. “Our Nord.Com execs chose the cheapest grades of fuel,” she said. “We cautioned them about impurities, but they wouldn’t hear us.” Her step faltered, and Dominic gave her his arm again. “Thank you,” she said.

  He bent to keep his elbow at the proper height for her, and Benito clung tighter to his neck. He said, “The cheap fuel caused problems?”

  “Yes, Nick. Impurities shortened the working life of our fuel cells.” Ane Zaki bowed her head. “Some years ago, we adapted some of. the cells and began distilling our own clean alcohol. In secret, naturally.”

  Dominic loosened Benito’s grip on his ear. “How did you do that?”

  “Ah. When a thing is necessary, one finds there are ways.” She touched her mouth and tittered softly as if she’d made a little joke. “We began with a small distillery hidden in the ship’s double hull. The crew contributed food rations. We found that protein-glucose ferments rather well.”

  “People gave up their food to power the ship?”

  “She’s lying,” the NP said.

  Ane Zaki nodded. “So much depends on power, Nick.”

  Dominic glanced around to see if Qi knew about this, but the major had stopped some distance back to do chin-ups on one of the overhead pipes. He let out a quiet whistle. “You did that even before the spin-off? The Benthica didn’t belong to you then.”