Even still, I can’t stand the thought of him getting hurt because of my decisions. Bree said once that the Rebels trust people of skill no matter what their age, but no one should be asked to lay their life on the line at just twelve. I won’t ask it of Clipper.
“Do what he says,” I tell him.
He glares at me, but sits down at the computer.
A good while later, Clipper has confirmed that the generators do indeed power the cameras, whose video is backed up on the computers, which run off the same power source. He also discovers that the computers are networked with Taem. Workers there can send commands to the computers here, refocusing and repositioning cameras without an Order member ever having to set foot in Burg.
“Turn ’em off,” Titus demands, twirling his knife.
“The cameras?” Clipper sounds downright terrified by the idea.
“Yes. I’ll be rid of yer team of Reapers soon, but not yer eyes. I want ’em off.”
“But I might not be able to do it without being detected.”
“I don’t care. Do it now.”
“No, this is enough,” I say, jumping in. “We’ve held up our part of the deal, and then some.”
Titus is on Clipper in a heartbeat, striking him for the second time. He pulls out his knife and holds it before the boy’s face. “Would cuttin’ him be more persuasive than my fists?”
Clipper’s lip is bleeding from the recent blow.
“If we turn them off, we’re doing it our way, a safe way. And then you’ll give us a few minutes in here—alone.” This is a major change to our agreement, and I’m not letting Titus order us around for nothing. Especially not when we’ve walked into a room filled with so many assets.
Titus narrows his eyes. “What’s the safe way?”
“If you want to work with us, we can manipulate the camera feed. Clipper would need some time, but we could fix things so the Order only sees what we want them to see—footage from a few days, on a steady loop. It was always our plan. We want to help you escape the Order, not bring them right to your door.”
“I ain’t working with anyone but my own people. I don’t trust yer lot. Ya know too much to not be one of ’em: a Reaper. Turn it off right now, take yer alone time in the room, and then get gone from our home.”
“I need hours,” Clipper says. “To gather footage—different weather, night versus day. I can’t do this immediately.”
“Ya better kill the eyes now or yer gonna be dead within the next minute,” Titus says, knife at the ready.
Clipper turns back to the computer and starts tapping away at the keyboard. The screen before him is filled with line after line of words and numbers. Half the words don’t even seem real. This must be code, as I’ve heard Harvey describe it, commands that tell the machine what to do and how to run. Something similar exists in Jackson, probably urging him to break the alliance we struck last night.
Clipper keeps typing and the lines of code fly by, on and on until the screen halts on a single question.
Terminate video link? Y / N
Titus squints at the prompt and I get the feeling that if he knows how to read, he doesn’t know very well. He forms the words with his lips, no sound escaping him. Finally, as if it’s all clicked, he straightens up and says, “Do it.”
But Clipper’s shaking his head, blood pooled in the corner of his mouth. “I’ve got a bad feeling.”
“Now!”
Clipper glances at me for help. It’s obvious Titus will never be our ally. We have to do this and pray it doesn’t get us caught. Maybe we can salvage the act later. I don’t want to give this place up—its underground passages, its computers and their connection to Order information. This is exactly the edge that the Rebels need, and Titus is forcing us to throw it aside. But Burg is worth nothing—can be nothing—if we’re dead, unable to man it or tell Ryder of its assets. And so I sort of nod and shrug at Clipper all at once because this is our only option.
Clipper punches in the command. The screen flashes some sort of success message.
We all hold our breath. We wait.
A minute, and nothing.
Several minutes. Still nothing.
“It’s done,” the boy says.
“Then it’s yer turn,” Titus answers, and he steps outside with Bruno.
I rush to Clipper, eye the damage from Titus’s punches. I pull the handkerchief my father gave me so long ago from my pocket and wipe Clipper’s mouth free of blood.
“You’re ruining it,” he says, watching the cloth grow pink.
“It was already ruined. It’s been ruined for a long time.” I tuck it back in my pants and put my hands on Clipper’s shoulders. “I doubt he’ll give us long, so don’t bother with the cameras. Let’s get in touch with Ryder. We need to tell him what we’re up against here: how Titus won’t budge but the place would make a great base, discuss if it’s worth fighting for it or if we’re better off continuing west to seek out the Expats.”
Clipper shakes his head. “Ryder’s unreachable. I can’t connect to anything but Taem and the test groups.”
I glance at the door. Titus is still nowhere to be seen, and I feel like I’m wasting a critical opportunity.
“So what can we do?”
“This connection is like being in Taem’s biggest vault of secrets—a database of information—only we’re invisible. We can look at almost anything we want and they’ll never know we were here. It’s when we take action, like pulling power to camera feeds, that they could catch on to us.”
“So you could check if Frank has any records on Forgeries, then?” I say, an idea engulfing me.
“Sure. What for?”
“Blaine tricked us so easily in Stonewall, but if we know who exists as a Forgery, that will never happen again. Not to us. Or anyone in Crevice Valley.”
Clipper nods and goes to work. I don’t understand how it is possible for him to string words together so quickly; the letters beneath his fingers are painfully out of order—q, w, e, r. Code flies by on the screen, slipping out of view before I’ve even had time to read it. A moment later, Clipper lets out a small cheer. A list of names has appeared on the screen, a headline above them reading Forged Assets.
“Check Xavier, Bo, anyone who came from the Laicos Project,” I say. “Start with Blaine, actually.”
“His Forgery is dead.”
“But Frank’s goal has always been to create a Forgery that could be replicated again and again. Last time I spoke with him, it sounded like he’d accomplished it. There could be dozens of Blaines for all we know.”
Clipper shudders at the idea and jumps through the list, which, unlike the keys, is in alphabetical order. We find Blaine easily, in the Ws.
Weathersby, Blaine
Model Type: F-Gen4
Models Forged: 1
Models in Operation: 0
These words are so welcomed, I let out a huge sigh. I’ve killed the only version of him. I won’t have to do it again. I feel lighter. I feel so much lighter.
“Um . . . Gray. Did you see this? Here?”
I follow Clipper’s hand farther down the screen. I was so focused on Blaine, I didn’t even bother to read the following entry.
Weathersby, Gray
Model Type: F-Gen5
Models Forged: 1
Models in Operation: 1
My heart stops. It truly feels like it stops.