Broken Sky

Chapter Eight

As the bus approached Port Isaac, Jack couldn't decide whether he was more nervous about meeting his cousin or going into the city—it had changed so much since his visit a year before. Then, with fewer than ten thousand residents, it hadn't been too different from his hometown. Now, with soaring towers that housed half a million recent immigrants, it resembled a brightly colored set of child's building blocks at the foot of an irregular staircase.

Like all major cities on the space station, Port Isaac's corporate owners had built it near one of the ninety-six spaceports. But the Wayward Sea met the rim mountains in a way that created both a natural harbor and a backdrop that was stunning even for Cirrus. Jack leaned against the window, craning his neck. A fresh layer of snow frosted the trees crowding the lip of the half-mile vertical wall that loomed over the city.

<Call me.> Sarah's message appeared on his phone as the bus descended a ramp to the underground mass transit corridor.

Being a Sunday, the bus Jack and his family were riding was only half full. He was the youngest person onboard by two decades and had taken the last row at the back for himself. Most of the adults were on the upper viewing level, leaving him enough space to converse freely without being overheard.

"Hi. What's up?" He could see blue sky behind her head. "Aren't you working today?"

"I needed a break."

He didn't need an emotion detector to know Sarah was upset—she wouldn't normally take a walk in the middle of her shift. And it wasn't hard to guess what was bothering her.

She lowered her voice. "I can't stop thinking about what you found yesterday. You really should tell someone. We can do it anonymously."

Jack glanced at the stairs to the viewing deck. "Then everyone will know about it and my parents won't let me out of town. Let's wait. It won't be as big of a deal once school starts. There are only a few weeks left in the break and I've got to convince them to loan me the money. We'll send a tip to the police in September."

"Fine," Sarah said, although she sounded anything but.

"Uh oh. We're pulling into the station. I should get ready."

"Just relax. It won't be that bad. I'll call you later."

Jack steadied his nerves as the bus parked. The platform was relatively quiet, but he expected worse to come. He waited until the other passengers disembarked, then followed his parents to the escalator. Hundreds of voices echoed from the glossy tiles covering the sloped passage, increasing in volume as they neared the ground level.

Here it comes.

There were so many people, so many voices. The forty-foot ceiling and soaring arches did nothing to lessen the confinement he felt as he threaded through the shifting crowds, a step behind his parents. He struggled to ignore the noise and focus on his goal: the bright rectangles of sunlight that marked the exit.

A dense knot of pedestrians crossed in front of his family, forcing them to wait. Most walkers were on their phones, paying little attention to their surroundings, but it felt to Jack like they were speaking directly to him or talking about him. All their anger, suspicion, expectations, and laughter were directed at him. He became lightheaded, felt a tightness in his throat—a full-blown panic attack was only moments away. He darted around his father and sprinted for the glass doors.

Another blockade of people approached the entrance from the outside bus stop. He was going to be caught in the middle of the group. He needed an escape. Let me out.

The lights flickered.

And then, a tiny miracle. As if by magic, the glass panel he was rushing toward swung open, letting him hurtle through and dodge the crowd without slowing.