Under Changing Skies

T H I R T Y - S I X

The two of you have a lot of explaining to do.

These words ring in my ears as Everett and I hurry to keep pace with the Foreman, who is now heading through a heavy door in long, brisk strides.

Eventually, I find myself standing beside Everett in front of the very same room that we'd run past yesterday in our frantic escape to the pods. I recall hearing a faint female voice through a crack in the door — a voice that seemed to be coming from the screen sitting on a massive table in the otherwise empty room.

Now, the Foreman pushes the door fully open and steps inside. As Everett and I follow reluctantly, he moves to stand behind the desk and directly in front of the screen. There is no sound emanating from the screen, but I discern that something is being displayed on it because of the flickering lights and shadows falling across the Foreman's face. His severe features look ghoulish against the screen's glow.

"Explain," he says simply. After a heavy beat of silence, he adds, "What happened yesterday night, F930?"

"Uh, I . . ." I exchange a panicked glance with Everett. Clearing my throat, I try to keep my voice level. "Nothing . . . ?"

The Foreman quirks an eyebrow. "Two people were walking around the Imperium, unauthorized, in the middle of the night. So, I'll ask again. What happened?"

Long after Everett fell asleep last night, his chest rising and falling evenly beside me, I stared into the darkness around me, trying to concoct a story, an excuse for this exact moment. But I came up empty, and now, my mind is racing incoherently.

"How did you . . ." I falter, desperately trying to buy some time. "How did you know it was us and not someone else?"

I know it's a senseless question. A citizen of the Imperium breaking its uncompromising rules and routines is entirely out of the realm of possibility.

Unless, of course, that person is broken.

"I think you already know the answer," the Foreman says tonelessly. "I suppose you thought you could mislead the trackers by leaving your bracelets at your pods? A futile exercise, of course."

Everett and I exchange a silent glance, neither of us rushing to correct his assumption.

The Foreman opens his mouth to say something else but is interrupted by a rapid beep, beep, beep coming from one of the remotes at his belt. He freezes in response again, much like earlier in the corridor when we first heard this noise from his remote. Tension flickers across his face for an instant before his expression returns to his typical, impenetrable frown.

"Wait here," the Foreman says, stepping out from behind the desk. When he's near the door, he turns to us. "Do not leave this room, and do not touch anything. I order you to stay here until I am back."

"And how long will that take?" Everett asks.

But the Foreman strides out of the room without another word. I feel a momentary sense of relief now that he is gone, but I know my anxiety will come back, trailing right behind the Foreman's towering frame whenever he returns.

I step closer to Everett and ask, "What are we going to tell him? When he comes back and asks about last night."

"I don't know," he murmurs, furrowing his brow. "But I don't think anything we say now will make a difference anyway."

"Yeah," I mutter as I move to sit on the floor, cross-legged. Everett joins me, and we sit together in silence, alternatively staring at the blank walls and checking for the Foreman every time we hear footsteps down the corridor.