The Rebel Code

Chapter Thirteen

After a light dinner, I throw on better shoes, and John and I begin our journey to the deepest part of the mall.

It's funny, having to go up to go down. Behind the dance studio, there's a maintenance crawlspace with a rusted staircase that takes us right up to level ninety-eight, after what feels like hours of climbing. When we get there, it's nothing too spectacular—I wasn't expecting much for a warehouse floor anyway. It's deserted for the night, with all the human workers gone to bed. Everything's gray and metal and open, with big yellow pillars supporting the ceiling. Here and there, big machines are parked for the night, and drones sit silently in mechanical sleep. There are service androids charging along the walls, marked with yellow paint to indicate their "career."

"We could have brought Atticus," I whisper, touching John's arm. I would have liked a little extra protection.

"I'd rather we didn't," he says. "Natcha says that the level-one freeboots are junkers. We might come back and find Atticus missing a leg or something."

"John?" I ask.

"Yes?"

"What are agitators? You never mentioned them before."

He sighs. I recognize that sigh. It's the I-wish-you-didn't-have-to-worry-about-this sigh. Mo's gotten pretty good at it too, and it drives me nuts.

"They're freeboots," he says, "but they're not the same as we are."

"Mo told me that much. I thought we were all part of the same collective, I guess."

He shakes his head. "Agitators stand for the same things we do. They don't like Criterion making protocol for everything and they want more 'power to the people,' but they have different ideas about how we should go around overthrowing Criterion. People like us want to wait it out, pass on our skills to as many allies as we can, and grow in silence until we can get a unanimous revolution one day. Agitators, however, think we've already waited too long. They don't see the general populous as misguided, they see them as just as bad as Criterion is. They want a war between freeboots and everyone else."

"Isn't that what we want?"

"No, because every protocol-following person is a potential freeboot. We aren't freeboots by blood or DNA. We learned these skills, and we can teach them."

I think about Larry. I don't want to go to war with him. I don't want to fight Malina Anderson either, or Coach Mitch or even Susan. They don't feel like enemies. They're just... people.

"So what do you think, Jenny?" asks John. "It's a choice you're going to have to make for yourself someday. Do you think you're an agitator or a mediator?"

"It feels exhausting, all this waiting," I confess. "Sometimes I feel like a bad freeboot because I don't do anything."

"Agitators certainly do more than we do," he says, a little disdainfully.

"I don't want a war, though," I say quickly. "That's too extreme. I just want to feel like I'm doing my part. It's hard when you don't see results. I want to feel useful."

John nods slowly. "Me too, kid."

On the far wall, there are three freight elevators, all still for the night. John presses the button for level one, and we step into one of the big metal cages. I don't like the way everything on this level seems to groan under my feet—a stark contrast to the level below where everything is new and shiny and clean. John motions for me to move away from the wall, and suddenly the walls are moving. I almost jump in surprise. The wall slides upwards, and then we're passing an empty space of another warehouse below. More wall. A brief empty space. I step back and grip the yellow railing, ignoring the chipped paint digging into my palms. My ears pop.