Diverse Energies by Tobias S. Buckell Joe Monti

Author:Tobias S. Buckell, Joe Monti [Monti, Tobias S. Buckell, Joe]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: JUV059000JUVENILE, FICTION / Dystopian, FICTION / Science Fiction, JUV030000JUVENILE, JUV053000JUVENILE, FICTION / People and Places / General
Publisher: Lee & Low Books
Published: 2012-10-14T06:00:00+00:00

I had only ever heard rumors about what the Tunnels were like: dank, disease-ridden sewers crammed full of stinking mutts and their gang leaders. Unending darkness, full of the scrabbling noise of rats. None of the rumors prepared me for what I saw: an entire city underground, layer upon layer of board-covered walkways, black iron pillars and rainbow-colored tiled walls lit with scavenged lanterns. A honeycomb of wonders, all safely tucked away beneath the streets. I would never be able to find my way out without a guide. I knew I should be afraid, but I wasn’t. I was overwhelmed by the evidence before my eyes: There was an entire world down here, and it was full of people. Healthy people.

I’d learned in school that mixing genes of different races would almost certainly lead to MID and early death, but these people seemed stronger than some of my classmates. And there were so many of them. They were working: laying boards across abandoned train tracks; slapping laundry in giant steel vats of water; frying noodles in a shallow pan, a line of mixed-blood children waiting with bowls in hand. As we walked past, the kids swiveled their heads to look at me. Here, I was the oddity, not them.

We walked for about twenty minutes before we arrived at our destination: a giant underground room as grand as a government hall, with marble walls and dark chandeliers hanging from the ceiling. A few lights still shone from above, giving the whole space a dim yellow glow. All along the perimeter, the walls were covered with bits of paper, and as we approached I realized they were mostly photos. Some were decorated with ribbons or notes, some with plastic flowers, others with wilting grasses or weeds that must have been brought down from above. People were scattered all around the hall, looking at photos or decorating them.

“There she is,” he said, pointing to the left, where I saw Nix standing with her hands in her pockets, staring at something on the wall I couldn’t make out.

“Thanks,” I said, and then I went to join her.

She was looking at a tiny photo of a man and a woman — one African, one Asian — taken by what appeared to be an automated photo booth camera. There was one on the corner of Mulberry and Canal in Chinatown; I’d scrunched inside with my school friends once, making faces at the camera as it clicked and flashed. In this photo, the man and the woman were smiling at each other, not at the camera. They seemed happy.

“Nix,” I said.

She didn’t look at me. “Did your mother kick you out?”

“No.”

“Then what are you doing here?”

“What is this place?” I asked instead of answering her question.

“It’s the Wall,” she said as if I should know.

“Why are there so many photos here?”

“They’re photos of people who have disappeared.” She finally glanced at me. “What are you doing here?”

“I—I had a fight with my mom.” My face burned.

She cocked her head.

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