Uglies 1 - Uglies by Scott Westerfeld

Author:Scott Westerfeld [Westerfeld, Scott]
Language: eng
Format: epub

“Being here in the Smoke. You’re not sure about it all.”

Tally’s skin tingled again, but not from the thought of snakes or bats or long-dead Rusties. She wondered if David had somehow already figured out she was a spy. “No, I guess I’m not sure,” she said evenly.

She caught a glimmer of reflected light from David’s eyes as he nodded. “That’s good. You take this seriously. A lot of kids come out here and think it’s all fun and games.”

“I don’t think that for a minute,” she said softly.

“I can tell. It’s not just a trick to you, like it is to most runaways. Even Shay, who really believes the operation is wrong, doesn’t get how deadly serious the Smoke is.”

Tally didn’t say anything.

After a long moment of silence in the dark, David continued. “It’s dangerous out here. The cities are like these boulders. They may seem solid, but if you start messing with them, the whole pile could crumble.”

“I think I know what you mean,” Tally said. Since the day she’d gone to get her operation, she’d felt the massive weight of the city looming over her, and had learned firsthand how much places like the Smoke threatened people like Dr. Cable. “But I don’t really understand why they care so much about you guys.”

“It’s a long story. But part of it is…”

She waited for a moment before saying, “Is what?”

“Well, this is a secret. I don’t usually tell people until they’ve been here for a while. Years. But you seem…serious enough to handle it.”

“You can trust me,” Tally said, then immediately wondered why. She was a spy, an infiltrator. She was the last person David should trust.

“I hope I can, Tally,” he said, reaching out to her. “Feel the palm of my hand.”

She took it, running her fingers over the flesh. It was as rough as the wood grain of the table in the dining hall, the skin along his thumb as hard and dry as leather cracking with age. No wonder he could work all day and not complain. “Wow. How long does it take to get calluses like that?”

“About eighteen years.”

“About…?” She stopped in disbelief, then compared the horn of his palm with her own tender, blistered flesh. Tally could feel it there, the grueling afternoon of real work she’d put in today, but stretched across a lifetime. “But how?”

“I’m not a runaway, Tally.”

“I don’t understand.”

“My parents were runaways, not me.”

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