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I pushed myself out of my prone position to turn toward the voice. "Show yourself, old man."
A light flared. Pain burst behind my pupils at the sudden brightness. I covered them for a moment and then squinted toward the man. I had to blink a few times before the blurry form took shape, but when it did, I dropped my hand and let my lids open wide.
Standing next to the largest dog I had ever seen was the oldest man I had ever seen. Granted, in the post-Troika world, men rarely lived longer than their thirtieth birthday. Even those who'd been blessed (or cursed depending on your perspective) with a desirable blood type, still aged rapidly because of the constant demands on their veins. And those who worked in the blood camps literally were worked to an early grave.
But the man before me had to be at least double that, but I didn't really have much to judge by. His shoulders slumped forward, as if he was curling into himself. He had a long, white beard, which he'd braided into a long, thick strand. In contrast to the hair on his face, his scalp was completely free of hair and the dome shone dully in the lantern light. His clothes were simple grey homespun--clean from what I could see and functional but completely free of ornamentation. In his right hand, he held a lantern aloft and in his left was a wood staff taller than his own height. The wood was highly polished and topped with a metal symbol I couldn't make out from where I stood.
"Now that you've had your look," he said, "and I've had mine, you can tell me your name, stranger."
I licked my dry lips. "My birth name is Carmina Sargosa." I'd chosen to give him that name first because he seemed old enough to know the history of my mother.
His eyes widened. "Sargosa, you say? Hmm. And what name did they give you at the camp?"
"I don't come from the camps."
He pursed his lips. "Don't try to convince me you grew up in the resistance. You've got too many teeth in that mouth of yours."
My lips quirked. "I was raised in the Dormitories."
He stilled. "Which one?"
"Meridian."
"Let me guess--cell six?"
I nodded. He'd known who I was all along. Those questions had been a test of my honesty.
He cocked his head. "What a coincidence. Someone named Meridian Six is wanted for attacking the Prime just two nights past."
I crossed my arms. "Shouldn't believe rumors." For that matter how in the hell did he hear anything hiding as he did down in that pit.
Swishing sounds came from behind me, indicating the others were on their way down the chute to join us. Icarus appeared first, of course. Unlike me, he didn't flail out of the tube and land on his ass. Instead he found his feet easily and came to join the old man and me. "What's the story?" he asked Saga.
He flicked too-shred eyes in my direction. "I'm intrigued. Bring her." With that he turned flicking a, "Come Polonius" over his shoulder.
The dog executed a wide turn and followed his slow master back through the archway leading out of the cavern. I looked at Icarus. "What now?"
Rabbit and Dare shot out of the slide a split second before he said, "Now we find out if you get to live."
#
As it turned out, the cavern I'd landed in was only a tiny part of what turned out to be an extensive underground bunker. Icarus and the others led me into a long corridor. The walls of this space were covered floor to ten-foot ceiling with books. The musty scent of aged pages filled the space, and I wondered how Saga managed to keep the books from rotting in the damp air. Icarus moved ahead to go talk to Saga, leaving me in Dare's keeping.
"What is this place?" I asked her. Because of her wounds, I had to slow my pace, which was fine given the judgment waiting for me at the other end of corridor.
She glanced at me but I could tell she wasn't happy to have to talk. "Saga considers himself a historian, of sorts. This is his library."
I glanced at the thousands of books. "What kind of historian?"
"Of the human race."
My eyes widened. I knew that when the Troika decided to take over the planet, one of their first moves was buying up all media companies, which included servers filled with the bulk of shared knowledge on the planet. When the actual war began, it was simply a matter of flipping a few switches to deprive humans of every electronic source of communication and information.
"Where did he get all these? I thought the Troika confiscated all the remaining printed books when they took over."
"They did. But Saga went underground long before the war began."
"What? Why would he do that?"
