"So tell me, if they had you flagged, how did you pass security?" Petra asks.

"Uh ... I ..." I stutter, not knowing how to tell her about Bea and Quinn.

"Don't be ashamed. We've all found creative ways to survive," she says. In order to escape, many members of the Resistance, especially the girls, have had to offer up their own bodies to the stewards in exchange for safe passage through Border Control. Some recruits have betrayed friends to get across, and there are those, like Petra, who have murdered for freedom.

"I befriended a Premium," I begin. Petra nods.

"Did he hurt you?"

"It wasn't like that. We didn't-" I stop to arrange my thoughts. "He was with an auxiliary, a girl, and they found a way to get me across. They followed me and-" I pause. "They saved my life again a few hours later when a drifter ... Well, that doesn't matter, but they followed me and saved me. We were nervous about leaving the drifter behind so we brought her with us. She's a little old woman. She isn't a threat to anyone. I meant to give them the slip but we were chased and I couldn't."

Jazz has given up pretending to meditate and is watching me with large eyes. Petra breathes in and out deeply through her nose. She pulls her hair out of her face and secures it behind her head using a small band.

"Don't tell me." She covers her eyes with a hand.

"They're upstairs. Not the Premium, but a drifter and the girl. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

Jazz gasps and starts to wriggle. Petra steps back, perhaps to prevent herself from striking me. She takes her hand from her eyes.

"You've compromised our way of life to save a drifter?"

"No, I-"

"Where is the Premium?"

"He got captured, I think. Nowhere near here. Or buried alive. A tank came and fired at us. I managed to get to the Underground with Bea and Maude. I couldn't very well leave them. He didn't make it." Until now I've tried to believe that Quinn's alive. But the chances of that are slim. And though he annoyed me so much I wanted to hurt him, my stomach tightens when I think of him writhing for breath. He was a Premium, but he wasn't the worst of them. He didn't deserve to die. I can't tell Petra this. To her, no Premium, especially one whose father works for Breathe, can have value. A tree in the stadium is more important to her than Quinn's life.

"So you've brought two civilians here. Do you even know who the drifter is? Do you know what she's done and what she's capable of doing?"

"Yes, Petra. Ex-Breathe. I thought you could use her."

"You thought? You thought? Do you remember the vows you took? The rules for protecting our project?"

"Yes, Petra, I just-"

"Your Premium must be alive. He must have led the zips here."

"He doesn't know where The Grove is. I think ..." I take a deep breath. "I think I drew them here."

"You?" A thin vein in Petra's temple throbs.

"I stole a tank," I admit.

"You what?" Her eyes narrow.

"You what?" Jazz shouts, jumping up from the bed and standing next to Petra. "She stole a tank," Jazz repeats, tugging on Petra's coat. "Did you hear that?" Petra puts a finger to Jazz's lips.

"I thought we could use it. I didn't know that I-"

"You have started a war," Petra snarls.

"It's war now," Jazz repeats in a twitchy whisper. She pulls a curly piece of red hair into her mouth and sucks on it.

"Our goal is to be invisible. Did you forget that?" I shake my head. "Jazz, I need Roxanne and Levi," Petra says, and Jazz scuttles away. "You bring two unknowns and you steal from the Ministry. You also tell me that you recruited in the pod without authorization. Your stupidity is dazzling. I ought to expel you. We would be well within our rights to shoot you."

"I got the cuttings you wanted," I whisper.

"And we are being invaded as a result. It's a good thing Levi heard the zips in time for us to shut down or we would be dust already."

Jazz returns with Roxanne and Levi, and I'm glad for the distraction because nothing I could say would justify all my stupid mistakes. Petra's right: I didn't follow protocol and now people will die. People are already dead.

"Boss?" It's Roxanne. She wears an eye patch over one eye. She is vital to the Resistance because she is ruthless: both she and Levi are.

"We have uninvited guests," Petra tells them. "Tie them up and put them in a cell. The old woman is a drifter, so take precautions with her. And remove whatever tanks they're using. I'd like to be in control of their oxygen consumption from now on. Order Song to pump some air into the cell."

Song appears at Petra's elbow as though she's conjured him up with her words. "What level?" he asks.

"Moderate. No more than twenty percent. They'll get used to it."

"Don't make them prisoners. There's no need for the cell," I say. Maude is wily, but I'm thinking of Bea. "We can trust them. I'm sure of it."

"You're sure, are you? Well, I'm sorry if I don't value your judgment: it hasn't exactly been flawless lately, has it?" Petra places a hand on Jazz's head. "Go with Roxanne and Levi, my sweet. Take the prisoners' weapons and supplies. Don't feed them." Jazz skips toward the bunker door in her bare feet as though she's about to go to the park while Roxanne and Levi stomp behind her like bodyguards.

"Please. There's no need for this. Really, Petra, they aren't a threat," I beg. But it's futile. I know Petra well enough to know that the trees come first.

She moves away, leaving me alone at the back of the bunker. "Listen up!" she calls out, addressing the entire room. "We're out of lockdown for now. Go back up to your posts. But be ready to come underground again at a minute's notice."

"What will I do?" I ask, following Petra as she stalks from the room.

"You?" Petra's voice dips to a murmur and she rolls up the cuffs on her coat. "You'll spend the rest of the day in the shooting range practicing."

"Practicing for what?"

"You were brave enough to start a war, Alina Moon, now you damn well better be prepared to fight in it."

34.

BEA.

Dorian is showing us the sleeping quarters when I'm seized from behind. Before I can struggle free or protest, my mask is removed and I am yanked, gasping for breath, down several flights of stairs and thrown into a concrete room with no windows. Maude is thrown in after me, though she has it worse: she's blindfolded, gagged, and her hands and feet are bound with twine. The door slams and all the light disappears.

The air in the room is thin, and it's as much as I can do to crawl on my hands and knees toward Maude. I feel like vomiting from the dizziness. "Maude," I say softly. I am removing her blindfold when a dim light enters the room and a high voice bellows beyond the door.

"Leave the old woman as she is!" In the door is a grate, which must be an opening for food, and in this grate is the shadow of a face.

"Let her breathe. At least let me take off the gag. She's an old lady." After a pause, the voice speaks again.

"Fine, but if she starts yowling, we'll come in there and shut her up." The grate slides shut. I wait for my eyes to adjust to the darkness. Then I untie the gag and Maude takes the deepest breath she can.

"Why didn't you leave me back in the underground station?" she says. Her voice is hard and angry, as though I did her an injustice by saving her.

"That's an awful thing to say, Maude. You won't die. I won't let you," I say, despite the fact that I haven't really the power to save Maude any more than she has the power to save me. "Do you think something awful happened to Alina, too?"

Maude punches the floor. "Alina betrayed us. TRAITOR!" she screams.

"Shhh ... They'll hurt you," I tell her, taking her hands and wrapping them up in my own. Perhaps she's right about Alina, whose eyes were tinted with guilt when she slunk off.

There is no toilet, nor is there a bed or a chair or anything else to sit on. It seems to be nothing more than a large, airtight storage cupboard. I sit with my legs out straight, my back against the cold wall. Maude lets out a groan and rests her head on my shoulder.

"Do you think the boy made it?" she asks. "He was strong-looking. And not a bad boy. He might have made it, you know."

"I loved him," I tell her. She must know this already. "I don't know why I loved him. He was my best friend. I know he cared about me; he just didn't want me in that way. He hugged me all the time, you know. He hugged me so tightly I always hoped it meant something. Then he'd pull away and smile and say good-bye as casually as always. He broke my heart every day without meaning to."

"Some people are designed to do that," she says.

"Do what?"

"Some people are designed to break our hearts." On the floor next to me is what feels like a broken earring. I pick it up and turn it over in my hand.

"I miss him."

"You'll miss him forever, Bea."

"I want to go home. My parents will worry. They work so hard and they're always sick. When Mrs. Caffrey got pregnant, Quinn hated the thought of his parents sleeping together, but I wish mine would. They deserve to love each other. I hope that without me there they can afford to do that. I miss them so much," I say.

Maude turns onto her side and starts to hum. I feel myself beginning to doze. The room seems to tighten around us as my eyelids grow heavy.

I am shaken awake by Alina. "Come with me," she says, handing me an airtank before my eyes are even open. Maude is in the corner, rolled into a ball. She is snoring, still blindfolded and bound.

"What about Maude?" I pull the facemask over my nose and mouth and tighten the straps at the back. The air in the mask is dense with oxygen. I suck in a gloriously deep breath.

"She'll be here when you get back. It wasn't easy to convince them to let you out. Come on." The light in the corridor is painfully bright and I have to squint to see. Alina relocks the cell door. She stands in front of me sheepishly. "I promise I didn't do this to you," she says. "Are you hungry?" I shrug, too weary to respond. Alina leads me down the corridor, back up the stairs to the main level of the stadium, then up again. Dorian was showing us this corridor when we were grabbed. I glance over my shoulder. "We're just going to eat. Don't worry." Alina pats my arm. "Would you like to see something special first?" I shrug again. I don't think there's anything that would surprise or excite me anymore. Alina isn't discouraged: she takes my hand and leads me to a glass door. "We have to be really quiet," she says, and pushes the door open.

Inside the room are about thirty people without facemasks. Half of them are sitting crossed-legged and straight-backed on one side of the room, their eyes closed, their lips slightly parted. The other half have twisted their bodies into odd shapes: there's a girl standing on her head, her toes pointing into the air; there's a boy lying on his back with his legs straight and pulled up to his face so that he could kiss his own knees; there is someone sitting up with her legs wrapped around her neck; someone else is standing on one leg holding the opposite foot straight out to the side. Their flexibility seems impossible. "Do you hear that noise?" Alina whispers. There is a crackling sound in the room like static electricity. I nod. "That's their breathing."

"I don't need the mask?" I ask.

"You do and so do I. There's only about six percent oxygen in here."

"But how? What is this place?" I ask.

"A training room. Everyone practices twice a day for three hours at a time. You asked Dorian how he did it: well, here's your answer. Relaxation is the key to preserving oxygen. Petra read all about it and began the practice here at The Grove. Before The Switch, free-divers used to do it. It helped them relax and hold their breath under water. Everyone in this room is lowering their heart rates and maximizing lung potential."

I have a thousand questions, but Alina turns and leads me out of the room. We walk several feet down the corridor until we come to another glass door. Alina pushes it open and inside there are many more Resistance members. They are all wearing facemasks and the room is noisy and hot. Each person here is ferociously exercising and sweating on a digital machine. A few of them wave at us as we enter. Alina raises a hand and smiles. I've seen these machines in the pod; the Premiums use them to keep fit. There are people climbing and rowing and running and cycling. "I thought you said relaxation is key."

"You have to be fit. You have to be strong. A tough heart is another essential element," she says.

"But they need more oxygen to do this."

"Exactly. Not as much as you'd need. Everyone in here is consuming a different amount depending on his or her level, which is why they use the masks."

"Right," I say, as though this all makes perfect sense.

"Anyway, we better get to dinner. We're at the first sitting with Petra. We don't want to be late."

"I don't get how ..." I begin. Alina turns to me as we walk.

"Most of the people here have conditioned their bodies to subsist on whatever the atmosphere offers. They can explore the world without any supplemental oxygen. They don't run marathons without airtanks, but they can walk at a good pace and talk and, most importantly, survive."

"Does the Ministry know?"

"They know something. And that's why they want us eliminated. Can you imagine what would happen if we all just walked up to the pod and showed everyone how trapped they are?"

"You'd be shot before you got there," I say. Alina nods. "So anyone can breathe without tanks," I say.

"Not everyone: people who are old or sick still need airtanks. And for those of us who've lived in the pod, it's harder, too. You and I need tanks. For now, anyway. We've consumed such high levels of oxygen for so long that trying to breathe with less than our normal daily dose is painful. And it would kill us." We finally stop again outside a set of revolving glass doors. "Take off your mask. This room's airtight and we have some oxygen being pumped into it," she says. "If you feel lightheaded you can always put it back on."

About fifty people are sitting at a long table, and down the whole length of the table are platters of food. Alina pulls me closer and though I know the room has gone quiet and everyone is watching us, I can't help staring at the food: plates of berries-strawberries and raspberries and berries whose names I've forgotten, though I've seen them in films; platters of sliced vegetables and fruits of every conceivable color; steaming bowls of soup with green bits floating in them; thick pillows of crusted bread.

"How is it possible?" I ask, looking at Alina. I know Premiums can afford to buy some of these things from the biosphere, if they're very rich, but I've never seen anything like this. "You grew everything?"

"She didn't grow anything. She's not a gardener here. We choose people who know how to nurture as our gardeners, and I don't think Alina fits the bill." I recoil, expecting to be faced with a giant; I am surprised to see a slight, dark woman standing at the far end of the table. "She's one of our thieves. Though I think we may need to replace her. Would you like to volunteer?" she asks. I press my lips together at the smattering of snickers. This must be Petra. "Anyway, cheers!" The woman raises a glass in my direction and I nod.

Alina laughs nervously, then leads me to the table, where she introduces me to some of the Resistance. Dorian is there. He gives me an apologetic smile, and shifts down the bench to make room. "Welcome," he says. And then, "We heard she put you in the dungeon. Don't worry. She put me there at first, too. She'll let you out in a few days."

"Days?" a girl with tight spiraling hair says. "I was in there a goddamn month."

"You know, Leila, that might be because the first thing you did when you met Petra was scratch her pet," Dorian reminds her. Leila covers her mouth to stifle a giggle.

"Don't get me started on Jazz," Leila says, nodding at the little girl sitting with Petra at the head of the table. Leila piles her plate with berries and apple pieces and eats as she talks. "Yesterday, right, she sees me talking to Levi, and she comes right up to me and is all like, 'Relations between Resistance members is prohibited. Please remember that, Leila.' I almost wet myself laughing. Seriously. What age is she anyway? Five? I've been around longer than she's been out of diapers. She probably still breastfeeds."

"She's nine," Alina says. "And whose breast is she meant to be feeding from?"

"Nine? And she's talking to me like she's my goddamn mother. Man oh man, I could really smack that little brat sometimes," Leila says, popping a whole strawberry into her mouth.

"Keep it down," Dorian warns Leila. He turns to me. "She'll let you out soon. Be obedient. Show deference. To her and her pet." When I look back at the head of the table, Petra and the child are watching me. I try a smile. Jazz waves shyly and Petra takes a swig from her glass.