Free Idols by Margaret Stohl Page A

fundamental information such as mission, priorities, decision-making systems appear to be obfuscated and inaccessible.;
    FORTIS: And…;
    HAL: However, telemetric, guidance, and more mundane features are transparent, including essential hardware and cargo data.;
    FORTIS: Now we’re talking. Cargo?;
    HAL: Yes. I have yet to catalogue and understand the entire system, but I have found some things you may find interesting.;
    FORTIS: I’m sure I will. Oh, hold on—that’s the White House on the line. I’d better take this one.;
    //comlog ctd;

9
    THE IDYLLS
    The heart of Belter Mountain is unlike anything I have ever seen. When we emerge through the other side of the tunnel, we find ourselves in a cavernous room the size of a military hangar—like the kind they have near the landing strips at the Porthole, back home. The hangar. That’s what I label it, in my head.
    I realize, from the moment I step out into the pale yellow of the artificial light, that it’s going to be hard to keep my bearings. From the look of it, a new tunnel twists off from the hangar in every direction. Like a labyrinth , I think. A spider.
    I’ll never keep it straight. Even if we’re here for a hundred years. I grew up in the Mission sunshine; I barely came inside, let alone underground. No dark halls to navigate, not in my childhood.
    Only now.
    On the ceiling, impossibly bright lights are connected by an intricate grid of metal runners, reinforcing a thick network of wires that leads into an opening high on the wall. In a space this limited, every detail appears to be ordered and essential. Life underground, I imagine.
    “Where are you getting all this power?” Ro is in awe of the spectacle, the audacity of running an electrical system
    of this size. “I’ve never seen anything like it. Not in the Grass.” The Belters operate as if they’re daring the Embassy to find them. I look sideways at his boyish amazement, smiling at memories of his last birthday gift to me, the crude pedal generator he made for me a lifetime ago.
    That’s a whole lot of pedaling , I think.
    Lucas shakes his head. “This looks like as much electricity as we had at the Embassy. This shouldn’t be possible—the Lords control all the energy. The only working power plants are near the cities. At least that’s what we all thought.”
    “Natural gas reserves and a geothermal plant provide an almost unlimited source of electricity for us here. Provided no one interferes.” The Bishop smiles. He’s proud, as he should be. “Which isn’t often. The mountain itself shields us from outside eyes.”
    “Sympa eyes.” Lucas looks interested.
    “All eyes,” the Bishop says, meaningfully. “No instrument can see through that much granite. Our ancestors, the ones who built this place, prepared it to keep dangerous radioactive energy from seeping in. They never imagined how important it would someday be to do the reverse—to keep energy locked in and out of sight.”
    Lucas nods, impressed.
    The Bishop continues. “We can grow food underground, even raise some livestock.” He clasps his hand on Tima’s bony shoulder. “This, my friends, is as close to life as it used to be as you will find anywhere on our godforsaken planet.” I feel the emphasis on forsaken , and think to myself that this Bishop, whoever he is, is truly a man like the Padre, with a deep but troubled faith.
    From all corners of the hangar, I can also see the soldiers eyeing us. The Children from the stories. The girl who brought down the Icon. The son of the Ambassador. I can’t help but hear the words the moment they form in their heads. The Bishop isn’t the only skeptic. Compared to his own men, he’s downright trusting. The Belters try not to stare at Lucas, who is still shivering from the cold, white as a sheet. At Ro, who is covered with soot. At Tima, whose face is still streaked with long-dried tears.
    At me. I don’t know who or what I am. I only know how I feel. Which is exhausted