note: some dialogue in this part is taken from extras by scott westerfeld.


the more that you say, the less i know

epilogue: take my hand (wreck my plans)

"Do we really have to do this?"

Shay's punch lands softly, only a firm thump through his borrowed jacket. "This is the price of fame, David-la."

David usually gets out of going to city parties. Most of the time, they manage to do their work and escape before the city even realizes they're there. Every now and then, a city tries to throw them a bash — in thanks, or in an attempt to keep their enemies close. Everyone is always most interested in Tally and Shay; they never notice David's absence, if they invite him at all.

But this strange city wants all of them there. Quantity is what matters to them, David figures, given their obsession with face ranks and followers.

"I still don't see why we have to go to this stupid party," Tally mutters, scowling as Shay fusses with her hair. "Couldn't I do some kind of feed announcement?"

The Japanese kid who started all of this — Aya — protests, insisting that they have to go, to help publicize what the Extras are doing. Besides, parties are fun.

"I know, right?" Shay says, smirking at Tally in the wallscreen mirror. "We haven't been to a bash in ages."

Tally groans. Shay's gaze drifts over to David, and their eyes meet in the reflection. She raises her eyebrows appreciatively, and David tilts his head towards Aya's apartment door. We could not go to this party.

She laughs, pushing away from Tally to come over to him. "Later, David-la," she whispers in his ear, before moving on to check on Fausto and Ho, who are wasting way too much time trying to decide on patterns for their jackets.

David's own jacket isn't exactly comfortable — it's an antique and the material is far too heavy for the warm evening — but at least it's made out of real fabric, not nanos from the hole in the wall. The city kids have explained to him a hundred times that nano-clothes are actually good, less wasteful than anything handmade — they don't use any raw materials, after all. Still, David prefers his clothes to be permanent. He remembers Astrix and Croy bragging about a trick they played back as city kids, hacking a bunch of clothes to disappear right off of their wearers' bodies. That's the last thing they need tonight.

Hovercams swarm them as they leave the building, trying to capture as many famous faces as possible. Tally leads their pack, her reputation bubble — what a concept — creating space for them. As always, she's striking and terrifying, Special face still fully intact. She's purposely left her arms bare in her party dress, scars on display.

Shay's opted to be a little more subtle, her sleeves coming down to her elbows. "No need to freak the littlies out," she always says, but David knows it's more than that. Shay isn't proud of her scars, not like Tally is. She still doesn't talk about them much — she isn't ready to — but that is okay. They have time, now.


Despite its bizarre fame economy and citizens with prehensile toes, the meeting with the city leaders is remarkably banal. They say a lot of pretty words, promising that they care about the wild just as much as the New Smoke, that they're committed to progress and prosperity without turning into Rusties, blah blah blah. David's heard this speech about a thousand times by now. Then, as usual, Tally threatens to come back and snap their spines personally if they don't keep their word. As usual, the Cutters have to hold her back and reassure the city that they only mean that they'll be watching.

David would like to leave it at that, but they've agreed to put their appearance in at the bash, and — well. They do kind of owe the city for a couple of dozen spaceships.

He squints as they leave the dark hallway and reenter the bright ballroom, a thousand glittering lights and camera flashes blinding him.

"Oooh, cake," he hears Shay say. "Okay, we're staying long enough to get some of that, and then we can leave."

"Deal," David says, deciding not to mention that he also saw a bowl of caviar. Shay will find it on her own soon enough. She can be such a city girl, still — but then, David thinks, if she apologized for being who she is, she wouldn't be the person he loves.

He follows blindly as their group makes their way around the room, Tally gritting out replies to nosy kickers who are trying to interview her. None of them are asking particularly interesting questions — where they plan to go next ("Whichever city you bubbleheads fuck up next"), where the girls got the inspiration for their dresses (Tally won't even dignify that one with a response).

"Tally-sama," one girl asks, "does being the Cutters' famous leader leave you any time for romance? Is there a special someone in your life?"

David waits for Tally to explode. The inanity of the question aside, the memory of Zane is still so raw for her — she can still barely say his name. Next to him, he feels Shay tense, ready to intervene.

But instead, incredibly, Tally starts laughing. "I hate this city," she says. She slaps Fausto on the back. "Come on, let's get some sushi before it's all gone."

A few of the Cutters make a beeline for the buffet table, joining the crowd jostling for food. Astrix and Ryde wander off to dance. David is debating which one he wants to do less when Shay takes his hand.

"Too many kickers hanging around the food," she says. "Let's dance."

She pulls him onto the dance floor, wrapping her arms around his neck. David can feel half the room watching them, their curiosity over Tally's love life shifting to Shay's. They're going to be all over the feeds tomorrow, everyone dissecting their dance, the way David might be looking at her now, the way Shay is looking at him. Their fame is the price they paid for causing the mind-rain, he knows, and it's a small price in exchange for ending the operation — but still. His feelings aren't anyone else's business. He feels it all around them, the little buzzing filaments of cameras and hovering mics, and his grip tightens on Shay's waist.

"Hey." Shay's fingers are gentle on his collar, brushing against his neck. "Ignore them. "

"They're definitely not ignoring us," David mutters, but he tries anyway. He stops focusing on the colors and lights, lets them swirl past him. He just looks at Shay — Shay, who is here and alive and so close to him, laughing and radiant.

"You look beautiful, by the way."

Shay rolls her eyes, but her face flushes. She's been taking his mom's pills, slowly melting away the Special surgery. It helps for her to look less scary when she and Tally are doing their good-Special, bad-Special routine. David doesn't care what she looks like, but he can't deny that he missed the sweet familiarity of her face — eyes large and wide-set, the way her mouth turns down at the corners.

"Yeah, well," she says, "dressing up now and then never killed anyone."

"Plus, the fancy food."

"Obviously. That's the real reason we come on these missions."

He can't help but laugh. They sway for a while, settling into a rhythm. The music isn't so bad — not loud or thumping like the clubs they infiltrate sometimes; it's slower, graceful, high-pitched instruments gliding through the air. Shay is warm in his arms, her weight soft and reassuringly real as she leans into him. It's kind of nice. They don't get to do this very often, to simply be, without thinking of missions and explosions…

Under his hands, he feels Shay stiffen. "Uh-oh," she murmurs.

"Something wrong?"

"Not wrong," Shay says. "But we should probably vacate this room, at least. Tachs says the cake is looking a little…unstable."

"Unstable as in…?"

"As in, uh, this entire room is going to be covered in pink frosting in about…five to ten minutes."

David is tempted to stay and watch the city's most famous bubbleheads get covered in cake, but then he remembers that the jacket he's wearing is an antique.

"Come outside with me?" he whispers, low enough for the cameras to miss.

Shay leans her forehead against his. "Yes."


They sneak out into the humid, muggy evening air, ducking against the building wall, under a window to avoid the hovercams. Above them, they hear screams, followed by laughter and yelling. It's mostly in Japanese, but David can pick out the words camera and keeki.

"I'm guessing that was the cake," he says.

Shay's smile is soft. "Not a bad trick."

"What was it you said to me once? Uglies live for tricks?"

Shay's brow wrinkles. "When did I say that? I mean, it's true, but — "

"Oh. I think it might have been Tally."

"Ah." Shay doesn't say anything more. She just bumps his shoulder with hers, twining their arms together as they walk deeper into the garden. Saying Tally's name doesn't hurt anymore, for either of them. They can't let it, for one — half of their work is keeping Tally in check, quietly refining her madcap plans into something doable. Besides, it's not like Shay could ever hold a grudge against Tally for long.

He thinks of Tally laughing at that kicker's question, when just a week ago — hell, just yesterday — she would have broken at least two hovercams. She's rewiring herself, just as they all are — learning to live in this strange new world that they've brought into existence.

"She's not an ugly, technically," Shay says after a moment. "Aya-la — or anyone in this city, really. They're all surged up."

David shakes his head. "I wish these kids would realize that they're fine just the way they are."

"Maybe one day," Shay says softly. "They're starting. I heard that Frizz kid tell Aya that he liked her nose."

"Radical Honesty." Some part of David still wonders if the Japanese kids were just making that up to see if they would believe it. "I can't believe he thought he needed surge to tell the truth."

Shay gives him a look. "Some people do."

"Not us."

Shay regards him for a moment, her face softening as she takes him in. The garden is bathed in tiny, floating artificial lights, making it look like the trees are glowing. The lights play across Shay's face, dotting her skin like the freckles that have slowly been appearing after years outdoors.

"No," she says finally, a smile tugging at her lips. "Not us."

They argue, sometimes—usually over how to deal with Tally, over how to deal with the other runaways. Those aren't so bad. Every now and then, though, deeper things resurface—the lingering scars from the day the Smoke burned down, the memories of everything Dr. Cable had done to Shay. Those fights are worse. They're still wounded, and David knows what wounded animals are like.

But they have never lied to each other. Shay is still the person David trusts most, to make the hard decisions, to carry out their missions. He trusts her with the lives of their ragtag crew, with the only family he has left. And she trusts him just the same — to be waiting for her when the dust settles, to keep her steady when keeping Tally steady is too much for her.

Shay pushes her sleeves up in the warm air. David takes her hand, feeling the raised skin of her wrist press against his own.

"Where to next?"

Shay swings their hands like they're littlies on a playdate. "Hmm, I don't know. Astrix picked up a fleet of unregistered hovercars that keeps going back and forth between Shreve and Osage. Probably smuggling materials. Or there's a rumor that there's illegal drilling happening off the coast of our old city. Preference?"

"Well, they both sound thrilling," David says, and she laughs. "I don't think we have enough people to go after Shreve right now. Half the crew is still in Columbia —"

"Yeah, that's what I was thinking."

"Back to your city, then." Shay's hold on his hand tightens. "Are you worried?"

"Maybe. A little. It'll just be…weird. Seeing it again. Seeing everyone who we left behind."

"We can't run from them," David points out. "Which is something you've said."

"Don't remind me." Shay shudders dramatically, then straightens and turns to smile at him, eyes curving at the corners just the way they used to at the Smoke. "It'll be fine. We'll survive."

The truth of the words sinks in, settling and unfurling something warm inside him. Suddenly, David doesn't care about cameras or kickers. He gives Shay's hand a gentle tug, drawing her closer to kiss her. Let them talk, he thinks. It doesn't matter — it has never mattered — how many newsfeeds speculate, how many cities try to use them, how many times they've been made and remade in someone else's image. They know who they are, now.

We'll survive.

"Yeah," David says. "We will."