A Rumor of Real Irish Tea (Annals of Altair Book 2)

by Kate Stradling

  Not that he cared. Prom-F was filled with idiots and delinquents who could only in their wildest dreams ever aspire to the high achievements of Prom-A students. Prom-A was an escalator straight to one’s ivy-league university of choice, all expenses paid. Prom-A produced brilliant doctors and lawyers, skilled artists, and savvy politicians.

  What did Prom-F produce? Nothing. Prom-A had a whole list of prestigious graduates. Prom-B and Prom-C were the same, though not to the same degree. Even Prom-D sometimes produced someone noteworthy. No one distinguished ever came from the Prometheus-F campus.

  And yet, the Prom-F kids never seemed to know their place. They had these inflated attitudes, as though they had scores of Nobel laureates among their alumni and were about to start mass production on a cure for cancer out of their biology lab. It had been that way at last year’s multi-campus exhibition, the rag-tag bunch at Prom-F thrusting out their chests and acting as though they owned the place.

  Which, technically, they did, but they should have had the common sense to defer to their superiors from the other campuses.

  The exposition had lasted a week, and the Prom-A and Prom-B kids had cleaned house for the awards in almost every category. Even in the face of numerous defeats, though, the Prom-F kids had maintained their pride. When Hummer West won the mechanics exposition (which, had it been at any other school he couldn’t even have entered because he wasn’t old enough to travel from Prom-F, Oliver thought bitterly), his classmates nearly exploded with triumph. One lousy award, and they acted like they had swept the competition.

  Oliver had let his entire school down when he came in second. The Prom-A kids shook their heads in disappointment, and the Prom-F kids looked down on him. In fact, the Prom-F kids—and his new roommate in particular—still looked down on him.

  “Do you really have to tap your pencil like that?” Tyler asked.

  Oliver ceased the motion, previously unaware that he had been doing it, but then he realized that he didn’t have to cater to a Prom-F flunky. “It helps me think,” he said, starting it up again.

  “Does having your chair yanked out from under you help you think, too? ’Cause I can help with that.”

  Oliver turned a sour glare upon the boy across the room. Their desks faced opposite walls, and on the two nights before this they had said not a single word to one another as they each completed their homework. Tyler was a year older and on a different track of courses than Oliver, so they had no interaction during the daytime unless they happened across one another in the cafeteria or the shared boy’s room at the end of the hall.

  “What is your problem?” Oliver asked. “I mean, aside from the obvious brain damage that landed you here at Prom-F to begin with.”

  “My problem is getting stuck with a namby-pamby Prom-A discard for a roommate,” Tyler retorted with equal venom. “And a null-projector to boot,” he added in complete disgust.

  “I didn’t ask to be shuffled in with the clown brigade,” said Oliver. He didn’t mind being called namby-pamby because that was an obvious lie, but “Prom-A discard” had struck a nerve.

  “Yeah, well, the least you could do is keep your stupid pencil quiet now that you are here. It was my room first.”

  “Sorry to intrude upon your solitude,” Oliver sneered.

  “Best two weeks of my life,” Tyler said.

  The number gave Oliver pause. “Only two?” he asked in confusion.

  Tyler’s face twisted in contempt. “They didn’t switch room assignments until after they had lifted the lockdown. I thought I was getting my own room, which is practically unheard of.”

  Oliver’s brows shot up. “They only lifted the lockdown two weeks ago?”

  A snort escaped his roommate’s nostrils. “Took ’em almost that long to replace all the circuitry that was fried by Hummer’s EMP, and then they had to make sure the whole system was working right before they set us loose.”

  “And you just stayed in your dorms the whole time?”

  “They let us out for breakfast, lunch, and dinner in small groups, and on periodic bathroom breaks throughout the day. We had homework assignments to keep us busy the rest of the time. You think there’s something funny about a whole school of kids being treated like they’re criminals in a prison?”

  He hadn’t realized he was smiling. It must have been from a sense of shared suffering. Faint though the expression was, Oliver wiped it from his face. “No. I mean, Prom-F is kind of like a prison anyway, but it’s nice that they let you out for meals. Try spending three weeks in a GCA confinement cell with nothing but pre-packaged vending machine food brought to you at intervals.”

  “What’d you do for a toilet?” Tyler asked with grudging interest.

  “There was one in the room,” Oliver said.

  “Gross. Like you really were in prison. Man, Hawk and Hummer must have gotten you good.”

  “Their sister got my handler,” he said. No sense in admitting that Hawk had cast aspersions on his loyalty to Prometheus and the GCA. That was all hogwash anyway.

  Tyler grunted, and a particle of respect gleamed in his eyes. It was gone just as soon as he remembered he was speaking with the enemy. “Yeah, well, this may be a step up for you, but that doesn’t mean anyone’s going to throw you a welcome party.”

  “A step up?” Oliver echoed with utter disdain. “I’d choose eternal confinement with a bucket for a toilet over Prom-F any day of the week.”

  “Shut up,” said Tyler. “No one’s that stupid.”

  “Except the entire student body of Prom-F.”

  “Shut up. And if you start tapping that pencil again, I swear I’ll break it in half and shove both pieces up your nose.”

  “Ooh, violence. How very superior of you.”

  Tyler started menacingly, and Oliver recoiled, even though there was a good six feet between them.

  “Wuss,” said Tyler.

  “Delinquent,” said Oliver.

  They both returned to their homework. Several minutes of stubborn silence passed before Tyler spoke up again, belligerence thick on his voice.

  “So what’s it like to be the administrators’ lackey? Do they give you lots of treats for doing their bidding?”

  “Oh, yeah. Loads of ’em,” said Oliver sarcastically. “They put me in solitary confinement for three weeks, they transfer me to the armpit of the Institute, they stick me with an utter Neanderthal for a roommate. There are so many treats I can’t even count ’em!”

  Tyler shot him a dirty look. “That was after you failed. What about when you succeeded? I heard they’ve used you to restrain projectors a dozen times before this.”

  “Not a dozen,” said Oliver self-consciously. “Most projectors know not to act up, so it’s only the idiot few that I’ve had to deal with. And why are you so interested?”

  “I guess I’m just curious what would make a kid betray his own to join forces with the enemy,” Tyler said, and he glared at Oliver critically.

  The accusation rankled, even though it came from a Prom-F ninny. “You’re acting like I had some sort of a choice in the matter,” Oliver said. “Do you honestly think they ask my opinion? ‘Hey, Oliver, we’re having this situation down at Prom-D. What do you think about maybe lending a helping hand?’ Yeah, right. They come in, tell me to pack my bag, and give me half an hour to get ready, if I’m lucky. And I can’t help it if my very presence restrains projectors. I never asked to be a null-projector either.”

  In the wake of this tirade, silence descended between them again. Oliver was annoyed that he had said so much already, and Tyler seemed too stunned to respond. Instead, he only stared, his eyes wide and round.

  “Sorry,” he mumbled at last, and he turned back to his schoolwork.

  “This is idiotic,” said Oliver. “My one consolation is that when I’m an adult and in charge, I can slap all of these administrators in a nursing home and throw away the key. But even that is meaningless if I get stuck here at Prom-F permanently. No one of importance c
omes from Prom-F! It might as well be called Prom-Oaf!”

  “No one comes from Prom-F at all, you moron,” Tyler muttered, so low that Oliver barely heard it.

  “What was that?” he said sharply.

  Tyler hissed his reply across the room, as though he was wary of being overheard by outsiders. “I said, no one comes from Prom-F at all. There’s no record of anyone past graduation. They disappear.”

  “That’s absurd,” said Oliver, but a strange quiver ran through him. Quincy had said something similar.

  “It’s the truth,” Tyler replied. “The rumor was floating around for a while. Every year a handful of kids turn eighteen and supposedly graduate, but no one knows where they go. They never write their friends here like they always promise, and they’re not in the Prometheus system after that, either.”

  “Okay, now I know you’re lying,” Oliver said. “Once you’re in you’re always in. If everyone really disappeared after graduation, you’d all be climbing the walls to get out of here.”

  Tyler shook his head. “Before Hawk and Hummer, no one believed it was possible. We’re out in the middle of nowhere, if you hadn’t noticed. Some of the older students said that there was one kid a few years ago who tried to run away while he was on a field trip. They caught him in under two hours, but he didn’t come back to Prom-F. ‘Transferred,’ some of the admins said. ‘Expelled,’ some others said. Like anyone is ever transferred or expelled from Prom-F. Where would they transfer them to? Prom-A?”

  “It’s just a story. You don’t even know it’s true, and it probably isn’t.”

  “Every kid here has a theory about what happens after graduation,” Tyler said. “Just ask around, if they’ll even talk to you. Some think the graduates are turned loose for manual labor, some think they’re experimented on by a secret division of the military, but most people think they’re sent to Prometheus’s shadow campus.”

  Now Oliver had heard everything. “The shadow campus?” he echoed in complete skepticism. “Really?”

  “Prom-E,” said his roommate with a sober nod. “It’s not on any maps or connected into any databases. It’s a complete void.”

  “That’s because it doesn’t exist. There is no Prom-E.”

  Tyler frowned. “What kind of sense does that make? They just skip a letter in the alphabet when they’re building campuses?”

  “It corresponds to the old-school grading system,” Oliver said with long-suffering. How could his roommate be this thick? “It’s still used in a ton of universities across the country. Any imbecile with half a brain knows that.”

  “That’s a convenient explanation,” Tyler said.

  “There is no Prom-E,” Oliver insisted.

  “Or maybe you know there is, and you’re in on the secret.”

  That was the last straw. “Great. Just great,” he said to the ceiling, since it seemed to be the only sane object he could talk to. “Not only is my roommate a complete moron, but he’s also a nutcase conspiracy freak. Can this get any worse?”

  X

  Of Ducks and Geese

  July 31, 7:09am mst, Phoenix, AZ

  “Now, if they’re anything like other government offices, they’re required to run end-of-the-month accounting reports today,” Hummer said. “It’s a lot of time-consuming paperwork, and there should be a whole department dedicated to getting it finished before the end of the day.”

  “How do you know how other government offices run?” Honey asked.

  He stiffened, as though realizing he had disclosed more information than he intended. “I read when I’m bored,” he said after a moment’s hesitation, “even if the only thing to read is a procedural manual that one of the admins accidentally left lying around.” Defensively he added, “You never know what kind of information might come in handy someday.”

  “No one’s going to make fun of you for reading, Hummer,” said Hawk, “and the information has come in handy a number of times over the last couple months. We orchestrated our escape based on that manual.”

  They were crammed onto a city bus with a slew of commuters and students. There had been standing room only when they got on, but Honey’s winsome smile had earned them a couple of seats near the front, courtesy of a pair of office workers. Hawk tried to suppress the flutter of nerves in his stomach; when he thought of everything that could go wrong with this plan, he felt positively sick.

  “It’s the next stop,” said Hummer, who had taken the lead on this venture. “Does everyone remember what they’re doing?”

  “Yes,” said Honey and Happy together.

  “Kind of hard to forget, what with how many times we went over it,” said Hawk. He stooped to peer out the window. Revere was gliding alongside them, easily keeping pace with the slow-moving bus. The raven didn’t understand why they were putting themselves in danger, and he certainly didn’t agree with the idea, but he had come along anyway, faithful to the end.

  “All right,” said Hummer, and he pulled the cord to signal the bus to stop.

  It lumbered to the curb, and the four children threaded their way through the aisle and out the door. They hopped down to the busy sidewalk and immediately turned north.

  “The office doesn’t open to the public until eight, so it’ll be understaffed,” said Hummer, repeating for the umpteenth time information that they had all learned by heart. Even though his words were nothing new, his voice gave them something to concentrate on as they walked. “The accounting department should be there already—they have to finish their reports by five o’clock eastern time, and thanks to daylight savings, that’s three hours ahead of here. They should’ve started an hour ago, if they’re holding to protocol. The main entrance will still be locked with a security guard on duty. Any arriving employees will come through the entrance down in the parking garage. With any luck, Honey’s distraction will go into effect any minute now. Are we ready? Any final questions before we start?”

  “Let’s just get into position,” said Honey.

  “You seem to be forgetting something you were supposed to do first,” Hummer retorted.

  Annoyance flashed across her face. “I didn’t forget.” She called out to a nearby pedestrian. “Hey, Mister! Can I have your cell phone? Pretty please?”

  The man, in mid-conversation, instantly stopped and handed over the phone.

  “Thanks! Bye-bye!” Honey said, and he rightly took this as cue to walk on. Honey spoke into the phone. “He had to go. He’ll call you back later, I promise.” Then, she hung up on the person and handed the device to Hummer. “Program it, quick.”

  It took a moment for Hummer to orient himself to the cell phone’s layout. “We should’ve done this on the bus,” he murmured as he typed a couple numbers into the contacts list.

  “You don’t steal things on a bus,” Honey said. “You don’t steal things anywhere you’re trapped with a large group of people. If the projection wears off before you can get away, they raise a stink and then you have to play cleanup. It’s too messy.”

  “I’m both relieved and disturbed that you’ve thought it out that far,” said Hummer.

  Honey stiffened, defensive. “My projections aren’t like Happy’s or Hawk’s. I have to keep talking to mesmerize my victims, or it wears off in a couple of minutes.”

  “I don’t consider Revere or any other bird to be my victim,” Hawk said. He had been looking around absentmindedly, but the comment proved that he was still listening to their conversation.

  Honey huffed. “Maybe not, but you still have a mental projection, like Happy’s. Mine is all verbal.”

  “Good thing you like talking,” said Hummer sarcastically.

  She kicked him in the shin.

  “Ow! Honey!”

  “Are you done, or what? We’ve got to get this party started, or someone around here is going to recognize me and Happy, and my little distraction from earlier won’t be worth a thing.”

  “Looks like your distraction was effective,” said Hawk. “A pige
on across the street says there’s a car coming out of the garage.” The foursome instinctively backed up to the nearest wall. Ten feet down the sidewalk, a black sedan rolled out of the opening to an underground garage and maneuvered into traffic, lights flashing in its windows to signal cars in front of it to get out of the way. The sluggish cars ahead pulled off to one side and the sedan picked up speed.

  Hummer had taken into consideration the location of their bus stop in relation to the GCA office. The sedan was headed in the opposite direction, and with enough urgency that the Wests were confident that no one was looking in the rearview mirror. Still, they remained positioned against the wall, mostly shielded by an unsteady stream of pedestrians.

  “Here comes the second one,” said Hawk, and another sedan emerged.

  “High-level agents distributing their pawns,” said Honey with a smirk. “It wouldn’t do to send them all out at the exact same time, or they might know there are others out there with them.”

  “Information control at its finest,” Hummer agreed. From the collection of agents they had encountered, interrogated, and disposed of over the last few days, it had become apparent that the GCA was sending out their most expendable people and telling them next to nothing, either about their mission or about one another. In order to maintain that level of ignorance in their peons, though, the higher-level agents had to be doing some pretty systematic management of their resources.

  The four children watched as the second sedan turned the same direction on the street as the first, but then it made a right at the nearest light instead of going straight through.

  “It’s nice to see that they position them in different parts of the area too,” Hummer said. “I kind of feel bad for that waffle house they’re going to stake out.”