by Ben Farthing
Mr. President pressed the sheet flat. "As is customary, we printed several and sent them to our allied factions."
"Who's that?" asked Everard.
Everyone at the table looked up at him.
"These are the representatives of the National factions," said Mr. President. His tone shifted to annoyed. "And two of the D.C. factions."
Bermuda cleared his throat and said, frustrated, "Our alliances with the No-Gos and Capitol Bohemia are as important as those with our National factions."
The plump woman whispered to Bermuda, "We know, dear."
"Thrilled to meet you all," said Everard. "Which one of you sent the two-tongued guy?"
"Jakes?" asked Howser. "He's been one of my Hunters even since he escaped the NSA. I didn't know he was moonlighting bounties."
Everard didn't want to imagine being hunted by this behemoth. "If I hadn't broken his knee, where would he have brought me?"
"Here," said Howser. "Jakes is a good man."
"A good man who goes after bounties," said Everard. "Do you know how hard I work to maintain my privacy?"
"Well now," said Bill Bill, "you've still got your privacy."
"I've got half of you underground maniacs hunting for me. And what the hell does 'other' mean?"
"Nothing to do with the Boogeyman," said Minnie, "which is what we should be discussing."
"Other?" Mr. President picked up the flyer. "Oh, it's ripped. That's not 'other.' Where's another flyer?"
Minnie made a scene of flipping through a leather folio until she pulled out a sheet of paper to slide it across the table to Everard.
It showed a full picture of him leaving his townhouse, and below were the words
Rebellist:
Everard
Harrison
Then the handwritten note:
Ryker's brother.
"Who's Ryker?" he asked, trying to think of where he'd heard that name.
"Oh, you don't know?" said Lucy, flashing a bright smile. "You'd like her."
"That's true," said Loretta. "She's got the attitude of a rebellist, even if she isn't one."
Everard remembered where he'd heard the name: the protesters who'd set off the fireworks earlier had played a recording that chanted "free Ryker."
"She's a criminal," said Mr. President.
"Why's it say I'm her brother?"
Howser, Loretta, and Bill Bill started talking at once, then the first two let Bill Bill speak. "She's not a criminal. Not by any of our laws, anyways."
"Not by any laws that matter," said Howser.
"She's not a fan of the NSA's involvement in the Periphery," said Loretta. "And she's pretty vocal about it."
"She's more than vocal," said Mr. President. "She's committed terrorist acts."
"She destroyed an NSA explorer outpost," said Loretta. "Which has probably saved dozens of people from being mutilated."
"Thrilling," said Everard. "But why's it say I'm her brother?"
Mr. President spoke over Everard's repeated question. "How many did she kill in the process?"
"Four," said the plump woman.
"Thank you, Fiametta," said Loretta. "How many of those were NSA agents, forcing Periphery denizens to explore the nooks beyond the Periphery?"
"Four," said Fiametta. "And I've set up funds for each of their families, as well as the poor souls they sent out there."
"Of course you have," muttered Loretta.
"That's a lovely story, really. But I just want you people to leave me alone." Everard repeated his question. "What's this mean, calling me her brother?"
They had different meanings for all sorts of words down here - bents, nooks, burgesses - he wanted to know what "brother" meant.
"It means you're her brother," said Mr. President. "You're siblings."
"What?" said Everard.
"You've never met your sister?" asked Fiametta.
"He was a foster child." Bill Bill shrugged. "His mother would have had Ryker long after he last saw her."
A faint boom echoed through the building. Far away - probably because they were inside this nook - but still recognizable as the same noise from earlier.
"They're happening more frequently," said Lucy.
"It's under control," said Mr. President.
Everard was miles past caring about the booms. He brought the conversation back to his concerns. "I don't have a sister."
"You're her spitting image," said Mr. President. "Minnie, do you have a picture?"
"Not everyone is as insulated from the booms as you," said Lucy.
Fiametta leaned over and patted Lucy on the shoulder. "Loretta said she'd take care of it, dear. Things will be okay."
"And even if she were to fail - which she won't," said Mr. President, "the NSA will step in if anything threatens the Central Nook. Your Folkmeisters - and everyone else living topside - will be fine."
Lucy looked distrusting, but placated.
Minnie pulled a tablet from her leather folio, swiped and tapped, then set it on the table.
Everard picked it up. The screen showed a photo taken from afar of a young woman, no older than 25, opening a door from the inside to let in a hooded figure.
"It's high res," said Minnie. "Zoom in."
"He's seeing her for the first time," whispered Fiametta, excited. "It's magical."
Everard pinched the screen to see Ryker's face closer up. He didn't remember what his mother looked like, but he did look in the mirror most days. Ryker's jawline had the same angle, her nose was the same shape, and her eyes the same pale green.
"She could be anybody." Even Everard heard the doubt in his own voice. They looked similar enough to be twins. "Why do you think she's my sister?"
"Let's call it a long range DNA test," said Mr. President.
Everard looked at Bill Bill, then Loretta. Both nodded.
He leaned back against the wall and slid to the floor.
A sister.
He tried to think about what that meant, but his thoughts couldn't examine the implications as the gravity of the fact itself kept seizing his attention.
"While he's coming to terms with his newfound family," said Mr. President, "why don't you continue, Mr. Howser? Our fine committee here all have various responsibilities to attend to."
"Sure. So again, the first barriers are already set. We've got him trapped in the city."
Everard stared at the image on the tablet. Had his mother surrendered her to the state as well?
"The second barrier will trap him on the eastside." He glanced at the Folkmeister. "I recommend you keep the lights on the next few nights. Third barrier in the southeast. Then on a 14th Street block, near Lincoln Park. A single abandoned shop, then a room, then a closet. Then he'll be nowhere but right there. A bullet between the eyes and he'll have nowhere to go."
"He'll fill the closet with copies of himself, won't he?" asked Minnie. "You'll need more than a single bullet."
"It's an expression," said Howser. "We're using C-4."
Everard zoomed in even more on Ryker's face. Was this what his mother looked like? For the first time in years, he wondered if she was alive somewhere. Did he have aunts, uncles, cousins?
"Do I have any other siblings?" he asked.
"Not that we know of," said Mr. President, then turned back to Howser. "Why are your requested funds so high?"
"Inversely ionized barriers aren't cheap," he said. "And you offered to help fund it. You're not backing out now, are you?"
"Of course not," Mr. President.
"Are you absolutely sure you know what you're doing?" asked Lucy.
"He damn well better be," said Loretta. "The frequency of the attacks hasn't dropped, but now instead of being worldwide, they're all in the city. That's a high cost for success."
"Odd to hear that from you," said Howser.
Loretta glowered but bit her tongue.
Everard wondered if Abby would want to meet Ryker. Did he even want to meet her? He'd spent most of his life choosing who he g
ot close to. He'd always thought it was weird that most people just stuck with who they were stuck with. But now that he had the chance, what did he want?
"And anyways," said Howser, "these attacks would have happened anyways. All we're doing is keeping them here, with the end result of killing the Boogeyman once and for all."
"You mean all you're doing is turning poor folks' homes into a hunting ground," said Lucy.
"Yes," said Howser. "And I'm the Hunter."
Bermuda cleared his throat. "Lucy, I'll personally see to it that a squadron of Continental Regulars are patrolling the area."
"You'll do no such thing," said Mr. President. "The Hunters will be inside the area, and can provide ample protection. I've requested that the Minutemen position themselves nearby, to respond to any danger they sense."
Lucy rose. "My people's deaths will be on your hands." She pointed from Howser to Mr. President, finger trembling.
Everard set the tablet on the wood floor. He'd lived a comfortable life since setting out on his own, avoiding anything that might disrupt his privacy. It'd be cool to meet his sister, but who was she to him, really? He didn't know her. They'd been raised in different homes. Ryker didn't change why he was here.
Howser responded calmly. "We're trapping him as quickly as possible. The barriers will hold. Mr. President himself provided the highest quality materials."
"You're absolutely positive he can't copy himself outside the barriers?" asked Lucy.
"He doesn't copy himself," said Howser. "No one's ever completely killed him. He's literally multiple places at once. Not omnipresent, but multi-present, or something."
"Semantics," said Minnie. "Can you be sure he can only exist inside the barrier?"
"It's a major difference," said Howser. "But yes, as long as the ferromagnetic alloys are balanced properly, there'll be no more things going bump in the night. Well, one less thing, anyways."
Everard still wanted to get out of here, but one thing bothered him. "Those guys on the street were yelling 'free Ryker.' Free her from what?"
"She's been arrested for her crimes," said Mr. President.
"The NSA snatched Ryker off the street," said Loretta. "No judge, no jury. She just disappeared."
"Can you blame them?" Mr. President adjusted his ascot, his face getting redder by the second. "She's too dangerous. She'd have the entire courtroom eating out of her hand."
"That would actually mean something," interjected Loretta, "if the NSA gave any Periphery Denizens a trial."
"Is she a rebellist, too?" asked Everard.
"No," said Loretta. "The NSA wouldn't have been able to bring her in if she was."
"So where is she now?"
"Probably being forced to explore past the Periphery," suggested Lucy.
"No, she'd be a battery, wouldn't she?" offered Howser. "Too powerful to be wasted as an explorer."
"Which is what she deserves," said Mr. President.
"What's a battery?" asked Everard.
Minnie exhaled an exasperated breath, tossed her folio on the table, and dropped into a chair.
Loretta ignored the outburst. "Benters who provide power, like you might get paid to donate plasma. I thought you were leaving, what do you care?"
"I want to know a few things before I go."
"Al Qaeda gets sent to Guantanamo," said Howser. "Benters are forced to be batteries."
"What are they powering?"
Mr. President drummed his fingers on the table. "I'm afraid I have to agree with my advisor. We need to get back on topic."
"Tell me what Ryker is powering," insisted Everard.
Bill Bill waved a placating hand to Mr. President. "Our sources say Ryker's most likely powering a submarine somewhere in the Pacific."
"And these protesters want to free her?" He could sympathize with them. Being stuck on a submarine would be hell. But protesting drew attention to yourself. Better to keep your head down, altogether.
"The NSA's been overstepping their bounds," said Loretta. "A lot of people are already furious about the Watchers. Taking Ryker is the last straw. There's an underground movement against them."
"They're terrorists, and you're to report any information you find," said Mr. President.
"And the day I accept a contract to find them, that's what I'll do. But until that happens, I'll do what I decide, maybe even aiding and abetting Ryker's crew."
"Super exciting stuff," said Everard, "but if I understand correctly, there's no more bounty on my head. You won't be coming after me if I just walk away?"
"If we forced you to stay," said Bill Bill, "you'd be useless as a rebellist. There wouldn't be any point in you staying."
"And what about Undone Duncan and Inc? Will they still come after me?"
"I could maybe deal with that," said Bill Bill.
"Perfect," said Everard. "Name your price, and I'll pay it. That's very sad about Ryker, but how about one of you shows me to the exit?"
"She's your sister," said Loretta.
"Is she, though?" said Everard. "I've never met her. We didn't grow up playing and arguing and looking out for each other. Does sharing a parent really mean anything?"
"It means she's your sister," said Howser. "That's what the word sister means. A female sibling who shares parents."
"Then our one connection is a woman I never met. I'm going home."
Mr. President sighed and leaned back in his chair. He gestured to Bill Bill.
"What?" said Bill Bill. "If the man wants to go home, he can go home. The fact that his sister is chained up and plugged in on a submarine somewhere doesn't matter."
Everard ignored the jab. "Great. Where's the exit?"
"I'll show you," said Bill Bill. "Mr. President, beggin' your pardon about the interruption."
He ushered Everard out. Loretta joined them in the hallway, leaving the others to finish their meeting.
Chapter Fifteen
They walked back through the antique hallway to the stairwell, then headed down the stairs. Loretta started in the opposite direction, until Bill Bill said, "why don't you take the south exit with us?"
"Sure," said Loretta, after hesitating a moment.
Down several flights, Everard asked, "this is the quickest way?"
"Shortcut," said Bill Bill.
At each landing, a doorway opened into a similar hall. Wooden floors, candelabras on the walls. Everard tried to see down to the end of the hallways, but they all seemed to go on forever.
At the bottom of the staircase was a cement floor, with open steel doors.
It took Everard's eyes a moment to adjust to the dark scene through the doorway. It reminded him of old photos of makeshift hospitals. Bathed in a softly pulsing red light, eight people lay unconscious on cots, placed in front of chugging engines.
The smell of burning oil and citrus hit Everard like a wave.
"What are you trying to pull?" he demanded.
"The exit's through there," said Bill Bill.
"You expect me to believe that?"
A woman in overalls stood up from where she'd been crouched behind one of the cots. She had a stethoscope around her neck and a wrench in her hand. "New battery?" she asked.
"What?" said Everard. "Fuck no."
He stepped back from Bill Bill and Everard.
"This is your game, then? If I don't join your George Washington fan club, you turn me into one of them?" He pointed at the people in the cots.
"I don't understand," said the woman.
"Neither does he," said Loretta.
"We don't force anyone to be a battery," said Bill Bill.
"I should say not," said the woman. "What do you think we are? Everyone here is getting paid for their time."
"It's just shifts," said Bill Bill. "Like any regular job. They go home after eight hours, and get their paycheck direct deposited every two weeks."
Everard stepped into the room. On the cot closest to him lay a girl who couldn't have been more than twenty. She wore ripped
jeans and a faded t-shirt. A thin wire wrapped around her forearm, tight enough to make little valleys in her skin. It hung slack between her arm and the engine behind her. Another tube - gray and slick, like a stretched out slug - was attached to her neck, stuck on with glue, or hooked directly into her skin. Actually, the red smear around it made it look more like a leech than a slug.
Everard stepped closer to inspect the engine. It looked like a newer, sleeker model of Undone Duncan's machine, except without the needles and razorblades. Pistons pumped smoothly while gears whirled. A clear sack held a glowing, translucent red liquid. Tiny splotches swam about inside, their movement irregular thrusts, like panicked jellyfish.
Thick, insulated wires and tubes reached from the machine to the center of the ceiling, to what Everard had first thought was a light fixture, but now realized was reservoir of liquid or energy.
Each machine had similar wires to the bulb, creating a canopy of buzzing energy and pumping viscosity.
"What are you taking out of her?" he asked.
"Nothing," she said. "Except positively charged ions, I suppose."
"It's harmless." Bill Bill spoke like he was waiting for Everard to say something.
The girl opened her eyes. They may have been a pale green or blue, but in the light of the room they reflected red. Her head still, her eyes jumped from Everard, to the woman, then back to Everard.
"She's awake," he said. "I don't think she can move."
"Of course she is," said the woman. "And of course she can't. Not until I unhook her."
"She lies here paralyzed all day?" he asked.
"I wouldn't say it quite like that."
"How would you say it?"
"Listen, young man," she said. "That girl is paid enough to support her family. She does two four-hour shifts, five days a week. There's an hour break in between to eat and to exercise. I've been managing this room for twenty years - I know what I'm doing."
"You've laid in her place?" asked Everard.
"That would be a poor use of my skills. I have the training to run the machines."
"Hmm," breathed Everard.
"This is better than you realize," she said. "Used to be people stayed attached for weeks at a time. We kept them alive with IVs."
"Some places are still like that," said Bill Bill. "Some places never unhook you."
