“Make it an expensive one,” said Honey. “I’ll talk them down on price.”
Article I, Section 9
Target Acquired
July 3, 3:15pm mdt, Prom-F
“Hey, Oliver,” said Emily with a curious frown, “did you read this, about how Happy didn’t say a single word for the first two months he was at Prometheus?”
Oliver had conceded to let her look over the four hard-copy files of the West children while he continued his computer searches. That had only been an hour ago, when Emily thought she was finally going to go stir crazy from sitting around. She had flipped through the others, but she was drawn to the youngest child—little Alex North, as she had originally seen him. Of the four, Happy should have been the most loyal to Prometheus, because he would have few if any memories beyond his life there.
“That’s not exactly shocking,” Oliver said in a deprecating voice. “He was a toddler. Toddlers don’t really talk much anyway.”
“They’re not completely silent like this, though.” Emily had reached the journal section of the file, where workers recorded anything significant in the child’s progress. “Listen to this: ‘Today I tried to elicit some verbal responses from Wilson’—they always called him Wilson here at the beginning, and I’m not sure why. Maybe it was a code word.”
“It’s not a code word,” said Oliver scornfully. “They just meant to rename him. Washington is a heavy name for a child, and it doesn’t have any good options for nicknames. Something like Wilson is much more manageable.”
“What about Wash?” Emily asked. She received a narrow-eyed glare in answer. Awkwardly she cleared her throat. “Anyway, as I was saying, ‘Today I tried to elicit some verbal responses from Wilson. He wouldn’t even acknowledge me, but kept stacking blocks with a very serious expression. Whenever I got in his way to draw his attention, he simply turned another direction and started over. The other children in the nursery have become very somber since his arrival as well, which makes me worry that his mood is contagious.’ According to some of the other entries, his handler was worried about autism or another associative disorder. He literally said nothing for the first seven weeks he was at Prometheus-B.”
An annoyed breath puffed through Oliver’s lips. “Is there a point to any of this? I can’t claim to be interested in the verbal or non-verbal exploits of a toddler.”
“So you didn’t read this?” Emily asked, a small smile twitching at the corners of her mouth. Oliver rolled his eyes and huffed again. “Okay then, listen, because here’s the point. Seven weeks after Happy arrived, there’s this entry: ‘He finally spoke! I nearly died of shock this morning when it happened. One of the older classes was passing by the nursery window, and Wilson suddenly screamed, “Honey!” He was on his feet in an instant and to the door before I could catch him. There was a little girl—Madison, her handler told me—who broke away from the line of children and came back to talk to him. It seems she’s his sister, and I’ve spoken to her handler about bringing her to visit in the nursery, because Wilson jabbered at her for five minutes non-stop.’” Emily laid her palm flat upon the file and fixed a steady gaze upon Oliver. “It wasn’t that he couldn’t talk, but that he actively chose not to. It’s amazing that he would carry it on for so long.”
Oliver did not acknowledge the extraordinariness of the toddler’s feat. Instead, he scowled darkly. “Again, what was the point of taking up my time with this riveting little narrative?”
She was growing accustomed to his sarcasm after only two days, a proud accomplishment. “The point is that because of that encounter, Honey was deemed a necessary presence for the measurement of Happy’s progress within the Institute,” said Emily.
“So?” said Oliver.
“So why was he transferred away to a GCA office in Spokane for a week last March?” Emily asked.
Oliver stared, and she knew she had hit something, whether it was a nail on the head or his last nerve. A couple of seconds passed as quick calculations flitted through his brain. “He was transferred away last March?” he asked.
“That’s what it says here in his site log. Four years at Prometheus-B, no trips or anything, and then suddenly he’s taken away to Spokane for a week.”
“Was it the same week Honey was gone to the east coast?” Oliver asked.
Emily shook her head. “It was the week before. He was transferred back the day after she left. Do you think it has anything to do with her cry for help?”
“Maybe,” said Oliver uncertainly. “Is there any reason given for his transfer?”
“The entry just says, ‘Subject taken to Spokane GCA offices by order of MRA.’ I don’t see any other references to those initials. What’s wrong?”
His face had gone suddenly pale. “MRA—Mary Rose Allen?”
Emily’s eyebrows shot up, but her shock melted into nervous amusement. “Surely not. Why would the White House’s Service Czar order a six-year-old to be transferred from his school campus to Spokane for a week? I mean, granted, she is the head of the GCA, and it was a GCA office that he was taken to, but…” Emily shook her head. “It’s got to be someone else. Maybe the initials aren’t even a person. Or maybe it was meant to be Mr. A, rather than MRA, and the person making the log just wrote all caps on accident.”
“Mary Rose Allen was the one who ordered to have me transferred here,” said Oliver quietly. “Genevieve said the call came directly from her. Maybe they needed Happy’s help with something.”
“What would they need a six-year-old for?” asked Emily skeptically. “I mean, even a six-year-old projector—Principal Gates said Happy’s projections can be volatile. And they took him without Honey? From what I’ve seen of these notes so far, he didn’t cooperate at all unless Honey was with him. It doesn’t make sense.”
“Then maybe Honey was the one they wanted cooperation from,” Oliver said abruptly.
“What? What do you mean?”
He considered the idea in silence for a couple of breaths but then suddenly lurched. “Where’s Honey’s file? Give it to me, now!”
Emily snatched it from the table and pressed it into his eager hands. “What is it?” she asked breathlessly.
“Be quiet a minute, would you?” said Oliver as he opened the file and flipped through its contents. He stopped at the site log, the section of the file meant to track the basic location of every child. “New York, DC, returned home. Fulfilled all expectations,” he muttered.
“What does that mean, ‘fulfilled all expectations’?”
“It means that she did something for them,” Oliver said. “I’ve been called to deal with projectors four or five times before, and they always write those same words in my site log entry.”
“You’ve seen your own file?”
“Of course I have,” said Oliver. “The abridged version, anyway. My handler always has a copy—didn’t they give it to you?”
Emily opened her mouth in surprise, but then shut it again. “They did,” she said. “It’s right here in my messenger bag. Am I supposed to be writing things in it? No one told me anything about that.”
He scoffed, but somehow it lacked his usual disdain. “You’re so totally useless,” he said.
“I know, I know,” she agreed. “I was supposed to receive an orientation at Prom-A yesterday, and instead I was called off the train there and whisked straight to the airport. Give me a break.”
Oliver shook his head, but she wasn’t sure whether he was refusing to give her the requested break or if he was still laughing at her.
“So ‘fulfilled all expectations’ is code for…?” she prompted.
“It’s code for fulfilling all expectations,” Oliver said. “It means that you did your job quickly and efficiently, and that your results were successful. Whatever Honey did, she was able to satisfy the expectations of her superiors.”
“But what exactly did she do?” asked Emily. “And what does it have to do with Happy’s transfer to Spokane?”
“I
think,” said Oliver slowly, “that she probably didn’t want to do whatever task they put to her. Maybe… maybe they transferred Happy away to get Honey to cooperate.”
“That’s awful.”
Oliver seemed stunned by this outburst. “You think so?”
Emily was on her feet, pacing with nervous energy. “Of course I think so,” she said fiercely. “You don’t manipulate a nine-year-old by stealing away her little brother! And why are you so unfazed by this?”
He looked uncomfortable, like someone had suddenly transplanted him into a different dimension. “The adults manipulate us all the time. They take away our privileges, transfer any friends we make to a different division, pit us against one another, keep us isolated and paranoid, so that the only people we can trust—and the only people we can never trust—are the Prometheus administrators. That’s the way it’s always been.”
Her jaw hung open, but somehow she couldn’t muster the oomph to shut it. It took a few moments for her to gather her wits back together, and when she finally did, the words that tumbled from her mouth were not the ones she would have intended had she been thinking straight.
“No wonder you’re all such little monsters.”
Oliver’s expression turned to a darkening scowl.
“I mean,” said Emily quickly, “no wonder you hate me so much. No wonder you act all high and mighty. I don’t like that at all, the idea that you have to be manipulated into cooperating. If it’s a good and worthy cause, then why would you have to be manipulated?”
“Are you an idiot or an idealist?” Oliver asked. “Who said anything about a good and worthy cause? For all you know, Mary Rose Allen wanted Honey to sweet-talk a mob boss into donating his ill-gotten fortune to the GCA budget. I mean, while the government reabsorbing laundered money might be considered a good and worthy cause, I hardly think involving a nine-year-old for the job would be considered ethical.”
Emily frowned. “The government does not sweet-talk mob bosses into donating their ill-gotten fortunes back into agency budgets,” she said. “The government wouldn’t do anything unethical. That era of corruption is long behind us.”
“Idealist,” said Oliver with a disapproving shake of his head. “Who knew someone like you could survive in today’s world?”
“The GCA’s sole purpose is to uphold citizens’ rights. Everything it does is for the benefit of the people of this country.”
“Even for the benefit of James and Sara West?” Oliver asked tightly.
For the second time in only a scant few minutes, his words left her dumbstruck. In this instance, it was because she had struggled with the very idea he had presented. “That… of course… we don’t know all the circumstances. Maybe they were abusive. They certainly didn’t have any respect for the population-control laws, so maybe they were breaking others.”
“Maybe,” said Oliver. “But that’s another example of manipulation—the GCA may have been within their legal limits in taking the four children away, but they crossed the line when they forged the transfer of guardianship affidavits and presented them as genuine. They could have just told the kids from the beginning that their parents were unfit, but instead they tried to pass off this idea that the parents didn’t want them anymore, tried to severe the ties. It backfired.”
“Yeah,” said Emily quietly. “It really did.”
He tipped his head, with perhaps a glint of pity in his eyes. “All I’m saying is that your precious GCA isn’t infallible. They’re just like any other organization: manipulating, lobbying, doing whatever they have to in order to get what they want, and with little regard for anyone who gets steamrolled in the process. I’m not saying that as a criticism, either. Why shouldn’t they use every resource they have in order to meet their goals?”
She scrutinized him closely. “Do you consider yourself to be a resource, Oliver?”
“What else would I be?” he asked, bitterness creeping into his expression.
Human, Emily wanted to say. A living creature, with hopes and dreams and all his life ahead of him. She wasn’t intimidated by him anymore. In two short days, the glittering façade of the Prometheus Institute had tarnished into a dull patina. She felt sorry for him, sorry for all of the children here, that they were cut off from any permanence but the Institute, that they saw themselves as nothing more than resources. How was it that the West children had been the first to run away, rather than one group in a very long string of truants?
She didn’t get the chance to say any of this, though. A sharp knock on the door unceremoniously interrupted their conversation, and Maggie Lloyd bustled in.
“Get your things, quickly,” she said. “You’re going to Las Vegas.”
Oliver moved straight for the door. “They found them?”
“The kids got off a train there less than an hour ago, and there’s no sign that they’ve left again. We have the helicopter from Great Falls here to fly you to Boise, and you’ll catch your flight from there. Rush, rush!”
Oliver darted past her, into the hallway. Emily moved to follow, but she paused in the doorway. “If they got off the train there, why weren’t they apprehended?”
Maggie’s mouth twisted into a crooked smile. “The little projectors started a riot and escaped in the chaos.”
“So you don’t know for sure that they’re still in Vegas?”
“There’s no reason to think otherwise. That whole city’s our eyes and ears, thanks to the kidnapping report. Look at all this research Oliver’s done,” she added as she gathered up the four children’s files and pushed them into Emily’s hands. “Be a dear and don’t tell him it was just busywork to pass the time until he could be really useful.” Then, she winked and motioned Emily down the hallway after her retreating charge.
Emily’s heart sank. Did Oliver know his research was meaningless? Was his time not worth anything to them, that they could waste it so easily? On one hand, it made sense to have him nearby when the West children were finally found, but on the other it seemed cruel to entrust him with the task of finding them and then leave him out of the information loop until the end.
She had nothing to retrieve, since her messenger bag was already with her, so she followed Oliver straight to his room to help him pack. He scowled and banished her to the hallway.
He was a relatively tidy child and had not spread his things out all over the room, so there was no great gathering up belongings or search for missing items. Instead, he was ready to leave again in only a couple of minutes, and together they hurried out of the dormitory and over to the front lawn.
A helicopter rumbled on the lawn, and an attendant helped them mount into its confines. Once they and their things were secured, they lifted into the air and soared away. The campus of Prometheus-F shrank and disappeared into the green. Roads twisted through the tiny scenery. Emily turned her attention away from the window and focused it on Oliver instead.
“You seem excited,” she said. Beneath his customary façade of indifference was an aura of anticipation, as though he was looking forward to the conflict he might soon face.
He turned arched brows upon her. “The sooner I bring them back, the sooner I can return to Prom-A,” he said. “You, too. You should be more excited.”
“I guess,” said Emily unenthusiastically. “What would they be doing in Las Vegas, though? They’re too young to gamble.”
“Do you have their files? I think there may have been a relative in Las Vegas.”
She opened her bag to retrieve the requested objects, but confusion still nagged at her. “Isn’t that too obvious? I mean, wouldn’t the government be watching all of their relatives? And if these kids are such geniuses, wouldn’t they know that?”
Oliver snatched the files away with a perturbed expression. “You ask too many questions,” he said, but his sudden lack of eagerness showed that at least one of her questions had given him pause.
For Emily, that was enough. She didn’t want Oliver to get up his hopes only t
o have them dashed once they reached Las Vegas simply because no one had bothered to think about the West kids’ motives.
Article I, Section 10
Reconnect
July 3, 4:12pm pdt, Las Vegas
The hotel where the West children ended up was, as Honey had requested, quite expensive. Also, true to her word, she had talked the concierge down in price. Or rather, the drunken lady that she had requested to act as their mother and rent the room for them talked the concierge down in price while Honey interjected with angelic little pleas about discounts.
It was scary to watch her work. Hawk and Hummer exchanged a wary glance, thankful that their sister hadn’t let loose her full persuasive powers on them.
After they deposited the drunk back at the bar, they headed up the elevator to their room. “I don’t like this,” said Hummer when they emerged on the fifth floor. “It’s too high up to orchestrate any escape routes.”
“Who’s going to find us here?” Honey asked. “That lady was so drunk that she’ll never remember she rented a room for a bunch of kids once she sobers up, and the concierge was too busy looking at her blouse to pay me any heed.”
“Anyone in the lobby might have spotted you and called in a report on the missing children’s hotline,” Hawk said.
“Everyone in the lobby was too focused on their own problems to watch us,” said Honey.
“I still don’t like being on the fifth floor,” Hummer loudly complained, bringing the conversation back to his original point.
“You’re telling me that you can’t figure out some sort of escape route from here?” Honey asked.
“Nothing that doesn’t involve tying bed sheets to the balcony.”
A Boy Called Hawk (Annals of Altair Book 1) Page 10
