“What?” Oliver cried. “Have you gone completely insane? How could I have possibly known she would run into them?”
“Maybe you arranged it with them. She told them everything that we’re doing here, everything she knew about Altair—which, blissfully, wasn’t much—and all about the search for them. It’s almost like an informant was hand-delivered. It’s the biggest security breach this branch of the GCA has ever experienced. You expect us to believe it was just dumb luck?”
Oliver leapt to his feet. “I don’t have any control over what that idiot may or may not have said under influence of a projection from the likes of Honey West. You can’t blame me for what she did.”
“But if you’d been with her, there would have been no projection possible,” said Wilkes.
“So it’s my fault that she decided to run an errand, and my fault that she left me here safe and sound in your care, just like she was supposed to?” Oliver asked, his fury intensifying. “You’re really grasping at straws if you think there has ever been any opportunity for me to communicate with Hawk or any of the others. They’re baiting all of us, making us waste time internally while they get away!”
“Maybe,” Wilkes said again, disgruntled. “Whatever’s going on, it’s triggered an internal investigation. You and your handler both are under review, and Prometheus is sending people here specifically to deal with you.”
Oliver sat down hard, overcome with bitter apathy. “Lack of trust,” he muttered. “Of course they would play on that weakness. Cripple the machine, get away scot-free. Well done, Hawk.”
And the worst part, Oliver thought, was that it had worked perfectly. Even though he knew he should at least mention the video at the train station, one look at Wilkes’s proud, suspicious face shut him up in an instant. The agents were talking among themselves, unconcerned with Oliver now that they had him nicely cornered. Surreptitiously, his hand lighted on the computer mouse; he moved the cursor to click the window with the surveillance feed shut.
“Let them do their own digging,” he said under his breath.
“What was that?” Wilkes asked sharply.
Oliver’s face contorted. “You’re all a bunch of morons,” he said. “No wonder you can’t catch a couple of Prom-F flunkies.”
Article VII
Birds of a Feather
The mind of a bird is fairly simple, and Revere was not very different from his fellow ravens. Mixed into his survival instincts of food and self-preservation, though, was a strange, undying loyalty to a young boy. Most humans were dangerous. That boy was not, and Revere knew this perfectly.
Hence, when he had been forced to part ways with that boy in a large, strange city, he determined to find him again. There was no great debt of gratitude between them. The boy had not raised him or mended his broken wing or performed any similar deed to instill a sense of devotion. He had simply been, and Revere had been beside him. Life before the boy was unremembered and unimportant.
It had taken the great black bird a couple of days to fly from the big city to a wide canyon, where his fellow birds chattered of the boy. He had passed on to a tiny town. The boy had been there only briefly, according to the local sparrows. Revere was tired, though, and lingered. The boy had gone east, toward the horizon of the rising sun, encased in the belly of one of those strange beasts that rumbled and growled but never actually consumed anyone. Revere knew he would find him, for the boy left an imprint upon the birds wherever he went. They knew of him and willingly passed that knowledge to the raven.
Once refreshed, he followed the winding black trail that stretched from town to city, until he came to mountains and the sprawling human habitations that nestled therein. After a few days of searching, he finally discovered the borough where his friend had stayed, only to learn that he had already left again, and only a scant couple hours before Revere’s advent. A friendly pigeon led him to the train yard, and the birds who gathered there happily showed him the direction of the boy’s retreat.
Revere followed, determined to find him again at last.
The phrase “as a crow flies” is a fitting one, even if the bird in question has never heard it uttered. While the tracks below twisted and meandered through the mountains, Revere flew above on a straight course, and soon enough, the mechanical beast he sought came into view. It curved back and forth like a segmented snake, but far larger, and Revere, recognizing it as the same entity that the boy was reported to have climbed aboard, swooped downward for a better look.
The train, for such it was, had slowed in order to navigate a particularly curved section of track, but even so Revere had to exert some effort to keep up. He landed atop the cargo of an open car to rest for a few moments, then hopped forward to investigate the contents of the cars ahead. Many of them were open, stacked with loads of lumber or gravel. He flew from one to the next, using only a short burst of energy and then resting, hunched down next to the cargo to shelter himself from the pressing wind. The boy was not in any of these open cars. There wasn’t room for him and those he now traveled with.
Revere moved his attention to the cars further up the line, those with covered tops and open panels in their sides. The curves in the track showed him that some were mostly empty, and others packed tight with boxes. Impatient, he let out a hearty caw in hopes that the boy might hear it. The sound was carried away by the rushing wind.
Having come this far, Revere was not to be deterred by an obstacle so trivial as the wind. He pressed forward, calling as he went, and at long last, his caw was answered by the boy’s familiar voice, carried back to him from the next car.
“Revere!”
In utmost relief, the great black bird gathered together the last of his strength and surged ahead to land within the confines of that car. The flapping of his wings as he perched atop the boy’s outstretched hand was accompanied by cheers of joy from the two smaller children.
He was home again, for home was wherever the boy decided to go.
“What a touching reunion,” Hummer said sarcastically.
Hawk stroked the raven’s feathers and mostly ignored his brother’s sour mood.
“Cheer up, Hummer,” said Honey. “Maybe if you’re lucky, your beloved jeep will track you down again someday.”
Hummer narrowed his eyes, none too appreciative of that comment.
“There’ll be plenty of machines for Hummer to play with in the days to come,” said Hawk absently. Revere hopped to his shoulder now as he searched through his bag for something to feed the bird.
“Promises, promises,” Hummer grumbled.
Honey pulled her blanket closer around her and Happy. Their position in the half-empty freight car kept them mostly sheltered from wind, but there was still a decent chill coming on as the afternoon waned. “What do you think happened to Emily and Oliver?” she asked.
“I’m sure they’ve found Emily by now,” Hawk said, his voice soothing. While his sister may have been ruthless back in the moment, that didn’t mean she had no conscience to nag her after the fact.
Hummer added, “Prometheus is probably taking both of them under review. That’s how the higher-ups always react when things don’t go exactly the way they planned. Don’t worry, Honey—they’ll survive.”
“And probably come after us with a greater vengeance,” said Hawk as he fed broken bits of cracker to Revere. “I’m sure we haven’t seen the last of them. Well, Oliver, at least. Emily’s just a handler, so who knows what’ll happen to her.”
“And who cares,” Hummer said casually.
Honey sighed but made no other response. Next to her, Happy leaned his head against her arm and looked as though he was about to fall asleep.
“Where are we going, anyway?” Hummer asked. “Do we even know that much?”
Hawk shrugged. “This train goes to Phoenix. I guess we’ll know when we get there whether we were followed or if we get a chance to hunker down for a while longer. The longer we’re free, the more chance we have of staying that
way. D’you have any preferences on our destination?”
“We’re still looking for Mom and Dad, aren’t we?”
“And Altair,” Hawk said with a decisive nod. “Honey? Happy? Do either of you have someplace you want to go?”
“Away from Prometheus,” said Honey with a forced smile.
Happy perked up at this question. “The zoo?” he said.
Hawk and Hummer exchanged a wary glance.
“I guess we still have a little time to decide,” Hawk said dubiously, though he suspected that a zoo was somewhere in their future, whether he wanted it or not.
As long as it didn’t include a Prometheus escort, though, he didn’t much mind the prospect.
To Be Continued
The adventure continues in
Annals of Altair Book 2
A Rumor of Real Irish Tea
About the Author
Kate Stradling is a persnickety spinster who sometimes writes in her ample spare time. Her unattainable life-goal is to become a jack-of-all-trades (and master of none). She despises Postmodern Critical Theory, wet dish rags, and the idea that biographical information should be taken seriously. She currently lives in Arizona with her mother and her cat.
katestradling.com
Also by Kate Stradling
The Annals of Altair Series
A Rumor of Real Irish Tea
Oliver Invictus
The Ruses Series
Kingdom of Ruses
Tournament of Ruses
Goldmayne: A Fairy Tale
The Legendary Inge
Namesake
Brine and Bone
Soot and Slipper
A Boy Called Hawk (Annals of Altair Book 1) Page 21
