The Gemini Effect

by Scott Jarol

  “Thanks,” she replied to Thomas, simply.

  “I hope I’m not intruding,” said Thomas.

  “Of course not, silly.”

  Thomas nestled back into his chair. “And warm, too. Heated.”

  Cynthia reminded herself to smile. She would not break the first rule of negotiation: Never be the first to speak.

  Thomas cleared his throat and leaned forward in his chair. “This is a private matter.”

  Cynthia held her silence. She didn’t care whether Virgil, Bruder, and Chuck heard what he had to say. That wasn’t the point. Just as in chess, her pieces controlled the center of the board, even if all she had were pawns.

  Thomas looked over each shoulder at Mr. Bruder and Chuck, and then nodded at Virgil, who waited patiently in the corner in case Cynthia asked for something. “The Chairman has developed an appreciation for your business talent.”

  “I don’t know about that,” she said modestly. “I just work super hard.”

  “No difference. What if we just say you’re ambitious?”

  “That sounds more like me.” She conceded to the compliment.

  He smiled magnanimously. “I’m here because the Chairman has been considering your offer.”

  She resumed flipping through the test papers as if she were too busy to give him her full attention.

  “The Chairman has an investment to protect. He’s become concerned about his partner, your friend Zeke Kapopoulos. Zeke has outstanding technical abilities, but he doesn’t share your business sense.”

  “That’s so smart,” she said. “That’s just what I’ve been saying all along, haven’t I?”

  She looked to Mr. Bruder for agreement. Mr. Bruder nodded.

  “Occasionally, when the Chairman makes an investment and things start to go wrong, he brings in advisors to fill in the gaps.”

  “He builds a team,” she said.

  “The Chairman believes you may understand Zeke’s strengths and weaknesses better than anyone.”

  “We’re such old friends. We practically grew up together!”

  “Then you would have enough influence to help Zeke complete our project.”

  “I think so,” said Cynthia, nodding sagely. “You know, he can be so stubborn sometimes. I just don’t know how I’ve put up with him all these years.”

  “I’m sure it’s been difficult,” said Thomas. “How much do you know about the project Zeke’s been working on for the Chairman?”

  She would have to be careful here. She widened her eyes innocently. “That electrical thingy?”

  “Zeke made some promises, which were the basis of the Chairman’s investment. Zeke’s device, if it does work as claimed, would earn the Chairman a considerable profit. However, the Chairman has become impatient with long delays. He’s now prepared to reward whoever can bring him a working version of the QuARC.”

  “That’s right,” said Virgil. “I knew it was something like quirk, or cork, or something like that.”

  Cynthia shot Virgil a silencing glance.

  “Maybe we could get to the point,” she said, stacking and squaring up the test papers and setting them aside. “Is the Chairman offering me a partnership?”

  “Not quite,” said Thomas. “But the Chairman will pay you a reward.”

  Ahh, a deal. That was something she could work with. Cynthia made her pouty face. “Then I don’t get it. I don’t see how I could betray my close friend Zeke. I hope that’s not what you’re asking.”

  She toed the heavy bag under her desk. She could almost feel the money credits surging from the QuARC like the electrical current it had radiated the day before.

  “I understand you’ve assembled a team of the best and brightest students,” said Thomas.

  “I just can’t help it. I seem to collect smarties. I guess they kind of like me.”

  “And those papers,” said Thomas. “Are they the work of your ‘smarties’?”

  Cynthia felt a chill run up her spine, and not from the frosty morning air. She didn’t mind a little suspicion—it made her mysterious—but the man’s implication was just rude, even if it was true.

  “I’m not sure what you mean,” she said. “Principal Fairchild totally supports us. She’s super proud of us because we tutor students who need a little extra help.”

  “Nice little business,” said Thomas, “but you need to think about your future. What will you have when you finish school? Where’s your payoff?”

  “I’m fine, thank you. I don’t think so far into the future. I mean, I’m twelve—”

  “And a half,” said Virgil. “December sixteenth. That’s her birthday.”

  “What’s the point of thinking about being old—or worse, dead?” asked Cynthia. “I like to look at what’s here right now.”

  “Then you may wish to consider the Chairman’s offer,” said Thomas. “He’s prepared to pay a generous sum. Here are the Chairman’s terms.” He slipped a sealed envelope from the inside pocket of his suit jacket and handed it to Cynthia.

  Cynthia tore open the envelope and unfolded the crisp page. Careful to contain her emotions, she read the offer stoically. “When does the Chairman need an answer?”

  “That would be right now—and it’s a one-time offer.” He held up another envelope much thicker than the first. “Payable on delivery. I am the designated agent.”

  Cynthia rolled her chair back from the desk and signaled Chuck, who stepped around behind the desk.

  “Excuse me, Miss Cynthia.” He knelt down and hoisted the bag onto the desk in a flurry of grass and twigs.

  “So the Chairman has not overestimated you,” said Thomas, with no discernible expression.

  “You know the old saying, finders keepers.”

  “No need for explanations.”

  Thomas unwrapped the QuARC and rolled it over, leaving a mud track across the polished wood desktop. Wire stalks stuck out all around the device through blobs of melted insulation and copper. He rolled it over and back across Cynthia’s desk, further shedding debris, and finished his examination with a shake of his head. “Unfortunately, I’m afraid the product is not in satisfactory condition.”

  What? Cynthia took a steadying breath and reminded herself to smile again. This was just part of the negotiation. “But it says right here, ‘Payment will be made for delivery of the device either directly to the Chairman or to the Chairman’s designated agent.’”

  “Look carefully at the terms,” said Thomas. “The device must be functional at time of delivery. Does this look functional to you?”

  “But it’s all there,” said Cynthia. “It just needs a little fixing up.” She brushed away some dry grass and dirt and picked a small pebble out of the wire windings. “Maybe we could negotiate a discount.”

  “The Chairman believes that negotiation is for those who don’t know the value of what they offer. You have six hours to complete repairs.”

  “That’s not very long! What if we can’t fix it?” asked Virgil.

  What an idiot. “Virgil,” she cooed, “we don’t say ‘can’t,’ do we?”

  Thomas rocked back in his chair. “Either way, the Chairman will return in six hours to pick up the device. If it’s working, you will be paid. Clear?”

  With his eyes, he polled Virgil, Bruder, Chuck, and Cynthia.

  The door opened and Principal Fairchild bustled in, leafing through a stack of papers. “Cynthia, I’m happy I caught you before you go home, although you do work too hard, young lady.” She waved the papers and frowned at Cynthia. “There are some irregularities in these exams again.”

  Chuck shuffled sideways to shield the QuARC with his body. Behind his back, he lowered it underneath the desk. Cynthia winced as he accidentally dropped it on her toe.

  “Watch it!” she said, before she could help herself.

  “Excuse me?” Principal Fairchild was distracted, nose buried in the papers again.

  “Watch out, I mean,” said Cynthia. “My office is such a mess. Watch tha
t you don’t trip over anything.”

  She swept the dirt off her desk with her arm.

  Principal Fairchild finally looked up and noticed Thomas. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t aware I was interrupting.” Then she went silent, as she usually did when she was waiting for an explanation. The meddling fool.

  Cynthia rose graciously. “Principal Fairchild, this is my Uncle Thomas. He’s visiting.”

  “It’s highly irregular to have guests on campus, dear, especially outside of school hours.”

  Thomas stood to greet the principal. They shook hands.

  “I know,” said Cynthia. “I’m sorry. Since it’s after school and everything, I thought it would be okay to show him around. I’m just so proud of it. It’s silly, I know.”

  “That’s very nice,” said Principal Fairchild. She turned to Thomas. “It’s sweet of you to take such an interest in your niece’s education. She’s not just a student here—she’s a contributor.”

  “Thank you, Principal Fairchild,” said Thomas. “Our entire family is proud of Cynthia’s success and grateful to you for supporting her. We’re expecting great things.”

  He nodded at Cynthia and stepped away from the desk. “See you in a few hours, Cynthia.”

  “No coat, Mr. Thomas?” the principal asked.

  “It’s just Thomas, ma’am. And no, I loaned my coat to a friend.” He made polite farewells and stepped back out into the hall, closing the door gently behind him.

  “Well,” said Principal Fairchild. “I see generosity runs in your family.”

  She laid out the test papers in front of Cynthia.

  “Principal Fairchild, I was just looking at the same thing. I know it’s super weird. I think some of the papers got mixed up.”

  “Mixed up?”

  “I’ll figure it out and fix everything up in a sec.”

  “Let’s be careful,” said Principal Fairchild. “We’re shaping young people’s futures.”

  “That’s just exactly what Mr. Bruder was saying a minute ago,” said Cynthia.

  “Very good. Mistakes happen. Let me know whether you need my assistance. I’ll see all of you bright and early tomorrow morning.” Principal Fairchild left the papers with Cynthia and swept out the door.

  Cynthia and Mr. Bruder stared at one another in consternation.

  “How are we gonna fix that thing?” asked Mr. Bruder, gesturing at the bag under Cynthia’s desk.

  Cynthia pressed her hands decisively on the desktop. This could be handled. “We just need a little help from Zeke. Virgil, go find Zeke.”

  “Where?” asked Virgil.

  “If this thing of his is here, he must be here somewhere, too. Check every floor, including the basement.”

  “You want me to go down to the basement? In the dark?”

  “Don’t be a baby. Take a lantern.” She dismissed him with a glance. “Mr. Bruder, maybe you could round up Zeke’s new Ag friends. I need to talk to Margaux about some stuff anyway. They may all be useful.”

  Mr. Bruder signaled Chuck to come along and help him find Margaux and Nate.

  Cynthia sat back down at her desk, palms still pressed to the desk atop the piles of papers stacked before her. This was going to work. Yes, this was going to work just fine.

  “Isn’t this just super?” said Cynthia, beaming at everyone and no one in particular.

  Chapter 14

  Westview Middle School

  Upstairs in the cafeteria kitchen, the pantry was locked tight as a bank vault. Zeke scavenged some stale bread, a piece of dried-out cheese, and an institutional-size can of green beans the cooks had accidentally left out during the cleanup after Zeke’s experiment. He also grabbed a couple of forks and spoons and a sharp knife.

  He was filling one of the big pots with fresh drinking water when he heard footsteps in the hallway.

  “Margaux?” Zeke called.

  The footsteps scurried away.

  “Doc?”

  No answer. Probably not Mom. She would have been calling his name over and over like she always did until he answered.

  He stepped into the corridor. At the far end, Virgil was carrying a dim lantern around the corner and out of sight.

  “Hey, Virgil!” said Zeke. “What are you doing here so late? Or is it early? I don’t even know what time it is.”

  Virgil didn’t answer, so Zeke tried to catch up.

  * * *

  Margaux gathered the vegetables she’d collected from the greenhouse and offered them to Mrs. Kapopoulos.

  “Lovely,” Mrs. Kapopoulos said. “Are you sure it’s okay for us to take these?”

  Margaux nodded. It wasn’t true, but no one ever noticed the few vegetables she picked for herself.

  “I’ll make us some stew.” Mrs. Kapopoulos took a deep whiff of the tomatoes. “Such memories . . . When I was your age, we could walk into any supermarket and find large bins overflowing with these.”

  Margaux poured a little of her drinking water into a small pot and balanced it on a wire stand over the alcohol lamp while Mrs. Kapopoulos cut the vegetables between a dull table knife and her thumb, letting the chunks plop directly into the pot, carrot greens and all. Margaux didn’t expect much in the way of cooking from the little setup, but she’d be grateful for anything that would warm their insides and filled their stomachs, even if the potatoes and carrots were still a bit crunchy.

  Mrs. Kapopoulos used everything but one last tomato, which they shared like an apple.

  She removed Thomas’s thick wool coat and draped it over Margaux like a blanket. “You’re still shivering.”

  She sat down on an overturned crate, wiped her hands on her lap, closed her eyes, and took a deep breath. “Smells good,” she said, closing her eyes and drifting off into a daydream.

  Margaux’s half-frozen nose could barely detect a feeble aroma rising from the tepid stew. Lucy clucked quietly and scratched at the concrete floor. Margaux lifted her, and Lucy protested by flapping her wings until Margaux held her in her lap and stroked her back. Content to share the warmth of another creature, Lucy tucked up her scaly feet beneath her breast feathers and nestled in.

  Mrs. Kapopoulos leaned over and picked a loose feather from Margaux’s hair. She sat back, twirling it between her fingers before deciding to get up and prepare their beds. She laid out their sleeping bag and blanket for Zeke, improvising pillows by stuffing their extra clothes into T-shirts knotted at both ends. She’d sleep in Thomas’s thick coat.

  Margaux felt oddly content watching Mrs. Kapopoulos busy herself with soothing chores. She seemed to have a talent for accepting whatever happened in her own unusual way. Maybe she could learn a thing or two from that example.

  The cellar’s concrete walls and surrounding soil regulated the temperature like a cave, keeping it warmer than the outside air, chilly but not freezing.

  “We can’t stay here forever,” Zeke’s mom said aloud. She caught herself and turned to address Margaux. “It’s a lovely home you’ve made for yourself, sweetie, but we can’t ask you to take care of us.”

  “I don’t mind,” said Margaux, a little too quickly.

  Mrs. Kapopoulos seemed to read something else in Margaux’s expression.

  “What’s wrong?” asked Margaux.

  “Do you sleep down here all the time?”

  “Mostly. I guess.”

  “Don’t you have a home? Where are your parents?”

  “I don’t know,” said Margaux. “Something happened to them, I think, when I was little. I don’t remember them.”

  “Zekie’s father disappeared when Zekie was only two. But until he comes home, we take care of each other. Zekie’s father has a secret job.” Her focus seemed to fade for a couple of seconds before she came back to herself and the cellar. “Who took care of you?”

  “I was with my grandmother, but she died.”

  “You’ve been living here ever since?”

  Margaux shrugged. Why couldn’t the grownups just leave her alone? She wasn’t
hurting anyone. “I guess. I didn’t know where else to go.”

  Mrs. Kapopoulos nodded as if something important had been decided. “Well, our house is very small, but as soon as Zeke can talk to Mr. Thomas and get it back, you’ll live with us.”

  Margaux knew that wasn’t likely. “Thank you, Mrs. K. That would be nice, if Zeke doesn’t mind.”

  A thud from the dark basement passageway startled Lucy, who defended her new nest by flapping her wings.

  “Maybe Zekie is back,” said Mrs. Kapopoulos.

  Margaux held up one hand for silence. Too many footsteps. She held her finger to her lips, then blew out the flame of the alcohol lamp.

  Chapter 15

  The Site of Zeke’s Trailer Home

  Now that he was alone on the pitch-black loading dock, Ezekiel realized how cold and late it had gotten. His mother was still waiting for him at home (or where it used to be, anyway), and he needed to find a place for them to spend the night. If they became hypothermic, they’d lose their ability to think clearly, and then they might just lie down somewhere in the open and freeze to death. Once he found a place to put his mother, he could hunt down Doc.

  If Doc—Dr. Freeman, as Ezekiel now knew—had really worked with his father, then Doc knew more about the QuARC than he’d let on. He wasn’t sure he bought Dr. Willis’s explanation that Doc was trying to sabotage the Triton project. Maybe Doc just wanted to finish the research and take all the credit—and the profit.

  When he arrived at the bare dirt snow-shadow where their trailer had stood, all he found were a couple of boxes and two stools. Mom was gone, along with Lucy and some of their things—more than his mother could have carried on her own. Someone must have already rescued her. If it had been Doc, he couldn’t have taken her to his place because it had been completely destroyed in the explosion. He would have had to go to the only other place he was welcome.

  The front doors of the school were padlocked. The back doors were shut tight by deadbolts on the inside. The only way in Ezekiel could see was through the steeple, and getting up there would require some climbing. He kicked open the rotten door on the shed, splintering the door jamb. A long ladder lay on the dirt floor along one side of the barrel roof. He threw a large coil of rope over his shoulder, which didn’t make it any easier to maneuver the heavy wooden ladder. On the way out, the end swung wide, toppling two benches.