by Julian North
“And this Kelvin, who is he?”
“A patriot,” Mateo declared. I felt the hairs on my brother’s back rising without seeing them. “Someone who believes that America should be one country again. But people need to do something to make it happen. He told us California had a plan, but they needed help.”
I shook my head, more resigned than upset.
“He’s right, Dee. The Orderist ideas aren’t working. Things are getting worse. But the highborn, they crush any dissent. Nothing can happen as long as they have a stranglehold on power. And who are the richest of the highborn? The most powerful?”
“The allocators.”
“Right. So if we dent their power, their influence…If we could show everyone they aren’t invincible—”
“People would rise up? The Orderists would change their mind, say all is forgiven, California? We were wrong, you were right, let’s reunite, bring back the old Constitution and the old USA?” I rolled my eyes the way Nythan would have.
“Yes!” Mateo yelled, hard enough that he was clutching his side in pain the next moment. “Someone has to do something.”
“Got it,” I said, my voice cold. “What were you going to do?”
“They beef up security on the bridges and tunnels starting a few weeks before the event. We needed to be inside before that, with our stuff, then lay low. Otherwise we wouldn’t get past the perimeter. So we got to where we needed to be. Kelvin arranged it. Got us everything we needed, places to stay. Great equipment. We just had to sit tight.”
“Why didn’t you?”
Mateo rubbed his forehead. “This girl. She shows up one night, like a ghost. Just walks in. She’s got a key, got the password. She’s…she’s gorgeous. Decked out in a black jumper like nothing you ever saw. She’s young, but the way she spoke…her eyes flashed lightning—”
“I got it. What did she say?”
Mateo looked troubled for the first time. Plotting to kill dozens of people didn’t seem to bother him, but somehow this girl did. “She talked like no one I’ve ever heard. About a special chance, one in a million, to do more than we ever could blowing up a few allocators. A chance to change the world, and we only need to get to one guy.”
“Landrew Foster-Rose-Hart.”
“The way she explained it sounded…great. So easy. The first domino to change the world. Kally and some of the others went with her. Right then and there. Took some of our best equipment with them. Drones, stealth suits…”
Alexander had wanted to know about drones. “Why didn’t you go?”
“I wanted to,” Mateo confessed, sounding miserable. “But there was something wrong about her. Wrong about what she was saying. Not that I disagreed. It was more a feeling than a decision.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Her words—they were like Z-Pop. They made you soar. A high like no person is ever meant to experience, because nothing in real-life can feel that good. That girl spoke something primal, something chemical, but artificial. Like Z-Pop. It’s a lie. It creates feelings that aren’t there. I touched that crap once—never again. So I said ‘no.’ Yanked Chris-Chris back. Literally had to hold the kid down for a couple of minutes. But the rest went.”
I nodded as if I got it. I didn’t, though. Not yet. But I was on the edge of understanding. And I knew it was big, and bad.
“Then what?”
“Nothing. We got in touch with some of the other Corazones. We switched hidey holes. But once those idiots botched the attack, the Authority was everywhere. They went house-to-house, searching everywhere. Systematic and relentless. They finally caught up with us.”
I took a deep breath, leaned forward, and took Mateo’s hand into mine. I looked into the dark of his eyes and saw my reflection.
“You’re an idiot.”
Dr. Willis returned before lunch. Dark circles lingered under her eyes. She brought Mateo a protein shake to drink, and nothing for me. She ordered him to sit up and finish it while she reviewed the data and did a lot of other doctor finger flicking.
“What are you doing, exactly?” I inquired, standing in the doorway.
“Making a few command adjustments to the nanites to take care of infection and other residual issues.” She sounded annoyed. “It’s a bad idea to distract me while I’m working. I’ll speak with you when I’m done.”
I sat down at the table, stewing and impatient. Dr. Willis took her time coming out. I had a hunch she did it on purpose. She closed the door of Mateo’s bedroom after she left.
“There was a sedative in the drink,” she told me. “He’ll be asleep for a couple of hours, at least. It’ll help him heal.”
“How’s he doing?” I asked.
“A lot better. He should be able to get up tomorrow. I’ve got the nanites working on closing that wound. It’ll be gone without a trace in the next two days.”
“Thanks, great. He’ll be able to leave and that will be it?”
Doc placed her hands on the table. “That’s what I want to discuss. There is no easy way to say this so I just will: He’s got a progressive genetic degeneration condition—what you call the Waste.”
I knew it. I had expected it. I still wanted to puke.
“What was that you called it?” I managed, my voice weak.
“Progressive genetic degeneration. Without burdening you with a lot of unnecessary terminology, his cells are degrading. Slow but steady. Each time a cell replaces itself, its successor is weaker.”
I shook my head, numb. “Again, please.”
“Our bodies are made up of trillions and trillions of cells: white cells, red cells, liver cells, brain cells. Almost all of them, except those in our brain and a few others, continuously die off and are replaced. Something is happening every time one of his cells gets replaced. The successor is…less…then the cell that preceded it. The damage varies by cell type, but the degradation is universal and constant.”
“Can you cure it?” I asked, but I already knew the answer. It was written on her face.
“We’re pretty certain the cause is genetic. That means it is written into who he is. This isn’t some virus to be killed, a cancer to be removed or attacked. His genes are doing this to him. To change it now, even if it were possible, would mean re-writing portions of his genetic code.”
“So you can’t cure him?” Blackness was closing in at the edge of my vision. Everything I had worked for, everything I had done—useless. I saw myself riding on his shoulders again, beginning to fall, as he did.
“I didn’t say that. I’ve told you the problem is…well, daunting. But I’m not saying nothing can be done. We have treatments for genetic issues. Good ones. We have treatments that can repair cells. And, more importantly, something caused this. That is what we need to understand, if we are to beat this Waste, as you call it. And no one is better at genetics than Lenox.”
The doctor offered a ray of hope in a soot-choked sky. I willed my mind to focus—to be cold and smart. I forced myself to take several deep breaths before I said anything more. “You know all this after a night and a morning?”
She blinked off rhythm. Twice. “This isn’t the first case I’ve seen.”
“Why isn’t anyone talking about it? Doing something about it? The net is silent on this too.”
“I’m trying to do something about it,” Doctor Willis declared. “I think you can guess why no one else is focused on it.”
“It doesn’t affect the highborn.”
She nodded.
“Now what?” I asked.
“Get him to me at Lenox. I can do more for him there than I can here. We’ve got equipment, drugs, treatments…”
“He’s wanted…The black boots monitor hospital admissions. They’ll catch him, and you.”
“No outstanding warrants, I checked,” Doctor Willis assured me. “Whoever shot him didn’t know who they were shooting at. Must’ve had a mask on, because even the street monitors didn’t record his face. He’s got some minor offense
s from Bronx City, but nothing that would attract the Authority—not right now, certainly. And they don’t march into a private facility like Lenox lightly.”
“How do you know all that?” I wondered. “Do you have sources in the Authority? Another Havelock pupil?”
She gave me a smile that said “need to know.”
“I’ll try to get him to go,” I told her. It wouldn’t be easy convincing Mateo to get help at a richie facility. I couldn’t even promise they could cure him. Still, doing nothing was a death sentence. Doctor Willis had confirmed it.
“Do that,” she urged me. “Soon.”
The darkness returned. “Why?”
“You said it yourself. No one with this condition makes it much past twenty. How old is he?”
“Nineteen.”
“Exactly. It’s accelerating. Get him to me. And keep to your normal routine. That means school tomorrow. If there is one Tuck student most likely to draw unwanted attention to herself, to her brother and to us, it’s you, young lady. So for everyone’s sake, go to school and act normal. All our lives depend on it.”
CHAPTER
TWENTY-FIVE
Doctor Willis arranged for a car to pick me up in the underground garage before the crack of dawn. It was one of the countless automated corporate sedans that zipped around Manhattan most mornings and evenings, and I had no clue as to its origins. The car dropped me off close to the Eighty-Sixth Street subway station. Doc told me it would pick me up at the same corner, at a designated time, to bring me back to Mateo. She’d pumped him full of meds that morning and promised she’d be back to check on him later in the day. I didn’t like it. But I also knew I couldn’t do anything for him in that apartment, and there were people at Tuck I needed to speak to.
I sought out the headmaster first, hovering outside the administrative offices until someone arrived. It turned out to be his assistant, Elsa Mark. She smiled when she saw me, despite the hour and the expression on my face.
“I am glad you ended up joining us here, Ms. Machado,” she said to me, unperturbed at finding me waiting outside her office suite an hour before classes started. “I wasn’t sure you would that first day you came in. You looked a tad angry.”
“How do I look now?”
“Worried,” she said, her tone unfailingly cheerful. “What can I help you with?”
I want to find your boss so I can grab him and hold him down till he’s answered every question I have. “I’d like to make an appointment to see Headmaster Havelock.”
Elsa Mark frowned. “He doesn’t generally meet one-on-one with students. What is this concerning?”
I stammered. “I-I need his help. Something urgent.”
She sighed, shaking her head. “I’m afraid he isn’t in today. A bit of an unexpected matter.” She glanced down at her viser. “I’m not quite sure about his availability tomorrow, either, I’m afraid.”
“Please, is there any way I might contact him?”
Ms. Mark looked at me, then her viser. “I will get a message to him. I’ll be in touch with his answer.”
I didn’t move.
“That’s all I can do, Ms. Machado. Do try to have a good day.”
I was grinding my teeth as I left.
I hurried downstairs to Lit. The room was empty. I stood in that silent place, gazing at the oil portraits, pictures of light-skinned men who had probably made a lot of money in their day and given a portion of it to Tuck, so the school might educate their sons and daughters to be just like them. Now here I was. I had come for Mateo; or at least, that was what I had convinced myself. But I was no closer to saving him than I had been on the first day. It felt like trying to cross a river with weights strapped to my back. The boy just didn’t want to get to the other side.
I lifted my viser, searching the Castle directory for a name I had never pinged before. I stared at it, my fingers hesitating. I told myself I needed answers for Mateo.
It was the second time this month I had lied to myself.
I tapped out a message to Alexander Foster-Rose-Hart. “Can you meet me before class? Important.”
I waited, wondering where he was. Swimming in an enormous golden bathtub? Flying into Manhattan from his country estate? Visiting his father? I forced myself to stop staring at my viser, pulling my hand to my side. I took a seat in the nearest desk. The weight on my shoulders didn’t lessen. Did I really think Alexander was going to jump to attention because I asked? He was probably trying to remember who I was.
My viser shook. “downstairs. Just finished at the track. Meet you in team room in 5 mins.”
The golden bathtub scenario was more interesting, but this satisfied my impatience. Two minutes later, I swung open the door to the windowless, bland, rectangle of a room that we used for team meetings. Alexander was already there, seated on the backrest of one of the many scattered chairs. Tuck banners and trophies surrounded him. The fluorescent lights flickered to full potency. Alexander’s face seemed to change as the light brightened around him. For a moment, I imagined a ray of pleasure in his eyes, around his mouth. But when I looked again, a blank face stared back at me.
I walked across the room to stand in front of him. The height of the chair was such that our eyes were level with each other. He neither moved nor spoke as I approached. People said I was no fun at parties. They should try making small talk with Alexander.
“Thanks for meeting me,” I said.
“I was practicing at the track anyway. It helps me think.”
I wanted to ask what Alexander spent his time pondering, if he, too, had things to run from. But Mateo came before idle curiosity.
“The other day you wanted to know about the drones.” My tongue was heavier than it should have been.
“Yes.”
I exhaled my displeasure at his curt response. “When I told you about them you said ‘it didn’t make sense.’ You didn’t believe that I saw what I saw.” He nodded. “What was it about the drones that didn’t make sense?”
Alexander’s eyes moved to the door, then back at me. “Why are you asking?”
I held in the cry of frustration budding in my throat. “I just need…” I stopped. I met his gaze. “Someone very important to me is in trouble. I’m trying to figure it out. I’m trying to help him.”
Alexander kept those cold sapphires fixed on me. Being caught in his gaze felt like swimming on a cold day: it was uncomfortable staying in, but worse getting out.
“Someone who has something to do with those drones?” he asked, his tone tinged with a hint of suspicion.
Damn. He’d know if I lied. Those eyes saw everything. “He wasn’t involved in the attack on your father. But I’m afraid someone is trying to use him. Please. Can you trust me, and just tell me?”
I felt my heart beating in my toes as I waited for Alexander to make up his mind.
“The drones you described are called Jammer-K’s.”
My heart beat faster. “What is the significance of these Jammer-K’s?”
“Everyone is accusing California of being involved in the attack on Landr…my father. There’s nothing on the net about Jammer-K’s being used. Cali doesn’t have those types of drones. You called them decoys, but they are a lot more than that. The nighthawks protecting my father’s caravan are smart. They wouldn’t attack a regular decoy drone. Jammer-K’s make themselves appear more threatening than they are to another drone’s sensors, even sophisticated ones like the nighthawk model. They are designed to draw away the best fighting drones, like what happened when my father was attacked.”
“How do you know California doesn’t have them? Even if they aren’t made there, they could’ve bought them, stolen them.”
“Jammer-K’s are manufactured by our family’s company. They are sophisticated, and new. Sale controls are tight and they are all accounted for. No way Jammer-K’s found their way to California.” He sounded grave. “And you were right about the net scrubbing. It’s been erased. By someone very good, with exp
ertise and resources.”
“So you believe me?”
“Yes, I believe you. I did not want to. The truth can be hard. Doing what is right even harder.”
“What do you mean?”
He shook his head. “Does what I told you help?”
I wasn’t sure if it would. My brother was stubborn. “It might. Either way, I appreciate you telling me.”
My mind switched gears to Mateo. I was already rehearsing what I would say to him when I got back to the safe house, what I could do to convince him to get off the road he was on. How could I get him into Lenox with Dr. Willis? My brother never made anything easy.
Without any conscious thought, I placed a light hand on Alexander’s shoulder. I might have done the same with Kortilla. Maybe even with Alissa. But never Alexander. It was like touching artwork in a museum. I realized what I had done after a split second and yanked my hand back, my face flushed.
“Anyway, thanks again.” I backed up, then spun out of the room.
I tripped getting back upstairs. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d tripped.
Alissa was standing just inside the doorway of our Lit classroom waiting for me. “It’s good to see you,” was all she said, but I got the meaning. If I was here, it meant Mateo was okay. I wondered how much she knew about what was going on. But we couldn’t speak here. Students started to file into the room. They jostled, and joked. A few stared at me and hissed ill whispers, but no more than usual for a Monday.
Alexander sauntered into class right before the bell, but he didn’t look at me. It might have been my imagination, but I think he sat a bit farther from me than usual. He may have feared further nope contamination, I suppose. I did my best to ignore him. It was like trying not to take one last peek at a traffic accident.
Lunch was almost as painful as Lit class. Alissa sat opposite me as usual, looking everywhere but at me. She had helped me and Mateo, and I owed her. But I now knew she had been deceiving me since the day I met her: about Marie-Ann, about Havelock, and probably other things. Even if she thought she had some reason for doing that, some cause that was important to her, I couldn’t forget that she had been showing me a false face. I didn’t want to forget it.
