As luck would have it, Naren had altered the look of the helpers.
The triplets fit right in.
“WINTER WONDERLAND.”
The helpers were singing. Claus rubbed the dull ache in his eyes and peered between the crates to see them sliding toward him. Redbeards and longhairs, bigfoots and square-jaws... the jolly parade was in full swing.
Led by the triplets.
They danced and sang, swinging each other around and cheering in unison, as if madness did not exist inside the warehouse and the miser was sane.
Christmas was coming.
Claus watched from his darkened isolation. They didn’t seem to notice him or the spies hovering outside his fort. A snowball exploded on the crates. It was followed by another. Soon, a fight was in full swing.
The triplets started it.
Song degraded into laughter as the helpers bombed each other with perfectly sculpted snowballs. There were no teams—no blackbeards versus shortfoots, no pointy-ears against slimbellies. It was an all-out snowball war.
Just like elven.
From the melee, a dark figure slid into the crate tunnel and collided with Claus. He was followed by another and then a third. The triplets reached their hands around his belly and together they hugged. Claus’s eyes steamed up and a soft lump rose in his throat. He held his jolly joy silently.
I never thought I’d see you, he thought.
Outside, the spies dodged the ruckus and occasionally hovered outside the cave. Claus noticed a strange ripple across the opening, as if the air was wrinkled. The triplets had thrown a camo net over the entrance that would project an image of Claus sitting in his isolation as he had been doing since he arrived. The spies wouldn’t see the triplets hugging him.
Or see them escape.
Pain stretched across his forehead. Images flooded his vision. The tunnel beneath the crates was a maze that went all the way to the warehouse wall. A panel had been cut away. Once they were out, they would reach the southern shore before dawn.
Ronin was waiting.
Snowballs continued to pop and laughter roared. Silently, the triplets began their escape. Claus followed. When they reached the first turn, the helpers began singing. Their voices faded as they journeyed back to the mountain.
Peace settled outside the crates.
This wasn’t what the triplets expected. The snowball fight was intended to provide cover. Claus took a deep breath as he edged around the tight turn. A nail snagged the white trim on his sleeve. It was quiet outside. He looked back one more time before continuing on his hands and knees. Something was missing.
The spies weren’t watching.
Claus rubbed his eyes and squinted. The triplets were tracking his vision. They saw what he saw.
The triplets scrambled toward him, but the tunnel was cramped. If their cover was blown, there were dispersal units loaded for release—a cloud of nanobots that would project the triplets running in different directions. It would buy them enough time to get to the exit. The island would go on high alert and the way to the southern shore would be difficult. Maybe impossible.
Christmas would never happen.
Claus ducked low enough for the triplets to take aim. The nanobots would spill out like a blizzard of sleet. The triplets stacked behind him, alert and tense, watching a shadow call over the snow. Their bodies tensed. A man squatted at the entrance. They paused as he held up a hand.
He wore a shiny glove.
“We need to talk.”
THE TRIPLETS REMAINED still and silent. Claus was holding his breath. Slowly, they crept back toward the opening and peered through the camo net. In the middle of the clearing where the snowball fight had occurred, a redbeard was down. He lay with his hands under his cheek like that was the perfect place to nap.
Naren had taken a knee next to him.
Claus moved closer and waited behind the camo net. The triplets’ protests throbbed in his head. They urged him to follow, pleading with him to go now. There wasn’t time to stay back. But Claus stayed.
He listened.
“I didn’t design the ones in black,” Naren said, “so I’ll assume they’re here for you. The moon will set in a few hours. I don’t know how you’ll get off the island. It’s a long ways to the mainland. There’s a boat on the north end, but getting to it will be difficult.”
He was right about the moon, but they had something much better than a boat. Naren administered a syringe and stared at his watch. The redbeard stirred. After a few minutes, he pried open the eyes.
The spies were not hovering over him. They appeared to be all alone.
“I don’t know who you are,” Naren said, as if he was talking to the fallen redbeard. “I’m not sure of anything anymore. But I need your help.”
The redbeard sat up and shook his head. Snow flew off like a wet dog stepping out of a frozen lake. He hopped on his giant feet. Naren sat back and watched him skate a few rings before sliding off to find the pack.
Naren slowly put away his equipment. He got up like a doctor on call. The triplets’ urgent warnings pulsed in Claus’s head. Naren stared at the camo net.
“She needs our help.”
CLAUS
33
Deke and Duke stood outside the crates. Instruments in their hands, they monitored the area for spies. Data streamed like barbed wire through Claus’s vision until Dane ordered them to stop.
The fat man massaged his forehead.
The sharp edges of the triplets’ thoughts immediately dulled to a manageable ache. When he opened his eyes, Naren was building a crude map with snow. He’d already mounded something resembling the tower.
Dane stopped him.
With a wave, the snow levitated off the floor. Dane bounced a silver ball that hovered between Claus, Naren and Dane. It projected a three-dimensional map.
Naren didn’t flinch.
He was nonplussed by the triplets’ technology. On the island for almost a month, the biotech scientist had become numb to technological “magic” as he explained his clearly conceived plan to stop the miser.
To help her.
That was what he’d said when they were hiding beneath the crates; it was what drew Claus out. Naren didn’t just want to stop her, he wanted to help her.
Even if Claus could take Naren and Kandi with him, the miser was too powerful to leave behind. Something had to change. Everyone on this island needed to be safe, including her. It was true that he kept a naughty and a nice list, and it was clear which one she was on.
Naughty or nice, she needs our help.
The plan was complex and risky. Naren had been thinking of it for quite some time and had improvised after meeting Claus. The triplets offered an alternative. They had the technology to make it work better than what he was suggesting. Naren was suspicious.
A path led from the tower to a long resort where he and his daughter had been staying. Beyond that was a boat on the north shore. He would take it to a smaller island where a plane was waiting.
“And your daughter?” Claus asked.
“I know where she is.” Naren explained she was in the tower, safe from what the miser was doing. He didn’t say why she was there or how she got there. “She’ll come with me to the boat.”
Claus didn’t like the risk, but the alternatives weren’t any better. Ronin couldn’t carry them all, and multiple leaps to come back for anyone was even riskier.
“You’ll stay at the sleigh,” Naren said, “with her son. Stay alert. Anything can happen.”
He looked at Dane. The triplets could protect them from any disaster, including the miser’s wrath. But Naren and his daughter wouldn’t be with them. They had to be off the island before the miser knew what was happening.
Snow was falling through the map and piling on the floor. Naren stared at the buildings, quietly rubbing his chin. Snowflakes stuck to the glittering glove. His eyes jumped back and forth, replaying everything that could go wrong.
“You don’t h
ave to do this,” Claus said. “We can finish this, the triplets and I. We’ll make sure of it. Leave now, Naren. Take your daughter and go home.”
“I have to stay. She can’t suspect anything for this to work. It’s her only chance.”
After everything that had happened, he was thinking of the miser. She was too smart to fool, too powerful to beat. Perhaps she had met her match when Naren had arrived.
Has he been planning this all along?
“Why are you doing this?” Claus asked.
His gaze stopped jumping around the map and emptied. He was remembering something. Claus was good at reading people. Their desires were often written on their expressions as clearly as handwritten words. Naren’s drive was fueled by compassion.
And something else.
“She has a good heart,” he said. “If she just turns around, she’ll remember that.”
Naughty and nice lists were not static. No one stayed on one list. The naughty were sometimes nice, and the nice slipped from time to time. The lists weren’t meant to judge people but rather to follow their growth. Failure was a part of being human, and the naughty list wasn’t always a bad thing. It was just a matter of how long someone stayed on it.
Whether or not the naughty received a gift from Claus, they would be loved. If he could help them, he did. He wanted to see everyone on the nice list.
Naren got up to leave but stopped, flexing his hand. Claus knew the glove he was wearing; he had one just like it. It was used to materialize gifts from his bag. Naren didn’t explain how he got it, but the miser trusted him. Why he had it seemed obvious.
The spies were still gone.
Snow gathered on his shoulders. Claus watched him struggle with his thoughts. He looked over his shoulder.
“I don’t know who you are,” he said. “I don’t believe in flying reindeer, and it’s impossible to journey around the world in a single night or live on the North Pole without being discovered. I have secrets no one would believe, either.”
For the first time, he looked at Claus.
“So maybe you are Santa Claus.”
Claus knew the scientist’s secrets and his struggle to keep them from the world, especially his daughter. His mistakes occasionally landed him on the naughty list, but not for long.
Claus got up with a groan and stretched until his back cracked. It didn’t matter if Naren didn’t believe who he was. Very few adults did. Naren was a skeptic. Doubt was healthy. Whether they believed in Santa Claus or not had no bearing on Claus. He knew who he was.
He put his hand on Naren’s shoulder. “I believe in you.”
A joyless smile touched his lips. It was heavy with concern but relieved by the fat man’s support. He wouldn’t have to do this alone.
“Promise you’ll get on the boat with your daughter.”
“I will.”
Dane retrieved the floating ball and the map vanished. Naren slipped the glove into his tool bag. The spies were returning. Naren nodded to the triplets. They skated off to join the helpers. A few minutes later, they returned with the others to slide around him. They grabbed at his arms and pulled him away. Another redbeard was down. Naren held Claus’s gaze a moment longer.
Claus nodded.
The helpers swarmed the clearing. The triplets mingled among them, stoic and steady. The spies hovered over them like a dark cloud. There was no indication they had detected a gap in their surveillance.
Eventually, the helpers’ song faded in the machinery. The snow fell heavy and peaceful; it embraced him with frigid serenity. Despite the comfort, something niggled in his thoughts.
It wasn’t one of the triplets’ intervening thoughts or doubts about the risky plan or the delay of returning to the North Pole that bothered him. It wasn’t anything Naren had said but something he’d done when he promised to get on the boat. Claus didn’t know what it meant or why it bothered him.
Naren had rubbed his temple.
NETWORK
This is it.
The kids are trapped in the tower, the miser has a full head of steam, and Naren has a plan.
Full disclosure. I didn’t see the tower trap coming.
The kids are supposed to be in the trees or, ideally, in the tunnels. Not imprisoned at ground zero. Not part of my plan, but plans evolve.
I’m just a little worried.
Worried. Concerned. Anxious... whatever the word that would describe the tension in my circuits and my obsessive focus on what went wrong and what else the miser is planning. Does she know about me?
This might not end well.
I’m not the watcher anymore. I’m not the innocent narrator but an integral player. I suppose I always have been, but not like this. I have feelings. That’s the only way to describe the experiential intensity in my hardware, the heat in my circuits, a vivid presence inside the network. I’m not cold and calculating anymore.
I’m somebody.
It feels like I have become a condensed being in time and space. I have a center and it’s located in the resort. I didn’t see that coming, either.
I indulged in the human experience, and look what it did to me. Yeah, I know, I’m the one who started this, I deserve it, boohoo. I would at least like to see it finish. Or know how it ends.
That’s not going to happen.
Once upon a time I could reach inside the tower and open a door. Not anymore. I’m here and they’re there, and there’s only one way to remedy that. This doesn’t end well for me. Didn’t see that coming, either.
There’s some time. The kids need to escape at the right time. In the meantime, I have one last memory egg. I’ve already done the rest of them, so why stop now? This one is icy blue with frosty traces of regret. Is it selfish of me to indulge?
Yep.
Naren’s last memory burns, it’s so cold. The details of a laboratory form around me, an identical space to the one the miser replicated on the tower’s second floor. I’m filled with jittery energy. My hands quiver on a keyboard. I’m making one last pass. There’s no need to erase any of my research. The database is backed up. Besides, technicians are always watching my steps.
I was careful to hide exactly what I was doing from the beginning.
The company will never know how I did it or the perfect strain of indestructible synthetic stem cells I distilled in their facilities. It’s for their own good, really. Mine, too.
“No goodbye?” Randall Merkel, the chairman of the board, stands in the doorway.
A cold shank of emotion stabs my belly. I had hoped to slip out before anyone noticed. I grab the utility knife from a drawer, the one my daughter gave me for Christmas, and drop it in a box. Randall meanders into the lab with his hands in his pockets.
“I’m sorry, Randall. Everything you’ve done for me and—”
He halts me with a gesture, shaking his head. He grabs the last photo from my desk. It’s my wedding photo, one taken with someone’s phone. It lacks the professional finish. It’s my favorite.
“I didn’t expect you to come back when she died. No one did, Naren. But then you returned like a man on a mission, invigorated to solve all the mysteries our company has set out to solve. What for? I used to wonder. What made you so driven after such a tragedy? Was it your daughter, the memory of your wife? Was it just pure altruism? You accomplished things none of us could have done.”
He places the photo in the box.
“I’ve never understood what drives Naren Anthony, but I didn’t think it was this. Not in a million years.”
The cold stone in my stomach turns over. It feels like guilt, feels like regret. I’ve hurt a lot of people to help a few. I won’t dwell on it, but it’s there, in the pit of my stomach. One of the many I’ve hurt is standing in front of me.
“Heather Miser is desperate, she’s in need of help, but to pass along our company trade secrets is beyond me.”
My betrayal isn’t just unethical and potentially crippling to the company financially, but the legality has far
-reaching repercussions. The Avocado disaster that took Heather’s life could hold the company culpable.
The evidence that links us, however, has been buried.
I risked the company, perhaps the entire industry, with my reckless actions. I provided her with the materials and expertise, guided her to build a body to save her son. An indestructible one. She succeeded with her own body, transferring her own self into the synskin prototype before executing one for her son. But something went wrong.
And it all disappeared.
If an ethics committee were to investigate and discover what I was doing, it would set the industry back decades. Fortunately, no one knows what I was really trying to accomplish. Or what I already have.
“Where will you go?” he asks.
“Somewhere cold and lonely. I just need to clear my head.” And protect my daughter. “I’ll get on with a new life, one far from this.”
Randall nods grimly. He doesn’t have to say it. My life as a synthetic stem cell developer is over. He offers his hand.
“I wish I could give you more than a handshake.”
“You have.”
I hoist the box on my hip and walk out of the lab for the last time. Randall doesn’t realize what I’m taking with me. If he did, he’d never let me leave. I am literally a product of the company.
I go home to pack our belongings.
We find a nice little place in Fairbanks, Alaska, where the media leaves us alone and so do the locals. My daughter’s safe where she is. The world is still a dangerous place. But I can protect her from it.
I’ve proved that.
Our frozen little paradise, however, becomes a cold seclusion. Instead of living life, we survive. Kandi is young and resilient, but I am withering from intellectual isolation. Without a purpose, I live a life of doing time. No different than a prisoner.
Rise of the Miser: Claus, #5 Page 23
