Truth

by Julia Karr

  “It’s more than comfortable,” I said. “I don’t know how we can ever repay––”

  “Nonsense.” Mrs. Jenkins waved off my mention of indebted-ness. “It is an honor to be able to help the family of my dear friends.” I remembered her telling me how close she and my mom had been. “Let me show you the bedrooms. You must be exhausted.”

  “Nina, you shouldn’t be alone tonight,” Wei said. “I’ll go grab my PJs and be right back.”

  When Wei returned, Mrs. Jenkins left, reminding us that there would be breakfast in the morning upstairs.

  “We should get to sleep,” I said. “I’m totaled.”

  “Me, too.” Wei stifled a yawn.

  “I guess so.” Dee looked ready to drop, but hesitated at the door to her room. She obviously did not want to be alone.

  “You know, the bed in my room is huge,” I said. “There’s plenty of room for three.”

  As it was, we could’ve fit in a fourth, it was so huge. Even with all that space, Dee fell asleep curled up in my arms.

  ***

  A warm beam of sunlight across my face woke me. I bolted upright. “Where am I?”

  “Huh?” was the muffled reply.

  “Wei?”

  She threw back the comforter, stretching her arms over her head. “You’re awake.”

  “Yeah. It took me a minute to remember what all’s happened.” I patted the pile of covers next to me. “Where’s Dee?”

  “She woke up just after I did. I sent her upstairs for breakfast.”

  Just the mention of food made my stomach come to life, growling like an angry dog. But I had other things to take care of before my hunger. “Where’s my bag? I have to call Metro and check in on Gran. Will my PAV work in your house?” With all the antisurveillance technology that Wei’s house was wrapped up in, I didn’t know what would and wouldn’t work.

  Wei produced my bag from beside the bed. “PAVs work fine here. If you want to know how, though, you’ll have to ask Chris. All that techie stuff is space jargon to me.” She rolled out of bed. “Come up when you’re done.”

  ***

  I lightly tapped on the door. Wei’s mother welcomed me, putting an arm around my shoulders, like Mom used to do. It made me sad, but it felt good, too. How I wished . . . no sense in that. There was too much for me to figure out. I didn’t have time for what Gran called pie-in-the-sky thoughts.

  “This is so kind of you.” I felt myself tearing up. “I don’t know—”

  “It is the least we can do,” she said. “We are fortunate to be in a position to help friends. Your father, although distressed about his parents, was glad to know that you and Dee are safe with us.”

  They talked to him—my father. I had spoken to him only that one time, weeks ago. But they’d already gotten word to him. How many emotions and questions just hearing “father” brought up. I settled them all back to sleep.

  “Dee doesn’t know about him—I mean, about him being alive, that is,” I said.

  “I thought not. She also doesn’t know that he’s her father, does she?”

  I shook my head. “Just you and me, well, and my father—we’re the only ones who know.”

  “And that is how it will stay until he decides to tell her. We will not talk openly of Alan around Dee. I’ll be sure that Chris and Wei are aware.”

  “It’s so hard to keep secrets. Like the FeLS information. Because of it, Ginnie’s dead.”

  “Yes, that and so many other reasons.” Mrs. Jenkins hugged me tight. “Someday the truth about everything will come out.”

  “Do you know when or how my father is going to let the world know what FeLS really is?” It was naive of me to think that one chink in the Governing Council’s armor would bring them down. But at least exposing the FeLS sex-slavery side would stop low-tier girls, like Mike’s sister, Joan, and me, from being exploited in that way.

  “I have heard that there will be an announcement soon. Let’s not focus on that today. When you go to see your grandmother, you want to be happy, positive. Take a few hours to enjoy life and not be worried about it.” She cupped my chin in her hand. “I hope staying here will bring you some happiness, Nina. You so deserve it.”

  I craved happiness. As to whether I thought I deserved it, I wasn’t so sure.

  We walked into the kitchen. Chris was at the cook center, using it on manual, like Gran liked to do. Wei and Dee were already tucking into plates full of food.

  Dee put her fork down. “How’s Gran? Can we go see her now?”

  “The doctor is going to call me when he gets in. The nurse said Gran was ‘as well as could be expected,’ but we can’t see her again until the doctor approves visitors.”

  “Sit here.” Wei pointed to a chair next to her. “I’ll go with you if you want.”

  “You can go if it’s after you’ve practiced your piano lessons.” Mrs. Jenkins gave Wei a stern look.

  Wei rolled her eyes. “Okay.”

  “Here you go.” Chris came over with a plate of French toast, dusted with powdered sugar. A pat of spread in the middle was melting into a steaming pool. “Strawberries. Blueberries.” He scooted a tray with two pots of toppings in front of me.

  I spooned strawberries on one side of my toast and blueberries on the other. As I was eating, I realized Mr. Jenkins wasn’t there. “Where’s your dad?”

  “He’s taking care of a storage unit for your things,” Wei said.

  “After breakfast, if you haven’t heard from the doctor yet,” Mrs. Jenkins said, “you can go back to your apartment with Chris to deal with the rest of your things.”

  All at once, it hit me. “Oh, no! I almost forgot. I have to go to the Art Institute. I’m supposed to work today.”

  “Dee can get me into the apartment.” Chris said. “My friends and I will do the packing, and she can make sure we don’t miss anything. We might still be there when you’re through with work.”

  The thought of my job, which entailed sitting in the middle of a cavernous storeroom filled with art, was inviting. It would be a little bit of sorely needed peace for me. But there was so much to do, and Gran . . . “Why don’t you go on and see what happens?” Wei said. “It’s better to do something than to just sit around here worrying. If the doctor calls, you can get in touch with Chris and he’ll bring Dee to the hospital. Don’t stress.”

  ***

  But stress I did. I spent the entire ride to the Art Institute trying to clear my head about thoughts of FeLS. Thoughts like what my dad would do with the information I’d given him about a supposed diplomatic corps really being all about sex trafficking of low-tier sixteens. Thoughts of how Ed used to be the Chooser—the man who would go to schools and choose which low-tier sixteens would be enrolled into FeLS. Shipped off was more like it. Thank goodness we were able to buy out my contract so that I never had to go through that. But so many other girls did. Thoughts of Joan, who’d been broken by the FeLS induction “training.” When I first saw her with a group of homeless women who hung out near the Chicago River, I’d wanted to help her. A thought flashed through my head, again: maybe the Sisterhood could do something.

  The Sisterhood. Wei had said we’d meet later today. That was good—there was hope. I had something positive to hold on to.

  X

  I hopped off the trans and looked across Michigan Avenue at the front of the Art Institute. Two massive bronze lions had flanked the entrance since 1893. The south lion was “standing in defiance,” and the north one was “on the prowl.” Today I felt a kinship with both.

  I got off the elport on the third floor and walked through the hallway. Floor-to-ceiling glass windows made up one entire wall. Light shimmered through them onto a huge hammered-silver disc that hung opposite. I loved this walk. In the three weeks since I’d started working for Martin, I had discovered that traversing this particular hallway had a calming effect on me. Actually, the entire Institute was a place of solace and comfort to me.

  I tapped on Martin’s
door. He needed to know what was going on with Gran, and everything else. He was one of the head curators, so he was in charge of several special exhibits, as well as a lot of the rest of the collection. He knew more about art than anyone I’d ever met. It was amazing being in this place, working in this place. I’d often wondered if it was more than luck that Martin had spotted me sketching in the Postmodern exhibit one day. We’d talked briefly and he’d offered me the job after I got my Creative designation.

  “Come in,” he called.

  I pushed open the tall, white door. Martin was at his floating desk. At least, that’s what I called the shiny, black slab of stone that was supported by invisible power beams. An invention of Martin’s partner, Percy.

  “Oh, there’s my lifesaver! Come, come.” He motioned me over so I could see his PAV projection. “Say hi to Percy.”

  “Hi, Percy,” I said to the projection.

  “Nina, dear. Looking lovely, as usual.”

  I smiled. “Thank you. And you’re looking lovely, too.”

  “You flatterer.” Percy grinned. “I love it! Well, Marty, I guess this means you have to get back to work. Remember, the Winnackers’ tonight. Better make the wine white, otherwise Iona will spend the entire time fretting over her white sofa and rug.” He turned to me. “The woman has no sense at all, decorating or otherwise. None!” He threw up his hands and clicked off.

  “Oh, my dear little Percy. He is much kinder than yours truly.” Martin leaned forward conspiratorially. “I think I’ll bring the red wine and sit in the middle of her ghastly whale of a sofa, waving my glass like a flag on End-of-Wars Day.”

  “Really?” I still was not sure when Martin was joking and when he was serious.

  “No, not really. The Winnackers are one of the largest donors to the Institute’s antiquities acquisition committee. They’re having a Holiday party for the curators. I’ll be on my best behavior, as usual. But I’ll be wishing it was the red, all the same.” He got up. “Is there something you needed?”

  I told him about Pops, Gran, the writ, and the eviction notice.

  “Oh, my dear sweet Lord.” His smile faded into a concerned frown. “You need the day off? Don’t spend a nanosec worrying if you do. I’ve been without an assistant for so long . . . and I want you to take care of what needs to be taken care of.” His face was awash with concern.

  “Oh, no,” I said. “I’d go crazy sitting outside Gran’s room. Besides, they told me no one’s allowed to see her until Dr. Silverman says so. And as far as moving . . .” The tiniest smile hesitantly lifted the corners of my mouth. “I really don’t mind if someone else does it for me.”

  “Really? Wonderful. Then come with me.”

  I followed Martin down the white hall, into the Twenty-first Century Postmodern exhibit. He uncovered the security box and keyed in the code; a hidden panel door slid open and we went in, the door slipping shut silently behind us. My workspace was a huge room filled floor to ceiling with crates, boxes, and tubes of all sizes and shapes. There were tall, skinny windows all around the room that gave the effect of stripes of light throughout. As my eyes adjusted, the vast art treasures stored there came into focus. My job was assisting Martin in cataloging everything from primitive cave-dweller tools to current pseudomodern vandal art. I actually loved being alone with centuries of art, the results of man’s need to communicate nonverbally his deepest emotions. That kind of language I understood. Raw truth. You couldn’t lie when it came from the soul.

  It suddenly hit me. Martin had explained the curiosities of the Art Institute my first day. Certain places in the Institute, especially back rooms and storage areas, were dead zones. And because of the fragility of many of the pieces, there was no surveillance at all in the storeroom. Damn.

  “Martin. Since this room is protected, how will I know if the hospital calls?” I really wanted to stay at work, but I couldn’t risk missing a call about Gran.

  “M’dear, I’ve thought of almost everything it takes to protect the art. And Percy, bless his little self, has thought of everything it takes to protect me. Don’t you know? He loves me. I know, we’re talking about necessities. Although”—he leaned toward me, affecting a very serious look—“love is definitely a necessity.”

  I pursed my lips. “I’m not too sure about that.”

  “Uh-oh. You’re too young to be cynical about love. But that is a conversation for another day. Let’s attend to the conundrum at hand. Surveillance shields—taken care of, like so.” He moved a lever on the side of the light on my desk. “Up, no surveillance.” He pressed it again. “Down, surveillance.”

  “What does it do?”

  “It turns the safety shield off and on. Percy’s always been afraid that I would get trapped in here by Lord knows what. An earthquake? A flood? A marauding band of river rats? And I wouldn’t be able to call for help. Anyway, since B.O.S.S. taps into everything . . .” He checked the light. “Up. We’re safe. Because the entire downtown is bombarded with whatever electromagnetic folderol they use, all exhibit areas and storage rooms in the Institute are protected by shields. Only security can turn them on and off, except for this room.” He lifted his eyebrows. “Percy’s a peach, don’t you know?”

  “But won’t B.O.S.S. or Security notice?”

  “Not if you aren’t in here making noise. If the hospital calls, go out to the hallway. You’ll be fine. Just don’t forget to turn the shield back on. And don’t tell anyone about it. Our secret.”

  “Not a word.” I would be able to stay and still get the hospital’s call. Things were looking up.

  “If you’re absolutely sure you want to work today . . .” he said.

  “Yes, I really need to be busy.”

  “As long as it doesn’t involve packing up boxes, right?” He wiggled his eyebrows. “Well, no packing today, although you may be required to ready objets d’art for shipment to another museum.”

  “I think I can handle that.”

  “If that’s the case, let us go to the Chinese artifacts room. I need to get a little something to take with me to the Winnackers. Have to keep the patrons happy. And, nothing makes Iona happier than, well . . . a clean sofa”—he chuckled—“and the loan of something ancient and unique. Rather like me—well aged and idiosyncratic.” He made a silly face.

  Martin was such an interesting mixture of down-to-earth, kind of pretentious, and really goofy, I couldn’t help but like him.

  “Come now. We’ll traverse the secrets of the maze of the museum. There is surveillance in these corridors.” Shifting his eyes back and forth like a comic detective, he led me to a door I’d never noticed before. Probably because it was covered by a thick tapestry. On the other side of the door, tunnels snaked out in several directions. “We’re behind the walls now,” Martin said. “From here you can gain access to every exhibit hall, to the vaults in the basement, and even up to the helipad on the roof. In case you ever need to make a quick getaway.”

  “Just what I was looking for,” I joked. “I’ll let my helio pilot know to park there next time.”

  As we padded through the dimly lit corridors, I said, “It’s a good thing you’re here. I would be so lost if I were alone.”

  “Exactly why I needed a new assistant. Last one was sent off to Egyptian antiquities and hasn’t been seen or heard from in months.”

  It was a struggle to keep my jaw from dropping open. “Are you—” Then I noticed the twinkle in his eyes.

  “Gotcha! Didn’t I?”

  “Yes!” My insides had been tied up for so long, it was a huge relief to laugh aloud. “I can be a little gullible.”

  “We all are, sometimes. It’s good to see you smile, Nina. You’re much too serious for a teenager. Now is the time when you should be having fun, learning about life, trying out new things.”

  “I’ve been trying a lot of new things,” I said ruefully. “Most of them haven’t been much fun, though.”

  “That will change, love. That will change.” He ushere
d me into a small room. Several wooden storage frames were leaning against the wall, and a huge glass-topped case was in the center of the room. This place was completely different from my usual workspace.

  “As in main storage,” Martin said, “there’s no possibility of surveillance here.” He glanced around the ceiling before continuing, “But no cutoff switches either.”

  “Guess I’d better not get caught here during an earthquake, then.”

  Martin threw back his head and laughed. “You know, Nina, you remind me so much of your father.”

  My father? I was a little taken aback. I knew that Martin was a friend of the Jenkinses, and so probably was, at the very least, sympathetic to the Resistance, but I had never expected this! Since I’d been working here, he’d never even hinted that he actually knew my father. So many secrets . . . it made my head spin. “You knew my dad?”

  “Knew Alan? Indeed I do know him.” His eyes twinkled. “And more than that. Certain friends of your father, like myself, are doing our best to make sure you are safe. After all, he can’t be everywhere at once.” As he talked, he perused the contents of the glass case.

  “You’re a NonCon?” My mouth fell open. Martin hardly seemed the type to be involved in Resistance work.

  “Oh, I do so hate that word.” He rolled his eyes. “I much prefer dissident. But I’ve learned to live with the majority rule. Not everyone has my taste for classical Latin derivatives. More’s the pity, don’t you know?” He flashed a quick smile. “Now, this will do.” He removed a small flask from the case and held it to the light, inspecting it. “Iona will love showing this little beauty off, and there’s little damage anyone can do to it.” He slipped it into a velvet pouch. “We’ll check it out when we get back to your desk. Come on.”

  No sooner had we stepped into the tunnel than my PAV beeped. “It’s the hospital.” After a short conversation with a nurse, I clicked off. “Gran’s awake. They want me there. I have to go.”