Truth

by Julia Karr

  On the way over, I called B.O.S.S. headquarters, to see if maybe I could get some information about Pops, or at least leave a message for them to give to him. It was Holiday, after all. The only two things they confirmed were that he was there and that he wasn’t allowed visitors.

  When I got to Gran and Pops’s old building, I automatically put my hand on the auto-recognition pad. When nothing happened, I remembered I didn’t live there anymore.

  Pressing D14, I said, “Nina Oberon for Harriet Pace.”

  In a moment, her face popped up on the monitor.

  “Lord! Nina? Come in.”

  When I got off the elport, Harriet was standing outside her door. “How is Edith? I’ve been worried sick about her. I heard from her only once. The hospital won’t tell me anything, and this darn sciatica’s kept me laid up.” She latched onto my arm, ushering me into her apartment. “I’ve been so worried about her.”

  It was almost nice to sit and talk with Harriet for a while. Almost like our old life. Two cups of tea and several cookies later, I left. But not until Harriet had assured me she was having Holiday dinner with the couple in D17. I was glad she wouldn’t be alone.

  I headed out and walked along the riverfront, in the direction of Michigan Avenue. I was hoping to see Joan, but there was no sign of her or the homeless women she had been hanging out with. Heading up Illinois Street, I cut east. At Rush Street, I noticed an ultra single trannie idling at the light. The driver was Dr. Silverman. Before I could make up my mind to wave or not, the light changed and he speeded off. After what Mr. Jenkins had said about Silverman’s demotion to Metro Hospital, I wondered how he could afford that kind of transit. Maybe he’d made a ton of credits when he was doing research.

  Any thoughts I had of the doctor disappeared as soon as I turned the corner onto Michigan Avenue. It was a virtual fairyland of twinkling lights and Holiday music—if you blocked out the verts. I clicked on my PAV to music only and ambled down the street. The decorations and the music were breathtakingly beautiful. But it wasn’t long before I was paying more attention to the sour faces of the people jostling past me, laden with bags and boxes. They weren’t happy; they were stressed. The only smiling people were the few who, like me, were without packages—strolling slowly down the sidewalk, taking in the sights.

  I was standing in front of Yum’s candy shop, watching marzipan ballerinas twirling to the strains of The Nutcracker, when the vert interruption hit.

  Trannies screeched to a halt. Shoppers’ packages went flying as people bumped into each other, confused by the silence. It would’ve been more comical, except for the fear on the faces of little kids, clutching their parents’ hands.

  “Once upon a time, Holiday meant more than a buying frenzy. It was a time for family and friends and compassion for those less fortunate. The spirit of selflessness, generosity, and charity were foremost in a man’s heart. Search your own hearts, people. Is the homeless person, freezing in the harsh winter, less worthy of—”

  It was my dad’s voice. Hearing him made me think back to our last conversation, when I’d clicked off on him. Suddenly, a high-pitched electronic screech cut off the speaker. Everyone, myself included, clapped their hands over their ears. Within seconds, a repair trannie flew by, heading to the Media station at the corner of Michigan and Erie. Moments after they arrived, Holiday music was flowing and verts filled the air. I clicked off my PAV to catch snippets of conversation.

  An older man said to his companion, “I remember when I was a kid, we’d volunteer at the Shelter and Food works up in Rogers Park. Felt pretty good.”

  “Hush,” the woman said. “Someone might hear you and think you agreed with that . . . that . . . subversive propaganda.” She glanced around nervously.

  “Maybe I should,” he said.

  She yanked him away. “We’ve got grandkids to think of . . .”

  I continued up Michigan, purposely avoiding Mars 9, and took a left at the Water Tower. A trannie spun out of an alley, nearly knocking me over. When I glanced down the alley to see if anyone else was going to barrel out and flatten me, I saw a poster stuck on the wall. It was a rough drawing of a homeless man being stunned by a cop. Subversive art. Absolutely illegal . . . and thoroughly cool. Had the person in the speeding trannie posted it? How long would it stay there before the authorities tore it down? An idea began formulating in my brain. By the time I got home, I had a full-blown plan.

  ***

  “So,” I said to Wei, “we could reproduce my drawings and post them all over the city.”

  “Or,” she said, “we can do a vid interruption made up of your pics. That would be ultra-ultra! We can call the others and see what they think. By the way, Derek’s coming over tonight to listen to Rogue Radio. I heard Sal’s back from his business. Why don’t we get him and Mike to come over, too?”

  “Good idea!” I hadn’t gotten a message from Sal, but Wei knew he was back. The bubble of doubt crept up my throat, but I tamped it back down. “Oh, by the way, the vert interruption was great. It was weird to hear my dad talking.”

  “It was from an old debate he gave. He’s got such a compelling voice,” Wei said. “People listen to him.”

  “Just not enough of them,” I said ruefully. Of course, I hadn’t listened too well when we’d talked. He might be persuasive with the masses, but, as his abandoned daughter, I might need a little extra convincing of his sincerity, at least where I was concerned.

  I messaged Sal and Mike, both of whom said they were coming over. Now I needed to figure out how to tell Dee about Rogue Radio without telling her too much about all the rest of our activities.

  “So everyone’s coming over tonight,” I said, walking into her room, where she was watching a vid on her PAV.

  “Really? How come?”

  “We’re going to listen to Rogue Radio.” I waited for the anticipated barrage of questions.

  “Cool. Chris was telling me about that. He said the music was tons better than anything Media produces. Is he coming, too?”

  “I didn’t ask him. He probably has a date or something.” I was surprised that Dee was so accepting of Rogue Radio, but I guess coming from Chris, it softened things.

  “Nuh-uh. He told me he was through with dating. That his last girlfriend was kind of a jerk and he’d rather be teaching me to cook than going out with someone like her again. He’s so nice. And really cute, don’t you think?”

  “Yeah, I guess.” My little sister appeared to have the beginnings of a raging crush on Chris. I figured he could handle that, because he really was a nice person. And cute, too. Why was I thinking that? “Go ahead and ask him if you want,” I said.

  While she was upstairs, I put the finishing touches on pictures I’d drawn for Wei and her family for Holiday. I wished I’d had credits to buy them something instead. But, I told myself, these were from the heart. Like the vert interruption had mentioned—Holiday was supposed to be about more than expensive presents.

  ***

  I was sandwiched between Sal and Chris on the sofa, while Derek and Wei were sharing Pops’s chair. Dee sprawled on the floor on a pile of pillows.

  “Smells like ginger,” Derek said, sniffing the back of the chair.

  “That’s Pops’s chair. Candied ginger’s his favorite thing,” Dee said. To Wei, she said, “Did you know your mother got him hooked on it when she was in high school? She and your dad were friends with our mom and Nina’s dad. They even went to grade school together.”

  “That practically makes us family, then,” Chris said.

  His thigh was pressed against mine, and I found it more than a little distracting. Especially when he flashed one of his killer smiles at me. I pressed myself closer to Sal and squeezed his hand.

  “Missed you, too,” he whispered.

  “Shhhh,” Wei said. “It’s starting.”

  Dorrie’s voice came through loud and clear. “Tonight we’re going all the way back to the sixties—the nineteen sixties, that is. We’ll
be hearing from ultracool Bob Dylan, Neil Young, and Joan Baez. After a quick trip around that decade, we’ll leap forward to the two thousands to hear from Ansley Garnett, Claudette Lucier, and Little Joe Andersen. Wrapping up tonight’s broadcast will be the latest from Chicago’s own Beppo Wills. But you didn’t tune in to listen to me, so without wasting another nano, let’s get something happening here with Buffalo Springfield’s ‘For What It’s Worth.’”

  At the end of the program, Dorrie said, “There you have it, guys and fems—a sampling of some music that’s changed the world. Music can do that, you know. Until next time, keep your profile low and your scanners on. When you least expect it, Rogue Radio will return.”

  “Damn. I love that ancient stuff,” Derek said. “Dylan was a genius, and so was Neil Young. Man, I wish I had my guitar, the show gave me some great ideas for songs.”

  “You could use the piano upstairs,” Wei said.

  “Brilliant. Let’s go.”

  “You don’t mind, do you, Nina?”

  “Of course not.” Maybe this would translate into some alone time for Sal and me. Although I didn’t see how, with Dee and Chris planted firmly in their seats.

  “Hey, Dee,” Chris said. “Can we talk Holiday menu for a sec?”

  “Sure!”

  They disappeared into the kitchen.

  Sal immediately pulled me into an embrace. “I have been wanting to do this all night.” His lips were soft and warm on mine.

  “Dee and Chris will walk in on us,” I said, when we came up for air.

  “Too bad.” He kissed me again. “I missed you, Nina Oberon.”

  I leaned into him, kissing back. “I missed you, too, Sal.”

  XXV

  “Nina!” Wei came through the door. “What are you guys up to?”

  “Decorating,” Dee stood back, hands on hips. “What do you think?”

  Wei surveyed the Holiday decorations that Dee had insisted on putting up. “I think it looks ultra. I really like the antique Santas around the poinsettia. Is that silk?”

  “Uh-huh,” Dee said. “Gran’s had it since before I was born.”

  “And the star lights around the doorway—ultracool.” Wei nodded her approval. “Listen, would you mind going upstairs to help my mom? She’s doing some baking and needs a hand—preferably not mine.” Wei accompanied Dee to the kitchen door and whispered something to her.

  The cook center timer went off. “Cookies are done,” I said. “You go on, Dee. I’ll get them. What was that about?” I asked Wei.

  “Nothing. Don’t you know not to ask questions around Holiday?” Her eyes latched onto the cookies. “Mmmm, those smell delicious!”

  It would’ve been impossible to resist at least one, okay two, cookies each. Wei and I were just washing down the last bite with nut milk when Chris came in. “Let’s go.”

  “Come on, Nina.” Wei grabbed my arm. “We’ve got a surprise for you. Get your coat.”

  We ended up on the south side of Chicago, in a neighborhood that reminded me of where I’d taken refuge when I’d escaped from Ed’s kidnapping attempt. Preferring not to think about that, I said, “Where are we going?”

  “Right here.” Chris pulled up in front of a grimy, boarded-up storefront. A sign hanging on the side of the building said LITTLE BLUES TATTOOS, with an arrow pointing down the alley.

  My shoulders shivered, not from the cold. “You’re not . . . are you?”

  “It was Chris’s idea,” Wei said. “He really wants you to have your tat.”

  He shrugged and smiled. “You deserve it.”

  “But . . . it’s too expensive. I can’t let you—”

  “You can’t stop us,” Wei said. “Come on. Don’t want to be late for your appointment, do you?”

  Chris punched a code into the door at the top of the stairs and held it open for Wei and me.

  A guy appeared, inked from his fingers to the top of his head and, from the designs that disappeared under his shirtsleeves, probably a lot of other spots.

  “Chris. Long time!”

  “Colin. How are you doing?”

  “Good. Real good. Is this the girl you told me about? Nina, isn’t it?” Colin shook my hand. “I’ll have to scan your designation before I can do anything around your XVI.” He grimaced. “It’s the law.” He scanned my ID. “Creative in art. Awesome. Wei says you did your own sketch.”

  Wei produced my drawing from her coat pocket. “Dee took it to Chris,” she said when I looked at her, mouth agape. “What do you think, Colin?” She spread it on the counter.

  My stomach went all butterflies, waiting for his assessment. After all, he was a professional artist. I certainly wasn’t.

  “You’re good,” he said. “This is impressive.”

  “Thank you!” I relaxed the tiniest bit. “I wanted it to be more than just a distraction around the XVI.”

  “Mission accomplished. You’ve got completeness, love, and truth. Heavy on the truth. Nice.”

  I blushed. “Is it going to hurt, much?” The government tattooist had been just to the right of sadistic when she’d done the XVI on my wrist.

  “Nah,” he said. “I’ve got zone-out chips. You’ll be fine.”

  “Mom has good salves, too, for when that wears off,” Wei said.

  “Well, let’s get started.” Colin drew the curtain behind him, inviting me into the back room.

  I glanced over my shoulder at Wei and Chris. “We’ll wait.” Wei smiled reassuringly.

  I followed him.

  An hour later, Colin leaned back. “Well, what do you think?” he asked.

  I flipped between my wrist and the back of my hand. Three “truth”s in cursive circled the XVI, latching onto each other like serpents. Curlicues snaked around to the back of my hand and became a stylized pond, where six small lotus flowers floated around a fully opened seventh that was poised on a long stalk. Antique print spelled out L O V E, one letter per finger above my knuckles.

  I threw my arms around Colin’s neck. “It’s perfect! Just perfect!”

  ***

  “Let me see again.” Wei was in the backseat of the trannie with me, admiring my tattoo. “This is ultra-ultra. It’s magic. Hell, yeah! The other girls will be crazy about this.”

  “I don’t know how to thank you guys.”

  “No thanks needed.” Chris’s eyes met mine in the rearview. “I wanted you to have it. It fits you perfectly.”

  I felt my neck redden. “Thanks anyway,” I said quietly to Wei.

  ***

  Later on, Chris dropped off Dee and me for a brief visit with Gran.

  “I am so glad you’re here.” Gran was sitting up in bed, still attached to the monitor, but it sounded strong. “What’s this?” She snatched my hand. “Oh! Nina! It’s beautiful.” Her eyes misted. “You designed this, didn’t you?”

  “I did.” My chest swelled with pride. Dee smiled at me, too.

  “Ginnie was right to put you in those art classes. You have real talent.”

  I dared not tell her the ideas I had for using that talent.

  “Oh, girls, I’m so happy. With everything—” Her voice cut off, and her eyes got watery.

  “I know Gran. At least this part is okay,” I said, hugging her close. “I wish we could stay longer, but they won’t let us stay past the allotted time. Even though it’s Holiday Eve. I love you.”

  “I love you, too, Gran,” Dee said.

  “I love you both, girls, more than you know.” She clutched Dee’s hand tight.

  I leaned down and kissed Gran on the forehead. “I love you. I can’t wait until you’re home again. Happy Holiday.”

  ***

  I was hoping for a repeat of the night before, with all my friends, except we were going to watch Holiday vids instead of listening to Rogue Radio. Chris had gone out with some friends. And Sal’s NonCon duties had called him away, again. He didn’t know how long he’d be gone. Again. It wasn’t fair. I’d seen my boyfriend for a nanosecond the last few d
ays.

  At least everyone else was there. It was almost like old times for me, hanging with Derek and Mike again. And Dee and Wei, too.

  The warm apple pie in the kitchen was the fruit of Dee’s latest labor. I was really impressed with her cooking. She was getting good—really good. She was also beat and fell asleep halfway through the second vid. Snuggled up together on the couch, Derek and Wei were not paying attention to anyone else. That left Mike and me munching on pie and watching Joy on Mercury Way.

  “That’s a good one,” I said when it ended. “Let me find Home for Holiday.”

  Out of the blue, Mike said, “I’ve been meaning to ask you something about this whole FeLS scandal.”

  I froze. I hadn’t expected this from Mike. But I should have. Joan was his sister.

  “Do you think Joan was involved with that somehow? I mean, her two years were up a while ago. And we’ve never heard from her.”

  “I don’t know,” I hedged. “Maybe she got a job in one of the countries she was sent to. Sometimes girls . . .” Knowing what I knew, it was hard to come up with any kind of excuse.

  “Joan isn’t like that. Mom hasn’t heard from her since a week after she left. It kills her. Especially at Holiday.” He fiddled with the fork on his empty plate. “I miss her, too.”

  I felt awful keeping what I knew from Mike. It wasn’t like he had a lot in his life. And he and Joan had been really close before she left. Like I’d done with Mom, after Ed beat her up, Joan had taken care of Mike after his dad’s beatings. I longed to tell him about her, but his knowing the truth would put Joan in danger, and Mike, too. Especially if he saw the conditions she was forced to live in. I knew Mike, I knew what he’d do—rush in first, think later, and probably get himself arrested, or worse.

  “I’m sure if she’s heard about the investigation, she’ll be in touch. I bet a lot of girls who haven’t contacted their families will now.”

  “I sure hope so.”

  I said, “Me, too.” Even though I knew she wouldn’t be contacting anyone, at least not for a while.