Outcasts

by Jill Williamson

  Ruston nodded once, as if Levi had passed some sort of test. “When I return, we’ll figure out where to place the families. And after that, I want to talk to you about something … special.”

  Levi narrowed his eyes. “Are you going to start asking favors of me like Bender did?” Because Levi didn’t think he could take much more of that. He was elder of Glenrock. That might be only two dozen people, but they were his responsibility. No one else’s. And he didn’t want them made into slaves, himself included.

  “No, nothing like that,” Ruston said. “See, I have a theory, though my son thinks I’m dimmer than a dead Wyndo screen. But I think that you and I are kin.”

  CHAPTER

  31

  Ciddah couldn’t possibly be Lawten Renzor’s lifer. Mason told himself this for what must have been the one hundredth time since Omar had passed on Kendall’s message. The mere idea made him sick. Kendall had had the tendency to exaggerate. She must have misunderstood. She must have.

  Aunt Chipeta and Jemma were well into directing the packing up of the cabin when Nash arrived with Jordan, then drove Omar and Mason to the TRO, which was a warehouse ten blocks away that said “Safe Lands Industries” on a sign out front. It was still dark out. According to the display on the windshield, it was 4:07 a.m.

  “What’s Safe Lands Industries?” Mason asked Nash as they made their way to the building’s entrance.

  “Nothing,” Nash said. “The TRO has always kept a secret location for their research facility. Trying to keep the technology away from thieves and rebels and Luella Flynn.”

  Omar snorted a derisive laugh. “I understand the need. That woman’s persistent.”

  His little brother was still wearing one of the baby harnesses. It looked funny on him, but Omar had left it on, saying he might need it if they found Kendall’s baby. Mason had wrapped a scalpel, three alcohol swabs, and three bandages in a strip of denim and shoved them into his pocket. If they were going to rescue Ciddah and the baby, he’d need to remove their SimTags. And he didn’t want to risk not having supplies in case Shaylinn had been re-tagged.

  Nash opened the door at the front corner of the warehouse, and they stepped inside a small reception area. Two hallways stretched out on each exterior wall, white walls and thin gray carpeting. The place was dark and appeared to be deserted. Nash paused, looking both ways as if he wasn’t certain where to go.

  “Ever been here before?” Mason asked.

  “Nope. SimTalk: tap: Zane.” Nash peeked down the hallway on the left. “Hay-o, bro. We’re at the TRO. Where am I going? … Gotcha, thanks. SimTalk: end tap.” He walked down the right hallway. “We go this way.”

  They followed Nash down the hall until they came to an open area. A two-story wall ran perpendicular, enclosing the office portion of the building on the front end of the warehouse. The rest of the warehouse spread out before them. Only a quarter of the ceiling lights were lit up. On the right perimeter wall, shelves stuck out like the teeth of a comb, holding small objects Mason couldn’t identify. The rest of the space held strange vehicles and machinery, each in its own squared-off section of floor.

  “I’d love to walk around here sometime,” Mason said.

  “Dream it,” Nash said. “If they find out we were here, they’ll probably move the place.”

  Nash led them along the office wall toward a long gash of light that spilled across the dark cement floor. An open doorway. As they approached, Mason heard voices.

  “B – But … but why the suits?” a man asked. “Anything else, I … I wouldn’t flinch to let you b – borrow.”

  “We need to be invisible.” Ruston’s voice. “This is the fastest way.”

  “Do you have a … a slower way of b – being invisible?”

  “Maybe,” Ruston said. “I’ll tell you that when we return the suits.”

  They reached the doorway and entered a laboratory. Not a medical one, though. This one was filled with GlassTop computers and Wyndo screens, tables covered in stacks of fabric, and racks of white jumpsuits. Ruston stood beside a man sitting at a GlassTop computer console that had six screens.

  The man turned his attention to where they walked through the doorway. He was in his mid-thirties, with flaking white skin, a cropped brown beard, and a thatch of messy hair. His eyes were wild, like a cornered animal.

  “This is Mason and Omar, and you know Nash. Boys, this is Lhogan Rayscott,” Ruston said. “He’s a TRO engineer.”

  “I’m not comfortable with … with this, Ruston,” Lhogan said. “If anything hap – happens to these suits, you’ll see me p – premie lib – libbed.”

  Mason and Omar stopped just inside the door, but Nash walked over to the computer where Ruston stood. “We could set it up as a break-in,” Nash suggested.

  “No one is sup – posed to know where TRO research takes p – place,” Lhogan said. “If it b – became known that the facility had b – been compromised, they’d likely liberate us and train new … new researchers.”

  Mason saw no logic in such fears. “Surely they wouldn’t kill the people who know the technology.”

  “No one is above lib – liberation in the Safe Lands. Do you know … know what TRO founders went through to rescue technology from the Old world? P – People of Old were selfish, hiding technology from each other to make a p – profit. They didn’t share. And they didn’t take p – precautions. And when the world ended and no one was left who knew how to do anything, it wasn’t easy to figure it out. And TRO made sure it won’t hap – happen again. If the Guild needs to get rid of us, they b – bring in new p – people. The tutorials train them.”

  The idea of tutorials intrigued Mason, as did the man’s stutter. “Are these tutorials only for the TRO or for other tasks as well, like medical procedures?”

  “There are tutorials for every … everything. B – But they’re only shown to p – people in task training. Ruston, the suits are going to be too b – big.”

  Ruston walked over to one of the racks and fingered a white sleeve. “Better too big than too small.”

  “I sup – suppose.” Lhogan got up and produced a plastic bin from a shelf on the corner, from which he removed three tiny plastic boxes. “B – Before you ask, Mr. Mason, without getting overly tech – technical, these are simp – ply contact lenses that have MicroTag resisters emb – bedded into the p – polymer. P – Put them into your eyes, and once I activate the SimSuits, you’ll b – be able to … to see one another.”

  The idea of trying contact lenses thrilled Mason. “Are they sanitary?”

  “I always clean them b – before put – putting them away,” Lhogan said. “B – But you should all wash your hands at the sink.” He gestured to an industrial sink in the corner.

  “What about my SimSight lenses?” Omar asked.

  “Take them out,” Lhogan said. “You can’t wear b – both.”

  “Do you have something I can put them in? They were really expensive and I don’t have any more credits.”

  Seriously? Was Omar really worried about something so trivial at a time like this?

  “I sup – suppose I can find something.” Lhogan went back to the shelf.

  Mason washed his hands and returned to Lhogan’s desk. “How do you get them in?”

  “Ah, yes. Well, p – put one on the tip of your finger, cup … cup side up. Make sure there’s no dust. If there is, I’ve got some solution here somewhere.” He wandered over to the shelf again. “Ah, here we are.” He carried a little white bottle back to his desk. “Use your other hand to p – pull your skin away from your eye and p – put in the contact. Go … go slowly. And try not to b – blink or move your head. Oh, and b – before you let go of the contact, make sure to center it on your … your eye. Move it around if necessary.”

  “It’s easy, Mase,” Omar said, removing one of his SimSight lenses to the tip of his finger.

  “When you think … think it’s in and you let go of your eye, b – blink slowly. It might hur
t as you b – blink out any air bub – bubbles.”

  “It doesn’t hurt,” Omar said. “But I don’t see anything yet.”

  Omar had them in already? Mason was still holding his first on his finger.

  “That’s b – because I haven’t turned you on,” Lhogan said. “And you’re not wearing the … the suits.”

  Mason managed to get in both his contacts. They made his eyes feel wet, as if he were going to cry. He blinked, and a tear rolled down his cheek.

  “Now the suits.” Lhogan walked to the rack of suits and looked through them. He lifted one off the rack. “This is the smaller of the two pro – prototypes.” He handed it to Omar, then gave Mason a second suit. “Not to offend you, b – but these suits were designed to … to fit some of our undercover enforcers.”

  Mason wasn’t offended. “Strength alone does not make a man.”

  Lhogan flashed Mason a rare smile. “I like that. Very … very good.”

  The suit weighed as much as chest waders and were just as stiff, though the fabric was thinner and bright white on the outside. The inside was black.

  “P – Put them on over your clothes. You’ll need the extra p – padding.”

  Mason moved his surgical kit from his pocket to a front pocket on the suit and made sure it didn’t show, then slipped off his shoes and stepped into the suit. But then he realized the suit had built-in feet with rubber tread on the bottoms. “Wait, should I have kept my shoes on?” Mason asked.

  “Yes, sorry. And there are snaps inside the … the feet to fasten over your shoes and keep them tight.”

  Mason stepped out of the suit and carried it and his shoes to the nearest chair. He sat down and put his shoes back on, then put his feet into the legs. He found the snaps, which were attached to a lining pouch that covered his shoes. He fastened them, then pulled the legs up and threaded his arms through the sleeves and into the gloves. The suit zipped up from waist to chin and sagged around his middle, clearly designed for someone built like Jordan. At least Mason was a few inches taller than Omar.

  “How do these work, anyway?” Mason asked.

  “It’s SimTech illusion technology ap – plied to a different surface,” Lhogan said.

  Fine, but that didn’t explain anything. “But what’s SimTech illusion technology?”

  “It’s the technology of creating illusions on different surfaces. In a p – person’s b – body, that’s done b – by imp – planting a SimTag for ID numbers and SimArt. For Wyndos that’s done with … with MicroTags.”

  “So the suit is filled with MicroTags?” Mason asked.

  “Sort of. Think p – polymer light-emitting diodes. We emb – bed them into 140 Denier p – polyurethane p – polyester, ap – apply a film of p – poly methylmethacrylate, followed by a layer of p – poly muslin. That makes the … the fabric.”

  It sounded fascinating, but Mason didn’t understand most of what Lhogan had said. “There must be a lead tag, right? Like the hand tag that speaks to additional SimTags in the body?” Mason thought of Omar’s SimArt tattoos that came and went when he wore his gloves.

  “P – Precisely. We cut out the suits from the … the fa – bric and sew them up. A CamTag is sewn into each suit in the … the front right shoulder. After that we pro – program the micros to the lead and test them. The MicroTags in the fa – bric simp – ply rep – plicate the … the feed. Just like the lead SimTag controls the others in the b – body, the CamTag controls the other MicroTags in a suit. They’ve never b – been used for any real tactical situation b – before. I’m not p – positive they’ll work in all environments and … and temp – peratures.”

  “Why wouldn’t they?” Omar asked.

  “I … I don’t know. That’s just it: we would never send an enforcer into danger wearing a … a suit that we haven’t fully tested. And we’re several months away from completing the testing on … on the SimSuits.”

  “They’re the only chance we’ve got.” Mason appreciated Lhogan’s risk when he clearly would rather not let them use the suits. “Thank you for letting us use them.”

  Lhogan blinked, eyes still wide and paranoid. “Yes, well, let me get you the … the hoods, and I’ll make sure you’re all showing up on my … my GlassTop.”

  The hoods were white with no eye holes or openings for the mouth and seemed to be made of the same fabric as the suits. But when Mason put his on, he could see through it and breathe. “How does this work?”

  Lhogan’s rare smile returned. “You ask that a lot, Mr. Mason. The hoods are made invisible by adhering a … a light-emitting p – polymer skin to the b – back of the fabric.”

  “This is amazing,” Mason said. Omar looked like a human-shaped snowman. “When will it make us invisible?”

  “Once I turn you on.” Lhogan sat at a GlassTop computer and started working. Mason walked behind him and watched over his shoulder. Lhogan opened a program that brought up an animated version of a man wearing a suit. “This is for suit one, which is the … the small suit.” Lhogan’s fingers made dull thuds against the GlassTop as he typed. Mason looked to Omar, who was standing by a rack of belts.

  Omar disappeared.

  Fascinating. “Omar! You’ve vanished,” Mason said.

  “Whoa.” Nash walked out into the middle of the room. “I can’t see you at all!”

  Mason strained to see his brother and caught the faint outline of his bulky suited form moving around, like a ripple in the surface of a lake. The cameras didn’t quite work perfectly. The line was off a bit, but he really had to be looking to see it. “That’s amazing.”

  “Thank you.” On the screen, as Lhogan tapped away, the image of the man in the suit changed to another. “This one is yours,” he said.

  Mason stepped back and waited for it, his nerves tingling. He held his hand in front of his face and glanced at Lhogan’s GlassTop, and when he looked back to his hand, it was gone. A puzzling thrill of panic shot through him. His brain knew his hand was still there, yet part of him still reacted to the fact that it could not be seen.

  Mason waved his hand and caught a slight vibration in the air. These were incredible inventions. Who would ever know to look for them? With these, the rebels could do almost anything in the Safe Lands. And if the enforcers began using them …

  He tried to locate Omar in the room and found he couldn’t. “How will we not run into each other?” Mason asked. “Or see each other if we need to? I thought the contacts — ”

  “I need to activate the … the contacts, and then you’ll see,” Lhogan said, tapping away.

  “I see Mason!” Omar shouted. “You’re a blue blob.”

  Mason’s lenses suddenly activated as well, illuminating a blue form across the room.

  “There is a … a number on the chest and b – back of each suit. Number one is the small suit, um … Omar. Mr. Mason is number two.”

  Mason could barely see the white outline of the number two on his chest. The number one on the back of Omar’s suit was much larger.

  “What about weapons?” Omar asked. “Won’t they see them if we’re carrying?”

  “The suits have a … a flap at the waist that covers where a b – belt can be worn. I don’t have any weapons for you, though.”

  “I’ve got weapons in my truck,” Ruston said. “Lhogan, do you have the link for Zane to run these?”

  “Ah, no. I’m running them.”

  “Are you sure you want to be involved?” Ruston asked.

  “I have to b – be. What are you using them for, anyway?”

  “We need to pay a little visit to the Champion House,” Omar said, punching his palm.

  Lhogan’s eyelids fluttered. “Did I … I mention if anything happens to … to these suits …? Or if you’re caught …?”

  “Yeah, you did,” Ruston said.

  “Just let Zane run them and you won’t have to worry,” Nash said.

  “The – the suits are my responsibility. If I give the … the eyes to Zane, I’v
e got nothing b – but your word that you’ll return them. I … I trust you, Ruston. But I … I don’t know these b – boys, I don’t know where Zane’s GlassTop is, and I certainly don’t trust whatever crazy ad – adventure you’re planning at Champion House. My eyes only. F – Final offer.”

  Mason walked around the room, playing with the suit. He didn’t quite understand what Ruston and Lhogan were talking about, but he felt badly that Lhogan was feeling pressured to help them.

  “Can Zane at least watch the feed?” Ruston asked. “If he can’t see …”

  “Yes, I … I can do that. But if he tries to … to hack me, I’ll move the feed and … and he’s out.”

  “He won’t hack you,” Nash said. “He’s a good boy.”

  “What’s his – his message ID?” Lhogan asked.

  “Techwiz dot sl,” Ruston said.

  Lhogan tapped it in. “I … I still don’t like this. I’m risking every – everything. The p – price is much higher than what I owe you.”

  “Then I owe you now,” Ruston said. “Can you record the lens feeds?”

  “I can.”

  “Do it. My guess is that these two will see something tonight that will be useful for blackmail. If anyone comes after you, show it to them and promise that the Owl will show it to everyone in the Safe Lands if anything happens to you.”

  “The Owl?” Lhogan asked. “You think Task Director Renzor is involved in … in something sinister?”

  As far as Mason was concerned, Lawten Renzor was always involved in something sinister.

  “If not him, someone who wants to frame him,” Ruston said. “Either way, we should know soon enough.”

  Lhogan sighed. “I’ll re – record it. B – But if they don’t see anything that can b – be used as b – blackmail, I won’t have anything to use to pro – protect myself from any accusations.”

  “If nothing happens, you won’t need to protect yourself,” Ruston said. “And, like I said, I’ll owe you.”

  “Well, everything is ready,” Lhogan said, pushing back from the GlassTop. “Take good care of – of them.”

  The suits, of course, not Mason and Omar’s lives.