And there is no Bigger standing at the kettle.
Sadness wells up inside me, but I put it off.
Not now.
I eye a grating in the wall next to the vents. Doc. I look around for other signs of surveillance, but there is too much going on in the enormous room to tell.
Ro takes off toward the back of the room. I duck my head to follow him, sliding beneath the long, metallic counters, where they store what looks like sterilization equipment.
We remain, for the moment, unseen.
“What now,” I hiss.
“You saw her hands.” Ro looks past the corner of the counter that hides us. “She’s a weird one.”
“And?”
“We need to find where they keep the garbage.”
I shrug. “So we follow whatever smells the worst.”
A kitchen worker walks by us, dragging a huge black bag that reeks of manure. Ro wrinkles his nose.
“Exactly.”
In no time at all, the stench leads us to the garbage dock. I can see it, through the swinging doors of the kitchen ware-house. I can also see a Sympa patrolling it.
“When that door opens again, we go.” Ro seems happier than I’ve seen him in months.
I nod, then grab his arm. “Ro.”
“What?”
“Can we trust her?”
“The silver girl?”
I nod. “It seems too easy. This.” I glance toward the dock. “What if it’s a setup?”
Ro sighs. “You met her. You tell me. You’re supposed to handle that department.”
“But I trusted Lucas, and I got us into this mess.” It’s an apology, and not a particularly good one. But it needs to be said, especially before we fling ourselves into a barge full of garbage and guarded by at least one armed Sympa.
Ro winks. “I forgive you, Dol-face.”
Then, without a word, he takes off running and I have no choice but to follow.
I rush after him, crouching low. We race toward the barge, finally sliding between a mountain of slimy black bags swarming with flies and practically pulsing with an indescribably putrid smell.
I close my eyes and freeze, waiting for the Sympa to fire.
I hear nothing.
Ro peeks his head out from inside a bag that has split in half. Something that looks like old porridge smears across his face.
I hold my breath. We don’t make a sound.
The smell is overwhelming, worse than sleeping in the stables, and it’s all I can do to keep down what little food I managed to eat.
The barge begins to vibrate beneath us, and the garbage shifts. The engine starts, groaning and rumbling to life as the barge lurches into motion.
“It’s moving,” Ro whispers. He smiles, in spite of the garbage.
I shake my head, crossing my fingers beneath the mountain of limply rotting lettuce and old bread crusts.
That’s when the engine cuts.
Then we hear loud voices and the heavy, thudding footsteps of military boots.
I uncross my fingers as we dive deeper beneath the piles of black bags. Then, muffled by garbage, a familiar voice booms across the barge.
Catallus.
“Doloria. Furo. I’m afraid you’ve gone the wrong direction. Understandable, since you’re new here. Anyone could get lost on the way to my classroom.”
I pull myself up to the surface of the garbage.
“We’re not going anywhere with you,” Ro shouts, poking his head above the sea of garbage sacks, trying to look dignified while covered with rotten food.
I can see him looking for something to use as a weapon, but the only thing in our reach is an entire Embassy’s uneaten breakfast.
Colonel Catallus smiles. “Of course—you could always stay here and take a little ride, but I’m not sure it’s preferable to our class. Where do you think they take this trash?”
“Wait, let me think. Your house?” Ro grins. “No—your mom’s house?” He’ll go down trying. He’s long past caring what people do to him.
I stay silent.
“See those smokestacks across the bay, on the mainland? That’s where we take the trash. Right into the incinerators. They help power the Projects. So I guess it would be good to have your contribution via the furnaces, but I think we could make better use of your talents in the classroom.”
Colonel Catallus motions and the barge begins to grind backward, toward the docks. He wobbles with the sudden movement, adjusting his position on the side of the barge, above us. “I’m surprised Tima didn’t tell you, especially seeing as she made the same mistake, the first time she tried to run away.”
Ro and I look at each other.
Suspicions confirmed.
“Come on, Ro,” I say, struggling to get out of the garbage. “We’ve been played.” And worse, rescued by a demon.
Colonel Catallus pulls a white square of handkerchief out of his pocket, holding it over his nose. He waves the handkerchief in the direction of the Embassy.
“The others are waiting. It’s time we had a talk. Now.”
EMBASSY CITY TRIBUNAL VIRTUAL AUTOPSY: DECEASED PERSONAL RELATED MEDIA TRANSCRIPT (DPRMT)
Assembled by Dr. O. Brad Huxley-Clarke, VPHD
Note: Media Transcript conducted at the private request of Amb. Amare
Santa Catalina Examination Facility #9B
Text Scan: NEW YORK DAILY
EXTINCTION AVOIDED?
April 10, 2068 • New York City, New York
Officials at the United Nations have claimed success in diverting the asteroid Perses from impacting Earth.
The joint project of the major economic powers announced today that Project Kratos, consisting of a series of pinpoint warheads launched in 2067, scored a direct hit.
The director of Project Kratos, Alexis Asimov, said: “Our goal was to split Perses into smaller pieces that would fly harmlessly around Earth, and all our data shows the mission was a complete success. We will continue to monitor the fragments to ensure our data is correct.”
Not everybody is convinced, however. Many citizens hold the entire story to be a hoax.
Others believe the asteroid is still coming, including those who say Perses is a holy messenger of God, come to purge Earth of greed and inequity.
13
COLONEL CATALLUS
Of course, we aren’t allowed to wash up, after the garbage disaster. Colonel Catallus is teaching us a lesson; at least, I imagine that is what he thinks.
The joke is on him, though. We’ve grown used to the stench, Ro and I. Not Catallus. He looks like he is going to pass out, just being in the same hall with us.
And now it appears the Embassy isn’t taking any chances with us, because it somehow requires four guards for Colonel Catallus to walk us back. Or he’s just trying to intimidate us.
It’s working.
It occurs to me that I could try to probe their minds, look for a new way out, and I even spend a few minutes contemplating how I could accidentally bump into the guard in front of me, to heighten the connection. Then I give up. I’m too tired, and it takes too much out of me. And I just smell too damn bad.
Not Ro, though. Ro stands a little taller, next to the Sympas. I think he likes feeling dangerous.
We arrive at Colonel Catallus’s classroom—at least, that’s what he calls this version of his interrogation chamber. It’s a meeting room with glass walls and a round table, in the center of the Embassy library.
Basically, a jail cell.
Through the glass, I can see Tima and Lucas waiting inside. Lucas has his face buried in a small, flat screen when we push through the doors. Tima is next to him, pulling on the ends of her silver hair as she reads over his shoulder. There with Lucas, she looks much more content than when we last saw her at breakfast.
Almost happy, even.
I pull my eyes away from her and examine the rest of the room. It’s more of a fishbowl than a classroom, barely big enough for the five of us. Beyond the glass walls,
there are books as far as I can see, more books than in all the black markets in the Hole. Real books, paper books. Digi-text on a row of screens. Together, they fill a room bigger than the cafeteria.
I can also see our Sympa patrol, standing at attention by the entrance to the library.
Waiting.
Lucas doesn’t look up. His face flickers with the reflected light of the scrolling screen. Then we come closer, and both Tima and Lucas react like they’ve just been slapped in the face.
“What—is that—smell?” Lucas practically shouts, grabbing his nose, pushing back his chair.
“Garbage,” says Tima with a smile. “Or maybe that’s just what the Grass smell like.” She pushes back next to him, hovering.
Where we both know she most likes to be.
I take a step closer to her, and I hope I look threatening, because that’s how I feel.
“A garbage barge? That leads to an incinerator? Really? Is that the best you could come up with?”
Ro grabs my arm. Lucas steps in front of Tima. All four of us are locked in an impasse.
It’s Colonel Catallus who finally breaks the standoff.
“That’s enough. Take a seat. The adrenaline is fascinating, but tiresome. And I’ve no need for more data today, not on any one of you.”
None of us move. He smiles. “Or do we need to bring the guards all the way into the classroom?”
Ro and Lucas stare at each other. Tima glowers at me. Colonel Catallus shakes his head. “Fine. Take your time. I’m happy to lock you down until you’ve had your fun. It’s all the same to me. I have work to do.”
He closes the glass door behind him.
Lucas and Ro are now inches apart from each other. “You don’t really want to do this, do you?” Lucas pushes his hand against Ro’s chest. Big mistake.
“No, I’m pretty sure I do.” Ro smiles, wrapping his fist in Lucas’s shirt.
I speak up to Tima, over Ro’s shoulder. “You didn’t have to sell us out to Catallus.”
Tima sniffs. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I thought you were looking for a ride out of here. It’s not my fault you got caught.” Ro growls. Tima puts him on edge almost as much as Lucas does.
I stare at her. “Why do you hate us so much?”
She spits the words back at me. “Why are you even here? Since when did they start testing Grass like you?”
“Why don’t you ask your mommy?” Ro steps closer to Lucas.
Tima rolls her eyes, and it’s all I can do not to grab her myself, and I shout, “You think we want to be here? You think we had a choice in this? The minute we get the chance, we’ll be gone. That’s a promise.”
Lucas’s eyes narrow as I say the words. Ro stays close, and I’m aware of every inch of him. Part of him is enjoying this. Part of Ro has enjoyed this entire day, even the garbage.
Not Lucas. I can feel him recede, as Ro begins to surge. Battle is Ro’s natural state. He likes the rush of adrenaline, the push of uncertainty, the risk of death. As long as it’s not mine. It’s only the threat to me that is making him nervous, even now.
Ro pulls Lucas in, raising his fist.
“Stop it,” Tima blurts out, dragging herself between them.
In a blur—in a split second—I watch Tima’s arm go flying toward Ro, and then I see Ro rearing back, hollering.
“Ow! What was that? You shocked me.”
“I didn’t shock you.” Tima sounds confused.
“You did. Look…”
There, around Ro’s wrist, is what looks like a rope burn—a red, searing line that wraps around his arm, precisely where Tima’s hand touched him.
Tima stares at the mark.
Lucas backs away from both of them, from us.
Tima glowers at him. “All I was going to say was that you’re fools if you don’t know what he’s doing right now.” She looks up at the ceiling, calling toward the grating. “Orwell?”
“Yes, Tima?”
“Can you bring up a visual on Colonel Catallus? I need to ask him something, face-to-face.”
“It would be my pleasure, Tima.” Behind her, Colonel Catallus’s face appears on the wide screen that blankets one side of the classroom wall.
He’s standing in the library, in front of a bank of screens. All of which are streaming a live feed of us. He’s watching.
Of course he is.
“Tima Li has a question for you, sir.”
Colonel Catallus looks startled. Then he recovers, with another of his creepy smiles. “And?”
“I just wanted to ask you if we passed your little test, now. Sir.” Her face is completely innocent, but the screen flickers off.
He’s back in the classroom within twenty seconds.
I wonder if that is a yes or a no.
“I’m so glad to see you’re all getting along,” Colonel Catallus says. “And how is your arm, Ro? Tima hasn’t hurt more than your pride, I hope.”
Nobody says a word. I don’t smile, and I don’t respond. I make a point of shutting everyone out, of not seeing anything about Catallus. Not cats or girls or walls of ice. Whatever is going on in there with him, I don’t want to know. It’s safer that way.
Instead, I assess where I am and what I can do. Tima has confused things; she’s not at all what I expected, but I shouldn’t be surprised. No more than I am by Ro or Lucas or even myself, on any given day. I can’t pretend she’s any different than we are.
I don’t know the extent of our abilities—what it is that has the Embassy so interested in us.
What they want from us.
I don’t know what I’m more afraid of—trying to escape and getting killed along the way, or staying for more of Colonel Catallus’s painful tests and wishing I were dead.
I squirm in my seat, a hard synth chair made to look like wood.
Colonel Catallus clears his throat. “I have much to discuss with you—now that I have the four of you together again. After all these years.”
He lets the sentence roll out into the bright light of the room. Together again. The four of us. All these years. But we have never been together, the four of us. We have never met before Santa Catalina. There is no again in this scenario.
If the four of us are anything. And if there are, in fact, only four of us, as the Embassy seems to think.
Icon Children.
“That’s not possible,” I say, finally. No matter what I think, I’m not going to say more than that. Especially now that I know how closely monitored we all are.
“Of course it’s possible.” Tima flicks her head as she speaks, clicking her nails on the table, faster and faster. “You might not know what’s possible, but that doesn’t limit possibility.” She rolls her eyes. “Obviously.”
“Obviously,” mimics Ro.
Lucas studies Colonel Catallus’s face. If he’s as confused as I am, he’s not letting on. “Just say it, Colonel Cat. Whatever it is, you can spit it out. We’re all friends here.”
Ro smirks, leaning on the table next to me. “Speak for yourself, Buttons.”
“Enough.” Colonel Catallus sits forward. “Her Ambassadorship’s wisdom works in myriad ways. Don’t think you’re only here because of what you can do for us.” He nods. “It’s about what you need us to—”
The vid-screen behind Colonel Catallus illuminates, surprising him. “Excuse me. A moment.”
The four of us look at each other, equally baffled. The logo of the Embassy appears, beginning to flash, which seems to agitate him even more.
Colonel Catallus directs his voice to the screen. “Yes?”
“You have a message from the Ambassador’s office, Colonel Catallus.”
“What is it, Computer?” It takes me a moment to realize he’s talking to Doc.
“I cannot say. The server appears to be sending error messages to this address. You are either wanted by the Ambassador, or there is a system-wide malfunction.”
He won’t risk that it’s a mistake. We all know he’
ll be out the door by the end of the next few sentences.
“It is probably nothing,” encourages Doc. “Go on.”
“Yes, please. Go on, Colonel Catallus,” Tima says.
“It will only be a moment.” With a pompous little swagger, the man and his brass wings are gone.
The minute Colonel Catallus steps out of the room, the lights dim. “What was that?” Ro is out of his seat.
Blackout shades rumble, covering the door and four walls of our glass classroom. The Sympas on perpetual watch at the outer doorways begin to move toward our room.
“Um, Doc? Is this another one of your jokes?” Lucas cranes his head up toward the ceiling. “Very funny. You’re getting better and better.”
The door bolts, as if in response.
Tima springs out of her chair, but Ro beats her to the door. He rattles the handle furiously; Ro has never done well being caged.
“Orwell, are you seeing this?”
“Yes, Timora.”
“More to the point, Orwell, are you doing this?”
“No, Timora. I am impressed, though, by the coding. If I am not mistaken, this entire sector of the server has been compromised.”
“Open the door for the guards.” It is an order, and Tima barks it, as if she expects him to obey. “Now, Orwell.”
“I am unable to open the doors, interestingly enough. The locking mechanism is now disarmed. Very thoroughly, I might add.”
“So my mother didn’t call Colonel Catallus to her office.” Lucas looks pleased, for the first time today.
“Non. Maestitia brevis, gloria longa.”
“Now, Doc. Don’t get snippy.” Lucas grins.
“What did he say?” Ro nudges me. I shrug. I have no idea.
“Sorrow is temporary. Pride is forever.” Tima translates, without looking at me. Her eyes are on Lucas.
Lucas is grinning. “Basically, he’s saying Catallus is a jerk with a big head.”
“Yes, Lucas. Duly noted. Also noted, there appears to be a message on the Embassy Wik.” Doc runs one sentence into the next, without a shift in tone.
“For me?” Lucas’s smile fades.
“What, Mommy’s calling?” Ro slaps him on the back. “You’re grounded now, Buttons.”
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