Icons

by Margaret Stohl

  “No. For… Doloria. Excuse me, Dolly. For yo—” Doc’s voice disappears in the middle of the word, which I have never heard him do before.

  Three heads turn to look at me. Before I can say anything, the room darkens completely, and a face appears on the vid-screen.

  A dirty face.

  The Merk from the Tracks.

  Fortis.

  “So you ended up in the can after all, eh? Sorry, no refunds. Hazard of the industry.”

  “Who is that?” Ro looks confused.

  “He’s the Merk. The one who set the explosions and drew away the Sympas, so I could find you.” I say it only to Ro, but loud enough so the others can hear. I don’t want to explain it further, especially since Lucas was possibly on the receiving end of the blast, along with the rest of the Sympas.

  “Fortis, how are you doing this?” The image is shaky, jerking in and out.

  “Very quickly, love. An’ with my customary aplomb.”

  “What do you want, Merk?” Tima is less impressed. I realize that Lucas has moved closer to the door, and now stands next to her.

  “Give me one reason not to call the authorities. I can have Security here in five seconds.” Lucas sounds older than he is, and I almost believe him, though I think he’s bluffing.

  “Well, one, I am Security. I’m using the Security server, so if you tried to call, I would answer an’ you’d be exactly where you are right now.” Fortis grins. “Is that enough reason, or do you want more?”

  “Orwell, I’m switching to Manual.” Tima moves to the screen, her fingers flashing across a series of lit buttons.

  “Your Orwell’s a little busy right now. He’s conducting a system-wide diagnostic. I’m guessing he’ll be back online in, say, three hours. Or as soon as we’ve wrapped things up here. Whenever I decide.”

  Tima bangs her hand on the screen, annoyed.

  “But on the bright side, he’s going to feel like a new man, right, Merk?” Ro is enjoying himself, the broadcast, the chaos. The look on Lucas’s tightly drawn face.

  “How, Fortis?” He knows what I mean. This, everything. How is he possibly here now? It’s as improbable as him rescuing me from the Tracks. Which, if he can do this, maybe wasn’t so improbable.

  He shakes his head. “Little Grassgirl. Those are trade secrets—it’s my livelihood we’re talkin’ about here. Now, you goin’ to introduce me to your friends?”

  I shake my head back at him. “Not until I know what you want.”

  Fortis makes a face. “Where’s the trust?” Onscreen, he angles his head toward Lucas. “Little Ambassador. Lucas Amare. The Lover. I ’ave to say, you’re a lot less fun in person. Though the ladies might disagree.” Lucas looks grim.

  “And Timora Li. You’re a regular barrel of laughs yourself, aren’t you? Ah, the Freak. Always so much fun. You talk a good game, but when push comes to shove you crawl right back into your shell, don’t you then?” She glares at him.

  “Furo Costas. The Rager. You, my friend, are an imbecile. You could have killed me twenty times, on the Tracks. I’m surprised you’re not dead.”

  Ro shrugs, happily. It’s nothing he hasn’t heard before, and nothing he doesn’t see as a compliment.

  “Which leaves you, sweet Doloria Maria de la Cruz. The Weeper, Our Grass Lady of the Sorrows.”

  “You’ve made your point, Merk. Congratulations, you know our names.” Lucas edges closer to the screen, defiant.

  “I do. So do more than a few people in the Embassy, accordin’ to this database. Including a Virt Medic, a psychopathic Sympa Colonel, and the Ambassador.”

  “So?” I force myself to look at him. “Get on with it.”

  “So. Aren’t you at all curious, little fig, why? Why now? What makes the four of you so interestin’? Because I have to say, though your personality’s a real sparkler, that’s not really the thing, is it?”

  “What do you know?” Ro asks, stepping up beside me.

  Fortis fades in and out of the picture.

  “Something you don’t. A great many things you don’t. But there’s only one you need concern yourself with, now.”

  “Yeah?” Ro’s eyes flicker.

  “The Icon. You think it’s invincible. Unstoppable, even. It holds the whole deal in place, don’t it? The Hole Deal, yeah?” He winks.

  I roll my eyes.

  “Those electromagnetic waves—the pulse electricity the Icons emit—there’s no stoppin’ it. One in every major city, right? The power’s the power, as it were. They connect together, all of them, like one big choke collar aroun’ Earth.”

  Lucas rubs his hand through his hair, distracted. “This isn’t news.”

  “We provide free labor to build their blasted Projects in exchange for a semblance of life as it used to be. We let them enslave us to build who knows what behind those walls.”

  “What’s your point?” Lucas is irritated.

  “And if we cooperate, if we play nice, the world keeps running and everybody stays alive to cooperate another day. We ’ave no choice but to obey. The Icons are impregnable. As far as we know. As far as they say. At least that’s the story.”

  “We don’t need you to tell us how bad it is, Fortis. We’ve already got a pretty good idea of how things work.” I shift on my feet. I don’t like to talk about the Icons and the Projects. I don’t even like to think about them.

  “Maybe you do, maybe you don’t.” He smiles. “Say you don’t. Say nobody knows how it works, not really. Say, for the fun of it, there was a chink in the armor. Or, rather, a silver bullet—a weapon with the power to turn the tide back in our favor. Now that would be somethin’, wouldn’t it?”

  “Is he serious?” Tima looks at me, then at Fortis. “Are you serious?”

  “As the grave.” Fortis moves his head closer to the screen.

  “Now say the Embassy has learned about this secret weapon. What do you think they would do, with somethin’ like that? Use it to destroy the Icons, right? Perhaps.”

  I feel dizzy.

  Fortis shakes his head. “Perhaps not. After all, the Lords and the Icons are the reason the Embassy’s in control. Without the Icons, the Embassy’s powerless. Out of a job. And probably wanted for crimes against humanity.”

  “They should be,” Ro growls.

  Lucas looks ill.

  I can hear my heart pounding.

  “Well, guess what, children? Today’s your lucky day. I ’ave it on good authority that there is in fact a silver bullet. And the Embassy has found it, or should I say, found them. And bingo—quick as you can say Bob’s your uncle—four of these little silver bullets are in one place, locked up safe an’ tight under the watchful eye of a Colonel who, I think, might ’imself need to be locked up.” Fortis looks around the room behind us.

  My head is pounding.

  Them.

  Us.

  He means us.

  “One more thing. The Rebellion knows, too. They’re a bit more than eager to work with you, as you can imagine. I need you to know this because soon, you’re all going to have to make a decision.”

  I close my eyes.

  The Rebellion knows we’re here?

  And they think we’re the key to bringing down the Icons?

  I let the words sit in my head, but I can’t think clearly.

  Would I like it to be over? Without a doubt.

  Would I like the Embassy to disappear? The House of Lords to have never found our planet? Of course.

  My thoughts are spinning out of control.

  If I could be the one to change it all, would I do it? Could I?

  What if the Padre was right? What if Ro and I—all of us—really were meant for something bigger?

  What then? What now?

  The Merk interrupts my thoughts. “And when you do, well, you’re going to need a good Merk. Someone who can barter your services, properly like. Get a fair market price an’ all…”

  He sighs, stretching his hands out in front of him.

&nb
sp; A pro.

  “Should that day ever come—and I assure you, it will—old Fortis, he’ll find you. When you’re good and ready.”

  I’ll never be ready, I want to shout.

  But it doesn’t matter, because Fortis disappears, and the lights flood back on in the room.

  Doc’s voice continues on, midsentence. “You, Dolly. The message appears to be for you.” He pauses, and we all look at each other. Nobody knows what to say, but for different reasons.

  I can see Tima’s mind racing. It looks like bicycle wheels and storm clouds and waves. Lucas is as strained and sad on the inside as his face is, on the outside. Ro has dissolved into chaos, but I know what he thinks without having to even grab his hand.

  He’s ready to take the whole Embassy down, single-handedly.

  That one idea is more real and more frightening than anything else.

  Doc’s voice crackles into the room. “That is quite strange. It’s deleted. There’s nothing there; the file is empty.”

  “It’s not important now, Doc.” I look at Ro, questioningly. He shakes his head. Tima shrugs. They’re not going to say anything.

  Lucas frowns at the door. “We should probably let the guards in.”

  Doc isn’t convinced. “Stranger still, I seem to be in the middle of a technical diagnostic I do not recall initiating.”

  Ro grins; our little visit from Fortis has left him glowing. “Well, to err is human, or whatever some old dead guy says about that.”

  “Errare humanum est. To err is human. The words are attributed to, I believe, Seneca. Is that what you had in mind?”

  Ro puts his feet up on the table. “Sure. Seneca. That guy.”

  “Or, if you prefer: Factum est illud: fieri infectum non potest. Which is attributed to Plautus.”

  “Done is done, it cannot be undone,” Tima translates, frowning.

  The blackout shades roll up just as Colonel Catallus appears outside the glass door, pushing past the Sympas. He places his hand on the doorknob, and I watch in amazement as the door unbolts, the moment before he opens it.

  “False alarm. No need for the excessive security, Computer.” He sounds annoyed. “Now, what’s going on here? Where were we?” The Sympas follow him into the room, four of them. We look surprised—as surprised as we can.

  “Alea iacta est,” Lucas says to Colonel Catallus, as the Colonel orders the soldiers out the door with one look.

  “The die has been cast? What die? Cast where?” Colonel Catallus looks at us, but nobody says anything.

  I watch as Tima slowly draws her pen back out of her pocket to ink a few words, this time on her palm. She flexes and unrolls her fingers, showing it to me.

  NEED TO TALK.

  Then her fingers flash again, and the words have disappeared.

  Lucas looks at me, and I wonder if he is thinking about Fortis, or about his mother. His face admits to nothing, no allegiances. Whose side he’ll take.

  Not yet.

  I try to push deeper, but I’m met with only silence.

  As Colonel Catallus launches into a lengthy discussion of the key role he plays for Her Ambassadorship, I wonder how long Lucas will stay silent.

  If he will betray us.

  When.

  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

  PERSES RETURNS

  August 4, 2071 • Washington, DC

  In a shocking turn of events, scientists and government officials are confirming that the fragments of the asteroid Perses have changed trajectory, and are now headed directly toward Earth.

  Officials estimate contact to occur within less than one year, and are scrambling to calculate points of impact and mobilize defensive measures in hopes of minimizing damages.

  One UN official, speaking anonymously, said, “There are at least a dozen fragments that have suddenly and inexplicably changed course. We don’t have an answer as to how or why this happened. Our best hope is to find out where they will hit and try to minimize casualties. Until we know more, we can only recommend that people stay put, live their lives, and pray.”

  14

  DECISIONS

  The Catalina Presidio. That’s what Tima and Lucas call this part of the Embassy. From what I can tell—mostly from a hidden box holding their stash, which isn’t much more than a few candles and a deck of cards—it’s where they come for their private conversations.

  Doc isn’t here because we are outside, on the catwalk at the top of the Embassy walls. There are no little round gratings in these walls. And I know Virts can’t live outside, not yet. At least, that’s what we hear, out in the Grass. Then again, I’m starting to realize we don’t know the truth from the lies, not anymore. That’s pretty clear by now. The events of yesterday have upended everything. If the four of us agree on nothing else, we agree on that.

  Which is why Ro and I agreed to come and hear what Tima and Lucas have to say, before we decide how and when to try again, to get off the island. Escaping won’t be easy, especially now that Sympa soldiers go everywhere we do; this morning, it has taken Tima close to three hours to determine the precise moments we would need to access certain floors, and use certain stairwells, but her calculations are correct, because we are alone now.

  The Presidio isn’t old, like the other presidios in the Californias. It’s only meant to look that way. It’s the highest part of the square, walled complex of buildings that make up the Embassy—and this part is more a fort than an embassy, really. According to Lucas, the Presidio houses the Pen, which is the Embassy prison, and the military quarters. It takes up the whole north end of the island, and from these rooftop catwalks, I can see everything.

  Except the Hole. Not today. I lean over the crumbling concrete wall and stare into the dark, swirling waters off Santa Catalina Island. Old brass telescopes line the catwalk, but I don’t bother to look. There’s nothing to see in the fog. I shiver. I’m beginning to think the fog will never lift. Maybe the Embassy controls the weather, like they control everything else. Maybe the fog isn’t fog at all, but some Sympa-derived optical vapor that neutralizes every person it comes in contact with. Or maybe it’s a bay full of dragons’ breath, like the Chumash used to say, long before the Porthole existed.

  Maybe it’s just fog.

  I let the ocean settle me, as it always does. If I keep my eyes on the waves, our current problems are not too painful to bear. Almost.

  “What do we know?” Lucas turns to Tima. “You’re the one who likes a plan.”

  She shrugs casually, but I know her mind is racing. She’s thinking as she speaks. “We have to look at the facts. What’s changed? Why bring Ro and Dol to the Embassy? Why now?”

  “They want the four of us together.” Lucas leans along the wall, his arm hanging on a telescope. “So they want something from us. Or they’ve discovered something about us, like the Merk said.”

  She paces in front of him. “But all we can say for certain is that the Embassy knows more about us than we do. At least, more than we’ve been told.”

  Lucas sits. “Not just that. The Rebellion knows about us.” He’s completely stressed out, you can see it in his face. And I can feel it, deep inside him. He feels like marbles rolling in every direction at the exact same time.

  Nobody could catch them all at once.

  “So?” Ro speaks up from his perch across the walkway. “That’s not a bad thing.”

  “It’s not a good thing,” Lucas says, taking the deck of cards from the box.

  “You don’t know that.” Ro slumps against the far wall.

  Lucas tosses a card from the deck. Then another.

  He can’t say anything, because Ro’s right. Which of those things is the bad news? Which is the good? We don’t know who to tr
ust. We don’t know who to blame.

  Tima speaks up. “Okay. What about the Rebellion? If the Merk is working for them—”

  “Merks don’t work for anyone,” I interrupt.

  “Fine. Dealing for them. Either way, they know our names, they know our faces, they knew our schedule. They knew when they would be likely to find us, and where. It’s the only explanation that makes sense. How else would he have been able to find us?” Tima ticks off the basics. We all get the main point, which is this: we aren’t so secret as we thought.

  “So we have to assume they have the ability to get inside the Embassy. At least, virtually.” I remember Fortis, lying in wait for his next customer inside the Tracks car. “Probably physically, if they wanted to.”

  “Nobody can get to Santa Catalina if the Embassy doesn’t want them to. We control all the barges.” Lucas sounds wounded. At least his pride does. “Not just the garbage ones,” he adds, as if he needs to remind us.

  Ro and I turn to him, almost involuntarily.

  “ ‘We,’ ” says Ro, spluttering. “You mean you and your mommy, Buttons?”

  “Shut up.”

  “Is that it? You want to ask your mother? Who the bad guys are?”

  Lucas turns purple.

  “Enough. We don’t have time for this. You have to be quiet so I can think.” Tima looks at me. “Is this Fortis someone you trust?”

  Is he? I hesitate. “I don’t really know him, just that he’s a Merk. I paid him to help me escape the prison car.”

  “You paid him? With what?” Now it’s Ro’s turn to glare at me. Whatever it is, he knows I don’t have the digs for a Merk. He knows it can’t be good.

  “A book. A Grass book.”

  Ro stiffens.

  I try again. “It was from the Padre, for my birthday.” I add the last part shyly. But Lucas and Tima react as if I’ve shouted it. As if I’ve slapped them.

  “When was your birthday?” Tima asks.

  I try to think. How long ago was that, my last day at the Mission? “The Blessing of the Animals.” Lucas and Tima look at me blankly. “The day I came here.”

  Lucas sits up straight. “Wait. My birthday was the day I met you. My birthday, and Tima’s birthday. We’re birth mates, born on the same day. That’s the only reason I’m not in more trouble for sneaking out to go with the soldiers to the Mission raid.”