Which makes me his birthday present. Us. In a way.
Great.
Lucas frowns. “Not that it’ll happen again, not anytime soon.”
Tima leans closer to him, looking at me. “We have the same birthday. The same year. Lucas and me and you. That has to mean something.” She turns to Ro, who is now chucking stones over the side of the concrete. “What about you?”
“I don’t have a birthday.” Ro doesn’t even bother to look at her.
“You mean you don’t know your birthday.”
“Whatever. Same thing.”
Like me, Ro doesn’t remember much about his parents, and unlike me, there were no photos.
I wonder.
Three of us on one day. Maybe four.
Tima looks at Lucas, then turns to me. Resuming her line of questioning.
“We can’t figure it all out now. But what about this book? That you gave the Merk?” I was hoping she wasn’t going to ask me that. I know how it will look. But, one conversation. One honest, private conversation. I owe them at least that. I look at Lucas. “Do you remember when the Ambassador was asking me about a book?”
“The one she was looking for at the Mission?” He lowers his voice and moves closer to me. Tima and Ro look confused.
“The one she killed the Padre for.” My voice trembles as I say it, and Ro’s mouth tightens into a grim line. Lucas looks stricken.
He understands the trouble I’m in.
“That’s your book? The one the Embassy is searching half the Californias for? And you gave it away to a Merk?”
I start talking my way out of it, as fast as I can—but the truth of the matter is, I already feel worse about it than any of them ever could.
“The Sympas came and I didn’t have time to read it. But the Padre said it was the story of me. The Icon Children.”
They look incredulous.
Tima sighs. “What I wouldn’t give to have a book like that. There’s so much we don’t know about ourselves.”
“What’s the big deal?” Ro steps between us. “It’s just a stupid book. It didn’t mean anything.”
Lucas sounds shocked. “Well, obviously it means a lot if he wanted it, and if the Embassy wants it. Think about it. She gives a Merk a book about her—about us—and then he shows up here, in an Embassy classroom? In the middle of the Embassy library? While the Ambassador is desperately trying to find it? You think that’s a coincidence?”
“Maybe it’s not the book. Fortis isn’t like that.” I try to defend myself, but I can’t. I don’t know Fortis, or what’s so important about the book I gave him, or how it found its way out of the Ambassador’s hands—and into the Padre’s. “Besides, it isn’t even really a book. It looked more like a notebook, or a journal.”
And I have no idea why everyone wants it so badly. Or how to explain that none of it seemed this real before I met them. That it was just Ro and me on the Mission. That none of it seemed like it mattered.
Tima crosses her arms. “Fortis isn’t like that? What does that mean? How do you know what this Fortis person is like?”
“I just do.” Why am I defending Fortis? Did I trust him? Do I? He’s just a Merk.
Still.
He didn’t have to help me. And now that he’s come to me again, I find myself wondering if I’m a part of his latest Merk enterprise. Judging by what he was saying, it’s also his biggest Merk enterprise, ever.
I try to change the subject. “Forget the book for now. Go back to the birthdays. Three out of the four of us were supposedly born on the same day. There has to be some record of that.”
“What about the other stuff?” Lucas asks. I know what he’s talking about. The part where we’re the silver bullets cutting through the Embassy’s armor. “Do you really think the Icons aren’t invincible? People have tried to attack them before. It’s never worked. Nothing does.”
He doesn’t say it, but it’s clear. If the Icons can be taken down, then so can the Embassies.
So can the Ambassador.
I’m not sure, suddenly, if this is a conversation we should be having with Lucas.
“First things first,” says Ro. I wonder if he’s thinking the same thing I am. That it’s worth staying around, even a little while longer, until we get to the bottom of a few of these questions.
Not for long. Just longer.
“First Doc, and the records,” says Tima. “If we can figure out why we were born the same day, maybe we can figure out the rest. I don’t like people knowing more about me than I do. I don’t like being a bullet being shot by somebody’s gun. So we find out where we came from and why. Then we’ll deal with Fortis.”
“We have to find that book,” sighs Lucas.
In a miracle of miracles, the fog is beginning to lift. From where we stand, we can see the dim brown outline of the Hole against the pale white sky behind it.
I look into one of the old brass telescopes along the side of the wall. The glass is cracked, but I twist the rusting knob and the land beyond the water comes into focus.
The clouds part, and the Icon looms tall over the city, rising up out of the stubble on the hill like one gangly tree in an otherwise razed forest. We all stand there, the four of us, watching it. Wary.
As if we haven’t seen enough.
RESEARCH MEMORANDUM: THE HUMANITY PROJECT
CLASSIFIED TOP SECRET / AMBASSADOR EYES ONLY
To: Ambassador Amare
Subject: Icon Children Origins
Subtopic: Research Notes
Catalogue Assignment: Evidence recovered during raid of Rebellion hideout
Origin of notes believed to be Paulo Fortissimo
Notes were partially destroyed by fire. Transcription follows.
I AM CLOSE TO A BREAKTHROUGH. THE CHILDREN MAY BE THE SOLUTION.
[Text illegible]… FROM THEIR ABILITY TO GENERATE IMMENSELY POWERFUL ENERGY, IN WAVE FORM, THROUGH INTENSE EMOTIONAL STIMULI. THIS ENERGY… [text illegible].
FIRST, IT CREATES A RESISTANCE TO MAGNETIC STIMULATION/ELECTRICAL INTERFERENCE FROM OUTSIDE SOURCES.
SECOND, IT ENABLES SUBJECTS TO MANIPULATE THE ELECTROMAGNETIC ELEMENTS AROUND THEM, CREATING WHAT AMOUNTS TO MIND CONTROL, TELEKINESIS, HYPER—INTELLIGENCE, MIND READING, ETC.
ADDITIONALLY… [text illegible].
[Remaining text illegible.]
15
BRUTUS
That night at dinner, I sit alone with Tima. Ro has been confined to his room since this afternoon, when his guard detail found him trying to sneak into the munitions lockers—I’m here to steal food for him now. And Lucas, I have no idea where he is. Probably off somewhere disappointing his mother.
We sit in silence.
My plate is full of limp, boiled vegetables and I miss the Mission, the garden. I miss the early scarlet radishes and the blood beets—the golden zucchini and the Empress beans. I miss the Brandywine tomatoes so big, they force their vines back down to the earth. The green grape tomatoes so small you could eat fifty at a time. The Embassy food somehow never smells like earth. It doesn’t matter to Tima, though. She’s only eating toast, plain toast.
Above it, her eyes survey the room, looking at anything but me.
I can’t stand the silence, but at the same time I find myself drawn to Tima, at least curious about her. Since she is one of us.
“How long have you lived here, anyway?” The question sounds forced, but it’s the best I can do. She’s not the easiest person to talk to. Tima looks uncomfortable, and I can tell she’s considering bolting. She has a flash of panic—fight or flight, she’s weighing the odds. For the moment, she stays.
“I don’t like to think about it. I got here when I was around nine, I think.” She stops talking and takes a microscopic bite of her toast.
I pursue. “Then where are you from?”
Tima starts playing with her toast, breaking it into smaller and smaller pieces.
“I guess not from around here?” I try to draw her in.
&nbs
p; She sighs, frustrated at having to talk, but at the same time I sense that she is desperate to speak with me, with anybody.
I wait for her, patiently.
“I was picked up by Sympas in upstate New York. I lived in an Embassy orphanage, with a bunch of other Remnants. It—wasn’t pleasant. Bad things happened there, but we didn’t have anywhere else to go.”
She opens and closes her eyes, blinking rapidly. “I—got in trouble. Then, somebody noticed my wrist, and told the authorities. Then, you know.” She shrugs. “The Sympas came and brought me here.”
“Must have been an improvement, right?”
“No, actually, it was worse.” Tima looks up from her demolished pile of bread bits, and I can see she is fighting off tears.
Trying not to remember, but so badly wanting somebody else to know. To share in the experience.
She reaches toward me and, awkwardly, grabs my hand. She wants me to see. For Tima more than anyone, it’s so much less painful than talking.
My vision clouds and I find myself in a test chamber, with her, watching. Tima sits in a metal chair, alone in the room with white walls, bright fluorescent lights, and concrete floor. Her chair faces a large screen on the opposite wall, showing an identical room with a table and one needle.
Tima looks younger. She sits cross-legged in the chair, leaning forward, head on her knees. Her hands are clasped and held to her forehead, as though in prayer.
Her slight frame is almost lost in the plain white pants and white T-shirt she wears. She rocks slowly, eyes closed. I can see she was just brought here, and doesn’t know what is happening. She looks so vulnerable, like a lost bird fallen from the nest before she’s ready to fly.
Catallus enters, bringing another chair and sitting in front of Tima. I feel myself recoil.
“Hello, Timora.” Tima tenses up. She stops rocking, but doesn’t look up.
“Do you mind if I call you that?”
She sits perfectly still.
“I trust you will enjoy your new home. It’s a big improvement from the orphanage. Certainly better food, I hope.”
He smiles and touches her arm. She cringes.
“Timora, I’m sure you’re wondering what you’re doing here. I can’t tell you everything, but we’re always looking for children with unique, oh, let’s say qualities. When I saw the reports from the Embassy in New York about some difficulties regarding an orphanage and an extremely bright child with some unusual attributes, well, I had to meet you in person.”
Tima shakes her head, almost imperceptibly, as if she knows where this is going.
“You see, we think you might be important to the Embassy, an asset, if you will. So we want you to stay with us for a while. But we need to check a few things first. I hope you don’t mind.”
A Sympa soldier enters the room with a puppy. A terrier mix, obviously malnourished but energetic.
Tima hears the whimpering and breathing of the dog and opens her eyes, but doesn’t look up.
“Tima, this is Brutus. We found him near the Projects. As you can see, he wasn’t well loved.”
Tima slowly raises her head and looks at the dog. Light brown hair, nervous, uncomfortable in the Sympa’s arms. Frightened eyes. Her heart starts pounding, her eyes widen slightly.
“Unfortunately, we don’t have the resources to care for Brutus. So, we have to put him down.”
A look of terror comes to Tima’s face.
“No,” she whispers. She unfolds and sits up.
“No, please.” Her eyes dart rapidly around the room, as if she is looking for some way out.
Catallus smiles sadly at Tima. “I’m very sorry. Go ahead.” Catallus nods to the soldier, who takes the dog into the next room. The soldier uses his ID tag to open the door, which locks behind him. The screen shows him strapping the dog to the table and preparing the needle.
“No!” Tima screams.
Catallus jumps back, startled by the sudden sound.
Tima flies out of her chair, reaching toward Catallus, snarling, and rips off his ID tag.
He falls, eyes wide.
She races to the door and swipes it open.
The Sympa has the needle poised over the shivering Brutus.
“Get away!” Tima hurtles herself to the table, grabbing the squirming dog. She climbs down and backs into the corner, curling around him, breathing heavily.
The Sympa soldier pulls out a baton and rushes toward her to take the dog.
“No!” Tima screams again, even louder. A blinding light flashes, and the Sympa is thrown to the back wall with a crunch.
After a few moments, Catallus carefully enters the room to see Tima in the corner, Brutus nestled in her arms, asleep. The smell of burnt electricity fills the room. He carefully reaches toward Tima and the dog, but stops as she raises her eyes.
Catallus smiles. “Well, that was interesting. Useful, even. Threat response creates defensive barrier. A powerful one at that.”
He tilts his head, considering Tima and the dog. Then he glances at the unconscious Sympa.
“You know what, I think I’m going to let you take care of Brutus.”
He turns and leaves.
Tima remains in the corner, breathing deeply, absently scratching Brutus behind the ears.
Brutus wakes and licks her cheek.
Tima looks at Brutus and her eyes soften, her heart opens. I feel it, even in the memory, how everything goes soft and slack.
The moment when she almost smiles.
I blink, and I’m back in the dining hall, my heart racing, my eyes stinging. Tima is wide-eyed, surprised at herself for letting anybody see what I just saw. For a split second, I’m with her, sorry for her, even proud of her, and she knows it. For a split second, she isn’t alone.
Then her hand shoots back and she stands. The door in her mind slams shut as quickly as it opened. She turns to leave. “I have to go.”
I notice she slips scraps of bread into her pocket.
RESEARCH MEMORANDUM: THE HUMANITY PROJECT
CLASSIFIED TOP SECRET / AMBASSADOR EYES ONLY
To: Ambassador Amare
From: Dr. Huxley-Clarke
Subject: Icon Research—Countering Icons
It should be theoretically possible to negate the Icon’s power by attempting to cancel out its massive electromagnetic effect, via the generation of an equally massive counter-field.
An analogy: sound waves can cause physical objects to vibrate, as the human eardrum vibrates to detect sound. Noise-canceling technology generates waves that effectively destroy sound waves before they reach the eardrum. Like antimatter destroying matter, we believe we could stop the field at the source.
Unfortunately, we don’t have sufficient power to generate the theoretical amount of energy required to create the counter-field. Since the Lords control all energy output and consumption, this becomes a potential dead end.
Further research is required, yet unlikely, as GAP Miyazawa has frozen all future budget appropriations. I don’t have to tell you what a dangerous impasse we now face.
16
HALL OF RECORDS
The next morning, the four of us meet outside the library, where our Sympa guards believe we are waiting for Catallus. Instead, we crouch in the darkest alcove of the closest corridor, as planned.
Within five minutes we are fighting.
Again.
“We need to figure out what’s going on.” Ro is talking now. “If they want us, there has to be a reason. We find out what that is, maybe we could help the Rebellion bring the whole place down.”
“Why are you still here? I thought you’d be long gone by now,” Lucas says with a glare.
“Soon. But who knows, this could be our best chance to find out the truth, first.” Ro looks at me, since we’ve only just come to this conclusion together. I nod.
“We know what’s going on.” Now Lucas glares at me. “The Merk came around because he wants to sell what he knows and make a few digs. It’s the on
ly reason any Merk ever does anything.”
Ro squirms, like he can’t get comfortable. “It’s better than sitting around here and letting the Embassy experiment on us like four Porthole rats.”
“They haven’t killed us,” Tima points out. She speaks rapidly, her eyes moving from side to side as if she were scanning the perimeter for predators. Which she should be. “Of course, they can’t. Corpses don’t have emotions. Of what use would we be to them, then?”
It’s a sobering thought, but Ro seems delighted to hear her say it. “Exactly. They’re using us. Even Tima agrees with me. So why shouldn’t we find this Merk guy and see if we can even the odds a little?” He smiles.
“Come on. You’re going to trust some Merk who breaks into the Embassy and shuts Doc down, just to talk to us?” Lucas sounds annoyed, but he doesn’t defend the Embassy, because he can’t. “That doesn’t seem a little suspicious to you?”
Lucas is fighting a losing battle. I lay my hand on his arm. “You said it yourself—why would he do that for no reason?”
“Money is reason enough to a Merk.” Tima takes Lucas’s side.
“The Icon. He was talking about the Icon,” Ro insists.
“We don’t know if any of it’s true. We don’t know that any of it has anything to do with us.” Lucas shakes his head.
Nobody says a word. We stand, our backs to the wall of our shadowy alcove, staring out into the library. Finally, Tima looks from Ro to Lucas. “There’s only one way to find out, I guess. Let’s go pay a visit to the Hall of Records.”
“Now?” I look at the guards, crossing the main thoroughfare of the room in front of us.
She sighs. “It’ll have to be. I know the patrol schedule, but I can’t guarantee Doc won’t be on us.”
“I’ll handle Doc,” says Lucas. “I’ve been doing it my whole life.”
“Then we should be able to ditch them, at least long enough to get into the archives.” Tima rolls her eyes at Ro. “I’m tired of trying to get you out from under Sympa patrols. I’m beginning to regret sending you to the garbage barge in the first place.”
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