The Relativity Bomb

by Arlene F. Marks

  “One problem at a time. Let’s just focus on finding the longcar for now. These buildings are the only ones in Veggieville large enough to hold something that size. If it isn’t in the third shed, then it’ll be sharing space with a bunch of horse-drawn wagons in one of the other two. Let’s go.” With that, Angeli heaved herself back onto her feet and began to walk.

  Night had fallen. By now it lay over the land like a blanket, admitting only the grudging light of a half-moon that made Angeli’s pallor less startling and details like doors and windows much less distinct. In the absence of visual distractions, the older girl’s strained breathing was impossible to ignore.

  “You need to stop and rest,” said Juno, trailing behind her and becoming more anxious with every passing minute.

  “Resting won’t help me. I need a trauma doctor. We have to find the MPV and make sure Ronny is with it, and then we have to get out of here tonight,” she said in a voice so hoarse and labored that it was barely recognizable.

  “What if he’s not there? Can we leave without him?”

  Angeli winced. “No. We need his thumbprint to unlock the starter.”

  By now, urgency was gripping Juno like a fist, making it difficult for her to take a full breath. The uneven ground around the sheds didn’t help. It forced them to slow their pace, and that increased Angeli’s distress. Every few steps she gasped with pain; and with each gasp, the fist around Juno seemed to tighten a little more. At last they arrived beside the building where Carlos had probably concealed their MPV.

  “Well, the good news is that all the plaza lights are on the other side of the shed, so as long as we keep at least one wall between us and them, nobody can see what we’re doing,” Juno reported.

  “And the bad news?”

  “I can’t see what I’m doing either.”

  Angeli’s syllable of laughter died in a moan. Juno eased her down to the ground, then felt her way along the corrugated metal wall of the building. She stopped when she came to a window. Like the windows of the schoolhouse, this one had been transplanted from a much older structure. Juno’s fingers found the ledge first, then the ridges lathed into the wooden frame of the sash. She pushed up experimentally and confirmed what she’d already suspected — the window was locked. Pressing her forehead to the glass, she strained to see inside, but it was too dark to discern anything.

  Angeli let out a feeble groan, and Juno’s heart rose into her throat. It was up to her now. They were each other’s only ally in a dangerous situation and they had to get out of it together. Going back to the settlement to find help was no longer an option. Time was running out. Juno had to locate the longcar and take Angeli to the hospital right away.

  She was sure there must be a people-sized door to this shed; and if it was as old as the doors in the schoolhouse, then it might not have a lock built into it.

  “Stay where you are,” she hissed to Angeli. “I’m going to look for an entrance.”

  Juno continued to feel her way around the exterior of the building. On the side facing the plaza, she found a large square piece of metal set into the wall — probably a way in, but it was useless without a knob or handle to open it.

  And she was casting a shadow against it. Juno hurried to round the next corner. As she dashed into the inky space between the two structures, something hard smacked into her hip. Juno spun, lost her footing, and fell backward to the ground. She stayed down for a moment, catching her breath. Then she noticed a familiar silhouette above her, outlined by the glow from the lampposts.

  Handlebars.

  She’d run into Carlos’s moto. Angeli had been right. The MPV had to be inside this shed, taking up all the room. There was no other possible explanation for someone like Carlos to leave his personal transportation unattended outside.

  Her bumps and bruises forgotten, Juno scrambled to her feet. Like everything else in this town, the moto was a patchwork of old parts. With luck, it wouldn’t be equipped with a thumbprint lock. She pulled the vehicle by its handlebars into the pale light bleeding off the plaza and pressed the starter, nearly cheering out loud when the engine rumbled loudly to life.

  There wasn’t a minute to spare now. Isabela would almost certainly have noticed their absence; and if Carlos had been alerted, he was already on his way to the sheds.

  Driving the moto to the other side of the building, Juno found Angeli sitting against the wall. She assisted the older girl into the sidecar, moving her carefully to avoid worsening her injuries. It took long, agonizing seconds. Juno struggled to breathe normally as she made Angeli comfortable. Then she straddled the machine again.

  “Juno Vargas! Show yourself!”

  Carlos had arrived. For just a moment, she hesitated. Then she glanced at Angeli, who appeared to be losing consciousness, and made her decision. Borrowing without permission might be theft, but this was an emergency, and he’d left them no other choice. Juno turned the moto and steered it around the corner of the building.

  Carlos was standing in the middle of the plaza, flanked by a couple of large male friends. Juno swallowed hard. She would have to dodge all three of them.

  “Where do you think you’re going with my property, chiquita?”

  “I’m taking Angeli to the hospital. She needs medical care right away.” Then, speaking privately to her passenger, she added, “When I get to the road, which direction? Left or right?”

  Weakly, the other girl pointed right.

  “You’re not stealing my moto,” warned Carlos. All three men moved a step closer to her.

  “You’re right,” replied Juno with a firmness she didn’t really feel. “I’m borrowing it, just like you’ve borrowed our MPV. So let’s trade vehicles and Angeli and I will be on our way.”

  “No deal! The longcar stays here as collateral against the rent you owe me.”

  For Juno this was the final straw. She’d wasted enough of Angeli’s precious time arguing with this jerk. “Fine,” she spat. “Hang onto the MPV, then, and clear a path, because we’re leaving. I’m not going to let this woman die just because you’ve decided to make a career out of being a cold-hearted son of a bitch.” And with that, she put the moto in forward gear and drove directly at Carlos.

  Like a matador in the bullring, he raised his arms and sidestepped her charge. Incredibly, Juno heard laughter behind her, and shouts of “Brava!”

  What was wrong with these men? This was a life or death situation, and they were playing stupid games. Although it would have given her immense satisfaction at that moment to go back and knock Carlos flying with his own moto, saving Angeli was more important. Juno hunkered over the handlebars and aimed for the road.

  “It’s okay, Juno,” said Angeli’s voice beside her. It sounded remarkably strong coming from someone who’d been so close to expiring just seconds earlier. “It’s over. Turn this thing around.”

  Bewildered, Juno glanced at her passenger. Angeli was sitting up in the sidecar, fully conscious and smiling. “I don’t understand,” she stammered. “You had broken ribs, internal bleeding.”

  “You had to think I did,” Angeli told her, “so your reaction would be authentic. The truth is, I was never actually in danger.”

  So her injuries hadn’t been real? It had all been a pretense? A con? Blinking back tears, Juno returned the moto to the center of the plaza. The three men came to stand around her. Incredibly, they were applauding, as though her fear and desperation had been some kind of performance put on for their entertainment. How could they do this to her? How dare they?

  “Well done, chica,” declared Carlos.

  “I’m so glad I was able to amuse you,” she said, cracking each word at him like a whip as she visualized herself chasing him down and squashing him under the moto’s wheels.

  “This was not a practical joke, Juno. It was a test, ordered up by Forrand to make sure you were ready for what lies
ahead,” said Angeli. “And you’ve passed it with flying colors.”

  If they thought this would mollify her, they were wrong. “So, Forrand is a cold-hearted son of a bitch too?” she demanded sharply.

  Angeli and Carlos exchanged worried looks.

  “Okay, we understand why you’re angry—” she said.

  “You can’t begin to understand me,” Juno informed her, with difficulty keeping all emotion out of her voice as she dismounted from the moto. “But you will, especially when Ronny and I leave here without you tomorrow. I trusted you, Angeli. I won’t make that mistake again. And I refuse to travel with people I don’t trust.”

  “Can I at least give you a lift—?” Carlos offered.

  She silenced him with an icy stare and began walking back to Isabela’s house in the dark.

  CHAPTER 5

  “I knew something like this would happen.” Mrs. Bakshi placed a cup of mint tea in front of her young guest before sitting down across the table from her. “When Angeli told me your age, I had a bad feeling right away. And yesterday, when you said how much you detested being controlled and lied to, that only confirmed it.”

  Juno felt a laggard tear trickle down her cheek and wiped it off with the back of her hand. Then she leaned forward and blew gently across the top of the steaming beverage to help it cool. “Was that why you were so mad at Carlos?”

  “I warned him not to push you too soon. I told him you needed a few more days to settle in, but he insisted that you could take it. After all, what would a schoolteacher possibly know about young people?” Smiling, Isabela continued, “Well, it turns out that he was right. You not only took it, you also threw it right back at them. Do you know where Carlos and Angeli are right now?”

  “I don’t know and I don’t care,” she declared emphatically. “I hate both of them.”

  “They followed you here, chica, and they are sitting on the front porch at this moment, afraid to come inside.”

  Surprised, Juno blurted, “They’re afraid of me?”

  “They’re not sure what you might do the next time you see them. When you unleashed your rage, you took away any power they had over you. These tears you’ve shed all over my kitchen table are nothing to be ashamed of. They are tears of anger, and anger is where we women get our power.”

  Funny — Juno didn’t feel like a grown woman right now, let alone one with power. She recalled stamping her way across the fields in the dark, muttering vengeful threats under her breath, then standing for long minutes working up the courage to knock on Isabela’s front door. She’d had no idea what to expect when it opened. But at the sight of Mrs. Bakshi’s outstretched arms and broad smile of relief, something inside Juno had given way; and she’d fallen, weeping, into that welcoming embrace.

  “Power doesn’t work the same way for men,” Isabela told her. “That is why they don’t understand us. For a man, power is something he earns by conquest — by defeating a rival or overcoming an obstacle. He sets an expectation of victory for himself, and then he achieves it. And that makes him feel that he’s in control of his world.”

  “And for a woman?”

  “A woman’s power lies in being unpredictable. Shrugging off the expectations of others and making our own independent choices — that is what makes us feel in control of our world. And if you feel in control, then you are in control.”

  “So, I can overcome obstacles and achieve a position of power but still not feel in control?”

  “Unfortunately, yes, but only if you continue to play by men’s rules once you’ve gained your high status. One day you will decide that you’ve had enough of their silly competitions and challenges — and their ridiculous expectations — and you will experience anger. Not the hot kind of anger that makes you throw something across a room or yell at someone for being careless. The emotion I am talking about is a deep, icy cold rage that lives in here,” said Isabela, clapping a hand firmly to her midriff. “It is invisible to others. You are the only one who knows it exists. This inner wrath will give you the strength and courage to make unpredictable choices, and those choices will put you in control of the power that you have earned.”

  “It sounds as if you want me to be angry all the time.”

  “Not all the time, chica, just when it counts.”

  Juno smiled involuntarily, remembering how uncomfortable Carlos had looked as he stood on the threshold of Isabela’s classroom, prevented from crossing it by a single frosty glare.

  “Having power means having choices, but you, not your anger, must be the one making them,” Mrs. Bakshi continued. “You must have felt betrayed when you realized that Angeli was only pretending to be hurt, and that Carlos was being stubborn and uncooperative just to see how you would react. But before you decide whether or not to forgive them, you need to learn why they did it.”

  “I know why they did it,” said Juno. “They were following Forrand’s orders.”

  “Then you need to learn why he gave those orders. People in power cannot make uninformed decisions — not if they wish to remain in power. Talk to Angeli. I advise this for two reasons: first, because she has known Forrand for a much longer time than you have and can help you to understand him; and second, because you will need her help to survive the next twelve months.”

  — «» —

  Angeli slept in Isabela’s living room that night. Juno noticed the rumpled bedclothes spread over the sofa cushions as she was leaving the house to get breakfast the following day. The walk to the dining hall in the fresh morning air gave her time to consider her situation and come to a decision. She might not trust Angeli, but she did trust Mrs. Bakshi’s judgment, enough to listen, at least, to what Angeli had to say. Whether to believe it, of course, was an entirely different choice to make.

  Juno paused in the entrance of the dining hall and surveyed the room. She found Angeli sitting alone and bleary-eyed at Carlos’s table, propping herself up on her elbows. The older girl had evidently not slept well. That made two of them, thought Juno as she walked over and took the chair across from her. Angeli glanced up briefly, then returned her gaze to the table top.

  Juno let the silence stretch between them, waiting for some kind of reaction to her presence. An apology would be preferable, she’d decided, but an acknowledgment would suffice.

  Angeli didn’t speak or even make eye contact until after the food had arrived. Wordlessly the two girls filled their plates from the serving dishes. Then she said, in a voice weighted down with resignation, “Ronny will drive you back to New Chicago whenever you’re ready to leave.”

  “Who says I’m going back to New Chicago?” Juno demanded. “I passed Forrand’s test — you said so yourself. He’s given me a longcar, a driver, and a year’s worth of fuel, and he’s ordered me to expand my horizons. So, I plan to do some exploring.”

  That got Angeli’s attention.

  “Do you have an itinerary?” she asked with studied casualness.

  “Actually, I was thinking I’d play it by ear. I’d like to stay in Veggieville for a while longer, tour the facilities, talk to the workers, then head to Breadbasket and see what’s over there. And if Carlos wasn’t lying about those three families, they can come along.”

  “I see.” Three mouthfuls later, Angeli dropped her fork onto her plate and said, “Juno, I’m sorry. Not for testing you, but for the way we went about it. You seemed mature beyond your years, but we should have— I should have remembered how fragile a thing trust can be when you’re just sixteen years old.”

  Juno continued chewing thoughtfully. Now the byplay in Forrand’s office earlier was beginning to make sense — the hard looks that had passed between him and Angeli, and the way her expression had set when Olivia Townsend had entered the room.

  “How old were you when you were tested?” she asked.

  Angeli gazed at her across the table. “Just about your age
.”

  “Did you pass?”

  “I did.” A smile spread slowly across the older girl’s face. “And I was so furious at being conned that I kicked the driver off the MPV, drove it all the way back to New Chicago by myself, stomped into Forrand’s office, and told him what he could do with his stupid test, in exact anatomical detail. If I’d let myself cool off first, I probably wouldn’t have done it. But it seemed like a good idea at the time.”

  “How did he react?”

  “He laughed. Then he offered me a job. I took it.”

  “Have you forgiven him?”

  The smile faded. “Yes, now that I understand why he feels the need to test us. Do I trust him? Yes and no. Trust is like a teacup. If it breaks, you can glue it back together. It may look the same as it did before, but you’ll never drink out of it again. Each time you pick it up, your eye will be drawn to a tiny crack on its surface and you’ll remember it lying in pieces on the floor. I trust Dennis Forrand as much as I need to. One day I hope you’ll feel the same way about me.”

  “You said he tests us?”

  A pause, then, “Candidates. People who may be able to work with him and eventually step into his shoes. Powerful men like Forrand don’t raise families — they groom successors and entrust them with legacies. I met the initial requirement and passed the test, but I was too headstrong and impulsive — actually, ‘loose cannon’ was the phrase he used — to be considered for the position of protégée.”

  “So instead, he put you in charge of testing and guiding other candidates?” To Juno, that sounded more like a punishment than a job.

  Angeli grinned. “Not right away. First I had to spend a year on my own in the industrial zones, developing a network of contacts and learning survival skills. Urban-born Eligibles have no idea what life is like for the Ineligibles out here. You thought Carlos was being hard-hearted? There are crew chiefs and gang leaders all over the zones who make the bastard he was pretending to be look like a saint. Some bullied their way to power, while others took a back route, sniffing out and exploiting the weaknesses of others. That’s why candidates have to be tested, Juno, to make sure they’ve got what it takes to survive the rest of the road trip.”