After the car, the waiting room seemed enormous, much too large for only three people. Al and Lane sat on opposite sides of an oversized sofa meant for four. Sam took an armchair seated next to the couch, but still over five feet away. She wanted to sit next to Lane on the couch, but worried that would come across as too needy. She picked through the selection of magazines on the side table next to her. The selections were truly atrocious: sailing, golfing, and gourmet cooking; not one thing she cared about. Besides, between her left shoulder and her right arm, turning the pages wasn’t much fun. Tired, shell-shocked, Sam gave up on the magazines and stared at a painting hanging across from her, trying to find meaning in the mishmash of red, green, ochre, and newsprint.
Not one person spoke. Not even Al rescued Samantha from the silence. Once upon a time, she would have welcomed silence. Now it felt oppressive. Ignoring that thought, Sam sat and pretended interest in the hideous artwork as she worked out contingency plans for how she would handle anything and everything that was about to happen next. She, singular.
She had plenty of time. It was well over twenty minutes before the door opened and she was rescued by the arrival of someone new.
Sam guessed the short, paunchy man to be in his mid-forties. He wore an expensive, well-tailored suit and introduced himself as deputy chairman Erik Spaulding (call him Erik). He welcomed Samantha to N.T.U. with a warm, two-handed handshake.
“We are so glad you finally were able to make it,” he said, “I can’t tell you how worried we’ve been about you.”
He turned to Lane and gave him a very manly half-hug and pat on the back. “And you, to keep it all together, to drive all that way—so impressive!”
He turned to Al, who puffed himself out expectantly. Erik paused, obviously trying to figure out who this person was and why they were here. He settled for a lame but enthusiastic, “I’ve heard you were quite the contributor, as well!”
Al smiled weakly, the disappointment on his face plain to read. Sam could have kicked Erik. A man in his position should do his research, she thought.
“He helped rescue me from the hospital,” Sam said.
“That’s amazing!”
Al grinned, puffing up again. “Aw, it was nothing.”
Erik laughed, a hearty chuckle. With his big dark eyes and genial face, he reminded Sam of a hound dog who had never quite grown out of puppy hood. Waving for them to follow, he opened a door and trotted down a hallway, opening a door to a corner office. He sat down behind the desk, hemming and hawing.
“Right. First, I should tell you, the council has met. Based on the evidence so far, they’ve agreed to give you full asylum. The current time period is three months, but that can be extended on review.”
Al let out a cheer, turning to high-five Samantha, “Awesome!”
Accepting the high-five, Sam smiled back. Her shoulders straightened as she felt the weight lifting off them. For a few months, at least, she wouldn’t have to worry about the Corp. That was something, right? Erik opened a drawer, pulled out a few papers and snapped them smartly on the desk, passing them across to Sam.
“Further, the council has decided to speed up your participation process. So, they’ll have an interview with you tomorrow—a mere formality—and the initiation—another formality—and you’re in.”
“In what?”
“North-American Talents United, of course.” He passed her the form, “Sign these, and I’ll fast track ‘em. You’ll be full fledged member of N.T.U. by the end of the week.”
“Oh.” Sam looked at the forms. There were a lot of blank spots. And a lot of tiny, legal writing. “Why?”
“If your parents aren’t members of N.T.U., it’s just a formal process you have to go through. Like acquiring citizenship.”
“All right. I’ll look through them tonight.”
The pause only lasted a second, but Sam recognized the look on the deputy’s face—she’d mastered it herself. It said “nothing is amiss—nothing at all.” It meant exactly the opposite.
“That’ll be fine,” Erik said, “I’ll have Joseph show you to your room for now.”
Sam looked to see if Lane sensed the same hesitation she had. But if he did, he didn’t give any sign. He stared at Erik, smiling and trusting. As Erik showed them to the door, Sam felt a familiar weight settle back onto her shoulders.
Chapter 30
An idiot. He was an idiot. No, not an idiot, arrogant, cocky. It dawned on Lane in the car on the way to Seattle, the enormity of the situation. You’re going to betray her, Lane, in a big way. Audrey warned him and he’d dismissed her. He persisted in going along, refusing to accept that he could ever be in the wrong. And when the chameleon attacked, he’d assumed that was the treason Audrey discussed. Disaster averted, he’d thought, risk over.
God, what a tool.
It didn’t matter what Sam said, Lane knew the whole thing was his fault. He let Tess get out of hand, he didn’t step in when he should have. If Hal had killed Sam, Lane didn’t know what he would have done.
And if she had killed Hal, it would have been a disaster. Not that he blamed Sam for acting in self-defense. But N.T.U. had very strict ideas on what you could, and couldn’t, do to other Talents. Stricter than the law in many cases. Talents, they argued, should be held to higher standards, since they had a greater potential to cause chaos, death, and destruction. Up until this point, Lane agreed. But now, he worried for Sam, worried what would happen if Tess relayed the whole story. Would they accept the situation as exceptional, or peg Sam as a crazed lunatic? Her father’s mental status, he feared, wouldn’t help matters. They might decide not to help Sam. Or, even worse, to imprison her for her “own safety.”
Lane wanted Samantha so badly, he ignored common sense. He’d refused to believe in his own fallibility. But now he knew. Dramas ended in tragedy because of the most trivial accidents of fate or human foibles. If he truly cared about Samantha, if he truly wanted her to be safe, he realized, he was going to have to buckle down and follow Audrey’s advice.
From here on out, he was going to do whatever it took to make sure that Samantha got under the protection of N.T.U. And then he was going to take himself out of the situation. At least for the time being. As far as he was concerned, his own involvement was a disaster waiting to happen.
And so he kept his distance in the waiting room, knowing more contact was only going to make it harder for him. He withdrew further during the interview, doing his best to tune out the mixed emotional messages he was receiving from the others. The walk from Erik’s office to Samantha’s room took an eternity, and when Joseph opened the door for her, Lane suddenly felt like it had come too quickly.
“Call if you need anything,” Joseph chirped, and, turning to Lane, “Now, if you two would come with me, I believe Tess has a place for you to stay.“
“We made it!” Al said, as a way of farewell, “See you later, kiddo!” He gave Sam a quick hug.
It was Lane’s turn, now. He wanted to say something deep and meaningful. Wanted somehow to convey what he was thinking. What he had realized the moment he’d thought Sam was gone for good.
“Goodbye,” was all he managed. Pathetic. But it was hard to say something sappy with Al and a perfect stranger hovering over his shoulder.
“You’re going to be nearby,” Sam said, “Right?”
Lane shrugged, “I’m staying with Tess.”
“Lane,” Samantha glanced at Joseph and lowered her voice, leaning in, “Something’s not right here.”
The concern was genuine, hidden, subtle, but distinctive nonetheless. Lane didn’t know what to tell her. Sam was suspicious of everyone and everything. But he had a lifetime of experience with N.T.U. She’d be fine—provided she didn’t come across the wrong way.
Taking her shoulders, Lane enveloped Sam in another hug. He pledged to himself, again, to make things OK with her when this situation was finally over. But for now, he had to keep her safe.
“Sam,” he whispered, “I know you’r
e scared. But you can trust them. Please, just believe me. For your own sake, for my sake. I almost got myself killed getting you here. I don’t want you to be hurt when you’re so close to safety.”
Pulling away, Sam stared at him. The expression on her face was blank, unreadable. But the stink of anger, frustration, was unmistakable. At him, because he didn’t believe her. It’s not a matter of belief, Lane thought; it’s a matter of experience. But how to explain that?
“Lane?” Joseph’s voice sounded hollow, echoing down the hall, “It’s getting late, and we have things to take care of.”
#
“Things to take care of” was Joseph’s code for returning them to Erik’s office. Lane wasn’t unduly surprised to find himself there, or to see Tess stand up as he entered, obviously finishing a conversation with her superior. He reached out and read her. She felt tired, and uneasy. Maybe she hadn’t told them all of the sordid details.
“Lane,” she said, nodding by way of greeting, not seeming to notice his emotional intrusion, “I’ll talk to you later.” She left the room. He and Al were introduced to a second officer—Erik’s counterpart. She asked Al to accompany her to her office while Lane was asked to sit down.
“Sorry to keep you up, Lane,” Erik said, “but I thought it prudent we talk. Get some things cleared up before Samantha’s interviews tomorrow. I know you must want the best for her.”
#
Settling into her room, Sam put Lane’s goodbye out of her head, trying to pretend that nothing was wrong, and waited for the sense of relief to arrive.
The apartment was modest, meant for assistants of visiting dignitaries or some such, but it was more than she was used to and suited her fine. The furniture was plain but of high quality. Her bags waited next to the bed and a pile of soft towels sat on the bathroom counter. Joseph had run to grab her a late snack. Nothing too fancy but the little luxuries added up. Almost as though someone had sat down and calculated exactly what would make her the most comfortable and had taken pains to make sure it happened.
She sat down awkwardly on the edge of the couch. She wanted to read through the papers, but her eyes couldn’t seem to focus through the slippery legalese. She turned on the TV, but every channel was filled with happy couples or relationship woes, and it made her want to puke. She wanted to take a shower, but every time she went into the bathroom she started thinking about hidden cameras.
A medic arrived, a heavyset woman with the brusque attitude of former military. She barely said hello and didn’t tell Samantha her name or qualifications. She looked over Lane’s work, made an unreadable noise, and carefully cleaned the work with antiseptic. She had Sam roll up her pants and inspected the bruised and swollen knee: “It’ll heal properly, but keep your weight off of it.” That was the longest sentence she spoke. After that, she went through and bandaged everything: shoulder, hand, knee, and all. Overall, much too tightly for Sam’s comfort. She preferred Lane’s methods. She handed Sam a few painkillers and left without a word.
When dinner arrived and she noticed the server wrinkle his noise slightly, Sam realized she cared more about not smelling than if some anonymous N.T.U. drone got a peep show. After taking the world’s fastest shower, she came out and picked up the papers again.
Slightly refreshed now, Sam was able to slough through the legal-speak and translate the documents into something understandable.
She’d hoped that after reading the paperwork she would feel better. Instead, the lump lodged deep in the pit of her stomach got bigger. This couldn’t be the usual paperwork they handed out to new citizens. Everything was so vague. If you read it one way, it could be taken to mean that the only “proper” use of one’s abilities was in the service of N.T.U. That couldn’t be right. It was ludicrous to think that even a large-scale organization like N.T.U. was keeping people from using their god-given abilities in day-to-day life. People in the outside world got upset if you couldn’t use a swear word on TV; she could hardly imagine a group of nearly a thousand people submitting to put their own talents and abilities on review, only to use them with permission. But this clause clearly hadn’t bothered or interfered with Lane, Al, Harry, or Tess using their powers. Maybe it wasn’t enforced? In that case, if the N.T.U. didn’t punish everyone for using their abilities as they wanted, why was the clause in there?
Unless they wanted the ability to punish you if and when they chose. In essence, the clause gave them the ability to imprison people at will, because if people weren’t used to having their powers restricted, it wouldn’t be hard to find an instance of them using the powers “improperly” whenever that person did something that bothered you.
But maybe, probably, she was reading too much into such a little vague paragraph. It would help, she decided, if she had a better history of the organization. Sam wondered if Lane knew about the clause, or could explain the history to her better.
Lane. Something about that caught. It was Lane’s job to keep her safe, but not just for her, for N.T.U. Hadn’t he told her, from the beginning, that his responsibility was to them? And now here she was, telling him that she didn’t trust them and he wasn’t standing up for her, but for them. Trying to convince her that she was wrong.
Oh god, Sam thought, I can’t have been that stupid, could I? What if he’s been leading me on this whole time?
Sam tried to reassure herself that this wasn’t the case. Crawling into the oh-so soft bed, she laid out all of the reasons she had to trust Lane and his friends. It was too bad the “cons” side was just as heavy. If only, she thought, she knew what N.T.U.’s true motives were.
Putting the mental list aside, Sam was at last able to fall asleep. Unfortunately, the comfortable mattress did nothing to stop her nightmares.
#
When Samantha awoke the next morning, she felt rested but ill at ease. She ate breakfast alone in the small kitchen that Joseph showed her down the hall. It felt strange to start a day without seeing Al, Harry, and Lane smiling at her. She’d only known them for a week. Odd how quickly one adjusted to having company.
On her way back to her room, Sam found Joseph waiting at her door. He announced that he’d been made Sam’s “orientation officer.”
“That sounds made up,” Samantha said, munching on a handful of cereal she’d brought back with her. She’d opted for the Sweet-Yums for breakfast. Name brand sugared cereal, that was luxury stuff when she’d grown up.
“It’s not,” Joseph said, “It’s a real position.”
“Did they just invent it this morning?” She popped another marshmallow into her mouth.
“If you want to find your own way around this massive organization on your own, just say so.”
Sam opened her mouth.
“Don’t say so!” Joseph said, “You want my help, trust me.”
Annoyingly, Joseph turned out to be right. He proved invaluable throughout the morning, not only navigating through the maze of corridors to fill out and deliver endless forms, but also in briefing her on how to act and behave in the different interviews. Sam didn’t always follow his advice, but she did take it into consideration.
Her plan, which she’d developed over breakfast—the sugar boost had helped—was to fly low. Governments, like many groups, preferred things they could control and disliked things they couldn’t. Thus, she would make herself look like—well, her own personal opposite. Her power grabbing would obviously be a big scary deal to these people, so she’d just forget to mention it. She’d be sweet and amenable. As far as they were concerned, she was simply a failed Talent with a mental block; oh so controllable. Not at all a loose cannon. If all went well, she could skirt by. She imagined N.T.U. probably wanted an excuse to go after the Corp—she would present herself as an innocent bystander who, by an accident of birth, had become a target of the big bad business. They could play that song for the member Talents when they went after the Corp and hopefully, after that, she could fade back into the woodwork.
The plan began successf
ully. The first interviewer was mainly interested in biographical information and her account of the trip—focusing primarily on the operations of the Corp, who they had sent, how they’d behaved, how she had responded. Sam filled them in as much as possible, in order to create a picture of herself as an honest and open person. Her interviewer didn’t even question her when she relayed tale after tale of watching from the sidelines as Al, Harry, and Lane took care of the threat. A man in his mid-thirties, he seemed comfortable with the thought that, of course, as a young female she had not thought to try and fight back on her own.
The second interview was a little trickier, a psychological review and personality test. Careful to maintain her block as well as she could, Sam found herself in a conversational dance, trying to guess what the interviewer wanted to hear and oblige. The written multiple-choice personality test was much easier. She just had to figure out what “personality” her persona would have and answer appropriately.
The last interview, however, threw Sam for a loop. It wasn’t actually an interview. Rather, Sam was placed into some brain-scanning machine, and then a man in a lab coat asked Sam about her powers. Not sure of how much the machine could actually tell them, Sam kept her answers as vague as possible. They released her without comment, and Sam allowed herself a small feeling of accomplishment. Only early afternoon, but she felt like she’d just run a day-long marathon.
“Not much to do now except sit and wait as everything is reviewed and people do their jobs,” Joseph said, “Speaking of which, I should probably get back to mine. Have fun!”
#
Joseph’s suggestion to go “have fun” was easier said than done. With strongly worded instructions not to go anywhere, she couldn’t snoop in the name of “exploration.” In her rooms, there was nothing to read and nothing on TV.
The master plan, apparently, was to kill her with boredom.
Sam flipped the radio on, lay down in bed, and found her eyes drifting shut...
“Wakey wakey, eggs ‘n bakey!”
Chasing Power (Hidden Talents) Page 25
