Then I hung up, blocked Deckard’s number, and burst into hot, humiliating tears.
Sebastian was missing, and without him, the transceiver I’d built was useless. I had no way to protect myself from Mathis if he came after me and no guarantee that I’d be safe even if he didn’t. If Deckard was willing to threaten innocent people like my parents and Alison just to try and get me talking, what would he do when he got his hands on me? And how long would it be before he did?
I rubbed the wetness from my eyes, hating myself for letting Deckard get under my skin and Jon for being stupid enough to give him my number. Though in a way that was my fault too, because I’d let Jon go on thinking he still had a chance with me, instead of telling him honestly to forget it…
–Niki? You still there?
Milo’s last text still glowed on my screen. I gulped a breath and typed my reply:
–Deckard just called. I’m a mess. Sorry.
I half expected Milo had given up on me by now, but it took him less than ten seconds to answer.
–Want me to come over?
I could think of at least three good reasons to tell him no. It was late, it was dangerous, and there was nothing he could do to fix the problem anyway. And what if his grandparents woke up and caught us? But I was past reasoning now. All I wanted was comfort.
–Yes. Please.
Then I sneaked downstairs and sat on the front steps, shivering and hugging my knees until the light of Milo’s bicycle came flashing around the corner. He leaped the curb, dropped the bike onto the lawn, and started toward me, and I leaped up and ran to him, and if he’d been Brendan, he would have tried to kiss me and ruined everything, but he wasn’t, and he didn’t. He just stood there and held me until I stopped shaking and could breathe again.
1 0 1 1 0 1
When Mrs. Park knocked on my door the next morning and told me it was time for breakfast, I was so tired I could barely open my eyes. Milo had been a comfort while he stayed, but he hadn’t stayed long, and after he left, my mental gears had been too busy whirring and grinding with anxiety to let me sleep.
But as soon as I checked my phone, I was instantly awake. Sebastian had texted back at last.
–Sent Deckard to Montreal. Sorry to keep you waiting, I wanted to make sure he took the bait. Excellent news about the transceiver. How soon can I pick it up?
Montreal was 635 kilometers away. Not nearly as much distance as I’d like to put between myself and Deckard, but if he thought that was where I was hiding, it would keep him out of my way for the next few days at least. The relief was so enormous I felt like I could sleep for a week.
“Breakfast!” called Mrs. Park again, impatient now. I’d better get moving, though why she felt the need to get me up this early on a Sunday was beyond me…
Oh. Oh no.
I threw on a T-shirt and jeans, ran my fingers through my hair, and galloped down the stairs. Maybe when they saw me with dirty, wrinkled clothes and no makeup, they’d realize I couldn’t possibly go to church with them.
As soon as I reached the dining room, though, I knew I was in trouble. The Parks were seated at either end of the table, dressed in their Sunday best, while between them sat a platter full of plump golden pancakes … and Milo.
“Hey,” he said, waving me to a chair. “Sit down, quick. Harabuji needs to pray before the hoddeok gets cold.”
His tone was so casual, you’d think we barely knew each other. There was no sign of the boy who’d raced ten kilometers to hold me last night. I sat and bowed my head while Pastor Park said a blessing in Korean, and then we all dug in to the pancakes, which were frankly the most amazing thing I had ever tasted in my life. There was no need for butter or syrup, because they had this incredibly sweet, nutty filling inside. By the time I’d eaten two of them I felt ready to slide into a sugar coma, and Milo was grinning at me across the table.
“I should send friends to stay with my grandparents more often,” he said. “I haven’t had hoddeok in forever.”
“You should come to see us more often!” said Mrs. Park reproachfully, but she was smiling. She offered Milo the platter, and he helped himself to another pancake.
Once we’d finished and Mrs. Park was washing the plates, I leaned over to Milo and whispered, “Am I supposed to go to church with them?”
“Well, I am,” he said. “I’ve been bribed with pancakes. But if you really don’t want to go, they won’t force you.”
“Good,” I said. “Because I just got a text from Sebastian, and he’s on his way.” I glanced at Pastor Park, seated quietly on the sofa with his Bible open in front of him. “We’re going to meet at the makerspace in three hours.”
“And then what?” Milo asked. “You hand over the transceiver and he takes off again?”
“No,” I said. “This time, I’m going with him.”
1 0 1 1 1 0
As expected, Milo didn’t like my plan at all, but it didn’t take him long to soften up and come around. Ever since the moment he’d seen Sebastian come through the relay he’d been irresistibly hooked on this adventure, and he’d never be able to rest until he’d seen how it all turned out.
Besides, if last night hadn’t been proof enough, he really liked me. Even after seeing me first thing in the morning with messy hair and no makeup, apparently—or at least that was how I interpreted the way his gaze lingered on me before he followed his grandfather outside. It was a good thing Mrs. Park’s back was turned, because if she’d seen that look, there would have been some serious Korean drama.
“Thanks again,” I said to Milo’s grandmother, shouldering my overnight bag. “The food was amazing. I’m sorry I couldn’t come to church with you, but maybe another time.”
“You are welcome,” she said. “And we were glad to help. To show you the love of Jesus.” She reached into the living room cabinet and took out a wrapped present, presenting it to me formally in both hands. “This is for you.”
Even covered in stripes of red and gold, that flat rectangle looked uncomfortably familiar. I had a feeling I was about to inherit a pointed Bible message about honoring my parents or honesty being the best policy or some other platitude I really couldn’t stomach right now. “Oh, I couldn’t—you’ve already been so kind—”
“I insist,” she said firmly. So I gave in, and the two of us went out to the car.
I’d assured the Parks that it was safe for me to go home now, because my stalker had left town and my parents would be back in a few hours. And it was the truth—for certain values of “safe” and “few”, anyway. As they let me off in front of my house, Milo signed at me through the rear window: I’ll text you later. I nodded and waved as they drove away.
It felt strange being home after two days’ absence and even stranger not to see Crackers toddling down the hallway to welcome me. I shut the front door and locked it, then headed off to dump my overnight bag and throw my dirty clothes in the laundry.
I’d unearthed my old duffel bag from the closet and was stuffing clothes into it when I realized I hadn’t opened Mrs. Park’s gift. Feeling guilty for my lack of enthusiasm, I picked it up and tore off the wrapping.
As expected, it was one of her handmade texts. It wasn’t in English, though. It was in Korean, and I couldn’t read a single character except for the reference at the bottom: ISAIAH 41:10.
She must have given me the wrong package, but I wasn’t sorry. The calligraphy was beautiful, as were the flowers and leaves that surrounded it, and now I wouldn’t have to wonder what not-so-subtle message she’d been sending me.
Still, I could at least look up the translation. I opened the browser on my phone and tapped the reference in.
“Fear not, for I am with you;
Be not dismayed, for I am your God.
I will strengthen you,
Yes, I will help you,
I will uphold you with my righteous right hand.”
That wasn’t anything like I’d expected. It was kind of a nice thought, actual
ly.
I only wished I could make myself believe it.
1 0 1 1 1 1
When I got to the makerspace, Sebastian was leaning against the door with his hands in his pockets, waiting for me. He looked thinner than the last time I’d seen him, with shadows circling his eyes and dragging at the corners of his mouth, and I could tell I wasn’t the only one who hadn’t been getting much sleep. But when he saw me, he broke into a smile that made him look ten years younger, and he came bounding down the steps to meet me.
“Let me get that for you,” he said, tugging the backpack off my shoulder. “I’ll put it in the truck.”
So it didn’t surprise him that I’d figured out his next move and come prepared. I followed him around the corner to the old black Silverado he’d parked in the factory’s loading zone and studied its rust-eaten wheel wells and sagging exhaust with misgiving. “If you paid more than two grand for that thing,” I said, “you got robbed.”
“Ah. Well, never mind.” He opened the door and tossed my pack into the back seat. “I didn’t. Much.”
So much for the small talk. I took a deep breath. “Sebastian? I owe you an apology.”
For a moment Sebastian didn’t move. Then, quietly, he shut the door and turned to me. “What for?”
“Well, I’ve been pretty hard on you about the Alison thing,” I said. “Especially since I should have talked to her myself, before things got so bad. But I kept telling myself it was too risky, and once you came back, it was easier to put the blame on you. Even though you didn’t deserve it.”
“You don’t think I’m to blame for the way I’ve treated her?” His voice sounded rough. “I find that hard to believe.”
“Well, it took me a while to figure out what you were doing,” I said. “But now I get it, and I understand.”
“Do you? “
“Sure,” I said. “I know you want what’s best for her. Even if it’s hard for her to see it that way.”
Was he buying it? I couldn’t be sure. Sebastian’s poker face was even better than mine. But when he cleared his throat and said, “Well, then. Apology accepted,” I knew I was still in the game. I was breathing a mental sigh when Sebastian looked around and said, “Where’s Milo?”
“At church with his grandparents,” I said. “Why?”
Sebastian’s eyes narrowed, and I could practically hear him thinking. Then he took out his phone, tapped a quick message, and put it back in his pocket. “All right,” he said. “Let’s go and take a look at your transceiver.”
So we went inside and knocked at the makerspace’s door. Shawn opened it, looking startled to see Sebastian behind me instead of Milo. But when I told him we’d come to pick up the transceiver, his face cleared. “Oh, you’re done already? Awesome. Your dad’s gonna love it. Hey, need a hand trolley? I can get you one.”
“Thank you,” said Sebastian warmly. “That would be very helpful.”
Shawn darted through the vinyl-strip curtain into the woodshop and started banging around in one of the cupboards. I led Sebastian up the ramp to the clean room and unveiled the transceiver.
“It’s been tested and calibrated,” I said. “It should be good to go.”
Sebastian stooped to inspect it, examining the enclosure from all sides. “Niki, it looks superb. You’ve outdone yourself.”
Once the compliment would have made me glow. Now it just made me feel queasy. Not because I doubted Sebastian’s sincerity but because I knew how much faith he was putting in my abilities. If the transceiver didn’t work, after all this…
“Wait,” Sebastian said. “Where does the relay fit?”
That, at least, I deserved credit for. I tapped the barely visible square panel on the cabinet’s side, then popped it open to show him the slot I’d custom-built for the purpose. “Here are the connectors,” I said, pointing out the plug at the bottom and the thin metal probe dangling above. “All we have to do is hook it up and close the panel, and nobody will even know it’s there.”
“Excellent!” Sebastian straightened up. “You’ve thought of everything.” He glanced around the room, taking in the darkened computer terminals along the back wall, the shelves crowded with small tools and parts, and the assortment of half-finished projects waiting for their makers’ return. “This is quite a place,” he said, as Shawn came up with the trolley. “You’ve obviously put a lot of work into it.”
“Yeah, and we’ve got some great plans for expansion too,” said Shawn. “You should—whoa, you okay with that?”
“I’m fine,” I said, lowering the transceiver onto the foot of the trolley. I stepped back and Sebastian took over, wheeling it down the ramp toward the door.
“You guys have been great,” I told Shawn. “Thanks for helping me out.”
“Hey, no problem,” said Shawn. “Come back any time. When you hit eighteen, maybe we’ll even give you a key.” He flashed me a grin and went back to his laptop.
I smiled too but wistfully. Between running from Deckard and hiding from Mathis, I’d probably never see this place again. I gazed around the clean room one last time, letting myself imagine all the things I might have built here, the friends I could have made, if my life had been different. Then quietly I collected my tool kit and my box of spare parts from the locker and slipped out.
1 1 0 0 0 0
The inside of Sebastian’s truck smelled like diesel, grease, and old leather, with an afternote of cheap pine freshener. I couldn’t help wondering what colors and shapes those smells would have for Alison—but I knew better than to say that out loud.
“So,” I said briskly as I buckled myself in, “where are we going?”
Sebastian turned the key in the ignition, which caused the truck to cough and give a full-body shudder. He slung his arm across the top of the seat, watching out the back window as he reversed. “To get Milo,” he said.
Somehow, I wasn’t surprised. Sebastian seemed to like having Milo around—probably because it kept me from asking too many questions. “And then where? Because my parents are coming home tonight, and I need to know what to tell them.”
“You mean you haven’t guessed?” asked Sebastian. “We need a large antenna to transmit that signal. We’re not going to find anything of that size here.”
I drew a sharp breath. The biggest radio antennas I knew of were down in the States—a long way down. “Tell me you’re not serious.”
“Is it that bad? I thought it would be an adventure, myself.” He patted the dashboard. “And this seemed like just the vehicle for the purpose.”
“You want to drive all the way to New Mexico?”
Sebastian made a spluttering noise, and then he started to laugh. The truck swerved, and I grabbed the steering wheel and straightened us out just in time—hello, déjà vu.
“All right, fine!” I snapped. “I don’t have any idea where you’re talking about. Does that make you feel superior enough? Because you seem to enjoy that.”
That sobered him. He sat back, curling his long fingers about the wheel. “I apologize,” he said. “No, we’re not going to Arecibo. We’re not even leaving the province. Have you ever visited Algonquin Park?”
It was the largest wilderness preserve in Ontario, a massive seven thousand square kilometers filled with pine trees, rocky lakes, and bears. Camps and cottages dotted the outskirts, but the interior was infamously remote. Lara had gone on a Girl Guide canoe trip to Algonquin two years ago, and when she got back, she couldn’t stop talking about it. She’d described the haunting calls of the loons that glided by their campsite in the morning, the bull moose they’d nearly bumped into while navigating a swamp, and I’d envied her every moment of it, even the mosquito bites. Because back then I’d still had that stupid chip in my arm and I couldn’t go anywhere.
“No,” I said shortly. “I haven’t.”
“Well, about sixty years ago the National Research Council set up a radio observatory in the middle of the park, including a forty-six-meter antenna on an equat
orial mount. The antenna broke down in the mid-eighties, and the government abandoned the site rather than spend the money to repair it. But a few years ago a small space communications company leased the property and fixed the antenna, and now it’s a private venture. So I’ve made arrangements for us to stay at the observatory for a couple of days and use their antenna for our little experiment.”
If calling the experiment little was an understatement, made arrangements was an even bigger one. It wasn’t hard to guess why Sebastian looked so tired—he must have spent days faking some academic credentials and writing a bunch of articles about his so-called research before he called the observatory and introduced himself. Then he’d had to work out all the equations to figure out the technical requirements for the transceiver, write the specs so I could get started building it, and design a complicated piece of software to get the antenna, the transceiver, and the relay to talk to each other. And just when he was as busy as he’d ever been in his life, I’d texted and asked him to get Deckard off my tail.
No wonder he hadn’t replied right away when I told him the transceiver was ready. By then he must have been practically in a coma.
“I had no idea,” I said, and I wasn’t just talking about the antenna. “So how are you paying for all this? You must be scraping the bottom of your bank account by now, and if Deckard and his police buddies used it to find you once—”
“That was carelessness on my part,” said Sebastian. “I should have known my main account was being watched. But I had a couple of other, better guarded accounts as backup. And I always made sure to keep a decent amount in each one of them, since I knew I might have to change my identity at any moment.”
Even so, I suspected that a decent amount wasn’t more than a few thousand dollars all together, or Sebastian wouldn’t have needed me to build him a transceiver from scratch. Not to mention that when Alison met him, he’d been working as a janitor and living in a tiny little basement apartment—hardly the lifestyle of a secret millionaire.
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