[English] ICONS (Biểu Tượng)

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12

LONG WAY HOME

From our vantage point, hidden behind the open entrance doors, I can see the kitchen is ten times larger than the one in the Mission, with stoves the size of furnaces, built of metal instead of brick and stone. The smoke rises into giant vents that look like silver mouths, instead of fireplaces and chimneys.

And there is no Bigger standing at the kettle.

Sadness wells up inside me, but I put it off.

Not now.

I eye a grating in the wall next to the vents. Doc. I look around for other signs of surveillance, but there is too much going on in the enormous room to tell.

Ro takes off toward the back of the room. I duck my head to follow him, sliding beneath the long, metallic counters, where they store what looks like sterilization equipment.

We remain, for the moment, unseen.

“What now,” I hiss.

“You saw her hands.” Ro looks past the corner of the counter that hides us. “She’s a weird one.”

“And?”

“We need to find where they keep the garbage.”

I shrug. “So we follow whatever smells the worst.”

A kitchen worker walks by us, dragging a huge black bag that reeks of manure. Ro wrinkles his nose.

“Exactly.”

In no time at all, the stench leads us to the garbage dock. I can see it, through the swinging doors of the kitchen ware-house. I can also see a Sympa patrolling it.

“When that door opens again, we go.” Ro seems happier than I’ve seen him in months.

I nod, then grab his arm. “Ro.”

“What?”

“Can we trust her?”

“The silver girl?”

I nod. “It seems too easy. This.” I glance toward the dock. “What if it’s a setup?”

Ro sighs. “You met her. You tell me. You’re supposed to handle that department.”

“But I trusted Lucas, and I got us into this mess.” It’s an apology, and not a particularly good one. But it needs to be said, especially before we fling ourselves into a barge full of garbage and guarded by at least one armed Sympa.

Ro winks. “I forgive you, Dol-face.”

Then, without a word, he takes off running and I have no choice but to follow.

I rush after him, crouching low. We race toward the barge, finally sliding between a mountain of slimy black bags swarming with flies and practically pulsing with an indescribably putrid smell.

I close my eyes and freeze, waiting for the Sympa to fire.

I hear nothing.

Ro peeks his head out from inside a bag that has split in half. Something that looks like old porridge smears across his face.

I hold my breath. We don’t make a sound.

The smell is overwhelming, worse than sleeping in the stables, and it’s all I can do to keep down what little food I managed to eat.

The barge begins to vibrate beneath us, and the garbage shifts. The engine starts, groaning and rumbling to life as the barge lurches into motion.

“It’s moving,” Ro whispers. He smiles, in spite of the garbage.

I shake my head, crossing my fingers beneath the mountain of limply rotting lettuce and old bread crusts.

That’s when the engine cuts.

Then we hear loud voices and the heavy, thudding footsteps of military boots.

I uncross my fingers as we dive deeper beneath the piles of black bags. Then, muffled by garbage, a familiar voice booms across the barge.

Catallus.

“Doloria. Furo. I’m afraid you’ve gone the wrong direction. Understandable, since you’re new here. Anyone could get lost on the way to my classroom.”

I pull myself up to the surface of the garbage.

“We’re not going anywhere with you,” Ro shouts, poking his head above the sea of garbage sacks, trying to look dignified while covered with rotten food.

I can see him looking for something to use as a weapon, but the only thing in our reach is an entire Embassy’s uneaten breakfast.

Colonel Catallus smiles. “Of course—you could always stay here and take a little ride, but I’m not sure it’s preferable to our class. Where do you think they take this trash?”

“Wait, let me think. Your house?” Ro grins. “No—your mom’s house?” He’ll go down trying. He’s long past caring what people do to him.

I stay silent.

“See those smokestacks across the bay, on the mainland? That’s where we take the trash. Right into the incinerators. They help power the Projects. So I guess it would be good to have your contribution via the furnaces, but I think we could make better use of your talents in the classroom.”

Colonel Catallus motions and the barge begins to grind backward, toward the docks. He wobbles with the sudden movement, adjusting his position on the side of the barge, above us. “I’m surprised Tima didn’t tell you, especially seeing as she made the same mistake, the first time she tried to run away.”

Ro and I look at each other.

Suspicions confirmed.

“Come on, Ro,” I say, struggling to get out of the garbage. “We’ve been played.” And worse, rescued by a demon.

Colonel Catallus pulls a white square of handkerchief out of his pocket, holding it over his nose. He waves the handkerchief in the direction of the Embassy.

“The others are waiting. It’s time we had a talk. Now.”

EMBASSY CITY TRIBUNAL VIRTUAL AUTOPSY: DECEASED PERSONAL RELATED MEDIA TRANSCRIPT (DPRMT)

Assembled by Dr. O. Brad Huxley-Clarke, VPHD

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Note: Media Transcript conducted at the private request of Amb. Amare

Santa Catalina Examination Facility #9B

Text Scan: NEW YORK DAILY

EXTINCTION AVOIDED?

April 10, 2068 • New York City, New York

Officials at the United Nations have claimed success in diverting the asteroid Perses from impacting Earth.

The joint project of the major economic powers announced today that Project Kratos, consisting of a series of pinpoint warheads launched in 2067, scored a direct hit.

The director of Project Kratos, Alexis Asimov, said: “Our goal was to split Perses into smaller pieces that would fly harmlessly around Earth, and all our data shows the mission was a complete success. We will continue to monitor the fragments to ensure our data is correct.”

Not everybody is convinced, however. Many citizens hold the entire story to be a hoax.

Others believe the asteroid is still coming, including those who say Perses is a holy messenger of God, come to purge Earth of greed and inequity.

13

COLONEL CATALLUS

Of course, we aren’t allowed to wash up, after the garbage disaster. Colonel Catallus is teaching us a lesson; at least, I imagine that is what he thinks.

The joke is on him, though. We’ve grown used to the stench, Ro and I. Not Catallus. He looks like he is going to pass out, just being in the same hall with us.

And now it appears the Embassy isn’t taking any chances with us, because it somehow requires four guards for Colonel Catallus to walk us back. Or he’s just trying to intimidate us.

It’s working.

It occurs to me that I could try to probe their minds, look for a new way out, and I even spend a few minutes contemplating how I could accidentally bump into the guard in front of me, to heighten the connection. Then I give up. I’m too tired, and it takes too much out of me. And I just smell too damn bad.

Not Ro, though. Ro stands a little taller, next to the Sympas. I think he likes feeling dangerous.

We arrive at Colonel Catallus’s classroom—at least, that’s what he calls this version of his interrogation chamber. It’s a meeting room with glass walls and a round table, in the center of the Embassy library.

Basically, a jail cell.

Through the glass, I can see Tima and Lucas waiting inside. Lucas has his face buried in a small, flat screen when we push through the doors. Tima is next to him, pulling on the ends of her silver hair as she reads over his shoulder. There with Lucas, she looks much more content than when we last saw her at breakfast.

Almost happy, even.

I pull my eyes away from her and examine the rest of the room. It’s more of a fishbowl than a classroom, barely big enough for the five of us. Beyond the glass walls, there are books as far as I can see, more books than in all the black markets in the Hole. Real books, paper books. Digi-text on a row of screens. Together, they fill a room bigger than the cafeteria.

I can also see our Sympa patrol, standing at attention by the entrance to the library.

Waiting.

Lucas doesn’t look up. His face flickers with the reflected light of the scrolling screen. Then we come closer, and both Tima and Lucas react like they’ve just been slapped in the face.

“What—is that—smell?” Lucas practically shouts, grabbing his nose, pushing back his chair.

“Garbage,” says Tima with a smile. “Or maybe that’s just what the Grass smell like.” She pushes back next to him, hovering.

Where we both know she most likes to be.

I take a step closer to her, and I hope I look threatening, because that’s how I feel.

“A garbage barge? That leads to an incinerator? Really? Is that the best you could come up with?”

Ro grabs my arm. Lucas steps in front of Tima. All four of us are locked in an impasse.

It’s Colonel Catallus who finally breaks the standoff.

“That’s enough. Take a seat. The adrenaline is fascinating, but tiresome. And I’ve no need for more data today, not on any one of you.”

None of us move. He smiles. “Or do we need to bring the guards all the way into the classroom?”

Ro and Lucas stare at each other. Tima glowers at me. Colonel Catallus shakes his head. “Fine. Take your time. I’m happy to lock you down until you’ve had your fun. It’s all the same to me. I have work to do.”

He closes the glass door behind him.

Lucas and Ro are now inches apart from each other. “You don’t really want to do this, do you?” Lucas pushes his hand against Ro’s chest. Big mistake.

“No, I’m pretty sure I do.” Ro smiles, wrapping his fist in Lucas’s shirt.

I speak up to Tima, over Ro’s shoulder. “You didn’t have to sell us out to Catallus.”

Tima sniffs. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I thought you were looking for a ride out of here. It’s not my fault you got caught.” Ro growls. Tima puts him on edge almost as much as Lucas does.

I stare at her. “Why do you hate us so much?”

She spits the words back at me. “Why are you even here? Since when did they start testing Grass like you?”

“Why don’t you ask your mommy?” Ro steps closer to Lucas.

Tima rolls her eyes, and it’s all I can do not to grab her myself, and I shout, “You think we want to be here? You think we had a choice in this? The minute we get the chance, we’ll be gone. That’s a promise.”

Lucas’s eyes narrow as I say the words. Ro stays close, and I’m aware of every inch of him. Part of him is enjoying this. Part of Ro has enjoyed this entire day, even the garbage.

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Not Lucas. I can feel him recede, as Ro begins *****rge. Battle is Ro’s natural state. He likes the rush of adrenaline, the push of uncertainty, the risk of death. As long as it’s not mine. It’s only the threat to me that is making him nervous, even now.

Ro pulls Lucas in, raising his fist.

“Stop it,” Tima blurts out, dragging herself between them.

In a blur—in a split second—I watch Tima’s arm go flying toward Ro, and then I see Ro rearing back, hollering.

“Ow! What was that? You shocked me.”

“I didn’t shock you.” Tima sounds confused.

“You did. Look…”

There, around Ro’s wrist, is what looks like a rope burn—a red, searing line that wraps around his arm, precisely where Tima’s hand touched him.

Tima stares at the mark.

Lucas backs away from both of them, from us.

Tima glowers at him. “All I was going to say was that you’re fools if you don’t know what he’s doing right now.” She looks up at the ceiling, calling toward the grating. “Orwell?”

“Yes, Tima?”

“Can you bring up a visual on Colonel Catallus? I need to ask him something, face-to-face.”

“It would be my pleasure, Tima.” Behind her, Colonel Catallus’s face appears on the wide screen that blankets one side of the classroom wall.

He’s standing in the library, in front of a bank of screens. All of which are streaming a live feed of us. He’s watching.

Of course he is.

“Tima Li has a question for you, sir.”

Colonel Catallus looks startled. Then he recovers, with another of his creepy smiles. “And?”

“I just wanted to ask you if we passed your little test, now. Sir.” Her face is completely innocent, but the screen flickers off.

He’s back in the classroom within twenty seconds.

I wonder if that is a yes or a no.

“I’m so glad to see you’re all getting along,” Colonel Catallus says. “And how is your arm, Ro? Tima hasn’t hurt more than your pride, I hope.”

Nobody says a word. I don’t smile, and I don’t respond. I make a point of shutting everyone out, of not seeing anything about Catallus. Not cats or girls or walls of ice. Whatever is going on in there with him, I don’t want to know. It’s safer that way.

Instead, I assess where I am and what I can do. Tima has confused things; she’s not at all what I expected, but I shouldn’t be surprised. No more than I am by Ro or Lucas or even myself, on any given day. I can’t pretend she’s any different than we are.

I don’t know the extent of our abilities—what it is that has the Embassy so interested in us.

What they want from us.

I don’t know what I’m more afraid of—trying to escape and getting killed along the way, or staying for more of Colonel Catallus’s painful tests and wishing I were dead.

I squirm in my seat, a hard synth chair made to look like wood.

Colonel Catallus clears his throat. “I have much to discuss with you—now that I have the four of you together again. After all these years.”

He lets the sentence roll out into the bright light of the room. Together again. The four of us. All these years. But we have never been together, the four of us. We have never met before Santa Catalina. There is no again in this scenario.

If the four of us are anything. And if there are, in fact, only four of us, as the Embassy seems to think.

Icon Children.

“That’s not possible,” I say, finally. No matter what I think, I’m not going to say more than that. Especially now that I know how closely monitored we all are.

“Of course it’s possible.” Tima flicks her head as she speaks, clicking her nails on the table, faster and faster. “You might not know what’s possible, but that doesn’t limit possibility.” She rolls her eyes. “Obviously.”

“Obviously,” mimics Ro.

Lucas studies Colonel Catallus’s face. If he’s as confused as I am, he’s not letting on. “Just say it, Colonel Cat. Whatever it is, you can spit it out. We’re all friends here.”

Ro smirks, leaning on the table next to me. “Speak for yourself, Buttons.”

“Enough.” Colonel Catallus sits forward. “Her Ambassadorship’s wisdom works in myriad ways. Don’t think you’re only here because of what you can do for us.” He nods. “It’s about what you need us to—”

The vid-screen behind Colonel Catallus illuminates, surprising him. “Excuse me. A moment.”

The four of us look at each other, equally baffled. The logo of the Embassy appears, beginning to flash, which seems to agitate him even more.

Colonel Catallus directs his voice to the screen. “Yes?”

“You have a message from the Ambassador’s office, Colonel Catallus.”

“What is it, Computer?” It takes me a moment to realize he’s talking to Doc.

“I cannot say. The server appears to be sending error messages to this address. You are either wanted by the Ambassador, or there is a system-wide malfunction.”

He won’t risk that it’s a mistake. We all know he’ll be out the door by the end of the next few sentences.

“It is probably nothing,” encourages Doc. “Go on.”

“Yes, please. Go on, Colonel Catallus,” Tima says.

“It will only be a moment.” With a pompous little swagger, the man and his brass wings are gone.

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The minute Colonel Catallus steps out of the room, the lights dim. “What was that?” Ro is out of his seat.

Blackout shades rumble, covering the door and four walls of our glass classroom. The Sympas on perpetual watch at the outer doorways begin to move toward our room.

“Um, Doc? Is this another one of your jokes?” Lucas cranes his head up toward the ceiling. “Very funny. You’re getting better and better.”

The door bolts, as if in response.

Tima springs out of her chair, but Ro beats her to the door. He rattles the handle furiously; Ro has never done well being caged.

“Orwell, are you seeing this?”

“Yes, Timora.”

“More to the point, Orwell, are you doing this?”

“No, Timora. I am impressed, though, by the coding. If I am not mistaken, this entire sector of the server has been compromised.”

“Open the door for the guards.” It is an order, and Tima barks it, as if she expects him to obey. “Now, Orwell.”

“I am unable to open the doors, interestingly enough. The locking mechanism is now disarmed. Very thoroughly, I might add.”

“So my mother didn’t call Colonel Catallus to her office.” Lucas looks pleased, for the first time today.

“Non. Maestitia brevis, gloria longa.”

“Now, Doc. Don’t get snippy.” Lucas grins.

“What did he say?” Ro nudges me. I shrug. I have no idea.

“Sorrow is temporary. Pride is forever.” Tima translates, without looking at me. Her eyes are on Lucas.

Lucas is grinning. “Basically, he’s saying Catallus is a jerk with a big head.”

“Yes, Lucas. Duly noted. Also noted, there appears to be a message on the Embassy Wik.” Doc runs one sentence into the next, without a shift in tone.

“For me?” Lucas’s smile fades.

“What, Mommy’s calling?” Ro slaps him on the back. “You’re grounded now, Buttons.”

“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.

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“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.

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.

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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.

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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 trust. 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.”

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.

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“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.

AD***IONALLY… [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.

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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.

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.

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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 only 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 ***ch 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.”

“Really,” says Ro, smiling.

“Not really.” She sniffs, sliding out of the alcove and through the open door.

“Didn’t think so.” He winks at me, and I slip out after her.