Jerome blinked. That seemed to be a new idea, too.
President Castellan shook his hand, an awkward push-me pull-me motion in zero-G. “I need to go now and start setting in motion some of the things we discussed. I’m sure we’ll talk again soon.”
The police took Jerome away. Mike and I started to push off, but President Castellan stopped us. “Angel, Mike, you’re next on my list.”
“For what?” I asked warily.
“SilverDollar takes no responsibility for the Loyalty chips Edward inflicted on both of you against your will,but,” President Castellan emphasized, “we would like to repair some of the damage he caused. We will pay for the surgery to remove both your chips as well as psychological counseling, should you need it. Loyalty chips are ugly, ugly things. Edward used you in the worst possible way.”
I shrugged. It hadn’t been pleasant, but Shadow Angel had helped me keep some self-respect. I would recover.
President Castellan went on. “We’ll also sponsor a year of college education for both of you. In return, you’ll sign an agreement, promising not to sue us.”
“Well,” Mike said smiling, “let’s talk about that, shall we?”
I left them to it, retreating to a corner and turning on my palmtop. I wanted to know if Mike and I had been mentioned on the news or, even worse,identified as Renaissance children. To my relief, so far the whole thing was being reported only as “unexplained gunfire on the space station.”
While searching through news channels, I saw a clip of Zinnia and Dahlia. Both of them were crying their eyes out and hugging. The reporter announced that the Cartwright clones had been reunited after the Sons and Daughters of the Stars terrorist group had kidnapped one of them.
Zinnia refused to comment on her “harrowing experience,” but when they asked Dahlia about the size of the ransom she had paid to get her fellow clone back, she said, “I’d have to be an idiot to tell you that, but I will say this: if anyone touches my sister again they’ll have me to deal with.”
My palmtop chirped, announcing that I had an incoming message. I pressed Accept, and a recording of my parents appeared on the screen.
My mother had obviously been crying recently, and my own eyes pricked in response. “Angel,” Mom said, and stopped, one hand held out in entreaty.
Dad took over. “Thank you for your message. We understand why you hadn’t called before, but we’ve been worried about you. You can reach us at the following places.” He gave me their address and vidphone number. “When the publicity dies down, we hope that you’ll come back to us, but Dr. Hatcher says he’ll relay messages if that’s safer for you. We love you very much.” Dad started to look a bit teary-eyed, too. “Take care. You’ll always have a home with us.”
I bit my bottom lip and immediately replayed the recording. Except for the emotional strain,both my mom and dad looked well. I wondered if they’d received their family license, if they’d landed acting roles as they’d dreamed.
I wanted quite badly to call them, but right now was the wrong time.
If Mike and I continued to live on the run from those who wanted to exploit or kill the violet-eyed, I wasn’t sure if there would ever be a right time. I thought long and hard about that as I waited for Mike to finish negotiating with President Castellan.
Mike was smiling when he and President Castellan emerged from their corner. He shook hands with her, then drifted over to me. “I got it,” he said, flashing me a plastic card. “A lump sum of cash, instead of sponsoring our education. We’ve got what we came for, money and identicards. I say we split before the cops get around to asking us questions.”
He looked restless, and I remembered his fear that the UN would try to “put a leash on us.”
I thought about splitting, then shook my head. I was starting to think we had done the wrong thing in not sticking around after Dr. Frankenstein’s death. “Let’s stay.”
“What?” Mike looked astonished.
I turned all my persuasion on Mike. “If you want to run again, I’ll go with you. That’s not an issue. But I want to accept Dr. Hatcher’s offer to go into a protection program for Renaissance children.” I took a deep breath. “I want more than just identicards and money. I want the chip out of my head for good. It’s true that we could buy new identities with the money President Castellan isgoing to give us—finish high school, go to college, have careers—but we’d always be looking over our shoulders, afraid of being recognized, afraid to make friends. I want to stay friends with Timothy and Rianne. I miss Wendy—she was my best friend back in Chinchaga. I want to find out if she’s forgiven her father and if she’s still dating Carl. I want to see my parents again.”
Beside me Mike tensed, a silent protest, and I held his hand. “Will you at least talk to Dr. Hatcher?”
“Yes, but it won’t change anything,” Mike said. “Dr. Hatcher may be the great guy you think he is, but what if he isn’t? What if he’s setting another trap, or the UN wants us to spy for them?”
“Then we escape again. It’s not like we haven’t done it before,” I said wryly. “We’ll survive.”
Mike laughed, relaxing. “That’s true. Okay, Angel, go ahead and call your Dr. Hatcher. We’ll give him the benefit of the doubt.”
I kissed him in thanks and then began to dial. More than anything, I wanted to learn to trust again.
NICOLELUIKEN was born May 25, 1971. She grew up on a farm in northern Alberta (latitude 57° N). She wrote her first novel at age thirteen (it was summer holidays and there was nothing else to do). She is the author ofViolet Eyes,which begins the story of Angel and Michael, as well as three other young adult novels (Unlocking the Doors, The Catalyst,andEscape to Overworld) and one adult thriller (Running on Instinct). She lives in Edmonton, Alberta, with her husband, Aaron Humphrey, and young son, Simon. It is physically impossible for her to go without writing for more than three days in a row. Nicole’s Web site is www.geocities.com/nmluiken.
Books by Nicole Luiken
Violet Eyes
Silver Eyes
Available from Pocket Pulse
Published by Pocket Books
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons living or dead is entirely coincidental.
SIMON PULSE
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Copyright©2001 by Nicole Luiken Humphrey
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ISBN-10: 0-7434-3422-6
ISBN-13: 978-0-7434-3422-5
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