Except he had broken laws. Even if he hadn’t planned the gathering or invited people, talking out about CORE policies was punishable by reconditioning or medical enhancement. Dozens of troublemakers Lyssa knew or had heard about had been sent to a colony after enhancement, where they were supposedly supported by the CORE in a safe environment. But Lyssa knew confinement meant working sixty hours a week until they died or weren’t useful anymore. If they didn’t have family in the colony at that point, they would conveniently disappear.
It made Lyssa’s life seem easy by comparison. She worked the required thirty hours a week, grouping them all into three days so she could be with her daughter, Tamsin, the other four days. On the days Lyssa worked, Lyra dropped Tamsin off at a sitter’s, who would take her to school, and Tamsin was later picked up by the sitter until Lyra arrived to get her after work.
For those three days at work, Lyssa was herself. On the other four, the days she spent with Tamsin, she pretended to be Lyra, who was Tamsin’s officially recognized mother. Pretending to be Lyra at home also meant pretending to be married to Kansas, Lyra’s husband.
Lyra and Kansas, stepping in when they did to marry early and claiming Lyssa’s illegal child as their own had saved Lyssa’s life, both figuratively and literally. Yet even that wouldn’t have worked if Kansas hadn’t been able to use his pull in the CORE transportation office to get a birth order, a feat he’d not been able to repeat in the decade since Tamsin’s birth.
Which left them all in a strange sort of limbo, tied by the child they each adored, but whose existence imprisoned them all in different ways. Kansas loved his wife, Lyssa had no doubt of that, but Lyra’s once-strong emotions for her husband were frozen in cravings for her own child, one she was denied because of Tamsin’s existence.
By practice, each of the two million CORE residents was allowed the right to replace him or herself, which meant couples should be able to win two birth orders, and single people one, but more and more people like Lyra and Kansas had been rejected for a second child. Some were even denied one. With a required six month-wait after each rejection before applying again, the three-month application process became even longer and more tedious.
Lyssa’s guilt ran deep. Which was why six weeks ago, when Lyra and Kansas’s application had been rejected yet again, Lyssa had applied for a birth order herself. While single mothers weren’t ideal birth candidates, they weren’t prohibited from submitting an application, and it meant their family had that much more of a chance for a baby. With Brogan’s help and fake CivIDs, it would be possible for Lyssa to trade lives with Lyra in the real world long enough for Lyra to become pregnant and give birth. Lyssa hadn’t told her sister about her application yet, not after the devastation of her last rejection, and as birth order announcements were made every three months, Lyssa still had weeks to wait before learning her status.
The CORE Elite said birth orders were being rejected because people were living longer and expanding was impossible at this time. But Lyssa was one of the few who knew the whole truth, the ugly truth, that the CORE was largely sustained by the number of people imprisoned in the colonies. If more births were allowed, they would need more buildings, more food, more enforcers, which to the Elite meant another welfare colony. But where would they put it? And who would volunteer to populate it? Times were nowhere as desperate as in the days after Breakdown when the Elite had convinced those in the dregs of society to build the colonies, where each had tiny houses and jobs and twenty-meter walls to keep them “safe.” Birth rules were the most protected CORE law, and unless residents wanted to brave the desolation zones and risk punishment, they had no choice but to submit.
Checking to make sure the displays were still quiet, Lyssa sat back in her chair and closed her eyes. She wanted a glimpse of her baby. The room dissolved around her as part of her consciousness traveled from her body, searching for her sister. There she was. In Tamsin’s room, where the child was already climbing into bed. She resembled Lyssa and Lyra, her long ebony hair engulfing her thin body. She looked younger than her ten years, though sometimes Lyssa thought she seemed far older.
“Is Mommy going to be back before I go to sleep?” Tamsin was asking Lyra.
Lyra glanced over to where Lyssa was now standing, a shadow of her real self but clearly visible to Lyra. In the early days it had taken effort to make themselves seen and heard by the other twin, but now it came easily. They theorized eventually it might be possible to connect with people besides each other, but it hadn’t happened yet.
“I think you’ll be asleep before she gets here,” Lyra said to Tamsin. “She traded a shift with someone today because she had a meeting earlier.”
Tamsin heaved a sigh. “I miss her when she’s gone.”
“Well, the good news is that because she’s working late tonight, she gets to go in late tomorrow, so she’ll be able to take you to school. Maybe even stay there for a bit with you.”
Tamsin grinned. “Good, then I’ll be able to show her my new holo designs. I’ve been working on them really hard.”
“I’m sure she’ll love them.” Lyra climbed into the narrow bed and put her arms around Tamsin, much the way Lyssa did when she put the child to bed. Yes, Lyssa had to push back a surge of resentment that she wasn’t the one in the room, but mostly she felt grateful that her sister loved Tamsin as much as she did.
“I love you, Aunt Lyssa,” Tamsin said.
The name on her daughter’s lips sounded wrong, no matter how many times Lyssa had heard it in the past decade. A part of her longed to tell her daughter that she was really Lyssa, and that it was her aunt who was actually married to Kansas. But the pretense was the only way to make sure Tamsin—and their whole family—remained safe.
“I love you too, baby girl,” Lyra said.
Tamsin sighed and snuggled up to her, her eyes drifting to where Lyssa stood at the foot of the bed, as if she too could see her. But she couldn’t. Both Lyra and Lyssa tested her often. Even if Tamsin did have their ability, she might need the drugs the CORE had tested on Colony 6 to activate it. Lyssa was both relieved and saddened that Tamsin might never know how to “travel.”
“Thank you,” Lyssa whispered into the silence, words only her sister would be able to hear.
Lyra nodded and buried her face in Tamsin’s neck. Lyssa hoped it gave her comfort. My fault, my fault, she thought. Now such a mistake as Tamsin was impossible, but a decade ago, sometimes birth control implants failed or lapsed, or weren’t renewed in time.
The door opened, and Kansas came inside, his guitar in hand. Lyssa’s incorporeal gaze fixed on him. He was a dark, bronze man with short hair that curled tightly against his scalp, and the way Lyssa felt about him made all other men pale in comparison. She hoped her sister’s husband never discovered that bit of truth about her.
“Want a song, sweetie?” he asked, rubbing his finger over the strings.
Tamsin opened her eyes. “Yes, Daddy. Please.”
Lyra stayed as her husband played the song, her eyes closed and a half smile on her lips. The way she lay, Lyssa could see the tiny mole on the right side of her neck under her ear. It was the only physical difference between them.
When Lyssa was home getting Tamsin to bed, she always left the room when Kansas came in to say goodnight, partly because she knew her presence made him uncomfortable but mostly because it hurt to have him so close. If Lyssa had let them raise Tamsin alone as Kansas had requested, would Lyra now still want a child? To feel her own baby growing and kicking inside her? To have something of her husband’s? Or would Tamsin be enough?
They would never know.
Lyssa walked closer to the bed, reaching out a hand to place on her daughter’s cheek. Tamsin didn’t look her way. Lyra’s eyes opened, though, and she dipped her chin slightly in farewell.
LYSSA HAD SENT enforcers out on a dozen more calls and was rechecking the TAD-Alert’s holo displays when Gemma, another co-worker, sailed through the door.
&nbs
p; “Sorry, I’m late,” she said in a voice that was entirely too husky for her voluptuously feminine appearance. Her brown hair was on the lighter side, but her eyes were as dark as Lyssa’s own.
“You kidding? You did me a huge favor by coming in for me and splitting your shift.” Lyssa arose and arched her back to apply a little stretch.
“How’d the appointment go?”
“Oh, fine. It should go away on its own.” Lyssa had forgotten the made-up excuse of a doctor’s appointment for a growth on her toe. She couldn’t exactly tell Gemma the truth, and having Brogan excuse her without apparent reason was too suspicious to continue regularly. Sometimes if she couldn’t get away and it wasn’t busy in dispatch, Lyssa could attend the meeting by traveling to her sister or vice-versa.
Gemma’s eyes strayed to the screen. “So how’s it been. Quiet?”
“Getting calls pretty regularly, except for the past half hour, which was why I told Zevolun to take a break, but he should be back soon. The only real problem we had was around seven.”
“Oh?” Gemma’s round face turned eager. She sat down and rolled her chair close. “Tell me.”
“A man was speaking out about the CORE at the train station. A group gathered to listen. When enforcers arrived, the man’s friends pulled temper lasers.”
“Probably some punk bucket trying to get back at an Elite.”
Lyssa shrugged. “Maybe.”
“Well, thanks for staying so late. I finally got to see my boy.” Gemma’s face looked bleak for a moment, and Lyssa stifled her pity. Her son was one of the rare invalids born in the CORE. With genetic testing done before birth orders were issued, rigorous doctor care, and forced termination for detected flaws, it was rare to see anyone with a congenital disease. The three-year-old now lived in a special hospital in another town, so she didn’t get to see him often.
“How is he?” Lyssa forced herself to ask, already knowing that it probably wasn’t good.
Gemma glanced toward the holo displays, her mouth pursing. “Fine, fine. They take good care of him.”
There was more, something she wasn’t saying, but Lyssa understood her trepidation. The TAD-Alert heard everything, and while Gemma would never be allowed to have another child because of her son’s defect, she had her husband and aging mother to worry about.
“That’s good.” Lyssa said. “Everything looks calm, so maybe I can leave before Zevolun comes back.”
Gemma laughed as a soft bell went off. “Go ahead. It’s not like the TAD can’t handle this practically alone anyway.” She put on her headset and looked at the holo that was already spitting out images of an angry woman shaking a knife at her husband.
“This is TAD-Alert,” Gemma answered the call, “What’s the nature of your emergency?” They always said that, but she tapped at a holo control, which would send the enforcers the system had already recommended to respond. With a few more hand motions, she commanded the TAD to monitor their heartrates and scan the room for other people, drugs, or possible weapons.
With a sigh, Lyssa unhooked her jacket from the back of her chair and turned from the scene. Domestic disputes usually weren’t reported to the division, but there had been more and more of them lately. Those and vandalism. Brogan wouldn’t be able to put off reconditioning on this one. Or worse.
In the hallway, Lyssa checked to make sure it was empty before turning down the first corridor on the left, pausing at a door that led into a room on the other side of the TAD. This was where most of the super Teev’s hardware resided, and Brogan had somehow connected backup holo emitters there that would allow her, and anyone else he admitted into the room, to use the TAD out of sight of prying eyes. He hadn’t asked her to stay later to work on the problem of Dani’s brother, but she’d seen the desperation in Dani’s eyes at the meeting. If they didn’t find a way to save him soon, she’d do something they might all regret. She placed her hand on the door, and a soft whir told her it accepted her print.
Evan Hammer looked up from the display as she entered. “Hey, Lyssa,” he said casually.
She nodded at the big, ponytailed man. “Hammer.” She waited a few seconds before adding, “Any word?” She knew Jaxon and Reese wouldn’t be using the regular Teev channels to talk with them while they were in Santoni.
“They’re okay.” He sighed. “But Jaxon says Nova’s there. I haven’t relayed that information to Brogan yet.” By the sound of his voice, he wasn’t looking forward to it.
She wanted to ask more, but even though Hammer, who was by day the crime scene investigator supervisor, had verified the TAD wouldn’t record them there, she didn’t trust the Teev, not after having used it to peruse the hallways of HED. Did the Elite have any idea how powerful the machine was?
Probably.
“I’m here to do a little more research,” she said. “I have an idea.”
“Oh?”
She shook her head. “I’ll let you know if anything comes of it.” Brogan would probably tell him before she did.
He waved his holo display closed and stood from the only chair in the room. “Well, go ahead. I’m beat anyway. Have to be back in the morning too early.” His presence engulfed her. Though he moved delicately despite his bulk, there was power in every motion, and it contrasted so much with her own small stature that he made her uncomfortable.
Maybe she was still having trouble trusting him. For all the nearly eight months she’d known the enforcer, he’d been living a double life with Brogan in the underground. She’d sent him out on calls, looked things up for him when he needed, and calmed the victims he’d thought needed a woman’s touch and she’d never suspected him. He was probably the best liar she knew.
Except for herself.
Had he been surprised to learn that she had a daughter? He’d been there when Lyra had told the others the truth, and so far he hadn’t brought it up.
Hammer paused as he reached the door where she stood. His cheekbones were accentuated by how his hair was pulled back, and his brown eyes were deep and endless. “Lyssa,” he said. “I hope all is well with your . . . at home.”
She nodded. “It’s good. Thanks.” She wondered if he had anyone waiting for him. He wasn’t married, she knew, but a man that powerful and good looking must have a lot of women friends.
“I thought maybe . . . maybe we could grab a glass of chotks sometime.” He said it casually, but she was so surprised by the words that for a moment she couldn’t speak. No, she wanted to say. Never. But what was her excuse? He was too big? She found him unattractive? That he scared her?
No, not scared. She’d faced down much worse than him back in the Coop.
“Yeah sure. It’d be fun. But just so you know . . . I’m sort of seeing someone.”
He considered that a moment. “Ty Bissett in personnel?”
So he’d noticed, though she’d tried to be discreet. Or Jaxon had told him, which seemed more likely. The two were good friends.
“Yeah.” Would he tell her how pointless it was dating a dead man? And maybe the fact that Ty was as good as dead was why she dated him. It meant she could never be serious about him, not in the way that Lyra and Kansas were.
“Well, that just takes the pressure off.” His laugh didn’t sound forced.
Did he mean that the pressure would be off because Ty wasn’t competition since he didn’t have a future? Or because she and Hammer wouldn’t have to worry about romance mucking up their relationship.
“Well, have a good night,” she said, slipping past him.
“Night.”
She waited until the door was shut before changing the holo to reflect the inside of HED. The Headquarters Enforcer Division’s lobby and public areas were easily accessible, as were the corridors around the offices and common areas, but the simple commands she had at her disposal hadn’t allowed for much snooping. She couldn’t even get the blueprints of the entire building without alerting them that she was breaking protocol, and Brogan hadn’t thought it wise to bring d
own more notice on them.
Today when the TAD-Alert had responded to the emergency at the sky station, she had clearly seen the warning on the screen that the preacher wasn’t broadcasting a CivID, and a new idea had come into existence. She couldn’t tell the machine to give her eyes in all the hallways at HED without authorization, but she could enact a code that was already in the system: to look for non-compliance with CivIDs. Not carrying an ID was an active threat, especially inside HED.
While she was at it, she’d also have the machine search for absence of the markers left by the immunizations and additives that were required by law and put into the readymeals everyone ate. Everyone except Fringers and a few of the older generation who still had access to small gardens in their yards would have the markers in their bodies. These violations the TAD would see as a threat because it endangered the welfare of the CORE as a whole.
She sent Captain Brogan a message before she started working, which though encrypted, was vague enough that anyone intercepting it might think she was talking about monitoring their division and not HED. After a few hours of work on the request, she was ready to put it in. If Brogan agreed.
There was no message from him yet, though, so she’d have to call or leave it for morning. Yet even as she started to punch his icon, a message from Brogan appeared on her iTeev: You are cleared to run the test.
Well, at least she wouldn’t have to talk to him personally, which was good in light of what Nova had done. If Hammer had already told him about his niece, he wouldn’t be in a pleasant mood.
Lyssa typed in the command: Possible fringer activity. Scan noncompliance in all areas. Report location and type of noncompliance. She added the HED initial, which she hoped was close enough to their own AED to be misconstrued as an accident if the request was intercepted. But she didn’t think she’d be caught. It was perfectly acceptable to have the TAD search for noncompliance as reported by the many Teev cameras throughout the CORE. What remained to be seen was if it might give them any insight as to where Dani’s brother was being held and how to get him free.
Visions Page 6