Truth

by Julia Karr

  “No, I can’t afford it, yet.”

  “Okay. Just let me know when you’re ready. I’ll arrange everything.”

  I shrugged off a twinge of jealousy. It’d take me months to save up for the tattoo. Wei probably didn’t have to wait at all to get hers. She’d probably never had to wait to buy anything. I shook my head, trying to clear it. No sense in feeling bad over the way things were. If I did a good job at the Institute, and was lucky, over time I’d move up a few tiers.

  Our PAVs beeped. Another Alert. “There haven’t been this many Alerts since that meteor strike in the Sahara,” Wei said.

  She projected the Alert onto the wall.

  A voice-over announcer intoned, “Stay tuned for breaking news on the FeLS scandal.”

  The blank screen gave way to Kasimir Lessig, seated behind a desk: Media and Governing Council insignias were prominently displayed in the background.

  “Bureau of Safety and Security agents, aided by local enforcement agencies, have completed the first phase of their investigation regarding allegations about the use of the Female Liaison Specialist program as a training ground, if you will, for sex slaves.” He swiveled his chair around, facing a different camera. The scene of the fake space station popped up behind him. “It is here that alleged mastermind, Ed Chamus”—a small picture of Ed popped into the lower corner of the screen—“took unsuspecting Chosens and trained them to become sex slaves for high-ranking foreign officials and corporate moguls. Furthermore”—his chair swiveled again—“Chamus did not act alone. The Bureau has recovered AV chips labeled ‘Training’ that show at least three different men and two women . . .”

  A close-in image of one of those chips came up. The camera then cut to Lessig’s face. His eyes sparkled with what I read as pleasure at being able to report on such an horrific story. “I have to say . . . in all my years of news reporting, I have never”—his eyes widened—“never seen anything as disgusting as what was being done to those young women.” His lips parted slightly, and you could hear a sudden huff of breath. “I spoke earlier today with Governing Council president Xander Critchfield.”

  The scene changed to Lessig and Critchfield standing in front of the Justice Building on Dearborn.

  “Citizens,” Critchfield said. “Rest assured that the perpetrators of this horrendous scheme will be found and brought to justice. Going against the accepted mores of our society, these pathetic girls abandoned their normal, natural sex-teen lives in return for the possibility of lifting themselves out of the muck of low-tier existence. And this is how they were repaid.” He shook his head, clucking his tongue. “A full accounting will be made. You have my word on it.”

  “Thank you, Mr. President.” Lessig turned to the camera. “As further information comes forth, we will continue to provide updates to this story. News at eleven.”

  This was bad. They were blaming it all on Ed, which I knew wasn’t the case. Ed, who Dee still thought was her dad.

  “Wei, where’s Dee?”

  “I think she’s in the kitchen with Chris. Why?” It dawned on me that you got Alerts only if you were of age. But if Dee had been with someone getting an Alert, she could have seen the entire thing. I jumped up and ran to the kitchen, Wei hot on my heels.

  Chris and Dee were at the table.

  “Nina, my father wouldn’t do anything like that.” Her face was drawn, her jaw set. “I know he wouldn’t. It has to be a mistake.”

  “She insisted on watching with me,” Chris said. “I didn’t think––”

  I silenced him with a look—he should have known better. I sat down next to Dee while he and Wei quietly left.

  After Dee’s reaction to my triptych, I knew sugarcoating anything about Ed wouldn’t work. She’d already shown she was much stronger than I’d imagined.

  “Dee, Ed wasn’t the nicest guy.” I felt her body stiffen. “You didn’t know, because Mom hid things from you. I hid things from you. Things that I saw firsthand. Remember all the times I took you to Sandy’s house? Ed beat Mom up. That’s how she broke her arm. That’s how she got all those cuts and bruises.”

  “He said she was clumsy. He said that she accidentally hurt herself.” She turned her tearstained face to me and said, “I believed him, Nina.” Dropping her gaze, she murmured, “He’s my dad.”

  Oh, how I ached to tell Dee that he wasn’t. But her safety depended on her not knowing the truth.

  Dee studied her hands for the longest time. “Does this mean I’m going to be cruel, like him?”

  “What?” My jaw dropped. “Why would you think that?”

  “We’re studying genetics and character traits,” she said. “Maybe I inherited a cruelty trait from my father.”

  Funny how one truth revealed opens the way for others. Still, there were some things that I just couldn’t tell her.

  “Character traits, and that’s what cruelty is, aren’t passed down through genes,” I said. “Eye and hair color, how tall you’ll be, and the size of your ears . . . those are decided by genetics. Who you are, how you act, the kinds of things you do . . . you get to make those choices. And you learn about them from the people who raise you. Mom, Gran, Pops—none of them are cruel. You couldn’t possibly be.”

  Dee looked over at me, tears rimming her eyes. “I miss Mom so much. And Pops . . . and I wish Gran were here.”

  Her effort to keep from crying made my own throat ache with unshed tears. “I do, too, Deeds. I do, too.” I rounded the table and put my arms around her.

  She allowed the comforting, for a bit, then shook me off and stood up.

  “Chris and I made Gran’s green-tomato mince-pie recipe. We should try it while it’s still warm, the way Pops likes it. You go get everyone while I cut the pie.”

  She walked to the cook center, shoulders back, head held high, reminding me so much of Ginnie. Those were the genes and the character traits Dee had inherited—those of a strong woman.

  XX

  Later, Mrs. Jenkins invited Dee and me into her study. “We need to talk about Wednesday’s hearing.”

  “Miss Maldovar’s going to be there,” Dee said. “She has friends at Child Protective Services and thought she might be able to help.”

  “Who is Miss Maldovar?” Mrs. Jenkins frowned.

  “My teacher,” Dee said.

  “I see. Well then, I look forward to meeting her. Perhaps she will be of help.” Mrs. Jenkins cast a puzzled look in my direction, then went on. “I wanted to share with you both the particulars on how a Writ of Unsuitability hearing is conducted. The child, the parents or guardians, and any other family members or interested parties may be present. Also the complainant, or his or her representative, which is usually Child Protective Services, will be there. We’ll be called in front of a judge, who will ask questions about the case. Then the judge will hand down his or her decision.”

  “Will they allow us to comment?” I asked.

  “We shouldn’t count on that. Fortunately, Mr. Jenkins has very high standing in Media, and he’s well known in the judiciary, having covered many high-profile criminal proceedings. It is helpful that you’re now living with us. The judge may be more inclined to treat you favorably. However, if we get a judge who is not acquainted with Mr. Jenkins, I can’t say.”

  I glanced over at Dee. “They can’t just take her away, can they?”

  “It is a possibility,” Mrs. Jenkins said.

  A few days ago, I would never have believed Dee’s calm reaction. “Will I be allowed to come and get my things? Where will they take me?”

  If Mrs. Jenkins was as surprised at my little sister’s composure as I was, she didn’t let on. “I truly doubt it will come to that, Dee. There are a good many points on our side. Aside from your living here now, Nina’s sixteen and has a job. Her Creative designation is another boon, since they like to see ambition and the promise of moving up in tiers. There is also the fact that your mother specifically, legally designated the Oberons as your guardians; that cannot be di
scounted without a fight.”

  “I hope so,” Dee said. “But if they do remove me, will you still try to get me back?” She looked at me.

  “Of course, Dee! You’re my sister.”

  “Good. Excuse me, please, I have some things I need to do.”

  After she left, I said, “If it were me, I don’t think I’d be even half as cool as Dee is. I should make plans to get Dee out of town. My father, well, he’s her father, too, could take her into hiding with him. Then she’d be safe.”

  “No.” Mrs. Jenkins shook her head. “That’s been discussed at length. If she disappeared while under threat of a writ, B.O.S.S. would search for her. Even though Ed is her presumed father, she bears the Oberon name. That alone would make the authorities suspicious. And they would most certainly seize and interrogate you. It is best that we go to court and hope that things go in our direction. You should see if Dr. Silverman will give you a statement indicating that your grandmother is recovering and will eventually be able to care for Dee. The court will already have information on your grandfather. But that cannot be helped.”

  I said. “What if—”

  “Nina, do not torment yourself over imagined disasters. Instead, imagine the future the way you want it to be. It is always better to visualize good rather than evil.”

  “I can’t just think my way out of this.”

  “No, but you can be aware of what could be and look to what you want things to be.” She laid her hand on mine. “As we think, so we are.” She brushed my hair back, looking into my eyes. “Now. Tell me about this Miss Maldovar. How does she know what’s going on?”

  “Dee’s original teacher was in an accident of some sort, and Miss Maldovar took over. She made Dee her assistant, and Dee ended up telling her all about the writ. I’ve only seen her once.”

  “Your impression?”

  “Well, I never actually met her, officially. We ran into her at Rosie’s. I have to say, there’s something about her that seems off. She gives me the creeps.”

  “Trust your intuition. But for now, having her at the hearing to tell how Dee is doing in school may be very helpful. Very helpful.”

  XXI

  It was nice not having to worry about school for a while. And I was able to pick up more hours at the Institute. I took a detour on my way to work, hoping to see Joan. But there was no sign of anyone, except a few early shoppers heading from the apartments up to Michigan Avenue. When I got to work, Martin was waiting for me. “My nod to the season, don’t you know?” he said, handing me a steaming cup of hot cocoa with a peppermint-stick stirrer poking out the top.

  That one small gesture reminded me of Holidays with Ginnie. Hot cocoa was a tradition. I felt like laughing and crying all at once. But what I did was thank him, and then I took myself and my cup to the storeroom. Perched on the edge of my chair, I verified artwork against catalog numbers and descriptions. It wasn’t the most fun in the galaxy, but I loved the feeling of being in the midst of all this amazing artwork. And I was learning lots about how artists like to describe their work. Some were so esoteric—on purpose, or so it seemed—and it only made them sound snobby and affected to me. Like ultrafamous, university-taught Lars Estagean, whose artist statement was so out there that it was totally incomprehensible to me. While Stefan B, a recently discovered “street artist,” came across as honest and unassuming. His simple statement, “It feels phenomenal to be able to take what I see and turn my feelings about it into a truthful portrayal of what’s there,” was exactly how I felt about my own artwork; it was nothing fancy, but it was honest.

  I hadn’t been working all that long when Martin and Percy came in. I’d never actually met Percy face-to-face, only on vid calls.

  “Pers, allow me to present the fabulous Miss Nina Oberon. Isn’t she even lovelier in person?” Martin gushed.

  Percy shook my hand. “Beautiful, Marty. Absolutely beautiful. The apple didn’t fall far from the tree. Your mother was absolute perfection.”

  My cheeks blushed hot. “Thank you.” I hadn’t realized they’d known Ginnie, too.

  “You are coming to the party, aren’t you?” He didn’t miss my puzzlement. “She is coming, isn’t she?” His gaze bounced over to Martin, then back to me. “You have to come, you know.” To Martin, “She simply has to.”

  “What party?” I asked.

  “The New Year’s bash at the Golds,” Percy said. “Everyone in the universe will be there. Which means, you must be there, because the universe has to meet you.”

  “Gold, like Paulette Gold?” My eyebrows shot up.

  “That’s the daughter. Right, Marty?” Percy continued talking, wiping out any response Martin might have made. “She’s a bit of a swagger, but not a bad girl. You know her? Of course you do, or you wouldn’t have asked.”

  “Percy.” Martin grasped his arm. “We’ll take Nina to the party. For now, I merely wanted to introduce you in person and to tell Nina that she could go home.” He smiled at me. “No more work until after Holiday. Oh.” He dug into his pocket. “Here’s a free hire-trannie ticket. Go home in style.” He hugged me. “I hope your grandmother is feeling better, and here’s hoping for good news about your grandfather. Happy Holiday, Nina.”

  “Yes, dear.” Percy hugged me, too. “Happy Holiday. Lord knows you deserve one.” He gave me a little peck on the cheek.

  The scent of spicy aftershave lingered long after the door closed. I stared at the ticket. I’d been in a hire trannie only once, and then only as an escape. This time, however, I wouldn’t be running away from Ed. I’ll pretend I’m upper tier, I thought. It will be fun, even if only for a few minutes.

  ***

  Stuck in traffic, I stared out the window at all the Holiday lights on Galaxy Mile, the part of Michigan Avenue that had all the ultrachic, top-tier shops. Holiday verts were coming fast and furious, competing for shoppers’ attention.

  “Her eyes will light up as bright as the diamonds in this Urban-Retro, twenty-carat-gold mail necklace.” “Give your Holiday Pre a glimpse into the ultra world of XVI with a XVI Ways Day Spa gift certificate.” “Surprise Dad this Holiday with an all-weather Verolux chronos.”

  We were sitting in front of Mars 9, the ultra shop for teens. Their display scene was a party. I clicked my PAV to tune out the verts and pressed my nose to the glass. A girl mannibot drifted through the crowd in a scintillating, strapless gown. The scene was enthralling. A longing to look that nice, just once, seared through me, leaving behind a burning hole in my chest.

  I would never be that girl.

  I shut my eyes and didn’t open them until I felt the vehicle lurch forward. Paulette’s upper-tier party. My Sale-o-rama life. There was no way I could ever go to that party, no matter what Martin and Percy said.

  I thought about Sal. About us. I hadn’t spoken to him in a while. I knew he was on NonCon business. I hadn’t gotten so much as a message. I shouldn’t be surprised, I told myself. But still.

  Finally, the trannie pulled up to the house.

  Chris was on his way out as I was going in. “You okay?”

  “Yeah. Sure.” I didn’t even try to hide my low spirits.

  He touched my arm. “You want to talk?”

  Our eyes connected, and suddenly I did want to talk—to him. “I, uh . . . no. Is Wei home?” What was I thinking? Sal was who I should be commiserating with, not Chris.

  “She’s upstairs.” He gave my arm a squeeze. “Whatever it is, Nina, it’ll get better.”

  He left and I closed the door, confused. The more I saw of Chris, the more I liked him. And lately it seemed that he liked me—more. His interactions with me sometimes seemed flirty or, like now, attentive and filled with concern. Sure, I told myself, it’s perfectly normal to want to share my worries with someone who cares. It’s just that that someone should be Sal.

  “Hey, you!” Wei came traipsing down the stairs. “I saw you through the window. What’s up with the hire trannie?”

  I told her everything—e
xcept my near-breakdown in front of Mars 9.

  “Paulette’s party? Lucky you! Mom and Dad had another commitment, so they won’t be there, but . . . yeah. You should definitely go.”

  I said, “Maybe,” even though I knew it was the last thing I would ever do.

  XXII

  I woke up the next morning surprised I’d slept so soundly, especially considering what was in store for the day. Dee was up before the alarm and in my room, fretting. She fidgeted on the corner of my bed. “What should I wear?”

  “The nicest clothes you’ve got,” I said. “Your black pants and your red sweater?”

  “Sweater’s too small.” She checked out my room. “What are you wearing?”

  “The same thing I wore when I went to B.O.S.S. headquarters to see about Pops.”

  “What was that? You left before I was up.”

  “Some of Mom’s clothes. I felt close to her, like she was there watching over me.”

  “You think anything of hers might fit me?”

  “Let’s go see. They’re in Gran’s room.”

  Five minutes later, we’d found the perfect asteroid-blue sweater for her to wear. It was the tiniest bit big, but nothing a couple of well-placed pins couldn’t fix.

  “It smells like Mom.” Her eyes got misty.

  “Don’t be sad, Deeds. Think of it like she’s right here with you.”

  By the time we met Mrs. Jenkins on the stairs, we both looked, if not tier five, at least four. And, neither of us had cried, on the outside.

  First stop was Metro Hospital. Dr. Silverman had left a transcribed, notarized statement about Gran’s recovery and general good health. At least that was going in our favor.

  When we got to the Hall of Justice, Dee slipped her hand into mine.

  “It will be fine,” I whispered.

  Simply standing outside the Hall was intimidating. Instead of the sleek, modern fronts of many of the surrounding buildings, it was old. The walls were row after row of glass, going up at least thirty stories. A balance scale was projected on the entire surface of the Dearborn Street side.