Truth

by Julia Karr

  “They’re going to hurt me.” Her eyes darted around the room. “They’re coming for me again, aren’t they? Why don’t you do something?”

  “Joan, it’s all right,” I said. “No one is here but you and me. No one is ever going to hurt you again.” I kept speaking softly to her, trying to reassure her of what we were doing. It took me way too long to pull her back to reality.

  Finally, I opened the doorway to the tunnels, and in walked Brie and Dorrie.

  “What’s wrong?” Brie attitude was all business. She took in the situation. “Joan?”

  Joan hung her head. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

  “Joan, it’s okay. It’s all right.” I reassured her again.

  “I know. I know.” She turned to Brie. “I freaked out.” She gazed up at us. “I’m sorry.”

  “It’s okay. We’ve got plenty of time, if we leave now.”

  “Nina—” The tone of Dorrie’s voice scared me. “There’s been a change in plans,” Dorrie said. “Japan isn’t––”

  A knock on the storeroom door stopped us in our tracks.

  “Go. I’ll get rid of whoever it is,” I whispered, motioning Brie and Dorrie to hide behind a pile of packing boxes. Joan was officially logged in as my visitor, so it’d be odd if she disappeared as well, but I couldn’t risk anyone finding her. I pushed her to follow Brie and Dorrie behind the boxes. I went to the door and looked through the viewer. It was a security guard. I cracked the door open. “I’m sorry, Martin’s not here today, can I—”

  “You’ve got a visitor.” The guard stepped aside to reveal Kasimir Lessig standing there.

  “Miss Oberon,” he said. “Not looking nearly as appealing as when we last met. Worrying adds years and wrinkles, you know.” He patted my cheek and sauntered past me into the room.

  “Was there a problem with the information I gave you?” I glared at Lessig.

  “Manners, Miss Oberon. Manners.”

  “The information,” I said to Lessig, “was it not what you expected?”

  “Oh, I haven’t even seen it yet. Angelo, stellar assistant that he is, offered you a ride to work so you wouldn’t be late. You declined. He thought that odd. So did I. Since I was just across the street, I thought I’d see if something was wrong. Is there something wrong?

  “No. I’d rather be late than accept a ride from Mr. Fassbinder. I don’t like him.” Or you, I added in my head.

  “Honesty. How refreshing. He doesn’t care for you either. Oh, but I suppose I should be careful what I say—me, of all people! After all, wouldn’t want it on News at Eleven.” He laughed and waved his hand around to reference the surveillance. “Lucky for me, I control News at Eleven.”

  It dawned on me that Lessig didn’t know that this room had a surveillance block. One that I could control. If I could get Lessig to admit to his lies and his blackmail . . . could Dorrie record it, maybe even broadcast it through Rogue Radio? It might be too late to help me, but she could give it to the NonCons after I was gone. But how could I tip her off?

  “No worries here,” I countered, trying hard to keep my voice airy and light. “This room is surveillance-free to protect the art. Talk all you want. No one’s recording this.” I hoped that would be enough.

  “Oh, little girl, no place is free of surveillance, except perhaps my penthouse and your current place of residence.” He raised his eyebrows. “Besides, you think you can fool me?” Lessig snorted.

  “Fine, if you don’t believe me, try to contact Angelo on your PAV,” I said. “It won’t work.”

  He took out his receiver, frowned, then put it back. “Well, then. Shall we have a frank heart-to-heart?”

  “Why not?” Dorrie’s PAV wouldn’t work with the surveillance shields up either. I’d have to turn them off. Acting nonchalant, I perched on the corner of my desk, keeping the lever hidden from Lessig’s view. Leaning on my arm, I pushed it down. What I hadn’t anticipated was a single beep, probably indicating satellite connection.

  Lessig jerked his head around. “What was that?”

  “What was what?” I shrugged.

  “That electronic beep.” His eyes narrowed. “Nina, Nina. Are you trying to pull a fast one on me?”

  “You mean the temperature control? The thermostat is automatic—it beeps when the temperature changes. You know, to safeguard the art. I don’t even notice it anymore.” I got off the desk and approached him. “Listen,” I said, “I held up my end of the bargain. I spied on Jonathan Jenkins––”

  “I have yet to see if that information is valuable. I’ve been waiting for years to set up Jenkins. Never liked him. Never liked anyone who was friends with your father.”

  “You said you’d get my grandfather out of custody, if I did what you wanted. I did it. Now, I want my grandfather back.” My voice sounded steely, but I was shaking inside.

  “Your grandfather.” Lessig wet his lips. “Alan Oberon’s father.” He cocked his head. “I think you must have misheard me. I can’t imagine helping anyone who’s related to Alan Oberon. Ever.”

  His pointed stare was infuriating. “You promised me—you said, if I spied on the Jenkinses, you’d save my grandfather!” My heart thumped in my chest, and anger raged through me. I knew something like this would be coming, but I didn’t realize the sheer fury I would feel at hearing him say it out loud. “I should’ve known not to trust you, not after you spread those lies about my mother and the fake FeLS station.”

  “Lies?” His eyes bored into me. “And just what do you know about FeLS that I don’t?” He grabbed my arm.

  I jerked it away. “Since we’re being honest, Mister Lessig”—I practically spat the words out—“I know all about FeLS. My mom’s the one who found out the truth about the government’s liaison program—that it was a sex-slavery ring. And I know you lied about her involvement in it.”

  “Ah, yes. The perks of being the most trusted newscaster in the Americas. The face of Media. I can show whatever I want, say whatever I want, and people believe me. Fake space station”—he snapped his fingers—“no problem. Sex-slavery ring? Pin the scandal on Ed Chamus and your mother. Piece. Of. Cake. The basic details on FeLS were true—nice of Jenkins to give me that information––but I couldn’t let the world know that we were trafficking girls through FeLS, let alone who the girls went to. Can you imagine what would happen if I let the idiots in our society know that their most trusted leaders had a taste for virginal sex-teens? So I created the rest of the story—the fake space station, Chamus being the ringleader. All of it.”

  “You made those Alerts up? You are sick.”

  “Sick? Little girl. What I am is the most powerful man in the world. I can make or break anyone.” A smile twisted across his face. “I could even bring down the GC president if I wanted to. That old pervert loves the FeLS girls. What he doesn’t know is that I’ve got the vids to prove it.”

  Suddenly, there was a furious pounding on the door. Fass-binder’s voice came through, screaming, “Kasimir! Stop! Shut up!”

  Lessig spun around, and I raced back to the wall. He flung open the door, and Fassbinder stumbled into the room, flailing to keep his balance.

  “Kasimir—she’s broadcasting this. It’s all over the airwaves. Everything. FAVs. PAVs. Alerts. Everything!”

  “What? There’s no reception in––” The realization dawned on him. I looked around for an escape, but he was too quick. With murder in his eyes, he yanked me to him. Searing pain stabbed through my shoulder, but I bit back a scream. “Turn it off!” he yelled. “Now!”

  “I’m not recording anything! Look, I’m not doing anything!” I held out my PAV, and he brushed it aside.

  “You lying bitch! No worries, Miss Oberon? We’ll see about that. Angelo, get the old man on the view.” He twisted me closer, wrenching my shoulder more. “See this?”

  I looked at the screen of his PAV. It was Pops in a transchair, those same tubes pumping liquid into his arms.

  “No.” My voice was shaking.
I couldn’t take my eyes off Pops. He looked so weak, sick.

  Lessig spoke into the viewer. “Charlie. Do it.”

  The same goon who’d yanked Pops by his hair now pulled the tubes out. Pops shook violently. He slipped out of the chair, writhing on the floor. Convulsions racked his body, and although I couldn’t hear it, he was screaming in agony.

  “Stop it!” I punched Lessig in the gut with my good arm. “Pops! No!”

  Fassbinder moved to grab my free arm when suddenly Brie and Joan came flying out from behind the boxes, a flurry of arms and legs. Joan clawed at Lessig, and I pulled away from his grasp. Brie was quick and efficient in her attack—in a heartbeat, Angelo was on the floor unconscious, and Lessig was crumpled in a heap on top of him.

  I lunged for the viewer. “Pops! Pops!” He lay still on the floor. The guy who’d killed him toed him with his boot and then walked away. “Pops.” I couldn’t stop looking at his lifeless body lying there.

  “Nina. Nina.” Brie helped me up. “Nina, I’m sorry, but we can’t stop. There’s no time. You and Joan have got to get out of here. Lock the door and turn the shields back on.”

  I pushed the lever up, and the viewer screen went black. I hurled it across the room. “The door locks automatically,” I said, touching my shoulder gingerly. “I think he broke my arm.”

  Brie’s hands moved quickly over my shoulder. “No, it’s just dislocated. Lie down. Joan, Dorrie, hold her for traction.” Joan looked dazed but did as she was told. A few seconds of searing pain, and Brie had worked my arm into place. At least now I could move it, though carefully. Brie took Ginnie’s scarf and fashioned a sling out of it. “Come on,” she said. “We’ve gotta move.”

  “What about them?” I asked. Fassbinder and Lessig were still out cold.

  “I think we did enough damage. B.O.S.S. will clean up that garbage. Dorrie, let’s move—we don’t have much time. Joan? You okay?”

  Joan was white as a sheet. She stood up. “I’ll be fine. I just want out of here.”

  “Let’s go, then.”

  We ran through the tunnels as fast as we could. I tried to keep the image of Pops’s body out of my head, just concentrating on moving one foot in front of the other. Finally, we reached the veljet, and Brie shoved us inside.

  “First aid kit and energy bars are overhead.” Brie pointed to two sliding doors above us. “If you’ve got to go, unlock the seat like so.” She pressed a button. “It swivels around to the rear. You’ll have to wiggle out of your all-weathers and scoot onto this.” She showed me the toilet. “Flush like so.” Another button, another problem solved. “If you’re thirsty, there’s a full water reservoir. Straws on the door side of your seat.” I nodded, still unable to speak.

  “And, Nina, you’re ultra. That was awesome, what you did back there.” She looked across me. “Joan, stick by this girl. She’s definitely got your back.”

  Dorrie reached in and put a chip in the dash. “This is a self-destructing chip. It’s programmed to take you to Castle Combe in the Greater United Isles. That’s where your dad is. He’s expecting you.”

  “My dad? Why aren’t we going to Japan? What about the Jenkinses?”

  “We tried to tell you earlier, but we were . . . interrupted. Mrs. Jenkins’s relatives were arrested by the Nippon Council for harboring subversives. I don’t know where Wei and her family will end up. They had to leave—Mrs. Jenkins is already gone. I don’t know where Wei and the rest will go.”

  A wave of panic washed over me. Dee. “Chris was supposed to take Dee to Martin’s. Did he?”

  “I don’t know. We’ll find her—we’ll make sure she’s okay. Brie and I, or someone, will get word to you. Nina, you have to go now. We’ve got to get downstairs and out of the building before we’re discovered. Don’t worry about piloting or landing. The jet takes care of itself. As soon as I’m clear, press the green button. And, oh . . . I figured you’d want to know—I found out who Miss Maldovar is. Adana Maldovar is Ed Chamus’s twin sister. Nina, I’m sorry, we’re out of time!” On that note, she clamped the door shut and ran over to Brie. I looked at them through the window, dumbfounded. Miss Maldovar was Ed’s sister. The Jenkinses were on the run. Dee was . . . I didn’t know where Dee was.

  “Nina?” Joan touched my arm. “We’ve got to go.”

  I looked down and pressed the green button; the veljet sprang to life and spun upward. Within moments, it leveled out and shot forward. We were off.

  XLI

  When the adrenaline had finally worn off, and the veljet was far away from Chicago, my shoulder started throbbing, and my eyes got heavy. Soon the drone of engines had put both Joan and me to sleep. The insistent beeping of my PAV woke me. It was Chris.

  “Chris—thank goodness! What’s happening?” I asked. “Where are you? Is Dee all right? Your family? Tell me.”

  “Nina, it’s okay, but I have to be quick. Everyone’s safe for now—Dee is safe. B.O.S.S. will be attempting to track you. Remove your earpiece and flush it and your receiver out of the craft. And, Nina . . . I love you.” He clicked off.

  I removed my earpiece. The pain in my shoulder was insistent, but I somehow managed to fish my receiver out of my bag. Swiveling around, I tugged the seat up and dropped my only links to the people I loved into the void.

  At least Dee was safe. At least there was that.

  And Chris loved me—I didn’t even know where to begin thinking about that.

  Joan was still asleep next to me. I stared out the window for what seemed like an eternity. Miss Maldovar was Ed’s sister. She had to be treating Dee so well because she thinks Dee’s her niece. What will happen if she finds out the truth? I dared not dwell on that.

  And Gran— With the Jenkinses gone, where would Gran go when she could no longer stay in the rehab facility? Who would tell her about Pops? Pops. Oh, Pops. Tears streamed down my face. I felt Joan’s fingers wrap around mine.

  “I’m sorry, Nina. So sorry.”

  We sat silently, staring into the dark of the night, speeding toward a destination neither of us had chosen.

  ***

  A robotic voice woke me. “Landing preparations have begun. Please secure cargo. Fasten seat belts.” It repeated the directions twice, then the thrusters kicked in and the landing gear dropped. Lights on the bottom of the veljet illuminated the ground. The craft made a sharp turn. If we hadn’t been restrained, I would’ve been sitting in Joan’s lap. It veered right and left as if looking for a place to set down. Then, without warning, it dropped to the ground. A perfect landing. The nav chip ejected from the dash, a tiny poof of smoke confirming its destruction.

  “I guess we’re here,” I said.

  Before we could even unbuckle our seat belts, I saw a group of women carrying torchlights come through the trees. Two of them had a stretcher. They unlatched the doors to the veljet and helped us out.

  “Here, put these on. It’s cold.” A woman held out coats. When she saw my arm in the makeshift sling, she said, “You must be Nina. I’m Layla. We heard you’d been hurt.” She gently laid the coat over my shoulders. Dorrie and Brie must have gotten word out. “We didn’t know how bad. Do you need the stretcher?”

  “Walking’s no problem.” I glanced at Joan. She shook her head. “We’re both fine.”

  “Let’s get you back to town. You must be tired and hungry,” Layla said. “The doctor should look at that shoulder, too. Your father’s been in the north country. He would’ve been here, but we didn’t find out about your arrival until a few hours ago. He’ll be back later today.”

  Shortly after we slipped into the darkness of the trees, I remembered my bag. “I left something in the veljet. I have to go back.”

  “Betts is bringing everything,” Layla said. “Don’t worry. You’re safe. There is nothing to harm you here.”

  We emerged from the trees at the edge of what was the most beautiful place I’d ever seen. Snow was softly falling as we crossed a stone bridge. Ancient houses lined the street; smoke cur
led from the chimneys of some. I recognized certain things from pictures I’d seen at the Art Institute. That thought vanquished the beauty of the moment. My family. My friends. What would be their fate?

  “We’ll stop at the infirmary first,” Layla said. “Then I’ll take you to your father’s house.”

  “We can speak freely here?” I asked. “There’s no surveillance?”

  “You can say whatever you want, whenever you want,” she said.

  “But I don’t understand. Isn’t there a council?”

  “There is a GUI Council headquartered in London, but they are council in name only. The Greater United Isles have nothing of value to offer the various world councils. After the outbreak of glandular fever in 2035 killed off over half the population of the United Kingdom and left any survivors sterile, most of the remaining citizens relocated to the European mainland. Despite a cleanup, most areas of the GUI have never been reinhabited.”

  “The Media never told us any of that.”

  “Of course not, they’re Media,” Layla said. “It was more convenient for the council to have the Isles uninhabited. Fewer people to keep track of and no surveillance to install and man. Every so often they revive the story and broadcast a supposed update about sterile men and women and infected lands. No one wants to take that chance, so they stay away. Which is just fine by us. We have twenty children in our school; all were conceived and born here by people who have lived here for years. And, we’re all healthy. So much for the truth of anything Media reports.” She stopped in front of a neat, two-story house. “This is Dr. Churchill’s. She’s expecting us.”

  Dr. Mauri Churchill had steel-gray eyes and a warm smile. After examining me, she said, “You’ll need to stay in this sling for at least three weeks. Fortunately, you’re right-handed.” She gave me a dissolve for pain. “One under the tongue every eight hours. But be careful, they will probably make you drowsy.”