by Andrea White
“Present, your honor,” Zert said, swallowing.
“And do you have a guardian or parent with you?” Judge Gorightly said.
“His father, Jack Cage, is present, your Honor,” his father said, standing. Then he quickly fell back down on the old couch, which protested with a sharp squeak.
“Bezert Cage’s crime, defacement of public property and felony vandalism, carries a minimum sentence of six months in Teen Jail,” the judge said.
Six months!
His father let out a sigh and began popping his knuckles.
“And a maximum of twenty years,” Judge Gorightly finished, his voice as matter-of-fact as if he were ordering a slice of zero-calorie pizza.
“Twenty years!” Zert and his father shouted in unison.
Zert turned to his father. “But I’m only thirteen.”
His father kept gazing at the judge.
“Dad,” Zert whispered urgently, “if I miss that much school, I’ll never get to be a veterinarian.”
“Does Bezert Cage plead guilty or innocent?” Judge Gorightly said.
“Innocent!” his father shouted as Zert opened his mouth to answer.
“But you said …,” Zert hissed to his father.
“Will Bezert Cage be represented by counsel?” Judge Gorightly said.
“I don’t have the funds, sir,” his father said. “My son made a mistake. But twenty years?”
Out of the landscape of his face, the judge’s steely eyes bored into them. “Felony vandalism is no mistake,” he said.
“My son is a good kid,” his father finished lamely. “Even six months is harsh.”
Zert squirmed on the couch next to him. He may have been thirteen and his father forty-eight, but he knew more than his dad did about this judge and the legal system. He knew that his father’s protests were useless.
“Bezert Cage will have his time in court. I’ll appoint a public defender to represent him,” Judge Gorightly said.
His father scooted to the edge of the couch. “Do you have a son, Judge?” he cried.
Judge Gorightly ran his fingers through his straight white hair. “Irrelevant.”
“I’ve never been away from my son for a whole week, sir. Six months is a lifetime,” his father said. “Please, sir.” He paused. “Mercy.”
Zert’s face felt hot. He had never heard his father beg before.
“J. Cage,” Judge Gorightly said, “your son was in the company of a juvenile who assaulted a police officer.”
“Assault?” his father asked, turning to gaze at Zert.
Zert looked down at his clenched hands. He hadn’t mentioned that Cribbie had tackled the trampo. He hadn’t wanted to worry his father more than he already had.
“Ah, J. Cage.” Judge Gorightly tapped his finger against his head. “I thought so.” He smiled for the first time. “I’m not sure that you know your son.”
His father nudged Zert’s leg.
Zert looked up into his father’s flushed face. “Cribbie was trying to help me.”
“My clerk will message you Bezert Cage’s court date this week,” Judge Gorightly said. He looked down at his I-ring. “Next case,” he said into his communicator.
The judge’s image faded, and the corner of the room stood empty again.
Zert turned away and thrust his head into the crease in the couch so he wouldn’t have to see his father stomp out. But he couldn’t block his ears, and his father slammed the door so hard the walls of the small room shook.
The store’s doorbell sounded. It was a recording of the yelp of a woman surprised by a roach, the squeak of an ypersteroid rat, and the whoosh of a g-pipe vacuum.
“I’ll get it,” Zert said. He had been training Chub to roll over in the wide-open space between the door and the counter. “It’s probably Dorpus Thoougar.” Dorpus and her pet dodo, Marsh, were regular customers.
He headed toward the door. Chub’s claws clicked against the floor as she trotted after him.
“Wait. It’s too dangerous,” his father called out from behind the counter. “I heard at the jail: There’s been an outbreak of Superpox nearby. Let me get it.”
The door rattled as the visitor pulled against the lock. Through the window in the door, Zert could only see the holostatues of liberty across the street. But as he drew closer, following his father, he was able to make out a figure standing outside. It held a glow ball, like the one in his old Boy Scout kit.
The light from the ball lit up the fleshy boils and leaking pus that mottled the figure’s face.
“Go away!” his father yelled through the glass. “My son’s not vaccinated.”
“I think I caught it last night,” a familiar raspy voice said. “From that poog.”
“Cribbie!” Zert cried, stepping out from behind his father.
“Don’t worry, Old Man,” Cribbie croaked through the door. “I’ll be OK. I just wanted you to know why we’re not going after Mr. Etc. yet.” He dropped the glow ball but didn’t seem to notice. Zert heard the ball bounce, bounce, bounce toward the street.
“Where are you staying?” Zert asked through the glass as he watched the glow ball hit a bit of uneven pavement across the way and roll back toward the door.
Cribbie turned toward the street. His head hung down between his broad shoulders. He started shuffling away, as if he had weights in his shoes.
“Dad, help him!” Zert cried. He pressed the button on the side of the door, and the magnetic field clicked as it disengaged. The door swung open, and air from the street wafted in. He caught a whiff of curry from Mystery Meat Restaurant, grease from the Old Timey Café, and trash from the overflowing barrels in the alley.
Chub stuck her nose out the door and sniffed the glow ball.
His father simultaneously grabbed Chub back and reached up to grip Zert’s shoulder—hard.
“Tell me the truth” his father said through clenched teeth as he slammed the door shut. “Did you wear your mask last night?”
“I did,” Zert said. “But …,” he stammered.
“But what?” Jack demanded.
“I took it off,” Zert admitted. His voice sounded small, like a child’s. “For just a second,” he added in a firmer tone.
His father bent forward as if someone had punched him in the stomach. “Zert. You could DIE.”
6
BEWARE OF UNCLES BEARING GIFTS
Zert squinted to keep the tears from spilling out. “I heard on the news that there hadn’t been any new cases for weeks. I didn’t think …”
His father’s grave expression didn’t change. “That’s right. You didn’t think.”
“Dad, you can lecture me later. Right now, will you please help Cribbie? Please!” Zert begged.
Thump. Clomp. Thump.
His uncle was hurrying down the attic stairs.
Without a backward glance, his father opened the front door and went out onto the street. He walked in that way he had, not hurrying but with a firm step.
Uncle Marin stepped off the staircase and joined Zert. His uncle had a hooked nose, “Star-Bright” white teeth, tanned skin that he got from drinking “Healthy Tan” PeopleColor, and pale blue-green eyes. He was dressed in red pajamas that were sheer and soft looking, but faded, as if they had been washed a million times. “What’s wrong, Zert?”
“My friend,” Zert began, feeling his voice shake. This was unreal. The poog. Cribbie must have caught it last night. The incubation period for Superpox was twenty-four hours. That meant …
“Is your friend sick? I heard something about Superpox,” Uncle Marin said.
Nodding, Zert pushed up his shirtsleeves to see the back of his hand. He found the same old game board of freckles.
The door opened, and his father stepped back inside. His face looked even sadder and grayer than it had when he had come to Teen Jail to pick him up that morning. He thrust his hands deep into the pockets of his jeans and stood there, silent.
“Did you find him?” Zert as
ked.
His father shook his head.
“So what’s going …?” Uncle Marin asked.
“Zert’s friend,” his father said quietly to Uncle Marin. “This juvenile delinquent he hangs out with—”
A firecracker exploded in Zert’s head. “Cribbie’s not a juvenile delinquent!” he yelled.
“—has Superpox,” his father finished. His father’s jaw tightened in a way that meant he had been right. That he was always right. That Zert knew nothing, and he knew everything.
“I’m sorry,” Uncle Marin said. “One of the many hazards of living in Low City DC.”
When Zert turned to gaze at him, his uncle’s face went blank. But not before Zert glimpsed a hint of a smile.
“Did you look for him, Dad?” Zert asked his father.
“I tried,” he said. “He must have ducked into one of the alleys.” His father paused and shook his head. “I shouted his name. He doesn’t want to be found, son.”
Zert moaned.
His father stepped closer.
Zert closed his eyes as he waited for the check he knew was coming. His father grabbed Zert’s wrist and started examining his skin. Blisters to welts to boils to … If his father found a blister on him, he would likely be dead within forty-eight hours.
After a few moments, Zert pushed his father’s hand away. “Stop. I don’t want to know.”
His father exhaled. “You’re clear.”
Zert exhaled and waited. His father had already grounded him and taken his I-ring, so he couldn’t call Cribbie to find out what was going on. He couldn’t call anybody. He was trapped in here when Cribbie might be … No, this couldn’t be happening to his best friend.
His father and Uncle Marin stood facing each other. They were having one of those unspoken adult conversations.
After a few moments, Uncle Marin was the first to break the silence. “You can escape all of this,” he said. He sounded like that salesman on the holo-imagetube who made Zert want to buy not one but a hundred glow balls. “And protect your son.”
His father scratched his stubbly chin. “You’re sure Zert can get vaccinated if we go?”
“I am,” Uncle Marin said. “One-hundred-percent sure.”
Zert looked from one person to the other.
His father’s eyes took on a lost gleam. The one that reminded Zert that his mom had died too young.
“I could hire a lawyer, but then we couldn’t afford to eat. I don’t know any other way to keep him out of jail and get him vaccinated,” his father said.
“So you’ll do it?” Uncle Marin said.
“What choice do I have?” his father sighed. His eyes circled the store, gazing at every display, and Zert felt as if he could read his thoughts. His father seemed to be thinking: This is my life. This was what I built.
“Let’s go,” his father said, finally.
“Where are we going?” Zert asked. His father hadn’t said, “Let’s go” like he did when he decided to go to the zero-calorie dessert store and splurge. He’d said, “Let’s go” like he had when it had been time to go to his mother’s funeral.
“You’re sure?” Uncle Marin said to his father. “There’s no turning back.”
His father’s jaw muscles bulged, his lips pressed together, and his face contorted into what Zert called his army look. “You know when I say something I mean it.”
Uncle Marin’s foreboard flashed as he let out a whoop and began hopping around the room in a one-legged dance, his red robe flopping around him. “The greatest adventure ever,” he called out. “No one will be able to top this.”
“What’s going on?” Zert said.
Chub pawed at his legs, asking to be picked up, but Zert ignored her.
His father glared at him, but then his blue eyes softened. “Forgive me, son. I promised your mother that I would do everything in my power to keep you safe.”
“What’s going on?” Zert’s voice went shrill. “Tell me!”
“So, Marin, what’s step one?” his father said, ignoring him.
Zert dropped to his knees next to Chub. He pulled his pet to him and hugged her so tightly that she howled.
7
A WRONG DESTINATION
Zert stroked Chub, who had curled into a ball next to him as he watched his favorite show on the holo-imagetube. Her upper lip trembled as she snored.
“But I was supposed to go to Up City Aspen,” the contestant mumbled.
On the show, people traveling to luxury vacation resorts by 3-D Mag Lev, the fastest and most expensive way to travel, ended up in grim destinations instead.
Underneath his heavy alpaca coat, the super-rich contestant wore dark pants and a dark shirt. He scowled at the ocean, still brown and full of debris from the Nuclear Mistake. The man’s brow hinted of a major temper tantrum, but on the island, with its ruined resort hotels, no one was around to yell at. Surrounding him were only the drooping palm trees.
With his free hand, Zert dipped into a bag of pickle/strawberry chips. He guessed, sour. Then, he bit into the chip and got his answer: the sweet taste of strawberry.
Cribbie liked Coca-Cola chips the best.
Cribbie! Not even his favorite show could take his mind off his best friend today. He had to find out how he was doing.
“Off,” Zert said to the holo-imagetube. The light shriveled up, and the corner of the room where the contestant had stood was empty again.
His father must have hidden his I-ring in an old chest in the attic. Zert had already searched everywhere else.
He had set Chub down to go hunt upstairs for his I-ring when the door to their apartment opened.
As his father entered the room, he accidentally pinned Chub’s tail with his foot.
Chub’s growl was ferocious, not at all what someone would expect from a mini-wolf. His pet had no idea how small she was.
Zert picked her up and rubbed the spot between her ears. “Sorry, girl,” he said. Her growl sputtered into a purr.
His father turned the desk chair around to face the couch and sat down. That morning he’d changed into a green Cage & Sons T-shirt, hung a “Closed” sign on the store, and left with Uncle Marin with hardly a good-bye and certainly no explanation. But now, his face bore that look, the one that said they needed to have a talk.
With the holo-imagetube now turned off, the squeaks of Okar’s wheel, the thumps of Uncle Marin’s footsteps in the attic, and the honks of the lifters on the street came through loud and clear.
But still his father stayed quiet.
A moving photo of his father and three of his army buddies hung on the wall behind him. When the photo had been newer, the men used to take off their coats, pick up axes, and hack at the ice. But now the picture was static, like an old-timey photo, and Jack and the others in the photo just gazed at Zert.
Their flat eyes seemed to say, “We’re sorry. We’re sorry for the Nuclear Mistake. We’re sorry for all of it.”
“Dad,” Zert spoke up first. “I really need my I-ring. I need to call Cribbie. To find out how he is.”
“You saw Cribbie, Zert. Pox can kill you,” his father said automatically, as if he were thinking about something else, something so bad that it drove every other thought out of his head.
“Cribbie’s not dead,” Zert said. “Roal had Superpox.” He paused. “He lived.” Roal, Cribbie’s brother, was what people called a Superpox champ. Not everyone died.
His father nodded. “It’s possible Cribbie’s OK.” He paused. “But have you thought about what it’s going to be like after you’re sentenced? How you’re going to like serving time in Teen Jail?”
“That judge can’t sentence me to twenty years for just one night,” Zert said. “It’s too unfair.”
“Still, you might be locked up for a long time.” His father sighed as he ran his fingers through his cropped brown hair. He was quiet a moment. “Your uncle’s plan is weird and terrible. We don’t have any choice but—”
“What plan?” Zert
interrupted.
“We’re moving.” His father paused. “Well, it’s more than just a move,” he mumbled. “Much more.”
“He should be here any minute,” Uncle Marin called out from behind the door.
“Everything I do, I do because I love you,” his father said.
Zert could read the doubt in his father’s scrunched eyebrows, could hear the uncertain hitch in his voice. For once, Jack, the fierce soldier of the Antarctica Wars, nicknamed Jack the Giant Killer by his men, wasn’t sure of the right thing to do.
The front door blared out its doorbell greeting.
“Who is it?” Zert demanded, his voice cracking. He led the way to the store.
Grayish light flowed in through the front window. Outside, it was pre-up, the time of day after the sun went down and before the artificial moon turned on. Until then, the only light on the street came from the Up City and the real moon.
Uncle Marin was standing in front of the counter, next to the boxes of Roach Bait, Magnetized Dust, Xter Vacuums, and Rodent Rifles.
At first, Zert thought the familiar room was empty. But then, he noticed the stranger. The man sat very still at the end of the foldout table that his father sometimes used for meetings. He had jet-black hair and matching black eyes. The set of his jaw reminded Zert of his old Boy Scout master.
The stranger wore an old-fashioned communication device—a wide crystal bracelet—and he held it up to view the screen. His MedNow Coat was covered by neat rows of shiny buttons for blood pressure, oxygen level, temperature, and diagnosis code.
“Hello, Zert,” said Uncle Marin. He walked over to the table and sat down. He was dressed in street clothes: a white long-sleeved shirt and white slacks. He motioned for Zert to sit down across from him.
“Let me put up Chub,” Zert said.
At the sound of her name, Chub squirmed in his arms.
The stranger said to his communication device, “I’m on a house call now, sir. May I get back to you with those figures?”
The stranger was a doctor. Did his father think he was sick? Just to be sure, Zert glanced at his hands and arms again. No blisters. Besides, he felt fine.
Zert knelt next to Chub’s cage and opened the latch. She thrust her soft black nose into his fingers. “That’s my girl,” he whispered. He gave her tummy a final tickle before putting her inside. The mini-wolf let out a howl of protest.