by David Estes
“Of course I was. So what?”
“So you were full of emotion, that’s what,” Destiny says. “People say things they don’t mean when they’re full of emotion. Or they exaggerate. You do it all the time with you brother.”
“I meant it,” Harrison says. “The words and the kiss.”
“But I’m damaged,” Destiny says, touching a hand to her burnt cheek. Somehow Harrison knows she’s not referring to her injury.
Harrison’s heart sighs in anguish for the girl who doesn’t know she’s beautiful, both inside and out. He touches her hand, slowly pulls it away from her face. Kisses her cheek, right on the blisters. Slides down to meet her lips, which seem tentative at first, but then devour his the same way he’s devouring her.
When they pull away he’s not angry and not sad and not anything but happy, which seems impossible.
“You will always be beautiful,” he says, airily, breathless.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Janice has her two boys back together again, and that’s enough for her. One might be hotter than a lit coal and the other as blue and icy as an igloo, but at least they’re alive. She can’t change their awful pasts but she can hope for a better future.
Maybe she can do more than hope, she remembers. Her husband said the only thing better than hope was action. He might have told a lot of lies, but she knows that wasn’t one of them.
“Noodles of truth,” she mutters under her breath, watching as Harrison kisses Destiny, an image that feels like flowers in springtime.
Scientists mill around her, doing who knows what, but she turns her attention to her other son, Benson, who’s making his way over to their new friends, Minda and Simon.
She remembers what Benson said earlier that day, when he was talking to Minda and she was tapping on her holo-screen. Something that brought back too many memories. Something that dredged up awful, beautiful memories of spending time with her husband when he’d visit her in the asylum.
Something about a key. Benson said the key was him, but that doesn’t make sense, does it? How could a kid be a key? Why would he think that? She knows she needs to tell him what his father made her repeat over and over again. But that’ll mean she’ll need to remember the past, something she doesn’t want to do while she’s hoping for a better future.
But she has to. She must. She will.
She gathers up her courage in a handful of her shirt, twisting it between her fingers.
~~~
Benson asks, “Is Simon going to be okay?”
“They say he will,” Minda says, watching Simon sleep. “The surgery went very well.”
“How’s your leg?” Benson feels weird standing between two people who took a bullet for him. Even weirder is the fact that they’re both still alive. People surviving feels like a miracle to him these days, as if death is a foregone conclusion and anything other than that a pleasant surprise.
“Sore but it will heal. I’ll be a bit gimpy for a few weeks but then it’ll be back to normal.”
“I’m glad,” Benson says.
“Enough of the formalities,” Minda says. “I know you didn’t come here to talk about our injuries.”
She read him like a book. “I want to know the truth. The whole truth. What you and the others in that agriculturists forum are doing. Where all this”—he waves his hand around the laboratory—“came from. What your goals are and how that guy—SamAdams—managed to infiltrate Pop Con and become a Hunter.”
Minda’s face is expressionless, and for a moment Benson suspects she’ll tell him that he’s a child asking adult questions that she’s unable to answer.
But then she says, “Okay. You deserve to know as much as anyone and I think you’ve more than earned our trust.”
Benson closes his eyes, opens them, says, “Thank you.” Waits.
“Your father is—was—one of us,” she says.
Benson doesn’t move, except for his lips. “Wait. What?”
Minda says nothing.
Benson says, “That’s impossible.”
Minda says, “Sometimes the impossible is true.”
“Not this time.”
Minda says nothing.
“But he was the head of Pop Con. He allowed children—UnBees and Slips—to be hunted and killed during his tenure.” Benson swallows hard. Somehow saying it out loud makes it sound worse than thinking it.
“He did what he had to do to maintain his cover,” Minda says.
“He did all of that for me,” Benson says, tapping his chest. “He sacrificed everything in case I ever got caught. In the end, he gave his life for his family.”
“Not only for you. Not only for your family. For all of us,” Minda says. “He was helping us with the biggest project of all. A project we needed an insider for.”
“You had SamAdams,” Benson says.
“His clearance only gets us so far. We needed support all the way at the top. Michael Kelly—your father—did something no one else could’ve.”
“Tell me,” Benson says, his heart hammering out a staccato drumbeat. He thought he knew everything about his father, which was why he was able to forgive him for his shortcomings. He knew his motivations, his love for his family, his willingness to die for them. But he doesn’t know what Minda knows.
“The Department of Population Control is undergoing a major system overhaul—a five-year project to update their communication and data networks to take advantage of new technology. Your father, as the head of Pop Con, was in charge of the project.”
“So he gave you information on the project? The details? But why would that be so important? Why would that be worth the risks he took?” Benson’s mind is racing, pulling facts into a line and trying to get them to make sense. Pieces are snapping together but they don’t quite fit right.
“Yes,” she says. “He gave us all of that. But he also did something. He took a program we created and imbedded it in the new system.”
“What kind of program?”
Minda takes a deep breath. “The kind that could end Pop Con.”
Benson frowns. “End them? You mean it’s a bomb? You’re going to blow them up?”
Minda laughs, although Benson didn’t mean it as a joke. “No, that’s the Lifers approach. The wrong approach. No matter how many of them you blow up, there will always be another to replace them. Our approach is much subtler, but more effective.” She pauses, as if for effect. “We’re going to delete all of their data.”
Benson’s mind stops lining things up and instead picks up everything he’s been told, whirling it around in circles like a tornado. A beautiful, perfectly concentric tornado. Because he understands immediately. It’s genius. With the data gone, everyone will be equal again. There will be no authorized or unauthorized citizens. Only humans. A Slip will show up on a scan the same as someone who received birth authorization before their parents conceived them.
Benson’s heart sinks as a thought occurs to him. “Surely they’ll have everything backed up,” he says.
Minda grins at him. “You’ve got your father’s brain,” she says. “He poked so many holes in our plan that it took us almost three years to fill them all. “There are seven data centers in the system, each with identical mirrored data from the main database. They backup on a nightly basis. They’re supposed to be walled in, completely separate from each other. But they’re not. Or at least they won’t be once the system upgrade is complete. Not only does our program link all seven datacenters together, but it permanently erases all data contained within them. At least that’s the simple explanation. The nuts and bolts are far more complex.”
Benson is in awe of everything he’s been told, but it still doesn’t answer his biggest question. “What do I have to do with any of this?” he asks.
Minda screws up her face and says, “Nothing.”
“You said you’d tell me everything.”
“I am.”
“But you said I was the key. You said I had to be
protected. You proved it by forcing your way onto my mission to find Harrison, even when you were injured. SamAdams came to save me on that snowfield. You and Simon took bullets for me.” The words are running together and Benson’s getting frantic, feeling overwhelmed by the dozens of truths that refuse to be reconciled with that one word: Nothing.
Minda takes Benson’s hand, squeezes it. “We did all of that, but it wasn’t for you. And I never said you were the key.”
Benson pulls his hand from her grasp, shaking his head. “Yes, you di—” He stops, his mind replaying all their conversations about the key. Rather, all their non-conversations about the key. It was always him talking and Minda remaining silent, changing the subject, avoiding the subject.
She waits patiently for him to catch up.
“Then who?” Benson asks, but already his brain is grasping at the truth, coiling around it, coming to a conclusion that, before now, he wouldn’t have considered in his wildest dreams.
Just then, as if by grand design, his mother, Janice, steps forward, one finger tapping firmly on the clear face of his old Zoran wristwatch.
Benson’s breath leaves him.
Minda says, “Janice Kelly is the key. Or rather, she knows the key. Your father trusted her with it, in case he ever died. He thought she’d be safely in the asylum, where we could retrieve it from her. He never expected Harrison to break her out. He never expected things to go the way they did.”
“Mom?” Benson says, stepping forward to pull his mother’s hand away from the watch. “Is this true?”
Her eyes are sad but clear. “My mind is like a fisherman’s net, so full of holes you’d think it’d be useless. But it’s not, it still catches fish, even if only the really big ones.”
Benson’s own mind feels full of holes—huge gaping openings from which even a whale could escape. He turns back to Minda. “Why didn’t my father give you and your associates the key?”
“He was paranoid. He was worried a Pop Con spy might infiltrate our circle and ruin everything. He didn’t trust anyone but himself. And your mother, obviously. He wanted to see the mission through himself. Your mother was simply a backup plan—a plan we’re all very glad he was smart enough to implement.”
Benson never stopped loving his father, even after he learned of all the lies he told, all the terrible things he did, but his level of respect just jumped to a whole new level. “So Mom can tell us the key and we can take them down. Like right now. Like today. Right?”
“Not yet,” Minda says. “The system upgrade is still a week away.”
A week. Benson can handle a week. He hugs his mom and says, “Dad thought the world of you. He trusted you with his biggest secret, even if he lied to you about me.”
She licks her lips. “He took my fingerprint, too,” she says. “And scanned my eyes. He wanted a fresh bio-signature, just in case. That made me giggle, because I’m not fresh at all. I’m stale and old and moldy.”
Something darkens inside Benson. “Why would he do that?” Benson asks Minda. “How is the key used?”
Minda looks away and it’s all the answer he needs.
“It can’t be done remotely, can it?” he says. “Mom has to get inside somehow. Has to give the system her fingerprint, her retinas, and the key. Am I right?”
“I’m sorry, Benson,” Minda says.
“No,” Benson says. “That’s not good enough. Sorry doesn’t keep my mom safe. Sorry doesn’t bring back the dead. Sorry is a word that turns to nothingness the moment it leaves your mouth. She’s not going to do it. I won’t let her.”
Even as he says it, he knows it’s a lie. There are some things bigger than him. Bigger than his mom. Bigger than a single family around which the world clearly does not revolve. But he also knows that she won’t be on her own—not ever.
Janice says, “Son, I’m going wherever I have to go. I always have. I always will.”
Her statement is so profoundly true that Benson wants to turn it into something tangible and place it in a pocket, as close to his heart as possible. He also knows that, “I’m going with you.”
~~~
Article from the Saint Louis Times:
Bomb Blast Rocks Downtown Saint Louis, Suicide Bomber Suspected
Late this afternoon, yet another bomb blast shook the ground and sent citizens running for their lives in downtown Saint Louis. The carnage included a number of shops and restaurants frequented by government employees, as well as a large section of the Tube. Early estimations pin the death toll in the hundreds. Eye witness accounts tell horrific stories of commuters falling from the Tube to the street below, bodies piled in alleyways, and looters taking advantage of the zone of destruction to steal food and goods. The Lifers immediately claimed responsibility for the act of terror, promising that there’s more to come if the Population Control Decree isn’t immediately rescinded. Given the terrorist organization’s track record, it’s suspected the attack was carried out by yet another suicide bomber.
Of particular concern is that, unlike previous attacks, there didn’t seem to be a specific target for the explosion. It appears to be a random act of violence meant only to strike fear into the hearts of our dedicated lawmakers and government leaders. All this despite the fact that Pop Con, under the strong hand of newly appointed boss, Corrigan Mars, managed to locate and destroy Refuge only days earlier. Mars was unavailable for comment and the blanket statement coming from both the mayor’s and president’s offices was that we don’t negotiate with terrorists.
Have a comment on this article? Speak them into your holo-screen now. NOTE: All comments are subject to government screening. Those comments deemed to be inappropriate or treasonous in nature will be removed immediately and appropriate punishment issued.
Comments:
Tammy77: The Lifers need to be stopped before they tear our country apart.
FionaMorgan1: At least my husband and I got a birth authorization from it! I promise my unborn child will honor the sacrifice that our Death Match made today.
Beck: Comment removed and disciplinary action taken.
Chapter Thirty-Five
The call is arranged by Minda, who somehow has a secure line directly to the Lifers. To Jarrod. Benson’s given up on wondering how she does half the things she does.
Although Benson expects to see the face of a monster projected from the screen, it’s just the face of an old man. Tired, worn out lines crease Jarrod’s forehead. Crow’s feet stick out from the edges of his eyes, which are underlined by dark purple circles, like bruises.
“Thank God you’re alive,” Jarrod says, licking his lips.
“No thanks to you. You tried to kill us,” Benson says.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Jarrod says.
Benson sighs. Of course he doesn’t. He’s as much a master of propaganda as the Saint Louis Times. Why does everything have to be extremes? he wonders silently to himself. Isn’t there any middle ground? As much as Benson wants to be fiercely angry at Jarrod, he’s not. He’s too tired to be angry. Too stuffed full of new information and secrets. Too ready to carry his father’s legacy forward. So he doesn’t refute Jarrod’s lie. Not today. Maybe not ever.
“I want to talk to my friends. To Check and Rod and Gonzo and Geoffrey,” he says instead.
“Why?”
“To make sure they’re okay.”
“They are. They’re happy here.”
Benson knows that “here” has probably changed several times since he was last hiding out with the Lifers. “Let me talk to them.”
Jarrod sighs. “Very well,” he says. “Let me know if you decide to rejoin our cause.”
Don’t count on it, Benson thinks. But he says nothing, watching as Jarrod’s three-dimensional form fades away and is replaced by the familiar faces of his friends. Check’s smile reaches his narrow eyes when he sees Benson. Rod and Gonzo are pushing and shoving, trying to fight their way into the holo-area, and Geoffrey is standing sullenly to the
side, noticeably apart from the others. Benson feels a lump of sorrow rise in his throat as he sees Luce’s eyes, her delicate nose, and the line of her jaw—all in her brother’s face. Like a ghost transposed on his skin. Like an echo from the past.
He swallows it down and says, “You all okay?”
Check nods. “Never been better. Glad we didn’t have to save your sorry butt this time around. Jarrod told us what happened. Glad you finally came around and realized Harrison was right. You killed your Death Match.”
“No,” Benson says, but Check talks over him.
“Fat lot of good it did though. We had Wire hack into the system again and he couldn’t find any record of Boris Decker ever being your Death Match. They screwed you over, Benson. You’re still the most wanted Slip on the planet.”
“I didn’t kill Decker,” Benson says.
Check winks and says, “Sure you didn’t.”
“No, really, I didn—”
Check waves him silent. Rod breaks free of Gonzo and pushes in front of Check and says, “Doesn’t matter, amigo. We’re all going to be free citizens soon enough anyway.”
Something in the Mexican Jumper’s tone makes Benson’s heart skip a beat.
“Yeah,” Gonzo says, knocking Rod out of the way. “They’ll have no choice but to listen to Jarrod after what he’s got planned.”
Minda exchanges a glance with Benson, but says nothing, extending a hand as if to say, “You ask.”
“He’s killing innocent people,” Benson says, trying to keep his voice even.
Check shakes his head, back in front after Rod and Gonzo go rolling to the floor. “No one is innocent,” he says. “Jarrod’s doing what he has to do. What no one else is willing to do.”
“Because it’s wrong,” Benson says. “He’s as bad as Pop Con is. He’s turning people into bombs.”
“Their sacrifices are for the greater good,” Geoffrey says, finally speaking. His face looks animated, more alive than Benson has seen it since his sister was killed. He stares right at Benson and all traces of Luce seem to disappear. “They made their choice.”