[Santa Olivia 02] - Saints Astray

by Jacqueline Carey

  Her heart hitched painfully as Pilar entered the chamber. She was wearing the navy-blue polka-dotted dress that Vincenzo Picco had complimented and she looked worn and worried and utterly lovely. Loup stroked her hair on the television screen with her manacled hands, her eyes burning.

  “That’s your girl?”

  “Yeah,” she said softly.

  “She’s pretty.”

  “I know.” Loup sat glued to the television as Pilar was sworn in and testified, relating in a steady, unfaltering voice her life story as a child born in forgotten Santa Olivia and orphaned there.

  They asked her how she’d gotten out and why.

  She told them.

  “Wow.” Bradford had moved to sit beside Loup, transfixed by the testimony. “She really loves you a lot, huh?”

  “Yeah.” She pressed the heels of her hands against her eyelids. “A lot.”

  He gave her an awkward one-armed hug. “I’m sorry.”

  “Thanks.” Loup dropped her hands, watching the screen hungrily as Pilar was escorted from the chamber. “Aw, fuck! Just a little more? Please?”

  There wasn’t.

  Loup sighed and rested her forehead against her knees, encircled by her manacled hands. “I’m sorry,” she murmured. “It was just nice, you know? Nice to see her. I miss her so much, that’s all.” She gathered herself. “Cell time?”

  “Yeah.” Bradford Prince helped her unnecessarily to her feet. “You got a book to read?”

  “I almost finished one. Why?”

  “I might not be here tomorrow and I don’t know if the guy taking my place will be willing to supervise your rec time.”

  “Why? I thought your rotation lasted three weeks.”

  “Don’t ask questions.” He didn’t meet her eyes. “You want to take another book to read or not?”

  “Pick something out for me.”

  He plucked a dog-eared copy of Great Expectations from the nearest shelf.

  “You like Dickens?” Loup asked. “My friend T.Y. read all of Tale of Two Cities to me while I trained on the treadmill. He thought it was boring, but I liked it.”

  Bradford shrugged. “I dunno. Thought the title suited you.”

  The next day he was gone. The guard who took his place was professional and impersonal. When Loup asked about watching the hearings, he informed her that her rec time had been curtailed due to staffing issues.

  She missed Miguel Garza’s testimony.

  And she missed the dam breaking.

  The influx of new prisoners was the first sign of it. Two days after Bradford Prince vanished, Loup heard the doors onto the empty cell block opening, sensors beeping. And footsteps, lots and lots of footsteps. She pressed her face to the cell door’s high little window, standing on tiptoe.

  The prisoners were GMOs.

  All of them—every one of them. They were all men at least five to ten years older than her. They varied in height and size and coloring, though all bore some stamp of mixed racial heritage. They had close-cropped military haircuts.

  All shared an intensity of physical presence, dense muscled and sleek, moving with a precise fluidity, even in handcuffs.

  Like her; like her cousins.

  Loup stared, awed. One caught her eye and flashed her a fierce grin. He turned his head and said something she couldn’t hear to the prisoner behind him, the cell door muffling his words. After that, every prisoner that passed acknowledged her.

  Somewhere toward the end was John Johnson.

  His was a face she would never forget. He’d killed her brother by accident. She’d beaten him in the boxing ring. And his was the one face she wasn’t surprised to see, because his fate had been sealed from the minute Pilar told the truth about their escape from Outpost. He stopped outside her cell door, cool green eyes meeting hers in a fearless gaze. The guard escorting him prodded him to no avail.

  “What did you do?” Loup whispered, her breath clouding the security glass. “All of you?”

  Unable to hear her words, he gave her a hard smile and moved onward.

  Doors slammed, door after door.

  Days passed.

  Different guards came and went, harried and overworked. They delivered MREs to cell after cell. After being rebuffed a few dozen times, Loup gave up on asking for rec time or news and lay on her cot, reading Great Expectations.

  At last, Tom Abernathy came for her.

  “What the fuck’s going on?” Loup asked, sitting across the table from him in the official interview room, her hands manacled before her. “Those guys! There’s like a hundred of them. All GMOs.”

  “This.” He played a video clip for her on his laptop.

  It was from the hearings. A man in an army dress uniform was sworn in before the congressional committee.

  “I know that guy.” Loup squinted at the small screen.

  “Staff Sergeant Michael Buckland,” Abernathy murmured.

  “Yeah! He took me to the hospital the night Tommy died.” She glanced up. “He was dating Kotch when I left. Katya. One of the Santitos.”

  “Yes.”

  She watched him testify to having served in an Outpost with a civilian population. Watched him beckon to someone offscreen. Congressional aides began pouring into the chamber, steering wheelbarrows full of sealed envelopes. One by one, they dumped their loads on the floor and withdrew. A pile of paper grew and grew.

  “What—”

  “They’re affidavits, Loup.” Abernathy gave her a weary, victorious smile. “From tens of thousands of military personnel. All affirming more or less the same thing. The Outposts exist. They have civilian populations.”

  Her eyes burned. “That’s what Bradford meant. So the dam—”

  “The dam has broken.” He nodded. “Yesterday, under considerable pressure, the president signed an executive order. There will be a bipartisan investigation into activities in the cordon. The no-fly zone has been revoked.”

  “We won?”

  “We won this round.” Tom Abernathy sighed. “Now comes the next. They can’t punish thirty thousand men at once, but they can pick their targets—especially the ones that scare them. Every single GMO serving in the military signed an affidavit. One hundred and twenty-seven, to be exact. And every single one has been rounded up and detained here. But you, you were the first. And you’re the only one not subject to military regulations. You’re ground zero. It starts with you.”

  Loup gazed at him with shining eyes. “You knew all along, didn’t you?”

  “I hoped.” He closed his laptop. “I wasn’t sure.”

  “Thanks.” She slithered across the table with her manacled hands to kiss his cheek. “I’m sorry I doubted you.”

  Abernathy flushed to the roots of his neatly parted blond hair. “We’re not out of the woods. A little propriety?”

  She smiled. “Are you a one in a hundred?”

  He blinked at her. “Huh?’

  “Never mind.”

  FORTY-SIX

  Days dragged into weeks.

  Loup finished reading Great Expectations and started it over again.

  Outside, the world was in an uproar. Tom Abernathy visited to give her periodic updates. The investigation had confirmed the existence of the Outposts and their civilian population. The news media was filled with outraged editorials. Decades’ worth of foreign and domestic policy was under review.

  “What about us?” Loup asked.

  He sighed. “There’s good news and bad. I filed a petition on your behalf for a writ of habeas corpus. The right to a hearing in court,” he explained, noting her puzzled expression. “The judge dismissed it.”

  “Because of the Human Rights Amendment?”

  “Exactly.” Abernathy nodded. “The good news is that your story’s still very much on the radar, and it’s been validated by the Outpost findings. The government’s under a lot of pressure to review the amendment.” He smiled. “Seems there’ve been a record number of irate young people contacting their congress
ional representatives and writing to the president.”

  “Kate fans.”

  “It seems to be spreading.” He showed her the cover of Newsweek magazine. It had a photo of Loup onstage at the concert in Osaka, the young Japanese fan in the striped socks perched on her shoulder. Loup was laughing, while the girl on her shoulder beamed with sheer delight, her arms spread wide. The headline read REDEFINING HUMAN? “You’ve captured the public’s imagination.”

  “I remember that night.” Loup smiled. “Wonder where they got the photo.”

  “They’re all over the place. I imagine they bought the rights to one.” Abernathy gave her a curious look. “What in the world gave you the idea? How much of this was orchestrated?”

  She shrugged. “It was a fluke at first. Then it turned into a gimmick. I thought maybe I could use it to make people aware. Once the band decided they wanted to make it their thing, it just kind of took off. Can I keep the magazine? Ever since Bradford left I can’t get anything new to read.”

  “No, sorry,” he said apologetically. “I’m not allowed to give you any materials.”

  Loup sighed. “Okay. So what about the others?”

  “Others?”

  She gestured in the direction of the cell block. “The other detainees.”

  “Ah.” Abernathy frowned. “Because they’re subject to military regulations, their cases are different.”

  “Have any of the normal soldiers who wrote affidavits been detained?”

  “No. They’ve been suspended from duty for the moment, but we don’t have the facilities to detain them.”

  “Goddamnit!” Loup scowled. “Why only the GMOs? What the fuck are they afraid of?”

  “I’m not sure,” he said hesitantly. “Except that throughout history, there are innumerable tales of man’s creations turning against their creator. I suspect it’s a deeply ingrained fear.”

  “That’s stupid.”

  “You’re not angry at how you’ve been treated?” Abernathy asked.

  “Angry? Yeah, sure. This sucks.” She shrugged again. “I’m bored and lonely and pretty sure I’d be scared if I could be. There’s that empty feeling. But I don’t want to get back at anyone for it. I just want things to be fixed. Fair.”

  “Do you think the others feel the same way?”

  “I don’t know why they wouldn’t.”

  “Interesting.” He rose. “I’ll be in touch.”

  More waiting.

  To keep from losing her wits, Loup kept active in her cell. She shadow-boxed and did push-ups and crunches, adhering to the discipline honed by endless hours of training. She made sure to meditate every day. She finished rereading Great Expectations and started it over for a third time. She daydreamed about running freely along the coast at Huatulco like she’d been able to do the first time she visited her family there, the sun at her back and the water splashing under her feet.

  And about Pilar.

  She daydreamed a lot about Pilar.

  There were so many good memories now. Some of her favorites were the funny ones. It made her smile every time to think of Pilar flung over Raimundo’s shoulder, swearing indignantly; or Pilar provoking Sabine with disingenuous innocence. Then there were the nice ones, like Pilar giving her the necklace on the train, or Pilar looking happy and pleased with herself for finding the best places to eat, knowing how much Loup would enjoy it.

  A thousand good memories.

  All of them were better than remembering her broken look when they said goodbye.

  A solid month after the Outpost hearings concluded, Tom Abernathy came to see her with a bounce in his step, a gleam in his eye, and a military doctor in tow.

  “News?” Loup brightened.

  “Very good news,” Abernathy confirmed. “The president has appointed an independent commission to study the Human Rights Amendment.” He grinned at her. “You’re the genie they couldn’t put back in the bottle, Loup! They can hide a lot under the guise of national security, including your fellow detainees, but too many people saw that footage of you, and there are too many people who had actual contact with you willing to testify it’s not a hoax.”

  “That’s great!”

  “Dr. Morgan is here to take a sample of your DNA.”

  She opened her mouth obediently and let him swab the inside of her cheek. “Do I get to see the results?”

  “Do you want to?” the doctor asked.

  “Maybe.” She thought about what Christophe had said about preferring not to know. “I’m not sure.”

  The doctor gave her a sympathetic look. “They’ll be available if you want them.”

  “Thanks.”

  He left, having gotten what he needed.

  “So what happens now?”

  “It depends,” Abernathy said. “The GMO Commission will issue subpoenas for all the materials relating to the Sino-Haitian program and subsequent experiments. The Department of Defense will refuse in the interest of national security. My guess is that while that gets settled in the courts, they’ll proceed by considering your particular case.”

  “Whether or not I’m fit to be considered human.”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you think I am?”

  He flushed. “Of course I do!”

  “People don’t know,” Loup said thoughtfully. “All they know is rumors and stuff. The driver who took me to the Kate concert, he was surprised that I was so upset about leaving Pilar. Like he thought I didn’t feel.”

  “It’s obvious that you do.”

  “To you.”

  Abernathy sighed and rumpled his tidy hair. “I won’t hold any influence over the commission, Loup. I can’t control what they ask or don’t ask. Can you cry on cue? Because that would be helpful.”

  “No,” she said. “I can’t cry.”

  “No?”

  Loup shook her head. “Not like you. My eyes hurt, but they don’t make tears.”

  He was quiet a moment. “You understand theater, though, don’t you? That footage with the stun gun… you provoked them on purpose, didn’t you? You knew there was a camera on you.”

  “Maybe.”

  “Maybe,” Abernathy echoed. He summoned a smile. “Well, maybe I have an idea or two of my own. And maybe a word or two dropped in certain unofficial channels might produce results.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Yes. Don’t ask.”

  “Why?”

  “Because whatever happens, I want your reaction to be honest,” he said earnestly. “I want the commission to see it. I want them to see what I see in you. Are you willing to trust me, Loup?”

  She searched his eyes. “Yeah. Yeah, I am.”

  He sighed. “Good.”

  FORTY-SEVEN

  The GMO Commission began its investigation.

  Their opening moves played out as Tom Abernathy had predicted, and when the issue of classified documents moved to the courts, the commission’s attention turned to Loup.

  First came a battery of physical examinations. She submitted to them without complaint, letting a team of doctors poke and prod her in the medical facility of the detention center. In the center’s unused gym, they hooked her up to a heart-rate monitor and had her run on a treadmill. She increased her speed gradually, moving slowly from a normal human pace to a full flat-out run until the belt moved in a whining blur and the motor began to smell hot.

  “Jesus Christ,” one of the doctors murmured.

  Loup laughed and slowed down. “Nah. I can’t walk on water.” He gave her a startled look. “It’s a joke, okay? Yes, I have a sense of humor.”

  That made him smile. “I’ll pass that on to the psychology team.”

  The psychological tests came next. At least it was a change from the lonely tedium of her cell and Great Expectations. They hooked her up to more monitors and had her watch a multitude of video clips, analyzing her responses and interviewing her about them.

  “What’s all this supposed to prove?” Loup asked Dr. Sheridan, the head
of the psych team.

  “We’re measuring the range of your emotional responses.” She consulted a monitor. “How did the last clip make you feel?”

  “Bored.”

  The doctor raised her eyebrows. “You didn’t feel any empathy for the woman being stalked?”

  “It’s just a movie. I know it’s not real.”

  “What if I told you it was actual video footage from a security camera and the woman was in fact killed?” Dr. Sheridan inquired.

  Loup’s pulse increased. “Then it would make me mad.” With an effort, she kept her voice level. “And if it’s true, I’d say that’s a pretty sick thing to show me.”

  “Mad,” the doctor mused. “Do a lot of things make you angry?”

  “No.”

  “What does?”

  She thought about it. “People getting hurt.”

  “And yet you’ve hurt a number of people. You have a history of violent assault. Were you angry at the time?”

  “Sometimes.” Loup sighed. “Look, I get angry when innocent people are hurt, okay? I was mad at the soldier who raped Katya and the dog killers. I was mad at the terrorist guy in Switzerland who wanted to shoot that kid. Wouldn’t you be?”

  Dr. Sheridan didn’t answer. “Do you always act on your anger?”

  “If there’s something I can do, I guess.”

  “Do you think violence solves problems?”

  “Not always, no. Of course not.”

  “Sometimes? Most of the time?”

  Loup eyed her. “Well, I’m starting to get pretty fucking irritated right about now, but I don’t think getting violent would solve anything.”

  “But you’re having violent urges.”

  “No! Jesus, lady, I was being ironic. You’re trying to make me out like I’m some kind of psychopath.”

  “That’s interesting you would say that,” the doctor observed. “Do you think you’re a psychopath?”

  “No!”

  “You trained as a boxer. Do you like fighting?”

  “Yeah, I do.” Loup sighed again. “I enjoy the sport, okay? But no, I don’t get off on hurting people.”

  “How does it make you feel?”

  “Depends.” She searched for a way to answer. “Bad, sometimes. Like those guards in Vegas, they were just doing their job. In the boxing ring, at least in the only real fight I ever had, it was just about winning or losing. I felt good about winning, but I was glad to know Johnson was okay afterward. I guess the only time I really felt good about hurting someone was the guy in Switzerland. And believe me, if you had someone try to shoot you, you’d feel pretty good about punching them out, too.”