by Hannah Ross
"I think they're all the same," said Ben as he set down his fork. "They uphold the Boundary. They divide citizens into Class A, Class B, and people like us, who have no citizenship at all. I don't believe Connor would be any different from Dahl."
Daniel shook his head. "I'm not so sure, son. Connor's a new man on the scene. He could make some changes for the better if given half a chance."
Priscilla bit her lip to keep from plunging into the conversation again. That's what I say. Give Connor a chance. It's high time someone had a chance to beat Father.
13
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Thursday, April 3
It was late afternoon, and the sun was hanging low in the sky when Priscilla heard the sound of Rebecca's car in the driveway.
When Ben arrived for his visit, he made a point of saying he could not possibly stay longer than a couple of days. Now, a week later, it seemed he had no intention of leaving. His mother was thrilled and did not remind him of the duties at his camp, which seemed so pressing a short time before.
"Your Mom's back from Resurrection Town."
Priscilla and Ben busied themselves that day painting the fence that ran along part of the back of the garden area. The task took them a surprising number of hours, considering it was a pretty short fence. But then, perhaps it was because they spent much time lounging and talking, their brushes and paint-bucket forgotten.
"She's been longer than I thought," Ben said. "I suppose we'll have dinner soon, now."
With a pang, Priscilla noted he again avoided using the word mother. Earlier that day, he confessed that after so many years of estrangement, the word did not come naturally to him. No wonder! He grew up in a world where children had no parents. Where they were considered worthless and left to lead empty, loveless lives in gloomy orphanages in the name of the Greater Good. Then, at age twelve, they were tossed across the Boundary to shift by themselves as they could, or die trying.
"I still can't believe all those things you've told me," she said in a low voice, shaking her head. "You've actually lived on your own since you were twelve?"
"Not on my own. If I'd been on my own, I'd have died. It was being together that helped us survive. Power of the pack, you know." He offered a half-smile.
She tried to conquer the blush of shame that spread over her cheeks. My father did this. While I was living like a princess at Silver Oaks, children were perishing beyond the Boundary, with a great, well-oiled system to hush it all up. "What was it really like?"
Ben noticed her distress and attempted to alleviate it. "Less dramatic than it sounds. There was lots of work and many bleak days, but it was worth it. There's no need to look so grave. I know it must sound shocking to a Boundary girl, but after all, here I am, fine and well." For emphasis, he spread his arms as if inviting anyone to come and have a look at his vigorous, healthy, young self.
"But what happens now? Are children still sent to orphanages? Still sent over the Boundary? What about those who are born really sick or have a defect? Who takes care of them?"
"They don't send out busloads of kids across the Boundary and leave them here anymore. I know that for sure. And I know reproductive restrictions are less harsh now. But Kate told me it makes little difference. With the prices so high, and apartments so cramped, people aren't lining up to have lots of kids. Many are given up to orphanages still. When they're old enough, they get a Class B citizenship and are used as cheap labor, unless they screw up really bad. Then they're dumped out here."
Nell listened with a troubled frown. "What about those who can't work? You know, the kids who are given up because they have a birth defect of some kind? What happens to them?"
"I honestly don't know, Nell. I doubt the White Tower is generous enough to pay for medical treatment for such kids. When I was in the orphanage, a few just quietly passed away when they were little. It's really sad, but it would have been worse if they had survived to the age of being thrown out here."
He was startled to see the dark, ominous expression of Nell's face. "That's evil, Ben. The White Tower can easily afford decent care for those children. My…Alexander Dahl could give up his private jet or something. That would be enough."
Ben gave a hollow laugh. "Give up something for the likes of me? You must be kidding. The Tower will never stop treading on the little people, and there's nothing you or I can do about it." He sighed. "Come on. Let's finish this fence."
They were a few brushstrokes away from done when they heard footsteps approaching.
"Hello, Ben," Rebecca said. "Hello, Nell dear. I see you've done a wonderful job on the fence. Thank you! I've been saying to Daniel for months we had to get to repainting it."
"Take care not to touch the fresh paint," Ben said. "How was the trip to town?"
"Oh, I just told Daniel." Rebecca pulled an envelope out of the pocket of her jacket. "There was a letter from Kate. She writes that she and Tony are about to finish their vacation in the mountains, and mentions they plan to drop by for a visit here soon. It should be in a couple of days, in fact!" She beamed. "Isn't it wonderful? You'll stay until Kate arrives, won't you, Ben?"
"I'd like to. I haven't seen her in a while."
"It will be so lovely, getting together. I wish we could get your brother and Allie to come for a visit."
"I don't think Allie likes it out here. She's a Boundary girl. Did you try to call her or Jordan? Did he get that job he wanted?"
"I tried Jordan, but he was in a meeting. I did get Allie, though. She said he's still waiting to hear. I could tell she didn't care one way or another since it doesn't pay much more than he earns now. I think she wants to start her family in a bigger apartment. Something nicer in a better area, and this new job won't pay enough for them to afford to move."
"I don't see what's so bad about it. Isn't it about the same as the one you all lived in?"
"It is. But she grew up in a bigger place so... I don't know. I suppose they'll work it out. But I can't wait to see Kate and Tony again. Oh, and Nell. You don't have to worry. You'll stay in your room. They're really easygoing about where they sleep. They won't mind rolling out a sleeping bag in the small barn if it's warm enough."
"They can have the living room," Ben said. "I'll move into the barn."
Priscilla felt a twinge of worry, but it had nothing to do with sleeping accommodations. She was wary of any strangers, of anyone who came from the outside world. She felt herself growing anxious every time Rebecca or Daniel made a trip to Resurrection Town.
What if the newspapers finally announce the disappearance of Alexander Dahl's daughter? My cover story is so flimsy, I'm sure the Hursts would recognize me at once. A few more weeks, that's all I need. Time is in my favor. Rebecca and Daniel have been so kind to me, but will they forgive these lies if they find out who I am? And Ben? Why am I more afraid of what Ben would think than of what will happen if Father’s agents find me?
At times she thought she should tell him, and her real name stood on the tip of her tongue, but she always stopped herself at the last moment.
Still, Rebecca was looking at her with an expectant smile, waiting for some acknowledgement of the good news she just related.
"I'm sure it will be fun," Priscilla said, her voice strained.
14
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Saturday, April 5
Two days later, an old, battered, and dented Land Rover stopped in the farm's driveway, and the driver's door swung open. A young, thin, energetic-looking woman ran toward Rebecca and Daniel with exclamations of delight. Behind her, an olive-skinned man with dark hair pulled back in a ponytail climbed out and watched with a smile as he ambled after her.
Kate's green eyes sparkled as her words gushed forth. "We had such a wonderful time, didn't we, Tony? Mom, if you can spare some time away, you and Dad should definitely go too. Snowboarding is just fantastic!"
Rebecca smiled. "I'm afraid we're past the age for that, dear."
Kate p
inched Ben's cheek, eliciting an embarrassed grin as he said, "Hi, Kate. Hi, Tony."
The two young men shook hands.
"I confess I wasn't expecting to meet you here, little brother," Kate said. "Are you going to stay for a couple of days, or do you have to get back to your camp?"
"No, I don't have to leave just yet," Ben said, thrusting his hands in his pockets.
"What's with the car?" asked Daniel as he walked over to the antique and ran his hand over the multiple dents in the car's fender. "Couldn't they do better at the rental agency?"
"I guess not," Tony said. "This was the last Land Rover they had available, and quite a price we had to pay for leasing it, too. Our car wouldn't do for traveling across the Boundary, you know, with the state of these roads."
"Someday the roads will be repaired," Rebecca said. "It's inevitable. People are moving out. It's a trickle, now, but it will grow stronger in time. There's no keeping people pent up in the Boundary like cattle in a crowded pen."
It was only then Kate noticed Priscilla and gave her a curious look. "Hi," she said. "I don't think we've met before."
"This is Nell," Daniel said. "She's staying with us for a while and helping around the farm."
"Nice to meet you, Nell," Kate said, shaking hands. Her eyes lingered on Ben and Priscilla, who were standing close together and looked a lot friendlier than might be expected of such recent acquaintances. Her lips curved in a slight, knowing smile. "So… Where are you from?"
"The Urban Islands," Priscilla muttered. She hoped everyone would leave it at that, but could tell Kate was about to ask another question when Tony pulled a huge suitcase out of the back seat of the Land Rover, dropped it on his toe, and swore loud enough to startle some birds in a nearby tree.
"Did you fill this with rocks, Kate?"
"Don't exaggerate, Tony. It's only some clothes and souvenirs."
"Souvenirs! You should put a warning on this, you know. It's heavy as a slab of lead."
* * *
Dinner that night was a happy affair. Rebecca, with help from Kate and Priscilla, set dish after dish of her excellent cooking on the table. Everyone took their time, basking in the yellow glow of the oil lamps as they ate and talked. Tony, who demolished three platefuls heaped high, was the first to retire from the table and settle into an old, comfy armchair, frowning into an unfolded newspaper.
Kate helped collect the dishes from the table, then walked over to where Tony sat and perched on the armchair handle. "You hardly put two words together at dinner. Is everything OK?"
"Just tired," Tony mumbled, not taking his eyes from the paper.
"Anything interesting?" Kate craned her head to see what he was reading. "'The White Tower secretary declines comment on alleged government enterprises in Mexico'. Pfft. We little people never know where our taxes are going, do we? But why do you find this so interesting?"
At the kitchen sink, Priscilla froze, dishtowel in hand, when the words government enterprises in Mexico reached her ears and something fell into place. What I wasn't supposed to hear. What nobody was supposed to know. The secret conferences between Father and Frederick Pearson. Mexico. Calm down. Breathe deep. Try not to look suspicious. You're Nell, a nameless girl from a nameless place. You know nothing about Mexico.
Ben, who had his sleeves rolled up and his hands deep in the suds-filled sink, looked up at her and asked, "What's wrong?"
"Nothing." As she offered a nervous smile, a dish nearly slipped from her grasp and she was just in time to catch it by her fingertips to keep it from shattering.
"They're all a bunch of hypocrites at the White Tower," Kate said, obviously on a familiar roll. "For years and years, they crowded people in Urban Districts and sent kids away to work at fields or factories, or worse, to survive on their own outside the Boundary."
She looked at Ben, who shook his head. "Cut it, Kate. We've all heard that before. The corrupt big government, and so on and so forth. As if there's anything we can do about it. Why ruin the evening?"
His sister was undeterred. "And they did it all just so they could keep their nice big mansions and fancy cars and private Islands! And, above all, so they could live forever!"
Priscilla's heart skipped a beat. She put the glass she was wiping on the kitchen counter. "NOAGE? But that was just a rumor."
Kate stopped, as if having recalled something, and went on in a calmer mode. "I'm not so sure, Nell," she said. "The riots of two years ago. You probably don't remember much. How old are you, actually?"
"Sixteen," Priscilla said, bristling. "And I remember it all very well."
"Sorry, I meant no offence." She shared a faint smile. "Not many sixteen-year-olds express an interest in politics."
Not unless they're the children of those who are in charge of the White Tower. "We always talked about politics at home."
"Oh? Your parents are activists? What do they do?"
Priscilla was ready to bite her tongue, so frustrated was she with herself for lacking a proper cover story. "They are… They have a family business."
"Well, in that case, I understand why they would be politically aware. People with family businesses are few and far between these days. Pretty much everything is owned by the government or the few influential clans. I don't have any definite information about NOAGE, anyway…" She locked eyes with Tony for a second. "…but even so, the corruption—"
"Enough." Rebecca said with a look Kate knew well. "Ben is right, dear. Why should we ruin our evening by talking about White Tower affairs? That's neither here nor there. We haven't seen you in so long a time. Let's just enjoy each other's company, shall we?"
"Right, Mom. Tony, why don't you put that down and take out the guitar?" She snatched the paper from Tony's grip. He didn't protest and went to retrieve his guitar case. Soon a soft tune filled the cozy little house, while Daniel fetched a steaming teapot and handed round a large plate of cookies. Rebecca took out a game of Scrabble and convinced Kate, Ben and Priscilla to join her.
Sitting around the table like a real family was comfortable, but Priscilla's attention wandered away from the board in front of her. The letters all danced before her eyes, arranging themselves into phrases from newspaper articles. Government insists… government denies… recent statistic… necessary measures. She thought of her father, the election campaign, and the media. She knew if she ran away at any other time, her picture would be all over the newspapers in half a day. But now it would be political suicide. Her father's opponents would milk her disappearance for all it's worth and she didn't doubt the great Alexander Dahl knew it well. He would search for her, but he would do it privately, for now.
With weeks to go until the elections, she wondered whether her father would be able to conceal the truth from the public long enough.
15
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Sunday, April 6
President Dahl sat scowling at the TV screen with an expression that stated only too plainly he would love nothing better than to give the waving, smiling man shown there a hearty punch in the face.
"Trust Connor to make a field day of it," Dahl snapped, losing his perfectly cool composure for a moment. He looked again at the wide, flat TV screen, which showed the meaty, broad-jawed, clean-shaven face of Ted Connor, who looked smug as he stood in front of the crowd and made his speech.
"This is an important election," he boomed. "Perhaps the most important in any of our lifetimes. And naturally, tensions are running high. But despite what's at stake, I will not reduce myself to mud-slinging. I will not go into all the behind-the-scenes manipulations of Dahl's policy. I will not declare any suspicions until I have solid, undeniable fact. I do believe, though…" He raised his voice just a notch, "…that a man who is running for President must not avoid answering the simple question of, where is his daughter?"
There was a smattering of enthusiastic applause and several people whistled and shouted. Some of them were brandishing large hand-painted signs saying, "Connor
for President" and "People's Power for White Tower".
"No one has seen Priscilla Dahl for some time. Her participation in several rallies, charity events and concerts, scheduled months in advance, was abruptly cancelled. Alexander Dahl's election office declines to make any comment. So do the police and every major hospital. It doesn't take a genius to figure out something is going on here. Something is wrong and the public has the right to know."
Dahl suppressed the urge to swear. If I could, I'd dearly like to show this buffoon just what I think of public rights.
"Turn the damn thing down," he ordered, and Pearson hastened to comply as, for the first time, he heard the President growl in extreme frustration. Dahl was tempted to pour himself a double whiskey, but a clear head was imperative at the moment. "Show me the report."
Pearson hurried to pull out the file with its neatly printed pages, graphs, and charts. "I assure you, Mr. President, there is really nothing to worry about. Connor is a pesky nuisance, to be sure, but he has no more chance to sit in this chair than learn to fly. As you can see, all the surveys—"
"What I can see," Dahl said through clenched teeth, jabbing a finger at a red-and-blue graph, "is that I'm losing popularity. A week ago, Connor was a joke. Now people are beginning to take him seriously. He is a clown. He has no capabilities, no real strategy, no connections to speak of. All he has to use is this card of Priscilla's disappearance, and he's pulling it out over and over again. We must find her, Pearson, and we must find her fast."
"Mr. President, I am doing all in my power."
A muscle twitched in Dahl's jaw. "Then it isn't damn good enough, is it?" he said in a low, dangerous voice. "Bring my daughter home, Pearson, or say you can't do it, and I'll find someone who can."
"Please, Mr. Dahl." Pearson hurried to procure another file, much the same as the previous one but thinner. "We have some very promising leads, and I daresay that in the next day or two—"