by Estes, David
Harrison feels a shiver run down his spine, even less from the cold than his mother’s chattering teeth. Perhaps she’s not as far gone as he thought. She practically read his mind. He blows out a breath and starts again. “Thank you, but I am sorry, and always will be. I should’ve come sooner. I wanted to…forget…those times. But as hard as I tried, I coul—”
“We never forget. Never,” she says. “You and me and your father and your brother. We all pretend to forget, but we never do. We have the longest memories of anyone in the entire flooded world.”
Her voice sounds more lucid than ever and yet she’s rambling more and more with each monologue. And he couldn’t possibly have missed that word she said—the one he’s only heard her say once before, in another lifetime.
Brother.
“I never knew I had a brother,” he says slowly, as if the wrong word might spook her, send her into another fit of screaming.
More clawing at her arm. More white lines. If she had nails her arm would be bloody and torn. He remembers the padded walls, the injury-free zone. Has he put her in serious danger by taking her out of the protective bubble she was in?
“Your brother isn’t a real person,” she says, as if it should have been obvious from the beginning.
His heart sinks, although he’s not sure why. “Then why do you talk about him?” Other than because you’re insane, he adds in his head.
She giggles. “Just because he’s not called real doesn’t mean we can’t talk about him. Anyway, he’s dead.”
He has the sudden urge to march her back to the asylum. He takes a deep breath. No. He’s been a bad enough son already. At least he can offer her freedom.
“Your brother got a dud and you got a match,” she says. “So he wasn’t real and you were, even after you were both born. And they say I’m the crazy one.”
Wait…
What?
Like a gear shifting, something clicks inside him. If all the marbles are lost, then does that mean none of them are? “So he was unauthorized, you mean?” Harrison says. He forces himself to keep breathing, although his chest feels tight.
“Yes. Not real. Not a boy. Not a human. An UnBeeeeeee.” She draws the word out eerily.
Holy. Freaking. Crap. Could she be telling the truth? No. No. But somehow he knows the answer isn’t no. “They found him.” Wait. They would be his father’s department. “Father killed my brother?”
“No. Yes. No.” Mother nods and then shakes her head.
“Mother, please. Focus. What happened to my brother?” He realizes he’s leaning in, his face a mere handbreadth from hers.
Harrison pulls back sharply when she laughs.
“Focus is the bullet from a Hunter’s gun. Focus is a laser with your skull in its sights.”
He shakes his head. If he ever had a brother, she’s not the one to tell him the truth about what happened to him. How he—he swallows—died. Plan B: Ask his father. He shakes his head again. As if his father—the head of FREAKING Pop Con—would admit to ever having an UnBee kid.
“Got to save him. Got to got to gottogottogottogotto.”
“Mom?” Harrison says. “Save who?”
Her eyes cross and then uncross and she laughs. “You know. The Slip.”
“What? You want to…help the most wanted person in the entire city?”
“Do the walls crush us like bones in a grinder?” she says.
He takes that as a yes. “We can’t,” Harrison says. “We’ll get ourselves killed. Anyone trying to aid and abet an unauthorized person will be terminated on sight.” He couldn’t have recited it any better in class.
“Not you, silly,” his mother says, rolling her eyes. “Me. Me. Memememememememe.”
He never should’ve gone to the asylum. He never should’ve ditched school. He should’ve walked down the hall, enjoying the slaps on the back and the Way to gos and the huge kiss Nadine would’ve given him. A hero’s welcome. That’s his life. That’s who he is. Right?
I had a brother. An UnBee. Killed. By my father?
“I want to help you,” he says, surprised by his own words and the truth he feels behind them. “I want to help you save the Slip.”
After all, if he’s cutting class and is wanted by city enforcement he has nothing better to do.
And maybe, just maybe, he can finally get his father’s attention.
~~~
It takes Harrison less than an hour to rewire his hoverboard. The moment he steps onto it he can feel the added lift. Hopefully it’s just enough to hold his mother’s bird-like weight.
“C’mon,” he says, offering her a hand.
“Are we going to fly again?” she asks.
“Yes,” he says, nodding strongly, mistaking her question for excitement.
“No,” she says. “Crash bang boom scrape.” She shows him her scabbed over elbows as proof of his previous failure.
He sighs. “The board couldn’t hold our weight before,” he explains. “I didn’t think about that part. I didn’t plan it well. This time will be different.”
Her eyes dart from him to the board and back. “I’ll walk.”
He grits his teeth and watches as she starts away from him, down the alley. They’ll be caught in three seconds flat if she insists on travelling on foot. “Mother. No.”
“No no noise noise nose nose hose hose,” she sings, not turning around, not stopping.
For a fleeting second, a thought forms in his head. Leave her. Let her get caught and returned to the asylum. You can still try to help the Slip if you want.
Instead he races straight for her on his hoverboard, hoping she’ll forgive him for what he’s about to do. At the moment of impact, he brakes sharply, scooping her up in his arms, thankful that he’s been hitting the weights hard and that she’s all skin and bones.
And she screams. No, more like wails, her cries reaching a crescendo and surely waking everyone sleeping within a two kilometer perimeter.
“Shush, Mom!” he hisses as he steers them into the night sky, out of range of anything that might scan their eyes or illuminate their presence. She kicks and squirms and fights and it’s all he can do to keep her from throwing herself to her death.
And then she stops, her face turned toward the sky. “Oooh,” she says. “Sparkly. Like fireworks.”
The stars wink and twinkle from above, and his mother stares at them as if she’s never seen them before, making baby-like coos and murmurs. Harrison holds her tight around the waist and heads for the one place he knows they’ll be able to get help.
~~~
Harrison doesn’t know if the Hawk—which whirred overhead only ten minutes ago—spotted them, but just in case, he takes the most convoluted route to his friend’s place. In this case, friend is a loose term. In truth, Harrison wouldn’t be caught dead in public with his childhood acquaintance; and yet, in this particular situation, he trusts him above all others.
Arriving at the nondescript yellow-siding row house, he lands the hoverboard gently on the sidewalk. A floating holo-ad drifts by, attempting to scan his eyes, but he averts them and stands in front of his mother, who’s whirling in a circle gawking at the sky. “Move on. I’m not buying,” he says, and the holo-ad floats away.
He presses and holds the button on the wall. “Chet, it’s me, Harrison. Open up.”
No answer. The house is dark and silent.
“Dammit,” he mutters, knowing that Chet rarely sleeps, preferring to do his business in the safety of night. If he’s not responding, it’s either because he’s not here or doesn’t want any company. He presses the button again and again, jamming his thumb down and up, down and up, hoping that the annoying sound will force his friend’s hand.
“The Slip lives here?” his mother says.
“Maybe,” Harrison says neutrally. As if he would know where the Slip lives when all of Pop Con doesn’t seem to have the slightest idea. “Chet, open up!” he growls into the intercom.
“That’s not my name,
” a voice replies.
God. Not this crap again. “Chet, quit screwin’ around and open the freaking door!” Any second a holo-ad or a Crow or a Hawk could cruise by and catch them out.
“Sorry, never heard of anyone named Chet around these parts,” the voice says.
He knows he doesn’t have time to be stubborn. “Okay, okay. Wire. It’s me, lowly holo-illiterate”—he lowers his voice—“Harrison Kelly. I come to bow before you and kiss your holo-hacking feet.”
“It’s not really my feet that do the hacking. It’s more my hands, if you’re being literal; or my brain, if you’re not.”
“Wire. Just let us in!”
“Your name is hitting the citywide alerts.”
Harrison’s heart flutters. This is bad. “I need your help.”
“That her?” Wire asks.
There would have to be a reason given for the alert. The whole city must know that he’s responsible for busting his insane mother out of the asylum. “Yeah,” he says glumly. No way Wire will let them in n—
The door clicks open and Harrison exhales a heavy breath. “Thank you,” he says, stepping inside. He turns back. “Mother, come on—”
Oh no. She’s halfway down the street, chasing after the floating holo-ad, arms outstretched as if trying to catch it. He hurls himself through the doorway, skimming his hoverboard in front of him and leaping aboard in one swift motion. Ahead of him, the holo-ad stops and turns, focusing its attention on the woman in pursuit.
He leans forward and speeds up, closing fast. A red beam of light issues from a glass strip along the top of the holo-screen. “Ooh,” his mother says.
He grabs her and zips past the ad, the red laser shooting past them.
Circling, he gives the holo-ad a wide berth and steers the hoverboard straight through Wire’s door which, thankfully, is still open. “Thanks, Wire,” he whispers in the dark.
The door closes automatically and bright lights hit him in the eyes.
“Ahh,” his mother says.
~~~
Article from the Saint Louis Times:
Tucson Pop Con Hunters terminate family of Slips
In a shocking story that’s casting doubt over the effectiveness of the Department of Population Control, an entire family of Slips has been terminated by Pop Con Hunters in Tucson, Arizona. Four Slips between the ages of six and twelve were terminated on Tuesday, along with their unauthorized parents.
“There is no cause for concern,” said Tucson Head of Pop Con, Charles Bennett. “This is no indication as to a greater problem, and is more likely a one-off breakdown in the system. The more important thing to remember is that our well-trained Hunters tracked these criminals down and eliminated the threat. Our city can sleep easy knowing that the illegals are no longer stealing our food and resources.”
Charles Bennett had no comment when asked to discuss the current Sliphunt underway in Saint Louis, except to say that “Michael Kelly is an exceptionally capable Pop Con Chief.”
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:
CorriganMars: Congrats to Charles Bennett and his team for a job well done. I’m confident that the Saint Louis Slip will be terminated shortly, one way or another.
JamesOrtiz8: Corrigan Mars is on the message board?! What happened? Why did Pop Con let you go?
CorriganMars: It’s all a mix up that should be resolved shortly. In the meantime, know that the city is as safe as always and the Slip will be brought to justice.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
What seems like hours later, Benson awakes with a start. Beside him, Luce groans. “What time is it?” she asks.
“The middle of the night, I suspect,” Benson says, mildly embarrassed and highly excited to find her nestled against his side. When she notices, she shrinks away.
“I—I’m sorry,” she says.
“You never have to be sorry again,” Benson says.
She bites her lip, looking as vulnerable as he’s ever seen her. It doesn’t last long, however, as the sharpness returns to the set of her jaw. The wall she’s built around her emotions seems as thick and impenetrable as the border walls. “Do you think it’s safe to go?” she asks.
“Luce, I—I’m sorry.”
“You already said that,” she says. “Stop saying that. If I don’t have to be sorry then neither do you.”
“You don’t have to forgive me, you know,” Benson says, wishing he was able to shut his stupid mouth. “I don’t know if I can forgive myself for putting all of you in danger.”
Luce whacks him in the chest. “Ow!” Benson exclaims. “What was that for?”
“For being exceptionally slow sometimes. This isn’t about you putting us in danger. I mean, you didn’t even know you were a Slip, right? Or if you did, you were in denial.”
Rubbing his chest, Benson says, “Wellll…”
Her glare seems to burn through him. “You knew?”
“I suspected,” Benson admits. “But I locked it away, tried to pretend the fake story my father made up was the real one. Who’s the damaged freak now?”
The intensity of her stare softens, which hopefully means he finally said the right thing. “At least we can be freaks together,” she says.
A joke. Benson will take a joke over another accusation. He smiles but can’t bring himself to laugh.
“I’m not even angry at you,” Luce says.
The skin on his chest stings from her slap. “You could’ve fooled me,” he says wryly.
“You haven’t seen angry yet,” she says.
He doesn’t doubt it. He remains silent, hoping to avoid seeing Luce really angry.
“I’m just…” She sighs. There’s defeat in her tone. “I tend to hide my feelings behind anger.”
“And violence,” Benson chimes in, immediately biting his tongue to try to stop it from forming words.
Luckily, she laughs. “And sometimes violence,” she admits. “The truth is I’m scared.”
“Um, I’ll protect you?” Like before, he hates how it sounds like a question.
She pinches him on the arm. Hard. Owowow! This time, however, he manages to hold the pain inside. “That’s not what I mean, you damn fool. I don’t need protecting. I’m scared because everyone I’ve ever cared about has been taken away from me. Like I’m cursed. I’m scared that Geoffrey will be next. Then you. Then Check and Rod and Gonzo. Then where will I be? Then what will I have? Nothing.”
Benson says nothing. He’s not used to having anyone care what happens to him.
“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have dumped all this on you when you’re the one being hunted by your father and his goons,” she says.
“Thanks for reminding me,” Benson says, still hung up on the fact that she stayed behind to protect him, rather than the other way around. It’s comforting—even if he knows he has to run from her the first chance he gets.
“Something I don’t understand,” Luce says, “is why your father would help you survive but then go after you the moment you were identified.”
Benson chews his lips, considering how much to tell her. Secrets have only made things worse so far. “I don’t think it’s my father hunting me,” he says.
“What? Of course it is.”
“Hear me out. That guy doesn’t work for my father anymore.”
“The cyborg?”
“Yeah. He was sacked, remember? They showed it on the holo-screen, along with Corrigan Mars. I think they’ve gone rogue.” Benson’s wheels are spinning faster and faster. “Yeah, my father is probably trying to protect me. That’s why he sacked them. Only it didn’t take. They aren’t backing off. They’re hunting me anyway.”
Luce squeezes his hand, which feels considerably better than a pinch to the arm. “You’re just guessing,” she says.
“It’s your father’s job to find you.” To kill you, she doesn’t say.
“It was his job before, too, when I was a kid. He protected me. He saved me.” He abandoned me. Benson wonders whether the more important things are what they’re not saying, what seems to be passing between them like telepathic messages.
“I have to get back to Geoffrey,” Luce says. “I can’t believe I left him. I wasn’t thinking. All I knew is that I couldn’t leave you alone while we were all together.”
“No,” Benson says. “If we try to find them we’ll just end up leading Pop Con to them. They’re better off away from us. Pop Con will lose interest in them as they close the net on us.”
“How comforting,” Luce says.
Stupid, stupid, stupid, Benson thinks. “I’m just trying to tell it like I see it. Honestly, Geoffrey will be safer away from me. Check, Rod, and Gonzo will keep him safe. They’re smart and they’ve been running from the authorities longer than both of us.”
Luce’s eyes catch his, lingering for a moment. “Thank you,” she says. “You’re right. Geoffrey will be safer with them.”
“And so will you,” Benson says. “That cyborg freak probably doesn’t know who you are yet. You could still get away—find the others. Find your brother.”
“Shut. Your. Mouth,” Luce says. “I’m not leaving you alone. You won’t survive one minute on your own.”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” Benson says.
“Sometimes the truth hurts. Look, we have to get back to my brother and the others, but only when it’s safe. Only when we won’t lead the bad guys right to them.”
Benson doesn’t respond, mulling it over.
“I just mean you need someone to watch your back,” Luce adds.
If not for the seriousness of their situation, Benson would’ve loved to hear those words on Luce’s lips. Instead, they just remind him that whatever happens to her is on him. “I can’t let you do that,” he says, trying to infuse steel into his tone.