Truth (14 page)

XXVII

A
fter dinner, Angie and Leo offered to give Miss Maldovar a ride home on their way to Leo’s folks. Wei sent Dee and me downstairs with bags of leftovers.

Dee and I made a quick visit to Gran with some of the food. She was in good spirits and ready to move to the rehab center. We didn’t stay long because Maddie’s mom was bringing her, and most of her Holiday bounty, over for the afternoon.

After Maddie arrived, I filled two bags with the rest of the leftovers Wei had insisted I take. My plan was to give them to Joan and the other homeless women. Chris was coming in as I was leaving. “You want a ride wherever you’re going?” he asked. “That’s a lot of stuff to carry on the transit.”

“No thanks.”

“You sure? I don’t mind.”

“I’m sure.”

“Well, have fun.” He held the door for me.

I was as eager to carry out my tasks alone as I was to stay away from Chris’s twinkling eyes and ultra smile. Whenever I was with him, I felt a freedom I couldn’t quite explain. He didn’t try to save me or do things for me; instead, he treated me like I was equal to the tasks in front of me. That made me feel powerful. It was nice to know someone trusted me to take care of myself.

The bags full of food bumped against the transit steps as I got off in front of our old apartment building. I lugged them along the riverfront. There was no sign of life, except for me. Clouds scuttled across the bleak, winter sky, and a brisk wind swept down the choppy waters. My arms were killing me. Stopping at the DZ oasis, I pulled my coat collar tighter. “Maybe I’ll use those credits at Mars 9 to get a new scarf.” I’d taken one of Ginnie’s from among her things, but it was too thin to provide much protection from the Chicago winds. I hoped my old scarf was keeping Joan warm.

No sooner had I thought that than I caught movement between two buildings. Grabbing the bags, I headed across the street, slipping into the shadows along with the homeless women. “Joan?”

She separated herself from the group and drew near to me. A gust of wind blew her hair back, and I noticed her neck was bare. “Where’s the scarf I gave you?”

She flipped the collar of her tattered coat up and shook her head. “Why are you here?”

“Today’s Holiday.”

The other women circled around us. I felt, more than saw, their eyes rake over me. “She’s the one that keeps coming around,” said the woman who’d acted as Joan’s protector earlier. “Get us in trouble with the checkerheads for sure.”

I gave Joan a questioning look, but she cast her eyes down, toeing the snow with her worn shoes.

“I brought some food.” I held out one of the bags to Joan.

She stuck her hand inside and pulled out a container of leftover roast and potatoes. The woman who seemed to be in charge snatched it away from her.

“Trying to poison us?” She waved the container in front of me.

My mouth fell open. “Why would I do that? I’m Joan’s friend.”

“Homeless got no friends. Cleanup Committee sent you, didn’t they? Been trying to get rid of us for months. Don’t like us dirtying up their precious waterfront park.” She swung her arm in the direction of the river. It was then I noticed my scarf around her neck.

“What are you doing with—”

Joan touched my arm. “I gave it to Svette,” she whispered.

“Look.” I pulled a plasticene fork from inside the bag, popped the lid off the container, and took a bite. “See? It’s not poisoned.”

That was enough to do it. The women swarmed over the food. Not bothering with utensils, they silently wolfed it down.

“I’ll bring more soon,” I said.

“You’ll get caught,” Joan said. “If the police see you doing this, they’ll arrest you.”

“They don’t care,” I said with much more confidence than I felt. Could I get arrested for feeding homeless? I supposed it was possible.

The women dispersed into the shadows, and I gathered up the bags and empty containers.

“You there,” a voice called me to a halt.

I turned around and found myself face-to-face with a Chicago policewoman.

“Yes, Officer?” I kept my voice as steady as I could. After what Joan had said, I was terrified.

“ID.” Her voice was sharp as the cold that cut through me.

She wanded my outstretched hand.

“The address on your ID is incorrect. You no longer live there.” She jerked a thumb toward our old apartment building. “You were evicted.”

“Yes, ma’am.” At least my voice wasn’t quivering as bad as my insides were. Had she been watching me? Did she know about the food? Was I going to be arrested?

“What’s in the bag?”

“Empty food containers,” I said.

She gave a cursory glance to the empty bags before focusing more of her attention on the surrounding neighborhood. “Robbery earlier. A deserted riverfront’s no place to be hanging out alone. I suggest you go home. And see that you get that address fixed. If it wasn’t Holiday, I’d give you a citation.”

Lucky me.

***

After Maddie left, Dee and I spent the rest of the evening putting together outfits with the clothing and accessories that Miss Maldovar had given to Dee. By the time we were through, it was long past Dee’s usual bedtime, and I was exhausted, too.

I was nearly asleep when Sal called. “Wish I was there with you right now.”

The mere sound of his voice sent tingles through my body. “Isn’t there some way that I can go with you when you do whatever it is you and John do?” I asked.

“Absolutely not. What we’re doing is, well . . . dangerous.”

“Isn’t everything related to the Resistance dangerous?” The warm feeling I’d had melted away. “Just because I’m a girl doesn’t mean I’m helpless.”

“I know that. But, well, in some ways you are. I mean, the whole Ed thing . . .” His voice trailed off.

I was warm again—actually downright hot—but with anger. “I didn’t have a choice. Wei needed help. There wasn’t anyone else to call.”

“That’s what I mean. Besides, how could you have moved his body, huh? Deadweight. It took two hulking guys to—”

“So? It might have taken three or four girls to do the same, but we could’ve done it. Girls are just as capable . . . Take my mom—she was a NonCon. She managed to get all that information about FeLS and—”

“Look at what happened to her.”

I drew in a sharp breath. “How. Dare. You,” I clicked off before he could say another word. If it hadn’t been for Dee asleep in the next room and the Jenkinses overhead, I would’ve screamed. Could Sal not see that I was just as capable as he was in fighting for what was right? My mother’s sacrifice for the cause was no less valid or less important than some guy’s. Men were killed just as easily as women. Murder was not gender-specific.

Wrestling my way out of the tangle of blankets, I stumbled out of bed and over to the window. The moon cast tree shadows on the snowy ground, and I stared at them until my feet were frozen. Crawling back into the bed, I couldn’t turn off the thoughts.

My dad had been the one to go underground, leaving my mother and me supposedly out of danger. While he was fighting from the relative safety of secret hideouts—like Aunt Rita’s place—Ginnie had put herself in danger every moment of every day. And not just to keep my father’s secret safe, but to discover the truth about FeLS. With Ed as her only connection to the truth, she had endured beatings and abuse whenever he felt like it. She dropped down tiers for the cause—she had been a tier-five once and had died a tier-two.

My anger at Sal spread like the latest vert campaign, covering every man I knew, including my long-lost father; finally, I drifted off into a fitful sleep

XXVIII

T
here was nothing like an Alert with breakfast. For months, the country had gone without any at all, but now we were at the third in less than a week. The FeLS news was big. Since Dee had already seen the one about Ed, I included her. We sat in the kitchen, watching a projected Kasimir Lessig on the wall.

“Investigators are closing in on the mystery woman believed to be Edward Chamus’s accomplice. Although her identity is still unknown, the wife of the missing man has been cleared of any wrongdoing.”

Lessig swung around to face the camera full on.

“In related news, several girls who were abused at the fraudulent FeLS training station have come forward.”

Images of girls—their blank, expressionless stares interspersed with the haunted terror that I’d seen in Joan’s eyes—flashed on the wall.

“These unfortunate young women are even now on a transport to a safe facility on the Dark Side, where they will be assessed and treated for the traumas they’ve endured. After a time, they will, hopefully, be ready to return to mainstream society.” A number ran across the projection, under Lessig’s face. “Some of these girls were so terribly damaged that they fled in terror when authorities approached them. To facilitate the assistance and aid of these poor girls, the Governing Council is offering an unprecedented fifty thousand credits for information leading to the procurement of any girl who was subjected to the illegal training and has somehow managed to escape the clutches of the alleged perpetrator, Edward Chamus.”

As he repeated the number and calling instructions, Dee leaped up. “Fifty thousand? You don’t know any girls that happened to, do you? That’s a megaton of credits. Just think, you’d be helping some poor girl, and we’d be up-tiered.”

“Dee, did you not hear what Lessig said?” I shut off the projection.

“Yeah.” Dee cocked her head. “He said they’re going to help any girls who were sent to that fake FeLS training.”

“No, they’re taking those girls to some secret location on the Dark Side. When they come back, they will have been reassimilated. There won’t be
anyone
left to tell the truth about who was involved in the training, or who those girls were given to afterward. You could tell just by looking at them that they’d already been drugged.”

“Really? You don’t think the GC wants to know who all’s involved?”

“Exactly.” I pressed my lips together. The time for telling Dee about the Resistance was getting closer. “I’d bet even some of the top men in the GC are involved.”

“What about that woman they’re talking about?” Dee’s forehead wrinkled. “I don’t understand how a woman could let men do . . . that . . . to girls who were supposed to be virgins. Who thought they were . . .” A look of horror crossed her face. “I have to apply for FeLS when I turn fifteen. What if all this stuff is still happening then?”

“Deeds, I’ve got a job. I’ll have plenty of credits by then to buy out your contract. Don’t worry. There may not even be a FeLS program in four years. Which reminds me, what do you want for your birthday? It’s coming up pretty soon.”

She braved a smile. “I don’t want anything. Except maybe for Gran and Pops to be home. I miss them.”

“Me, too.”

***

Later that morning, Dee was poring over Gran’s cook center cards, while I stayed in my room drawing. I was working on a series of pictures of homeless people whom I’d seen over the years.

One was of a man, frozen on the street. An image I wasn’t likely to forget, ever. I’d been all of eight and in the city with Mom, Ed, and Dee. Mom and Dee were shopping, and Ed had taken me with him to pick up some vids. The homeless guy was lying just inside an alley entrance. Ed dragged me over to show him to me. “
This
is what happens when you don’t follow the rules,” he growled.

The man’s head was stuck to the sidewalk in ice. His sightless eyes stared up at the snow pelting down on him. He was dead. I’d puked on Ed’s shoes, which really pissed him off. That night he sent me to Sandy’s with Dee. Next day, Mom had a black eye.

I looked at the drawings, people of all ages, and reached for my PAV.

“Hey, Dorrie, it’s Nina. Can we talk about Rogue Radio and vid interruptions?”

***

Dorrie lived in an apartment with her dad. Her mom had run off to New York with a maintenance guy. Dorrie had never heard from her again. I guessed that was probably for the best. She and her dad looked like they were doing all right. They were tier three; he was a production grower at the Chicago Botanical Gardens, and their apartment was full of plants. He was also a NonCon.

“So”—I handed her a tube of my drawings—“here they are. You think you can do something with them?”

She spread out the pictures and studied them, scrunching up her mouth and tipping her head from one side to the other. “Hang on. Let me get my recorder.”

Half an hour later, she had recorded all the images and was already selecting music to go along with the program she was imagining.

“This will be brilliant, Nina. I don’t get to do nearly enough vid interruptions. I’m thinking right in the middle of
Vacation Destinations of the Ultra-Riche
. What do you think?”

“Perfect.”

On the way home, I hatched up a further plan and called Wei. “Can you meet me in fifteen minutes downstairs?”

When I walked in, Wei had Dee in a headlock on the living room floor.

“What are you guys doing?”

“I was teaching Dee some Cliste Galad moves. She asked . . .”

“I’m going to learn it.” Dee stood up. “I need to get back to the kitchen. Chili tonight.”

“Dee is so cool,” Wei said. “It won’t be long before you have to tell her about the Resistance. She’ll figure it out if you don’t. Or she’ll accidentally let something slip.”

“I know,” I said. “I’m not exactly sure how to tell her. I’ll figure it out. Listen, come to my room.”

I unrolled the drawings on my bed. “What do you think?”

“Like I said before, your sketches are as powerful as your dad’s speeches.”

“Well, what would you think if we, as Pops used to say, ‘painted the town,’ so to speak?”

“What are you talking about?”

I told her about Dorrie creating a vid interruption. “She’s going to broadcast it during that show about ultrarich vacationers. I was thinking, what if we posted these around town? We’d have to do it after dark.”

“And we’d need a getaway trannie. I wish I could drive.” She drew her fingers across her chin. “I’d say Sal or Chris, but I don’t want them to be part of this. This is for the Sisterhood.”

“Yeah,” I agreed. I thought back to how I had left things with Sal the night before. He hadn’t tried to call me, and there were no messages on my PAV either.

“What about Paulette? Would you hate that?”

Yes. But I didn’t say so. “Not if you promise
not
to talk about Sal. Or her party.”

“I promise.” Wei held up her hand. “So, what’s going on with Sal. You’re mad at him, huh?”

I gave her the short version of my previous night’s conversation with Sal.

“Guys can be so ridiculous when it comes to realizing that girls are just as capable as they are. And women are as good of fighters as men. Fems
did
have control of the country for nearly fifty years.”

“Yeah, I know.” I didn’t mention that the Fem government had been completely swallowed up, without any kind of fight, by the Governing Council.

Mom had said that Media influence undermined the effectiveness of the Fems by implying they hated men. It didn’t matter that many of the Fem leaders were wives and mothers. Media began broadcasting subtle anti-Fems messages, combined with bombardments of verts glorifying the sexualization of women and teen girls and implying that the only strength women had was in their sexuality. Eventually, the tide turned, and the GC took over and partnered with Media. Leaving women and girls as mere sex objects.

“Nina, Sal can be reasoned with,” Wei said. “I’m sure it’s because he’s so crazy about you that he worries something will happen to you. That’s the excuse my dad uses, at least.”

“What about your mom? Doesn’t he worry about her?”

“Do you think my mother would let anyone stop her from doing anything she wants?”

Knowing Mrs. Jenkins, I chuckled. “Nope.”

“Dad’s figured that out, too.” She shifted to face me. “So have you tried calling Sal?”

“No, and I’m not going to. I don’t know what I’d say to him. I hate that he’s out there, doing NonCon whatever and is in danger of being discovered, and we left everything so badly.”

“So call him. Now.”

I thought about it. It didn’t matter how angry I was, I loved Sal. I didn’t want it to end; I just wanted him to understand how I felt. I picked up my PAV, then put it down.

Finally, I picked it up again and sent him a message: “Sorry I got mad. I love you.”

I turned to Wei. “You want to call Paulette?”

After a short PAV conversation, Wei said, “Eight o’clock tonight. I’d better get upstairs and practice piano. See you later. Wear black.”