Truth (16 page)

XXXI

I
was busy cataloging a shipment of early twenty-second-century performance-art chips when Martin joined me. “Are you all ready for New Year’s Eve? Have you found a dress? Percy has been pestering me mercilessly, don’t you know? He’s so excited about your being there.”

“Uh-huh.” I didn’t want to tell him how uncomfortable I felt about spending the evening in the same space as Paulette. And I also didn’t want to disappoint Percy and him. Besides, there was all the trouble that Mrs. Jenkins was going to to make me presentable.

“I know it can be a little overwhelming, your first top-tier event, but with you working at the Institute, I promise it won’t be your last.”

I smiled, a whole lot more enthusiastically than I felt.

“Don’t stay too late. Sleep in tomorrow morning and nap in the afternoon. Well rested is the best makeup. Oh, by the way, we’re sending a stretch trannie for you. I promised Mrs. Gold I’d come early to bless the decorations. And”—he leaned forward, conspiratorially—“to rearrange them if need be. She is, after all, from New York, where people still labor under the illusion that they live in the center of all things fashionable.” He rolled his eyes and sniff-snorted before straightening up. “I sound like such a snobbitch. I’m not, really. And I do like Mrs. Gold, she’s––” He was interrupted by an insistent beep from his chronos. “Oh, dear. If I don’t hurry, I’ll be late. Remember, home early, lots of sleep.” He patted my cheek. “I know you’ll be the belle of the ball.”

As soon as he was gone, I took my receiver out of my bag and uploaded a message from Dorrie. Transferring the digi to a piece of paper, I had in front of me a map of all the hidden passages in the Art Institute. Turning on my PAV’s GPS recorder, I stepped through one of the doors and into the corridors behind the exhibit halls.

Having no idea who, besides Martin and myself, used the passageways, I left my LED off and navigated by the dimly lit wall sconces that flanked the doors to each exhibit space. In between those I was on my own.

I was recording the route, making excellent time, when one of the doors in front of me swung open. Plastering myself against the wall, I sucked in my breath, possible excuses for my presence racing through my brain.

“Can’t you read?” a man’s voice asked. “Employees only.”

“Sorry, I was looking for the men’s room,” another voice said.

“I’ll have to run a scan on you first. Security procedure when a door is breached. If you’ll just stand over—” Something banged up against the wall, and I heard a shout. “Stop that man!

That was the last thing I heard before the door slammed shut. My heart was still racing and my knees trembled, but I eventually got myself together and pressed on. With no further scares, it took me maybe an additional two minutes to get to the roof. I knew the door code from the list Martin had given me. All the codes needed to be memorized in case of fire or other disaster. I held my breath as I keyed it in. Success. I walked out onto the roof. A few yards in front of me was a helipad, more than big enough to land a tiny veljet.

Back inside, I locked the door and retraced my steps via the recorded route. It took three minutes and fifteen seconds to get from the roof to the storeroom. I stepped into the office foyer and quickly sent the route information to Dorrie, then erased it from my receiver. The last thing I needed was to be stopped on the way out and have my PAV checked. Security occasionally ran random searches on employees, and after that incident with the guy earlier, I wasn’t taking any chances.

***

When I got home, the house smelled like cookies. Following my nose into the kitchen, Dee and Chris were busy whipping up a batch of something delicious.

“Macaroons,” Dee said. “You want one?”

“Sure!” I reached for the baking sheet.

“Be careful,” Dee said. “I just now took them out of the cook center.”

“The ones on the back row are cooled,” Chris said.

I selected one that was exactly the right side of warm. “Yum!”

“Chris knows everything about cooking.” Dee gazed up at him.

“I know just enough.” He tousled her hair. “You’re a good student. Listen, I’d better get upstairs. I promised Mom I’d cook dinner tonight.” From the doorway, he turned and said, “Don’t forget, Dee. We’ve got a date tomorrow night. Dinner and vids—your choice. See ya.”

“Date? I thought you were going to Maddie’s?” I snuck another macaroon.

“I was, but she’s sick. Her mom thought it would be better if I didn’t come over. I might catch what she’s got. Anyway, Chris is staying home and wondered if I wanted to watch movies with him. It’s okay, isn’t it?”

“Of course.” Staying home with Dee would’ve been a perfect excuse for me to get out of going to the party. Gah. I was still thinking of backing out. I had to stop that. The wheels were in motion, and I couldn’t get off the express if I wanted to.

Tomorrow night. I wrapped my arms around myself. The only thing keeping me from being absolutely abysmal was knowing that Mrs. Jenkins would make me look good. Small consolation. I trudged down the hall into my room, where I took out my art supplies and spent the next hour sketching what I planned on being the start of my next vid interruption.

XXXII

B
etween Wei, her mother, and Dee, I didn’t have much of a say in how I spent New Year’s Eve day. Their excitement was contagious, and I didn’t even have to fake a smile when Wei took the digis of me.

“Ultragorgeruso,” Dee exclaimed. “You look like a vid star. Can I have your autograph, Miss Oberon?” She held out an imaginary rapido and paper.

I was afraid I would stab myself with the Kanzashi sticks in my hair, or that I’d topple over in the heels I was wearing. I did have to admit, as I surveyed the final product of Mrs. Jenkins’s ministrations—I looked hot. Not like myself, but ultrahot. Or maybe it was a part of me I was afraid to explore. That part that wanted to be attractive and sexy. There was no time to think about that further, because the stretch arrived.

“Have fun!” Dee carefully hugged me.

“Happy New Year!” Wei gave me air kisses on either cheek.

“Be careful,” Mrs. Jenkins said.

Even behind the dark windows of the trannie, I felt exposed. Which I most surely would be when I walked into Paulette’s. The dress, the hairstyle, the shoes—none of it mattered if my brain kept calling me an impostor.

“Are you ready, miss?” the driver asked.

I tore my eyes away from the steady stream of top-tiers being admitted to the building. “Uh . . . I, um . . . give me a nanosec. Please?” Was I being a snob, asking him to wait? I opened my borrowed clutch and took out a mirror, pretending to adjust my hair—which I dared not touch for fear of messing it up.

My PAV beeped. “Are you here, Nina? Percy’s going to pull a neck muscle looking for you.”

“I’m downstairs, Martin. I’ll be right up.” At least I knew he and Percy wanted me to be there. What Paulette’s reaction would be was anyone’s guess. “I’m ready,” I told the driver.

In a flash, he had the door opened, his hand extended to help me out. “Have a wonderful evening, miss.”

“Thank you.” I wondered if I should tip him, with my nonexistent tip cards, but he was back in the stretch and gone before that thought was fully formed. I was left with no choice but to go inside. The man at the door inspected me. Apparently, I passed his approval. “Name, please?”

“Nina Oberon.”

“First elport on the left, penthouse suite.”

“Thank you.” At least my voice was steady, even if I wasn’t.

Tucked into a corner of the elport with a mass of partygoers, I closed my eyes, wishing the night was already over.

Nothing could’ve prepared me for the spectacle on the other side of the elport doors. Sure, Wei was top tier, but her house was comfortable, real, a place where I felt easy. Granted, Paulette’s penthouse was decorated for a gala New Year’s Eve party, but even without the decorations, I would’ve felt like I’d stepped into a vid. Everything was sleek, shiny, and oozed ultrachic—just like Paulette.

Like sale shoppers at Mega World, the people in the elport pushed past me, melting into the other revelers. Before the doors closed, I stepped into the swarm. As I inched my way through the crowd searching for Martin and Percy, a familiar voice said, “You’re the last person I expected to see tonight.”

“Paulette.” I wasn’t sure what to expect. She’d been almost friendly the last couple of times I’d seen her. Tonight, however, she was anything but. Her icy scrutiny left me feeling for all the universe like a protozoa under a microscope.

“What are you doing here?” she asked.

All the apprehension I’d felt about coming, and all the concerns about what a bunch of top-tiers would think of me, was pushed aside by her attitude. “I’m with Martin Long and Percy Bunton. And if you don’t mind, I’m looking for them right now.” I tried to push past her, but she snatched my arm.

“I saw your name as their guest, but I didn’t think you’d actually show. Nina, you should’ve told me you were coming,” she said. “Be careful. You are so out of your league.”

I wrenched out of her grasp. “That’s your opinion.” I stalked off, sure that my face was as red as the baubles Mrs. Jenkins had woven into my hair.

I’d turned down three drinks and a plate of hors d’oeuvres before I finally heard a welcome voice.

“Nina, over here.” I spotted Percy, waving frantically.

Somehow I managed to weave through the other partiers. “I didn’t think I’d ever find you. I am so relieved to see a friendly face. Where’s Martin?”

“Marty’s there—somewhere.” He swept his arm out across the expanse of people. “Oh, see?” He pointed with his drink. “Those are the Golds. Like an Adonis, isn’t he?”

I raised my eyebrow.

“Oh, all right, she is, too. And look at my Marty, working them for all the credits they’re worth. All for the Institute. Ever the fund-raiser.” He gazed admiringly at his partner, before setting his cocktail down and placing his hands on my shoulders. “Let’s have a look at you.” Twirling me around, he nodded appreciatively. “So retro-ultra-Asian. Jade did the hair, didn’t she?” He slapped his hand to his chest and looked skyward. “She
is
the hair goddess. And you, my dear, you are
the
god-dess.”

My neck warmed. “Can we not talk about me?”

“Oh, my sweet Nina. Everyone is already talking about you.” He leaned close. “Look at the way they’re sneaking peeks at you over their drinks or over their companions�� shoulders. You’re putting these ultrachic snobbitches to shame.” With a gesture, he summoned a waiter. “I’m sure you haven’t eaten a thing, have you?”

“I’m not hungry.” And I certainly wasn’t enjoying the thought of being the topic of everyone’s conversation. Percy was right: people were looking at me, and commenting—and creeping me out. “Maybe we should join Martin?”

“First, I want to introduce you to someone who’s been dying to meet you.” Percy secured my elbow and guided me through the masses.

I saw Paulette watching us. She’s probably thinking I’ll ruin her party. Percy threaded us through the crowd, and we ended up in front of a massive crystalline fireplace, where, surprisingly, there was lots of uninhabited space and two men, deep in conversation. I recognized one immediately: Kasimir Lessig.

Percy cleared his throat. “Kasimir? May I introduce Miss Nina Oberon?” he said.

“Miss Oberon.” Lessig took my hand. His was warm and his demeanor so charming it took me completely off guard. I’d expected the same fake persona that came through in Media broadcasts and Alerts. He gestured to the man he was talking with. “This is my assistant, Angelo Fassbinder.”

“Ah. The daughter of the late Alan Oberon. What a delight to make your acquaintance.” Fassbinder shook my hand, and I immediately wanted to pull it away.

Percy gave my arm a reassuring squeeze. “When Mr. Lessig found out you were coming, he asked particularly if I’d introduce you.”

“Really?”

“Yes, my dear. Your father and I knew each other,” Lessig said. “He was such a skillful, talented speaker. But I’m sure you know that.”

“I’ve never heard any of his speeches,” I lied carefully. “They’re contraband.” I certainly wasn’t going to tell the head of Media, possibly the most powerful man in the country, that I’d listened to illegal speeches.

“Oh, yes. That’s true, isn’t it?” He shook his head. “The Governing Council worries about the most ridiculous things. It doesn’t matter to me or Media. I’ll arrange for you to hear his most famous speech. Angelo?” He whispered in Fassbinder’s ear.

“Of course, sir. Miss Oberon.” Fassbinder noted whatever it was Lessig had said to him, then turned to leave. I can’t say that I was sorry to see him go. Something about him rubbed me the wrong way.

Lessig said, “My secretary will be in contact with you soon, my dear.” His eyes softened. “I was very sorry to learn of your mother’s recent demise. I had the pleasure of meeting her only once. At her wedding.”

“You were at my parents’ wedding?” His smooth way of talking bothered me—it was like watching a snake smiling at me, full of danger and slick charm. I had never imagined my parents were acquainted with him. Ginnie couldn’t stand to watch him on the PAV, but she’d never let on that she knew him.

“Oh, yes. Your father and I were old school friends. Well . . .” He shook his head and smiled. “To tell the truth, we were rivals. As good as I was in public speaking, I was no match for Alan Oberon. I suppose if he had lived, he’d have my job and I’d be doing local broadcasts in the middle of nowhere. He was, by far, the superior orator.”

I couldn’t do more than nod in amazement. His words were so friendly, could I possibly have been wrong about him? No, Ginnie and the Jenkinses didn’t trust him. I knew I shouldn’t either.

“I must say, Nina . . . May I call you Nina?” Lessig continued, assuming I’d consented, which . . . well, why would I refuse? “You are stunning. Not at all like most sixteens I’ve met, decked out in their ultra-chic. And, oh . . . a new tattoo?” He touched my wrist. “Well, you’re a Creative. I should’ve guessed.”

“Yes.” I didn’t like the feel of his hand on my tattoo—no wonder, since it proclaimed the truth.

“I shouldn’t be surprised, what with your father’s gifts, surely they’d be passed down to his only child.” He turned my hand over, studying both the wrist and front design. “Emphasis on truth, I see.” His finger drew a circle above the three cursive words surrounding the XVI. “As Pilate said, ‘What is truth?’”

“Who’s Pilate?”

“Pilate was a man who did what was necessary, while staying above the fray.” He met my eyes, then inspected my wrist again, before letting go. “You designed this yourself?”

“Yes. My grandfather says that we should always look for the truth, and that it can’t stay hidden.”

“How interesting.” He flashed what passed for a nice, fatherly type smile. “Your grandfather is a wise man. You are living with your grandparents now?”

“Not exactly.” I wasn’t sure how much to tell him. But then I realized, he could probably find out whatever he wanted. “I’m staying with friends. My grandmother’s in the hospital.”

His secretary, who was standing off to the side, was obviously trying to get Mr. Lessig’s attention.

“Excuse me a moment, Nina.” After a hushed conversation, he returned. “Angelo informs me that your grandfather was recently arrested. How awful. Is he still in custody?”

“He is.” I dropped my gaze.

“Oh, dear. It’s not your fault. Let’s take this into a quieter place, where you and I might discuss the further particulars of your grandfather’s case. I do have a bit of sway with the powers that be. Perhaps I can be of some assistance in procuring his release.” My heart stopped—could he actually help Pops? Or was this some kind of trick? He glanced around the room. Catching a serving girl’s eye, he beckoned her over to us. “A quiet place where Miss Oberon and I can have a discussion?”

“This way, please.”

I wasn’t sure it was a good idea to go anywhere alone with him. But if he could somehow help Pops . . . As I turned and took a step forward, I caught a glimpse of Paulette out of the corner of my eye. But it was too late. She stumbled right in front of me. I tried to grab her, but she lurched forward, splashing her drink all over Mr. Lessig.

His bodyguards, which I hadn’t noticed until that very moment, were on top of us in a nanosec. Lessig waved them off. “An accident. A simple accident.”

“I am so sorry.” Paulette dabbed at the rapidly spreading stain with a napkin. “Cory! Over here. Right away!”

The same serving girl hurried over with more napkins and took over cleaning up.

“You clumsy cow,” Paulette hissed quietly at me.

It was not my fault; Paulette had cut in front of me. But what would be the sense in accusing her? No one would believe me. I remained silent.

“Cory, take Mr. Lessig to Daddy’s room.”

“Certainly, miss.”

“My father’s valet will see to your clothes,” Paulette said to Lessig, who looked as if he would’ve rather stayed behind. But Paulette, pure solicitousness and condescension, was not to be denied the role of saving his suit and his dignity.

As soon as they were gone, I spun her around. “What were you doing? He was going to help Pops! You ran into me. I did not—”

She shook me off. “Get out of here, before they get back.” Paulette summoned one of the waiters. “Gene, take Miss Oberon downstairs. Have Reggie drive her home. Immediately.”

“Excuse me. I’m not going anywhere. I’m here with my boss and his partner. I have to find them––”

Paulette grabbed my arm. “What you have to do is leave. Right now.” Her jaw was set, and there was fire in her eyes.

“You do not get to boss me around, Paulette! For your information, Mr. Lessig and I were discussing my grandfather. He offered to help me get him out of detainment.”

She threw her hands up. “Nina, are you really that naive? Go. Now. Before I call security to remove you.”

I didn’t protest. I turned and went, of my own accord. I’d message Martin and Percy later and make my apologies. Huddled in the backseat of the trannie, I consoled myself as best I could. So much for parties. So much for trying to be someone I wasn’t.