Among the Free (19 page)

Jenny was a smart horse—she tried to veer to the side, alongside the stage, rather than make the dangerous jump. But Luke urged her onward. He let the quilt go flying off behind him, and he took hold of the reins with both hands, holding them firm and steady, not letting Jenny face any direction but straight ahead. She tensed her muscles and sprang up, and for one terrible moment Luke was certain that he'd slide off backward and land right at the feet of the line of security guards. He grabbed onto the horn of
the saddle, and he must have pulled on the reins at the same time, because Jenny slid to a halt as soon as her hooves landed.

They were on the stage.

Luke was half in and half out of the saddle, and his feet got tangled up in the stirrups as he tried to climb down. He fell in a heap on the stage, his right shoulder landing first. By the time he managed to scramble to his feet, the newscaster Philip Twinings was right beside him, screaming at him.

“Young man, you've terrified the entire crowd with that beast! You have no right—”

Luke grabbed the microphone out of Philip's hands.

“But I had to show everyone—this is a Population Police horse. They had horses to ride for fun while everyone else was starving and desperate. That had nothing to do with third children. It wasn't third children's fault, and neither was anything else the Population Police did!”

Philip didn't grab the microphone back right away.

“Ah,” he said thoughtfully. “You should have the right to say that, up on this stage, if that's what you believe. But there's a protocol that has to be followed. You have to sign up to speak, you have to talk to our screening committee and wait your turn and not just come barreling up here, endangering lives—”

“Your screening committee would never have let me come up here, if I asked permission,” Luke interrupted. “Don't you see what's going on? Haven't you been listening?
It's all a setup, everybody saying the same thing. The only people allowed to talk now are the ones who will blame third children, not the Population Police. But it's all a lie. Third children didn't steal anyone's food. They didn't force the Population Police to beat anyone. Third children don't have any power at all.”

“How do you know that?” Philip Twinings asked.

Luke didn't plan his answer. He was just desperate. He could feel his time on the stage slipping away, as Philip Twinings reached out for the microphone, as security guards rushed toward the stage stairs.

“Because I'm a third child,” he said.

T
he crowd really did fall silent then. Luke thought that he could see thousands of faces with their jaws dropped, doing nothing but staring at him, Luke, now fully revealed. It was a scene straight out of his worst nightmares.

The crowd's reaction was so horrifying that it took Luke a few minutes to notice what the security guards at the front had done:

Every last one of them had pulled out a gun.

Luke froze, feeling strangely resigned.
So this is how it ends,
he thought. He was acutely aware of the sunshine streaming down on his head, the slight breeze ruffling his hair, the awful silence of the crowd.

And then Philip Twinings stepped in front of him, shielding Luke's body with his own.

“You will not shoot this boy,” he thundered, his voice as powerful as a prophet's. “Or if you do, you will have to kill me first. And you will be destroying any chance our
country has for a fresh start, any hope for an honest government. Put those guns away!”

Luke peeked out from behind Philip Twinings's back. The security guards seemed to be hesitating. Then one of the cameramen climbed down the stage stairs and stood right beside the line of guards, filming each one of them in turn.

“Yes!” Philip Twinings shouted. “If you shoot, every person in this country will know who you are, what you've done. No more secrecy! No more hiding our crimes!”

One by one, the security guards began tucking their guns away, holding their hands up, palms out, as if to prove their innocence. The cameraman stayed close by, continuing to guard the guards.

Behind them there was a tussle in the crowd, and a woman stood up, clutching the quilt that Luke had dropped.

“I made this quilt!” she was shouting. “It was mine.”

The word “stolen” flew through the crowd, and whispers of “of course the boy took it” turned into louder opinions: “What do you expect from a third child?” “It's just like all the other speakers said . . . ”

“No, no!” The woman was screaming now. She fought her way through the crowd toward the stage. When she got to the line of security guards, they shrugged nervously, glanced at the cameraman, and let her through. With difficulty, she climbed up the front of the stage and took a microphone from an unattended stand.

“My name is Aileen Mootispaw,” she said, “and I can tell you that the boy did not steal this quilt. It was a gift to him, from my father, when my father thought he was about to die. When he thought he could not possibly do enough to make up for informing on a third child to get food for his own family—food the Population Police never delivered.”

Luke realized with a jolt that she was talking about Eli—Eli, who had handed the quilt to him, murmuring, “This is Aileen's handiwork . . . ”

“My father did not die,” Aileen continued. “When we saw the boy with this quilt on television two nights ago, my father sent me here to find him, to make sure he was safe. So I speak on behalf of my father and myself and our entire village—and in memory of the third child we betrayed. Let this boy tell his story!”

“I—” Philip Twinings began to say.

But there were others streaming up toward the stage now, chanting, “Let him speak! Let him speak!” Luke thought he recognized Ricky and Don and a few others who had been in the truck with him when he'd ridden to the celebration of the Population Police's overthrow the first night. One of the women chanting reminded him of the old woman in Chiutza who'd told him, “I have a choice.” But the others were strangers, people he could have sworn he'd never seen before in his life.

Luke had no idea what percentage of the crowd was standing at the front, chanting in his support. He had no
idea what the ratio was between the chanters and the ones who stood stony-faced and angry behind them. He couldn't calculate the probability that he could win over anyone else.

But he thought he had a chance.

Philip Twinings was holding up his hand, trying to regain control of the crowd.

“This is indeed irregular,” he murmured, when he once again had everyone's attention. “I wanted this to go in an orderly fashion, to encourage openness and people speaking without fear. But—” He glanced toward the table where the three members of the screening committee were all glaring at him. “I fear the rules of orderliness became too restrictive. I was tricked once before, when we first faced the famines and droughts, when the government began to control my news station's coverage—to prevent panic, they said . . . ” He seemed to get lost temporarily in his memories of the past. Then he shook his head, his old eyes clearing.

“We will let the young man speak,” he said.

Luke stepped forward to the edge of the stage. The waiting crowd was still terrifying to look at, and his mouth went dry.

“I'm just a kid,” he said, trying to make excuses for himself, to explain why he wasn't going to do a very good job, why he wasn't the best person to be standing there defending the cause of third children. But then he saw how some of the people in the crowd looked more thoughtful when he said that.

“Really,” he went on, “I'm not any different from any other kid. I like football and baseball and just about any kind of game. I don't like sitting still, indoors. Third children aren't beasts or monsters or devils. We're just . . . born third.”

Talking wasn't so bad as long as Luke kept going. He felt the crowd's eyes boring into him only when he paused to take a breath, to get his thoughts together. He gulped and forced himself to continue.

“When I was born, my parents thought I was a miracle, a special blessing. A gift. But from the very beginning they had to hide me. They thought the Population Law would eventually be repealed. They never dreamed that I'd never be able to come out of hiding without a fake I.D. . . . ”

To explain his fake I.D., Luke had to tell about Jen and her rally, about how he'd been in agony wondering what had happened to her. He told about meeting Jen's father and going to Hendricks School, and how bewildered he'd felt there, how dangerous the school had been. He told how the Grant family had wanted to use him, and how that was when he met Oscar.

At first, Luke was careful not to say anything that would get anybody else in trouble. He didn't tell his parents' names; he was careful to refer to Mr. Talbot only as “Jen's dad.” Mr. and Mrs. Grant were dead now, and Smits Grant was living under a different identity, so it didn't matter what he said about them. But when he got to talking about Oscar, he hesitated.

Oscar is acting like he's going to be our country's next leader,
Luke thought.
People ought to know what they're getting.

“And Smits's bodyguard was Oscar Wydell,” Luke said.

The whole crowd seemed to gasp. Too late, Luke thought that it might be dangerous to mention Oscar. Maybe his name would be the cue for Luke to be yanked off the stage. Philip moved over closer to Luke, but he just stood there protectively, and muttered, “Go on.”

Luke tried to be fair talking about Oscar. He said that Oscar had protected him, some of the time. He said that Oscar had thought Luke was too timid and cowardly. But he also said that Oscar had manipulated people; Oscar hadn't cared who got hurt as long as he came out ahead.

“You're a brave young man,” Philip murmured beside Luke. “You're the first person who's been willing to provide us any insight into this mysterious man.”

Luke winced at that, but he couldn't stop talking now.

He told about his friends Trey and Nina and Matthias, and what their lives had been like in hiding. He told how he'd been kept in a holding camp when the Population Police took over the entire government, and how Trey and Mark had managed to rescue him. He told how he and his friends had decided to join the Population Police, to sabotage it from inside.

“So yes, we were fighting the Population Police. But we weren't doing that just to be selfish, to hurt everyone else. We tried to give food away. We wanted
everyone
to be free,” he said. He hesitated. “It's hard to know how everything
fits together. Maybe we were even working with Oscar Wydell some of the time. Maybe we were on the same side.”

Some in the crowd mumbled angrily at that. Luke swallowed hard, momentarily lost.
I'm wrong,
he thought.
Oscar wasn't involved in our plans. He wouldn't have been willing to do the little jobs, take the small steps toward freedom. Oscar just came forward to take the credit when none of us did. When I was scared and wanted to hide again. . . .

The crowd's murmurings grew louder. The rising tide of sound threatened to overwhelm Luke.

Philip Twinings put his hand on Luke's arm.

“Keep going,” he said softly in Luke's ear. “What happened next?”

Luke shook his head, to clear it.

“Chiutza,” he said.

And then he was able to talk about the woman who'd refused the Population Police orders, saying, “I have a choice.” He told about how he'd run away rather than be forced to shoot her. He told about the fighting in Chiutza, and the fields and houses that the government had forced Eli and his friends to abandon. He started to tell how Eli had sent him away when the Population Police arrived, but Aileen interrupted him.

“No, no, that wasn't the Population Police coming back that night—that was all of us who'd been taken away by the Population Police. We'd gotten free and we were bringing food back to our village. Eli tried to send someone after
you, to get you to come back,” Aileen said, “but no one could find you.”

“Oh,” Luke said, blinking. He remembered how the wind had seemed to call,
Lu-uke. Lu-uke,
and how he'd thought it was a trick. “I was so used to being in danger, to having to be scared. I never thought that it might be . . . safe . . . to come out of hiding.”

Something about the way he said that made the crowd laugh, but it was friendly laughter. He hoped.

“So,” Luke said, “then I saw the news on TV in another village, and I came here. And everybody else was so happy, but I just couldn't be sure. . . . ”

He told about seeing the signs in the secret room, and overhearing the conversation between Oscar and Aldous Krakenaur.

“No! That's not true!” someone yelled from the crowd. “Oscar Wydell is not a—a collaborator!”