Ixeos: Book One of the Ixeos Trilogy (7 page)

“You should eat something,” Marty said.

“Not hungry.”

“I know. But you should still eat something. I get the feeling there’s not a lot of snack food happening here and if you don’t eat at a meal you get to wait til the next one. Okay, maybe you can snitch an apple…” He smiled at her.

She glanced up at him and he saw her trying to smile back. He reached across the table and took one of her hands. “It’s going to be okay, Neahle, really. I can tell. I know it sucks, leaving everything behind. That’s… Well, I don’t know how to get over that, exactly. But we can really
do
something here, you know? We can make a difference.”

“What if I don’t want to make a difference?” she asked, staring into his eyes. She found his confidence reassuring, but she didn’t know how to compartmentalize the loss of her life back home to a place that wasn’t so painful.

“Everybody wants to matter. Everybody.” He squeezed her fingers and smiled into her eyes. This time she did smile back.

“I guess that’s true. I just can’t get over the fact that everything is gone… My
future
is gone.” Tears welled in her eyes and she swiped at them angrily.

“This
is our future. If we don’t believe that life is just random chance, then this was always our future.” He scrubbed his face with his hands. “Hard to wrap your brain around, I know. But we’re not dead. We’re just…relocated. Sure, we won’t get to go to college. But what were you excited about: the academics or the social life?” He raised his eyebrows at her. When she didn’t answer, he laughed. “Yeah, me too.” He swept his arm around the room at the two dozen others eating breakfast and chatting. “Looks like lots of social life without the interruption of school work to me.”

Neahle laughed. “True. Everybody’s really nice…”

“And they’re not aimless, you know?” When she looked confused, he went on. “How many teenagers do you know that feel like they have a purpose? That know what they’re going to do with their life? That don’t just want to go to college and party for another four years before even having to think about it? All these people, from the youngest up to Abacus, they already know. They’re working, making a difference, and having a lot of adventure.” He shrugged. “I didn’t know what I wanted to be when I grew up. Something with computers, probably, but that was about it. I was happy to spend the day playing
Assassin’s Creed
and Madden football.”

Picking up a hardboiled egg, Neahle sprinkled salt on it, thoughtful.

“People!” a loud voice said. “All-hands meeting in the living room in one hour! Newcomers, you’re gonna get to meet Landon.” Samson was standing at the end of the table, his loud voice carrying over the conversations. The McClellands stood and followed the large young man down the dim hallway to the office.

Their first thought upon meeting Landon was that he looked nothing like he looked in their imaginations. Neahle had expected a father figure, hard and unyielding like her paternal grandfather had been. Clay expected a psycho, gleefully happy and taking perverse pleasure in disrupting his life. Marty pictured him as a large legendary figure, Santa Clause and Paul Bunyon and Grizzly Adams rolled into one.

In fact, he was middle aged, middle height, middle weight. His hair was mousy brown and not very well cut. He had on jeans and an oversized polo shirt with desert-style boots. As they filed into the room, his dark brown eyes lit up in welcome and he smiled cheerfully.

“The McClelland family! I’m so glad to meet you!” He held out his hand and shook with Neahle and Marty. Clay kept his hands in his pockets; Landon didn’t seem to take offense.

“Please, sit down. Vasco and Abacus will join us soon, but I wanted to have a chance to talk with you first. Obviously, you’ll have a lot of questions…”

Marty snorted and tried to hold back a laugh. Clay just glared at him.

“I do,” Neahle said softly. “I know…” she began, glancing at Marty, “that you brought us here on purpose. That it’s not an accident we followed those ducks into the pipe.”

“Never should have listened to you,” Clay griped, keeping his eyes on his clasped hands.

“Whatever. We did, we’re here, we’ll get over it,” his sister snapped. He raised his eyebrows in surprise. Neahle was usually laid back and nonconfrontational.

Neahle turned her attention back to Landon. “Everyone here trusts you. And I think… Well, I don’t know you, but I think I trust you.” She smiled at Landon’s ironic laugh, but it was true. While she couldn’t tell much about him yet, the deep impression she got from him was that he was good. She certainly didn’t understand his methods, but she somehow trusted his intentions. “I just want to know, I guess, why? Why us? We’re just kids!”

“They were all just kids when they arrived,” Landon said gently, smiling at her kindly. “And yet, everyone has had something they can contribute. The people—the kids—that I bring here all have certain things in common: strength of character, tenacity, physical stamina, and a trait or a gift that will give the rebellion something it needs.”

“I have something like that?” she asked, surprised. “I’m not really good at anything!”

“That you know of, yet,” he said. “But everyone that comes here, if they choose to, can make a contribution.”

“If they choose to?” Clay asked.

“You’ve heard of Rod and the others, the ones who left. I don’t make anyone buy into what we’re doing here, but everyone does have a part to play. If someone abdicates their part, then there’s a hole in the fabric of the plan, something that can’t or won’t get done. It may be that someone else can do their task, but it won’t get done on time. Or maybe it won’t ever get done and the rebellion will be set back because of it. There’s always hope until someone’s dead, though. They might come back.”

“I thought one was implanted,” Marty said, surprised.

“That’s true, and that certainly complicates things. But if she had a change of heart, we could free her.”

“So what about us? What are we supposed to do?” Clay glared at Landon, challenging him.

Landon laughed, but it wasn’t a teasing, unkind laugh. Rather, he seemed like a jolly favorite uncle humoring a recalcitrant child. “I don’t tell anyone their purpose. You have to find that on your own. But what you’re supposed to do, what I’d
like
for you to do, is join us in the rebellion. Train, learn, go on missions, help us help those out there who are risking their lives every day to try to bring down the tyranny of the Firsts.”

Marty was nodding; Neahle’s eyes were wide as she envisioned herself as the heroine in a video game. She smiled and nodded, then turned to Clay.

“Clay?” she said softly. “Please stop fighting it. I need you.”

Standing up so suddenly that his chair tipped over, Clay scowled at them all. “I can’t just give up on home!” he said as he stormed out of the room and slammed the door.

Chapter Nine

N
eahle smiled at Landon apologetically.
“He’ll come around,” she said. “He doesn’t do that well with change. Or loss. Long story.”

“I know the story,” he said.

“I don’t,” Marty said.

“Clay was a twin,” Neahle said. “A fraternal twin. My other brother’s name was Alex. Alexander. He died when they were five days old.”

Marty stared at her in shock. “I didn’t know that! How come I never heard that before?”

“Nobody ever talks about it. They were preemies, and Alex wasn’t strong enough.” She shrugged. “We always knew, but Mom and Dad, they don’t mention him. Clay has always felt like something was missing. So when things change or someone dies, like when Granny died at Easter, he just doesn’t cope well. That’s why he got the tattoo, to feel like Alex was with him.”

Now Marty was really confused. “The tattoo? The tribal one on his shoulder?”

Neahle shook her head. “On his wrist.”

“Oh. I don’t even know what that is. I thought it was something abstract.”

“It’s Alex’s fingerprint. When they were born, the hospital did hand and footprints. Clay found the cards in a lockbox down in Dad’s workshop when he was looking for something else last year. He scanned it, enlarged it, and got it done as a tattoo.”

“It’s a fingerprint?” Marty thought for a minute. “That’s pretty cool.”

“It would have been cooler if it had helped him.”

“You don’t know it didn’t, my dear. It just hasn’t seemed to
yet
.” Landon leaned back on the desk, his feet crossed at the ankle and his arms crossed over his chest. “Give him some time.”

They were silent for several moments but Marty was still full of questions.

“Go ahead, Marty,” Landon said with a smile.

Startled, Marty gave a nervous laugh. “Okay, well, first, I’m in. I’ll do whatever needs to be done. I’m not good at much and I don’t know about the ‘physical stamina’ part, but I’ll do my best. If you had computers, I could probably help a lot more. I guess you aren’t going to tell us how this all works?”

“Nice try, but no. You don’t need to know how it works, just that it does. That’s called faith.”

“What about the tunnels?” Neahle asked. “Will Vasco find the tunnel home?”

“I can’t tell you what Vasco will find,” Landon said. “But I can tell you that everyone here is here for a reason, and you are all needed.”

“So, no, no escape tunnel,” Marty said.

There was a light knock and Abacus and Vasco came in. Vasco was not at all like his brother. He had short blonde hair that fell over his forehead and hazel eyes. His skin was tan and his clothes fit well on his athletic frame. He wore cargo pants, a black tee shirt with Korean symbols, a vest that looked like it had been a gift from the Crocodile Hunter, and a large combat knife at his waist. He had heavy hiking boots on his feet and a faded bandana in his pocket. When he smiled at them, they felt as if they’d known him well in their previous life.

“So great to have you! You’re… Marty and Neahle? Isn’t there another one?”

“My brother Clay. He’s…”

“He needs a moment,” Marty said.

Vasco laughed. “A lot of us did. Nothing against him.”

After the men were seated, Abacus with his feet up on the desk, Vasco looked at Landon. “Time for the map?” When Landon nodded, Vasco opened a drawer and pulled out a large roll of paper. He pushed his brother’s boots off the desk and spread the paper out, securing the corners with random books and rocks he picked up from the shelves nearby. Smoothing it with his hands, he gestured for Marty and Neahle to join him.

“Here’s what we’ve got so far. Abacus told you how long we’ve been here; in my spare time I’ve been mapping the tunnels. As you can see, it’s quite a task.”

On the paper there were lines spreading in all directions. When Marty focused on one section, he could see that he was looking at a map of the tunnels. There were hundreds of smaller passages going every which way from each main tunnel, as well as rooms, caverns, reservoirs, and exits to the surface. There were red circles at irregular intervals, and when Marty leaned over, he could read the writing next to each. Boise. Winchester. Rome. Petra. Kish. Osaka. TX/MX border. There were at least a hundred, maybe more.

“Are these red circles all the portals, or whatever you call them?” he asked. “And what’s TX/MX border?”

Vasco pulled out another large map and spread it out. This one was of the entire world. He ran his finger along the border between the southwest United States and Mexico. “There is an extensive network of drug running tunnels along here. Literally miles of tunnels. We don’t use those much because they’re far from everything and unstable. But we have some motorcycles nearby we can use to get across country if we need to. And yes, those red dots are the doorways.”

“Motorcycles? I thought everything was killed by the EMPs,” Neahle said.

Abacus answered her. “Older bikes without computer chips were okay after some maintenance; mostly they’d been neglected. And we’ve, uh, borrowed some newer model bikes from the Firsts. We have transportation everywhere we have a portal. Some of the doorways go to pretty remote places, so we have to be able to make good time into the cities. Motorcycles are the best bet—fuel efficient, small, pretty quiet. We stay away from the big Harleys.” He smiled.

“So when we go out there, on missions as you call them… What will we be doing exactly?” Neahle asked.

“I don’t know
exactly
; each one is different. We organize raids. We help the rebels with supplies, housing, and transportation where we can. We kill Firsts if we can do it without attracting too much attention. We try to find their breeding facilities and put them out of commission. Follow up on leads from rebels about slaves who want out.” Abacus ticked each item off on his fingers.