The Neo-Spartans: Altered World (7 page)

              Kilbert saw she was unraveling. He had to rein her in. “What did he say?”

              The question stopped her dead. Quinn just stared at her shoes, unable to utter a word.

              “What did he say, Quinn?” She looked at him, begging him not to make her repeat Gabriel’s words. But he wasn’t letting her off the hook. She averted her eyes and licked her dry lips.

              “He said he was messing up because of me. Because I loved fixing his screws-ups to get applause and approval… from you, from everybody.”

              “And you think he is right?”

              Quinn barely nodded. Kilbert put his hands on her shoulders and made her look at him.

              “You need to fix this. You need to show him you do it because you care about him, not because you’re on a trip to martyrdom.”

CHAPTER SEVEN

              The monorail thundered, the cityscape passing its windows a mere blur. Quinn’s forehead rested on the cool window, body and mind forsaken to the rhythmic lull. Blissful numbness. That was what she needed right now. She had boarded the train not knowing where she was headed. It was nice to just drop into a half-dream state, not thinking where you were going or what you were going to do. The train clattered to a stop and Quinn noticed she was already in the business district with its shiny glass buildings looming upwards in their race to reach the sky. Well-dressed Eugenics boarded and the train sped out again toward Grand View Heights, the residential area of choice for the top tier of Eugenics society. Quinn looked around. People in expensive business attire, lawyers and bankers, guardians of the status quo, mollifying their guilt by taking public transport. After all, reducing their poison pumping imprint was a license to feel good about the endless list of unconscionable acts they were perpetrating toward others.

              The monorail stopped at the edge of Grand View Heights and released its passengers in the botanical conservatory that served as a train station. The beehive-shaped glass dome with its rare tropical plants and water features was meant to make you feel as if you were entering some kind of purification zone. By the time you walked down its elegant alleys the grimy layer accumulated in the city would wear away and you would enter the Heights as pure as a newborn. It was amazing how much money and effort was spent to create illusions. Nevertheless, Quinn liked the beehive. She took her time walking through it, making sure she wasn’t attracting too much attention. She meandered past some columns covered in creeping plants and came to an intimate area with a water fountain. Away from the eye of the passing crowd, she cleaned up her face and fixed her hair. She sat down for a moment at the marble bench and put her thoughts in order. Yes, she was going to Grand View Heights to see Celeste DiPietro, her Eugenic friend, the wife of a high-powered attorney in the company that controlled everything and everybody. It was wrong and it was dangerous. It was breaking both Eugenic and Neo-Spartan principles. But it didn’t feel that way to her. There was this sense of peace and safety, a distant echo from a long-forgotten childhood.

              Quinn had first met Celeste at the Neo-Spartan farmers’ market a few months ago. She had never seen such a desperate woman before. There had been fear in her eyes, but there had also been something else, much stronger—a mad determination to fight to the end. It had been obvious that she was Eugenic, despite the silly effort to disguise herself in ragged clothes and dirt smeared all over her face. People had chased her off, market sentries beating her up, deaf to her claims that she was only searching for help for her dying son. Quinn had been struck by her courage. Her pain and desperation had grabbed Quinn by the throat and compelled her to help this woman. Finding her hadn’t been hard. Celeste had curled up near some garbage bins, a block away from the market, pretty messed up, sobbing and banging her head against the bin. Quinn had given her a handful of leaves to chew to calm her down and had promised her upside down and backwards that she wasn’t going to drag her back to the Neo-Spartans for some kind of public stoning. She had tried to explain why her people had treated Celeste so harshly. And Celeste had seemed to understand. But she needed somebody to understand her, too. Her son’s liver and kidneys were failing. He’d been to the hospital many times and none of the treatments had helped. Celeste, despite the fact that she was Eugenic, believed only natural healing could save him. Instinctively, she knew the modified food and organs were killing them. So she had risked it all and decided to seek help from the Neo-Spartans. At the time, Quinn couldn’t do anything but race back to her stall and snatch several bunches of fresh herbs—turmeric and milk thistle, especially. She had given them to Celeste and made an arrangement to meet her regularly every three days at the periphery of the market. She had shorted herself and Gabriel on some fresh produce, but slight hunger was nothing compared to the spark of hope she had seen in Celeste’s eyes. The pure joy of helping somebody didn’t last very long. Kilbert had caught her giving Celeste fresh juice and accused her of committing a major violation. She should’ve been brought in front of the Elders’ council. Quinn had tried to defend herself. She was simply helping a sick kid. There’s always a moment in a young person’s life when her ideals fly out the window with clipped wings and smash to the ground only to be trampled by the common sense practicalities of adult life. For Quinn that moment arrived when Kilbert refused to listen to her motives. She had traded with the enemy, it was against the principle, Neo-Spartan safety was compromised. The woman could’ve been a spy for the Eugenics. It was a reckless, stupid act that Kilbert hadn’t expected out of Quinn. Disarmed and disillusioned she might have been, but she fought back for what she believed. And she believed that rigid, narrow-minded hate freaks were not what the Neo-Spartans were supposed to be. This woman had reached out, ready to embrace their way. She believed they could help her son. So Quinn listened to her heart. Wasn’t that what made Neo-Spartans different? Wasn’t that what Kilbert was teaching them?

              The argument was buried, but ever since then Quinn had been going to Celeste’s home for the deliveries. She had met the boy and watched him improve. Celeste’s gratitude came in the form of unconditional trust and friendship. In her book, nothing Quinn did was considered a screw-up. When Quinn faltered, Celeste encouraged. When Quinn erred, Celeste guided her to find the right way. But most of all Celeste let Quinn be seventeen—with all its ups and downs, no judgment or expectations attached.

              Quinn used the back entrance of the opulent house as she had always done. She knocked three times and heard the hurried little steps of Celeste rushing to the door. A moment later, the elegant, fragile figure of the woman flung itself at Quinn and gave her a tight hug. Quinn worried that one of these days Celeste might crack a rib but she was more than glad to be the recipient of these spontaneous hugs. The Neo-Spartans were not big in the touchy feely department, so Quinn had nothing against a little extra warmth here and there. Once the hug was over, it occurred to Celeste to be surprised.

              “It’s Tuesday!”

              It made Quinn squirm a little but she reached into her pocket and pulled out a bunch of cilantro. Its flattened leaves made a bit of a pathetic statement, but nevertheless it was something to break the awkward moment with.

              “Here you go.”

              “But, it’s Tuesday.” Celeste wasn’t making it any easier for Quinn.

              “I know.”

              “You’re supposed to come on Fridays. Not that I’m not happy to see you, I’m just surprised. I don’t want you to get in trouble.”

              “I thought Peter should have cilantro more often. It gets rid of heavy metals in your blood. Besides, I’m already in trouble.”

              Celeste ushered her quickly inside. She knew Quinn needed to unburden badly.

              An hour later, sunken in the comfy couch, legs tucked under her, Quinn was still spilling the details of the previous day’s ordeal. Celeste was listening with rapt attention, rolling the girl’s problems in her head. She knew they seemed too big to handle. For a budding young woman, Quinn had a lot to deal with and not enough time to get to know herself.

              “I mean, what kind of person am I if I am actually making him screw up all the time? I wasn’t really taking care of him. I was just making sure everybody noticed I was doing a good job.”

              Quinn groaned and sank deeper into the couch. Celeste patted her hand.

              “So you wanted to do a good job and you wanted people to notice. I don’t exactly see where the wrong is?”

              “Kilbert said I should’ve shown him that I was doing it out of love.”

              “Does Kilbert have any children?” asked Celeste.

              Quinn shook her head. Celeste took a moment, rewinding the tape of time.

              “It all starts with wanting to do a good job, to do it right. It’s like walking through a thick fog. You stumble along, you make mistakes and it is hard. It is so hard you wish you could quit. But you don’t. In fact you keep trying harder. And in the toughest moments when you crack and you feel like a heap of rubble this wonderful thing pushes its way through… love. Mother’s love. We are not born with it. It’s not this fairy dust that somebody sprinkles on us when our children are born. It comes as a need and an instinct to do a good job. And we all want to hear that we are doing it well. I’m not saying that Kilbert is wrong but you’re taking care of your brother. He is not your kid. I know you think of yourself as a grown up, and forgive me for saying this, but in your case it’s one kid trying to raise another.”

              “So this is my excuse for doing a crappy job?”

              “It’s not an excuse. And you’re not doing a crappy job.”

              “Celeste, he’s a mess…”

              “So, he skips seed class and has fun parkouring all day. How unusual for a fourteen-year-old boy! The Neo-Spartan life is a very hard one, as you’ve told me. You grow into it. Don’t expect it to be without pains. It’s too much for him and it’s too much for you.”

              Quinn looked at Celeste. As usual her words were comforting, but still she couldn’t let herself feel better.

              “But I was supposed to make it easier for him. Instead… all those things he said…”

              “He said them so he could steal a little bit of your power, that’s all. You’re both alone. You both need to feel stronger and you both need to feel appreciated. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

              Quinn wanted to believe that. She closed her eyes and leaned back against the couch. She kept her hand under Celeste’s, feeling its warmth. The picture got clearer, life seemed easier.

              The sound of a car in the driveway pulled Celeste’s head around. “Robert’s back.” Quinn followed her gaze to the distinctive late model sedan with the special dual exhaust system in the driveway, the personalized plate, LITIG8, and the handsome, nimble, middle-aged man emerging from it.

              “Don’t worry, I’ll take the back door,” said Quinn.

              Celeste nodded, a little embarrassed as Quinn darted away as quietly and quickly as she’d arrived.

CHAPTER EIGHT

              Quinn walked into the dull looking little bungalow that was their home. She expected to find Gabriel there and held her breath, anxious about facing him. She found him replaying footage of parkour stunts that he and his buddies had recorded. He was completely immersed in the material and barely noticed his sister’s return.

              “Hey,” said Quinn.

              Her voice made him jump and he switched off his computing phone device. She had seen what he was watching and decided to take a different approach.

              “That was… er…”

              Gabriel jumped in, cutting her off.

              “Yeah, yeah, that’s not what I’m supposed to be doing. There’s a catalogue to be memorized and pushups to be done, somebody’s backyard to be plowed and watered.”

              “I was going to say that was pretty cool footage.” She took him by surprise. This was the last thing he expected from Quinn. He studied his sister, his guard up. He was in for something, but this time he couldn’t tell what. Quinn sat in a lumpy armchair across from Gabriel. On the way home, she had practiced several different versions of how to start this conversation, and now could remember none of them. Gabriel hated the silence more than the open confrontation. It made him edgy.