Truth (21 page)

XL

D
erek, Mike, and I were in our usual booth at Mickey’s having lunch. Just like a normal day. Normal. That was how it had to look. Perfectly normal.

“So Nina, you coming to Soma with Wei this Friday?” Derek asked.

“Yeah, it’ll be fun. You’re coming, too, Mike?”

He nodded, his mouth full of fries.

“Hey, have you heard from Sal? Our homeroom teacher said she thought he’d transferred schools. Do you know anything about that?”

I nearly choked on my Sparkle. “I hadn’t heard that. I thought he was just, you know . . . away.”

“Yeah, me, too. But she said that Mrs. Marchant told her he was gone. Did you . . .”

I knew he wanted to ask if I had known. And I hadn’t. He’d left. The last thing I wanted was to leave Derek and Mike this way, but I couldn’t sit there anymore not knowing what had happened to Sal. I snarfed down the remainder of my lunch. “I’ve got to check on something,” I said. I hurried back to school to find Mrs. Marchant.

***

I hadn’t seen Mrs. Marchant since the writ hearing. She looked up when the secretary let me into her office. “Miss Oberon. To what do I owe this pleasure? Most students come here only because of infractions.”

“Mrs. Marchant, it’s about Sal Davis,” I said. “Is it true that he transferred?”

She scrutinized me before saying, “He’s your boyfriend, correct?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“And he’s told you nothing?”

“No, ma’am.”

“Then I’m afraid I can’t either. School policy aside, Miss Oberon, if Sal wanted you to know what he was doing, I’m sure he would have told you before he left.”

That was not the reply I’d expected, not from Mrs. Marchant. “I guess . . . I mean, I know you’re right. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have bothered you.”

“No problem. I’m always happy to have students visit.”

“Thank you.”

I had the doorknob in hand and was struggling to keep my tears at bay when she said, “Often people don’t divulge their plans in order to keep others safe. Don’t you agree?”

My heart leaped. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Carry on, Miss Oberon.”

Closing the door behind me, I let out a sigh of relief. At least he was still alive. I hadn’t even realized how scared I was for him until just now. I’d barely admitted to myself the possibility that he could be hurt or killed on one of his missions.

***

The closer it got to my last class, the more worried I became about Fassbinder. He’d said he would meet me after school. Did that mean he’d be outside waiting? Was he going to call? Would he show up at the house? I fretted the entire fifty minutes of Language and Lit.

Miss Gray motioned to me as the bell rang. I was torn between being the good obedient student and getting outside. I bolted, leaving her standing there, shocked at my behavior. At least I wouldn’t have to explain tomorrow.

When I got outside, Wei was waiting. And so was Fassbinder.

She gave me a thumbs-up and slipped around the side of the building, off to set her end of the plan in motion. I took a breath and then marched down the steps to Fassbinder and his waiting trannie.

The driver opened the door, and I slid onto the backseat. Fassbinder sat next to me, practically hidden in the shadows.

“Well?” he asked.

“It’s all here.” I held out an envelope. “What about my grandfather?”

He opened the envelope and perused the contents. “Assuming this is what Mr. Lessig wants, you’ll be hearing from him,” he said. “You’re going to work at the Art Institute now?”

“Yes, and I’ll be late if I don’t hurry. May I go?”

“Mr. Lessig insisted that I be cordial to you. A task I hardly relish. However, since I’m meeting Mr. Lessig at the Palmer, I am going in your direction. Would you care for a ride?”

“No.” I let myself out of the trannie and took off to the transit stop. I couldn’t be late to pick up Joan.

***

Two transfers later, I was in front of my old apartment building. Rushing down to the riverfront, I saw Joan waiting, alone. We huddled in an alley, and she changed into Ginnie’s clothes. “How’d you get rid of your friends?” I asked.

“I told them I was turning myself in. Svette wanted to take me down there herself and get the money. But one of the others knocked her out and told me to run. Said she wouldn’t be a part of taking money for my life.” She turned her sad eyes to me. “Tell me it’s going to be all right, Nina. I’m so scared.”

I squeezed her hands tightly. “You will be fine. No one will hurt you ever again. Now”—I helped her up—“let’s go do this.”

When we got to the Institute, I ran my handsert through the employee entry gate while Joan exchanged the token for a visitor’s pass. That hurdle crossed, we made our way to the elports. Tuesday was Free Day, and the lobby was jammed with people. I hoped that would work in our favor. Spotting Paulette and Mag, I gave a quick jerk of my head to them. Mag winked in acknowledgment, then pulled Paulette back into the crowd.

Joan and I got into the elport and took it to the floor where I worked with Martin. It was twenty to four.

I led Joan to the storeroom. “You stay right here. I’ll be back in six minutes.”

I hurried through the tunnels to the roof. Three minutes there. Unlock the door. Three minutes back.

When I stepped into the storeroom again, I could see that leaving Joan alone in an enclosed room had not been a good idea. She was pacing, rubbing the back of her neck with her hands.

“They’re going to hurt me.” Her eyes darted around the room. “They’re coming for me again, aren’t they? Why don’t you do something?”

“Joan, it’s all right,” I said. “No one is here but you and me. No one is ever going to hurt you again.” I kept speaking softly to her, trying to reassure her of what we were doing. It took me way too long to pull her back to reality.

Finally, I opened the doorway to the tunnels, and in walked Brie and Dorrie.

“What’s wrong?” Brie attitude was all business. She took in the situation. “Joan?”

Joan hung her head. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

“Joan, it’s okay. It’s all right.” I reassured her again.

“I know. I know.” She turned to Brie. “I freaked out.” She gazed up at us. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. We’ve got plenty of time, if we leave now.”

“Nina—” The tone of Dorrie’s voice scared me. “There’s been a change in plans,” Dorrie said. “Japan isn’t––”

A knock on the storeroom door stopped us in our tracks.

“Go. I’ll get rid of whoever it is,” I whispered, motioning Brie and Dorrie to hide behind a pile of packing boxes. Joan was officially logged in as my visitor, so it’d be odd if she disappeared as well, but I couldn’t risk anyone finding her. I pushed her to follow Brie and Dorrie behind the boxes. I went to the door and looked through the viewer. It was a security guard. I cracked the door open. “I’m sorry, Martin’s not here today, can I—”

“You’ve got a visitor.” The guard stepped aside to reveal Kasimir Lessig standing there.

“Miss Oberon,” he said. “Not looking nearly as appealing as when we last met. Worrying adds years and wrinkles, you know.” He patted my cheek and sauntered past me into the room.

“Was there a problem with the information I gave you?” I glared at Lessig.

“Manners, Miss Oberon. Manners.”

“The information,” I said to Lessig, “was it not what you expected?”

“Oh, I haven’t even seen it yet. Angelo, stellar assistant that he is, offered you a ride to work so you wouldn’t be late. You declined. He thought that odd. So did I. Since I was just across the street, I thought I’d see if something was wrong. Is there something wrong?

“No. I’d rather be late than accept a ride from Mr. Fassbinder. I don’t like him.” Or you, I added in my head.

“Honesty. How refreshing. He doesn’t care for you either. Oh, but I suppose I should be careful what I say—me, of all people! After all, wouldn’t want it on
News at Eleven
.” He laughed and waved his hand around to reference the surveillance. “Lucky for me, I control
News at Eleven
.”

It dawned on me that Lessig didn’t know that this room had a surveillance block. One that I could control. If I could get Lessig to admit to his lies and his blackmail . . . could Dorrie record it, maybe even broadcast it through Rogue Radio? It might be too late to help me, but she could give it to the NonCons after I was gone. But how could I tip her off?

“No worries here,” I countered, trying hard to keep my voice airy and light. “This room is surveillance-free to protect the art. Talk all you want. No one’s recording this.” I hoped that would be enough.

“Oh, little girl, no place is free of surveillance, except perhaps my penthouse and your current place of residence.” He raised his eyebrows. “Besides, you think you can fool me?” Lessig snorted.

“Fine, if you don’t believe me, try to contact Angelo on your PAV,” I said. “It won’t work.”

He took out his receiver, frowned, then put it back. “Well, then. Shall we have a frank heart-to-heart?”

“Why not?” Dorrie’s PAV wouldn’t work with the surveillance shields up either. I’d have to turn them off. Acting nonchalant, I perched on the corner of my desk, keeping the lever hidden from Lessig’s view. Leaning on my arm, I pushed it down. What I hadn’t anticipated was a single beep, probably indicating satellite connection.

Lessig jerked his head around. “What was that?”

“What was what?” I shrugged.

“That electronic beep.” His eyes narrowed. “Nina, Nina. Are you trying to pull a fast one on me?”

“You mean the temperature control? The thermostat is automatic—it beeps when the temperature changes. You know, to safeguard the art. I don’t even notice it anymore.” I got off the desk and approached him. “Listen,” I said, “I held up my end of the bargain. I spied on Jonathan Jenkins––”

“I have yet to see if that information is valuable. I’ve been waiting for years to set up Jenkins. Never liked him. Never liked anyone who was friends with your father.”

“You said you’d get my grandfather out of custody, if I did what you wanted. I did it. Now, I want my grandfather back.” My voice sounded steely, but I was shaking inside.

“Your grandfather.” Lessig wet his lips. “Alan Oberon’s father.” He cocked his head. “I think you must have misheard me. I can’t imagine helping anyone who’s related to Alan Oberon. Ever.”

His pointed stare was infuriating. “You promised me—you said, if I spied on the Jenkinses, you’d save my grandfather!” My heart thumped in my chest, and anger raged through me. I knew something like this would be coming, but I didn’t realize the sheer fury I would feel at hearing him say it out loud. “I should’ve known not to trust you, not after you spread those lies about my mother and the fake FeLS station.”

“Lies?” His eyes bored into me. “And just what do you know about FeLS that I don’t?” He grabbed my arm.

I jerked it away. “Since we’re being honest,
Mister Lessig
”—I practically spat the words out—“I know all about FeLS. My mom’s the one who found out the truth about the government’s liaison program—that it was a sex-slavery ring. And I know you lied about her involvement in it.”

“Ah, yes. The perks of being the most trusted newscaster in the Americas. The face of Media. I can show whatever I want, say whatever I want, and people believe me. Fake space station”—he snapped his fingers—“no problem. Sex-slavery ring? Pin the scandal on Ed Chamus and your mother. Piece. Of. Cake. The basic details on FeLS were true—nice of Jenkins to give me that information––but I couldn’t let the world know that we were trafficking girls through FeLS, let alone who the girls went to. Can you imagine what would happen if I let the idiots in our society know that their most trusted leaders had a taste for virginal sex-teens? So I created the rest of the story—the fake space station, Chamus being the ringleader. All of it.”

“You made those Alerts up? You are sick.”

“Sick? Little girl. What I am is the most powerful man in the world. I can make or break anyone.” A smile twisted across his face. “I could even bring down the GC president if I wanted to. That old pervert loves the FeLS girls. What he doesn’t know is that I’ve got the vids to prove it.”

Suddenly, there was a furious pounding on the door. Fass-binder’s voice came through, screaming, “Kasimir! Stop! Shut up!”

Lessig spun around, and I raced back to the wall. He flung open the door, and Fassbinder stumbled into the room, flailing to keep his balance.

“Kasimir—she’s broadcasting this. It’s all over the airwaves. Everything. FAVs. PAVs. Alerts. Everything!”

“What? There’s no reception in––” The realization dawned on him. I looked around for an escape, but he was too quick. With murder in his eyes, he yanked me to him. Searing pain stabbed through my shoulder, but I bit back a scream. “Turn it off!” he yelled. “Now!”

“I’m not recording anything! Look, I’m not doing anything!” I held out my PAV, and he brushed it aside.

“You lying bitch! No worries, Miss Oberon? We’ll see about that. Angelo, get the old man on the view.” He twisted me closer, wrenching my shoulder more. “See this?”

I looked at the screen of his PAV. It was Pops in a transchair, those same tubes pumping liquid into his arms.

“No.” My voice was shaking. I couldn’t take my eyes off Pops. He looked so weak, sick.

Lessig spoke into the viewer. “Charlie. Do it.”

The same goon who’d yanked Pops by his hair now pulled the tubes out. Pops shook violently. He slipped out of the chair, writhing on the floor. Convulsions racked his body, and although I couldn’t hear it, he was screaming in agony.

“Stop it!” I punched Lessig in the gut with my good arm. “Pops! No!”

Fassbinder moved to grab my free arm when suddenly Brie and Joan came flying out from behind the boxes, a flurry of arms and legs. Joan clawed at Lessig, and I pulled away from his grasp. Brie was quick and efficient in her attack—in a heartbeat, Angelo was on the floor unconscious, and Lessig was crumpled in a heap on top of him.

I lunged for the viewer. “Pops! Pops!” He lay still on the floor. The guy who’d killed him toed him with his boot and then walked away. “Pops.” I couldn’t stop looking at his lifeless body lying there.