arbitrate (daynight) (14 page)

The scene faded from view. As relieved as I was to know that Jax was bugging the crap out of her, I worried about her health and the fact she wasn’t eating. “What kind of therapy?” I ask.

“She’s having a tough time with all the events that have transpired the last few months, and so Jackson has her see a therapist nightly to work through it all. It’s for the best.”

“I should be there with her.” I fisted my hands in frustration.
 

“No. You need to finish school and prepare for your role on the Ten.”

“That is hardly important when my Cleave is sick and needs me.” I raised my voice and started furiously pacing, trying to glean from what I saw where they might be.
 

My father walked over to me and placed a hand on my shoulder. I felt the anger drain from my body and peace flood into it.
Kira will be fine.
He said, “Now back to projection. A lighter form is the ability to block signals, such as listening devices, something we have all found useful while being amongst the SCI.”

“If you
always
block signals wouldn’t that raise red flags? Wouldn’t the SCI be rather curious about never being able to listen in to a certain person’s conversations?”

“We are able to turn it on when it suits our needs and not use it when it isn’t necessary. It all takes effort. Now, the last general capability is tactile manipulation—using touch to affect the mental state or physical wellbeing of another person. I used it on you a few moments ago to calm you down about Kira.”

That didn’t sit well with me. “You manipulated my
feelings
? Please don’t
ever
do that again. I would
never
want to be able to do that.”

“I was simply demonstrating. And besides, it’s useful for more than just calming. But let’s move on and proceed with the testing.”

“Fine.” I was more anxious than ever to know if I had any of these capabilities. Top of my wish list was mobility.
That
I could use to my advantage to track Kira and Jax down. My mother’s promise to me that I’d get to visit Kira had gone unfulfilled. There was always an excuse. “
She’s too sick.” “She’s focusing on her studies”. “You’ll put her life at risk.” “I need you here.”
What about what
I
needed?
 

Precognition was tested by attaching probes to my head and giving visual and verbal prompts. For each prompt, I was instructed to ponder the subject for thirty seconds and then explain what came to mind. While the probes were still attached, various Arbiters were brought into the room. I touched each of their hands and shared any thoughts I had as to what they might be thinking or feeling. On several occasions, I did get impressions of emotions—sadness or anger or joy. My father looked pleased, so I must have some ability in that area.

“You’ll find your ability a huge asset when working with the SCI—particularly if you can tell when you are being lied to or deceived.”

Despite an hour’s worth of attempts to focus on different people and settings, I could not project anything, but I could block signals. “You will want to practice this until it becomes second nature,” my father advised. “Your brain can be trained to automatically protect sensitive information from listening ears. Given the double life you’ll be leading, you’ll need to use the capability constantly.”

We spent a half-hour attempting tactile manipulation, but I failed all the tests miserably, thank the Gads.
 

I did succeed at mobility. It took a long time for me to concentrate hard enough on a location, truly visualizing every aspect of it, but I did manage to move myself from one area of the lab to the other.
 

“Excellent!” My father beamed. “Of all the abilities, you may find mobility most useful. But use caution. It is also the easiest way to blow your cover. Disappear when someone is watching or show up in a crowded room…and you won’t be able to explain it away.”

He let me know that he’d be in touch with the rest of my results. For any area I had an aptitude, I’d be trained. Some things would take more schooling and effort than others. And once my abilities were honed, I’d be taught how to use them to Arbiter advantage in meetings with the Ten.

His closing words were, “You have a great opportunity to do good, Ethan. The SCI continues to thwart the purposes of their charter. And as many terrible things as they have already done…the worst is yet to come. Having you on the Ten will help us know when to intervene. I know you are busy, and it will be hard to fit the training in. But make it a priority.”

I wished more than anything I had someone I could talk to about it. Jax was avoiding me. My father was all business. And I was banned from seeing my Cleave. What good was the equivalent of a shiny new toy if I couldn’t show it off? I left Heart that day more depressed than uplifted, missing Kira, and worried that I’d fall short of expectations on all fronts—the SCI, Arbiters, and my Cleave.

Present

I don’t know how
long I’ve been here. When they took me, my cellphone and watch were confiscated, so I can’t be certain. I’ve been in and out of consciousness, drifting off into oblivion. The time passed feels like days, but it has likely only been hours. The temperature has been stabilized at Sahara Desert levels. My death will be slow. I lift the last bit of water to my lips and gag as it scorches my throat on the way down.

This isn’t worth protecting them
. Why go to all this trouble to keep their secret? My secret? An image of Zander flits into view.
No. If they find out about you, Zander will be in danger. Half the babies implanted in Kira’s friends will be in danger. The ones I fathered have Arbiter blood running through their veins too.

I’ve got to wait the SCI out and hope my Uncle won’t let me die. “Please.” The words escape my lips.
 

I drift off to sleep and am woken amidst a dream about Kira and Zander. We were in my bed, lips pressed together, but our bodies were separated enough for Zander to fit snugly between us. My body shivers uncontrollably, and I’m feeling like I’ve been transported from the fiery pits of hell into the glacial regions of the North Pole.

An object hits me and I manage to pry open my eyes and see that it’s a McDonalds bag. The smell of French fries wafts up through the bag. A figure in a dark suit leans over and sets down a drink. I peer up to see my Uncle Victor.

“It’s curious that Jackson never came to your rescue.”

I drink in a sip of the cold liquid and let it hydrate my throat. “Not to me.” It comes out as barely a whisper. “Why would he?” He’s happily shacking up with Kira and Zander, and at our last encounter, I tried to kill him. Plus, I know he’d be no more willing to illuminate my ties with him than I would.

“When you see him, tell him I’d welcome the Arbiter Council here any day. They can take up their issues with me directly. I’ll be happy to do the same.”

I stuff French fries into my mouth. Once I’ve swallowed I ask, “Why?” My throat’s too raw to get out more. I understand neither why he’d want to bring the Arbiter’s wrath upon him or why my uncle would do this to his own flesh and blood. I’m too weak to argue or unleash my fury on him.

He smooths out his tie. “Purely precautionary. The Arbiters haven’t interfered in SCI business for centuries. It’s curious they’ve chosen to do so now. And it all seems to be spurred by your personal conflict with one of their own.”

“I didn’t know.” Truth is, I didn’t know Jax was on the Arbiter Council. He has never been the most forthcoming of friends or brothers. With him everything’s on a need-to-know basis, and he prefers I just don’t know.

Victor leans down and looks me straight in the eye. “Meddling in our business will not be tolerated. The Arbiters may not like our methods, but they are effective and warranted. Earth’s humanity is at a crucial juncture. Our knowledge and the assistance we can provide will be the tipping point—towards greatness rather than depravity.”

Twist any idea enough, and evil becomes good, good becomes evil. Read the news and you’ll be overwhelmed by the world’s ills instead of seeing the greatness manifested in small acts of kindness everywhere. There has always been a precarious balance of good and bad. The SCI’s own plans require doing that which is reprehensible to achieve the greatness they aspire to.

“And the lives that are lost?” I squeak out.

“This is war. Casualties are inevitable. Those who perish for the cause, rise again in better circumstances than they left. It’s all part of the plan. Get on board, Ethan, or I’ll make these last couple days seem like a fond memory. Your whole life has been spent preparing to usher the masses out of the dark and into the light. Don’t fail us over a girl.”

I manage to stand and face him, choosing my words carefully. “I know my place.”

Victor tips his head towards me. “Then return to it.” He walks away and opens the door, letting light filter in. Without looking back, he adds, “And Ethan, any and all wrath you bring upon us from the Arbiters will be returned unto you. Understood?”

“I believe I do.”

The light from the hall illuminates half of him, creating an eerily accurate portrayal of my two-faced uncle. “Good. There’s a car and driver outside who will take you by your Uncle Henry’s campaign headquarters on the way to the portal. Henry would like to spend some time with you before you are escorted home.”

Looks like I’ll be taking the slow route home. And I get another bonus lecture to boot.

CHAPTER NINE

Blake

“I must have died and gone to Hell because that’s about the only place you’d be welcome,” I tell a haggard looking Brad Darcton.
He has lost weight that he didn’t have to lose, aged ten years, and his worry lines have sprouted children and grandchildren. Unfortunately, all but the weight loss appears to be “applied” aging rather than natural.

He lets out a deep and hearty laugh. “And to think they’re holding a seat for you on the Ten. My Cleave has a ridiculous soft spot for her sons.”

“Speaking of sons…” I raise an eyebrow at him. “You seem to have kidnapped mine.”
 

Brad settles back in his chair and adjusts his baseball cap. “He has been well taken care of, and he’s far better off than he’d be with a couple of teenagers raising him—particularly when his parents aren’t even together. That can be so
difficult
on a child. Besides,
I
didn’t physically kidnap him, and it seems that you exacted revenge on his actual kidnapper already. I’m just surprised you held back and didn’t kill him.”

I cross my arms over my chest. “It’s a time-honored dilemma—who deserves the greater punishment? The person who
gave
the orders or who simply
followed
orders? Why were the orders given in the first place?” I’m just not seeing his angle here. What did he have to gain by ordering Kira’s death and having her babies stolen?

He leans forward, so that I can see the glint in his dark hazel eyes. “You a chess player?”

“My father taught me, but I never much cared for it.”

Brad strokes his chin, and a half-cocked grin appears on his face. “Shame. There’s no better game. The key is thinking ahead several moves and anticipating your opponent’s moves.”

“And who, pray tell, is your opponent? You killed my father and the majority of his supporters.”

“I have eyes and ears everywhere. I know what’s afloat on Thera as well as here on Earth. The Ten’s running scared from the wrong threat when there’s another even greater threat on the horizon. They need my leadership now more than ever. There are things brewing that you can’t possibly fathom.”

This man’s ego has no limits. “I do believe Mommy dearest has taken your place as senior member of the Ten. And from my last meeting with her, I’m not sure she actually misses you.” Vienna Darcton is not one to actually show emotions, so I have no idea whether she misses her depraved Cleave or not, but it’s true that she seems to be powering on along without him.

“And that brings us back to her weakness. If she has an even bigger soft spot than that of her sons, it would be for their progeny. The ‘Mother and Father of Thera’ thing was her brainchild, after all.”

Well, that’s one way to approach Cleaving discourse—kidnap the grandbabies. I’m not an expert, but I’m not seeing a rosy future for Brad and my mother. The fact that they’re stuck together—unless they want to face Exile—makes me think that there might be something to the whole Cleaving thing.

I imagine Joshua making up a corny tune about this twisted situation and tap my fingers on my knee to the beat. “So we’ve established that you have exceptional kidnapping skills. What’s next? My funeral so that I don’t out the fact you’re still alive?”

A huge grin washes over Brad’s face. “Quite the contrary. I very much want you to out the fact I’m still alive. I want every last member of the Ten to anticipate my arrival. You’ll be paving the way for my coming.”

The only thing I’d like to be paving is the street over his grave. I don’t want to play message boy for Brad Darcton. “What exactly are you thinking?”

Brad outlines how the prodigal son will deliver the news of Brad’s triumphant return to power. His plan should enrage all involved. The only things missing are the trumpets and palm leaves.

“Why on Thera would I agree to do that?” I ask.

Instead of answering, Brad rises from his chair and knocks on the door. Thor enters carrying a small, crying bundle. Brad takes the child and hands him to me.

The boy wiggles and grunts and stares at my face. He has brown hair with red highlights. And my green eyes. If I expected to feel some magical connection…to suddenly feel like a father…I was wrong. I only feel awkward, insufficient, and uncomfortable. Definitely not paternal. Jacking off in a cup at a clinic does not make me father material. This kid was concocted in a cold, heartless lab—monsters joining stolen eggs and sperm in an effort to create the perfect DNT-carrying specimen, not a child conceived and born of love.
 

Brad’s voice cuts through the silence. “You’re going to do exactly what I want. Otherwise, you won’t be able to return this little treasure to his mother.”