Icons (15 page)

Instead, I assess where I am and what I can do. Tima has confused things; she’s not at all what I expected, but I shouldn’t be surprised. No more than I am by Ro or Lucas or even myself, on any given day. I can’t pretend she’s any different than we are.

I don’t know the extent of our abilities—what it is that has the Embassy so interested in us.

What they want from us.

I don’t know what I’m more afraid of—trying to escape and getting killed along the way, or staying for more of Colonel Catallus’s painful tests and wishing I were dead.

I squirm in my seat, a hard synth chair made to look like wood.

Colonel Catallus clears his throat. “I have much to discuss with you—now that I have the four of you together again. After all these years.”

He lets the sentence roll out into the bright light of the room.
Together again. The four of us. All these years.
But we have never been together, the four of us. We have never met before Santa Catalina. There is no
again
in this scenario.

If the four of us are anything. And if there are, in fact, only four of us, as the Embassy seems to think.

Icon Children.

“That’s not possible,” I say, finally. No matter what I think, I’m not going to say more than that. Especially now that I know how closely monitored we all are.

“Of course it’s possible.” Tima flicks her head as she speaks, clicking her nails on the table, faster and faster. “You might not know what’s possible, but that doesn’t limit possibility.” She rolls her eyes. “Obviously.”

“Obviously,” mimics Ro.

Lucas studies Colonel Catallus’s face. If he’s as confused as I am, he’s not letting on. “Just say it, Colonel Cat. Whatever it is, you can spit it out. We’re all friends here.”

Ro smirks, leaning on the table next to me. “Speak for yourself, Buttons.”

“Enough.” Colonel Catallus sits forward. “Her Ambassadorship’s wisdom works in myriad ways. Don’t think you’re only here because of what you can do for us.” He nods. “It’s about what you need us to—”

The vid-screen behind Colonel Catallus illuminates, surprising him. “Excuse me. A moment.”

The four of us look at each other, equally baffled. The logo of the Embassy appears, beginning to flash, which seems to agitate him even more.

Colonel Catallus directs his voice to the screen. “Yes?”

“You have a message from the Ambassador’s office, Colonel Catallus.”

“What is it, Computer?” It takes me a moment to realize he’s talking to Doc.

“I cannot say. The server appears to be sending error messages to this address. You are either wanted by the Ambassador, or there is a system-wide malfunction.”

He won’t risk that it’s a mistake. We all know he’ll be out the door by the end of the next few sentences.

“It is probably nothing,” encourages Doc. “Go on.”

“Yes, please. Go on, Colonel Catallus,” Tima says.

“It will only be a moment.” With a pompous little swagger, the man and his brass wings are gone.

The minute Colonel Catallus steps out of the room, the lights dim. “What was that?” Ro is out of his seat.

Blackout shades rumble, covering the door and four walls of our glass classroom. The Sympas on perpetual watch at the outer doorways begin to move toward our room.

“Um, Doc? Is this another one of your jokes?” Lucas cranes his head up toward the ceiling. “Very funny. You’re getting better and better.”

The door bolts, as if in response.

Tima springs out of her chair, but Ro beats her to the door. He rattles the handle furiously; Ro has never done well being caged.

“Orwell, are you seeing this?”

“Yes, Timora.”

“More to the point, Orwell, are you doing this?”

“No, Timora. I am impressed, though, by the coding. If I am not mistaken, this entire sector of the server has been compromised.”

“Open the door for the guards.” It is an order, and Tima barks it, as if she expects him to obey. “Now, Orwell.”

“I am unable to open the doors, interestingly enough. The locking mechanism is now disarmed. Very thoroughly, I might add.”

“So my mother didn’t call Colonel Catallus to her
office.” Lucas looks pleased, for the first time today.

“Non. Maestitia brevis, gloria longa.”

“Now, Doc. Don’t get snippy.” Lucas grins.

“What did he say?” Ro nudges me. I shrug. I have no idea.

“Sorrow is temporary. Pride is forever.” Tima translates, without looking at me. Her eyes are on Lucas.

Lucas is grinning. “Basically, he’s saying Catallus is a jerk with a big head.”

“Yes, Lucas. Duly noted. Also noted, there appears to be a message on the Embassy Wik.” Doc runs one sentence into the next, without a shift in tone.

“For me?” Lucas’s smile fades.

“What, Mommy’s calling?” Ro slaps him on the back. “You’re grounded now, Buttons.”

“No. For… Doloria. Excuse me, Dolly. For yo—” Doc’s voice disappears in the middle of the word, which I have never heard him do before.

Three heads turn to look at me. Before I can say anything, the room darkens completely, and a face appears on the vid-screen.

A dirty face.

The Merk from the Tracks.

Fortis.

“So you ended up in the can after all, eh? Sorry, no refunds. Hazard of the industry.”

“Who is that?” Ro looks confused.

“He’s the Merk. The one who set the explosions and drew away the Sympas, so I could find you.” I say it only to Ro, but loud enough so the others can hear. I don’t want to explain it further, especially since Lucas was possibly on the receiving end of the blast, along with the rest of the Sympas.

“Fortis, how are you doing this?” The image is shaky, jerking in and out.

“Very quickly, love. An’ with my customary aplomb.”

“What do you want, Merk?” Tima is less impressed. I realize that Lucas has moved closer to the door, and now stands next to her.

“Give me one reason not to call the authorities. I can have Security here in five seconds.” Lucas sounds older than he is, and I almost believe him, though I think he’s bluffing.

“Well, one, I am Security. I’m using the Security server, so if you tried to call, I would answer an’ you’d be exactly where you are right now.” Fortis grins. “Is that enough reason, or do you want more?”

“Orwell, I’m switching to Manual.” Tima moves to the screen, her fingers flashing across a series of lit buttons.

“Your Orwell’s a little busy right now. He’s conducting a system-wide diagnostic. I’m guessing he’ll be back online in, say, three hours. Or as soon as we’ve wrapped things up here. Whenever I decide.”

Tima bangs her hand on the screen, annoyed.

“But on the bright side, he’s going to feel like a new man, right, Merk?” Ro is enjoying himself, the broadcast, the chaos. The look on Lucas’s tightly drawn face.

“How, Fortis?” He knows what I mean. This, everything. How is he possibly here now? It’s as improbable as him rescuing me from the Tracks. Which, if he can do this, maybe wasn’t so improbable.

He shakes his head. “Little Grassgirl. Those are trade secrets—it’s my livelihood we’re talkin’ about here. Now, you goin’ to introduce me to your friends?”

I shake my head back at him. “Not until I know what you want.”

Fortis makes a face. “Where’s the trust?” Onscreen, he angles his head toward Lucas. “Little Ambassador. Lucas Amare. The Lover. I ’ave to say, you’re a lot less fun in person. Though the ladies might disagree.” Lucas looks grim.

“And Timora Li. You’re a regular barrel of laughs yourself, aren’t you? Ah, the Freak. Always so much fun. You talk a good game, but when push comes to shove you crawl right back into your shell, don’t you then?” She glares at him.

“Furo Costas. The Rager. You, my friend, are an imbecile. You could have killed me twenty times, on the Tracks. I’m surprised you’re not dead.”

Ro shrugs, happily. It’s nothing he hasn’t heard before, and nothing he doesn’t see as a compliment.

“Which leaves you, sweet Doloria Maria de la Cruz. The Weeper, Our Grass Lady of the Sorrows.”

“You’ve made your point, Merk. Congratulations, you know our names.” Lucas edges closer to the screen, defiant.

“I do. So do more than a few people in the Embassy, accordin’ to this database. Including a Virt Medic, a psychopathic Sympa Colonel, and the Ambassador.”

“So?” I force myself to look at him. “Get on with it.”

“So. Aren’t you at all curious, little fig, why? Why now? What makes the four of you so interestin’? Because I have to say, though your personality’s a real sparkler, that’s not really the thing, is it?”

“What do you know?” Ro asks, stepping up beside me.

Fortis fades in and out of the picture.

“Something you don’t. A great many things you don’t. But there’s only one you need concern yourself with, now.”

“Yeah?” Ro’s eyes flicker.

“The Icon. You think it’s invincible. Unstoppable, even. It holds the whole deal in place, don’t it? The
Hole
Deal, yeah?” He winks.

I roll my eyes.

“Those electromagnetic waves—the pulse electricity the Icons emit—there’s no stoppin’ it. One in every major city, right? The power’s the power, as it were. They connect together, all of them, like one big choke collar aroun’ Earth.”

Lucas rubs his hand through his hair, distracted. “This isn’t news.”

“We provide free labor to build their blasted Projects in exchange for a semblance of life as it used to be. We let them enslave us to build who knows what behind those walls.”

“What’s your point?” Lucas is irritated.

“And if we cooperate, if we play nice, the world keeps running and everybody stays alive to cooperate another day. We ’ave no choice but to obey. The Icons are impregnable. As far as we know. As far as they say. At least that’s the story.”

“We don’t need you to tell us how bad it is, Fortis. We’ve already got a pretty good idea of how things work.” I shift on my feet. I don’t like to talk about the Icons and the Projects. I don’t even like to think about them.

“Maybe you do, maybe you don’t.” He smiles. “Say you don’t. Say nobody knows how it works, not really. Say, for the fun of it, there was a chink in the armor. Or, rather, a silver bullet—a weapon with the power to turn the tide back in our favor. Now that would be somethin’, wouldn’t it?”

“Is he serious?” Tima looks at me, then at Fortis. “Are you serious?”

“As the grave.” Fortis moves his head closer to the screen.

“Now say the Embassy has learned about this secret
weapon. What do you think they would do, with somethin’ like that? Use it to destroy the Icons, right? Perhaps.”

I feel dizzy.

Fortis shakes his head. “Perhaps not. After all, the Lords and the Icons are the reason the Embassy’s in control. Without the Icons, the Embassy’s powerless. Out of a job. And probably wanted for crimes against humanity.”

“They should be,” Ro growls.

Lucas looks ill.

I can hear my heart pounding.

“Well, guess what, children? Today’s your lucky day. I ’ave it on good authority that there is in fact a silver bullet. And the Embassy has found it, or should I say, found them. And bingo—quick as you can say Bob’s your uncle—four of these little silver bullets are in one place, locked up safe an’ tight under the watchful eye of a Colonel who, I think, might ’imself need to be locked up.” Fortis looks around the room behind us.

My head is pounding.

Them.

Us.

He means us.

“One more thing. The Rebellion knows, too. They’re a bit more than eager to work with you, as you can imagine. I need you to know this because soon, you’re all going to have to make a decision.”

I close my eyes.

The Rebellion knows we’re here?

And they think we’re the key to bringing down the Icons?

I let the words sit in my head, but I can’t think clearly.

Would I like it to be over? Without a doubt.

Would I like the Embassy to disappear? The House of Lords to have never found our planet? Of course.

My thoughts are spinning out of control.

If I could be the one to change it all, would I do it? Could I?

What if the Padre was right? What if Ro and I—all of us—really were meant for something bigger?

What then? What now?

The Merk interrupts my thoughts. “And when you do, well, you’re going to need a good Merk. Someone who can barter your services, properly like. Get a fair market price an’ all…”

He sighs, stretching his hands out in front of him.

A pro.

“Should that day ever come—and I assure you, it will—old Fortis, he’ll find you. When you’re good and ready.”

I’ll never be ready
, I want to shout.

But it doesn’t matter, because Fortis disappears, and the lights flood back on in the room.

Doc’s voice continues on, midsentence. “You, Dolly.
The message appears to be for you.” He pauses, and we all look at each other. Nobody knows what to say, but for different reasons.

I can see Tima’s mind racing. It looks like bicycle wheels and storm clouds and waves. Lucas is as strained and sad on the inside as his face is, on the outside. Ro has dissolved into chaos, but I know what he thinks without having to even grab his hand.

He’s ready to take the whole Embassy down, single-handedly.

That one idea is more real and more frightening than anything else.

Doc’s voice crackles into the room. “That is quite strange. It’s deleted. There’s nothing there; the file is empty.”

“It’s not important now, Doc.” I look at Ro, questioningly. He shakes his head. Tima shrugs. They’re not going to say anything.

Lucas frowns at the door. “We should probably let the guards in.”

Doc isn’t convinced. “Stranger still, I seem to be in the middle of a technical diagnostic I do not recall initiating.”

Ro grins; our little visit from Fortis has left him glowing. “Well, to err is human, or whatever some old dead guy says about that.”

“
Errare humanum est
. To err is human. The words
are attributed to, I believe, Seneca. Is that what you had in mind?”