Truth (3 page)

IV

I
t was the last day of school before Holiday break. No one wanted to be there, not even the teachers. Mr. Haldewick had propped his pointer in the corner and stopped lecturing for once. The entire class was having an actual discussion of Holiday traditions through the centuries. I was anxiously awaiting the last bell so Wei and I could talk, but during my second-to-last period, Hal showed up for me. I was going to the principal’s office, again. I scuffled along behind him, going as slowly as I could, all the while imagining numerous things that could be wrong. Along the way I saw Sal and Paulette sneaking out a side door together. Fortunately, Hal didn’t notice them. No matter what Mrs. Marchant wanted with me, it couldn’t possibly be worse than seeing the two of them together.

“Sit down, Miss Oberon.” Mrs. Marchant pointed opposite her. “Your grandmother has called . . .”

Oh, no. “Pops . . .” It had to be. I clutched the arm of the chair “Is he okay?”

“It’s not your grandfather.” She inclined her head slightly to the right.

That was when I noticed the two women, both in black, perched like giant crows on the bench that sat under the AV screens.

“These ladies are from Child Protective Services.” Mrs. Marchant wheeled around her desk, stopping next to me. “They want to ask you some questions.”

I glanced at her. Somehow it felt like sides had been drawn, and I could tell Mrs. Marchant was on mine.

“Yes, ma’am,” I said.

“We will be recording this,” one of the women said.

Her voice startled me. It was soothing and melodious, more like a songbird than the rasping caw I’d expected.

“Give me a moment, please.” She tugged the pouch off her shoulder, fumbled with the clasps, and eventually produced an AV recorder. Glancing apologetically at the other woman, who was frowning over her beakish nose, she said, “It’s a new model, I’m not quite used to—”

“Then stop explaining and figure it out,” her partner snapped. “We haven’t got all day.” That one’s voice fit her appearance perfectly.

I wished Songbird would be asking the questions, but I knew it would be Crow Face. If only I knew more of Wei’s emotion-regulation tricks. Wei had shown me some simple breath-control exercises to check emotions, but still the familiar heat radiated up my neck. My hands were sweating, too.

Mrs. Marchant whirred herself between me and the pair of women. She produced a tissue from inside her all-encompassing chair. “Know the truth, but tell only what needs to be told,” she whispered, handing it to me. Spinning around, she faced them, kind of like a mother protecting her child. “This won’t take long, I hope? We are running a school here. You could have done this at the home.” Her last remark was almost an outright accusation.

Crow Face’s jaw tightened, but she didn’t reply.

“It’s ready.” Songbird had the recorder affixed to a tripod, and it was pointing right at me.

I pressed the tissue between my hands and tried to remember to breathe. I made it through the routine questions without any major problems. Name, age, relationship to Dee, Gran, and Pops were all confirmed when Songbird scanned my hand. A sympathetic flicker crossed her face.

“How old are your grandparents?” Crow Face towered over me.

“Pops is eighty-seven, and Gran is, uh . . .” Did I even know how old she was? Besides, I was pretty sure they already knew the answers. “I think she’s eighty-five.”

“Tell me about your grandfather’s drug use.” Her beady eyes locked onto mine.

The hackles on my neck rose. “He takes prescription drugs for pain, for his leg.” How dare she accuse Pops of being a drugger! “The leg that he lost in service to the Governing Council’s space program,” I added.

Crow Face tapped something into her PAV receiver. “It would serve you better if you watched your attitude, Miss Oberon.”

I tugged at the tissue in my hands, shredding one corner of it. Mrs. Marchant caught my eye. Her expression was enough to remind me that this was neither the time nor the place for outbursts.

“I’m sorry.” Which, of course, I wasn’t. But even though my nerves were eating me up inside, I could lie with the best when I had to. Contritely, I said, “The GC and Media did more than they had to for Pops.” The exact opposite being the truth. The bare minimum, that’s what they did. And that was only after the story leaked out about how the government wasn’t covering any of the medical bills or rehab for Pops and the other guy, who’d lost both legs and an eye. The Media couldn’t hide that particular truth.

“Your grandmother has a friend, Harriet Pace?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“She’s at your apartment often?” Her black eyes bored into me.

“I suppose so.”

“Suppose so?” Her eyes narrowed to slits. “Is she or isn’t she? Daily? Hourly? How often?”

“She usually comes over every day, or Gran goes to see her.” What could possibly be the problem with Harriet? “Mrs. Pace is nice,” I added.

“Are you acquainted with John Pace?”

Johnny, Harriet’s son, had been arrested weeks ago for being a NonCon.

Miss Crow Face leaned close to me; her breath smelled of rotting, dead things. Vegetarianism was the law, but everyone knew there was a black market in animal flesh. A mental image of her gnashing into a cow crossed my brain. Clenching my teeth, I swallowed hard, struggling to keep my lunch down.

“Answer the question, Miss Oberon,” she said. “Do you know John Pace?”

“Yes.”

She straightened up, smirking. “Does your sister know John Pace?”

“Yes.” What did Dee have to do with this? I plucked at the tissue in my hands.

“Has she ever been left in his care?”

“I don’t think so. He might’ve been around when Mrs. Pace was watching her.” Where this was going I didn’t know, but it couldn’t be good. I looked at the shredded tissue in my hands, then at Crow Face. “Why?” I asked.

“I ask the questions.” She drew close again. “How long has your grandfather been a subversive?”

“What?” My eyes flew wide open.

“You heard me. Answer the question.”

“Pops isn’t a subversive.” I felt the sweat beading on my forehead. “He’s just, well . . . outspoken. I don’t understand what’s going on here.”

“There have been complaints, Miss Oberon. A Writ of Unsuitability has been filed against your grandparents.” She grabbed my wrist and twisted my arm over with more force than was necessary, exposing the XVI tattoo. “We know you are of age—you can take care of yourself.” She dropped my arm, turning her back to me.

“I’m old enough to take care of Dee, too.” I protested.

Crow Face pivoted around and raked her eyes up and down me. Her lip curled. “You may be sixteen, but you are not emancipated. You’re just a tier-two orphan.” She punctuated each of the following words with a jab of her finger. “You. Are. Nothing.”

Nothing. Tier two. Orphan. Sixteen. Nothing. The words wrenched some vital plug deep inside me, and I felt myself draining out. Had I stopped breathing? I couldn’t even feel my heart beating. Staring at the recorder, I wondered how it would document me as nothing. A black hole where I was sitting? An empty silhouette in the middle of the room?

I was vaguely aware of Mrs. Marchant rolling her transchair in front of me. As if through a barrel of water, I heard her say, “Are you quite done?”

From that same far-off place, Crow Face said, “We most certainly are. Put that away,” she ordered Songbird. “As for this case . . . you . . . Oberon!” I snapped my eyes to her face. “Your grandparents will have received notice to appear in Upper Court on December twenty-third. You are permitted to be there if you want.” She spun around and strode off. Songbird, still stuffing AV equipment into her bag, scurried after in her wake.

December twenty-third. Two days before Holiday. I was staring at Mrs. Marchant’s back when the room began to spin. Next thing I knew, Hal was hovering over me with a glass of water, and I was lying on the bench previously occupied by the Child Protective Services women.

As quickly as I rose, I fell back down.

“Drink this,” Hal intoned. “You will feel better.”

Hesitantly, I propped myself up on my elbow. When I was sure I wouldn’t collapse again, I took a sip.

Mrs. Marchant glided over to me. “You’ll be as well as one could expect.” She dismissed Hal. As the door closed behind him, she said, “Your tutor will be a great help with this.”

“Who?” I raised myself to sitting.

“You are beginning tutoring in ancient sciences soon, are you not?”

Rosie. My Cliste Galad lessons. How did she know? “Not for a while. I couldn’t . . .”

“I understand. No matter, you will learn other things. You are far from alone.”

“I need to go home. Gran and Pops must be worried sick.”

“Yes, you should go straight home.” Mrs. Marchant handed me another tissue. “Now that CPS has the case, they will do whatever they will do.” She checked the wall clock. “You have friends. Ask for their help.” She whirred back to her desk.

“Thank you,” I said.

“The truth will out, Miss Oberon.” She didn’t even look up from her papers. “Carry on.”

V

W
hen I got outside, Wei was waiting for me. “You look terrible. What happened?”

I glanced around, this wasn’t something I wanted overheard. “There’s been a Writ of Unsuitability filed against Gran and Pops. CPS came and questioned me in Marchant’s office. Someone’s trying to take Dee away.” I checked out each student who filed out of the building, hoping against hope to see Sal. “Where’s Sal? I saw him with Paulette when I was going to Marchant’s.”

“He . . . yeah, business.” She gave me a knowing look.

“Yeah, right.” It took a minute for me to stop peering at the faces trickling past. I bit my tongue. Sal had been straight with me. I had no reason to doubt him. But Paulette . . . Gah! I didn’t want to waste more than that one sarcastic moment on Paulette. I’d talk to Sal later.

The last bell rang. “Skivs! Dee’s been waiting.” I called her on my PAV. She’d taken refuge from the cold inside a designer shop and was wondering where I was.

“We’ll be right there.” I clicked off and motioned to Wei. “Come on. I’ll tell you the details while we’re walking.”

I filled her in: “You know, I could ask Mr. Long if he’ll let me work full-time. If Gran and Pops can’t . . . Well, I can. I’ll quit school and look after Dee. I will not let her go.” A thought grabbed me. “Wei, what if it’s not the CPS system they send her to? What if they send her to Ed’s family? I can’t let that happen! I—”

“Dad will know what to do,” Wei said.

Dad. What about my dad? And my sister’s dad—her real one, that is. Wei’s mother was the only person besides my father and me who knew that he was Dee’s father, too. Surely he’d do something if they took her away. He had to, right? But then I realized what would happen. It wasn’t safe for anyone to know that Dee was really Alan Oberon’s daughter—things were dangerous enough after the incident with Ed. And the only way anyone could be absolutely sure that Dee would be safe was if she went into hiding with him. Underground. Disappeared, presumed dead—just like him. Chills ran through me. I’d lost my mom; I never had my dad. I couldn’t lose my sister, too—there had to be a different way.

“Hey, Wei, did you talk to your friends?” I asked. Maybe, just maybe the Sisterhood could help. How, I didn’t know.

“Yep. Whenever you can come over to my house, you can meet them. We’ll set up a face-to-face.”

“I don’t work again until tomorrow. So, maybe tonight?”

We were still trying to figure out timing when Dee came running out of the shop. “They were about ready to throw me out.” She gave a dismissive wave of her hand. “Oh, never mind that. Guess what? Miss Maldovar chose me to be her assistant for the rest of the school–– Zats! Nina, you look awful.” Like a little nurse, she swiped her wrist across my forehead. “Are you sick or something?”

Wei gave my arm a quick squeeze. “See you later. Bye, Dee.”

Taking a deep breath, I explained the situation to Dee, stopping only long enough for us to board the trans.

When I was finished, instead of breaking down or crying, although her chin did quiver once, she said, “That’s ridiculous. Pops is not a drugger.” Fire lit her eyes. “I’m going to tell that . . . that crow-faced woman who bullied you . . .” She smacked her fist into her hand.

“Deeds, calm down.” I quickly surveyed the other passengers, to be sure no one was watching us. I don’t think I’d ever seen my little sister so visibly angry. “Wei is going to talk to her dad. He’ll help. Right now we need to get home and find out exactly what happened.”

She bounced back in the seat, a determined set to her mouth. “Nobody is going to take me away from Pops. Nobody.”

I hoped she was right.

***

When we got home, Gran and Pops were in the middle of a heated debate, which stopped as soon as Dee and I entered the room.

She ran to Pops’s side. “I’m not going anywhere,” she said, curling her arm around his shoulders. “I don’t care what anyone tries to do.”

“So you’ve heard,” Gran said to me.

“Uh-huh. CPS came to my school and questioned me,” I said. “I told Dee on the way home.”

“I’m calling my friends,” Pops growled. “We’ll take care of this. Get me that dang—”

“Hush up!” Gran wagged a finger at him, but left the room, then returned with the scrambler, taken from its hiding place above the chiller.

Dee watched her plug it in and turn it on. “What is
that
?”

“Keeps prying ears from hearing everything we say,” Gran said.

“It scrambles sound waves so that audio surveillance can’t understand what we’re saying,” I said. Gran had showed it to me a few weeks ago and explained how to use it. I’d gotten some good use out of it when Ed was still alive. But Dee had never even known it existed before now. I didn’t think she’d even known something like that could exist.

“Surveillance? Why would they listen to us?” Dee glanced from Gran to me. “Because of your father? He’s dead. Don’t they know we’re not a problem?”

“The GC doesn’t let the past lie,” Gran said. “They’ll hound us till we’re in our graves.” She turned to Pops. “Now, don’t forget, old man, when it starts beeping, turn it off.”

Brushing her away, he said, “I know. I know. It’s my machine, remember?” He fumbled with his PAV receiver until he got one of his cronies on the other end.

Gran motioned Dee and me to follow her into the kitchen. “We will fight this thing.” She sat at the table, rubbing her chest. “You know, arguing with your grandfather takes it out of me. I’m not as young as I used to be.”

“Are you okay?” I asked. She was breathing hard, her face ashen.

“I’m . . .” She paused, taking a ragged breath. “I’m not used to getting all het up about things.”

Dee glanced at me, a concerned frown creasing her forehead. I mustered as much reassurance as I could into a weak smile.

Gran slid a paper across the table. “Here’s the writ. I can’t imagine who could’ve done such a thing. Why would anyone think that we’re unsuitable to take care of our own grandchildren?” She drew in another uneven breath. “I wonder if it’s because of Dee’s father? Maybe he isn’t missing. Maybe he’s—” She took in Dee’s expression and quickly changed course. “I have the papers from Ginnie, signed and notarized, appointing us as guardians to both of you. There should be no question . . .”

“Are you sure you’re okay?” I’d never seen Gran so pale. “Maybe you should lie down? Or I could call the clinic doc downstairs.” That was one thing about living in a building full of retirees: there was an on-site medical clinic, open twenty-four hours, every day.

She shook her head. “It’s the shock of getting that.” She jabbed a finger at the paper. “Give me a moment, I’ll be right as rain.”

I poured a glass of water and gave it to Gran. Her hand trembled as she took a sip.

“Gran, I should show this to Mr. Jenkins.” I picked up the document. “Wei said he would help. I’m going to digi it with my PAV and send it over now. She can give it to her dad right away.”

Gran sighed. “They’ve done so much for us already. But, yes. I suppose we’ll have to ask for their help again. If only your grandfather . . .” Her voice trailed off.

“What about me?” Dee piped up. “What can I do? This is all about me, but I feel so”—she threw up her hands—“helpless.”

I wondered if Gran was as surprised as I was at how grown up Dee sounded, not at all like a little kid. Of course, she was nearly twelve. She’d be a preteen in less than a month. That hardly seemed possible, my little sister, a Pre. As that, surely the authorities would let her have some kind of say in all this. A faint voice in my head, sounding a lot like my mom, informed me,
They’ll do what they want—there’s something more behind this, Nina. Seek the truth.

“I can use help cleaning up this kitchen,” Gran said. “No sense in me moping around. Nothing to be done right now anyway. Let’s get cracking.” Belying her words, Gran stayed seated.

Dee, however, began to bustle around. “I’ll start dinner. What shall we have?”

While the two of them formulated the menu, I slipped out of the room with the writ. I’d just sent it to Wei when my PAV beeped.

“Can you come to our place?” Sal asked. “I’ll be there, waiting.”

I raced down the hall, pulling on my coat, when I noticed Pops, still ranting to his friends. The scrambler’s light shone green. Kneeling beside him, I caught his attention. “Pops. Don’t forget what Gran said. Stop talking when the light blinks and the beeping starts. Okay?”

He stuck his hand over his PAV receiver. “I’ve been using this thing since before you were born, Little Bit. I’d never forget something that important. See? I’ve got it right in front of my eyes.” He made a face at the scrambler.

“Gran and Dee are in the kitchen. I’ll be back soon. I love you!” I brushed a kiss across his forehead, then swung past the kitchen, calling out, “I’m going out, I won’t be long.”

“Come back by dinnertime,” Dee replied. “I’m cooking.”

When I got to the street, the number 33 had just pulled away. I raced alongside, banging on the door. Thankfully, the driver had a heart and let me board. My stomach was flip-flopping like a fish out of water. I couldn’t wait to see Sal. I had to tell him about the writ, and I wanted to find out what he’d been doing with Paulette again. Except I had to remind myself to not be jealous. Curious, is all.

I leaped off at the stop in the middle of Lincoln Park, taking all four steps at once. Before my feet hit the ground, I was sprinting in the direction of my mountain, the place where my mom and dad would meet after he’d faked his death. The place where I first met Sal. It was a dead zone. The perfect place for two people in love to meet.

My breath caught when I spied him. He was dressed homeless, like when we’d first met. Over the past couple of weeks I’d come to know what that meant: NonCon business. No one looked at the homeless, and so it was the perfect disguise for NonCons doing saboteur work, like Sal. My heart sank. This meant he’d be gone again. Sometimes it was just a day; sometimes he’d be gone nearly a week. Before I had the chance to wallow, he drew me down the far side of the mound, out of view of the street and prying eyes.

“Nina, I’m so sorry. I know this isn’t a good time to leave. Wei told me CPS is trying to take Dee.” His fingers laced between mine. “She said her dad is going to help, so you’ll be in good hands.”

His eyes searched mine, waiting for a response. Maybe he expected me to be mad that he was going again, but I wasn’t. I was sad. I felt like I hardly saw him anymore. I knew his work was important, but so was I.

And as much as I wanted to talk to him, I wanted to kiss him, too. Lots of kisses. Enough kisses to make me forget that my life was, once again, falling apart. I reached for him and pulled him to me.

After several minutes of pure bliss, I backed off. “I’m going to miss you. I know Wei’s dad will do what he can for us with Dee, but what if it isn’t enough? I feel like I should do something myself to stop the writ. I’m Dee’s closest relative. If I quit school and become emancipated, they won’t be able to take her from me.”

“Nina, Mr. Jenkins will figure out something. You can’t quit school. You’re a good enough artist to get a scholarship and go on to design school. That will boost you up at least three tiers. You’ll be—” He stopped abruptly and reached over to push my hair out of my eyes.

“Be what?” I blocked his hand midswipe. “Up to your tier?” I shot him a questioning look. “Are you ashamed of me because I’m low tier?”

“Of course not.” He leaned in to kiss me, but I dodged left to avoid it.

“You’ve thought about it. About me being lower than you.” My temper was rising. “Is that how come you’ve been hanging out with Paulette? She’s closer to your tier, more acceptable than I am?”

“Stop being ridiculous. This has nothing to do with what tier you are. Nina. Has that ever made a difference to me?”

“I don’t know. Has it?” I waited, watched, as he collected his words, measuring what to say next.

“Tiers may mean something to you, but they don’t mean crap to me. Do you think I do this”—he raked his hand up and down his homeless garb—“because I give a shit about what tier someone is? The amount of credits someone has doesn’t make her somebody worthwhile. It’s what’s in the person, not what’s in her account.”

I wanted to believe him. He and Wei and their friends had never treated me differently because of tiers. It may not have meant anything to them, but that didn’t mean it didn’t mean anything to me. They could ignore tiers because they were upper. I wasn’t. If I managed to get a scholarship, on top of having my Creative designation, I could work my way out of my lower-tier status. Then I’d be closer to equal . . . ugh. I shook my head, trying to clear away my negative train of thought. Hadn’t anything Ginnie taught me sunk in? She had always tried to impart to Dee and me that everyone was equal. That the tiers were imposed.

Maybe Sal was right. This was my problem, not his. And whoever’s problem it was, it was taking precious time away from the two of us.

“I know you’re—” My PAV beeped. “Hang on, it’s Dee.” I clicked it on. “What? No! I’ll be right there. Dee, I’ll be right there.”