The Administrator is a mother?
Of every startling bit of information I’ve puzzled my way through in the past hour, this one is the most difficult to believe. The Administrator isn’t from another city, where they don’t understand the efficiency and superiority of the mass production of specially designed citizens, each suited to a specific purpose. She is from Lakeview. She is one of us. And like the rest of us, she was once one of many identicals cloned from a single genome.
How could such a woman have given birth? Why would she have given birth, when the training center is full of children of every age, learning every conceivable skill to be of service to the city?
With whom could she have conceived children?
Suddenly the Administrator’s mansion makes a certain kind of stunning sense. It is a family home—and the best-kept secret in Lakeview. No wonder Sofia’s guards were so eager to get her out of the training ward that day. She and Seren must be confined to the mansion to keep their existence a secret from the rest of the city.
Though Ford 45 obviously already knew about them.
“Are we in danger?” Sofia demands, drawing my attention back to the confrontation between the Administrator’s apparent children and the soldiers.
“No,” the commander insists, and I wonder whether he’s lying or truly doesn’t know how many of his men Trigger has already disabled. “But we’re under orders to check every square foot of the mansion.”
“Well then, carry on,” Seren says. “But make it quick.”
The soldiers spread out and begin looking under covered tables and lifting heavy pieces of furniture. I slide behind Hennessy as subtly as I can, trying to keep my face out of their direct line of sight, but several soldiers walk right past me without even a glance.
They don’t expect to find the last remaining member of the year-sixteen trade labor division wearing a sparkly dress and dangerous shoes.
However, Trigger is still wearing his cadet uniform with his name embroidered on the front. Unlike Hennessy, the soldiers will not be fooled by his “disguise” if they see him.
“Are they looking for you?” Margo whispers as she steps up to my left side, too close for comfort.
“Of course they’re not looking for her!” Hennessy snaps. Then he turns to me, and the doubt in his eyes is as clear as the doubt in his voice. “Right? Your parents wouldn’t send the troops after you for sneaking out, would they?”
I shrug, terrified of exposing my ignorance. “They’ve already walked right past me several times.” I have to get Trigger out of here, though. Immediately. “But maybe I should go. I mean, I’m not supposed to be here, and…” I shrug, letting them draw their own conclusions.
“And if you get dragged home by the troops again, you’ll be grounded for the rest of your life,” Hennessy says.
I nod, wondering why Waverly was dragged home by the troops last time.
“Are you sure your new guard won’t rat you out?” Margo asks, and I notice that she sounds a little hopeful as she eyes Trigger.
“He’s very loyal.”
“Well, come on, then.” Hennessy grabs my hand. “Let’s get out of here.”
“I’m not ready to go!” Margo whines as we head toward Trigger, who’s still watching us suspiciously from his position against the wall.
“The party’s practically over anyway,” her brother says with a glance over his shoulder.
“What’s going on?” Trigger asks when we’re close enough to hear him, his voice soft but distinct.
“The party’s over,” I tell him, and his gaze drops to my hand, which is enfolded in Hennessy’s. “They’re going to give us a ride home.”
“Home?” Trigger’s focus narrows on me, and I can see the unspoken warning in his eyes. But this is our only way out, and with so many soldiers searching the party room, anywhere in the world is preferable to where we are now.
On our way toward the exit, Margo and Sofia hug goodbye, and Hennessy and Seren thump each other on the back, which seems to be the male equivalent of a hug.
I hang back with Trigger, my heart hammering in my ears. How can we get out of the room without drawing attention?
“Where are we going?” he whispers.
“They’re going to whatever city Waverly lives in. But we could get out of the car in the wild, right? We don’t have to go the whole way.”
He gives me a slight shake of his head. “We won’t make it in the wild without supplies. Not this close to winter. We’ll ditch them and their car as soon as we’re in this other city and take what we need from there.”
Before I can argue or express any doubts—and I have several—Hennessy is waving us forward.
My heart threatens to burst through my rib cage when the soldier stationed at the door tries to stop us from leaving. But before I can panic or Trigger can try to disable him, Seren steps up, toe to toe with the soldier.
“I absolutely draw the line at the harassment of my guests. This is Hennessy and Margo Chapman, and Waverly Whitmore, of Mountainside. They’ve done nothing wrong, and now they wish to leave. So step the hell back.”
The soldier tries to argue, and Seren starts yelling.
“Come on!” Margo grabs my hand and tugs me through the doorway past the guard. Her eyes are bright with excitement at the prospect of an “escape,” and my use of her dress seems to have been forgiven.
Hennessy follows us out the door, but I can’t breathe until I see Trigger step into the hall behind him, unscathed. The soldier is too busy arguing with the Administrator’s son to notice.
“Why are we running?” Hennessy asks as I hobble down the hall as fast as I can go, trying to keep up with his sister. Who is evidently truly his sister.
“Because if he checks our names against the list, he’ll figure out that Waverly didn’t come in with the rest of us,” Margo explains, as if it should be obvious. “But if you want her to get taken into custody and delivered to her parents in time to be grounded for the rest of her life, we can go back…?” She slows to a walk and tosses her brother a teasing smile.
“We’re not going back,” Trigger insists, and they both glance at him in surprise. Evidently the personal guard isn’t supposed to participate in conversation.
“Agreed,” I say, drawing attention away from him.
“Then let’s go!” Margo bends to remove her shoes, then takes off at a jog, holding both of the stilt-like death traps in one hand. I follow her lead, and a second later we’re racing down the hall in the opposite direction of the back staircase Trigger and I took earlier.
We pass several more doors, then come to a wide, curving staircase overlooking a massive foyer. From this perspective, the Administrator’s mansion looks less like a house than a bureau, but as we race down the stairs I understand that in truth, it is both.