“I am,” Kaitlyn confirmed.
“Wonderful!” The woman smiled even more broadly, her teeth flashing brightly against her skin. “My name is Christina Williams. I’m here from the Institute for the Cultivation of Intuitive Cognition—the ICIC, if you will—and I am very pleased to meet you!”
? ? ?
A few moments later, all three women were seated at the small kitchen table, Miss Williams having politely declined a plate of macaroni and cheese, but having delightedly accepted a cup of Earl Grey tea.
“So, Kaitlyn, I presume you received our invitation in the mail?”
“Yes, Miss Williams, I did—”
“Please,” Miss Williams interrupted her. “Call me Christina. There’s no need for formality.”
“Well, Christina…” It felt strange to call this well-dressed, grown-up woman by her first name, but Kaitlyn took her at her word. “I did get it, but I’m afraid I threw it away.”
“Oh?” The woman raised both eyebrows in obvious surprise.
“Kitten?” Grandma Maggie asked. “What invitation? What’s this about?”
“Sorry, Grandma. It’s from that test. The one from a few weeks ago. They sent me an invitation to go to some kind of school this summer.”
“That’s wonderful, Kitten! But why would you throw it away?”
“Grandma, you know I have the job with Zack. He’s been good to us. And the school’s in Wyoming. I’m not about to leave you alone all summer.”
Who would feed you? She wanted to ask. Who would help pay for your medicine? But even if Miss Williams wasn’t from DHHS, she was still from the government, and government professionals tended to report problems at home. Kaitlyn wasn’t about to let on that they were struggling.
“If it’s the summer job you’re concerned about,” Miss Williams responded, “you needn’t worry. The scholarship comes with a considerable stipend.”
“What kind of a stipend?” That had Kaitlyn’s attention. “The invitation said there was a scholarship, but it didn’t say anything about extra cash.”
“Well, let’s just say there are additional benefits available for students who might be otherwise reluctant to attend.”
“Such as?”
“Such as…” Miss Williams paused as she dug about in her thin, leather briefcase. “Have you ever heard of this place?”
Having found what she was looking for, she pulled out a brochure and pushed it across the table to Kaitlyn. On the cover was a photo of the most expensive Continuing Care Retirement Community in the entire Detroit area.
Have I heard of it? Are you kidding me? she thought, running the brochure’s slick, colorful pages beneath her fingertips.
Kaitlyn researched CCRCs on the Internet at least once a month, dreaming that one day she might be able to set her Grandma Maggie up in a community that could give her the best care, all day long, all year round, so she wouldn’t forget to eat, or forget to take her medications, or fall while Kaitlyn was at work and lie there helpless until she got home. That hadn’t happened yet, but it was a fear Kaitlyn lived with every day.
But they couldn’t afford anything like that, not with a part-time job and a Social Security check as their only income. What kind of game was this woman playing? When Kaitlyn didn’t answer, Miss Williams reached one hand across the table and touched her arm, as though she understood what Kaitlyn was thinking.
“When we didn’t hear back from you, we took the liberty of making some arrangements. There is a spot for your grandmother here, if she wants it, whenever she’s ready.” Her voice was gentle and kind, a cool breeze brushing Kaitlyn’s cheek on a brutally hot day. She seemed sincere, but Kaitlyn could hardly believe what she was hearing.
“Don’t play with me about this,” Kaitlyn whispered.
“It’s not a game, Kaitlyn. You are… exceptional. Your country needs you, and we are prepared to do whatever is necessary to enable you to participate in this program. Other countries are pulling away from us when it comes to intuitional learning. We need to understand how you do what you do.”
“Like, you’re going to study me?” Kaitlyn asked, but she knew in her heart she would let them torture her on purpose if it meant her grandmother would be safe and well cared for.
“No,” Miss Williams said, chuckling lightly. She had a soft, friendly laugh that reminded Kaitlyn of sunshine and wildflowers. “You won’t be a Guinea pig, if that’s what you mean. You’ll learn things, just like in school, and you’ll take tests from time to time, but you won’t be graded. We want to teach other people to learn the same way you do, to help them become as exceptional as you are. We want you to show us how to do that.”
“But we can’t afford that place,” Kaitlyn protested. “What if I can’t do what you want—”
Miss Williams was already waving her concerns away.
“The offer is in exchange for your attendance, no strings attached. You give us this one summer, and your grandmother can live there for the rest of her life. There’s an apartment waiting for her, with a room for you, too, of course. We want the two of you to be safe. And we want you to be together.”
Kaitlyn clutched the brochure in one hand and reached out to Grandma Maggie with the other, finding and grasping her small, wrinkled palm in her own.
“I’ll go,” she whispered, still not trusting her voice. “I accept.”
Christina Williams smiled, acknowledging her decision, and for the first time since the death of her parents, Kaitlyn Wright burst into tears.
9
Liaison Report
“Do you think they can do it?”
“I wouldn’t know, sir. I’ve only met Kaitlyn so far. She certainly takes her responsibilities seriously.”
“Well, that’s good, of course, but that isn’t what I’m asking.”
“I know. I’ve read the profiles. Their scores are all excellent.”
“But is the correlation legitimate? Has the test found what we’re looking for?”
“Do we even know what we’re looking for, exactly?”
“Don’t mock me with my own misgivings.”
“No, sir. I wasn’t trying to. I’m just asking what we’re hoping they can do.”
“Hell, we’re hoping they can show us what we’re dealing with. And how it works. And how to counter it. Preferably without figuring anything out for themselves. The last thing we need is a bunch of kids snap-twitting and face-chatting this thing all over the piss-damn Internet.”
“I understand that. But the more we keep them in the dark, the less they can tell us. The less they can participate in solving the problem.”
“How about you let me worry about matters of national security, and you worry about holding their sensitive, participation-loving hands. Is that clear enough for you? Or do I have to find someone else for the job?”
“No, sir. You’ve made your point.”
“Glad to hear it.”
10
Arrival