12
LONG WAY HOME
From our vantage point, hidden behind the open entrance doors, I can see the kitchen is ten times larger than the one in the Mission, with stoves the size of furnaces, built of metal instead of brick and stone. The smoke rises into giant vents that look like silver mouths, instead of fireplaces and chimneys.
And there is no Bigger standing at the kettle.
Sadness wells up inside me, but I put it off.
Not now.
I eye a grating in the wall next to the vents. Doc. I look around for other signs of surveillance, but there is too much going on in the enormous room to tell.
Ro takes off toward the back of the room. I duck my head to follow him, sliding beneath the long, metallic counters, where they store what looks like sterilization equipment.
We remain, for the moment, unseen.
“What now,” I hiss.
“You saw her hands.” Ro looks past the corner of the counter that hides us. “She’s a weird one.”
“And?”
“We need to find where they keep the garbage.”
I shrug. “So we follow whatever smells the worst.”
A kitchen worker walks by us, dragging a huge black bag that reeks of manure. Ro wrinkles his nose.
“Exactly.”
In no time at all, the stench leads us to the garbage dock. I can see it, through the swinging doors of the kitchen ware-house. I can also see a Sympa patrolling it.
“When that door opens again, we go.” Ro seems happier than I’ve seen him in months.
I nod, then grab his arm. “Ro.”
“What?”
“Can we trust her?”
“The silver girl?”
I nod. “It seems too easy. This.” I glance toward the dock. “What if it’s a setup?”
Ro sighs. “You met her. You tell me. You’re supposed to handle that department.”
“But I trusted Lucas, and I got us into this mess.” It’s an apology, and not a particularly good one. But it needs to be said, especially before we fling ourselves into a barge full of garbage and guarded by at least one armed Sympa.
Ro winks. “I forgive you, Dol-face.”
Then, without a word, he takes off running and I have no choice but to follow.
I rush after him, crouching low. We race toward the barge, finally sliding between a mountain of slimy black bags swarming with flies and practically pulsing with an indescribably putrid smell.
I close my eyes and freeze, waiting for the Sympa to fire.
I hear nothing.
Ro peeks his head out from inside a bag that has split in half. Something that looks like old porridge smears across his face.
I hold my breath. We don’t make a sound.
The smell is overwhelming, worse than sleeping in the stables, and it’s all I can do to keep down what little food I managed to eat.
The barge begins to vibrate beneath us, and the garbage shifts. The engine starts, groaning and rumbling to life as the barge lurches into motion.
“It’s moving,” Ro whispers. He smiles, in spite of the garbage.
I shake my head, crossing my fingers beneath the mountain of limply rotting lettuce and old bread crusts.
That’s when the engine cuts.
Then we hear loud voices and the heavy, thudding footsteps of military boots.
I uncross my fingers as we dive deeper beneath the piles of black bags. Then, muffled by garbage, a familiar voice booms across the barge.
Catallus.
“Doloria. Furo. I’m afraid you’ve gone the wrong direction. Understandable, since you’re new here. Anyone could get lost on the way to my classroom.”
I pull myself up to the surface of the garbage.
“We’re not going anywhere with you,” Ro shouts, poking his head above the sea of garbage sacks, trying to look dignified while covered with rotten food.
I can see him looking for something to use as a weapon, but the only thing in our reach is an entire Embassy’s uneaten breakfast.
Colonel Catallus smiles. “Of course—you could always stay here and take a little ride, but I’m not sure it’s preferable to our class. Where do you think they take this trash?”
“Wait, let me think. Your house?” Ro grins. “No—your mom’s house?” He’ll go down trying. He’s long past caring what people do to him.
I stay silent.
“See those smokestacks across the bay, on the mainland? That’s where we take the trash. Right into the incinerators. They help power the Projects. So I guess it would be good to have your contribution via the furnaces, but I think we could make better use of your talents in the classroom.”
Colonel Catallus motions and the barge begins to grind backward, toward the docks. He wobbles with the sudden movement, adjusting his position on the side of the barge, above us. “I’m surprised Tima didn’t tell you, especially seeing as she made the same mistake, the first time she tried to run away.”
Ro and I look at each other.
Suspicions confirmed.
“Come on, Ro,” I say, struggling to get out of the garbage. “We’ve been played.” And worse, rescued by a demon.
Colonel Catallus pulls a white square of handkerchief out of his pocket, holding it over his nose. He waves the handkerchief in the direction of the Embassy.
“The others are waiting. It’s time we had a talk. Now.”
EMBASSY CITY TRIBUNAL VIRTUAL AUTOPSY: DECEASED PERSONAL RELATED MEDIA TRANSCRIPT (DPRMT)
Assembled by Dr. O. Brad Huxley-Clarke, VPHD
Note: Media Transcript conducted at the private request of Amb. Amare
Santa Catalina Examination Facility #9B
Text Scan: NEW YORK DAILY
EXTINCTION AVOIDED?
April 10, 2068 • New York City, New York
Officials at the United Nations have claimed success in diverting the asteroid Perses from impacting Earth.
The joint project of the major economic powers announced today that Project Kratos, consisting of a series of pinpoint warheads launched in 2067, scored a direct hit.
The director of Project Kratos, Alexis Asimov, said: “Our goal was to split Perses into smaller pieces that would fly harmlessly around Earth, and all our data shows the mission was a complete success. We will continue to monitor the fragments to ensure our data is correct.”
Not everybody is convinced, however. Many citizens hold the entire story to be a hoax.
Others believe the asteroid is still coming, including those who say Perses is a holy messenger of God, come to purge Earth of greed and inequity.