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13

COLONEL CATALLUS



Of course, we aren’t allowed to wash up, after the garbage disaster. Colonel Catallus is teaching us a lesson; at least, I imagine that is what he thinks.

The joke is on him, though. We’ve grown used to the stench, Ro and I. Not Catallus. He looks like he is going to pass out, just being in the same hall with us.

And now it appears the Embassy isn’t taking any chances with us, because it somehow requires four guards for Colonel Catallus to walk us back. Or he’s just trying to intimidate us.

It’s working.

It occurs to me that I could try to probe their minds, look for a new way out, and I even spend a few minutes contemplating how I could accidentally bump into the guard in front of me, to heighten the connection. Then I give up. I’m too tired, and it takes too much out of me. And I just smell too damn bad.

Not Ro, though. Ro stands a little taller, next to the Sympas. I think he likes feeling dangerous.

We arrive at Colonel Catallus’s classroom—at least, that’s what he calls this version of his interrogation chamber. It’s a meeting room with glass walls and a round table, in the center of the Embassy library.

Basically, a jail cell.

Through the glass, I can see Tima and Lucas waiting inside. Lucas has his face buried in a small, flat screen when we push through the doors. Tima is next to him, pulling on the ends of her silver hair as she reads over his shoulder. There with Lucas, she looks much more content than when we last saw her at breakfast.

Almost happy, even.

I pull my eyes away from her and examine the rest of the room. It’s more of a fishbowl than a classroom, barely big enough for the five of us. Beyond the glass walls, there are books as far as I can see, more books than in all the black markets in the Hole. Real books, paper books. Digi-text on a row of screens. Together, they fill a room bigger than the cafeteria.

I can also see our Sympa patrol, standing at attention by the entrance to the library.

Waiting.

Lucas doesn’t look up. His face flickers with the reflected light of the scrolling screen. Then we come closer, and both Tima and Lucas react like they’ve just been slapped in the face.

“What—is that—smell?” Lucas practically shouts, grabbing his nose, pushing back his chair.

“Garbage,” says Tima with a smile. “Or maybe that’s just what the Grass smell like.” She pushes back next to him, hovering.

Where we both know she most likes to be.

I take a step closer to her, and I hope I look threatening, because that’s how I feel.

“A garbage barge? That leads to an incinerator? Really? Is that the best you could come up with?”

Ro grabs my arm. Lucas steps in front of Tima. All four of us are locked in an impasse.

It’s Colonel Catallus who finally breaks the standoff.

“That’s enough. Take a seat. The adrenaline is fascinating, but tiresome. And I’ve no need for more data today, not on any one of you.”

None of us move. He smiles. “Or do we need to bring the guards all the way into the classroom?”

Ro and Lucas stare at each other. Tima glowers at me. Colonel Catallus shakes his head. “Fine. Take your time. I’m happy to lock you down until you’ve had your fun. It’s all the same to me. I have work to do.”

He closes the glass door behind him.

Lucas and Ro are now inches apart from each other. “You don’t really want to do this, do you?” Lucas pushes his hand against Ro’s chest. Big mistake.

“No, I’m pretty sure I do.” Ro smiles, wrapping his fist in Lucas’s shirt.

I speak up to Tima, over Ro’s shoulder. “You didn’t have to sell us out to Catallus.”

Tima sniffs. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I thought you were looking for a ride out of here. It’s not my fault you got caught.” Ro growls. Tima puts him on edge almost as much as Lucas does.

I stare at her. “Why do you hate us so much?”

She spits the words back at me. “Why are you even here? Since when did they start testing Grass like you?”

“Why don’t you ask your mommy?” Ro steps closer to Lucas.

Tima rolls her eyes, and it’s all I can do not to grab her myself, and I shout, “You think we want to be here? You think we had a choice in this? The minute we get the chance, we’ll be gone. That’s a promise.”

Lucas’s eyes narrow as I say the words. Ro stays close, and I’m aware of every inch of him. Part of him is enjoying this. Part of Ro has enjoyed this entire day, even the garbage.

Not Lucas. I can feel him recede, as Ro begins to surge. Battle is Ro’s natural state. He likes the rush of adrenaline, the push of uncertainty, the risk of death. As long as it’s not mine. It’s only the threat to me that is making him nervous, even now.

Ro pulls Lucas in, raising his fist.

“Stop it,” Tima blurts out, dragging herself between them.

In a blur—in a split second—I watch Tima’s arm go flying toward Ro, and then I see Ro rearing back, hollering.

“Ow! What was that? You shocked me.”

“I didn’t shock you.” Tima sounds confused.

“You did. Look…”

There, around Ro’s wrist, is what looks like a rope burn—a red, searing line that wraps around his arm, precisely where Tima’s hand touched him.

Tima stares at the mark.

Lucas backs away from both of them, from us.

Tima glowers at him. “All I was going to say was that you’re fools if you don’t know what he’s doing right now.” She looks up at the ceiling, calling toward the grating. “Orwell?”

“Yes, Tima?”

“Can you bring up a visual on Colonel Catallus? I need to ask him something, face-to-face.”

“It would be my pleasure, Tima.” Behind her, Colonel Catallus’s face appears on the wide screen that blankets one side of the classroom wall.

He’s standing in the library, in front of a bank of screens. All of which are streaming a live feed of us. He’s watching.

Of course he is.

“Tima Li has a question for you, sir.”

Colonel Catallus looks startled. Then he recovers, with another of his creepy smiles. “And?”

“I just wanted to ask you if we passed your little test, now. Sir.” Her face is completely innocent, but the screen flickers off.

He’s back in the classroom within twenty seconds.

I wonder if that is a yes or a no.



“I’m so glad to see you’re all getting along,” Colonel Catallus says. “And how is your arm, Ro? Tima hasn’t hurt more than your pride, I hope.”

Nobody says a word. I don’t smile, and I don’t respond. I make a point of shutting everyone out, of not seeing anything about Catallus. Not cats or girls or walls of ice. Whatever is going on in there with him, I don’t want to know. It’s safer that way.

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?”

Ro puts his feet up on the table. “Sure. Seneca. That guy.”

“Or, if you prefer: Factum est illud: fieri infectum non potest. Which is attributed to Plautus.”

“Done is done, it cannot be undone,” Tima translates, frowning.

The blackout shades roll up just as Colonel Catallus appears outside the glass door, pushing past the Sympas. He places his hand on the doorknob, and I watch in amazement as the door unbolts, the moment before he opens it.

“False alarm. No need for the excessive security, Computer.” He sounds annoyed. “Now, what’s going on here? Where were we?” The Sympas follow him into the room, four of them. We look surprised—as surprised as we can.

“Alea iacta est,” Lucas says to Colonel Catallus, as the Colonel orders the soldiers out the door with one look.

“The die has been cast? What die? Cast where?” Colonel Catallus looks at us, but nobody says anything.

I watch as Tima slowly draws her pen back out of her pocket to ink a few words, this time on her palm. She flexes and unrolls her fingers, showing it to me.

NEED TO TALK.

Then her fingers flash again, and the words have disappeared.

Lucas looks at me, and I wonder if he is thinking about Fortis, or about his mother. His face admits to nothing, no allegiances. Whose side he’ll take.

Not yet.

I try to push deeper, but I’m met with only silence.

As Colonel Catallus launches into a lengthy discussion of the key role he plays for Her Ambassadorship, I wonder how long Lucas will stay silent.

If he will betray us.

When.





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





PERSES RETURNS

August 4, 2071 • Washington, DC

In a shocking turn of events, scientists and government officials are confirming that the fragments of the asteroid Perses have changed trajectory, and are now headed directly toward Earth.

Officials estimate contact to occur within less than one year, and are scrambling to calculate points of impact and mobilize defensive measures in hopes of minimizing damages.

One UN official, speaking anonymously, said, “There are at least a dozen fragments that have suddenly and inexplicably changed course. We don’t have an answer as to how or why this happened. Our best hope is to find out where they will hit and try to minimize casualties. Until we know more, we can only recommend that people stay put, live their lives, and pray.”





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