If Luke had been one of the Population Police, Jen’s dad would have scared him to pieces. Luke would have backed out, muttering, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” He never would have believed that Jen’s dad was hiding a third child. Hopefully, Luke paused in his burrowing into the Talbots’ closet.
But the voice that answered Jen’s father carried only the slightest edge of doubt.
“Come off it, George. You know we’re entitled to search and seizure. We have reports of that computer being used for illegal purposes. Just a half an hour ago.”
“You’re even bigger fools than I thought,” Jen’s dad answered. “Don’t any of you read your memos? I reported to Central Command this morning that I was going to continue my sting operation in the illegal chat rooms. See, I wrote, ‘Where’s Jen?’ and, ‘Hello? Is anybody there?’, which is what some lost, confused, third child who missed the rally might write. Are you so low-ranking that you don’t know I was pretending to be the guerrilla leader Jen all along? Did you miss the commendation ceremony where I was rewarded for the disposal of forty illegals?”
Luke wondered that Jen’s dad could say her name without his voice giving him away. If Luke didn’t know Jen—hadn’t known her, he corrected himself with a wince—and if he didn’t know how much she’d trusted her father, he would have been certain that Jen’s father had double-crossed her. As it was, his head swam with the fear that Jen’s father still might betray him. How could he trust anyone who spoke so coldly of the “disposal” of third children? Luke struggled on through the closet, reaching a stack of blankets at the back. Finally he touched the wall, but everything he felt was smooth. Jen’s father said there was a door. There had to be a door.
The voices from outside the closet were muffled now.
“—see the memo—”
“I’m sure it’s on your desk back at the office, with all the paperwork you never read.” Jen’s dad raised his voice, so Luke could hear him clearly. “Or can you even read?”
The Population Police officer ignored the insult.
“Show us on the computer.”
“Very well.”
Luke prayed that Jen’s dad had something to show them. He could not find the door, though he ran his fingers along the wall, again and again. His heart was beating so loudly, he was sure the Population Police could hear him.
All he could hear of the Population Police and Jen’s father were mutterings. Then the one officer’s voice rang out, “You’re lying, George. We’re going to search.”
“Just because of a computer malfunction? Fine. It’s not my problem.” Luke was stunned by the indifference in Jen’s father’s voice. “But when you don’t find anything—and you won’t—you know that I’m entitled to the Illegal Search and Seizure Benefits granted to Barons, and I will press charges. Should I use the extra money on caviar or champagne?”
“Aw, George, you wouldn’t really sue.”
“You don’t think so? Then go ahead. Start here.”
Suddenly the closet was flooded with light. Luke stifled a gasp. How could Jen’s father have flung open the door of the very place Luke was hiding? Desperately, Luke yanked a blanket over his head.
None of the Population Police answered Jen’s father, but the pattern of shadows that fell on Luke’s blanket made him think the Population Police were standing right in the doorway of the closet. He heard hangers scraping against a metal bar. And then the Population Police walked away.
Confused and terrified, Luke remained huddled under the blanket. He could hear muffled footfalls elsewhere in the house, and was certain they’d be returning to the computer room any minute. Before they killed him, he hoped they let him go back to his parents and tell them how much he loved them. He could apologize to Matthew and Mark, too, for not appreciating the checkers and card games they played with him when he knew they’d rather be outside. And probably he should apologize to his parents for disobeying, and coming to Jen’s house in the first place. Except, even scared to death of being found, he couldn’t scrape up full regret for that.
Anyhow, it wasn’t likely that they’d let him see his parents before they killed him. He’d have to protect his parents, and refuse to even reveal who they were..…
Luke’s mind was still racing with frantic plans when he heard someone coming back to the computer room. There was only one set of footsteps, so he dared to hope—
“You could have swept up the glass on your way out!”
It was Jen’s dad. Luke strained to hear an answer, but none came. Were the Population Police gone?
Luke kept his head down. He heard Jen’s dad wading into the closet. Then he pulled the blanket off Luke and clamped his hand over Luke’s mouth. Luke started to struggle until he read the words on the paper Jen’s dad held in front of his face:
They’re gone.
You’re safe,
but
DON’T TALK!!!
Luke relaxed and nodded to show he would obey. Jen’s dad released him, flipped the paper over, and began writing furiously.
House bugged now.
Luke gave Jen’s dad a puzzled look.
“B—” he started to say, then remembered and stopped. He took the pen from Jen’s dad and wrote, Bugged? Ants? Roaches?
Jen’s dad shook his head frantically. Bugs = little listening devices—Population Police hear everything. That’s why can’t talk. They do that when a bust’s unsuccessful. Even left one bug on me.
Jen’s dad turned around and pointed, and Luke saw a small disc sticking to the back of his collar.
Luke frowned and wrote on the paper, Why not take off?
Jen’s dad shook his head. Safer this way. Long as they think they hear everything, they won’t come back.
Jen’s dad pointed to the hairy lumps on the hangers behind him.
Bribed them with fur coats. Very rare, very valuable.
Luke looked at the coats. There did seem to be a lot fewer of them now. Were they animal skins? Why would anyone want such a thing? He couldn’t ask, though, because Jen’s dad was already scribbling more.
Just bought time. My goose probably cooked now—I didn’t file that memo. They’ll find out.
Luke reached for the pen. What will they do to you?
Jen’s dad shook his head. Don’t know, he wrote. I’ve survived this kind of thing before. But everything’s chancy now. The fact they got here so fast = they have it in for me.
Weakly, Luke leaned his head back against the closet wall. That reminded him of his frantic search along its surface. He reached for the paper and wrote, Where’s the door?
Jen’s dad pulled out a new sheet of paper. Shaking his head, he wrote, Isn’t one. Just wanted to get you to back of closet.
Luke buried his face in his hands. Jen’s dad was a good liar, there was no doubt about that. How could Luke trust him? Luke raised his head and watched as Jen’s dad scribbled something else on the paper. His expression was full of concern, and Luke knew, somehow, that he was trustworthy. He easily could have turned Luke in, and gotten praise and another commendation ceremony. But how confusing, to never know when someone was lying.
Jen’s dad turned the paper to face Luke. It said, So. Want fake I.D. or not?
Luke gulped. After a minute, he wrote back, Am I safe if I don’t?
Jen’s dad seemed to be weighing the question. He narrowed his eyes and wrote, Probably. They’re after me now, not you. If they really thought there was an illegal here, they wouldn’t take bribe. Or would take it and you, too. But I’d advise—get I.D.
Luke wrote back, Can’t I wait? Think about it for a while?
That was what Luke wanted. Or not even to think, but to hide from thinking for a while. He wanted to remember Jen, and grieve for her by himself. He didn’t want to have to think about what parts of the Population Law were good, and what parts were bad, or why his family didn’t have more money. He didn’t want to have to figure out Jen’s dad, and other people like him, who could pretend to be so many
different things. He didn’t want to have to decide something now that could change the rest of his life.
But Jen’s dad had written back, Don’t know. May be case of ‘now or never.’
Luke scrawled, Why?
Jen’s dad wrote for a long time. Then he turned the paper to Luke. It said: I have power now. Tomorrow, probably. Next week????? Next year????? Can’t tell with our Gov’t. Favored lackey one day, persona non grata the next. Never know. No guarantees.
Luke stared at the paper until the words blurred together. He had to decide. Now.
He thought about reading and daydreaming in the attic the rest of his life. His parents were kind to him, even if they weren’t around much. And as much as Matthew and Mark had always teased him, he was pretty sure they would take care of him if his parents couldn’t someday. His life was very limited—he understood that now more than ever. But he was used to it. It was safe. He could make himself be happy.
Except…
Luke remembered how bored he’d felt before meeting Jen, how desperate he’d been to do something—anything!—besides read and daydream. He’d been so desperate that he’d risked his life for the chance of meeting another third child. Did he want to spend the rest of his life feeling that desperate? Did he want to just…waste it?
But even if he got a fake I.D., what would he do?
The answer was there instantly, as if he’d known it all along and his brain was just waiting for him to come looking.
He could do something to help other third children come out of hiding. Not with another big dramatic rally, like Jen had tried, or by finding fake I.D.’s the way Jen’s dad did. Maybe there was something smaller and slower he could do. Studying ways to grow more food, so no one would go hungry, no matter how many kids people had. Or changing the Government so that farmers were allowed to raise pigs or use hydroponics, and ordinary people, not just Barons, could have better lives. Or figuring out ways for people to live in outer space, so they wouldn’t be too crowded on Earth and chop down beautiful woods just for houses. He didn’t know exactly how he could do those things, or even what the right thing to do was. But he wanted to do something.
He remembered what he’d told Jen, the last time he’d seen her: It’s people like you who change history. People like me—we just let things happen to us. And he’d believed it. That was how his family had always lived. But maybe that was wrong. Maybe he could succeed where Jen had failed precisely because he wasn’t a Baron—because he didn’t have her sense that the world owed him everything. He could be more patient, more cautious, more practical.
But he’d never be able to do anything staying in hiding.
He bit his lip. His hand shook as he wrote his answer.
I want a fake I.D. Please.
CHAPTER THIRTY
Lee Grant settled into the car that would take him away from the farm where he’d found refuge, after running away from home. He’d gotten lost—he’d certainly never intended to end up here. He surveyed the dusty barnyard in front of him, the ugly ruts of dried mud where tractors and trucks had left their tracks. He stared at the ramshackle barn and the peeling paint on the weathered house, sights that should have been entirely foreign to him, but weren’t. He—
Luke gulped, unable to keep thinking in his new identity quite yet. It was too soon, too hard, when his shoulders still felt the warmth of Mother’s last hug. He looked down at his hands, clenched together in his lap, and they already seemed like someone else’s against the background of his crisp new trousers. No more ragged blue jeans and hand-me-down flannel shirts for him—he had a whole suitcase in the trunk full of the same kind of fancy Baron clothes he’d laughed at all those months ago. He didn’t care about the clothes, but he wished they’d let him keep his name, at least. Yet Jen’s father had been proud that he’d gotten to keep the same initials.
“A rush job like this, it’s a wonder you’re not stuck with Alphonse Xerxes,” he’d bragged in the letter he’d dropped off the night before, pretending he was just coming to ask Luke’s parents to cut back the willow tree that draped over onto the Talbots’ land.
The real Lee Grant was a Baron. He had died in a skiing accident just the night before. His parents wanted nothing to do with Luke—“too painful,” Jen’s father had explained—but they had agreed to donate their son’s name and identity card the way people had once donated hearts and kidneys. Some secret group that helped third children had arranged it. The group also had agreed to pay for Luke to go to a private school as a boarder, year-round. Supposedly he was transferring in during the middle of a term as punishment for running away. He’d read about such places in the old books in the attic. It seemed a strange way to live, without family, but he was just as glad not to have to pretend to love another set of parents.
Now Luke looked back at his family’s porch, where Mother and Dad and Matthew and Mark were standing and already waving. Dad and Matthew looked gruff, and Mark merely looked serious—strange enough for him—but tears were streaming down Mother’s face.
She’d cried, too, the night Luke had told his parents everything.
He’d started with his first visit to Jen’s house, and Mother had immediately scolded, “Oh, Luke, how could you? The danger…I know you’re lonely, but honey, promise us, never again…”
“That’s not all,” Luke said.
He told the rest of the story without looking at her, until he reached the end and his decision to get a fake I.D. Then the sound of her sobbing made it impossible to avoid looking. She was red-eyed, devastated.
“Luke, no. You can’t,” she’d gasped. “Don’t you know how we’d miss you?”
“But, Mother, I don’t want to go,” Luke said. “It’s just that…I have to. I can’t spend the rest of my life hiding in the attic. What will happen when you and Dad can’t take care of me anymore?”
“Matthew or Mark will,” she replied.
“But I don’t want to be a burden on them. I want to do something with my life. Figure out ways to help other third kids. Make—” All the things he’d thought of sounded too childish to explain, in the face of Mother’s sobbing. So he finished weakly, “Make a difference in the world.”
“I’m not saying you can never do that,” she answered. “But that’s years away. We’ll figure out some way to get a fake I.D. for you when you’re grown up. Somehow.” She turned to Luke’s father. “Tell him, Harlan.”
Dad sighed heavily.
“The boy’s right. He needs to go now, if he can.”
Luke could tell his father’s words came out painfully, but they still stabbed at him. Maybe part of him had been secretly hoping his parents would forbid him to go, would lock him in the attic and keep him as their little boy forever.
“I’ve checked around some, quietlike, to see if anyone’s heard of a third child getting to live a normal life. Around here, they can’t,” Dad said. “Far as I can tell, he’s not going to get another chance.”
Luke turned back to his mother, because it was too hard to look at Dad while he was saying that. But the pain twisting Mother’s face was worse.
“Then I guess we don’t have a choice,” she’d murmured.
That had been two days ago, and ever since then she’d called in sick to work and stayed home, spending every second with Luke. They’d played board games and cards, but she’d interrupted every move with, “Do you remember…” or, “I remember…”
The coos he’d made as a baby. His first steps. His delight in discovering dirt the spring he was two. The first time he’d hoed a straight row. The zucchini he’d grown as long as his arm. The bedtime stories and tucking-ins.
She was filling him up with memories, he knew, for the times when he’d have no one to talk to about his childhood. But it was hard to listen to. He wished they could just move their Monopoly pieces and pretend the time wasn’t ticking away.
But all too soon this morning had come. Jen’s dad had pulled up in his fancy car, and sprang out to shake han
ds with Luke’s parents.
“Mr. Garner, Mrs. Garner, thank you very much for reporting this boy’s arrival immediately. From what I hear, the Grants were worried sick.” He turned to Luke. “Young man, what you did was irresponsible and reckless. The only smart thing you did was remember to take your I.D. card. I guess you must have heard that the Population Police shoot first and ask questions later.”
He clapped Luke on the back and slid his hand down to slip something into Luke’s pocket. Luke reached down to touch the stiff edge of an I.D. card. His I.D. card.
“Do we have to start pretending already?” Luke’s mother whispered, the tears beginning in her eyes.
Jen’s dad was shaking his head sternly and patting his chest, as if looking for something in a hidden pocket.
“Bugged,” he mouthed.
When Luke’s parents nodded to show they understood, he stopped patting and pulled out an official-looking paper.
“Ah, here they are. Your travel papers. Your parents are sending you to Hendricks School for Boys. And if you don’t shape up—” Jen’s dad gave him a stern look that somehow also conveyed his sympathy.
“Would”—Mother cleared her throat—“Would it be all right if we gave him a good-bye hug? We’ve gotten kind of fond of him in…in the time he’s been here.”
Jen’s father nodded, and then both Luke’s parents held him tight and released him.
“Be a good boy, now, you hear?” Mother said. Luke could tell she was trying to make it jokey, the way she might talk to some other mother’s runaway son. But for the life of him, he couldn’t come back with a joking response. He only nodded, blinking hard.
And then he stumbled to the car and tried to be Lee.
Jen’s dad circled the car and slid in on the driver’s side. He started the car and pulled out.
“You’re just lucky you’re getting such a highly paid chauffeur,” he said. “If I weren’t a personal friend of your father’s cousin—”