“What was that?” Alice says, leaning forward.
Janice mutters something even worse.
When Alice looks at her like she’s crazy, Janice throws a pillow at her head and screams her out of the room. It’ll mean no visitors tomorrow, but she doesn’t care.
Because, alone, it’ll give her time to plan her escape.
She’ll be damned if she’ll let another parent lose their child.
~~~
Not surprisingly, the house is dark when the aut-car drops Harrison Kelly off.
He should be buzzing with energy, fresh off the final win in an undefeated hoverball season, but instead he’s frustrated and angry. He doesn’t even care if Nadine forgives him for sneaking away without seeing her.
He was supposed to be there! Yeah, there’s a Slip on the loose, but the Slip will still be there to catch tomorrow. Couldn’t his father have taken two hours off work to watch him play? Surely that’s not too much to ask.
His mother would have been there. The thought surprises him. For the last eight years he’s done everything possible to block her out, to pretend she doesn’t exist, to keep her out of his perfect life. And yet…the last few days he hasn’t been able to stop thinking about her. About her last words to him.
A sharp pang of regret jabs him hard in the gut as the scanner reads his eyes. She’s waited so long for him to visit. His father tells him so. How much she misses him. How much even a short visit would mean to her.
The speaker says, “Welcome home, Harrison Kelly,” and the door opens.
Harrison enters, still brooding about his screwed up parents, throws his bag down, and makes himself a sandwich in the food-maker.
He turns out the lights and sits in front of the blank holo-screen, forcing each bite down and waiting for his father to return.
~~~
Harrison’s asleep in the chair when Michael Kelly arrives home, the door speaking his name and opening with a zip-whir.
His plate and half-eaten sandwich spill to the floor as he awakes with a start. “Lights,” his father says, and the ceiling panels blaze to life.
Harrison blinks away his grogginess and says, “Hello, Father.”
One of the most powerful men in the city flinches. “God, Harrison. I didn’t see you. What are you still doing up?”
His father’s black suit jacket is full of wrinkles, matching his face, which looks ten years older than even this morning. “Tough day, huh?” Harrison says.
Placing his holo-screen down on a table, his father says, “Son, I’m sorry I missed your game.”
“Screw the game,” Harrison says. “We won, but what does that matter when Mom’s locked up?”
The shocked expression on his father’s face gives him an unexpected sense of satisfaction. “Son?”
The words vomit from his mouth. “You’re never home. Mom’s insane. It’s like none of us are even related.”
“My work—”
“Yeah, yeah, your work is so important. I’ve heard it a million times. But isn’t your family important? Isn’t Mom important?”
His father takes a step back, as if physically moved by the hardness of his words. “Of course, but—”
“But what? I don’t understand, right? That’s what you always tell me. Well maybe that’s because you never tell me anything. Your whole life outside of this house is some big secret. You could start by telling me why you were only around first thing in the morning growing up. Then you could tell me why the last thing Mom said to me was ‘You were lucky, Harrison. Your Death Match died so you could live. But life isn’t always fair. Your brother got a dud.’ What brother? Why would she say something like that?”
His father’s face is ghostly pale. His lip twitches. What is that expression? Is that…sadness? But Harrison doesn’t care about his father’s sadness. Not when his childhood is full of holes, mangled and broken and dry with unwept tears. “Speak, dammit!” he says, finally raising his voice. “Answer me!”
“I—I—” For a second he thinks his father might talk to him, might open himself up for the first time in his life. His father’s mouth opens, closes, opens again. Stays like that for a long time, Harrison holding his breath—the entire room seeming to freeze.
The moment fades and his father says, “Your mother is a seriously disturbed woman. Her condition makes her say a lot of things. Let’s get some sleep and try to forget all about this.”
With that, his father climbs the steps to the second floor. Harrison hears the bedroom door shut. His face getting hotter and hotter, he waits another three beats of his heart before letting the breath explode from his lungs. He realizes his fists are clenched at his sides, his muscles practically bursting through his skin.
That’s when he makes the decision to visit his mother.
~~~
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Chapter Twenty-Two
When Benson and Check head out for their normal evening Pick, Rod and Gonzo decide to tag along. Luce doesn’t say anything when Benson’s eyes pass over hers. Instead she offers a light smile that he’s unable to bring himself to return. Geoffrey just watches them, disappointment in his eyes, clearly wishing he could follow.
“Sure you don’t want to come along, beautiful?” Check asks Luce.
Geoffrey’s head snaps up, but then returns to his lap when Luce says, “Maybe next time. Good luck.”
Benson breathes a deep sigh of relief.
When they reach the ground floor, the streets are significantly louder and darker than they were during the day. On the city’s outskirts, the day begins when the sun goes down.
“How desperate are we?” Check asks Benson, staring longingly at a cluster of teenage girls in short skirts lining up to enter a popular underage club, True Dance.
“Well, if you don’t want to eat tomorrow…” Benson says.
“Fine,” Check grunts. “Let’s make this quick.” He strides ahead, play-punching Gonzo on the shoulder and interrogating him about which girl is the hottest. Gonzo chooses a dark-looking brunette while Check—surprise, surprise—picks out a blonde.
Benson just shakes his head, almost wishing he could move on from Luce that quickly. Instead, as he looks across the street at the girls, all he can see is her disgusted expression and the speed with which she ran from his misplaced kiss.
He clenches his fists and tries to think of anything but her.
Rod pulls up next to him, pretending to karate chop a floating holo-ad as it approaches them. The familiar red light runs across Benson’s vision, scanning him. “Benson Mack. Did you know that one out of every two people in the RUSA go to bed hungry?”
“Yes,” he says dryly. “And if you don’t get out of my way, I’m going to be hungry, too.”
“Here, here!” Rod shouts as the screen scans him.
“Rod Von Pepper,” the screen says, making Benson snort. “Only you can help prevent food and resource shortages. If you are aware of any illegal population activities, please contact your local population control office as soon as possible. We can’t control population without you.”
“Thank you. I will do that,” Rod says in a robot-like American accent. When the holo-screen floats away to spout propaganda at the next person it finds, Rod mutters, “Dios mio, este pais es un lugar terrorifico.”
Still laughing at his friend’s fake name, Benson asks, “What does that mean?” Rod and Gonzo have taught him some Spanish, but not enough to translate full sentences.
Rod chuckles, and when he speaks his twang comes through as strong as ever. “Just that this country is a scary place sometimes.”
Don’t I know it, Benson thinks. “Do you ever consider going back?” he asks. To Mexico, he doesn’t say. It’s something he’s wondered ever since he met the pair of Jumpers.
“Back?” Rod says. “Back there i
s only death.”
They walk in silence for a few minutes, watching Check and Gonzo chatter animatedly, gesturing at various city sights: a sleek Ferrari aut-car that must’ve cost a cool million sliding by; a guy in an expensive suit flashing a diamond-studded smile at the three high-heeled women hanging all over him; a famous rapper surrounded by an entourage of robot security guards. People who would never set foot in this part of the city during the day have come here to play at night. Although seeing them flaunt the kind of money he can only dream of disturbs Benson, he’s also glad for it. Without their support for the night life in these parts, the Crows would likely clamp down even harder on them, evicting squatters in a heartbeat.
“What’s it like where you come from?” Benson asks. He’s asked him before, but usually just gets jokes in return.
Rod gives him a sideways glance before facing forward once more. “I’m not sure you want to know,” his friend says.
“Please,” Benson says. He’s not sure why he’s being so insistent. To take his mind off of Luce? To make him appreciate his own situation more? Morbid curiosity?
Rod answers without emotion, his tone as level and bland as a command from the crowd-control robots from earlier. “My father was a smart man. He built a life out of nothing. Raised us on the chickens in the backyard and the tomatoes from his garden. He said the garden was a tribute to my mother, who died giving birth to my little sister.
“Gonzo was my best friend. He was an orphan, his parents killed during the Food Riots. He lived in a wooden shack next door with his three brothers and three sisters. The eldest was eighteen, Omar. He worked hard to care for them, but there was never enough food to go around. I used to sneak vegetables to them under the fence, when my dad wasn’t looking. I even gave them a whole chicken once. I thought I was so clever, hiding the charity from my father; but looking back, I know he purposely pretended not to notice.”
It’s a heartwarming story, if sad, and Benson finds himself mesmerized by it, the loudness of the music pouring from the nightclubs fading into the background.
“Being smart and having food made you a target in my town,” Rod continues, his voice still monotone. “My father took every precaution: bars on the windows, furniture in front of the door at night, keeping watch over the garden twenty-four hours a day. I even saw him shoot at a thief once. The filthy beggar had an armful of cucumbers and tomatoes, cradling them like a child. My father told him to stop, twice, but the guy was desperate. He ran for the fence, spilling the vegetables around him. I was behind my father, so I could see that he had him in his rifle’s crosshairs. But he didn’t pull the trigger, at least not right away. He waited until the man had clambered to the top of the fence and was practically over it before he squeezed off a shot, purposely missing high. Just another gunshot in the night, joining the symphony.”
Rod finally makes eye contact with Benson, steel in his dark eyes. “Why didn’t he shoot the beggar?” Benson asks.
“I asked him the same thing,” Rod says. “He said, ‘Guillermo, killing is for the weak and the scared. And we are neither.’”
“Guillermo?” Benson asks. They reach an intersection, following Check and Gonzo across after checking for aut-car traffic. Already the buildings on either side look nicer, newer.
Rod smiles and lowers his voice. “Sí. Don’t tell the others. My real name is Guillermo Rodriguez. I took on Rod when we crossed the border. Did I ever tell you where the rest of my identity came from?” There’s a twinkle in his eye because Check and Benson have asked them a million times. Names like Rod Von Pepper and Gonzo McSalt surely must have a story behind them.
“Ha ha,” Benson says. “This is the part where you say, ‘Well I’m not going to tell you now either.’”
To Benson’s surprise, however, Rod says, “It was a game. After crossing the border wall, we located a fake retina dealer named Eyeball. He hooked us up. When he asked us what names should be linked to our new eyes, Gonzo suggested we choose each other’s last names. Gonzo, being Gonzo, came up with Von Pepper for me, and so I reciprocated with McSalt for him.”
Benson laughs. “So his first name, Gonzo, is short for what, an old last name? Gonzalez?”
“No. His parents really named him Gonzo, believe it or not. His real last name is Garcia. Gonzo Garcia.”
Benson snorts and Check and Gonzo look back. Benson flashes an innocent smile.
“You’ll keep this a secret, sí?” Rod says.
“Sí,” Benson says, wondering how on earth he’ll manage to keep it from Check. “So why’d you decide to cross the border?” Benson asks, ignoring a pale red-lipped woman who blows him a kiss. He doesn’t have enough money to buy a second of her time, nor would he want to if he did.
Rod chews his lip, staring straight ahead. “Apparently my father’s warning shot at the thief wasn’t enough to convince the people in our town that he was capable of defending what we had. Three days later a band of thieves attacked while we slept. My older brother was on watch and he woke us with a shout, but it was far too late and there were far too many of them.”
Benson’s heart is in his throat, but he manages to force in a tight breath, holding it.
“This time, my father didn’t hesitate. Neither did the rest of us. We opened fire from the house. The thieves took cover and returned fire. My sister was hit in the throat, my brother twice in the chest. They died on either side of me. I was screaming and shouting and crying, but I didn’t stop shooting, even when my father dropped on all fours to try to help my siblings.
“One of the thieves charged the backdoor, and I fired twice but missed him. He shouldered through it and pointed a pistol at my father. ‘Move and die,’ he said. Clearly my father thought the man would shoot us no matter what we did, because he rolled hard to the side and shot at him. The man fired at the same time, their blasts almost sounding like one. It was so loud, like a cannon. I thought my eardrums had burst.
“My father died,” Rod says, his voice a whisper. “He killed the thief, too.”
“Oh, man,” Benson breathes, finally letting out his breath. “That’s terrible. I’m so sorry.”
Rod shrugs, as if it’s just a part of life. “I couldn’t hear, couldn’t see through my tears. There was still one thief alive. He came through the door, sweeping his eyes across the bloody scene until his eyes locked on me. My gun was raised, aimed right at him. I pulled the trigger and it clicked. No ammo. Of all things, he smiled. I’ll never forget that expression. There was such happiness in it. He raised his gun and I heard the shot, thinking I was dead. But then he dropped his weapon and fell. Gonzo came through the door, holding one of the other dead thieves’ guns away from him, like a smelly fish. He saved my life.”
“God,” Benson says. “No wonder you two are like brothers.”
“If you ask him, he’ll tell you he was just paying me back for the chicken, but I know better. Gonzo would’ve been there even if I’d eaten my food right in front of him without sharing a thing. Behind all his wisecracks and antics, he’s one of the best people I know.”
~~~
It was a dry night.
Between the four of them, they barely managed to steal enough to buy dinner, much less meals for the next day. Unfortunately the money from Benson’s earlier dual-pick was only enough to cover an old debt to a food pill provider who’d hooked them up a few weeks ago when they were desperate.
“Compared to where we come from,” Gonzo says, popping a food pill in his mouth, “this is a feast.” They’d split the plain white rice food pills four ways. Even after eating three, Benson’s stomach continues to grumble.
When Rod and Gonzo turn toward home, Check says, “I’m heading to the river for a bit. Bense, you in?”
“Yeah,” Benson says, hoping to not get back until after Luce is already asleep.
They pick their way in silence down deserted back streets, away from the hubbub of the main drag. At each crossroad, the music and laughter finds their ears, and Ben
son notices the way Check turns his head toward it, as if drawn to it.
“I just need one big Pick,” Check says absently, narrowing his almond-shaped Asian eyes even further, as if in deep thought. “And then I’m finished with this business. I’ll buy my own place, find the right girl, maybe go back to school, get a real job. Live like a human again.” Benson doesn’t reply. Check talks like this all the time. “I’ll take you with me if I can,” he adds.
“Thanks,” Benson says. “But you don’t have to. I don’t want to hold you back. You’re destined for great things.”
Check’s head jerks toward him. “You think so?” Despite being older than Benson, his friend’s eager expression makes him appear younger. Benson wonders if he’ll always look young, even when he’s an old man.
He thinks about his best friend’s question. No one is as motivated to change their life as Check. Even when Benson doesn’t feel like doing anything, it’s Check who gets him out and Picking. “Yeah,” Benson says, meaning it.
“Thanks, Bense.”
Even without looking at him, he can sense his friend’s smile.
Four blocks later, the city lights disappear, replaced by a sea of stars and the dark expanse of the river. The Mississippi. Although the night isn’t particularly cold, Benson shudders. The memory hits him, just like it always does when they visit Check’s favorite late-night spot. His father pushing him in the water, yelling at him, throwing stones at him. Check appearing almost magically at the perfect moment, saving him from a life spent in some city Home.
He owes Check so much—no, everything.
Check climbs onto their favorite place to sit, a large smooth stone with natural depressions for their butts. They can easily swivel to look at the river or the city, depending on their moods. Benson pulls himself up beside him, like he has on a hundred other nights.
“Check it out,” Check says.
Benson follows his gaze to a billboard, a giant holo-screen down the river a-ways. “Is that new?” Benson asks.