are kids like those I dealt with today to hold me back. What they've got now is bad, but at least they're relatively safe. Assuming we can keep them from starving to death."
"What's that mean?" Mr. Davis asked.
"It means, dear Mr. Convalescent, that the supply team hasn't shown up as expected. Ott sent a scout to see what's holding things up, and the scout hasn't come back yet. For all we know, we're cut off from the rest of civilization, stuck with what we have in storage, which is enough for about six months, if I understand right, plus what little we can grow in hidden places, plus whatever we can scrounge from the arid wilderness this part of the world has become since the topside government in all its idiocy destroyed the irrigation systems, and declared war on independent farmers. So I'm not suggesting we have an immediate emergency; just the possibility of a slow motion one, which is almost worse."
"Speaking of food, did you get dinner?" Nurse Chan asked.
"No, and I'm hungry. What's left over? Anything?" Mr. Lexington asked.
"We didn't know we should be rationing, so we let Joel fix his famous manly venison burgers, on Nurse Chan's famous hamburger buns. There's even pickles and mustard to put on it. We saved you two burgers. If we'd been thinking clearly, we might have saved you three," Mr. Davis said.
Renzo heard scuffling, as chairs moved and people walked around.
"Speaking of food, did I ever tell you the good news from Weisertun?" Mr. Johnson asked.
There were murmurs of 'no' and 'what' mixed together.
"My brother and his crews finally got some vineyards that are bearing quite a few grapes. It's the craziest set up you've ever seen, because they had to try to make it look like wild grapes somehow got growing here and there. But it's apparently worked. What they heard – back when we were still getting reports – is that one of the topside pilots noticed it on a supply run, and reported it, and so now Greenley is getting much praise for creating an environment where grapes grow of their own accord in semi-desert areas. Never mind that the vines are older than Dear Leader's reign. They were found on his watch, so of course he gets the credit."
"You'd think people would catch on to that kind of nonsense after a while," Nurse Chan said.
"I think a lot of people do, actually," Mr. Johnson said. "They're just afraid to admit it."
"And who can blame them?" Mr. Lexington said. "I mean, look at Harvey here. He was only dunked in the system for a few years, but I'll bet he could tell us boatloads of horror stories of what happened to people he knew who got just a wee bit out of alignment."
Harvey didn't volunteer any examples.
"Changing the subject a bit, does anyone know if Topside has replaced the cattle herder yet?" Mr. Lexington said.
"No, they haven't," Mr. Johnson said.
"Or the birdwatcher?" Mr. Lexington said.
"No. That post is empty, too, since we rescued Renzo from it," Mr. Johnson said.
"Do we know why they seem to be abandoning the area?" Nurse Chan said.
"The best guess is that Urbanizers have gone loco again, like they've tended to do every couple or three decades since The Smolder began, but no, we don't know. We're hoping they've forgotten that those posts were set up there primarily to protect the bridge. Now that the roads are in disrepair, it's not as useful as it used to be, and of course Topside is thick with helicopters, and we have boats, and the makings of ferries, and even a few helicopters of our own. But a bridge over a big, bad river like the Snake is nothing to sneeze at, for all that."
In the corner, Renzo fought to lie very still. He wished he still had his back to the others – he'd learned very young to sleep with his face away from people, to give them less to see that they might use to betray him. He dreaded to think what might happen to him now, should they notice that he was awake, and wonder how many secrets he'd heard.
"Anybody else feel like washing himself out with a hymn?" Mr. Johnson asked.
"I'm game," Mr. Lexington said. "Do you have something specific in mind?"
In answer, someone – presumably Mr. Johnson, but Renzo had no idea how to square singing voices with speaking voices – began to sing "Soli Deo Gloria…" and others joined in, softly.
Renzo doubted both his ears and his sanity. Could they have really said what was written on the contraband note he'd found along with the contraband photographs, hidden behind the portrait of Greenley the Third?
Almost as if in answer, they sang, "To God alone be glory, to Him your praises sing, Soli Deo Gloria."
They stopped abruptly. A few thudding heartbeats later, Renzo realized that he'd shot to a sitting position and was staring at them, and they were staring back.
"Whew, that must have been some nightmare," Mr. Johnson said.
Renzo had never felt so utterly defeated in his life, not even when they took his gun and his name away, not even when Julia died. Every defeat before now seemed like a foundation stone on which this one was built. They knew. They knew. It was impossible that they knew, but they knew. The logical assumption was that they'd known all along. He heard himself whimpering, and tried to stop, but the whimpering had a will of its own. "How did you find out? I was so careful. I burned everything. How did you find out? I was so careful. I burned everything. How? How? How?"
"Does anyone know what he's talking about?" Mr. Davis asked.
His companions shook their heads.
"Don't play with me! Kill me if you want. I can't stop you. But don't play with me!" Renzo screeched, begging for the torment to be cut short.
"Renzo, I don't expect you to understand this, but not only are we not going to kill you, we aren't planning on doing anything other than welcoming you into our merry band of renegades," Mr. Lexington said. "Or you can ask to be transferred to another underground community, if you'd like to see if you can find neighbors more to your liking. More precisely, once you're off probation, you can ask to be transferred, unless major incompatibilities arise in the meantime."
Confused and desperate, Renzo turned to Mr. Davis. He hadn't dared look the man in the eye, because of the pilot brand. He was marked as special, as high, too high for the likes of Renzo. But now he needed to hear from the highest ranked man in the room.
Mr. Davis had an odd look on his face. It was gentle, reassuring, and sad at the same time. "Renzo," he said, "I know you've been taught that everyone belongs to the government, but the fact is that we don't. It's not an easy life, having to stay out of sight. But we'd rather be free men with a tough life, than be treated like manufactured cogs in some madman's idea of a societal machine. More to the point, we won't worship the state, instead of God."
Renzo covered his ears and shut his eyes and sang loyalty songs to Greenley the Third. What his guards did, he had no idea, other than they left him alone, which surprised him. As far as he knew, they should have either praised him for a proper response, or kicked him until he was unconscious or dead. He knew those were the primary options. He'd been taught that, and shown that; first in the KinderFormer, and then at the Pac-Nor Progressive training camp. He'd even helped kick other breed members to death, for suspected disloyalty. He scrunched his eyes tighter, and sang more enthusiastically. Still, no contact. His curiosity got the better of him. He stopped singing, and listened. He heard nothing. He gave up and looked. His guards, the nurse, and the pilot in the wheeled chair were sitting at the table. They were looking at him. They all looked weary.
"I think what I hate most about the Topside educational system just now is that I have yet to find any evidence that it has ever turned out a bona fide adult human being," Mr. Johnson said.
"Can't help you there," Mr. Lexington said.
"Stop it, guys," Nurse Chan said.
"Yes, ma'am," they said back.
Nurse Chan prepared a syringe, and came at Renzo. He presumed she was going to euthanize him. Despite the horror of his present conditions, he found that he wouldn't – couldn't – just take the fatal dose willingly. He might be going down, but he'd take as many of thes
e cruel officials with him as he could.
His guards proved to have better reflexes than he might have guessed, given their customary laid back manner. They not only kept him from strangling the nurse, they got him pinned to the ground handily, and held him while she gave him a shot.
"This is just a sedative, Renzo," she said. "You'll be all right."
His last thought before he slipped into unconsciousness was that he hated her for lying to him like that.
"You're kidding me, right?" Lt. Ott said to the two men sitting across his desk from him.
"No, sir. We're not," Joel Johnson said. "We've talked it over, and think it would be a good idea, for several reasons. Charbonneau likes it, too, and would like to join us, only he thinks he needs to stick around here just now, and he's probably right about that. But Chaplain Davis said he'd be glad to make a third, if you don't think Lexington here and I can handle it."
"Do I want to know how many other people know about this harebrained scheme?" Ott asked.
"Is there some way of answering that without conceding it to be a harebrained scheme, sir?" Trevin Lexington asked.
"Don't dodge. I'm in no mood for it," Ott said.
"Harvey Davis and Nurse Chan know, sir. Davis thinks it's a good idea, and is sick that he's not physically up to helping. Nurse Chan is concerned that Davis is feeling so frustrated. If this wasn't something of a war zone, we'd like to get together a group of