Apollo's Outcasts (21 page)

"I've sent someone to get your sister," Mr. Porter said to me once Hannah and I were seated, "but I want to show you something while we wait for her. The reason why I brought you here is that we'll have more privacy than in my office. So everything you see and hear in this room needs to stay here. Understood?"

I was suddenly nervous, but both Hannah and Mr. Garcia were watching me expectantly. "Yes, sir. I understand."

Mr. Porter nodded, then reached to a touchscreen imbedded in the table's polished surface. "As Hannah said, we've received a message from your sister Jan. Before I show that to you and Melissa, though, I want you to see another message, one which we received just yesterday." He glanced at Hannah. "You've seen this already, of course, but I think Jamey ought to take a look at it. Is that all right?"

"Umm...sure, okay." Hannah seemed reluctant, but she nodded anyway.

Mr. Porter tapped his fingers against the keypad and a wall screen at the end of the table lit up. Seated in an armchair was a middle-aged woman with short blonde hair. Although her posture was relaxed, she seemed nervous; it wasn't hard to notice the dark circles under her eyes. It took me a second to realize who she was: Cynthia Wilford, the former First Lady, Hannah's mother.

Mr. Porter touched another key and Ms. Wilford began to speak.
"Hello, Hannah...how are you?"
A brief smile that looked forced.
"I know it's been a long time, but I just wanted to get in touch with you again and let you know that everything is all right...."

From the corner of my eye, I saw Hannah intently watching the screen. She'd raised a hand to her mouth, so I couldn't quite make out her expression, but I could tell that she wasn't pleased.

"I'm okay here,"
Ms. Wilford went on.
"I'm being kept in protective custody until the FBI tracks down the rest of the people responsible for killing your father--"
a derisive snort from Hannah
"--but I'm very safe and comfortable."
Another tentative smile.
"I know how much you enjoy Camp David, honey-bunch. Sorry you can't be here...."

"Yeah, right," Hannah whispered.

"I miss you very much, dear, and I want to assure you that there's absolutely no reason why you should stay on the Moon. President Shapar has promised me that you'll be treated well if you come home. The same goes for your friends...their parents are fine, and they'll be detained only until the authorities complete their investigation...."

My throat tightened when she said that. For a second, I was
inclined to believe her, if only because I wanted to. But then Hannah looked at me and shook her head.

"So, please, sugar plum...come home."
Again, the tortured smile.
"I love you very much, and I want to see you again."

Mr. Porter froze the image, then looked at Hannah. "Well?"

Hannah slowly let out her breath. "That was my mother, all right...but the only thing she said that I believe is that she loves me. Everything else is a lie."

I stared at her. "How do you know? She sounded..."

"I know what she sounded like. It's
what
she said that matters. She mentioned how much I love Camp David, but she knows I can't stand the place and that I hate going out there. I'm not even sure that's where she's being held." Hannah pointed toward the screen. "If you look closely at the background, the walls are plain...but just about every room in Camp David is wood-paneled, and even the chair she's sitting in doesn't look like the furniture there."

"So this could have been recorded just about anywhere," Mr. Garcia said, speaking up for the first time. "Is that what you're saying?"

"Uh-huh...and that's not all. She also called me 'honey-bunch' and 'sugar plum.'" Hannah's nose wrinkled in disgust. "When my father decided to run for president, I told him it would be okay with me so long as his first executive order would be to outlaw cute nicknames for girls. It became sort of an inside joke among my parents. So my mother would never call me anything like that. At least, not unless she was trying to tell me something without anyone catching on."

"Such as, 'don't believe what I'm saying'?"

"Yes, that's what I think she was doing. She was being coerced to tell me to come home, but she doesn't really want me to, so she threw in some stuff that she knew I'd recognize as being false and hoped that I'd catch on." A quick smile. "I guess they've given up the idea that I'm being held hostage by the Chinese."

Mr. Porter turned to me. "We received that yesterday on the standard frequency on which we usually get official US government
communiques. I've decided not to publicly release it, though, because I don't want people here thinking that it might be sincere. That's why I'm asking you not to talk about it outside this room."

"I understand," I said, "but why did you want me to...?"

The door opened just then and a constable walked in, followed by Melissa. Her hair was pulled back under a bandana, and the damp, rolled-up sleeves of her overalls showed that she'd come straight from Ag Dome 2. Her impatient gaze flickered across Hannah and me before settling upon Mr. Porter.

"Well?" she demanded. "Where's the message from my sister?"

"We were just coming to that. Please take a seat." Mr. Porter blanked the wall screen before Melissa could see who was on it, then waved her to a chair next to Hannah and me. "I was telling your brother that there's...ah, a possibility...that the message we received about an hour ago might not be authentic, and we need to listen to it carefully to make sure that your sister is really saying what we think she's saying."

Melissa peered at him. "I don't get it. Are you saying that Jan didn't...?"

"What he means is that Jan may not have sent this of her own free will," Hannah said. "You need to listen for anything that might sound wrong."

"Like, for instance, if she were to say, 'Wow, I'd really love a hamburger,' we'd know that's a lie because she's vegetarian," I added.

"Oh...okay," Melissa said, but I could tell that she was still a little confused. It might have helped if Mr. Porter had shown her the earlier message, but he was wise not to do so. Melissa was incapable of keeping secrets; back home, something whispered in her ear during homeroom would be all over school by lunch time.

"All right, then," Mr. Porter said. "If everyone is clear...?" None of us had any more questions, so he tapped his fingers against the keypad again. Once more, the screen lit up...

And there was Jan.

Melissa gasped, and I nearly did the same. In just three weeks, her appearance had completely changed. She was thinner, as if she hadn't been eating often or well. Her hair was no longer either blonde or long; it had been died dark brown and cut to a shag. If I'd seen her on the sidewalk, I might have walked right past without recognizing her.

But that wasn't all. There was a haunted...no, a
hunted
...look in her eyes that I'd never seen before. Jan was a person who went through life with a smile; there was little that could get her down, no matter how bad things might be. That smile had vanished, and her expression was more serious than I ever seen it before.

She was seated in a metal folding chair. Behind her was a plain brick wall upon which an American flag had been draped. The lighting was bad and the picture was slightly blurred, as if someone had used a pad to record the message. Mr. Porter froze the image and turned to Melissa and me.

"Is that her?" he asked.

"Yeah, but..." I began.

"She looks like hell," Melissa finished. Maybe that's not the way I would've put it, but it got the point across.

"But you confirm that it's her, right?" Mr. Garcia asked. Both of us nodded, and he looked at Mr. Porter. "Go ahead, Loren."

Mr. Porter unfroze the image, and Jan began to speak:

"Melissa...Jamey...hi, it's me."
A ghost of smile wavered on her lips.
"Just in case you don't recognize me, y'know."
She reached up to touch her hair.
"Obviously I've made a few changes lately. Had to do it so I wouldn't get caught. The feds have pictures of me all over the net, so...well, it's not something I like a lot, but so far it's helped keep me out of jail, so..."

The smile vanished.
"Anyway, I've got to keep this short, so I'll get right to it. First, I'm safe. I managed to get away from the island when the federal marshals showed up. I don't want to say exactly how, just in case someone sees this who shouldn't, but...well, someone gave me a uniform and a badge so that it looked like I worked there, so when Dad and the others were arrested, the feds missed me. I've been on the run ever since.

"Second...so far as we know, Dad is safe, too. But he's been arrested and charged with conspiring to kill President Wilford, so there's no way anyone's going to set him free. We think he and the others...Logan's parents, Mr. and Ms. Hernandez, a lot of other ISC people...are being held somewhere in upstate New York, but we're not sure. But at least they're alive, and hopefully unharmed. When I say 'we.' I mean..."

She paused to glance past us, as if listening to someone behind the camera. A couple of moments went by, then she went on.
"Look, I have to be careful about how I say this, but...I've managed to hook up with some people. They really don't have a name for themselves other than the Resistance, but they're getting better organized with every day, and--"
once again, the furtive smile
"--they've got friends on the inside. Lina Shapar may be in the White House, but that speech Hannah Wilford made was seen by a lot of people in Washington, and they now know what really happened to her father."
She shrugged.
"I know you were upset when I gave up my seat on the shuttle for her, but I'm glad that I did it. If she hadn't gotten the word out, things here would be in even worse shape than they are now."

Hearing a quiet sob from beside me, I glanced at Hannah. She was holding a clenched fist before her face, and tears leaked from her eyes. She seemed to be having trouble looking at the screen. Then Melissa, who'd snarled at her when she'd taken Jan's place, reached out to take her hand, silently letting her know that all had been forgiven.

"Now here's the most important thing, the reason why I'm calling you in the first place."
Jan leaned closer, staring straight at the camera.
"Whatever you do...whatever anyone on the Moon does...you cannot give up. Not now, not tomorrow, not ever. Because the main thing Lina Shapar and her people want is power, absolute and total power...and the only way they'll get it is if they can gain control of the helium-3 pipeline. So long as Apollo remains free, though, they won't be able to do that. Sooner or later, the helium-3 supply will start to run low. When that happens, the Resistance will be able to make its move. But if Apollo folds..."

She stopped, shook her head.
"I think you get the idea. So you need to spread the word. Stay firm, don't give in...and be ready, because I think it's a pretty good bet that, sooner or later, Shapar will try to take control of the Moon, even if it means sending in military forces."

Jan let out her breath, sat back in her chair.
"Okay, that's all for now. I'll try to get back in touch with you...well, whenever I can."
She struggled to smile.
"I love both of you. Stay well. Bye..."

That was it. The message abruptly ended, as if someone had pushed a button.

No one spoke. For about a minute or so, we stared at the blank screen, each of us taking in what we'd just heard. Then Mr. Porter cleared his throat. "Was that really your sister?" he asked Melissa and me again.

"That was her," I said, and Melissa quietly nodded.

"Any hidden messages? Any double-meanings?"

Melissa raised an eyebrow, not understanding what he meant by that. "No, sir," I replied. "Not like..." I glanced at Hannah, and everyone but my sister caught my meaning.

"I didn't think so. If this had been some sort of trick, they wouldn't have changed her appearance." Mr. Porter let out his breath. "She's a brave young lady. No telling what she's been through."

"How did we get this message?" Mr. Garcia asked. "It couldn't have been sent via the usual channels."

"No, it wasn't. We received it earlier this afternoon as an unencrypted file attached to routine data sent from a ISC relay station in Morocco, and even they don't know exactly where it came from." Mr. Porter shook his head in admiration. "The Resistance must have bounced it from one pirate server to another to prevent anyone from tracking it back to its source, until someone hacked into the Morocco station and concealed their message in another transmission. However they pulled it off, though, they did their job well. The point of origin has been scrambled by privacy-protection software. Even the time stamps have been deleted to prevent anyone from knowing which time zone it came from."

"That indicates a certain amount of technical sophistication," said Mr. Garcia. "I'd be willing to bet they've established an underground network operating as individual cells and communicating with each other through pirate ISPs." He glanced at me. "Your sister probably belongs to one of those cells, and they asked her to pass along a message to us since you'd be able to confirm her as a legitimate source."

"I think she just wanted to let us know that she's okay," I said, trying not to bristle at the implication that Jan was being used by the Resistance.

"Oh, don't get me wrong. I'm sure she wanted to do that, too." Mr. Garcia favored me with a placating smile. "But that last part wasn't meant for just you and Melissa...it was intended to be heard by everyone on Apollo." The smile faded. "It was a warning, plain and simple. We can't back down even if it means that Shapar might come for us...and I have no doubt that she will."

Something clutched at my guts. I remembered what Billy's uncle had said during the town meeting:
You're going to be singing a different tune when the Marines land!
At the time, I thought Mr. Hawthorne was just blowing smoke, but if the Chief Ranger was taking this seriously...