House Immortal (8 page)

Quinten had taken Dad's antiquated short-wave collection and expanded it until we could tap into every sort of data stream ever made. It was why we were now the hub for House Brown. Some of the House Brown communities had current tech and could bounce data from here to Jupiter if they wanted to.

But the majority of the people in House Brown weren't that advanced. Still, it didn't take much to put up a tower and send some kind of a signal.

Quinten had made sure we had the equipment to receive even the weakest signals here, loud and clear.

The main station to the right was Quinten's. He usually sat in the leather office chair in front of the monitors that stacked from floor to ceiling, maps and radar and other vital tracking systems available at a glance.

I preferred the antique hutch off to one side that held analog radio equipment, a telegraph key, and a sweet little laptop Quinten had linked into our entire network.

The laptop screen was blinking in time with several
other screens and buttons in the room. I glanced over at the maps. Signal was coming in from Nevada. The Fesslers' land.

I tapped the code into the laptop, flicked on the video, and sent a reply.

Almost immediately, Braiden Fessler—head of the desert homestead of about fifty—snapped onto the screen above the hutch.

He was somewhere between seventy and ninety, his dark skin cooked down by years in the sun until it was a deep mahogany of wrinkles and creases. He wore a tattered, billed cap over his large ears, and his white hair curled down in sideburns to join with a pointed beard.

“Matilda, we need your help. There's heavy equipment moving our way, about thirty miles out. Is there someone you can call to stop this? Is there a way to jam their work orders?”

“It's not that easy,” I said. “Did survey drones pass over?”

“About a year ago. Didn't think much of it.”

“But nothing recently? No indication you'd been scouted by a House?”

“Nothing.”

My fingers glided over the screen, accessing roads, House Brown locations, and nearby cities.

“You're sure they're headed your way?”

“A few of us rode out that way to see what was what. It's a line of earth movers, Matilda. Drills, cranes. I think they're coming to tear down our village and set up a geothermal plant.”

I nodded, thinking furiously. That made sense. It could be House Orange, out to throw down a mining operation, but all the records and scans we could tap into indicated there was nothing valuable beneath the Fesslers' parched soil.

There was, however, a strong natural heat source—
geothermal—that could be rigged up as a power generator to supplement the nearest city.

“What are we going to do, Matilda?” Braiden asked. “We have children here—babies. There's nowhere else for us. This is our home. Our land.”

“They're thirty miles out?” I asked.

“Yes.”

I flipped to the satellite feed, got a lock, and pulled up the eastern edge of Nevada.

“I see them. About twenty vehicles.” I dialed it in, couldn't see any colors or House markings. “Don't know who's behind it. But I'll find out. Let me track this as far as I can. If we know which House is moving your way and why—”

“We know why,” he said.

“No, we suspect they want the thermal. But it could be other things they're coming for. Mining. Waste dump. Data hub.”

His dark eyes watered, but he nodded. “When will you know? When will you tell us how to stop them?”

He wanted hope and assurances I did not have to offer.

“The equipment is big and slow moving. I'll have something by tomorrow morning. Just hold through the night. If there's no way to stop them . . .”

“No,” he said, cutting me off. “We have run enough. We have been pushed away from green fields and safe hollows. We have escaped the slavery of our generations to the Houses. We will not leave our land. Not this time.”

I'd heard that before. So many people in House Brown were tired of running. They wanted to stand and fight, even if that meant losing everything.

“I'll do what I can to find a solution,” I said. “In the meantime, I want you to tell everyone to pack a bag.”

“But—”

“Mr. Fessler, please,” I said, raising my voice just a bit. “We'll do everything we can to find a way to turn them back. But if we fail, I want your word that you will not
put your childrens' lives in danger. I want your word that you'll tell their mothers and fathers to run. I want your word that you'll go with them.”

“Of course,” he said, dropping his gaze.

“Good,” I said. “Give me the evening and night. I'll contact you in the morning. Call me if the situation changes in any way.”

He nodded and reached forward, ending our link.

I sat there a moment, not breathing.

I'd handled situations like this dozens of times since Quinten had left, but it was never easy. Sometimes we won and got information out soon enough to either shut down the House operation or at least warn House Brown people enough in advance that they could take their valuables and run.

Sometimes we lost.

The odds were never on House Brown's side. But that didn't mean any of us were about to stop fighting.

The government's army buried the dead. Hundreds of men, women, and children planted in mass graves at the foot of Alveré Case's tower. The newspapers reported a smallpox outbreak. The newspapers lied.—1910

—from the journal of L.U.C.

T
he door opened and boots started down the stairs. I'd been living with Neds long enough to know the cadence of his stride.

“Tilly?” he said, ducking the low beam before stepping into the cluttered main room. “I heard the bell.”

“It's the Fesslers' place.”

“Nevada? Middle of the desert?” Right Ned asked.

I nodded, pulling the maps up across the screens and monitors over Quinten's station. “Heavy equipment headed their way about thirty miles out. Braiden's worried. He wants to stand or die.”

“Stupid,” Left Ned said. “I say run and live any day. Why are they a House target? There's nothing out there except sand and grit.”

“Geothermal, maybe?” I scooted my chair back and walked over to study the screens. “Wasn't there something about the coal shipments being diverted from Big Vegas?”

“Couple months back?” Right Ned said.

“I think so. Check the reports, will you?”

Neds got busy running through hot data—information we'd flagged as important—House movements, rumors of developments or advancements, failures in supply lines.

Sometimes we could make sense of it, like when House Yellow, Technology, built a manufacturing facility right next to the gold-mining operation. They'd won ten years of the mine's proceeds from some kind of in-House settlement with House Orange. Welton Yellow had built the facility to test, improve, and maintain the clever new technologies he developed to dig gold out of the dirt, technology that doubled the mine's production. A technology Welton Yellow refused to share with any of House Orange's other mining sites.

Sometimes we just flagged things that might come in handy—weather changes, crop failure or excess, drone movement, and the like.

“I don't like him,” Right Ned said as he scrolled through the last six months or so of data.

“Abraham?”

“I understand you had to patch him up.”

I waited for his question. For the reason he'd come down here.

“Just.” He looked up from my laptop, where he'd sat to shuffle through information. “Why?”

“I don't know.” I wiped the screens and pulled up secondary satellite and ground views. “You know how I am with hurt things.”

“He's not a thing, Matilda,” Right Ned said. “He's a galvanized tied to a House. Eyes and ears and mouth straight to the head of his House. Whatever he knows, they know.”

“What was I supposed to do? Feed him to Lizard?”

“Now you're thinking,” Left Ned said.

“Look.” I turned and leaned my hip against the curved bank of keyboards beneath the screens. “I know he's trouble. I know I'm in deep here with my promise to
go with him. But there was a drone locked onto him. They already know our house is here and our farm. And while I can claim House Brown, I'm not so sure I have rights. Human rights.”

Right Ned looked away from the screen. “You're human, Matilda. As much as I am.”

“No, I'm not. Have you ever read through the treatise that ended the galvanized Uprising?”

“The great betrayal?” Left Ned said.

“Yes. When the galvanized left House Brown and let other Houses claim them. They negotiated peace between the houses and for human rights.”

“Haven't read the treatise, but I know what's in it,” Left Ned said. “They bargained for House Brown to have no voice in the world, no resources. Left us alone to fend for ourselves.”

“They bargained for humans—all humans, whether of normal configuration or mutated, compromised, or engineered—to have rights. Longlifes and shortlifes, every shape, sort, and size,” I said.

“The right to food, shelter, work, and dignity. The right to earn credit and pay off debt. A way to leave other Houses and become House Brown, if they desire. A way out of indentured servitude to the other Houses.”

“And?” Right Ned said. He wasn't as loud about his dislike of Abraham, but it was clear he didn't care for him either.

“In exchange, the galvanized gave up the right to be classified as human. They are owned by the Houses. And if I'm like them . . . if I'm galvanized . . .”

“You're not like them,” Left Ned said.

But Right Ned gave me a level look. “Didn't they do anything to preserve their rights?”

“Let's just say humans got the better end of the deal.”

Right Ned closed his eyes for a moment, anger or maybe just disappointment creasing his forehead. Then he opened his eyes.

“You can still run, Tilly. We can hold him off and you can go.”

I'd be lying if I said I hadn't thought about it. I'd be lying if I didn't admit to being terrified of going into the city with Abraham.

“Quinten hasn't been home for three years,” I said softly. “Three. He's never been gone more than a year at a time. I know you don't know him, but he's not like that. He'd be home if he could be. And since he isn't, I'm assuming he's hurt or trapped or mixed up in something he can't get out of. So no matter if it isn't safe or smart or the thing I
should
do, I'm going to find out what Abraham knows about my brother.”

“And your mother?” Right Ned asked.

“Yes. And who these ‘enemies' of my father are. You are going to stay here and look after things—Grandma, House Brown, the beasts.”

Their eyebrows notched up, and they both gave me the same blank look.

“No,” Right Ned said. “We're not. We are coming with you.”

“Why in the world would you do that?”

“Because,” Left Ned said.

Right Ned ticked one eyebrow in agreement.

“That's not even a reason,” I said. “Let's just track down who's trying to wipe out the Fesslers. We can argue this out later.”

I turned back to the screens, and so did they.

An hour later, the only thing I'd gotten out of the data was a headache. I stood away from Quinten's chair and stretched. Neds didn't look up from the laptop.

“You done?” Right Ned asked.

“Need to check on Grandma. Oh, and I'll feed the beasts tonight.” I started toward the stairs.

“I do believe it's your turn to cook,” Right Ned said.

Damn. He was right. “Let's switch. I'll cook tomorrow.”

“Why?”

“Did you find anything yet that will help the Fesslers?”

He leaned back in the chair so Right Ned could glance over at me. “No.”

“Neither did I. But there's an untapped database upstairs scrubbing my kitchen floor. He said he'd answer anything I asked.”

“You're going to ask him who's out to crush our little desert community?”

“In a roundabout way, yes.”

“He's not on our side, Tilly.”

“I don't need him to be on our side. I just need him to talk.” I climbed the stairs, pulled the door open, and almost yelped.

Abraham was right there, leaning on the wall across from the door, arms folded over his chest.

“Evening,” he said, that quick gaze of his soaking in every detail of the shadows behind me.

“Hey.” I stepped out and latched the door shut as quick as I could. “Are you done with the cleanup?”

“For a while now.”

“Well, then. I'll see to getting you those sheets.”

“What's in the basement?”

“Storage. Dust. You know.” I strode down the hall and waved my hand over my shoulder. “Basement things.”

“A locked door can't keep me out.”

“What are you going to do—break it down?”

“I'm assuming you'd shoot me if I did.”

“You are an intelligent man, Mr. House Gray.”

“Abraham.”

“Let's go see about those sheets.”

He followed me through the living room and into the opposite hallway, past Neds' room to his room at the end.

The door was open.

Everything in the room was cleaned, dusted, and rearranged.

“So I see you changed the sheets. And the room,” I said.

“I got bored.”

“You prefer the bed on the opposite wall?”

“I prefer the bookshelf in the lower left corner of the room, and the ceiling fan not to be hanging over my head while I sleep.”

“OCD?”

“Feng shui.”

“Is it contagious?”

“Hardly anyone gets it.”

“All right.” I glanced out the window. I'd lost a little time down in the basement; the evening light was just starting to fall.

“Is there a problem?” he asked.

“Not a problem. Night's coming on soon. Since my farmhand is—”

“In the basement burying bodies?”

“—busy, I wondered if you'd give me a hand with the beasts.”

“You keep farm animals?”

“Something like that,” I said. “You don't mind getting a little dirty with me, do you?”

The corner of his mouth quirked up.

Heat flashed across my cheeks again. Why did I keep saying things like that?

“Looking forward to it,” he murmured. “It's been too long since I got dirty.”

It was suddenly too hot in the room. No, it was suddenly too hot in my skin.

“I need to check on Grandma,” I said. “I'll meet you outside.”

I turned and scuttled out of there as fast as I could. Took me no time to walk down to Grandma's room, knock softly on her door, and let myself in. She was sitting in her rocking chair by the window, humming to herself and petting one of the little sheep in her lap.

I took a moment to breathe away my blush. “Everything all right, Grandma?”

“Is it time for us to go now?” she asked.

“No, we're not going anywhere. Well, I'm going out to feed the beasts. Do you need me to bring you something?”

“I'm just fine,” she said. “You go on with that man.”

“Abraham?”

“That's the one. House Gray. Good man, always such a good man.”

“Always? Do you know him, Grandma? Do you know Abraham?”

She had tipped her head and was staring out the window and humming again, as if I didn't exist.

Her lucid moments were getting fewer and shorter. I knew she wouldn't live forever, but things like this chiseled away at my heart. “Okay,” I said with the brightest tone I could muster. “I'll see you soon. Neds are downstairs if you need him.”

My room was right next door, and I ducked in, plucked up my heavier coat, and shrugged it on as I made my way down the hall.

Abraham was waiting in the living room.

“You have a strange sense of direction, Mr. House Gray,” I said. “The out-of-doors is out that door.”

“Abraham,” he said absently. “After you.” He opened the door to the front porch, waiting for me.

I walked past him. I didn't wait to see if he was following as I headed over to the shed and my old Chevy truck.

“Didn't know anyone still used these things,” Abraham said.

“A motor vehicle?” I swung into the driver's seat. “You didn't get here out here on foot, did you?”

He settled into the passenger's seat. “My car's parked just off your property. I meant pickup trucks. They haven't been on the assembly line for a century.”

“We make do with what we have.” I turned the key
and eight cylinders coughed to life, growling happily once it got the rust out.

The sound of it put a smile on his face, even though he shook his head in the way people do when they're remembering fond things.

“Are you really over three hundred years old?” I asked.

“I'm galvanized.”

“Is that a yes?” I released the clutch and eased the truck down the rutted dirt road.

“I was born in 1880.”

That made him three hundred and thirty years old. He didn't look a day over thirty. “Wow.”

“What year were you born?” he asked.

“Twenty-one eighty-four.”

He laughed. I glanced away from the road to see what that looked like on him. It looked good. He laughed with his whole body, head tipped back, eyes curved tight, mouth open in a big smile, as if nothing in him hurt.

If he weren't laughing about my age, I might even join in.

“You're not twenty-six,” he chuckled.

I slapped his arm. “Yes. I am.”

He jerked and all the laughter was gone. “That . . . hurt.”

“You bet it did.”

“It shouldn't.”

“Why? Because I'm a girl?”

“No, because I'm galvanized. And so are you. We don't feel pain. We don't feel physical sensation.”

“Speak for yourself. I feel.”

“Do you?”

“Of course I do. And obviously you do too.”

“I feel
you
,” he said quietly.

“Me?'

“You. Only you.”

There was heat behind his words, but it wasn't anger. It was the kind of heat that made me want to reach over
and kiss him to see what that would be like. To see if that would be enough to end this fire he had set off in me.

Steady now,
I told myself. The only thing I was going to use him for was information. All the rest of the needs and feelings he stirred up inside me weren't important.

Which would be fine, if I believed it.