Truth (18 page)

XXXV

“H
ow about a cup of coffee?” Chris pulled his trannie away from the curb.

“I guess.”

“Relax,” he said. “We’ll go to a little place I know up in Evanston. There won’t be anyone there who knows you.”

I settled back in the seat. The scenery whizzed by as we drove north on Lake Shore Drive, past the rehab center on Sheridan, where Gran would be transferred to. Eventually, Chris stopped in front of a place with an antique neon sign that shimmered
JAZZ AND JAVA.

The smell of fresh-roasted coffee was like a friendly pat on the cheek as we eased into the dim interior. Soft jazz oozed from the walls. Chris took us to a booth in the corner. Seconds later, a waitress appeared.

“I’ll have a cuppa regular. Black.”

“And you?”

“I’ll just have water.”

“Don’t like coffee? We’ve got a variety of teas, and our To-Die-For Cocoa is phenomenal. I highly recommend it.”

“Okay, I’ll take that.” I looked around. Posters of musicians playing a variety of new and antique instruments dotted the walls. “You like jazz, huh?”

“Guilty as charged.” Chris stretched out in the booth. “It’s intricate. Each song is kind of like an unfolding puzzle. A mystery unraveling.”

“I’ve never listened to it,” I confessed.

“Well, we are in the right place for your initiation.”

The waitress reappeared with our drinks.

Chris lifted his cup. “To a better tomorrow.” We clinked them together, like on New Year’s. The dim lights hid my blush.

As I leaned back, the cocoa-scented steam filled my head. I closed my eyes, allowing the music to twine itself around my brain, down my spine, and into my belly. I couldn’t put words to how I felt—somewhere between nestled in loving arms and being urged to spread my wings and soar. When the song ended, I opened my eyes.

Chris, his cup cradled in his hands, a pensive smile on his face, said, “Nice, isn’t it?”

“How could I not have heard this before?”

“It’s on the watch list. Media doesn’t like it because it’s improvisational, so it doesn’t get much airplay. Feeling better now?”

“A little.”

“So you want to talk? I’m a good listener. And you know your secrets are safe with me.”

His face was so open, so sincere. I wanted to tell him everything. But here was not the place.

“Not here.”

“Let’s take a drive,” he said.

I was glad his trannie was surveillance-free.

As we wound north, through areas of Chicago I’d never seen, all the emotions I’d been holding inside since my mom’s death came tumbling out. My guilt. My shame. My anger. My fears. Everything. Well, everything except the Sisterhood’s plan to save Joan. That wasn’t my personal secret to tell. Although I more than touched on how Sal didn’t think that I (or any other girl) was capable of NonCon work. “You probably think the same thing.”

Chris reached over, covering my hand with his. “Nina, I have no doubt you can, and will, do whatever you need to do. From what I hear, you’re a lot like your mother. Something of which to be megaproud.”

My chest tingled at the compliment.

“And you have that glint in your eyes, same as your dad. He’ll stop at nothing to help set the world right again. I see that in you.”

“You know, they both sacrificed everything. Any kind of normal life . . . their love for each other . . . I don’t know if I can do that.” I turned my face away, willing the unbidden image of Sal to dissipate.

“Until the Governing Council is altered or disbanded, and the Media is reined in, there’s no decent normal for anyone. The best we can all hope for in this fight is friendship, dedication to truth, willingness to change, and love where we find it. You can do whatever you set your mind to, Nina. Of that I am certain.”

I almost believed him.

“Look at how you saved Wei,” he went on. “Without any special training and in the face of a terror I’ve never had to imagine. And Ed wasn’t just threating murder—even though I have a mother and sisters, I can’t know what the threat of rape means to a woman. But anyone who can live through that is a power to be reckoned with. A mighty power.”

Like a flash, I suddenly got it. Some people are capable of doing things to a woman that would reduce them to a hollowed shell. I thought of Joan. And those men who never would even dream of doing such horrific deeds would do anything to keep women safe from that terror. NonCons don’t want their sisters, wives, and daughters to get too close to that kind of danger. Still, they have no idea what kind of strength women are capable of, despite that danger.

I understood a little better why Sal and Mr. Jenkins were dead set against the Sisterhood’s involvement in anything that would expose the girls to that kind of sexual threat. But just because they felt helpless in preventing those kinds of attacks, that kind of torture, it didn’t change my mind about what girls could do.

Chris drove down a lane that stopped at the lakefront. The light of a full moon shimmered over the water, reflecting inside the vehicle. Chris brushed my bangs aside. “I’d give a card full of credits to know what you’re thinking.”

Our eyes met, and what I saw in his was not what I expected. I felt an irresistible urge to kiss him. He put his arm over the back of my seat and leaned close. My head tilted up, following my instincts—or was it my heart? His lips almost touched mine when he pulled back.

“Damn. It’s Wei.” He listened, then said, “Yeah, she’s still with me. We took a drive.” He shook his head. “Stop worrying. See you in a few.” After he clicked off, he said, “Guess we’d better go home.”

That break had shaken me. Chris was my best friend’s brother, my boyfriend’s friend, and my little sister’s crush. What was I doing? I was dating Sal—whom I loved. Right? I stared at Chris, steeling my heart. “What almost happened . . . it’s wrong,” I said.

He traced the moonlight down my cheek. “Nina. I’m not so sure,” he said.

“No, Chris. I can’t do this. I can’t do this to . . .” I trailed off. To Sal, I wanted to say, but I couldn’t bring myself to say his name.

“It’s okay, I understand. I’m sorry, Nina. I thought—I thought you felt the same.” Chris started up the trannie, and we headed back. I leaned back against the seat and stared out the window at the moon, trying to figure out what it was I did feel.

XXXVI

“N
ina, wake up.” Dee was at the side of my bed, shaking me. “Miss Maldovar called.”

“Huh? What time is it? When did you get home?” I sat up, groggy. My brain was still half asleep.

“It’s nine-thirty, and Maddie’s mom dropped me off half an hour ago. I wasn’t going to bother you, but then Miss Maldovar called. She told me about the Alert.”

“Why—” Miss Maldovar was the last person I thought would tell Dee anything about this. I sat up, rubbing the sleep from my eyes, trying to buy myself some time. Taking a deep breath, I decided Pops was right: the truth couldn’t be hidden forever.

“Miss Maldovar told me the Alert said Ginnie was Ed’s assistant in that phony FeLS camp, but she wasn’t!”

“No, Dee, she wasn’t. That’s just what Kasmir Lessig said.”

“Miss Maldovar agreed with me, that Mom would never do anything like that. For a nanosec I thought she wouldn’t want me to be her assistant anymore, but she said it didn’t matter to her.”

“Dee, listen to me. Ginnie had nothing to do with Ed’s filthy scheme. But Media is saying she did. It’s all over the news. I think the government is trying to discredit Ginnie because of her connection to my father—the GC would do anything to ruin his reputation among the people who are part of the Resistance.”

“Can’t Mr. Jenkins set them straight? He’s a big Media guy, isn’t he? I’m going to go ask him right—”

“Stop. You can’t go bothering him about this. He’s already working on it.”

“You told him?” Dee came back and sat on the edge of my bed.

“I didn’t have to. He knows that Mom didn’t have anything to do with Ed, other than, well . . . you know.”

“I hate that he was my father.” She fiddled with the ridges of my comforter.

It was so hard not to tell her the truth. But it was for her own safety. I pulled up the corner, inviting her to snuggle in with me. “Things will work out. You’ll see.”

“Everyone at school will know about it, won’t they?”

“Probably.” I hugged her.

She shrugged free. “Miss Maldovar said that she’d tell them not to believe everything they heard, and that I’m to tell her if someone picks on me. I can stand up for myself, though. I’ll tell them the truth, that Mom never did anything like that.” Fire flashed in her eyes. “If they don’t believe me, then––”

“Deeds. No fighting.”

She clenched her jaw.

“I mean it.”

“Oh . . . all right.” She snorted. “But I’ll want to.”

“I know you will. But there are things worth fighting for, and things not worth fighting about. This is not worth fighting about.”

“But she’s our mom.”

“And she wouldn’t want you scrapping in the playground like a puppy. You know the truth, that’s good enough. And the truth will come out. I promise you. It will.”

***

Later on, Dee settled down to watch some vids. I hoped they would take her mind off of the Alert mess. I headed to the cook center to put together more food to take to the homeless.

I wanted to take soup to the women, but there was no good way to pack it. They’d have to settle for nut butter-and-jelly sandwiches. It was better than nothing.

“What’s that?” Dee looked up from a vid she was watching.

“Stuff,” I said. “I’m taking this to some friends.”

Fortunately, she was too engrossed in the FAV to ask any other questions. “What are you watching?” I asked.

“Some history show about the Greater United Isles. It sounds like the coolest place. Hardly anyone lives there anymore. Except in London and Edinburgh. Wouldn’t it be weird to be somewhere where there are no other people? No verts. No nothing.”

“Sounds like heaven,” I said. I couldn’t imagine what that would be like.

My PAV beeped—it was Brie.

“You doing okay? I wanted to let you know that no one believes that stupid Alert about your mother,” she said.

“Thanks. I’m fine.” I didn’t let on that I’d been worrying about how the Sisterhood felt about me.

“Cool. Anyway, I have good news. The game is on for Tuesday. My uncle asked me to make a delivery. Dorrie’ll get everything programmed. Wei needs to target the exact time when we can move the goods.”

“You sound like Notishca Lamb.” I giggled, amazed that I could find humor in any part of my life.

“Oh, I love, love
Spy from the Dark Side
,” she said. “I wish I’d lived back in those days!”

“So I guess that means you’re getting the veljet, and everything else is a go?”

“Yep. We are all set! We’ll talk later.”

No matter what happened at school on Monday, at least I had a few friends who cared and knew the truth. And who wanted to help.

***

On the way to the riverfront, I thought about the Greater United Isles. No verts. No GC. I didn’t know much more about them, other than that Scotland was where Cliste Galad had been invented.

They didn’t bother to teach us much about any of that in school, probably because the GC didn’t want us to know how different it could be. But I’d learned a lot more hanging out with Wei and Sal.

Sal. I still had no message from him. No call. And now I felt guilty because I’d nearly betrayed him with Chris. It was funny, the fact that we’d argued about whether or not girls were capable of fighting for themselves. Especially since the End-of-Wars Treaty never would have come about without the Fems. They’d taken power from the Corporations government in the Americas, years ago.

They never said as much in History, but even though it hadn’t been a bloodless coup, the Fems were more than fair to the conquered. They didn’t shuttle anyone off to a prison space station, or doom them to Mars and infection. They took the Corporation moguls out of power but otherwise left them alone. And that was their big mistake, since the moguls got together and revived Media.

Everyone knew Media wasn’t anything new. I mean, verts have been around for ages, in one form or another. They even taught us how most corporations worked through Media to spread their version of the truth—I guess never figuring we’d make the connection to the way the GC used Media.

But no, the GC was so much more evolved than that. Ha, yeah right. I glanced out the trans window—I was almost there. Which was a good thing, considering how my anger was rising just thinking about how we were taught that the printed ads and commercials of the twentieth century turned into verts in the twenty-first century, but no one ever questioned whether or not verts were good now.

And so when the Corporation moguls started using Media to undermine women, to sow the seeds of overthrowing the Fems, it worked. It worked so well, women ended up losing all the ground for which they’d fought for centuries.

And here I was. An all but powerless, sex-teen, standing by the riverfront trying to make a difference. But no. I wasn’t powerless. What had I been trying to tell Sal all this time? That girls were just as strong as everyone else.

I was pretty sure the remnants of true feminism were out there, somewhere. And I desperately wanted to find them.

I headed over to the buildings, where I figured I was most likely to find the group of homeless. They were huddled in an alley, trying to avoid the bitter wind.

It was hard for me to believe, but a couple of the homeless women complained that I’d brought only sandwiches. Drawing Joan aside, I told her, in guarded words, to be ready on Tuesday. I could feel her anxiety and tried to reassure her that when she was in Japan with Wei’s relatives, they’d help her get back to normal.

“I’ll bring more food in a couple of days,” I told Joan. “Hang in there.”

She and the rest of the homeless women disappeared, leaving the empty bags behind. I stuffed them in the trash and walked out of the alleyway. Two guys—they looked about twenty—were coming up from one of the river oases. As they passed me, I caught a whiff of alcohol. It reminded me of Ed, which was enough to make me hurry on by.

“You. Girl.”

I speeded up. Their footsteps grew closer, louder. They were following me.

“What’s your hurry, babe?” The voice was right behind me.

Nearly wrenching my arm from its socket, one of them spun me around, slurring, “I said . . . what’s your hurry?” Shoving up my sleeve, he uncovered the XVI. “She’s legal, Punch. Score one for the home team.” A smile spread across his face.

His friend sidled up next to me. The liquor smell so strong I nearly vomited.

“Let go.” I struggled to free my arm, but he wasn’t about to release me.

“You said ‘Let’s go’? I’m with you, babe.” He homed in on an opening between two buildings. “A little alley-cat love for us and our little sex-teen.”

Pressing his mouth onto mine, he rammed his tongue between my lips and his boozy slobber drenched my chin. As soon as he came up for air, his friend, Punch, yanked my head around and tried the same. He was so intoxicated, he missed my mouth completely, allowing me just enough time to scream.

“Nuh-uh, babe.” The first guy slapped his hand across my mouth. “Don’t want a whole crowd. Punch and me’s more than enough.”

I tried biting him, but his grip was too firm. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a hire transport. Struggling to get free, I kicked Punch, connecting with his shin.

“Ouch!” He had a puzzled look on his face. “Why’d you do that? We’re gonna give you what you want. Right, Gordo?”

“Of course, idiot. Let’s get back there before anyone else comes by.”

Between the two of them, they practically lifted me off the ground and ducked between the buildings. I kicked and writhed, but I couldn’t manage to connect with either of them again.

“Over here.” Gordo, his hand still firmly across my mouth, dragged me into a recessed area not visible from the street. He took his hand off my mouth long enough to jam his glove into it. Holding my arms behind me, he said, “Get her pants down.”

I kicked at Punch’s groin, missing. This could not be happening. I had to get away.

“She’s too wild.” Punch backed off, shaking his head.

“I gotta do it all?” Gordo flung me to the ground. “You hold her arms.”

Punch eyed me suspiciously but did as he was told.

I tried spitting out the woolen mass, but it was too far in. It was all I could do not to throw up. Choking on my own vomit was not the way I wanted to die.

Gordo straddled me, fumbling with the button on my jeans. “You just calm down, babe. We’re nice guys. This is gonna be fun. It’s what all you girls want.” He couldn’t get my all-weathers undone. “Dammit!” He pulled a switchblade out of his pocket.

My heart stopped. My eyes widened in terror.

“What? This?” Gordo flicked the knife open, eyeing it lovingly. “Easy access, sweetheart. Easy access.” He slit the waistband of my pants. The blade scratched my skin, and warm blood trickled across my belly. “Oops.” He grabbed a handful of snow and rubbed it on the wound. “Sorry.”

“Skivs! You cut her!” Punch loosened his grip on my arms. “We’ll get in trouble, sure enough.” I jerked my arm free at last, snatched the wad out of my mouth, and screamed again. Punch quickly clapped both his hands over my mouth. I bit down. Hard.

What happened next was so fast, I couldn’t tell exactly what was coming from where.

A war whoop erupted behind Gordo, and two women jumped him. I made out Joan’s face as she leaped across me, slamming into Punch.

She bashed his head against the wall, yelling, “Stop! Stop! Stop!” over and over.

Somehow, Punch managed to push her off. Struggling to his feet, he dashed out of the alley, leaving his friend behind. Gordo was thrashing about under the weight of Svette and another woman. I scurried back into the snow away from them. About the time he swiped the air with his switchblade, I yelled, “He’s got a knife!”

Svette cracked his arm on her leg, and the knife skidded down the alley. She yanked him to his feet, kicked him between the legs, twirled him around, and delivered a final boot to his ass.

He stumbled toward the street, supporting himself on the building. “Punch! Punch! Wait up! That bitch broke my arm.”

“You okay?” Svette pulled me to my feet and inspected the bloody cut on my abdomen.

“I’m . . . fine.” I was struggling to catch my breath. “They . . . this . . .” I held out my wrist. “I couldn’t get away.” I slumped against the wall. That’s when I noticed Joan, sitting on the ground, her fists clenched. I slid down next to her. “Thank you.”

She jerked her head around. Her eyes burning. “I wanted to kill him. Kill. Him.”

I knew just how she felt.

“You can’t stay here,” Svette said. “Cops. They’ll show up. Can you walk?”

Even with knees like jelly, and a tremendous need to throw up, I managed to push my way back up the wall. “Yeah, I can walk.”

Svette and the others disappeared around the back of the building. Stumbling to the sidewalk, I looked around to make sure Gordo and Punch were really gone. My all-weathers kept slipping down. Hands shaking, I wove my scarf through the belt loops, tying a bulky knot at the waist, and took off at a run toward the transit stop. I think I could’ve run all the way home.