Truth (4 page)

VI

H
alfway home I was lucky enough to snag a trans and got there faster than I’d thought possible. I’d left Sal in his homeless clothes standing by our mountain. He couldn’t follow me, not dressed like that.

Storming out of the elport, I raced into the apartment. Gran was on the couch, her arm around Dee, the two of them wet-faced and sniffling. Harriet was next to Gran, murmuring sympathy. The apartment had been torn apart, things everywhere, but one thing was obviously missing.

My voice trembled. “Pops?”

“B.O.S.S. took him.” Dee’s voice cracked, fresh tears streaming down her face.

“The scrambler ran out of time. That silly old fool kept on talking. It’s my fault. I should have stayed in here with him. Kept an eye on him.” Gran twisted her hanky, her voice shaking. “He’s so sick. He won’t survive reassimilation.”

“There, there, Edith.” Harriet stroked Gran’s shoulder. “You don’t know that’s what they’re going to do. They just took him for questioning.”

“Surely they won’t . . . He can’t have said anything important. He was spouting off with his cronies.” I arched my head back, staring at the ceiling, gathering together my swirling thoughts. This could not be happening. “Pops isn’t a threat to anyone.”

“It’s not what he said. It’s the machine, Nina . . .” Gran said. “The machine is the problem. They found him with contraband. There was no way to explain it away. If he hadn’t insisted that Dee and I didn’t know what it was, they’d have taken us, too.” She thrust a paper in my hand. “We’re supposed to be
there
on Monday.”

“He doesn’t have his leg,” Dee cried. “Nina, they wouldn’t let him take his leg. We have to
do
something.”

I started pacing back and forth. There was nothing for us
to
do, not until Monday. I looked at Gran sitting on the couch. Her skin was ashen, and her breathing was worse than before I’d left.

“Gran, are you all right?” I bent down and touched her arm. She laid her hand on mine and let out a breath.

“Nina . . . I can’t breathe.” She grabbed her left arm and collapsed back on the sofa, eyes closed.

“Gran!” Dee cried.

“Dee, call the clinic! Now! Nina, do you know CPR?” Harriet’s voice wavered.

Dee sprang to the door, pressing the emergency button on the entry pad to alert the medics. Harriet helped me slide Gran off the couch and onto the floor. Her eyes fluttered but didn’t open. She was still breathing, but just barely. I loosened her collar and felt for a pulse on her neck. Her skin, the near-translucence of old age, slid across her bones, fragile, breakable, like an antique china cup. Rhythmically, I pressed on her chest. With each movement, I said, “Gran.” Push. “Don’t leave.” Push. “Please.” Push. “Gran . . .”

The medics rushed in, swept Harriet and Dee aside, and took over for me on the chest compressions. Dee’s arms circled my waist, mine hers, and Harriet’s wrapped around us both. She was whispering prayers.

I knew Gran believed in a god. I’d never been sure what I believed about God and prayers, but where else could I turn? I silently echoed Harriet’s words, begging Gran’s god to hear me. To not let her die.

“She’s stabilized,” one of the medics said. “Let’s get her to Metro.”

Moments later they had Gran on a stretcher and were wheeling her out of the apartment.

“Who’s coming with us?” the tech asked. “Only got room for one.”

“You go,” Harriet said to me. “Dee and I will meet you there.”

I squeezed my sister to me. My words tangling in her hair. “Be brave.” I hoped I could do the same.

***

The E-Med trans screamed through the city. I kept twisting around from the front seat to keep an eye on Gran. Although I couldn’t see her, I could see the lines on the machine to which they had her hooked up. Those lines were still moving. That was a good thing.

When we arrived at Metro, the hospital for all low-tiers and welfare people, the medics transferred Gran to a hospital gurney and left without a word. I was lost. The only other time I’d been in the hospital was when my mom, Ginnie, died, and that had been with a police escort in and with a B.O.S.S. escort out. I wrapped my arms around myself, holding in those awful memories.

A woman in slacks scanned Gran’s info while several nurses and hospital techs crowded around her. The blur of their colorful scrubs reminded me of an Impressionist painting come to life. Life. Hang on, Gran. I peered at her through the sea of colors.

Please, Gran. I can’t lose you, too.
B.O.S.S., hoping for information no doubt, had arranged to keep my mom alive long enough for us to talk, to say good-bye. But I knew there’d be no Infinity machine keeping Gran alive if . . . I blinked back the tears crowding to get out. I was an adult now. I had to handle this like an adult.

A girl, not a whole lot older than me, guided me away from the cluster. Her badge said
INTAKE
. She pointed down the hall. “You need to wait in there. The sign that says
WAITING ROOM
.” When I didn’t move, she said, “You can read, can’t you?”

I glared at her. “Of course I can read.”

“You welfs are all the same.” She smirked. “You still have to wait––”

“I am not on welfare,” I said through clenched teeth. “This is where government retirees have to come.”

“Yeah.” She glanced over my clothes. “The low-tier ones.” Before I had a chance to retort, she said, “The doctor will be in to see you when they’re done with her.” She gave me a final once-over before going back to whatever rock she’d crawled out from under.

It wasn’t like she was making a ton of credits working intake at Metro. She was no better than me. Sal’s words rang in my head,
It’s what’s in the person
. Well, what was in that person was a whole lot of nasty. I trudged to the waiting room.

It was filled with anxiety, fear, and sadness. I perched on the edge of a vacant chair near the door, ashamed of the thoughts running through my head about my fellow occupants. Judging thoughts, mean thoughts, the same thoughts that awful girl had insinuated when she’d ordered me out of the emergency area. My PAV beeped me out of my self-loathing. It was Sal.

“Nina. Are you okay?”

“They took Pops. Gran had— She had an attack. Gran’s at Metro. Can you come? I need you.”

His response was cut off by another voice—a girl’s voice. Paulette.

“Sal. We’ve got to go. Now.”

“I can’t come, Nina. I have to—”

“Sal,” Paulette urged.

“I’ll call when I can.” His PAV clicked off.

Sal was with Paulette. NonCon business? It had to be. I knew that I shouldn’t mind, but I did. Sal was my boyfriend. I really needed him now. Was this what it was like for Ginnie when my dad took off? How did she deal? I knew the answer. She got tough. She took Ed’s abuse. She gave her life. Was I going to do the same? I stared at the floor, even though it could give me no answers.

“Nina!” Dee burst into the room, with Harriet right behind. I hugged Dee tight and explained what I could. There was little I could update them on, other than the fact that Gran was being attended to. A commotion across the room put a stop to our conversation.

“My baby!” a woman shrieked. “No! You’re lying! She just turned sixteen. She’s my life!” She made a grab for the med tech who had apparently just given her the news that her daughter was dead. “They killed her! You’ve got to do something!”

Her companion restrained her. “Mona. Sis.” Holding and stroking her sister, she said to the tech, “What do we do now?”

“If you insist, we can call the authorities,” he said. “But, there’s no medical indication that the sex wasn’t consensual.” He shrugged.

“Consensual? Those animals!” The mother broke free, lunging at the man.

I hustled Dee behind me. Harriet grabbed my arm, and we became a barrier between the frantic woman and my little sister.

“Five of them! Do you hear me?” the woman screamed. “Five! It’s murder! All because of that damned tattoo! How can you say—”

Her anguished tirade was immediately silenced when two policemen in their checkered hats burst into the waiting room. One stun-stick to the neck subdued her, and they dragged her off. The sister scrambled after them, tears streaming down her face.

The room was silent. No one made eye contact with anyone else. I pulled Dee close. “You shouldn’t have seen that,” I said. “Harriet, you should take her back to––”

“Nina, I’m staying here with you.” Dee was trembling, but there was a determination in the set of her chin. For a moment, she reminded me of Ginnie. “I want to be here when Gran wakes up.”

“I’ll get us something to drink,” Harriet said.

Dee and I took seats near the door. I kept my arm around her shoulder, and she didn’t protest. Harriet returned with Sparkles for all of us. I excused myself and went to the ladies’ room to throw water on my face.

Staring into the mirror, I couldn’t blink away the haunting picture of that woman’s daughter fighting off a gang of boys. I could hear my mother telling me how important it was to be on guard, not to act sex-teen—to push against the system, but not too openly. It wasn’t safe. Words. At the time, that’s all they had been. But since her death, and Sandy’s—my best friend who’d been raped and killed by Ed—and knowing what I now knew, what Ginnie’d uncovered about FeLS being a front for a sex-slavery network for high-ranking government officials, I wondered how long I could keep quiet. Someone had to speak up. I fingered the
T
on my charm necklace. Pops had given me the
T
, he’d said it stood for Truth. Pops spouted truth, my dad debated truth, my mother exposed truth . . . was I the Oberon who simply had to tell the truth? But how?

***

When I got back to the waiting room, Harriet was dozing and Dee had fallen asleep in her arms. I retrieved a rapido and sketch pad from my bag. The tormented face of the mother as the cop jabbed her flowed out of my fingers. I was still drawing when a nurse stuck her head in the door. “Is there someone here for Edith Oberon?”

I leaped up, stuffing my artwork away. “Me!”

VII

T
he nurse would allow only one of us at a time in the cube, so Harriet and Dee stayed in the waiting room. Gran was surrounded by a tangle of tubes and wires, hooked to a monitor that beeped and hummed softly. I scooted a chair close to her; wrapping my hand around hers, I sat, transfixed by the lines on the monitor indicating her heartbeat. Mine beat twice before the faint blip of hers registered. Even then, it barely made a bump on the horizontal green bar pulsing across the screen.

A tall man in a white coat, carrying some kind of digi-pad, entered. “I’m Dr. Silverman.”

Jumping up, I extended my hand. When he didn’t take it, I withdrew mine.

“You’re sixteen?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“We’d like your permission to try a new procedure on the patient. She is your grandmother, correct?”

“Yes.” I gulped. Who was I to give permission? Then I realized: Pops was in custody. Dee was underage. I was the only relative who could.

“The procedure repairs damaged heart tissue and . . .” He glanced at the pad in his hand—Gran’s chart—then back to me. “Given her age, it will add three, maybe five more years of life. There are, of course, risks, as with any new medical technique.”

I felt the blood drain from my face. “Risks? What if she doesn’t have the operation?”

“Without it she’ll be dead in a few hours.” He tapped his rapido against the chart’s edge. “I don’t have all night, Miss . . .” He consulted the chart again. “Oberon. Your decision.”

“Decision?” I stared at him. “There really isn’t any except ‘do it,’ is there?”

He raised an eyebrow, as if he hadn’t expected anything but a simple yes or no. “You could decide that the burden of caring for an elderly woman whose use in life—”

“She is not useless.” I glared at him. “And how dare you—”

“There are other patients who won’t hesitate.” He headed toward the exit.

“Wait. Please.”

He turned back.

“Yes. Do it. Please.” I was groveling. Gran was worth that, and so much more. “I’m sorry if I got out of line. I’m not used to making—”

The doctor snapped his fingers, and two orderlies hustled in. “Get this patient down to three. Stat.” Within seconds, they had trundled Gran out of the cube. Silverman was busy on his PAV. “Have Heart Team Fifty-ought assembled in three. We’ve got a live one.”

Live one? My eyes widened, and I swallowed another huge lump. What if I’d just sentenced Gran to die at the hands of some government quack practicing an experimental procedure?

“Are you sure this is—”

Dr. Silverman cut me off again. “This is science.”

I stuffed all my premature guilt down deep. He had to be right. Had. To. Be.

Cutting out of the cube as sharply as he’d entered, I hurried along behind. Terror crawling up my spine.

***

Dee ran up to me. “How’s Gran? Can I go see her now?”

“Not now,” I said. “They took her to the operating room.”

Dee clutched my hand. “She’s going to be all right, isn’t she?”

“Let’s sit.” I led her back to where Harriet was waiting. “It was definitely her heart,” I said. “This really great doctor is operating on her right now. She’s going to be better than ever when this is done.”

Dee threw her arms around me, squeezing tight. “She has to be all right.”

I couldn’t shake the memory of that awful night when Ginnie died. “It’s going to be fine,” I said, with much more conviction than I felt. Although there had been something about Dr. Silverman . . . I doubted he would allow Gran to die, simply because he couldn’t stand to lose a patient. Looking closely at Harriet, I realized how exhausted she was. As much as I didn’t want to be alone, I didn’t want to be a burden on her. And Dee, too, was obviously worn out. “You should both go home. It’s going to be a while. I promise I’ll call you as soon as there is news.”

“I don’t want––”

“Dee, don’t argue with me,” I snapped, and immediately felt awful. “I’m sorry. One of us needs to get some real sleep. I have to be here to sign papers or give permissions. Please go. I’ll call as soon as I know something.”

“We’ll go to my apartment,” Harriet said. “It will be fine, I’m sure. Your grandmother’s a strong woman.”

“Call right away. Promise?” Dee hugged me.

“I promise.”

When they were gone, I called Sal. No answer. I didn’t want to think about him with Paulette, or anything that had to do with his not being there with me. I finally called Wei.

“I’ll come right down to the hospital,” she said.

“It’s too late. I just wanted to talk for a minute.”

“Nonsense. I’ll have Chris drive me over. See you in a few.”

I called Sal again. Even if he couldn’t be with me, at least talking with him would be reassuring. No answer. I didn’t leave a message. Alone in the waiting room, I poured my fears and frustrations into the drawing I’d started earlier.

***

“Took me forever to find you,” Wei said. “The people working here are not helpful at all. Actually, the girl in intake was outright evil.”

I snorted. “Yeah, I met her. That’s how everyone treats low-tier and welfare people. And this is Metro”—I shrugged—“so those are the only people you’ll find here.”

“Really?” She tilted her head, casting me a quizzical look. “That’s no reason to be rude. People are people.”

It was my turn to be surprised at Wei’s naïveté. The thought had never occurred to me that Wei wouldn’t have any experience with life at the lower end of society. “Some people don’t consider anyone below tier three to be real people. Not worth much of anything, unless they’re doing them a common service, or, like Mike’s dad, testing out experimental meds for research.”

“Huh.” She sat back, a pensive expression on her face. “I hadn’t thought about that.” She glanced at my lap. “What’s that?”

“Nothing.” I flipped the cover over my drawing.

“Can I see? It looked cool.”

I didn’t show my work around, except for art class. But I trusted Wei.

I pulled back the cover. “It was this woman who was here earlier. Her daughter was gang-raped and died.” I’d divided the page and done the drawing as a triptych. One panel was of a girl, unconscious and hurt, with boys walking away in the distance. The middle panel was the mother weeping over her daughter’s body. And the third was the mother being stunned by the cop.

Wei looked at it for the longest time. “That’s amazing, Nina. As eloquent as one of your father’s speeches, and just as powerful.”

Wei was maybe thinking about the picture, and I was wishing that more people could see, really see, that this is what the XVI tattoo meant, when a family came in. The woman, puffy-eyed from crying, held a sleeping baby in her arms. An older woman, possibly her mother, was with her, a boy of about five in tow. They sat on the other side of the room and turned on the Family Audio/Video. The baby fussed itself awake. Between its cries and the FAV, there was enough noise that Wei and I could talk, carefully, without fear of being overheard or monitored.

“Nina. After we talked this afternoon, I called and set up a meeting with my friends for tomorrow. But now that Gran’s here, maybe we should––”

“No! I’ll make it work.” The Sisterhood. I had to make it—this was my chance, and I needed to do something other than sit in this room, waiting for bad news.

Just then, the waiting room door swung open. All eyes turned toward the entrance. My heart leaped into my throat as Dr. Silverman entered, expressionless, like a sphinx. It felt like an eternity as he walked across the room to me.

When he finally reached me, he said, “Your grandmother came through the procedure as well as can be expected. She’ll be moved to a private room where we can keep her under observation.”

I seized his hand. “Thank you! May I see her? Please?”

He extricated his hand, waving over one of the nurses standing near the door. “Sani-cloth. Stat. Then take this girl to the eighth floor.” Without so much as a glance in my direction, he said, “Five minutes tonight, that’s all.”

Snatching the wipe from the nurse, he walked out, vigorously scrubbing the hand I’d touched.

“Nice guy,” I muttered to Wei.

“Oh, he’s so much more than that!” the nurse gushed. “He’s a miracle worker.” Her adoring gaze followed him.

I bit my tongue. If the operation saved Gran, I guess it didn’t matter how much low-tiers, like me, disgusted the man.

***

On the way to the eighth floor, I called Dee. “Gran’s out of the operating room. I get to see her for five minutes. The doctor said she did well.” I didn’t add his caveat. No need to upset Dee, and no need to dampen my own little spark of positivity. “I’ll pick you up from Harriet’s in about half an hour.”

While I was talking with my sister, Wei called Chris to come and pick us up.

“Nina, maybe you guys should stay with us tonight?” Wei said.

“We’ll be fine at the apartment.” My thoughts ran to the mess the B.O.S.S. agents had made and how empty everything would feel without Gran and Pops. “It’s closer to Metro,” I reasoned. “And I know Dee will want to come down here first thing.”

We opened the door to Gran’s room quietly. I couldn’t tell just by looking whether she was better or not. There was more color in her face, for sure. She was asleep and had a tube in her throat, and was hooked up to a machine that appeared to be controlling her breathing. I stood beside her bed for my allotted five minutes, remembering back to the allotted ten I spent with Ginnie when she was in the Infinity machine, after which the doctor had switched it off and my mother was dead. This time, however, things were different. The hypnotic blips on the monitor were stronger and more frequent than they’d been earlier—tiny pulses of hope.