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“. . . chew they skin, chew they guts . . .” Featureless black eyes popped open when Niobe pushed her squeaking cart to a halt outside his cell.

“. . . chomp they tail and all them kiddies!”

“Something to read, Terrence?”

“Not bored. Hungry.” Thin lips pulled back from his teeth as he said this. “So hungry.” He licked his lips.

A single scoop of butter brickle sat at the bottom of her cooler, but of course she couldn’t give it to him. Pendergast and the security techs were adamant that Cottle could never receive any utensil. Even a plastic spork.

“Can’t help you there, Terrence.” Niobe held up a few magazines. “How ’bout a National Geographic?” Even staple-bound magazines were off-limits.

“What I’d really like, Genetrix, is a copy of Modern Gourmet.”

“Sorry, Sharky, no such luck.”

Cottle shook his head. “Shame. Been looking for a good recipe for roast joker tail.” He laughed. “Something that’ll tell me how to debone that thing.”

His shouts followed her back up the hallway. “. . . or a marinade for fat little kiddies?”

Yves, Yvette, and Yectli were extra quiet. But she knew how to cheer them up.

Hey, you kids ever been to Disneyland?

Yectli clapped. Of course not! said Yves.

Well, let’s fix that, thought Niobe. And this time, no putting the trip off until it was too late.

All they needed was a few days. She’d let Pendergast know they’d be gone, and then find some tickets online. The oil crisis guaranteed that she’d have to pay a king’s ransom to get all four of them to California and back, but she hadn’t touched her trust fund in a long time. It might have taken a hit, thanks to market craziness brought on by the crisis, but odds were that her parents’ goodbye-and-go-away-forever gift was still pretty hefty.

You guys are gonna love Space Mountain.

Returning through the medium-security wing, Niobe found one of the cells open. The cot had been stripped, and a pile of new linens rested at the foot of the mattress.

“Get a move on, Genetrix.”

She turned to find Tom, one of the BICC orderlies, standing next to her.

“Oh, hiya, Tom. What’s going on? New guest?”

“I’m not kidding. Beat it.”

“What? I’m just asking.”

Tom shrugged. “I got my orders.” He pointed down the corridor. “Scram.” He glared until she turned the corner.

She waited a moment before peeking back.

Justice—the head of BICC security—escorted a boy down the corridor and into the cell. Young, based on his height, and a little pudgy.

The boy turned just as Justice slammed the cell door behind him.

He looked terrified.

The interrogation room was cramped and dim. Drake was sitting on one side of a metal table; facing him from the other side were a doctor, or so he guessed from the man’s white coat, and another BICC guy. Justice was behind Drake, but he was letting the others ask the questions.

“Mr. Thomas, you’re aware of your medical condition, are you not?” The doctor leaned forward and adjusted his glasses.

Drake shook his head. “No, no one’s told me anything.”

The BICC man, wearing a badge that said “Smitty,” opened a folder. “Well, it’s time you learned why you’re here. Let’s start with exactly what you remember?”

“Nothing,” Drake said defensively. This was going to be just like the army hospital, nothing but questions. “Why don’t you tell me something for a change. Like where my family is or why I can’t see them, for instance.”

“Well, there is a bit of information I can provide you with about your medical condition.” The doctor had a really nasty look on his face, reminding Drake of his fourth-grade math teacher. His badge read “Dr. Pendergast,” which sounded like something made-up. “You’ve been infected with xenovirus Takis-A, the wild card. As for your family, they’re all presumed dead.”

“Doctor,” Justice said, a serious look on his face, “are you sure . . .”

“Yes,” Pendergast interrupted. “This young man needs to come to grips with the situation he’s in. It might help overcome his memory suppression.”

Drake went numb. “You’re lying about my folks.” He had a feeling, deep down, that it was true. “Tell me you’re lying.” He’d been afraid they were dead, but until someone said it Drake wasn’t going to believe it. Now, someone had said it.

“What did you think happened to them, Drake?” Smitty asked. “Did you think they survived a nuclear explosion?”

“I didn’t even know there was an explosion.” Drake was holding back the tears with everything he had. “How did it happen?”

“That’s what your government wants to know, Drake.” Smitty gave Drake a cold stare that momentarily replaced his grief with fear. “It’s possible that your parents were part of a terrorist plot, and something went wrong.”

“My mom and dad terrorists?” Drake shook his head in disbelief. How could these people be such morons? “That’s stupid. They sat outside almost every night watching the sky for aliens as part of the ‘Watch the Skies’ volunteers. They would never hurt anyone.” Drake was telling them the truth. His folks had joined the volunteer program after the Swarm invasion, which happened before he was even born.

“Try to see things from our point of view, Drake.” Smitty looked like he was trying to force his face into something like a sympathetic look. It was ugly. “There’s a small nuclear detonation in a largely unpopulated area. The size of the explosion is consistent with a suitcase nuke, something a terrorist might use. The location suggests it was an accident, except for the fact that there was a little boy in the middle of it. An ace who survived the blast and is immune to radiation. Does that seem like a coincidence to you?”

It was too much for Drake to take in all at once, but these asshats wanted answers, and they expected them from him. “I can’t tell you what I don’t know,” Drake said. Skeptical stares greeted his response. “Maybe the explosion did something to my memory. I’ll try.”

“It would be worth your while to do so,” Smitty said. He nodded to Justice. “Take him back to his room. Keep him on the medication.”

Drake felt his chair sliding backward and he quickly stood. “I’m doing the best I can.”

During the short walk back to his prison, Drake’s fear gave way to despair. His family was dead. Even the few people who cared about him, like his aunt Tammy in Austin, must think he was dead, too.

Once alone in his room, Drake fell on the bed and pulled the pillow over his face. He could hear Justice’s footfalls echoing away down the hall. Only then did the tears come, and he couldn’t stop them for a long time.

He wasn’t sure what time it was when Justice showed up again, knocking at his locked door. “What do you say we take a walk and get some exercise?” Justice stepped out into the hall and gave Drake a look that made him understand this was not a suggestion.

“whatever you say.” Drake popped up from the bed. He’d never been very big on exercise, but stretching his legs beat the hell out of rotting in his crappy little room.

“Excellent.” Justice led him down the corridor and into the central area. The vast room was still mostly deserted except for the guards at the kiosk, who were talking and laughing about something. “We’re cleared for green section today,” Justice told the men.

Along the way Drake paid attention to where the surveillance cameras were. He’d counted at least five. Once inside, though, Drake almost felt relieved. He hadn’t had any idea what to expect from “green section,” but the first room they came to was a big one with couches and a couple of TVs, one of which was turned on. It wasn’t like a real living room, but was still lots nicer than anything Drake had seen here so far. His eyes tracked like radar to the TV set. A couple of people were watching American Hero, and it was the end of the show where the contestants had the cards in front of them and someone got voted off.